Ties that Bind

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/38000623.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Character: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger, Ron
Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Cedric Diggory, Sirius
Black, Lily Evans Potter, James Potter, Albus Dumbledore
Additional Tags: Mpreg, Consensual Underage Sex, Harry becomes immortal with 16...
is that underage???, Necromancy, Resurrection, Master of Death Harry
Potter, posted in batches, irregular updates, Don't Like Don't Read,
Slow Burn
Language: English
Collections: thiccboimork's harry potter reading list, thiccboimork's reading list,
Ongoing fic, fanfics that i keep coming back to read
Stats: Published: 2022-03-27 Updated: 2023-01-29 Words: 238,184 Chapters:
22/?

Ties that Bind

by JunjouSlashGirl

Summary

Three years before Lord Voldemort’s attack on Godrick’s Hollow, Unspeakable Lily
Evans-Potter came across an ancient prophecy that promised never-ending peace to the
Wizarding World if the Lord of Magic and the Master of Death ruled together. 17 years
later Harry has to deal with the consequences.

Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN1: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a wonderful
job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

AN2: In recent months I have learned about myself that trying to keep to a regular update
schedule only stresses me. Therefore I have decided that this story will be posted in
batches. I appreciate most forms of reviews, however, I will not reply to any questions
about when I will update next. Suffice to say that I have about 40 chapters planned out and
 do not intent to abandon this story.

AN3: The first "batch" consists of chapters 1-12, however, chapter 12 is still missing a
scene which I will write later this week before posting the chapter with some delay.

AN4: This additional AN is in direct reaction to a review I have received this morning. My
proclamation that "Ties that Bind" is inspired by GeMerope's "In Willing Sacrifice" seems
to lead some readers to the belief that it is a close rewrite, starting off at the same point in
time and going through very similar events only in my own words. THAT IS NOT THE
CASE! I love the feeling of GeMeropes story, her attention to detail and how she build a
dark side that can really be taken seriously and that is what I wished to recapture with my
own story. You will find parts where you will be able to easily see that I was inspired by
her, but also parts that lack any similarity and are uniquely my own.

See the end of the work for more notes

 Missing Pain

Chapter 1: Missing Pain

Harry couldn’t believe that he held it in his hands; after an entire year of suffering and painful
visions, he was so close to the answers he was so desperately seeking. For a split second he was
tempted and who could blame him? Dumbledore had been avoiding him the entire year, even
though the Headmaster had known that he was suffering, after all, that had been the reason why he
had been thrust onto Snape, the nasty git.

However, there was no time. The Death Eaters were closing in on him and the last thing he wanted
was for Voldemort to learn about the Prophecy. Whatever the prediction said, it had to be crucial if
the order guarded it secretly at night. Besides, he wanted nothing more than to scream and shout
and destroy something. Why Sirius? Why did it have to be him? The loss tore at him like one of
Hagrid’s creatures that was trying to rip out his heart.

So no; he couldn’t risk for Voldemort’s man to find out what the prophecy said. For a split second
his eyes met icy silver ones, before he snarled, “I will never let Voldemort find out what the
prophecy said!” and with that, he raised the fragile glass orb above his head, before throwing it
down on the hard stone floor, smashing it into a thousand pieces.

‘The Time of Peace for all magical folks will be approaching,

when Walpurga’s prediction….’

A husky voice echoed through the hall for a split second, before it was drowned by a furious snarl
from Bellatrix Lestrange, who was as recognizable even hidden beneath her Death Eater robe as
Lucius Malfoy.

“You will pay for this, you filthy half-blood bottom feeder!”

Harry merely smirked in return.

Suddenly Voldemort's men hissed and clutched at their left forearms. As if with an inaudible
command, they all turned on their heels and ran into the direction of the exit. Harry’s heart began
to race as the air seemed to thicken with an unmistakable, dark pressure.

“Don’t let the scum get away!” he heard Moody bellow and without thinking, he began to run after
them, knowing that he couldn’t let the disgusting criminals leave.

“Harry, no!” he heard Remus shout after him, but he had faith in his own abilities and ignored him.
He ran back through the hall of prophecies, the spinning room which someone must have frozen
somehow and out into the main entrance hall.
His eyes barely lingered on the golden fountain as a black cloud was forming at the opposite end of
the huge chamber and the magical pressure increased even further. A cold, foreboding feeling
grabbed at him as fury radiated from the swirling miasma and his scar began to prickle painfully.
However, Harry quickly shoved it to the side. He was not afraid of Lord Voldemort.

The wizard looked just as disgusting as he remembered from their last encounter at the graveyard.
Pale, clammy looking skin stretched over a skeleton like body and his face was nothing more than
a noseless, ugly skull.

His followers had gathered in a half circle behind him as if they wanted to hide, now that
Voldemort had arrived. Quickly, Harry ran to the side, crouching down next to the tall fountain to
find shelter.

“You!” he heard Moody growl.

Suddenly, a burst of flames exploded in between the two opposing parties and Albus Dumbledore
appeared in a swirl of purple and green robes.

“Tom, what a pleasant surprise,” Dumbledore said serenely, and a wave of relief washed through
Harry at the voice of the old headmaster. “I would not have guessed you would grace us with your
presence.”
From his hiding place, Harry snorted in agreement. So far, Voldemort had always been good at
sending others in his stead.

“Quiet, you old fool,” Voldemort sneered and if possible, his high, hissy voice was even uglier
than the rest of the man. Harry froze, when suddenly those cold, red eyes were focused on him and
Voldemort addressed him directly.

“As I am in a gracious mood, I will give you one last opportunity. Come with me. Free yourself
from the manipulative clutches of the old fool and you shall live despite your mistake.”

Another hysterical laugh escaped Harry. “Choose you over Dumbledore? Never! His clutches
could never be as manipulative as yours!”
“Stupid fool, on your own head be it!” Voldemort lifted his bone white wand “Avada-”

However, before the spell could even fly in his direction the golden wizard to Harry’s left suddenly
sprang to life and leapt between them.
Voldemort hissed in outrage. “Dumbledore!”
“It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The Aurors are on their
way.
“Not more so than not keeping your precious weapon in the safety of Hogwarts!” Voldemort hissed
and resumed his attack.

The entrance hall began to flicker in the Light of curses and Harry could do nothing more than
cross his fingers for Dumbledore, who was fighting more intensely than Harry had ever seen
before.

For a moment, he was transfixed at the display of so much powerful magic, Dumbledore seemingly
countering Voldemort’s curses easily, even though his magic was not as palpable in the air. Until
Harry saw a dark purple curse fly coming in his direction, aiming directly for the bothersome
statue. Scrambling out of the way, he ducked behind the rest of the fountain as the golden wizard
exploded into a rain of sparkling flakes.

The foreboding feeling had no time to settle into Harry’s gut before his scar burst open with white
hot pain. He screamed, but it only lasted a second, then suddenly the pain was gone and in its stead
a soothing feeling like a cooling balm on his soul washed over him. It felt like coming home, or
like something finally falling into place.

Harry’s head felt dizzy in confusion as his muscles wanted to melt in reaction to the sensation even
while Voldemort possessed his mouth and made him speak though his mind protested.

“Kill me now, Dumbledore! If death is nothing, then kill the boy!”

‘Kill the boy’… Dying. The words caused an inner conflict immediately. Only minutes ago, he had
indeed wanted to follow Sirius into the unknown depths of the veil. While he rationally knew that,
those thoughts were somehow gone, chased away by the soothing embrace that was Voldemort’s
magic.

Suddenly, another power pushed at him and Voldemort’s magic vanished. Instantly, his scar burst
into pain again, Lighting every nerve-end of his body on fire and his soul screamed as if it had
been ripped to pieces. Desperately, he forced his eyes to open despite the agony to find out what
was happening and his heart skipped a beat as he saw that Voldemort was not gone.

The wizard was standing, panting in the middle of the atrium, his cloak hanging askew from his
shoulders, exposing bony, white shoulders, a thin chest and a gaunt, snake-like face. But that was
not all. Either Harry’s vision had been damaged, or cracks had appeared on Voldemort’s skin as if
he were a shattered vase.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, the wizard lifted his wand and an ugly, dark purple Light flew towards
the injured dark lord. The spell hissed, a cry of agony filled the air and it was all over as Voldemort
disappeared and Harry’s soul seemed to shatter for a second time that evening.

_______________________________________________________________

Harry didn’t make a sound as his eyes flew open. His heart was racing, like every time he dreamed
about that horrid day in the Ministry of Magic. The horror and bone-deep shock had not lessened
much, even though the battle in the Department of Mysteries had happened weeks ago. Suddenly
restless, he pushed his thread-bare cover to the side and began pacing.

The dream was haunting him, ever since he had returned to Hogwarts. It was as if his mind was
torturing him by reminding him of that strange, comforting feeling, of dark magic that wrapped
around and filled him, soothingly in a way dark magic had no right to do, and the agony he had felt
as it had been ripped away from him so suddenly.

Ever since that day, time had blurred to a meaningless string of events as his heart grew slowly
colder and his soul was devoured by nothingness. Deep down he knew that unwittingly he had
discovered something important the moment Voldemort had possessed him and the loss of
whatever it was now seemed to devour his soul like a dementor’s kiss. The only other memory that
was still able to make him feel anything other than emptiness was the memory of his godfather’s
premature death. Two years was all they’d had. It had been far too little.

And Dumbledore? Even the mentioning of the Headmaster’s name was enough to make him feel
angry now. There was no person that he had trusted more to guide him through the trials and
tribulations of his life so far, ever since he had entered the wizarding world. That was why he
couldn’t understand how the man could have kept something as important as the prophecy from
him.

As soon as his mind wandered to the words that had doomed his life even before it really had
started, confusion mixed into his anger. Dumbledore had at last told him the wording, after he had
literally blown up his mentor’s office.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...
and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...
and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...
the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."

However, these weren’t the words Harry remembered from when he had shattered the orb that had
carried his name. He had asked Dumbledore if he was sure that he remembered the prophecy
correctly, which the old headmaster had affirmed.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if he should have pressed further. However, after another taste of
Dumbledore’s dismissiveness, he hadn’t believed that it would change anything and had simply left
with that little seed of doubt starting to sprout inside of him. It had been slowly growing ever since
he had returned to Privet Drive and had more time to think than he would ever care for.
Deep down, Harry was shocked at what Dumbledore had done and disappointed about the curse
the old wizard had used. Whatever curse that had been, it hadn’t been a Light one. Shouldn’t they
be better than that? Weren’t they becoming just as bad as the Death Eaters by using the same ugly
magic?

Something inside of him wanted to make it up to Voldemort. The Dark Lord had vanished before
Harry could even really see what effects Dumbledore’s spell had caused, but he was sure it was
something horrible and painful. Voldemort had looked like his flesh was cracking after all, and that
certainly couldn’t feel good.

Unfortunately, he also was aware he needed the headmaster. Nobody else knew Lord Voldemort as
well as Dumbledore did. Harry had no idea how that happened, but it always seemed as if the old
wizard had studied the dark wizard for decades already. Without Dumbledore’s insight, he would
probably never stand a chance to defeat the murderer of his parents and despite how annoyed he
was with his headmaster right now, killing Voldemort was something he still very much planned to
do.

And how could he not? Voldemort had destroyed his life. Because of him, Harry had been forced
to grow up with the Dursleys. If the wizard had just left him alone after the murder of his parents,
then maybe he would think differently of him today, but the annual threats to his life and the
danger his friends were constantly in because of that, was something he would not tolerate. Which
meant, he would have to somehow accept to deal with Dumbledore.

Sighing, Harry pushed the convoluted thoughts from his mind, dressed and waited for his aunt to
unlock his door before going downstairs and beginning with his chores. He had been thinking the
same thoughts ever since he had returned to the Dursleys.

The day flew by in a meaningless blur of cooking, cleaning, cooking, gardening, and more…
cooking. He moved like a robot, barely responding to anything his relatives said, not even to
Dudley, who had at one point tried to start a conversation while he was in the garden.

When it grew dark outside, Harry fell onto his bed, and instantly his thoughts began to swirl. It was
annoying how he couldn’t forget the sound of that pain-filled hiss of the wizard who had
overshadowed his life since before his birth, or that strange, blissful feeling when Voldemort had
possessed him.

Why did he always have to be this curious? Why couldn’t he let go of the matter for once? And
why did his guilty conscience have to be so strong that it was practically unbearable? It was
Voldemort he was thinking about after all, the man had killed hundreds of mages and thousands of
muggles and certainly never felt even an ounce of guilt, Harry was sure of that.

Only... Harry truly believed that one didn’t have to lower themselves to somebody else's level.
What Dumbledore had done was wrong and as the proclaimed hero of the Light he couldn’t
condone it. It made him feel bad enough that even the worry about what his friends would think of
him if they knew he wanted to make it up to Voldemort vanished more and more from his mind,
until all lingering doubts had disappeared.The feeling grew unbearable. He couldn’t handle it any
longer!

Without stopping to consider things further, he closed his eyes, following the pull that wanted to
drag him to the dark wizard. Their link had never been that strong, but ever since Voldemort had
possessed him, whatever connected them seemed to pulse agitatedly inside his mind.

A wave of anger washed through him, setting his scar ablaze. For once, Harry thought he deserved
the pain Voldemort’s fury caused him. Without thinking twice, he slid from his bed to reach for
the loose floorboard. He had shrunken his trunk before he had left Hogwarts, relieved that he had
finally learned the shrinking charm that term. Originally, he had mainly done it to not have to
relinquish his things to the cupboard under the stairs, and he had thoughts of actually working on
his homework, but it would involve somehow figuring out how to unshrink his trunk when he
couldn’t use magic, so unfortunately, that was out. But whatever his original reason, he was just
glad that he wouldn’t have to leave his meager amount of possessions behind, regardless of how
short his trip would be. He could only imagine what his family would have done to them if he
disappeared without taking them. Pocketing everything securely, he left his room, which had
fortunately not yet been locked again, and walked down the staircase to leave the house.

He didn’t hear his uncle’s angry shouting as he marched past him and onto the deserted pavement.
Once outside the bloodwards, he closed his eyes once more and concentrated on the link he shared
with Voldemort.

He reached for the link inside his mind. A feeling somewhere between being side-along apparated
and being taken away by a portkey grabbed ahold of him. He spun for what felt like forever. Just
when Harry started to worry that something had gone incredibly wrong, he fell painfully to the
ground. The world was still spinning around him and no sound reached his ears, so Harry carefully
felt what he had landed on; it was grass. A slightly damp and cool meadow.

Groaning, he closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for his equilibrium to return. It did, together
with his sanity. What the bloody hell had he done? He had apparated to who-knows-where,
probably having gotten himself kicked out of Hogwarts in the process and for what? To let himself
be tortured by bloody Voldemort! He was certainly losing his mind.

Thinking about losing his mind, he realized he better move soon before he lost even more, like a
limb or his life. With relief, he noticed that the world had stopped spinning around him and no
curses were flying yet. Quickly, he scrambled back to his feet, only to freeze at the sight in front of
him.

A wide meadow spread nearly to the horizon and at its end, the most impressive castle loomed over
the landscape. It made Hogwarts look like a small shack in comparison, its form and height
reminding him of a mountain. And in the distance, though the darkness had obscured it originally,
he saw moonlight glint off a reflective surface. As he pondered what might be so large and
reflective, his ears seemed to have kicked back into gear after the disorienting apparition, and he
heard faint crashing. His head tilted as he tried to identify the sound. Even as he continued to listen,
unable to decide just what he was hearing and seeing, his nose wrinkled at an unfamiliar, sharp
smell.

What was it he asked himself, trying to piece together what his senses were telling him. Salt! His
brain felt as though a fog had lifted and suddenly the clues pieced themselves together. He was
smelling salt, the crashing he could hear was waves. He was near the ocean!

Harry had never been to the seaside before, and was suddenly gripped with an enormous desire to
get closer to the large, dark expanse. But even as the thought entered his head, he paused,
remembering Aunt Petunia’s admonishments to Dudley about not going too close to the water
alone, and especially not in the dark when he wouldn’t be able to see anything that might be
dangerous. Harry sighed and looked again toward the imposing edifice.

Where the hell had Voldemort found this castle? Or had he built it himself? But no, only a bit over
a year ago, the wizard was still using his paternal home as a hiding place, something Harry was
sure Voldemort wouldn’t have done if he’d had an alternative. But this castle would have taken
longer to build than a mere year, even with magic, he was sure of that. Besides, the whole
structure, despite being clearly in perfect condition from this distance, looked practically ancient.

As if drawn to it, he took a step and another and then another and soon he could make out the first
clear details. The castle itself looked old, older than Hogwarts even. It was darker and more
menacing. The windows were slender, pointed arches, looking more like slits which barely let any
Light through. Many battlements, bay windows and gargoyles decorated the countless towers and
walls.

There was a strange annex situated in front of the castle, looking at least a couple of centuries
younger. It was carved from the same rough stone, but its form reminded Harry of a Greek temple,
only with multiple floors.
Right now, the castle looked deserted, reminding Harry that he should get the hell away from here,
but just then his next step brought him in contact with Voldemort’s powerful wards and he was
once again engulfed in the wizard’s powerful magic and “doing the right thing” vanished from his
mind. How could anybody’s magic feel like this? So strong? So tangible?

In the past few days since his return from the Ministry, Harry had often wondered if he had only
imagined whether Voldemort’s magic had truly felt this good, because despite the crippling pain
the wizard had put him under, it had. Now, he had his answer. It made him wonder, though. How
was it possible that the magic of somebody so foul and evil could feel so right? But it did and for
some reason, it only served to confuse him even more.

In the end it was his frustration that drove him forwards. One step after the other, as if he was
pulled by an invisible string until he soon stood in front of the huge entrance portal. There was a
silver engraving, of which Harry didn’t know the language. Upon Harry taking another step, it
swung silently open, revealing a sparsely lit entrance hall. His steps echoed somewhat ominously
on the limestone tiles. Halting, he took a moment to look around. The Light came from candles in
silver snake-shaped sconces on the wall. There was a huge fireplace as well, but it wasn’t currently
lit.

Turning around his own axis, he tried to orient himself. Across from the entrance, he could make
out another huge portal, and a smaller hallway to his left led to a row of elegant, but simple-looking
doors.

Finally, Harry turned to his right, where a broad staircase led to other levels. As he climbed, he
glanced at the many frames and colorful glass windows he passed, but hadn’t noticed from the
outside. The amount reminded him of Hogwarts, but they didn’t show the usual portraits of witches
and wizards. Most showed scenes Harry couldn’t quite decipher - wizards and witches celebrating
around a huge bonfire or gazing under a star-filled sky. There were depictions of each season and
of magical creatures.

To Harry’s surprise, they often stood side by side with humans. He had the feeling those scenes
should be normal, but it was disturbing how unfamiliar they seemed, making him realize that he
had never before seen anything similar.

He finally reached the next floor, but found only long hallways with those elegant, but simple-
looking doors. Curious, he walked over to the nearest and pushed the handle down. Surprisingly,
the room wasn’t locked. He needed a moment to recognize what kind of room it was; the dummies
along the right wall looked nearly exactly as those the room of requirement had conjured for the
DA meetings.It was a dueling room.

Closing the door again, he climbed up to the next level and then to the next after finding only
another floor of classrooms.

However, the third floor left him utterly surprised. There were no walls separating the wide space;
instead, around an empty island with an ebony counter, rows and rows of bookshelves took up the
space. The whole floor was a gigantic library!
Another floor followed and then, at the next landing, only a long corridor that led to a single, but
very elegantly ornamented door. A huge, silver snake slithered in a square over the shiny, dark
surface. There was the familiar pain of Voldemort’s vicinity throbbing in his scar, but also, just as
during their last encounter, that strange, new sensation of coming home. Of something soothing his
lonely and tormented soul. This had to be it, the door that led to the part of the castle Voldemort
was hiding in.

Harry’s heartbeat quickened and his palms grew clammy with cold sweat. But he had come so far
and he finally was feeling again. Even though it was mainly nervousness and anxiety, it was more
than he had felt these past weeks.

“You should be home, hatchling,” the snake suddenly hissed, pulling him back to the present.
Harry realized that the reptile was staring at him with gleaming, green eyes.

Following an impulse, he pushed the handle down before the serpent could inform its master. On
the other side, Harry found himself at another landing. The staircase and what he could see of the
castle beyond, reminded him of an early medieval castle, like those from the viking documentaries
Dudley loved so much. Well, like a magical version. Vikings back then hadn’t had the resources to
build such huge structures or such detailed stone gargoyles.

However, everything seemed slightly bulkier than at Hogwarts, he apparently had been correct
thinking that it was older than the Scottish castle. Geometric patterns and shapes like viking knots,
formed by snakes were carved into the stones.

There was one symbol that especially caught his attention. Not only because he could spot it nearly
everywhere, but also because it was always crafted with the utmost delicacy. It showed three
serpents intertwined, forming the triskelion symbol. It was then framed by a circle and a triangle
and for some reasons, a straight line also went through the center of the complicated symbol.

Tearing his gaze away, he walked over to the nearest railing, leaned over it and looked down, but
the lower levels were cast in complete darkness. Candles, however, illuminated the way up to the
next floor. There even was a thick, green carpet covering the rough stones. It seemed to lead up to
a set of impressive double doors, which, just as the front doors to the school, opened silently as he
approached.

The chamber beyond took his breath away. It looked like nothing he had ever seen. The rough style
of the viking castle was still strongly present. Thick, wooden beams supported the high ceiling.
Huge, round chandeliers hung on heavy chains. Just as outside and in contrast to the floors
downstairs, they were carved from wood and not made of silver or another precious metal and still
they were masterful with their slightly angular snake edgings.

However, there was a huge difference to what he had seen so far. Someone, maybe Voldemort, had
renovated the room at one point. Instead of rough stone or wood covering the floor, someone had
replaced it with black marble. But it was no ordinary black marble. Silver lines streaked like veins
through it and as he took a closer look, having the impression they moved, he realized that they
were tiny snakes. Some actually weren’t that tiny, but his attention was drawn to the silver throne
to his left.

Shuddering, Harry left again, seeing as there was no sign of the man he was searching for anyway.
Instead, he turned to the staircase again. The next landing was illuminated as well, before the rest
seemed to vanish into darkness. He hoped he would be successful there.

Upstairs, he found himself in what looked like a receiving room and not a hallway. The landing
opened to an open, living room-sized space. There was a fireplace, a small, elegant coffee table
which looked surprisingly British and a few leather armchairs around it.
Thick rugs covered the wooden floorboards. It was no expensive ebony, but something slightly
simpler. Walnut, maybe. Several doors led into adjoining rooms, but Harry knew behind which one
he would find Voldemort.

The one across from him easily stood out, not only because it was arched, but also because he
could feel the wizard’s dark aura leaking from beneath it. Shuddering, he drew in a deep breath and
tried to calm his racing heart. He wanted this. He needed this, he reminded himself.

Hesitating only another moment, he started to walk again, but stopped merely a few steps later. His
eyes had caught something, his reflection in a mirror to his left to be precise, and it made him
realize something. If he entered like this, he would be dead in under a second. Voldemort would
recognize him immediately and the wizard had every reason to kill him on sight.

Cursing inwardly, his eyes darted around searchingly, even though he doubted that he would find
something. Only he did. In one dark corner stood a coat rack with a black cloak hanging on it.

Walking over, he took it from the hook and looked at it. The cloak was long, it would certainly
cover him from head to toe. Quickly, he pulled it over and the hood up so it covered part of his
face. Hopefully it would be enough.

Just like all the other times, the door swung silently open in front of him, opening for him to see
into an elegant parlor. The medieval style was still very much present, but the huge, bulky fireplace
built into the opposite wall, the dark green leather furniture, the coffee table, the thick rugs,
bookshelves and glass cabinets looked far more expensive and unique than anything he had seen so
far.

For a split second, Harry thought Voldemort wasn’t here as well, but then a flash of white caught
his attention in the corner of his eye.

“Who intrudes on Lord Voldemort’s private quarters? No one is allowed here. Speak quickly or
you will find your death without mercy.”

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine at the familiar, hissy voice and potent dark magic that suddenly
crashed like a tidal wave over his head. The feeling was so glorious; more potent than his visions,
but less painful. Apparently, his arrival was not angering the wizard as much as whatever had
caused his distress earlier.

Harry swirled around, only then realizing that he had no excuse why he would have come. Even if
he wasn’t Harry Potter, the wizard certainly wasn’t the type to appreciate guests, especially
unannounced ones.

However, his mind was too busy taking in the picture in front of him, which was almost pitiful in
contrast to the display from a few weeks ago.
Voldemort sat in a wingback armchair, a dark green and black patterned blanket covering his legs.
He looked weak, slumped slightly to the side and front, one arm supporting the weight of his upper
body on the arm rest, the other shaking slightly with the effort to hold his wand up.

But that was not what shocked him to the core. The cracks in Voldemort’s skin had deepened and
spread into finer lines, looking more like spider webs. Parts of the skin seemed to peel away,
leaving raw flesh exposed to the air. Some parts, Harry could see even from this distance, had
gotten badly infected and were oozing yellow pus. The stench, he noticed then, hung heavily in the
air, making the room reek like the chamber of a dying man.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Had Dumbledore caused this? It seemed worse than all the
killing curses Voldemort had used put together. The sense of betrayal inside of him deepened. How
could the headmaster, with all his preaching about right actions and the impurity of dark magic, use
such a curse? Harry wouldn’t do this to his worst enemy, it made him sick to his stomach, even as
some part of his brain realized that this probably was the perfect opportunity to kill the wizard once
and for all. But no, he couldn’t do that. Killing a dying man would make him just as bad as those
he fought and that wasn’t who he was.

A sudden, aggressive hiss made him jump. His eyes roamed the room frantically until they finally
landed on a huge, black snake to Voldemort’s feet. It was Nagini, Lord Voldemort’s faithful and
horrifying familiar. The serpent was nearly invisible, curled up on the dark blanket, but now she
was raising her upper body, reminding Harry that a wizard like Voldemort was never truly
unprotected.

And then his eyes caught something else; A bare, white bone next to the scaled body, which
shifted slightly.

“Lord Voldemort is not known for his patience. Be glad that you are a mere boy and pose no
possible danger to me,” Voldemort suddenly hissed, reminding Harry, who was still staring frozen
at the bone, that the wizard was still waiting for an answer.

Something suddenly sparked in Harry’s chest, ignited by the feeling of disgust and betrayal. This
was not how the Light side should fight and if it did so, then it was his duty as their figurehead to
make up for it.

He sank to his knees, copying the pose he had seen the Death Eaters take over a year ago at their
reunion at the graveyard. He placed his right over his heart and bowed his head, before praying to
every deity who would listen that Voldemort wouldn’t recognize his voice.

“My Lord, I have heard of your return and searched for you the whole summer.”

A hissing laughter interrupted him. “And you think becoming one of my followers is as easy as
marching in here and offering your services? I do not accept children to my ranks and neither do I
accept just anyone. Applicants have to prove themselves before they are allowed to join me.”

The dark magic around him tightened, but when he opened his mouth to respond with something,
Voldemort gave him no opportunity to speak.
“And do not promise me riches. One can not buy a silver mask.”

Harry shook his head, feeling frantic. Somehow the urge to convince Voldemort had overcome
him, it was like a tingle that stretched through his body and over his skin.
“No, my Lord. I couldn’t offer you riches anyway,” he said, thinking of his trust vault which had
seemed so gigantic at the beginning of his first year but had shrunk immensely, even though he
barely retrieved any money from it. It was probably his fees for Hogwarts causing the
deterioration. “I am not a Lord or an Heir. I am not even a Pureblood.”

Realizing that Voldemort had fallen silent, Harry dared to glance up. The wizard had cocked his
head and was examining him intensely. He didn’t dare to speak or even twitch as he waited for
whatever decision the wizard was pondering on. Finally Voldemort spoke, his voice sounding
calmer to Harry’s relief.

“What is your name?”

Suddenly panicked, Harry’s eyes flitted across the room, searching for inspiration, something that
wouldn’t be too obvious. He soon found it as his eyes halted on a framed, ancient parchment scroll.
It showed a detailed calligraphy drawing and was surrounded by an artful frame of runes. “Hades,”
he muttered, absentmindedly as his eyes automatically deciphered the ancient script.

“Hades? And your family name?”

Realizing that Voldemort must have heard him, Harry quickly added, “Hades Dursley,” in the hope
that using his relatives’ name would help him to not slip up with his lies. Of course, he realized a
second too late, it could just as well bite him in the arse if Voldemort had heard about them.

Fortunately that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I indeed could use a servant at the current time. However, it is so hard to find an individual who
meets the magical requirements. Few possess the magical gifts I require and even less can handle
the pure magic I was blessed with. Come here, Hades,” he beckoned Harry over.
Harry hesitated. He had the feeling he didn’t quite understand what he would be agreeing to and
Nagini hissing threateningly to his feet was not encouraging either.
“You do wish to serve me?” Voldemort hissed, the threatening undertone already back in his voice.
No, Harry did not wish to serve him. However, he wanted, no, he just needed to find out what drew
him towards his nemesis. Also, he needed to make up for Dumbledore’s cruelty. So after closing
his eyes and gathering his famous Gryffindor courage, he carefully approached.

“Don’t you dare…” Nagini hissed, but to his relief the huge snake slithered to the side.

“Give me your hand,” Voldemort commanded.

This time, Harry didn’t hesitate. He had to suppress a gasp when Voldemort’s spidery fingers
touched him. The coldness and clamminess was just as he had expected, but not the sizzling sparks
of dark magic that pricked his skin almost teasingly where they touched.

Just like back in the Department of Mysteries, his magic suddenly came alive. It made a motion as
if wanting to rush forwards to try and connect again, but he had enough practice with his volatile
and often almost sentient magic to mentally clamp the lid shut on it. He felt his heart race like mad
in his chest and was afraid that his body (or eyes) could betray something (even though he wasn’t
quite sure what). He thus forced himself to look somewhere else, anywhere other than down onto
their joined hands.

However, being that close meant that instead, he found himself staring directly into that gaunt,
snake-like face. Voldemort had closed his eyes in deep concentration and there was a slight frown
marring his waxen skin. From this close up, Harry could see that the flakes peeling off from his
skin were scales. It made him shudder again. He had expected that the wizard was more snake than
human by now, but not that it would show so outwardly.

Suddenly, those gleaming eyes snapped open, instantly focusing on him.

“Your magic is... interesting. Combined with your strong will to serve, you may prove to be exactly
what I am looking for after all''.”

“It seems, lady magic is looking down on me favorably once again,” Voldemort suddenly stated,
his red eyes snapping open once more. Not knowing if he should feel relieved or afraid, Harry
could only gulp in nervousness.

Then, the dark Lord let go of his hand and rose, the blanket falling carelessly onto the floor.
Automatically, Harry took a step back only to gasp aloud this time. The bone he had seen earlier
was not from a toe or something similar, it was the end of a huge snake tail. A tail that was
connected to Voldemort’s lower body.

Unable to compose himself, he staggered a few steps backward as the man slithered over to a
bookshelf that nearly covered the entire wall.
“Scared, disgusting humans,” Nagini hissed irritatedly.
It jolted Harry out of his behavior, just in time before Voldemort turned back around, an old scroll
in his hands.

“We will agree upon a short temporary contract for now. Such contracts can only function to the
satisfaction of all participants if the correct stipulations are met, which requires a certain level of
knowledge about the other.”

Harry didn’t mention that he believed to know the wizard quite well already, knowing that it would
only raise Voldemort’s suspicion. Therefore, he just nodded.

“Our first contract therefore will be rather impersonal and perhaps also unsatisfactory. However,
the close proximity we will be living in should be enough for me to work out a more suitable
contract should we decide to prolong our arrangement when the period is up. Should you wish to
remain in my service after the time is up, I am confident I will be able to arrange a more equal
agreement for your next holidays. Now, what do you know about magical lieges?” Voldemort
asked, sitting back in his wingback chair. His chest was heaving as if the small distance to the shelf
and back had exhausted him greatly.

“Nothing,” Harry answered truthfully, knowing that he would never be able to lie his way through
this.
Voldemort huffed. “The education of wizarding half bloods, muggle borns and orphans is
something I will change as soon as I have the resources, as well as the general policy surrounding
them.” He looked irritated for a moment, before continuing:
“The concept of fealty is, in its foundation, not marginally different from that of muggles.
However, the duty of a magical liege is determined by the binding contract between the
participants and may not necessarily be equated to military services.”

Voldemort gave him a look and Harry nodded, indicating that he understood so far.

“In your case, you will provide me with magic through the link we form and act as my personal
assistant.”
“So, I won’t have to kill?” Harry asked, the thought suddenly coming to him.
Voldemort threw him a sharp glare, probably for interrupting, but inclined his head. “Do NOT
interrupt me,'' he pointedly hissed, staring until Harry was forced to look away and mutter: It won't
happen again'. The gaze lingered for a moment longer, until at last Voldemort inclined his head. “It
is not necessary. I have enough brutes for the dirty work if I require such services. A trustworthy
personal assistant is much harder to come by. I hope you will prove yourself worthy.”
There was that threatening undertone again.

“Now, kneel,” Voldemort motioned to a point directly in front of him.

Swallowing heavily, Harry stepped closer as the wizard ordered his familiar to the side and, to his
relief, to stay there. Not that he was generally afraid of snakes. But of snakes who were the Dark
Lord’s familiar and to whom he could not speak to because of that, he was.

He knelt down, his heart beating nervously against his chest while he waited for further
instructions.
Finally, Voldemort pushed his right sleeve up and held his arm out.
“Grab my wrist and repeat after me.”

Bracing himself for the onslaught of sensation that was bound to overwhelm him at the required
touch, Harry did as told. Immediately, Voldemort’s potent magic began to dance over his skin
again. However, he still had a tight grasp on his magic. The heady feeling was making him almost
able to ignore the disgusting feeling of the wizard’s skin. The sensation was stronger this time,
probably because of the larger surface of contact. It distracted him so much that he almost missed
Voldemort beginning to speak.

“By the Lady before whom this sanctuary is holy.”

“By the Lady before whom this sanctuary is holy,” he repeated, certain his voice sounded less
ceremonious.

“I will to Lord Voldemort be true and faithful, and guard the secrets of his house, according to the
laws of Magic and the order of the world,” Voldemort said, his magic rising like swirling mists of
black magic into the air along with Harry’s response.
“I will to Lord Voldemort be true and faithful, and guard the secrets of his house, according to the
laws of Magic and the order of the world.”

“Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is displeasing to him,
on the condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it.”
“Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is displeasing to him,
on the condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it.” The prickling on his skin grew
stronger and Harry barely kept his magic from rushing out and connecting with Voldemort’s before
the vow was completed. It took him all his willpower, but the fear of what might happen if he let
his magic slip and his enemy grew suspicious lent him strength.

“To him I will lend my powers, to fight and to guard, to heal and to preserve. To him I will submit
my power and my magic.”
“To him I will lend my powers, to fight and to guard, to heal and to preserve. To him I will submit
my power and my magic.” The tingling spread through his whole body, and he couldn’t keep his
magic at bay any longer. It rushed out as if in greeting, not yet intertwining.

“Until the ninth moon rises I shall be his,” Voldemort finally ended.
“Until…” his voice suddenly shook, the potent magic in the air imposing what he was about to do
in his mind, and it frightened him. For nearly two months, he would sign his life away to his
archenemy. But he couldn’t back out now. Not only because it would certainly mean his death, but
also because it still felt strangely right.
“Until the ninth moon rises I shall be his.”

“So mote it be,” Voldemort ended and opened his hand to release Harry.
However, he was too occupied with something snapping into place between them. It was like the
sensation in the Department, like laying eyes upon his home after returning from a long journey,
only stronger. The sensation felt right and wrong at the same time, because it was so good and still
too little, because gazing at one's home meant that one still had to reach their destiny. Only when
Voldemort pulled his arm away with more force than necessary did he finally come back to his
senses.

“I… I am sorry, My Lord,” he gasped, and hastily scrambled away to push himself back onto his
feet.
Voldemort didn’t react. Not really, at least.
“Your arm,” he merely said and waited for Harry to come closer again.
Hesitantly, Harry did as told, wondering what his first order would be. But when he once more
stood directly in front of the wizard, Voldemort merely grabbed his upper arm and pulled himself
up. Only then did Harry realize that the magical vow must have drained the already weakened man
even more.

“To your bedchamber?” he asked hesitantly, carefully, unsure if he would overstep some invisible
boundary. But Voldemort, maybe because of tiredness, or maybe because he truly didn’t mind,
merely inclined his head and pointed in the direction of a door Harry hadn’t noticed yet.

Nodding, Harry let the wizard brace himself on his shoulder and waited for a sign before slowly
beginning to walk into the indicated direction, Nagini slithering along behind them, hissing threats
to the teen which both Harry and Voldemort ignored. Voldemort was much heavier than he would
have assumed with his skeletal frame. Maybe it was the long, heavy tail that was about twice as
long as his upper body.

From this close, he could make out the thick muscles that must have given the wizard
unimaginable speed and power once, but now, the scales were dull and in some places covered by
blood and puss. Especially the tip with the exposed bone looked horribly painful. Closing his eyes,
he tried to push the thought about who had caused this to the side and instead concentrated on the
dragging sound as he helped, or more accurately pulled, Voldemort slowly toward his bedroom.

Next to him, Voldemort was once again breathing heavily and to Harry’s shock, he noticed that he
could barely feel the indescribable power of the wizard anymore. He was relieved when they
finally reached the door, fearing that his temporary charge would pass out on him if the way were
any longer.

Voldemort’s bedroom matched the rest of the castle. A bulky, four-poster bed dominated the dimly
lit space and the rest was occupied by a huge wardrobe. There were two adjoining rooms; one,
Harry assumed, an en suite.

He dragged the wizard over to the bed, before letting go of him. Voldemort slumped gracelessly,
half on the bed while his lower half was still sprawled on the ground and hissed in irritation.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, glad that the wizard was clearly too weak to curse him in retaliation.
He bent down and searched for an uninjured spot so that he could lift the tail up. However, with all
the smeared blood and pus it was hard to say. Some had already dried and crusted over, making
him wonder for how long Voldemort had been too weak to clean himself.

“Wait a moment, I will get a wet towel,” he said before turning to the nearest door, hoping to find
the bathroom there. To his relief, candles flickered to life as soon as he stepped inside. He sighed in
relief when he saw the huge, sunken-in tub and the rather modern looking toilet. Good. He wasn’t
sure if he could have dealt with a pit latrine for the next few weeks.

It wasn’t hard to find a small towel, they rather stood out, black as they were, and to his surprise,
he also found a rather large bowl which he filled with warm water and a few drops from something
that looked like a potion, but smelled like soap. Carefully, he carried everything into the bedroom,
where he found Voldemort barely conscious.

The thought that this was the perfect moment to end Voldemort and the war once again flashed
through his mind, but, like earlier, he just pushed it to the side. Besides all the good reasons he had
already listed when he had first seen the wizard, he was also currently bound to him. Hadn’t there
been something in the vow not to harm in any way? Even if not, chances were high that any
attempt on Voldemort’s life would kill him right now. He had given a promise and he would fulfill
it to the best of his capabilities.

Concentration returning to the task at hand, he turned to place the bowl down.
“I am back,” he said in warning, but no answer came, so he carefully looked for a good spot to start
and began to carefully dab over the scales. Voldemort didn’t twitch, so he at least hadn’t instantly
found one of the open wounds.

Carefully, he cleaned a small spot of all grime and filth. The scales beneath must have been
beautiful once. They were strangely smooth to the touch and of the darkest black Harry had ever
seen. However, currently they were also unnaturally cold and dull and dry looking.

Seeing that the towel shimmered, already dirty, Harry leaned to the side and wrung it out
thoroughly. A cloud of yellowish brown water tinted the clear liquid and spread a foul stench in the
air. He would search for some healing ointment once Voldemort was settled. And maybe cook him
something, he added mentally with a glance at the emaciated body.

As he continued to clean, he fell into an almost meditative state. Somehow this felt good, as
horrible as the situation was and as much as he didn’t wish Voldemort’s fate on anybody. But this
taking-care-of, it felt better than anything else he had done in the last two years. Somehow, caring
for Lord Voldemort felt like a better purpose for his life than fighting dragons, blast-ended
skrewts, and the ever-looming darkness. Maybe it was, because Harry had always found that taking
care of somebody was always better than fighting and killing. Besides, menial work had always
served to distract him from his worries.

When the water in the bowl had darkened to a muddy brown, Harry exchanged it. But when he
came back, he realized that only the infected wounds were left. He was no healer and truthfully, it
frightened him that he could possibly hurt the wizard even more. However, he had been injured
enough times to know that doing nothing would be even worse.

So instead, he looked up, trying to meet Voldemort’s eyes, but they were hazy and unfocused. Still
he said, “This may hurt, my Lord,” before continuing.
And it did hurt apparently. Voldemort hissed as soon as the cloth touched the first wound. As
much as the dark wizard liked to inflict pain, he clearly had no tolerance for it himself. Maybe that
was why he thought the cruciatus to be such a good punishment.

However, as he slowly cleared the wounds, Harry had to admit that it looked worse than anything
he had had to endure so far. The curse had eaten itself deep into the flesh and the edges of them
looked as if they were slowly decaying.

His respect for Dumbledore sunk to an all-time low. Where had the man even learned such a curse?
Wasn’t he the epitome of a Light wizard?

Finally, after what felt like hours, he tossed the cloth back into the water and sighed in exhaustion.
Above him, Voldemort’s pain-filled muttering slowly quieted down until only deep breathing
could be heard.

Knowing that he would likely fall asleep on the spot if he didn’t move soon, Harry pushed himself
back onto his feet and went to clean out the bowl and put it away. Once finished, he checked the
cabinets for any healing salve, but he was unsuccessful. However, Voldemort could really use
some and he doubted that the wizard didn’t possess a well-filled potions stock. Even if he was as
talented as Harry, he had Snape working for him, right?

So he walked back into the bedroom and checked the second door, but it only led to a small
chamber with nothing but an unused looking bed and dresser in it. He returned to the parlor, but
one glance was enough to see that the shelves only held books, with the exception of a glass
cabinet which housed a row of expensive looking bottles with amber liquids in different shades and
equally elegant tumblers and wine glasses.

Turning back around to look at Voldemort’s bedroom door, he chewed on his bottom lip
indecisively. He would have to leave the wizard alone if he wanted to continue searching. But then
again, the wizard would probably sleep for hours and Harry would have to leave for cooking as
well. It probably would be best to leave now and be back as quickly as possible.

Making up his mind, he walked back out into the hallway and began to check the other doors.
“Where is the new human going? Master does not look better yet!” He heard Nagini hiss in
irritation, but ignored her. There wasn’t really anything else he could do anyway.

However, he only found a middle sized dining room, something like a private office and another
library and, to his surprise, a small kitchen.

Not about to give up, he turned to the staircase and descended to the next lower level. However, it
held nothing but the throne room and something that looked suspiciously like a ballroom.
Shuddering, he quickly walked out again and went to the next level.

As soon as he stepped from the staircase, he noticed that it was a few degrees colder here, but that
was not the only thing reminding him of Snape’s potions classroom at Hogwarts, the sturdy doors
and gloomy Light did so as well. Not that the castle was generally a very bright place, but it was
even worse down here.

Opening the nearest door, Harry sighed in relief. He had been right. However, the room beyond
was merely a sterile looking lab without even any storage room or shelf. He found a few more labs
before encountering the first storeroom, but it only held ingredients.

Harry soon realized that the reason Lord Voldemort had no potions lab upstairs was that he was
apparently an even more obsessed brewer than Snape himself. The labs were all spotless and the
storage rooms sorted by dried, fresh and pickled ingredients. When he finally found what he was
looking for, he immediately wanted to turn back and leave again.

Shelves upon shelves filled with vials and jars. At least, he noticed, the shelves were sorted
thematically and alphabetically. The shelf with the tag Medical Potions and Ointments stood
somewhere near the center and to his relief, he actually spotted a jar which was filled with a
familiar, bright purple salve.

They had brewed this ointment last year. It was used to prevent infections and in its more potent
form, to draw them out. Looking at the shelf in front of him, he saw that, indeed, the shades in the
jars differed. Hopefully, he remembered correctly that the darker the shade of purple, the more
potent the ointment would be.

He also fetched a few rolls of bandages which he had seen in a store room earlier, before returning
to Voldemort’s bedroom.

“Finally! Make Master better now!” Nagini hissed upon his entry. She once again lay curled
directly in front of her master, her gleaming yellow eyes never leaving Harry. It made him more
nervous than he dared admit.
The wizard himself lay in the exact same position as Harry had left him, but his breathing had
calmed somewhat. Looking down at the man, he pondered how to best go about this. The easiest
solution would probably be to sit down next to him, but somehow that felt like intruding.
However, when he tried to lift the tail for better access, he realized that it was his only possibility.
Praying that Voldemort wouldn’t wake up, he gingerly sat down on the bed, near the tip of the tail,
and heaved it onto his lap. Voldemort groaned in his sleep, but didn’t wake, fortunately.

Unscrewing the jar, Harry placed it carefully onto the mattress to his left and scooped a generous
portion up. He tried to be careful as he covered the infected wounds, but careful clearly wasn’t
careful enough. Soon Voldemort started to mutter, hiss and toss in his sleep again as he proceeded.

Once he had covered about 15 inches of the tail, he picked up the gauze and began to wrap it, using
the chance to carefully enclose the bony tip in an especially thick layer.

Finished, he lifted the tail with a groan and scooted a bit further up to start the procedure again.
This way, he slowly but steadily worked his way up, only halting when he suddenly realized that
he had reached the wizard’s hips. Flushing, he tried to not think about what should usually lay
there and just thanked Merlin that snake genitalia were apparently invisible or hidden or whatever.

Still, it was so odd to touch his archenemy in a place he always had seen as intimate and therefore
hurried as much as he dared.

Finally, he rose to his feet, placed the now empty jar onto Voldemort’s nightstand, cleaned his
hands and then covered the man with the heavy duvet that lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

As he tucked the wizard in, he couldn’t help but stare at Voldemort for a moment. The gaunt, nose-
less face looked so horrible and he suddenly wondered what had prompted an attractive, charming
young man to disfigure himself like this.

Shaking his head, he turned once more to leave.

“Protect your Master. I am going to cook him some food,” he told Nagini in passing, but wasn’t
sure if she could understand English or not. She hissed in return, a sound that could have been
agreement or disagreement as it wasn’t an actual word, not even in Parseltongue. Probably the
snake-equivalent of “hm”.

By now the walk through the parlor and the hallway felt oddly familiar. On the short way, he
wondered what an ill dark lord would enjoy for dinner- or rather breakfast as the sun was already
rising outside.

However as he entered the kitchen and took more than a superficial look, he realized that he had a
whole different problem to deal with first. The kitchen looked as if a bomb had exploded in the
middle of it. A few pans lay scattered on the floor. A couple of cracked eggs had dripped down the
stony counter and dried. Oat flakes had scattered practically everywhere and in some spots, had
transformed milk into a glue-like substance.

Apparently Lord Voldemort had tried to cook, rather unsuccessfully, because the condition of the
kitchen couldn’t be explained otherwise. A house elf certainly would never leave such a mess. But
thinking of house elves, did Voldemort have one? He hadn’t seen one of the creatures anywhere,
which somehow seemed odd for a traditionalist like the dark lord.

Sighing in resignation, he searched for a bucket, mop and everything else he needed to clean the
mess. Fortunately someone (probably not Voldemort in his opinion) had stored all necessary
utensils in a small broom closet.

Ten minutes later, he was cursing Voldemort to hell and back. The milk-oat flakes-glue had dried
to such a hard mass that it made him understand how muggle houses from the medieval ages could
still be standing with cement made from oat or rice. In the end he had to use a sharp knife to get the
stuff out of the small spaces between the rough stones. Once that was done, the rest took almost no
time at all in comparison.

However, with that problem out of the way, he encountered a new one. As in all wizarding houses,
the kitchen only possessed a simple oven, which was lit with fire. However, the embers had long
since died and there were no matches in sight. Neither could he use his wand however, as that
would only bring the Ministry to their doors.

Fortunately, he was inventive. He walked back to the parlor, where he threw some more logs into
the fire before carefully picking one of the burning ones up. With the makeshift torch in hand, he
returned to the kitchen and got the oven going.

Next, he began to search for something to cook, after all that was why he had come here in the first
place. While cleaning, he noticed a door with an engraved rune which he had also seen in the
Weasley’s kitchen once. It was a rune to keep a preservation charm in place without draining the
caster and, to his joy, the room beyond was not only huge, but also stocked to the brim.

Different kinds of fresh meats, fish, ham, sausages, cheeses, fruits, veggies- everything was there.
It almost felt like a dream come true. He had always loved cooking, even for the Dursleys.
However, his relatives did not belong to those people who enjoyed trying out new dishes. For now
though, he simply took a chicken, some vegetables, milk, a cup of oat flakes which had not lain on
the ground and some honey for sweetening the oatmeal later.

He washed the chicken and the veggies before cutting the carrot, onion, celeriac and leek. He
added two cloves and two small bay leaves, pepper and salt and put everything on the stove.

The chicken broth would need time, but the porridge was ready soon enough. If Voldemort did
wake up in the next three hours, he could at least give the wizard something to eat.

Once the porridge had thickened enough, he stirred some honey in and put everything to the side so
it wouldn’t burn. By now he was tired to the bones. However, the oatmeal smelled good enough
that he fetched a bowl and took a small portion to eat while leaning against the counter.

He hummed in bliss as the rich flavor of the honey reached his tongue and quickly devoured the
rest of it before placing his empty dishes in the sink to clean later.
Suppressing a yawn, he checked the stove one last time before leaving the kitchen again.

Seeing that he didn’t know where he was supposed to sleep, he simply made his way to the sofa in
Voldemort’s parlor. Sighing, he let himself fall down, totally exhausted. He had been up for more
than 20 hours and it had been the craziest day of his crazy life.

Glancing at the wooden ceiling above, he still couldn’t believe that he had truly gone to
Voldemort’s hiding place. And that he didn’t regret it so far.

His thoughts wandered to his friends. They wouldn’t understand this and neither would Sirius. The
thought sent a small shockwave of anguish through him, draining the little excitement he had
gathered during the day. Within seconds, the hollowness was inside and with it, the doubts.

Sirius had lost his life fighting Voldemort’s Death Eaters. He had died fighting the man he was
currently nursing back to health. It was practically a betrayal, what he was doing.

Unable to think about it any longer, he closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He hated this
feeling and it had only taken him a few hours to almost forget just how horrible it was.

Almost instinctively, he closed his eyes and felt out the strange connection that was still pulling
him towards the Dark Lord. But to his surprise, he couldn't feel only one link anymore, but two.
They coiled and twined around each other, and the second one looked marginally different. While
Harry’s link was of a bright, golden color and strong looking, Voldemort’s was thin and frail
looking and from a dull black.

What had Voldemort said again? That Harry would provide him with magic through the bond?
That would mean that the golden aura was his. His magic. Lively, Voldemort had called it and it
certainly looked like it, even though Harry felt everything but. He supposed Voldemort needed his
magic more than he himself right now.

Feeling more tired than anytime before, he let his eyes fall shut and allowed the crackling of the
fire in the hearth lull him into sleep.
 What Keeps You Going
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 2: What Keeps You Going

Harry was awoken by something heavy moving on top of him. Groaning, he opened his eyes, but
his glasses must have fallen off during the night and all he could make out were fuzzy brown
colors above him.

Furrowing his brows, he frowned at the unfamiliar ceiling. It was too far away to be the baldachin
of his four-poster in the Gryffindor dorms and the ceiling in the Hospital Wing and at Privet Drive
was white.

But hadn’t he gone back to his relatives? Instantly, the familiar feeling of heavy weights pinning
his arms and legs to the soft furniture he was lying on overwhelmed him and all of his strength
seemed to evaporate. Maybe he could get through with not getting up for once?

However, before he could ponder more about it, his attention was once again distracted by the
heavy thing moving on his chest and as he propped his upper body up slightly, he saw that it was
something long, thick and black.

“Master is stirring,” Nagini hissed and the memories from the day before came rushing back and
with it, a myriad of conflicting emotions that only weighed him down even more.
Still he asked, “Something wrong?” to not draw the snake’s suspicion.
“Go feed him,” the snake ordered.
Not wanting to make the impression that he actually understood, Harry muttered “I will just go
check on him.”
As he moved to stand up, Nagini obediently slithered back to the floor. She threw him a glance and
began to lead the way, probably afraid that he would otherwise neglect his task, so he began to drag
himself over to the bedroom.

He knocked quietly, just in case Voldemort was fully coherent again, before entering when no
answer came. He needn’t have worried. While Nagini was right so far that the wizard didn’t seem
deeply asleep anymore, the curse and bonding must have taken more out of him than Voldemort
had let show upon Harry’s first arrival.

Staring at the man, he numbly wondered what had made him agree to this, but now it was too late,
for the next two months he was bound to help his archenemy. Resigned, Harry took in the form on
the bed more closely.

Voldemort’s gaze was unfocused and he seemed still weak and rather disoriented. Would the man
even notice if he just did nothing these next two weeks? Maybe the outcome would help his guilty
conscience. But then Nagini hissed threateningly at his feet and he realized while Voldemort might
not be able to force him into helping currently, the snake very well could.

Therefore, he quickly stepped closer and said:

“Good morning, My Lord,” as politely as he could muster, just in case the man would remember
this encounter once he was back on his feet.

Right now however, Voldemort only hissed “Nagini?” as if he hadn’t even heard Harry.
“I am here, Master. I will watch your new servant so that he will not harm you.”
The big snake slithered onto the bed and coiled up close to her master’s head, who turned his face
into her direction.

“Nagini, where are my followers? Where is Wormtail?”

Harry scoffed silently to himself as he uncertainly observed the scene. Despite not wanting to, he
needed to check on Voldemort’s wound first, but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to interrupt. He had
the feeling that Voldemort was a man who generally didn’t tolerate disrespectfulness, but then
again, it seemed the man still hadn’t sensed his presence, or why else would he ask for Wormtail?

No wonder that Voldemort was barely alive, not if the sniveling rat had taken care of him. The
man seemed as incompetent as a human could possibly be and probably too cowardly to stay near
the master he had chosen himself. Disgusting.

“He has left you, Master. Don’t you remember? But your new servant is here.”

Taking this as his clue, Harry took a step forward and said “I will check your bandages, My Lord.”
However, the wizard didn’t answer. In fact, he seemed to have fallen back to sleep, maybe soothed
by his familiar’s presence.

Voldemort shivered as he pulled the duvet off and Harry decided to hurry. The bandages had
turned a disgusting shade of yellow, a sign that the ointment had worked and drawn the puss out.
He would have to change this later, but considering the emaciated state of the man and the state the
kitchen had been in, Harry decided to get him something to eat first.

He covered Voldemort again and then turned to leave, ignoring Nagini’s threatening hisses about
what she would all do to him if he didn’t return. He passed the hallway, which seemed much
longer than the day before, and entered the kitchen. With a wince, he remembered his soup and
quickened his pace, afraid of what he would find. A burned chicken and vegetables at the bottom
of the huge iron pot probably, but to his relief nothing of the sort had happened.

The broth was cold, the fat having gathered and hardened on the surface. The vegetables looked
almost mushy, but not burned and the meat soft enough to peel it from the bones with a spoon.

Frowning, he bent down and opened the small metal door to the hearth, only to find it had
extinguished at some point. Not because the wood hadn’t lasted apparently, but because he must
have done something wrong when stoking the fire, luckily.

It did mean that he had to return to the parlor and gather a new burning log to get everything going
again. Sighing, he walked back, only to notice that the fire in the parlor had shrunken to glowing
embers as well. He stoked it back to life, a process that took more time than he ever would have
expected. But finally, he could pick up one of the smaller logs and carry it back to the kitchen. He
would have to keep an eye on all the hearths and maybe Light a few more, just in case.

The lethargy, temporarily chased away by his scare about the soup, was once again back, but he
forced himself to keep working.

It didn’t take long to re-heat the porridge and soup. After fishing the vegetables and chicken out, he
filled a mug with clear broth. It would hopefully help Voldemort to gather some strength again.
However, he doubted the man was in the condition to chew the meat right now. Once he had
prepared everything, he searched for a tray, which he luckily found in one of the cupboards, and
carried everything into the bedroom.

Voldemort lay motionless once more and for a moment, Harry stood there, staring at him
indecisively. Should he spoon-feed the man? It seemed like the only option currently. Hopefully
Voldenort’s recollection of his illness would not be very precise, Harry could only imagine how a
proud wizard like the dark lord would react to the realization that he had needed care like a small
toddler or an old man.
“Why are you just standing there? Move, little human!” Nagini hissed suddenly, jolting Harry into
action and chasing all thoughts about snooping around from his mind. He placed the tray on the
nightstand and carefully approached Voldemort.

“My Lord,” he said a bit louder than usual. “I made you some breakfast.”
Voldemort didn’t wake.
Biting his bottom lip, Harry tried again, this time even shaking the man’s shoulder Lightly.
“My Lord, I brought breakfast.”

When nothing happened again, Harry sighed and looked around helplessly. How was he supposed
to give a sleeping, lying man his breakfast? He probably should prop him up first. At least he
would have something to do then. However, there was only a single pillow, the one which
Voldemort lay upon, which wouldn’t be enough. In the parlor however, he had seen a few on the
sofa and wingback armchair.

He gathered as many as he could carry and began to push them underneath Voldemort’s bigger
pillow. It wasn’t a nice or gentle procedure, having to push the taller wizard to the side and up a
little whenever he added another pillow and soon Voldemort began to mutter again until a sudden
pain shot through his scar and he gasped in pain.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Harry muttered, throwing the unconscious dark lord a glare and rubbing his
scar. “I had enough of this last year!”

He didn’t understand. How could Voldemort’s magic feel so comforting and at the same time, his
scar still hurt? It made no sense at all. But that reminded him that he still needed to try to find out
why he even reacted to the wizard’s magic like he did. After all, this was the perfect opportunity.
When else would he be at Voldemort's castle and have the chance to snoop around? Once he left
and returned to his normal life, he would probably only return as a prisoner to be tortured and
killed.

Grimacing at the thought, Harry pushed the image to the far recesses of his mind and concentrated
again on the task at hand. Voldemort had calmed down again, so he returned to his task with new
energy and vigor. He pushed another pillow under Voldemort’s back and slowly but surely the
wizard’s upper body rose. When Harry was sure the man wouldn’t choke to death, he shook him
once more.

“My Lord, will you not eat your breakfast?”

Apparently the procedure had woken Voldemort enough that he at least understood what Harry
was asking, because he slowly opened his mouth. Dumbfounded, Harry stared at him for a second,
but then could have slapped himself. Of course Voldemort would be too weak to eat himself right
now. Hell, he still looked not quite aware, despite obliging.

Picking the tray up, he questioned. “Can I sit down next to you?” and waited for a small nod.
Putting the tray securely onto his lap, he took the folded napkin, spread it and tucked it under
Voldemort’s chin. Merlin, hopefully the wizard would let him live once this was all over. He could
only imagine how Lord Voldemort would react to the memory of being spoon-fed by his 15-year-
old archenemy.

“Want something to drink first?” he asked, lifting the mug of broth up. At a nod, he put it against
Voldemort’s lipless mouth and began to tilt it carefully. The wizard must have been dying of thirst,
because he almost drained the whole mug before turning his head to the side.

Placing it back on the tray, Harry grabbed the glass of water he had added at an afterthought and
said, “Take some water. It will make the porridge taste better.”

To his surprise, Voldemort drained half of it as well, before he turned his head once more. Seeing
that some liquid had run down the man’s chin, Harry grabbed an edge of the napkin and carefully
wiped the pale face.

Voldemort made a face of deep discontent, but stayed silent and Harry’s scar did nothing more
than tingle faintly.

Sighing in relief, Harry placed the glass to the side and concentrated on the task at hand.
“My Lord, I have made some porridge as well,” he said and then without thinking, “Do you like
porridge? I saw you tried to make some.” Instantly, he winced at his own stupidity. Pointing out
the Dark Lord’s weaknesses was a stupid move at the best of days.

A frown marred the pale forehead for a moment, but then the mouth opened again and Harry
sighed a breath of relief. Maybe he would be lucky and Voldemort would be too out of it to
remember this conversation later.

He picked up the bowl and scooped a small portion on a spoon.

“I put some honey in it. Otherwise porridge tastes so bland…” he rambled. It was so strange to just
sit there and shove food into Voldemort’s mouth, even though the wizard was too weak to answer.
But Harry had always felt that being ignored was the cruelest way people could treat you.
“Besides, honey is really good. Lots of enzymes and antioxidants and it’s anti-inflammatory.”

He pushed the spoon into Voldemort’s mouth and waited for the wizard to swallow.
“Once you can eat proper food again, I could cook your favorite dish. If I know the recipe, that is.
A friend once told me that some wizards like to eat strange things. Like Devil’s Snare stew. Do
you eat things like that?”
He kept the thought to himself that until recently, he would have bet all his money on Voldemort
not needing to eat at all or just drinking blood like a vampire. Clearly he had been wrong, even
though the wizard didn’t answer.

The porridge however, seemed to be appreciated well enough. Voldemort nearly devoured the
whole portion, even though it took ages. At some point his nemesis just fell asleep and Harry
decided not to wake him for the last couple of spoons. Rest was just as important as healthy food to
get back on track and sleep after a good meal was even better. He knew that because he had craved
it so often. Of course, the Dursleys had always denied him.

Sighing, he got up and returned the dirty dishes before fetching a new pot of ointment and fresh
gauze.
Once again Voldemort shivered as Harry pulled the duvet to the side and with a frown, he checked
the man’s skin temperature. It was unnaturally cold. His eyes wandered over the scaled form and
suddenly he wondered if Lord Voldemort did not only look like a snake, but if he was also cold
blooded. That would explain a lot.

Frowning at Nagini, he wished he could simply ask her but that certainly was too dangerous. So
instead, he tried to just motion at the hearth.
“Would you and your master like a fire?” he asked in English and to his relief Nagini answered,
even though not very politely, clearly still believing he couldn’t understand her. And why shouldn’t
she?

“Yes, stupid little human. Make a fire, we are snakes. Snakes loooove fire,” she hissed theatrically
and Harry obliged. He covered Voldemort once again and then gathered some dried wood and a
softly burning log from the living room.

He was clearly getting better at lighting a fire, because it only took him a couple of minutes this
time.
“I will clean this up and come back once the room is warmer,” he said and took the tray, deciding
that Voldemort would probably appreciate the gesture.
Nagini didn’t retort as she slithered over to the rug that was placed directly in front of the hearth. It
was the perfect size for the huge reptile as if Voldemort had placed it especially there for his
familiar.

Once again in the kitchen, he took some time to clean up and eat some of the porridge himself.
After having eaten only a few hours earlier he could easily go until tomorrow morning without
food, but he generally felt better if he ate regularly. Even though it was re-heated, the porridge was
still very good.

He put the rest of the oatmeal and broth into smaller pots and placed them into the storage room,
hoping that the spells on it would keep the food fresh. Voldemort would probably not yet be able to
eat anything else for lunch or dinner. Or dinner and breakfast? He was totally confused. Having
stayed awake the whole of the previous night it was now around early afternoon and they had just
eaten breakfast. Not that it would make any difference for Voldemort right now, but it gave him a
headache. If he was able to, he would maybe try to go to bed around midnight to normalize his
sleep rhythm again.

He checked the kitchen one last time and, deeming it clean enough, he returned to Voldemort’s
bedroom. The room had heated up considerably. It was almost stifling, but Voldemort’s skin had
gained a slightly healthier color and as he touched the wizard’s arm, it was only cold and not
freezing anymore.

Satisfied, he pulled the duvet off for the third time today and watched for the man’s reaction, but
Voldemort didn’t seem to notice the difference. Nodding to himself, Harry placed the new
ointment and gauzes onto the bed and began to unfasten the old ones.

The salve was clearly doing the trick. The inflamed wounds on Voldemort’s lower body had dulled
to a pale red instead of the bright-hot color they had been the night before. They weren’t healing
yet. There was still some inflammation and the ointment was probably not the right one for helping
wounds close anyway.

Adding searching for another salve to his mental list of duties, he threw the last strip of dirty gauze
to the ground and went to prepare some warm water in the bathroom.
It was a relief to see that the cleaning of the wounds was less painful as well. He didn’t like
causing pain, not even if it was necessary or to his enemies.

Nagini once again watched him closely, however, she seemed to trust him a little bit more by now,
because she had not moved from her spot in front of the hearth. Turning his attention away from
her, he finally began to cover the wounds in a fresh layer of ointment. Looking down onto the
sheets, he realized that he would have to change those as well. Not only were they stained from the
purple salve, but also from the puss the ointment had drawn out and which the bandages had been
unable to soak up.

So as he worked, he took care to place the freshly bandaged parts of Voldemort’s long tail onto a
clean spot further in the middle of the huge double bed until the wizard basically lay across the
mattress.

The next step was much more difficult. The bed stood with its headboard against the wall, so that
he couldn’t just step behind it and grab Voldemort beneath his arms to scoot his upper body over as
well. Rolling him over would mean the injured and weakened wizard would lay on his stomach,
which didn’t seem to be a good idea either.
In the end he had no option other than just pushing him over. It worked somewhat at first, even
though the man was still heavier than he looked, until his own size got in the way. He was just too
short to push Voldemort as far as he needed. He was about to growl in frustration and exhaustion,
when suddenly something thick and black wound around the wizard’s torso.

“Weak little hatchling,” Nagini hissed and seeming effortlessly, she moved her master. “At least he
cleans your nest.”
“Thanks,” Harry replied, bewildered, but Nagini merely lowered her head to rest on her master’s
chest and waited for him to continue.

So, he quickly went in search of new sheets and found them quicker than expected in the back of
Voldemort’s closet. He took a new duvet cover and pillow case as well, thinking that those could
probably use a change as well.

It was when Harry was just pulling the old sheet from the bed, that he heard a strange chime.
Frowning, he looked around and even glanced into the parlor, but found nothing. Shrugging, he
returned to his task, only for the chime to sound again a moment later. Looking up again, he turned
around his own axis before walking once again into the living room.

Nothing had changed as far as Harry could tell. The books still stood neatly on their shelves, the
fire was still roaring in the hearth and there was no intruder in sight. Just then the sound chimed for
the third time. This time, it had an impatient, almost urgent note to it, like someone ringing a
doorbell frantically.

Harry’s eyes widened. Could that be? But when Voldemort had people (he wouldn’t use the words
friends) who would come by, why had the wizard been in such bad shape then? Something like
blue electricity suddenly swept over the walls. With a gasp, he realized that someone was attacking
the wards. It startled him into moving. By now the front door was bending inwards and he didn’t
want to imagine how Voldemort would react when he found his door destroyed.

Running over, he flung the door open and came face to face with a familiar, blond man. Scowling
beneath his hood, he pulled the black fabric deeper into his face. A wand appeared in his sight and
he realized he needed to come up with a plan soon or he would likely not see the next sunrise.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his upper body into a bow that was hopefully convincing.
“Mr. Malfoy, I was not aware that our Lord expected any visitors.” He held his breath and stared at
the wand in front of him. Then, it lowered slightly.
“And I was not aware our Lord gained a new follower,” Lucius Malfoy’s voice retorted, still rather
frostily.
Glancing up carefully, he saw that the man had not come alone. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, was
there as well. Her face was an emotionless mask, carefully guarded in light of the unknown person.

“I only entered into his service two days ago. But please come in,” he said with another dip of his
body before straightening again.
Suddenly the wand was back, this time pointed at his heart.
“It must be new that the Dark Lord allows his followers into his private rooms,” Mrs. Malfoy said
coldly.
Harry winced and took a cautionary step back. Time for some honesty, apparently his careful
avoiding was not good enough. But then again, had he not heard rumors that Lucius Malfoy was
Lord Voldemort’s right hand man? No wonder he could not fool the man then.

“I… don’t know,” he therefore said honestly. “When I came, our Lord was in bad shape, so I
offered to help him until he felt better.”
That made Malfoy look up with a frown. “And he simply agreed to your offer,” he sneered.
“No,” he shook his head, “he bound me to him.”
A hint of curiosity showed on Narcissa Malfoy’s face, but she stayed silent, while her husband’s
eyes lifted in apparent doubt.
“May I check?” He asked, gesturing with his wand.

Harry didn’t know what the man meant, but was not stupid enough to think he truly had any
options, so he nodded.
The wand lifted even higher and moved in a complicated pattern. The black and golden string of
magic suddenly appeared between Harry and the closed bedroom door. Malfoy flicked his wand,
the light disappeared and the man stepped back. His posture relaxed just the slightest bit and Harry
sighed in relief.

“It is a relief that our Lord has found someone with a compatible magical signature,” Malfoy said,
truly sounding as if a burden was lifted from his shoulders. He paused a moment, before suddenly
saying:
“My wife is a trained healer. She has monitored our Lord’s state these last few weeks.”

Harry just hummed, purposefully ignoring the indirect question, not knowing which answer would
be the right one. Unfortunately, the Malfoys were not people who let themselves be simply
ignored.
“I would like to check on our Lord again, Mr…”
“Dursley… Hades Dursley,” he gave the same name he had used two days ago.
“Mr. Dursley,” Mrs Malfoy said. “If you would allow it, of course.”
This, as well, was no question and he hadn’t really any choice.
“I was just cleaning our Lord’s room. Let me quickly finish,” he therefore gave in and motioned
over to the elegant leather seating area as authoritatively as he dared to. To his relief the Malfoy’s
inclined their heads and walked over.
He closed the parlor door behind him and quickly made his way back into the bedroom. Nagini
muttered irritatedly when he returned.
“What took you so long, stupid human?”

Ignoring her, Harry quickly finished changing the bed sheet and helped the snake to roll her master
back into the middle. During his absence, Nagini had pulled the heavy duvet back over Voldemort,
albeit somewhat awkwardly. Now however, he pulled the comforter off, pulled it out of its cover
before slipping the new one over. He repeated the process with the pillow and made sure that
Voldemort was properly covered, before hiding the dirty sheets in a corner of his bathroom.

“Your Master’s right-hand man has come,” Harry told Nagini as he returned, still not sure what the
serpent understood. With Hedwig he often had the feeling that she understood quite a lot for an
owl, but he didn’t know if that was typical for all familiars or just something unique to his. The
snake just stared at him, so he turned around with a sigh.

The Malfoys were still sitting right where he had left them, but rose as soon as he reappeared. As
he stepped to the side, they wordlessly stepped past him. It was clear that despite the proof of his
binding, the two still did not trust him much. He had to hurry after the two Death Eaters who had
already vanished to the next door.

He found Narcissa Malfoy already kneeling in front of the bed. The witch was frowning, probably
because her lord was not answering. Thinking about it, to her, it must seem like a regression.
Voldemort must have been conscious the last time she and her husband had been here while now,
he wasn’t.

Silently, and with baited breath, Harry waited as she rose and moved her wand in a soft swirling
motion over the motionless body. Her husband, meanwhile, stood to the side, his cold Grey eyes
never leaving him. A piece of paper materialized over Voldemort’s chest. Narcissa took it swiftly
and studied it for a moment.

Finally, she turned with a serious expression to face them. Instantly, Mr. Malfoy’s wand rose
again, but Harry tried to stay silent. He knew he had taken good care of their lord. Better at least
than Pettigrew. That actually might be the reason why the two didn’t trust him despite being bound
tightly to their Lord.

“His magical core is worrisomely depleted. More so than three days ago. However, the spells
reveal that the overall progression from the day before yesterday is positive and his physical state
has improved marginally. It seems Mr. Dursley here has taken good care of our Lord for his age.”
She once again turned around, pushed the duvet to the side a little and made a silent, surprised
sound, before carefully checking one of the wrapped wounds.

“You have done good work for someone who did not dare to use magic due to their age,” Mrs.
Malfoy said, giving him a sharp look. Her face softened slightly then, and with a twitch of her lip
she added: “However, it would have not been necessary. The wards will not allow anything to leak
to the Ministry.”

Harry wanted to slap himself. Of course someone like Voldemort would have wards against
Ministry interference. Even Grimmauld Place had them, Sirius had explained it to him and his
friends once, not that it meant Mrs Weasley would allow any use of magic outside of Hogwarts.

He nodded, but didn’t know what else to say and an awkward silence began to stretch between
them which was fortunately interrupted by Mr Malfoy a long moment later.
“He usually receives his guests in his small parlor,” the wizard motioned towards one of the doors
in the hallway.

Mrs. Malfoy took this at her clue and began to walk out, while Harry nodded and waited for the
pair to go ahead before following with a bit of safety-distance between them. He followed them out
of the private rooms and toward another one which was located between the kitchen and the parlor.
As he entered, Mrs. Malfoy was flicking her wand and conjuring an elegant, silver tea set.

“I apologize for the less than exceptional taste, but conjured food and drink is never as good as
properly prepared ones.”

“I… I could go and brew some,” Harry offered, halting in his motion to pull a chair out. Inwardly
he scoffed, not believing that Narcissa Malfoy of all people knew the difference between brewed
tea and conjured. At most the Malfoys knew the difference between conjured food and drink and
those prepared by house elves, which still wasn’t quite the same in his opinion.
“Next time,” Mr. Malfoy waved him off and motioned for him to sit, magically pouring them a cup
each.

“Each one of our Lord’s most trusted have let their magical signatures be tested for compatibility.
Theirs and their family members, all tested, but none of us matched, to our great worry,” Mrs.
Malfoy suddenly started speaking. Her voice was soft and full of emotion Harry would never have
believed the witch capable of. “Of course our Lord would not have been gone forever…” she
trailed off.

Following an impulse, Harry finished, “But repeating the ritual would have taken time?”
Surprise flickered shortly through those dark blue eyes that resembled his godfather’s so much.
They examined him for a moment and Harry tugged on his hood again. Finally Mrs. Malfoy
inclined her head.
However, it was Mr. Malfoy who continued. “But it seems you have been able to avoid this
unfortunate fate. Which makes me curious. I fear I have not heard of your family line before.”

Harry sneered beneath his hood. He knew what Malfoy was hinting at.
“I am a halfblood,” Harry retorted, probably more harshly than he should.
“Indeed. Which does not make muggles any more appealing.”
Harry said nothing, but continued to glare at the blond wizard, who just returned it loftily.
Arrogant prat, he sneered inwardly and the tension between them built. It was once again Narcissa
who defused the situation between them.

“Which is fine,” she said in connection to his earlier comment. “We all know that our Lord accepts
half-bloods. Especially capable ones such as yourself, Mr. Dursley.”
Blinking, Harry was relieved that the Malfoys could not see his doubtful expression under his
hood.

“My wife is correct, of course. I must admit it shows exceptional skill to find our Lord’s hidden
castle. Where did you hear about it?” Mr. Malfoy questioned way too nonchalantly.
“I heard two wizards talking in Knockturn Alley,” Harry retorted, hoping that it was a logical
enough explanation and that he was still at least somewhat close to Britain.

Two wands were immediately pointed at his face. Harry pulled back, having no idea how to handle
two fully trained adult wizards without them finding out who he really was.

“That is a lie,” Lucius growled. “No one can speak of the castle’s location. It, and the island it rests
on are unplottable. Try again, Mr. Dursley,” he ordered, “if that is indeed your name.”

Thoughts whirling as he received confirmation that the castle was indeed on an island, Harry
decided he would just brazen his way through with the lie, but throw in a little of the truth and
hopefully his weird luck would take care of the rest.

“Whoever it was didn’t say a location specifically,” Harry huffed as if put out he was even having
to explain himself. “They just said ‘the castle on the island Celtic Sea,’ okay?” Harry rubbed at his
face, wiping away the drops of cold sweat that might give away his lie. “I just came as close as I
could using regular transportation and then… followed the magic,” he shrugged as if he didn’t
really know exactly what he had done, while inwardly hoping that his vague explanation of exactly
what he had done in his ill-advised apparition attempt wouldn’t be enough to give him away.

“Followed the magic?” Narcissa’s wand lowered as she thought about his words, as well as the
magical bond between this unknown servant and her lord. “I suppose with the strength of their
complimentary magic it might be possible that our Lord’s magic… called out to him, for lack of a
better description,” she turned to address her husband. “That would certainly explain his ability to
follow such faint magical traces, especially when they would have been several weeks old.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, but he could come to no other logical conclusion for how a wizard, still
school age, would otherwise have been able to find the castle, or the island for that matter. “I see,”
he finally said, slowly sheathing his own wand, but still watching the teen carefully. “No one
should be speaking of the location, even in vague or roundabout terms. I will need to remind the
lower circles just how precarious our current situation is.”

Harry winced, hoping nobody would be punished for his impromptu lie. And that the haughty
blond wouldn’t discover just how patently false his statement was.

“But you should not worry about such things,” Narcissa Malfoy smiled softly, she at least seemed
to have warmed up to him a little. “You concentrate on caring for our Lord and if there is anything
you need, do not hesitate to send an owl.”
Nodding, he didn’t mention that he didn’t even have an owl at hand right now. He had left Hedwig
with Ron so that she wouldn’t be starved alongside him at the Dursleys and he wasn’t sure if there
was an owlery somewhere in this castle or not.

It also made him wonder once more why Voldemort did not have a house elf to help him, the man
was all about pureblood traditions after all, but he wouldn’t ask the Malfoys of all people and come
across as nosy. That was the last impression he needed to make right now.

“Where have you learned to treat wounds so well?” Mrs Malfoy inquired, sounding honestly
curious. “You are too young to have started your healing apprenticeship.”
“Self-study,” he retorted, not mentioning just how true that was.
“Impressive,” Mr Malfoy hummed. “I can see why our Lord would choose to take you under his
wing. Do you not like your tea, Mr. Dursley?”

Jolting, Harry glanced down. He had totally forgotten the tea. Shaking his head, he picked it up,
blew over the still steaming liquid and took a sip. It tasted just like the tea served at Hogwarts.

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, which the Malfoy’s didn’t seem to notice as they sipped
their tea calmly. However, he didn’t know how to end it without seeming like an uneducated
moron. He had no idea what those two usually talked about.

He heard the soft chime of silver against silver and looked up. The Malfoy’s had placed their cups
down and were rising to their feet. Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief and stood up as well.

“I fear we have to return to our manor now, but Narcissa will come for another visit later this
week,” Lucius Malfoy said, smoothing out his robes.
Harry nodded, not knowing what to say.
They gave him two regal nods before leaving the dining room.
When Harry had gathered himself and finally recovered from the shock of having to drink tea with
the Malfoys in Lord Voldemort’s castle, the couple was gone and the fire in the hallway just
changed back from green to red.

Feeling suddenly immensely exhausted, he let himself fall into one of the leather chairs and cursed.
That had been a close call. Far too close for his liking. He needed to make sure that something like
this wouldn’t happen again. But what? He couldn’t make sure that no one entered the castle, he
wasn’t master over the wards. Which left making sure that his disguise was not as feeble as it
currently was. Or leaving, but somehow that thought disappeared as soon as it had come.

Getting back up he returned to the parlor and looked around, but beside books- Harry halted.
Maybe one of those old tomes could help him. Maybe there was a Death Eater-codex written down
somewhere. He could imagine the arrogant snake prat doing something like that, he had certainly
made the impression back in Harry’s second year. And besides, hadn’t Voldemort written a diary
as well? Besides, he could use the chance and try to find some information on what might connect
him to the dark wizard.

So he checked on Voldemort before starting to look through the bookshelf in the living room.
However, he soon realized that those tomes would not be of any help. They were all printed for one
and had interesting titles like Moste Potente Potions, Secrets of the Darkest Art and Secrets of the
Black Cosmos. The latter apparently was a guide to necromancy. The pictures inside gave Harry
the shivers.

However, he was not yet close to giving up. After all, there was the wizard’s private office and a
library that stretched over a whole floor only a few levels down.

The next few days passed in the same fashion. It took Harry two more days to get back to his usual
sleeping pattern. Once he was up he changed Voldemort’s gauze, cleaned the slowly healing
wounds and put new ointment on them.

However slowly, the wounds were slowly healing and closing over. The infection had long since
been driven out, so now he was using a different salve that simply supported the healing process.
He had found it after a long consultation of Voldemort’s potions books and an almost equally long
search through the storage rooms.

As promised, Narcissa had come by once more and checked Voldemort over. She hadn’t said much
but from her non-reaction Harry had concluded that she was satisfied with the Dark Lord’s process,
if not necessarily pleased that an unknown half-blood was providing the help.

Voldemort was steadily growing stronger. He wasn’t awake much yet and when he was, Harry
made sure to leave him alone with Nagini, just to be sure. However, from what he had gathered
through their conversations was that the wizard was still not quite coherent or at least too tired to
gather much in the way of clear thought.
At some point, Harry had felt a slightly stronger tug on his magic, but he had refused to give
Voldemort any more magic. Firstly, the constant drainage, regardless how slow and weak, was
making him more tired and exhausted than usual anyway and secondly, the sooner Voldemort was
back on his own feet the sooner he could potentially discover who exactly had been living with
him for the past week and that was something he didn’t wish to risk.

Voldemort’s random bouts of frustration had grown more frequent, and stronger, as his recovery
continued. And while the Dark Lord’s rising magic seemed to strengthen the soothing connection
between them, his anger at the same time always made Harry's scar throb painfully.

Harry had not yet given up on rifling through books and handwritten scrolls in search of an
explanation to their weird connection and some information on Voldemort and his little club in
general, so that when the Dark Lord finally regained consciousness, he would not be found out as
an enemy immediately. Therefore he spent every free minute between feeding and cleaning
Voldemort in the wizard’s vast library. And what library it was! Hermione would have loved the
floor (because Voldemort had dedicated an entire room to a topic and not simply a room for all of
them). His friend probably would not reemerge for several weeks if she ever would get the chance
to spend time there. However, despite the staggering amount of certainly rare, old and obscure
books, so far he had found nothing that could possibly help him and he grew more and more
desperate as the days passed.

All thoughts about his friends, Dumbledore, the war, the cause and his late godfather he had by
now securely pushed to the darkest recesses of his mind and refused to even think about their
existence.

He was just leaving the parlor to give said study a visit when to his horror the fire in the hearth to
his left roared again and another pale blond figure stepped out. Only that this blond person was
quite a bit shorter than the elder Malfoys had been and far more familiar.

Tugging at his hood, Harry watched as his school yard nemesis stepped out of the fireplace and
brushed his regal, Grey robes clean with a swish of his wand, before turning around.

He was startled a little, Harry would not have noticed if he had not been forced to interact with the
pratt's parents only an hour earlier.
“You must be Mr. Dursley,” Draco Malfoy said with a slightest hint of a sneer to his lips. It didn’t
strengthen Harry’s belief in Narcissa Malfoy’s words about half-bloods being respected by their
side.
“And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s son.”
Malfoy, who had let his gaze wander lazily through the reception room, snapped his face back
around, his eyes narrowing.
Harry didn’t react to the cold, calculating look Draco gave him, especially when it had nothing in
comparison to his father. Finally, Malfoy reached into his robe pocket and Harry, reflexively
grabbed for his wand, remembering all the nasty hexes Draco had sent his way, but halted when he
saw that the prat merely held something oval shaped and bronze colored.

“Father sent me to give you his first mask,” Malfoy said, holding the item in his hand out to Harry.
Hesitating only a split second, Harry stepped closer and took it. It had no rubber bands or anything
to keep it in place, but when he slipped it under his hood, it stuck magically to his face and adjusted
to its shape.

“Tell your father thank you,” he said and jolted a little when his voice came out differently, husky
and deeper. It had to be a charm on the mask to protect Voldemort’s followers from being
recognised.

“I will,” Malfoy retorted and walked past Harry, either not realizing that he was entering
Voldemort’s private parlor or not caring due to the wizard's unconsciousness. Who knew if the prat
had ever been here before. He couldn’t imagine that Voldemort would want to deal with his
followers’ self-centered children.

Sighing, Harry followed his school nemesis inside and closed the door behind him.
“Do you not have some tea and biscuits?” Malfoy asked, looking once again around lazily. Clearly,
the prat was thinking that only because Harry was currently his Lord’s caretaker he had to be a
mere servant. Or maybe, that he stood above a third rank Death Eater, not that Harry was one in the
first place, but he wouldn’t mention that.

So instead he sat down in the chair he had not seen Voldemort occupy upon his arrival and said, “I
have porridge and broth.”
Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Who would want to eat that?”
“A sick person?” Harry suggested, successfully making the prat blush.
Yes, he still had it in him, he smirked.

“You have been reading?” the Slytherin said, clearly wishing to change the topic and reached for
one of the books. It was the one about Potions.
“You understood this?”
“Yes,” Harry lied smoothly without feeling any shame.
Malfoy hummed. “You must be a good student. Did I ever see you at Hogwarts?”
Slowly feeling annoyance rise at the interrogation, Harry repeated the same lie he had already told
the pratt's parents. “I was homeschooled.”
“A pity. I could have used an intelligent friend in Slytherin.”
Harry shrugged, unable to hold himself back from teasing the boy. “I wouldn’t have been sorted
into Slytherin anyway.”
“Really? What then?” Malfoy had raised one of his perfectly plucked eyebrows, mimicking his
father.
Harry shrugged casually. “Who knows. Maybe Gryffindor?”
Draco merely snorted. “You can’t be serious. Our Lord would never let a Gryffindor take care of
him.”
“As far as I understood it, it wasn’t a matter of simply choosing,” Harry retorted, getting fed up
with the conversation.
“True. But the magic of a Gryffindor could never possibly be compatible with our Lord’s pure
aura.”
Purely dark, Harry sneered inwardly, but said nothing.

“So, how is it to take care of our Lord?” An eager edge had crept into Malfoy’s voice, one that
reminded Harry far too strongly of Romilda Vane and Pavati Pattil whenever they exchanged
gossip.
“The greatest experience in my life. But it would be for everyone, wouldn’t it?” he smirked,
deLighting in the disgust that shortly flashed through those silver eyes. “I mean, who else has ever
been so close to him? Or spent so much time with him?”

The look in Malfoy’s eyes had changed to something eager and curious again, so he recklessly
added: “Feeding him, sponge-bathing him, helping him to the loo.”
And there was the flinch he had been aiming for.

“Of course,” Malfoy said, rising to his feet. “It must be very fulfilling to serve our lord so closely.”
Harry had the feeling his school yard rival wanted to flee. Smirking even wider he got up as well.
“However, I must be going. Mother will already be waiting. The preparations for the annual
Solstice Ball are always very demanding. But I will convey your gratitude.”

Snorting, Harry showed Malfoy out, trying not to laugh as the blond did his best to not make the
impression he was fleeing. He managed badly, in Harry’s opinion. His lazy stride had gained
something urgent and restless and his goodbye also fell rather short.

However, he was just glad once he was alone again and could continue with his search. Not every
follower would be as easily tricked as the prat had been.

__________________________________________________________________

Lucius Malfoy watched his son stepping out of their floo in the receiving room.
“Hello, father,” he said and took a seat in his usual armchair.
Staying silent, Lucius gave him a moment to order his thoughts, seeing that something was deeply
troubling his heir.

He used the time to call one of their house elves and order some tea and biscuits and also to tell his
wife that their son had returned.
When Narcissa came in, it finally seemed to draw their son out of his musing.

“I am not sure what to think of our Lord’s new...servant. There are a few things about him I find...
strange.”
‘Strange’ indeed. Or rather ‘suspicious’, Lucius corrected his son internally. However, before he
could audibly comment on it, his wife was already nodding.

“I have to agree, he is an unusual sort. His healing skill is on par with that of professionally skilled
and experienced healers. There is no possibility he has reached this aptitude by mere self-study as
he says. But on the other hand...” she trailed off.

Lucius nodded and knowing exactly what his wife meant, finished for her, “On the other hand
there are all those little oddities that do not act up. Regardless of his affinity in healing, he is
clearly lacking knowledge of our world.”

“You mean that he didn’t use his wand?” Draco asked with a frown. “I mean, every halfway decent
wizarding child knows that the Ministry cannot detect underage magic in a wizarding home. There
is too much magic present to pinpoint the act to a certain individual and wards take care of the
rest.”

“Indeed,” he affirmed, pausing shortly as the house elf reappeared and handed him a cup of tea. “It
does challenge the validity of his assertion that he is a halfblood. Usually only mudbloods do not
know about the Grey zones of that particular law. It was designed to control them while they are at
home in the muggle world and protect us after all.”

His wife hummed, took a sip from her own cup and mused, “Maybe he is afraid to admit to his…
less than stellar blood status?”
“He certainly would have reason to be afraid. Our Lord would never accept a mudblood into his
ranks,” Lucius sneered, but was interrupted by his son.
“But how is it possible that a mudblood has compatible magic to our Lord’s when none of his other
followers did?”

That was indeed a justified question. “True, true,” Lucius frowned, feeling as if the answer was
directly in front of him, only he couldn’t see it yet.
“It is quite troubling,” Narcissa agreed. “Finding a person for a magical transfusion is difficult
enough. There must be something we are overlooking. However, I do not believe that Mr Dursley’s
motives are malicious at this point. My last scan shows clearly that our Lord is steadily regaining
his strength.”

Their son huffed and crossed his arm in a gesture they had still not managed to train out of him. “I
still don’t like him. He doesn’t even possess a mask. How can he even say he is one of our Lord’s
followers without a mask?”

“Well, he did say that he only entered in our Lord’s service a few days prior, dear,” Narcissa said
appeasingly, however, their son had a point.
“His tale that he heard two wizards discussing our Lord’s ancestral home in Knockturn Alley,” he
mused, “I cannot imagine that it is how he found our Lord. However, no one who wasn’t part of
the inner circle and possessed the knowledge of the exact location has ever breached our Lord’s
wards. I sent a few trustworthy … employees of mine out and they confirmed my suspicion.”

His wife sighed. “I admit I am worried. If Mr Dursley’s magic were not so necessary at the
moment, I would suggest we remove him from the premises until our Lord is once again in the
shape to either confirm his story or deal with him. Unfortunately, removing him at this point in
time would cause more harm than good. At least we do not have to worry anymore that our Lord
might starve or burn.”

“He cooks and cleans,” Draco sneered at that. “Without magic!”

“Yes, indeed,” Narcissa nodded. “It is very possible that his family is a supporter of Albus
Dumbledore, considering all we know, which would explain his adeptness with muggle skills.”

“If your theory is correct, dear,” Lucius hummed, “then his first name is quite odd for such a
family.”
“True, true” his wife nodded. “It might just be a traditional family name from his pureblood
parent’s side, however, most allies of Dumbledore would have abandoned a name that connected
them to such an obviously dark connotated tradition,” she sighed, before continuing “However, it is
the most logical explanation.”

“I find this unacceptable!” Draco sneered. “A halfblood, if not a muggle, filling such a role of
importance.”
“At least he has a spine,” Lucius pointed out. “I have not seen many who show such ease around
our Lord’s familiar. Besides, you know very well that magical affinities do not truly exist.”

His son's sneer didn’t lessen. “It might only be a human-made concept, but it indicates a certain
political stance which is annoying enough.
Lucius merely inclined his head, unfortunately Draco was correct. As much as dark and Light
magic did not exist, the ethical and political views behind those terms did and they had split their
magical nations in two over the past century. It was nothing that could be reverted overnight, not
even their Lord was capable of such a deed.

Their son still glared at a spot on the coffee table in front of him, making his wife sigh and reach
over to touch his hand Lightly.
“What is it that truly bothers you so much, Draco?” She asked.
Draco sighed and rubbed his temple.
Lucius’ eyebrows rose in inquiry.
Finally their son said, “There is just something about him… about his mannerisms. It seems
familiar, and I have spent hours trying to remember, but it eludes me!”
“Then maybe we know his family after all?” Narcissa suggested, but Draco shook his head.
“No, the feeling is not a positive one. I don’t trust him.”

Over their son’s head, Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance. They would keep an eye on Hades
Dursley.

___________________________________________________________________

On the 8th day of his contract Harry finally found something promising.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had as much time for his search these past days as Draco had apparently
decided to keep an eye on him and annoy the hell out of him on those occasions. The blond prat
had visited every other day at the latest, annoying him to no end. Harry wasn’t sure if the boy just
liked to drive random people insane, if he believed that everybody would be glad and revel in his
company or if he might have been sent by his parents to check up on him.

In case of the latter, Malfoy wasn’t doing a good job however, as his arrogant striding into the
parlor and lounging on Voldemort’s couch wasn’t very subtle.

Finally however, he had found time, which meant he was currently in Voldemort’s private office
(how the darkest wizard of all times had no wards to keep intruders like him out was a mystery to
Harry), riffling through private notes. Admittedly, he felt more than a little nervous, staring at rows
upon rows of very neat and organized shelves, filled to the brim with folders and stacks of scrolls.

The library had overwhelmed him with its sheer size when he had gone down earlier and anyway,
something seemed to be pulling him towards this room. Maybe it was his instincts and he had long
since learned to trust those, or it was another strange magical phenomenon he did not understand.
Whatever the feeling was, it was currently his best shot.
Pushing the questions about what all those folders contained to the side, Harry tried to sense where
the pull was directing him. Voldemort was resting currently, but one could never know when he
would wake up and send Nagini to fetch him. It would not do for the big snake to find him in her
master’s private office. That was a risk Harry was not willing to take.

Hesitantly, he took a step ahead, only to instantly sense that it was the wrong direction, so he
slowly began to turn around his own axis until the feeling of rightness was back. To his great
dismay however, this tactic brought him face to face with Voldemort's desk. Of course whatever he
was sensing here could not just be stored between random files like everything else in this room,
that would have been too easy.

For a short moment Harry hesitated. However, he truly needed some more information to get
through this ordeal alive and the mids of his nemesis’ secret castle was not the place where he
wished to find out what would happen if he ignored his instincts for the first time. So he took a
deep breath and carefully walked up to the desk now standing directly in front of him. However, as
soon as he had taken two steps, he froze again, when suddenly strange voices reached his ears.
Alarmed, Harry swirled around, for a second certain that he must have been found out by one of
Voldemort’s followers, but nobody was there, neither in the office, nor in the hallway beyond, not
even Nagini.

Drawing in a shaky breath to calm himself down, Harry looked carefully around the space for
several long moments. Ever since his second year, he was very suspicious of voices he couldn’t see
where they were coming from, however, this was the lair of the Dark Lord, he had expected to
stumble over something scarier much earlier. At least, the voices didn’t have a hissy quality to
them, and neither did they sound threatening, as little as he understood. They were merely
whispering, however, Harry couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, for they were too
silent. So when nothing else happened, Harry carefully took another step forward. Which
apparently brought him close enough to finally distinguish their muttering.

“He is finally here!”

“He has finally come!”
“Our Master!” The voices spoke, sounding scarily excited to Harry’s ears.

Trying to ignore them, Harry crossed the remaining distance to the desk. On it as well, were no
wards, nothing cast that stopped him as he let his trembling hand run over the smooth, dark wood
until it hovered over the silver handle of a drawer and finally pulled it open.

Inside, he found a small, leather bound book, which clearly was the source of the whispering,
because as soon as he had opened the drawer, the voices had grown even louder. The book looked
not unlike Voldemort’s diary. Harry would probably have mistaken it for one of those, if not for
the fact that this journal looked much older and much more expensive at the same time. The
corners of the cover were protected by artfully crafted gold triangles and there was an odd symbol
stamped into the center with the same metal. It showed a triangle, framed by a circle and crossed
through by a straight line.

Blinking, Harry suddenly remembered the elaborate carving he had examined upon arriving in
Voldemort’s castle. The triskelion had been framed by a circle and a triangle as well and even cut
through by a straight, vertical line, if he remembered correctly.

Heart racing in his throat, Harry carefully picked it up, half expecting a curse to finally strike him
down, but once again, nothing happened. Nothing, aside from the voices suddenly quieting down
and him noticing that there actually was another object lying in the drawer, which had been hidden
from sight by the journal so far.

It was a dagger, almost as long as his forearm. The blade was crafted entirely from silver, with
runes carved into the blade and onyxes adorning the handle. The dagger looked just as beautiful as
it looked deadly, however, Harry was much more interested in the journal, so he once again
glanced over his shoulder to again make sure that truly nobody was standing there, before carefully
opening the journal to the first page.

“One hundred eighty-three years it has been since I first laid eyes upon the three moons and the
black cosmos in its great wisdom gifted to me the cloak which should hence forwards be the most
prized heirloom to my line.

I grow weary, though I have barely lived three decades longer than any fortunate mage may, and
after years of peace and dedicated service, I sense my Master’s steps once again drawing near.

Before I finally take off the mantle, I will embark onto one last endeavor, which is to write down
what He himself has entrusted me with during my last offering. The great honor he is once again
bestowing upon my humble line I once again struggle to fathom. A great necromancer, a master
over life and death and thus, over Him himself, shall be born from my blood one day.

I shall not be around to guide his path anymore, and neither will be one of my sons, henceforth, I
have decided to preserve the knowledge my Master has entrusted to me, in the hope that, when
wisdom has turned into nothing more than legend and fairy tales, this book will proof to serve as a
guide to the greatest of us all.”

Confused, Harry turned another few pages, hoping to find a clue to why his instincts had led him to
find this strange book of all books Voldemort’s castle contained. It wasn’t until he had nearly
reached its end, that a chapter finally caught his eye.
Ritual of Resurrection

What the ritual described sounded too miraculous to possibly be true. It spoke of people coming
back from the dead, not as mere inferi, but as truly living humans once more. The possibilities
listed were multiple; they ranged from simply bringing a loved one back up to gaining aid, advice
or even fighting power.

His mind instantly wandered to Sirius and Cedric, who just recently had died because of his
naivety, and then, to his parents. If this ritual truly worked and was not a mere bad joke…

He was about to read through it again, more calmly this time when he was interrupted.
“Master is awake and needs to use small pond.”
Looking up, he saw Nagini slithering out of Voldemort’s bedroom where she had stood guard this
past week. Quickly, he let the small journal slide into his robe, praying that Nagini found nothing
odd about finding him in her Master’s office.

Standing up, he walked into the bedroom, not really understanding what Voldemort’s familiar
meant. It was a silent agreement that the snake would only hiss at him when something was up
with her master, so by now the huge reptile didn’t even twitch as he walked past her.

He regretted his compliance immediately. Voldemort was awake and leaning on his right arm.
Harry gulped, those gleaming, red eyes looked far too coherent for his liking. Magic was once
again coming from Voldemort in waves and Harry shivered.

Pulling himself together, he quickly walked up to the bed and kneeled.

“Good morning, My Lord. It’s… good to see you awake again,” he said, praying that his voice
sounded stronger than it felt.
“I would like something more substantial than porridge this morning, Hades,” Voldemort
commanded.
Harry found himself nodding automatically and rising back to his feet. His mind felt empty and
unable to form any coherent thought in the presence of his enemy. So he just did as told, not
thinking about it was the right or wrong thing to do. However, before he could leave the bedroom,
Voldemort stopped him, “And prepare me a bath.”
“Yes, My Lord,” he heard himself saying and finally left, closing the door behind him.

He needed to read that scroll and soon. Carefully, he put the books and scrolls he had been reading
back into their places, with the exception of the one he needed to read over. That one he shrank and
slid it into his pocket before leaving the parlor to do as he had been told.
Once in the storage room of the kitchen, Harry looked around, feeling kind of overwhelmed.
Something hearty but quick, Voldemort had said. The crux of the matter was the quick. And the
fact that he was to cook for Voldemort, or rather, for a conscious Voldemort who could curse him
if he didn’t guess the wizard’s taste correctly.

A little shiver ran down his spine at the thought and he shoved it forcefully to the side. True,
Voldemort’s magic had felt surprisingly amazing, but the pain in his scar whenever the Dark Lord
was furious was certainly too high a price.

Shaking his head, he once again looked around, this time more seriously. Theoretically, there was
enough left. However, he had noticed yesterday that some of the food wasn’t tasting very good
anymore. The vegetables and fruits especially had been awfully tasteless, even though they still
looked and smelled fine.

He better cook something anyway. Meat was out as well, because a roast would need at least two
to three hours. His eyes landed on a carton of eggs and a bag of potatoes. After a bit of searching he
found a piece of bacon as well.

He carried everything in the kitchen and began cracking and scrambling eggs and slicing bacon and
potatoes before frying everything in a huge iron pan together with an onion that hopefully still
tasted of something.

All in all it took him only twenty minutes until he was piling a portion on a silver plate, deciding
that now that Voldemort was awake, he better pull out the good china. Placing everything onto the
tray, he carried the simple meal back to the bedroom.

Voldemort had sat up in the time he had been gone. The wizard was leaning against the pile of
pillows which had previously been neatly stacked in a corner for when Harry would need them
again and was reading some old looking tome.

Voldemort looked up as he heard Harry enter and stared at the plate of fried eggs, bacon and
potatoes for a long moment. So long in fact, that Harry began to feel nervous and said, “There isn’t
much left, my Lord.”
Voldemort’s hairless brows pulled together into a frown. “How many days have passed since we
formed our contract?”
“Eight days, My Lord.”
“And you ran out of food?”
Harry quickly shook his head. “No, My Lord. Just… most of it doesn’t taste very good anymore.”
Voldemort was silent for a moment. “Food in a magical storage room loses its taste after a few
months. This should not have happened yet, however, my previously weakened state might be the
cause.” Suddenly the wizard’s eyes sharpened and he asked, “did your parents not teach you about
such basic charms?”
Feeling embarrassed, Harry shook his head.
“You said you are a half-blood, correct?”
“Um… not quite. My mother was a muggle born witch, My Lord.”
Voldemort sneered. “That will be forbidden once I have secured political power. Magicians who
marry muggles or muggle-borns should work to include them in our culture and not embrace theirs.
Alas, most people today do not understand why our ancestors put certain laws in place.”

Harry wisely didn’t respond. Instead he watched Voldemort reach for his tray of food. The wizard
made a shooing gesture with his right. “Continue with your tasks. And put the muscle relaxant into
the bath.”
He reached for the tray and slowly began eating.

Bowing his head, Harry went into the bathroom. The faucet of the sunken-in bathtub reminded him
strongly of the prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts. Sighing, he turned the hot water on, but then
paused. He had no idea how Lord Voldemort liked his bath. His eyes wandered over to the door
that stood slightly ajar, but he hesitated. However, asking would probably be better than preparing
the bath incorrectly.

It somehow took all his Gryffindor courage to call out: “My Lord, how warm do you like your
bath?”
“Hot!” was the immediate answer.
Wondering if that was the wizard’s snake blood speaking, he turned back to the faucets and tried to
figure out which one would add the muscle relaxant. It would probably help if he knew what the
potion was called, but he didn’t. Which meant he had only two options, asking Voldemort again or
trying to look it up quickly. He decided for the latter.

Voldemort was still eating, while speaking softly with Nagini, as he crossed the bedroom. They
didn’t pay him any attention, which Harry was alright with.
There was a big potions lexicon which he had used during the last week whenever he needed to
look something up. Quickly, he pulled it from its shelf, sat down on the sofa and opened it to the
table of contents. Unfortunately he soon realized that it wouldn’t be so easy. There were about 20
muscle relaxants listed and he would never be able to memorize all of them to check the bathtub.

“Hades,” Voldemort called just then and he cursed silently.

Calling “coming, My Lord,” he placed the tome back and hurried back into the bedroom.
“I believe the bath should be ready by now.”
He watched as the wizard heaved his heavy lower snake body out of bed and couldn’t but stare.
“If you have any questions, then ask. I will not punish a child for wishing to understand his world
as long as it is done politely and the questions remain reasonable,” Voldemort’s voice interrupted
his staring.

Blushing, Harry forced himself to meet the man’s eyes and opened his mouth, however, no words
came out.
Voldemort sighed and rubbed his temple. “Speak, before my water gets cold.”
Scowling at the order, Harry finally spoke. “I just wondered… I mean… you had legs once, right?”
How he hated the wizard’s commanding attitude, however, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected,
so he bit his tongue and swallowed any rude retort. That however, didn’t change the fact that it
went deeply against his Gryffindor nature.
“See, that wasn’t too difficult,” Voldemort smirked and motioned for Harry to come closer. “I do
indeed usually have legs,” he began as he reached for Harry’s upper arm to pull himself up.
Clearly, the wizard still required a lot of help.
“However, Dumbledore's spell forced my creature side to the forefront while also destroying it.
With the help of your magic however, I can neutralize its effect. It will still take some time until I
regain full control.” Voldemort pulled himself from the bed and without thinking, Harry slung an
arm around the wizard’s waist. The skin felt much less slimy and warmer than a week ago, which
he took as a good sign, before realizing where he was touching the most evil and most powerful
dark wizard of their world and began to pull away.

“Keep your hand there,” Voldemort stopped him and leaned heavily against his side. Nodding,
Harry glanced over and when he was sure the man wouldn’t collapse as soon as he took a step, he
began to move towards the bathroom.

“I could, of course, speed my recovery by drawing more heavily on your magic. However, it would
leave you in a weakened state, so much so that you would either die or I would have to take care of
you and my need for a competent servant currently outweighs my wish to regain my strength as
quickly as possible.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Had that just been a backhanded compliment or pure
cruelty? But then again, he probably shouldn’t expect any deep compassion from Lord Voldemort.
In the end he settled on “I am glad to be of help.”

Voldemort hummed, before speaking again. “However, short sessions where I draw more strongly
upon your power every other evening should be possible.”
Opening his mouth, Harry closed it directly again. He didn’t like the sound of those sessions,
however, Voldemort had just stated that he needed his aid. Besides, he was currently bound to the
wizard, which really left him no choice but to trust his enemy in this.

They entered the bathroom and Harry guided Voldemort over to the edge of the tube.
“Did you forget to add the relaxant or did you not know which faucet you needed to turn on?” the
wizard asked perceptively.
Blushing again, Harry lowered his head “I didn’t know…” He carefully lowered Voldemort onto
the low, stone bench and then waited for further instructions.
“We will have to fix these deplorable gaps in your knowledge,” The wizard said and began to
undress.

Feeling uncomfortable, Harry averted his eyes, but it only spared him for a moment as Voldemort
ordered, “Help me into the bath.”
Nodding, he tried to not stare at the pale, slender chest with its almost white nipples. He grabbed
Voldemort around his waist again and carefully supported him as the wizard let slowly more and
more of his long snake-body lower into the hot water.

When Voldemort was fully submerged, he sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. For a
moment Harry only stood awkwardly, watching the man relax. Finally, when he felt too out of
place, he asked, “Would you like me to get a washcloth and wash your back, My Lord?”
“Do that,” Voldemort said simply. It should have sounded far too arrogant and condescending to
Harry’s ears, but he was just glad that he had to do something if the man didn’t dismiss him.

Knowing quite well by now where towels and such were located, he gathered everything he had
not managed before and brought it over. He placed the towels onto the bench, before grabbing the
washcloth and kneeling down behind Voldemort.

Pulling his wand out, he summoned the vial of soap he had used to wash the man during his
unconsciousness and poured a small amount onto the cloth. His hand halted when it was just a
hair’s breadth away from Voldemort’s skin. So close he could feel the wizard’s strong magic even
more clearly. The sensation wasn’t yet as strong as it had been when he had supported him earlier,
but it still was enough to send goosebumps over his skin.

Absently, he wondered what was wrong with him that Voldemort’s mere presence was enough to
make him feel alive and excited again. He finally breached the distance and didn’t quite manage to
suppress the sharp sound as he inhaled. It was an overwhelming sensation, to feel Voldemort’s
magic without the pain that usually accompanied the experience, but then again, he had never
before seen the wizard this relaxed.

He began to move the cloth in small, circular motions over Voldemort's skin. Apparently he was
doing something right, because a moment later the wizard leaned forwards to give him more access
to his back.

As Harry watched foam spread over the white skin, he once again thought that this was a perfect
opportunity. If he conjured a knife, the war could be over within seconds. And once again he
didn’t follow up on that thought and instead sunk into a meditative-like trance as he silently
worked and enjoyed the prickles of dark magic that crawled up his arm.
He had lost all sense of time when Voldemort finally ordered: “Help me out of the bath now.”
Nodding silently, Harry quickly rinsed the wizard’s back, before placing the washcloth to the side
and standing up.

Voldemort looked exhausted again, he noted as he grabbed the man under his left arm and helped
him to first lift himself onto the stony floor and then onto the bench. He hadn’t been prompted first
and just reached for one of the towels he had prepared and began to towel him off. He hurried as
much as he felt comfortable with, seeing that Voldemort probably wanted to return to his bed but
was just too proud to say so.

“Is there some particular robe you would like me to fetch for you, My Lord?” he asked when he
was finished.
“Bring me the green dressing gown from my wardrobe,” Voldemort told him and he quickly
obliged. The robe was found quickly enough and soon Harry helped the man into the gown and
tied the sash for him.

Afterwards, he basically dragged Voldemort back to his bed. At least the wizard seemed once
again too out of it to realize how clumsily he was being handled. He carefully laid the wizard down
and covered him up to his chin.
“Would soup be ok for dinner, My Lord?” he asked before he could forget or Voldemort fell
asleep. He only got a hum in return, which could have been distracted or half-asleep. Hopefully the
soup would still be fine once he was serving it.

But clearly, Voldemort wasn’t as gone as he had suspected, because when Harry had reached the
door, he called him back.

“As my personal servant you will be taking the adjoining room. I will add a door in the parlor.
And...” the wizard said, summoning his wand “this should be enough to make sure my followers
notice your special position among the ranks.”
Harry felt a wave of Voldemort’s magic wash over his face, however, he didn’t dare to take it off
and check it in front of the wizard.

“Thank you,” he said, only remembering what he had forgotten when Voldemort lifted a
demanding eyebrow.
“Um… My Lord.”
Apparently satisfied, Voldemort made a shooing gesture, dismissing him.

Once the bedroom door was securely closed, Harry walked over to the ancient mirror and pulled
his hood down. The color of his mask had changed. It was now black with a silver pattern. The
whole ensemble made him think of Venetian masks.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Harry. He tried to continue as normally as possible, cleaning
the kitchen, tidying and dusting the parlor (even though there wasn’t really any dust) and providing
Voldemort with another meal. Meat was out, so he prepared some sandwiches and rather tasteless
fruit salad.

Voldemort had not looked delighted, at least not at the sight of the salad, but had eaten
nonetheless. He really needed to go shopping. But that was the least of his problems. It had taken
him only about 30 minutes to realize that Voldemort’s unexpected awakening had him totally
thrown off kilter. It brought the quandary of his situation back to the forefront of his mind, despite
his best efforts these last couple of days to not think about it and just enjoy the moment. Which
sounded even more stupid to his own ears.

Around nine in the evening however, he had found nothing more to occupy himself and Voldemort
had looked once again rather tired, so he had gone to his new room. That was where he was sitting
now, staring at the bland stone walls, his feet pulled up onto the bed to protect them from the icy
cold stones and thanking Merlin that at least the mattress was soft and the duvet warm.

Tomorrow, when time would allow it, he would go and look for an old carpet. There had to be
something like an attic somewhere around here.
For now however, he slipped under said cover, extinguished the candle on his night stand and
listened for any hint that Voldemort had fallen asleep deeply. However, he wasn’t quite sure what
he was even listening for. Could a man without a nose even snore? Wasn’t snoring most of the time
the result of a crooked nasal septum? Or being overweight, but he could dismiss that instantly,
seeing that the wizard was nothing more than cold, pale flesh and bones.

In the end he just waited until the slim moon stood high in the sky and many stars had joined
Hesperos. Once he felt secure enough, he summoned the journal from his pocket, pulled the thick
duvet over his head and whispered “Lumos”.

Once again his eyes lingered on the detailed illustration, something about the triangular symbol
and the three purple moons that hovered like an eerie roof above drew him in. Frowning at himself,
he forced his eyes downwards onto the ritual.

The words seemed to taunt him, awakening desires in him, he had thought long since buried. Just
the thought of finally meeting his parents, finally having a family sent his heart racing madly in his
chest. He wanted nothing more than to go outside and try it, however, what he currently needed
was information to survive the remaining 7 weeks at Vodlemort’s side.

He was about to close the journal with a frustrated sigh, when his eyes halted on the word ‘aid’.
 What if he didn’t bring his parents or Sirius back? What if he summoned somebody who knew
what it meant to be a Death Eater? In that case he wouldn’t only get the help he needed, but also
try the ritual with a person that wasn’t quite as important to him as his parents or godfather.

He knew that sounded cruel, or as if his Slytherin side was finally showing, but this was his family
he was thinking about and nobody could ever be more important to him.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Harry began to read. Soon he realized however, that bringing
somebody back was not as easy as just casting a spell; he would need time to prepare, as the ritual
asked for a lot of ingredients and even then, the ghost of the chosen person had to agree, at least as
far as he understood.

Then there were the parts he didn’t understand, some that seemed connected to some weird
wizarding tale or something, but he ignored those. In addition there were sections written down in
Latin (which he at least recognised) and others in an alphabet he didn’t even recognize.

However, even ignoring those sections, the instructions were comprehensible enough that Harry
felt confident he could perform the ritual with enough time to prepare.

That left the question of whom to bring back. He would need to be very careful in whom he chose.
It would have to be somebody without connections to any Death Eater family, or the person would
be of no help. Someone like Wormtail, who needed to live with them and had nowhere else to go,
but more intelligent and less disgusting.

Immediately, Bartemius Crouch Jr. came to his mind. The man had been creepy, but not too much.
He had to be intelligent, or he would never have been able to trick Dumbledore for a whole year.
Also, the man had no remaining family and was loyal enough to want to help his lord even after
everything that had happened.

Additionally, the wizard would hopefully not know him well enough to recognise him with his
mask and the heavy cloak.

He checked the text again and scanned over the things he would need for the ritual. He would
gather quite a few items, but as far as he could see it should be manageable. The ritual itself didn’t
seem too complicated either, which was a relief. He had feared that it would resemble brewing a
potion.
Satisfied that he finally had a plan, he pocketed the scroll again, extinguished his wand and finally
lay down. However, sleep was a long time coming as his mind imagined a happier future with his
parents and Sirius by his side.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Dinner Guests and Preparations
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 3: Dinner Guests and Preparations

Harry was awoken by the soft buzz of his wand the next morning. He reached for the slender wood
and flicked it. Instantly, the buzzing stopped. Rubbing his hands for some warmth, he stood up and
put his shoes on. He really needed some more clothes, but from where and what he had no idea. He
couldn’t go back to the Dursleys for his muggle clothing. It would be far too damning if anyone
saw them.

Looking at his bare chamber, he made a mental note to light a fire later that afternoon. He exited
his small room and crossed the living room to go into the kitchen. Once he was in the storage
room, he began to search for something he could make a bearable breakfast out of.

Sighing at the many tasteless supplies, he pulled his wand out and began to vanish vegetables and
fruits. The result was even more frustrating. There was basically nothing left but eggs, potatoes, oat
flakes, a small bottle of milk and an equally small portion of honey. He would need to talk to
Voldemort about going shopping or ordering some supplies or sending a house elf or doing
whatever stuck up purebloods did when they ran out of food.

Summoning everything, he resigned himself to serving Voldemort porridge once more without
fruits, nuts, or anything else which made porridge a great breakfast, alongside eggs without bacon
and nothing else.

The meal was prepared quickly and soon he put everything onto the tray and carried everything
over to Voldemort’s main living chambers. Supporting the tray on his hips, he knocked silently. He
didn’t want to wake the wizard up in case he was still asleep.
However, a brisk “enter” told him that Lord Voldemort was already up, if not about.
The man was sitting propped up against his pile of pillows, patting his familiar slowly and staring
at the opposite wall with a strange expression Harry couldn’t decipher. If it had been anyone else
but the dark lord, Harry would maybe have called it desperation, but clearly, that couldn’t be it.
However when Harry entered, he looked up, glanced at the tray and turned an annoyed frown on
him.

“Did I not make myself clear that I do not appreciate porridge for every meal? Especially one that
looks so plain.”
A wand was pointed at his face and Harry took a cautious step backwards, even as waves of dark
magic crashed into him and made his skin tingle.
“I told you yesterday that there is basically nothing left. Now there is even less!” He exclaimed,
only to realize too late that he had forgotten to whom exactly he was talking. The curse hit him
before Harry could even think about apologizing. It sent him writhing onto the floor as every
never-end of his body seemed to burst into fire and his head to explode. Not even the fact that he
could once again feel the dark Lord’s magic coursing through him was any sort of comfort.

After what felt like hours, but could only have been seconds, the curse was finally lifted.
“I do not tolerate disrespect,” Voldemort warned.
Shaking, Harry pushed himself first into a sitting position and then to his feet.
“My apologies, my Lord,” he gasped, making sure to keep his eyes subserviently lowered, which
seemed to be the right choice, considering how long the other stayed silent, his ruby gaze trained
on him. It was an unnerving feeling, standing in front of Lord Voldemort, not even able to look him
into his eyes. However, Harry didn’t wish to experience another round of crucio any time soon.

“As you will have to prepare for dinner guests later on,” Voldemort finally spoke up again, “I will
send you shopping.”

Harry stiffened, the ache in his body momentarily forgotten. This couldn’t be happening. He was
not about to cook for a bunch of snobby purebloods who would probably look down on him even
more after they had not only learned about his muggle name, but also about the fact that he was
doing house elf- tasks.

One look at Voldemort however told him that protesting would be of no use, the raised eyebrow
and the still pointed wand told him enough.

“Will they come for coffee or dinner? For how many… and what would you like me…” he tried to
pull himself together and failed miserably as he was getting more and more nervous.
“Enough, Hades,” Voldemort snapped and Harry stopped his rambling and turned to face the
wizard.
“The Malfoys will come for dinner around 6 in the evening. There will be no special requirements
for the meal, you may cook what you feel most comfortable with; no allergies or major dislikes,
however, I do not appreciate cabbage.”

“Will we… I mean you and your guests eat in the dining room, My Lord?”
“Of course, where else should we eat?".”
More or less confident that he would manage with this information, he turned to go to the kitchen,
when he remembered that there was no tasteful food left.
“My Lord, what should I cook?”
Voldemort’s face changed to a mask of annoyance and Harry shivered as a wave of potent magic
hit him once again. “Has someone cursed you with a muffliato? Or do I need to teach you to pay
attention to your Lord as well?”

Shuddering, Harry quickly shook his head.

“No, My Lord. That wasn’t what I meant… I mean, our storage is basically empty. There is
nothing good left,” he gestured over to the plain oatmeal, before adding, “if you wish for
something else.

Clearly frustrated, probably at such mundane problems, Vodlemort sighed.

“It will suffice for now, however, the quicker you go, the better.”
Blinking, Harry could only ask “Where?” He hadn’t seen any village nearby on his nightly outings,
let alone a grocery store.
“The British Wizarding Market. You have at least heard about it?” Voldemort asked, one hairless
eyebrow inquiringly raised.
He merely shook his head, making the wizard sigh.

Noticing that Voldemort was scrutinizing him, he straightened and waited for more instructions.
“At some point you will have to buy yourself a wardrobe befitting of your rank, but not today.
There is not enough time. However, if you see a fitting black cloak you may buy it on your
outing.”

Voldemort held his hand out and Harry stared at it for a moment. He felt utterly stupid, but the only
thought that came to his mind was that Voldemort wanted him to take his hand and that surely
couldn’t be?

He clearly had waited too long, because the wizard rolled his eyes and said, “You will use this to
pay.”
Finally noticing that Voldemort was holding something out to him, he rushed forward and quickly
placed the tray down he was still holding before holding his own hand out. Voldemort let a plain
ring with an engraved crest fall into his hand.

Harry didn’t recognise the crest, but that was no wonder. He knew basically nothing about
wizarding families. The only thing he knew for certain, was that the ring couldn’t be an heirloom
from Voldemort’s father’s side.
“And how will I get there, my Lord?”
“I assume your parents have not yet taught you how to apparate?” Voldemort questioned.
Harry shook his head.
“Then you will take the floo in the hallway. The address is Wizarding Market Wiltshire. And for
your way back: Regia Magicae, Insula Magicae. You better go immediately,” Voldemort added the
last part with another glare at his meager meal.

Harry tried not to gape as he heard the address, but seeing Voldemort’s smirk, he doubted that he
was managing very well. Nodding stupidly, he slipped the ring on his finger and turned to leave.
“Take this with you,” the dark wizard continued, holding a simple, tear-shaped crystal pendant on a
silver necklace out to him. “This charm will allow you to use magic outside these wards without
being noticed by the ministry. It will also protect your mind in case you meet any of your parent’s
acquaintances. At least, as long as you do not meet their eyes directly.”
Taking the pendant as well, Harry hung it around his neck, wondering why he had never seen a
student with one of these things when they were so useful. They couldn’t be that difficult to charm
if Voldemort could do it even in his weakened state.
“Thank you, My Lord,” he said, meaning it for the first time and turned to leave.
“You better leave your mask here.” Voldemort called after him.
Cursing inwardly, Harry made a beeline towards his little chamber. Entering, he put his mask into
his bedside drawer, before thinking better of it and simply shrinking it before letting the item fall
into the same pocket in which he still had the journal with the ritual hidden.

His eyes widened as a thought came to him and he quickly pulled the small book out. Turning it
back to its original size, he quickly scanned the things he would need to resurrect Barty Crouch Jr.
Most things weren’t overly special, like wine, fresh grapes, salt, a couple of herbs and some sort of
sweet, essential oil. The only exception was the opium. It sounded as if he would have to travel to
Knockturn Alley for that.

Seeing how long the list was, he decided to check Voldemort’s storage down by the labs first.
Chances were higher that Voldemort wouldn’t notice a few missing herbs in a jar than questionable
withdrawals from his Gringotts account.

He rolled the scroll up again and left his room silently. Not that he truly believed Voldemort would
try to get up on his own yet, but better safe than sorry and without a mask the wizard would
certainly recognize him.

Luckily the parlor was deserted, so he quickly went into the hallway and from there, down to the
labs. By now he understood Voldemort’s system quite well, so he found the room he needed
quickly and easily. Letting his eyes wander over the rows filled with herb filled jars, he was
relieved that he would only have to buy mastic, saffron, soil and the essential oil. He was
pleasantly surprised that Voldemort even possessed a small jar of opium.
He shivered at the thought of what the wizard would need the stuff for, but then the realization
came to him that Voldemort probably needed it for something very similar he himself was about to
try.

With his shortened shopping list in mind, he returned to the upper hallway and quickly activated
the floo.
The floo ride was as uncomfortable as always. It seemed to take forever until he was finally spit out
onto a muddy meadow only a few paces away from the outskirts of a grand market.

Blinking at the sight, he turned around only to realize that he had exited out of a fireplace that was
practically standing in the middle of nowhere without even a hut attached to it. The flames glowed
suddenly green and he hastily stepped to the side before he could be knocked over by the next
person arriving. His body was still aching enough, even without an accident added on top of it.

As he stepped down from the meadow, he saw that a narrow path was leading up to an open iron
gate, which was more symbolic than anything else as the fence was missing. Shaking his head at
the newest case of wizarding oddities, he entered the market and looked around in an helpless
attempt to orient himself.

Somehow the market reminded him very much of something out of the middle ages. Simple,
wooden stalls cluttered an area at least twice as big as the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Some
possessed roofs made from colorful, woolen fabric and many of them displayed crests of families
he could not identify.

Probably the biggest difference between pictures of medieval muggle markets and this one were
the many house elves standing behind the stores. Only now and then he saw a witch and even more
rarely a wizard.

There was nothing like a center in the form of a well or church and the stalls seemed not to stand in
any semblance of order, not even the path continued further than to the gate. Resigning himself to
first trying to get an overview, he began walking.

It didn’t take him long to notice a few more things. First, that many stalls were not specialized in
one kind of product, but selling a bit of nearly everything. Secondly, some stalls offered much
greater amounts of their products than others and lastly, even though he didn’t recognize any of the
family crests, he could often at least tell which booths were from dark pureblood families and
which were not.
Some just looked more posh and the house elves behind the counters more snobbish, if that was
even possible.
He was ready to forget his prejudice for once (if only for the sake of his cover) and go to those
stalls from Voldemort’s supporters, only he quickly noticed that those booths held much more and
much better looking goods anyway.

Maybe it would also be best to buy small amounts from as many stalls as possible, just in case
buying goods was connected to some sort of hierarchy. Like with those old muggle kings who
showed their favor by placing people closer or further away from him at court.

Plan made, he pulled his hood deeper over his face and stepped up to a stall close by which was
overseen by an old and grim looking female house elf who had secured her oversized pillowcase
with some sort of string so that it almost looked like a dress.

Looking at the offerings, he decided to first get potatoes and eggs. Now he only had to decide how
much. The crate where he had found the old potatoes had been big enough to hold at least 50
pounds and it had looked as if it had been full to the brim at one point.

Voldemort lived alone, but as the Malfoy’s visit proved, he apparently entertained at least his more
important followers and their families. He should probably have asked how long groceries usually
stayed fresh in the store room and if Voldemort was once again strong enough to support the
charm. Well, if it came down to it, he could just keep it going with his own magic as long as he
didn’t need to return to this unorganized market too often.

“What can Pipsy offer to the young sir?” The house elf interrupted him suddenly, apparently it was
his turn.
“Um… I would like to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and 5 dozen eggs,” he held his hand with the
signet ring out and the house elves' eyes widened.
“Pipsy will send your groceries to the usual place,” the elf said and snapped his fingers. An entire
sack of potatoes vanished next to the creature and five cartons of eggs.
“Thank you,” he said as the elf bowed deeply.

Feeling a bit befuddled, he turned to leave, only to notice the scrutinizing stare a witch nearby was
sending him. Well, maybe his black robe was a bit conspicuous in a market in the middle of
summer. So he ducked behind the nearest booth, waved his wand and muttered a quick charm to
change its color from black to a Light summery blue.

He slipped back into the crowd and walked to the next promising looking store, where he bought
several cans of milk, several pounds of beef and four different kinds of honey. Next he bought
vegetables and fruits, then more meat and fish, then flour and new herbs, among them the mastic
and saffron he needed for the ritual.
All in all it took him nearly two hours until he finally meandered to the south end of the market,
where he had seen some stalls with clothing and other non-edible articles.

The soil was purchased and sent to Voldemort’s castle quickly enough, however, the oil and the
robe proved to be difficult. He felt utterly overwhelmed by the many different kinds of oils and the
description sweet on the scroll was not really helpful. In the end he sent a prayer up to whatever
deity might be listening, and that his assumption that the elf in front of him served a dark family as
well was right, he asked “Is there a sweet oil especially suited for magical rituals?”

The old, male elf narrowed his pale eyes and he quickly stuck his hand out once more. Just as all
the other times, the creature’s eyes widened and he ducked under his stall for a moment, only to
reappear with a small, golden flask.
“Olive, plum, and lily. Darkest Lord always orders this one,” the elf told him in a reverential tone
of voice.
“Thank you. I am sure he will be pleased,” he said and pocketed the flask, before turning to look at
the last and most difficult stand. Difficult, because he not only didn’t know what kind of robe
would be proper for his current job (for lack of a better term), but also because a haggard wizard
with dirty blond hair was overseeing his stall with hawk eyes.

He couldn’t just step up to the man, every mage in wizarding Britain knew his face, which meant
he needed to put his mask back on, which would certainly draw attention from the Light witches
and wizards around him.

Suddenly an idea hit him and for the third time this morning he ducked behind a stall, where he
proceeded to take his cloak off. Pulling his wand out, he cast a notice-me-not on the cloak before
putting it back on, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his mask and enlarging it to put it
back on. Fortunately he had pocketed it after all and as long as he walked with his head down to the
stall, he should not draw attention, where then, he would just look the man straight in the eyes to
make himself noticeable. Hopefully his plan would work.

The downside to his plan was that on his way to the booth that about every second person bumped
into him or stepped on his feet. Scowling silently, he hurried and pushed himself to the very front.
Behind him, the customers muttered in confusion, but he simply ignored them, lifted his head and
whispered under his breath, so that only the stall owner would hear him:
“What robe would you recommend for our Lord’s personal servant?”
“Are we not all our Lord’s personal servants? However, some are certainly more useful than the
lower classes…” the wizard trailed off.
Arrogant prick, thought Harry, but merely replied:
“By personal servant, I meant his... valet,” he settled on, showing him the ring.
The wizard’s eyebrows rose, but he finally turned to his assortment.
“I would suggest this one for the summer. It is made from Acromantula silk, cool and soft on the
skin, elegant, but simple with no decorative embroidery which could distract from our Master. I
could add buttons with his crest.”
“I will take two, one with plain buttons and one as you mentioned.”
“Very well,” the man nodded, swung his wand and two simple paper bags appeared on the counter
in front of him.
“Thank you for your help,” Harry said before finally leaving.

He returned to the odd fireplace and waited for a big group of chattering witches with children to
leave, before stepping up to it. Instead of the usual small bowl with floo powder, there was a huge
barrel from which he took a handful.
“Regia Magicae, Insula Magicae,” he said quietly and tossed the powder in. The flames turned
emerald green and he swiftly stepped inside.

The journey back seemed much shorter than the one that had brought him to the market and soon
he stumbled back out into Voldemort’s hallway. Immediately, a wave of angry magic hit him. With
a loud exclamation he went to the ground, his knees hitting the cold stone floor painfully and his
scar exploded in white-hot pain that made the cruciatus from earlier pale in comparison.

As he clutched his hands helplessly to his forehead, he absentmindedly worried what could have
caused Voldemort’s sudden anger. Had the dark Lord somehow found out who had been taking
care of him while unconscious? This pain certainly indicated a slow and painful death.

The pain seemed to go on for hours before it slowly ebbed away. Gasping for air, Harry tried to
catch his breath. He had rolled onto his back and the still blue cloak was wrapped uncomfortably
tightly around his legs. Goosbumps still covered his arms and his skin still tingled. Voldemort’s
magic lingered heavily in the air and with the anger gone, it once again seemed to settle over him
like a soothing balm, numbing the pain in his muscles and bones as his magic rose like it had done
so often after a particular brutal beating of his uncle, healing him.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself back onto his feet and followed the
weakening trail of Voldemort’s magic into the parlor. Curious despite himself, he silently pressed
the silver handle to the wizard’s bedroom down and peered inside.

Voldemort was still sitting in his bed. However, his back was ramrod straight and he held his bone-
like wand in his hands, scowling down on it as if he wished death upon the piece of wood.
Apparently, the man was still experiencing some difficulties.

“Knocking and not staring holes in the side of my head is the proper way to announce your
presence,” Voldemort’s voice suddenly startled him. Blushing beneath his mask, Harry entered.
“I am sorry, My Lord.”
Voldemort turned his gleaming red eyes on him and lifted a hairless eyebrow.
“I hope this is not the cloak you decided on buying with my money.”
“No. It’s the old one, but people were staring at me, so I changed the color. Apparently a wizard in
a black robe with a drawn hood looks rather suspicious.”
The eyebrow stayed in its lifted place. “And you did not take into consideration to simply pull the
hood down?”

Harry didn’t answer, instead, he held the paper bag up.

“A… colleague recommended these..” He pulled the upper robe out, it was the one with the special
buttons. WIth an inward scowl he realized that by crest the wizard had meant Voldemort’s dark
mark.
“I also got a simpler one,” he added.

“Put that one on for tonight,” Voldemort ordered, pointing at the one with the dark mark-shaped
buttons before dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
Scowling at the dismissive gesture, Harry said “I will get to work then,” and left the bedroom to
check where the groceries had been sent to. Fortunately, the question practically answered itself.
As he entered the kitchen, he found the storage door open and what seemed like a wagonload of
supplies taking up the floor in the storage and about 3 square meters of the main kitchen.

Pulling out his wand, he began to send the items to their respective places. Five minutes later he
was done and standing in the smaller room, pondering what he should cook.

While he wasn’t a bad cook, he only knew muggle recipes and nothing overly special. He had no
idea about caviar, lobster or these strange things mages liked to eat sometimes. Maybe he should
just ask Voldemort what kind of meat he would like.

Thinking that the idea held some merit, he walked out of the storage room, only to find the man in
question sitting on a summoned chair next to one of the long counters. It was quite the odd sight,
however, instead of risking his neck by asking how the wizard had gotten lost in the kitchen, he
simply asked, “My Lord, Chicken, pork, beef, duck, or fish?”

“Duck,” Voldemort said after a moment of silence.

Skipping through his mental cookbook, he briefly wavered between two recipes but quickly settled
on the one that had come first to his mind. He summoned six duck breasts, plums, green onions,
potatoes, and flour, as well as a huge roasting pan and began with the preparations.
Seeing that Voldemort was still sitting there and watching him, he asked “do you have Madeira and
some red wine?” instead of going back to the liquor cabinet he had seen in Voldemort’s parlor.

“I do. You should be able to summon them,” the wizard retorted, not bothering to pull out his wand
himself.
Nodding, Harry got his own wand out and sent a quick accio towards the parlor. The bottles came
flying in and he quickly grabbed them before they could smash into anything. Then he began to
chop the green onions and plums. Putting them in a deep bowl, he added four cups of the Madeira
and four cups of red wine before placing it to the side where it wouldn’t bother him.

Next he washed and seasoned the duck breasts and melted some fat in the roasting pan.

“Do you enjoy cooking, Hades?” Voldemort suddenly questioned, his gaze curious.
Harry shrugged. “If it is for the right people,” he answered.
“And who are the right people?”
“People I like.”
Voldemort hummed. “Like me and the Malfoys.”
Without thinking, Harry scoffed. To his relief he heard the other wizard only chuckle in the
background.

“The Malfoys can be trying at times. I heard Draco visited you quite often this past week.”
“Most likely checking that I had not yet killed you,” Harry retorted drily. “He certainly couldn’t
assess if I was doing a good job cooking for you.”
“You did remarkably well considering that you did not use magic,” Voldemort suddenly said. It
sounded so nonchalant that Harry almost missed it.

Flushing, he turned back to his duck breasts feeling embarrassed. A compliment from the Dark
Lord, it almost balanced the stupid comment from earlier out. And it felt good to be praised for
once. Not that he hadn’t gotten lots of pats on the back for his annual fights against the man sitting
only a few feet away, but this was actually something he enjoyed. A hobby, maybe the only gift
the Dursleys had ever given him, even though it certainly hadn’t been their intent.

“Despite your lack of magical knowledge,” Voldemort continued and his little bubble of
contentment burst. “I respect people who are able to think on their feet and take a challenge in
stride.

“That’s a relief, My Lord,” he retorted rather stiffly. All he wanted to do was point out that
Voldemort had failed miserably to cook himself a simple porridge and that there was no way he
could have a vast magical knowledge yet with the small amount of spells they learned every year.
But the latter would mean admitting to being a Hogwarts student and thus, that he had lied to
Voldemort’s face, something he would not do.
He tossed the seasoned duck breasts into the heated pan and browned them briefly, before adding a
cup of water and putting them into the oven.

“Why have your parents never taught you any household spells if you enjoy cooking so clearly?”
Voldemort interrupted the silence once more.

“They kept strictly to the Hogwarts syllabus,” he answered, not even trying to find a better excuse.
“Why not send you there then?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that Voldemort had leaned forwards and was resting his
elbows in a display of curiosity onto the part of his snake body where usually the knees should
have been.
“They feared me meeting dark children. I protested, but after what happened at the end of each
year they felt affirmed in their belief.”
“Ah,” the wizard nodded, his expression darkening slightly. Clearly, even the mention of his real
self sent Lord Voldemort into a bad mood.

“Those unfortunate happenings should end soon,” he said after a moment of silence and Harry
wondered what exactly Voldemort meant by it. Probably though, a new and even more sinister plan
to kill him, so he didn’t ask and instead began to peel the potatoes and slice them into thin strips
before chopping them.

“Well, their caution certainly prevented your involvement with the dark”
Looking around at the sound in Voldemort’s voice, he saw the wizard smirking. A shudder ran
down his spine at the expression and he quickly turned back.

“I will leave you to your work now and prepare myself,” Voldemort said a moment later and
shuffling could be heard. A moment later the sound of a closing door echoed through the room and
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He would never have guessed that Voldemort took such interest in his followers. Especially not a
weak, unimportant, and new one such as himself. Not that he was a real follower, but still. He had
almost assumed that the wizard just commanded his minions without taking the time to get to
know them on a personal level. Or maybe, the man was just incredibly bored, cooped up in his
castle with his magic not really working and his body too weak to even take a walk. He still better
resurrect Crouch Jr. as soon as possible, just to be on the safe side.

Tossing the chopped potatoes in a bowl, he added three eggs, a small amount of flour and salt and
pepper. He would fry the mixture fresh later.
With the more lengthy preparation out of the way, he returned to the storage room and gathered the
necessary ingredients for beef broth. As dessert, he decided he would prepare mini chocolate lava
cakes with whipped cream.

It took him nearly two more hours until those dishes were prepared as well and the dining room
was set. By that time only ten minutes remained until the Malfoy family’s arrival. He rushed into
his room, cast a quick cleaning and freshening charm on himself, transformed his blue jeans into
simple black trousers like he had seen Draco wear on weekends and pulled on his new cloak with
the offensive silver buttons. Lastly he checked his appearance in a conjured mirror. He looked
presentable, however, he yearned for a shower or bath.

He had taken the liberty of using Voldemort’s bath during the time the wizard had been
unconscious, but ever since then he survived on cleaning charms, which didn’t feel very cleansing
after the third casting. He added a polishing charm to his mask and then went into the parlor, just in
time to hear that familiar chime again.

Wondering what to do next, he turned to Voldemort, who was sitting in one of his armchairs,
reading a book. He couldn’t have sat there very long, because he had clearly changed into some
nicer robes than a dressing gown as well.

“Go and greet them. And lead them into the dining room, I will be there shortly,” the wizard
instructed, not even looking up from his tome.
Nodding, Harry went to the door.
“And Hades, I would like you to say ‘Yes, My Lord’ when I give you an order and not only nod,”
Voldemort called after him.
Scowling, Harry pressed the handle down.
“Hades?” There was a definitive warning undertone in the wizard’s voice now, and fearing that his
body would not be able to handle even more pain in one day, he quickly pressed out, “Yes, my
Lord,” before finally exiting into the receiving area.

The Malfoys stood by the fireplace, looking prim, proper and arrogant as ever.
“Hades,” Mrs Malfoy greeted him with a small smile, however, Lucius Malfoy merely lowered
himself to a brisk “Dursley” while Draco sneered openly at him and said “I see you have a new
mask.”

Ignoring the comment, Harry forced a smile into his voice. “Welcome. Our Lord will join us
shortly.”

He let the Malfoys into the dining room and watched as they sat. Lucius immediately took the
place to the right from the head end where presumably, Voldemort would sit. Narcissa sat down
next to her husband while Draco took the chair to Voldemort’s left. Harry wanted to snort at the
arrogance of the action.

However, it turned out to be unnecessary, as Lucius spoke up just then, “Draco, move to sit across
from your mother. The place to our Lord’s left is reserved for his left hand man or at least another
from the inner circle. Have a bit more patience.”

Harry smirked and the blond blushed and threw him a glare as if knowing exactly about his
reaction, but moved nonetheless.
“Would you like something to drink?” He interrupted the awkward moment.
“I would appreciate a glass of wine and my husband will take a glass of fire whiskey,” Narcissa
gave him a small, polite smile.
“Bring me some fire whiskey as well,” Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair.
“A pumpkin juice then,” he retorted drily. “I will not serve alcohol to a minor.”
“You are one yourself,” Draco shot back.
Harry just shrugged, he had no interest in whiskey anyway.

Going over to the liquor cabinet, he pulled a couple of glasses out and the right bottles. Seeing a
small stack of butter beer bottles as well, he called over to Draco,
“I could offer you some butter beer if you would prefer.”
“Yes,” the blond snapped with a sneer.

Flicking his wand at the bottles, he sent them over and then followed with a small tray holding the
wine and whiskey. When he had placed the glasses down and put the tray away, he finally turned
to seat himself, only to realize the only spots left were across from Narcissa or the prat. At least, if
he wanted to make sure and leave the one left to Voldemort’s empty. Sighing, he pulled the chair
across Draco out, knowing it would be the most logical thing to sit close to someone his own age.

“How is our Lord fairing?” Lucius spoke up, picking up his glass.
“He is getting much better,” Harry retorted nonchalantly. Did the man really believe that he would
tell him anything else? He didn’t even want to imagine the punishment that would follow if he
would reveal the troubles Voldemort still had with his magic.

“Then we may expect a meeting soon?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer that question, fortunately it wasn’t necessary as a hissing voice
retorted, “You may, Lucius.”

Voldemort entered the room, all billowing cloak and gleaming red eyes. The Malfoys rose, Lucius
and Draco bowing while Narcissa curtseyed deeply. Harry quickly mimicked them, feeling more
helpless than in all the past days put together. He didn’t know that there was specific etiquette.
Hopefully with this being a rather private meeting there wouldn’t be too much he could do wrong.
Fortunately he had gathered everything for the ritual. He needed help before things grew more
difficult.

“You may sit,” Voldemort graciously allowed, and Harry took the chance to excuse himself.
“My Lord, I need to check on dinner,” he began, basically feeling the Malfoys’ sneer behind his
back.
Voldemort made a dismissive gesture and he quickly left.

He heaved a sigh of relief once the kitchen door closed behind him. This would turn out to be the
longest evening of his life, he was sure of that. Walking over to the oven, he quickly checked on
the duck, but it was perfectly fine. Therefore he went to the soup, retrieved four soup bowls and
filled them with steaming broth before placing them onto the silver tray.

He levitated it back to the dining room, where Voldemort and his guests were chatting in low
voices.
The Malfoys didn’t even spare him a glance as he served the soup, but Voldemort looked up.
“Where is your soup?”
Blinking, Harry looked down onto the empty tray. “I have to return to the kitchen and prepare the
main course.”

“Don’t tell me, Dursley, you are preparing our dinner once again the muggle way?” Draco sneered.
Lucius scoffed audibly and his son added, “And something like you dares to call himself our
Lord’s personal servant.”
Blushing furiously, Harry glared at his school yard nemesis. Sometimes he had wondered if Draco
was only so despicable towards him, but clearly, the boy just was a stupid arse.
“Shut up and be thankful, or you would have gone hungry this evening. Or would you have cooked
and played house elf for our Lord?” He snapped back, coming as close as he dared to voicing his
unspoken question.

“The shelf with the engraved runes would have kept dinner fresh for hours. Now go and finish
your preparations, but come back for the main course,” Voldemort ordered, annoyance pouring
from him in waves but it at least served to shut the blond prat up.

Bowing his head silently, Harry suppressed the urge to reach up and rub at his tingling scar and
quickly left.

Frying the rösti and finishing the sauce was a quick affair and he was just ready when the soup
bowls came flowing into the kitchen, probably sent by one of the Malfoys to show that he was
taking too much time despite his quickness.
However, he had arranged the duck breasts, rösti and vegetables on the silver plates already and
just flicked his wand to let them hover in front of him as the tray was far too small for all five big
plates.

“It certainly would raise all our spirits,” Narcissa was saying when he entered a moment later. She
noticed him and gave him another small smile. “This looks delicious, Mr. Dursley,” she
commented, picking up her napkin and placing it over her lap.

Harry flicked his wand again and the plates sat down in front of everyone. While he took his seat,
the Malfoys waited respectfully for Voldemort to start eating, which the wizard luckily did
immediately and for the next few minutes an almost comfortable silence fell over the dinning
room.

Harry had to compliment himself. The meat was so soft, he didn’t even need a knife to cut it, the
sauce was fruity but not too sweet due to the red wine and the röstis were perfectly crisp while still
soft in the middle.

Humming silently to himself, he tucked in, barely paying any attention to the blond family who ate
with so much poise that the food would probably get cold before they were through half of it.

“Any updates on our colleagues?” Voldemort spoke up after a while, breaking the silence.
Lucius cleared his throat and placed his fork and knife down. “The Lestranges, Rookwood, Avery,
Crabbe, Jugson, Mcnair and Mulciber are awaiting their trials. It does not look good. The public is
demanding the kiss.”

“And Bartemius?”

Harry perked up. Voldemort could only mean Bartemius Crouch Jr, the man he was planning to
revive. The more he knew about the man, the better.

Lucius shook his head. “Still no lead. It could be that he is hiding somewhere, biding his time or
that Dumbledore took care of him. He has opposed him twice.”

“By now it is safer to assume that the order took care of him,” Voldemort said with a tight
expression on his face. “Bartemius would have found his way back to us otherwise.”
“I fear so as well, my Lord. He was always one of your most devoted followers,” Lucius sighed.
“It is a pity,” Voldemort frowned. “Alas, we can not change it. But we may avenge him soon.

Harry tried to not let anything of his emotions show, which was luckily helped a great deal by the
mask he was wearing. But inside he was whooping in joy. This was perfect. Voldemort and his
men did not even know what exactly had happened to the man, so if he managed to do it right,
maybe they would come to the conclusion that Bartemius had just been unconscious for a very
long time. Or something equally harmless, at least.

“But we are spreading rumors about your recovery. And your move into Slytherin Castle. Many
believers wish to pay their respects personally,” the Malfoy patriarch continued.
Voldemort hummed, clearly deep in thoughts. “Some of them will get a chance soon. While I
unfortunately was indisposed during this year’s Lughnasadh, I intend to arrange a summer festival
before the children have to depart for school. Narcissa, I hope you do not plan to host your ball on
the 30th?”

“Of course not, my Lord. I had hoped that you would host an event and even if it were a holiday, I
would not dare to presume the date now that our Lord is back. And of course to not make our
Ministry suspicious. I fear they still like to pay us a visit on these days,” the witch replied.

“You have a wise wife, Lucius. But I believe you are already aware of it,” Voldemort smirked
before turning his attention to Draco.
“How was the last term, Draco?”
Draco straightened, seemingly surprised to be addressed directly. “Surprisingly good, my Lord,” he
answered swiftly. “It was nice to see Potter and his friends finally be punished for their behavior.”

Harry, still listening, had to stop himself from saying something to the matter. Instead, he balled
his fists under the table, where they were out of sight. It made the pale scar stand out grotesquely,
enlarging the words he had been forced to carve into his own skin.

“I only wish they would finally teach something useful at Hogwarts. Then I would finally be able
to kick that stupid mudblood from her pedestal.”
Voldemort clucked with his tongue. “Hogwarts education is sadly lacking. I hope to remedy that
before you reach your NEWTs.”

Harry suppressed a snort. It was hilarious what all the Dark Lord wanted to change, but so far, he
had not heard a single plan.

“Hades, bring the dessert now,” Voldemort suddenly commanded, declaring the conversation
finished.
Looking around, he realized that all the plates were indeed empty. So he rose, flicked his wand and
sent them back to the kitchen, where he quickly placed the five fist-sized cakes onto small plates
and added a blob of whipped cream.

“Chocolate lava cake,” he announced when he returned, but the Malfoys only blinked at it. Maybe
the dessert was something wizards didn’t know? It was a muggle dish after all. A pity, however, as
chocolate lava cake was one of the best sweets a person could try.

“Lava cake?” Draco asked with a sneer, as if suspecting the dessert might burn him alive. Rolling
his eyes, Harry reached for his cake fork, cut a small piece off and showed Draco the liquid
chocolate sauce inside. “See,” he said, but that was as far as he got as Voldemort suddenly hissed
“Crucio!” to his left.

He dropped his fork with a loud exclamation as his nerves were once again set on black fire by
Voldemort’s powerful magic, letting even the pain from earlier when he had returned from his trip
to the market pale in comparison. Clearly, it was worse when the anger was directly directed at
him.

He screamed in agony, or at least he believed it was him as his mind felt more and more
disassociated with every second that went by under the curse. Amidst the pain his scar was a
throbbing, oozing wound and his muscles spasmed. His throat became hoarse and he couldn’t hear
his own voice anymore. Then it was all suddenly over.

The magic was still coursing through him, his own finally responding, for the second time that day
covering him in a soothing, complimentary blanket. Then the sensations stopped completely as if
Voldemort was actively drawing his magic away and he whimpered at the loss. For a long moment,
he could do nothing but lay there and try to regain his faculties. His magic was still erratically
prickling through him, but it grew weaker by the minute as the pain vanished.

Finally he felt steady enough to sit up again. As he did so, he used the opportunity to wipe the
blood away that had trickled from his scar into his eyes, disguising it as a mere motion to right his
mask.

As he clumsily pushed himself up to his feet, he felt heat rush to his cheeks. For some reason he
felt so mortified, like a child that had been scolded in front of everyone.

Disconcerted at the direction his thoughts had taken, he got back on his feet, not daring to meet
Voldemort’s gaze. As if in a daze, Harry returned to his seat and when he saw Voldemort finally
taking a bite from his cake, he began to continue eating as well, hoping that the chocolate would
calm him somewhat.

Unfortunately it didn’t work. He couldn’t even taste the smooth chocolate on his tongue and his
thoughts continued to swirl. By Merlin, the bastard had crucio-ed him! The cruciatus was one of
the unforgivables, it meant excruciating pain for the victim, surely his slip of protocol had not been
bad enough to warrant such a punishment?

He suppressed the urge to glare at the Dark Lord, knowing it would not do him any good, but he
just felt so petulant.

“Hades!” Voldemort snapped coldly and he jolted from his thoughts.

“Clean the table.”

Nodding, Harry rose to his feet unable to get a word out. The Malfoys were staring at him
strangely and there was something in Voldemort’s eyes he couldn’t name. But one thing he knew,
he needed to get a grip on himself.

Picking the plates up quickly, he hurried into the kitchen, where he leaned against the closed door
and tried to calm down. What the hell was happening with him? But no, he couldn’t think about
that right now, he didn’t have the time. It couldn’t be normal how he reacted to the Dark Lord.
Well, he thought bitterly, he had known this for years. Only then it had merely been his scar he had
been worried about, now there was that other weird sensation as well.

Knowing that he had already taken too long, he ignored the piles of dirty dishes for now and
returned to the parlor.

The Malfoys were just rising to their feet. Inwardly, he sighed in relief that he wouldn’t have to
deal with the annoying family any longer. Although, Narcissa did seem alright, at least in
comparison to her husband and son.

They followed Voldemort to the receiving area where they bowed respectfully one last time.

“Go and prepare me a bath,” Voldemort commanded once the flames had returned to their red
color.
“Should I add the relaxant?” he asked, trying to let his mind wander back to what happened earlier.
Even with the memories tucked away safely, it was difficult however.
The wizard looked dead on his feet, which hopefully meant he would be free for the night soon.
“Yes.”
“I will hurry,” he said, but before he could quickly made his way into Voldemort’s bathroom, the
wizard held him back:
“And Hades?” he hissed cooly, waiting for Harry to turn back to face him. Once Harry did, he
added, “Never start eating before me again.”
“Yes, my Lord.”

Fortunately he had memorized which faucet to turn for the relaxing poition. The easy, familiar
motion managed to relax his mind further. A bath or shower of his own of course would have been
nice, but this was good as well.

Within five minutes the tub was full and steam clouded the room and he turned to tell Voldemort.
However, a tall, black figure was already leaning against the door frame, waiting for the bath to be
ready and studying him, his red eyes gleaming through the fog.

“The bath…” he began, but then had to clear his throat “the bath is ready, my Lord.”
There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He had forgotten the bathing at the end of the
preparation of the bath. He didn’t want to see so much of his nemesis. The man was just repulsive
with his cold and scaly body.

Voldemort approached, his slithering movement slower than earlier this evening.
“Help me out of my robe, Hades,” he said, stretching his arms out to the sides.

Trying to not make a face in disgust he stepped closer, he reached out his hands.
Voldemort’s robe was soft and made from thick velvet. He stared at the pale skin which was
slowly revealed as he opened one button after the other. It didn’t look clammy again and the
infected wounds had finally closed and paled to a much healthier looking pink.

This close, Voldemort’s magic was strong. Everyday he could sense the improvement and their
weird connection of course, but near as he was it was especially intense. He shuddered and his
fingers slipped from the button he was trying to open and brushed the cool but once again dry skin.

Instantly the soothing sensation was back and the strangest urge to snuggle into that bare chest in
front of him overcame him. His eyes rose a little, lingering at the pale nipples. His tongue darted
out, an empty feeling suddenly settling into his stomach. Suddenly realizing how strange he was
behaving, Harry jerked back.
“I… I am sorry,” he mumbled, despite knowing that fortunately his mask had hidden his action and
quickly continued. Once all buttons were open, he reached up to slip the heavy robe from
Voldemort’s shoulders. The wizard wore no shirt underneath, probably still due to his weakened
and slightly injured state.
He placed the garment on the nearby bench and then stepped closer so that Voldemort could grab
his shoulder and lean onto him. The wizard let his lower body glide into the water. Harry grabbed
him tightly, fearing that Voldemort could fall the rest of the way. His fear was not completely
unreasonable, as the wizard felt like a sack of potatoes in his grasp.

He sighed in relief when Voldemort sat safely in the hot stone pool. Still panting, he grabbed the
wash cloth he had prepared and began to lather the Dark Lord’s back. He watched the muscles in
the man’s slender back relax and felt his lips tugging upwards. This motion seemed just so
immensely human.

For a moment silence descended over the room. The almost meditative feeling overcame Harry
again letting him finally relax as well.

“The dinner you prepared was good,” Voldemort suddenly said.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, the Dursleys had never commented on his cooking, let alone thanked
him. Not that the Dark lord would ever do the latter.
“I bet a house elf would have done a better job,” he forced himself to sober again.
“Probably,” Voldemort agreed and Harry’s mood dropped again.

“Why don’t you get one then?” He asked a bit more forcefully than was probably wise and added a
polite “my Lord?”
“Be glad that I have yet to regain full control of my magic,” Voldemort hissed. “You would do
well to acquire a more respectful tone until then.”
“Yes, my Lord,” he apologized and silently returned to his silent task. However, to his surprise the
wizard spoke up again.
“There are two main reasons why I currently have no house elf. Has anyone explained to you how
a house elf is bound?”
Harry shook his head and Voldemort sighed.

“It is a binding spell cast by the wizard owner. It is mainly supported by a wizard’s blood, but there
is a tiny amount of magic required to keep the bond strong. Secondly, today, many house elves are
born into a bond by being born from a bonded house elf. Even if this is not the case, the first bond
and the loyalty it evokes are always the strongest. I could of course acquire a house elf, however,
there is a chance that the creature could overcome my orders and betray me. It is nothing I wish to
risk, especially now when I have a capable replacement.”

So that was what he had become, Harry thought bitterly, a house elf replacement. It seemed Draco
had been right and he was no better than a house elf. Maybe, when he finally left for Hogwarts,
Voldemort would realize that even a mere servant was important.

“My Lord, should I help you out now?” he asked, even though Voldemort had not been in the bath
for that long yet, but the wizard was clearly exhausted.
He nodded and Harry rose to help him out and onto his bed. He towled the wizard off carefully and
then held his dressing gown out. Once the garment was tied securely, he helped Voldemort back
into his bedroom and into his bed.

Noticing that Voldemort had turned his attention to the small window, he asked, “My Lord, is
something wrong?”
Voldemort blinked, but didn’t move his gaze.
“A storm is approaching soon and so is the new moon. A pity I am still chained to this bed, it
would be the perfect weather for certain rituals.”

Harry had actually read something similar in the description of the revival ritual. He had paid it not
much attention, as it had only been a suggestion and not a requirement, but maybe he should wait
for the storm Voldemort was mentioning? He did want the best possible result and the ritual had
mentioned several levels of revival, for lack of a better description.

“Do you need anything else, my Lord?” he pulled himself out of his musing.
“No. You may retire for the night.”
For a split second Harry pondered if he should wish the man a good night, but then decided against
it.

Instead he went silently into his room. As soon as the door closed behind him, the familiar cold
feeling returned. Quickly, he walked over to his cold fireplace and lit it. He had wanted to do that
earlier, so that his room would be warm, but there had been no time.

Shivering, he kicked his trainers off and crawled under his cover. He hoped his room would get
warm soon. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be the case and as soon as his head touched his pillow,
the happenings from earlier forced themselves back to the forefront of his mind.

___________________________________________________________________

Voldemort watched the door close behind his new servant, a small smile tugging on his lips. The
teen was intriguing to him. Not so much that he was a halfblood. There were surprisingly many
half bloods in his ranks, despite everything the old coot wanted the public to believe.

Half-bloods knew first hand how dangerous muggles were and how inferior their culture was.
They often came to him, frustrated at how little they could do with their magic after seven years of
schooling. It could never live up to their childhood imaginations.
Then there were those whose muggle parents only learned about their partner's ability when their
young child started to show accidental magic and reacted aggressively. A fate Dumbledore kept
tightly under wraps for decades now and which unfortunately happened far too often. Severus
Snape’s childhood was only one example of many.

While these facts may yet prove to be true for his new servant as well, it was not what made the
boy so interesting. He held no illusion that many of his followers, especially in his lower ranks,
followed him for more or less selfish reasons. They wanted to learn new, forbidden magic, get a
sense of power and see their species rise to its deserved glory.

Hades however, did not show any of those motivations so far. His service was good. A bit clumsy,
but aside from the impolite slip up earlier, nearly flawless. At least something the boy’s parents
had done correctly; the child was not disrespectful like so many half bloods and mudbloods tended
to be.

Pushing his heavy duvet to the side, he eyed his lower body and sneered at it. Not that he disliked
what he was, naga were magically and physically strong creatures and it was an honor to share the
same inheritance as his ancestor Salazar Slytherin. The lack of control over his body, however, he
disliked greatly. The snake body was perfect if he needed to move quickly, but it was also large
and impractical in narrow quarters like these.

He let his eyes wander over the remaining patches of bandage. There weren’t many left. Even for a
naga, this healing rate was incredible. After he had invoked the bond between him and his new
servant, he had estimated that it would take at least two weeks until he would be able to regain
consciousness, followed by at least two more weeks of physical recovery. As loathed as he was to
admit it, Dumbledore’s spell had done much damage and not only on a physical level. Of course he
could always create himself a new one, however, constructing a new shell would cost valuable
time, time he did not have.

Since his duel against the old coot a couple of weeks ago, he had tested countless of his followers.
However, not a single one had been able to handle being directly linked to him. Even as weakened
as he was, his magic was still very potent and raw. As Lady Magic’s chosen Lord, his magic
derived directly from her, the source initial of all magic. Hades however, for some reason, didn’t
even seem to realize that the man he was now connected to possessed magic different from
anybody else’s. Voldemort had sensed their compatibility immediately upon touching him,
however, he still had expected some form of reaction once the bond formed between them. In fact,
it would not have surprised him if the boy would have passed out. But Hades hadn’t. He had not
even blinked, in fact.

Even more intriguing however, was the feeling of the young mage’s magic. It felt soothing, like a
healing salve to his injured core and body. Sometimes it even danced along his own as if it wanted
to intertwine further, which he of course didn’t allow. As if he would ever allow a bond to grow
between himself and another living being… Well, that actually wasn't entirely true. There had been
one creature he had considered letting himself be bound to once upon a time, but nothing had ever
come of it. It had been a disappointment, having the Master of Death by his side would have made
things much easier. With the Lord of Magic and the Ruler of the Black Cosmos united and
working together, Dumbledore and his order would have long since been defeated. Alas, it wasn’t
meant to be and Voldemort was nobody who lingered in the past. Besides, as disappointing as the
whole affair had been, he retained more of his independence, for the Master of Death would have
been his mate.

So he pushed the memory to the side, concentrating instead on the magic that was slowly, but
surely restoring him and let his mind wander back to his unusual valet. He had expected the boy to
voice what he wished to gain through his service by now, however, he had yet to do so, which was
puzzling. Even his most loyal and trusted followers had a goal they tried to reach through their
service, even if it was only the hegemony of the magical world.

Hades had voiced nothing of that sort, one could almost assume the boy to be secretive. He had not
mentioned a spell or type of magic he wished to perfect. He had not told any sob stories about
unjust treatment by muggles or a devotion to their culture.

Then there were the small oddities he had noticed in the teen’s behavior. Both incidents, in fact,
had happened today. The first, when he had commented on his excellent care taking skills.
Thinking practically and on their feet, was not a strength of many wizards, therefore he appreciated
seeing this ability in one so young. However, closing off and growing snappish was nothing he was
used to after complimenting one of his followers. Usually they were more ecstatic and eager to
prove themselves further.

Even stranger had been what had happened at the end of their earlier dinner. His magical pathways
were still damaged, it had taken all his strength to force his magic through, but the feeling of
casting a dark spell such as the cruciatus after all those weeks had been worth the slight discomfort.

Embarrassing as it was to admit, for a moment the magic had overwhelmed him, as if he had once
again been a newbie at the dark arts. Of course he knew the feeling, the temptation was always
there and had grown into a familiar part of his being, however, not once in decades had he lost his
tight control over it.

As he had finally lifted the spell, he had expected to have just lost a very helpful follower. He of
course could still have drawn on Hades’s magic, but he had come to like to have a personal
chamber servant and one who could cook so well. By all rights, Hades’s mind should have been in
a state not so dissimilar to the Longbottoms’.

However, the teen had sat up, smoothed out his robes and continued to eat his dessert. It should not
have been possible. Not even he himself could have continued in his routine after such a long
 exposure to the cruciatus curse, although it would not have damaged his mind and body as severely
as those of others.

Hades in contrast should be close to death and be suffering from unhealable nerve damage,
physically as well as mentally. It was a magical riddle like none he had come across in many many
years. Possibly, it stood in connection to the healing quality he was sensing in the boy’s magic.
Voldemort vowed to solve it. He would keep a closer eye on the teen. The boy had potential and he
intended to draw it out, train it and use it. Maybe then, he would also find out why his new servant
did not show his face. Oh yes, he had noticed how much care Hades took to always wear his mask.
But this mystery as well, he would unravel.

The Malfoys, he was well aware, were suspicious of the boy, not that he could blame them. He
would still be suspicious if he hadn’t watched Hades for over a week now. They were right that
many things from the boy’s story didn’t add up with his behavior, although he doubted Lucius’
suspicion that the child could be a mudblood.

No, whatever Hades Dursley was hiding, it was not his blood status, he was far too powerful to be
anything less than a halfblood. Although admittedly, even if he were, Voldemort would not throw
him out of his service, even though he, as a rule, did not indoctrinate mudbloods. That after all
would go too much against his politics.

Pushing those observations to the side for later perusal, Voldemort summoned himself a book and
leaned back in his armchair. He would have to wait until his magical core had replenished further
before he could investigate further.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Reaching Beyond the Veil
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 4: Reaching Beyond the Veil

Harry was creeping down the dark staircase of Voldemort’s castle. He had an hour yet to midnight
and his pockets were full with the shrunken ingredients for the ritual, including the onyx studded
silver dagger he had pocketed on impulse the day he had found the old journal.

Three days had passed since the dinner with the Malfoys. After Voldemort’s comment about the
new moon and the weather, he had researched both, and of course the wizard had been right. A
new moon was beneficial for a ritual like he planned, just as a storm was, and to his luck, both fell
on the same night.

It was about time that he finally brought Barty back. These last three days had been easier and
more difficult at the same time. But at least he and Voldemort had settled into something of a
routine.

Every morning he would get up, prepare breakfast, bring it to Voldemort and then clean for about
an hour. In the evening he would help the wizard with taking a hot bath, something the darkest
wizard of all times apparently couldn’t live without, as funny as it sounded. He suspected the man’s
snake-half of that need.

Slowly, he was growing more comfortable around Voldemort, who didn’t seem quite as crazy
when he was not torturing someone. Unfortunately the wizard also seemed to watch him more
closely.

Maybe it was only the fact that Voldemort was bored out of his mind - even he wasn’t dense
enough to not catch that fact. He hoped that was the reason at least, because if that wasn’t the case,
it would mean the wizard was growing suspicious. Well, hopefully the reappearance of his old
servant would serve as a good distraction.

Thinking of Bartemius, he still couldn’t believe his luck. That the Death Eaters and Voldemort had
never found out what happened to the man was more than good luck. He had known that the man
had gotten the kiss. Dumbledore had told him. Why Lucius Malfoy had not been able to find out,
he had no idea.

Pushing the question from his thoughts, he crossed the entrance hall. The huge chamber felt just as
eerie as the night he had arrived. He couldn’t believe that it had been 12 days ago. Soon his
fortnight-long bond to Voldemort would come to an end. It was another reason why he needed to
act today, so that he could see if his plan of engaging Bartemius’ help would work.

Otherwise he would have to return to Privet Drive, something he didn’t even want to think about.

The heavy double doors swung open silently and he stepped into the humid summer night.
Lightning flashed at the horizon, the wind tousled his hair and he could feel the first droplets of
rain on his skin. Looking up, he couldn’t even see the dark shadow of the new moon behind the
thick clouds. The sound of angry waves crashing on the shore provided a repetitive backdrop to the
quickly increasing sounds of rain. Thunder crashed in the distance.

Stepping out, he walked for five minutes straight ahead until he was sure that no one, not even
Lord Voldemort would be able to see him from the window. Of course he hoped that the wizard
would just stay asleep.

He stopped and looked around for a second, but of course there was nothing noteworthy nearby,
aside from the dark, ominous expanse of water to one side and the dark, looming forest in the
distance to the other, the lightless black of the castle small in the distance behind him. Reaching
into his pockets, he began to pull the prepared items out; the soil, the grape juice, the wine, the
unsalted bread, the normal bread, the salt, the many herbs and the silver dagger he had borrowed
from Voldemort’s private office, hoping that it fulfilled the requirements of a ritual dagger. At least
it looked a lot like the picture he had seen on the scroll.

As advised in the description, he started from the inside.

First he separated the soil into three parts. They would later turn into Bartemius’ head, torso and
lower body if everything went correctly.

Then he prepared the offerings. He placed the unsalted bread, grape juice and a piece of ash on the
left side and the normal bread with a goblet of elf-made wine, mulled with mastic, herbs, and sweet
oil and a piece of elder wood to the right.

The next step was the one that made him the most nervous. He had to form a rune circle from the
mixture of herbs around everything. It took him almost 40 minutes, but he had anticipated it and
came extra early.

Lastly, another circle, a barrier made of salt, was drawn around the rune circle. He checked the
arrangement one last time, but could find no flaw in the construction. Then only undressing was
left. He shivered as cold winds cut into his bare torso, but ignored it.

Harry was about to cast a tempus, when suddenly the deep sound of a tower clock reached his ear,
announcing the arrival of midnight. Just in time a loud clap of thunder rolled, as if agreeing to his
effort and the clouds burst open.

Stepping in front of the soil and making sure he was facing East, he lifted his wand in front of his
chest and began to intone:
“By the Virtue of the Holy Resurrection and the agonies of the damned, I conjure and command
thee, spirit of Bartemius Crouch Jr., deceased, to answer my demands and obey these sacred
ceremonies, on pain of everlasting torment. Berald, Beroald, Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba, arise,
arise- Incendio!” He lit the dishes, breads and woods, before tapping the soil nine times with his
wand and finishing the incantation
“I charge and command thee!” In a fluid motion he drew the silver dagger and carved the Algiz
rune, the rune that symbolized the life of mankind, over his heart.

As soon as he ignited the right dish, a strong pulling sensation grabbed him and he could feel, for a
lack of a better description, his soul leaving his body. The meadow around him and even the
feeling of the rain on his skin vanished and a black mist lowered in front of his eyes.

The mist parted with a soft movement, a movement that felt strangely familiar, but he couldn’t
form a clear thought.

Four moons fell and rose constantly in a purple sky. Their halo spread no light on the torrid ground
beneath him.

''I call upon you, Glory, to aid in my conquest of restoring the wisps of the taken,” he called, his
voice echoing over the vast space, even though he was sure his lips didn’t move. When he felt an
icy wind rise around him he continued. ''For blood spilled in fight, bloodshed at night, blood shared
through rite, I call upon my right: “Bartimeus Filius Timaei, Filius Honorem, I proclaim ownership.
My pursuit ensues. Glory, grant me amorphousness.''
The wind had grown to a storm and whispy figures rose all around him. However, their faces were
unclear and their gazes were confused. Suddenly a voice colder than Voldemort’s could ever be,
cold like death himself, answered him.

“Who dares enter my realm unsupported?” the voice crashed.

Harry blinked, uncertain what the voice meant and therefore unsure how to respond.

“Hmmm… A blessed one,” the voice softened noticeably. It has been a long time since one of the
blessed blood took on the mantle. What is your chosen name?”

For a split second, confusion filled Harry, however, something told him that the voice did not mean
the name his parents had given him upon his birth. It was that same instinct that led him to answer
“Hades. My name is Hades.”

“You and your Master have chosen a worthy name. Worthy of my blessing and the great talent you
displayed,” the voice hummed, the sound vibrating to Harry like a low bass. The answer confused
him, however, this time he stayed silent and simply waited, unsure how to respond.

“Now, who are you seeking, young servant of mine?” The being fortunately continued after only a
beat of silence.

“Bartemius Crouch, Junior!”

“Will you accept your place as my servant?” the voice asked.
Harry hesitated. He didn’t even know whom he was talking to, however, he couldn’t sense any
malicious intent either. Besides, he still wished to bring his parents and godfather back, and Cedric,
if this worked.

“If I don’t agree, will I still be able to bring Crouch back?”

“No,” was the simple answer. “You will need to accept the ancient blessed blood that runs in your
veins and give yourself into my service.”
Thinking that that announcement sounded as dubious as it could possibly get, Harry warily asked,
“What would I have to do as your servant?”
Suspicion overtook Harry, before the deity answered, “That depends solely on you, child of mine.”
“Then I don’t have to do what I would not want to?” Harry prompted feeling still overwhelmed.
“I believe you are not aware who I am,” the deity interrupted him, its presence suddenly becoming
even more overbearing. “I am the one they called Anubis, Pluto or Tod. I am the one the old
Northern tribes called Hel. These days you may know me under the Name Death. I have no time to
bother an unwilling mortal.”

If he was honest, Harry had to admit that he was relieved. “So, that means,” he carefully
summarized, “if I agree, I will not have to do anything for you but will be able to bring my parents,
Sirius and Cedric back later?”
“Yes, indeed.” Death replied, making Harry swallow. There had been a smirk in the deity's voice,
however, he decided to just hope that it was the beings sense of humor rather than some unknown
draw-back he should be worried about pouncing on him at the least opportune moment in the
future. But he had asked all the questions he could think of right now and he really, really wanted
to bring Sirius and Cedric back.

“However,” Death suddenly interrupted his train of thought, “you should be aware that you will be
a Peverell first and foremost.”
“A Pe…?” Harry asked, feeling confused.
Death seemed to sigh. “A Peverell. That is the Most Ancient and Noble bloodline that carries my
blessing,” he explained. “If you decide to accept this path, I will strengthen the Peverell blood you
still carry inside of you, however diluted it is, making Peverell your predominant family name.”

Harry hesitated again. “Will I lose my name?”

Death seemed to shrug. “You should be able to hyphenate. Considering you are also the Black
Heir, a visit to Gringotts might be prudent anyway. But enough of this, I am a busy creature.”

Knowing that his time was up, Harry took a calming intake of air and nodded. “Then I will accept.
“Very well,” Death replied. “Then I will grant you your request. Welcome to my service, young
Hades. And to help you on your journey, a gift.”

Harry blinked as he watched black sand from the ground upon which he and the entity stood
swirled into the air. Death plucked a branch from a nearby spindly black tree and fashioned it into
a clumsy set of concentric loops. Emerald eyes widened when Death gently pursed his lips and
blew a stream of chillingly cold air across the makeshift circlet, hardening it into black metal. The
air seemed to freeze within the rings, ice forming and hardening to the clearest glass Harry had
ever seen, glass in the familiar shape of an hourglass. The black sands lifted from the ground of the
Black Cosmos were contained in the glass bulb, and with a final puff of air, the artifact floated
gently to Harry’s hand.

It was a time turner, but one as unlike the small golden necklace Hermione had used their third
year as it was like. He raised it to eye-level, inspecting the device, even as he cautiously turned it
over, being careful that none of the sand would tip into the other side. He had no idea what using a
time turner in the Black Cosmos would do to him and he wasn’t too keen on finding out right at
that moment.

“I see you recognize the device,” Death commented. “Which means less explanations from me. If
you are at all familiar with the law governing time, you should be able to answer this question.
What is the most fundamental rule of time travel, young Hades?”

“Do not be seen,” he answered without even thinking.

The entity nodded, somehow expressing a feeling of approval though Harry could not see its face.
“With this time turner, my young necromancer, you need not fear being seen. I am able to exist in
all places at all times, and as such, by using my gift, you may as well.”

“But, if I see myself, won’t I go insane?” Harry asked, confused as to how that might work.
“You are a servant of Death now. Do I go insane whenever I see myself?”

Harry hoped that was a trick question, because all the replies his mind provided him with seemed
somehow rude. “So how long can I go back?” Harry asked instead, deciding to better be safe than
sorry. “The one I used before couldn’t be used to go back more than five hours.”

“This one is specifically designed for the work of the Master of Death,” Death revealed. “Turn the
inner ring to travel back individual hours, up to 23. Turn the outer ring once to take you back 24
hours in a single turn, but you will only be able to turn it once. Time is short, now go!”

The strange world around Harry began to vanish slowly, and as he felt his consciousness return to
his body he thought he heard Death say, “Come visit again soon, Hades Peverell. You intrigue
me.” But he couldn’t be sure as his senses were suddenly swimming in light, sound, and smell. He
breathed in and tasted smoke as around him, the small fires had risen to a storm surrounding him,
however, he barely noticed it over the tingling that seemed to spread from the center of his chest
quickly outwards until it encompassed his entire body.

The sensation grew stronger, until it was almost uncomfortable and something deep inside of Harry
seemed to shift. Then suddenly it was over. Well almost, for he still felt strangely different.

However, his attention was averted when Harry suddenly noticed that the soil not far from him had
started to shift. As frightening as the sight was, he knew he wasn’t allowed to rise yet. Not that he
could have, he felt exhausted, mentally as well as physically and magically.

So instead, he watched the moving soil with morbid fascination. It seemed to form a body from the
inside out, beginning with the brain and bones, then eyeballs and muscles followed, flesh and
finally skin. The flames roared even higher and suddenly moved in on him and the clay body.
Harry flinched, but the fire didn’t burn him.

In front of him, the earth seemed to harden, like a clay bowl in a stone oven, before he felt a wave
of strong magic and suddenly, the fire died down and the clay body looked alive.

For a moment Harry stared at the naked, unconscious figure. Bartemius looked just like he
remembered with his pale skin and dirty-blond hair. His chest was softly rising and falling but
other than that, he didn’t move an inch.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. This way, he would have time to return to his quarters and pretend he
had never left. Hopefully Bartemius wouldn’t remember very clearly what had happened.

Feeling the magic leaving the rune circle, Harry finally got up and vanished all left over evidence
of the ritual. The dagger had fallen to the ground, but he quickly pocketed again. As he shrugged
his cloak back on, his eyes fell on the rune he had carved into his skin. It stood for life, destiny and
eternity, a rather nice meaning considering how bloody and painful the action had been. His whole
chest was crusted over and felt raw. However, the wound had faded to a fine, red line. Buttoning
his cloak again, he turned back to the looming castle.

The walk seemed much longer than the two previous times. His body felt just as it did after an
especially strenuous quidditch match, worse maybe. As he stepped into the entrance hall with its
polished, checkered marble flooring, his eyes suddenly landed on his reflection in an ornamented
mirror to his left. The sight made him freeze, for he looked entirely different.

His beloved green eyes were gone, replaced by two purple orbs that reflected the eerie sky of the
Black Cosmos. His messy head of dark brown hair had made place for tight, black corkscrew curls
and his honey-kissed skin was now of an almost translucent whiteness that made even Draco
Malfoy look tanned.

However those were not all changes, for Harry’s entire physique seemed to have gotten a make-
over. His stout figure was gone and his short legs now were long and straight. He had grown taller,
although not as much as he would have liked and neither would his shoulders ever be as broad as
Voldemort’s, but Harry guessed he should just be grateful that he wasn’t a midget any longer. He
now looked wiry and lean instead of short and skinny. His cheekbones were also higher, but to his
relief Harry noticed that his small nose, the form of his lips and the shape of his eyes still were the
same, which made him not look completely different. However, he definitely looked like a bloody
pureblood. If only Death could have removed his scar, but at least the lighting shape mark was
now securely covered by tight curls.

Sighing, he turned around, unsure how he felt about his new appearance. He would have to look up
a strong glamor before he left for Hogwarts. He didn’t want Dumbledore to realize that he had left
Privet Drive for the better portion of the holidays, at least, not if he could help it. Besides, he
wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to find out what Dumbledore would think about him accepting an
ancient blood trait that brought people back from the dead. Wasn’t that considered necromancy?

At that realization a wave of dizziness hit Harry. Had he truly become a necromancer? He probably
should take a more thorough look at the journal he had found in Voldemort’s study. But first he
needed to get some rest.

The stairs were torture and he had to pause and catch his breath several times. When he finally
reached the receiving area, he wanted nothing more than to just fall into bed, however, he had to
put the dagger away first. Maybe putting it back would lessen the chance of Voldemort noticing
that the journal was missing, even though he doubted it. Frankly, that Voldemort hadn’t noticed
either item missing yet, bordered on a miracle and was probably only due to the dark wizard’s still
weakened state.
Voldemort’s study was still unlocked and it didn’t look as if the wizard had been in here since he
had regained consciousness. Carefully, Harry approached the dark lord’s desk, however, once in
front of it, he hesitated. Something inside of him screamed to keep the dagger as well, so much so
that inside of him, his magic was pulsing agitatedly at the thought of parting from the two items.

Unable to part with either item, Harry turned jerkely back around. Voldemort was still rather weak,
he would have another chance at putting the journal and the onyx encrusted dagger back and until
then, he would have time to read the small, leather bound book at least. Maybe it would even get
easier, maybe, his magic was still connected to the items, like it was connected to his wand in a
sense, after all, not much time had passed since the ritual.

Nodding to himself, Harry instead finally dragged his tired body back into his room. Not for the
first time he shivered as he entered. He had a fire going for the last few days, but the small chamber
still felt cold. Sighing, he stowed the strange black time turner from Death in his trunk, not wanting
to risk breaking it or using it accidentally, before he hurried to slip under the covers. Before he lay
down completely however, he removed his Death-Eater mask for the first time since he had
stepped foot into Voldemort’s castle. It was a freeing feeling and besides, he didn’t need it any
longer.

Lying down, he stared at the beautiful mask, for Voldemort truly had transfigured it into a piece of
art. Unfortunately the artful design could not, however, belie his overwhelming feelings the sight
invoked in him. Since he had arrived at Voldemort’s castle, he had gone further and further than he
had wanted to. He had not planned on staying the entirety of the summer, yet Harry had bound
himself for two weeks to his enemy and now he had accepted an inheritance which was probably
considered dark.
Pushing those troublesome thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry turned around so that he faced
the bare stone wall, before closing his eyes.

For once sleep at least came quickly to him, no wonder however, after the strenuous ritual he had
performed and the changes his body had gone through.

Morning arrived too early and too late at the same time. As soon as he saw the first grey streaks on
the horizon, he got up and went into the kitchen. He prepared a huge pancake with bacon, eggs, and
cheese for Voldemort, having learned by now that Voldemort preferred hearty food most of the
days and made a second, smaller one with syrup for himself.

The rune shelf in the storage room was really useful, he had learned. It kept Voldemort’s breakfast
warm and fresh while he quickly ate his own portion. It was really nice to get food every day
despite it being the summer holidays. And it was nice that Voldemort seemed to appreciate his
cooking as well. Not that the man said much, but somehow he always got that feeling from him.

Once he had wiped the last drop of syrup with his last bite of pancake from his plate, he prepared
Voldemort’s tray, adding a small bowl of fruit salad and tea along with the pancake. He went to
bring it to Voldemort.

As usual he knocked softly with the tip of his boot before entering. He wasn’t really surprised to
see the wizard awake and sitting in his bed, reading a rather old book.
“Good morning, my Lord,” he greeted politely and placed the tray on the nightstand.
“Do you need anything else?” He held his breath, knowing that Voldemort would at least notice
his changed appearance. However, Harry prayed that the wizard had at least not noticed anything
else.

“No. You may continue with your work for now,” Voldemort began to dismiss him with an absent
minded wave of his hand, but then looked up and paused.
“I had wondered when you would take the mask off,” the dark Lord wondered aloud, his ruby gaze
roaming over Harry’s new body.
“You are taller than yesterday.” he finally stated.

“I…” Harry began, his pulse rising as he desperately searched in his mind for a good excuse. “I
cast a glamor on myself before I came here.”
Before he could completely finish, a crucio hit him. Harry crumpled to the ground as the by now
familiar mixture of agonizing pain and the comforting feeling of Voldemort’s magic overwhelmed
him. He had no idea how long he had been writhing on the ground before the curse ended and
Voldemort’s volatile magic turned into a soothing balm.

“Do not lie to me. I am well aware that you did not have a glamor on your person these past days,”
Voldemort said coldly, his gaze intently fixed on him. A beat of silence followed in which Harry
propped himself up into a kneeling position, then the Dark Lord spoke again.
“However, I see you have not cast a glamor today either, which means you either came of age last
night or have otherwise received a magical inheritance. Which one is it?”
Not daring to lie again, but not wishing to tell the truth either, Harry stayed silent. He just didn’t
want to risk Voldemort catching up on what he had done the previous night. Instinctively, he
closed his eyes, trying to brace himself for the next round of torture, but to his surprise Voldemort
merely stated, “Very well. As you are still bound to me and I can sense nothing harmful within the
wards of this castle, you may keep your secret for now.”

Harry sighed a sigh of relief. Apparently the Dark Lord was still exhausted enough to not notice
anything once he was asleep. Still, he would take this incident as a warning to not try anything
further while at the castle. Getting back to his feet, he bowed for good measure and mumbled a
half-hearted, “Thank you, my Lord,” before leaving quickly.

Once in the living room, Harry summoned the cloth he always used for dusting and began to tidy
up the nearly spotless parlor, trying to distract himself from the events of these past hours.
With Voldemort not yet leaving the bed much, there still wasn’t much to do, but he was glad about
it today. His concentration was at an all time low, with his body still feeling as heavy as lead and
his gaze wandered over to the small windows every few minutes to stare at the wide meadow
spread beneath. As he did so, something unexpected drew his attention and despite the queasy
feeling in his stomach that advised him to keep his head low, at the very least for the rest of the
day, he walked over to the nearest window.

Seemingly out of nowhere and overnight something like a Greek temple had risen across from the
castle. It was carved from a strange kind of gleaming, black stone and partly obscured by a thick,
dark mist. So much for Voldemort not noticing anything. Once the dark lord saw that building, all
bets would be off. In fact, how he had not noticed the temple the night prior, was a miracle to
Harry.

Seven hours had passed since Bartemius's revival, but the man had not shown up yet. Slowly he
began to wonder if he had done something wrong after all. Barty had looked rather alive when
Harry had left, but maybe his spell had not been strong enough and the soul had left the body
again? Was that possible? Voldemort certainly would be able to answer his question, however, he
wasn’t crazy enough to ask.

Absently, Harry rubbed at his chest where the healing rune itched dully. He made his way into the
kitchen. The dirty plates and cutlery from the evening prior and this morning were still scattered
without a system on the long counter. Sighing, he began to pile everything into a tall stack and
carried it over to the sink where he let hot water pour in. Tossing a sponge in as well, he grabbed
the first plate when he heard the sound of the kitchen door being opened and a cold voice drawled,
“You realize that there are spells for these kinds of things?”

Stiffening, Harry wondered since when he didn’t sense the Dark Lord any more. Well, that wasn’t
completely true. Whenever Voldemort experienced strong emotions (like the anger that day he had
returned from the wizarding market) Harry could still sense him. He would have never thought that
the day would come that he actually would wish to be more in tune with his nemesis again. It just
didn’t sit well with him that Voldemort could sneak up on him without Harry being any the wiser.
Hopefully, his sensitivity would return as soon as the Dark Lord regained more of his strength.

Glancing over his shoulder and seeing Voldemort lean against the door frame, he nodded. “I know,
my Lord. But no one has taught them to me yet.”
“I gathered as much. Get your wand out. This is pitiful for a wizard,” Voldemort commanded and
Harry quickly did as told, drying his hands on his trousers.

“No special wand movements are required. Point your wand at the dirty dishes, say purgaro and at
the same time, move your wand over to the sink,” the wizard instructed. The dishes began to move
into the water magically and the sponge began cleaning. With another flick, Voldemort ended the
spell and gave Harry a pointed look.
“Purgaro!” Harry repeated the instruction and watched the plates lift into the air again. They did
not move quite as quickly as for Voldemort, but they got cleaned.
“Next time try to put a bit more conviction behind your spell, but other than that, good enough for
a first try,” the wizard nodded. Harry didn’t know what to say. The reality of Voldemort teaching
him anything, even something as harmless as a cleaning charm, was just too surreal.

“I was wondering, when will you have to return to your parents, Hades?” Voldemort suddenly
asked, sounding far too casual for the abrupt change of topic.
“Ah… um…” Harry stalled for a moment. He had to think quickly. Hogwarts opened again on the
1st of September, and he would have to get on the train as if nothing strange had happened during
the summer. But he didn’t wish to leave too soon either. Maybe taking the Knight Bus from
Slytherin Castle would be an option?

“My parents are on holiday right now. They will return on the 2nd or 3rd, so I probably should
return on the 1st,” he finally settled on.
“Good,” Voldemort hummed, making Harry blink in confusion. “Then we still have some time.”
“Time for what?” he questioned, suddenly feeling very unsure about his plan.
“For training and teaching you. And for some experiments.”

His heart missed a beat and it took Harry all willpower to not spin around in shock and fright.
Instead he tried to sound as casual as possible as he inquired, “What kind of experiments?”
“To determine your magical gifts,” Voldemort replied, sounding almost cheerful at the thought.

Harry hesitated, well aware that it would be very suspicious if he refused outright. However, even
with as little as he knew about magical theory, he knew that a mage’s magical core was something
very personal. He feared, if he agreed, that Voldemort would cotton onto his true identity.
However, he couldn’t just agree either.

“Only my magical gifts?” he therefore asked carefully.

Voldemort’s gaze immediately turned sharp and assessing. “If you fear that I will find out your
parent’s true identity through the ritual I have planned and procede to murder them because they
are suppoters of Dumbledore, I can reassure you that the ritual will not provide me with enough
information for that.”

Feeling the tension drain at his nemesis’ words, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Then
I will agree.” Maybe to outsiders it would seem odd that he gave his consent so readily, however,
Voldemort had never lied to him in the past. One could say a lot of things about the dark Lord; that
he was cruel and inhuman and crazy for one, though that had clearly grown better since his
resurrection; however the wizard had never been a dishonest person.

“Good,” Voldemort retorted. “We will start after lunch. I have prepared some written and practical
tests to determine your skill level as well as a simple ritual to start.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but there wasn’t actually anything he could say or do. Not with
the bond between them. How high was the chance that Voldemort would recognize him during
these tests? The thought made his insides grow cold.

But maybe it would all work out, after all, he had just done magic in front of Voldemort and the
wizard had not noticed anything. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he nodded silently, before
returning to his cleaning.

Voldemort fell silent as well and soon he had almost forgotten that the wizard was watching him.
But not for long, because as soon as he had spelled the pans to clean themselves and took the
sponge to scrub the counters, he spoke in a sneering voice, “The spell for cleaning counters is
mensam purgaro.”

Harry sighed inwardly. While he found it oddly cute that the dark lord was playing Professor and
taking his time to teach him new things, he also liked to do things with his own two hands. He
found it more satisfactory. It was somehow therapeutic.

Still, obediently, he lifted his wand, pointed it at the counter and repeated with an annoyed swish,
“mensam purgaro!”
Soapsuds washed over the long counter, leaving it sparkling clean before vanishing.
“At least, if we find out you are talentless with combat magic, you can still find employment in one
of those delusional families who refuse to hire house elves nowadays.”

Suppressing a glare, Harry turned back towards the counter to check if anything else needed
cleaning.
“While we are at it,” Voldemort meanwhile continued, “we may as well continue. Go and get the
ingredients for our dinner.”
“I haven’t thought about what I will cook yet,” Harry huffed but turned to the storage room
regardless.
“I am sure you will get an idea. You haven’t disappointed me yet with any of your cooking. But
choose something with lots of chopping.”

Not dignifying the command with a response, Harry pulled the storage room door open and
stepped in. Instantly the small candles flickered to light, illuminating the things he had bought at
the market.

If Voldemort wanted to teach him how to chop with magic, then something with a lot of veggies
would be best. Ratatouille maybe? Gathering sweet peppers, chillies, zucchini, onions, garlic,
eggplants, tomatoes, and minced meat, he returned to the kitchen.
Voldemort inclined his head in approval. Patiently, Harry waited for the man to begin his lecture.
“Chopping is not as simple as you would think. There are different charms for sizes and even for
the forms you force your ingredients into.” When the wizard paused, Harry nodded as a sign he
was listening.
“To get pieces in the shape of dice, the charm is in fragmenta secare alea.” The wizard pointed
commandingly at the pile of vegetables. “The wand movement is an upward swish. As it is a
forceful spell, you need to put force in your movement and your intention to get a good result.”

Pulling the sweet peppers out, Harry imagined the peppers to be miniature heads of the dark lord as
he said “in fragmenta secare alea!”
Voldemort came over and took a look at his result. After a moment he clucked with his tongue.
“Next time, use only one piece of vegetable. This needs more practice. Again.” He grabbed one of
the egg plants and placed it in front of Harry, who repeated the spell.
“Better, but not yet perfect. However, you will have enough opportunities to practice. What shape
would you like your onion to turn into?”
“Rings,” Harry answered automatically.
“The spell is quite similar, you merely need to replace the alea for dice with circulus.”

It continued in this manner for another forty minutes, until Voldemort was satisfied with his bigger
and smaller dice, his rings, slices and sticks. He earned a fierce scowl when he put too much force
behind his slices of tomatoes, making the fruit explode and splashing red mush over every surface,
himself and Voldemort as well.

“Would you like bread or rice with the ratatouille?” Harry asked when there were finally no
vegetables left to cut.
“Bread will be fine,” Voldemort retorted, vanishing his chair and finally turning to leave. Sighing
in relief, Harry stared down at his pile of various shaped foods. There were even zucchini in the
shape of little stars. Who the hell needed that? Besides, he doubted one could recognize them for
what they were supposed to be.

Shaking his head, he quickly cooked everything and retrieved a loaf of bread which was still warm
thanks to the magic of the storage room. He definitely would have to research that spell for his own
house, if he ever survived long enough to live on his own.

He cut two thick slices from the loaf and arranged them on the tray together with a plate of
ratatouille and a goblet of water.

“In the dining room,” Voldemort commanded as soon as he left the kitchen.
Turning, he entered the correct room and found the man sitting in the same spot he had occupied
the day the Malfoys had visited. Apparently the wizard was truly feeling better.
“Go and get your plate. I want you to join me now that I do not need to dine in my bedroom any
longer,” Voldemort ordered as he sat the plates down in front of him.
Nodding, he quickly did as told. However, as he returned and placed his own plate down where he
had sat last time, Voldemort flicked his wand and made it move over to his left side. Surprised, but
not daring to ask, he took the seat and waited for the wizard to start eating.

The ratatouille was good, spicy, but not too much. It warmed his insides and gave him some of the
energy back he had lost during the ritual. The ritual, he pondered as he suppressed a yawn, had
taken a lot out of him. His body felt still heavy and he would have liked nothing more than to crawl
back into bed. However, he wouldn’t risk Voldemort’s suspicion by asking if he could lie down.

When Bartemius returned later, it could lead to an unwanted conclusion on Voldemort’s side.
Speaking of the resurrected wizard, slowly, Harry was getting nervous. It had been hours and the
man hadn’t appeared yet. Was there a chance that the Death Eater wouldn’t return to his master’s
side? After what Lucius had said about him, Harry had assumed the man would hurry back as
quickly as possible, but maybe something had happened between the Dark Lord and his servant not
even Malfoy had been aware of?

However, he hadn’t quite counted on Voldemort’s perceptiveness.

“I need to take care of some last preparations for our tests. You may join me in the parlor and rest
until then. These tests will draw on your magic and should not be done without an alert mind.”
Voldemort said a few minutes later and rose once more.

Blinking, Harry realized the wizard had finished his plate and so, had he, without even noticing it.
Mumbling an agreement, he reached for the plate, but Voldemort stopped him.
“Leave these for now. You will have time to clean up later.”

He followed the dark lord into the parlor, where the wizard took his usual seat. After a moment of
hesitation, Harry settled on the couch to Voldemort’s right, stiffly at first. He had never before
spent his free time with the man and wasn’t quite sure what was expected of him or what was
allowed.

However, after about ten minutes of strained silence in which Voldemort shifted to a pile of
documents, his tiredness won out; he leaned against the armrest furthest from the wizard. As his
head began drooping, he unconsciously pulled his feet up onto the couch and soon had drifted off
after all. This close, he indeed could feel the dark lord’s magic again. The warmth of the hearth and
the tendrils of Voldemort’s magic were too comforting for to fight his tiredness any longer. It still
was strange, that anything, especially his nemesis’ magic could feel so soothing, but right now he
was too exhausted to worry about it further.

“Hades,” Voldemort’s voice made him jerk from his slumber unknown minutes or hours later.
Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his sleep-fogged mind and looked around. How long had he been
sleeping?
His eyes landed on a dark green blanket which only the dark lord could have draped over his legs.
Flushing he turned his head away to hide the heat in his cheeks and searched out the old
grandfather clock that stood on the mantelpiece. Nearly two hours had passed since lunch.

“Follow me,” Voldemort ordered and turned towards the door.

“Usually I prefer to do these kinds of tests in a proper ritual chamber or outside. However,
considering my still weakened state we will have to settle for the receiving area.” He pushed the
door open and Harry followed outside.

Voldemort had not been idle while he was asleep. All furniture had vanished from the wide
hallway, leaving an open space. In its center Harry could make out a rune circle, not unlike the one
he had built the previous night, but without the light. In the middle, a small assortment of herbs,
flowers and pieces of wood lay, as well as the familiar silver dagger.

Hadn’t Voldemort said they would be doing some sort of test? This looked very much like a ritual.
The thought made his stomach churn uncomfortable. If the ritual was anywhere near as draining as
the resurrection ritual he had performed just that morning, he wouldn’t manage it.

“Step inside the circle. I will guide you through the right steps. But leave your clothes behind,”
Voldemort commanded.
Harry stared. Surely the wizard couldn't be serious. Sure, he had needed to undress partially this
night as well, but not completely and not in front of somebody else.
“Now, or do I need to help you move?” Voldemort snapped when he didn’t move.

However, with that cold, piercing stare directed at him, and Voldemort’s dark magic coiling around
his ankles threateningly, he decided to better move and try to ignore the other man. When he was
undressed and had piled, on Voldemort’s command, his clothes neatly in a far away corner to not
disturb the magic, he carefully stepped inside the rune circle.

The runes he noticed, heart beating nervously in his chest, were not made from herbs, Harry
realized, but rather something like ink, only that it shimmered oddly in the dying light of the sun.

Voldemort turned his back on him and stepped directly onto the rune circle, before saying, “Now,
take the dagger. When I am finished with the opening recitation, you need to make a cut down the
palm of your wand hand, understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry affirmed and tried not to blush as Voldemort examined him for a long
moment. Then, the dark lord finally turned his back to him and let his wand slip into his hand,
before lifting it to chest height.

“By the Virtue of the Holy Magic and the Lady who grants us power, I conjure and command thee,
Hekate, to answer my demands and assist me in my search. By your names: Abonde, Wicca,
Aradia, Nicneven Cerridwen arise!”

Harry waited a heartbeat longer to make sure the chant was finished, before he took a deep breath
and lifted the dagger with a nervous hand. Suddenly a heavy weight slammed into his back. He
groaned as he hit the ground, but before he could even think about moving, a strong hand buried
into his hair, lifted his head and slammed it back into the ground. Instantly, everything turned
black.

___________________________________________________________________

The first thing Barty grew aware of was pain. Not pain like after an horrible injury, but more like
the worst muscle ache he had ever experienced. His body felt heavy as lead and oddly numb, as if
he wasn’t really connected with his body.

His head spun and the urge to not open his eyes fought with the urge to check his surroundings and
find out where he was, to see if he was in danger. The last thing he remembered was Dumbledore
entering his former office in which the stupid headmaster had locked him in. The rest was a blurry
jumble of images. The endless, dimly lit halls of Hogwarts, the dark, wide stretching grounds, a
familiar coldness creeping up on him, a wide gaping hole of a mouth, followed by the most
horrible pain and terror he had ever felt then- nothing, only the feeling of eternal coldness and
despair while slowly fading away.

In his last moments he had known that the disgusting bastard had called a dementor, but clearly he
must have been wrong. Maybe an obscure spell? Dumbledore was known to know almost as much
obscure magic as his lord.

Which meant… instinctively, he let his breathing slow further as he realized what kind of
precarious situation he most likely was in. He knew the so-called Light side shied as little away
from torture as any Death Eater. Only the Dark didn’t deny it.

He listened carefully, but only could hear the howling of the wind outside and felt - he frowned.
Something wet was hitting his skin, like rain, but surely he had to be mistaken again. Carefully, he
cracked one eye open and stared wide eyed into a stormy, overcast sky. More sensations crashed
down on him, like the clammy softness of wet grass.
Moving his head slowly, he looked around, but could only see a wide stretching meadow like the
one - with a gasp he bolted upright and his eyes landed on the most glorious sight; his lord’s castle.

For long seconds he could do nothing but stare at it, until weariness crept back in. He stretched his
magical senses out, but could find no hint of a trap or a spell. A wide grin stretched his lips. His
lord must have come and saved him.

Ignoring the soreness in his bones, he pushed to his feet and began walking. His lord was only
meters away from him, soon he would be reunited and he would be able to show his gratitude. He
had much to pay back.

The air was surprisingly warm, it still had to be summer, despite the clouds swirling over the sky.
At least it meant he hadn’t missed too much. But the hols must have started already, he realized as
he scanned the deserted grounds. Looking down at his naked body, he thanked magic for that
small mercy. The castle’s doors opened in front of him and he quickly made his way inside. The
academy looked just like he remembered from his prior visits. What wouldn’t he give to have been
sent here instead of Hogwarts, but of course his father would never have done that.

He sneered at the memory and quickly pushed the images of his sire from his mind, he had better
things to look forward to. His legs screamed as he climbed the stairs, however, the irritating
numbness was slowly draining from him. He had to catch his breath when he finally reached the
last floor, the one that led to his lord’s castle.

However, his anticipation was rising, the familiar giddiness grabbing him and he couldn’t wait any
longer. There was nothing that could compare to being in the Dark Lord’s presence. The power,
the darkness, feeding his followers as if he was magic personified. Unable to wait any longer, he
opened the connecting door and shuddered as his master’s wards brushed over him.

He instantly froze when his eyes fell immediately on his Lord. He stood tall and proud as ever, his
straight back turned towards the door, exuding confidence. Suddenly a movement at the corner of
his eyes drew his attention, it was light reflected on a sharp, silver dagger.

A sneer stretched his lips and he suppressed a chuckle as he awaited the painful death of his
intruder. One thing he had to give the small figure, he had come further than anyone before.

The figure shifted the weapon and Barty frowned when his Lord stood still motionless. For another
split second he waited in bated anticipation, but then his eyes fell onto his lower body. It was the
body of his naga inheritance, covered in patches of bandages and plasters and his eyes widened.

Without thinking he moved. He slammed into the intruder, nothing more than a boy, and easily
slammed him to the ground. His hand shot out, grabbing the weapon and flinging it to the side. The
boy’s grip was loose, whatever had made him come here, he was no trained killer. He felt the
boy’s muscles tense in preparation, but Barty gave him no chance. He grabbed the mop of black
hair and slammed the boy’s head face first into the unyielding stone floor.

“Crucio!” He had barely time to delight at the familiar voice when magic set his body aflame.

___________________________________________________________________

Voldemort recited the familiar lines, barely needing to concentrate. Magic rose around and inside
him, thrumming with the same giddiness that was currently coursing through his veins. It was
reassuring how fate worked sometimes. How he had, just recently, remembered the time where he
had worked on creating the Master of Death. He had believed that nothing had ever come of his
and his mysterious ally’s experiments, but then he had woken up this morning to the sight of a
looming, black marble temple having appeared on his grounds overnight, just across from his
castle.

First he had not been sure what the building was, or how it had appeared, that was, until his little
servant had entered, without his Death Eater mask for the first time since he had stepped into his
service, sporting the unique purple eyes only the Peverell line had ever possessed.

If Hades was the Master of Death Voldemort was so desirous of he had yet to determine, but
clearly, some part of those experiments must have borne fruit after all, because in one way or
another, the Peverell line had been revived. The rune he had seen on the boy, freshly carved into
his skin, was clearly necromantic in origin and around it, he could see the faint sign of the Deathly
Hallows forming. It was a clear indication that Hades was not the average Peverell heir. Not that
any Peverell could have been considered average, however, this was the first time he had heard or
seen any extra markings on one of the Peverell blood. And if it was not Hades himself, then his
heir might one day be the ally Voldemort had planned for. Lasting markings such as those sported
by his young valet, even self-inflicted ones, were decidedly not the norm in the wizarding world,
though he himself possessed a mark of his own, hidden securely beneath his robes.

All of this, however, made him wonder if Hades was his young servant’s birth name, or if it was a
name he had chosen instinctually, subconsciously sensing that his inheritance was approaching. He
would make sure to find out in time and this ritual was the first step towards uncovering who, or
what, Hades Dursley truly was.
Connecting his magic to the intriguing boy, Voldemort allowed himself to revel in anticipation for
a moment. After being unable to focus his magic for so many weeks, performing this simple ritual
felt like the sweetest trip a human could possibly experience. Magic, even more than knowledge,
had always been the sweetest drug to him anyway. His body thrummed with the anticipation of
revealing the boy’s secrets.

He wanted to turn around and watch every detail of the ritual, after all those years as a bodiless
wraith and another year consumed by madness, he yearned for it, but Voldemort had learned early
that good magic required patience. Only a few more seconds and he could watch and dissect and-

Suddenly the forming connection broke and the magic around him vanished in a violent woosh of
air, typical for a forcefully interrupted ritual like this.

Fury exploded inside of him, settling like a red haze over his vision. He spun around, his wand
already aimed at the suicidal intruder.
“Crucio!” he hissed. His spell connected and the man rolled twitching and screaming from his
young servant.

However, it only took him a second to recognise the writhing form and he withdrew his spell, his
fury evaporating as quickly as it had risen, for there in front of him, now gasping for breath, lay the
proof that Hades Dursley was indeed the expected Master of Death.
For on the floor lay the previously very dead Bartemius Crouch Junior. There was no doubt the
wizard was who he appeared to be either, as Voldemort could sense it in the desperately swirling
magic of his follower.

“Welcome back, Bartemius,” he stated, watching patiently as his follower pushed himself shakily
to his feet. “You have interrupted a very important ritual, but no matter,” he continued, before his
servant could do as much as open his mouth to apologize, “for you have also provided me with the
information I was seeking.”

The giddiness was returning and his follower could only blink in confusion as Voldemort’s lips
stretched into a rare, feral smirk. Severus had informed him after the debacle at the end of the
Triwizard Tournament, that Bartemius Crouch Jr had been kissed and his body apparently gave
out, succumbing to death soon after. His spy told him they had burned the body, unwilling to waste
the manpower to return him to Azkaban, and unable to hand the corpse over to his family since his
only remaining relative, Bartemius Crouch Sr, was also dead. So there was no other explanation
for his servant’s return other than the Peverell’s ‘Resurrection Ritual’ and only the Master of Death
was capable of performing it.

“My Lord,” Bartemius murmured, sounding still highly confused.

“Bring him to my parlor and lay him on the sofa,” Voldemort ordered, not giving an explanation.
He waited for Barty to lift the teen up before vanishing the rune circle and following his servant
into his parlor.

“He is awfully thin, my Lord,” Bartemius spoke up when he entered.

He threw the man a warning glare, not liking the curiosity in the man’s voice. “Hades is not a
prisoner, if that is what you are trying to hint at. He is my personal servant, my valet, if you will.
There should be a spare robe in his wardrobe. Go and cover yourself.”

He waited for his former spy to get up and leave the room before stepping in front of the couch.
Barty had been right. Hades was unnaturally thin, casting doubt on the story of a loving, Light
family home. His eyes narrowed as they fell on the edges of pale, old scars, like from a belt that
had curled around his slim torso.

Voldemort’s upper lip lifted in a sneer, but as much as he hated the abuse of magical children, it
explained at least partly why Hades was so satisfied in his service without receiving any specific
reward. He was already receiving it in the form of shelter and regular food, he added with another
glance at the protruding ribs. Of course, he would prefer binding the boy more tightly than through
the simple servant bond they currently had considering that Hades was the key to winning the war.
Not that Voldemort doubted his ability to win by himself, but the Master of Death promised a
much quicker and less bloody solution. There were enough mages as it was, therefore a quick
victory would be preferable.

However, losing sight of his young servant was not the only concern he had in regards to Hades.
The teen’s parents were not sympathizers of his. Unfortunately, he didn’t believe that a more
secure binding would be well received. Hades was in a difficult position between his home
situation and not having reached his majority. Voldemort would not risk driving the teen away by
overwhelming him with the information of their connection. In addition, the clear malnutrition of
his servant worried him.

People, especially those allied with Albus Dumbledore, didn’t believe him capable of feeling
anything but rage, however, that was not true. While there were emotions he neither possessed, nor
understood, he did care for his followers and tried to take care of them to the best of his abilities,
which, admittedly, had much to be desired in the past 13 years. However, he would change that
now and he would start with the newest addition to his ranks.

A necromancer, especially the Master of Death, would be a more than useful addition to his ranks,
not only because of the war and Walpurgis’ prophecy. He would use the recasting of their current
bond to cement the boy’s ties. Naturally there were other ways to bind a person than through
magic, but he would utilize what magic he could first.

The servant bond would be renewed for as long as Hades could remain without detection. And
while the teen was present, he would offer special tuition, information he would never get from a
family and friends aligned with Dumbledore’s ideals. The boy’s education was sadly lacking, and a
Peverell, especially the Master of Death, could not be stupid. Knowledge would endear the boy to
him, and eventually, Hades would connect with him emotionally as well, first in thanks but
growing from there.

As he thought over what subjects to focus on with the teen, his eyes flew open wide in shocked
recognition. Hades would need a Master of the Necromantic Arts in order to master his bloodline
inheritance. There were no other Masters of Necromancy in Great Britain. Indeed, there were only
a few in the entire world, and all of them so deep in hiding even he was likely to have trouble
finding them, let alone a young, untrained wizard fettered by the cossetting of the so-called light.

He would bind the boy to him in the ancient Master-Apprentice bond. Or rather in a variant, as a
normal Apprenicebond for the one who would one day reign alongside him, would send the wrong
signals to his followers. Fortunately, there was one binding that would suit his needs perfectly, and
ensure enough time for the boy to grow truly attached to him. And if it suited the prophecy as well,
so much the better.

He shook his head, and let out an odd sound that anyone else would have called a wry chuckle,
though everyone knew Lord Voldemort did not laugh. He was getting ahead of himself. First the
extension of the servant bond. Then knowledge, an apprenticeship, and eventually, perhaps,
something greater.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Voldemort straightened and began to start casting a diagnostic spell.
Medical spells were not his area of expertise, but he was proficient enough and besides being
unconscious and suffering from a mild concussion, Hades’s results were not worrisome.

“You are lucky, Bartemius, Hades has not suffered any lasting damage from your attack. Be
thankful, because it will save you from my wrath for the boy is a very important ally. Now tell me,
how does it feel to have one’s soul pulled from the black cosmos and revived?”

Behind him, his follower drew in a sharp breath. “Revived?”

“Yes, indeed. You were dead for 13 months.”
He waited for a moment, but when he got no immediate reply, Voldemort turned to face his
servant, who was staring with a disbelieving frown at the opposite wall.
“That explains…” Barty began before shaking his head and walking over to the sofa and sitting
down carefully next to Hades’ feet. “For the most part, I can only describe it with the word
sleeping,” he finally stated. “But then suddenly heard a voice and there was this jarring. Then I
woke up.”

Voldemort watched Bartemius shake his head, he didn’t need to use legilimency to sense the honest
confusion in his servant.
“It was strange,” his follower continued. “I woke up, maybe half an hour ago, on the meadow in
front of your castle. Before that, I only remember snippets. Dumbledore of course made sure that I
could not escape before the Ministry and the dementors arrived,” he sneered.
This news did not surprise him. “Show me,” he commanded, pointing his wand at his servant.
Bartemius relaxed, trustingly, even as his lord violently delved into his mind. After a moment
Voldemort withdrew with a frown.

“That boy, Hades, he is not marked,” Barty spoke up after another long moment, interrupting his
mental list of possible spells who could have caused his servant’s confusion.
“He is not. Beside the fact, which you should still remember, that I do not make a habit out of
marking minors, Hades will never be a mere follower. Additionally he is also the son of a
committed Light family,” Voldemort continued, his lips curling in disgust at the word ‘light’. “Of
course I wish to secure Hades and his unique powers, however, I am not in a hurry. Making his
parents suspicious will only cause complications I do not need. Have I now satisfied your curiosity
or are there further inane queries you have for me?”

“My apologies, my lord. I should not have been so curious.”

Satisfied that his warning had been received, Voldemort turned once more to look at the boy. He
knew what Walpurga’s prophecy hinted at, what it meant for two mages to have their fate
intertwined so tightly, however, it was still a strange concept to him. There was no pull, no sudden
emotions or love. Even so there was something about this boy, something that made him feel
possessive about him. Their magical connection would only grow stronger once Voldemort was
fully recovered. He had always been possessive and this link between them would not weaken this
character trade of his. “Stay here and keep an eye on him,” he ordered abruptly and left for his
library.

Crossing the hallway, his eyes once again scanned the space where the rune circle had been. At
least the interruption had been worth it. He had gained all the answers he needed for the moment
and in addition one of his most trusted and most useful followers had been returned to him. Not
only was Barty loyal to a fault, he was also intelligent and resourceful, something not many of his
men could claim.

Years ago, he had invested some time to tutor the talented wizard himself. It was not well known in
the public, but he enjoyed tutoring, especially if it gained him an even better servant. However, his
expectations were high and not many could meet them. The number of his private students could
still be counted on one hand.

He had tutored Regulus Black in more obscure aspects of the Dark Arts. The boy, being a Black,
had a solid foundation of knowledge and his hunger for more had been great. He shoved the rising
anger at the thought of his former student’s betrayal to the side. Regulus had committed the
ultimate crime of his ranks, for that his death had been deserved.

Feeling his magic rise angrily inside of him, he quickly shoved the memories behind thick
occlumency barriers; he had no possible outlet at hand right now. Going on a raid was still too
risky in his weakened state and killing Barty would not be worth it. About Hades, he would not
need to worry as much, the Master of Death could simply not be easily killed, let alone
permanently, however, the Peverell journal he possessed had been vague with the information on
what exactly would happen should somebody succeed in destroying the Master of Death’s body.
Voldemort assumed Hades would be reborn in one way or the other, however, it wasn’t something
he wished to test while the new war was on the horizon.

Secondly, there had been Bellatrix. Bella, by all means, was not an intellectual witch. She was,
however, a skilled dueller. As a pureblood daughter she had been regularly reprimanded for her
boyish behavior, however, he had quickly seen her unpolished talent and taken charge of her
further education. Up to this day, and he hated to admit it, the only other person he had come to
know with such good instincts was the annoying bane of his existence, Harry Potter.

Another prodigy had been Severus Snape. Unfortunately, a brain like his developed far too rarely.
His dear spy combined intelligence, a quick wit, a cutting tongue with an incomparable talent for
potions, dark arts and spell construction. And still, the man was driven by the wish to prove
himself.
He was well aware that the man was a double edged sword. For some time now Voldemort
suspected that Dumbledore held some leverage over the Potions Master, a fact he needed to rectify
soon.

His last student had then been Bartemius. Born into a ministry affiliated family, one of those who
were responsible for children being taught that mages were born with either dark and evil or light
and good, but too curious and clever to simply believe his own father’s propaganda, the man had
searched him out with the wish to find a place he could feel at home.
Voldemort had to admit that he had first taken Barty on merely because of his connections. As the
son of a striving politician he had been a valuable spy, but true talent and intelligence could never
be overlooked and soon the wizard had made a name of his own. His fate in recent years was on
the list of things he most regretted.

Hades of course would not simply be another of his students. No, he would make the boy his
apprentice and he would use a very specific binding for that. He would not leave any doubt about
what exactly the Peverell Heir was to him.

Thinking about the boy, Voldemort once again turned his attention to his revived follower. “Hades
currently seems to not wish for us to realize that he was in fact the one who resurrected you and
you will not tell him otherwise. I wish for the boy to continue thinking that he succeeded, at least
for the time being.”

“My Lord,” his follower once again ventured, this time more hesitant sounding after his earlier
punishment. “You said the kid’s parents are supporters of Dumbledore. Will they become a
problem?”
“I hope not, as I would hate to be forced to take measures which might alienate Hades. However, I
will call Severus and see if he has some more information on them. While the boy’s parents are not
members of the old fool’s order, according to him, I will take no risks.”

Hearing a soft groan, he focused his attention back on his young mate. Hades was waking up.
Finally, the teenager had been unconscious long enough.

___________________________________________________________________

Harry blinked his eyes open. His head was throbbing and his vision slightly blurry. It took him a
few seconds to realize that he was lying on Voldemort’s couch, the same one he had fallen asleep
on only a bit earlier.

“What… what happened?” he groaned. The last thing he remembered was cutting his palm for
Voldemort’s experiment and then…
“You were knocked out,” Voldemort drawled. The wizard was sitting across from him, an old tome
open in his lap. At his words, Harry bolted into a sitting position, however, he regretted it instantly
as the pain at the back of his head throbbed even more violently and black spots appeared in his
vision.

“Bartemius, go and fetch a general healing potion and one for mild brain damage.”
Someone moved at the corner of his eyes, but Harry didn’t dare to move his head and look. At
least, with Voldemort so relaxed, he probably needn’t fear the newcomer.

“Barty is very protective of me,” Voldemort explained, his eyes already back on his book.
However, the information made Harry’s heart miss a beat. The ritual had worked then.

Not knowing how to respond, Harry just lay back down and closed his eyes again. The swirling
eased and the pounding lessened slightly as he lay unmoving. It could have been minutes or hours
when he heard the opening and closing of a door, followed by approaching footsteps.
“I have brought the potions you requested, my Lord.”

“Give Hades first the Sanus-Cerebrum draught and then the general healing potion,” Voldemort
ordered.
Harry couldn’t hear any reply, but a moment later a clammy, sweaty, bony hand was pushed under
his neck and his head was lifted slightly. Obediently, he gulped the slimy fluid down. The bad taste
was, however, worth it. The throbbing lessened a great deal and the spots that had danced in front
of his close eyes vanished, just like the annoying swirling.
Opening his eyes, he sighed in relief when the room stayed where it should. Slowly he sat up and
took the second potion Crouch was holding out for him. This one was just as disgusting as the
other, and the feeling it provoked was uncomfortable as well, like ants crawling over his head. He
flinched in surprise when suddenly cool fingers prodded at his scalp.

“As good as new,” the Dark Lord announced. “You should still not overtax yourself today.
Bartemius can take over your duties for now.”
Not about to argue against that, Harry nodded. “I will go to my room then,” he said, feeling
awkward. Crouch Jr was staring at him intensely, so intensely in fact, that he would have feared
the man might have recognised him, if not for his new appearance.

“If you wish for some distraction, you can start with those exams,” Voldemort commanded (Harry
knew it was a command, not a polite offer), pointing at a small pile of parchment on a sideboard.
“Yes, my Lord,” he muttered, aware of the scrutinizing look. He stood carefully and made a bee-
line to the dresser, before heading for his room. He sighed in relief once he was safely inside, he
had not quite counted on how stressful it would feel to have two dark wizards he needed to fool.
Maybe that feeling would vanish after a good night's rest.

Unfortunately, his luck didn’t last long.

“May I join you? Our Lord requests some privacy,” Crouch’s voice sounded behind him. Before
Harry could refuse, the man had already entered and leaned against the wardrobe that stood
opposite his bed.

Harry didn’t feel like talking right now, He wanted some time for himself to get his thoughts in
order and decide how to best get Crouch Jr. to answer his questions without the wizard getting
suspicious, however he needed Barty’s help and affronting the wizard would certainly not assist.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

“My name is Hades,” he mumbled.
The other just shrugged. “Ease up a little, we are colleagues now.”
“A colleague would have apologized for knocking me out,” he muttered under his breath, but
Crouch Jr. must have heard him anyway for he rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

“Don’t be a princess or you will never get far here. What are you doing for our Lord anyway?
Can’t really see him needing a valet.”
Harry sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get the man out of his room anytime
soon. Hopefully, his conversation would at least be a step in the right direction to implement his
plan. After all, Slytherins were all for ‘You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours’.
“Well, he does. Or he did,” When Crouch just lifted his eyebrows questioningly, he continued. “He
was badly injured when I arrived,” he said, before pausing for a moment, thinking. If he wasn’t
careful, he could reveal too much, after all, he knew things Hades Dursley couldn’t know. He
needed to tread carefully.
“It looked like a horrible dark curse. His whole lower body was injured and inflamed. It looked…
as if our lord was falling apart. It was horrible,” his voice had dropped to a whisper at his last
words.

“He needed someone with compatible magic.”

“And you just happened to be around?” Crouch questioned, one eyebrow raised. Somehow, Harry
got the feeling the wizard was fishing for something.
“Yes,” was all Harry answered, trying not to let it show how uncomfortable he felt by the
conversation. It even was true in a way anyway. He had not known that Voldemort was ill and his
decision to follow the pull of the wizard’s magic had been a spur of the moment thing.
Crouch’s eyes narrowed. “And you want me to believe you, kid?”
Harry just narrowed his eyes back. “If you don’t believe me, go and ask our Lord.”

That actually seemed to convince the wizard somewhat and Harry inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.
Crouch’s shoulders relaxed, proving that his suspicion had been correct. However, this change in
conviction apparently didn’t mean that the wizard planned to leave. On the contrary, in fact. He
conjured himself an elegant, black leather armchair and sat down.

“So, you work as our lord’s valet right now. What does that mean? Placing his robes out? Washing
socks?”
Harry rolled his eyes, but figured he could answer that question. “I cook, clean, and prepare for
guests. When our lord was still weak, I cared for his wounds. He hasn’t been back on his feet for
long, so I don’t know what else will become part of my duties.”

Thinking about it, he truly wondered if their next contract would be any different than this one.
Slightly longer. He still had 6 weeks until he had to leave. That should be enough time for the
damage Dumbledore’s curse had caused to heal. Once that was done and the second contract ran
out, he could in good conscience return to his usual life. He would return to Hogwarts, see Ron and
Hermione again, go to classes and he could just ignore Dumbledore. Things would be fine again, at
least as fine as things got in his life.

“Kid, are you still with me?”

“Hm?” jolting a little, Harry looked up.
Crouch was studying him attentively, probably having noticed his trip to worry-lane.
“Seems you got lost there for a minute,” the wizard said, standing up. “Anyway, I better start with
finishing your duties. What are they today anyway?”

Seeing how low the sun hung behind the window, Harry retorted, “At this time? Cooking dinner.”
Crouch made a face, vanished his armchair and finally left with a wave.

Snuggling deeper into his blanket, Harry reached for the pile of exams Voldemort had ordered him
to solve, summoned a quill and began to read through the first page, which seemed to cover
magical history.
Unfortunately, he could spot not a single goblin name (the only topic they discussed in the class)
and additionally, the coldness of his bloody room seemed to creep into his bones now that he had
shoved his blanket further down to be able to write properly.

Forcing himself to just concentrate, he bit his lips and looked at the history exam.

When was the political concept of Light and Dark magic first introduced?
List all magical holidays
Underline all holidays that today are considered dark and circle all holidays which are considered
light.
Pick two holidays and describe their meaning for the magical society.
When was the last time these holidays were last celebrated officially?

Harry frowned at the questions. He felt somewhat surprised that Voldemort even mentioned Light
magic and their festivals, however, that could be because the wizard knew about his Light affinity.
It probably wouldn't currently do to offend him too much.

Giving up, he reached for the next page, only to realize that it wasn’t much better.

List five bloodline related magical gifts children of the sacred 28 families were known to inherit
and name the family
Name also 3 magical gifts wizarding children can develop outside their blood lines.

Glad that he at least could write a point under each question, Harry quickly jutted down,
‘Parseltongue (Slytherin)’ and ‘Metamorphmagus (Black)’. The rest of the questions weren't much
better, however, the next page finally held questions he could answer, as it covered defense.

He fell into concentration as he answered questions about basic shield charms and curses and was
amazed, how much knowledge he had picked up, that was not part of the standard curriculum, just
by being interested in the subject and reading up on it. Thinking about it, he had read every
defense book Hermione and Remus had gifted him and even bought a few interesting sounding
ones on his own.

The second part of the defense exam grew even better, as he encountered a pile of empty
parchment, just with the name of a spell written on their tops and the instruction to aim the spell at
the paper.
He worked his way rather quickly through defense and then started with transfiguration. He didn’t
feel quite as confident about that class, it was rather difficult after all (Hermione always pointed out
that transfiguration was one of the most complicated arts to master), but, without his overeager
friend breathing down his neck and correcting him before he could even lift his wand, he did
surprisingly well.

He remembered much more of the theory than he would have guessed and the parts he didn’t
remember, he often managed to work out after thinking about the question for a moment.

The practical test paper consisted of a small velvet bag with different items and a list instructing
him which item to use for which transfiguration.

“How is it going, kid?” A voice interrupted him at some point and as Harry looked up, he saw that
Crouch had returned from whatever he had been doing. Cooking, hopefully, because he was
starting to feel starved.

“You know what it means that he is testing you like this?”

Blinking, Harry shook his head. He honestly had no idea why Voldemort was putting so much
effort in testing him.

“It means he is interested in you. Could it be that you possess some rare magical talent?” Once
again there was that gleam in the wizard's eye which, hopefully, didn’t mean anything. And really,
chances were that Harry was just paranoid after having gone behind Voldemort’s back earlier and
not been caught and punished so far.

He shook his head again, he truly wasn’t anything special, like Tonks with her metamorphmagus
abilities.

“Dinner is ready,” Crouch informed him. “You better hurry up, I already told our Lord.”
“I will just put these things away,” Harry said, looking at the messy array of papers and
transformed items.

Crouch left again and he quickly sorted his papers into complete, attempted, and still-to-do piles,
before carrying everything back to his room. He doubted Voldemort would appreciate such a mess,
not even in his servant’s room. Finally, when everything looked tidy again, he hurried over to the
dining room.

Entering, he nearly recoiled at the nasty, burned smell that immediately filled his nostrils.
Voldemort was sitting stiffly in his chair, looking as if he was trying not to gag as well. The dark
lord was staring at something in a casserole pan in front of him, however, there was no way to
distinguish what the thing had been once at a time.

As Harry came closer and sat down gingerly, he saw two more bowls with very burned stuff.
“Hades, cut this up and see if there is any edible part,” Voldemort commanded, waving his pale,
bony hand towards the casserole.

“Yes, my lord,” he retorted obediently, took the sharp knife and meat fork that lay next to the pan
and lifted the burned thing onto his plate. The outer layer was incredibly hard as he carefully cut
through it, but as soon as he had managed it, he realized that the rest was still raw, as there was a
rubber-like feeling to it. As he separated the meat a moment later, he saw that he indeed was right.

“I fear there isn’t anything edible here. Should I go and prepare sandwiches?” He mainly offered
because he really needed something to eat and soon.
Voldemort didn’t look pleased at the thought of sandwiches but nodded.
“Take Barty with you. Maybe he will learn something,” the dark lord shot his most trusted servant
an annoyed glare and vanished the roast or whatever the burned thing was supposed to be.

Getting up again, Harry suppressed a wave of dizziness that suddenly overcame him and left the
dining room, trusting that the other wizard would follow or if not, that Voldemort would make
him.

“What was that even supposed to be?” Harry asked as they entered the kitchen, Crouch indeed hot
on his heels.
“Roasted beef. It always looked so easy when my father’s house elf prepared it. But I guess there is
more to cooking after all,” Crouch shrugged with a grin, looking only slightly embarrassed. “Well,
no one can blame me, cooking is nothing a pureblood heir is supposed to learn. I guess your
parents have no house elf?”

Imagining Dobby asking his uncle, ‘What can Dobby bring for Master Vernon’s breakfast,’ Harry
snorted and shook his head. “We live in a muggle neighborhood,” he told the other truthfully,
before striding over to the storage room.

He grabbed the remains of the still warm loaf of bread, tuna, tomatoes, onions, salad and some
mayonnaise and returned to the counter.
“You can cut the bread,” he told Crouch, not really feeling like explaining anything. He knew he
should probably start being nicer to the wizard, if he wanted a chance to learn something from him,
but he just was so tired and exhausted and had no patience left.
That was why he only prepared one kind of sandwich. He quickly cut the onions, diced the tuna
into small pieces and mixed both with the mayonnaise.
“Here is the bread, I removed the crusts already,” Crouch said, pushing a small pile of neatly sliced
slices over.

Muttering a “thanks,” Harry coated half of the slices with the tuna cream, covered it with salad and
tomatoes and finished the sandwiches off with another slice of bread. After cutting them into
smaller squares, he quickly arranged everything on a silver plate and told Barty: “We can go.”

“By Salazar, you are quick!” the wizard retorted, but Harry only snorted. Sandwiches were not the
most difficult to prepare.

Voldemort was still waiting in the dining room, looking to be in an even worse mood than earlier.
“Well, this looks better,” he said when Harry placed the plate down.
“I hope you like tuna,” he said, taking his seat again as well.
“I do,” Voldemort retorted, levitating two sandwiches onto his plate.

Despite his gnawing hunger, he waited patiently until Voldemort had picked his sandwich up and
took his first bite.
“Hm! These are really good!” Crouch exclaimed rather loudly, earning himself another annoyed
look from Voldemort.
“Sorry, my lord,” the man quickly said, returning to his plate.

A moment of silence fell between them, as they all ate, but it finally was broken by the dark lord,
asking:
“So, Hades, did you start on the exam I prepared for you?”
Swallowing, Harry nodded. “I did. But there was much I couldn’t answer.”
“What couldn’t you answer?” Voldemort inquired, summoning another sandwich.
“Mainly your questions about magical history and general magical theory,” he answered truthfully,
knowing Voldemort would see his exam papers sooner or later anyway.

Said dark lord hummed. “I expected as much. If your parents follow Hogwarts’ syllabus, you will
not have been taught much in those areas. How was the rest?”
“Defense and transfiguration were fine, I think,” Harry told him.
Voldemort nodded. “Bring me those papers before you go to bed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The rest of the meal passed with little conversation. Once all sandwiches were devoured,
 Voldemort turned to Crouch and said, “You can clean up this mess,” before rising and leaving the
room without another word.

Tired, Harry didn’t linger either, but retired to his small, cold room. He truly was beginning to hate
this chamber, it reminded him far too much of his shabby room at the Dursleys. It was equally as
bare and loveless.

Trying to push these thoughts from his mind, he curled himself into a small ball beneath his still
cold blanket and tried to fall asleep. He was so tired, he could actually feel it in his bones.

His thoughts slowed down to a haze, and he was about to drift off, when a nearly inaudible noise
registered in the recesses of his mind. Steps sounded and he absentmindedly realized that
Voldemort had just returned to his personal bedchamber. The sound of rustling reached his ears
and then the opening of another door followed.
‘The bathroom,’ Harry’s mind provided sluggishly.

It was strange somehow, how he had come to learn that the feared dark lord did his evening
ablutions just like any other human being. Harry had come to witness many of these personal
habits, now that he thought about it. It made Voldemort seem almost human. But only almost. That
was why it still was odd, to hear the sound of water filling the tub, of robes being discarded and at
some point, even of Nagini slithering in and curling up on her rug to chat amiably with her master,
and Voldemort, responding in an equally relaxed sounding tone of voice. Harry couldn’t
understand what exactly they were talking about, the bathroom was too far away from his room
and the castle walls too thick for that. Their hissing was strangely relaxing and soon the cadence of
their conversation lulled Harry into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Growing Connection
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 5: Growing Connection

Harry awoke the next morning rather refreshed and high-spirited. His magic felt completely
restored again, he had successfully brought Barty back, Voldemort didn’t suspect anything amiss
and he had had a good night’s rest without any nightmares. Pushing his heavy duvet to the side,
Harry climbed out of bed and cast another cleaning charm on himself, making a mental note to
finally ask about a bathroom he could use. Once he felt more or less refreshed, he left his room to
prepare breakfast.

The living room was still deserted as he crossed it and he wondered where Crouch had slept. But
then again, there certainly were enough rooms in the castle. However, just in that minute
Voldemort’s bedroom door was flung open and the man slithered out with a purposeful kind of
force.

Stopping in his tracks, Harry watched, wondering what had caused this behavior, but before he
could wonder for long, the dark wizard stopped and turned to him.
“Hades, Lucius will join us for breakfast.”
“Only Mr. Malfoy, or his wife and son as well?” he asked automatically, secretly hoping that at
least Draco wouldn’t come.
“Only Lucius. It is Death Eater business we need to discuss,” Voldemort told him, surprisingly
informative.
“Is there anything in particular Mr. Malfoy enjoys for breakfast?” he asked, relieved.
“He is more the pancakes than the bacon-and-eggs type.”
Nodding in understanding, Harry left the living room, leaving the Dark Lord to his preparations or
whatever he did before a Death Eater meeting. Maybe a round of warm-up curses?
In the kitchen, he lit a fire in the stove and went into the pantry to collect everything for pancakes,
scones, bacon, and eggs (he somehow had the feeling Bartemius would be a bacon and eggs person
as well) and some other items.

Summoning two bowls, he began to prepare the batter for the pancakes and dough for the scones,
but just when he added the sugar, the kitchen door opened and in strode a very tired and moody
looking Bartemius.

“You have coffee, kid? I need a cup before I have to face that blond peacock.”
“My name is Hades,” Harry shot the man a glare, but he didn’t quite mean it seriously, which the
other noticed and shot him a toothy grin back.
Sighing, Harry nodded. “Sure. Just give me a second.”
He quickly finished the dough, put two pans onto the stove to heat up and went back into the
pantry. He had bought coffee beans that day at the market, just in case, though so far Voldemort
had never asked for anything other than his black tea, which he collected as well.

He himself still preferred pumpkin juice and always drank a glass while preparing breakfast.
However, once back in the kitchen, he realized he had no idea how wizards brewed coffee.
Fortunately, a search through the cupboards revealed a glass can that looked very much like the
muggle versions with the filter inside that one could push down to stop the coffee from floating
around in the brewed coffee.

“Strong?” he asked, lifting the lid from the glass carafe.

“You bet!” Bartemius retorted, conjured himself a chair and let himself fall down on it heavily,
while Harry began to count the spoons of coffee powder before pouring hot water over it and
setting a timer with his wand.

Seeing that the pan was now hot, he scooped some of the pancake batter up with a ladle and began
frying the pancakes. He managed three before his timer went off. Forcing the grounds down, he
summoned the tall china pot he had seen earlier and poured the brew into the nicer pitcher. Placing
it onto a small tray together with a cup and some milk and sugar, he sent it to hover next to his
sleepy guest. For a second he thought he would have to wake the wizard, but the smell of coffee
seemed to rouse him once again.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, deciding on trying some light conversation while switching to
frying scones. Barty blinked a few times and reached for the china pot.
“I did. Only too short,” he said, taking a sip of unsweetened coffee, before starting to cough.
“By Salazar's beard, that is strong!”
“You said you wanted it strong!” Harry defended his coffee, sending the plate of scones after the
pancakes into the pentry.
“Well, I didn’t know you wanted to raise the dead with this stuff!” the wizard began to add sugar
and milk, before taking another sip and sighing in satisfaction.
“Do you know why the princess is coming over, kid?”
“No, Bartemius!” he shot back pointedly. While he didn’t wish to make a fuss, he really hated the
nickname the other had given him. “I am merely our Lord’s valet.”
Grimacing, Barty lifted his hands, “Alright, I get it, Hades. But stop calling me Bartemius, it just
reminds me too much of my nasty old man!”
Satisfied, Harry threw him a cocky smile. “Sure, Barty,” before turning to the selection of fruits he
had gathered and beginning to slice them in different shapes with the help of his wand.
“Star-shaped melons? Who the hell needs that?” Barty asked, throwing a suspicious look at the
plate Harry was arranging said fruit on carefully.
“Honestly? I have no idea, but our Lord taught me. If you ever ask him, tell me the answer,” he
retorted, thinking that Barty might not be so bad after all.
“You think me suicidal to ask our lord something like this?” Barty scoffed before getting back to
the main topic. “I can’t stand that family. Sure, Lucius is good with his spellwork, but he is far too
arrogant for my liking. In front of our lord, all true believers were always equal, but he and his
family measures their worth by their blood.”

Turning back to face his breakfast preparations, Harry raised his eyebrows in incredulity.
“Isn't…” he began, but stopped himself before he could say ‘the dark side’ and changed his words
into, “Isn’t that what we’re all doing?”
“Don’t let our lord hear that.”
“But we dislike mug… I mean… mudbloods as well,” he pointed out.
Barty gave him a long, scrutinizing look, probably having noticed his almost slip-up. But finally he
said, “Not because of their blood, but because they don’t believe in Lady Magic and their disbelief
is weakening our world. And they don’t stop there!” Barty hissed, clearly growing angrier by the
second. “They not only eschew our traditions, but they bring their own beliefs in and destroy ours!
Because of them, the old ways are forbidden and only a handful of loyal, brave families still know
and practice them!” Barty fell silent, his chest heaving in anger, but he didn’t stay silent for long.
“Do you even know about our traditions? Our rights? You certainly know very little about our
Lord’s beliefs.”

Staring down at his fruit plate, Harry tried to quickly craft a good answer, but apparently he was
taking too long.
“Well, you will witness a traditional magical celebration soon enough. While it unfortunately isn’t
Lughnasadh or the solstice, it should still be able to teach you a few things and fill at least some of
those gaping holes in your knowledge. Well, I suppose I can’t blame you with the type of parents
you have…”
Harry’s eyebrows rose again. Apparently, Voldemort had told Barty about his fake-parents.
“... but you really should read up on magical traditions.”
“I don’t have a book,” he retorted simply, even though so far everything he had learned here had
been interesting.
“Don’t worry, I will find you one,” Barty told him, before tossing the rest of his coffee back and
standing up. “I better get myself ready, throw my dress robe on,” the wizard winked and vanished
back through the door.

Sighing in a mixture of relief and satisfaction, Harry sent the plate of fruit and the bowl of fresh
yogurt he had prepared to the pantry as well, before leaving the kitchen to set the table in the
dining room.

He pulled out the same silver table set and distributed plates, bowls, cups and silverware. He
finished just in time. He heard the fire in the antichamber roar to life and quickly walked out to
greet Voldemort’s guest.

Lucius Malfoy stood tall and regal as ever, his silver eyes snapping over to him as soon as he
stepped out into the small hall.
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. I am sure our Lord will join us soon,” he said, gesturing invitingly
over to the dining room. “I will go and bring in breakfast.”
Mr. Malfoy inclined his head, but then paused as he caught sight of Harry’s changed looks.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” the blond aristocrat said in his usual smooth, cold tenor,
regaining composure quickly.
Blinking, Harry frowned in confusion. “Congratulations?”
“For turning 17 and receiving your inheritance. You must indeed be unusually strong for a half
blood to receive your pureblood mother’s bloodline magic. Will you try to restore her maiden name
to its former glory?”

Instantly, Harry’s frown turned into a scowl, however, before he could actually say something to
Lucius’ bigotry, the blond already continued with a nasty smirk.

“Of course, considering your father was a muggle, you might not be able to restore her family at
all, depending on how much previous dilutions her blood was tainted with.”

“I will not be turning 17 this year, I just invoked the inheritance on my own,” Harry finally
managed to interrupt Malfoy. Thinking of his birthday, it should be coming up soon, or had he
missed it already? However, he pushed the question to the side in favor of saying, “And the revival
of my mother’s family is none of your concern. I am sure you can find the dining room on your
own.”

Ignoring the sneer the blond directed at him, Harry turned on his heels and vanished into the
kitchen. With a sharp flick of his wand, he magically sent everything he had prepared into the
dining room. When he arrived a moment later, he could already hear Voldemort and Lucius
talking. The aristocrat sounded derisive.

“I see your valet has found his magic after all,” Lucius’ drawling voice wafted over and to Harry’s
surprise, it was Barty who retorted, in a rather aggressive sounding tone of voice, “Hades was
simply not aware that these rooms were guarded against Ministry detection. Pitiful, but
understandable with the kind of parents he apparently has.”
“Indeed. Hades has so far shown much talent, if not much knowledge. I intend to rectify that,”
Voldemort spoke up.
“Then he may be excused,” Lucius said, sounding much more humbled.
“My Lord.” That, once again, was Barty. “Did you know that the boy has no idea about our sacred
holidays?”

Deciding that he better enter before Barty could reveal anything more (not that he had told the
wizard much but he also was not sure what would sound suspicious to the Death Eater and what
not), he entered the dining room, just in time to hear Voldemort sigh.

The three wizards had already started eating, but looked up when he entered, if only for a short
moment. He took the same seat he had occupied the last time, sitting down on Voldemort’s left. A
tight expression appeared on Malfoy’s face making Harry wonder if the wizard could possibly be
jealous of his place next to the dark lord. The thought made him snicker inwardly; a pity that the
man didn’t know who he really was.

Silently, he summoned himself a portion of bacon and eggs and began eating, letting the
conversation wash over him.
“And how is your wife doing?” Voldemort fortunately changed the topic.
“Saddened that she will not have the chance to check you over once more,” Lucius replied with a
small, amused smile, making his master hum.
“You may tell her that I am fine and getting better by the day. And that my healing abilities are at
least sufficient to tell me that much.”

Was that a joke? Out of Voldemort’s mouth?

Having finished his small portion, Harry summoned a pancake and the bottle of maple syrup.

“Draco is still doing well?”

Lucius actually sighed at that question. It was strange to see such an undignified reaction from the
man. “I fear he has grown lazy this past year. His marks are not quite the standard I expect from
my heir and neither is his homework so far.”
Voldemort raised one hairless eyebrow, apparently enough of a sign for his right hand man to
continue.
“I think what he needs is some good old fashioned competition.”
“I assume you have already come up with a suitable plan? I would be disappointed if the next
Malfoy Lord was an ignorant, useless fool,” Voldemort drawled, making Barty snicker.
Lucius sent the man a glare, before turning back to answer his lord. “Indeed,” he said, and to
Harry’s horror, his pale eyes moved over to him.
“I had hoped that you would allow Draco to help with the tutelage of Hades here. With how
talented you describe him, he should prove a sufficient incentive soon enough. Draco could also
introduce him to some of his peers.”

Harry prayed that Voldemort would refuse, his appetite all but gone. If there was anything he
wished for less than to spend his holidays with his arch enemy, then it was to spend his holidays
with his prick of a school rival. But of course Voldemort agreed.

“I think introducing Hades to more suitable peers than his parents have doubtlessly provided thus
far is a good idea and I am sure he can sit down with your son and do his homework once in a
while. However, I intend to tutor my valet personally. I have found that having a competent servant
around is very useful.”
Lucius inclined his head, probably swallowing a comment about house elves.

A moment arose in which they all ate in silence. Harry as well tried to enjoy a bit more of his
pancake, but the prospect of spending any more time with Draco than he already had been forced to
do had soured his mood and vanished his hunger. Still, the pancakes had turned out perfect,
slightly crisp outside and fluffy at the inside, it would be a pity not to enjoy them.

“Barty, I must say, I am pleased to see you back in one piece. Surprised, but pleased. Tell, how did
you manage to make your way back into our fold?” Lucius questioned after a few minutes.
“You know Luc, you could just have asked how I got away,” Barty huffed.
Lucius raised an inquisitive eyebrow that managed to look mocking at the same time.
“I didn’t,” was Barty’s toothy reply.
“Excuse me?” Lucius sounded incredulous.
“What I said. They found me out and called the dementors, who kissed me.” Barty hummed
musingly. Across from him, Harry’s palms grew sweaty. Without any immediate consequences
resulting from the resurrection, he had come to believe that Bary’s recollections of his final
moments had suffered, which would have been very convenient, but apparently that wasn’t the
case.

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes wandered back to Voldemort who calmly lowered his fork, before
elaborating. “It is a curious matter indeed. However, minds can be tempered with. Or maybe, we
have a powerful new ally somewhere. Whatever the case, I do not believe we need to worry. After
all, if it was the interference of a mage, they picked a supporter of our cause. Furthermore, Barty
shows no traces of being controlled by an outside force.”

At those words Harry tried to not look too surprised. He hadn’t even noticed that Voldemort had
checked Barty over for such magic.
“I am quite certain,” the dark lord continued, “that if it was a wizard, they will reveal themselves
sooner or later.”

Harry stiffened as Voldemort’s gaze swept over each of them, but surely it was only due to his
overactive imagination that it felt that the dark lord lingered on him just that little bit longer?

“However, Barty’s unexpected return is not why I have called you this morning,” Voldemort
continued, redirecting his attention and the topic.
Sighing in relief, Harry concentrated once more on his plate.
“If nothing else, the Ministry fiasco has proven that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter must be
dealt with.

Harry’s new found relaxation evaporated in an instant. Of course, on some level, he had known
that Voldemort must have planned his demise again and again around this time of the year.
However, he had never witnessed it so explicitly, not even in one of his visions. It made a cold
shudder run down his back.
“While Dumbledore is undoubtedly growing old, he is not yet beyond proving to be an obstacle
and Potter, I believe we all agree that there has never walked a greater nuisance on this earth than
that boy.”

Forcing himself to stay calm, Harry tried to continue eating as if the new topic was not bothering
him at all, while Lucius Malfoy sneered and Barty asked, “My Lord, how may we assist you?”
Ignoring the wizard, Voldemor turned his attention back onto the blond.
“Lucius, you mentioned your son wishing for a chance to prove his worth to our ranks and possibly
be accepted into our circle early.”

Harry watched, with fascination, how Lucius Malfoy immediately straightened further in his seat,
his body radiating eagerness. Why though, was a mystery to Harry, but then again, he would
probably never understand how one could wish to serve a manic dark lord generally.
“Indeed, my Lord,” the blond retorted.

“There is a vanishing cabinet currently on offer at Borgin & Burgs. He will purchase it and then
come to me for further instruction.”
Wondering how Voldemort was planning to use a vanishing cabinet of all things to get himself and
Dumbledore out of the way, Harry swallowed another bite of pancake, trying to not look too
curious. Unless, of course, the dark Lord was planning to shove Harry and the headmaster just in in
the hopes they would never reappear again. However, after having watched said dark Lord for
nearly two weeks now, Harry doubted that he would resort to such an unreliable plan.

Well, at least he had gotten some information on what Voldemort was planning and would be able
to relay it to Professor Dumbledore. Maybe this way, his next term wouldn’t turn into such a fiasco
as the last two had. He only hoped that he indeed would be able to tell about his time at the dark
lord’s castle once his contract with the wizard ended. Would he be able to tell anybody about what
he had witnessed at Voldemort’s castle? He would have to find that out.

“I will inform Draco, my lord,” Malfoy replied, bowing his head reverently as if Voldemort had
just bestowed the greatest honor on his family.
“Oh, and Lucius? Tell Severus to come by in the next two days. Whenever he can get away from
the old fool,” Voldemort added.
“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius inclined his head.
“And bring me a list of people who have shown interest in joining us. Mark those you believe
capable and trustworthy enough to be entrusted with squad leader positions.”
Once again Malfoy inclined his head, reminding Harry of a bobble head toy Dudley had. His neck
bent so often he wondered if he possessed a spring instead of a spine. “I will start compiling the list
immediately.”
“See that you do. Our ranks need to once again be strong and functional as soon as possible.”

If possible, Harry’s ears perked up even more. Squad leaders? Ranks? That sounded frighteningly
organized and nothing at all like the insane maniac Dumbledore and the Order members had
always described to him. However, he had realized that Voldemort was much less insane than he
had been after his resurrection a year ago already. The thought of a well-organized death eater
army frightened him. The unorganized lot at the Quidditch World Cup had been hard enough to
handle, if Mr. Weasley’s reports were anything to go by.

“You are dismissed,” Voldemort’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He would have to be
attentive and gather as much information as possible.

Harry watched as the two followers stood and bowed, before leaving the small dining room.
Hopefully Dumbledore would find a way to break the secrecy clause of his contract with
Voldemort, if there was one. Or at least trust him enough when he proposed an alternative. He
would have to find a way to make it clear to Dumbledore how imperative that was.

Still deep in thought, Harry stood up as well, but he sent the empty plates and cutlery back to the
kitchen first. After the eventful breakfast, he was glad for the break washing the dishes provided.
The conversation he had witnessed at the breakfast table had left him with a coldness in his bones
and a feeling of foreboding.

What had he even done to deserve being first place on Voldemort’s hit list? Well, he knew the
answer to that by now at least, about the only good point that had come from his fifth year at
Hogwarts. Or maybe not, he thought, his mind wandering back to the snippet of the prophecy he
had overheard in the Ministry and the very different version Dumbledore had entrusted to him
afterwards.

So much had happened since his arrival at Voldemort’s castle, that he had forgotten all about it for
a moment. However, his anger about the headmaster’s silence and confusion about the old
wizard’s rendition of the prophecy had not lessened. Voldemort at least always was honest, to the
point of being hurtful sometimes, but honest at least and straightforward and clear with his
demands and expectations. It was refreshing in a way. Relaxing.

However, that still didn’t mean that he would ever support the maniac dark lord. The murderer of
his parents. He would return to Hogwarts and tell Dumbledore what he could and Dumbledore
would have to chance to play his stupid game of riddles again. If nobody else, Sirius surely would
help him making sure of that, after all, his godfather knew how infuriating it was when others
meddled in one's life. Thinking of it, he would make sure that Sirius finally received the trial he
deserved, Dumbledore should have done so already 2 years ago after he had learned of the man’s
innocence. Surely, with Umbridge gone and all the influence Dumbledore possessed, the
headmaster should be able to demand as much?

And once Sirius' innocence was proven, Harry would finally be able to spend time with his
godfather properly, do all the things they had wanted to do, like watching a quidditch match
together. Harry would finally be able to move out of his family’s house and live a happy life.
Everything would be perfect, or at least as perfect as it could possibly be with Voldemort still at
large. Now that he knew the resurrection ritual worked, all his dreams could finally come true. He
could attempt even more daring resurrections as well!

He quickly pushed the thought away. His parents were dead for so long, who knew if it would
increase the risk of something going wrong with the ritual? But thinking of the ritual, why hadn’t
Voldemort used it instead of the botched one that had returned him looking like a half dead human-
snake-corpse hybrid? Surely the wizard was capable of performing it as well? But then again, all
the magic had been done by Wormtail. Voldemort had been without a body back then and possibly
not been able to control his magic well enough and Pettigrew was everything but strong.

His train of thought was interrupted when the kitchen door was pushed open and Barty’s head
appeared in the doorway.
“Our lord wants to see you,” he said and seeing the remaining pile of dirty dishes, pointed his wand
at it. “You better go. The dishes can wash themselves.”

Sighing in defeat, Harry nodded. He would have loved to finish it himself and get some more peace
to think about everything.
“I am coming,” he said, quickly summoning a kitchen towel to dry his hands, before following
Barty out. The door to Voldemort’s private rooms stood open and he could see that the wizard was
already sitting in his usual spot, a stack of paper on his scaled lap that looked suspiciously like the
first half of Harry’s exam.

“You called for me, my Lord?” he asked, coming to a halt in front of the sitting area.
“Yes. Sit down,” Voldemort ordered, not looking up.

Harry did as told and sat down, patiently waiting for the wizard to finish looking over his answers.
Finally the dark lord set the stack of papers to the side and turned his attention to him.

“There are two things I need to discuss with you,” Voldemort began.
“For one, our current contract will come to an end tomorrow and for another, I would like to
discuss your test results.”
Harry nodded, not quite sure what else to say.

“As I cannot force a bond upon you, I will give you two choices.”
“You can’t?” Harry asked without thinking, cursing his mouth a split second later.
Voldemort lifted his trademark hairless eyebrow but held true to his declaration that he would
never punish a politely (or at least not impolitely) voiced question.
“Of course I could force a bond upon you, but a slavery bond would gain me nothing but a
mindless slave. As loath as I am to admit it, what I wish to acquire from you can not be taken by
force. Therefore you will have the choice between staying here and entering a second contract with
me, or leaving and having your memories sealed away.”
“Sealed away? You mean, I would forget everything?”
Voldemort glared at him. “Did I say wiped out? No, you would merely not be able to speak or
write a word about what you have witnessed here.”
Harry nodded. At least that was one question answered.
“Of course, if you decide to stay here, you can voice a few more demands for your service. I do not
make a habit of exploiting my followers. You do not need to make a decision right now, there is
time until this evening. Until then, I would like to discuss the results of your evaluation exams.”

Harry simply nodded again, glad for the reprieve, he honestly didn’t know how he wanted to
answer. Could he really just stay here for another fortnight or even another month?
Voldemort picked his exam papers up again and he pushed the question to the side for now.

“I said it earlier, but I will repeat it: Your results show quite a lot of potential, but your tutelage has
been abysmal. As Lammas is coming up, I will give you a crash course in wizarding holidays and
at least some of the traditions.”
Harry shifted a little to seem more attentive, which seemed to please Voldemort.

“You may have noticed in the questionnaire, that I did not refer to light and dark magic.” Do you
follow so far?”
Harry nodded, he had indeed noticed as much as well as words such as ‘so-called’.

“For long periods in history, magic went unsupervised,” Voldemort continued. “This, as one can
imagine, lead to a great number of crimes and offenses which could, with no legal recourse, not be
punished.”

Blinking, Harry wondered if he should be surprised that apparently, the wizarding society had been
an anarchy for the greater part of history or not. But then again, it somehow fit into the picture of
the colorful, eccentric and unruly society that had formed in his head since he had first stepped foot
into the wizarding world.

“Unfortunately not even muggles are stupid or blind enough to not get suspicious when crimes are
committed against them all too often. However, instead of doing what any reasonable
administration would have done and making these offenses committed through magic punishable,
the Ministry took a different approach.”

Voldemort paused, a fleeting look of annoyance crossing his face, however, it was gone in an
instant. Harry, while not knowing exactly which different approach the ministry had taken back
then, he had long come to the opinion that little good ever came from that institution.

“In 1692 they established the Statue of Secrecy, about the only good thing the Ministry has done
for Wizarding Britain up to this date,” Voldemort continued, expression once again smooth and
voice calm. “From that moment onwards they followed a strict agenda with the ultimate goal to
separate magic into two sections; light and dark. Good and evil. Any questions so far?”

Harry shook his head. It was frightening that he hadn’t. That it sounded all so typical for the
ministry that he neither doubted Voldemort’s tale, nor had any further questions.

“Illegal deeds can and should be punished, magic, however, not. There are many spells that today
fall into the category of dark and thus forbidden, that are not necessarily dangerous or damaging,
just as there are so called light spells that can, in fact, be very deadly. Furthermore there is no
evidence that two affinities exist, just as all muggle inqueries into the topic of a so-called gene of
evil that genetically marks people inclined to murder and torture and can be passed onto one’s
children, never bore any fruit.”

Harry’s mind spun. “There are truly no magical affinities?” If that was true, didn’t that mean that
this whole war was completely inconsequential? All the lost people, all the spilled blood, had it
really been for a cause that not truly existed?
“No, there aren’t.” Voldemort confirmed.
“But if there are no two affinities, how can you… I mean we… fight for the domination of the dark
faction over the light, my Lord?”
“A good question, Hades,” Voldemort hummed. “And the answer is that I do not fight for the
domination of one over the other.”
“What are you…?” Harry began, but broke off at the rebuking glare of the dark lord. “I fight for
the equality of all magical talents and the abolishment of the system that has divided our world.”

Harry didn’t quite know how to react to that revelation.

“Surprised?” Voldemort’s voice pulled him from his stupified state and unable to restrain his
reaction so quickly, he nodded. “But not in a bad way,” he hastily added upon looking up and
seeing Voldemort’s gleaming, red orbs watching him closely.
Harry paused to properly formulate his thoughts on the matter before elaborating, “If there is no
light and dark, then we are all the same and there is a chance of true peace. Not one won by
suppressing half of the wizarding population.”

“Peace, is it something you would wish for? When you first arrived at my castle, you said you
didn’t wish to fight,” Voldemort inquired, his intense look not having lessened any.
Harry hesitated only a second, before nodding.

“Peace will neither be achieved quickly, nor easily or without sacrifices,” the dark lord said, still
watching him expectantly.
“I know,” Harry retorted and he truly did. If anybody aside Voldemort knew that achieving peace
in the wizarding world wouldn’t be easy, and not gained without sacrifices, then it was him. But a
spark of hope for the future kindled in him.

“I expect you,” Voldemort suddenly changed the topic and waved his wand, “to read these books
while also finishing the other tests.”
Harry jumped when a stack of heavy tomes settled down next to him with a thud and a noticeable
dip in the cushion next to him. However, he just mumbled an obedient “Yes, my lord,” reminding
himself that he wanted to learn more about his world.

Seeing that Voldemort had already summoned himself another book, one that definitely had
nothing to do with his tutelage, Harry stood up and gathered the pile of books in his arms, however,
Voldemort stopped him when he was about to turn.
“Go and continue with your work now,” Voldemort dismissed him. “And use the time to think
about the renewal of the contract.

Harry nodded and pointed his wand at the pile of books, but instead of sending them into his cold,
bare room, he sent them off into the kitchen. The kitchen at least, didn’t remind him of his cell-like
room at the Dursleys’. Seeing that Voldemort had already summoned a book to read himself, he
just followed his stack silently. The books had settled on the large kitchen table.

Summoning a chair over, Harry sat down in front of them, however, his mind was on the renewal
of his and Voldemort’s contract.

Truthfully, he did not wish to leave just yet, but he had known that already. But what could he ask
for in return? His life and to be left in peace? He doubted that. That question surely would be his
death sentence. What else was there? Knowledge? Voldemort seemed to offer that freely. Money?
He didn’t need any more money.

Sighing, Harry rubbed at his face. There was just nothing he wanted, or at least, nothing he could
possibly get. Not even Voldemort could give him his family back or make his remaining relatives
more caring. Well, he probably could - with the help of the imperius - but that would be false. In
regards to the other point - the dark lord had offered to bring his parents back, however, if he could
really do so was questionable, considering the wizard hadn’t even brought himself back very
successfully (at least in Harry’s opinion). Besides, Harry could do that now on his own, however,
he had made up his mind about the topic and decided that he wouldn’t try.

Additionally, aside from all of these points, he was here to pay a debt back, he shouldn’t even be
getting anything in return, but he could hardly tell that to Voldemort. Maybe, if he managed to be
really convincing, he could make the Dark Lord believe that he just wanted to serve, out of
devotion. If only there wasn’t the little fact about the bond itself demanding some form of
compensation.

Sighing, Harry summoned his remaining stack of fake-exams, he wouldn’t come to a solution
concerning the bond right now anyway. He had stopped the evening before in the middle of
transfiguration and continued there. He finished transfiguring the last remaining items from the
velvet bag and managed to answer about ⅔ of the questions about the magical theory behind the
spells.

The next few sheets of paper were about charms, however, seeing the time, he placed everything to
the side again and rose to prepare a snack for lunch

In the kitchen he pondered for a second what he could make for a snack. After a look into the
pantry he decided he would make mini-vegetable quiches, two for each of them. Well, only one for
him, he wouldn’t manage more anyway. He gathered eggs, cream, spices, carrots, leeks, bacon and
cheese and began to chop the vegetables.

However, the task wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts from wandering and of course they
wandered back to what Voldemort had ordered him to think about. He didn’t come to any new
conclusions.
Sighing, he cracked an egg, only to be interrupted by a teasing voice, “What are you sighing about,
Hades? What can a young kid like you have to sigh over?”
Harry shot Barty an annoyed look, and he immediately raised his hands. “Hey, I didn’t call you
kid! I called you a kid, which you are, so don’t glare at me like that!”

“Fine,” Harry retorted and turned back to his preparations, however, Barty wasn’t so easy to get rid
of.
The man stepped next to him and leaned against the counter, giving him an inquisitive look. Harry
tried to ignore him with little success, especially when he said after a moment:
“But really, is there something I can help you with? Or maybe our lord can…”
“It's nothing he can help me with,” Harry cut him off and without thinking added, “it's because of
him.”

Barty’s eyebrows lifted and Harry cursed himself inwardly.

“Is it? Somehow I can’t imagine. He would hardly send you on a mission, Hades. So what’s the
matter?”

Glancing over, Harry hesitated a moment. However, maybe confiding in Barty would actually
help, after all the wizard clearly knew Voldemort quite well. Making up his mind, he turned
around, leaned against the counter as well and said, “Tomorrow the contract between our Lord and
myself will end and we have to agree on a new one. The last one apparently was rather
superficial… due to his health, so he asked me to think about what I want in return this time
around.”

“If you think it's too difficult to get, I can assure you our Lord is quite gifted in obtaining rare or
well protected things,” Barty retorted.
Harry shook his head. “It's not that,” he sighed, returning to his eggs, suddenly not sure if telling
Barty was such a good idea after all. Honestly, the whole matter sounded ridiculous to his own
ears. He didn’t really understand why it bothered him so much anyway.

“Just spill it, kid,” Barty prompted.

“No, its stupid. You would just laugh,” he sighed honestly.
“Maybe, probably if you are so sure,” Barty grinned. “But I still want to try to help. If it is
distracting you so much, it must be important to you.”
Giving in, Harry snorted. “Fine, but at least try not to laugh!” he glared at the other wizard, who
placed his right over his heart and said “On the mark of the Dark Lord, I swear to try not to laugh.”
That was probably as good as he would get, Harry thought warily, before finally telling: “It's not
that I want something rare or crazily valuable. It's just… I don’t know what I want in return. I really
don’t want anything for my help.”

To his surprise Barty didn’t laugh, just the contrary in fact, his expression had turned quite
thoughtful. “I probably don’t have to tell you how rare that is, kid.”
“My name is Hades,” Harry just muttered for what felt like the upteenth time.
Barty ignored him and instead said, “Nearly everyone wants something, at least in the beginning,
even I did. He won’t believe you. Can’t you just… ask for something? Honestly, Hades, everybody
has wishes they can’t fulfill themselves:”
Harry just shook his head. “There really is nothing. All I really want is to stay here… in peace…
until I have to return.”
Barty just hummed and finally, pushing away from the counter, said, “Well, you certainly sound
honest enough to my ears. Just try it, kid, our Lord is not as cruel and heartless as most people
believe. Now hurry up, I’m starving!”
Barty walked out again, leaving Harry to mix everything up. Ten minutes later he had prepared the
dough as well, had placed it into miniature forms and poured the egg-vegetable mixture in. He put
everything into the oven and set his wand.

He summoned his exam sheets and sat down on the long wooden table as he waited for the quishes
to be ready.

Charms had always been his second best subject, Flitwick was a good teacher who could explain
things really well. Not that McGonagall couldn’t explain, but Flitwick possessed the patience to
explain until everybody got it and it showed on the next four pages he filled out. His theoretical
knowledge was much better in that subject and he was sure the charms he shot at the test papers
were better than his transfigured items as well, which were sometimes still the wrong color or
missing details.

He was about to start on page five, when his wand began vibrating next to him. Placing everything
neatly to the side, he summoned three plates and distributed the mini-quiches. He put Voldemort’s
plate onto the silver tray and carried it back into the parlor, where the wizard was still sitting in his
arm chair and reading in his old tome.

“My Lord, I have prepared a light lunch,” he said, stopping in front of the coffee table.
Voldemort hummed and wrote down another note, before he said, “Just leave it here, Hades.”
Taking that as a dismissal, Harry did as told and returned to the kitchen.

Barty must have a good nose - or a sixth sense for food - he realized, because as he entered, the
wizard was already sitting at the wooden table biting into his first quiche.
“These are really good,” he hummed through his full mouth.

Grimacing, Harry sat down across from him and summoned his own plate over as well. Barty had
been right, the quishes truly were good.
“So, have you already talked with our Lord?” the other wizard asked after he had finished his first
quiche.
Harry shook his head, “He was busy when I brought him lunch.”
“Then he will call you later,” Barty said.

A moment of silence fell between them, before the wizard suddenly asked, “You sure that one tiny
piece of quiche is enough for you?”
Harry, still nibbling at said piece, paused for a moment and then nodded and said, “Yeah, with all
the regular meals this summer I am not really hungry that much.”
Far too late he realized what he had been saying. Barty’s eyebrows had shot up to his hairline and
he asked, “Kid, are you parents mistreating you?”
“No, of course not!” he rushed out to say, but Barty didn’t seem convinced.
“You know,” the wizard said unusually seriously, “It's no shame. Some people are just bastards.
There are black sheep on every side. Besides, our Lord already has his suspicions. We both,
actually.”

Harry stiffened. He had no idea when the Dark Lord could have noticed anything, but of course
there were other possibilities, like legilimency or maybe Voldemort had even managed to
manipulate their bond in a way that let him look into his mind? He paled, imagining what else the
dark wizard could have found out that way.

“Whatever you are thinking, stop it,” Barty snorted. “You sometimes seem to have an awful
opinion of our Lord for such a devoted servant.”
Yeah, and you are delusional in your praises, Harry scoffed sarcastically, but only in his mind, he
would never say that out loud. Not here in the man’s bloody castle anyway.
“You realize we saw you naked during that ritual that went wrong?” Barty continued.
“You mean the one you interrupted?” Harry shot back. Right, he had been naked there and even
after 13 days of regular meals he never managed to gain much during the term and those few
pounds were gone within the first few days at the Dursleys. Sometimes he believed his body just
didn’t care to store any fat at this point, knowing it would be starved off of him anyway. And there
were the bruises that had yet to fade completely which the dark lord would have seen. By Merlin!
He was screwed!

“You don’t have to say anything to it, but we all have eyes here,” Barty said, squeezing his
shoulder a little too strongly. Harry winced.
“Sorry kid. Maybe you should ask our Lord to brew a strong nutrition potion. Those can repair
damage that’s years old.”
“You mean as a reward for my… helping?” Harry questioned, perking up.
Barty snorted. “Only you kid… only you.”
Not really sure what Barty meant by it, Harry made a mental note to at least try it if it came down
to it later.

Seeing that they both had finished eating, Harry sent their plates over to wash themselves.
“Do you fancy a game of chess? I am sure there is a set somewhere around here and you can’t just
clean the whole day,” Barty asked, already striding towards the door.
“Sure,” Harry shrugged. He had done all his chores for now anyway and the remaining exam
sheets could hopefully wait a couple of hours, so he followed Barty back into the parlor.

Voldemort and his plate of food had vanished, probably to the man’s study, leaving Barty and him
free to settle down on the sofa.
“Could you try summoning the chess set?” Barty asked, looking around.
Praying that this really was alright, Harry nodded, pulled out his wand and said “Accio the Dark
Lord’s chess set.”
Even before he had fully said the spell, Barty began to wince.

Before Harry could ask what he had done wrong, something crashed loudly against the closed
parlor door, making Harry wince as well.
“Please don’t tell me…?” he whispered, horrified at the thought of just having destroyed
Voldemort’s chess set.

“I fear so, kid,” was all Barty replied. “You know there are summoning spells that avoid obstacles,
right?”
“That’s the only one I’ve been taught so far,” Harry replied, getting to his feet to retrieve the chess
set manually.

“Ah yes, I forgot how much they cut from the curriculum,” Barty huffed, rubbing his temple.
“Back when I was a student I already thought it was bad, especially in comparison to what they
taught during our Lord’s time as a student, but they cut even more out since then.”

Harry just made a noncommittal sound. He didn’t really wish to agree with Voldemort and his men
all the time, but even he had to acknowledge the deficiencies in the current education system.
Pushing uncomfortable thoughts to the side, he finally opened the parlor door and winced again.
Voldemort’s chess set was clearly an expensive piece, carved from (what he would guess)
emeralds and crystals. It also looked as if it likely was an heirloom as well, considering that all the
chess figures depicted serpents and they were hissing quietly. again. Voldemort must not have
played in a long while, because they were clearly excited to get used once again.
Bending down, he carefully picked the pieces and the board up and gingerly carried it over to the
table.
“You sure we're allowed to use this?” he asked, looking questioningly at the expensive thing.
“Sure,” Barty retorted, apparently not understanding Harry’s concern and turned the wide golden
figures towards him.
“I warn you, I am not that good,” he said, before moving a small snake figure which he hoped was
meant to be a pawn.

Ten minutes later the snakes were hissing at him threateningly and Harry had great difficulty
ignoring them while Barty chuckled in amusement.
“You know kid, you play like a bloody Gryffindor.”
Thinking that trying to get the wizard to call him by his pseudo-name was looking more and more
like a lost cause, Harry huffed. “And what would be so bad about that? Not everybody can be a
bloody Slytherin.”

Barty’s eyebrows shot up once more. “Of course not, I wasn't one either. Though, Gryffindors are
rare in our Lord’s ranks. But you said you are home-schooled.” The wizard’s eyes narrowed
suspiciously and Harry cursed himself inwardly.

“I was,” he tried to save the situation. “But my Mother went to Hogwarts and was a Gryffindor, and
both her parents and their parents. So I probably would have been sorted into Gryffindor as well,
right?”
Barty huffed. “There are always exceptions, but I am sure you would have been none of them,
kid,” The wizard grinned toothily.

They set the board again and Harry, curious despite himself, asked, “So, you weren’t a Slytherin?”
Barty’s gring reappeared. “I wished. Or at least back then I wished. It would have been so much
easier to make contacts then, however, I was in Ravenclaw, like my father,” he made a face at the
last bit, before shrugging. “Today I know it doesn’t make any real difference, at least not to our
Lord. Loyalty and beliefs aren’t related to houses as much as people think,” he smirked and gave
Harry a pointed look.

Harry shrugged. “I heard Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor,” he said to show that he at least knew
something.
“That disgusting rat wouldn’t know loyalty if it was spelled out in front of him. But where do you
know that from?”
Harry just shrugged again. “Harry Potter said it in an interview last year.”
His counterpart snorted. “You read the Quibbler? Seriously?”
“I saw it in Diagon Alley while I was waiting for my mother,” he lied smoothly. “It drew my
attention.”
“I bet,” Barty huffed and moved a pawn.

Their conversation dwindled down as they concentrated back on the game, however, Harry was
feeling much more comfortable. He was sure Barty was beginning to trust him more, which was a
good thing. Besides, the man really wasn’t that bad or that crazy.

Around half past five he retired to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. Unfortunately he also
noticed that he would have to go shopping again soon. He had thought he had bought enough meat
and vegetables to last them a month, but with Barty’s appetite and the frequent visits of the
Malfoys, their rations were depleting rapidly.

He prepared a light but tasty rice-curry which Barty and Voldemort eyed suspiciously in the
beginning, but then ate with gusto.
“Send the plates into the kitchen and follow me,” Voldemort ordered once they all had finished.
Harry did as told and hurried after the Dark Lord who was already sitting in his favorite wingback-
armchair again.

“I hope you have thought about the stipulations for our next contract?” he asked as soon as Harry
had sat down on the sofa.

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry answered, intertwining his fingers nervously.

“And, what is it you want in return for your service?” Voldemort prompted.
For a moment, Harry chewed on his bottom lip nervously (he really hated that habit) and tried to
brace himself. “I really just wish to help my Lord…” he finally mumbled, trailing off.

The dark lord knew what he would be giving the teen in addition to whatever he asked for, but he
was truly curious what the boy might want, so he scoffed. “Do not try to fool me, boy, everybody
wishes for something, so what is it? If you fear it is unreasonable, I will promise you to not torture
you for your audacity.”
There. That was suitably threatening, appropriate for how those outside his service knew him, but
also kind. He did promise not to torture the teen after all.
“There really is nothing,” Harry repeated.
“If that is true, then it is really suspicious,” Voldemort could not believe the child wanted nothing.
Even if it was just a new broom, or a year’s supply of chocolate or some such rigamarole. Very
well then, if Hades would not ask, he would have to nudge him toward his own idea. “Even Barty
asked for knowledge when he first came to me,” Voldemort gave him a piercing, glowing look.

Realizing he wouldn’t get away with naming something, Harry finally said, “Barty mentioned a
nutrition potion you might be able to brew for me…” he trailed off.
“And?” Voldemort questioned.
Harry just blinked in confusion.
“And what else? That cannot be all you wish for,” the dark wizard clarified.

Harry was getting annoyed. “That’s all I want. Just believe me that there is nothing else.”
Voldemort flicked his wand and a sharp stinging hex hit the teen. “I will not be addressed so
disrespectfully,” Voldemort hissed warningly.

There was a beat of silence, which ended when Voldemort said, “On rare occasions, I have granted
special tuition to a few, especially gifted young mages. As you show talent and an open mind and
are currently unable to provide an idea for a suitable reward, I am extending an offer of proper
magical instruction to you. It should serve to make the bond more equal and thus, more powerful
and perficient as well as improve your skills.”

“But… I really would like the nutrition potion, my lord” Harry interjected, as politely as possible
after his latest round under the torturing curse.
Voldemort still shot him a glare that suggested that he was about as stupid as Snape always
accused him of being. “The potion will hardly satisfy the demands of the bond. Last time, magic
may have overlooked the matter due to my critical state, however, this time we will need to make a
more concerted effort. You will of course still receive the potion, it is something I was already
planning on providing you with anyway. Will that be satisfactory?”

Harry nodded, feeling unusually scolded. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Then you may retire for the evening and finish your exam sheets. I wish to go over the rest of
them tomorrow.”

Harry did as told. Well, kind of. His exam sheets still lay in the kitchen and seeing as he was much
more comfortable there anyway, he returned there and once more sat down at the big table.
 He finished Charms quickly enough. However, the next subject proved to be a challenge, despite
his good marks in it. It was Care of Magical Creatures. Maybe, he thought as he scanned questions
about Centaur society, the social dynamics of unicorn herds, the pack structure of werewolves and
hierarchy in Vampire covens and Veela villages, the Slytherins had been right and Hagrid was truly
an awful teacher.

Admittedly, he had always known that Hagrid wasn’t the best, however, he had also never realized
how much he hadn’t been taught. It was only one more realization on a steadily growing list that
made his stomach flip uncomfortably

After the sad affair that had been Care of Magical Creatures, he desperately hoped it would get
better, however, next was Herbology (ugh) followed by potions (double ugh) and lastly (to his
horror) he found fifteen pages about Mind Magic.

His exam pages looked more and more pitiful as he continued to skip questions and he basically
gave up on Mind Magic from the very beginning. This was really embarrassing, he sighed.

When he finally finished with the last question (one he actually could answer) and left the kitchen
again, he realized it must have become rather late. The light in the antichamber-hallway was even
dimmer than usual and Voldemort’s parlor was deserted. A quick tempus made him wince at the
time- 2:45 AM.

He sneaked back into his room, set an alarm with his wand and pulled his thick duvet up to his
nose.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 A New Wand for Barty
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 6: A New Wand for Barty

Harry found Voldemort in the small, private dining room when he entered after he prepared the
breakfast plates the next morning. The Dark Lord was sifting through what only could be his exam
sheets from the evening before, a dark look on his face.

“At the risk of repeating myself… your previous education has been abysmal. This is even worse
than I expected, did your parents not buy you a single book on magical theory or different magical
abilities? It’s a disgrace!” he hissed, almost slipping into parseltongue, Harry noticed.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” he said and even meant it in a sense. He wasn’t really sorry for Voldemort,
but for himself. Just thinking that nearly the entire wizarding world expected him to defeat the
intelligent wizard across from him with that abysmal level of knowledge. At least he would receive
proper tutelage from now on. From his nemesis, the wizard for whom he needed said knowledge to
be able to kill one day. If that wasn’t irony in its purest form, Harry had no idea what was.

“You will have daily lessons from tomorrow on,” Voldemort continued and finally placed the
sheets to the side. “We will start with your best two subjects and fill the gaping holes of theory you
should have been taught and teach you a few additional spells.”
“Yes, my Lord,” he replied simply.
“For that you will go with Barty to Diagon Alley and buy the previous and the next school year’s
books.”

Harry’s eyes widened, mostly because he had no money with him and he could hardly go with
Barty into Gringotts and pull money from Harry Potter’s vault.

“A shopping trip?” Barty questioned, entering as well. The wizard looked nearly as tired as the
morning prior, but not quite, though he clearly was not a morning person.
“Indeed,” Voldemort muttered, summoning a pancake onto his plate. “You will accompany Hades
and on your way back you will stop at Gregorovitch’s and get yourself a new wand. I have no use
for a follower who needs to ask a 15 years old boy to cast spells for him.”

Barty bowed respectfully and mumbled an obedient “of course, my Lord,” before pouring himself
some coffee. He glared at the delicate silver cup, probably wishing it could hold thrice the amount.

“It's less strong today,” Harry grinned, piling some bacon and eggs onto his own plate.
“Good. That stuff yesterday could have raised the dead,” Barty muttered, taking a deep sip.

Remembering something, Harry turned to Voldemort and addressed him carefully. “My Lord, I
think I should stop at the wizarding market with Barty, we barely have any meat or vegetables
left.”

Voldemort nodded. “You will leave directly after we renew our contract.”

For the next few minutes they ate in comfortable silence. Harry watched Voldemort from the
corner of his eyes, it was still somewhat strange to see him eat and being well- not quite a normal
human, but close enough. The dark wizard ate with the same preciseness he did everything else
while managing to look not quite so pompous as the Malfoys.

Harry finished his small portion of bacon and eggs and summoned the mini-pancake he made
specially for himself; he hated throwing leftovers away and this way he wouldn’t have to.

“Is there something you wish me to prepare for the contract renewal?” Bartemius asked as they had
finished and were rising to their feet.
Voldemort stopped and turned to face his servant. “Go to my office, you will find a box of pralines
there and a bottle of elven wine. Can I trust you to arrange them on a plate without any disasters
occuring?”

Barty flushed, but mumbled an “of course, my Lord,” before leaving to carry out his orders.

“Now, follow me,” the Dark Lord ordered towards Harry and they made their way into the parlor
where they had set their first contract. That realization suddenly made Harry nervous. He could
barely believe he was doing this. The first time he had bonded himself to his nemesis could maybe
be excused as a spur of the moment thing, but this was different. He was going into this exactly
knowing what he was doing and what would happen.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart down. This was right, he reminded himself.
What Dumbledore had done, even to the Dark Lord, was wrong and besides, Voldemort was giving
him things he wanted and needed, like magical knowledge and insight into his plans. Which
reminded him that he only could use that excuse if he actually started to look around.

Making a mental note to do so as soon as an opportunity presented itself, Harry came to a halt
across from the Dark Lord. This time, the bright morning sun was streaming into the parlor, but
just like last time, Voldemort ordered, “Kneel.”

The dark lord’s voice was much stronger and even more commanding than last time and seeing the
almost healthy tall figure who was nearly back to his old strength, standing in front of him and not
the weak, injured creature he had been two weeks ago, made Harry’s stomach flutter nervously.

As he followed the command, Harry could see why so many witches and wizards flocked to Lord
Voldemort. With such strong magic rolling off of him, it was easy to fall into the trap of believing
that the wizard could do everything he promised.
Focusing his thoughts again, he grabbed Voldemort’s wrist, which was as cold as it had been the
last time but at least not slimy anymore.

Voldemort however, did not close his hand around Harry’s. Instead, he said, “This contract will be
stronger than the last as it will be built upon a mutual trade. Your magic against the nutrition potion
and tutelage.”

Harry simply nodded.

“The contract will last for 5 weeks, until the end of August,” the dark lord continued.
“You remember the procedure?”
When Harry nodded again, Voldemort finally grasped his wrist as well.

“By the Lady before whom this sanctuary is holy.”

“By the Lady before whom this sanctuary is holy,” he repeated, certain his voice sounded less
ceremonious.
“I will to Lord Voldemort be true and faithful, and guard the secrets of his house, according to the
laws of Magic and the order of the world,” Voldemort said, his magic rising like swirling mists of
black into the air along with Harry’s response. However, in contrast to their first binding, the
magic was not gold any longer, but rather a deep purple that matched his changed eyes.
“I will to Lord Voldemort be true and faithful, and guard the secrets of his house, according to the
laws of Magic and the order of the world.”
“Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is displeasing to him,
on the condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it.”
“Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is displeasing to him,
on the condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it.” The prickling on his skin grew
stronger and Harry could feel his own magic rise to the surface, eager to not lose the connection to
the Dark Lord and the strange comfort it brought.
“To him I will lend my powers, to fight and to guard, to heal and to preserve. To him I will submit
my power and my magic.”
“To him I will lend my powers, to fight and to guard, to heal and to preserve. To him I will submit
my power and my magic.” The tingling spread through his whole body, his own magic answering,
making the sensation even stronger.
“For five weeks I shall be his,” Voldemort finally ended.
“For...” his voice suddenly shook, the potent magic in the air imposing what he was about to do in
his mind, and it frightened him. For five weeks he would sign his life away to his archenemy. But
he couldn’t back out now. Not only because it would certainly mean his death, but also because it
still felt strangely right.
“For five weeks I shall be his.”
“For my service I will be granted shelter, food, care and knowledge” the dark lord continued, a new
part Harry assumed and the care probably was the potion he had asked for.
So he repeated, “For my service I will be granted shelter, food, care and knowledge.”
“So mote it be,” Voldemort ended and Harry gasped as he instantly felt the difference to their last
binding. He could actually feel the Dark Lord’s magic now humming in his chest. It wasn’t much,
or strong, but it clearly was a connection, born out of a mutual agreement. And it felt good, just like
the feeling he always got when Voldemort’s magic was coursing through him. Like the time in the
Ministry, or when Harry was being crucioed, just without the agonizing pain. Realizing suddenly
thet the dark lord was staring at him intently and that he was still staring unabashedly into the
crimson eyes of Voldemort, he quickly lowered his gaze respectfully,

Voldemort let go of him and feeling a bit shaky from the new magic inside of him, Harry got back
to his feet.
“It is tradition,” the dark lord said, “to celebrate a contract with a dinner.” He made a waving
gesture and Barty stepped up to them with the small silver tray, carrying two goblets and a delicate
china plate with pralines on it.
“However, as we just had breakfast…”
Harry suppressed a comment about Voldemort’s cooking skills and just listened.
“... I have prepared a symbolic snack instead.”

The wizard took one of the goblets and motioned for Harry to do the same.
“To our contract, may it bring both of us prosperity.”
“To our contract,” Harry echoed, feeling decidedly odd and took a small sip.

His eyes widened as the pleasantly sweet but strong taste of alcohol ran down his tongue and then
his throat. He coughed a little having tried nothing stronger than butterbeer yet.

Looking up, he saw Voldemort and Barty smirk and he hastily took one of the pralines. They were
filled with some sort of chocolate-alcohol cream as well, but didn’t taste as strongly of liquor. In
fact, they were really very tasty. Maybe he should look for a cookbook on sweets just in case they
got important guests at some point?

Realizing what he had just been thinking, he quickly banished that idea. He wasn’t really here to be
a good housekeeper for bloody Voldemort. That stupid new, soothingly humming connection was
at fault, he was sure of it.

He ate two more pralines and emptied his goblet (which at the end made him feel quite light-
headed), he didn’t wish to seem too greedy after all, the sweets had to be expensive.

“I expect you back in time to prepare dinner at the latest,” Voldemort finally dismissed him and
Barty, already turning towards his study.
“Yes, my Lord,” Harry chorused together with the other wizard and they left the parlor.

“Say kid, was that your first alcohol?” Barty questioned with a chuckle as soon as the door had
closed behind them.
Trying for nonchalance, Harry shook his head. “No, I’ve had butterbeer before, why?”
“Butterbeer doesn’t count. That stuff is barely 1%. No wonder you’re walking funny, that was
elven wine you got. It's particularly strong.”
Harry huffed. “I don’t walk funny!” he retorted, even though his legs felt like jelly.
“Sure. At least you still walk straight,” the other chuckled, patting him on the back, before adding
“now hurry and change into your other cloak. You can’t go out in this one.”

Looking down and spotting the dark mark-shaped silver buttons, Harry nodded and quickly turned
to the rack where he had hung his other cloak.
However, before he joined Barty who was already standing next to the fireplace and pulling a
potion vial out that looked suspiciously like polyjuice, he said, “I will be back in a minute,” and
turned towards the kitchen.

They would be gone for some time and he didn’t fancy an ill-tempered dark lord upon his return,
just because the wizard might be hungry. So he quickly prepared a plate with artfully cut fruit and
placed everything onto a tray together with a pitcher of clear water.

Once he had cast a stasis charm on everything and sent the tray to Lord Voldemort, he returned
into the antichamber-hallway.
Barty, now a head taller and bulky like a bodybuilder, waited for him with an impatient expression.
He had enlarged his robes, which like usual when enlarged too much, made them look rather
rumpled.

“Nice,” Harry commented with a grin. “Where did you get the hair from? One of the Goyles or the
Crabbes?”
Barty shot him a toothy grin in return that didn’t fit his new appearance at all. “Our Lord keeps a
collection of hairs from nondescript wizards and witches for these occasions. You just pick one
and hope that at least your gender doesn’t change.”
“Huh,” Harry retorted, thinking that the lack of meticulous organization sounded odd for the dark
lord.
“Yeah,” Barty muttered. “I suspect he enjoys torturing us that way.”

Well, that sounded much more in-character.

“Shall we?” he questioned, changing the topic with a gesture towards the fireplace.

Barty nodded and held the floo powder out for him.
“Let’s go to Diagon first. It should still be rather deserted this early. Oh, and before I forget,” the
wizard said with a grin and pressed a second, disgusting looking vial into his hand. “Just to be on
the safe side. And just in case you worry about the time frame, this is a version our Lord has
enhanced. It lasts six hours.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, but drowned the stuff with a prayer that he wouldn’t turn into a girl. The
potion possibly tasted even more disgusting than he remembered, but at least it was over quickly.

“A pity,” Barty said before Harry could even ask how he looked. “I had hoped that lovely blond
corkscrew curl would belong to a little girl.

Conjuring a mirror, Harry glared at his new reflection. True, he at least was still a boy, but he
looked closer to 10 than 16 at least that explained why Barty suddenly seemed even taller.
“We will have to say we are shopping for my older siblings,” he muttered, vanishing the mirror
again and adjusting his robes as well. He shrunk them and spelled them a vivid gryffindor red,
having seen wizarding children wear such bright colors previously in Diagon Alley.

Barty merely wrinkled his nose but said nothing and instead just held the floo powder out to him.

Taking a handful, Harry waited until Barty had vanished, before saying, “The Leaky Cauldron!”
As he did so, he realized he still was wearing the signet ring Voldemort had given him for his last
shopping trip and made a mental note to slip it to Barty as he wouldn’t be able to pay himself
anyway.

The floo ride was as unpleasant as ever. He stumbled out gracelessly and brushed his robe off.
“Very elegant,” Barty commented, but instead of replying, Harry just pressed the ring into his
hand.
“Ah yes, I knew I had forgotten something. The money we have will only be enough for my wand
and your books, we will need the ring later,” the wizard hummed, patting one of his pockets.

They stepped away from the fireplace just in case someone else would floo in soon.
“Lets go get your books,” Barty muttered and began to lead the way.

They crossed the dingy bar room swiftly and to Harry’s relief no one was paying them any
attention. Many of the guests were still eating breakfast, but even those who looked up apparently
found nothing suspicious about a father and his ten-year-old son.

Diagon Alley indeed was still rather empty of visitors at this hour. Harry honestly didn’t
understand it, as it was past 9:30 already, which he wouldn’t consider that early. However, he was
glad for it as they swiftly walked down the shopping street towards Flourish and Blotts.

For once he could actually hear the small, golden bell that greeted customers as only one single old
witch was browsing the shelves currently. It was so different from the loud hustle and bustle he
was used to from his previous mid day shopping trips with his friends.

The familiar tables with the text books stood ready in the same alcove they always resided in.
Walking over, Harry quickly picked up one volume of each 5th year text books (which were the
same with the exception of the horrible DADA book Umbridge had made them buy) and a
selection of the books for the next term. Barty wordlessly helped him carry them to the counter,
seeing as a small boy would neither be able to do so on his own, not allowed or able to just send
them over magically.

“And you, young man, still have a year left?” Mr Flourish smiled at Harry as they paid. Harry just
pulled a disappointed face like he had seen so often younger siblings wear at the Hogwarts express
and nodded.

“Our Lord also told me we are to get you a medium sized cauldron, just in case you are prone to
potion accidents. His are rather valuable,” the wizard said once they were out on the street again.

Harry carefully said nothing, but of course Barty instantly picked up on it. “You are!” he chuckled.
“Thought so after seeing your lack of answers on your potion questionnaire.”
“The tutor my parents hired is an evil tempered bastard!” Harry just huffed, but Barty just
shrugged. “Sounds like a typical potions master. Must be the constant fumes. Just be glad our Lord
doesn’t brew often himself.”

“Yeah, because he has such a balanced temper for it,” Harry thought but carefully didn’t voice it
out loud.

They entered the apothecary and Harry immediately wrinkled his nose. Maybe Barty was right
with his assumption, he certainly would never be able to stand this stench on a daily basis.

Barty picked out a cauldron from a brand that was known to be especially robust and sturdy and
often bought by parents for their young child’s first few potion lessons. Harry made a mental note
to tell Neville to get one of these if the thing turned out to be as good as the man said. It was a bit
more expensive than the one Harry usually bought, but he guessed it would be all right if it paid off
in the end. They added a stirring rod and ladle as well, before swiftly leaving the apothecary again.

Having nothing more on their list, they slowly walked the street back up.
“Do you mind going to Gregorovitch next? It’s bloody uncomfortable going around without a
wand,” Barty asked as they nearly had reached the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry just shook his head, as a minor who was hunted by every dark wizard under the sun, he
could understand that, but he wouldn’t tell Barty that. However, he imagined that the feeling
wasn’t much better for a revived escapee.
“Good. His address is Gregorovitch’s, Sofia.”

They fell silent as they entered the pub and made their way over to the fire place. Barty again went
first with Harry, hoping that he wouldn’t have a floo accident like the one in his second year in a
foreign country, following swiftly after.

The floo ride seemed much longer this time and Harry began to fear that he would puke first thing
when he arrived, when it finally ended. He stumbled out into a dim room, illuminated by the light
of an impressive chandelier. Trying to regain his balance, he carefully looked around.

Gregorovitch’s store was admittedly much nicer than Olivander’s. While it was still rather dark in
the spacious room, that was about the only similarity. The shelves were neatly labeled and
organized and on pillows in elegant glass cabinets rested different looking wands, all intricately
carved as if the wand maker wanted to show his customers what he could do. To his right, Harry
even spotted two low cabinets which showcased different types of wood and possible cores. The
selection, he noted, was truly impressive.

Barty was looking at said selection, when an old, but still rather impressive wizard entered from
the back room.
“Bartemius, what a joy to see you so healthy,” Gregorovitch greeted.

“Of course the old geezer would recognize me…” Barty muttered under his breath. “Bloody
sensitive wandmakers…”

Harry tried to stay unobtrusively in the background. He still remembered the wizard from his
fourth year, where Gregorovitch had helped Ollivander inspect his wand and of his fellow tri-
wizarding champions. He possessed a rather sharp nose and unusually dark, bushy eyebrows that
gave him the distinct look of a hawk.

However, his plan failed as those dark eyes shifted and focused on him.
“And this is…?” he inquired, but there was an underlying pointedness to his voice that made Harry
feel on edge.

“Hades Dursley, a new servant in our ranks,” Barty responded, but Gregorovitch’s “Dursley, you
say?,” didn’t calm Harry in the slightest. The man didn’t sound as if he believed a word of it. Were
wandmakers somehow sensible? Harry hoped dearly that wasn’t the case, or his secret who he
truly was wouldn’t stay a secret much longer. While his magic must have changed after he had
accepted Death’s ultimatum, his hollywand was still working for him so it couldn’t have changed
all too much. Sighing inwardly, Harry wondered how he could have forgotten how observant wand
makers usually were. He just hoped that their short meeting wouldn’t be enough for the man to
recognize him completely.

“A new wand I assume?” Gregorovitch finally turned his attention back to Barty. “As sorry as I
feel for your past plight, this might be a good chance. Olivander’s wand never quite suited you
perfectly.”
“Yeah… they tend to fit Dumbledore’s ilk better,” Barty muttered. “But you know how it is, one
does not simply give their first wand away.”
“Yes, indeed,” Gregorovitch hummed, eying his shelves. Finally after a moment, he said, “I would
offer to craft you one specifically tailored to your needs, however, you probably do not wish to wait
the two weeks it would take me and besides, I have one that should almost be as perfect.”

“I would prefer that,” Barty agreed.

Gregorovitch, having apparently found the box he had been looking for, climbed onto a ladder that
reminded Harry of those in old muggle libraries and retrieved it.
“Ebony with Thestral Tail Hair. It respects only those who have seen Death,” the wandmaker stated
with a pointed lilt to his voice that made Harry shift his weight nervously from one feet to the
other. It took all his willpower to not react any stronger and instead watch silently as Barty took the
wand. The reaction was immediate. A wind seemed to sweep through the room, engulfing the other
wizard for a moment. Once the wind had settled, Barty pointed the wand at a small vase on the
counter and effortlessly transfigured it into a kitten.

Gregorovich wrinkled his nose, but merely said, “I believe we have a good match. That will be 14
Galleons.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows at the sum, which had been quite a bit higher than what he had paid for
his own wand, but said nothing. However, seeing that Barty pulled the leather pouch he had
already used earlier in Diagon Alley out of his pockets without a comment, he guessed that the
wizard had expected the sum.

“There should soon be a meeting,” Barty said by way of saying goodbye to which Gregorovich
merely inclined his head.

“Now to that bloody market,” he turned towards Harry.

The floo ride back to London was just as long as the one to Gregovich’s store in Bulgaria. Harry
landed on the familiar muddy meadow and found Barty already scowling at the market across from
them. He patted his wand as if to make sure it was still there and Harry took that as his chance to
draw the wizard’s mind away from the market.

“I didn’t know Gregorovich’s wands were that expensive,” he mused out loud.
His plan worked, Barty blinked and turned around to look at him. “Gregorovich has more woods
and rarer cores on offer.”

“I am quite happy with my wand,” Harry retorted, patting his own wand hidden in his pocket.
“I didn’t say they are bad. You must understand Hades,” the other said and Harry perked up at the
use of his supposed first name as Barty used it rather rarely, “... that while our Lord is correct and
there is no light and dark magic, the political concept has been around for so long that it has
engulfed our society.”
Harry just blinked, wondering what the wizard was getting at.
“Certain people believe in the ‘Light-Agenda’, families like the Weasleys, the Longbottoms and
the Potters. They come with certain temperaments, you could say they are more prone to
conformity. Olivanda’s wands tend to fit them a lot better than those who follow our Lord. I just
wish Britain’s wandmaker would offer a wider selection and not be so close-minded. There are
many different people and Ollivander only offers only three types of cores. There are just a few
exceptions of non-standard cores, like the core of Harry Potter’s wand.”

Harry stiffened at hearing his real name all of the sudden, however, one glance at Barty’s face
calmed him down again. For a second he had feared the wizard had said this with hidden purpose
but clearly that wasn’t the case, he was safe still.

“And they look better,” Barty said as a final convincing argument, pulling out his new wand and
turning it in the midday sunlight. Harry actually had to agree to the last part, the wand was a real
piece of art.

“So, what don’t you like about the market?” Harry asked curiously when he saw Barty’s scowl
return as they drew nearer.
“I just never liked this place. Too many house elves and stupid gulible wizards and witches.”
“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, feeling slightly indignant.
“Nothing against you kid,” Barty muttered, “you are one of us. Despite your affinity.”
“I guess that is supposed to be a compliment,” Harry muttered, but fell silent afterward as they
passed through the fenceless iron gate.

“Now, what do you need?” Barty inquired.

“Basically everything but potatoes,” Harry answered, walking towards the stall with the eggs he
had visited last time around.

The elves and wizards were just as helpful as last time as soon as they caught sight of Voldemort’s
ring. It took them over two hours to buy all the eggs, milk, fruits, vegetables, and various meats
they needed.

It was when they slowly made their way through the growing crowd towards the stall with the
herbs, when Harry heard a familiar voice.

“Do… do… do we really need to do this again, gran?”

For a short moment Harry wondered if he had heard incorrectly, but just then he spotted his dorm
mate Neville next to a small witch with an imposing vulture on her hat.
“Yes, Neville. You know that sort of magic was made illegal when you were seven and I will not
have the Longbottom heir connected to anything of that sort.”

Neville looked crestfallen for a second, but then nodded and stepped up to the house elf looking
after the stall.
“What does he mean?” Harry wondered out loud, unable to imagine that Neville would ever
perform any sort of dark magic.
Barty just shrugged. “It can’t be anything bad, that family is as benign as they come. However, in
the past decade the Ministry has banned powerful branches of rare magic which could possibly
become a threat,” he said, confirming Harry’s thoughts.
“Is the boy particularly good at anything?”
“Herbology,” Harry answered automatically.
“You know him?” Barty asked curiously and knowing he wouldn’t get out of it, Harry nodded.
“My mum introduced me to a few children. He is… a friend,” he answered hesitantly.

The other wizard just nodded. “Maybe he is an earth-elemental. Practicing earth magic has been
forbidden since 1987, even though it's not a dark skill. His grandma probably seals his powers
away every summer.” Barty made a face at that. “Poor boy, that must be like losing his wand arm,
especially as elementals are usually exceptional in their element but suck at every other kind of
magic.”

Well, that description fit Neville like a glove.

“That sounds horrible,” he said, watching as Neville bought a bunch of herbs, shoulders and head
hanging.

“It's disgusting. Elemental magic is a powerful and rare gift,” Barty muttered.

“What is taking you so long, Neville?” Neville’s grandmother asked in a loud, commanding voice
that grated on Harry’s nerves.
“I am coming,” Neville responded and they watched the boy join his grandmother again.

As Harry watched them leave the market, he made a mental note to speak more to Neville this
upcoming term. He had always liked the chubby boy, however, with how silent Neville usually
was, Harry had to admit he sometimes just forgot the other was there.

Pushing his guilt to the side for now, he followed Barty to the stands with the herbs and potion
ingredients they had seen Neville at earlier. They paid for their purchases and finally made their
way back to the fireplace on the meadow. There was a rather long line of witches and wizards
waiting in front of it though and they had to wait for at least five minutes for their turn. When they
were finally at the grate, Barty gave him a small mock-bow and said, “after you.”

Snorting, Harry grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the barrel, called as quietly as possible
“Slytherin Castle” and disappeared into the flames. After the long floo rides earlier, it felt like only
a second before he stumbled out into the antichamber-hallway.

He had barely time to step out of the way before Barty arrived a moment later.
“Finally! I need a bath as soon as I am back to myself. I hate that bloody market!” He exclaimed
while pulling out his wand and dusting off his robe. The use of his new wand clearly helped his
mood, because his scowl was quickly replaced by a grin. Once he was satisfied he turned to Harry
and told him, “You better report to our Lord and tell him that we got everything.”

Seeing that Barty was already turning heading for the staircase, Harry just nodded and turned
towards the parlor. However, the room was empty of any dark lords, so he went to try Voldemort’s
study.

The door stood slightly ajar, but he still knocked.

“Come in, Hades,” Voldemort answered.
Thinking that it was eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore, Harry entered. The wizard sat behind his
personal desk, the one Harry had found the Peverelle notebook in. He still needed to return the
items before Voldemort noticed that they were missing. Making a mental note, Harry pushed the
thought to the side for the time being and quickly crossed the room before the dark lord could
grow impassioned. As he did so, the steady humming in his chest grew slightly stronger. It was the
first time Harry noticed it, however, the sensation wasn’t unpleasant or even distracting, not at this
moment, at least, so Harry easily was able to dismiss it from his mind.

“I presume your little outing went well?” the dark lord asked, jerking him out of his strange state.
Voldemort had looked up from whatever letters or reports he was reading and Harry quickly
stepped even closer.

Glancing at the wizard, Harry noted a smirk tugging at those pale lips, probably because of his
childlike appearance. That at least did the trick. He straightened despite his small stature and
nodded.

“Yes, my Lord. We got everything,” he told him, ignoring the still present smirk.
“Good,” Voldemort nodded. “Then you will start on Charms and Defense. You will read each first
chapter twice. Once in your textbooks and afterwards, in one of these.” Voldemort flicked his bone
white wand and a stack of rather old and used textbooks flew over to hover next to Harry. A short
glance at them told him that they apparently were older copies of his text books.

He didn’t quite understand what that odd instruction about reading twice was supposed to be about,
but nodded anyway. If nothing else, he trusted Voldemort to be a good tutor, as strange as that still
felt.
“Yes, my Lord,” he therefore responded and waved his own wand to send the books into his room.
He was gathering quite the impressive stack of books he was supposed to read.

“If you wish to take your long-desired bath now,” Voldemort continued, clearly about to dismiss
him, “there is a large bathroom just a floor below. Third door on the right.” With that the dark Lord
turned his attention once again to his stack of papers.

Harry left the office and decided to do just what Voldemort had suggested. He only hoped that
Barty had his own bath to occupy or at least that the man was still waiting for the polyjuice to lose
its effect; it couldn’t be that long anymore.
Descending the broad staircase, he made his way to the floor below. It was lit just as gloomily as
Voldemort’s private floor was, but he still found the described door easily, and to his relief, as he
pushed against it, it opened without a problem.

His eyes widened at the sight in front of him. The bath was large, similar in size to the prefect bath
at Hogwarts, but it was there the similarities ended. Where the prefect back had a multitude of taps,
bells, and whistles, this one was much simpler. There was no peeping mermaid for one and the
faucets were simpler and more elegant in design. And they were silver. Of course they were silver,
not bronze like those in the prefect’s bathroom.

Feeling suddenly giddy in anticipation, Harry walked over to a stony bench and began to undress.
From a shelf nearby he took two towels and then made his way over to the pool like tub where he
began to pour water in.

To his delight the many facets were labeled, a huge improvement in his opinion. He selected a
faucet that was supposed to smell like milk and honey, one that would produce floating vanilla
foam and bubbles and another that would add fizzy balls.

He sighed in delight as he slipped into the hot water a moment later. Magic really was amazing.
The fizzy balls had turned the still water into a whirlpool and his muscles relaxed quickly.

Unfortunately, his still polyjuice body was a bit too small for the tub, but he found an underwater
bench to one side. Otherwise however, his child-like body didn’t bother him as much as his own
puberty had yet to kick in fully. Sometimes he feared that the years of malnutrition had screwed his
body up so much that he would never hit puberty fully, but so far he was still young enough to
hope that he was just a late bloomer.

Leaning back, he just relaxed until he felt his body change back to his usual appearance. Then he
summoned himself a washcloth and began to thoroughly scrub himself down. He found a faucet
with shampoo and cleaned his hair and slowly began to feel really clean again. Not that a cleaning
charm wasn’t thorough, but after some time it just started to feel that way.

Once he felt clean again, he swam into the middle of the pool to just float around peacefully and
enjoy the massaging effects of the bath balls against his back. He had never been at a spa, of
course not, the Dursleys would never have taken him along and he wasn’t even sure wizards knew
what a spa was, but he imagined it to feel just like this.

He had no idea how long he had been floating in the water, but at some point the warming charm
on the tub grew weaker and he decided that it was high time to get out again. His fingers were all
pruny already.
Seeing that he had forgotten to take a change of clothes with him, he took one of the fluffy, green
bathrobes and exited the bath.

“Finally!”
A voice suddenly exclaimed next to him and made Harry nearly jump out of his skin. In his
relaxed state he hadn’t even noticed Barty leaning next to the door.
“I was about to go up to our Lord and tell him that his valet must have drowned in the bath!” the
wizard groused.

“Don't the guest rooms have baths?” Harry asked, a bit confused.
“Of course they have, but only with a shower and a normal tub,” Barty retorted, before slipping
into the bathroom.

Shaking his head, Harry climbed back up to Voldemort’s floor and entered the parlor, only to turn
beet red at the sight of the Dark Lord in his wingback armchair.
“Sorry, forgot my change of clothes,” he explained meekly as he hurried to cross the room under
Voldemort’s bemused stare.

Once in his small bedroom, he quickly dressed before sitting down on his bed and summoning his
set of fifth year DADA and Charms textbooks. Looking at the four books, he still found
Voldemort’s instructions odd, but shrugging, he started to read.

Barty and he hadn’t actually purchased that horrible textbook Umbridge had wanted them to read
(Defensive Magical Theory), it had been useless anyway, but the one this year's fifth year students
would use.

The first chapter explained the wand movements for and the theory behind the backfiring jinx. It
was a spell he had mastered without much problem, thus, Harry read through the chapter quickly
enough.

However, when he opened the defense textbook Voldemort had given him, he first stopped at the
sight of the odd lettering inside. The script it had been printed in looked old and as he checked the
printing date, it was from 1941.

Huh, strange. He wondered where Voldemort had gotten the thing from. However, a scribbled
name and date in the top right corner told him where the dark lord had gotten the thing from,
apparently, it had been his own. That meant Voldemort was at least 60 years old. He had never
wondered how old his enemy actually was and trying to connect the age with the person next door
was hard, but considering his looks, there wasn’t much human left about Voldemort anyway.

Pushing the thoughts to the side, Harry opened the book to the first chapter, which he had assumed
would be about the same jinx, only that it wasn’t. Instead the chapter’s title was “Defensive
Jinxes” and began with a long part about the magical theory about defensive jinxes that was
apparently meant to help the students learn any kind of defensive jinxes easily.

The theory was of a level of detail he had never seen before and referred to concepts he hadn't even
heard about so far. It ended with a list of eight spells with descriptions and pictures of the correct
wand movements,

As the chapter was not only longer, but also much more complex, he needed thrice as long to read
than for the first one. At some point he gave up on simply memorizing everything and ventured out
into the parlor.

Seeing that Voldemort was still reading in his wingback armchair, he cleared his throat and waited
for the wizard to look up.

“Yes?” the dark lord finally asked after he had marked his page.
“My Lord, do you have a quill and some ink I could use?”
Voldemort raised a hairless - Harry blinked, for the eyebrow wasn’t actually hairless any longer,
was that his healing magic? He flicked his bone white wand and flicked it once.

A drawer to Harry’s left opened and a black quill and inkwell came sailing towards him.
“Thank you, my lord,” he bowed his head, a bit absentmindedly, his mind still on the dark lord’s
changing looks. Somehow, Harry had never immagine his magic having any more outward effect
than the wounds’ on Voldemort’s body healing. Shaking his head, Harry returned to his room
where he began to take notes on the chapter.

It felt as if he needed forever. He had to go back several times and in the end didn’t understand
every detail about the theory. Finally, when he felt that he at least understood the gist of it, he
pulled out his wand, pointed his wand at his door and called out, “Reflecto!”

It didn’t really surprise him that the spell worked immediately, after all he had known that one
before, so he quickly read the description for the next jinx, the cascading jinx and with the theory
he had just learned in mind, tried this one as well.

“Effundam!” he shouted and winced as a broad flood of water suddenly cascaded onto his floor.
Next time he better think about the consequences of actually trying the spell in question before
doing so. Fortunately a strong drying spell took care of it.

He honestly hadn’t thought that the jinx would work immediately. Even with Defense being his
best subject, he usually still needed at least two tries to cast a new spell correctly.
 He was a bit more careful with the other spell. He cast the Ebublio jinx which traps the opponent
in a giant bubble, but skipped over the fire biting spiders jinx, it just sounded too gross to try in
one's bedroom.

Surprisingly however, his results with the new jinxes were always the same and for the first time
he found himself agreeing with Hermione on magical theory; knowing the theory truly did help.
And reading this book, made him wonder why they had shortened the theory part and the list of
spells they were learning nowadays so much.

What didn’t surprise him anymore however, was Voldemort's constant grousing about their school
system.

It was late when he finally was through with the first chapter of Voldemort’s old text book,
however he still decided to start with the Charms textbook. It was almost the same. The chapter in
Voldemort’s book was much longer. So far, he merely had learned the simple summoning charm
accio, which was useless as soon as a closed door was in the way. The other book however, listed a
total of five different summoning charms which were able to summon from water and even made
doors open as soon as the summoned object came near them.

Charms was his second best subject, but he had never been quite as naturally good at the subject as
he was in Defense. Therefore it didn’t really surprise him that even with the theory he needed more
than one try for two of the three charms, it still was much better than before.

He had wanted to read through two chapters in each book, but once he had cast the last summoning
charm, it was more than late and he was almost falling asleep on his feet.

He transfigured his robe into pajamas, doused the lights and crawled into his bed where he fell
asleep immediately, the magical connection humming like a soothing lullaby in his chest.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Of Lords and Lessons
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

Chapter 7: Of Lords and Lessons

Harry once again woke up well-rested. It was odd really, how he hadn’t experienced a single
nightmare or vision since he had moved in with Voldemort. Shouldn’t the proximity lead to more
visions? Just like a touch of the wizard had always hurt, especially when he was enraged? But then
again, unless the wizard had cursed him, the dark lord’s proximity hadn’t hurt lately either.

Getting up, Harry pushed the question to the side and went through his usual morning routine of
getting ready and preparing breakfast.

“Your lessons will begin after breakfast,” Voldemort informed him as he entered the private dining
room forty minutes later. Barty was already pouring himself a cup of coffee, but the dark lord had
yet to touch his plate.

“Yes, my Lord,” he replied and sat down as well, doing an almost comical double take as his eyes
were drawn to black smudges on Voldemort’s face. Thinking it odd that the man hadn’t fully
washed before arriving for breakfast, he took a closer look and realized they weren’t smudges, they
were eyebrows! Somehow, the snake-faced, scaly man was regrowing hair. Harry wasn’t sure
what to think about it, and was thankful neither Barty, nor the man in question seemed to have
noticed his unusual behavior as he carefully filled his plate.
“I hope for your own sake that you have prepared at least one chapter to the best of your
capabilities,” Voldemort added warningly, looking up from the newspaper he had been engrossed
in upon Harry’s arrival.
“I studied the first chapter of the Defense and Charms textbooks,” Harry told him while Barty was
giving them an impatient look, not daring to drink his coffee before Voldemort had started eating.

Said wizard inclined his head and finally summoned himself a slice of the french toast Harry had
prepared this morning. Barty sighed in relief and practically downed his first cup of liquid black
energy in one go.

After he had cleared the table and set the dishes to wash themselves, Harry followed Voldemort
back into the parlor where apparently his lessons would commence.
There was an inkwell, a quill, and some parchment already laid out on the low coffee table,
opposite of the wizard’s preferred wingback armchair. Harry sat down there and waited for the
dark lord to take his own seat and begin his lecture. He was kind of curious how these lessons
would be. So far, everything Voldemort had taught him had been highly practical and therefore
easy to learn. He had always found anything practical easier to learn to begin with, even in the
muggle world.

“Before we take a closer look at the chapters in your textbooks,” Voldemort finally began, “I
decided to give a short explanation of different magical arts.”
The dark lord leaned back in his armchair, looking for all the world like the lord he called himself.
His tail, once again healed and gleaming in the morning light, was casually wound around the foot
of his chair.

In Harry’s chest the renewed and strengthened bond hummed happily at the proximity of its
counterpart.

“Though politicians, as we have discussed in much less detail before, would have you believe there
are two affinities, Dark and Light, that is simply not the case. Today we dive deeper and you will
come to understand that magic is magic and only the level of one’s innate power will dictate the
type or types of magic a wizard may successfully wield. Therefore, mages of either political
leaning can perform any charm or spell. This is most readily apparent in Hogwarts through those
labeled as dark being able to cast the magic taught at the school, even though it is labeled as light.
This is, in fact, the answer to a commonly asked question among young wizards and witches,” he
explained as Harry concentrated on what was being said.

“The converse is also true,” Voldemort continued almost musingly. “Many well known figures of
the so-called Light have cast the unforgivables, regardless of their status as dark. Truly, there is no
separation. All magic has its roots in the elements that make up the world and the creatures which
first learned to harness it, transferring their capabilities to humans through cross-species
precreation,” he continued. “Take for example, myself. I am of naga descent, and the first in many
hundreds of years to be powerful enough for the inheritance to manifest. While my entire line
could speak parseltongue, an immediate indicator of one’s naga ancestry, it is the weakest of the
gifts a naga inheritance can bestow. Venom, fangs, scales, serpent-sight, a naga form, and an extra
animagus form, one that is always the form of a snake, are other magical gifts arising from naga
blood, all requiring a higher level of power than that of parseltongue.”

“Is that the case for other types of creature inheritance then?” Harry asked. “I mean, do they all
have that sort of… tiered list of possible gifts that a person can only get if their power is high
enough.”

“An excellent question, but one with a variety of answers,” the dark lord replied, looking
approvingly at the teen who had started to take notes. “The amount or type of inheritance depends
entirely on the creature it comes from, which is to be expected. However some creature species are
more closely related to humans, and therefore the traits pass easier. A creature with at least a
passing resemblance to a human will always have a better chance of successful procreation
resulting in a viable offspring.” Seeing that Harry was still looking thoughtful, he provided another
option, “Take centaurs as an alternate example. They are half human, just as a naga is half human.
Their skill with the bow and arrow, and proclivity for astromancy and pyromancy - that is the
practice of divination through celestial bodies and divination through fire, which should not be
confused with astrology, a bastardized muggle form of human astromancy - are well known gifts
resulting from a centaur breeding with a human. The issue, as I’m certain you will have already
realized, is that centaurs have no human form, so any child of such a liaison will either be fully
centaur or fully human, so the gift of a special form, such as my naga form, is not an option.”

“I see,” Harry nodded. “And that all depends on power level?”

“Indeed. For more magically inclined races, again, the naga are an example, more power is
required to manifest gifts because the creature has its own brand of magic which may or may not be
fully compatible with wizarding magic. For less magically inclined races, such as the centaurs,
wizarding offspring need more magic to manifest any gifts, but it will require less magic overall
than an inheritance like a naga.”

Harry nodded.

“But what is truly important about the transition of magic from element to creature to wizard is the
types of magic which were born out of the crossing of such disparate beings,” Voldemort’s eyes
were gleaming bright red in his interest for their current topic. “The elements were initially
harnessed by sentient beings which have come to be known as elementals. Little is known about
these early primordial entities as written dissemination of information was nonexistent and verbal
transmission highly corruptible. But what is known is that elementals could harness the power of
the elements of the world around them and bend and shape those surroundings to their desires. It is
unknown whether these elementals could harness all the elements, or only one or two, but it seems
the dilution of the blood, essence, or magic transferred between elementals and creatures or
elementals and humans has ensured that any any offspring of either type of coupling who gains an
elemental inheritance can command only a single element: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Light, or Void.”

“I thought there were only four elements,” Harry said uncertainly, even as he copied down the six
Voldemort listed.

“For the nearly illiterate muggles, yes,” the dark lord replied. “But magical beings can harness light
and void in ways the muggles, for all their science, can only dream of.” He paused to fix himself a
cup of tea, took a sip, and continued, “A similar phenomenon has been observed in the offspring of
creatures and humans. Because many of the creatures known to us today have in some way gained
the ability to manipulate, if not command outright, one of the elements, it stands to reason that any
offspring between a creature and human will also have an affinity toward that specific element.
Case in point, vampires. They are intimately linked to the element of the Void. It is what gives
them the power to shadow walk, enabling them to travel great distances in the shadows, similar to
apparition, as well as the more nebulous result of what is now called the vampire thrall. This is an
obscure form of shadow manipulation which involves the vampire dominating his or her prey’s
shadow and thereby forcing the human to view the vampire as a non-threat, enabling the vampire to
feed, copulate, or kill based on their own desires. Given all that, can you provide another
example?”

“Umm,” Harry thought for a moment, trying to think about the creatures he was familiar with,
“Veela. Veela are descended from some type of flying creature, so you would think they could
harness air, but they don’t, they use fire,” he said, remembering the veela at the quidditch world
cup throwing handfuls of flames. “And they have allure, which sounds similar to the vampire’s
thrall…” he trailed off as he couldn’t determine how shadow manipulation would translate to veela
allure through fire. “I don’t know how the element of fire could produce their allure though,” he
admitted.

Though why he wanted to impress the dark lord was an issue to unpack another time. Like when he
wasn’t sitting right there.

“It is a similar talent to thrall, you are correct in that,” Voldemort said with a nod. “But the
connection is a little more nebulous than you are thinking. The element of fire also corresponds
with passion and passion is what the veela is tapping into with their allure. They basically overload
a person’s passion receptors, causing them to feel an overwhelming desire for the veela, which
often manifests in highly exaggerated claims, extremely random assertions of power or prestige,
and serious inappropriate love confessions.”

Harry couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him when he thought of Stan Shunpike saying he was
the Minister of Magic when he ran into some veela in the aftermath of the death eater attack on the
world cup. Or even Ron blurting out a request for Fleur to go with him to the yule ball, and she was
only a quarter veela!

“But regardless, these creature matings have also given rise to other forms of magic,” the dark
lord’s lecture continued. “Blood, sex, and time magic are among the more commonly known, but
there are also soul, aura, and thread magic as well, though necromancy is a facet of soul magic that
is better known than some others, I suppose. Outside of those, some forms of creature magic have
been transferred to the wizarding population, such as parselmagic, which can only be utilized by a
parselmage who must be able to speak parseltongue. You can read about all of these types of
magic in the library and if you find yourself particularly interested in any of them, we can go
further in depth then.”

Then Voldemort rose to his feet and motioned for Harry to get up as well. A flick of the wizard’s
wand later had the coffee table, the sofa, and the wingback armchair pressed against the walls.
Finally, the dark lord raised a protective field around his furniture and instructed, “Now, to the
practical part of your lesson. I will be evaluating your casting using spells with which you should
already be very familiar as all are studied in the Hogwarts curriculum.”

Harry thought that he had done quite well the previous evening. However, as he slowly made his
way through summoning charms and defensive jinxes, Voldemort found something to disapprove
of nearly every time. Once, it was the angle of his wrist, and other times it was one part of his
wand movement or another.

He didn’t dare complain and after the second spell, he wouldn’t have done so anyway, because the
corrections made the spells come out even quicker and with less effort.

“You will notice,” Voldemort said during his evaluation, “if you ever find yourself in a situation
that requires a lot of casting, that the correct execution of the wand movement will funnel power
into the spell, requiring less magic to be performed, and thus will strain your magical core less.”
He returned the parlor to its original state and sat down in his armchair once more.
“Come, I’m going to fix your wand grip,” he said. “You’re still like a first year, gripping your
wand as if it will fly from your hand at any moment. Many of the suggestions I made for
improving your casting would happen naturally if you had ever moved on from the most basic
wand grip.”

“They -” Harry cut himself off, frantically rearranging his thoughts so he could express them in a
way that fit his fake backstory, “my parents, I mean, they never mentioned other wand grips.”

“A common failing of those who consider themselves light,” Voldemort scoffed. “Many of the
more advanced wand techniques are made simpler by utilizing improved wand grips, however that
puts more high-powered spells in the physical reach of the everyday witch or wizard who may not
have the power to successfully cast. Their failure results in them writing off the alternative options
as useless simply because they are unaware - or refuse to accept - that it is their own magical
power hindering them.”

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess,” Harry mumbled.

“Speak up, Hades, mumbling is unbecoming,” Voldemort ordered. Without waiting for further
response, he continued, “As it is, your hand and wrist are much too stiff to allow you to fluidly
move between spells, which will prevent you from linking spells together, called spell-chains, and
further draining your core as you will be forced to stop and cast each spell individually. Naturally,”
he leveled the teen with a sharp stare, “that also slows down your casting speed, and coupled with
the higher drain on your core, makes you appear less powerful than you truly are.”

“Yes, my lord,” Harry replied when it appeared Voldemort was waiting for some type of verbal
response.

“Cast the most high-powered spell you know,” the dark lord ordered.

Harry immediately raised his wand and started a spiral motion as he called out, “Expecto
Patronum!” while concentrating on the strange happiness he felt studying magic with Voldemort,
the relative freedom offered by living with Voldemort, the power he had at his command by
resurrecting one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers, even as he prayed his patronus wouldn’t
immediately mark him as “Harry Potter.”

Suddenly recognizing the impulsive stupidity of casting that particular spell, he could only pray
nobody had actually told the man what form Harry Potter’s patronus took. So it was a shock,
enough he almost stumbled, when the shimmering four legged creature appeared, as it was patently
not the stag Prongs he had grown so accustomed to seeing, but rather took on the skeletal, leathery
appearance of a thestral which emerged from his wand!

Voldemort’s eyes lit with that strange hunger Harry had noticed a few times before, but he still
didn’t understand it.

“Magnificent,” the dark lord breathed as he watched the silvery thestral patrol the room before
returning to Hades’ side, allowing the teen to pat it a few times before it dissolved into
nothingness. “That is a very powerful spell, one which requires great focus, determination, and
power to cast. The fact that you are able to produce so corporeal a patronus as to be able to touch it
is astounding, especially for one so young.”

“Er… thanks?” Harry said, unsure how to accept such praise from his arch enemy turned tutor.

“Do your parents know you can cast this, Hades?” the dark lord pressed.
“Umm, yeah,” Harry said, not sure why it would matter if anybody knew he could cast a patronus.

“It is no wonder they have not mentioned or taught you other wand grips,” he explained almost
reverently. “With this sort of power at your fingertips, to cast such a spell with no preparation, they
must be desperate to keep you under control.” The half man-half serpent rose from his seat and laid
a hand on Hades’ shoulder, “What better way to keep you downtrodden than to prevent you from
learning that which would enable you to improve faster and easier than ever before. I refuse to
allow it to continue,” he finished strongly before returning to his seat.

“Now,” Voldemort continued, launching into a very detailed description of exactly what Hades
needed to do, how to hold his wand, position his hand, and reinforce his body to allow his magic to
flow in the most efficient and least restricted manner possible. Long, cool fingers moved along his
body as Voldemort adjusted Harry’s form, sending faint tremors down his spine as the serpentine
man improved the teen’s grip and stance and explained all the physiology behind every adjustment
he was suggesting. Much of the science went over the boy’s head, but the magical output when
Voldemort deemed his new position and grip satisfactory and Harry cast the patronus again was
phenomenal. Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he felt his magic flowing
through him, strong and steady like a rushing river, stronger than he had ever felt it before.

The next few days went by in a similar pattern. Each morning after breakfast, Harry revised another
chapter of his DADA and Charms textbooks with Voldemort.

They were progressing quickly and soon Harry felt as if he had learned at least as much in the few
days since Voldemort had started his lessons as in the five previous years at Hogwarts.

Voldemort was an incredible teacher. Each lesson began with a discourse on magical theory and
said theory was conveyed in such a way that Harry soon found himself able to answer all kinds of
theory related questions, regardless of the subject.

Therefore it came as no surprise when Voldemort soon told him to start repeating the other
textbooks as well, after which their lessons grew from barely 2 hours a day to consuming the entire
forenoon.

He had started to prepare snacks for lunch each evening prior, just in case a tutoring session lasted
until 2:30 pm, which began happening more and more often as Harry grew more knowledgeable.

Voldemort, he noticed, seemed to truly enjoy his new occupation, and in contrast to what Harry
would have guessed prior to his stay at Slytherin Castle, the dark lord was the best professor he’d
ever had, even better than Remus. Maybe because Voldemort seemed to truly understand what he
was teaching on the deepest level and - with the regularly occurring topic of the lammas
preparations - even lived his teachings as well.

As the dark lord grew stronger, it became evident how utterly connected he was with his magic by
just watching with what ease Voldemort performed even wandless and wordless spells.

And Voldemort growing stronger did not only show in his magic, but curiously enough in his
appearance as well. The first thing Harry had noticed had been the eyebrows, which had regrown
fully since he first noticed them as smudges. A few days previously, a dark dusting had appeared
on the wizard’s head, indicating that the hair was regrowing there as well, and, to Harry’s utter
shock as he had joined Voldemort and Barty for breakfast one day, he had seen a small elevation
rising from between his slitted nostrils, as if a nose was slowly forming.

Harry knew those improvements in the dark lord’s health should worry him, but it didn’t. And
maybe, just maybe, it was ok to feel that way because lately, as far as Harry had gathered, the Dark
Lord was much more sane and significantly less homicidal.

Whenever the dark lord was too busy for their lessons, Barty stepped in and reviewed or taught
him all the spells and magical theory he should have learned in his first through fourth years. They
even covered potions theory and Barty had handed him a nifty book that would probably have
made the class much easier. Why Snape had not covered the basics presented in the text, Harry
didn’t know, he was just glad that he would be able to produce better results this upcoming term -
if the Slytherins didn’t sabotage each and every potion of his.

Their usual program, however, was disrupted abruptly one morning by the arrival of Lucius
Malfoy. The blond appeared in the dining room just as they were finishing their food.

“Good morning, my lord,” the aristocrat drawled. “I apologize for my unannounced appearance,
however I have news which cannot be delayed.”

“Come, we will speak in my office,” the Dark Lord rose from his seat. “Barty, handle the dishes
and Hades, review the next chapters in your text. I will call for you when we are finished.” And
with that the two were gone.

Barty and Harry exchanged looks, shrugged, and got on with their tasks. Harry desperately wanted
to know what they were talking about, but knew it would be a futile attempt. The man’s office was
warded to the nines.

_________
“Report,” Voldemort ordered as soon as they were settled in his office, wards up at full strength.

“Yesterday, there was an emergency session of the Wizengamot,” Lucius began immediately. “It
was conducted without Dumbledore or the minister.”

“How in the name of magic did they manage that?” the Dark Lord muttered.

“With great difficulty, I assure you, my lord,” Malfoy answered. “It was only by grace of the fact
that I am the minority leader that I even knew the meeting was occurring. It was clearly meant to
be as secret as possible, and I’m quite surprised they didn’t require secrecy oaths for those of us
who were in attendance.”

“And what could possibly have been important enough for such measures?” red eyes narrowed,
informing Lucius that he had better get to the point.
“Augusta Longbottom proposed a Vote of No Confidence in Minister Fudge,” he reveal, grey eyes
alight.

“That old battle-axe is still making waves,” he mused, remembering Augusta from his school days,
and how many issues her son had caused for him.

“Indeed she is, my lord,” the Malfoy lord replied. “I believe the action will pass when it is
presented to the full court, but my concern is over our interim minister. As you are aware, anyone
who holds the interim post is likely to be voted into the office, whether they are beneficial or not.”

“And who are the candidates proposed?” the Dark Lord questioned his follower.

“There is Algernon Macmillan from the light faction,” Lucius Malfoy answered. “Augusta
Longbottom’s twin brother. However enough members know that he is deep in Dumbledore’s
pocket and so despite what the old fool’s admirers think, we have enough people who don’t like
his politics to stop whichever candidate he presents.”
“Nepotism at its finest,” Voldemort commented. “Of course she would suggest her brother. And
naturally, as Dumbledore’s toady, he would be useless to us should he be elected. If it even appears
as even a remote possibility, we will have to take steps to ensure his failure. Perhaps permanently,”
he said easily.

“Of course, my lord,” Lucius inclined his head. “I will monitor the situation. Who should I have on
standby should permanent steps be required?”

“Put Travers on it,” Voldemort waved a negligent hand. “He’s been itching for something to do.”

“Yes, my lord,” the blond nodded.

“Who else?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Jason Greengrass from the neutral section,” was Lucius’ prompt reply. “Unfortunately, I fear he is
too often seen with members from the dark section to stand a reasonable chance at this moment in
time. The light are still the majority, barely, but enough to stop him, even if we tried to back him
discreetly. We had hoped for Amelia Bones since she is so staunchly neutral, and far more likely to
listen to both sides before forming an opinion. Sadly, she refused to be considered, saying she is
happy as Head of the DMLE. So lastly, and unfortunately, we have Rufus Scrimgiour who
currently holds the majority.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Voldemort replied to the succinctly delivered information. “And as
Head of the Auror Division, he is far too paranoid and skilled to simply do away with. Naturally I
could put one of the hit squad on him, but we can’t afford to take out two candidates before things
are finalized.” He raised his head to pin Malfoy with a penetrating stare, “Why were there no dark
candidates proposed? Even yourself, Lucius?”

“They were proposed, my lord,” Malfoy said slowly. “They were not approved.”

“Who?” he barked.

“Myself, as you rightly surmised, my lord,” the blond began to list off, “Theodred Nott and
Rodgerrick LeStrange, who, as two of the eldest members of the Wizengamot should have been at
least considered. The nasty business with Bella, Rudolphus, and Rabastan had them throwing out
Rodgerrick as a candidate immediately. Theodred wasn’t best pleased to have been mentioned as
he does enjoy his quiet life, only venturing out when young Theodore needs something. But he is
astoundingly politically minded and would have been an asset in the Minister's seat. He was
rejected because of Izar’s imprisonment and the mystery surrounding his daughter-in-law,
Melinde’s death,” Lucius said a bit sadly. “And Pleonast Parkinson was oddly enough nominated.
I’m not even sure why he was mentioned.”

“Pathetic,” Voldemort muttered. “Our best political minds brushed aside for their children’s
actions and the death of a woman so sickly it is surprising she even managed to birth her lord
husband’s heir. Or an imbecile stupid enough to marry a woman so inbred their children more
resemble dogs than humans,” he groused, completely ignoring the fact the he had been looking
rather snake-like of late, though his appearance was slowly improving. Something which could not
be said for Lauretta Parkinson, or her children Paulinus and Pansy. “Clearly the sheep are
multiplying.”

“As you say, my lord,” Lucius agreed.

“You say you feel this resolution will pass. How soon?”

“A few weeks maybe?” Lucius said. “Possibly as much as a month, but I doubt Augusta will be
willing to let it drag on that long, especially after her grandson was injured in the Ministry when
you were outed as being back.”

“I see,” Voldemort nodded. “Well, we will throw our support behind Greengrass, and prepare for
Macmillan and Scrimgeour.”

__________

Since the weather was so nice, Harry decided to take his books to the temple and read in the sun.
Barty bid him good day as the teen left the kitchen, and the dirty dishes, to him. Of course with
magic, the work was soon complete, and really Barty couldn’t complain. Hades’ cooking was
phenomenal and if the price he had to pay was a few cleaning spells, it really wasn’t a bad deal.

Work done, he made his way toward the large bathroom on the third floor, hoping for a bit of
relaxation before his lord came up with some new task for him. He got his relaxing hour’s soak
and was making his way to his own quarters when he saw a familiar sight, but one which he
shouldn’t have been seeing at the Dark Lord’s residence. The distinctive silhouette of a long-eared
owl in the dark, woody brown solely for ministerial use was wheeling high overhead. As he
watched, it swooped down toward the black marble temple which had been added to his lord’s
property sometime between his death and resurrection, and landed in front of the lighter blob that
Barty knew was Hades.

“Ah,” Barty thought, nodding to himself, “He’s homeschooled, so he gets his OWLs directly from
the ministry rather than through Hogwarts like most students,” he muttered. “Hope the kid did
well,” he thought, and continued on his way.

Unfortunately, by the time Lucius left, Barty had completely forgotten about the owl, so
Voldemort was none the wiser.

Harry, on the other hand, was completely shocked by the arrival of the letter. He had managed to
keep Hedwig from being imprisoned by the Dursleys by telling her to return to Hogwarts the first
time they actually allowed him to release her for food. It had surprised him greatly since they were
usually so adamant that she not be allowed out lest she bring him freakish correspondence, but
either his deep grief or her noisy racket had worn away their revulsion and allowed the brief
reprieve, which resulted in his beloved owl’s freedom. Unfortunately, that meant he hadn’t
expected any post at all for the rest of the holiday.
So when the large, dark bird landing right in front of him, it was understandable that he flinched.
And squeaked. Though he would deny the girlish sound forever, thankfully no one was around to
hear it but the owl. And it wouldn’t be telling anyone.

When the owl hooted imperiously at him, he finally shook himself from his shock and carefully
removed the letter the bird carried. He watched to see if the bird would leave, but apparently it
wanted a response because it continued to sit there, waiting.

He drew his wand and cast a few detection spells at it, thinking fondly of Sirius and the twins as he
did so. He was also mentally thanking the Dark Lord for teaching him the spells, though it was odd
to be truly thankful to the man. But finding nothing harmful on the letter, he decided it was safe
enough to open.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has been quite some time since we have been in contact, Mr. Potter, and I felt it was time to
rectify the situation. I fear we may have gotten off to a rough start, what with that nasty business
with Sirius Black and now with You-Know-Who’s return. I sincerely hope we can put all that
unpleasantness behind us and start afresh as comrades and allies, Mr. Potter.

To solidify our new, friendlier relationship, I’d like to offer an olive branch. It has come to my
attention that you may have been under more stress than the usual student of Hogwarts, and as
such, your O.W.L. results may not have been exactly what you wished. Given the circumstances, I
feel it is only appropriate to approve you for immediate retesting for any subject or subjects you
wish to retake.

We all appreciate how much you do for the war effort, Mr. Potter, and hope this small gesture of
goodwill will prove our sincerity and high hopes of your ongoing success. The examiners will be at
your disposal Wednesday, August 28 through Friday, August 30, to administer any examinations
you decide to pursue. And of course, while you are in the ministry, it would be wonderful to see
you.

Once you have responded with which exams you wish to redo, the second piece of parchment will
fill in with your testing schedule, along with a personal meeting with me. Perhaps we can get you a
meet and greet with some Aurors while you are here as I’ve heard you expressed a desire to join
their number.

We look forward to seeing you at the Ministry in a few weeks, Mr. Potter. I’m certain you will do
great things!

Sincerely,
Cornelius Oswald Fudge
Minister for Magic

Harry couldn’t help the scoffs that left his lips as he read the missive. Or the hysterical laughter
that overtook him upon its conclusion. That idiot Fudge was actually trying to make nice with him
now that he knew Voldemort was back. Nasty business with Sirius? Sure, try serious miscarriage of
justice. And unpleasantness? Yeah, if he wanted to call being mocked and slandered in the papers
while also dealing with Umbridge and, oh that’s right, A BLOOD QUILL, unpleasant. It was just a
small thing. Unpleasant that. Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe the audacity of the man.
No, actually he could. Fudge was only concerned with his power, and now that the Dark Lord’s
return had been proved, he wanted to be seen at the ministry with Harry, helping Harry, getting an
in with the Aurors for Harry. He wanted Harry to be the ministry’s poster boy against Voldemort.
There was no way.

The teen had absolutely zero desire to be involved with the ministry in any way. He refused to put
himself anywhere that could make it look like he was agreeing with the minister. No. He wouldn’t
do it. He would just reply, “No, thanks,” and it would be over.

But retaking a few of his O.W.L.’s pricked at him. Yes, he had done better than he expected. In
fact, he was surprised at a few of his scores, Potions for one where he actually managed an
Exceeds Expectations. But history… He had only answered four questions when he got that vision
and Voldemort had been teaching him so much more than goblin rebellions. He knew he could do
better than a Dreadful. And while he didn’t care about Divination, he thought with all the work he
had been doing, his Transfiguration and Charms scores could be better as well. He thought about
potions as well, but the questions he had in his original exam, the ones around Polyjuice Potion
especially, had all been pretty easy. It was the brewing he was terrible at, even though he had done
better without Snape there to berate him, he still hadn’t done well. Snape wouldn’t take anybody
with less than an O and he wasn’t convinced he could manage an O on both the written and
brewing portion of the exam. In fact, depending on what potion they chose, he could very
conceivably do worse. But the other three… Now that was worth thinking about.

But was it worth leaving Voldemort before their contract was officially over? Would he even be
able to? Would he lose his magic if he tried? He thought back over the wording of the vow and
realized there weren’t really penalties specified, especially not losing his magic, so he thought it
would be safe enough. The problem would be leaving a few days early when he originally told the
Dark Lord he needed to leave September 1st. He could probably tell him he got a message from his
parents that they were returning a few days early if he had to.

Setting that problem aside, he weighed his distaste of the ministry against improved scores that
would be helpful if he managed to survive the war. And if he could put up with whatever smarmy
pandering Fudge would subject him to to get them. He thought for a few minutes more, but finally
decided that he wanted better scores. Hopefully whatever he had to deal with from Fudge wouldn’t
be as bad as he was imagining, though he still couldn’t believe the nerve of the man wanting to
parade him around after how poorly they had treated him in his fifth year, not even mentioning the
man ignoring him and his friends when they tried to tell him Sirius was innocent.

So he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and grabbed his quill to pen his response.

Dear Minister Fudge,

Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate the opportunity you have given me, and would like to
accept. I plan to redo my History of Magic, Charms, and Transfiguration exams, so if you could
finalize my schedule I would appreciate it.

He gulped and shuddered in distates as he wrote the next sentence, even as he was planning how to
request not to meet any aurors. He really didn’t want Dumbledore finding out about his excursion if
at all possible.

I am looking forward to seeing you as well. My career plans have changed, so there is no need to
arrange anything with the auror office. I would really just like to take my exams and speak to you,
sir.

Thank you again!

Sincerely,
Harry J. Potter
There, that was appropriate, and sucking up enough he thought Fudge would be pleased. He folded
up the brief note, and sent the owl winging off with his response. Now he just had to wait for the
schedule to be finalized so he could figure out how to get away from Voldemort early.

Regardless of Harry’s worries, the day passed. He was called inside less than an hour later by
Barty to rejoin the Dark Lord for his lessons. And after that, things returned to normal.

Today would apparently be the first day on which neither Voldemort nor Barty would have time to
tutor him.
“Their parents have all confirmed their appearance for the meeting this morning,” Barty just said,
piercing a slice of bacon with his fork.

Harry, biting into his freshly baked blueberry muffin perked up. This was the first time Barty and
Voldemort discussed Death Eater business in front of him. He held no illusions that he would hear
any crucial information, which was a pity, because he still hadn’t found out more about
Voldemort’s newest plot to kill him.

However, he was jolted from his hazy state as Voldemort’s dulcet tones sounded,
“Good, good. And have they all succeeded in acquiring the positions they applied for?”

“With one exception,” Barty nodded. “Apparently, the second available position in the Department
of Underage Magic was appointed internally- Alexander Flint now sits in the Department of
Foreign Affairs.”

Shifting in his seat, Harry hoped this news would not send Voldemort into a cursing spree.
However, the wizard merely frowned and said, “A pity, but we still have Cilla there and a spare in
the Foreign Affairs department might prove useful.”

To Harry’s surprise, the Dark Lord then turned to him, “As myself and Barty will be busy this
morning, I expect you to continue reading the textbooks. I believe there are two chapters in each
book left. We shall discuss them before this week ends and then continue onto your upcoming
lectures.”

This would leave him two days to read through more chapters than Harry dared to count.
Sometimes Voldemort’s pace was insane. Strangely enough, he had been able to keep up with it so
far and was even enjoying it. He doubted that he had any alternative anyway, so he nodded and
mumbled, “Yes, my Lord.”

The dark lord rose to his feet and turned to leave the dining room. However, as he reached the
door, he halted and turned around one final time. “You are not to enter the throne room.” The hissy
voice left no room to disobey, not that Harry had earnestly thought about sneaking into a Death
Eater meeting.
Voldemort swept from the room, Barty in tow. Harry waited a moment until the footsteps on the
staircase faded before moving again. He sent the empty plates and bowls into the kitchen to wash
them before turning towards his bedroom where he kept all his books.

However, he should probably use this chance first and clean Voldemort’s bedroom. He had not yet
dared doing so with the wizard constantly present as he didn’t wish to make the impression he was
snooping. Which he never would do. Without a good reason.

Shaking his head to chase the suicidal thoughts from his head, he instead entered the bedroom,
where he immediately stumbled over Nagini.

“Stupid human, are you blind?” she hissed irritatedly. “I had just fallen asleep!” she muttered, shot
him an evil look and slithered from the room.

“Sorry, Nagini,” Harry whispered, carefully not looking at the snake even as he sighed in relief.
Voldemort’s snake still made him nervous. If he at least could talk to her and apologise it would be
better, but that would be monumentally stupid. He began to strip the bed and piled the dirty sheets
in a corner. Remembering that the dirty sheets from when he had found Voldemort still were in the
hamper, Harry made a mental note to find out where to wash them and summoned a new bedspread
and duvet cover.

As he returned from the bathroom, where he had put the dirty sheets away, his eyes suddenly
landed on a bookcase he hadn’t noticed before. Of course, Voldemort had been severely injured at
the time, so he wasn’t really concerned with his surroundings, but it was odd that he had missed
something like this.

A closer look revealed a number of texts he would not have expected to see. Muggle texts, to be
exact. Books on biology, physics, and chemistry, earth and space sciences, zoology, botany, and
ecology. He even spotted what looked like a university textbook on genetics! Shocked that the dark
lord, purporter of pureblood ideology and hater of all things muggle, would have muggle books of
all things, Harry staggered to the floor under the weight of his own surprise. Even as he sat there,
his mind was feverishly working. Did the man actually read these books, or were they a cover for
something? But no, he couldn’t really imagine Voldemort doing such a thing. However, the wizard
was admittingly intelligent, so it stood to reason that he read those texts to understand his enemies.
After all, the saying went: ‘keep your friends close but your enemies even closer’ and that would
indeed be quite slytherin and much more fitting. Deciding it really wasn’t smart to continue just
sitting there when he had no idea when the dark lord would return, he got unsteadily to his feet and
began to move toward the bathroom.

But, this chance was probably one in a million. Well, perhaps not, but who knew how often
Voldemort would hold Death Eater meetings now that he was starting to feel better?. Still, he
would probably not get such a chance in the next few days at least.
Voldemort was out and not likely to return until lunch and Harry knew he would feel better if he
returned to Hogwarts with some helpful information, especially if anybody did notice his absence
from Privet Drive.

He hesitated another moment, then turned back around and walked back until he stood directly in
front of the shelf.

He began pulling books from their places and flipping through them, looking for possible hidey
holes or notes the man might have made. He wasn’t expecting to see notes written in the familiar
script of the diary his second year containing pertinent thoughts and ideals in the margins of the
books. And all the books were like that! It probably shouldn’t surprise him that to a genius like
Lord Voldemort physics, math and biologie came as easy as magical theory. Still, it was strange to
see him agree with the writings on genetics, which included a entire chapter about the dangers of
inbreeding that had been heavily annotated by the man with his speculations regarding inbreeding
being a potential explanation for the increasing number of less-powerful wizards and squibs.

It was a shocking discovery for the teen. Clearly Voldemort understood that as a half-blood, he was
powerful because of the influx of muggle blood helping to remove the detrimental effects of
inbreeding in the Gaunt line. The man made a specific reference to it, after all. But if he knew all
that, and understood that muggle science actually offered good explanations for things that
impacted the magical world, why on earth was he pushing the pureblood agenda?

As he continued to flip through the books, he was hit with more surprises. Not only was the dark
lord interested in the muggle sciences, but apparently he had some sort of fascination or fixation
with romance novels. And next to them were books on muggle psychology and autism. Harry was
confused by their presence and initially wrote it off as Voldemort just liking to know things,
regardless of their source, until he continued to the next shelf. It was full of older tomes on various
mind altering potions, with a heavy focus on amortentia and other love potions. Harry was
confused by that, but a note on a paragraph related to those being conceived under the influence of
love potions having a more difficult time relating to others, and in some cases, feeling normal
human emotions - like love! - made it clear that Voldemort was reading these books for himself!
From what the note said, he could only conclude that the dark lord had, at some point, been
concerned about his inability to feel things the way others around him seemed to and had begun
looking into any possible explanation which would allow him to offset or at least cope with his
lack of feelings. The onslaught of new information about the darkest wizard to ever plague the
magical world sent him on a tailspin. Everything he thought he knew, everything he had ever been
told, it was all ripped from its moorings and tossed about like a ship on a stormy sea. Voldemort
unable to love and believing it to be autism until he stumbled on old, forgotten research into
children born under love potions? It was shocking! Even more surprising was the tacit
confirmation that his mother had actually used a love potion on a muggle.

When he finally forced himself to put the books away, a quick tempus had him swearing under his
breath. He had been looking through Voldemort’s books for way too long. Quickly returning to his
task, he finished changing the sheets and left the bedroom. Retrieving his school books, he sat
down in the parlor, which still was his favorite room, even though now that Volemort was awake
again, he barely dared to use it and began to read the assigned chapters.

At some point, he moved to the kitchen where he prepared five baking trays of cookies, having
noticed that both Barty and Voldemort enjoyed his shortbread and his special ginger shortbread
very much. The two wizards generally seemed to prefer a tea break instead of a lunch break
anyway. He also had baked some different sorts of bread, one a chocolate pumpkin bread which
was already nearly devoured as well. Maybe, while he was sitting here anyway, he should bake a
few more and put them in the storage room?

While he had an eye on the oven, he continued reading. He had gotten quicker as he now
understood the mentioned theories and technical terms, so that was a relief. Still, going through all
the remaining chapters was a lot of work.

Soon, it smelled wonderfully as the cookies cooled in a corner on their baking tray in a corner.
When he was finished with the chapters of his DADA textbooks, he got up, summoned a plate and
arranged some of the still slightly warm shortbread cookies on it. Deciding to place it on the coffee
table in the parlor where Voldemort would find it easily, he left the kitchen only to see the wizard
ascend the broad staircase to his floor.

“Hades,” he addressed when his gleaming red eyes landed on Harry, “follow me.”
Bowing his head slightly, Harry waited for the dark lord to do just that before joining Barty who
had a happy, but slightly crazed-looking smile on his face.
“The meeting was a success?” he guessed.
The other nodded eagerly. “Yup. Very.”
Well, that sounded bad.

They entered the parlor and waited for Voldemort to take his seat in his wingback armchair. Harry
placed the plate of cookies down, before sitting down on the couch. Barty followed, but looked
slightly disappointed when Voldemort didn’t immediately reach for the plate.

“Lucius gave me this invitation for you,” Voldemort said, pulling a heavy-looking scroll from his
robe pocket. “It will be a good opportunity for you to get to know some of your true peers.”
Harry winced inwardly, but accepted the missive nonetheless. This had to be the study invitation
Lucius had talked about at his last visit, which probably meant helping Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and
Parkinson with their homework. Great.

Seeing that Voldemort was still watching him intently, he carefully pulled the silver ribbon from
the scroll and uncurled the thick parchment. It read in flowing script:

“Dear Mr. Hades Dursley,

You are cordially invited to a study session in preparation for the start of the new school term. My
son and his companions would be deLighted at your attendance. The session will commence at 10
o’clock in the morning and the floo will be open beginning at quarter till. It will remain open until
precisely five minutes past the hour. The password for entry during this time frame is “might in
magic.”

Future study sessions will be discussed during the course of the day. Please attend with any
schoolwork or materials you are currently utilizing. Lunch and tea will be provided. Should your
studies prove fruitful, we would be pleased to host you for dinner as well.

Please send a reply via our Lord’s usual channels.

Respectfully,

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.”

“I am invited tomorrow at ten,” Harry said, guessing that it was what Voldemort wanted to know.
The dark lord nodded, before gesturing lazily over to Barty. “Give your reply to Bartemius, he will
send it off. Go.”

Knowing that he had no true choice, Harry bowed slightly and went back to the kitchen where his
writing materials were still waiting for him, and wrote a quick reply. It was short and to the point:

“Dear Lord Lucius Malfoy,

Thank you for the invitation. I will arrive promptly tomorrow at 10 o’clock.

Hades Dursley.”

He was about to get up and search for Barty, when said man entered.
“You’ve written your reply?”
Harry nodded and held his letter up.
“Good,” Barty made a face. “That will be a blast.”
“Yeah, I am looking forward to it so much,” Harry agreed, making a face as well. “I was so happy
when our lord woke up and the Malfoys stopped sending their son over to check on me every other
day.”
A look of pity entered Barty’s eyes. “Bet they were disappointed that you, not Narcissa, was the
one helping our Lord. Lucius messed up a few years ago, they have been trying to regain their old
standing ever since. Not sure if Lucius will even be our Lord’s right hand man again.” He took the
scroll and said, “I will send this off quickly. I doubt that the Malfoys will want to make any
preparations for your visit, but then again, you are the valet of our Lord. Currently you and I are
the closest to him and that makes people jealous and do crazy things. Maybe they will want you to
talk favorably about them.”

Harry highly doubted that. At least, if Draco’s behavior at school was anything to go by. It was
much more likely that the boy didn’t wish to meet with him at all.
The rest of the day passed with more reading and dinner preparations. and by the time he crawled
under his blanket it was once again far too late. Even Voldemort had retired a few hours ago, while
Harry had still been studying.

Tomorrow, he would go to the Malfoys and visit his schoolyard rival, and after that he still had a
chapter in his potions text books and two in his Care of Magical Creatures.
 Many Visits
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 8: Many Visits

Harry was awoken by a loud screeching sound. Or had it been a scream? Jolting upright, he
grabbed for his wand just as the sound of a comotion could be heard from Voldemort’s adjoining
room.

Without thinking, he jumped up, flung their connecting door open and still clad in nothing but
pajamas dashed into the other’s bedroom. The sight that greeted him there was one he had never
wanted to see.

“Master! You are back to your old strength!” Bellatrix crooned, clinging to Voldemort’s comforter
which was, to Harry’s horror, the only thing that covered the snake-man currently.

“Bellatrix!” Voldemort hissed warningly, but the witch didn’t seem to hear the dangerous
undertone.
“Why has my Lord not yet called for his most loyal Bella?” the crazy witch whined.
Voldemort made an impassioned motion with his long tail, but apparently could not get it out from
under the blanket to which Bellatrix still clung.

“Bella was so worried!”

“Bellatrix,” Voldemort retorted again, “have you not taken your potions this morning?”

Harry could only stare in confusion at the scene, this was possibly the most crazy scene he had
ever witnessed.
“Potions?” the witch just echoed, making Voldemort heave a clearly long suffering sigh.
“You will unhand me now, Bellatrix,” he hissed and instinctively, Harry took a step back.

“Bellatrix, unhand me!” Voldemort commanded, but the witch didn’t budge. In fact, Harry wasn’t
sure if she even heard the comment as she was babbling praises and love confessions and one of
her hand’s had lowered to stroke the tip of Voldemort’s tail tenderly.
A spike of magic was all the warning before Bellatrix lay writhing on the floor an annoyed
Voldemort towering, on his actual feet, above her. Harry’s magic seemed to dance excitedly as
waves of the Dark Lord’s magic washed over him and he could feel the bond between them sing in
delight at the added strength it received. Still, all these sensations couldn’t distract him from the
writhing form on the floor and he had to suppress the urge to press his hands to his ears as the high
screeching rang through the room, but Voldemort didn’t withdraw the curse. In fact, Harry was
sure the dark lord was keeping her under the cruciatus much longer than he had ever done with
Harry. Maybe that meant that Voldemort had never been truly annoyed or displeased by him? It
was a strange thought that Lord Voldemort of all people could find him more tolerable than a
member of his inner circle.

Suddenly, the other door to the bedroom was flung open and Barty rushed in, dressed in only a
bathrobe, his new wand in hand.
“My lord!” he exclaimed, but cut himself off when his eyes landed on the still writhing witch.
Voldemort finally cut the spell off and the room fell silent once more, at least shortly.
“Put her on the sofa and call her husband to pick her up. And tell Rodolphus to bring her potions,”
the dark lord commanded.
Barty bowed deeply, before pulling Bellatrix to her feet quite roughly. The witch was still
twitching and unsteady on her feet, but her expression looked disturbingly happy as she mumbled
about her ‘Master’s magic’.

Harry stood a bit unsure in the room, not knowing if he should just leave silently, however, just
then Voldemort turned towards him. It was that moment, with no one else in the room, that Harry
truly realised that the wizard was back in his human form and very naked. Blushing, he quickly
lowered his head before he could see anything.

“Go and prepare breakfast for six people,” Voldemort ordered.

“Of course, my Lord,” Harry mumbled and quickly left, before the situation could grow even more
awkward.

As he entered the parlor, Bellatrix sat still a bit dazed, but at least silently on the sofa, in his spot,
Harry noticed with dismay, while Barty was kneeling in front of the fireplace and quietly talking
with somebody. Rodolphus, most likely.

He just crossed the room quickly before the crazy witch could notice him, as he wasn’t sure she
had so far and he honestly didn’t wish her to. In fact, he didn’t want to meet her or prepare
breakfast for her. Bellatrix was the reason his godfather was dead. His hand twitched around his
wand and he had to take a calming intake of air. He could not possibly attack Bellatrix Lestrange in
the midst of Voldemort’s castle, regardless of how much he wanted to.
He slammed the kitchen door behind him and leaned against it. He had not expected to meet
Bellatrix here, even though he probably should have. The urge to go back and ram a knife into her
chest while she was still out of it was nearly overwhelming. She had taken the last remaining
connection to his late parents from him. His last chance at happiness!

In front of his inner eye Sirius suddenly fell through the veil again, that look of surprise on his
handsome face.

Harry drew in another shaky breath of air and pushed the memories forcefully from his mind. It
would help nobody if he died here as well and that would happen if he betrayed himself.

Pushing away from the wall, Harry summoned pots and pans and prepared the same dishes he had
already prepared for the Malfoys, plus a plate with his Chocolate-Pumpkin Bread and some
biscuits.

With all the guests that arrived frequently, the cutting charms Voldemort had taught him really
came in handy and with the help of magic, he barely needed half an hour until he was ready to send
the prepared plates into the dining room.

He quickly charmed the used pots and pans to clean themselves, before he followed his breakfast.
However, he barely had stepped out of the kitchen, when a strong hand grabbed him. Wincing at
the sharp nails cutting into his skin, Harry looked up and for a second, rage clouded his mind. But
before his hand could twitch to his wand, he was yanked unceremoniously to the dining room.

“My lord, see whom I found here! An intruder, he snooped around near your kitchen!” Bellatrix
screeched.
Voldemort, far too calmly for Harry’s taste, lowered the tea cup he had just been sipping from,
pinning Bellatrix with a glare.
“Unhand my valet, Bellatrix. He has every right to be near the kitchen. In fact, I would be
displeased if he had been somewhere else, considering I ordered him to prepare breakfast.”

Next to Harry, Bellatrix looked confused for a moment, but when Voldemort added an angry,
“Now,” she let go of him.
Harry practically could feel her eyes drill into his back as he slowly made his way to his usual seat.

“My Lord, a simple valet to your left?” Bellatrix asked, her voice still sounding mad.
“I do not have to explain myself to you, Bellatrix. Now sit,” Voldemort retorted coldly.
Harry carefully didn’t look up, he didn’t want a second confrontation. The situation was diffused
when suddenly the roaring of the fireplace in the hallway could be heard.
“That should be your husband,” Voldemort stated, and Barty muttered a silent “Finally,” under his
breath.
“My Lord,” two voices sounded and when Harry looked up, he saw two similar looking wizards
kneeling respectfully in the doorway. They both had dark brown hair and broad shoulders, although
Harry could still see the toll of years in Azkaban had wrought on their bodies. Their expensive
robes hung over their forms and their faces were haggard.

“Rise,” Voldemort commanded imperiously and gave the one of the left a signal. “Give your wife
her potion, Rodolphus.”
The slightly older looking wizard bowed his head and came over, while his brother, Rabastan if he
remembered the infamous Daily Prophet article correctly, stayed behind.

“Here, Bella, you forgot your potion this morning” Rodolphus mumbled, holding a small vial with
a disgusting looking, brownish potion inside.
Bellatrix began to pout. “This stuff tastes disgusting. I don’t want it.”
“Bellatrix!” Voldemort said sharply, his cold voice cutting through the dining room. It was enough
to make Bellatrix take the vial, open it, and swallow the contents, though. Bellatrix blinked rapidly,
as if awaking from a deep slumber and then looked around with much clearer eyes.

“My Lord!” she suddenly exclaimed as if noticing his presence for the first time.
“Welcome back, Bellatrix,” Voldemort smirked. “And now I would appreciate it if we could
finally eat. Take a seat as well, Hades prepared enough,” the dark Lord added for Rodolphus and
Rabastan’s benefit with a wave of his hand.

The two wizards sat down and for a second a strained silence descended over the room. Harry
could practically feel the tension on the Lestranges side, even Bellatrix was unusually quiet for
once.

Finally Rodolphus cleared his throat. “My Lord, I fear the potion is quickly losing effectiveness,”
the wizard said, sounding hesitant.
“My potion is faultless,” Voldemort retorted calmly, however, his red eyes flashed warningly.
“However, there is no potion which can provide the level of healing your wife requires.”
“Is there a ritual that might help?” Rabastan Lestrange entered the conversation.
“No.” Voldemort stated matter of factly. “Bella’s problems are not only caused by the dementors.

“So there’s nothing further that can be done?” Rudolphus asked morosely.

“It is highly doubtful,” Voldemort replied. “While the dementor recovery protocols can be
successful in restoring a person who has had extended contact with dementors, it is usually most
effective only for those with five years or less of continuous exposure,” he explained. “For
example, aurors who are stationed at the prison go on six month rotations and participate in ritual
cleansing and a few months of potions after their time spent on Ekrizdis Island. Longer exposure,
one to five years on Ekrizdis in Azkaban’s confines, requires the more expansive recovery protocol
which you yourselves have experienced. You showed great improvement from the cleansing,
potion regimen, and mind healing sessions focused on stabilizing your minds and returning your
memories, both good and bad, and that improvement appears to be continuing, though not at quite
so quick a pace.”

“That is true,” Rudolphus murmured. “But we were there for the same length of time as Bella.
Why is it not helping her as much as it did us?”

“Ah, well, dear Bellatrix has other underlying conditions which are causing complications in her
recovery,” the dark lord admitted. “As you are well aware, she was not the most stable of
individuals prior to her incarceration. The Black’s questionable training practices for their young
children certainly did not improve her situation. In fact, their harsh methods of ensuring their
children’s obedience as well as their skill in dark magic seems to have exacerbated the Black
Madness in Bella’s case. Her mind was fractured before she ever stepped foot on Ekrizdis,” he said
softly. “Fourteen years in Azkaban would put a potentially irreversible strain on a health mind, let
alone one so damaged as hers,” he pointed out, his red gaze sliding to the woman who was eating a
strange amalgamation of foods, entirely unconcerned that every other person in the room was
speaking about her as if she was not present.

“So she’s damaged,” Rudolphus sighed as Rabastan closed his eyes and said, “It’s irreversible,
isn’t it?”

Voldemort nodded at his two trusted followers. “I have entered and reviewed her mind myself
through legilimency,” he said carefully. “Her mind is completely shattered. What little I could
make out of her core seemed broken and cobbled together as well. It is likely her soul will forever
show the effects of her time with the dementors, while you two will continue to improve by nature
of the fact that your minds, souls, and magic were whole and stable to begin with so there is a
foundation on which to build. Bellatrix lacks that fundamental component and so she will remain
unstable for the rest of her life,” he finished. “The best we can do is provide the stabilizing potion
which she is already taking.”

If it had been any other witch, Harry would probably feel bad for her, but it wasn’t. She had
tortured Neville’s parents into insanity. She killed her own cousin and his godfather, Sirius. Harry
wanted to smile, but managed to control himself. Bellatrix deserved her fate, he thought darkly.

“As unfortunate as this morning was,” Voldemort continued, “now that you are here I have a few
tasks for you.”
The three Lestranges bowed their heads and mumbled, “Whatever you need, my Lord,” in unison.

Harry wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to sneer or to snort. The groveling was disgusting and no
matter the understanding he might come with the Dark Lord, he would never understand this
behavior. Or how Voldemort could actually stand it.

“You may get out word that I will call upon certain individuals shortly. Now that I feel back to my
old strength…”
Harry knew that part was not quite true yet, but knew better than to point out the still-weakened
state of the Dark Lord’s core in front of his followers and just continued to listen silently. Maybe
he would actually learn something useful.
“...I intend to build our forces up again. Many positions will have to be distributed anew but I do
not doubt that I can find fitting individuals.”

“Also, there is a certain rat I would like to be brought back to me.” Voldemort’s eyes flashed for a
second in anger and Harry had to grit his teeth as a spike of pain flashed through his scar. Well, he
certainly wouldn’t shed any tears over Pettygrew’s death, that was one death he would even
celebrate, regardless of at whose hand it occurred.

“It will be done,” the Lestranges murmured in affirmation.

“See that it is,” Voldemort merely inclined his head and continued. “Lastly, I wish to take care of
the matter of the Headmaster of Durmstrang. I find myself unsatisfied with Karkaroff’s
replacement. Tell everybody who is interested in the position from the first and second rank that
they can send an application to me. And Müller might want to retire soon before I have to make
him retire.”

Harry felt himself pale as he listened to plots of murder. His hands began to shake and he knew he
needed to get out of this room where Voldemort was conversing with his inner circle plans which
would ultimately lead to the next wizarding war.

As his eyes wandered restlessly through the dining room, they fortunately landed on an old
grandfather clock in the corner and relieved when he saw the time, he spoke up.

“My Lord…”

“Ah yes,” Voldemort said, his eyes shortly flickering over to the clock as well. “You may leave.
Bartemius will take care of the dishes.”
Harry bowed his head. “Thank you, my Lord. If you get hungry before I return,” he said, and
blushed as he realized how that sounded, however, now that he had begun, he continued anyway,
“there are still biscuits and some of the pumpkin chocolate bread in the pantry. Barty should be
able to find them easily enough.”

The amused smirk was back on the dark lord’s lips. “I will remember. Now hurry, you should
never be late to an invitation.”

His eyes flickering over to the clock once more, Harry quickly got up. He had only five minutes
left, however, when he was about to leave the parlour, Voldemort’s voice held him back once
more, “And change into your other robe before you leave. The Ministry likes to visit the Malfoys
unannounced.”

So he hurried into his room, exchanged the robe with Voldemort’s emblem with the other, grabbed
his books and notes, shrunk them and ran back to the fireplace in the antichamber. Coming to a
halt, he took a calming intake of air and smoothed over his robe so as not to look completely
disheveled once arrived, even though he probably would anyway, considering his flooing skills.

Throwing a pinch of floo powder into the hearth, he called out “Malfoy Manor, might of magic”
and stepped into the hearth. The trip was short and quick and before he knew it he stumbled out
into an impressive library. Well, at least it would be impressive if he hadn’t lived in Voldemort’s
even more impressive castle for 3 weeks now. Although admittedly, the style of the two homes
were as different as night and day if the grand room was anything to go by.

While Voldemort’s castle was all medieval and runic impressiveness, with dark woods and stone
carvings, the library of Malfoy Manor reminded him more of some over exaggerated French
palace. The floor was the whitest marble he had ever seen and the high ceiling was supported by
wooden pillars into which bookshelves were carved. High above he could see a balcony adding a
second level to the room.

“That’s him?” a familiar, unpleasant voice suddenly cut through his observation.

“Creepy eyes,” he heard someone mutter, though he couldn’t determine who.

“Somehow, when you mentioned our Lord’s personal valet would be joining us, I imagined
someone more impressive.”

Schooling his face into a neutral mask, Harry turned into the direction the voice had come from.
Pansy Parkinson was watching him with a mixture between a frown and a disappointed expression
while Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Tracy Davis, Crabbe and Goyle. There also was a strange girl
Harry had never seen before and to his utter surprise, Victor Krum.

“He is his valet, not his herald,” Draco said, looking up from the textbook he was reading and
sneering at the girl.
Pansy huffed in return and turned back to her work. “As long as he is of any use to us. I still don’t
understand this defense theory.
“Which one?” Harry asked, thinking that he better start to make good with his old rivals as soon as
possible and sat down across from Pansy and the strange girl.
“This one,” Pansy sighed and pointed at a chapter Harry had long since worked through with
Voldemort. In fact it was rather basic.

“It basically sorts offensive spells into three categories; hexes, jinxes, and curses. The first two are
the weakest in comparison, but curses are always at least borderline intended to cause pain or
suffering of some kind. Usually, the amount of power required to cast curses increases based on the
severity of the result. Makes it harder for some to cast since they don’t have the power to support
the spell.
Pansy’s frown deepened. “So why are they able to cast hexes and jinxes?”
Across from Harry, Krum sighed, a sound that spoke of numerous failed times he had tried to
explain the exact same thing.
“Because they are closer to being neutral in intent, almost like charms,” he said. “Most of them
cause only temporary discomfort, like petrification or a tickling jix. Curses require the desire to
cause the pain. Intent matters. If a person can’t see themselves hurting the other, can’t want to hurt
the other, it just won’t work as well, if it works at all.”
“Take the cruciatus curse,” Harry interjected. “You have to know you’re going to cause someone
excruciating pain, and desire for them to feel that pain for the spell to work properly. Otherwise,
you might knock them off their feet for a minute,” he almost grinned thinking about his spell
knocking Bellatrix down in the ministry, even if it hadn’t caused the pain he wanted, “but the
debilitating pain just won’t happen.”

Pansy’s expression brightened and Harry sighed inwardly in relief.

“Draco, he can stay,” she said commandingly, making Draco roll his eyes.
“This is hardly your decision or would you have liked to tell our Lord otherwise?”
Pansy paled at that.
“Anyway, this theory was hardly difficult.”
“You are a good teacher,” Krum commented, frowning slightly. “Maybe you could give me some
advice as well, Mr… ?”
Harry’s eyes widened as he remembered that he had forgotten to introduce himself so far. “Hades.
Hades Dursley. But just Hades is enough. And of course I can. Although, I am not sure how I
could possibly help you. You have graduated already, right?”
Krum nodded. “I have. However, I am doing my mastery in the Dark Arts and Defensive Magic.
Part of a Mastery is to work as an assistant teacher. Unfortunately, I am not as gifted as you in
helping students understand.”

Nodding in understanding, Harry said, “I can try. Maybe you could bring a lesson plan with you
next time? But please, bring something that isn’t utterly new to me. So maybe some of those hexes
or jinxes we were just talking about?”

“Sure,” Viktor answered, “But why not using household charms in duels or something just a little
bit different.”

“Household charms in duels?” Harry parroted, confusion showing on his face.

“You’ve never heard of using household charms in a duel,” Pansy asked, clearly shocked.

“What are you, Hades, a mudblood? What sort of pureblood follower of our Lord doesn’t know
about utilizing common spells like household charms in uncommon ways to throw an opponent off
in a duel?” Draco suddenly sneered from where he sat at the other end of the table. “How did you
manage to become our Lord’s valet lacking such basic information?”

Harry’s eyes had narrowed more and more the longer Malfoy spoke. His magic began to shudder
under his skin and the bottles of ink on their table rattled ominously.

“I’ll have you know I’m a halfblood,” Harry practically growled. “But I was raised entirely
following Hogwarts curriculum,” he only just barely remembered to keep to his fictional
background, “and I’ve only just recently started learning household spells, let alone trying to figure
out ways to use them in combat situations.”

Suddenly all eyes were on Harry and he knew this was important. Regardless of what Pansy had
said earlier, this was the moment where he was accepted or not. His heartbeat quickened but he
tried to ignore the nervous sensation. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to control his magic as he
turned to Draco and told him, “Being a follower of our Lord has nothing to do with spell
knowledge. He is perfectly capable of providing books or tutors for any subject in which a follower
needs assistance. And for your information, I’m his valet because my magic was compatible with
his, which was necessary for his speedy recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, but it soon got disturbed by the strange girl. “Magic compatible with
our Lord? Impressive,” she paused for a second and Harry shivered at her intense, almost black
eyes. They stood out against her pale, almost greyish skin and sat deep in sunken sockets which
were shadowed further by her thick, raven hair. “My name is Hel Dolohov, by the way. I am a
student at Durmstrang in the core subject of Ritual Magic. I hope to become a ritual priestess one
day.”
Not really sure how to react, Harry just nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”
The girl nodded back and returned to her own school work.

The others finally did the same and Harry took the chance to pull his own textbooks and writing
utensils out as well. He enlarged everything and after going over the list of essays in his head, he
decided to start in defense. It was the subject that came easiest to him, which sounded like a safe
bet in case the Slytherin’s talked as much as the Gryffindores while learning.

He already had a structure in his head. Point one would be “Basic defensive and offensive magical
theory” followed by “Defensive jinxes in connection to the magical theory (Reflecto, Effundam,
Ebublio)”, “Offensive jinxes in connection to the magical theory (multus crepitus, ventus,
flipendo)” and finally “Practical application of defensive and offensive jinxes”.

However, the atmosphere turned out quite differently. The Slytherins worked in quiet
concentration and slowly Harry understood why their grades were generally at least one mark
better than those of Gryffindor. It was a bit uncomfortable at first, the silent, almost heavy seaming
atmosphere but soon he relaxed and found himself much quicker than usual. In contrast to
Hermione, he managed to keep to the given boundaries for the essay’s length.

However, as soon as he put his quill down, his scroll was yanked away from him.
“Let’s see how good he really is,” Pansy declared and began reading. About a quarter in the text,
the girl started pouting in a very unflattering manner and finally she put the scroll down with a
huff.
“He is good,” she declared, seeming almost personally insulted. In the next ten minutes his essay
was handed around. He didn’t mind, it was quite nice to be praised for his written work for once.
Only when Malfoy began to frown at it, did he start to worry.
“I know this script from somewhere,” the blond mused.
Suddenly on edge, Harry reached for his scroll and quickly snatched it back, as if he wanted to
check what the other boy had seen.
“I don’t know where you could have seen something I have written. After all I was homeschooled,”
he retorted as casually as possible.
Draco’s frown darkened in contemplation for a second, but then his forehead luckily smoothed out.
“You are right. It probably just looks similar to the writing of one of my house mates. I help quite a
lot with homework.”

Harry barely suppressed a snort. That was about the last thing Harry could imagine; Draco Malfoy
helping younger years just out of the goodness of his heart. If he helped anybody, Harry would bet
the blond made sure to gain something in return, that was how Slytherin’s worked after all.
“But Pansy is right,” Malfoy sighed dramatically. “It is not bad.”
“Then maybe we should plan for a more practical lesson next time we all meet,” Zabini spoke up
for the first time, an excited glint in his eyes.
Nott nodded. “Let him prove how good he is. He might not be a mudblood, but a half can’t be
much better.”

“Sure,” Draco smirked at his friend, clearly expecting to come out on top.
After all, there’s no way a tainted halfblood could be better than us pure followers of our Lord.”

The sneer the boy threw at Harry was unmistakable; Draco Malfoy was not happy about a
halfblood being so close to his beloved dark Lord. However, Harry’s competitive streak was
stroked and so met the boy’s gaze head on. “If you want, we can do that.”

“Then it’s set,” Nott announced. “You against Draco, next time.”
Snorting inwardly Harry nodded. He had successfully fought against Draco once before and was
sure he could win a second time.

His musing was interrupted by the arrival of a house elf. The tiny creature bowed low before
announcing, “Please be putting away textbooks. Lunch will arrive in a minute,” and popping away
again.

“We better do as it said,” Krum grunted. “The Malfoy’s house elves are bloody quick.”
Considering how quickly the others suddenly magiced their scrolls and books away, Harry had
guessed as much. So Harry quickly shrunk everything and put it back into his pocket. And not
second too soon either. The elf must have been very exact when she mentioned a minute. Suddenly
small plates and goblets, as well as a carafe filled with fresh pumpkin juice and a pot of steaming
tea and two huge plates of tiny sandwiches.

“This looks delicious as always,” Pansy said while Harry stared at the tiny sandwiches and the tiny
cutlery, thinking that it mainly looked rather ridiculous. However, seeing that everybody else was
praising Draco (even though the blond had certainly no part in preparing the food), he muttered
something polite as well and floated what hopefully was a simple bacon sandwich over to his plate.

“I must say,” Malfoy spoke up after a few seconds of silence, “I am curious what Hades is thinking
about our house elves' cuisine.”
“Why so?” Zabini inquired, placing the tiny silver spoon he had used to stir his tea, to the side.
“Because,” the blond smirked and Harry just knew whatever would be following, was not meant
politely, so he hastily took a bite to keep himself from snapping something impolite in return.
“Because, our Hades here is a passionate cook. He doesn’t even use much magic when he does.”
How Malfoy managed to make such a simple topic so annoying, Harry couldn’t fathom.
“How quaint,” Pansy retorted and turned her head to look at him as if she now saw him in a totally
different light. He just glared in return.
“What is so odd about cooking by hand?” Krum suddenly spoke up, his forehead marred by a deep
frown and his thick eyebrows forming a single line that shadowed his eyes.
“How should I put it?” Nott simpered in retort, “food made without magic… is it even edible?”
To Harry’s surprise Krum’s frown only darkened. “My mother cooks every Sunday for the family
and she doesn’t use much magic either. In Bulgaria we believe that the love the cook holds for
their family goes into the food when they make it by hand, so it's tradition to cook at least once a
week yourself. And I can assure you, if handmade food doesn’t taste good, the lack of magic used
isn’t the reason.” Krum ended, crossing his arms.
“And seeing that our Lord is better than he has been in years,” Hel, the strange girl, spoke up, “I
doubt Hades is a bad cook.”

Silence settled over the room as glares were exchanged over a stupid argument. Sensing that a
change of topic was in order Harry cleared his throat and asked the girl across from him, “So, you
are studying Ritual Magic? How is that… I mean, what are you learning in the subject?”
The girl blinked, but then gave him a knowing smirk and began talking and rather loudly at that as
if to give the others no chance to argue further.

“So we study magical history and astronomy pretty in depth,” Hel said. “The wizarding holidays
and overall culture are really important for rituals. Astronomy comes into play because some
rituals can only be performed during certain phases of the moon, during certain astrological signs,
or during specific astronomical events.”

“That sounds…way more complicated than I was expecting,” Harry admitted.

“Yeah,” she replied with a friendly smile. “Most people don’t realize just how much you have to
know before you can really start in ritual specifics, or even leading a ritual.”

“So have you started the ritual part yet?” he asked.

“Last year,” she said proudly. “I led two rituals with my family. They were…”

Harry tried to keep up with what the girl was talking about, but he had only just started hearing
anything about wizarding culture and most of what she said went completely over his head. He sort
of glazed over, trying to nod and look suitably interested, but really falling into thoughts about how
he resurrected Barty and wondering if he could bring anybody else back. Or if he should even try.

“What is it?” Hel’s voice suddenly pulled him out of his musing.
Blinking, Harry realized that he must have zoned out. “Um… nothing.”
The girl gave him a long, piercing look, but then changed the topic. She said, “You know, there is a
curious case actually. I heard about it from my uncle, who is in our Lord’s Inner Circle.”

Harry got a sinking feeling, he knew what was coming next. He would have to be more careful.
While Voldemort apparently believed him unable to perform any powerful, rare magic, Hel Rosier
clearly was more open minded. Or maybe, her closeness to the magical beliefs was helping her to
recognize what was truly going on.

“One of their fellow members disappeared a few weeks ago,” she continued, her black eyes never
leaving Harry’s. “They assumed he was captured by Dumbledore, seeing as he had been the newest
spy in the old man’s ranks. They say he was kissed and his body failed not too long after. However,
a bit over a week ago, that wizard suddenly found himself in front of our Lord’s castle, with no
recollection of what had brought him there and naked as the day he was born. Or reborn,” she
added after a beat of strained silence.

Harry’s mind rushed 100 miles an hour. He needed to come up with a good reply, and quickly.
Acting as if he was none the wiser would do him no good, after all, he was currently living at
Voldemort’s castle.

“You mean Barty?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

Hel just inclined her head.
“Yeah, his return was quite dramatic,” Harry mused, remembering the disturbed ritual and the
headache afterwards.
“I can imagine,” Hel nodded. “I would have loved to see a soul-resurrection. A pity our Lord has
yet to find that mage.”
“Yes,” Harry replied, meeting her gaze head on. “But I am sure he will soon enough.”

“Soul resurrection,” Nott suddenly scoffed loudly. “That’s just a legend invented by necromancers
trying to show what their magic is capable of, even though all they can actually create are inferi.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Hel said, calming, breaking off another piece of her pastry with her tiny
fork, however, Nott was not impressed.
“Then why has no one wittnessed a soul resurrection?” he shot back, crossing his arms.
“You know very well that could be for many reasons,” Draco spoke up. “Our Ministry has been
extremely thorough when they decided to ban the old arts and destroy all evidence.”
Krum nodded. “I don’t know how much truth is in the story, but my grandmother always told me
that a true soul resurrection - not the creation of an inferius - cannot be done by just any
necromancer. She said it was a skill possessed only by the Master of Death.”
“More poppycock,” Nott sneered and threw Harry a disgusted look.

“Well,” Hel suddenly said rather loudly as if to draw the attention of everybody, “if our Lord is
correct, then we will all find out what is myth and what is truth soon enough.”
Malfoy quickly nodded in agreement. “If it was this so-called Master of Death, our Lord will
definitely find them, and convert them to our cause.” Draco looked around the room slowly in a
poor imitation of his father’s usual stern glare, “Our Lord has risen again and is regaining his
strength with every passing day. Soon he will be stronger than ever before. I know from my father
that there were plans in motion when he fell and I am sure they have been picked up again.”

Fortunately this seemed to be the end of that particular discussion and everybody turned back to
their tea and biscuits. Harry as well returned his attention to his sandwich which had a strange sort
of sauce on it he could have done without. Probably made from something disgusting like flobber
worm intestines.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed that Krum was watching him and Hel curiously, but the
Bulgarian luckily stayed silent. After a minute or so Zabini cleared his throat and asked:
“Reckon we have a chance at the Quidditch Cup this year?”
Nott scoffed, “With all the new players our team needs? Unlikely.”
“Well,” Draco smirked and Harry just knew that the next thing out of the blond’s mouth would be
a jibe against him, “maybe we will get lucky and Potter will accidentally fall from his broom.”
Krum made a snorting sound. “From what I remember, that boy would even be a worthy opponent
on a broom for me.”
“Who knows, maybe a dementor will fly by?” Draco smirked viciously and Harry had to ball his
fists to keep himself from punching the blond ferret in the face. “Or the Weasel,” the blond
continued and Harry instantly stiffened, “might finally lose his grip on his jealousy and push Potter
from the broom for us,” he chuckled. “That is probably more likely.”
Harry relaxed again, that was just the usual distasteful gossip Malfoy was spouting and if one of
those two boys were jealous, Harry reckoned it was the blond and not his good friend.

The conversation continued in that vein with lighter topics like, the newest horrible gossip and
other stuff Harry didn’t really pay attention to.

After the table was cleared again, they returned to their homework. Seeing that he had already
finished his defense essay, Harry decided to start on the one for Charms, his second best class. The
others were still stuck on their first assignment and Harry really had to mentally pat Voldemort on
the back for his good teaching. Not that he would ever tell the wizard that. Voldemort certainly
would have done a lot of good as a professor and saved them all from a lot of trouble. Alas, that had
not been the man’s dream job.

He was just about to finish his essay, when a small house elf popped in.
“Dinner is being ready and served in the big dining room,” it squeaked with a bow and disappeared
so quickly that Harry hadn’t even time to look up.

“Pansy, Hel, Ladies first,” Malfoy announced and rose to take an elegant, silver dish filled with
floo powder from the mantle of the closest fireplace.
Pansy, who already had packed her school bag sauntered over to the blond, winked at him and
vanished into the fire.

Harry didn’t pay much attention as he quickly wrote his final sentence down before proceeding to
pack as well. Malfoy’s voice, however, interrupted him.
“If you are ready, Dursley?” he drawled and looking up, Harry realized that he was the only guest
left who hadn’t floo’ed through yet.
“The destination is ‘formal dining room’.”
Thanking his schoolyard rival, Harry took a pinch of the green powder as well, and pronouncing
his destination carefully, he followed the others.

The dining room he arrived in a moment later was elegant and big enough to be mistaken for a
ballroom, if not for the gigantic table in the very center. High, arched windows, framed by elegant
velvet curtains, let in the light of the sinking evening sun and on pedestals in regular intervals stood
beautifully arranged flower bouquets in delicate vases.

Letting his eyes wander over to the long table, he realized that everybody was already seated, even
Malfoy who had arrived a moment after him. Lucius sat on the head end of the table with his wife
Narcissa to his right and Draco to his left. To his utter shock, Harry noticed an empty seat directly
next to Draco, probably courtesy of the fact that he was Voldemort’s valet and none of the Malfoys
wanted to risk their Lord’s ire by offering the wrong seat.

“Hades, welcome to our home,” Mrs Malfoy rose to her feet with a warm smile.
Remembering his manners, Harry returned the smile and gave a slight bow, “Thank you for the
invitation, Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy.”
“No need to mention it,” Mrs. Malfoy replied and motioned over to the empty chair. “Please take a
seat.”

Sitting down, Harry gazed at the fine china, painted with delicate silver and golden peacocks of all
things. Even the stems of the cutlery ended in the artfully carved tail feathers of said birds, making
him wonder if the family had a connection to the animals.
“Our heraldic animal. White peacocks, we even breed them,” Lucius Malfoy spoke up as if he had
read his mind, which probably hadn’t been that difficult considering how he had been staring at the
plates.

“They are beautiful,” he quickly lied and sighed in relief when the images were suddenly covered
by food. By oddly looking and equally oddly smelling food.
“Um… this smells delicious,” he said, a bit hesitant as his stomach rolled unpleasantly.
“It is traditional wizarding cuisine,” Narcissa explained, either not noticing or ignoring Harry’s
queasy expression.

“Our Lord expressed that he wished for you to become more accustomed to the world you belong
to,” Lucius continued, making a motion for Harry to serve himself. He continued pointing at dishes
as he described the item in question, “This is doxy stew, a pastry filled with hinkypunk meat that is
very common as finger food at parties. Hearty Flobberworm Pudding, hippogriff steaks, and filled
Niffler noses. And as side dishes we have Devil's snare and bubotuber root salad as well as baked
Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

Feeling queasy at the thought of a hippogriff steak or filled Niffler noses, Harry pulled the salad
over, it sounded like the safest option, however, he regretted it instantly. The devil’s snare’s
tendrils were still moving, coiling around plump, red cherry tomatoes and the dressing looked as if
it was based on the slimy stuff flobberworms exuded. Still he took a small portion, trying to get as
many tomatoes and as few vines as possible. Unfortunately he didn’t quite manage. He also
selected one of the pastries in the hopes that the meat inside wouldn’t be as recognizable as the
filled noses.

The others filled their plates as well and Harry waited politely until Mr. Malfoy as head of the
family had taken the first bite. Not that it was a hard task, he wasn’t looking forward to the food
anyway. When the Malfoy patriarch had done so, Harry had no choice but to try the smelly food.

Piercing one of the Devil’s snare vines onto his fork he tried not to watch it twitch and lifted it to
his mouth. Unfortunately, once in his mouth, it only continued to squirm there, making his stomach
roil threateningly. He just couldn’t bite down on it, it just felt too much like a living thing, a worm
or something equally disgusting but even worms didn’t deserve to be eaten alive. In the end he just
swallowed the thing and then decided on the safe route and chose a tomato next.

Next to him, Draco was meanwhile cutting precise slices from one of the filled Niffler noses and
eating the thing with so much poise that it seemed unnatural. As he turned back to his salad, he
caught the gaze of Victor Krum, who was winking at him. “Each country has their own traditional
dishes, even in the wizarding world. We in Bulgaria for example favour a salad purely made from
flower petals.”
Thinking that a flower salad sounded much nicer than Niffler noses, Harry gave the famous seeker
a smile. “That sounds nice.”
“It is, it is,” Krum nodded. “Although our salad seems much less magical, as nothing moves,” he
chuckled.
“I think I could live with that,” Harry whispered, hoping that no Malfoy had heard him.
“And we are famous for our biscuits,” Krum continued, cutting a piece of hippogriff steak for
himself.

“I always thought we were famous for our pumpkin pastries,”Harry mused, “But it seems I have
been mistaken. Do you think I should buy a cookbook about British wizarding cuisine for our
Lord?” Harry asked aloud.

“Krum gave his own plate a doubtful look. “Has our Lord ever voiced any criticism of your
cooking?”
Harry shook his head. “No, not so far.”
Krum hummed. “Then I would say it's safe to assume that he is content with your cooking.”

“I think it is a very good idea,” Draco’s voice suddenly interrupted their silent conversation.
Apparently, the blond had at least heard the last part of it. “Our Lord is a proper pureblood, I am
sure he misses his childhood cuisine.”

Harry suppressed a snort. He very much doubted that it would be a good idea to tell Malfoy and
everybody else that Voldemort was a halfblood and was probably about as used to traditional
wizarding food as he himself.

Seeing that Malfoy was giving his still very full plate a pointed look, Harry braced himself and
took a bite from the pastry. To his relief it wasn’t as bad as the salad. The spices were good but
there was an underlying taste to it which Harry could only describe as wet, like he imagined a
mouth full of lake water would taste, but then again, that was where hinkypunks lived. He took
another bite, glad that the pastry was as miniature as the biscuits earlier had been.

“How was studying?” Narcissa suddenly asked loud enough that everybody could hear her, even
though her eyes mainly lingered on her son and Harry.

“I finished the Transfiguration essay,” Draco replied promptly, puffing up as if it was a great feat.
“And you, Hades?” Lucius suddenly addressed him, most likely to make sure that he would not get
in trouble with his Lord for letting his young valet laze around.
“I finished my Defense and Charms essays,” Harry replied quickly, earning himself a sour look
from Draco.
“Very impressive,” Mr. Malfoy nodded, though his features expressed his clear assumption that the
work would be sub-standard, and turned back to his meal. “I would like to read over your work.
You will get them back next time you come to visit. Yours as well, Draco.”
Draco flushed but only muttered a “Yes, father,” while Harry simply nodded in agreement,
knowing that he didn’t really have a choice.
The others, Harry noticed, had fallen very silent, however, as soon as Draco looked up, they all
began to talk quietly again.
“Have you planned on going to the practice room for a training duel as well?” Narcissa once again
broke the growing silence.
Before Harry could reply, Draco answered. “Next time, mother,” he said politely. “Though it will
still be unfair,” he smirked under his breath.
Harry didn’t say anything as Lucius Malfoy’s eyebrows rose up. “And why would that be, my
son?”
“Isn’t it obvious, father? He is a halfblood! A true duel would clearly be unfair. As a pureblood, I
am of much higher rank. Purebloods are more powerful and versatile than any mudblood or
halfblood could ever hope to be.”
Harry rolled his eyes, “Sure, that’s why Dumbledore is practically in charge of our world.”
“The only reason for that is that the Ministry practically bowed down to him after his defeat of the
previous dark lord, Grindelwald,” Draco said, staring down his nose at the other teen. “But
Grindelwald was a halfblood as well, so I’m sure any proper pureblood would have been able to
handle it much faster.”
“Right,” Harry said sarcastically. “Purebloods who cowered hearing his name, or joined his ranks
and bowed to him.” Harry just rolled his eyes. “I bet I can still beat you, even without pureblood
power and versatility.”
“You sure you want to bet?” Draco shot back and Harry just knew that the next thing coming out
of his mouth would be incredibly stupid.
“We already agreed on the duel,” Harry reminded the poncy blond. “Why shouldn’t we have a little
friendly competition?”
“Then it’s a deal. My pureblood power against your tainted blood,” Draco drawled.
From the corner of his eye Harry saw Lucius give a minute nod, though he masked it only a split
second later. The teen shook his head a little, knowing the elder Malfoy was certain his son would
be winning, even as he said sternly, “Draco, overconfidence has killed many a wizard.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, clearly planning on ignoring the subtle warning to temper
himself when speaking to his lord’s valet. Narcissa, ever the perfect hostess however, quickly
diffused the situation by saying, “Well, it will be a chance for both of you two hone your skills. It
is important to be well prepared in our Lord’s ranks. We are often called upon to perform to our
highest ability, even with little time to prepare,” she said diplomatically. “Regardless, Hades will be
participating in the study sessions for the foreseeable future. I trust you all will continue to make
him welcome and provide helpful instruction as to our world?”
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy,” rang out from the teens around the table
“Indeed,” Lucius spoke up again. “He has made it very clear that he expects improvement from all
of you,” his stern glare at the group of students was much more effective than Draco’s paltry
imitation earlier. “He has plans for the students of all our represented magical institutions of
learning to continue to grow our cause and it would not behoove any of you to be found lacking.”

Finally, the strange parade of dishes ended with a rather normal chocolate cake, though the frosting
did sparkle with something Harry couldn’t identify. With the interminable meal finally over,
another house elf appeared to tell them to pack up and return home.
“Don’t forget to leave your essays here,” Lucius spoke up as they were rising to leave, a house elf
popping in with their bags and cloaks. “I did promise our Lord to check your work.”
Shrugging, Harry rolled up his scrolls and handed them over to the blond, who called a house elf
and told it to take the children’s work to his office.

“The next meeting will be next week, but father or mother will send you an owl with the time,”
Draco Malfoy then said to everyone as they gathered in a nearby floo room and began to say their
goodbyes.
Hel gave her one of her wicked smiles and said, “See you next time,” and Malfoy, prince charming
he is, told him, “at least you didn’t drag us down as I expected, Hades.”

Checking to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry finally took a pinch of floo powder as well
and returned to Voldemort’s castle. He was glad to be back. The study session hadn’t been as bad
as expected, but his conversations with Hel had tired him out mentally. That girl was just too
intelligent and on top of that, Harry doubted she was as nice about it as Hermione. Hel probably
used her brain for any advantage she could get. Sighing, he threw a glance at the clock in the
hallway. It was already quarter past five, meaning he would have to prepare dinner as soon as he
had changed and put his writing utensils down. But first he had to tell Voldemort that he was back.

Turning to the great double door, he knocked politely but didn’t wait for an invitation.
Voldemort was sitting in his usual armchair by the fire, a heavy tome in his lap, however, as soon
as Harry stepped inside the room, those red eyes settled with an intense expression on him.
“You have returned just in time,” Voldemort said, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. “But first
tell me about your day at the Malfoy’s.” He motioned at the sofa across from him, giving Harry no
choice but to follow his direction.

Harry felt a little unnerved at the serpentine man’s intense stare. He carefully avoided the man’s
eyes, not wanting to invite a session of legilimency when he had no hope of hiding who he really
was, regardless of his outward appearance.

“Hades!” Voldemort's impatient voice suddenly pulled him out of his musings and he remembered
that he was supposed to be telling the dark lord about his day at his right hand man’s manor.

Licking his lips, Harry tried to decide what the wizard would be interested in, but then again, Harry
couldn’t imagine Voldemort finding his study session particularly exciting anyway.

“It was good, I guess,” he began slowly. “I wasn’t the only guest. Besides Draco there were five
others.”
Voldemort nodded. “Who? I was under the impression this was meant to be a meeting merely
between you and the young Malfoy heir. I will have to speak with Lucius about his wording of
requests,” the last sentence was a faint mutter Harry had to strain to hear.
Knowing he couldn’t pretend to have forgotten some of the names - he had spent an entire day with
the other children after all - Harry began to list them off, “Three were apparently his housemates:
Blaize Zabini, Theodor Nott, and Pansy Parkinson,” Harry couldn’t stop himself from pulling a
face.
“Ah, yes,” the dark lord retorted with a slight frown. “I have heard rumors that the young Ms.
Parkinson lacks the impressiveness her mother posesses. But you talked about five other people.
Who were the last two?”

Trying not to relax into the strangely normal conversation, Harry answered “Victor Krum and Hel
Rosier.” This was probably the closest he had actually come to holding a normal conversation with
Voldemort that didn’t involve the man teaching. Usually their talks consisted of commands or a lot
of knowledge and instructions the dark wizard unloaded on him. Not that it was necessarily bad, it
was helpful in fact, but he would never have called such instances a true conversation.

“Ah yes. Two very promising mages. Mr. Krum I intend to induct into my service at the next
initiation. I advise you to keep these new contacts, there is much you can learn about pureblood
culture from these two, more than from most British purebloods these days as our culture is far too
restricted and true understanding can hardly be won from a book. Magic needs to be experienced.”

A couple of weeks ago, Harry would not have agreed. There had never been any revelation in
learning yet another charm or simple transfiguration. However that had been before he had
witnessed and cast true magic himself. Handling the magic of Barty’s resurrection had been eye-
opening as to what all was possible. It had been a bone-deep experience.

“I worked on my defense and charms essays and talked a bit with the others,” he continued.
“What did you talk about?”
Harry shrugged. “Victor Krum told me about his mastery and teaching position and I promised
him to help him with the latter when we see each other next time. Um… Draco did say there would
be another study session…” Harry trailed off, unsure. It was never a good idea to assume as
Voldemort might view it as undermining his authority that he was already planning to visit again.
The wizard was just too volatile and self-important.
“Indeed. And Ms. Rosier?” Voldemort affirmed.

“She told me about her ritual magic study and her wish to become a magical priestess.”
Voldemort’s eyes suddenly began to gleam again and suddenly that intense, expression was back.
However, the wizard did nothing else but stare.
“My Lord?” Harry asked carefully when those crimson eyes continued to pierce into him. Upon his
words, the dark lord seemed to snap out of whatever gruesome fantasy he had likely been immersed
in.

“I was not aware that Evan’s niece possessed a spiritual gift, it comes as no great surprise however,
seeing that she was conceived when I was at the height of my power.”

Harry just blinked in confusion, feeling as if he had missed the introduction of the new topic they
were discussing. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, trying to understand what Voldemort meant by
it.

“Since so much of our magic, culture, and holidays have been banned, magic has grown steadily
weaker. Not even magic is self-sustaining.”
“It isn’t?” Harry asked, having always thought magic was something like air, something that was
just there.
“No. Magic is sustained by her children. With every spell we perform, every ritual, we give her a
bit of our magic, it is a symbiotic relationship,” Voldemort explained and despite the fact that he
had essentially studied the whole day, Harry found himself hanging on the wiard’s lips, just like
always when the Dark Lord began to talk about the origins and history of magic.
“Magic is given to us and we must offer a portion back in order to maintain balance.”

Well that sounded logical. Not that anything Voldemort had ever explained to him had not sounded
logical, Harry thought.
“Under my reign, magic was able to recuperate somewhat, which is most likely the reason that a
child with spiritual powers was born around that time. I imagine it was magic’s attempt to
strengthen herself further,” Voldemort mused before motioning for Harry to continue with his
report.

“Um right,” he said, trying to remember where he had stopped. Then he remembered what the only
important detail was he had yet to mention and fidgeting nervously. Voldemort of course instantly
noticed. “I hope you are not thinking about withholding information from me,” the wizard said
pointedly.
Harry swallowed. He certainly knew that keeping silent was not an option with Voldemort. “No, of
course not, my Lord,” he said hastily. “It's just, I kind of…” he broke off, unable to find the right
words.
“You what, Hades?”
Harry swallowed again, “Kind of agreed to a duel with Draco next week.”

Voldemort glared disapprovingly at him. “Pray tell me, what made my valet agree to a magical
duel?”
Shifting again, Harry told him truthfully, “They…”
“Who is ‘they’?” Voldemort interrupted him immediately.
“Draco, Theo and Pansy,” Harry answered, feeling very much like a traitor. “They didn’t believe
me when I said that a halfblood could be powerful as well.”
Voldemort’s scowl darkened. “I must say I am disappointed. I had not thought that you would be
so easily provoked.”
Wincing, Harry lowered his head, he felt very much like a chastised child. “I am sorry,” he
 mumbled.
Voldemort huffed. “What is done is done, however, I expect that you will beat young Draco in
your duel.”
Harry blinked, but he didn’t dare to voice out loud what he thought, which was mainly that it made
no sense that Voldemort wanted the half-blood wizard to win.
“I will not have people think I would hire a weak wizard as a personal servant.”
Harry’s confusion fled and he had to suppress a dry snort. Of course the Dark Lord’s reasoning
would have nothing to do with helping him prove the strength of their blood status, but would only
be concerned that his own power and intellect would not be questioned.

“Bartemius will help you prepare,” Voldemort ended. “You may retire now.”
Mumbling a ‘thank you’ and ‘good night’, Harry rose to his feet and picked his school bag backup.
However, before he could disappear into his small room, Voldemort stopped him one last time.
“And Hades?”
Turning around with a queasy feeling in his stomach, Harry waited for what else the Dark Lord had
to say. “Next time you decide to put yourself in danger like this, you will be punished,” though the
man’s voice was steady, almost pleasant, his eyes were vicious, just like the magic which was
roiling heavily around him, which made the comments much more sinister than the words
themselves conveyed. “Your magic belongs to me, at least for five weeks more, and I will not have
my full recovery endangered.”

A cold shiver ran down Harry’s back at the cold, ruby gaze and he nodded hastily, saying, “Yes,
my lord,” before slipping quickly into the security of his room. Suddenly feeling very exhausted,
Harry sat down on his bed and heaved a heavy sigh. What a day it had been. Too full of too many
Slytherins. Although, he had to admit that seeing Victor Krum again was nice. Back in his fourth
year he hadn’t talked much with the seeker, Krum had been a rather silent fellow. Silent, but not
stupid, like Crabbe and Goyle. He should have guessed as much after Hermione had gone with him
to the Yule Ball. Hermione would never be interested in someone completely stupid. As their
discussion had proved, Krum was an intelligent fellow, certainly had to be if he was working on a
mastery. Harry was really looking forward to helping the wizard with his lesson plans.

But that wasn’t what he should be thinking about, Harry thought as it slowly dawned on him what
exactly he had agreed too.
A duel with Draco Malfoy. Could he have been any more stupid? Malfoy had nearly recognized his
handwriting and they had hexed each other so often that if anybody was going to manage to
recognize him through his changed features it would be the blond git. However, backing out was
not an option, not after what Voldemort had said. Which meant there was only one possible
solution to his problem; he needed to improve his arsenal of spells. If he was lucky, and learned
alternatives to his trademark expelliarmus, then hopefully Malfoy wouldn’t recognize him.

And learning a few more spells would hopefully help him defeat Malfoy and keep him from
Voldemort’s ire.

Sighing again, he rubbed his eyes and decided to think about everything in more detail tomorrow,
once he had gotten a good night’s sleep. Transforming his robes into a set of pajamas, Harry
crawled under his blanket, asleep moments after his head touched his pillow.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Of Hit Wizards, Valkyries and News from Harry Potter
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 9: Of Hit Wizards, Valkyries and News from Harry Potter

“Hey kid, you in here?”

Harry blinked bleary eyes open and frowned at the person standing in the doorway, it was Barty.
Startled by the unexpected wake up call, Harry sat straight up, and pulled his wand even as he
recognized Barty. The teen huffed and lowered his arm.

“Damn it, Barty,” he whined, “Don’t scare me like that! What do you need?”

Barty just snorted and shook his head. “What do you need?” he repeated mockingly. “You
overslept. Our lord is already waiting in the dining room and wondering why breakfast hasn’t been
served yet.”

Cursing, Harry flew out of bed and hastily grabbed his wand to transform his pj’s back into the
robe he had been wearing the day before. The visit to Malfoy Manor must have exhausted him
more than he had expected.
“Shit, what time is it now?” he asked, looking around wildly.
“Half past eight. You better hurry,” Barty informed him and disappeared out of his room.

Harry didn’t waste any time pulling his trainers on and instead rushed directly into the kitchen. It
was far too late to prepare a full English breakfast, even with magic, however, he still had some
leftover biscuits and pumpkin-chocolate bread.

Flicking his wand at the kettle to get the water boiling, he entered the pantry and retrieved said
items from the runic shelf. Once back in the kitchen he placed everything down and quickly
prepared Voldemort's cup of tea and Barty’s cup of coffee.
With another flick of his wand he sent plates, cutlery and cups into the dining room and summoned
two plates to arrange the biscuits and pumpkin bread on it. Following another impulse, he also
toasted a few slices of bread and sent them into the dining room with a plate of cheese and another
with a variety of meats.

Hoping that his cobbled together choices would suffice, Harry left the kitchen and hastily made his
way into the dining room.

“I will just assume that your young age caught up with you after the excitement of yesterday,”
Voldemort greeted him with an icy look as he entered, “and that oversleeping will not become a
habit.

Flushing, Harry hastily went over to his chair. “My apologies, my Lord,” he mumbled and after
checking that Voldemort had already served himself, reached for one of the biscuits

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” the Dark Lord repeated, apparently in a foul mood without his
morning tea.

After that they ate in a rather tense silence which Harry had expected at the very beginning of his
move into Voldemort’s home but not so much anymore. Finally however, the Dark Lord
interrupted the strained silence.

“Today you will help me with some office work and afterward, I will give you a list of spells to
look up in the library,” he said and rose from the breakfast table. “Come to my personal study once
you are finished here.”

Nodding, Harry, got to his feet as well and quickly spelled the empty plates to return to the kitchen.
Not quite trusting his skill with that particular spell yet, Harry quickly followed the plates back into
the kitchen to check if they really were washing themselves. For some reason, Barty followed close
behind him.

“How was your day at Peacock Manor?” the wizard asked, leaning against the long counter. “I had
hoped for a report yesterday.”
Harry shrugged. “I was rather tired when I came back and went directly to bed,” he explained.
“So tiresome?” Barty smirked, summoning the last biscuit from the plate.
“Not really. I wasn’t the only guest. Victor Krum was nice enough,” Harry replied nonchalantly
and turned to face Barty.
“Victor Krum? The son of Borislav Krum?” the other asked, but Harry could only shrug once
again.
“Not sure,” Harry retorted.
Barty tapped his fingers as if he was trying to remember something before his expression
brightened as if he just had an epiphany. “Ah yes, I remember him. He was the TriWizard
champion for Durmstrang, back when I was at Hogwarts for our Lord.”
The wizard chuckled, sounding about as deranged as during their first unpleasant meeting after the
resurrection. “I would have liked to see him win, mainly because he is one of us, but the Potter boy
actually has some natural talent on the battlefield. More instinct than actual training, but it was
enough to gain him the cup in the end.”

Wanting to change the topic to something less dangerous, Harry made a nonchalant gesture and
told Barty “We mainly talked about teaching. He is having some trouble with his assistant position
so I offered to take a look at his lesson plans.”

Barty snorted.
Harry shot him a glare. “What's so funny about that?”
The other just shrugged. “Just the thought of your midget self helping with lesson plans.”
Throwing a glare at Barty, Harry said pointedly “I am not bad at explaining things, I’ll have you
know. I always helped my friend with defense.”

Barty lifted his eyebrows in a clear show of doubt. “I will take your word for it. But say, why do
you need to be trained anyway?” the wizard asked and examined him with a doubtful expression
from head to toe. “Somehow I doubt that our Lord has decided to hire you as bodyguard.”

Harry snorted drily, the thought of Voldemort needing a bodyguard was just too ludicrous, but then
he sighed, still annoyed with himself about the whole matter.
“I agreed to a duel with Malfoy.”
“You mean you let yourself be provoked,” Barty shot back with a shark-like grin.
Shooting another glare at the wizard, Harry nodded.

Suddenly Barty’s face fell into something sympathetic and he stepped forwards to pat his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, we will get you up to scratch. I promise you, you will hex the arrogant twat into
next week once I am through with you.”

“Thanks, but I am really not so bad at defense,” Harry repeated, but one look at Barty was enough
to realize that the wizard still didn’t believe him. Well, he would have to prove his point then.

The sudden silence behind him reminded Harry that he had merely wanted to check on the dish-
washing spell, he had taken far too long once again. So he pushed himself away from the counter
and said, “Anyway, I better go to our Lord now, I don’t want to anger him again.

“You better do that, kid. I will see you later for your training,” Barty agreed and walked ahead to
hold the kitchen door open.
“Should I come get you once I am finished with whatever our Lord needs me for?” Harry asked,
stopping in the doorway.
“Might be best, you only have a week until the duel,” the other nodded and Harry finally hurried
over to Voldemort's studdy.

The study door stood open and as Harry knocked against the shiny wood, he saw that the dark lord
had pulled out an impressive collection of plain, black folders. As he entered he got a look at the
dark lord’s profile. The man was practically a Greek statue by a Renaissance artist, an almost
perfect specimen of form… Well, if he had a nose. He shook off the strange thoughts regarding
Voldemort’s physique and looked around, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Sit,” Voldemort ordered without looking up from a scroll in front of him, Harry would have liked
to know how the wizard always knew that he was there. Maybe it came with power? After all,
Dumbledore always seemed to know when Harry stood in front of his office as well.

Pushing that thought to the side, Harry did as told and sat down behind the small table Voldemort
must have conjured just for the occasion, because he had never seen it in the room before. He
probably shouldn’t be distracted when Voldemort wished for his help in reorganizing his office. Or
maybe, he thought with a look around, he would just be tidying up; that sounded much more
logical than the idea that the wizard would actually let him look at how he organized his war.

Suddenly a large pile of what seemed to be reports landed with a dull thud in front of him, snapping
Harry back to attention.

“Now,” Voldemort said and summoned his own chair. “These are the profiles and reports of my
followers, new and old. As my fellowship is not a rowdy and unorganized band of light wizards
like Dumbledore’s Order, you will find a squad name on each one of them.”

Shocked, Harry could only stare at the large pile of reports. He hadn’t known that Voldemort had
so many followers. In fact, he hadn’t even been aware the wizard had enough to divide them into
squads. All he had ever heard about was the Inner Circle and he had guessed that if such a thing
existed, there must be something like an Outer Circle as well.
“I will only explain my system once,” Voldemort continued and he quickly returned his focus to
the man as the dark lord summoned the folders Harry had already noticed.
“Generally my army is sorted into three categories; the inner circle, which consists of my most
trusted followers who also function as advisors, the second tier and the third. I expect you have
heard about as much?”

Harry quickly nodded, not willing to tell Voldemort how little he actually knew.

“The second tier includes all squad leaders. I hope you are keeping up so far?”

Harry nodded his head. It sounded logical enough, just like everything else Voldemort had said
since he arrived at the man’s castle. In fact, Dumbledore probably should have taken a leaf from
Voldemort’s book with his own army. Vigilante group. Order. Whatever. Everything he had seen at
Grimmauld Place led Harry to believe they were seriously disorganized and it seemed like only
Dumbledore had any sort of knowledge of their plans. It was an awful lot to put on one person, and
the headmaster had his work at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot and the ICW to contend with as well.

“Every Death Eater belongs to a squad. However, the allocation is not static. For example, a wizard
who usually belongs to the squad of Interrogators will occasionally join a Battle squad if his or her
dueling skill is adequate enough. The most numerous squads are distinguished by color and most
third tier members are divided into those groups. I mostly call upon them for raids or other large-
scale attacks.”

Glancing at the folders in front of him, Harry saw that they had labels like “Red Squad” and
“Green Squad”. He would just have used different colored folders for those, however, he guessed
that a row of rainbow-colored folders would not look proper in a dark lord’s study.

“The other squads should be self-explanatory;” Voldemort continued, gesturing at a folder with the
inscription “Interrogation Squad”. “You will familiarize yourself with the members of each squad
and sort the personnel profiles and reports into their appropriate squad folders.”

Nodding in affirmation, Harry said, “Yes, my lord.”

Voldemort returned to his desk, giving Harry more space to work. Deciding to first put the folders
into some semblance of order, Harry lined them up in front of him, putting all the colors together
and then all the “type” squads together before he pulled the stack of reports closer and began with
the top one.

The name and the face looking up at him didn’t say anything to Harry, so he was pretty sure the
death eater didn’t have any relatives at Hogwarts. Fortunately the upper sheet was rather organized
and so he found the information he was looking for rather quickly.

Tristan Bubblefrog
3. Tier, Red squad.
Next came Thomas Anderson and after that Pius Blackweb. The stack seemed endless, but soon
Harry began to see a pattern in the distribution of the wizards and witches. Trying to make his task
a little more exciting, he tried to guess the tier and squad the people might belong to and it turned
out it was easier than he expected.

For example the youngest death eaters, most appearing to be in their early to late 20s, usually had
pictures that looked very self important , but they were mostly part of the third tier and were
usually assigned to a colored squad. Those who were even younger and clearly less confident
looking, were generally a part of the training squad. Then there were a few who wore blank
expressions, much like those Lucius and Snape favoured, and they were all Mind Mages. The
really scary looking ones, sort of Mad Eye Moody level scary were either Interrogators or Hit
Wizards. However, the Hit Wizards, Harry was noticing, could also be those so unassuming that
someone would pass them on the street and later not remember that they had even seen the person.

The Valkyrie squad consisted only of witches, something Harry should have known from the
beginning. To his surprise they generally looked less like Bellatrix and more like Lady Malfoy and
the squad wasn’t small either. It was led by a witch with the name Frigga Rosier, who could only
be Hel’s mother.

What really surprised Harry though was the support from foreign countries Voldemort had gained,
it made him wonder if Britain was really the only country they had to worry about. In fact, a
magical map that had been enlarged to cover the entire right wall of the office, showed just how
many countries were on board with Voldemort’s philosophies, or under his control already. Some
showed as entirely opposed, while a few seemed to be in a state of transition, though whether it was
toward or away from the dark lord’s ideals, Harry wasn’t entirely sure.

Then there were files on clan chiefs and leaders of tribes of various magical creatures. The
negotiations there didn’t seem to be going quite as well, but Harry couldn’t really figure out why
from the short sheets he was allowed to look at.

Meanwhile, Voldemort worked silently on his own stack of correspondence. It actually surprised
Harry to see the wizard answer letters himself. Somehow, Harry always had imagined that
Voldemort would just call his inner circle to him, shout orders and then let his men do the rest of
the work, but that was clearly not the case.

However, as time went by, Harry found it harder and harder to concentrate. Rubbing his forehead,
he frowned down at the file in his hands. What was wrong with him? He never had such problems
concentrating on a task. Sure, he wasn’t a studious person like Hermione, but this was unusual
even for him.

Not only had he overslept, but now he was fighting waves of tiredness, even as he was sitting
there! And it wasn’t like Binn’s monotonous droning, he was actually interested in what he was
reading. If nothing else, he’d know a bunch of names to give Dumbledore when he went back,
provided he could find a good way to get them to him without revealing just how he had gotten
them.

He squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed at his face, trying to force the tiredness aside. He even
found himself needing to stand and stretch, something, anything to get his blood flowing and blow
the cobwebs out of his head. He took mental stock of himself, wondering if perhaps Voldemort
was drawing on his magic more than usual, but the bond didn’t feel any different than it had since
he started improving. In fact, it actually seemed like he had dialed back the amount of magic he
was taking, so that certainly couldn’t be it.

“Is something the matter, Hades?”

Harry jolted so hard he knocked a file off the desk and sent the pages scattering across the floor.
Eyes wide, he quickly shook his head even as he desperately tried to come up with something to
tell the man. What on earth could he say? Was he supposed to just admit to the Dark Lord that he
was tired? If that wasn’t just asking for punishment, he didn’t know what was.

Voldemort’s newly restored eyebrows nearly disappeared into his growing hairline and Harry
belatedly realized he must have said something out loud, but he had no idea what.

“You are tired?” the Dark Lord asked, clearly skeptical after a few weeks of seeing just how much
work Hades had been able to accomplish every single day since he arrived.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said. “I think meeting all those new people yesterday…” he trailed off, not really
sure what to say, but unable to explain it to himself, let alone the other man.

“I see,” he said, still watching the teen closely. “I suppose being homeschooled does have its
disadvantages. If you are unused to socializing with many people, it is understandable that an
unexpectedly large group might cause you difficulty.”

“No!” Harry burst out, not able to explain that it was more being forced to spend time with his
schoolyard rival and a man who had tried to kill him when he was twelve. But even as he said it, he
wondered why that should bother him so. He was, after all, living with the dark lord who had tried
to kill him on numerous occasions, including when he was a defenseless baby.

But even as he tried to think about it further, pain was crashing over him, forcing him to the floor
when his legs were unable to support him.

“I do not tolerate disrespect, but it appears the lesson has yet to sink in!” Voldemort’s cold voice
sounded from somewhere above him.

Harry couldn’t answer as every muscle seemed on fire and he writhed in pain. If possible, the curse
hurt even worse than the last time Voldemort had cast it on him. He couldn’t breathe anymore and
dark spots began to dance in his vision. Then suddenly the spell was cut off and he gulped in huge
lungfuls of hair.

Coughing as his gasping breaths irritated his throat which was already sore from screams, he rolled
onto his back as the pain subsided and his vision slowly cleared. However, in contrast to the
previous two incidents he had no time to feel like an errant child as he realized just why exactly the
dark lord had ended the curse.

“I see you finally found an opportunity to slip away from the old fool, my spy.”

From the corner of his eye Harry saw Voldemort walk past him and a moment later he ordered,
“Sit.”
The rustling of robes sounded and a minute of silence ensued before Voldemort spoke up again.

“What news of Dumbledore, Hogwarts, and Harry Potter do you bring me, Severus?” Voldemort
asked.

Down on the floor, Harry stiffened and quickly pushed himself back into a sitting position.
Somehow, he realized, despite having heard Voldemort order Lucius to tell Snape to report to him,
Harry hadn’t really expected to meet the man here. Maybe he had thought Voldemort wouldn’t
conduct his interrogation with him in the same room.

As silently as possible, he pushed himself back up and returned to his chair and desk, trying to be as
quiet and unobtrusive as possible. He had no desire to garner the potion master’s attention. If
anyone would be able to recognize him, even with his altered appearance, it would be the man who
hated him, saw only James Potter in him, and knew his every tell. There was another rustling of
robes, as if someone shifted nervously. He figured it was most likely Snape because he couldn’t
imagine Voldemort shifting nervously, but then the potion master began to speak.

“Despite the grievous end of Potter’s last term,” Snape began and despite knowing better, Harry’s
eyes flickered over to watch the stiff, black back, “Dumbledore has changed nothing concerning
his summer arrangements. As usual, he is secluded in his relatives house, allowing himself to be
doted upon by whichever of his relatives Dumbledore has seen fit to place him with, not that the
headmaster has been at all forthcoming about just who these relatives are.”

At this, Harry had to bite his tongue before anything tremendously stupid could slip past his lips.

“Are there any plans to escort the boy to the house of his blood-traitor friend?”
“Not that I am aware of. However, even if they don’t bring him to the Burrow, they will have to
escort him to Diagon Alley at some point, unless they choose to send someone else for his school
things, which I can’t see the spoiled brat accepting quietly. I’m sure he’ll want the opportunity to
see his adoring public, and make the papers, no doubt. And even if he doesn’t do his shopping,
he’ll need to be taken to Kings Cross on September first.”

Inwardly, Harry sighed in relief. He hadn’t thought about what to tell Dumbledore when he found
out Harry had been gone nearly the entire summer. Truthfully, there probably wasn’t a believable
excuse he could give. Fortunately however, it seemed as if an excuse wouldn’t be needed. If push
came to shove and he couldn’t get away in time to meet whatever order member was sent to pick
him up, he could just tell them the Dursleys had taken him to Diagon Alley a day earlier so that he
could buy his school supplies.
“True, true,” Voldemort mused and something in his voice made Harry even more nervous.
“However, I find it hard to believe that Dumbledore has no plans concerning the boy after our little
encounter at the Ministry.”

“Dumbledore has made no mention of specific plans, though he did mention some… unrest… at
the ministry after the events. Fudge is apparently under fire for his staunch refusal to recognize
your original return, and some of his more vocal opponents are utilizing the situation as a
springboard to question other of his recent decisions, appointing Delores Umbridge to teach
Defense last year, among others. I believe the man tried to get Dumbledore to release the Potter
brat into ministry custody, saying it was for the boy’s protection, while mainly desiring it to
bolster his own fading credibility, but naturally Dumbledore refused.” There was another pause
before the man continued, “There were requests for interviews, both from Madam Bones and
Rufus Scrimgeour at the ministry for the auror reports, as well as from several news publications
and the Wizarding Wireless Network, however Dumbledore refused to allow Potter to talk to
anyone. I’m not sure he even told the boy anyone had asked to speak to him, or I’m certain he
would have thrown a strop to accept the interviews. He does so love his fame,” the man sneered.

Harry had to draw on every ounce of “stay in your cupboard, make no noise, and pretend you don’t
exist” he had ever learned in the Dursleys tender care to not jump up and call the man a dirty rotten
liar. He hated his fame! And while he wasn’t thrilled with the idea that he would have had to stay
with the Dursleys the entire vacation, he was more than appreciative about not having to give any
interviews. Though the requests from Madam Bones and Mr. Scrimgeour he probably should have
known about. They were part of magical law enforcement and it might not look very good if he
didn’t cooperate. Mentally shrugging, thinking that Dumbledore understood such things better than
he did, Harry managed to control himself and return his attention to the conversation.

There was a beat of silence, before the Dark Lord ordered “You will keep your eyes and ears open
and inform me as soon as news of any kind regarding Harry Potter reaches you. Of any kind, do I
make myself clear, Severus?”
“Yes, my Lord,” the other responded.

“Any other news from the order?” Voldemort questioned. “Are they planning anything that could
adversely impact our plans?”

Harry didn’t need to see his professor’s face to know the wizard was sneering.
“The order is as disorganized as usual. They meet regularly once a week and exchange reports
about missions that lead nowhere,” he answered. “They are entirely reactionary, only coming up
with something after you’ve already struck, mainly because of the aurors who are called in, who
then pass on the word to the rest of the plebeians.”

“Well, all the better for us,” Voldemort commented neutrally. “Is the old coot still hoping for an
alliance with the werewolves and giants?” Voldemort asked.
Snape sniffed audibly, “He has given up on the giants, however, Lupin is still pestering the
werewolves.”
“Too bad that they have all sworn their loyalty to Greyback,” the Dark Lord said, a hint of a smirk
crossing his face, “and that Greyback is sworn to me.” He sat for a few moments, contemplating
his spy’s words before continuing, “The old fool’s plans clearly have no bearing on us at this time,
however, there is still the matter of Harry Potter and outside of that, Hogwarts in general. Both
have been a thorn in my side for far too long.”

The Dark Lord began to tap his fingers on the armrest of his chair as his momentary happiness in
the order’s ineffectiveness deflated under the weight of his displeasure and Harry stiffened once
again. It struck the teen as ironic in a morbid way that this year he would actually be present while
the newest plan to kill him was made.

“There may be a way to deal with both once and for all,” Voldemort finally said. “You may tell
your godson that if he shows competence in his duel he may get the chance to prove himself before
his majority. I believe he has voiced such a desire.”

“He has, my lord,” Snape nodded, though a hint of confusion flitted across his face before it was
hidden once more behind his inscrutable mask. “Forgive me, my lord, but what duel are you
speaking of?”

“There was a small disagreement at a study session held by Mr. Malfoy and his peers with my
valet,” Voldemort waved a negligent hand toward the teen who was faking busyness, eyes glued to
the sheets in front of him. “They decided to resolve the situation with a training duel. And while I
understand your concern for your godson, Severus, that does not preclude you from your duty,” he
continued. “It is time young Mr. Malfoy learned to step out of his father’s shadow and begin to
prove himself. You will pass on the message.”

“I will do so, my Lord,” Snape affirmed, inclining his head subserviently.

“You are dismissed.”

Harry, who had looked up when the two were no longer looking directly at him, quickly turned
back to his stack of papers and pretended to be busy while his mind was racing. Voldemort was
offering the teen a chance to prove himself? Did he not want Harry to win? Surely it would reflect
badly on him if his valet was unable to defeat the poncy blond? And was he thinking about
marking Draco Malfoy while the prat was still at school? But what else could the Dark Lord have
meant by ‘a chance to prove himself? If that was the case, he would have to tell Dumbledore. The
rushing of the fireplace in the antichamber announced his professor’s departure and he heaved an
inaudible sigh of relief.

Voldemort scowled for another moment at the deserted seat across from him, before he seemingly
suddenly snapped out of it.
“Hades, how far along are you with the reports?”
“About halfway through, my Lord,” Harry answered hastily, pushing all his worries about
Voldemort and the future plans to kill him from his mind. He would think about them later when
he was back in the security of his small room. Harry pulled another report from the stack and
quickly continued working.
“Good,” Voldemort retorted and after another moment of scowling, returned to his own work.

Harry’s mind was swirling as he returned to sorting the files. He barely registered anything he read
as the conversation he had just heard replayed over and over in his mind. So far he hadn’t thought
about his friends outside the question of what they would say if they ever found out how he had
spent his holidays. He had completely forgotten that it was kind of a tradition that he spent at least
the last two weeks at the Burrow, visiting Ron and his family. He should have been worrying
about this last half of his holidays, but according to Snape, the git, no one had noticed his absence
yet.

Surely his professor couldn’t have been telling the truth? His birthday had passed by now, someone
must have at least noticed that he hadn’t answered any birthday-wishes? He always answered his
friends after all. That meant Snape was lying, but hell would freeze over before he would tell
Voldemort as much.

However, this made him realize that he needed to come up with a good explanation before he
returned to Hogwarts. He had no idea where he should even start and Voldemort’s private study
was certainly not the place to think about that particular problem. So giving himself a mental kick
in the butt, he got back to his work once again.

He worked for another hour until Barty poked his head in and asked, “My Lord, I was looking for
Hades. It’s already past lunch - ”
“He is here, sorting through the reports from your fellow Death Eaters,” Voldemort interrupted
him.
“Oh,” the other wizard retorted, his face morphing into an almost crestfallen expression.
“He should be finished in another half hour, if your stomach will survive that long without
devouring itself?”
“Of course, my Lord,” Barty bowed and left again.

Voldemort had been fairly accurate with his estimation. Barely 35 minutes had passed when Harry
finally added the last report to the correct folder.
“I am finished, my Lord,” he said, standing up.
“Then go and feed our dear Bartemius,” Voldemort responded without even looking up from his
own pile of correspondence.

Glad to get away from the desk after 3 hours of sitting, Harry nodded and quickly made his way
into the kitchen where he proceeded to whip up a quick lunch of spaghetti with a light, creamy
sauce. Once he was finished, he stuck his head outside the door in hopes of finding Barty, but
instead caught sight of Voldemort making his way over to his dining room.

Barty was already sitting in his usual chair as Harry followed his plates inside a moment later.
“Bartemius,” Voldemort spoke up once their plates were nearly empty. “I have prepared a list with
books in which Hades might find useful spells for his duel against the Malfoy heir. You will
accompany him to the library and make sure he finds the correct rooms for his research. And show
him the training rooms; it isn’t necessary for him to continue to practice cascading charms and such
in my private quarters.”

So Voldemort had noticed that. Blushing, Harry quickly looked down to his lonely last noodle.
“No problem, my Lord. We will get him up to scratch for his duel with the little peacock,” Barty
responded with a shark-like grin.
“Please refrain from insulting my right hand man’s heir,” Voldemort said but didn’t sound truly
concerned about the insult as he once again rose to his feet.

They waited until the Dark Lord had left for his office once more, before sending the dirty plates to
the kitchen.
“Let’s go,” Barty said and let the way into the hallway and over to the staircase. They passed two
levels of quarters.

“Who is supposed to live here?” Harry asked with a look down the empty hallway. He had
wondered about the many quarters already when he was taking care of Voldemort in the beginning
of his visit. “This isn’t a school or something like that, right? Only, I know Hogwarts is a castle,
and this seems awfully similar to the descriptions my parents gave me.”
Barty shook his head. “No, it isn’t,” Barty chuckled, “The castle was originally built for the Lord
of Magic after a powerful and well-known seer called Walpurgis made a prophecy regarding said
lord. Any person marked by magic as her Lord has therefore been able to access the castle and use
it as they liked. One of the biggest draws to the castle is the library since it has ages of knowledge
contained within that have been protected from any purging, banning, or destruction of magical
governments. Once a book is added to the library, it is protected, so even if a Lord of Magic
wanted to destroy a book, they would be completely unable to,” Barty sent a wry smile at the teen,
“But you’ll see for yourself when we get there. “And while Salazar Slytherin, the first Lord of
Magic to live in this castle, had many children, he didn’t have enough to fill this many rooms,” he
explained. “Our Lord modified this floor to be quarters for the trainees and new recruits. A lot of
young and unmarried death eaters lived here in the past. It was a form of payment for their
services. They got lodging, training, and three free meals a day. That is quite a lot for someone
who has just graduated and doesn’t earn more than the paltry sum the Ministry or St. Mungo’s
pays their trainees.”
“Huh,” Harry exclaimed in surprise, he hadn’t thought that Voldemort would be quite so generous.
And social.
As if knowing what he was thinking, Barty chuckled. “Our Lord has many sides. These quarters
will be in use soon. Our Lord is planning to rebuild his army, which means trainees will once again
move in.”

Blushing, Harry nodded. He could honestly agree with Barty’s assessment, even though none of his
friends would ever believe him if he were to tell them about it.
The wizard sighed and his voice gained a dreamy note. “It will be just like old times,” he declared.
“The castle will once again be full of devoted young mages who wish to fight for our cause.”
Harry remembered the many files of recruits he had sorted earlier and tried to imagine all those
people moving in with the Dark Lord, but somehow couldn’t manage it. Thinking that it was better
to stay silent before he could put his foot in it again, he instead simply followed the other down
another long corridor. Then finally they arrived on the right level.

“Here we are,” Barty said as candles flickered to life. “This whole level is our Lord’s library.”

“Now,” Barty said, gesturing to the large space. “In contrast to what ministries and governments or
educational institutions would like to have their people believe, you will find no restricted
knowledge here and many more diverse subjects,” he began, gesturing to the nearest room. Harry
listened obediently, acting as if he hadn’t looked at each of these rooms by himself weeks ago.
“Usually two related topics share a room, but some subjects have a room to themselves.”

Nodding, Harry eyed the plaque with the inscription “Healing” on the door next to them.

“As you can see, the plaque on the door will tell you what is contained within the room,” he
pointed out, rather unnecessarily, Harry thought. “I would suggest you visit the Offensive and
Defensive magic rooms back there,” Barty continued genially. “And perhaps Charms and
Transfiguration as well. Many spells from those disciplines translate well to dueling if you are
creative enough to use them, but I’m sure if you decide to read up on some other topic later, our
Lord won’t mind.”

Harry found Barty’s commentary a little patronizing, but he didn’t say anything. Obviously the
Dark Lord thought Harry was completely inexperienced when it came to dueling and had probably
instructed Barty as such. But he felt like a child being told that Offensive and Defensive magics
were a good place to start when he had worked that out on his own, thank you very much. Huffing
a bit, he made his way along the labeled doors, vaguely remembering that the more battle-related
magics were clustered near and along the back.

“Do you have the list our Lord gave you?” Barty’s voice pulled him out of his musings and he
quickly nodded and fumbled around in his robe’s pocket.
“Here,” he said, handing the piece of paper over.

The other studied it for a moment, before raising his eyebrows. “You certainly have impressed
him. No wonder I guess.”
Frowning, Harry was about to ask what the wizard meant, when Barty already marched ahead.

“Besides the fact that most topics have their rooms here, the library is organized like any other.
Meaning alphabetically.”
Snorting, Harry quipped back, “You know, I might not be Ravenclaw material, but I have been at a
library once or twice.”
“Once or twice, yeah?” Barty snickered and Harry shot him a glare.

Barty sobered then and turned back to the list. “Okay, our Lord has not only written books down
for you, but also a few spells,” he said and shuddered. “If you manage to learn even half of these, I
will tip my hat to you.”

Blinking, Harry raised himself on his tiptoes and glanced over Barty’s shoulders. “Are they so
difficult?”
The other snorted, “These are the unforgivables of the so-called Light Arts.”
“These are like the Unforgivables?” Harry echoed, instantly growing panicked. He didn’t want to
learn illegal magic. Even if he was slowly coming to realize that what the political light called
Dark Arts were not the personification of evil, that still didn’t mean that he wanted to risk getting
in more trouble with the Ministry than he had already been in. He doubted that Dumbeldore would
be able to get him off so easily a second time, especially considering that Fudge was probably even
more annoyed with him than the previous summer.

“Don’t worry, none of them are illegal,” Barty scoffed. “Of course not, after all, they are all
considered light, regardless if they can kill somebody or not. Don’t forget, Hades, with enough
creativity, any spell can be used to harm, or even kill. Take, for example, wingardium leviosa.
Every first year student at Hogwarts, and many other magical institutions, learns that spell. You
probably learned it similar to how Hogwarts teaches it, by levitating a feather.”

“Yeah, that is how I learned it,” Harry replied, smiling as he thought about Seamus exploding his
feather and Ron and Hermione bickering over the pronunciation which led to their eventual
friendship.

“Well, think about this,” Barty continued. “You could levitate something heavy and then let it go
when it was above a person, knocking them out or killing them.”

Harry had to fight the smile that wanted to break onto his face as he remembered Ron using the
spell to knock out the troll on Halloween. He couldn’t explain the situation to Barty given his
supposed homeschooling, so, with much effort, he managed to control his facial muscles.

“Alternatively, you could levitate the person high up in the air and let them fall, which could also
serious injure or kill them,” Barty said philosophically. “It’s all in the intent. Sure, you you can
levitate stuff to make your daily life easier, but you can also use it to cause harm.”

“Right,” Harry nodded, remembering Voldemort talking about intent in one of their early lessons.
Though he wasn’t sure if that reassured him much. But he was also very aware that refusing to
learn these spells was not an option, not after how he had challenged Malfoy.

“Our Lord has written a few specific spells down that he wants you to learn,” Barty continued.
“Piertotum locomotor, fidelium aqua and fidelium plantea. And based on what he has listed, I can
think of a few others for you to look at as well. He doesn’t have it listed, but you should probably
learn the Patronus charm as well. People don’t think about it since it’s mainly for dementors, but it
can also be a good surprise if you can cast a corporeal one.”

Harry didn’t know any of the spells, but couldn’t help the smug smirk when Barty mentioned the
Patronus. Pulling his wand, he submersed himself in the same feelings of freedom that fuelled his
most recent casting and whispered, “Expecto Patronum.”

His new form, that of a thestral, cantered out of his wand, similar to how Prongs had always
charged from his wand, and circled Barty, whose mouth had dropped open in awe.

“Merlin, kid!” he said. “How’d you learn that? Thought you said your parents followed the
Hogwarts curriculum.”

Harry blushed, even as his mind fed him some ideas on how to spin the story to fit his supposed
background.

“Dad got permission to take me to Azkaban once,” Harry said shyly. “I passed out when the first
dementor came close. My godfather decided I needed to know how to protect myself, so he taught
me on the sly,” he finished, thinking Remus would find this story amusing, even as his heart broke
over the thought of Sirius. He’d learn whatever magic Voldemort wanted, so long as he could get
away safely. And once he was gone, he’d be able to bring Sirius back. He’d have his godfather
back.

“I propose we start with piertotum locomotor first. Its magical theory is similar to that of the
fidelium charms but much more concentrated which makes it easier to cast,” Barty said and turned
into an aisle to their left. Harry watched as he began to scan the shelves, clearly searching for a
specific book. It took Barty a moment, but then he found the tome in question and pulled it out.
The book was thick and clearly old, bound in dark brown leather and the title was printed in golden
lettering on it.

“We better take this to one of the training rooms,” Barty said and walked past Harry, clearly
expecting Harry to follow. They walked back to the staircase and walked down another two flights.
Barty didn’t go far and simply pushed the first door to their right open.

The room reminded him of a very empty muggle gym. There wasn’t much inside aside from a row
of what looked like dummies with wands and a wall with mirrors, probably to practice wand
movements and such.

Barty waved his wand and two armchairs appeared.

“I think it will be best if you read the chapter about Piertotum Locomotor first. Once you are
through I will quiz you about what you have read about it’s theory and then we will start with the
actual practice.”

Harry nodded and took the book from Barty. He scanned the table of contents and found it in a
chapter about controlling spells. The title sent shivers down Harry’s spine, it reminded him far too
much of the imperius curse, but he started reading nonetheless.

Luckily his imagination was much worse than what the spell could actually do. Piertotum
locomotor as well as fidelium aqua and fidelium plantea belonged to a category of spells that
allowed the wielder to control his or her surroundings. In the case of Piertotum locomotor the
caster gained control over unnatural things, like statues or even furniture, while fidelium aqua
gathered a great amount of water from the surroundings to be used as shield or weapon.

The spell Dumbledore had used during the fight in the Ministry Atrium came to his mind, it could
very well have been that one, however, Dumbledore had cast silently back then so he couldn’t be
sure.

Fidelium plantea worked very similarly, only that it would give him control over the plant life,
going so far to even increase their growth to be of better use.

All three spells were described as very difficult, as they did not only require a lot of concentration
but also a high amount of magic that in fact made most wizards and witches unable to cast them
properly. And of course the amount of magic needed grew with the size and the number of
controlled objects. At least the wand movements for all three spells looked only slightly more
difficult than what he was used to from Hogwarts.

When he had finally finished reading, he closed the book and told Barty, “I am done.”
“Well, kid, tell me what the Piertotum Locomotor as well as the fidelium charms are designed to
do.”

Relieved that Barty was starting with an easy question, Harry answered, “All three spells give the
mage control over non-sentient objects or plants.”

“How?” Barty pressed.

“By manipulating the essence of the object or plant, similar to how a puppeteer controls a
marionette’s strings,” Harry replied promptly.

“And how do you find their essence?” he asked.

Harry had to stop and think about that one. The book hadn’t gone into much detail, mainly only
speaking of the control itself, not how to identify what to control. “Well,” he said slowly, still
thinking things through, “Piertotum Locomotor gives the essence of life to an inanimate object, so
you’re focusing on that life to control whatever thing you’ve chosen to control.” He paused, trying
to figure out how that would work the two fidelium charms. “For the plants, they are also alive, so
you grasp onto that life. But it’s a bit different from real living, like a human or creature, and even
false living, like the animated object, so it’s probably better to start with the object since it’s closest
to real life, then move to plantae, and then to aqua, which is not living, though it, too, teems with
life, and is the source of life on our planet.”

“Well if there isn’t a Ravenclaw hiding somewhere that head of yours, after all,” Barty grinned at
him and nodded before asking another question.
“Alright! Now tell me why your average friend will not be able to successfully cast one of these
spells, regardless of how much they practice.”
“Because you need a stronger than average magical core.”

Barty hummed in affirmation. “Well, I think we can start teaching you the wand movement of the
first spell,” he said and it sounded as if he was changing to lecture-mode. “Piertotum Locomotor is
the easiest in the category of controlling spells, because the objects you cast this spell on are
usually very sturdy and not alive at all. By choosing smaller objects you can make the task even
easier for yourself.” He rose to his feet and muttered, “Let’s see if we can get this right.”

Harry wondered if Barty was even able to cast the spells Voldemort intended for him to learn.
Book smarts did not necessarily equate to casting prowess or power. As the text, and Barty’s
questions, indicated, a person did need a larger than average magical core to successfully use them.
He had no idea how one would test their magical core size, which could be described in terms of
magical power, and he wasn’t sure if it was polite to ask someone about their power? Level? Core
Size? He didn’t even know exactly how to refer to it, so how was he supposed to ask?

Barty motioned for him to get up and vanished the armchairs, before rummaging around in his
pocket for something. After a moment, he pulled out a knight that looked as if it belonged to
Voldemort’s chess set and enlarged it until it was maybe as tall as Harry’s hand.

“In instances where you have only one object you intend to gain control over,” he began, “you
simply have to point your wand at it and speak the incantation.” The grin reappeared on the Death
Eater’s face and he added, “That's the easy part. Much more important, which I can confirm from
casting similar spells, is that you keep your goal firmly fixed in your mind.”

“Which is?” Harry asked before he could think about it properly.

Barty threw him an exasperated look and rolled his eyes. “Gaining control over it, of course.”
Feeling very stupid, Harry blushed in embarrasment and motioned for his tutor to continue.
“With most spells you transfer a small pulse of magic while you cast the spell. If you concentrate
enough, you can even feel it leave your body through your wand hand. For a controlling spell of
this category however, you need to fill the object with a steady stream of your magic while
incanting in the beginning, and keep a light connection even after the casting. There are tales
however, that very powerful wizards with enough practice, have managed to sever the connection
and the spell will still hold.”

Blinking, Harry had to admit that sounded awesome, like calling for backup in a duel. If he
managed to cast the spell in a manner that would make the object act on its own, it would mean he
would be free to cast other spells and his opponent would need to concentrate on more than just
one front.

“Want to give it a try?”

Harry nodded and pulled his wand out. “Piertotum Locomotor!” he said clearly.
Barty had been correct when he said that for a spell of this calibre, he would be able to feel his
magic leave his body. He shuddered a little at the odd sensation, but didn’t move his wand away.
A second passed, then the knight began to tremble. Harry concentrated on what he wanted the
figure to do.

‘Ride ahead,” he chanted inwardly. ‘Ride ahead.’

The trembling intensified, however, just as he believed the figure would start moving, it fell to the
side and then froze completely again, his magic disconnecting.

“Well, you certainly understood the theory,” Barty mused, picking the figurine up again.
“However, you need to put more magic behind your spell. Try again.”

Harry concentrated again, before repeating the spell. Once again the knight began to tremble and
once again the figurine fell over before it stopped moving completely.
Barty cocked his head, clearly deep in thought, while Harry sighed in frustration.
“Don’t give up yet, this is not a simple lumos you’re trying to perform here,” he scolded, before
adding in a musing voice, “With more complex arts, intent is an important part of the more
powerful spell. Take the cruciatus curse for example,” Harry shuddered at the mention of the
violent curse, “the caster must wholeheartedly wish to inflict pain. He must desire to hear the
screams and see his victim writhe in unimaginable agony…”

“I get it, I get it!” Harry interrupted, feeling his stomach flip unpleasantly, pictures of scenes from
the horrible fight at the Department of Mysteries flooding his mind.
Across from him, Barty chuckled. “A bit sensitive, are we, Hades? You should get rid of that
squeamishness of yours or you will never get far in our Lord’s ranks.”

“Well, I am here to help him heal after that horrible curse,” he snapped defensively, “Not to
become yet another minion who can only torture others, he has enough of those.”
Barty chuckled. “True enough. However, he will also not be happy if you fall unconscious at your
first Death Eater meeting.”
Harry just shrugged. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I am just a valet and in a couple of
weeks I have to go home.”
“But you intend to come back when you get another chance?” Barty inquired, giving him a sharp
look.
“Of course I do!” Harry retorted hastily. “But for that my parents have to go on holiday again and
we are not such a rich family that we can do that multiple times a year,” he lied quickly, because
really, he was betraying his friends enough already, he couldn’t just return for the winter holidays,
regardless of how much new, interesting magic he was learning here.

“Well, I am sure we will see each other again before you turn 17. Now, what were you trying to
make the chess piece do?” he asked.

“Ride forward,” Harry said helplessly. He didn’t know how it could be any less difficult.

“Oh, no, that won’t do at all,” Barty said, shaking his head. “Ok, you can cast the patronus; similar
concept here. You need to fill yourself up with the desire for the object to do whatever you’re
asking it to accomplish,” he explained. “You have to picture it very clearly, and ‘ride forward’ isn’t
specific enough. Does it ride forward a few inches, a mile, forever? You had to focus on a specific
memory and let it fill you up for the patronus, you have to be specific and let it fill you up here,
too. Alright, try again,” Barty instructed and righted the chess piece again.

Harry tried again. And again. And again, but always with the same result. Finally, after what felt
like hours Barty sighed heavily and let himself fall back on the matted floor.
“I give up. We will have to ask our Lord if he knows where your problem lies.”
“Maybe I am just too weak magically to cast these spells?” Harry suggested, shrinking the knight
to its original size.
Barty waved him off. “Our Lord would not have given you these spells if he didn’t truly believe
you could perform them. He has a good intuition for such things and the Piertotum Locomotor was
still the easiest one on the list, so you should at the very least be capable of casting that one.”

Barty got back to his feet and said, “Let’s return to his quarters for now. You probably need to start
preparing dinner soon anyway and I believe our Lord is planning an inner circle and Second tier
meeting later this evening as well.”

Instantly, Harry perked up.This would be the first inner circle meeting since his arrival at the Dark
Lord’s castle, well, he thought so anyway. He had no idea who all had attended the first meeting
called. While Dumbledore and the order hadn’t noticed his disappearance yet and he didn’t
necessarily need information to prove that he had not changed sides or something equally crazy, he
still wanted to know what Lord Voldemort would be discussing with his Death Eaters. Maybe he
would have a chance to sneak in this time? He should think about a way to get in, however with
Barty already giving him a strange look he shook away his thoughts.

“Does that mean I have to prepare canapes?” he therefore asked, getting to his feet as well.
Barty snorted. “Unlikely. Maybe a round of Fire Whiskey. Now come on.”

They left the training room and returned to Voldemort’s private floor. Casting a tempus, Harry
realized that Barty had been correct and he really needed to start with dinner preparations, so he
knocked softly at the door to the parlor, before entering. Voldemort was reading in his favourite
armchair and patting Nagini’s head. She had coiled most of her long body around the armchair.

“Hades,” Voldemort greeted him without looking up from his book. “Is there something I can help
you with?”
“I just wanted to ask if I should make something specific for dinner. And I heard that there would
be a death eater meeting this evening…?” He trailed off, not even really knowing what he wanted
to know about the meeting. He was unlikely to hear anything unless he could successfully sneak in.

“Yes, indeed,” Voldemort affirmed. “And for your other question, some soup and bread will be
enough for today and there will be no need to serve it in the dining room. I shall eat when I find
time between my preparations.”

“I will get started then, my Lord,” he said and began to turn back towards the door, but he suddenly
paused, pondering if he should ask for advice on his difficulty with Piertotum Locomotor or if it
would be better to leave Voldemort to his reading.

Before he could make up his mind however, the wizard was already asking, “Is there anything else
you require, Hades?”
Flushing, Harry’s mouth decided to speak before his brain could catch up.
“Yes, actually.”
“Oh?” Voldemort hummed, closing his book with a soft noise.
“I had some difficulty with Piertotum Locomotor,” Harry admitted.

Voldemort sent his book back to one of the many bookshelves and sat up straighter. “Describe the
problem you encountered.”
“Well, um...” Harry began, suddenly wishing he had kept his mouth shut or at least waited for a
time when Bartemius was there as well. “Barty believes that I should be able to cast the spell… but
all the chess piece did was shake before falling over and going still again,” he tried to explain, but
wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job.

Voldemort however, was clearly pondering what he said. The wizard tapped one slender finger
against the side of his arm rest and frowned.
“I agree, in that I believe your magical power is not the problem. If you were weak, you could not
have healed me as thoroughly as you have.”

Harry blinked, not believing that he had actually done anything to heal his enemy besides lending
him some magic.

“You are capable of casting the patronus charm, which indicates you are familiar with the need to
allow one thing to fill you and guide your casting,” he mused, thinking on the problem. “Therefore,
the most likely reason for your issue with the spell,” Voldemort continued, “is your magical
control, not your power level or casting skill.”
Harry just blinked in confusion, not for the first time confused by the thing the Dark Lord was
explaining.
“Have you ever been taught how to meditate and reach your magical core?”

Before Harry could stop himself, he made a face.

“I shall take it from your expression that whoever sought to teach you, was not successful in
conveying the benefits of such an ability to you?”
“No, not really,” Harry admitted.
“I was just always told to ‘clear my mind,’ but never explained what that was even supposed to
mean.”
“That person probably thought that instruction to be self-explanatory,” Voldemort chuckled darkly,
before waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I will think of a way to explain the concept to you
differently, but for now I have to prepare for the Inner Circle meeting.”

Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, Harry bowed slightly, mumbled, “Thank you, my
Lord,” and left the parlor once again. He would go into the kitchen and prepare dinner and while
doing so he would come up with a plan to sneak in.

_______________________________________________________________________

Voldemort pushed open the doors to his throne room and scowled at the picture in front of him.
The charms over the room to keep it clean had apparently worn off some time ago and a thick
sheen of dust was covering everything, making the silver of the snakes in the enchanted, black
marble floor and his throne look dull in comparison to their past splendor. With a flick of his wand
he vanished the dust and the cobwebs that clung between the broad, wooden beams of the ceiling.

Satisfied, he walked over to his throne and sat down in it for the first time in nearly 15 years. After
his resurrection a bit over a year ago, he had first spent some months at Malfoy Manor, brewing
potions to restore his body to it’s full magical strength and glory. He had barely returned and made
his ancestor’s castle habitable once more when the old fool’s curse had hit him.

He let one slender, pale finger glide almost tenderly over the shining metal, taking in the many
snakes and skulls that made his throne as if he were seeing them for the first time. It could have
very well been the first time he laid eyes on it with how much time had passed and how much
progress had been lost.

All the headway in the Ministry, all the alliances with various old families and creature clans, lost
because of one night and a toddler who grew into an insufferable teenage boy who continued to
refuse to die. But no matter, things were moving once again. He was nearly back to his full power
as well.

And wasn’t that a novel circumstance. Complementary magic with one so far removed from his
own sphere as to be laughable; it was inconceivable. A child, a teen, raised on the side of the
political light, taught to distrust everything Voldemort stood for, having magical power enough and
compatible enough with a Lord of Magic to heal him. And while the boy’s training was deplorably
lacking, no real surprise given his parents’ attendance at Hogwarts and their clear desire to teach
their son to the same low standard, it was clear he was bright and talented. His patronus was proof
enough of that! And once he became accustomed to the more advanced wand grips and dueling
stances, his power would make him a formidable foe. Especially if they could improve his spell
repertoire in the meantime. One thing was certain, light side or not, he would not be letting go of
Hades Dursley.

There was just one problem. Bartemius had told him that the boy was not certain if he would be
able to return before he came of age. Apparently his family could not afford a holiday very often,
which made it all the more questionable that they hadn’t taken their son along this time.
Regardless, he would make sure that they would be going at least during the summer holidays
from now on and ensure their son spent those weeks at his castle. Now that the boy was indeed the
key to his assured victory, he would make sure to keep a close eye on him.

It made him wonder however, who the person was who had betrayed Hades parents to the dark
side all those years ago. His anonymous ally had talked about a potion and a ritual. However,
potions could be slipped and rituals often affected mages who weren't even present in the ritual
room, if they were designed to target one person specifically, which meant that Hades’ mother was
most likely none the wiser that she had delivered the downfall to her side.

Hearing the door to his throne room open, he pushed his contemplations to the back of his mind
and watched silently as Bartemius entered.

“My Lord,” the wizard said, kneeling down in front of him and holding out his left arm, where he
had already pushed the sleeve of his robe up to the elbow up.

“Today we will begin to rebuild our army,” he hissed, and grabbed his servant’s wrist and pressed
his pale hued wand to Bartemius’ dark mark. As he intoned “Morsmordre,” he thought of the
names of the people he wished to see, before letting go of the wrist and waiting for the quiet pops
that would announce his followers' arrival.

While he had told his valet that this meeting would be a meeting of his inner circle, it was not quite
correct. Aside from the few remaining members of his elite, he had also called certain second tier
Death Eaters.

“Have you brought the folders?” he addressed Bartemius, who quickly retrieved a shrunken
package from one of his robe’s pockets and returned them to their original size.
“I have them right here, my Lord. Shall I hold onto them for now?” Bartemius said.

Voldemort inclined his head in affirmation and the first pop of apparition sounded and a hooded,
black-cloaked figure appeared in front of him, kneeling immediately.
“My Lord,” the wizard said, his voice distorted by his magical mask, however, the man’s aura was
enough to tell Voldemort that it was Thorfinn Rowle.

Another second passed and the brothers Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange appeared next to the
wizard, quickly followed by Bellatrix.
“My Lord,” the witch cooed in excitement, making a motion to come over, but this time her
husband was quick to hold her back and hiss something into her ear. However, Voldemort didn’t
pay the words any attention as more people arrived then.

Theodred and Cantancerous Nott as well as Antonin Dolohov and AugustusRookwood.

Then the first of his second rank appeared, Frigga Rosier, who’s daughter apparently was quite the
promising witch if his valet’s tales were to be believed. Frigga was also one of the more promising
candidates who had applied for the soon-to-be-free position of headmaster of Durmstrang.
A few more followed and finally they were all gathered before him.

“Rise!” he commanded when they were all present. He waited as his gathered followers obeyed,
before continuing. “I have called you today, because it is time to rebuild our troops. The news of
my return, as well as my swift recovery, has spread these past few weeks and many old comrades
have voiced their growing impatience to see our cause move forward. They shall be sated. Now.”

He motioned for Bartemius to come over and glanced at the upper bundle of folders.
“Antonin,” he said, sending the package over to the cloaked figure in question. “You will once
again take charge of our Interrogators.”

Dolohov caught the bundle, bowed deeply and mumbled, “It will be my pleasure, my Lord.”
Voldemort smirked, believing every word his follower said. There was a reason why Dolohov was
in charge of that particular squad and why he always achieved such satisfactory results.

“Severus,” he continued turning his head so that his red eyes were staring directly at the wizard in
question. “I trust you to handle our few gifted Occlumens once again and to inform me, if you
should discover someone promising at Hogwarts. I hope that is not too much next to your duties as
a Professor?” he asked, his tone of voice perceptively innocent.
“Of course not, my Lord. Although the number of children who even know about, let alone who
are able to perform the mental arts, I fear, has declined even further under Dumbledore’s control.”
“I am aware and intend to rectify this circumstance in the future. For now however, we shall work
with what is on offer,” Voldemort hummed, before turning his attention onto Borislav Krum.
“Borislav, are your international contacts still as good as they once were?”
“Better, my Lord,” the elder Krum replied, bowing deeply.
“Good. Then you know what is expected of you. Now to you, Circe. You shall follow in your
father’s footsteps and lead our hit-wizards.”
The witch bowed and mumbled a thank-you Voldemort didn’t pay attention to as he already turned
to another cloaked figure.

“Savage, you will be in charge of our infiltrators. I trust you will be able to work with your
colleague if the necessity arises?” he asked, letting his gleaming eyes flicker over to Proudfoot.
“Of course,” the auror affirmed.

“Lucius, you will install the Intelligent Force,” Voldemort’s red eyes flickered over to the blond. “I
expect you to work closely together with Borislav, Antonin, Severus and Savage, if necessary. Will
you need further instructions?”
The aristocrat shook his head. “No, my Lord. I will hand in a report about the new squad within the
week.”

“Now, I believe, we are still in need of a new captain of the guard,” Voldemort hummed, before
letting his eyes glide over to an especially large and tall man.
“Fenrir, I hope your pack has the guard-duty and rotation in good memory?” he asked. There were
no better guards than werewolves. Their keen senses, even outside the full moon, and their natural
hierarchical structure made them ideal for the job.

“Does it come with rooms and payment again?” the werewolf asked.
Voldemort sneered at him. “You may tell your men that they shall once again be able to support
their families properly.”
“We will begin within the week,” the creature promised, one of his canines flashing in the
flickering light of a candle.
Now to the squads -”
He sent another pile of folders over to a wizard standing in the second row.

“Proudfoot, you will be in charge of our new recruits. As an auror this should be easy work for
you,” he smirked, knowing full well that most recruits were far from what they expected of their
members when they graduated from school. Only those from Durmstrang ever came close to their
standards but they as well, always needed further refinement.
“I will do my best, my Lord,” the auror promised, bowing as well.

“Now to the leaders of the combat squads. Cantancerous you will be in charge of the red squad,”
Voldemort continued, sending the biggest pile of folders over. However, as the combat squads
were mostly composed of third rank Death Eaters without any additional skills or even exceptional
dueling tallent, it was no surprise. Those squads were always sent on large-scale attacks where not
much delicacy or strategy was required.
“Antonin you will lead the green squad,” he sent another pile of folders over, “Corban you will
take the blue squad and you, Augustus, will take charge of the yellow squad. And last but not
least,” he hummed, his gaze settling on the only other witch beside Bellatrix,
“Frigga, the Valkyries shall once again be yours.”
“I will not disappoint you, my Lord,” the witch said matter-of-factly and Voldemort knew it was a
promise coming from those poisonous, red lips.

“My valet has told me interesting things about your daughter,” he added musingly.
The witch smirked. “And Hel had only interesting things to report about your valet. A surprisingly
intelligent mage, and he accepted a challenge to a duel from the Malfoy Heir.”
“Yes indeed. I am looking forward to the spectacle,” Voldemort admitted with a smirk. Tell your
daughter I will support her desire to become a ritual priestess as long as she possesses the required
talent.”
“Oh, she does, my Lord,” Frigga Rosier replied, curtseying respectfully.

Voldemort returned his attention to his throne room at large and rose to his feet.
“These coming months will be full of hard work and even harder training. It has been 15 years
since the height of our power. It is time we turn our attention away from those extraneous
distractions which pull us away from our goals and focus on what is truly important. Magic. We
have social and political power at our fingertips. We must use it to bring the power of magic back
to the forefront. Stop the incursion of muggle beliefs and traditions, and return to the Olde ways.
Power is everything. Magic is Might!

Voldemort watched with relish as an eager gleam ignited in his followers eyes. He gave his words a
moment to sink in, before addressing the members of his inner circle.
“My most trusted, we will reconvene in my parlor. The rest of you are dismissed,” he announced,
before vanishing in a cloud of black mist.

Once he reappeared in his parlor, he lit the candles on the wall with a flick of his wand, before
sending his patronus to his valet. It had been far too long since he had a proper meeting with his
inner circle and it was a tradition he intended to revive.

While Dumbledore was certainly not wrong in his assumption that Voldemort would be rebuilding
his ranks, it was clear the old fool knew nothing about how large a force it truly was. His faithful
would decimate Dumbledore’s pathetic Order if it came to an all out battle between the two. No, he
needn’t be concerned on that front.

It was time he turned his attention to the politics surrounding Hogwarts. He felt a visceral need to
return his beloved school to the pinnacle of excellence it once maintained. Dumbledore’s systemic
removal of classes, resulting in the destruction of magical knowledge had led to the decline of
Great Britain's wizards and witches when compared on an international stage.

It was truly amazing, he mused, that Harry Potter had been able to stand up to him so many times
with such a substandard education. And while the boy was a continual nuisance, bringing him to
fits of rage more often than not with the unexpected interference in his plans which often set back
months and years of work, he could only imagine how much more of a weapon the annoying teen
could have been had he been schooled appropriately. In that line of thought, it was a good thing
Dumbledore had so thoroughly ruined the educational system of their country. But on the other
hand, if the children were taught to think, they could be marvels of the magical world. Not that the
old coot would ever allow that. Because thinking usually resulted in a witch or wizard coming to
Voldemort’s side, desiring the Olde ways and for magic to once again be respected as a most
blessed gift.

He was pulled from his thoughts when three confident knocks landed on the door.

“Come in,” he called, and those of his Inner Circle filed in to begin their meeting.

________________________________________________________________________

Harry exited into the hallway, only to stop when a sudden flicker of light caught his attention.
Turning around, he saw with surprise that there were candles and furniture now in the room across
from Voldemort’s suite, a room which had been dusty and seemingly unused when he first arrived
at the castle. Through the open door he could see Voldemort going around the room, flicking his
wand.

Harry couldn’t see much from where he was, but he saw a number of elegant leather armchairs
appear along with a table somehow inscribed with the dark mark. Before he could wonder what
was happening, a huge, silver basilisk suddenly burst from Voldemort’s wand and Harry had just
enough wherewithal to quickly hurr back into the Dark Lord’s living room and close the door
behind himself before the patronus slithered through the wall and come to a halt in front of him.

“Hades, prepare sandwiches and firewhiskey and bring everything to the meeting room across from
my suite,” Voldemort’s voice commanded, the basilisk hovering suspiciously in front of him a
moment longer, before it finally disappeared again.

Sighing in relief, Harry leaned against the parlour door for a moment. That was close. If the
patronus had caught up with him in the hallway, he would have been screwed. Well, he probably
better start moving. Pulling his invisibility cloak from his head, he pocketed it again and left the
living room as casually as possible. Across the hallway he could see that Voldemort was now
sitting in the armchair that usually resided in the parlor and voices were coming up the stairs.

Wondering if Voldemort was moving his meeting to a more comfortable setting, Harry made his
way to the kitchen and began to summon bread, cheese, ham and a few other items he would need
for the sandwiches. He didn’t know exactly how many member’s Voldemort’s inner circle had, so
he prepared a bit more, adding some turkey and roast beef to the sandwich selection just in case
and a plate of different cheeses as well, before sending everything into the meeting room with a
flick of his wand.

Normally Voldemort had Firewhiskey in the cabinet in the dining room, however, Harry knew that
he had poured Lucius the last of it. Fortunately there was a still closed bottle in the storage room,
which he retrieved quickly before he followed the plates back to the meeting room.

By now there were low voices coming from the space and Harry found himself wondering at how
relaxed they sounded as he crossed the hallway. As he entered the room, Harry had to actively
keep himself from shuddering at the gathering of people. There were many he recognised from the
Daily Prophet article as well as the incident at the Ministry. He of course recognized Lucius
Malfoy and the three Lestranges, Snape and Barty, but there was also Theodore Nott Sr, Avery,
and Dolohov as well as two men he didn’t instantly recognize. It was disconcerting to say the least.

“The Wizengamot passed the vote of no confidence,” an elderly wizard with broad shoulders and
scary resemblance to Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange was just saying.
“And who are the candidates?” Voldemort asked casually, sounding bored. Harry wasn’t sure why
the man would be bored considering the chance for him to place one of his own people in the seat,
but then he thought about that abrupt morning meeting with Malfoy a few days before when the
poncy blond responded and figured they must have already talked about it.

“There is Algernon Macmillan from the light faction,” Lucius Malfoy answered. “But everybody
knows that he is deep in Dumbledore’s pocket. Despite what the Chief Warlock and his sycophants
believe, there are enough people who don’t like his politics to stop whatever candidate he
presents.” There were sneers at the mention of the name but Malfoy just continued, undisturbed.
“Then there is Jason Greengrass from the neutral section, but he is seen too often with members
from the dark section to stand a reasonable chance at this moment in time. And our unfortunate
final candidate is Rufus Scrimgiour who currently holds the majority.”

Harry didn’t need to see Malfoy’s face to know that the wizard was sneering the last name.
unhappy muttering followed that last proclamation.
“Scrimgiour might very well pose a serious inconvenience,” Nott Sr scowled just when Harry
entered, however, they didn’t pay him any mind, aside from Bellatrix, who cooed briefly at seeing
him before she was silenced by her husband and brother in law. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to
deal with the crazy witch again, Harry flicked his wand and summoned rocks glasses from the
cabinet before distributing them with another wave.

“You may return to your room, Hades,” Voldemort suddenly said and Harry knew he had lingered
too long.
Bowing his head respectfully, Harry placed the now half-empty bottle of firewhiskey on the table
and left silently. However,once back in the hallway, his mind began to race. This was his chance to
find out more about Voldemort’s plans, the Dark Lord was certainly discussing important things
with his minions right now.

Fortunately he had always been able to think quickly on his feet. So he made his way over to the
parlor door, swung it open as wide as possible and once he had walked through, quickly pulled his
cloak from his pocket and pulled it on again. He managed to slip back out just in time before the
door fell shut, thankful he was once again standing in the hallway, Voldemort and his followers
none the wiser.

Silently, he crept over to a corner where he would be out of the way in case one of them wanted to
go somewhere but close enough to the still-cracked meeting room, and began to strain his ears.

There was a beat of silence than one of the Death Eater’s spoke up. “My Lord, is it true that Harry
Potter lives with muggle relatives?”

“That does appear to be the case, based on records from the ministry we have successfully
obtained,” he replied. “Good work to the reconnaissance team which utilized the distraction
surrounding the prophecy to retrieve what was needed.”

“So far we have been unable to locate the property,” Lucius commented, annoyed that though they
had the information, they were still no closer to removing the threat that was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lucius, you will continue the search and the rest of you will support him, but be inconspicuous
about it. If Dumbledore learns about our knowledge of Potter’s whereabouts, it will make things
more difficult for us,” he ordered, looking sternly around the group.

Mutters of acceptance greeted his ears and he settled back into his seat.

“What is the plan once we have discovered his location?” came a voice Harry didn’t recognize.

“We have no idea what sort of wards might be in use to protect the so-called savior,” Voldemort
admitted. “Our first order of business will be reconnaissance to determine his muggle relatives’ - if
they are in fact muggles - movements. If Dumbledore has any intelligence at all, there will likely
be an order member or two observing the property. Severus,” the dark lord addressed his spy,
“have there been any movements regarding any type of watchers or guarding the order may be
assigned to complete?”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus replied, “though it is being handled by only one order member at a time
under strict instruction to remain completely invisible to the brat.”

“Interesting,” the dark lord mused thoughtfully. “And what of other contact with the wizarding
world? News papers, owls, and the like?”

“Nothing, so far as I am aware,” the potion master replied. “He has never had a newspaper
subscription, relying on the muggleborn Granger to supply the news. As for letters or other
communication with his friends, Dumbledore has forbidden it under the guise of maintaining his
safety. Though I have been prevented from visiting the property to verify, it is no secret you used
the brat’s blood to return, therefore the blood protections the headmaster so likes to tout are
entirely useless.”

Harry had to stuff his fist in his mouth at his professor’s words. He had wondered if the wards
would work against Voldemort ever since he had returned and been told he still had to return to the
Dursleys to maintain them. But if they wouldn’t stop Voldemort anyway, what was the point?!?

“If you are able to join the guard rotation, that would be a boon,” Voldemort commented, “but do
not press for such a job if it will impact your position as my spy.”

“Yes, my lord,” the dark man subsided back into silence.

 “I, in the meantime, will prepare a few plans for how we might go about returning Hogwarts to the
once-proud institution of learning she was. I believe I will also make an offering to magic the day
of our summer fest. Maybe I will be graced with some hint as to how we might proceed so as to
best further our plans.”

Suddenly the sound of scraping chairs could be heard and Harry jerked back. The Death Eater’s
were leaving, he could hear good-byes being exchanged and more formal farewells given to the
Dark Lord.

Pushing his confusion over Dumbledore’s behavior to the side, Harry quickly walked back to the
parlor door and slipped back inside. He couldn’t let himself be caught by Voldemort. He entered
his little chamber just in time, not even a second later he could hear Voldemort entering the private
parlor, conversing with Barty.

Heart racing, Harry transfigured his robe into pyjamas and slipped under his cover, pressing his
eyes shut. After what he had learned, he suddenly felt immensly stupid. And frightened. Stupid for
thinking that it actually was a good idea to sneak after Voldemort and frightened of what would
happen if the Dark Lord did find his location.

He couldn’t really believe it. Dumbledore had lied about the wards. Or perhaps he didn’t know if
he had never truly studied blood magic, even though it seemed like common sense. Hermione’s
standard response of wizards lacking common sense rang in his brain.

But even if the man didn’t know about the wards, how were the members of order set to guard him
- and wasn’t that a kick in the pants to have irrefutable proof that he was being watched…
monitored…whatever - not realizing how bad his situation with the Dursleys really was? Did they
not care that he was called ‘freak’ and ‘boy,’ made to do all the housework, forced to do all the
outside work, and punished cruelly if he didn’t complete a list of chores no adult would be able to
complete in a single day? Did they not hear the yelling? Did they never see his pain?

Suddenly Harry’s mind cleared as it had done so often when he was confronted with a dangerous
situation. He had 12 days left at Voldemort’s castle and he would use that time to find out more
about Voldemorts’s plans for himself and Hogwarts. Maybe coming here to help Voldemort hadn’t
been such a bad idea after all. He somehow doubted that Voldemort would just have died from
Dumbledore’s curse. It was far more likely that he would just have told another of his followers to
create him yet another new body.

But with him being here, he would at least have a chance to form some sort of plan in advance and
gather a little more information.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Practice and Preparations
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 10: Practice and Preparations

Harry was bored. He never thought he would ever think anything like that while sitting in the super
secret headquarters of Voldemort’s dark regime, but here he was. Bored. His lessons with the Dark
Lord had been temporarily put on hold as Voldemort and Barty grew increasingly busy with the
preparations for the summer fest, so he was set to reading, reviewing, and learning spells for his
duel with the ferret on his own. None of the Death Eaters visited either, not even the Malfoys.

To be fair, Narcissa would be coming over soon with an army of house elves which were supposed
to help him clean and set up the guest rooms as apparently not only the trainees Barty had
mentioned would finally be arriving, but also some guards. Because Voldemort’s unplottable castle
on an unplottable island in the middle of nowhere, the Celtic Sea, apparently wasn’t secure enough.

So, knowing he wouldn’t be hearing any new information or plans that didn’t revolve around
whatever would be happening for the summer fest, Harry spent much of his free time in the
massive library on the second floor.

He had found a number of interesting spells which he practiced in the training room Barty had
taken him to the first time. He also found several that were far more destructive than he really
thought would be fair to use against a child the same age as himself, but he noted them down and
practiced them anyway. Draco was certainly not above harming Harry Potter, so would he really
hold back against Hades Dursley? Especially since he had heard Voldemort’s promise that Draco
could “prove himself” if he performed well in the duel, no, he thought not. It would be worth his
disgust that there were spells to do the sorts of things he found to have something in his pocket in
case the git really tried to hurt him.

So Harry started a list:

pulmo constricto - constricts breathing, can cause suffocation

cutis seperare - skins the target
tabescere - targeted body part starts to decay
extentero - gutting (similar to entrail expelling curse but without the projectile vomiting)
acor - conjures acid (similar to aguamenti)

Harry had shuddered at some of the spells he hadn’t copied down, and those he had were bad
enough. He wondered why anyone would want such spells, but then smacked himself in the head
when he reminded himself that he was in the Dark Lord’s domain, and there were plenty of his
people, including Voldemort himself, who used such torturous spells regularly.

Unfortunately, while he was having success on some of the spells he had found himself, he was
still unable to complete piertotum locomotor, which meant he was nowhere near ready for the two
fidelium spells, regardless of how well he knew the theory behind them.

Casting a tempus, he returned to his room. It wouldn’t do for him to be tired if the Dark Lord
needed him the next day. He curled up in bed and drifted off to sleep, dreams haunted by images of
himself casting all the painful spells he had discovered in the library at death eaters.

Harry struggled awake in the early, pre-dawn hours, shaking from everything he had done in his
dreams. He felt dirty and he hadn’t even done anything, but just the thought of using some of those
spells had him shuddering. Knowing he would be unable to return to sleep, he crept from his room
and made his way to the bath, intent on a long soak. His long soak turned out to be only three
quarters of an hour, the Dursleys’ training about not wasting time or hot water clearly still affecting
him, even away from their presence. It was only five am and still too early to start breakfast.
Though there were stasis charms and the runed shelf, he felt like fresh food was best whenever
possible, so he stealthily returned to his room.

He pulled out one of the books he had taken from the library and began reading, getting lost in a
text describing a number of dueling uses for common household charms. Suddenly he heard steps
approaching and Harry startled, dropping the book when Voldemort flung the door to his room
open. Harry blinked in surprise at the sight. He had been living for over a month with Voldemort
and the Dark Lord hadn’t once entered his small chamber.

“Go prepare breakfast, we have much to do today, Hades,” he commanded. “Before Narcissa
arrives I want you to learn to meditate so that you can finally continue with your defense practice.
While I do not mind adding Draco Malfoy to my ranks early if he is competent, it would certainly
be surprising, if not outright unacceptable for my valet, someone so closely entwined with my life,
to not have the skills necessary to defeat a young, conceited popinjay such as the younger Malfoy. I
refuse for my followers to think that I have become somehow incompetent during my
convalescence, and if you are seen as wanting, it will reflect poorly on me. Therefore, you will win
this ill-advised duel or suffer my displeasure, Hades. Do you understand?.

So Voldemort did want him to win after all? He had wondered about that after what the Dark Lord
had ordered Snape to convey to the Malfoys, but apparently it only had been a ploy to get Draco to
put effort into whatever Voldemort wanted him to do for him. Of course the man was more
concerned about how Harry’s skills and action reflected on him. He was the bloody Dark Lord! He
wasn’t terribly concerned about facing off against the ferret, but he was a Slytherin, and had
Slytherins for parents. It was likely he knew far more dangerous magic than what Harry had been
exposed to in Hogwarts, even if he was regularly coming face to face with the Dark Lord and his
various minions.
“Are you listening to me, Hades?” Voldemort’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Yes, my Lord,” he quickly said and stumbled to his feet. “I will go fix something quickly.” He
grabbed his wand and with a flick returned his PJs to their original state.
“See that you do,” Voldemort said before sweeping out of his room again.

When Harry stepped into the parlor a moment later, the Dark Lord was already browsing through a
book and making notes on a piece of parchment. Harry didn’t stop and quickly made his way out
into the hallway and into the kitchen.

Seeing that Voldemort said they had no time, he merely fried up some eggs and bacon while
preparing toast, hoping that it would be enough.

In the dining room Voldemort and Barty were already waiting as he entered with the loaded plates.
“Once we have eaten,” Voldemort was just saying, “I will go with Hades to my study and teach
him how to access his magic more… efficiently.”
Barty grinned. “Then I will make sure he practices his spells later, my Lord. After he has played
chambermaid and prepared the guestrooms, that is.”

Harry threw him a glare but said nothing as he lowered the plates onto the table and sat down in his
usual seat.
“Then I expect to see results by tomorrow,” Voldemort staited, summoning himself a slice of toast.
“If not, I will have to think about a different approach.”

Harry swallowed, feeling nervousness rise inside of him at those words. Voldemort wasn't actually
as deranged as he had always thought, however, sentences like that still made him shudder on a
regular basis.

Fortunately the rest of breakfast was spent in silence. Once they had eaten, Voldemort ordered
Barty to take care of the dirty dishes and motioned for Harry to follow him.

Harry followed him inside, and waited silently for further instructions.

Voldemort swished his wand and a thick, black and silver carpet appeared in the middle of the
room while the desk and chair moved closer to the wall.

“Sit,” Voldemort ordered and to Harry’s slight bafflement sat down on the carpet with a fluid
motion himself.

Harry hesitated a second, before stepping onto the carpet as well. The Dark Lord released his
stranglehold on his magic, flooding the room with his power. Immediately the bond between them
began to sing and Harry had to suppress a happy hum at the sensation, but well-knowing the man’s
impatience, he quickly sat down across from the dark lord and waited for the wizard to speak
again.

“As you described quite accurately,” Voldemort began without missing a beat, “the usual approach
in meditation is to clear one’s mind. The theory is that with your mind free of all distracting
thoughts, it leaves you enough peace to sense other things within yourself: old or forgotten
memories as well as newer memories that are unclear for whatever reason, issues within your body
or magic, and your magical core.”

If Snape had explained meditation like this, Harry thought bitterly as he listened attentively, then
maybe he would actually have been able to see the purpose in the occlumency lessons and learn
something.

“Meditation allows the mage to reflect more deeply on their own actions and thus understand
themselves better. It can also be a useful tool in stressful situations as a skilled practitioner is able
to lock impressions away until he finds more time and a safer environment to deal with what he
heard or saw. And as I said, it also can help you find your magical core and use it to its full
potential.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “Are we not using our magic to our full potential?”
Voldemort raised one of his regrown eyebrows. “If we did so instinctively, you would already have
mastered the Piertotum Locomotor as with the size of your core, it should not pose a true challenge
for you.”

Blushing, Harry looked down onto the silver snake pattern of the carpet.

“Now,” Voldemort continued and his head snapped up again. “As I said, the usual way is to start
with meditation and then use the silence within you to search for whatever you are seeking.
However, today you will try a different approach. An approach which, I believe, is better suited to
your character.”

Wondering if that had been a mere comment or a hidden insult, Harry blushed even redder.
“I will lead you through your first meditation exercise. Close your eyes and listen to my voice,”
Voldemort ordered and Harry quickly did as told. It was an odd sensation, sitting cross-legged and
with closed eyes opposite his enemy. He probably should feel nervous, but he didn’t as
Voldemort’s deep baritone sounded again.

“Instead of clearing your mind, I want you to concentrate on your magic,” the Dark Lord said and
Harry, not for the first time, wondered how a man as impassioned and curse-happy could be such a
good teacher.

“It runs through your veins and pulses through your body, I am sure you have felt it before.”
Harry had never noticed it, but Voldemort’s voice could be as soothing as his magic. He had
always had such problems calming down and relaxing during his occlumency lessons, but as he
listened to that melodic voice giving surprisingly soft instructions, he felt his muscles relax.

He wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was looking for, but he had sensed his magic often enough.
His magic was known for its wild outbursts, he even had gained a sort of reputation for it in
Gryffindor. Harry seldom grew really angry, but when he did, ink jars exploded and parchment was
lifted from tables. He had always found his lack of control embarrassing, but right now his almost
sentient magic came in handy as he quickly found it bubbling along inside himself.

It was just like Voldemort had described, as if the Dark Lord knew exactly how his magic felt. It
flowed through him and pulsed in every single cell of his body. In front of his inner eye it looked
like a net of regal violet, deep and velvety, even as it pulsed, hints of a darker purple flickering and
dying with every beat.

“When you have found it,” Voldemort continued as if he could sense that Harry had been
successful, “I want you to pick one of its pathways and follow it to its origin.”

Harry picked one of the thickest streams of magic, hoping that it would bring him to his core the
quickest. It felt a bit as if he was sitting in a boat and was carried away by a quickly running
stream. A slight dizziness overcame him, but the sensation was forgotten when his core suddenly
appeared in front of him. Huge and imposing, like the purple moon he had seen in the black
cosmos his magical core shone inside of him.

Harry wasn’t sure if he gasped only inside his mind or out aloud, but in the next moment
Voldemort spoke again.

“There are few things more beautiful than your magical core. It is the origin of everything you are.
It makes you a wizard and grants you the powers uniquely yours. It is the power which allowed
you to bind yourself to me. There is little more beautiful in this world you will lay your eyes upon
and it is all yours.”

There was a beat of silence, before the Dark Lord continued. “It is yours and it will listen to your
commands, because that is what it was made for. Touch it, there is no reason to fear your own
magic. It is the essence of who you are. It is just you.”

Inside his mind, Harry stretched a shaking hand out until it touched the ball of magic. He wanted to
call it light, because there was a sort of glow, but the purple was much too dark to be considered
bright. Upon first touch his magic felt warm, in fact he had almost expected it to be scorching hot
given how untamed it usually was. Even when casting spells he was familiar with, his magic often
sought to exceed the miniscule amount required of him, bounding forward, anxious to prove its
power. But that warm feeling, a feeling of comfort, almost like being wrapped in a familiar fuzzy
blanket, was only the first impression. As his magic moved gently under his tentative touch, he
found there was so much more beneath the surface.

Voldemort had been right when he had said his core was him, he could feel it as clearly as he could
see it. There was a wildness, a temper just beneath the surface. He attributed that temper to the faint
flashes of vivid crimson which occasionally overpowered the velvety amethyst. Then he felt the
magic’s strong wish to protect. He could almost see himself pushing forward through traps to
protect the Philosopher’s Stone. Jumping down a black hole to venture into the Chamber of Secrets
to fight a basilisk and save Ginny. Standing between his godfather and a swarm of dementors and
the warmth that overtook him when he realized he had cast the patronus that saved them. He felt
the unwavering resolve to return Cedric’s body to his parents, even under imminent threat of his
life. His desperation in going to the ministry to save Sirius, and to follow him into the veil. Resolve
like hardened steel that no one else would die for him.

Harry felt things he could not describe. Bits and pieces of himself presented themselves to him
even as it all merged into one mass, his core, his essence. Him. He was Harry Potter. And this was
him.

“Now, try to bring your core into a different form. Every core looks different, but it will obey your
command,” Voldemort spoke gently, pulling Harry from his communion with his magical core.
For a split second Harry wondered how to do it. How could he ever force a power as magnificent
as the one in front of him into another form? The shape of a cube or disc? However, as soon as he
had the thought, the ball of light in front of him shifted; first into a cube and then a flat disc, just
like he had imagined a split second ago.

“Forcing your magic into another shape is no different than sending more of it out to cast a stronger
or more difficult spell,” Voldemort said in the background. “The barriers do not lie within our
magic, they lie within your imagination. Later, when you go outside to practice Piertotum
Locomotor, I want you to first enter your mind before you cast the spell. See how it looks and then
send more magic out into your spell. You will repeat this as often as it is needed for you to be able
to cast the spell correctly even when your eyes are open and you do not concentrate actively on
your core anymore. Only then will you stop for the day. Is that understood?”

Harry felt himself nodding automatically.

“Good, then you may resurface from your meditation. I believe there is a visitor for you.”

Blinking in confusion, Harry found himself back in Voldemort’s study. The Dark Lord was just
rising from his position on the floor and greeting someone who stood in the doorway, however,
Harry found himself too confused by the strange, new sensation running through his body. It was
as if he had grown more aware of himself or gained a new sense, however, it was only his magic
which suddenly seemed so much more alive within him. Like a friend who had always been there
but whom he had forgotten for many years.

As if in trance he lifted one of his hands up to his eyes, expecting to see sparks dancing over his
fingertips, matching the happy fizz of his magic in his veins, but there were none. Then a voice
jerked him from his strange reverie and he turned his head to see Narcissa Malfoy standing in the
doorway.

“My Lord, I have come as requested and brought our family’s house elves,” she said, curtseying
respectfully.
“Tell them to wait for Hades on the second floor and listen to his orders for as long as they are
here,” Voldemort commanded.
Narcissa curseyed again. “It will be done my lord.” She hesitated a second, but when Voldemort
didn’t dismiss her instantly, she continued. “I have also brought the invitations you requested and a
list of possible guests.” The witch reached into her robe and pulled a shrunken parcel out. “It is
charmed as usual,” she added, sending the package over to Voldemort's desk with a flick of her
wand.

“I will send your elves home as soon as they are finished here,” Voldemort acknowledged. “You
are dismissed.”

Harry waited until Mrs. Malfoy had left before he turned to Voldemort and said. “I will go and take
care of the guest rooms then, my Lord.”
“Do that, Hades. And don’t forget your spell practice,” Voldemort said, even though he was
already sitting at his table and scanning the list Narcissa had given him.
“I won’t, my Lord,” Harry promised before leaving the office.

He stepped out into the hallway and practically ran into Barty.
“Hades, by Salazar!” Barty exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder before he could tumble down. “You
already finished with your meditation?”
Harry just nodded.
“That was quick. And, can you cast the spell now?” the other asked, examining him skeptically
from head to toe.
“I haven’t tried yet and I probably won’t until later. I have to go down and meet the Malfoy house
elves now,” he replied, making a face. He wondered if they would be as sad a bunch as Dobby had
been, beaten and miserable. If he ever got the power, he would do something for their race. Not
freeing them like Hermione wanted to do, he didn’t believe that most house elves would actually
want that, but he would make sure that they would have to be treated better, like actual breathing,
feeling beings.

Barty gave him a sympathetic look.

“I better go,” Harry added and turned towards the staircase.
“Have fun,” Barty called after him, the shark-like grin audible in his voice but Harry merely lifted
a hand and waved in answer before finally making his way down.

Two floors lower, he turned into the deserted corridor he and Barty had crossed that day they had
gone down to the library. The Malfoy house elves stood silently with huge, fearful eyes. There
were at least twenty, maybe even more and most of them were sporting some sort of bandages, if
not clear injuries. Well, at least with so many of them working the rooms should be ready quickly.

“Today we will clean out and prepare the rooms on this floor,” he began, looking hesitantly from
one elf to another.
“I am sure with the Malfoys you have usual tasks… is there one among you who knows what each
of you is best at?”
A very old, female house elf stepped out from the middle of the first row. “Annie is head elf, young
Lord.” Blinking, Harry stared at the odd title but wrote it off as the usual house elf oddities.

“Could you organize your fellow elves? I don’t know how you usually do things, if each of you
wishes to take care of a room that’s fine, or if a few of you will go around to dust and others will
change the sheets and blankets, that’s acceptable as well.”

The old house elf nodded, turned around to her colleagues and began to give orders in a raspy, but
strong voice. Soon small groups of elves were popping away, having been given their tasks and in
no time he was standing alone with the old head elf in the hallway.

“Annie will come to young lord once we are done. Young Lord may go and take care of more
important duties.”
Finding himself dismissed like that Harry stared at the suddenly empty hallway in front of him. For
a moment he was at a loss what to do with his unexpected free time, but then decided to go retrieve
the knight from Voldemort’s chess set and try the Piertotum Locomotor again.

Turning around he walked back to the staircase and used one of the more complex summoning
spells he had learned from Voldemort’s old textbooks to summon the knight. For a moment he
feared it hadn’t worked, but then he heard the sound of a door closing somewhere above him and a
second later the small chess piece came sailing towards him. He caught it with his seeker-honed
reflexes.

He pondered going to one of the training rooms, but after being cooped up inside for weeks, he
wanted to go outside. He was used to being outside a lot, what with his quidditch practice at
Hogwarts and his gardening at the Dursleys. He missed being out of doors. Besides, he could
practice the spell just as well outside as inside and for the fidelium spells he would have to go
outside anyway.

He took the same room he had already taken twice before. As he entered the uninhabited portion of
the castle which led to the imposing main entrance, he couldn’t help but shake his head. It was a
magnificent building, but right now it looked just deserted, like a haunted house. He would likely
never see it differently since in less than two weeks he would return to Hogwarts and his old life.

A strange feeling settled in his stomach, something that felt very much like sadness, but he pushed
the thought to the side and pushed the front portal open. He sighed in contentment as he stepped
into the sunlight and the warm rays began to warm his cold skin. He didn’t really hate Voldemort’s
castle, it was quite nice actually and in the Dark Lord’s parlor and bedroom it even was cozily
warm, however the rest of the castle was just so bloody cold. And dark. It always reminded him of
the winters at Hogwarts, but he guessed Dark Lords just didn’t have much use for sunlight.

He went to walk straight ahead, but his steps were arrested when he caught sight of something that
had not been present on his last excursion outdoors. He blinked, tilting his head from side to side as
if the vision before him might waver at any moment, and break whatever spell had him seeing
things. Given the state of the castle, he supposed it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, but
somehow, the small edifice felt imposing…almost foreboding, in a way the main castle did not.

It was black. Black almost wasn’t a strong enough word for just how dark the small building was.
Columns adorned the front edifice, and Harry could only think that it looked like a Greek temple,
somehow brought from mythology, carved of the darkest, unrelieved black marble he had ever seen
in his life, and placed right on Voldemort’s front lawn. He found himself strangely intrigued by the
building, or perhaps it was simply his usual curiosity rearing its head, so he began to move toward
what he thought might be the front entrance.

As he approached, he realized it was much larger than it looked, and was pleasantly surprised by
the large… front porch? which was protected by a roof, held up by ionic columns. Though the sun
was warm, when Harry slowly reached out a hand to rest upon the deeply black stone, it was cold
to the touch. Not icy, or uncomfortable, just much colder than he would have expected something
black to be, sitting in full sun as it was.

Deciding the porch space was enough for his purposes and still outside enough if he managed the
first spell and was able to move on, he pulled the chess piece from his robe pocket and enlarged it
until it was nearly a foot tall. Staring down at it, he pulled out his wand and closed his eyes.
Finding his core was remarkably easy, a fact he attributed to his magic still thrumming happily
after he had touched it earlier. It quickly rose in front of his inner eye, the deep purple embracing
him like a velvet overcoat. Just as Voldemort told him, the sight of his magic was enough to clear
his mind. Maybe that could be a new approach for him to learn occlumency? He would have to test
it at a later point, for now, he brushed the stray thought aside, focusing on controlling his magical
output as he readied himself to cast the spell. He wouldn’t let Draco Malfoy best him in a duel.

Concentrating, he chanted the spell, wanting to know what it looked like when he didn’t access his
core actively. Maybe he would be able to actually see where the problem lay. As soon as he spoke
the incantation a pathway formed from his magic in front of his inner eye. It seemed rather broad,
but the magic trickling through the space was nothing more than a thin rivulet in comparison to the
well of purple behind it.

Seeing it, Harry had the feeling he knew how the spell was supposed to look when cast correctly.
He imagined the channel would be filled completely with the deep amethyst that was his magic.

With that image in mind he reached for his magic and gathered what he thought might be enough
to cast the spell properly, before intoning the incantation again. As soon as he saw the path he
pushed the gathered magic inside. The vein filled up and his magic flowed through in a cascade of
power.

He began to think in his head, even as he kept pushing the magic, “Ride forward, ride ahead!”, and
he concentrated on an image of the small horse galloping the length of the marble beneath him.

His magic slowed and the pathway disappeared. Heart pounding, Harry opened his eyes to see if his
spell had worked this time and to his immense joy he saw that the knight stood a step or two away
from him, and not toppled over this time. It wasn’t the length of the temple he had envisioned, but
it was definitely progress.

Harry paused, thinking over the theory behind what the spell was actually supposed to do. Yes, he
could give it commands, but he was supposed to be able to direct the knight with the spell. He
pondered over it for a few moments, wondering how he was to keep a connection to the object,
even as his magic wound down on its own, signalling the completion of the spell. He wasn’t sure if
he’d have to force the pathway to remain open somehow, but that was the only thing he could think
of that might work. Clearly he would need more practice.

So he closed his eyes and repeated the procedure. He gathered his magic, a bit more this time, and
then cast the spell again, this time chanting “Ride forward, ride ahead,” and “turn to the right,”
when his magic was still flowing.

As he opened his eyes this time, the knight stood even further away and slightly to his right. It was
heartening to see that he was apparently on the right track, unfortunately, those few steps still
weren’t enough to be of any real help in a duel. The spell just ended too quickly! With how much
magic it needed and the amount he was able to gather, his enchantment just didn’t last long
enough. Harry growled in frustration.

Closing his eyes again, Harry stared at his magical core, allowing the sight of his magic to clear his
extraneous thoughts, allowing him to focus entirely on his problem. Barty had explained the spell
to him and its theory. He was supposed to command lifeless matter with it, not just give a singular
command that ended in seconds. However, if what he could gather before casting wasn’t enough,
he would just have to to keep the flow going.

Harry closed his eyes again and took once again hold of his magical core. But this time, in contrast
to his previous attempts, he spoke the spell first and only then began to pull on his magic and push
it down the magical vein.

It was quite trying to pull constantly at the well of his power while at the same time, push enough
out to keep the channel open and stable, and keep his focus on his commands to the chess piece at
the same time. Soon he could feel sweat gathering on his brow, but he kept going until all the
muscles in his entire body seemed to shake from physical exhaustion. Only then did he finally let
go and opened his eyes.

A broad grin broke out on his face as he turned around and saw the knight standing at the far end
of the structure, turned toward him as if awaiting further instruction. He had done it! Now, he just
needed to practice enough that the spell became second nature. Harry groaned.

________________________________________________________________________

Harry practiced until a loud pop next to him nearly made him jump out of his own skin. He was
sweaty and shaky and there was a bone-deep, aching tiredness threatening to overwhelm him.
Wiping his brow, he turned around and saw the old head elf looking at him expectantly.
“Annie, are you and the rest of the elves finished?” he asked.
The house elf bowed. “We is being finished, young Lord,” she said.

“Thank you,” Harry sighed and smiled at the old elf.

Annie gave him an odd look and he guessed that his smile probably didn’t look very convincing at
the moment with how exhausted he was.
“I will come upstairs to check, and if everything is alright, you can go back home.” When the
strange expression didn’t vanish, Harry added, “I am sure you worked hard,” hoping to appease the
elf. It didn’t seem to be enough because she said, “Annie be bringing young lord to rooms.”

With that his sleeve was grabbed and an odd sensation as if being pushed through a door of warm
water overcame him. He blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself in the second level
hallway once again.
“Thank you,” he said, still a bit bewildered at the sudden and, for magical travel, almost pleasant
experience.

Turning right, he opened the door to the nearest guest room. He hadn’t seen any of them before the
house elves had gone through them, so he couldn’t really compare. However, the room was clean
and the beds were crisply made.

“You did good work,” he said, turning back around to Annie. “You can go home. Do you need me
to floo your…”
“This is not being necessary,” Annie interrupted his babbling. The old house elf bowed and popped
away.

Harry went back upstairs to fetch himself something to eat. He sent a few sandwiches out to
Voldemort who looked very busy in his study, before taking his own plate to his room where he
quickly ate before lying down. His spell practice had tired him even more than his patronus or
occlumency lessons had done in the past and just wanted to lie down and sleep, which he did.

He slept tight and didn’t dream and only woke up when someone shook him.
Blinking blurry eyes open, Harry squinted at the figure above him.
“Hey kid, I thought I would wake you before you could oversleep again,” Barty grinned at him.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry sat up.

“Thanks. How long did I sleep?” Harry retorted.
“Long enough that I believe you must have made some headway with your new spells,” the other
said, holding out his hand. Harry grabbed it and let himself be pulled to his feet.
“Do you know what our Lord wants to have for dinner?”
“I can’t go wrong with a nice roast.”

Harry snorted at the reply. “Even with magic a good roast needs hours,” he told Barty.
“Really?” the wizard asked, scratching his skin. “I never realized how much work cooking is. And
how much time it takes. Guess it's a good thing our Lord has you.”
“Yeah, between you and the Dark Lord this castle would long have burned down with your
attempts. I saw the state of the kitchen the night I arrived,” Harry shot back, thinking that
Voldemort was clearly not a cook. “I better go and prepare something quickly.”

He left his room and walked into the kitchen, casting a tempus. He had about an hour left, enough
to cook something halfway decent. Once in the pantry, he looked around for inspiration. In the end
he summoned a sack of potatoes, some onions, carrots, leek and celery as well as a piece of beef.

“What are you cooking?” Barty asked as he went back into the kitchen. The death eater had
followed him and now sat on a conjured chair.
“Potato soup,” Harry answered, summoning a slide and knife and began skinning the vegetables.
The other made an unhappy face. “Soup again?”
Harry just shrugged. “It's tasty and quick enough. I can fix a roast tomorrow.”
“Now there’s a promise I like,” Barty grinned back. “So, how was your practice? Did you finally
manage the spell?”

Harry sighed. “It's not perfect yet but I still have a few days left. I think they should be enough.”
“Good good. No one really wants Malfoy Jr to win, not even his own mother.”
Harry blinked, surprised. “She doesn’t?”
Barty shook his head. “Narcissa knows what it means to serve our Lord and that her son is not yet
ready for it. If he ever will be,” he explained. “I taught him for a year. Draco Malfoy is a weak
coward. An arrogant, weak coward to be precise, which is even worse, because he thinks himself
too good to practice. And that is why he will lose your duel, powerful, pureblood or not.”

Harry threw him a glare. “What do you mean with ‘powerful pureblood’? Purebloods aren’t any
stronger than half bloods or muggleborn wizards.”
“Maybe not if they are like you, and are capable of performing the spells you can,” Barty retorted.
When Harry glared at him again, Barty lifted his hands. “Look, a halfblood overpowered and
imprisoned me, so I know that they are not weak. However, most of them shy away from doing
what must be done.”
“I think it's important to have morals,” Harry objected.
“And that is exactly why your side will lose in the end,” Barty snorted. “Morals prevent you from
taking necessary steps toward change.”
“Change shouldn’t require killing everyone who opposes you. If you have to kill everyone, you’re
clearly doing something wrong,” Harry said seriously. “And if you kill everyone who opposes you,
who will be left for you to rule?” Harry asked, his fingers tightening around the knife in his hand.
“Oh, will you enslave them instead? People won’t let themselves be enslaved for forever, you
know. Look at muggle history and every dictator there ever was.”
“Muggles, useless filth,” Barty spat. “Wizards are not muggles.
“Wizards may not be muggles, but they react the same way to being enslaved,” Harry retorted.
“They rise up and fight back.”
“Keep believing in your glorified heroism,” Barty said, standing up and vanishing his chair. “I will
see if our Lord needs any help,” he said, and stalked out.

The door fell shut, but Harry ignored the sound, seething just as much as Barty, as he quickly fried
the piece of beef and then added water to the pot. He added the onion, bay leaf, and a few other
spices. He sat down at the table and tried not to fall asleep again as he waited until it was time to
add the rest of the vegetables. He nearly fell asleep twice, but managed to keep himself awake. Still
he was relieved when 30 minutes later he sent three bowls of thick, hearty potato soup to the dining
room.

Barty was already waiting, however, Voldemort had not yet arrived. Fortunately however, the Dark
Lord entered only a few seconds later, because Harry was feeling quite starved after his rigorous
practice.
“I hope that it was your practice and not the house elves which have tired you out like this,” he
commented as he sat down.
For a few minutes they ate silently, until Voldemort apparently decided that they were sated
enough to continue with business.

“Barty, I have corrected the guest list for the summer fest. I want you to send the invitations out
before you retire this evening.”
Barty merely inclined his head. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Tomorrow the recruits as well as my new guard will arrive,” the Dark Lord continued without
acknowledging Barty further. “The recruits will arrive in 5 minute intervals between 10 and 11.”
“And when will your guard arrive?” Harry asked without thinking.

Voldemort threw him a sharp look that made him add a quick “my Lord.”
Voldeort didn’t exactly look much appeased, but he answered the question and didn’t crucio his
valet.
“Fenrir will arrive before nightfall.”

That wasn’t terribly precise but something in the Dark Lord’s voice made Harry cautious about
asking for clarification.

“You two will assign a room to each of our guests and inform them of the house rules.”
“House rules, my Lord?” Harry echoed, having not yet heard about any rules for the recruits.
However, it was Barty who answered.
“They can eat in the dinner hall on their floor, and for now the Malfoy house elves will provide
three meals a day. The library will be made available only in special circumstances, and only under
supervision. And they are not allowed to wander to our Lord’s floor, of course.”
Harry suppressed the urge to mutter “of course” sarcastically.

“Training will start a day later, which means that Proudfoot will once again be a regular guest as
well,” the Dark Lord continued. “If you feel you need any more advice before your duel, Hades,
then you may ask him any time he is not busy.”
Harry mumbled something in affirmation, more because that was what was expected of him than
any real inclination to speak to the man. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t need any advice before a
duel with Draco Malfoy of all people.

Voldemort rose to his feet then. “Go to bed after you have cleared the table. You look as if your
magical core can use the additional hours of rest,” he said, before sweeping from the room.
As soon as the Dark Lord was gone Barty stood up as well and sighed as he said “Come on kid, I
will help you. Our Lord is correct. You look as if you are about to keel over.”
It was a matter of mere minutes to spell the bowls and cutlery back to the kitchen to wash
themselves. Harry didn’t protest the Dark Lord’s order or Barty’s hovering to make sure that he did
as told and just retired to his room. He was so tired at that point that he didn’t even attempt to read
or do anything else. Instead, he just transfigured his robes, crawled beneath his comforter, and
concentrated on the soothing buzz of his newly discovered magical core. Not a moment later,
Harry was fast asleep.

The next morning Harry woke early on his own and went into the kitchen. It was only five thirty
but he felt reenergized and wide awake. Energized enough, in fact, that he cooked up a storm,
before sending everything to the runic shelf to keep it warm and fresh before he walked down to
the front portal for an early morning training session.

There was still a slight chill in the air and dew glistened on the grass as he crossed the wide
meadow. He just walked to the black marble temple and came to a halt, setting up the knight,
which he enlarged to be around waist height, and then he closed his eyes.

His inner core reacted immediately. It was as if overnight his core had grown used to the new kind
of spellcasting and the new exertion. He pulled himself from his core and then dropped back into
meditation and only after three attempts having the exact same effect did he open his eyes.

Steadied after a few minutes contact with his core, and settled in the growing light of the morning,
Harry took a deep breath and tried to cast without all the preparation and meditation he had done
the previous day. He had expected that without watching his magical core, he would have more
difficulty reaching for his magic, but in the last 18 hours he seemed to have built a connection to
that immense orb of power inside of him and the spell came surprisingly easily. Shocked, but
inordinately pleased at his success, Harry practiced piertotum locomotor for half an hour before
shrinking and pocketing the knight. He stretched for a moment, barely sweating at all, thinking that
there were other spells he still needed to practice.

He and Barty hadn’t discussed the two fidelium spells as much, but he guessed that fidelium
plantea would be the easier one of the two, mainly because a plant was a more solid, living matter
than water. So he looked around until he found a middle sized bush and walked up to it.

The theory, much as Barty had mentioned, was rather similar. Channeling his magic came as
smoothly as with the previous spell, and the incantation certainly wasn’t difficult though the wand
movement was a bit more so. But he soon discovered the main differences as he thought he
successfully cast the spell, but yet nothing happened.

Frowning, he cut his magic off and gazed at the bush in front of him. He knew many people didn’t
really think him intelligent, and he was the first to agree that he was no scholar like Hermione, but
he always had a solid practical kind of knowledge. Or maybe it was more an instinct for what
needed to be done. With the exception of the patronus charm and piertotum locomotor, every
defense spell he had ever tried to cast had come easy to him, and even those he struggled with he
had mastered in the end. He was sure he could master the fidelium spells as well, he only had to
figure out what he was overlooking.

The knight had been a solid, lifeless object, but with the spell he could animate it like a marionette.
This bush certainly possessed more life than the chess piece, so what was the difference?

And then suddenly the epiphany hit; the chess piece was a free object, while the bush was rooted
in its place. It couldn’t just stand up and walk around, or was that what he actually had to achieve?
He didn’t believe so, that would contradict the very nature of a plant. But how could it be of any
help then? How could it reach and subdue an opponent for him if it was stuck feet away with its
short twigs? Or was maybe that the goal of the spell? To bring the plant into a form where it could
be of use.

Once again he closed his eyes, but instead of concentrating on his core and his magic as he cast the
spell, he concentrated on the bush. He pushed his magic deeper into its leaves and twigs, before
imagining the bush growing. He kept the connection up for several seconds and when he opened
his eyes, he saw that the bush had indeed grown several inches in the short time. It was a beginning
at least.

The next hour he spent concentrating on single twigs and branches of the surrounding greenery
until he could grow and move them like extendable arms. He enlarged his chess piece once more
and tried to grab it with his additional limbs, before concentrating on as many different kinds of
greenery as he could find in his surroundings.

He noticed rather quickly that the spell felt slightly different depending on what he cast it and each
plant had their own, unique limits. Branches of trees would grow the most, however, they were by
far not as flexible as the grass.

Soon the sun stood high enough in the sky that he realized he better return to Voldemort’s quarters
and dish up breakfast. So he turned around made his way back to the castle, climbing back up the
many stairs to Voldemort’s floor, where he found Barty already looking for him.

“There you are, kid!” the Death Eater exclaimed, before giving him a suspicious look. “Where
were you so early in the morning?”
“I went outside to practice my spells,” Harry shrugged, seeing no reason to lie. “Who knows if I
will have time the rest of the day.” Grinning, he added “But don’t worry, I made breakfast before I
left.”
Barty chuckled. “I wish I had your energy, kid. Now, go and clean up and I will send the plates
out,” he said, making a shooing motion.
Realizing suddenly that his robe was sticking unpleasantly to his back, he grinned sheepishly and
complied. When he walked into the dining room ten minutes later, Voldemort had already started
breakfast.

“Was your training successful?” the Dark Lord asked, looking up from his pancake.
“Yup,” he retorted with a cheerful grin. “I can cast piertotum and fidelium plantea now.”
“Very good. However, next time you leave the castle, I expect that you report to me ahead of time.
I do not appreciate learning about my valet’s solo excursions merely because, by chance, I looked
out the window at the right time.”

Voldemort gave him a piercing look with those gleaming, red snake-eyes that made Harry want to
shudder. Oh how he was starting to hate that feeling. He wondered if that was the same thrill of
fear he heard his classmates talking about when their parents called them by their full name. No
one had been able to make him feel like that, at least not since he had been very small. Not the
Dursleys, not Remus, not even Sirius, but here was Voldemort, looking disappointed, making
Harry feel like he was in trouble.
“I am sorry, my Lord.”

Voldemort rose to his feet and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Leave Barty to the cleaning. We need to have a discussion about wizarding holidays in
preparation for your appearance at the summer fest, and I have a list with the names and the
assigned rooms of the trainees for you. The lesson will take perhaps an hour, and then you may go
and familiarize yourself with where the trainees will be staying before the begin arriving at 9. The
first will arrive in forty minutes.”

Harry glanced over at Barty, who nodded and once again repeated that shooing gesture. He gave
him a glare, but followed Voldemort without a protest anyway. They entered his study and the
Dark Lord summoned a single piece of parchment from his desk. The tart honey scent lingered as
strongly in the air as the day prior, but Harry tried to pay it no attention as he took the sheet of
paper from Voldemort.

“The list contains all the information you and Barty will need. I trust everything will go smoothly,”
the wizard said, before settling in his chair for their lesson.

“Now then,” he began, as Harry scrambled for parchment and ink to take notes. “The first holiday
is Yule, the winter solstice. The holiday’s name originates from the Norse word Hjol, which means
wheel, which is where we get the name “Wheel of the Year” for all our holidays. On Yule night,
while the darkness of night is spread over the world, the magical energy in the world starts to rise,
just as the light begins to stretch its hours. It is a time of thankfulness,” his lecture began
seamlessly.

“Disting follows next. The exact date is set by the reading of the night sky. It is the feast of the
new beginning and marks the time to plant the new crops. A sacrifice to Magic is a crucial part of
this holiday and when done to our Lady’s satisfaction, it is answered with a blessing of fertility for
the fields.” Voldemort continued and Harry quickly focused on him again. He had never known
that wizards were religious.
“On the last day of April we celebrate Walpurgis Night. Walpurgis was a seer in the 8th century
who foretold the blessing of two strong wizards, the Master of Death and a Lord of Magic, who
would unite and save the magical world after a foretold period of darkness. This focus on saving
the magical world is why it has become the day to ask Lady Magic to keep protecting and
supporting the fields, thereby saving the wizarding people from starvation.”

The confusion must have been written on his face, because Voldemort asked, “What is your
question?”

“Well, isn’t so much a question,” Harry’s voice slowed as he tried to put his thoughts to word. “I
guess I just don’t understand why they would focus so much on a prophecy,” he settled for saying.
“Divination just seems so… fuzzy… to me.”

“Ah, that’s divination,” Voldemort smiled. “Divination is highly imprecise, and subject to the
interpretation of any who view one of a myriad of divining tools. Add the fact the moon phases,
solar phases, the seasons, and even the hair color of the person reading whatever tool they have
selected, and you get all sorts of ridiculous predictions that are highly likely to never occur,” he
finished. “Prophecy is not divination. Prophecy is a gift from our Lady to speak the truth of future
events, not to predict them through humanity’s imperfect methods.”

Harry nodded, looking thoughtful, so Voldemort continued, “Can you guess in which phase of the
prophecy we are in currently?”
Harry pondered the question for a moment. Sure, he had heard of some powerful lords, but they
were already born and dead. Thinking over the history he had studied under Voldemort’s stern
instruction and the ongoing wars between opposing political factions all over the world really left
only one logical answer.
“The period of darkness?” he answered as much as he asked.
Voldemort inclined his head in affirmation, before continuing his lesson.

“We can discuss the prophecy in more depth some other time, but for today, I wish to provide you
an overview. The next holiday is midsummer, which is the counterpart to yule. It is the summer
equinox, the longest day and the shortest night. We celebrate the sun which elicits the sprouts from
the earth and helps them grow. In honor of her, we light bonfires. It is also the day on which young
couples ask for magic’s blessing of fertility and the birth of a strong heir. Tradition has it that
wooden, hand-crafted phallic objects are thrown into the bonfires as offerings toward that end.”

Feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, Harry cleared his throat. “That… sounds odd.”
“It is an old tradition,” Voldemort replied, a studied nonchalance on his face giving Harry the
feeling that the Dark Lord actually thought similarly about that specific part of the celebration.

Voldemort cleared his throat as well and continued.

“Lughnasadh is traditionally celebrated on the 1st of August. It is our harvesting festival, the
festival of the first fruits. We thank Lady Magic for the first harvest and, as a token of that
gratitude, wizarding families offer a small portion of each fruit they have harvested. As I was...
indisposed when the solstice would have been celebrated and the castle will not yet be ready for
guests on Lughnasadh, I am currently planning a summer feast as replacement. In the past it was a
tradition for myself and my followers to gather on at least one of these holidays and celebrate
together. Only the higher ranking members, of course.”

It was truly amazing to hear about all those feasts. Of course Harry had noticed that the magical
word was much more old fashioned in comparison to the muggle world and the wizarding market
should have clued him in that most families apparently still were farmers at their core, but it hadn’t.

These kinds of holidays he actually could respect, he always had thought that most muggles (or
people in general) were far too ungrateful for their food and the resources Mother Nature gave to
them.

“Lastly is Samhain, the final harvest. It is the only festival to purely honor the darker side of
magic. Not because magic is dark or light, as we have discussed, or that any one kind of magic is
any more important than another, but because for the living it is important to maintain balance.
Where there is shadow there is light, where there is light, there is shadow. And while we observe
the sun, day, and light at midsummer, Samhain offers reverence to the night,” Voldemort
continued. “It is important to remember that death is an undeniable part of our world as well. At
Samhain we sacrifice the animals who are too weak to survive the cold months. However, we do
not sacrifice them in a traditional way, but make long-lasting food products out of them, like cured
bacon and sausages as Lady Magic would not demand a sacrifice that would endanger her
children's lives.”

Harry nodded, but didn’t speak, allowing the Dark Lord to go on, “On Samhain night, the magical
energy in this world it’s at its lowest. Samhain symbolises the end. Death.”
Harry continued listening attentively.
“As in all things magical, the holiday is not purely symbolic either. With the magic so low, the
barriers between our world and the astral plane are at their weakest point, allowing the souls of the
dead to visit this world with the help of an experienced Master of the Necromantic Arts.”

Voldemort must have seen his surprise, because he asked, “You have a question?”
At this point, Harry only hesitated a second. “Actually, yes. By ‘Master of the Necromantic Arts’
do you mean someone who raises dead people? Like inferi? Or someone who exorcizes ghosts?”
Voldemort sighed, though he couldn’t fault the child for his upbringing. Necromantic arts were so
much more than simply raising inferi, which any wizard of sufficient magical power could do if
they only had the necessary will and a basic understanding of the arts. “In the past,” Voldemort
began to explain, “there were temples dedicated to Lady Magic. Ritual or Spiritual mages served
there as priests or priestesses, presiding over feasts, rituals, and other spiritual events. When those
temples still existed, only the priests of those temples were allowed to perform the rituals to open a
door to let the souls through. However, since the Ministry closed the last temples about 250 years
ago, normal wizards with enough power and knowledge perform these rituals secretly.”

“Why were the rituals forbidden?” Harry asked, wondering if something horrible as the sacrifice of
a virgin was necessary to open the mentioned door between the worlds.

“Magic’s priests were a powerful force and a serious competition to the still young Ministries. In
fact, their influence was much stronger, due to the fact that the priests had been a trusted part of our
world for millennia by that point,” the Dark Lord explained. “The first Ministers realized that they
would never gain true power if the temples remained. It was a campaign that lasted about three
decades and it was ultimately successful, unfortunately, when more and more muggle borns
entered our world.”

Harry frowned. Only two weeks ago he would not have even believed that magic could be strong
enough to do something like Voldemort was describing, but that had been before he himself had
brought someone back from the dead. But if magic was that strong, why would wizards wish to
forbid a holiday that gave them a chance to see their deceased relatives again? Was sacrificing such
an event worth the power those men had gained?

Harry knew what he would answer, he would give everything to speak to his family. His father and
mother who loved and cared for him, not the Dursleys who hated him.

“Thankfully, while the temples were wiped out, not every holiday needs to be an opulent
celebration. Generally, performing the rites and sacrifices is enough, but it is viewed as impolite to
not hold a bigger celebration at least once a year,” Voldemort paused.
“As I already mentioned, ritual or spiritual priests could lead many such events. And where a
family had many branches and offshoots, sons and daughters with the appropriate skills would be
trained just for this service. For smaller families, without as many members, it was often
appreciated when one of these ritually trained mages married into their line. For many millennia
these wizards and witches were respected in their new home, until the dispute between the
extremist political factions came to a crisis. One of the last of these witches to participate in such a
marriage bond was Dorea Black, who married Lord Charlus Potter.”

Harry perked up at the mention of his family, but didn’t dare to ask further, knowing how sensitive
a topic his family was with the Dark Lord, but maybe there were some records of his ancestry? He
had believed his family to be wholly aligned with the political ideals of the light, and therefore
unlikely to have practiced the rituals and holidays, but now he knew of a member of his family
who had been specifically trained to not only participate, but to lead!

Voldemort sat forward and cast a tempus. “It is time for you to be getting on with your duties,
Hades,” he said when he saw the time.

Harry wanted to think more about Dorea and Charlus Potter - his grandparents! - or ask a question
to keep the Dark Lord talking, but he knew it was a futile effort. So he left the study silently and
made his way downstairs. He pulled out the parchment and began reviewing the list of trainees and
their room placement so he would be ready when they began to arrive.

He had just finished checking the rooms and returned to the main landing when he found a young
man already waiting for him. He looked barely older than himself and Harry guessed that he had
just graduated prior to this summer. But he didn’t like the smug look in the other’s eyes.

Harry ignored the arrogant expression he received; he would bet his entire family vault that
Proudfoot guy, or Voldemort if it came to it, would soon wipe that smug grin from the guy’s face
anyway. Not that he was overly tall or strong looking, but this boy looked as if he hadn’t lifted his
finger his entire life. He looked like a typical, spoiled pureblood heir in fact. Somehow Harry
wondered if Voldemort could actually respect guys like this. Sure, the Dark Lord seemed to preach
and support all that pureblood nonsense, he certainly did, but he at least knew his spells and
magical theory. In fact, Harry would even go so far to say that the wizard could probably do nearly
everything as long as it didn’t include a frying pan and a spatula.

“Timothy Bluewater?” He asked, reading off the upper name from the list.
“Who wants to know that?” the boy sneered.
Harry just threw him an annoyed glare. “His Lordship’s valet wants to know that, because he is the
one assigning you to your room. But if you prefer to pitch a tent on the meadow outside, be my
guest.”

He hadn’t taken any of that arrogant, pompous crap from Draco Malfoy and he certainly wouldn’t
start now with a stranger he would probably never see again after today.
The boy gave him a sneer but said, “Yes, I am Heir Bluewater.”
“As far as I know,” Harry merely retorted, “titles aren’t of much use here.” That was actually
something he really liked about Voldemort’s politics. He didn’t tolerate any arse kissing among his
 ranks. “But of course I am just a valet which must mean that I am barely more than a squib and
must have forgotten how to hold a wand,” Harry sneered. “House rules,” He spat out, “You can eat
in the dinner hall on this floor, and will be provided three meals a day,” he pointed down a long
hallway that led to the dining hall. “The library will be made available to you only in special
circumstances, and only under supervision. And you are not allowed to wander to our Lord’s floor,
of course. You have room 4,” he said, confirming on his list as he pointed toward a door with a
simple four in the center of the door, “now get out of the way before the next apparates you over.”
Bluewater turned around, leaving his ridiculously big trunk behind. Really, what was the boy
thinking he would be doing here? Attending a ball every evening?

“And take your luggage!” Harry called out, interested to see how the uppity snob would react to
being told to perform manual labor.
“Tell a house elf to bring it to my room and put my stuff away. But carefully, my wardrobe was
expensive,” Bluewater said without even turning around.
Scowling, Harry called after him. “We don’t have any house elves here. Why do you think our
Lord needed a valet in the first place?”
That actually made Bluewater swirl around with an incredulous look. “Who, by Salazar, has no
house elves?”
Suppressing the urge to rub the bridge of his nose, Harry retorted, “Our Lord has no house elves. If
you have a problem with it, I propose you take your complaints to him.”
The boy paled, floundered back the few steps he had already walked and finally drew his wand to
levitate his trunk behind him, but not without throwing an angry glare at the purple eyed youth
who called himself the Dark Lord’s valet.

Bluewater had barely disappeared in his room, when the sound of another recruit arriving sounded
behind Harry. Turning around Harry sighed at the sight of yet another arrogant looking pureblood.
Where was Barty to help with this nonsense, he groused to himself. Somehow he had the feeling
that this was going to be a long day.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 The Duel
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN1: Here comes chapter 11! I hope to get chapter 12 uploaded today or tomorrow,
but I still need to add quite a bit to it. Also, it depends if my beta finds time to spell-
check the new parts, so no promises. As usual, many thanks to my incredible beta,
Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
and in addition, helped me write the duel scene in this chapter
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

AN2: This additional AN is in direct reaction to a review I have received this morning
and I also added it to chapter 1, however, I will also add it here as most readers will
probably not go back to chapter 1 any time soon (which is understandable as you just
read it). My proclamation that "Ties that Bind" is inspired by GeMerope's "In Willing
Sacrifice" seems to lead some readers to the belief that it is a close rewrite, starting off
at the same point in time and going through very similar events only in my own words.
THAT IS NOT THE CASE! I love the feeling of GeMeropes story, her attention to
detail and how she build a dark side that can really be taken seriously and that is what
I wished to recapture with my own story. You will find parts where you will be able to
easily see that I was inspired by her, but also parts that lack any similarity and are
uniquely my own.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 11: The Duel

The following two days until Harry’s duel with Draco Malfoy had gone by in a blur of activity.
Voldemort and Barty had been busy with their ongoing preparations and yet another Death Eater
meeting. Unfortunately this one had also taken place in the throne room, a floor which Harry had
little to no reason to be spotted on, so Harry had no chance to overhear something useful. If there
was anything useful to overhear. He really didn’t know how much detail the dark lord went into
when meeting with the larger full group of death eaters compared to his more trusted inner circle.

He had mentally shrugged, deciding that if Voldemort did decide to set up something to try and get
to ‘Harry Potter’ again, he’d likely hear about it straight from the source rather than needing to rely
entirely on stealthily obtained intelligence from meetings. In fact, he was probably getting more
insight into the man’s operation than any other person in Dumbledore’s group could boast.
Possibly even more than Snape who he hadn’t seen since he was first called when Harry was going
through the files.
And while he continued storing information away, his thoughts bounced back and forth. Did he
want to share the information with Dumbledore? The man who sent him to the Dursleys every
summer despite repeated requests to remain anywhere else for the holiday? The man who actually
set other witches and wizards to watch him while he was with his muggle relatives? The man who
either heard from his little watchers about Harry’s treatment and ignored it, or used people who
cared so little about a child that they never reported it in the first place?

He certainly wasn’t advocating for Voldemort’s plans, but he was also beginning to wonder more
about Dumbledore’s. Some of the things he had heard in lessons with the dark lord, read about in
texts from the massive library, experienced first hand in the resurrection ritual he performed,
certainly seemed to make more sense than banning branches of magic and forcing people to give
up their culture in favor of muggle traditions that did nothing for the magical world. But he just
didn’t know enough, so he continued to listen, and to think.

The training for the recruits had also started. And as expected, when Harry had been sent down to
deliver a note to Proudfoot, a tall, muscular Death Eater who worked as an Auror if Harry
remembered correctly from his sorting of bios in the Dark Lord’s office, the trainees looked much
less arrogant already. Although they had still sniffed in disdain when he had entered the training
room. Apparently half-bloods were not as acceptable to the newer recruits as they were at least
tolerated in the main ranks. He was almost certain some of the purebloods *cough cough* Lucius
Malfoy *cough cough* believed they were far superior to half-bloods and muggle-borns, Draco
was certainly a clear example of that, but at least the man didn’t voice his pureblood supremacist
notions in front of a known half-blood in Voldemort’s domain. That’s not to say he didn’t spout
them at home or in public, but at least the threat of his lord overhearing was enough to keep it away
from Harry’s ears.

But then a message had arrived from the people of Voldemort’s guard. They had been delayed but
were coming as soon as they could. Somewhat to Harry’s surprise Voldemort had just sneered and
muttered something about the Ministry before he had continued to read through reports. Truth be
told, when Harry heard the message he would be delivering, he had sort of expected to be hit with a
round of crucios for stress relief like he so often had seen in his visions, but it didn’t happen.
Apparently, the man was controlling his murdery-torturey impulses really well, or wasn’t feeling
the need to crucio everyone for any perceived failure. Harry had intellectually know it, Voldemort
had only cast the curse on him a few times in more than as many weeks, and never held it for long.
Even Bellatrix had only been subjected to it once, and that was more because she was crazy
without her potions than anything else. But seeing first hand events that would have sent the man
into a torturing rage only a few months before and only getting a sneer and a nasty comment about
the ministry was eye-opening. Harry could only hope the new-and-improved, or at least less
murder-and-torture Dark Lord would continue, and wonder about whether it would apply to
Voldemort’s plans for Harry Potter as well.

Voldemort and Barty had been busy with numerous individual meetings as well, and the number of
guests had grown like never before. And wasn’t that frightening proof that his enemy was well and
truly getting better. Harry had been able to overhear enough that he knew Voldemort was
rebuilding his army, not that the files he had organized hadn't already been a strong indicator.
However, he had not expected that the man would move so quickly. The Dark Lord truly was
efficient if he wanted to be and it was clear that he did.

Despite all that hustle and bustle Voldemort still made sure that Harry trained for his duel every
day. After he finally understood how to work properly with his magical core, he had not only
mastered piertotum locomotor and fidelium plantea rather quickly, but also fidelium aqua
surprisingly enough.

Casting fidelium aqua had felt a bit odd at first, but he had expected as much, after all, water was
much less solid than plants and keeping it in the shape one wanted it to take required much more
power than letting a branch grow, but conversely it could do much more in the end. Fidelium aqua
he had also learned, could be cast everywhere as the spell drew not only water from the ground or
any nearby puddles and ponds, but also the air and even the bricks and stone the castle was built
from.

His practice had in fact gone so well that he had gone back down to the library the night after the
recruits had arrived and had searched for additional spells to broaden his repertoire. He had found
two more spells which had seemed useful to him. The first was Phoenix Fire which was apparently
similar to fiendfyre. He had mainly picked it out because fire spells were always useful and he had
been curious if it would be easier to control than fiendfyre.

Then he had taught himself praesidium sanctum gladium, because Voldemort hadn’t added a single
defensive spell to his list and he thought going into a duel without being able to cast a proper shield
charm was stupid. Sure, he could cast a protego, but he was sure it wouldn’t be anywhere near
strong enough for what he was certain Draco would try to dish out. It was supposed to be one of
the strongest shields, said to have been invented by Merlin and was a sort of sword barrier.
According to the book descriptions, the swords conjured looked like the famous Excalibur. The
great thing about that spell also was that it formed a circle around his person, shielding him
effectively from all sides.

Lastly there was magistre adiuva. Harry found the spell in the small notebook he had nicked from
Voldemort weeks ago to resurrect Barty. That book had been quite useful then, so it had only
seemed logical to check what else it’s author had noted down. Unfortunately, the description didn’t
really tell him exactly what kind of magic it was supposed to be.

Based on the explanation of the spell, which had been rather complicated and Harry would freely
admit that the chapter had mostly gone over his head, he expected it to be some sort of magical
drain from his opponent that would be siphoned into him temporarily. He discovered he could cast
it successfully with the training dummies. Though they didn’t have much power to pull from, it
was still noticeable, and that was enough to satisfy him. After all, he wasn’t a studious person like
his friend Hermione or the dark lord, both of whom were only happy when they understood every
minute theoretical aspect of a new spell.

Between his extra studies to prepare for the duel, the normal lessons he still received from
Voldemort and Barty, and his usual chores like cooking, Harry was beginning to feel the strain. He
wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed like Voldemort wanted him to learn everything he was supposed
to be learning in the upcoming school year before he had to leave. He wasn’t sure why, and it felt
like a bit of a waste of time since he would just have to sit through classes about it later, but he
couldn’t say anything about it. Though he did privately bemoan the time that could have been
spent learning things outside the Hogwarts curriculum. But thankfully, after his duel with Draco
today, his workload would finally decrease once again.

“You look nervous, kid,” Barty commented when Harry was preparing to leave for Malfoy Manor.
Harry stopped checking the shoulder bag where he had been stowing his essays he had written in
the past week and looked up. Barty was leaning against his doorway, watching him with a broad
grin.

“No, not really,” he said honestly, shrugging. “Draco Malfoy is an arrogant prat. I’m actually
looking forward to taking him down a peg or two.”
Barty gave him a shark-like grin. “Spoken almost like a true Death Eater.”
Harry snorted and asked, “What’s still missing? The threat of permanent physical deformity or
insanity?”
“Of course,” the other just quipped, before he added more seriously, “I wish I could come and
watch, however, tomorrow our new recruits are having the first set of placement duels and there
are a bunch of things I have to take care of for our Lord. But you will describe the duel in detail
once you have returned.”
“Maybe our lord would let us borrow a pensieve?” Harry smirked, “but if not, I will do my best,”
Harry promised, summoning his herbology essay and shoving it in his bag. “Don’t worry, Draco is
all talk and no action. I don’t think he’ll be much of a challenge. I mean, wasn’t his laziness the
reason why his dad went to Voldemort to ask if I could come over in the first place? The challenge
definitely worked.”

“You know,” Bartemius said and something in his voice told Harry that whatever the wizard was
about to say would be important. “If you win, it will help our Lord in the long run.”
Harry blinked. “How so?”
“Have you not listened to his lectures at all?” Barty just huffed and Harry suppressed the urge to
roll his eyes. Really, sometimes it was ridiculous how easily the man got affronted on behalf of
Voldemort.

“Our Lord’s goal is to reinstall a true magical society, with all the old traditions. That includes all
magic users. Unfortunately by deciding to fully align with muggle culture, Dumbledore has also
managed to sow a deep-seated hatred for wizarding culture in all muggle raised, and many half-
blood families. For our Lord it is more of them not being willing to adopt our culture and traditions
than their blood status.”
Harry nodded, he had noticed that part a long time ago. Really, no pureblood entering Hogwarts
could finish their first year without noticing how much those of other blood statuses were pandered
to. Wizarding holidays removed from the school in favor of muggle ones, stores in Diagon Alley
solely devoted to muggle items, and a complete lack of any sort of education regarding wizarding
traditions, laws, and culture made it abundantly clear that their own world was slowly pushing
them out. It really was no wonder so many purebloods hate half-bloods and muggleborns, though it
had grown even more obvious while he had dealt with Voldemort’s recruits.

“Unfortunately, due to our Lord’s early politics, not many are aware of his viewpoint. In addition
he has long told pureblood fanatics like the Malfoys what they wanted to hear. However, if we
want to have lasting peace in our society, muggleborns need to be educated in wizarding tradition
and purebloods need to accept that they have a right to a place in our world as well.”

Harry nodded silently, agreeing wholeheartedly with Barty’s explanation.

“Unfortunately the whole pureblood vs. muggleborn issue has gained so much of a life of its own
that by now our Lord is contemplating just leaving the topic as it is altogether.”

“Why? That doesn’t seem to make any sense if he sees how important an understanding between
those parties is for the peace in our world.” Harry asked with a frown, not really understanding. So
far, he had never regretted that he basically knew and understood nothing about politics, but ever
since living at Voldemort’s castle, it was seriously starting to bother him.

Barty just shrugged. “Muggleborns are just of no use to him and even halfbloods not really. Our
political system is at fault there,” he explained. “The wizarding world is still greatly organized like
a classical estate-based society from the medieval times. The Sacred 28 hold all voting power by
birthright, while halfbloods and muggleborns first need to reach a position in the Ministry that
comes with a vote, like the Chief Warlock or the Head of the DMLE. Even then their number isn’t
equal to the votes the ancient and noble houses posses and that is without considering that the old
houses hold enough power to influence which people are chosen as Heads of the Ministry
Departments.”

Harry was surprised at Barty’s words. The man was a pureblood but advocating for the inclusion
of muggle borns in their society. It didn’t really align with his picture of Voldemort’s cause.

“So would you marry a muggleborn, then?” Harry questioned his friend. “To help with the peace,
teach them wizarding culture, and all that?”

“No,” Barty scoffed. “I don’t disagree that there can be powerful half-bloods and muggleborns and
that they need to be better integrated into our society, but there’s still a better chance of powerful
kids with another pureblood.”

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to shake his head, or maybe shake sense into Barty. Here he thought
somebody actually understood what the focus on being pure-blooded was doing to the wizarding
world (at least partly, even Barty didn’t seem to see the issue of inbreeding), but even the former
Ravenclaw, with all his intelligence, was clearly just parroting something Voldemort said without
actually understanding why.
But even that made him wonder. Voldemort had proven to be far more reasonable than he could
ever have imagined. The books on genetics seemed to suggest that at least he saw the problem of
purebloods intermarrying too closely. It made him wonder why Voldemort had chosen the route of
agreeing with the purebloods in the first place. But then again, Voldemort was that type of person
who would go for the quickest way to power and force changes that contradicted everything he had
said and promised afterwards. At least, while he had been less sane still. Now however, the wizard
seemed to see the problems that had arisen with his plan of action.

Voldemort would seem unreliable and untrustworthy if he changed his agenda so drastically all of
the sudden. But what could be the solution? Maybe there needed to be a second great player, one
with the power to stand equal to Lord Voldemort or at least dare to confront him and go head to
head about these kinds of controversies. But who? Dumbledore, as powerful as he still was, grew
inarguably older, but the other person he could think of who might be able to draw enough sway in
their world was himself.

However, would he want such an important and difficult position in the upcoming war? In a sense,
it was the same question Voldemort had already asked him weeks ago; Would he agree to fight if it
were for peace?

Everything he had been exposed to since arriving at Voldemort’s castle seemed logical, but he
really didn’t like the fighting, torturing, or killing. Would it be possible to settle things peacefully?

“Hades? Everything alright, kid?”

Harry jumped, startled and his eyes flickered back up to Barty.

“Yeah sure. What would be wrong?” He asked, hastily, far too hastily even to his own ears.
Barty gave him an odd look, but then merely said, “You’re going to be late.”
“Right,” Harry affirmed and swung his bag over his shoulder. “I better get going. What was the
password this time?”
“Toujours Pur,” Barty said, making Harry roll his eyes.
“Of course it would be something like that. I will just show them that being a halfblood doesn’t
make you any weaker.”
Barty snorted. “Not always, but it does sometimes. I still think your mother had an affair with a
pureblood. It’s rare for half bloods to be as strong as you are.”

Harry just waved at him and left his small room. Voldemort was nowhere in sight as he passed
through the wizard’s parlor. Once in the hallway, he tossed some floo powder into the hearth,
repeated his destination and the password, then floo’ed away.

A moment later the nauseating travel was over, however when he landed he had expected to be in
the library, not the lush, green meadow that greeted his eyes. In the distance he could see a white
marble structure that reminded him of a Greek amphitheater and, to Harry’s horror, a whole lot of
people. Of course the Malfoys would make a spectacle of it, Harry thought with annoyance. Well,
he would make sure that next time Draco would keep his challenge as small-scale as possible by
defeating him soundly.
Sighing, he pushed the shoulder strap of his rucksack higher and began to march ahead. He would
not be intimidated by Malfoy’s pompous display. He might have more money, a big manor, and
more acquaintances at his side right now, but on the dueling platform he would stand alone and
Harry knew he had prepared well. He had taught the DA the previous year, been tutored most of
the summer by Barty and Voldemort himself. He even held his own against the Death Eaters in the
Ministry! He had studied more advanced casting techniques and broadened his spell repertoire
specifically for this duel. What was one berk of a ferret going to do to him?

There was a white marble path leading down to the amphitheater. The stones were as immaculate
and impersonal as everything else he had seen of the manor so far. He stepped on it and kept
walking, even as he could see numerous heads turning to watch his solitary approach.

As he came nearer, he could see Malfoy and Nott standing by a group of other teens. Harry had
seen most of them a few days ago when he had assigned the rooms to the new recruits. He
wondered if they had somehow heard about the duel and decided they wanted to see the valet be
defeated or if Malfoy had actually contacted them to come watch. He wondered if Proudfoot would
count the duel as educational.

Further to the left Harry saw Draco’s parents standing with a group of other adults. Krum was
among them, and a man that looked very much like the seeker, an elegant and kind looking woman
on his arm. Then there was a witch clad in a rather provocative dress, a glass of champagne in her
hand. She possessed the same black curls as Blaise Zabini, so Harry guessed she had to be his
mother. Then there was Hel’s mother, Frigga Rosier. He recognized her from the bios, she was the
leader of the valkyrie squad and a couple that had to be Pansy’s parents because the woman had the
same pug face.

When he was only a few feet away from the gathering, Draco stepped away from his friends and
greeted him with a sneer and a pompous nod.
“Dursley, I thought you’d be too scared to come.”
Harry just snorted. “I am only a minute late. We have much to do at the castle currently, as you and
your friends should know,” he retorted, and just as he had hoped, an annoyed, envious expression
appeared on Malfoy’s face.

“Oh yes, they told me you had to play chambermaid,” Draco taunted mockingly. “But don’t use
that as an excuse if you lose, Dursley. You had plenty of time to prepare for today.”
Harry rolled his eyes but refrained from taunting the boy in return, mostly out of fear he might say
something that would make Malfoy suddenly recognize him after all.
“So, do you want to get the duel done with or continue to socialize?” he was unable to finish as
Draco interrupted him.
“So eager to be defeated and humiliated?” He taunted before turning back toward his friends,
“Father taught me the gutting curse last week and I of course already mastered orbis and Fiendfyre
a year ago. And don’t forget that our manor is warded. The Ministry certainly won’t pick up on it
if I put the little valet under a crucio.”

“Are we dueling or chatting? Or are you too scared, Malfoy?” Harry just sighed, deciding to cut
the crap short.
Draco gave his friends a sign to follow him to the theater, which they did eagerly. Only Victor
Krum, Harry noted, threw the blond a skeptical expression from where he still stood with his
parents.
“You know,” Malfoy drawled, pulling his wand out lazily and coming to a halt opposite of him,
about halfway to the site, “in my second year, I had a formal duel against a snooty light wizard just
like you.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, disbelieving that Malfoy would even mention it. Was
Malfoy possibly considering telling him some wild story about how he defeated him during that
stupid first duelling club meeting? Suppressing his laughter, Harry decided to just ask and find out.
“And how did it end?”
“They say he still has nightmares.”
‘Yeah, about Lockhart’s most charming smile,’ Harry thought, a shiver running down his spine.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said, earning himself a glare for daring to order around a Malfoy.
Unimpressed he simply turned and crossed the rest of the distance to the amphitheater. There was a
staircase leading down to the dueling platform. It was a solid block of marble as well and had a
pattern engraved similar to the one they had used at Hogwarts in his second year.

Once inside, Harry realized there were more people occupying the rows of stone benches. They
were all huge and bulky, with hard muscles covering their bare arms and they all had a wild gleam
in their eyes. In fact, they all looked rather wild in general, with their clothing that seemed to be
made out of furs and skins. There was one among them who was especially tall and muscled, a
man with long, silver hair that fell in wild curls over his shoulders. As if sensing his gaze, the man
turned his head. As their eyes met, blue irises flashed amber for a split second.

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what kind of people the group had to be. The man smirked and
gave him a sort of mock-frightening expression, as if he expected that Harry would run away
screaming. Which could very well be the reaction this wizard usually got, considering he was a
werewolf. Harry however, merely straightened his spine and glared back, before turning back
around to continue examining the dueling plattform, trying to get a feeling for the space.

Another difference to the dueling platform at Hogwarts was that this one was round, not square, but
he didn’t think he would have any problems with that.

Draco finally arrived as well, while his friends and the other guests slowly got seated on the
benches. Harry noticed that they seemed to keep their distance from the group of werewolves. Mr.
Malfoy especially gave them distasteful side glances, making the teen wonder if the pack had
actually been invited or had somehow learned about the duel and just shown up. He guessed no
one refused a pack of werewolves entry easily.

He really hated spectacles like this, but he guessed he should have expected as much, after all he
had agreed to a duel with Draco Malfoy on his own grounds.
Deciding to cut the farce short, Harry bowed stiffly. Malfoy followed his example, mocking him
by bowing theatrically, like the peacock he was. Before Harry could straighten back up fully,
Malfoy was sending a dark purple curse at him.

Harry didn’t even bother to cast a shield charm and simply stepped to the side.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and cast again.

Harry dodged to the side, his seeker reflexes standing him in good stead as the curse missed him by
more than a foot. A few more spells on the prank side of things shot from the blonde’s wand.
Flippendo, langlock, and levicorpus, all dodged with ease. And those were followed by
Impedimenta, Petrificus Totalus, and furnunculus.

Harry rolled his eyes, and taunted the Malfoy scion, “Can’t you do any better than that?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he summoned a large number of stones and then cast oppugno,
directing their flight toward Harry. While they were moving, he cast geminio and flagrante curses
on them using the cascading spell modifier, and Harry’s dodging became much more difficult. He
certainly didn’t want to be nursing numerous burns from getting buried in rapidly multiplying
rocks that also happened to be hot!

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he cast the praesidium santo gladium, which had dozens of swords
bursting into existence, knocking the stones down harmlessly, and without multiplying, thank
goodness, to the side. Harry slid to the floor behind the shield and slammed both hands down, his
wand pinned between his hand and the platform, trying to make a connection to the earth and
plants through the marble he was now nearly laying on. Surprised, he felt his will take hold on the
organic material of the stone, he pushed his magic through the veins in the rock until it created a
web spread around his classmate. Sending a final push of magic as the rocks began to fall around
him, the web of marble began to rise and entrap the other teen.

Draco didn’t notice the cage of rock surrounding him until it was nearly waist high, and began
casting more advanced hexes and curses before his hand was trapped in one of the gaps.

“Reducto! Expulso! Confingo!” the blonde shouted out just as his hand got stuck.

Harry dodged the first, reinforced his shield for the second, and sent a blast of the much practiced
fidelium plantae out to the plants growing all around the platform. They quickly grew into a leafy
wall in front of the third curse, which dissipated as it blasted them apart.

“Inflatus,” Draco snarled, angry that the pathetic little half-blood was still standing, and began
kicking his feet at the delicate web of marble encasing him.

The wall of plants Harry had continued controlling after the blast began to expand. Harry watched
it, wondering briefly if inflatus was the accidental spell he had used on Aunt Marge, before quickly
transfiguring the mass of rocks which fell in a large pile when he dropped earlier into a crudely
humanoid shape.

He quickly yelled out, “Piertotum Locomotor” and ordered the golem to physically attack the
blonde. Snapping the magical connection, the golem continued through a gap in the leaves and
toward the teen, who had managed to break his way free of the marble webbing, on the other side
of the platform.

Draco’s eyes widened at the figure coming toward him. He hadn’t expected anything offensive
from his Lord’s valet. He was a half-blood, so his magic was supposed to be weak, and certainly
not powerful enough to control a golem. He quickly began shooting spells at the thing, but found
himself not getting very far since the rocks were rather spell-resistant due to the nature of the
Fidelium magic imbuing them.

When the figure was on him, he quickly shouted, “Orbis,” and was able to breathe for a moment as
the golem was pulled into the ground. He had wanted to use it on the high-and-mighty servant who
didn’t show him enough respect, but he figured his Lord wouldn’t be too happy if he accidentally
killed the other teen.

Looking up from his momentary triumph, Draco was a little confused by the green figure that had
previously been his opponent.

He cast a quick pulmo constricto, intending to briefly suffocate the other boy, but the spell hit the
green and nothing happened. Deciding it was because he had a second skin of sorts, his next attack
was cutis seperare, the skinning spell. Again, it had no effect. Then he tried extentero, the gutting
spell he mentioned to his friends at the start, but the result was the same. Namely, nothing.

Getting angry at his spells’ inability to penetrate the living armor Dursley was wearing, Draco
quickly shot off a few spells his parents had taught him which were meant to be used in extremely
dire emergency situations only.

“Acor! Sectumsempra! Fiendfyre!” he shouted out angrily.

Acid began falling directly over Harry’s head, quickly wilting and eating through the green leaves
and vines surrounding him. Large slashes cut through the vines on his chest and pieces of his
armor began peeling away. A flaming snake began eating the leaves on the ground as it expanded
into many flaming animals, both magical and not, as it tried to grow into a raging inferno around
the teen.

Knowing he couldn’t counter the fiendfyre, he quickly cast the light counterpart, Phoenix fire,
which he fuelled with his failing plant armour and then turned against the fiendfyre. As the two
fires grew and began trying to lick at the stones of the platform, which were slowly greying under
the onslaught of heat and fiery jaws of Draco’s spell, Harry quickly called out, “Fidelium Aqua,”
and began gathering all the water he could from the air, the plants, and the ground to form a watery
cage around the fiendfyre, allowing the phoenix fire to dissipate as he pushed more and more
power through the water spell.

The barrier was beginning to steam as there just wasn’t enough water nearby for him to maintain it
when a lick of the cursed fire escaped the watery confines and turned on its caster, who had
stopped to watch, jaw completely open, as Harry manipulated phoenix fire and water masterfully.
Realizing the danger from the little wisp of flame coming toward him, Draco quickly cast the
counterspell, causing the fiendfyre to vanish. Even more angry now that some of his strongest
spells had been thwarted, Draco sneered, “Imperio.”

Harry allowed that one to connect, knowing he could throw it off without trouble, and waited to see
what Malfoy would order him to do. The little voice in his head told him to stand still and not
move, no matter what. A bit confused, but not willing to give up the possible advantage, Harry
waited, only to snarl when he heard the blonde’s next spell, “Crucio!”

“Magistre adiuva!” he shouted angrily, holding his wand straight up into the air. He felt the rush of
extra magic as his spell connected, shocking Malfoy who had thought the boy had succumbed to
the imperius curse. Across from him, the blond had raised both his hands defensively and was
shouting something Harry could not make out, as if that could protect him from the incredible
power of the spell. But of course it did nothing but make Harry grin.

A bubbling excitement rose inside of him as he watched how Malfoy cowered to the ground,
making himself as small as possible. Suddenly he wanted to laugh. Laugh and somehow reveal he
was Harry Potter and call the git out on his lie.

And then Malfoy crumbled further, falling to the side like a sack of potatoes and the excitement
morphed into dread as Harry realized that he might have misunderstood the effect of the spell
completely. Fear spread through him like ice and before he knew what was happening, his wand
clattered to the ground next to him and the magistre adiuva died with a bright flash of magic as
Draco’s magic retreated from Harry. Without thinking Harry ran over and fell down next to his
schoolyard rival, who lay motionless, breath flat and shallow. Harry shook him, but Malfoy’s pale
face stayed unmoving and his head limply lolled from side to side.
Suddenly he remembered that he had learned a spell just for an occasion like this. Pointing his
wand at Malfoy, he shouted “Ennervate!” The spell hit the Slytherin, but nothing happened.

Growing even more panicked, Harry shouted “Help!” However, he quickly realized that no one
was coming running down toaid him. His eyes flickered up to the stands where the others were,
adults and children alike, but in their shock at the outcome, no one moved. Then a pop sounded and
Harry could have shouted in relief at the sight of the small creature.
“Go to Regia Magicae, Insula Magicae and get Voldemort and Barty, quick!” he shouted at the
house elf who squeaked in fear but vanished instantly.

Time seemed to have slowed down to a crawl as Harry waited, panicking, hoping Voldemort would
be able to resolve whatever it was he had done.

Suddenly the blue sky darkened and wisps of black mist began to form. They gathered into a tall,
black cloud, tendrils reaching out like black fog. Then finally Voldemort appeared, seeming to
casually stepp out of the cloud and onto the dueling platform. Never before had Harry been so
relieved to see him.

“What happened?” He snapped, sending a withering glare at Harry.

“I cast a spell…” he began.
“Which one?” Voldemort interrupted him before he could stammer further.
Harry hesitated.
“Which spell did you cast, or do I have to torture it out of you?” the Dark Lord hissed, making
Harry jump.
“Magistre adiuva. I found it in one of your books…” he answered purposefully vaguely, however,
he had a feeling that Voldemort knew very well from which book exactly he must have gotten the
spell.
“Foolish child!” Voldemort hissed out through gritted teeth, before turning Malfoy onto his back
and placed his slender, pale hand onto his chest. A soft, dark green light began to glow around the
place where the Dark Lord’s hand touched his classmate’s chest and Harry could do nothing but
stare silently.

“Did you read the description of the spell?” Voldemort asked, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes,” Harry mumbled, unable to meet the dark lord’s eyes.
“And did you understand a single word of it?”
His hesitation must have been answer enough, because Voldemort continued, “The spell attacks a
mage’s core. While a core attack itself is bad, it is usually easily remedied. Magistre adiuva not
only attacks the core, but also drains it and siphons off a person’s life force to give both to the
caster. Such a thing is dangerous enough to seriously destabilize the target mage’s core, and if not
stopped in time, can result in the magical core breaking, turning the target into a squib, or
separating the core from the person entirely. Killing them. If not, the shere drain of life force has
not killed them at that point anyway.”

Harry’s heart missed a beat and the coldness that had subsided since the arrival of Voldemort
returned full force. The sound of running footsteps reached his ears and unable to bear the sight in
front of him any longer, Harry turned around the direction they were coming from. Barty was
running towards them, he must have arrived through one of the many fireplaces.

“Kid, what did you do?” he asked, sounding out of breath when he finally stopped next to Harry.
“That idiot thought it a good idea to try a spell from one of the Peverell journals!”
Barty paled. “Kid, do you even know who the Peverells were?”
Harry thought it best not to answer, which fortunately Barty took as a ‘no’.
“Who taught you that spell anyway?”
Averting his eyes once more,he just shrugged. “I learned it myself.”

When nothing followed his statement, Harry glanced up, only to see that Barty was staring at him
with a mixture of fear and disbelief, before he wordlessly turned on his heels and ran up the steps
to the audience who also looked worse for wear.

Harry hesitated a second, but then decided that hiding away in shame was not an option and
followed him. He had to at least try to make it up to them. Seeing that Barty was currently
crouched over Krum, Harry said, “If you tell me what to do, I can go over to the Malfoys and help
them.”
However, it was Voldemort who answered and shot him another withering glare. “There is nothing
you can do for them. In fact, you are the last person that should go near them currently.”
Harry frowned, not understanding. “Why not? Surely if I am powerful enough to cast that curse, I
should also be powerful enough to cast a healing spell? Or do I need a special magical healing gift
for that?”

“There’s no spell,” Voldemort huffed, even as he moved on to another unconscious follower and
pressed his pale hand against their chest. “While the magistre adiuva focuses on the target, there’s
a sort of splash back against everyone around them. You can cast a patronus so have you ever been
in the presence of dementors?” the dark lord asked.

“Yes,” was all Harry could say.

“The spell mimics their power, which means that all of your victims felt like a dementor was near
them when you cast the curse,” he said as the swirling tones of purple that had started to swirl
within the green aura around his hands started to fade.

Next to them Barty paled even further.

“As long as your body and core has not completely processed the power the spell siphoned off of
them, your magic would instantly reconnect and finish what it started. It’s not a spell that was
intended to be cut off before it had run it’s full course. I am casting anything on them,” Voldemort
continued as he moved on to Blaise who was sitting next to Krum, “I am giving them some of my
magic magic to strengthen them to a point where their body’s can begin to repair the damage by
itself. Given time and rest.”
“Would chocolate help?” Harry asked, anxious to do something to help.

“No, that only works on dementors, I’m afraid,” Barty spoke up for the first time since Vodlemort
had started his explanation, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Merlin, kid, I can’t believe you cast a
soul magic spell without any training! You could have killed Malfoy, and considering how bad
everyone else here is, you might have taken them along, too.”

Harry’s terror at what he had done grew further.

“If you really want to help,” the other suddenly said and Harry realized he had just looked up after
all and must have seen his expression, “Then levitate Lucius and Narcissa over.”
Harry nodded and quickly hurried along the narrow row of marble benches until he reached the
private box where the two had collapsed.

The family box was separated by a small gate, however luckily, the Malfoy’s hadn’t spelled it
closed, probably not expecting anything bad to befall them during a battle between their 16-year-
old son and another boy the same age. How wrong they had been, Harry thought with a pang. He
rushed up the staircase until he reached the couple, who looked tired and weak, but better than any
of the others.

“I am so sorry,” Harry began to apologise. “I didn’t know what the spell would do.”
Lucius’ eyes flickered up to his and the man smirked crookedly. “Just a valet? Only there to cook
and heal our Lord…” he laughed weakly, before motioning over to his wife.
“Help my wife, I have my cane and will be able to follow you on my own,” he ordered and for once
Harry didn’t protest at the arrogance in the patriarch’s voice and simply did as he was told.

Draco’s mother was conscious as well and took the hand he offered her. As gently as possible he
pulled her to her feet and allowed her to link her arm with his and lean her weight on him. She was
quite a bit taller than him, but very slender and with all the adrenalin still coursing through his
body, Harry barely noticed her weight as he helped her down the stairs after her husband, who
couldn’t walk quite as straight and proudly as usual.

The way back to where Barty was still working on the other teenagers seemed endless and when
they arrived, Krum and Blaise already seemed much better than earlier and Hel was just sitting up
slowly. She and Blaise regarded him with guarded expressions.

Wordlessly, Harry helped the Malfoy’s sit down, but as soon as that was done, he started to feel
helpless again, it was a horrible feeling. His eyes landed on Voldemort, who was just rising to his
feet. A house elf appeared next to Lucius, and in the next moment the creature took his master’s
hand and popped him away. Then the dark lord turned around and their gazes met. Voldemort’s
crimson eyes flashed in fury once more and in the next moment the wizard stood in front of him.
Without warning, Voldemort grabbed him by his arm. The Dark Lord’s magic seemed to clash
over him like a tidal wave; angry and hot and so overwhelming. Before Harry knew what was
happening, he found himself back in Voldemort’s parlor, on the floor, with the wizard's wand
pointed at him.
“Crucio!”

Harry’s world exploded in agony as he writhed on the floor under the white-hot rage of the Dark
Lord. The spell was released but quickly followed up with highly overpowered stinging hexes and
a spell Harry didn’t recognize through his pain which had Voldemort wielding his wand like a
whip, leaving red welts wherever the stream of magic touched. Another application of the cruciatus
and the entire process was repeated several times, the force of Voldemort’s fury lessening each
time, though it was by no means abated.

After what seemed an eternity, Voldemort snapped, “Get up.”

Gasping and still slightly shaking Harry got back to his feet.
“For once,” he panted, “I will admit that I deserved that torture.”
“You have not only seriously injured the only heir of one of the oldest lines in Britain, but also the
heir to one of my most loyal followers,” Voldemort hissed, throwing him a look that would have
frightened Harry if he hadn’t been subjected to his glares for years. “ You also have injured, at
least mildly, numerous other heirs, as well as nearly all of my new recruits and my entire guard,”
the Dark Lord continued.

Harry watched silently as the wizard sat down in his armchair and Nagini came slithering over to
curl around it’s base.
“You will never again,” he finally hissed, “cast a spell you do not fully comprehend on anybody.”
Harry gulped, feeling even worse. How bad was the damage he had inflicted on Draco’s core? “Is
Malfoy… I mean is Draco… going to be alright?”

“He has not died and not gone into shock,” Voldemort told him matter “which means he will
hopefully not end up a squib either.”
Paling, Harry realized that it must have been a close call for Malfoy though.
“You will spend the next few days helping the injured until they are well enough to return home. I
believe that is a just punishment. You will bring them whatever they want and help with whatever
they need in addition to your usual duties, is that understood?”
Harry nodded silently, he knew he deserved some kind of punishment for what he had done. How
was it that even when he tried to not do something rashly, he still ended up doing just what he tried
to avoid?

The Dark Lord sneered, before his face smoothed over and his expression grew calm once again.
“On the bright side, all lingering doubt I had about what exactly you are, are now eliminated,” a
cold, calculating smirk stretched over his lips.
“What?” Harry croaked, now worried that the dark lord knew about him resurrecting Barty. But
then again, that Kneezle was already out of the bag, after all, he had admitted that he had stolen and
looked into the Peverell journal.
“Only a very powerful necromancer could have cast that spell,” Voldemort said, observing the boy
closely. “Being a master of the necromantic arts myself, well, like recognizes like.”

“But I,” Harry began, only to be interrupted.

“Now, now, Hades,” Voldemort said smoothly. “I believe I’ve mentioned before how useless it is
to lie to me, and I’m certain you do not wish to be back under my wand after so recently being
released.” When Harry managed to shake his head, the Dark Lord continued, “Now that you aren’t
planning on spouting some rubbish about not having the gift, I have a proposition for you. Your
term of service is nearly done, but I am loath to give up on so promising a servant, especially one
with such a glorious gift. I want you to stay here as my apprentice. Once the bond between Master
and Apprentice is set, there is nothing your family can do to take you from me, thus removing you
from your poor home situation.”

Harry sputtered. How on earth had Voldemort figured that out?

“I saw the marks during our original attempt at a ritual which was interrupted by our dear Barty,”
the man waved the topic away. “Suffice it to say, I recognized your scars and am offering you a
way out of your abusive situation, along with more knowledge and experience than you would get
with any other master of any art.”

“I - I -” Harry’s thoughts were in utter turmoil. He had no idea what to say or do in the situation.

Voldemort looked mildly amused as his valet stood before him, gaping like a fish. “You need not
answer now, Hades,” he commented. “Think about it. Your performance in the duel must have
been something to have countered such magic as I know Lucius has taught his son, and to have
successfully cast so powerful a magistre adiuva with no training speaks to your innate talent. You
could be great, you know.” He tilted his head to the side as he recognized his valet’s inability to
cope with anything further. “As I said, think about it, Hades. Now, go down to the throne room and
begin your new duties. That was the only room big enough to house all the people you have
injured.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry mumbled, bowing properly for the first time since he had arrived at
Voldemort’s castle. It felt more like an attempt at an apology than a show of subservience.

Straightening again, he left silently and as ordered made his way down to the throne room. As he
descended the staircase, he felt his legs shake as the adrenaline finally left his body. He still
couldn’t believe what he had done. How foolish he had been. He just hoped that he hadn’t injured
anyone else as badly as Malfoy. Sure, he could have resurrected the prat, but that wasn’t any
excuse to just kill him for fun!

When he reached the double doors of the throne room a few minutes later, he paused for a moment
and tried to gather his courage as well as calm down his shaking hands. He drew in a couple of
shaky breaths, but they didn’t seem to help, so in the end he decided to just confront what he had
done. He could hear agitated voices as soon as he pushed the doors open.

The inside of the throne room was not recognizable anymore. It seemed thrice as big and about 80
beds were lined in four rows. The sight made him realize how many had been present to watch his
duel. Barty as well as other witches and wizards Harry didn’t recognize were walking from bed to
bed, casting diagnostic spells and infusing the bedridden with their magic to get them stabilized.

At least, Harry realized with a sense of relief, none of the people in the beds looked as bad as
Mafoy had. Most of them in fact looked just very exhausted. The werewolves looked the best; their
creature genes must have protected them somewhat from his spell. They lay gathered in the row the
furthest away from the doors and the mages taking care of the injured seemed to avoid them.

He frowned at the sight. Everybody was always talking about gaining the loyalties of the werewolf
packs but no one ever treated them like living, breathing, sentient beings deserved. Without
hesitation, he walked past the beds with Voldemort’s followers and recruits until he stood directly
in front of the bed where the great, grey werewolf lay in.

Remembering what he had read in Voldemort’s books about werewolf packs, he glanced slightly to
the side. Direct eye contact was viewed as a threat or insult, depending on the circumstances.
Hearing a quiet rumble that sounded… accepting… or at least not threatening, Harry asked, “Are
you the alpha of this pack?”

“Yes, I am Fenrir Greyback,” the man answered in a growling, deep voice. It reminded Harry more
of the snarling of a feral animal than anything else, still, he refused to be afraid of this man. He had
never been afraid of Remus either.
“And who do I have the honor of meeting?” Greyback retorted.
“Hades Dursley,” Harry answered. “I am our Lord’s valet.”
The werewolf snorted. “You must be the bravest little valet in the entirety of wizarding Britain.
And the most talented and respectful one. But never call me the dark lord’s ever again. I am as
much his servant as you are a just a valet,” he said, his voice growing even more threatening at the
end.

Nodding, Harry asked, “I just wanted to apologize and ask if you and your pack need anything?”
“Never apologize for being strong,” Greyback scoffed. “But if you really feel like you need some
penance, you can go and bring all of us something to drink. And some meat.”

“I will try to hurry,” Harry promised and left the throne room again. He climbed the stairs and
quickly entered the kitchen where he proceeded to summon all the meat they currently possessed.
He knew from Voldemort’s books that werewolves who lived so in unison with their inner wolf as
those downstairs almost exclusively ate meat, cooked or raw. And considering how hungry he had
been a few days ago when he had depleted his magic during training, he guessed they would need a
lot.

Summoning a few platters, he put some of each kind of meat to the side for those who preferred it
raw, before he began to fry the rest. Once that was done, he quickly prepared an assortment of
sandwiches for the other patients as well, gathered goblets and jugs of water before charming
everything to follow him downstairs.

In the throne room the healers or whatever they were had moved on to the next row of beds.

With a flick of his wand Harry distributed the glasses and made the jugs of water pour themselves,
before sending the plates with the raw meats over to the werewolves.
He took the big plate with the sandwiches himself and walked to the row of beds housing the
already treated guests.

“Would you like a sandwich to help your magic replenish?” He asked, noticing with an internal
sigh that it was Bluewater of all people who he had addressed first.
The teen’s eyes snapped up, a look of apprehension appearing on his face as he recognized him. He
sneered at Harry, but it looked more like a weak attempt at a brave front than anything else, so he
asked “Cheese, ham or cucumber?” to shorten the awkward moment.

“Cucumber,” Bluewater retorted with a sniff.

Harry waited until the boy had picked one, before moving on to the next bed.
“Ham,” the witch said immediately, giving him a long look. It was Frigga Rosier and with the look
she gave him and the elegant air around her, she reminded him very much of a scary mix between
Narcissa Malfoy and his head of house, Professor McGonagall.
“You fought well, valet. I knew the duel would be worthwhile to watch.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Harry mumbled, unsure how to react.
She gave her another of those looks, before adding, “Give me a cheese sandwich for my daughter
as well,” before inclining her head, apparently a sign that he could continue in his task.

The next bed in the row belonged to Blaise Zabini. The Italian gave him a suspicious look but took
a sandwich without comment or sign of fear. The Slytherin was probably busy trying to find out
who he was, or what he was doing as a servant or something.

Then he reached Krum’s bed. The Bulgarian took a sandwich without any hesitation or saying a
word, but when Harry turned to walk to the next bed, his strong hand suddenly shot out from under
his blanket, grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him to a stop.
“It’s good to see you again”

Harry offered a tight smile as he said, “You, too.”

Krum let go of his wrist again and Harry quickly took a step back.
“I hope you will still help me with my lesson plans.”
Harry gave him a weary smile. “If our lord will still allow me to do anything else but…” he raked
with his right through his hair. “I don’t even know. I messed up.”
Krum just shrugged. “Not really. You just don’t know your strength. It was a good duel, even if
these results were unexpected,” the seeker chuckled as he gestured to his prone form.

With a sigh and a half-hearted wave, Harry moved on, continuing to offer sandwiches and drinks to
those still laying in bed.

Harry spent the rest of the day sending notes to the families of every injured wizard and witch.
Many of them floo called in return and Voldemort forced him to explain what happened and
apologized personally to all of them. It was possibly the most effective punishment Harry had ever
gotten. Certainly, none of his nasty detentions with Snape where he had dissected flobberworms
nor Umbridge’s blood quill had made him think about his actions as much as this embarrassment.
The worry in all those eyes and the mortification he felt was worse than anything else he had to do
before.
When he finally entered his small chamber hours later, Harry was almost as exhausted as the day
he had first cast piertotum locomotor. He closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. From
this position the small chamber seemed almost big. And still as empty and uncomfortable as that
first night he had spent here.

There were not even 10 days left until the end of the holiday, so it wasn’t likely to change now. It
was strange, how he had grown to like living at the castle but still hated the room. But he was tired
and it felt like his best option. There was nothing to do in the kitchen, he had done enough studying
to last him until next summer at least and he certainly wouldn’t risk getting in Voldemort's way,
the man’s strange anger-turned-pride and an offer of apprenticeship notwithstanding.

He just lay down on his bed, crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the wooden ceiling.
Maybe he should get some rest, sleeping would at least kill some time, he just wasn’t used to
idleness. Unfortunately, whenever he closed his eyes, Malfoy’s pale, unresponsive face appeared
in front of his inner eye and guilt flooded his veins like poison.

What had he done? Wasn’t he supposed to be better than this? The light side’s hero? But then
again, Dumbledore was the beacon of light and what he had done to Voldemort had been more than
horrible. Harry at least had the excuse of not knowing what the spell would really do. Training
dummies just didn’t give an accurate picture for some spells. The headmaster couldn’t claim the
same.

His mind drifted back to his many conversations about magic he had with Voldemort over the past
weeks. Voldemort had described everything so differently. There hadn’t been a ‘good side’ and a
‘bad side,’ just magic, all of it with strengths and weaknesses, all power, there for whoever would
take it. And didn’t that sound much more realistic? Because really, how could one side be purely
good and the other purely bad when nothing in life or on earth was either good or bad. For things to
be that simple, the people on the dark side would have to be pure evil personified. And while he
might sign that statement for Bellatrix Lestrange, she was, so far, the only one of Voldemort’s
death eaters who seemed truly evil to him. Even Draco was only an arrogant snob who fancied
himself as frightening, but nothing more.

But he didn’t want to think about Draco, or his parents, or Krum or any of the others he had
injured. He wanted to think about - he wasn’t actually sure. All the thoughts swirling through his
mind seemed depressing or troublesome. Like the prospect that, not even a fortnight from now, he
would be retaking his O.W.L.s and having to suffer though an interaction with Fudge for his
troubles, and then he’d have to return to Hogwarts and pretend that he hadn’t spent 7 weeks at his
nemesis’ castle or that his views on magic had shifted.

Sometimes it frightened him how much he had changed in those few weeks. Especially today. He
was, for the first time, scared of himself. Maybe it was a good thing that he had to return? Maybe
he wasn’t safe to be left alone in close proximity to ancient texts on powerful magic regardless.

But why then, was there a part inside of him that didn’t want to leave? That felt comfortable and
almost cared for and protected in the proximity of his mortal enemy?

A knock sounded and Harry was almost relieved to have an excuse to push those last thoughts to
the far reaches of his mind.
“Come in,” he called out when he realized that for once, Barty apparently didn’t intend to simply
barge in.

The Death Eater poked his head inside and gave him a shark-like grin before he finally entered and
closed the door behind him.
“There he is, our dueling champion!” the wizard grinned maniacally and Harry threw him a glare.
Barty sighed and came in, closing the door softly behind himself.
“Have you recovered from the shock?”

Harry gave him a look, trying to find out if the wizard meant his question seriously or was still
trying to make fun. To his surprise, Barty came over in the next moment and sat down on the edge
of his bed.

“Listen kid, I know you feel bad right now. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you never
imagined your victory over the Malfoy brat to end up like that,” he sighed and raked with his left
through his hair. “Our Lord might seem angry right now, but he knows that you didn’t intend to
cause anyone harm. He will have calmed down by tomorrow. Our Lord isn’t really angry or
disappointed. The contrary in fact, I would suspect.”

Harry threw him a glare. “I know that, but that doesn’t make what I have done any better!” he
snapped. Really, did only Voldemort and his opinion and approval exist in the Death Eater’s
world? What was he even wondering? “And anyway, he’s already over it. At least I think he is. He
offered me an apprenticeship.”

“Merlin, really?” Barty looked ecstatic. “That’s fantastic! Our lord doesn’t take many students. He
must really see something in you to have offered. When are you starting?”
 “I’m not,” Harry said as he collapsed back on his pillows. “I have to leave soon, remember?”

“Ah, yeah,” Barty rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Seems like you’ve always been here,
kid. You’re a good follower, kid. Our lord’s man, through and through!”

For the first time since he had started his temporary servitude, Harry was hard pressed to suppress
a comment about not being Voldemort’s man. Sure, he let it go earlier in the summer, but on the
heels of what he had done and his mocking thoughts, well, it was just too much. Only the thought
of the consequences kept his mouth shut.

Harry didn’t respond, simply continued to stare blankly at his ceiling. The thoughts he had been
trying to push away had come roaring back with the reminder of the offer the Dark Lord extended
to him. It was madness. He had told Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets that Albus Dumbledore
was the greatest sorcerer in the world and that he would never be gone so long as those who
remained were loyal to him. How then could he even think about the possibility of abandoning
him, and turning to Voldemort?

“So tell me about the duel!” Barty was practically bouncing with excitement. “I want to know
which spells you used!” He huffed, “I really wanted to see a memory, but I doubt we should bother
our lord for a pensieve right now…” He trailed off with a nervous giggle. “But you can tell me
every little detail, and we can watch the memory some other time!”

The teen just ignored him.

The silence eventually got to him, and Barty sighed and rose to his feet. “Fine. I can see you don’t
want to be disturbed. I will leave you to your misery then.”
“Thanks,” Harry muttered, yanking his duvet from under him and turning his back to face the door.
He just wanted to sleep and forget this miserable day.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Penance and Celebrations
Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J.
K.Rowling.

AN 1: Sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter out, but to my excuse, it has
grown quite long! Nearly 15k!!! As a side note, a friend called my attention onto
something I have to correct in Voldemort's POV in chapter 4, so I will do that soon. I
mentioned soul mates there, but I am actually not sure if I want to include the concepts
of soul mates or not, so I will take those words out, nothing else will change however,
so you don't have to re-read it.

AN2: I have received many reviews saying that Harry hasn't much of an opinion. I did
that on purpose, wanting for him to just observe for now. However, in this chapter this
will change, if only slightly. I hope this chapter will help you all understand him
better, It is not easy to change one's views, especially if it threatens every believe and
every friend one made so far. This chapter definitively has a lot of developments.

AN3: Many thanks to my incredible beta, Sapphire_Ruby, who always does a

wonderful job eliminating all my spelling errors
This story is also gifted to GeMirope who's work "In Willing Sacrifice" inspired me to
write this fan fiction. Thank you my friend, you are a great inspiration ❤️

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 12: Penance and Celebrations

Harry’s guilty conscience hadn't lessened any the next day. His night’s rest had been fitful and
restless. For the first time since his arrival at Regia Magicae, his sleep had been pervaded by
nightmares, so much so that he was glad when finally dawn broke and he could get up and start his
day. The dreams had been nothing like his usual nightmares, in which he was mostly a helpless
wittness to his friends and family being tortured and murdered brutally. Instead, he had been the
one who had killed them all.

It hadn’t helped Harry’s conscience to learn that only Voldemort was able to stabilize those he had
injured. Apparently, even among so called dark families, necromancy was not a common study
subject, which at least explained why he garnered fearful glances ever since the duel.

Preparing a kingly breakfast for those who were still stuck in the makeshift infirmary felt a bit like
atonement. The werewolves at least, were already up and about and so had most of the adults. The
Malfoys, Harry had learned, had returned home to keep watch over their son the evening prior, but
many of Draco's friends as well as the new recruits still required regular attention from the healers.
Currently, the dark lord was downstairs, looking after his followers, which, even after he had
gotten to know the wizard the past few weeks, was still a sight that made Harry pause.
Unfortunately, it left the teen with nothing to do. His lessons had, for obvious reasons, been halted
by the dark lord, not that Harry believed them necessary anymore. He felt well prepared for the
retake of his OWL’s later that week, which would occupy his final few days before he had to return
to school. And until then, he would be too busy preparing for the summer fest that would take
place in just a few days. He needed to figure out a way to leave Voldemort without him finding out
about his exams. He could hardly tell the wizard the truth, it would be only too easy for him to
discover that the only person taking exams was Harry Potter after all so he wanted to be well away
from the man before anybody thought to tell him.

The thought that he would be leaving admittedly felt odd. In the beginning, he had wondered how
he would ever survive so many weeks in a castle with his nemesis, but it had been surprisingly
pleasant. In fact, it had been the best summer holiday Harry has had so far.

With nothing else to do, Harry grabbed a book and plopped down in Voldemort’s sitting room. He
had picked up one of the defensive texts from the library that looked interesting and hoped it would
keep him occupied for a few hours. Unfortunately, his body was listless and his brain not much
better so he sat reading the same page over and over again without taking in a word it said.
Everything had been going fine, and he had to go and bollocks it all up with one spell that he didn’t
fully understand. Suddenly he felt a strange sort of kinship with Hermione and her insistence on
understanding everything about a spell before using it. But even those thoughts didn’t occupy him
for long.

“Malfoy Manor,” he said clearly, before stepping into the flames. The ride took an unusually long
amount of time and it was only as he was spinning uncontrollably that he remembered that when he
had visited the place the first two times, he had needed a password. He was starting to seriously
worry about where he would end up this time - hopefully not Borgin and Burkes again - when he
was finally spit out into an impressive entrance hall.

He landed ungraceful on all fours on the hard marble floor. White and and gold was all he could
see until a pair of shiny black men’s shoes and a pair of lady’s strappy sandals appeared in front of
his face. They were attached to two sets of legs, and when he looked up, Lucius and Narcissa
Malfoy were standing there, looking down on him with two very different expressions. It was
strange, to see something akin to respect on the patriarch’s face instead of the familiar disdain,
while Narcissa, now sported an expression of thinly veiled mistrust.

“Mr. Dursley,” Lucius took the lead. “What do we owe this unexpected pleasure of your visit?”

“Oh, um, well,” Harry was very uncomfortably aware that he was still sprawled on the floor, so he
got to his feet as he tried to explain just why he had arrived in their home.

“Very eloquent,” the man raised a brow, prompting the teen to speak further.
“Ah, sorry,” Harry said, blushing. “I’m bad at the floo, always scrambles me a bit,” he tried to
chuckle, but it was a stilted thing that fell flat against the awkward atmosphere. “Does it always
bring you… here? … if you don’t use a password?”

“It does,” Lucius said, still watching his lord’s valet closely.

“Oh, that’s cool. Ah, sorry, umm, I just wanted to check on Malfoy, er, Draco, I mean. Our lord
said he was still asleep or unconscious or whatever, but would be okay, but I just feel really bad
and I wanted to come check on him,” he blurted out.

The two stoic blondes blinked at the word vomit spewing from the teens lips.

Finally, the patriarch gave a curt nod. “Dibby will bring you to my son’s room.”
A pop sounded at those words and the house elf in question appeared, sporting an even more
distrusting expression than her mistress. Apparently nearly killing the family’s heir proved fatal to
his ingratiating himself with the house elves.
Mumbling a ‘thank you,’ Harry silently followed the small creature past the Malfoys, up the main
staircase, and into the right-hand corridor until they stopped in front of a set of imposing double
doors.

“This is being young Master Draco’s bedroom,” Dibby announced and with a snap of her long
fingers, the doors swung open in front of him. “Please call Dibby when you are wishing to leave,
Mr. Dursley, sir,” the creature added, before popping away, apparently not keen to spend any more
time in his presence. This, if nothing else, truly brought home what he had done the day prior. He
had always gotten along exceptionally well with house elves. It made him wonder if it was mere
dislike, or if fear brought forth its behavior.

Alone, he sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself to knock. There was no response, not that he
particularly expected one given what the Dark Lord had said in the immediate aftermath of his
actions, but he waited a few seconds longer before he finally grasped the handle and slowly pushed
open the door.

He couldn’t help but blink in shock at the large, comfortably appointed room that greeted him. He
had expected to be smacked in the face with Slytherin green and silver, but this room was airy
blues and white with plush furnishings and light colored woods. It was nothing at all like the crisp,
almost sharp, image Draco gave off at school. The second thing that hit him was the size. He could
almost understand why Malfoy was so patently not impressed with Hogwarts if this is where he
grew up. The manor was enormous, larger than Hogwarts probably, and the elf said this gigantic
space was Draco’s suite. It was as large as some of the big classrooms they used for practicals!

What he didn’t see was Draco.

There were two doors, the first he opened however, was a bathroom, so he made his way to the
other and carefully stepped through. The light was dim so it took him a moment to adjust, but he
spotted a lump under the blankets of the king-sized poster bed, the curtains obligingly pulled back
so he could see inside. Pale blonde hair, still almost perfectly coiffed, proved his assumption that
he had indeed found the Malfoy heir.
For a second Harry didn’t dare to step any closer as his guilt returned in full force, seeing the boy
laying so still and silent, skin pale and almost waxy in appearance. It was certainly nothing like the
posh, arrogant looks he was used to from the boy.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry began quietly, sitting down on the chair one of Draco’s parents must have
left at his bedside. “Er… well, you probably wish it was anybody but me standing here talking to
you… what was I even thinking, coming here?,” he muttered, raking through his hair with his left,
tousling his new locks effectively.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” he said miserably. “You might be an arrogant prat at school, but that’s no
reason for me to do what I did. Merlin, I’m so sorry, Draco. I know we aren’t friends, and you’ll
never remember this … but I have to say it. I’m sorry I cast that spell on you, Draco.”

He had to stop for a minute to regain control as the admission seemed to close off his throat and he
felt as if he would be sick any second. However, it was only right that he should suffer seeing his
school yard rival so pale and motionless, after all, he had done this to Draco.

“I read the spell in a book,” he finally managed to continue, “and even though I knew it was a
Peverell journal, I somehow didn’t get that it would be a necromantic spell, even though I had
talked to Death just a few weeks prior. Stupid, right?” he laughed weakly. “All I got was that it was
a temporary interruption to your magic, that it would pull a bit from you and give it to me. I had no
idea it could…” he gulped as his throat thickened once more, “could make you a squib...”

“I’m so, so sorry, Draco,” he said yet again, regained himself.

Mindlessly, he reached out in a gesture of comfort, but as soon as he felt the cool, smooth skin of
his school rival, he quickly pulled back, remembering what Voldemort had told him about the
effect his magic would currently have on the curse’s victims. Considering how icy cold Draco still
felt, the temporary connection between them probably was still active.

So Harry sat back again, bringing some safe distance between them and simply watched over the
blond in silence for a while. He wasn’t feeling quite so out of sorts, now that he was sitting here,
keeping his solitary vigil over the boy. It sort of felt… good. As if he was making amends.

Harry pulled his chair closer and folded his arms on the bed, leaning over a bit to rest his chin on
his arms. “You know,” he began conversationally. “Sometimes I wonder if it could have been
different between us. Sure, you are an arrogant prat, but you are not entirely bad, or even evil. If we
hadn’t been sorted in rivaling houses, maybe then I would have come to see this sooner and we
could have become friends after all…or maybe I would just have been a convenient political ally,”
he chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve gotten something of a crash course in Slytherin, staying with the
Dark Lord for the summer will do that.”

Silence descended on them again as Harry just sat there, watching the coverlet rise and fall
minutely with the teen’s breath. Though the windows were covered by sheer curtains, he could see
the light was shifting, and heaved a sigh as he rose, straight-backed, and nodded smartly.

“I am sorry, Draco,” he said again. “You might not remember this, and Merlin, I hope you don’t,”
he went on as he scrubbed his face, “but I promise you, Malfoy, I won’t ever hurt you like this
again. We can go back to sneering at each other and hating each other’s guts like normal. I hope
you get better soon, ferret, I really do,” he said fondly. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

With that, Harry left the other teen’s room, immediately calling for Dibby to take him back to the
floo. He never noticed grey eyes watching him, confused, as he made his retreat.

When Harry face-planted into Voldemort’s parlour, it was silent. Until gasping laughter began
issuing from a familiar form. When Harry managed to get to his feet, he found Barty nearly
doubled over in hysterics about his poor flooing skills.

“Merlin, kid,” Barty managed to get out in between bouts of laughter. “You weren’t that bad when
we went to the market.”

“Longer trip,” Harry muttered, even as he tried to hide his blush by brushing ashes and soot from
his robe.

Barty lost it again and it took him several long moments to contain his overflowing mirth. “Our
lord wants to see you,” he finally said, a few snickers still escaping him. “He’s in his office.”

“I’ll go now,” Harry replied, and left the room to head down the short hallway to the man’s actual
office.

“You wished to speak to me, my Lord?” Harry asked, not entering the office.
Voldemort didn't react at first. He was writing something, like he always was so often lately. The
even sound of his quill scratching on parchment had grown to something almost as familiar and
soothing as the wizard’s magic.

Only when he was finished did Voldemort put his quill down and turn around to face him.
“I should mark you so that Barty doesn’t always need to search for you,” he commented and it cost
all of Harry’s willpower to not retort with something rude. Just because his opinion of Voldemort
had improved didn’t mean he wanted to be marked like cattle. It was something he genuinely
didn’t understand, how anybody would want to be marked. He wouldn’t want that regardless of
how much respect he had for anybody.

Voldemort drew his wand, summoned a chair and ordered, “Sit.”

Harry did as told, wondering slightly what this was about, however, he didn't have to wait for long.

“The summer feast will take place in 2 days. As I was… indisposed… during this year’s summer
solstice, still recovering during Lughnasadh, and my follower’s heirs will be gone back to
Hogwarts for Samhain, this is meant as a stand-in for both. As such, you will be able to experience
many traditions which are typical for those holidays.”
Harry nodded as a sign that he was listening attentively. He hadn’t thought about the feast much so
far, but it made sense that it would be more than a fancy ball, at least, considering how much
importance Voldemort had attributed to the holidays during their lessons.

“To avoid any confusion on your part and embarrassment on both of ours, I will explain what you
can expect at the feast. Tell me, what do you remember about the summer solstice?”

Harry had to think a second, but more to organize what he knew than to actually try to remember.
“Um… well… It's the longest day and the day mages celebrate the sun which helps the sprouts
grow into strong plants. As a symbol we light bonfires and…” he flushed and broke off.
Voldemort clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Craft wooden phallic objects which will then be
sacrificed to the flames. Mostly by young mages to ask for a blessing of fertility,” he finished for
him, before adding “I hope you find Lughnasadh not quite so embarrassing.”

“It is the festival of the first harvest and celebrated on the 1st of August,” Harry took the prompt.

“Correct. The feast we will celebrate then, will include a mixture of both holidays’ traditions.
There will be a bonfire and I suspect my younger followers will not let themselves be stopped to
bring some sacrifices for it’s flames,” the dark lord said, the bridge of his not-so-flat nose
wrinkling just slightly.

Harry remembered that when Voldemort had told him about the tradition the first time, he didn’t
seem overly impressed by the tradition either.

“We will be unable to have any of the later fall foods that would be traditional for Samhain, but
there will be quiet places set aside for reflection on any of your family deceased you might wish to
remember,” he added. “Mainly, our celebration will center on Lughnasadh, which is also called the
festival of the First Fruits and thus it is tradition to serve fruit cakes, but also different kinds of
bread as well as honey cakes. I want you to prepare these foods, however only ingredients that can
be naturally found at this time of the year are to be used. Also, it is tradition to not serve any meat
or fish, as it is a feast in honor of the herbaceousness of life and nature, it is considered sacrilege to
kill animals for it, though dairy products are acceptable. Are you capable of handling it, or do I
need to find another for this task?”

“I can do it,” Harry nodded. He would have to check the ingredients before he decided on recipes
but with Voldemort’s vast library that shouldn’t be a problem.

“You can contact Narcissa and ask for as many house elves as you need. I will also enlarge the
runic shelf so you can begin with the preparations immediately, we expect 200 guests.” Voldemort
paused for a second, until Harry had nodded in affirmation as a sign that he had understood, before
he continued.
“Later on there will also be dancing and I plan on a more formal sacrifice to Magic, but I will take
care of these preparations myself. Any questions?”

Harry thought for a second. “Should I show you the list of recipes before I start cooking and
baking?”

“Yes,” Voldemort answered after a moment of contemplation. “Go and start with the preparations
now.”

________________________________________________________________________

Harry needed an entire day to check each recipe he decided to prepare for the summer festival. He
had worried about the stipulation that only those ingredients already naturally ripe were allowed to
be used, however, it fortunately turned out that their selection was quite large. He merely had to
forgo elderberries, some varieties of apples, quinces, and pears.

He hadn’t wanted to ask for any house elves, but he quickly realized that without their help he
wouldn’t be able to prepare enough to feed 200 people. So he had floo called Narcissa after he had
barely managed to fill two rows of shelves with cakes the day prior and asked for her house elve’s
help after all.

The call had been awkward to say the least. He had asked how Draco was doing, not only because
he felt obligated to do so, but because he felt even more worried after seeing the blond the day
prior. If the prat lost his magic, Harry would never forgive himself if Draco ended up a squib
Unfortunately he had only learned that Draco Malfoy would not be recovered enough to attend the
feast or return to Hogwarts in time for the beginning of the new term. It had come as almost as big
of a shock as seeing the blond collapse under his spell in the first place.

The same look from his first visit was still in Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes. Harry had told himself it
could not possibly be fear, because surely a Malfoy would never fear a simple valet? She had lent
him 10 house elves, of course, but Harry wondered if she would still have done so if in the end they
had not been to aid her Lord.

The following days he had baked blueberry, strawberry, blackberry, raspberry, and honey cakes.
He had baked salted bread with a variety of herbs and vegetables kneaded into the dough. He
prepared bowls of cream cheese with spring onions and other spices. He also prepared salads and
fruit salads and sweet creams for dessert. The feast would not be a feast in the traditional way with
courses of soup, salad, and meat, instead everything would be offered at once which was apparently
also a tradition.

However, when the day of the feast finally arrived, Harry was at least sure that nobody would
return hungry to their home that evening. It was one less thing to worry about. That only left the
other myriad of worries he was mulling over as he buttoned the new robe Voldemort had Barty
order for him especially for the occasion.

The first guests would be arriving in half an hour. Barty would be greeting the attendees who were
to arrive in the entrance hall to point them toward the festivities taking place outside. Fenrir and his
pack would have their first official day as Lord Voldemort’s guard while he would be standing next
to Voldemort the entire evening and serving him since that was the duty of a valet. Harry wasn’t
thrilled at the prospect of being under so much scrutiny, but at least no one would know that it was
Harry Potter playing the dutiful servant to the Dark Lord. It was a small comfort.

Closing the last of his silver dark mark-shaped buttons, Harry sighed and left his room.
Neither Voldemort nor Barty were in sight as he climbed down the many steps on the long way to
the entrance portal of the castle. As he stepped onto the meadow, a small feeling of curiosity joined
the bigger one of nervousness. Voldemort had been ordering the Malfoy house elves around all
day, having them set up the meadow for the feast.

He hadn’t seen it yet. In fact, he had no idea what the festival site would look like. What the
festival location of a Dark Lord would look like. A few weeks ago he would have put all his money
on skulls and black candles that burned ominously in the pale light of the new moon, but
Voldemort was celebrating a fertility and harvest feast and if that didn’t sound wrong, he didn’t
know what would.

The front door silently swung open in front of him and he finally stepped out. The light of the
setting sun was still bright and stood at an angle that he had to shadow his eyes and blink a couple
of times before could actually see anything.

A huge part of the meadow had been mowed into a neat square. Four great tables stood around an
impressive pile of firewood. At the end of the square meadow a part of the ground had been lifted
to form a small hill with a flat top where a smaller table stood. Behind it Harry could see
Voldemort’s throne reflecting the sinking sun’s light. Around everything the house elves had
erected poles, carrying garlands of fruits. It was beautiful in its simplicity.

“Does it meet your expectations?”

Hearing Voldemort’s baritone voice, Harry turned around. The Dark Lord was coming down the
front steps. He changed clothes for the occasion as well. The robe the Dark Lord wore was tight
around the chest and flared out dramatically around the hip before it fell down to his knees, giving
the garment the appearance of a uniform’s jacket and tabard. To underline the military impression,
Voldemort had combined the ensemble with tight, black breeches and knee high boots. There was
no embroidery, nor jewels on the buttons, but it wasn’t necessary. With his new, almost human
appearance, he looked more like a lord and exuded more power than even Lucius Malfoy ever
would. No magic leaked from his person, but every casual step he took down the front step
screamed power.

“I hadn’t really imagined anything,” Harry admitted. “But I like it. It fits the occasion, at least I
think,” he added, blushing.
Voldemort chuckled. “It does. This will be the first feast I have held as the Lord of Magic since my
resurrection. All the important members of my fellowship from around the world are invited. It will
not only be a sign that I am back, but also that I am once again taking charge of the dark faction.”

“I am sure the message will be received,” Harry replied a bit awkwardly.

Voldemort waved him off. “Of course it will. It is the first time in a long time I have held such an
event, but not the first time ever. In the past I invited my upper echelon at least once a year. There
is more to being a Lord than merely making sure that certain laws are pushed through. One needs
to keep their subjects happy and one way to do so is to invite them and make them feel as if they
personally are important.” Voldemort pulled a grimace at the last part.

“Are they not?” Harry asked, curious about the Dark Lord’s inner workings. He hadn’t seen the
wizard so talkative very often.

Voldemort made a dismissive gesture. “They are in the sense that no one can rule without subjects.
Or, for as long as the Ministry is still in charge, without people in the right positions. Even I can
not be everywhere at once. But there are very few I care for personally.”

Harry had to look away at those cold words. He didn’t know why, but somehow they hurt.

“Come,” Voldemort ordered, walking past him.

Harry followed him up the small hill to where Voldemort’s throne stood behind the smaller table.
Small was relative, of course. It was still big enough to seat 8 people, however not as big as the
four around the pile of wood. The Dark Lord pointed at the spot next to his throne and said “stand
there,” before sitting down himself.

“I hope you are aware how lucky you are. Many of my guests would kill and torture for the
position you are standing in right now.”
Harry barely suppressed a snort. Standing an entire, probably endlessly long evening next to
Voldemort who was languidly lounging in his throne certainly felt like an honor.
Reluctantly, Harry obeyed anyway. What else could he do? At least this close he could bask in the
feeling of Voldemort’s magic settling over his skin like a soothing blanket.

“Stand straighter, or do you wish to make a bad impression and embarrass me?” Voldemort’s
commanding voice snapped him out of his musing and he straightened his spine.
“To keep this posture it helps some to cross their arms behind their back,” the Dark Lord added,
looking at his valet pointedly. Always the teacher, Harry thought, and that hadn't changed since the
day he arrived.

As he stood there, waiting for the guests to arrive, his thoughts wandered. He would be leaving
early in the morning. He would get up before dawn, make breakfast and leave it on one of the
shelves and make his way to London. He had already packed his few things, and made sure his
trunk was secure. He did feel a bit bad that he had packed all of Voldemort’s old textbooks. Earlier,
when he had shrunk them and buried them among the rest of his books, it had felt like a good idea.
These books certainly would help in class, however, taking them meant stealing from Lord
Voldemort, which sounded quite a bit less wise. Making a mental note, he decided to give them
back before he left.

He had never come up with an acceptable excuse, and the only owl he had received was from the
ministry, so he couldn’t chance saying anything about a letter from his parents. If there was some
sort of redirect or owl blocking ward, Voldemort would know he was lying. Well, he was likely to
catch any lies regardless, that was why Harry had decided it was best to just slip away without
saying anything.

Six weeks he had lived with his enemy. Even thinking about it confused him. What he felt about
his time at the castle and even Voldemort himself confused him. Voldemort had taught him more
about magic in six weeks than he had learned at Hogwarts in five years and he would have liked to
continue learning from the man. Unfortunately that would not be possible, just like coming back
next summer wouldn’t be possible. With a pang in his chest he realized that he would miss the
castle. And Barty. And even the Dark Lord himself a tiny bit. It was a frightening thought.

“My Lord,” a chorus of voices jerked him from his contemplations and he looked up. The Malfoys
had arrived, or at least Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had, Draco, as he had been told, was not
attending. They were kneeling in front of the elevation, their heads respectfully lowered.

To his surprise the two were rather plainly dressed. He had expected that the purebloods would use
it to show off their wealth and try to outdo each other. However Narcissa wore a rather plain, light
blue dress that reminded Harry of Greek statues of ancient women. Her hair was braided in a loose,
but elegant updo and only a simple pendant hung around her slender neck. It was silver and
sapphires, forming a cluster of grapes which struck Harry as rather fitting for the occasion.

Her husband also wore something simple. His robe was cut similarly to Voldemort’s but it was
from a dusty blue fabric instead of black and a plain high collar a crisp white shirt held together
with a simple silk tie could be seen.

“Rise, Lucius, Narcissa, and pick a seat. Today we shall disregard all formalities and celebrate in
honor of the power that has blessed us all.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the two nobles mumbled and Harry had the feeling that the ‘disregard of all
formalities’ only counted among the death eaters.

As soon as the Malfoy’s stepped away, the next small group was kneeling down, this time, it was
the LeStranges.
“My Lord,” Bellatrix curtseyed subserviently and Harry noted that she seemed much saner than
last time he had seen her. She must have taken her potions today, or maybe her husband wanted to
spare himself the embarrassment of others seeing her in her crazed state. But then again, everybody
knew about the Black madness as far as Harry was aware. It was a pity really. Bellatrix was
magically strong and gifted and she was rather attractive with her black curls, pale skin and dark,
sunken orbs, Harry thought as he unobtrusively watched her from the corner of his eyes. She wore
a greek-style dress similar to the one her sister had been wearing, but in contrast to Narcissa, she
had forgotten any light spring colors and stuck to black. Silver silk ribbons that criss-crossed over
her abdomen held it in place and emphasized her hour-glass figure while a long slit at the side
exposed her creamy skin.

“Bella, I see you have taken your potions this morning,” Voldemort accepted the greetings. “See
that you continue closely with your regimen, I would be displeased if I had to replace my General.”
“Your servant, my Lord,” Bellatrix cooed in reply, making Harry feel slightly nauseous at the
subservient display.

Glancing towards the castle, Harry saw that a steady stream of guests was now coming through the
front portal. He wasn’t sure how Voldemort had organized their arrival exactly, if they floo’d in at
certain times, had portkeys or if they were all marked and used their link to Voldemort to enter.

Harry surprisingly recognized many of them. There were of course many of his Slytherin school
mates with their families, like the Crabbes, the Bulstrodes, and the Flints. Then there were the
families of the recruits, many of whom he recognised as well. The werewolves of course were
working this evening, guarding Voldemort and the castle. Harry could see some of them next to the
portal and others were patrolling the premises.

To his surprise there were also a few he hadn’t expected to be here, like Kevin Entwhistle and Su
Li from Ravenclaw and their parents. Even more of the guests however, he had never seen before
and most of those spoke with strong accents and Harry remembered the map in Voldemort's study,
the map that showed how many countries exactly were dark affiliated.

In a move that confused the teen, Narcissa had moved to stand next to the front steps and was
offering each small child a bouquet of daisies. It must be another one of those wizarding traditions
Harry had never heard about.

It took over an hour for all the invited guests to arrive. Only slowly the meadow below filled. Harry
wanted to ask if the simple dresses were traditional as all the witches wore them. The fruit-shaped
jewelry clearly was. They mingled on the meadow and talked in small groups. To Harry’s horror
he realised that Voldemort had been right when he had foreseen that many would be envious of
Harry’s place by his side, he earned more than one angry glare.

Finally no newcomers stepped through the portal, but Voldemort continued to simply sit on his
throne and watched and Harry began to wonder what he was waiting for. His question was
answered when the sun began to sink and the guests moved to stand in a big ¾ circle around the
tables and the steck of firewood in the center, facing their Lord. The excited chatter quieted to a
low, expectant murmur and finally Voldemort rose.

“Sixteen years have passed since we stood on the very same meadow, celebrating the summer
solstice and Lughnasadh. Sixteen years that have not been gracious to magical society. One year I,
your Lord, have been back, but that year as well was not auspicious. Now, however, it shall all
change. I have returned to my full strength, and I am healthier than ever before. Once again we
meet to celebrate magic and its great creations and I promise you today, it will not be the only time.
Together we will celebrate all great holidays once more and soon, I promise you as well, we will
not have to do so in secret any longer.
Before we think about war strategies however, let us celebrate and honor magic today by sharing
the first fruits of the year together.”

Voldemort made a grand gesture with his arms and suddenly the tables ached unders the eight of
the many cakes, breads and other dishes Harry had prepared on the four tables below. On
Voldemort's table, he noticed a much smaller assortment appeared. To his surprise a small
footstool and a plate appeared in front of him as well.

The Dark Lord sat down and his followers did as well. Volemort summoned a blueberry tart over,
cut a small piece off and ceremoniously intoned “To magic!” before lifting the bite to his lips.
“To magic!” the gathered crowd echoed and the bonfire in the center burst into flames.

Soon, the crowd began to fill their plates with food and a cheerful cacophony once again rose to fill
the meadow. Along one side instruments suddenly appeared and began to play a happy tune.

“Sit,” Voldemort ordered without sparing him a glance.

A bit hesitant, Harry did as told. He waited until the dark Lord had summoned a slice of fresh
bread and a small pot of cream cheese with spring onions, before reaching out to fill his plate as
well. He didn’t fancy a round of cruciatus in front of all of Voldemort’s followers after all.

Voldemort had taste, he had to admit. The bread the wizard had chosen for his table was one with
dried tomatoes and fresh herbs kneaded into the dough, it was one of Harry’s favourites. It was
odd, thinking that he might actually have something in common with his mortal enemy, even if it
was only the kind of bread they liked. As he ate silently, the thought once again came to him that
he would soon be leaving and a feeling of sadness unexpectedly overwhelmed him. He glanced
over to the Dark Lord who was sitting poised and on his throne, and Harry had to admit that he
truly looked like a Lord in that moment. Elegant in a casual way, there was something carelessly
regal about how Voldemort watched his followers while he ate, but Harry knew that wasn’t
entirely true. Voldemort actually cared about his people and their world, in his own, twisted way.

“Is there something on my face?”

Harry jumped a little as he was pulled out of his musings. Realizing that he had been caught staring
at the dark Lord, he blushed and quickly returned his gaze to his platter.
“No, my Lord. I was just thinking how good you look this evening.”
One of those sharp, regrown eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Do I look good to you?” he repeated
Harry’s words, a teasing smirk appearing around his lips, making Harry blush.
“I meant, you look healthy again,” he stuttered. “It’s… it’s a relief considering I have to leave soon
and my magic won't be available to you anymore.” He tried to explain, but wasn’t actually sure if
his words made his situation better or worse. One thing he realised however, even as he fumbled to
explain himself was that what he had said wasn’t a lie. He truly was relieved that Voldemort was
better. To think that if he hadn’t apparated to the castle 6 weeks ago, he might have never seen this
side of the wizard. Voldemort was so much more complex than he had expected. For 5 years he
had believed the man was nothing more than an insane psychopath, but Lord Voldemort actually
was intelligent and, even more surprising, maybe even the best teacher he has ever had. Besides,
what Dumbledore had done at the Ministry of Mysteries really had been wrong.

“Indeed. However, I do hope that you and your exceptional magic will join us next summer as
well,” Voldemort hummed, summoning a bowl of salad.
Harry stiffened. “I don’t think I will be able to…” he began, but the Dark Lord cut him off.
“We have already discussed your likely apprenticeship. If you agree it shouldn’t be difficult to have
you here. ”
“But-” Harry was cut off when Voldemort clucked his tongue. “Don’t worry, I do not solve all my
problems with murder.” Harry refused to comment.
“I was thinking of a prize? Do your parents take part in the Daily Prophet Sweepstakes?”
Not really knowing what Voldemort meant, Harry shook his head.
“A pity,” the dark lord retorted, turning back to his own plate. “However, I am sure we will find
another solution. I do not intend to let go of my valet, my most promising student in the
Necromantic Arts.”

Not really sure how to respond, Harry stayed silent and instead picked up his bread, nibbling the
food he and the elves had worked so hard to prepare.

Finally Voldemot rose to his feet to face the waiting crowd. The chair behind him vanished and
hastily, Harry rose as well and his chair too, disappeared. The evening light had deepend, and
while there were many dancing around the blazing fire and even more still seated, picking at the
food and enjoying their conversations, Harry was getting tired.

“Come, you will assist with my sacrifice,” Voldemore suddenly said, rose to his feet and vanished
the table in front of him.
“What?” Harry asked, surprised to be addressed so suddenly. However, Voldemort was already
making his way down to the fire and he had to hurry to catch up as he led the teen toward the fire.
Down on the meadow the gathered wizards and witches had fallen silent and were getting to their
feet to form a big circle around the fire. To Harry’s horror some of them were pulling pointy
daggers from their robe pockets. The patriarchs, he realized belatedly while the others took out
their wand and held them in front of their chest like a muggle might hold a candle in the church.
As they reached the edge of the circle, the crowd parted wordlessly, everybody had fallen silent in
anticipatory deference. Once in the center, Voldemort motioned for Harry to kneel in front of him.

Harry didn’t really want to kneel down with his back to all those people, but knew he had little
choice if he didn’t wish to get into serious trouble.
“Hold your hands out,” Voldemort ordered and as soon as he did so, with a flick of the wizard’s
wand, a silver bowl with runes engraved along it’s rim appeared in his hands. The dark lord
pocketed his wand and pulled his own ritual dagger out. It was silver and encrusted lavishly with
emeralds. Then he turned to look out at his gathered followers.

“To the Lady to whom this Land is holy we sacrifice the first fruits she has gifted to us and pray…
“

The dark lord’s voice was smooth and melodious as it easily carried over the meadow. Magic rose
around them, potent and dense and inside of hin, the bond that connected him to Lord Vodlemort
sang with a feeling of giddiness, making him slightly dizzy. Was that Lady Magic he could feel or
just Voldemort’s excitement over performing a magical ritual after so many years as a bodiless
wraith? He didn’t know.

“That her power be in the mouth of everybody who speaks of her,” Voldemort continued, “That her
wonders are in every eye that sees her, and her voice in every ear that hears her. So we pray.”

The dark lord lifted his dagger to his left wrist and without hesitation cut a deep cut into his skin.
Around him everybody was mimicking his action. Those who didn’t possess a ritual dagger of
their own, had used their wands to draw their blood. But Harry paid them no mind as his eyes were
fixed on the droplets of red liquid falling into the ritual dish. It was a fascinating sight, strange
almost; he had somehow always expected Voldemort’s blood to be as black as his soul. But then
again, the wizard’s soul hadn’t turned out quite as dark as he had expected either.

Then Vodlemort spoke again and with him, everybody else.

“I give my heart that magic will be with me. I give my soul that magic will be inside me. I give my
wand that magic may protect me. I give my words that her might will ever grow.”

The magic gathering around them thickened, so much so that it began to prickle almost painfully
on Harry’s skin. The blood that had been spilled onto the meadow, he noticed with a mixture of
fascination and horror was flowing towards him and the dish he was holding. Then in the next
second it reached Harry and began to travel up Harry’s body to gather in the dish as well. Panic
suddenly grabbed him as it slid warm and sizzled up his arms, along his skin. However, a single
glance up at the dark lord told him to stay in place.

“As the wheel of the year starts anew and life once more begins to sprout, grant our fields rich
fruits and help our families and community grow stronger,” Voldemort spoke once again by
himself. Then suddenly the dagger in his hand vanished and he took the dish from Harry. In the
next moment crimson eyes met his’ and white-hot pain shot through his hidden scar as Voldemort
entered his mind and a voice spoke in his head,
“Add your blood.”

Harry blinked back in uncertainty. He didn’t know the spell the others had used.
“Use the dagger you still keep on your person.”
Was that a reproach? But Harry had no time to worry about it as the crimson eyes narrowed in
impatience. So he pulled out the Peverell ritual dagger, lifted his hands and quickly slashed across
his left wrist like Voldemort had done. He watched as his blood joined the rest, before pocketing
his dagger again. As soon as he had done so, the dish was back in his hands and Voldemort said
loudly “So mote it be! Incendio!”

The dish burst into flames, but Harry could feel no heat as the fire devoured the blood inside and
the magic on the magic spiked one last time. Voldemort waited until the flames had died down
before vanishing it.

Hesitantly, Harry shifted, but when the dark lord didn’t react in any negative way, he got to his
feet.
“You may enjoy the rest of the evening freely,” Voldemort said as the ring of watchers
disintegrated into smaller groups around them.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he retorted, bowing his head, before straightening once more and looking
after the wizard.

As gracious as the order was probably meant, Harry had no idea what to do next. Around him
Voldemort’s followers were slowly making their way towards the great bonfire, the children with
their bouquets of daisies in their hands, while the adults carried either small baskets filled with
fruits or fresh fruit products or wooden objects he didn’t wish to examine any closer. Many of them
walked in small groups, chatting amiably, but Harry didn’t know anybody well enough to join
them. With one exception, that was, he suddenly remembered, inwardly smacking himself for how
stupid he was, and let his eyes wander. However, before he could find Barty, an unpleasant voice
distracted him.

“If that isn’t our ickle little goody-goody valet,” Bellatrix appeared next to him. “But I heard you
aren’t quite so perfectly revoltingly boring as we thought. A pity that I wasn’t there to see the duel.
Always told my sister that Malfoy’s aren’t good breeding stock, but she wouldn’t listen,” she
pouted.
“Ah,” Harry had no idea how to respond.
The crazy woman pouted a bit longer, and then smiled a wide grin with a manic glint in her eyes as
she peered into violently purple eyes, “You’d make a fair torturer if what I heard is correct.”
Harry shrank back a bit, fumbling for words to address the woman who cast the spell that sent his
godfather through the veil even as she began to move around the teen, clearly sizing him up for
something, though Harry had no idea what it might be.
“Yes, yes, yes,” long raven curls seemed to move about her head as she swished around him, a light
breeze drifting passed him in her wake. “We might even be on the same team!”
“I suppose,” was all he could think of to say.
“But you can’t be better than Bella, no,” she said in a sing-song, even as rage began to color her
tone, her magic beginning to manifest around her as she stepped into his personal space to tap his
nose. “I am our Lord’s favorite, and it had better stay that way, little valet.”
“Uh, yeah,” Harry managed to force through his dry, stiff lips, utterly bewildered at her lightning
fast changes in mood. Thankfully he was spared from saying anything else when Barty appeared
from behind the woman.
“I am sorry, Bella, but I fear I have to borrow the kid for a moment,” Barty said, grabbing him by
the shoulder and shoving him away.
“So, how long has she been traumatizing you?”
Harry shrugged. “It hasn’t been that traumatizing, more annoying.”
“Rodolphus wouldn’t have brought her along if she hadn’t taken her potions today,” Barty nodded
sagely. “Of course everybody knows Bella is crazy but as long as nobody really sees it…”
“You mean like plausible deniability?” Harry asked, wondering since when he was using so big
words, the prodigy of a dark lord really was starting to rub off on him.
“Exactly,” Barty snickered, before sobering slightly. “Come on, I will introduce you to some future
colleagues.” Barty stopped and looked around until his eyes darted back and forth between two
groups. “I think the older members are a safer bet. From what I heard you left quite the impression
with the recruits. But don’t worry, our lord will make them grow some bollocks soon enough.”

Harry simply nodded. He wasn’t really eager to be introduced to either of the groups but Barty was
probably right that the more experienced death eaters would be less cowed by his presence. Surely
for them, while quite a shock, the duel they had witnessed had not been quite as traumetizing,
having taken part in raids and torture fore many years.

Barty led him over to a group of burly wizards, standing chatting and laughing on the wide
meadow. The tables vanished, probably courtesy of Mrs. Malfoy’s small army of house elves,
giving the guests more places to dance or just mingle.
“So then I ripped his arms off,” one of them said, and the others began to chuckle in response.
Then one of them noticed Harry.

“Well, well, well If it isn’t the little powerhouse!”

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Harry looked down.
“That's him,” Barty grinned, before grabbing Harry by the shoulder again, pulling him slightly
forwards until he stood between the others. “Let me introduce you, Hades. You of course have
already met Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. Then we have Augustus Rookwood and Corban
Yaxley,” a tall, broad-shouldered wizard and a long, thin one inclined his head towards Harry, “
Austin Avery and last but not least Theodore Nott Senior, whose son currently attends Hogwarts,”
Barty continued but then added with a frustrated look on his face “but of course that isn’t of any
help to you. Honestly, kid, who doesn’t send their child to Hogwarts nowadays?”
“His parents, apparently,” drawled Theodore Nott with a sneer. “It’s a wonder he has any skills at
all without even the basic education Hogwarts provides.”
Yaxley let out a loud guffaw, “You’d not be sayin’ that if you saw him take the Malfoy brat down
a peg, Nott. Nearly killed the boy according to my cousin’s account.”
“The recruits were all full of tales of the duel,” the slow, quiet tones of Augustus Rookwood
contributed. “And they didn’t appear to be exaggerating, nor did their accounts differ in the
essentials as is so common when youth seek to inflate or downplay events.”
Harry could hardly bear to stand there and listen to them discuss his almost-murder of Malfoy -
Draco, that is. He turned pleading eyes on Barty who only grinned and offered up details he got
directly from various members of the audience as he treated them for magical depletion.
The teen shuddered as talk turned to the more blood-thirsty pursuits some of the men had
participated in during their youth. He kept his head down and only spoke when spoken to directly,
and using as few words as possible. Voldemort might be more sane than he anticipated, but it was
clear that not all of his followers were of the same mind.
Slowly, the group drifted as they talked. Stopping to nibble at platters of food still available, or
accepting drinks from one of the many elves running around, they drew closer to the dias
Voldemort had claimed as his own. Indeed, they were clearly moving that direction and finally
came close enough that the words of the Dark Lord’s conversation were carried to them on the
breeze.

"...I even crafted an offering for this occasion, my Lord. Would you like to see it?” she was just
saying and pulled a rather long and thick wooden phallus from a hidden pocket in her dress.
Voldemort didn’t look impressed. In fact, Harry had the feeling that he was forcefully trying to
look anywhere but at the cursed thing.
“I am sure your husband will be pleased to learn that you are finally ready to fulfill your marital
duty and provide him with an heir,” he said, looking pointedly out over the meadow.
Unfortunately, Bella didn’t seem to notice the dark lord’s revulsion of the topic. Pouting, she
basically pressed herself against his side. The sight inadvertently sparked an uncomfortably tight
feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach. It dipped and lurched almost as if he were practicing some
new quidditch move and likely to crash, but he couldn’t identify it as anything but decidedly
discomforting.
“My Lord, when will you provide us with an heir to your noble cause and family?”
Voldemort shot her a warning look. “I think it should be obvious that I have neither the need for an
heir nor the partner it would require.”
The wizard had obviously intended his words to be quelling, but Bellatrix in her mania, once again
didn’t notice the hint and pressed even closer. To Harry’s chagrin she pressed the hand that was
holding the phallus against Voldemort’s chest, effectively pressing the obnoxious thing against his
torso as well. “Your loyal Bella could always get rid of her dolt of a husband, if it would please…”
“It would not please me, Bellatrix,” Voldemort cut her off, finally having reached the end of his
patience. With a swift motion he dislodged her effectively and took a step back. “I hope you did not
intend to imply that you would be worthy enough for the role of my consort.”

Bellatrix’ eyes suddenly widened and she dropped to her feet. “Bella would never be so forward,
please, forgive your loyal Bella, Master. Bella was merely thinking of herself as a vessel, Bella
would never dream of imagining herself as your wife.”

The small group, of which Harry was a part, finally reached the pair and Rodolphus immediately
proceeded to press forward and grab his recalcitrant wife by the arm.
“Bellatrix! Cease this embarrassing behavior!”

Harry cringed. So far, no one had been cursed during the course of the event, but it was looking
like Voldemort might just make an exception to curse his most loyal… and possibly most crazy…
follower if her husband couldn’t get her under control. Not wishing to become involved in any of
that sort of unpleasantness, Harry was able to use his small stature and slight build to disappear
into the crowd which had gathered on Rudolphus’ shout. He managed to extricate himself from the
crush of flesh and looked around, searching for someone… anyone else with whom he might
reasonably be able to converse.

The teen’s eyes brightened when they fell on the familiar form of Viktor Krum. And then dulled
when he saw the famous seeker deep in conversation with one of the new recruits, the one Harry
had put in his place when the boy hadn’t wanted to take his own trunk. Color something…
Whitehead? Greengrass? Bluewater! That was it. The pretentious prat Timothy Bluewater… Heir
Bluewater. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of the upcoming conversation, but he really did
need to talk to Krum, especially to see if the other still wanted his help with his defense lesson
plans.

He was pondering how to join the conversation (surely there were some obscure traditions one
must abide to when joining someone as important as heir bluewater, Harry scoffed inwardly), when
Krum noticed him and solved the problem for Harry.
“Hades, good to see you,” he said, waving him over.
“Hallo Krum,” Harry smiled back, relieved to have somebody close to his age to join. As nice as
Barty was, he had his own group of friends and Harry didn’t really feel connected to them with
their age difference.
“Mr Dursley,” Heir Bluewater greeted stiffly, but before an awkward pause could rise, Krum filled
it. “It is good that you have found me, I still wish to invite you to my family’s home, this way I can
spare my owl the trip to Britain.”
Remembering suddenly his promise to help the other boy with his lesson plans, Harry smiled
sheepishly.
“I am sorry, I should have written to you earlier… I,” he began, however, Krum cut him off with a
raised hand.
“You were quite busy these past weeks, no need to apologize.”
Harry’s bad conscience didn’t lessen. “Well, after this evening I am free until the 1st.”
Krum gave him a thankful look. Apparently, his upcoming duties at Durmstrang truly were making
him nervous. “Then maybe the day after tomorrow? I will send you a portkey.”
Harry nodded in agreement and they lapsed into a short, comfortable silence.

“So, how have you been, my friend? Last time I saw you, you seemed fairly in shock,” Krum
finally ended the silence that had risen, a wicked gleam in his eyes that made Harry wonder if he
had asked the question on purpose.
To his right Heir Bluewater sneered, but he ignored him and simply replied, “It’s a relief to see you
all back on your feet. I am only still worried about Draco, but our Lord says he would most likely
recover without any lasting damage.”

Krum opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could do soo, Bluewater suddenly
interrupted. “Have you ever wondered if you might have been adopted?”
Frowning, Harry turned to the older boy, “No, why?”
Heir Bluewater shrugged nonchalantly. Far too nonchalantly. “Then you should ask them. It
happens all the time.”
Harry still didn’t understand what he was getting at. “What happens all the time?”
“That heirs of ancient and noble houses are stolen. Mostly from political rivals to weaken the
family. There is no way that you are only a halfblood.”

So that was the excuse the little prat came up with to keep his perfect little pureblood worldview
intact? Having enough, Harry sneered back at him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I look so much
like my filthy muggle-father that I don’t even have to ask. And if you knew them, you wouldn’t
have to either.”

Bluewaters expression distorted into an uggly, angry grimace. “I am quite surprised,” he hissed,
stepping directly into Harry’s comfort zone. Instantly, Harry’s magic reacted, flaring up agitatedly,
but the boy ignored it, “that our lord hasn’t crucioed those blasphemic notions out of you yet. But
no matter, he will soon enough.”

“Big words for a low-level recruit who our lord doesn’t even know the first name of if I don’t
whisper it into his ear!” His magic began to crackle dangerously in the air, but before something
else could happen, a hand on his shoulder suddenly distracted him.
“Hades, don’t do anything you might regret more than hurting Draco Malfoy,” Krum whispered
forcefully.
Unable to get a word out, Harry nodded stiffly. “You are right. Thank you, my friend,” he pressed
out through gritted teeth. “Please excuse me, I think I will better return inside. I will see you in
three days.” With that, he turned on his heels and began to march towards the castle, which was
nothing but a looming, dark shadow against the darkening evening sky by now.

He weeved himself through the gazered people, trying to avoid bigger gaggles of laughing and
celebrating images, still agitated. He couldn’t believe the nerves of that little prick! Voldemort
really needed to make his agenda clear and maybe sit some of those pompous, stuck up Lords and
Ladies down for some basic, old fashioned muggle-styled genetic lessons. If people like Bluewater
continued like this, Voldemort could forget his dream about ruling a peacefully united magical
folk.

He had almost reached the front steps, when a cool voice interrupted his silent cursing.
“Hades, what has you so agitated?”
Turning around, Harry saw Voldemort strolling towards him.
Hesitating a moment, he lowered his gaze a little, mumbling, “Nothing, my Lord. Just a stupid
argument with one of the recruits.” He didn’t wish to sour the dark lord’s mood on such an evening
as this, with the grounds full of guests, it was the wrong time to anger the dark lord. Besides,
Bluewater wasn’t worse, souring an entire evening over. Unfortunately, his words seemed to have
the opposite effect.

“Is that so?” Voldemort hummed, climbing up the front steps until he stood next to Harry. “Why
do I doubt your words then?”
Harry opened his mouth, however, before he could answer the other continued. “We have lived in
close proximity for the past 6 weeks and I believe by now I know you well enough to say with
certainty that you would never be this enraged over a small matter,” he stated.

Harry winced inwardly, Lord Voldemort truly was too observant when he wasn’t insane.
“It’s really not that important…” he ventured again, but was promptly cut off.
“I am not asking if you would like to tell me. Now speak,” Voldemort said as he started to walk
again.
Quickly Harry hurried after him.

“It was just an argument with Bluewater. Heir Bluewater,” he huffed, still inwardly fuming.
Voldemort just hummed. “Proudfoot as well, reported that he possesses an attitude I would not
even tolerate from a Malfoy. What did he say to you?”

Harry’s fists clenched at the mere memory. “That I should ask my parents if I were adopted. For no
halfblood could possibly be as powerful as I am!” he spat.

They had reached the level of the dark lord’s private quarters and the wizard opened the double
doors to his parlor with a careless wave of his hand.
“I believe we had this topic before. As annoying as these misconceptions of my followers are, my
answer has not changed; at this moment in time I cannot afford to affront too many of them, which
would be the outcome of I forced them to adopt new beliefs all of the sudden.” He sat down on his
sofa, leaving Harry to stand a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Then we must explain the matter to them. I have seen those books in your bedroom, you know
about the problems inbreeding can cause. Hell, we have talked about it and you agreed! Surely if
we organize classes, they must…”

“What must they do?” Voldemort interrupted him derisively. “What must those heirs who can trace
their lineage and traditions back to the time of Merlin do? Are you really so naive to think that they
will believe they must do anything they do not wish to do?” he sneered.

Harry deflated, Volddemort was right that it would take time.

“Sit,” Voldemort suddenly said and to Harry’s surprise, he motioned towards the empty half of the
sofa he himself was currently occupying. “I do not say that reeducating them will never happen.
Only that it is unwise to do so while we are at the brink of a war. I need a united fellowship, not
one that tears itself apart.”

When Harry hesitated, he added, “Don’t start to look afraight of me now. Surely, sharing these
rooms with me for six weeks must have dispelled some of the myth of the dark lord for you,
Hades?”

It had, in a sense, but Harry wasn’t quite sure if what he had discovered behind the myth of He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wasn’t even more frightening. At least, if Harry thought about the fact
that he was still expected to defeat and kill this powerful wizard sitting so casually in front of him,
it was.

Still, he walked over and carefully sat down as far away from Lord Voldemort as the limited space
of the couch would allow. He had sat close to the dark lord before, but it always had been during
their tutoring sessions, with a book in front of them. This somehow felt different.

For a moment they sat in a silence that could have been comfortable if Harry hadn’t been so tense
by their sudden proximity, until the dark lord spoke again.
“Did you enjoy the evening, Hades?”

Harry hummed and nodded. “It was amazing,” he breathed, he still could feel the residual magic in
the air, even now, hours after Voldemort’s ritual.
“I must admit,” Voldemort hummed, “that I enjoyed it as well. It felt quite rejuvenating. During all
those years as a bodiless wraith, being unable to cast most magics was the most agonizing for me,”
he confessed. His eyes had adopted a far-away look, as if he was gazing at something Harry
couldn’t see.

“I never held the pleasures of the flesh in as high regards as most others. Therefore having to go
without my favorite food or wine was not a big challenge. But having my magic so out of reach,
was true agony.”
Harry shifted, not knowing what to say. Having to live, or maybe a better description would be
exist, without his magic, was something he didn’t want to imagine. He felt almost bad for the man
next to him, only Voldemort had deserved what had been coming to him. And maybe, it even had
been for the best, for whatever Voldemort had done to himself to ensure his immortality before his
defeat, he was of a much clearer and saner mind now.

“Even after my return,” Voldemort continued and Harry focused back on his voice, which had
faded to nothing but a mere whisper as if he was speaking to himself. Absent-mindedly, Harry
wondered if the wizard was still aware that he had an audience. “Even after my return, the body I
had my follower create was weak. It was supposed to adapt to my magic and strengthen in time, but
it never did, until…” he broke off there and Harry realized as those crimson eyes turned their gaze
to him, that what was supposed to follow was an admission, he would never hear from the man.

Swallowing, he had to lower his eyes as those blood-red orbs were too intense. “I can only
imagine…” he swallowed again, his words sounding inadequate to his own ears. “I never cast
anything until the day at Ollivander’s. I never even held a practice wand before that, but I wouldn’t
want to miss it. It was…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “Like finally learning the
name of an old friend, in a sense. Sorry, that sounded stupid.”

Voldemort shook his head. It was only the slightest of movements, but Harry saw it. “No, it
didn’t,” he said. “Even before you held your wand, you must have done accidental magic and must
subconsciously have felt it running through your veins. For me it was similar, if more extreme.”

Harry’s heart began to pound madly in his chest as he wondered what he had done to deserve
insight into his nemesis’ past.

“I didn’t know I was magical, or that something like magic even existed, until I had turned 12.”

Frowning, Harry wondered if the entrance age for Hogwarts had changed since Voldemort had
been a student, but the dark lord continued speaking and he quickly focussed back on him.

“However, powerful and gifted as I already was back then, I already used my magic quite actively
for years by that point. Still it was a relief to learn that there were others. That there was a whole
world.”

“That you weren’t alone,” Harry wanted to add, but didn’t dare to.

“Sometimes,” he however dared to disrupt the silence, “I think that far too many witches and
wizards take their magic for far too granted. I hadn’t expected it,” he admitted, “but thanking
Magic felt right. More mages should do it, I think. Most don’t even realize what their magic can do
for them.”

Voldemort nodded in agreement. “Like keeping one alive if one is starving.”

During their silent conversation Harry subconsciously had drifted closer to the other, until he was
almost close enough that their arms touched, but at those words he stiffened and leaned back again.
Why did Voldemort have to remember him of his relatives on a night like this?

“Like starvation,” he echoed, his voice suddenly far too loud in the silent room, effectively ending
the intimate atmosphere and what it had become.

“You will be leaving me soon,” the Dark Lord changed the topic, his voice once again matter-of-
factly. Harry almost scoffed, thinking if only he knew how right he was. “Well, I cannot return you
to the dubious care of your family without something to remember me by,” he said more
decisively. “You will take my school books so you can truly learn, rather than being stifled by the
restrictions placed on learning at Hogwarts. Your parents are fools to follow that curriculum so
blindly,” he muttered. “Bring my books, I’ll place glamours on them so your family will not realize
what they are.”

Harry blinked and then scrambled up. He made his way into his small, cold room, and quickly
rummaged through his trunk, pulling out all the texts he had stowed away in preparation for
leaving. Who would have thought the man would give them to him? Making a neat stack, he
carefully levitated them back into the parlour, where Voldemort immediately began waving his
wand. Mere moments later, the entire stack of texts looked like several books he had found in
Hogwarts’ library, a few quidditch books, and some other innocuous looking titles which Harry
privately wondered whether they actually existed.

“There,” the man said with a sharp nod. “Go and put them away, I’ve something else to teach you
and the excess magical energy you are surely still feeling will be adequately channeled in this
practice.”

The teen nodded and quickly put the books away and returned with parchment, quill, and ink, ready
to take notes. Voldemort chuckled, surprising the boy, and said, “You won’t be needing those.
Stand,” he ordered and waved his wand, conjuring a large mirror that reminded Harry of the Mirror
of Erised. “Now then, I assume you will not wish to return to your parents looking like this,” he
gestured at the teen whose eyes widened comically. He had forgotten about his changed
appearance! “Ah, I see you had forgotten,” Voldemort said wryly. “Lucky for you, Lord Voldemort
doesn’t forget. Picture your previous appearance very carefully and with as much detail as you can.
Freckles, scars, discolorations in skin tone, anything and everything you can think of about how
you used to look. You must see exactly what you wish to look like. Then, direct the flow of your
magic through your body, focusing on exactly what you should see in the mirror.”

“What’s the incantation and wand movement?” Harry asked.

“The type of glamour I’m teaching you is both wandless and wordless,” he answered. “For most
witches and wizards, the common glamour charm is a crutch, adhering to their skin and displaying
the desired results. Human transfiguration is perhaps closer, but has the undesirable effect of being
unpredictable in terms of how long the spells will hold. This method is much more like what a
metamorphmagus can do, in that you will change your body, not just hide it, for as long as you
wish.”

“I’m not a metamorphmagus, though…” Harry said uncertainly.

“Of course you aren’t. You’d have to be of Black descent to even have a hope of receiving that
particular magical gift. And it’s clear you aren’t because otherwise your magic would have covered
up your changes on its own as soon as you thought about hiding them. No,” he said, “this is just
very power intensive magic, and one must have exceptional control over the flow of their magic in
order to be successful. You managed a perfect Magistre Adiuva without any special training, even
if the result was unexpected to you. Such a thing requires an enormous amount of magic and
control, much more than is required even for this.”

Harry closed his eyes and began frantically thinking about how he could alter his appearance, but
not morph into Harry Potter right in front of the Dark Lord. He finally decided on copying a few
pieces of the Dursleys' looks, the blond hair, deep-set eyes, and thin lips, though he thought
Petunia’s slim build would be a better foundation than the male Dursleys’ bulk.

“Impressive,” came the deep voice of the man beside him.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open and widened in shock when he met the eyes of his reflection in the
large mirror. He looked almost exactly like Dudley, only skinny. And he hadn’t even been trying!

“You will do great things, Hades Dursley,” Voldemort said, a hint of pride creeping into his tone.
“Never have I been presented with such a magnificent, untrained talent just waiting to be guided
toward the pinnacle of accomplishment. Now that the stress of the festival is over,” they both
chuckled as they heard laughter and singing coming up from the grounds where Voldemort’s
followers were clearly still enjoying their Lord’s hospitality, whether he was in attendance or not,
“we can enjoy our last few days. A bit of relaxation, a bit of study, and a fair bit of magic before
you make a final decision on my offer of apprenticeship.”

“Oh, I, ah,” Harry stumbled over his words.

“Ah, ah ah,” Voldemort shook his head. “You are not to think on it tonight. Tonight, it is enough
that you have remained in my service. We can discuss it more, go through the details, answer any
questions you have over the next few days,” he nodded. “You may tell me before your planned
departure on the first, or you may simply stay, and that will be that.”

Harry nodded.

“Where is your necklace, Hades?” the man suddenly asked after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s here,” Harry replied, pulling the teardrop pendant the Dark Lord gave him at the start of his
service out from under his robes.

Voldemort waved his wand and said a few words Harry didn’t recognize before the pendant
glowed blue. “In addition to hiding your magic from the ministry, and protecting your mind from
the most direct intrusions, it is also now a portkey. Whether or not you choose to reject the offer of
apprenticeship, you will always have a way to return. Say ‘Morsmordre’ and it will return you to
this room.”

Harry couldn’t help the smile when he realized what the Dark Lord had done. Something about
that action made him feel so appreciated. He would never have thought Voldemort would offer
something like this to a follower, an unmarked follower at that. And Harry wasn’t even truly a
follower, though somehow he had managed to keep up the charade.

“Thank you,” he said, settling into the couch. The two relaxed in the quiet of the evening once
again, cocooned in the magic from Voldemort’s offering, the popping and crackling of the fire a
quiet accompaniment to the faint sounds of bell-light laughter still reaching their ears from the
revelers. The evening had been a surprising merry-go-round of impressions and emotions, sitting
peacefully like this now, was like balm for his frazzled nerves. Somehow he had gone from the
intruder of Voldemort’s secret hide-out, to his care-taker, his student and finally his confidante and
that all in a matter of a mere one and a half months. It made his plan to leave later that night feel all
the more cruler, however, he couldn’t think about it. He was Harry Potter, he needed to return to
his friends and to Hogwarts. Surely once he brought Sirius back and everything went back to how
things used to be, he wouldn’t have these thoughts anymore?

Leaning back into the couch, Harry forced himself to relax once more and enjoy the rest of the
evening. These were his last hours at Voldemort’s castle, once he left, he would never return. He
would leave and become Harry Potter again, the boy destined to free their world of the dark lord,
however for now, he could enjoy the last minutes with his nemesis. His nemesis who was much
more intelligent, powerful and elucidated than Harry would ever have imagined.

They sat in companionable silence until Harry nearly nodded off and Voldemort gently chivvied
him to his room. He was barely awake enough to remember to set his wand alarm in preparation
for his early morning departure. But at least this way he couldn’t lie awake and doubt his decision.

_____________________________________________________________________

Draco Malfoy was confused. He had been confused for several days, in fact, though thankfully, he
was still recovering so nobody thought to wonder why he was out of sorts. He kept replaying the
day the Dark Lord’s valet arrived in his room to apologize for what had happened at the duel.

He had woken up to hear a soft voice saying something he had been too exhausted to fully catch
and it had only gotten stranger from there.

The other teen had touched him, spoken to him, thought the words themselves had been strange at
first, hadn’t made any sense. He had only caught a few of the teen’s words, just barely enough to
recognize that it was Dursely. And the teen had truly been remorseful for harming Draco; he had
even cried, certainly not an action he would have expected from the boy, not after how
patronizingly he had treated him.

But when the strange, violet-eyed boy had begun speaking about things being different between
them, Draco had been hard pressed to continue feigning sleep. How was he supposed to accept that
a half-blood nobody had bested him, the pureblood son of an Ancient and Noble house. And not
just any Ancient and Noble House, but the House of Malfoy, so prestigious as to be able to trace
their ancestry back to Armand Malfoi who came over from France twenty-three generations ago?

How was he supposed to let that insult stand? And yet how could he deny the other teen’s power?
The question now was, what did Draco want to do about it?
His musings over the situation were cut short when his parents arrived.

“Come, Draco, you must get up and get dressed,” his mother said softly.

“But” he began only to subside into silence at his father’s unusually stern look.

“You are called by our lord,” Lucius said and Draco nodded.

His parents fluttered around him, assisting him to get up, helping him into the bath, and calling for
the elves to prepare his robes. When he was finished, they were once again right there, ready to aid
him getting dressed. He was tired and breathing heavily when they were finished, but his work was
not yet complete. He latched onto his father’s steadying arm as they stepped toward his floo.
Throwing out the override password to allow them to leave from the heir’s room, Lucuis called out
their destination and they whirled through the connection, coming to a stop in the Dark Lord’s
castle.

“Come in,” a rich, deep voice called.

Lucius guided his son into a fine office, Narcissa trailing behind.

“Young Mr. Malfoy,” Voldemort said, though Draco blinked at his more human appearance. “I
trust you are on the mend?”

“I am, my lord,” the teen replied, trying to bow.

“None of that, you are still injured,” the Dark Lord waved him toward a sofa where the blonde
gratefully sank down. “You will be returning to Hogwarts soon, yes?”

“Soon, yes,” Narcissa replied, “but not on the first with the rest of the students. His healers say at
least another full week of bed rest, and no magic for a week after that. We hope to have him back
by the middle of September.”

“Good, good,” the dark lord nodded. “That will be acceptable, regardless of the delay in my plans.
Your son’s health comes first.” Lucius and Narcissa’s eyes widened, but they said nothing when he
continued, “I have need of young Draco when he returns to school.”

“I am happy to serve however you need, my lord,” Draco said, trying to sit up in his usual stiff
posture, but still too weak to maintain it for long. “What is it you require me to do?”

“I need information,” the dark lord’s eyes and brows narrowed as his voice practically hissed, “My
valet disappeared three days before his service was to end. He told me he would not be leaving
until the first and yet yesterday morning he was gone. Barty and I thought perhaps he was
practicing on the grounds as breakfast had been prepared, however he never returned for lunch nor
dinner. We checked his room and his things were gone.”

As unobtrusive as possible the elder Malfoys exchanged a quick glance. They had suspected it
already but something clearly had to be special about Hades Dursley. Not that it came as a surprise
after the duel they had witnessed. The spell the boy had used, they hadn’t even been able to find it
in the tombs Narcissa had added to the Malfoy library as a dowry. This however, was the proof.

“He is not yet seventeen, and homeschooled. His appearance was altered early in his stay due to a
magical inheritance so the features you saw him with are not the features his family and friends
would be familiar with. His height was unchanged, though his skin went much more peach, and his
eyes are very deeply inset, and of a nondescript brown color. His hair is a generic mousy blonde
with no style to speak of, and he is quite thin. I need you to find out from your classmates, friends,
even your enemies if it's required, if they know anyone of his description. I must find him,”
Voldemort was vehement.

Draco’s eyes widened and he made a mental note to not challenge Dursley again. For his and his
family’s sake.

Lucius and Narcissa on the other hand almost slumped in relief that it was only information
gathering which would be required of their son. Certainly, if he failed there would be punishment,
but no doubt Lucius could use his extensive network of contacts to assist. Indeed, they had found
nothing of note when they looked upon his first arrival, but with his new distinctive features and
magic, even if he had provided a false name, they were certain to find something.

“Yes, my lord,” Draco finally said, nodding since he couldn’t fully bow. “I will do my best to
discover his whereabouts.”

Voldemort smiled a rather mean smile, but nodded, “Excellent.”

________________________________________________________________________

While Draco was considering his orders, Harry was in the middle of an exam. He had never come
up with anything to tell Voldemort about his departure, so he simply slipped away before anyone
else was awake. It was easy to get to the ministry. He simply floo’ed to the Leaky and then walked
from there. Since Arthur had taken him the muggle way for his trial, he knew exactly where to go.

He had taken History of Magic and Transfiguration the previous day, and booked a room at a
cheap muggle motel that would hopefully hide him from Voldemort’s as well as the Order’s
searching men for the remaining few days of the holidays.

His newfound skill with glamors proved beneficial as he had walked right past Lucius Malfoy the
previous day in Diagon Alley and the man had been none the wiser! Of course, he was certain the
Dark Lord was aware of his unexpected departure, but it was only three days. Surely he wasn’t that
important that his disappearance would bother the man.
He did think wistfully about the offer of apprenticeship, and even a bit longingly of the offer to just
remain at the castle when he was surrounded by the noise and chatter of the crush of humanity in
London, and the ridgid rush of those present in Diagon Alley, hurrying through their errands in
hopes the Dark Lord would not appear.

Unfortunately, he was scheduled to meet with the minister after his Charms exam, and he really
wasn’t looking forward to it. The man was as smarmy a politician as they come and Harry
wouldn’t put it past him to have the press at their meeting, or even have it somewhere outside the
ministry just so the press and the public would be able to see it.

He shook his head and got back to his written exam. The questions were much easier since he had
read and gone over the theoretical aspects with Voldemort. And with his new-found skill in
magical control, his transfiguration practical exam the previous day had gone swimmingly. He
didn’t expect anything else for Charms. In fact, after all his tutoring, he fully expected to get O’s
on all three exams!

He finished his final question and read through a few of his answers he had been unsure of, making
a few changes. Pleased with how the exam had gone, he handed in his paper and was ushered
across the hall to a small room which had been warded for casting. He thought he remembered
seeing the little old witch who administered the practical portion of his exam during the O.W.L.s
at Hogwarts, but didn’t think she had tested him on anything.

His spellcasting portion went flawlessly, just as he expected. Unfortunately, that meant he was now
free to move on to the next thing marked on his schedule, which was the dreaded meeting with
Cornelius Fudge.

A skinny, young looking wizard guided him from the testing rooms to the minister’s office where
the smallish man practically bounded over to greet him.

“Mr. Potter!” Cornelius almost gushed. “What a pleasure it is to see you again under much more
pleasant circumstances.”

“Minister Fudge,” Harry said as respectfully as he could, pretending he was greeting Voldemort as
Hades so his expression wouldn’t twitch.

“Come, come sit!” the man pointed Harry toward a plush armchair in front of his desk. “And how
do you feel about your exams?”

“They went well, sir,” Harry admitted truthfully. “I feel pretty confident about them. Thank you for
the chance to sit them again. I know you didn’t have to do that, and I do really appreciate it,” he
said with a big, innocent smile.

“Tosh, Mr. Potter, it was nothing. The work of only a moment, I assure you,” Fudge waved off the
thanks like it was nothing. “Now then, what I was particularly interested in were your thoughts on
this whole business with You-Know-Who.”

And Fudge proceeded to grill Harry for an hour on everything from his plans after school, what he
knew about how he would be defeating the Dark Lord, his favorite color and food, and where he
stood on the political spectrum. Harry could only be thankful there were no reporters present
because he was certain some of his expressions would have been far too telling to such jaded
personalities. And if it had been Rita Skeeter? No. The light’s golden boy, Harry Potter, would
have broken when he attacked that loathsome beetle where she stood.

But finally, after what seemed an interminable length of time, Fudge’s assistant knocked and
reminded the minister of the rest of his afternoon and evening appointments.

Harry was free.

Back out of the ministry, he immediately dropped his Harry glamour, and then focused on the
appearance he had created for Hades’ original looks, and returned to the Leaky for food and sleep.

The next morning he had agreed to meet with Viktor Krum once more before he returned to school.
The Bulgarian seeker had given him a floo address and password and when he arrived at 10 am, he
found himself in a lovely house being greeted by Krum’s entire family. Sneaking past Tom the
barman as Hades had been worth it because he would not have had time to remove any glamours
before the hordes descended.

Everyone wanted to hear about his duel with the Malfoy family heir, and Krum’s father even
congratulated him on his perfect casting of the Magistre Adiuva, even if his eldest son had been
laid up for a few days recovering because of it. Harry had no idea what to say to that.

Viktor finally managed to extract him from his overenthusiastic family, and the two got to work. It
was surprisingly fun, and very similar to working with Hermione. Apparently the older boy was
more than just a jock because some of his statements sounded exactly like something his bushy-
haired friend might say. Unfortunately, he couldn’t mention it because Hades Dursley didn’t know
Hermione Granger.

As they dug into the work, Harry found himself relaxing. They had in depth conversation and good
natured arguments over topics, organization, theory, and spell practice. When Harry admitted to
learning the patronus in the presence of a boggart-dementor, Krum was shocked. And the more
they talked, the more it felt like planning for the DA. Harry was completely in his element.

Perhaps he had found a possible future career as well.

 He stayed with Viktor’s family the entire day. And apparently his friend had remembered their
conversation about food, because everything he had for both lunch and dinner, though it was
different from British muggle food, was fantastic. He was honestly glad that he had met Krum
again and made a mental note to keep in contact with the older boy, if only as Hades Dursley.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R!
 Returning to Normality
Chapter Notes

AN: Hello guys, I am finally back with my second batch of chapters. I am kinda
nervouse and excited, so please comment. This second instalment hasn't been easy to
write, mainly because I want to write romance but Voldemort doesn't appear in this
part. However, things needed to be set up and dealt with before the story can progress
further.
If you see Ron still attending Potions anywhere, then please tell me, because I have
changed that. Also, I have decided that Harry resat more of his OWL exams than I
wrote in the previous chapters, so I will go back and change that soon. Now I wish you
all fun reading.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 13: Returning to Normality

Harry suppressed a yawn as he thanked the plump witch at the small bakery in Diagon Alley and
paid for his blueberry muffin. It was still early, but considering that he had yet to buy all his school
materials, he figured it was best not to dawdle.

The shops were just opening and still busy with unlocking doors and moving displays outside.
Biting into his muffin he pondered where to go first. The only shop that seemed ready to serve a
customer was the apothecary. Harry’s nose wrinkled. He hated the apothecary. It was smelly and
for some reason apothecarians were just as ill-tempered as the Potions Masters who processed their
wares.

However, he didn’t only need to fill up his school supplies, but also all the obscure ingredients he
would need for the resurrection ritual. For some of them he definitely would have to venture into
Knockturn Alley, he realized. The thought wasn’t really appealing. Knockturn Alley was a
dangerous place, he had learned that in the summer before his second year and since then he had
only heard more stories connected to the street. Not only did Death Eaters prefer to shop there, but
also creatures like vampires who were less shopping and more searching for an easy snack. Even
after all the things he had learned about the dark side, the thought made him shiver.

But he wanted to bring Sirius and Cedric back and it would be worth it to venture into Knockturn
Alley for that. Cedric had died far too young and what bothered him the most about the death of
his fellow Triwizarding champion was he had nothing to do with the conflict in the wizarding
world at all. Only when Harry had offered to share the victory had he been dragged into it, and out
of all deaths, casualties such as his were the most senseless. Nobody had ever blamed Harry
directly, and he truly believed that none of his friends ever would, but he still felt as if Cedric’s
premature death was at least partly his fault. Partly his and partly Dumbledore’s, he had begun to
think lately.
The thought made his confusion stir once again inside of him. He had been able to push it away
while he had taken his exams and spent time with Krum, but it had come back full-force. Shouldn’t
the headmaster have prepared him better? After all, Dumbledore had said from the very beginning,
when he had re-entered the wizarding world at 11, that Lord Voldemort wasn’t really dead.
Everybody that had known the wizard would return, knew he would be out for Harry’s blood. Even
those that hadn’t believed in the Dark Lord’s resurrection could have told them that if he came
back, he’d be after Harry.

Dumbledore had been the leading figure against the dark faction from the very beginning, reaching
as far back as the time of Grindelwald. Regardless of if the fact that the entire conflict - light
against dark - was sensible, if the headmaster was the commander, and if he had known that
Voldemort would return, he should have prepared Harry better from the very beginning, or at the
latest, when it had become clear that the dark lord would go after him year after year. Even if all
the things Voldemort had taught him were not part of the usual curriculum anymore, for whatever
reason, shouldn’t he at least have been taught more in preparation?

And if Occlumency was such a useful skill, why hadn’t he been taught from his first year
onwards? A wave of annoyance overcame him when he remembered Voldemort’s laughter at the
suggestion the mind art could be learned in mere months. Of course, now he had his pendant, and a
few books with better instruction, but still. It could have saved them all the trouble at the ministry!
Which was a different can of worms altogether, because if he had learned Occlumency earlier, he
wouldn’t have gone to the ministry and wouldn’t have gone to Voldemort. It shouldn’t have
mattered at that point, because he would have been better taught from the start, but did he really
wish he had never seen the man behind the monster?

But no. Dumbledore hadn’t done any of it, just as he hadn’t been clear about the danger that lay in
not learning occlumency and believing those visions. He had to nearly kill himself to get even a
scrap of information from the old man and the headmaster’s excuse of allowing him to be a child
was wearing a bit thin.

His treatment of Sirius also left much to be desired. He shouldn’t have caged Sirius in his hated,
childhood home in Harry’s opinion. Nobody who wasn’t a criminal should be locked away
somewhere they hated. Some might argue that Sirius was a criminal and therefore it was justified,
but Harry disagreed. Sirius hadn’t done anything, and the Headmaster knew it. He was completely
innocent and Dumbledore never did anything to prove it. The latter Harry would make sure to
change once Sirius was back.

Knowing he had much to accomplish and suddenly feeling much more determined, Harry began to
walk briskly down the street. He needed to go to Gringotts first and then he would take care of the
nasty apothecary. With so few people filling the shopping street, he reached the tall, white marble
building quickly. Checking that his Gringotts key was still in his trouser pocket where he had
placed it the evening prior, he entered and walked up to the nearest free counter.

The goblin in front of him seemingly didn’t notice him, however, after five years in the wizarding
world Harry was used to that behavior and simply cleared his throat. Really, one would think they
didn’t want to do business with their customers at all.
“Um… good morning,” he began when the creature finally looked up. “I would like to withdraw
some money from my trust vault.”

Harry placed his vault key on the teller and waited for the goblin to pick it up and call one of his
colleagues, however, instead the creature merely examined him through his narrowed, yellow eyes
for a long moment. Then finally it nodded, hopped from its stool and Harry had to hurry to follow.
“Griptooth will bring you to your vault,” the goblin said, handing Harry’s key over before
returning to his counter.

Fifteen minutes later Harry exited the bank again, his pouch filled to the brim with gold coins that
would last him until next summer. He made his way back down the street and entered the
apothecary. To his relief the ill-tempered pharmacist wasn’t in his shop yet, instead a young man
that looked as if he must have just recently graduated from Hogwarts, stood behind the counter, a
friendly smile appearing on his face as he saw Harry enter.

“Hogwarts, I guess?” he asked and immediately picked up a basket and walked over to the long
line of shelves where he proceeded to pick jars and small packages out.
“Yes, I am starting my 6th year,” Harry nodded.
“Ah,” the boy retorted, walking back down the row a few steps. “Then you will need those as well.
I took you for a fourth year,” he grinned sheepishly.

Harry just sighed, he was used to being believed younger than he actually was, due to his small
stature, and his altered looks from his jaunt into the Black Cosmos were certainly as effective a
disguise as anything else he might have come up with. The clerk gave him an apologetic smile and
walked back to his counter.
“That will be 3 galleons, 7 sickles and 15 knuts, please,” he said, placing the purchases into a bag.
Harry paid and quickly left, relieved to be out of that smelly store.

As he walked he passed a young wizard selling the newest edition of the Daily Prophet. Apparently
self defence was the newest course of action as the headline of the front page boldly announced
“Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Forces”. He didn’t really want to imagine what
rubbish the Ministry would recommend, still he stopped next to the witch and said, “Give me one,
please.”
“That will be 2 sickles,” she said in a bored tone of voice.

Harry gave her the money, before leaving for the next point on his list: Knockturn Alley.

Unfortunately Knockturn Alley as a whole was just as smelly and even more disgusting. It always
made him wonder how people like the Malfoys, even though they were mages who cared little if
the Ministry considered a spell or ritual dark and illegal, would voluntarily shop here. He wrinkled
his nose and pulled the hood of his cloak deeper over his face. Fortunately the apothecary was only
three storefronts down, so he didn’t have to venture very far. On another note, it seemed that
Knockturn Alley’s customers were even less early risers than those in Diagon.

A bell chimed as he pushed the dirty shop door open and stepped inside. Not bothering with trying
to find what he needed himself, Harry walked straight up to the counter. The witch behind it was
small and dirty, with crooked teeth and yellowish skin.
“What can I do for you boy?” she asked before cocking her head. “Virgin’s sperm will bring you 1
galleon per ejaculation.”

Harry nearly gagged and quickly shook his head.

“No thanks, I have enough money,” he quickly retorted and the witch sighed.
“A pity.”
“I just need mastic, saffron, opium, and some sweet, high quality oil,” he rattled off, wishing to get
out of this store and off the whole street as soon as possible.

The witches' eyebrows rose. “Intending to curse a classmate, aye?” She asked with a snicker, but
turned around and began to rummage around in the drawers beneath her counter.
“This’ll not be cheap, I hope you realize, lad,” she said, before reappearing after another moment
and placing the requested items in front of him.
“50 galleons.”

Harry swallowed, but reminded himself that 50 galleons wasn’t actually much considering that he
intended to bring two people back from the dead with that money. A life was certainly worth more.
So he paid, wished the witch a nice day and hurried out of the dirty store as if Voldemort himself
was on his heels. Only when he stepped back into the sun of Diagon Alley, did Harry heave a sigh
of relief.

The rest of his shopping was much more pleasant. He stocked up on quills and parchment before
buying anything else he needed. Lastly, after a summer of good food and the nutrition potion
Voldemort had brewed him, Harry had to get new school robes as his old ones, after two years, had
finally become too short. Madam Malkin was much more pleasant than Mr. Blotts and readied his
three new robes, five pairs of trousers and five button down shirts in no time and with a friendly
smile.

When Harry had gotten everything he would need for the upcoming school year, he checked his
watch and decided to go early to King’s Cross. He still had a little over an hour, however, getting to
the station would take at least 20 minutes and besides, he figured it would be nice for once to have
his pick of the compartments. So he put his cloak into his trunk and exited Diagon Alley.

Muggle London was much busier than Diagon had been. The 1st of September fell on Sunday, and
being mid-morning, people were bustling around in preparation for lunch, leaving their church
services, or running other weekend errands. He took the bus from Charing Cross Road to King’s
Cross, what little muggle money he found in the bottom of his money pouch being just enough to
cover the fee for the short trip.

King’s Cross was bustling with life and Harry wasn’t the first wizard to arrive. As usual, most of
his fellow mages were easy to spot. Really, considering how much fuss the Ministry had made
about him using magic in front of his cousin who already knew about it, one would think they
would at least offer a course on how to blend into the muggle world at Hogwarts.

He suppressed a snort as he walked past a man in a flowery night gown which he apparently
thought to be the muggle equivalent of a traditional wizarding robe, not taking into account that
none of the many muggles nearby were wearing anything remotely similar. Clearly wizards were
not only badly educated about their fellow humans, but also blind.

Shaking his head, Harry entered the station and followed the throng of people until he had reached
the barrier between platform 9 and 10. Fortunately someone at the Ministry must have put some
thought into the issue for once, because platforms 9 and 10 were at the very end of King’s Cross
and not many muggles took the trains that started from there.

Harry had to only wait for a moment until the space was clear and he could breach the entrance of
platform 9 ¾. The sight that welcomed him on the other side was rather unusual to say the least.
Instead of a crowded hall, filled with parents who hastily ushered their children onto the train, he
found a nearly empty space where a few families were talking to each other, while their children
searched for the perfect compartment to spend the 8 hour long journey to Hogwarts.

But there was no one among them Harry knew personally, so he walked on by and boarded the
train. It took him only a few minutes to find a nice compartment. He chose the second to last,
because it was close to the one he and his friend occupied usually, but was nicer than the very last
one.

Sitting down, Harry’s muscles relaxed almost instantly, it made him realise how on edge he had
been since he had practically run away from Voldemort’s castle. While he didn’t anticipate
Voldemort would care, he couldn’t help being paranoid. But now that he was on the train, there
was nothing he could do. It was the day he said he would need to leave, so the Dark Lord would
have been forced to part with him anyway.

Once again, another pang went through him at the thought of the quiet castle and a possible
apprenticeship, but he buried it in the back of his mind. His friends would never forgive him for
even thinking about it for one second. He fingered the pendant under his school robe, flipping it
around and around the chain as he considered saying the words that would return him to
Voldemort’s side. He shuddered, and looked out the window in an effort to distract himself.

Slowly the platform filled and the level of noise rose as more and more students boarded the train.
Harry was starting to fear that his friends truly wouldn’t make it this time, when the door to his
compartment was opened with a violent shove and Ron stuck his head inside. A look of relief
crossed his blue eyes, before he turned and yelled, “I found him! Harry is here!”

The redhead had not fully turned back to Harry when three people shoved simultaneously past him
and Harry was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.
“Never, ever do that again, Harry James Potter!” Mrs. Weasly practically sobbed. “When we went
to pick you up this morning and you weren’t with your relatives, we were so worried!”

Harry’s eyes widened in panic. They had been at the Dursleys? What if his uncle had told him how
long he had already been gone? However, his worry subsided when Mrs. Weasley continued, “And
that rude excuse of a muggle refused to answer a single question regarding your whereabouts.”
Then she truely sobbed, “Just… ‘good riddance’ he said. Of course Dumbeldore said that if you
had been harmed the wards he placed on your relative’s home would have alerted him, but…” she
trailed off and squeezed Harry again, before finally letting him go.

However, he was immediately pulled into another, albeit shorter, hug.

“Where have you been, Harry?” Hermione asked, pushing him away so that she could examine him
from head to toe.

“Um…” Harry began intelligently, but then managed to pull his head out of the gutter and quickly
told him the pre-made excuse he had concocted last night. “My relatives went shopping in London
yesterday, and because they couldn’t be bothered to drive all that way twice, they left me there.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in horror and he quickly continued, throat a bit thick on the lie, “I spent
the night in a muggle motel. I kind of hoped that it would be the last place Voldemort and his
minions would come looking for me.”
Relief replaced the horror in his friend's face and she gave him an exasperated smile.

The train gave a loud whistle and Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“I am relieved that nothing has happened to you,” he smiled gently, before beginning to guide his
wife out. “However, I fear we must leave the train now or we will be spirited away to Hogwarts as
well.
Mrs. Weasley, who had pulled a flower-embroidered handkerchief out of her skirt’s pocket, dabbed
at her eyes and nodded.
“Of course, dear,” she replied, before giving Harry, Hermione, and her son one last hug. “Take care
of each other. And next summer, we will pick you up earlier so that something like this won’t
happen again, dear.”

A pang of guilt went through Harry. At least they hadn’t known how long he truly had been gone.
What had he been thinking back then anyway? Right, that the spell Dumbledore had used was far
too cruel to be cast on another human being, or another living creature.
A moment of silence followed the Weasley’s departure, but it was broken when Ron let out a loud
sigh.
“Honestly mate, your bloody relatives are the worst!”
“They are,” Hermione agreed with a serious expression, before turning to push her trunk onto the
luggage rack.
As if that sight had made Ron realise something, the redhead suddenly asked, “Where is your
trunk mate? Don’t tell me they kept it locked away in that cupboard.”
Harry shook his head. “I asked Tom earlier to shrink my trunk for me. I still had to get my school
stuff, and I didn’t feel like dragging the thing after me the whole time,” he lied a bit more
smoothly.

“Good idea,” Ron hummed. “I wish mum or dad would shrink our trunks as well, but they always
think we will want something from them while on the train. Like the horrible sandwiches mum
always packs,” he shuddered and finally sat down as well.
“I still have my rucksack,” Harry just shrugged, before changing the topic.

“How has your summer been?”

Ron shrugged, “Well enough, I guess,” he replied. “Anyway, we stayed at the Burrow the whole
time. Mum is fairly angry with the twins for buying and starting that joke shop, but they came over
often and we played quidditch together with Ginny a lot.”

Harry blinked. He had completely forgotten about the twins’ shop, and the money he gave them to
start it. He felt bad that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t very happy about it, but he also thought the twins
would be happiest continuing to work with pranks, jokes, and whatever else their devious little
minds could come up with. He had to admit some of their stuff was amazing. He felt bad he hadn’t
seen their store before leaving, and promised himself that at the first opportunity he would go and
take a look.

“… and Bill and Fleur were there as well,” Ron continued, making a face. “They are dating now.
It’s sickening, I tell you, all that face-sucking… blergh. Well, we couldn’t return to the
headquarters, because after…” he broke off and he and Hermione looked at Harry, sporting
matching expressions of concern..

Suddenly the grief that had consumed him at the start of the summer came rushing back. For a
second it startled him. Not the fact that he still felt guilty for his godfather’s death, but the fact that
it had lessened so much that he had nearly forgotten. When did that happen? After he had found out
he could bring Sirius back?

The train lurched and then gained speed.

Looking down onto his lap, he released a long sigh. “It’s okay, Ron. You can say it. Sirius died
because of me. I know that, but it's… fine, or at least it will be,” he mumbled.
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s not your fault. He was a grown man and he knew the
risk.”

Harry shook his head. “I should have expected that it would be a trap, with the occlumency lessons
and all.”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence, but it was interrupted after only a few moments when the
door to their compartment slid open and Ginny entered.
“Harry!” she exclaimed with a wide smile and came over to hug him shortly. “I heard from mum
that you made it safely onto the train,” she said, before her expression suddenly grew stern. “If you
ever frighten us like that again, you will learn why my bat-bogey hex is so feared!”

Harry didn’t react. Truthfully, after all the time he spent around Voldemort, and everything he had
learned, everything he had done - he thought morosely of Draco who would not be back at
Hogwarts for a couple more weeks - he wasn’t frightened by the thought of her bat-bogey hex any
more.
“Anyway,” she continued with an odd look Harry couldn’t decipher, “I promised Dean to meet him
on the train.”
Ron’s lips thinned, but Ginny merely gave him a wave and pushed the compartment door open
again, only to nearly collide with Neville and Luna.
“Sorry, guys,” she said, before slipping quickly past them.

Feeling as if he had missed something during that short conversation, Harry turned to Luna and
Neville. At the sight of the latter, a feeling of pity and anger rose inside of him. Neville must have
his earth magic sealed by now. He wished he could have stopped his grandmother somehow, his
friend had sounded so desperate when he had seen him at the wizarding market. Harry could only
imagine how it must feel to have a large part of one's magic permanently sealed away, like having
a limb cut off probably.

“Luna, Neville, hi,” he greeted them, pushing the memory from his mind. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” Luna retorted dreamily.
Neville nodded, before a sheepish look settled over his features. “We are, just… all compartments
are full, even the last one. So we wanted to ask you three if you would mind if we sat with you?”

“Of course not,” Hermione smiled before Harry could answer. “It will be a cosy ride but we can
manage. And Ron and I have to leave for the prefect’s meeting soon anyway.”
Neville and Luna sat down and Harry, remembering the many articles about the fight in the
Department of Mysteries, he asked, “How was your summer? Any unpleasant backlash from our
excursion to the Ministry?”

The sheepish look on Neville’s face reappeared and he flushed beet red.
“Actually, no,” he replied, scratching the back of his head. “I expected Gran would be really angry
about all the publicity, but she was really pleased. Thinks I am starting to live up to my dad at long
last. She even bought me a new wand, look!” he pulled out a sleek and slightly reddish wand.
“Cherry and unicorn hair. Good for…” the other Gryffindor trailed off then. “Well, it doesn’t
actually matter.”

Harry was sure he knew what the wand was good for, but kept his mouth shut and instead vowed
to find a way for his friend to practice his magic again soon. Seeing that Hermione looked about to
pry, he quickly turned to Luna and asked, “Quibbler still going strong?”
Luna, who had already pulled one of her father’s magazine's out, looked up and nodded. “Oh, yes,
circulation is well up ever since your interview. It has increased even further actually, maybe
because of our fascinating report about the stinging slungslug or people have finally realised that
what you said was the truth.” She gave Harry a dreamy smile before returning her attention to her
magazine.

Hermione meanwhile looked as if she barely held back her protest, but after working for a year
with the eccentric Ravenclaw, she had mostly given up on lecturing Luna about invisible creatures
nobody but she and her father had heard about.

“So, are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?” Neville suddenly asked, surprising Harry.
Not really knowing what to answer, Harry shrugged. He honestly hadn’t expected the question
after they had gotten rid of Umbridge, after all, the D.A. had only been meant to compensate for
her bad classes.
“It’s just,” Neville fidgeted with his wand, “I’ve learned so much. Before you taught us, I thought I
would never be able to cast a proper shield charm, let alone a corporeal patronus!”
“I liked the meetings too,” Luna said serenely, her eyes never leaving her magazine. “It was like
having friends.”
Ron nodded rapidly in agreement and so did Hermione.
“Honestly, you were the best teacher we ever had. Even Lupin couldn’t make me understand the
stuff as quickly and as easily as you could,” the redhead piped up.

Harry opened his mouth, unsure how to answer. One one hand he could understand his friends and
he had enjoyed teaching even, but on the other, he wasn’t sure if he could teach without
accidentally including what Voldemort had taught him. As uncomfortable as it was to admit it, the
Dark Lord’s lectures had helped a lot and he was sure he would manage much better results in the
upcoming school year.

Fortunately he was saved from giving an answer when a commotion outside their compartment
drew all their attention.
“You ask him!”
“No, you!”
Could be heard accompanied by a lot of giggling, before a third voice declared, “I’ll do it!” and
their compartment door was pushed open. A girl Harry thought must be a fourth year, with olive
colored skin, doe eyes and a cascade of chocolate brown curls appeared in the doorway. Her eyes
scanned their compartment for a second, before she found Harry.

“Hi Harry, I am Romilda, Romilda Vane,” she said while batting her lashes exaggeratedly. “Why
don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with them,” she added in a theatrical
stage whisper none of his friends could possibly have overheard.

Luna blinked, Hermione scowled and Ron and Neville turned beat red, although the former
because of anger while the latter looked more embarrassed.

Annoyed, Harry glared up at the girl who had the decency to instantly flinch. “They are my friends.
Friends that helped me a lot last term,” he finished, ‘while people like you called me names’ he left
unsaid.
To his satisfaction Romilda turned red, before she hastily withdrew without another word.

Her departure was followed by a beat of silence, before Hermione opened her mouth, clearly still
upset, but Luna cut her off. “People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” she said, displaying
her knack for embarrassing honesty.
“You are cool. And brave,” Harry retorted with a scowl. “You accompanied me to the Ministry, in
contrast to her.”

Luna beamed and Harry had never seen such an open and happy expression on her face. For a
moment, she even looked as if she wasn’t driving through a higher sphere no one else but her
would ever be able to enter.

“We didn’t face him, though,” Neville commented with a visible shudder. “I am honestly glad it
turned out that way, can’t imagine the nightmares I would have otherwise now,” he admitted. “You
should hear my grandmother, though. ‘That Harry Potter’s got more backbone than the whole
Ministry of Magic put together!’ She’d give anything to have you as a grandson…”

Fortunately Hermione must have spotted his uncomfortable look, because she checked her watch
and then rose to her feet. “Come on Ron, we have to go to the prefect meeting now.”

Harry however, barely heard her. He hated that Neville’s grandmother treated her grandson so
horribly. She should be glad that he was still alive and not murdered alongside his parents. Or that
Voldemort hadn’t chosen him instead of Harry, because then Neville would now suffer through
those horrible visions that kept Harry awake more often than not and Neville would be the one
facing off Voldemort at the end of each term.

“Harry, are you alright?” Neville’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You look a bit funny,” his
friend added.
“Yeah,” Harry hastily nodded and then, to change the topic, asked, “Would you like to play a game
of exploding snap?”

Harry was glad that between the study session at the Malfoys and his lessons with Voldemort he
had managed to complete his homework without having to cobble something together on the train.
He could actually relax and enjoy the time with his friends before they were pulled back into the
whirlwind of school and homework and quidditch.

The rest of the train ride was spent alternating between exploding snap and wizarding chess while
Luna told them about the trip she and her dad had gone on in order to find proof of the stinging
slungslug and wrackspurts, another creature only they could see. Apparently they could enter the
brain through the ears and make their victim feel all fuzzy.

Neville was a much better opponent for wizarding chess than Ron, mainly because he was about as
abysmal as Harry, so their games actually lasted longer than five minutes and both of them won
and lost about the same amount of games.
When the sun began to sink, Harry and Neville politely left the compartment so that Luna could
change into her school uniform, before they swapped places with her and did the same.

Shortly after they rolled into Hogsmeade Station and they left the train together.
“Do you want to look for a carriage or wait to see if you can find Ron and Hermione?” Neville
asked, looking around. The other Gryffindor was quite a bit taller than Harry, so he probably could
get a much better overview of the crowd.
“Let’s just look for a carriage,” Harry replied. “Ron and Hermione will find us in the great hall.
Who knows what came up during the prefect meeting,” he decided and they made their way over
to the spot where the carriages were already waiting in line to carry the students up to the castle.

One of the thestrals nickered and he instinctively went over to it, wondering if it was the one that
had carried him to the Ministry at the end of last term. Luna patted its snout briefly and they all
climbed into the carriage. When Neville leaned forward to close the door however, they were
interrupted by a loud shout and a hand that appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, I thought we wouldn’t catch you in time,” Hermione breathed and climbed inside. “Scoot
over?”
Ron followed her and they all squeezed together. The carriages clearly weren’t meant for five
people as Harry practically ended up sitting on Neville’s long legs. His friend just grinned and
teased, “You know, Pomfrey is actually right. You really need to eat more.”
“And grow,” Ron added just as the carriage started moving.

Flushing, Harry turned to look out of the small window, but his attention was redirected to his
friend when he said, “You know, Malfoy wasn’t at the meeting!”
The guilt instantly settled back into his stomach.
“I wonder what’s up with him,” Ron mused, before adding, “Well, I guess he just felt too exalted to
join us plebeians in a boring prefect meeting.”

Hermione let out a long whistle and then began to giggle. “Plebeian, huh?” she teased.
Ron turned red and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I listen to you sometimes, you know,”
he shot back and Hermione sobered.
“It’s true, though,” she said. “Malfoy wasn’t there and Parkinson looked rather worried.”

If possible, Harry's guilt intensified at those words. “Maybe he’s ill?” he ventured carefully,
praying that his guilt wasn’t written all over his face.
Ron just snorted. “Or he couldn’t be bothered to return from his chateau in France in time for the
start of term.”

Neville shifted, and the movement nearly sent Harry flying head first into Hermione’s lap who sat
across from him.
“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, but then added, “I am not sure if that is right. Malfoy always was
very focused on his education.”
“I don’t really care what the git is doing as long as he doesn’t return,” Ron said, but Hermione
shook her head. “Neville is right, it's odd for him to miss the start of term.”

Fortunately their conversation came to an end as the carriage slowed to a halt and they all climbed
out. Soon Harry found himself distracted from his guilt as they climbed the front steps and made
their way into the Great Hall. They waved Luna goodbye, before searching for four empty seats at
the Gryffindor table, so that they could all sit together.

They found four across from each other at the very end, near where Dean Thomas and Ginny were
sitting.
“Hey, Harry, had a good summer?” the boy asked, leaning over.

Harry just nodded and tried to ignore the way Ginny was playing with the hairs on Dean’s neck.
Not that he minded that they were dating, he just felt uncomfortable when he was confronted with
public affection.

Movement from the corner of his eye alerted him of Hagrid’s arrival then and a moment later the
door to the great hall opened and McGonagall let the new first years in. The sorting seemed to take
forever and Harry’s attention was drawn to Dumbledore more than once. It was the first time that
he had seen the headmaster since their shouting match after the Department of Mysteries fiasco and
despite the fact that almost three months had passed since then, he immediately felt his anger at the
wizard rise again.

Finally, the sorting was over and Dumbledore rose to his feet and stretched his arms in his
trademark welcoming gesture.
“Welcome, new hands and old! I hope you are looking forward to the delicious food Hogwarts’
house elves have prepared as I am! Tuck in!”

Golden plates and bowls appeared in front of them and the carefree chatter rose up again.
“Mate, can you give me those chicken legs?” Ron asked and Harry, hungry after only a muffin
early this morning, dropped one on his own plate before giving the plate to the redhead.

For a few brief moments silence descended over them as they all began to eat. Harry too, eagerly
cut a huge chunk of meat off his chicken leg, before coating it generously in gravy. However, the
peaceful moment soon got interrupted when Hermione’s voice reached his ears.
“Strange,” she mused.
Knowing that tone in her voice, Harry swallowed and looked up questioningly.
“There is no new face amongst the Professors, see?” She pointed with her fork at the head table
and Harry and Ron obediently looked over, where indeed one chair was still empty and no new
face could be spotted.

“Do you think Dumbledore hasn’t managed to find a new DADA Professor? Ron asked.
Hermione shrugged. “They could just be late, like Moody… um the fake Moody, I mean,” she
retorted, but Harry could hear clearly that she wasn’t convinced. Not many Professors dared to
come too late for their first day at their new job after all.

“Maybe he will explain after the feast. After all, classes will start tomorrow,” Harry mused, before
turning back to his plate. He really didn’t feel like talking about Dumbledore right now. Over the
course of the summer his shock and disgust over what kind of magic the Headmaster had used had
not weakened any. Voldemort was cruel and sadistic and more than just prone to cursing when
unhappy, however, giving tit for tat was, in his opinion, not the right solution; it would make the
light side just as bad as the dark side. Besides, Voldemort wasn’t unreasonable, as he had learned.
It made Harry wonder where Dumbledore’s obsession with the Dark Lord came from. Surely they
could have found a compromise somehow?

What would a war solve anyway? If the so-called Light side won, the dark wizards and witches
would continue to feel oppressed and be forbidden from using their choice of magic. If the so-
called Dark side won, the situation could potentially improve, but would likely just reverse, and all
for an agenda that didn’t even truly exist because magic was just that - magic. In the long run, if
nothing happened and nobody started doing anything about the situation it would only lead to yet
another wizarding war.

No, this whole mess had to come to an end in some other way, unfortunately, Harry also was aware
that neither Lord Voldemort nor Dumbledore would be ready to work with each other any time
soon. And while the Dark Lord wasn’t the insane monster Dumbledore had portrayed him as,
would he really be any better? He took care of his followers, but would that translate to the people
as a whole? Even those who didn’t like him? Or would he turn out just as badly as the current
ministry, disorganized and corrupt, only in the opposite way?

Sighing inwardly, Harry pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and focused his attention back
on the conversation that was going on around him.

“...I spent all my time at the pool,” Seamus was just finishing what probably had been his holiday
report.
“I never understood why people would drive all the way to a different country only to then do
nothing else than stay at the hotel pool. Honestly, for that I don’t need to travel so far,” Hermione
commented with a roll of her eyes.
“I would love to see something other than the garden at the burrow,” Ginny commented, “even if it
was just the pool of a hotel.” She leaned a bit towards them, throwing her long, red hair over her
shoulder. “At least I had Dean this summer,” she commented and gave Harry a wink. Harry smiled
back at her, glad that her obsession with him had finally stopped and she had found someone for
herself.

“Hey, Harry,” Dean suddenly addressed him, making Harry look up once more. “Are we
continuing with the DA? I mean, who knows what kind of teacher we will get this year.”
Suppressing the urge to grimace, Harry, it seemed he wouldn’t be spared giving an answer after all.

“I haven’t planned anything so far,” he began slowly.

“You’re joking!” Ginny exclaimed, her charming smile morphing into an incredulous expression.
“And we learned so much!” Dean piped up, making Harry sigh and rub his temple.

This was clearly not working, he realised. He would have to come up with better reasons than ‘I
haven’t planned anything so far.’
“You guys know that the DA wasn’t quite approved?”
Next to him Ron smorted. “Yeah, mate, because you’ve always been so concerned with the school
rules, we fully understand your sudden concern.”

Unfortunately his friend was right, it did sound like an excuse coming from his mouth. However,
before he could think about something else to say, Hermione said, “If you are concerned about the
legality, we could always go to Professor McGonagall and have the DA approved as an official
club. There is some paperwork included in that process, but I can take care of that part for you.”

Immediately Ron, Ginny and Dean brightened.

“That would be awesome, Mione,” the redhead grinned, before reaching for the nearest bowl of
potatoes enthusiastically.

Seeing that he had lost the fight for now, Harry concentrated back on his plate. He would try to
speak with Hermione later, when it was only the two of them. She would listen, he knew that and
she would probably know a good way to explain to the other’s that Harry simply didn’t feel like
leading the DA again without offending all of them like he would probably do if he spoke up now.
He had a new understanding of magic and worried that his friends might grow suspicious about
where he had learned so much. And he certainly didn’t want to have to act as if he hadn’t gained a
deeper understanding and just continued on like before. It wasn’t just that thought. The DA had
been horribly time consuming. While Hermione had helped him pick out the spells he had taught
everybody else, he had put a lot of thought into how to explain the spells. It wasn’t just the time
spent in the actual group, it was everything else that had to go into it. If possible, he wanted to
avoid such a huge time suck this year.

Fortunately the topic changed to quidditch then.

“Who is our new team captain by the way?” Katie Bell asked, looking over to each of their team
members. However, no one seemed to know if the confused looks were anything to go by and she
huffed. “I’ll go speak to Professor McGonagall tomorrow. Something clearly must have gone
wrong.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jimmy Peaks nodded. “We can’t start training without a captain.”

Their conversation however got interrupted when suddenly the dessert plates vanished and
Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“Well, now that we all have been fed and watered, I beg a few moments of your attention for the
usual start-of-term notice,” the Headmaster addressed them. “As you may have already noticed, we
are still a head short here at the Head Table. Unfortunately it has proven more difficult than usual
to find a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor this year.”

Surprised murmure rose and Ron hissed, “I can’t believe he really didn’t find anyone!”
However, Dumbeldore raised a hand and the Hall grew silent once more.

“Rest assured that we will remedy this inconvenience as soon as possible. Now to more pleasant
notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and
a few of our older students ought to know by now too.”

As Dumbledore continued to speak, Hermione turned with a worried expression to Harry and Ron.
“What will we do if he can’t find a new Professor?” she whispered, worrying her lower lip.
Ron just shrugged. “In that case Harry could just take over the classes,” the redhead grinned.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, however, before he could say anything, Hermione was already
chiding their friend. “Be a bit more serious, Ron!” she huffed. “As talented as Harry is, he is not a
Professor. He doesn’t know the spells we are supposed to learn any better than we do right now.”

Harry decided to not mention the fact that someone had in fact taught him nearly every spell of
every subject they would be learning this year and more and instead said, “I bet Dumbledore
already has somebody in mind. Just give him a week.” Neither of his friends looked convinced,
however, Hermione turned back around to listen to the rest of the announcements.

“Lastly, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and
ninety-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor
are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr.
Filch’s office door. Suffice it to say, if any item bears the logo of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, it
is best to assume it is not permitted here at Hogwarts.”
Despite his stern words, Harry could see an amused twinkle at the mentioning of the Weasley
twins’ joke shop in the Headmaster’s eyes.
“And now, I wish you all a good first night here at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore finally finished and
the students began to rise to their feet.

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione said urgently. “We have to escort the first years to the Common
Room.”
“Relax, Mione,” Ron yawned, but got to his feet as well, however, not without turning to Harry. “I
will see you upstairs. Take your time, I bet Hermione has a lecture prepared for the poor firsties,”
he grinned, before following their friend with a last wave.
Harry waited a moment longer until the group of first years had left the great hall before getting to
his feet as well. Even if Hermione hadn’t prepared a speech like Ron suspected, and he agreed she
likely would have, there would be a crowd in front of the Fat Lady right now and he didn’t feel like
standing around on a staircase.

He was about to leave when the familiar voice of his Head of House stopped him.
“Mr. Potter,” she called out, striding with hurried steps towards him. “Professor Dumbledore would
like to speak to you.”
Immediately, Harry’s heart missed a beat. Had Dumbledore noticed his disappearance from the
Dursleys house after all? However, his train of thought was interrupted, when Professor
McGonagall continued. “The password is sherbet lemon. I suggest you hurry up, Mr. Potter.”

Nodding, Harry left the great hall, his stomach churning unpleasantly. If Dumbledore had noticed
anything, there was really no excuse he could give, none that would be good enough, at least. He
could try to spin it somehow and hope that there was something the vow he had given Voldemort
would not cover, however, he didn’t really feel like sharing anything he had experienced in these
last six weeks with the Headmaster or anybody else for that matter. Somehow, even the thought
made him feel like a traitor and had guilt rising in his stomach, which was odd because he had been
feeling guilty for betraying his friends by staying with Voldemort. Perhaps he had a guilt complex?

Voldemort hadn't been all that bad. In fact, if he had stayed any longer, he would have had a hard
time saying goodbye to the Dark Wizard. As it stood however, he didn’t fancy trying to convince
the obsession-prone Dark Lord that he couldn’t stay at the castle and be his apprentice in
necromancy. He could just imagine that conversation, and the only thing that would make
Voldemort drop it, was also the one thing that would likely get him immediately killed.
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay and be your apprentice, because it’s me, Harry Potter, your arch-nemesis
who has been living with you and posing as your valet these last several weeks.”

A shudder went down his spine at that thought. No, just because he had discovered that he could
understand the wizard’s reasoning in some respects, didn’t mean that Voldemort was completely
sane or that Harry would want to be stuck in Slytherin Castle because the Dark Lord wanted to
keep him. Running away had clearly been the better option, not that he wanted to imagine the
repercussions.
Voldemort had probably placed his wayward valet on top of his hit list, right next to ‘the brat who
refuses to die”. His Death Eaters might even have been dispatched to search for him high and low.
Fortunately for him, nobody knew who that valet had really been and Hogwarts was secure. He
would be fine.

Noticing that he had arrived in front of the gargoyle that protected the Headmaster’s office, Harry
pushed his swirling thoughts to the back of his mind and said, “sherbet lemon”. The gargoyle
jumped to the side and Harry stepped onto the spiraling staircase, his anxiety increasing with every
inch he was brought closer to Dumbledore.

Once in front of the door, he was granted no time to stall as Dumbledore’s voice sounded even
before he could knock.
“Come right in, my boy,” the headmaster prompted him and with one last churn of his stomach that
made Harry wish that he would have skipped dinner all together, he pushed the door handle down
and entered the office.
Dumbledore was already sitting behind his oak desk as usual. He had his chin propped up on his
long, intertwined fingers and was giving Harry a smile that didn’t calm him down one bit.

“Please take a seat, Harry,” he invited and reached for a bowl that had been standing on a small
shelf behind his desk. “Lemon drop?”
“No, thanks,” Harry inclined his head and cautiously sat down.
“A pity,” the Headmaster retorted and placed the bowl back on the shelf, before he addressed
Harry again.
“How has your summer been, my boy?”
“The usual,” Harry answered, avoiding specifics.

Dumbledore hummed and nodded, before his expression grew more serious and Harry’s stomach
plummeted further. “I was quite worried when I arrived at your relative’s house yesterday and
found your relatives as well as yourself gone.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. If his relatives hadn’t been at home, then they couldn’t have told
Dumbledore anything about his disappearance.
“I am sorry, sir,” he began carefully, hoping that he interpreted the Headmaster’s words correctly.
“My relatives left me in London yesterday. They went shopping and didn’t want to drive the
distance twice.”

Dumbledore nodded, but the frown line between his bushy eyebrows deepened slightly.
“I had hoped to avoid such an incident by sending a letter. It should have been delivered on Friday.
Did you not receive it?”
Harry shook his head. “Maybe it was intercepted?” he ventured carefully and just to be
precautious, avoided his eyes. “Or maybe my aunt took it but didn’t read it? She really dislikes
owls and she and my uncle destroyed my first Hogwarts letter as well…” he continued, before
trailing off.

“Both sound plausible. That would also explain why this returned to your Head of House’s office,”
Dumbledore released a sigh and curious what the old wizard meant, Harry dared to look up again,
only to blink when he realised that it was a Hogwarts letter.
“Was there an error in scoring that necessitated them resubmitting your O.W.L. scores?” the head
master finally asked when Harry said nothing.
“Ah, no, sir,” Harry admitted. “Minister Fudge sent me a letter. I was outside doing yard work so I
was able to get the letter before my aunt could see.” The teen couldn’t believe how much lying he
was doing, “And in between wanting me to be the ministry’s poster boy and being seen meeting
with him, he offered to let me retake some of my O.W.L.s” he shrugged. “Since I had that vision in
the middle of the history exam, I figured it couldn’t hurt, right?” green eyes looked up directly
between the headmaster’s eyes, careful to focus on the bridge of his nose so his pendant would
continue to protect his mind.
“Yes, well, whatever the reason for my lost correspondence,” the old wizard continued, reaching
for a lemon drop himself, “it is unfortunate as I had planned to request your assistance in
convincing a former colleague of mine to return to Hogwarts. Now however, I have lost his trail
again. I fear the return of Voldemort has frightened him quite a bit.”

Not knowing how to respond, Harry stayed silent. He had no idea how he of all people would have
been helpful in convincing a former colleague of Dumbledore’s, unless the Headmaster had wanted
to play on Harry’s fame, If that had been the plan, he was quite thankful that he had been gone
from Privet Drive when Dumbledore had tried to pick him up. He hated his fame, always had, but
even more so since Rita Skeeter’s articles, and he wanted nothing to do with one of those people
who idealised him for something he couldn’t even properly remember.

“Horace would not only have been a desperately needed addition to our staff,” Dumbledore
continued and Harry focused back on him, “he also would have been useful in other areas as I
suspect that he holds crucial information about the secret to Voldemort’s immortality.”

“You found out why he is immortal?” Harry asked, not really sure how he should feel about the
news.
“I have a suspicion,” Dumbledore affirmed and Harry knew that Dumbledore’s suspicions
probably were as good as other people’s convictions. “Let us hope that your relatives' unfortunate
planning has not set us back too much. Rest assured that I will inform you as soon as possible if I
am able to discover his whereabouts, or more of the information he holds.”

Recognising a dismissal when he heard one, Harry rose to his feet.

“Have a good evening, sir,” he said.
“You too, my boy, you too.”

He left the office again and made his way up to the seventh’s floor, where he remembered that he
had no idea what the password was.
“I guess you won’t let me in without a password just this once?” he asked the Fat Lady, even
though he already knew the answer.
“I fear that is not possible, Mr. Potter,” she retorted, before sighing and amending, “However, I can
see if I can find one of your friends.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”
The Fat Lady disappeared, leaving Harry to wait on the landing. Almost automatically his thoughts
returned to the meeting with the Headmaster. Dumbledore had seemed unusually stressed, but then
again, Harry guessed that having to start a term with one teacher short had to be difficult. Then
there was the whole backlash of the fight in the Department of Mysteries and Voldemort’s
subsequent exposure. For the first time he wished he would have tried to get ahold of the Daily
Prophet while at Regia Magicae. Fudge obviously couldn’t deny Voldemort’s return any longer,
not after he himself as well as a whole armada of auror’s had seen him, that much was clear from
their in-person meeting and the protection stories in the paper he read earlier. Everyone knew he
was always asking Dumbledore for help early in his term as minister, and with such a terrible event
occurring right in the ministry, he could only imagine the useless man had been badgering the
headmaster again. Additionally, Dumbledore had been the leader of the Light side during the last
war, the Headmaster had probably been busy all summer.

A wave of guilt followed that thought. Dumbledore had likely been working tirelessly the entire
holiday to recruit members to the Order, and make sure they were prepared to face off against
Voldemort’s forces. And what had he been doing? Running around after Voldemort, healing him,
making him stronger. He buried his face in his hands as a wave of guilt over his impulsive actions
washed over him. He couldn’t regret what he had done, not after he learned so much. And he still
wasn’t impressed by the old man using such a curse to begin with, even if it was used against
Voldemort. But should he tell the headmaster what he knew? Would he be able to hide what he had
done, perhaps play it off as visions?

He was spared from making any decision by the return of the Fat Lady.
“Your friend…” she began only for her frame to be pushed against the wall.
“I heard you could use some help,” Neville grinned, appearing in the portrait hole.
“Yeah, thanks, Nev,” Harry smiled back and quickly followed the other Gryffindor inside.
“The password is Abstinence, by the way,” Neville added with a glance over his shoulder. His
expression morphed into a grimace then however. “Cormac McLaggen already teased me that
McGonagall purposefully picked an easy one this year so that I would finally be able to remember
it.”

Harry scowled. He hated how many students, even in Gryffindor, liked to make fun of their
housemate. Sure, Neville was clumsy, probably due to his perpetual nervousness that seemed to
border on social anxiety, but he didn’t deserve such a treatment. Especially not after he had proven
his bravery just a few weeks ago.
“I hate that people say things like that,” Harry told the other honestly.
Neville just shrugged and turned around to face him. “They are right though. Without me Sirius
Black would never have made it into the dormitory in our third year.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s still not right. You have changed and learned since then.”
Neville just sighed. “Not as much as I would like. And I am not as brave as I would like either,” the
boy said with a wistful expression that made Harry wonder if he was thinking about his special
magical gift. The magical gift his grandmother sealed away inside of Neville every summer. Harry
wanted to say something, reassure his friend, however, the common room wasn’t the right place
and he wouldn’t have known what best to say anyway. He would think about it however.
“Harry, there you are! What took you so long?” Hermione’s voice suddenly sounded and the
moment was broken.
Looking up, he saw his bushy haired friend come down the staircase that led to the girl's
dormitory.
“Dumbledore wanted to know why I wasn’t at the Dursley’s yesterday,” he said and then hesitated.
He knew his friends would want to hear what else Dumbledore had told him, however, he wasn’t
sure if he felt like telling them, not with how confused he still felt.
“I will see you upstairs,” Neville excused himself and left with a wave just as Hermione joined
him.
“Well, that was to be expected,” she commented. “Anyway, Ron has already gone upstairs to
unpack and we should probably do the same.”

They separated and Harry made his way up the stairs to the dormitory he shared with Ron, Neville,
Dean and Seamus. Ron in contrast to what Hermione had said however, wasn’t unpacking. Instead
he was in a heated debate about the new addition to the Chudley Cannons with Seamus.
“Andrews will never be a worthy replacement for Jenkins,” Ron was just protesting loudly, but
then noticed Harry’s entrance and abandoned his argument.

“Hey, mate, what took you so long? I was starting to think that You-Know-Who tried to kidnap
you in the beginning of the term for a change.”
Harry snorted and shook his head. “Nothing quite as exciting. Dumbledore just wanted to talk to
me because of my ‘disappearance’ from Privet Drive.”
“Figures,” Ron just said and picked his latest edition of ‘Quidditch Monthly’ which must have been
the catalyst for the argument between him and Seamus back up.

Walking over to his bed, Harry reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved his shrunken trunk.
He resized it with a flick of his wand and pondered if he should unpack now or tomorrow after
class. Getting it done right away would probably be wiser, however, he was knackered after the
excitement of the past two days and just wanted to lie down. He would regret it tomorrow most
likely, when he had the first load of essays to write, but he really couldn’t bring himself to do it
now.

So instead Harry just retrieved his pyjamas and toiletry bag and left for the boy’s bathroom.

“You are going to bed already?” Ron asked when he returned ten minutes later.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I’m knackered.”
“Sleep well then, mate,” Ron said before turning his attention back to his magazine.

Harry climbed into bed, but before he closed his curtains, he bent down and reached into his cloak
pocket to retrieve his new O.W.L. results, before spelling his curtains shut so as not to be
disturbed. Once he had settled more comfortably into bed, he broke the seal and unfolded the
letter, scanning his results.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

 Pass grades: Fail grades:
Outstanding (O) Poor (P)
Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)
Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy A
Care of Magical Creatures O
Charms* O
Defense Against the Dark Arts O
Divination P
Herbology O
History of Magic* O
Potions O
Transfiguration* O

*Indicates examination retakes

Harry sighed. His results were yet another example of how fantastic a teacher Voldemort had been.
It had felt like he understood the material better than he had from just his Hogwarts classes, but
seeing the improvement in his scores really drove the message home. It had been the first time he
truly enjoyed lessons. Even in primary school had not interested him, though whether that was
Dudley’s influence over their peers, the Dursleys desire that nothing outshine their precious
Dudders, or just his own disinclination for school, he wasn’t entirely sure. Regardless, Voldemort
had made the learning interesting and with how well prepared he was for the upcoming year, he
was anxious to see what sort of impact it might make on his day-to-day learning.

There was only one thing he could do about it. He would just have to put in more effort and
continue using the Dark Lord’s books for extra information. Maybe for his N.E.W.T.s he would do
even better.

Folding the letter again, Harry shoved it under his pillow and pulled his comforter up, he hadn’t
been lying when he had said he was knackered.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R :-)

 Potions Troubles
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 14: Potion Troubles

When Ron and Harry walked down to the common room the next morning Hermione was already
waiting for them.
“There you are!” She exclaimed exasperatedly upon spotting them. “I was starting to think you two
overslept on our first day back!”
“Relax, Mione,” Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s our sixth year, chill a bit. We will have fewer classes and
free periods.”
“That’s no excuse!” Hermione instantly snapped. “Besides, not all of us will have fewer classes.”
Ron merely turned his eyes again and turned to Harry. “Hey mate, which classes will you
continue?”

“Um…” Harry was startled. He hadn’t expected to suddenly be addressed. “I was planning on
continuing Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, History, and Herbology.” He hadn’t received the
required O in potions to continue, which was disappointing, but he was planning to self-study and
hopefully still take the NEWT. He wasn’t too sure how the practical portion would go, but he’d
figure something out. Maybe he could set up for brewing in the Room of Requirement? Or the
Chamber?.”
“You want to continue with History?” Ron asked incredulously.
Harry just nodded. He hadn’t planned on it originally, however, Voldemort's lessons had changed
his view on the usefulness of quite some subjects. It was just a pity that Hogwarts didn’t have a
better History of Magic Professor. He would just ignore Binns in class and do his own study.

“Hold it!” Hermione’s voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

Harry looked up just in time to see her snatch a green disk from a boy’s hands .
“Fanged Frisbees are forbidden!” she called after him.

The boy threw her an annoyed look, but vanished through the portrait hole without another word.
“Excellent!” Ron exclaimed as soon as the portrait had swung shot again and snatched the fanged
frisbee from their friend’s hands. “I always wanted to have one of these, but they are bloody
expensive!”
“Ron!” Hermione said reproachfully, however, the rest of her complaints were swallowed when
Lavender Brown walked past them, giggling and winking at Ron as if the redhead had said or done
something incredibly funny. Immediately Hermione’s expression darkened and she glared after the
girl.

Sensing another potential argument at the horizon, Harry quickly changed the topic.
“We should leave now, we still haven’t gotten our new time tables.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in panic and she nodded, before striding ahead determinedly.
“Thanks, mate,” Ron grinned before following her.
Harry nodded, even though he had the suspicion that they meant two different things.
They finally made their way down to the Great Hall. Unwittingly, Harry’s gaze wandered over to
the Slytherin table, however there was no white blond hair to be found amidst the sea of brown,
black, and gold and a pang of guild went through Harry. It had been days, which was a lot
considering that mages could heal most injuries and ailments within minutes and the Malfoys had
certainly called for the best healer in Britain.

Unfortunately he couldn’t do anything except hope that Draco Malfoy would return soon and
unscathed.
“Harry, what are you looking at the Slytherin table, mate?” Ron nudged him into his side.
“Nothing,” Harry retorted hastily. “Just wondering what’s up with Malfoy.”
“I bet the git is feigning, just like in our third year,” Ron muttered and pulled Harry along to their
house table. “Come on, you can obsess over Malfoy later. I want to eat something before
McGonagall shows up with our time tables.”

They found three seats somewhere in the middle of the long table and sat down. Ron immediately
reached for the bowl of scrambled eggs, while Harry summoned the plate of bacon for them.

“There is still no new Defense Professor,” Hermione commented with a worried look towards the
head table.
“It’s only been what… twelve hours since Dumbeldore’s announcement yesterday?” Harry tried to
sooth her. “How should he have found a new professor so quickly and overnight?”
The bush haired witch just huffed and reached for a slice of toast.
“Don’t worry, Mione,” Ron said between two mouthfuls of egg, “You won’t fail your NEWTs.”
He snorted, probably because of the ridiculousness of the thought.

“Hey, Harry, Ron,” Dean Thomas suddenly piped up from somewhere further down the table,
“say, will any of you be continuing with Care of Magical Creatures?”
Ron shook his head, as did Hermione, even though she hadn’t been asked specifically.

Care was another class like History of Magic. They should be learning about different humanoid
beings, like goblins and veela, and the social structures of their society, starting in fifth year. At
least that's what Voldemort had told him and it sounded plausible and useful. However, Hagrid had
a whole different opinion on what was interesting and so instead of learning about beings they most
likely would meet at some point if they stayed in the wizarding world after graduation, they
learned about blast ended skrewts and other useless beasts. So he shook his head as well.

A guilty expression crossed Dean’s face. “If none of you guys continue Care then nobody in our
year will,” the boy said.
Harry winced, feeling even more guilty about his decision. He really liked Hagrid, however, sixth
year was bound to be too stressful for him to continue with a subject he had no use for later on,
regardless if he liked the teacher.

As if having the same thoughts, Ron asked, “Do you think Hagrid will be very disappointed?”
Harry just shrugged.
Hermione’s expression turned distressed as well and she began to worry her bottom lip. Surely “He
isn't expecting us to continue his class? I mean, we didn’t really show any enthusiasm.”
“Of course he expects us to continue, Mione,” Ron interjected. “We might not have felt
enthusiastic, but we always tried our best for Hagrid’s sake.” The redhead’s eyes flickered up to the
head table then and Harry followed his gaze.

A moment later he wished he hadn’t. Hagrid sat between the Professors Sprout and Snape, looking
rather glum and dejected.
Hermione sighed. “We should visit him later today, once classes have ended.”
Harry nodded, even though his stomach was beginning to turn at the list of things he would all
have to do after class. He should have unpacked the evening prior.

Professor McGonagall descended from the head table then, a thick scroll and quill in one hand and
a small stack of parchment floating behind her. The sixth year students waited patiently as their
Head of House first distributed the time tables of the lower as well as seventh years, before turning
her attention onto them.

“Ms. Brown, you wish to continue with Astronomy, Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts
and Charms, is that correct?” she began, and so began the tedious task of checking if they had
achieved the necessary OWLs to continue the subject.

Hermione was swiftly cleared to continue with Charms, Defense, Herbology, Transfigurations,
Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions. Ron took a bit longer and looked dejected when
McGonagall reminded him he had to take potions if he wanted to continue on the path to being an
Auror, but not as long as Neville, who seemed more than relieved to have passed Herbology,
Defense, and Charms.
“ ...the problem is Transfiguration. I’m sorry, Longbottom, but an 'Acceptable’ really isn’t good
enough to continue to NEWT level,” McGonagall said and Neville hung his head dejectedly.
“Why do you wish to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I’ve never had the impression that
you particularly enjoyed it.”
Neville looked miserable and muttered something about “my grandmother wants.”
“Hmph,” snorted Professor McGonagall. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to be proud of
the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have — particularly after what
happened at the Ministry.”
“However, I see you have achieved an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charms, however — why not try
for a NEWT in Charms?” McGonagall continued, giving Neville a questioning look.
“My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,” mumbled Neville.
“Take Charms,” said Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that
just because she failed her Charms OWL the subject is not necessarily worthless.
Harry agreed with their Head of House wholeheartedly, but seeing that Neville still looked
dejected, he stayed silent.

“Now, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall finally turned her attention to Harry. “I must say I was positively
surprised with your results. Especially History of magic, after the bad turn it took originally,” she
trailed out, giving him a sympathetic look, before continuing, “I can clear you for History,
Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense, Herbology, Transfigurations and
Potions.” Her lips pinched a bit as she went on, though Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of him
or because of what Dumbledore had done, “The headmaster had already planned on persuading
Professor Snape to allow you into his NEWT class regardless your mark, but I am glad to see that
such interference will not be necessary. He never takes anyone with less than an O,” she finished
rather abruptly. “Which subjects do you wish to continue?”

“Everything except Care and Astronomy, please,” Harry told her.

McGonagall nodded and tapped his blank timetable once with her want. Immediately the
parchment filled with lines and writing and she handed it over. “Continue your good work,” she
told him and Harry nodded, accepting his timetable.

“Also, Mr. Potter,” the professor continued, peering over her spectacles at him in a disconcerting
imitation of the headmaster, “You have been selected to be quidditch captain this year.” She
handed over the little gold badge, even as Ron and Hermione’s eyes widened. Katie Bell shot him
two thumbs up from a few seats over. “I trust you will make a good accounting of yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unsure how to voice that he really wasn’t sure he even wanted to
continue quidditch. He would have to think about it, especially since he was sure his friends
wouldn’t give up on him continuing the DA. He was really much more interested in continuing his
studies and having quidditch practices and matches along with planning and teaching the DA - if he
couldn’t convince Hermione that he truly didn’t want to do it, that is - was just way too much time
to give up.

He was about to grab his school bag and leave for his first class, when his Head of House called
after him.

“Mr. Potter?”
Stopping, Harry blinked and turned around.
“Good job on your perfect score in the Transfiguration retake,” McGonagall winked, before turning
on her heels and returning to her seat at the head table, leaving a stunned Harry behind.

“You got a perfect score?” Hermione’s voice snapped him out of his surprise.
Turning around, Harry shot her a glare. “I am not stupid, you know.”
“Of course I…” his friend began hastily, however, Harry just continued.
“And I studied, or at least I tried to between Umbridge, those nasty Occlumency lessons, the DA
and my visions.”
“That’s just what I mean,” Hermione exclaimed with an apologetic look. “You were so incredibly
busy last year, you barely learned anything as a matter of fact and still you got an O in
Transfigurations, not only that, but a perfect score?”
“I did retakes at the ministry for a few classes after studying all summer for your information. And
I got Os in Care, Defense, Charms, Herbology, History, and Potions as well,” Harry told her.

“That’s crazy, mate,” Ron grimaced. “Please promise me to not turn into a book worm like
Hermione, I wouldn’t survive that!”
Grinning, Harry shook his head. “I won’t, although I do want to try to put a bit more effort into my
school work. E’s are kind of frustrating.”
Hermione giggled, a bit stiffly, but when Harry just grinned at her, she smiled and then changed
the topic.

“I have Ancient Runes now, which probably means you guys have a free period.”
Harry checked his time table and nodded.
“Well, I will see you in the common room later then,” their friend said before bustling off.

Harry and Ron returned to the common room which was empty with the exception of half a dozen
seventh years.
“Let’s play a game of chess,” Ron proposed before Harry could even think about getting his
unpacking done and disappeared upstairs only to return a minute late with his old and well used
wizarding chess set in hand.

Harry noticed with satisfaction that the many games with Barty had improved his skill. Not that he
won a game, but he at least could hold his own for the first time in five year.
“If I didn’t know better,” Ron grinned, moving his knight, “I would say you practiced over the
summer.”
Harry didn’t reply and moved his bishop.

They played for an hour before Hermione returned and joined them.
“We have got so much homework in runes,” she smiled excitedly. “A fifteen-inch essay, two
translations and I have to read the first two chapters in our textbook by Wednesday!”
Ron just rolled his eyes, “Only you would be excited about homework,” he commented and then
asked, “What do we have next?”

“Defense,” Harry answered, remembering from the short glance he had taken at his time table
earlier.
“Excellent,” Ron grinned. “That means we have another free period because no teacher!!!”

They switched to exploding snap while Hermione started on her reading. An hour later they went
to lunch, before heading to Herbology in the blazing afternoon sun. At least, Harry and Hermione
did while Ron happily returned to the common room to read his edition of ‘Quidditch Monthly’
again.
The class was rather small, consisting only of Harry, Hermione, Neville, Blaise Zabini - who Harry
vowed to keep a distance from just to be safe - as well as two Hufflepuffs and three Ravenclaws.

Following an impulse, Harry joined Neville, leaving Hermione to pair up with Anthony Goldstein.
Neville looked surprised for a second when he noticed Harry, but simply gave him a small smile
and turned to Professor Sprout as she entered the greenhouse and began her lecture.

“As you may have noticed,” the plump Professor started, “we are for the first time in greenhouse
seven, which houses far more dangerous plants than you have been handling so far.”

“I think we will be milking venomous tentacula,” Neville whispered, leaning in so that Professor
Sprout wouldn’t hear him. “Or maybe just repotting for now. To learn how to calm her down
properly, you know?”

Harry nodded and after Voldemort’s thorough tutelage over the summer, he indeed knew that
already, at least, theoretically. Unfortunately Herbology was one of those subjects where the theory
always sounded laughable easy, however applied to ill-tempered magical plants it usually always
proved more difficult than it sounded.

“I hope you have brought your dragon hide gloves, because today you will learn how to soothe and
repot venomous tentacula,” Sprout continued just like Neville had predicted. On the table next to
theirs, Harry noticed with a glance to the side, Hermione looked slightly anxious at the prospect.
Herbology had never been her strongest subject. Not that she couldn’t recide every detail of the
theory, only the application confounded her even more than Harry.

“The trick is to stroke the bark just above the roots - like this,” Sprout continued, grabbing a pot
with a middle sized tentacula, dodging the attacking vines and stroking the bark just about the spot
where the plant disappeared into the soil. Almost immediately the aggressive vines grew lax and
Professor Sprout was able to pull it from its too small pot easily and transfer it to a bigger one.

“I want each pair of you to re-pot at least four plants today. Protective goggles are as usual in the
box in the back and bigger pots directly next to it. Begin.”

“I will get the first plant if you want,” Neville offered.

Glancing at the aggravated plants, Harry nodded thankfully. “I will get the pots and goggles then,”
he said and they split to retrieve their supplies.

He made his way to the back of the greenhouse, where, just as Professor Sprout had told them, he
found the box with goggles and grabbed two pairs, before collecting four empty pots as well.
Neville was already back with their first two plants and clipping off some dried leaves, ever the
herbologist.
“The trick is to move quickly,” the Gryffindor began to explain. “You need to reach the bark
before the vines start to curl around your wrist and arm, see?” He showed Harry how it was done,
moving quickly. He didn’t bother with trying to dodge the vines and instead simply delved
forwards until his fingers reached the bark.
“It’s really not all that important where you stroke the thing as long as you stay close to the soil,”
Neville continued and began to stroke the plan. Just as with their professor it only took seconds for
the plant to settle down. Then he moved it to one of the new pots Harry had brought and reached
below their table where a cradle with fresh soil stood.
“This plant doesn’t like to be buried too deeply. So just cover the roots,” Neville smiled.
Harry smiled back. “You really are a dab hand at Herbology,” he said.
A sad expression crossed Neville’s face but it was gone so quickly that Harry would have missed it
if he hadn’t looked out for it. “It’s my passion. I feel… connected to the plants, you know?”
“I know. You are just a natural,” Harry replied, not knowing what else to say. “I actually got an O
in my retake of Herbology as well, but I still always find the practical part difficult.”

For a second Neville looked as if he wanted to say something more, but then seemed to think better
of it and reached for another empty pot.
“You try,” he said and the moment was broken.
Realising that the middle of Herbology, surrounded by about ten other students, was the wrong
place to discuss illegal magic anyway, he nodded and carefully pulled the second plant closer.

As if sensing that something was about to happen, the plant grew tense and began to stir.
“Just quick,” he muttered and gathered all of his Gryffindor courage, which wasn’t as easy as it
sounded, considering that the vines were spiked with toxic thorns. However, Neville nodded
encouragingly and not wishing to make an incompetent showing of himself in front of his friend
who had overcome his fear in order to accompany Harry to the Department of Mysteries just a bit
over two months ago, Harry did as the was told.

Immediately the plant moved to grab his wrist and curl around his lower arm, the thing was
quicker than expected. He cursed when his arm was grabbed in a vice-like grip. Realising that he
wouldn’t be able to do anything with his right hand anymore, Harry quickly moved his left and
fortunately the vines were distracted enough by his other arm that he reached the bark. He began
stroking and the vines began to shudder. It took a little longer than Neville had needed, but then the
plant relaxed and the vines began to loosen around his arm. Harry continued his ministrations until
his right arm was free again and he could use his freed hand to grab the plant in a similar fashion as
Neville had done.

He had of course seen it with Neville, but still Harry was slightly surprised to feel no further
resistance from the plant.
Neville began to help him cover the roots and soon they were retrieving the next pair of venomous
tentacula.
Harry had never realised it before, but Neville was a good class partner and in some aspects, much
easier to work with than Ron. The boy was quieter, just like Harry and much more focused than
Ron would probably ever be. Together they repotted eight plants and after the first four they began
to work side by side instead of waiting until the other had repotted their plant each and every time.

“Well done, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter,” Sprout commented when they returned their last pair of
venomous tentacula to the front where their Professor was examining her student’s work.

Once they had returned to their table, Professor Sprout stood up and addressed the class again.
“For homework I want you to write a twelve-inch essay about the structure of the tentacula’s
different poisons, their applications as well as the inner process during the milking. I will see you
on Thursday.”

They grabbed their bags and waited for Hermione, who still had to return her goggles and looked
rather frazzled.
“You look… exhausted,” Harry said when she finally appeared by their side.
“It’s… It’s…” she began but then sighed. “Maybe I should have discontinued Herbology after all,”
she said with an unhappy expression on her face.
“Why did you continue it then?” Neville asked, sounding honestly curious.
“Because it’s a good addition to Potions,” Hermione replied as she wiped away a lock that clung to
her sweaty forehead.
“But you can read up all the information you will need for brewing in a book,” Neville pointed out
with a frown.
“I know,” Hermione sighed again. “It’s just, I like to do things properly. Anyway, Harry and I have
Potions next, so we better get going.”

They began their track back to the castle. Neville had a free period next, so he wished the two of
them good luck (which they could use considering they were heading down to Snape’s lair), before
turning towards the staircase while Harry and Hermione went left.

The Slytherins were already waiting in front of the door, giggling and whispering only a few steps
further down the gloomy corridor, while glowering moodily at the classroom door.

“What is Skarhead doing here?” Pansy Parkinson spoke up when she noticed them. “I thought
Professor Snape only allowed competent students into his NEWT class.”
“Clearly Potter is receiving special treatment once again,” a slightly high and nasally voice spoke
from somewhere in the group.

Frowning, Harry shot a glare into Nott’s direction, while next to him Hermione tensed and grabbed
his arm as if she was afraid that he would run over and hex the Slytherin.

“Just let them talk,” Ernie McMilliain, a Hufflepuff and former DA member, said, stepping next to
them. “Dumbledore’s favouritism wouldn’t be necessary if Snape treated Gryffindor fairly and we
all know that you guys need to learn as much as possible.”
“Thanks, Ernie,” Harry gave the boy a smile, thinking that the boy was right. He had achieved an
O in potions in his retake after only 6 weeks of tutoring, surely that meant that he wasn’t
untallented? He wondered, if Snape had just done a slightly better job, if he maybe wouldn’t have
needed Voldemort’s tutelage and could have achieved an O in the first place.

“No problem, Harry,” Ernie retorted. “We might not have had Potions class together so far, but
everybody has heard how Snape has treated your house and you especially. What’s his problem
with you anyway?” He asked inquiringly.
Harry sighed, but guessed that a bit of truth couldn’t hurt. “He and my dad were year mates. They
weren’t friends.”
“Ah,” the boy nodded in understanding.

The classroom door opened then and Snape barked, “Get in!”
They hurried inside, however, before anyone could start looking for a table Snape snapped, “A
table each. There will be no work in pairs.”

Hermione swiftly took a table with a free table to each side, probably in order to help Harry,
however Harry doubted that it actually would be necessary at this point or that Snape would give
her the chance to do so anyway.
Just as he thought that, Snape turned towards them with a sneer, before swirling around and
stalking to stand behind his desk.

“Welcome to NEWT Potions class,” Snape began in his usual, drawling voice. “Each of you has
achieved the high expectations and shown the necessary aptitude I expect of my advanced students
- or at least most of you.” At that he turned once again to sneer at Harry.

“Those of you who have gained their place in this class through sheer favouritism, don’t expect
that I will hold the others back to allow you to catch up.” Snape flicked his wand and instructions
appeared on the blackboard. “Today you will be brewing the Draught of Living Death, which,
while it may make the appearance of a complicated brew to some of you,” at that his eyes once
again swapped over Harry, “is the easiest potion you will be learning this year.”

“You will find all necessary instructions on page ten of Advanced Potion Making and on the
blackboard - today at least.”
“How will I get a book until next class?” Harry whispered, gesturing towards the blackboard.
Snape’s eyes narrowed, having obviously heard him despite his best efforts and Harry winced
inwardly, knowing exactly what was coming next.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting a professor, Weasley, and I suggest you see to it that
you are in possession of a copy of the textbook next lesson, Mr. Potter.”

“But how?” Harry prompted, thinking that at this point he could just as well try for an actual
answer. “There’s no Hogsmeade weekend before then.”

“That will be ten more points for interrupting again and five for sheer stupidity,” Snape sneered at
the sixth year Gryffindor. “Can someone else, who does have a brain in their head, tell me what
other options a student might have when encountering this situation?”

A pale hand rose into the air and Snape gave Nott a nod.
“We are to go to our Head of House,” the boy drawled with a nasty smirk, “Or send an owl order.”

“Ten points to Slytherin for logical thinking. If all questions are answered now,” Snape drawled
with another nod, and a venomous glare toward Harry, “begin.”

Sighing, Harry took a piece of parchment and quill out and quickly copied the instructions,
knowing full well that soon enough all he would be able to see would be vapor. It took him far
longer to decipher Snape’s minuscule script than he would have liked and when he finally finished,
Hermione had already started preparing her ingredients.

He got up and made his way to the storage cupboard where he retrieved valerian roots,
sopophorous bean, root of asphodel, wormwood, sloth brain, and flower head. Before he began
with his preparations however, Harry quickly cast the protective shield Voldemort had taught him,
not trusting Snape to protect him from the Slytherin’s attempts to sabotage his potion when the
wizard hadn’t done so these past five years. He would have loved to cast the one that would send
the thrown ingredients back into the cauldron of the culprit, but refrained, knowing that he would
be ending up in detention no matter who had started it.

Once Harry was confident that no wayward leaves or roots would make it into his cauldron, Harry
chopped his wormwood roughly, placed it into a small cup and poured a cup of distilled water over
it.

Infusion of wormwood was one of those ingredients that had always driven him insane. Of course
he had learned that ‘infusion of wormwood’ always equated to ¾ of a cup, however, there had
never been enough in the potions supply cupboard which had led to more than one failed potion
over the years.

Now however, thanks to Voldemort yet again (and wasn’t that still a strange thought) he knew that
Potions Masters usually prepared their own infusion which Snape apparently expected his students
to not only know, but to do as well. Fortunately the infusion was prepared easily enough.
Wormwood came in pre-proportioned pieces, 3-inches in length. One only had to chop one of those
pieces, add a cup of water and let it simmer at medium heat until the liquid was reduced by ¼.
Once Harry had made sure that the temperature of the flame wasn’t too high, he continued
measuring four cups of distilled water and putting them into his medium sized cauldron. Then he
chopped his valerian root, waited until the water was boiling strongly, just like Voldemort had
instructed and added the pieces.

Really, why didn’t the instruction mention this detail about the correct water temperature?
Probably because chopped valerian root was always added while the potion was bubbling strongly,
so the question should probably be why hadn’t Snape ever taught them that detail about the plant?
Just thinking about it let his irritation with his professor rise - and the desire for a better one, like
Voldemort - forcefully Harry stopped his train of thought, he couldn’t continue thinking like that.

His holiday with the dark lord had been quite the eye-opening experience, but it was over and they
were once again enemies. Hell, if Voldemort had known who his ‘trusted’ valet truly was, he
would never have taught Harry anything. He wouldn’t even have let Harry live longer than 10
seconds most likely.

Next he had to powder his Asphodel root, which was far more difficult than it sounded. The root
was quite tough and had to be ground into a very fine powder, which Harry knew from his lessons
would take all the time he had until the powder had to be added. He kept an eye on his potion and
managed just in time. Holding his breath, Harry watched as the concoction turned the bright color
of currants and sighed in relief.

He checked his infusion quickly and seeing that it was coming along well, he grabbed the
sopophorous bean. The complicated part wasn’t that the Asphodel powder wasn’t allowed to brew
too long, but that the juice of the bean had to be added exactly a minute before the infusion of
wormwood, which required some calculation. The book said to cut the tough bean in order to get
the juice released, but Voldemort had told him that the pod would do so much better if he crushed
it with the flat side of his silver cutting knife, so he quickly bent down and pulled his knife from
his bag.

“Harry, what are you doing there!” Hermione hissed when she saw what he was doing, however,
before he could think about what to reply, Snape’s cutting voice sounded.
“Five points from Gryffindor for trying to help a hopeless case against my clear instructions.”
Behind them the Sltherins snickered, but for once Harry paid them no mind, he was determined to
show Snape that he belonged in his class after all.

Seeing that the infusion was almost ready, he let the sopophorous bean juice drop from his slide
into the cauldron while evenly stirring six times clockwise. Immediately his potion turned the
required shade of lilac, while to his left, the shade of Hermione’s potion still looked a bit off.
Deciding that he really was too busy to feel triumphant, Harry flicked his wand and started a timer.
Once the time was up he added the infusion and began to stir counterclockwise while adding one
clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir like Voldemort had taught him when
dealing with the combined effects of the bean and the infusion. The effect was immediate and he
smiled a little as his potion turned the palest pink.

Hermione, who had glanced over, looked as if she wanted to ask him how she had managed that,
but refrained with an anxious look at their professor. For the first time in five years she was clearly
having a harder time brewing a potion than Harry; her face was red and sweaty and her hair looked
even more frazled than when they left Herbology.

Pushing the thought to the side, Harry grabbed the small portion of moondew he had already
measured back in the storage cupboard and began to slowly add it one drop at a time. Slowly the
potion turned back to a black color, now all that was left was to add the flower head.

Ten minute’s later Snape called ‘time is up. Bottle your potion and bring a sample for grading to
the front.”
It wasn’t a minute too early as Harry’s potion had just gained the oily sheen it was supposed to
have in its finished form. For a second he stared into his cauldron, then a broad grin on his face; he
had done it. He had brewed his first perfect potion.

Feeling slightly high from his excitement, Harry carefully ladled a portion of his potion into a vial,
stuck one of his name tags to it and went to the front. However, before he could place it into the
bag Snape always used to gather his students' potion in, the wizard snatched the vial from his hand
and sneered, “Fifty points from Gryffindor for cheating and a T for this potion. I will not tolerate
such foul actions in my NEWT class, Mr. Potter.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the cruel, satisfied smirk on Snape’s lips told him
exactly that he hadn’t heard wrongly. Anger and hatred rose inside of him and his mouth opened to
protest but Snape merely snapped, “Get out of my class before I decide that your clear instance of
cheating merits a detention as well!”

Livid, Harry stalked back to his desk, bottled the rest of his potion and threw the vial carelessly
into his school bag. Of course Snape wouldn’t even give him a chance!
Quickly, he jotted down the instructions for their homework, before storming out.

“Harry, wait!” Hermione called after them but he didn’t feel like waiting, or talking about it for that
matter. Unfortunately the staircase was so crowded that his friend caught up to him within
moments.
“What happened?” Hermione asked, panting a little from the jog up the stairs.
“Snape failed my potion and docked 50 points for cheating,” Harry gritted out, knowing that
without at least some information Hermione wouldn’t leave him in peace.

“Well, your potion was exceptionally good. Even better than mine,” Hermione pointed out.
“Yes, because I managed to study over the summer for the first time in five years!” Harry snapped
back, annoyed. Really, was it so unbelievable that he could do well on his own as well? “And I
looked up a shield to protect my cauldron from the Slytherins.”
“But why then…?” Hermione trailed off, sounding confused.
“Because he saw you talk to me,” Harry huffed in his annoyance.

The silence that followed told him he had gone too far. Sighing, Harry raked his hands through his
hair and apologized. “I am sorry, that wasn’t fair. But maybe you could just not talk to me next
time? I doubt it will help if Snape really wants to fail me, but it’s worth a try.”
“It’s okay,” Hermione sighed. “I understand your frustration and we can try to not talk at all, but
Harry,” she hesitated again, before seemingly making up her mind, “if this continues, promise me
you will go and speak to Professor McGonagall? This - what Snape does - it can’t continue, not in
our NEWT classes or it will affect your entire future.”

Harry just nodded. He had no intention of letting Snape continue bullying him.

They entered the common room which was starting to get crowded as the lower years returned
from their classes and joined Ron who was sitting in their usual spot.
“We still have 2 hours until dinner,” Hermione mused with a glance at her watch. “We best get
started with our homework. There will be no procrastination this year, I won't allow it.”
Harry just shrugged with his shoulders, “Fine with me.”
“You can’t be serious, mate? You just had two hours of grueling potions and I don’t feel like doing
homework so early in the year!”

“I still have to unpack later,” Harry said, as an excuse, wanting to get the essay out of the way. He
had heard reports of the final two years from older students and they had sounded awfully busy to
the point where one got no sleep if they didn’t get a grip on their homework right away. “So I
should really get started.”
Hermione gave him a reproachful look. “You haven’t done that yet? Honestly, Harry, you know
how stressful the first day of school is, especially from last year.”
“I know, but I was just so exhausted yesterday,” Harry retorted. “I will just get it done quickly after
dinner.”

They settled around a table and pulled their textbooks out. Harry decided to start with Herbology
mainly because he didn’t feel like thinking about potions and Snape any more than necessary right
now. However, only fifteen minutes into his work he started to grow annoyed. After working for 6
weeks with Voldemort’s old textbooks his versions felt horribly incomplete, badly shortened and
therefore more difficult to comprehend.
He thumbed through the pages, wondering if he could include all the facts he still remembered
thanks to the Dark Lord’s thorough training, or if it would seem too suspicious. In the end he
simply changed to potions after all, hoping that his still less than perfect grasp of the subject would
make it easier, but unfortunately it didn’t.

Huffing, Harry came to the conclusion that Voldemort possibly was correct in his assessment that
there was a lot wrong with Britain’s system of education currently. However that thought only
annoyed him even more because he was yet again thinking about the wizard and his summer
holiday. He really needed to clear his head.

Pushing his chair back, Harry got to his feet. “I will go unpack first.”
“Oi, that’s not fair!” Ron exclaimed, but to Harry’s relief his friend didn’t follow him upstairs.

The dormitory was empty with the exception of Neville, who sat silently on his bed, reading the
latest issue of ‘Magical Plants around the World’.
“Hey, Nev,” he greeted the other boy, who looked up and frowned.
“Is everything alright?”
Sighing, Harry shook his head. “Just Snape being his usual nasty self,” he retorted.
Neville gave him a sympathetic look but said nothing more to it and simply returned to his
magazine, for which Harry was grateful. Sometimes he wished Ron and Hermione were a bit more
like their fellow Gryffindor. Neville just always seemed to know and understand when one didn’t
wish to talk.

Relieved that he would have some peace, Harry pulled his trunk from under his bed, lifted it onto
his mattress and began unpacking. Maybe the physical labour would help clear his mind. He knew
he couldn’t continue like he had done today. He needed to get Voldemort and his lessons out of his
head somehow. It just proved difficult when he found himself suddenly recognising the flaws of
Hogwarts. Binns, Trelawney and Snape were all examples of people who had no business working
as professors and as unbelievable as Harry would have found the thought two months ago, he
doubted that Voldemort would actually allow any of the three to teach as they did if he suddenly
became headmaster.

It was a daunting thought - not only that of Voldemort as Headmaster of Hogwarts, but also the
thought that the wizard might possibly do a better job than Dumbledore. Protecting people is all
right, but does it have to happen in a way that generations of students had to pay the price? Or why
not move History of Magic to another classroom, if Dumbledore felt that performing an exorcism
on Professor Binns was too cruel?

And here he was again, comparing Voldemort to Dumbledore!

Annoyed with himself, both for the thoughts themselves as well as his inability to stop thinking
about Voldemort, Harry huffed and reached for the next item in the trunk, only to realise that it
was the unassuming bag from the apothecary in Knockturn Alley and his heart missed a beat. Why
hadn’t he thought about this since he had arrived? The solution was so easy! He would bring Sirius
and Cedric back tonight. Then he would have support. Someone who could help him through this
mess of a war properly and he would be able to stop thinking about Voldemort. Because he would
have his godfather back. Sirius was sure to help him with anything he needed.

And then there was still the deeply buried wish to bring his parents back, However, as tempting as
the fantasy was, he still held doubts and they hadn’t changed or lessened any since the time he had
thought about this issue at Regia Magicae. Somehow, he realized, he had hoped that the
temptation, the craving to finally meet the parents he had never known would go away, but of
course it hadn’t. Still, it was too dangerous. His parents were dead for so long and he knew deep
down that if something went wrong, he would never be able to cope with that.

So Sirius would have to suffice and wasn’t that enough? For weeks after his godfather’s death he
had wished for nothing more than to have him back, any other thought hadn’t even come to him at
that point. But then again, he hadn’t known about his inheritance yet.

Anyway, Sirius would be able to deal with Snape, though he hoped it wouldn’t just devolve into
the same childish bickering his godfather seemed so fond of whenever he crossed path with the
other.

Harry lost himself in daydreams. They would spend the holidays traveling and visiting the
Weasleys. He wouldn’t have to think that the first time he had been fed properly over the summer
holidays had been at Regia Magicae while indulging in the Dark Lord’s well stocked pantry. Not
that the Weasleys didn't feed him properly whenever he had been there, only, he had never spent
more than two weeks at the Burrow.

And Sirius could teach him to be an animagus? Oh, and they could buy proper clothes for him, and
he would never have to return to the Dursleys ever again. Sirius, he had the impression, had always
been fashionable, he certainly would be able to help him pick something nice out.

Feeling much better now that he had made up his mind, Harry finished unpacking. He left the bag
from the apothecary in his trunk and warded it with a spell before pushing it back beneath his bed.

He had just finished in time apparently, because Neville was just putting his magazine to the side.
“Is it already time for dinner?” he asked.
Neville nodded. “Do you want to go down with me?”
Harry just shrugged, “Sure, why not.”
They left the dormitory together and Harry saw that Ron had apparently dragged Hermione down
to dinner already. For a moment they walked silently side by side, until Neville broke the silence
with a clearing of his throat.
“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but if you ever need to rant about Snape, I would
be happy to listen.”
Somehow Neville’s polite, awkward offer made Harry relax and he gave his friend a thankful smile
and decided to pay the boy’s loyalty and friendship back for once. It was time that he started to do
so anyway.

“I really studied over the summer. Like… a lot,” Harry began with a sigh, raking his hand through
his hair. “My potion was perfect,” he continued with emphasis and Neville’s eyes widened.
“And just because Hermione asked me a single question once, Snape said I cheated, docked 50
points from Gryffindor and gave me a T for my potion.”

To his surprise Harry saw Neville clench his fists when he glanced over at his friend once again.
“I hate him,” the boy hissed. “I really, really do. It’s not fair how he treats us and you in particular.
What use will it be that Dumbedore forced him to let you and Ron into Snape’s class if he lets you
fail anyway?
“I don’t know,” Harry retorted hernestly. “Maybe Dumbledore believes that even if we fail, we
will still have learned something?”
Neville just scoffed. “Well, you can learn something just as well on your own, you don’t need three
hours of bullying every week for that,” he frowned.
“True,” Harry conceded.

They arrived at the entrance doors to the great hall and fell silent again. Inside dinner had already
started and Ron and Hermione had to scoot together to make room for Harry and Neville.

“Are you feeling better?” Hermione asked as he slid into the seat next to her.
“Yeah, unpacking helped,” he said with a glance at Neville, who flushed, not wanting to tell her
outright that it actually had been the conversation with the other Gryffindor because offending
Hermione was never a good idea. Just… Her relentless prodding grew too much sometimes, it was
that regardless of what he said, it was never enough, while Neville just appreciated and accepted
what he was ready to give.

“Then you can join us after dinner. Ron isn’t even halfway finished with his Herbology essay,”
Hermione continued, her voice brooked no argument.
Neville threw him a sympathetic look, but Harry just sighed and nodded.

For a moment they all descended into silence as they filled their plate, it was Ron who spoke up
first.
“Look how smug that greasey got still looks! I bet he got off on failing you, mate.”
Harry shuddered at the image, but saw that Ron was right when he glanced up to the Head Table,
Snape indeed looked unusually joyful this evening.

“One day he will have it coming, even if I have to be the one to make sure of it!” Ron continued,
his hand clenching around his knife as if he was imagining stabbing the Potions Master.

“Just tell me beforehand so I can give you an alibi,” Harry smirked. He wasn’t really the vicious
kind, but Snape had always managed to bring out the worst in him, even more so than Voldemort.
Voldemort merely had instigated the wish to get as far away from him as possible as quickly as
possible.

“Will do, mate,” Ron promised and they fell silent again.

After dinner the four of them made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Neville
separated briefly to fetch their school bags (Harry had taken his upstairs earlier). As he grabbed his
rucksack, Harry hesitated shortly, but then after a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that
Neville wasn’t watching, he swiftly exchanged his new textbook editions with Voldemort’s old
ones. The old copies actually were quite a bit thicker, however, he cast a quick glamour over them
which took care of that problem.

When he started on his second attempt of his Herbology essay, Harry wasn’t quite sure if it was the
book or that he felt much calmer after he had decided to bring Sirius back that night. And Cedric,
he reminded himself internally. Nobody deserved to die so young, especially not for a reason as
senseless as ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time’.

In the future, he would only have to make sure to never act so rashly again. Even if he was able to
bring people back now, he couldn’t continue making mistakes that led to the death of others, that
would just be irresponsible.

The next three hours passed quite quickly as Harry continued to work on his homework. Only
when the common room started to empty, did he begin to grow nervous. He would have to stop by
the green houses and steal sacks of soil; one for each person he intended to resurrect and he still
needed a place to perform the ritual.

Any place on the Hogwarts grounds was out of question, not with the amount of magic the ritual
had exuded the last time. It would alert Dumbledore and probably every other professor
immediately and Harry didn’t wish to be found out. Just the thought of people realizing he could
bring back the dead made him shudder. Not that he couldn’t understand the pain of losing a loved
one, but he still only was a single person and a lot of people had probably died due to the war
within the last 20 years and that was even without including those who had died of illnesses and
accidents.

There was really only one other place he could think of that was nearby, but safe enough for what
he intended to do: the Shrieking Shack. The house in Hogsmeade was at least known for being
haunted, so nobody would probably dare to investigate what was going on in there and Harry could
get there easily

Finally however, Neville rose with a yawn and announced, “I am off to bed. See you in the
morning.”
“Wait,” Ron said, getting to his feet as well, “I will come with you. I will never get this blasted
potions essay done this evening anyway.”
Hermone rolled her eyes, but said, “If you all are tired, I think I will retire as well. Are you coming
as well?” she asked Harry, who nodded and began to pack his things.

They split in front of the staircase that led up to the girls’ dorms, wishing Hermione a good night.
Upstairs Neville and Ron went to the bathroom, Harry however, stayed behind to quickly pack the
things he would need later, before settling on his bed with one of Ron’s old editions of ‘Quidditch
Monthly’ so as not to draw unwanted questions.

Ron and Neville returned ten minutes later but didn’t comment on Harry’s reading, they were used
to him sleeping far less than any other boy or girl in Gryffindor due to his nightmares.

Ron gave him a worried look, probably wondering if he could feel his scar tingling already, but
didn’t ask. This time it came in handy that Harry’s connection to Voldemort was some kind of
taboo between his friends, except when it showed him something important.

Dean and Seamus entered shortly after as well and soon the sound of snoring told Harry that his
dorm mates were all fast asleep. He continued reading for a few more hours however, knowing that
Filch liked to patrol the halls until 1 in the morning. Only when a look at the Marauders Map told
him that not only had the caretaker gone to bed, but that even Dumbledore had retired from his
nightly pacing did he silently get up, grab his bag and invisibility cloak and sneak out of the dorm.

He crossed the common room which by now lay nearly completely in darkness, the fire in the
hearth having burned down to mere embers and left Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady gave a loud
snore as he pushed her open, but luckily didn’t wake either. Her snoring followed him for a few
more steps, but then the castle fell almost eerily quiet.
Harry still could remember how scary Hogwarts had felt during the night back in his first year.
Now however, after countless midnight strolls, he was well used to it. He kept an eye on the
Marauder’s Map and soon reached the front entrance, which swung open noiselessly despite the
late hour. Once outside, Harry turned right toward the greenhouses.

The greenhouses were nothing but looming, black shadows in the distance and fortunately
Professor Sprout only kept Greenhouse 8, the one with the highly toxic plants and expensive
potions plants constantly locked, mostly because often aspiring herbologists from her NEWT class
were tasked with taking care of some of the plants before and after classes.

Harry didn’t really like stealing, however, there was just no way that he could have brought large
bags of soil to Hogwarts in his trunk. Even if he had shrunk them all, it would just have seemed too
odd if one of his dorm mates had found them.

To keep the damage as minimal as possible however, Harry headed for greenhouse one, it was the
one the first year classes were taught and there were no overly expensive plants there. Maybe he
could also ask his dad - once he was back - to make a donation to Hogwarts to balance the loss.
Realizing that he was rambing (albeit mentally) Harry concentrated back on the task at hand.

The door to the greenhouse made an unpleasant noise that echoed far too loudly in the quiet of the
night. Harry froze, his eyes darting towards Hagrid’s hut, but when no light flickered to life he
heaved a sigh of relief and quickly slipped inside.

The sacks of fresh soil still stood where he remembered them to be from his own first year. He
placed two to the side before flicking his wand at them. The sacks rose into the air and another
flick had them charmed to follow him.

After a look around the greenhouse to make sure he didn’t need anything else from here, Harry
turned swiftly and beat down the track to the whomping willow, where he shot a swift stunner at
the knobbly bump in the bark. The tree froze and Harry lowered himself into the narrow tunnel, the
sacks of soil still following him obediently.

The tunnel seemed far narrower than the last time he had used it, but then again, he had still been
13 then while he was 16 now and even he had grown some in that time span.
He finally climbed out at the other end, but then hesitated a moment.

Things like the weather and the location could influence a ritual like the one he was planning
greatly, however, there had been nothing in Voldemort’s scroll that said it was really required. The
Shrieking Shack lay on top of a small hill, which increased the likelihood that somebody could see
him. At the same time it was really late at night and he didn’t have a thunderstorm like the last
time, so it probably would be best to not complicate the ritual further.

Making up his mind, he exited the shack and walked around it until he was standing in the back
garden which faced further away from the nearby village. Looking up, he saw that at least the
phase of the moon was correct - he couldn’t believe he had forgotten to check before coming all
this way - and quickly got to work.

He emptied the sacks of soil in two neat rows and separated each pile into three sections for the
three sections of the body; head, torso and lower body. Once that was taken care of he pulled four
bowls, unsalted and normal bread, grape juice, mulled wine, a bag of herbs, and pieces of ash and
elder wood out of his bag. Dobby had been only too pleased to help the great Harry Potter and
hadn’t even batted an eye when he asked for the bowls and foodstuffs. He shook his head fondly at
the thought of the excitable little elf, but kept working steadily.

Carefully he arranged everything in their proper spots. One piece of unsalted bread as well as a
small goblet of grape juice and a piece of ash went to the left of each pile of soil. Then he mixed
the mulled wine with the herbs, sweet oil, and mastic while placing it together with the normal
bread to the right of each body of soil.

Once he was satisfied with his preparations, he pulled out the second mixture of herbs he had
prepared and began the tedious task of creating the runic circle around everything. Because the
ritual site was so big this time, he had to repeat the rune sequence three times, which took quite a
bit of time. Finally, however, he drew the barrier of salt and began to undress.

Harry was about to cast a tempus, when suddenly the deep sound of a tower clock reached his ear,
announcing the arrival of the very early hours of the morning. Just in time a loud thunder rolled, as
if agreeing to his effort and the clouds burst open.

Stepping in front of the soil and making sure he was facing East, he lifted his wand in front of his
chest and began to intone:
“By the Virtue of the Holy Resurrection and the agonies of the damned, I conjure and command
thee, spirit of Cedric Amos Diggory deceased, and Sirius Orion Black deceased, to answer my
demands and obey these sacred ceremonies, on pain of everlasting torment. Berald, Beroald,
Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba, arise, arise- Incendio!” He stepped up to the closest ritual site and lit
the first dishes, breads and woods, before tapping the soil nine times with his wand, and then
repeated the procedure two times, and finished the incantation
“I charge and command thee!” In a fluid motion he drew his onyx encrusted dagger and recarved
the rune in his chest, reopening the old wound that had scarred over since he had last done this.

As soon as he ignited the right dishes, a strong pulling sensation grabbed him and an odd sensation
of his soul leaving his body overcame him just like last time, when he had brought Barty back. The
garden around him and the feeling of the mild summer breeze on his skin vanished and a black
mist lowered once again in front of his eyes.
Just a moment later the mist parted, revealing the black cosmos with its four moons and purple sky.

''I call upon you, Glory, to aid in my conquest of restoring the wisps of the taken,” he called, the
words falling from his unmoving lips. Icy wind rose around him and he continued.''For blood
spilled in fight, bloodshed in night, blood shared through rite, I call upon my right: “Cedric Filius
deo portare, Filius itinere deerrat, I proclaim ownership. Sirius Filius crepusculi, Filius nigra, I
proclaim ownership. My pursuit ensues. Glory, grant me amorphousness.''

Magic rose, transforming the winds of the Black Cosmos into a full grown storm. Wispy figures
rose all around him. However, their faces were unclear and their gazes confused.

“Unsupported again, my little acolyte,” the booming voice of death crashed on his eardrums.

The being had mentioned something about that before, about being unsupported, but Harry still
had no idea what it meant.

“Hades,” Death called, “Why do you enter thus? Do you not realise how dangerous my dwelling
is? How hungry for those still with life in them?”

The teen tilted his head, his longer hair shifting making him realize his glamours had fallen, “But I
did the ritual and provided all the sacrifices, I thought it worked like that,” he stated. “Isn’t that
enough?”

“Foolish servant of mine,” the entity somehow managed to sound disappointed. “Last time it was
me who protected you. This realm isn’t meant to be left again, not by the living, nor by the dead
and also not by the un-dead. I hope for your sake that you will prove to be strong enough.” Harry
blinked, not sure why the words sounded so ominous. Then Death’s voice boomed through the
black cosmos, “Who are you seeking, servant of mine?”

“Cedric Amos Diggory and Sirius Orion Black!”

This time he expected the silence that followed his request and he waited calmly for the Black
Cosmos to vanish around him. But the silence began to press on him. He could see twin pinpricks
of light seeming to float toward the moons, even as his own body became heavy, so heavy. Harry
felt very strange. His mind started shouting at him that something wasn’t right and he began
throwing himself toward the moons, and what he hoped was the exit of the Black Cosmos. Since
everything had just sort of happened the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but
struggling seemed to satisfy his mental voice, so he could only pray it was the right thing.

However, Death’s realm clearly didn't wish to let him go. A sensation like cold, ghostly hands
grabbing him and trying to drag him down overcame him and he struggled even more. However,
with every passing second his energy seemed to drain from him, as if the Black Cosmos was
devouring him slowly from the inside-out. Starting to panic, Harry gathered all remaining traces of
his strength and willpower and mentally gushed himself forwards. Whatever had tried to drag him
down seemed to snap like an overstrained string and he was hurled toward the light of the moons
 above him. Only a moment later Harry felt his consciousness return to his body and he heaved a
sigh of relief. Around him, the small fires once more had risen to a storm surrounding him and the
shifting bodies of soil. Impatiently, he stayed put, never rising from his kneeling position, his eyes
never leaving the shifting earth.

Soon, soon, just a few more moments then Sirius and Cedric would be back. He would finally have
his godfather and his foolish mistake would be eradicated!

Around him the magical flames roared even higher before beginning to move in on him and the
clay bodies. Harry didn’t flinch, partly because he remembered this frightening part of the ritual
and partly because he was still frozen with excitement… and a fair bit of worry. Maybe he
shouldn’t have tried to revive both of them at once, even though the scroll said it was possible.
Maybe his magic was too weak to support a dual resurrection. He certainly felt far more drained
than he had during Barty’s return. His eyes fluttered with tiredness and the boy battled back
exhaustion, even as he fought for stillness. Perhaps he had made a mistake with the runes? He
could only hope he would be able to try again.

He remained in place, frantically battling the waves of exhaustion buffeting his body as he watched
the soil harden, the piles forming into Cedric’s and Sirius' body. Then the magic drew into the
bodies, transforming them from mere earth into human flesh and bones.

Feeling numb as well as physically, mentally, and magically, tired, Harry pushed himself to his
feet, swaying where he stood. Sirius and Cedric would not wake up for some hours yet. Every line
of his body conveying his extreme lethargy, Harry flicked his wand to send the ritual materials
back into his rucksack, before turning to leave.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Happy Returns and Disappointing Conversations
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 15: Happy Returns and Disappointing Conversations

Harry sighed in relief when he snuck back into the dormitory 30 minutes later. The resurrection
ritual had been magically draining, even more so than last time, becasue he had brought more than
just one person back, and all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep for a fortnight.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t as lucky as when he had left.
“Where’d you go, mate?” Ron slurred, propping himself up slightly.
To his left, Neville was sitting up as well, looking even more worried than Ron.
“Just on a walk. Couldn’t sleep,” he retorted, trying to reassure his friends.
“But no nightmare?” Neville asked, his voice barely audible as he whispered as to not wake Dean
and Seamus.
Harry shook his head. “No. No nightmare and no vision.”
“Oh, good,” Ron yawned and fell back onto his mattress - a second later his snores could be heard
again.
“I hope you can get some rest now,” Neville said, giving him a relieved smile.
“Yeah, me too,” Harry retorted, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to find any sleep after
what had just happened.

He didn’t bother to change into his pyjamas and instead simply kicked his trousers off and
discarded his robe and button down before sliding beneath his comforter. He had managed to push
away his feelings over the return of his godfather and Cedric, but now, safely back in his dorm and
laying wide awake in his four-poster, the happiness came rushing back.
He had barely looked at Cedric, first too scared of what he would find despite knowing full well
that the ritual had worked, too happy that Sirius had also been returned, and then too tired and
focused on getting back without getting caught once he had been able to move.

But he had Sirius back! He almost couldn’t wait for someone to officially tell him the man had
returned. He had wished for that ever since the end of last term. Had agonized over every little
thing, praying to any deity that would listen to bring his godfather back while stuck at the
Dursleys. And now he was!

But Sirius deserved the second - or was it third? - chance. After 12 years in Azkaban, one year on
the run and one year cooped up in that old, nasty house of his late family the animagus certainly
did and Harry would make sure that this time he would finally get his old life back.

As soon as Sirius returned he would talk to the Headmaster. Surely there had to be something they
could do to finally clear Sirius’ name? Dumbledore’s voice held much sway in the Ministry and
Harry knew for a fact that the order had allies there, like Kingsley and Tonks or Madame Bones.

Once Sirius was cleared Harry would finally be able to leave the Dursleys. Sure the blood wards
were powerful, but so was the fidelius charm over Grimmauld Place and Sirius had promised to
take him in. Life would get better, be good, and he could finally forget Voldemort and the time he
had spent at the wizard’s castle. Well… maybe not forget. With everything he had learned from the
man, he wasn’t certain he could forget his time spent there. However, he hoped he would finally
stop missing it.

Sighing, Harry turned onto his side and tried to stop thinking. Morning would arrive soon enough
and he had a day of classes ahead as well as a long meeting with the headmaster most likely. He
should at least try to rest a little, even if he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Rest however stayed as elusive as sleep, he was just too anxious about the day ahead. His thoughts
refused to settle. Harry knew he would be called when Dumbledore discovered them and he had no
idea how to explain it. With Barty, he had been lucky enough that almost no one knew what had
actually happened to him and so he was able to let everyone draw their own conclusions. That
wouldn’t be the case for Sirius and Cedric. His friends and those in the Order had actually SEEN
Sirius go through the veil. No one had ever come back out, body or otherwise.

And while nobody but himself, Wormtail, and Voldemort had seen Cedric die, all the Death Eaters
had seen his body. Had seen his shade ask for his body to be taken back to Hogwarts. The
Diggorys had mourned him! what was he going to do?

His thoughts continued to twist and turn, each idea more insane than the last and soon his dorm
mates began to wake around him. Deciding that he would at least grab his chance at the pick of the
showers, Harry sat up.

“Did you manage to get some sleep?” Ron asked, yawning loudly.
“Not really,” Harry told him honestly, knowing that his friends would catch onto his tiredness
regardless.
“At least we don’t have Potions today.”
Harry hummed in agreement, grabbed his toiletry bag and a fresh school uniform and left for the
showers.

When he returned 15 minutes later, cleaned and dressed Ron was just getting out of bed. He
grabbed his school bag, pulled his trunk out and emptied the remnants of his ritual materials into
it, before pulling his time table out and checking what classes he had today.

Double Charms
Double free period
Lunch
Double Transfigurations
Well, that wasn’t all that bad. He grabbed his books (or rather he grabbed Voldemort’s books),
shoved them into his bag and went down to the common room in hopes that Hermione might
already be there.

She was. Sitting in one of the plushy armchairs and reading one of their textbooks, she looked up
and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him.
“Harry you are early.”
Harry just shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” he said and when she opened her mouth, he
quickly added, “Just restless though. I guess the excitement of being back has caught up to me.”

Hermione sighed and scooted over so that he could sit down on the armrest of her chair. “I guess
we should be happy for every small mercy where it concerns your sleeping pattern. Have you ever
thought about therapy?”
Harry blinked, feeling as if he had missed something. “Therapy for what?”
His friend rolled his eyes as if he was thick. “To get your sleeping pattern under control, of course.”

“Of course,” he muttered, before shaking his head. “It’s the only time I had this problem. All the
other times nightmares or visions are at fault.”
“A therapist could at least help you with your regular nightmares,” she retorted. “You know it’s
normal after all you have witnessed?”

‘It would be fewer if Dumbledore didn’t send me back to the Dursleys every year,’ Harry added
mentally, but kept the thought to himself.
“I don’t see the point as long as I still get those visions. Maybe I will be lucky and Voldemort will
leave me in peace until the end of the term,” he said, even though his scar hadn’t stopped tingling
since his escape from Slytherin Castle.

Hermione gave him a look that was a mixture of fond exasperation and doubt. Fortunately before
she could further try to convince him of the benefits of therapy, Ron came down the staircase.
“G‘morning Mione,” he greeted her with a yawn. “Let’s head to breakfast, I am starving!”
Hermione rolled her eyes again, but got to her feet.

They made their way down to the Great Hall, where they found seats next to Ginny and Dean.
“I am looking forward to Charms this year,” Hermione said, summoning a plate of pancakes.
“You are always looking forward to every class every year, Mione,” Ron merely retorted between
two mouthfuls of eggs.

“We will start with non verbal casting in Charms this year,” Hermione just continued. “It is
supposed to require a lot of concentration and focus.”
“Sounds difficult,” Ron commented.
Harry nodded, but inwardly he thanked Voldemort for teaching him how to access his magical core
properly, it would probably come in handy this year.

“Charms are supposed to be the easiest to manage non verbally,” Hermione continued, now clear
in lecture mode. “They usually require less magic than defensive and offensive spells and the
frequency some charms are used also makes it easier. Charms are…” she suddenly broke off,
making Harry and Ron frown. Hermione never stopped in the middle of a lecture.
“Mione?” Ron asked, lifting a hand and waving in front of her eyes.

“Malfoy is back,” she finally said.

Harry’s head immediately snapped around. His eyes landed on the light blond hair almost
immediately and a wave of relief washed through Harry. There he stood, pompous and arrogant as
ever, head held high, next to the Slytherin table, talking to Zabini who looked with an intense
expression up to him. The other Slytherins were surrounding him as well, practically hanging on
every word the blond was saying.
At the sight, something Harry hadn’t realised had been tense ever since their duel inside of him
relaxed.

“The ferret doesn't look half bad for being sick, if you go for that slicked-back, git sort of look.”

“He probably wouldn’t be back if he were still ill,” Harry pointed out, still feeling bad for the
blond’s state. He should never have used that spell.
“You aren’t defending him now, are you, mate?” Ron gave him a strange look and he quickly
shook his head.
“No, just saying.”
“You better not,” Ron muttered.

“Well, I guess we will be finding out soon enough why Malfoy only arrived now,” Hermione drew
their attention away from the blond Slytherin. “If the situation with Buckbeak is anything to go by,
he will be whining and crying for sympathy for at least two more weeks.”

They got to their feet and left the Great Hall. Harry suppressed the urge to look over his shoulder
and try to get a closer look at Malfoy - he would hopefully have a chance to reassure himself that
the prat was alright again during class.

The door to the Charms classroom already stood open and as they entered, Flitwick was bustling
around behind his desk. Only the crown of his head was visible behind the tall piece of furniture as
the half-goblin seemingly prepared for their lesson.

Harry followed Hermione to the first row, while Ron trailed behind them, complaining just like at
the beginning of every new term.
“Hermione, you will not miss anything important because you sit in the second or third row for
once,” he repeated his usual argument.

“I doubt she’s listening to you,” Harry grinned as his friend and placed his school bag onto one of
the empty tables.
Ron sighed and sat down next to him.

“Without the vaccination I would surely have died just like my grandfather, the healer said,”
Malfoy’s drawling voice suddenly reached Harry’s ears and he turned around.
“Dragon Pox is truly horrible!”

Harry just scoffed, his sympathy quickly evaporating. Well, it didn’t really surprise him that
Malfoy had prepared an excuse and of course the git would invent such a sob story.

“Poor Dracy-poo!” Pansy cooed. “We are so relieved that you feel better now!”
“We are so relieved,” Ron muttered. “Would have been such a travesty if the prat had died.”
“Ron!” Hermione hissed.
“What?” Ron asked back. “Don’t tell me you would be sad about the loss.”
“It’s not right to say something like that about a fellow classmate.”

Flitwick fortunately climbed onto his stack of books then and Harry used the chance to stop the
approaching argument.
“Guys! Lesson’s starting.”
Immediately Hermione sat up straighter and concentrated on the front of the room, where their
Professor was righting himself.

“Good morning and welcome to NETW’s class!” Flitwick squeaked. “I must say I was impressed
with all of your OWL results. It will grow more difficult and challenging from here on out, but not
to worry!” Their professor swayed a bit, but caught his balance before continuing. “You have
probably already read in your book that the first term will almost entirely be devoted to learning
non-verbal casting. Can somebody tell me what is most important for non-verbal casting?”

Immediately Hermione’s hand shot into the air and Flitwick gave her a nod.
“Yes, Ms. Granger?”
“Concentration and focus,” she answered without missing a beat.
“Correct,” Flitwick squeaked excitedly. “Take five points for Gryffindor. Now, what do you think
is the difference between these two - concentration and focus?”

To Harry’s surprise nobody raised their hand this time, not even Hermione. His hand however
twitched, he had an idea what their Professor might mean, however, he had never liked to speak up
in class and the fact that Hermione didn’t seem to know made the prospect even more daunting.

Unfortunately Flitwick must have noticed his movement, because he said, “Yes, Mr. Potter? You
look as if you have an idea?”
“Um…” Harry began, shifting in his stool uncomfortably. Next to him Hermione looked surprised
and behind her Neville was glancing over. Their eyes connected and the boy gave him an
encouraging smile and before Harry knew what he was doing, he was saying: “Well, concentration
is… um well… your concentration. Mental, I guess. Focus however is connected to your magic,
your ability to direct your magic within as well as outside of your body.”

“Correct! Correct!” Flitwick exclaimed. “Ten more points for Gryffindor!” he squeaked. “Now, I
want you to find a partner and try to disarm them non-verbally. And no cheating, I will know if you
whisper!”

Harry pushed his chair back and turned to his friends.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron grinned sheepishly. “Maybe you can pair up with your new best mate
Malfoy?”
Harry scoffed and turned around. “I think I’d rather asked Neville.”

He walked over to his fellow Gryffindor, who already looked incredibly nervous.
“I got an E in Charms, but I doubt it will help me with non-verbal casting,” Neville smiled
nervously.

Harry wanted to say something encouraging, but with what Barty had told him about elementals, it
was probably a miracle that Neville had done as well as he had in his classes so far. It was truly
unfair, binding his magic, knowing very well what he was and the problem that this particular gift
came with and then being all reproachful about it. He had never liked Neville’s grandmother
much, but since this summer he had started to really dislike her.

Flittwic had magically pushed the tables and chairs to the side and they searched for a secluded
spot before coming to a halt facing each other.
“You start,” Neville said. “You will probably get the hang of non-verbal casting much quicker
than I will.”

“Okay. Just… give me a moment,” Harry said and closed his eyes. Hopefully Voldemort would be
proven correct in that knowing how to access once core consciously would help a great deal with
none-verbal casting.

It luckily only took him a fraction of the time it had in the beginning to find and access his magical
core after days of practicing just that. His core looked just as beautiful as the last time he had seen
it. Bright and beautiful like a sun shining deep within him. Without hesitation he touched it. The
familiar warm feeling flowed into his arm and from there into his wand. Once Harry believed he
had gathered enough, he opened his eyes and focused on Neville and willing his friend’s wand to
fly over to him.

A flash of blue light left his wand, but the color was slightly off and instead of disarming Neville it
pushed his arm back with quite a bit of force. Neville winced and rubbed his shoulder.

“You must think the spell more clearly, Mr. Potter!” Flitwick’s voice chimed.

“Is your arm okay?” Harry asked, turning back to Neville.

The other just nodded. “Don’t worry, Harry, I will be alright. Just try again. That was a good first
try!”

Nodding, Harry focused again and this time, he made sure to also speak the spell clearly in his
mind. The color of the spell came out correctly and Neville’s wand twitched, which probably was
an improvement.

“You almost had it!” Neville said encouragingly.

Nodding, Harry concentrated for the third time. Concentration, focus and conviction were the key
elements, so this time in addition to focusing his magic and saying the spell in his mind, he tried
picturing what he wanted to achieve. Neville’s wand jerked and for a split second Harry feared his
spell once again wasn’t strong enough but it came sailing over.

“Excellent, Mr. Potter! excellent! Ten more points to Gryffindor!” Flitwick exclaimed and toppled
from his stack of books.

“Wow, you are truly a natural at magic!” Neville commented, eyes wide.
Harry grinned sheepishly. His spell hadn't been as strong as usual, but that was something he
should be able to correct. He just needed to focus his magic a bit better.

However, seeing that his friend’s face grew nervous again, he postponed that problem for the
moment.
“Try picturing the result,” Harry told him. “And think the spell,” he echoed their Professor’s
instructions.
Neville nodded, “I can do that.”

Unfortunately Neville had a much harder time than he himself, so much so that Harry was
pondering if he should teach his friend meditation. Only he feared what his friend might encounter
when he visualized his core, considering the bindings his grandmother had cast.

Neville at least didn’t seem too discouraged yet, probably because aside from Harry only
Hermione, Malfoy, and Zabini had managed to disarm their partner non-verbally and it had taken
them nearly the entire lesson. Harry by far had been the quickest, another proof that Voldemort
was a bloody good tutor for a homicidal Dark Lord.

“If I didn't know better I would suspect that you have practiced non-verbal casting before,”
Hermione said when they finally left the classroom.
“I haven’t,” Harry retorted honestly. However, the meditation voldemort had taught him to access
his magical core more efficiently did help a lot, just like the wizard had promised him.
“Well, you always have been better at the practical,” his friend conceded.
“Enough with that talk about Charms and non-verbal casting,” Ron huffed. “We have a free period
next, let’s head up to the common room.”
“Or we could go to the library and get the Charms essay out of the way,” Hermione retorted
pointedly. “You also still have to finish our Potions essay.”

At that, Ron turned to Harry with a pleading look.

He shifted uncomfortably, he always hated it when his friends pulled him into their argument.
“Um… if we get our essays done now, we could play some chess this evening?”
Ron let out a long, suffering sigh. “I see how it is. You have turned into a second Hermione. A
Slytherin-loving Hermione!”
“Oh, shut it!” Harry snapped back good naturedly, pushing his friend slightly. “Only because I said
something even remotely nice about Malfoy.”
Ron snickered and turned towards the library.

They found a table in a quiet corner and got their parchment and books out. Harry, for a lack of a
different description, was as calm and conscientious as he had been nervous the previous night.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t been called to the headmaster’s office yet. But then he mentally
smacked himself, remembering that Barty hadn’t appeared until the afternoon. He still had a few
hours before Sirius and Cedric even might wake up, therefore it was actually a welcome distraction
to have homework that needed taking care of.

The essay Flitwick wanted them to write wasn’t actually that difficult, so Harry got started quickly.
Next to him however, Ron was still trying to finish his potions essay. Harry would have offered his
help, however, he feared that Hermione would notice something when he suddenly began to
explain potions.

“Honestly, I had hoped for something a bit more challenging,” Hermione sighed. “I mean
everybody knows what the challenges of non-verbal casting are.”
“True,” Harry agreed. “But with how few people have managed to disarm their partner, at least the
part about researching methods to practice non-verbal casting is reasonable.”

They continued in studious silence and Harry found his essay growing steadily. He was nearly
done when a stern voice suddenly interrupted them.
“Mr. Potter.”
Blinking, Harry looked up to see his head of house standing next to their table. Instantly his heart
missed a beat; this could only mean one thing. They had been found. He rubbed his suddenly
sweaty palms on his robes as he waited for McGonagall’s instructions. Next to him Ron and
Hermione had looked up as well, an expression of confusion on their faces.

“Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office,” McGonagall told him.
The confusion in his friends’ eyes morphed into worry and Hermione asked, “Only Harry or can
we come as well?”
“Only Mr. Potter for now,” Their head of House replied, her tone softening minutely. “However, I
am sure he will report to you in detail once he’s returned.”
“I’ll be alright,” Harry said and began packing his school bag, heart racing. He hadn’t expected to
see Sirius and Cedric so soon. Barty had needed nearly a day to wake up after his resurrection and
with his godfather still on the run it had been just as likely that the animagus left to hide
somewhere and would just send an owl as soon as he could. Apparently however, he had made his
way up to Hogwarts.

“Do you want to leave your bag here?” Hermione asked, but Harry just shook his head and began
to follow Professor McGonagall, knowing full well that this could take a while.

They exited the library and went down to the first floor corridor where the gargoyle to the
Headmaster’s office stood at its end.
“I think I should warn you Potter,” his head of house spoke up as they waited for the stone beast to
move aside. “While nothing bad has happened, what you are about to see might come as quite a
shock.”
“Um, okay,” Harry nodded, not knowing what else to say that wouldn’t give him away.

They stepped onto the spiraling staircase and Harry’s heart quickened even further, he was starting
to feel dizzy. He had returned! His godfather was back with him! Would their time together ever be
enough? Sirius, with his bone-breaking hugs, his loud, barking laughter and the roguish grin that
still spoke of the pranks he liked to play so much in his youth?

He had been so stupid and Sirius had deserved more. Harry was only too happy that he had been
able to fix things for once, even if he was still worried about how things would turn out.

Professor McGonagall stepped onto the small landing and knocked a moment later Dumbledore’s
calm voice wafted out to them.
“Come in, Minerva.”

It took all his willpower to not push past his head of house as she slowly opened the office door and
walked ahead. But then she stepped to the side and Harry finally saw him.

Sirius looked just like he had done a few months ago, only the shirt and trousers he wore were
different. For a split second his godfather looked still a bit confused, but then his blue-grey eyes
flickered over to Harry. His godfather’s eyes widened, Harry’s heart missed another couple of beats
and he breathed, “Sirius!”

In the next moment he was swung into the air and twirled around. Harry clutched to his godfather’s
shoulders with all his might. The familiar scent of worn leather that always seemed to cling to his
godfather filled his nostrils.

Suddenly tears began to prick in the corners of his eyes and his vision grew blurry.
“I am sorry! I am so sorry!” he sobbed, unable to hold his pain in. “I was so stupid…”
“Hush,” Harry, Sirius whispered and began to rub his back. “It was not your fault.”
“Of course it was!” Harry protested. “I… because of me you died!”
Sirius shook his head and pushed him away at arms' length. Harry had never seen such a serious
expression on his godfather’s face before. “Listen, pup,” he said, his gaze intense. “It was not your
fault. Despite what you sometimes believe, I am the adult here. I am your godfather, I was an auror
once, it was… is my job to protect you, while it is your job to make foolish mistakes and rush in
head first like all teenagers do. That you have been burdened with a duty so much greater than your
peers doesn’t change that.”

Harry swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. Unable to retort, he nodded silently.
Sirius’ face broke into a grin and he squeezed his shoulder shortly. “Come on, pup, let’s sit down.
You must be… wondering what happened.” A confused look shortly passed over the man’s
features, but it was too quickly gone for Harry to decipher the meaning of it, so he just nodded
again and he finally turned around to where Dumbledore sat behind his large oak desk and Cedric
in front, staring at Harry and Sirius with wide eyes.

The Hufflepuff still didn’t look a day older than 17 and looked even more confused than his
godfather. Harry only stared back, which probably was the best reaction currently, considering that
he always had been a bad liar and actor. Dumbledore conjured two more chairs and they all sat
down. Finally, the Headmaster cleared his throat.

“Harry, as you can see, something extraordinary has happened.”

“But how?” Harry asked, hoping that he sounded suitably confused.
“I fear that is something we cannot yet answer,” Dumbledore frowned. “If Sirius had reappeared in
the Department of Mysteries, that might have explained his return, after all, there is not much
known about the veil, however, he and Cedric seem to have returned to life - for the lack of a better
description - in the Shrieking Shack. I went down personally and found something like a ritual site,
which is disconcerting to say the least.”

Harry blinked, now honestly confused. Firstly because he had thought he hadn’t left anything
behind and secondly, because he wasn’t sure how two people who returned from the dead, clearly
healthy and not worse for wear, could be worrisome.

Trying to concentrate on one point after the other, he asked, “How do you recognize a ritual site?”
“Well, firstly, I could sense some residual magic. Unfortunately it was too little to give us a clear
signature. There also was a circle of salt, which is usually used as a barrier in dark rituals.”

Harry frowned, wondering where the Headmaster had gotten the idea.
“But bringing back people doesn’t really sound bad, or dark,” he said.
“Harry has a point,” Sirius agreed, while Cedric stared wide-eyed at him.
“I must disagree,” Dumbledore shook his head. “As joyful as your return is, bringing back people
from the dead is necromancy.”

From the corner of his eyes Harry saw Sirius frown again, but his godfather stayed silent.

“Which leaves us with the question: why would someone bring you two back?” Dumbledore
continued, his blue eyes shifting towards Sirius and Cedric.
“I… I don’t know, Professor,” Cedric whispered. Harry noticed that the blond’s brown eyes were
flickering over him as if he couldn’t quite focus. Sirius on the other hand was watching Harry
intently, his silver eyes clear, clearer even than when he had been alive before.

Could it be that Sirius remembered something? Harry hoped not. He wanted nothing more than to
throw himself on the returned animagus, but could barely meet his eyes for fear the man would
realize something. He prayed to Merlin and every deity that would listen that his godfather
wouldn’t say anything if he did.

“I fear we have to consider that whoever brought you back,” Dumbedlore continued and Harry’s
attention snapped back to him, “has done so in the hope of influencing or maybe even abducting
Harry for Voldemort.”

Cedric flinched and for the first time Harry wondered if the Headmaster couldn’t be a bit more
discreet with his use of the Dark Lord’s name.

“How would they do that?” Sirius questioned, his frown deepening, “I feel fine.”
“You can not know with what kind of spell you were brought back, Sirius,” Dumbledore
reprimanded him. “It could very well be that the person is now able to control you at will and
therefore I must beseech you to be more careful this time.”

Immediately, Sirius’ expression closed off. Harry however decided to take this as his chance. “But
can we not do something to finally get Sirius cleared?” he asked. “I mean, we know he is innocent,
we saw Peter. I was there with Hermione, Remus and even Snape.”
“Professor Snape,” Professor McGonagall reprimanded him softly from where she sat slightly to
the side.

“I fear it is not that easy,” Dumbedlore retorted, his expression grave. “As you must have learned
in the summer before your fifth year, the Ministry is corrupt.”
“But we have allies!” Harry interrupted him. “We have Moody and Tonks and-”
“Harry!” Dumbledore cut him off sharply, his eyes flickering over to Cedric for a split second.

“While we have allies,” Dumbledore continued much more calmly, “a case like this needs to go
through many people and ministry protocol and we unfortunately don’t have as many allies as we
would need.”

“So Sirius will have to go back to… you know,” Harry said, unable to speak the address in front of
Cedric, “and hide there for who knows how many more years?” He was pretty sure Dumbledore
could hear his anger and incredulity.

“For the time being there is unfortunately no other solution,” Dumbledore nodded.

Now Harry was frowning as well. He was getting the feeling Dumbledore didn’t wish for Sirius to
be cleared. But why? However, Dumbledore’s office wasn’t the right place to think about it.

So instead he asked, “And where will Sirius stay until he can return to the safe house? I mean, the
thing with the fidelius isn’t out of the world, only because he returned, right?”

“For now Sirius will stay here at the castle, I will have a room prepared for him. Once we have
checked him for spells however, he will move back into his home,” Dumbledore confirmed, before
turning his attention back to Sirius and Cedric.
“Now, before we find beds for you to rest, I would like to know if you remember anything that
might help us clear up this mystery?”

Sirius’ eyes flickered through the office again. They caught on Cedric, then Dumbledore, Fawkes,
McGonagall and finally, for a longer moment, on Harry. Then he shook his head. “I just remember
waking up starkers in the backyard of the Shrieking Shack, next to that bloke,” he said, pointing
with his thumb towards Cedric.
“And you my boy?” Dumbledore asked, giving the Hufflepuff an encouraging smile.
Cedric’s eyes flickered briefly to Sirius and then to Harry, it made Harry nervous. For a short
moment the boy seemed to hesitate, but then Cedric as well shook his head.

“No, sir.”
“Very well, you may -” Dumbeldore was abruptly interrupted by the office door being flung open,
crashing against the nearest wall. They flinched and turned, just in time to see a tall, blond man
enter with long strides.

“Cedric! My son!” the man exclaimed and Harry finally recognized Amos Diggory, Cedric’s
father. From the corner of his eyes Harry saw Dumbledore pull out his wand and pointing it at his
godfather. Sirius’ body shimmered for a second, then seemingly disappeared. Dumbledore had cast
a disillusionment over him.

Amos pulled his son off his chair, who still looked a bit dazed, and into a bone-crushing hug before
dissolving into loud sobs. Harry’s eyes however, were still glued to the chair, which scooted back
slightly, indicating that Sirius was moving, probably to a secure corner where nobody could
accidentally bump into him.

“By Merlin, you are back! You are back!” Amos had started repeating. Cedric finally seemed to
wake from his frozen state and lifted his arms to hug his dad back.
Harry shifted, feeling a bit out of place so close to the emotional reunion. Still, a small smile tuck
on his lips, bringing Cedric back truly had been the right thing to do.

The two finally separated and Amos stepped back, patting his eyes dry with a yellow handkerchief.
“Albus, how…. what happened?” Amos finally asked. The man looked as confused as his son as he
raked his fingers through his thinning, blond hair. Then he noticed Harry.

“What is that boy doing here, Albus?” he suddenly exclaimed.

“Harry is here because of -” Dumbledore began calmly, but the other man didn’t give him a chance
to finish.
“This boy is a lying, stealing, murdering-”
“Amos!” Dumbeldore cut him off, more firmly this time, but still Amos Diggory went on.
“He tricked his way into the Triwizard Tournament and stole my son’s glory! And then he went
and… and … killed him!”

A vase suddenly fell from its small side table in the corner and all head’s whipped around.
Wincing, Harry prayed that Dumbledore’s charm would hold.
“Nothing to worry about,” the Headmaster smiled benignly , waving his wand in the direction of
the vase. The shards rose into the air, the side table straightened and a moment later everything was
back in order.

“Now, to answer your question, Amos,” Dumbledore continued. “I called Harry as he was there
when Cedric died and I wished to spare him the shock of running into a ghost after class.”
Amos merely scoffed and shot Harry another glare.

“Dad,” Cedric suddenly spoke up. “It’s not Harry’s fault. None of it was. I… I saw him. You-
Know-Who was there, I am sure Harry said the truth, he never wanted to take part in the
tournament. And besides, he did bring my body back.”

Amos huffed, but nodded. “I will take my son home now.”

“What?” Cedric startled. “But I want to stay here, finish my NEWT’s.”
Amos shook his head determinedly. “Hogwarts isn't safe, you have witnessed that first hand. I will
not lose you again.”
Cedric shook his head. “No manor has wards as strong as Hogwarts. I will stay here and you can’t
force me, I am legally of age.”
Amos threw Harry another glare, but then sight. “At least come with me home for a few days, you
were gone for over a year, your mother will never forgive me if I don’t take you back for a couple
of days. We can talk about anything else another time.”

“Fine,” Cedric sighed, his expression softening at the mentioning of his mother. The two Diggorys
turned to Dumbledore.

“Is it possible to use your fireplace, Headmaster?” Amos asked, much politer now.
“Of course, Amos. The floo powder is in the bowl on the mantle.”
Mr. Diggory inclined his head and marched over to the broad fireplace, and Cedric’s gaze once
again flickered over to Harry as if he wanted to say something, however, to Harry’s relief he only
gave him a small smile in the end before following his father.

As soon as the green flames had died down, Sirius' voice sounded from the corner with the side
table. “That was close,” he sighed.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed and pointed his wand at Sirius who turned visible again.

“Well, Harry,” the Headmaster continued, “I believe your next class should be starting soon. I will
have a room prepared for Sirius and I am sure he will let you know where exactly to find him
later.”

Harry didn’t want to leave his godfather so soon, however, he knew it would be too suspicious if he
were to miss classes already and besides, Sirius would still be staying for some time at Hogwarts
most likely, so he nodded and got to his feet.
“Come then, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, “you may just as well accompany me. This way I will
at least not have to dock points for lateness,” she added with a smirk before turning on her heels.

“I will send you an owl later, pup,” Sirius promised and pulled him into one last hug before
pushing Harry towards the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do!”
“Is that a free pass?” Harry asked with a grin over his shoulder, ignoring his Head of House’s huff.

Harry followed Professor McGonagall down to the Transfiguration classroom where his friends
were already waiting.

“Harry, we thought you wouldn’t show up in time!” Hermione hissed as soon as he reached them.
“What happened? What took you so long?”
Harry glanced over to Ron, hoping that his friend would help him try to calm Hermione down, but
the redhead looked equally worried and curious.

Making sure that none of their classmates stood close enough to hear him, Harry leaned closer to
his friends and whispered, “Sirius is back!”
Ron’s eyes widened and Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “How…?”
“Later,” Harry mouthed, before following their Head of House into the classroom.

They sat down in the first row and pulled their writing materials out.

____________________________________

Once class had ended, Harry led the way up to the seventh floor corridor and began to pace up and
down in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls how to dance ballet. As soon as
the door appeared, he wrenched it open. The room beyond was a living room alright, however, to
Harry’s immense surprise it looked a lot like Voldemort’s living room at Slytherin Castle.

Behind him, Ron snorted. “Blimey, Harry, Malfoy's return really got to you, huh? Looks like
something fit for the little ponce." he commented, before walking over to a leather armchair and
flopping down.
Harry just threw him a glare, slowly those comments about Malfoy were getting annoying.
Though, as he let his gaze wander through the room, he had to admit that his friend had a point.
Voldemort’s parlor could not be further away from the cozy duplicate of the Gryffindor common
room the room of requirement had always conjured for him when he had requested a place to
comfortably talk to his friends in the past. An odd feeling grew in his chest, however, he squashed
it before he could recognize it and instead settled into the armchair that looked like a copy of the
one Voldemort had always sat in. Somehow, he believed the Dark Lord would dislike the idea of
either of his friends sitting in it, even if it was a mere copy.

Hermione gave him a hesitant glance then and Harry decided to just begin and not make her ask.
“Sirius is back.” His voice came out as a mere whisper and cracked at the end. Despite having been
the one who called Sirius back from the dead and despite the fact that he had already seen Barty
return, it still was hard to believe. With Barty he hadn’t felt that way, but then again, he had hardly
missed the slightly crazed Death Eater back then. In all honesty, if the ritual hadn’t worked, Harry
would have been more sad about the implications than that the wizard would stay dead.

“But how?” Hermione repeated, her complexion as pale as Ron’s.

Harry shrugged. “He awoke in the backyard of the Shrieking Shack, together with Cedric…”
Ron gasped, cutting Harry off. “Diggory is back as well?”
Harry just nodded and continued. “Dumbledore says there was evidence of a ritual to bring them
back.”
At his words, Hermione grew even paler. “But that is dark magic. Whoever called them back could
be controlling them!” Her eyes widened even further. “Oh Harry! Promise me to be careful! They
could use your godfather and Cedric to get to you!”

Harry made a noncommittal sound. “Dumbledore said the same,” he said but then hesitated. He
wasn’t sure how honest he could be with his friends. The Weasleys were staunch light supporters
for at least two generations. Molly and her twin brothers had already fought in the first wizarding
war and he was sure Ron and his brothers would do so as well if ever a second war would break
out. And Hermione had earned nothing but scorn from many of the purebloods at Hogwarts,
especially the Slytherins. Still, they were his friends and he wanted to be as honest with them as
possible, especially after all they had gone through together. So he gathered all his famous
Gryffindor Courage and said:

“I am not sure about that.” Instantly a mixture of doubt and sadness appeared on his friends faces
and he quickly continued, “I mean, they aren’t inferi. They look just like they did the day they
died, as if they had never been gone.”
“The Dark Arts are a wide field though, mate,” Ron said and Hermione nodded along in
agreement. “Dad sometimes told us stories about what dark mages can do,” the redhead shuddered
shortly, before continuing, “it's really scary. Honestly, sane, good people would never even get
those ideas.”

‘Good people,’ Harry couldn’t stop his mind repeating with a mental sneer. That was just the point,
wasn’t it? Why their world was always at war. Because all dark mages and all dark arts had to be
bad, while the light mages were the epitome of everything good and right.

As if sensing that Ron’s response had irked him, Hermione spoke up. “I am sure Dumbeldore and
Madame Pomfrey will check Sirius and Cedric over, just promise us to be careful until we can be
sure.”

Harry wanted to scowl at her but unfortunately with what she knew, he couldn’t even blame her for
being cautious and it wasn’t really what irked him so much either. What bothered him was the
realisation that he didn’t feel comfortable explaining the whole story to them. Maybe after they
have seen Sirius and Cedric and watched them for a few days. Maybe then.

So instead he sighed and nodded. “I promise. Just… don’t treat them differently.”
“We can do that, mate,” Ron agreed, but before the redhead could say anything more they were
interrupted by a loud tapping sound against the window. Harry flinched, his mind immediately
going back to the day where the Inquisitorial Squad had found him and his friends in just this room,
however, as his head snapped around his eyes landed on Hedwig.

“I think she has a letter,” Hermione said and got up before Harry could move. She let the owl in
who hooted once and came flying over.
“Hey, girl,” Harry greeted her as she settled onto his armrest and held her leg out.
“I bet it’s from Sirius,” Ron said with a grin. “Who else would just take your owl and send a letter
with it. What does he say?”

Unfolding the small note, Harry scanned it quickly. It only carried one sentence.
“Meet me in the Hospital Wing.
Snuffles.”

Frowning, Harry turned the missive around and held it up for his friends to read.
“I knew it!” Ron exclaimed while Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I think you better go then. But try to be back quickly, we have so much homework and you
already couldn’t join us earlier,” she said in her usual mother hen voice.
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as well and just nodded.

“Can’t we go too?” Ron asked as Harry stood up.

“No, Ron, you are already behind and I am sure Sirius wishes to spend some time with Harry alone
for now. We can visit him Friday after class, or maybe tomorrow if you finally get the potions
essay done.”

“I will join you in the common room later,” Harry interrupted the approaching argument and
watched as Hedwig flew back out of the window before he turned to leave as well.

The halls were rather empty by now, most students having gone back to their common rooms or the
library to do their homework. Harry therefore reached the Hospital Wing in record time.

He knocked softly, more to be polite than anything else, before pushing the heavy door open and
stepping inside. Most beds were empty, with the exception of one in the middle where a boy was
covered in some sort of orange salve, probably to heal injuries from a potions accident, considering
how nearly his entire upper body and arms were covered in the gooey stuff.

He didn’t see Sirius right away, however, that didn’t really surprise him, which reminded him that
he still needed to find a way to finally get his godfather cleared, however, that would need to wait
until later. There was however a bed that was closed off by a drawn curtain. Fairly sure that he
would find Sirius there, Harry made his way over and poked his head inside.

Sure enough, his godfather was sitting on the bed, grinning mischievously up at Madame Pomfrey
who glared down on him.
“Mr. Black..:” she began, but Sirius cut her off.
“Just Sirius, Poppy, Mr. Black was my father. Besides, Mr. Black makes me sound so old.”
The medi witch huffed. “You are not a teenager anymore. Now drink that potion or I will spell it
into your stomach. I trust you still remember the feeling from last time?”
Sirius wrinkled his nose and snatched the potion from her hands. “Fine,” he grumbled, before
downing the vial in one big gulp. “Ugh, disgusting,” he complained, before turning to Harry with a
wide grin. “Hey, pup.”

Madame Pomfrey, who hadn’t seen him so far, spun around with a glare. “Mr. Potter, this area is
closed off for a reason…”
“Don’t be like that,” Sirius interrupted her. “I have nothing contagious, am not naked or wanking
and I thought I could leave now anyway.”
Madame Pomfrey huffed and threw her hands into the air. “Fine, have it your way. But then you
need to leave my Hospital Wing.”
“Gladly,” Sirius grinned back cheekily before hopping from the bed.

His godfather turned into his animagus form and began to lead the way out into the Hallway. Harry
had to hurry to not lose his godfather as he led the way up to the third floor corridor and from there
into a small side corridor that held nothing but a single portrait and a dead end, where he
transformed again and gave the portrait the password ‘bravery’. The portrait swung open after a
dubious look at Sirius and they stepped inside.

The room was nothing special. It was comparatively small, but there was a seating area consisting
of an armchair and a two-seater around a coffee table and four-poster bed with Gryffindor hangings
in the far right corner as well as a door that probably led into an ensuite.

“Dumbledore is calling an emergency meeting of the order in half an hour and I want you to come
along,” Sirius suddenly said, pulling Harry from his silent contemplations. Blinking, Harry turned
around, not sure if he should be surprised or not. His godfather had always been adamant that he
deserved to at least sit in and learn what the order was planning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sirius huffed and reached out to ruffle his already messy hair. “I
always knew that it wouldn’t do any good to try hiding things from teenagers,” he grinned, before
turning sober and crouching down in front of Harry. Surprised, Harry took a step backwards,
unsure about the odd gesture, but his godfather merely reached out for him and kept him from
retreating further.

“We don’t have much time now, but Dumbledore told me that you blamed yourself for my
death…” he paused for a moment, seemingly just as unsure how to continue as Harry was about
how to respond. “It’s not!” Sirius finally almost exclaimed. “Harry, I know I am not the most
mature, but I am an adult and I am your godfather. I have messed up twice now…”

At that, Harry vehemently shook his head, denying the statement, however, there was a lump in his
throat that made him unable to speak and Sirius was quick to continue anyway. “I have. First
directly after your parents death, when I went after Peter and walked right into his trap. Because of
me you had to grow up with those awful…” he shook his head and trailed off for a moment.

Harry could only watch silently as his godfather visibly fought to compose himself. Finally he
swallowed and continued with a raspy voice, “The second time I messed up was last year. I know
you and I knew your dad, that is why I was certain that keeping you ignorant about about the
situation was stupid and dangerous. I should have just refused Dumbledore, despite how grateful I
am for him believing and helping me after my break out. But I promise you, I have learned from
my mistakes. It’s the least I can do for the one who brought me back from the dead.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How…?”

His godfather just smirked. “I could never be dead long enough to forget your voice. You called
me back, didn’t you?”
Harry just nodded, his heart racing in a mixture of confusion and panic.
Sirius squeezed his hands and got back to his feet. He made a motion to let go of his hands, but this
time it was Harry who held on tight.

He licked his lips nervously, not sure what he even wanted to ask, but he knew he had to say
something. all the while Sirius looked down on him with a serious expression Harry had never seen
on his godfather’s face before.
Finally he settled on, “Aren’t you angry I used dark magic?”

To Harry’s surprise Sirius just snorted. “I come from one of the darkest families in Britain and
believe it or not, I was taught the dark arts extensively until I ran away at 16. I know what dark
 magic feels like and whatever you used, it was not the Dark Arts.”

Harry nodded. “It wasn’t,” he confirmed.

Siurius’ face finally broke into a grin, breaking the tension of the moment. “Now, let’s go. I still
need to reset the wards of Grimmauld Place to clear up the mess with the secret keeper.” With that
his godfather turned around and walked to the fireplace, where he took a small bowl from the
mantle and motioned for Harry to join him.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Concocting Plans
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 16: Concocting Plans

Harry stumbled out into nearly complete darkness. All that illuminated the kitchen of No. 12
Grimmauld Place was the green fire that had erupted when the floo was activated, however, it was
dying already.

He could see the outline of his godfather a few steps in front of him Sirius was grumbling,
muttering someting about ‘stupid tables that stand in the way,’ before finally calling loudly,
“Kreacher!”

There was a long pause but then a pop sounded and Harry could see a small figure bow.
“He is back… why is he back? Kreacher doesn’t know…” Kreacher instantly started babbling.
“Has Mistress Bellatrix not succeeded in killing her traitor of a cousin? What a shame…”

His stomach tightened uncomfortably. Kreacher had always been a topic he had felt very torn over.
On the one hand, the house elf was truly nasty and he had betrayed Sirius.
On the other hand, his life in the Black family probably had been full of pain and horror and Sirius
certainly hadn’t been very nice to Kreacher. There was no love lost between the elf and his
godfather. Kreacher was old and had probably even been raised within the twisted family with their
twisted views; views Sirius did not and would never share.

“Silence!” Sirius snapped, but Kreacher didn’t stop muttering. Honestly, Harry wasn’t even sure if
the elf was aware that he was talking out loud. He had always wondered about it to be honest.

“Yes, I am back as you can see,” Sirius began, straightening to his full height imposingly.
“Things will change around here, Kreacher. I will not have you betray me a second time,” he
growled out. “From now on, you will only speak to people you have permission to speak to. I will
give you a list later. You will also never again repeat a word of what you overhear in this house
and never again will you take any action that leads to harm or death of myself, Harry or the people
on said list. If you ever feel unsure if you are allowed to do or say something and I am not around,
you will ask Harry, he is the heir to this house and family through his grandmother Dorea as well
as blood adoption is that understood?”

“Yes, Master Black,” Kreacher retorted in a voice much more subservient than anything Harry had
ever come from the elf before. He probably would have felt bad if it had been any other elf.

“Now go and light the fire. Once that is done, prepare tea for at least 10 people as well as
sandwiches. If you need groceries, go to the wizarding market and use the Black Signet Ring to
pay. You should still know which booths will sell items to you without asking any questions,”
Sirius sneered, however Harry noticed an eager gleam in Kreacher’s eyes.

Maybe, as cruel as it sounded, all the elf needed was a firmer hand. Kreacher was old and certainly
not as liberally inclined as Dobby, maybe he had wanted a proper Master all along. He knew he
could never voice that thought in front of Hermione, but if he had learned anything from the
lessons on magical beings and creatures at Slytherin Castle, it was that different species had
different needs and they mostly were physically and/or magically anchored. It wasn’t always a
matter of wanting and understanding for them. Creatures and beings still had much stronger
instincts than humans and their magic was connected to those instincts much differently than it was
the case with mages.

“Now,” Sirius sighed and Harry’s musings came to a halt. “I will quickly go upstairs and reset the
wards and send a patronus to Albus. If you want cocoa or anything just call Kreacher.”

Harry nodded and Sirius left the now illuminated room. Sighing, Harry walked over to the old
kitchen table and sat down. Kreacher had gone somewhere, probably grocery shopping after the
house had been uninhabited for 3 months. He wasn’t really sure what to do alone in the dusty, old
kitchen, however, Sirius wasn’t gone long and before Harry could really get bored his godfather
returned.

“So, that’s been taken care of,” the animagus announced, sitting down opposite of him. Behind
him, Kreacher popped back in and began to heat water and prepare the bread he had bought.

Sirius looked around the kitchen darkly for a moment, and then said, “I really hate this house, but
at least I can hand over all duties to you once you turn 17,” he grinned.
Harry frowned, not really wondering about his godfather’s foresight. Hadn’t he wanted children of
his own? That somehow didn’t seem right, considering all his tales about how he played with
Harry when he was little and he certainly couldn’t have known about his imprisonment
beforehand.
“Weren’t you informed about my will?” Sirius asked, making him shake his head.
His godfather scowled. “After you were born, I officially adopted you into the family as my heir,
you should have received this house as well as my vault and the Black family vault and Heirship
after my death.”
Harry just blinked, feeling even more confused. “But I am not related to you. How can I be the heir
to the Black Family?”
“Your grandmother was a Black, Dorea,” Sirius explained with a shrug. “I mentioned her earlier.”
Harry nodded, remembering the name. “Additionally, James and I performed a blood ritual after
your birth that strengthened this familial connection. Not so much physically,” he added when
Harry began to look doubtful. “But every child you sire with the intent of siring an heir for this
house will develop Black traits as if you were a direct son of this house.”

“Isn’t blood magic illegal?” Harry asked, not sure what else to say to the news.”
Sirius nodded. “Mostly it is. However, there are a few rituals, like this one, that are still allowed.
Mainly because it can not be performed against the will of the parents and to keep old lines like the
Blacks from dying out. It works best when the child is somewhat closely related, like you, but it
also works on adopted children, although their magic and appearance would go through a greater
change than you did back then.”

Harry nodded, that sounded logical, both the reason why the blood adoption was still legal as well
as why a non-related child would change more than he did.

A silver plate with the Black family crest appeared between them. Sirius wrinkled his nose at the
sight of it, but reached for a sandwich without a comment anyway.
“I will see if the family’s vault manager will agree to a private meeting at Gringotts so that you can
retrieve the heir ring,” his godfather continued after he had taken a bite. “I hate to say it, but those
rings are useful. They are enchanted with all kinds of protection and even if you can use nothing
else from this bloody family, they were filthy rich. Once on par with the Potters and just a bit
behind the Malfoys, although that might have changed these last few years. Lucius has always
liked investing and I didn’t care much about it before I was imprisoned.”

Reaching for a sandwich himself, Harry nodded. “Won’t we have to wait until the winter holidays
at least?”
Sirius snorted. “You can floo to Gringotts from here and with Voldemort being back, I’d rather you
have the ring sooner than later.”

The fireplace suddenly flared green and their conversation came to a halt.
“By Merlin, it is true!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she stepped through and her eyes landed on
Sirius. “I didn’t dare believe it when Albus’ patronus arrived.” Ron’s mother came rushing over
and pulled Sirius to his feet before enveloping him in a bone-cracking hug.

“It’s alright Molly, I feel fine.”

“Don’t you just say ‘I feel fine’ Sirius Orion Black! You have been dead for over 3 months
before… before…” tears appeared in her eyes and she hastily turned around. Fortunately Arthur
arrived just then.
“Sirius, glad to see you well.” he greeted with a nod and a disbelieving expression, before going
over to his wife and embracing her comfortingly.
The fireplace flared again, and Shacklebolt appeared, followed by Moody and Tonks who looked
as if she just came from a mission. Her hair was mussed and she had a nasty looking scratch down
her cheek.
“Wotcher, Harry, cousin!” She greeted with a tired but wide grin, but before Harry could greet her
back, Remus stepped out behind her. The werewolf’s nose twitched and Harry saw his eyes widen
in a mixture of hope and disbelief before his head whipped around and his eyes landed on Sirius.

His godfather, as if sensing his old friend’s gaze, looked over. A broad grin formed on the
animagus’ face, while Remus stared back clearly disbelievingly, until the former Professor finally
found his voice.
“Padfoot, is that really you?”
Sirius just nodded and Harry saw him swallow heavily, the grin vanishing.

Remus almost seemed tentative, as if he feared he would wake up from a beautiful dream, as he
slowly came over.

“But how…?” he asked, his eyes glistening suspiciously.

Deciding to give the reunited friends some privacy, Harry looked over to the fireplace, which was
flaring green again. Elphias Doge came out, closely followed by two witches Harry didn’t
recognize. Seeing his confused look, the two women exchanged a few words, before coming over.
“Hi, I am Emmeline Vance and this is Hestia Jones,” the stately-looking witch with the green
shawl introduced them with a friendly smile. “It’s good to finally meet you in person, Harry.”
The other witch, Hestia, nodded along. “We already were part of the Order when your parents were
still alive. You were such a cute baby, by the way,” she winked with a grin.”

Flushing in embarrassment, Harry smiled shyly. “Er… thank’s, I guess. And it’s nice to get to
know you as well,” he retorted a bit awkwardly.

They were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley then, who had finally calmed down and spotted Harry.
“Harry, good to see you,” she said with a smile before continuing, “Albus is calling an order
meeting, but if you go upstairs Sirius can find you afterwards.”

Sirius however, was quick to come to his rescue. “Harry will sit in on the meeting, Molly.”
Instantly, Molly’s expression grew stern and Harry was strongly reminded of the arguments she
and his godfather had engaged in in the summer before his fifth year.
“I don’t think so,” she said, her lips pressing together until they formed a stern line that was very
reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. “Harry is still underage and children are not allowed into the
order.”
“Molly,” Remus tried to calm the matriarch down, but Sirius was quicker.
“Your children are not allowed into the order, however Harry is not your son,” his godfather shot
back.
Molly’s eyes flashed. “Neither is he yours,” she huffed. “Godfather or not, you have no legal claim
over him.”

Sirius took a step forward and Harry quickly reached out for him. His godfather didn’t struggle, but
he was still relieved when the fire flared green once again and everybody got distracted.
Dumbledore stepped out in a billow of yellow and blue robes, removing the soot, and noticed the
tension in the room. “What might be the matter?” He asked, his bright, blue eyes flickering from
one order member to the other.

Nobody spoke at first, but then Molly huffed and said, “Sirius has brought Harry and insists he is
staying for the meeting.”
Dumbledore immediately turned around to set disappointing eyes on the animagus. “Sirius, you
know very well…”
“Harry has a right to be here,” Sirius interrupted him, his voice unusually calm once again. “We
have all seen what good keeping secrets from him does. Keeping him oblivious will not protect
him, if anything it will endanger everybody else.”

“Now, Sirius,” Dumbledore spoke up, his voice disapproving. “You would have been perfectly
protected if you stayed in Grimmauld Place.”
“And let my godson fight You-Know-Who alone?” Sirius snorted sarcastically. “I think not.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I will agree to letting him stay this time, however, you will leave him at
school from now on,” he said, making Harry bristle. He had always hated when people talked
about him as if he wasn’t there or too stupid to understand what they were talking about.

“I will not…” Sirius said, but the headmaster held up a hand to silence him. “I will agree that
Molly’s words about your guardianship were a bit harsh and all here wish it would be different.
However, that we do not let underage children join the Order, that is a rule we had from the very
beginning.”
Dumbeldore didn’t say more but he didn’t have to.

Below the kitchen table, Harry balled his fists. He realized that the headmaster was only trying to
protect Sirius, but he still hated how much power Dumbledore had over his godfather. He always
had, but somehow he noticed it even more acutely now. Once again his resolve strengthened to get
Sirius pardoned. He would get to work as soon as he was back at Hogwarts.

Molly huffed, clearly not agreeing, but the gathered order members finally sat down and
Dumbledore called everybody to attention.
“As you all can most likely guess, I have called you here to explain Sirius’ unexpected return.”

“How did the Unspeakables retrieve him?” Tonks piped up, but fell silent when Dumbledore shook
his head with a great expression.
“Unfortunately it was not them,” he sighed. “Sirius awoke earlier this morning together with
Cedric Diggory in the backyard of the Shrieking Shack. When I went to investigate, I found the
remnants of a dark ritual.”

Harry internally sighed as several order members gasped in shock and fear, but stayed silent.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I fear we have to assume that Sirius' return is nothing but the newest
scheme to get to Harry. So far he does not feel controlled, however, there is no doubt that this
resurrection is likely to have forged a link, regardless how dormant it currently seems.”

“Oh no!” Molly exclaimed, her expression growing worried.

“If somebody might be controlling him,” Emmeline said quietly, “Does that mean they have the
secret of the headquarters?”

A grave silence followed that question, as everybody grew aware of the daner they could all
potentially be in at this very moment.

In his chair, Harry forced himself to stay silent, knowing that there was no way he could possibly
reassure them, while his godfather rolled his eyes in apparent exasperation. Sirius could completely
understand his godson’s desire to keep that information quiet as long as possible. The Light would
never be on board with necromancy, no matter the person performing it.

“Is there a chance to free Sirius from this connection?” Remus asked, his amber eyes frightened for
his old friend.
“Maybe,” Dumbledore hummed. “But first I need to find the connection before anything can be
attempted.”
“Can anyone help you locate it? Or help support you in any way? Research, perhaps? the scholarly
man asked.

“I’m afraid not, my boy,” Dumbledore replied, his voice grave as he shook his head. “It would not
be safe for you to be anywhere near the connection with your condition as we don’t know how the
magics would react. No, much safer for everyone involved if I am the one to locate the controlling
thread and dissolve it.”

Remus nodded in understanding as a few of his fellows nodded along with Dumbledore’s words
sagely.

Surprisingly it was Tonks who spoke up next. “If somebody was controlling him and had the
secret, wouldn’t they have already accessed Grimmauld?”

Kingsley looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding in agreement with Tonks’ words. “That
does seem logical,” he said in his slow, soothing way, “And the fact that it hasn’t happened could
be a good sign.”

Harry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Dumbledore shook his head.
“I worry they may be lulling us into a false sense of security,” he cautioned. “I am aware of the
danger, and the most skilled in tracking and removing the source of the dark magic,” he added. “I
see no issue with continuing to use Grimmauld Place, so long as everyone is aware of the risks. We
have no other location even half so well protected. And it may be that I can locate and remove the
threat quickly, thereby disrupting whatever flow of information may be occurring between Sirius
and whoever returned him.” Seeing a few nods, the headmaster then shifted his attention to Snape
who, as usual, was nearly invisible as he tried to blend in with the dark corners of the room.

“I know you were summoned recently, Severus,” he began, ignoring the sneer the dour man was
sending his way, “Any news? Or have any of your other contacts perhaps mentioned something
that could help us?”

“I was called because the valet disappeared,” Snape stated. “The Dark Lord was… less than
pleased. He destroyed his study and tortured several of the lower ranking members for their lack of
progress, though I am certain it was mainly anger over the missing man.”

Harry stiffened, trying to control his reactions to hearing how Voldemort had dealt with his
disappearance. He thought the man wouldn’t care too much about him leaving a couple of days
early, at least, not after the initial anger he had felt that day in Diagon Alley, but it seemed he was
mistaken. Especially considering that his scar had only tingled now and then ever since.

Snape saw the movement and sneered at the teen, thinking he was squeamish at hearing about
torture. “I have already reported to you everything else I know and I have unfortunately not been in
contact with Lucius lately due to Draco’s illness.”

“Until then, we should try to find out as much as possible about Voldemort’s newest plan.”

Nearly the entire table flinched, but as usual the old wizard didn’t even seem to notice the reaction
he was causing. “Those of you who work at the Ministry I would ask to keep you eyes and ears
open and Remus…” Dumbledore let his blue gaze flicker over and the werewolf stiffend, his eyes
seeking Sirius’ desperately. “I believe it would be good if you returned to one of the packs. Maybe
they have heard of Voldemort’s plan.

For a split second Harry believed Remus would refuse, but then he nodded.
“Very good,” Dumbledore hummed, sounding much happier than just minutes ago.

Dumbledore finally rose to his feet and said, “I believe that is all for today. Now that the holidays
are over, I think we should reestablish our weekly meeting.”
Nods and murmurs followed and Tonks asked, “Will it be on Saturdays again?”
“Yes. 2 PM as always,” Dumbledore affirmed, before swapping over to the fireplace and leaving in
a billow of colorful robes and emerald green flames.
Slowly the kitchen emptied. Some lingered behind to speak to Sirius briefly, but soon only Harry,
his godfather and Remus were left in the dingy room. As soon as the fire returned to its usual color,
Remus asked, “What happened?”

The animagus just shrugged. “Being dead is strange… I think I was drifting most of the time…
until I suddenly heard that voice,” his eyes flickered over to Harry shortly, questioningly, and
Harry, following an impulse, shook his head imperceptibly. Not that he didn’t trust Remus, but the
fewer people knew about his inheritance the better. It was a question of safety with the war on their
doorsteps.

“And then there was this jarring sensation… a bit like apparating but much worse… and then I
came to in the Shrieking Shack.

Remus frowned, clearly not satisfied with the account. “That sounds ominous,” he stated.
“Don’t worry, Moony,” Sirius waved him off. “I feel fine,” he said, before turning to face Harry
and winking at him. “Let’s return to Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts? But you will return to Grimmauld once you take Harry back?” Remus questioned.
“Nope, I fear not, Moons,” Sirius sighed overdramatically, turning back to his friend. “Albus wants
to keep an eye on me, just in case. Come on, pup.”

Nodding, Harry followed his godfather to the fireplace. The flames flared green and Sirius
motioned for him to go ahead. His stomach churned unpleasantly as he swirled away, back to
Hogwarts. Fortunately the journey was once again short and after only a few seconds, Harry
stepped out in Sirius’ room.

As expected, Harry found his friends already sitting at the Gryffindor table, loading their plates.
“Hey mate,” Ron greeted him as he slid into a seat across from them. “How is Snuffles?”
Pulling his wand out, Harry cast a quick privacy barrier before he told his friends. “He took me to
an Order meeting.”
Ron nearly choked in surprise. “And mum let you stay?”
Harry grimaced. “Not voluntarily and Dumbledore made it clear that it was a one-time occasion.”
Ron began to scowl. “I hate all this bloody secrecy,” he muttered, while Hermione nodded in
agreement, her face set in a disapproving frown as well.

“Snuffles wasn’t too happy either, but Dumbledore reminded him that he has no legal say about
what I am allowed and what not as long as he is still wanted,” Harry sighed, but then continued
before his friends could stuck to a topic he didn’t want to discuss until he had a solid plan.
“Anyway, they didn’t discuss much we didn’t know already. Dumbledore is sending Remus to the
packs again and those who work in the ministry are to keep their ears open.”

“Didn’t Professor Snape know anything about You-Know-Who’s plan?” Hermione asked, her eyes
flickering nervously up to the head table, before returning quickly.
Harry shook his head. “Unfortunately not. Apparently he was only called once the entire summer
and he didn’t have contact with the Malfoys either.”
Ron huffed. “Of course the greasy git doesn’t know anything. Can’t betray his true friends, can
he?”

Harry honestly couldn’t say. When he had seen Snape in Voldemort's study, the man had been as
unpleasant as ever. There was really no saying which side held his true loyalty. But maybe there
wasn’t even a side he was on. Wouldn’t it be the Slytherin things to keep both options open? He
didn’t voice that however.

“Poor Remus,” Hermione changed the topic slightly with a sigh. “He finally has the last member of
his old pack back, and then he is sent immediately away again.”
Harry hummed in agreement, but carefully didn’t say anything, because if he did, he feared that his
friends would catch on to how annoyed he currently was with the Headmaster.
“Do you really think Voldemort would share his plans with the werewolf packs of all things?” Ron
asked, pulling another chicken’s leg onto his plate.

Harry shook his head, despite the fact that he knew that at least Fenrir and his pack had moved into
Slytherin Castle as guards.
“I can’t imagine that either,” Hermione sighed.

“Great,” Ron huffed. “Remus will be sent away and once again we have no idea what snake-face
is planning aside from trying to kill you, mate.”
Harry just shrugged, even as his mind wandered back to the conversation he had had with
Dumbledore the evening of their arrival at Hogwarts. However, the thought that the Headmaster
actually might have found out how to kill Voldemort still didn’t sit well with him, even though he
knew he needed to stop thinking that way.

They finished dinner in silence before returning to the common room. Hermione dragged them
over to the table where she had spread out all her homework and bullied them into continuing on
their own as well. Harry fortunately had a good head start, because he was too distracted by what
had happened since he had left Slytherin Castle to concentrate on his work.

He needed to get Sirius pardoned and without anybody noticing what he was doing, because
otherwise, Harry just knew Dumbledore would stop him. His eyes flickered over to his friends and
for a second he pondered if he should include them. But after what had happened at the end of the
last term and with how clearly disapproving Dumbledore already was, it would be safer for them
and they wouldn’t have to go against Dumbledore’s expressed wishes or any Hogwarts rules. No,
he wouldn’t include them this time.

With that decision made, all that was to come up with a plan. As he didn’t have Peter, the only
evidence he could send were his memories of the night he had helped his godfather to escape.

Since his occlumency lessons last year, Harry knew that memories could be extracted, bottled and
viewed in a pensieve, that probably would be his best bet to prove Sirius’ innocence. Hopefully the
restricted section in the library would have something about exactly how to do that.

With a plan in mind, Harry tried to focus on his homework for the rest of the evening. He didn’t
manage to finish any essays, but he was able to gather notes in preparation, which would at least
make it easier and less time-consuming tomorrow.

“I am knackered!” Ron finally announced when the common room was all but empty.
“Wait, I will come too,” Harry said, gathering his things and getting up as well.
“I will see you tomorrow,” Hermione hummed, jotting down another note.
“Don’t stay up too long,” Harry told her, mostly because he was planning to sneak out of the tower
as soon as Ron was sound asleep than because he feared his friend couldn’t handle some tiredness.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “I just have two or three sentences left at most.”

Harry and Ron wished her a good night and went up to their dorm room where they changed into
their pajamas before they went about their evening ablutions. Once again their roommates were
already fast asleep by the time they crawled under their comforters.

“Good night mate,” Ron yawned.

“Good night, Ron,” Harry retorted, before rolling onto his bed to wait until the familiar snores
filled the room.

It didn’t take long, not even ten minutes and as soon as Harry was sure his friend wouldn’t wake up
again, he pushed his blanket back, grabbed and pulled the Weasley sweater he had hid at the foot
of his bed over his head, summoned the marauders map and his invisibility cloak and left the dorm.

As he sneaked down the staircase, he pulled the invisibility cloak on, just in case Hermione was
still working in the common room, but she wasn’t. The large room was empty except for the
dancing shadows the dying fire cast upon the walls. The Fat Lady was as displeased as last night to
have her sleep interrupted, but merely huffed before giving up on finding the rule breaker.

As he made his way through the dark castle, Harry continued to check the Marauders map as it was
still rather early. The sixth and fifth floors were completely empty, luckily, but he had to wait for a
couple of minutes until Mrs. Norris had left the fourth floor before he could continue his way
down to the third floor.
The double doors swung open silently and he swiftly slipped inside, before making his way to the
very back where the restricted section was located.He lifted his wand until he could read the titles
on the spines on the books and began searching for the section that held information on the mind
arts.

Fortunately after years of sneaking into the restricted section Harry knew where he didn’t have to
look. He passed the shelves that held obscure potions texts and then the ones on ancient runes and
arithmancy, before he finally found what he had been looking for.

He let his hand trace over the spines, not quite touching. It always helped him to sense which
books didn’t wish to be touched, pulling tomes out along his way. Once he had a stack big enough
that he believed he would find at least something of help in one of them, he sat down at the table
that was furthest away from the door and any windows and opened the first book.

He scanned the table of contents and quickly realized that it was a fairly basic introductional text,
so he changed to the next one, only to realize that he had seen the book before; it was the same
Snape had given him last year to read for his Occlumency lessons. Closing the book quickly, he
pushed it to the side and reached for the third one, where he finally found a chapter with the
promising title “Extraction and Storage of Memories”.

The book was old and just 3 months ago he would have had problems reading it, however, thanks
to Voldemort and Barty he had become more used to older varieties of English. The chapter about
the storage of memories was fortunately short and rather precise.

Extracting memories also seemed much easier than protecting one's mind. One only had to think
about the memory as clearly as possible, lift one’s wand to their temple and allow one’s magic to
‘connect to the memory’ in order to extract it. The book also advised to use unbreakable potions
vials or a pensive for storage as memories were rather fragile once they left the body.

Harry quickly scribbled the instructions for the extraction onto a parchment he had brought along,
before returning the books to their previous spots. He still believed Madam Bones would be the
best person to send his memories to. He hadn’t met the witch personally yet, but Harry knew that
she had a reputation for being unbiased, fair, and incorruptible. However, even with unbreakable
vials, sending Hedwig was out of the question as well as going himself, he would never be able to
enter the Ministry unrecognized and sneaking into the Head of the DMLE’s office under his
invisibility cloak probably wasn’t a good idea either. Besides, the offices were probably highly
warded against intruders.

For now he would concentrate on extracting his memories and maybe looking for some
unbreakable vials in the room of requirement. Thinking of it, he probably could get the letter done
right away, now that he was out of bed anyway.

So once he was sure that the restriction looked just as he had entered it, he left for the seventh floor
where he walked up and down in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy until the door to the
Room of Hidden Things appeared. Candles flickered to life as soon as he entered.

Unfortunately that was about the most helpful thing about this version of the room of requirement.
The room of hidden things was cluttered as ever and Harry sighed. Summoning wasn’t possible
here, he knew that from experience, so he could do nothing but search the muggle way.

With a sigh he began to search through baskets of cluttered items and drawers of forgotten stuff.
He found books, wands, firewhiskey (a lot of firewhiskey actually) forbidden texts on dark arts,
enough old prank-items to scare Umbridge away a second time but no potions vials and soon
realised, that he wouldn’t be able to find anything useful on his own, at least, not as quickly as he
needed to.

With guilt pooling in his stomach, he cast a tempus, before calling, “Dobby?”
The elf didn’t appear as quickly as he usually did and his guilt intensified, his friend probably had
already been asleep. Harry was starting to hope that at least his call hadn’t woken the elf, when a
pop finally announced Dobby’s arrival.

“What can…” Dobby’s words were interrupted by a huge yawn, “...Dobby be doing for great
Master Harry Potter?”
“I am really sorry,” Harry apologised. “I shouldn’t have woken you. I will just… call you
tomorrow.”
Dobby’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Great Master Harry Potter has nothing to bes sorry
about. Dobby should bes apologizing for yawning. But Dobby is being awake now and ready to
help!”

Harry wasn’t quite sure if the latter was right, but seeing Dobby’s eyes flicker over to a nearby
tabletop (a left over from the Malfoy’s demands that their house elves punish themselves), he
quickly said, “I am searching for some unbreakable potions vials. One or two should be enough.”

Dobby nodded and shortly looked around with a small frown. “Potions vials here will probably be
no good for Harry Potter any longer. Charms will have worn off. But Dobby can bring you new
ones. How many is great Harry Potter needing?”

Harry shrugged. Most likely one would be enough, but he wanted to make sure.
“Two, if it’s possible.”
Dobby nodded. “Dobby will put vials in Harry Potter’s night stand. Harry Potter can go to bed
now.”
“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said, but Dobby had already popped away.

Suppressing a yawn of his own, he checked the Marauder’s Map and made his way back to the Fat
Lady.
“You should not be sneaking around so much. You will lose Gryffindor points,” she said, even
though Harry was still invisible, as he gave her the password.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry waved her off, “I’ll be careful.”
The Fat Lady huffed. “That is not what I meant, young man!”
“Just let me in,” Harry frowned tiredly and gave her the password, leaving the portrait no choice
but to swing open.

He climbed through the portrait hole and swiftly crossed the common room. To his relief his dorm
mates were still sound asleep and as he sat down on his bed, he saw that Dobby had already
delivered the two unbreakable potions vials. Picking them up, Harry hid them at the bottom of his
trunk and placed a ward on it, just to be sure, before finally lying down.

With Sirius and Cedric back and a solid plan to free his godfather in process, Harry felt himself
calm down quickly for once. Tomorrow, he decided before he fell asleep, he would speak with
Susan and ask her to send a letter to her aunt. It probably would be best to warn the witch that she
would be ambushed by a house elf soon.

___________________________________________________

Harry regretted his two late nights the moment his wand began to vibrate the next morning.
Groaning, he rolled onto his side, reached for his wand and flicked it before letting his arm fall
back onto his mattress with a groan.

“You alright, mate?” Ron’s voice drifted over and he forced himself to sit up.
“Yeah,” he yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes.
His friend threw him a doubtful look. “You look like shit. Another nightmare?”
“No,” Harry denied, knowing that if he worried his friends even more, they wouldn’t let him out of
their sight for at least a week and he didn’t need that right now. “Just restless. You know those
nights, when you are really tired, but keep tossing and turning?”
Ron gave him a strange look. “Not really. I always sleep well.”
Harry snorted. Of course the redhead wouldn’t ever have had a single bad night, he should have
known as much, considering how difficult it was to wake Ron.

Pushing his duvet to the side, Harry finally got up, grabbed his toiletry bag and a clean uniform
and left for the showers. He knew he had to hurry by now, however, the warm water of the shower
was almost enough to lull him back to sleep.

It didn’t really surprise him that when he finally reemerged, he found Ron as well as Hermione
already gone, so he just made his way down to their Charms classroom.
To his surprise his friends were already waiting for him, with napkin-wrapped sandwiches in their
hands.
“Here mate,” Ron said, pressing one package into his hand. It was the typical scrambled eggs and
bacon on toast Ron prepared for himself whenever they were running late. Harry always found the
soggy sandwich a bit odd, but was just grateful that he wouldn’t have to go hungry on top of his
tiredness.
“Thanks, mate,” Harry said and took a bite, just as Malfoy’s drawling voice sounded from around
the corner.

“The healer said I am not to exhaust myself magically yet,” he drawled. “Fortunately I have been
practicing wordless magic for over a year by now and can afford to relax a little. I was supposed to
start with wandless magic as well, alas, I will have to postpone that to the winter holidays.”

Ron’s expression darkened. “I hate that pompous prat,” he muttered. “I bet he is just milking
whatever little cold his pampered body couldn’t handle. I have never heard of an illness that
prevents you from using your magic.”
“Probably,” Hermione agreed, fortunately too distracted to see Harry’s wince. “The only reason for
such a restriction I know of is magical exhaustion, but that is usually not caused by an illness.
Damage to one's core might also require such care, however, dark curses are usually the cause in
such cases.”

“You think he is milking it, too, right, mate?” Ron asked, turning with a frown to Harry, probably
because he usually wasn’t so silent when Malfoy and his antics were involved.
“Yeah,” he retorted, hoping that he just sounded tired and not unconvinced. Unfortunately Malfoy
probably was telling the truth for once. The sight of the proud and arrogant git lying unconscious
and even paler than usual between crisp white sheets wouldn’t be leaving his mind any time soon.

To his relief the classroom door swung open then and his friends’ conversation came to an end as
they filled in with the rest of the students. Ron grabbed his arm as soon as they were inside and
dragged him over to a seat in the second row.
“You need to help me mate,” he declared, “I think I am doing something wrong with this non-
verbal casting, but you managed it yesterday, right?”
“Um…” Harry fumbled, a bit surprised, “don’t you think Hermione is better at explaining than I
am?”
Ron just made a pained face. “I am sure she knows at least three times as much theory as you,” he
said, “but you have a way of explaining that even I can understand the stuff. That’s why the D.A.
was so popular. Even Neville improved and nobody thought that was possible.”

“If you are sure,” Harry gave in, feeling a little flattered.
Next to him Hermione just huffed but went to sit down next to Neville, who looked horrified for a
second, before masking his expression quickly.
Flitwick called them to silence them and began the lesson.
“Today we will continue right where we left off yesterday. I know non-verbal casting can be
challenging,” the little professor squeaked when a chorus of groans met his announcement, “but so
far every NEWT student has been able to learn non-verbal casting and none of you will be the first
to break this record.”

To his right, Neville’s face had gained a sickly pale color and Harry just knew what horrible
fantasy his friend’s brain was constructing. He really needed to speak to Neville soon. Maybe there
was a way to break the binding and just re-cast it before he returned to his grandmother next
summer?

The tables and chairs were once again sent to one corner and everybody paired up.
“Now, how do you do it?” Ron asked and Harry forced himself to tune out the lecture Hermione
was already giving Neville just a few steps away from them.

“Well um…” Harry began intelligently, searching for an explanation that didn’t consist of weeks of
meditation practice. “You need to feel your magic.”
“Feel my magic?” Ron echoed, sounding as if Harry had suddenly turned into Trelawney and had
begun to lament about opening the inner eye. “Yeah. Try to sense your core. Once you can do that,
you can control how much magic you use for a spell. The spell is like a conduit in addition to your
wand, so to make up for it you need more magic to cast the spell,” he tried to explain.
“Does that mean for wandless magic I would need even more?” Ron asked.
Harry just shrugged. “Most likely.”
His friend groaned. “Great. I am so doomed. So, how do I sense my core?”

Flicking his wand, Harry conjured two pillows and motioned for his friend to sit down.
“Try to concentrate on your body. How it feels.”
“That doesn’t sound really helpful, mate,” Ron muttered but did as told.

“I hope you are practicing, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley!” Flitwick called over with a sceptical look
on his face.
“Of course!” Harry shouted back, however, it didn’t seem to convince their professor.
“Then I expect results next week!” he told them sternly, before hopping from his stack of books to
help other students.

Harry concentrated back on Ron and suppressed a yawn. This exercise was not really conducive to
staying awake after a short night.
“What exactly am I looking for?” Ron suddenly asked, cracking one eye open in question.
“For me it's like a pulsing. Like a second heartbeat,” Harry said.
“How’m I supposed to distinguish it from my actual heartbeat?”
Not wishing to use platitudes like “You will know it once you feel it,” Harry just shrugged again.
Ron muttered something under his breath but closed his eyes again and Harry watched as his friend
finally relaxed into the meditation and his breathing slowed. At least, that was what Harry hoped
was happening because with Ron it was just as likely that the redhead fell asleep in the middle of
their lesson.

To kill some time, Harry watched the attempts of his classmates, which ranged from passable to
catastrophic, however, he was well aware that he would have been struggling just like them if it
hadn’t been for his lessons that summer, which once again reminded him that he really needed to
think less about Voldemort and what a good teacher the maniac wizard had been. Anyway, the
point was that he really shouldn’t throw stones.

Hermione at least had stopped lecturing Neville and was now trying to disarm him herself which
she of course managed after only a handful tries.

Finally Flitwick returned the classroom to its previous state and told them to return to their seats.
“Remember that your essay on non-verbal casting is due on Monday,” the Professor reminded them
before concluding the class.

“What was that you and Ron were doing?” Hermione asked as soon as they were out of the
classroom.
“I was trying to sense my magic,” Ron told her with a sheepish grin.
“Did it work?” Hermione asked back, looking about as convinced as Ron had done earlier.
“Not yet, but I am sure that is just my lack of sensitivity rather than Harry’s fault,” their friend
retorted with a shrug.
“Then let’s hope that you will be able to overcome your deficiencies. It might help you with
witches as well,” Hermione huffed.
Ron instantly brightened. “Do you think so? Because there is this witch...” he grinned with a
glance towards Hermione, who unfortunately proved to be not the least bit more sensitive than Ron
himself.
“I am sure Lavender doesn’t require any tactfulness on your part,” she huffed, before stomping
ahead, making Ron and Harry wince.

“I had hoped that would work better,” the redhead moaned.

“Maybe just ask her to have a butterbeer with you in the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade
weekend?” Harry suggested. “I can make myself scarce.”
“You wouldn’t feel left out?” Ron asked, sounding surprised.
Harry snorted. “Not as much as I would if I had to watch you two flirt.”
“That does sound more awkward,” Ron agreed, before falling silent, a look of contemplation on his
face.
Harry truly hoped that his friend was making plans, because watching his friends dance around
each other and become jealous every other month was getting old after almost two years.
Finally Ron came to a halt on the landing between the third and second floor. “We have a free
period now while Mione has Arithmancy, right?”
“I think so,” Harry said, pulling out his folded time table from his bag and checking it quickly.
“I hate to say it, but I really need to get that Potions essay done,” Ron sighed.
“Then let’s head for the library. I need to do the Transfiguration essay still,” Harry agreed,
beginning to walk again.
The library was blessedly empty at this hour and they took their usual table in the back.
Glad that he hadn’t re-packed his school bag the evening prior, Harry got his Transfiguration
textbook out and opened it to the chapter on human transfigurations.
It read a lot like a warning notice not to try to transform completely into an animal. This first
chapter, Harry realised quickly, had only been about a third of the first chapter in Voldemort’s old
textbook, which then had gone straight on with the theory on human transfiguration.
Sighing inwardly, Harry began his essay about the dangers human transfiguration could pose,
which mainly could be summarised to ‘Don’t transfigure yourself into anything that isn’t capable
of human thinking any longer or you won’t be able to change back on your own and end up
permanently stuck if nobody finds out’. Not a fish or cat, no worm or frog, and definitively nothing
like a stone (the latter point made Harry wonder who would ever try to transfigure himself into a
stone, however he guessed someone must have tried for the book to mention it so explicitly).
“I really don’t get why the Sopophorus bean-juice needs to be added after the sloth brain,” Ron
interrupted his board scribbling suddenly.
Blinking, Harry surfaced from the translike state he had fallen into and looked up. “The sloth brain
makes sure that the memory-deleting properties of the Sopophorous bean are neutralised. It
wouldn’t really be good if a patient wakes cured but without any idea who they are.”
“Huh, that makes sense,” Ron mused before scribbling down what he had just said.
Harry’s attention was diverted when low voices reached his ears. A moment later a group of
Hufflepuffs turned into their aisle and Harry could have cheered when he spotted Susan among
them.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” he told his friend and swiftly got up. Now was as good a chance as any,
especially considering that all students had been members of the DA as far as he could tell from
this distance.
Their conversation stopped as he came nearer and Hannah noticed him.
“Hey, Harry. Can we somehow help you? Or is this about the DA?” She asked.
“Yeah,” Justin piped up, “I heard you were thinking about continuing it this year.”
Harry quickly shook his head and sighed inwardly. Why was everybody pestering him about the
DA?
“Actually neither,” he admitted, before turning to Susan. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”
Immediately Hannah began to giggle and pushed her friend into his direction. Susan luckily didn’t
look as if she believed Harry was about to ask her out on a date and simply nodded.
Harry inwardly winced anyway as they turned into the next aisle. He quickly cast a privacy barrier
before turning to the girl.
“So, how can I help you, Harry? I don’t think this is about a date,” she smiled with a somewhat
embarrassed glance towards her friend who was watching them closely.
“As nice as you are, no, it isn’t,” Harry grinned back, before coming to the point. “Listen, I was
hoping you could write to your aunt for me,” he began and quickly continued when a look of
surprise crossed Susan’s face.
“A friend of mine is in trouble and the Ministry is actually considering to issue an order that he can
be kissed on sight,” he explained, bending the truth slightly. “I have proof that he is innocent, but
there are people who want to see him dead… or well, at least unable to do anything politically at
least.”
Susan’s eyes widened, but she continued listening.
“I am planning to send Dobby with my evidence a few days from now, but I think it would be
better if she knew it was coming.”
Susan nodded. “That might be wise,” she agreed, before asking, “Can you tell me who it is?”
Harry hesitated. “I better not, but when it comes to a fair trial, I hope it will be in the Prophet soon.
I would also ask you to not tell her who exactly will be sending this evidence. I have gotten clear
instructions to not help him…” he added, trailing off.
“This sounds really bad, but with the political climate as strained as it is currently, I can understand
that you wish to be careful,” Susan said softly. “I have History next, but I will send a letter before
dinner.”
Harry nodded gratefully. “How long should I wait until I send Dobby?”
Susan hesitated for a moment. “If you wait until Friday, she always finishes work early and meets
with a friend at the Golden Quill for lunch.”
Harry nodded again. that would give him three days, which should be enough to learn how to
correctly extract a memory. “Thanks, I owe you one,” he told her earnestly, but Susan waved him
off.
“Don’t mention it. You’re always helping others, it’s about time somebody did something for you
for a change,” she said, before canceling the privacy barrier.
Not knowing how to respond, Harry watched as Hannah pounced on her friend as soon as she
rejoined her friend, while Justin just rolled his eyes and mouthed something that looked
suspiciously like ‘girls’ in his direction.
Harry grinned back, before returning to the table where Ron was still writing his potions essay.
“At least Ginny is finally over you,” Ron commented as he sat back down, making him groan.
“I didn’t ask her on a date or anything,” he told his friend, who once again didn’t look convinced.
“Sure, and I don’t totally have the hots for ‘Mione.”
Harry didn’t comment, knowing it would be futile anyway and Ron believing he had a date was
better than his friends starting to ask questions.
“What did you want from them then?” Hermione asked, not letting herself be distracted so easily.
“I just had a question about Charms,” Harry lied, bit winced a second later when he realized what a
weak excuse that was.
“About Charms?” Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “And I guess you couldn’t possibly just ask me? It
must have been a difficult question considering how long you were gone.”

Knowing that he was only digging himself in more, but equally not wanting to tell his friends about
the real reason he had talked to Susan, Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t, but then Hannah and
Justin asked about the DA…”
Too late he realized that mentioning the DA was a mistake.

“I really think you should think about continuing the DA again,” Hermione said. She put her quill
down and looked at him seriously. “We are halfway through the first week of school and still no
mention of a new DADA professor.”
Next to her Ron rolled his eyes. “Half a week hardly is that long,” he commented. “But she has a
point, mate,” he added to Harry’s dismay. “Everybody loved the DA and you were a bloody
brilliant teacher. Better than any of our professors, I swear.”

“I can’t have been better than Remus,” Harry shook his head, “and Crouch Jr wasn’t bad either… if
you leave out the fact that he was a Death Eater,” he added the last bit hastily.
Ron just snorted. “You are not wrong there, as much as I hate to admit it. Still, the DA was
popular, a good chance to meet friends from other houses and spend time with them.”

Realizing that he wouldn’t get out of reviving the DA if he didn’t speak clearly, Harry rubbed the
bridge of his nose and said, “Listen, I am trying for 6 NEWTS,” at that, he turned to look at
Hermione, even though he knew his tactic was a bit underhanded. “You at least should understand
that I will need all my time for that. Besides, I can hardly tell McGonagall to pick another quidditch
captain and then go and spend my time leading some underground club.”
Hermione nodded. “It wouldn’t have to be a secret club anymore, but you are right; 6 NEWTS will
be a lot of work.”
“Wait! No!” Ron exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you are supporting him now too, Mione?”
The bushy haired witch sighed. “Actually, now that Harry has explained his reasoning, I do. It’s
very mature.”

Huffing, Ron returned to his still only halfway finished potions essay and Harry took the chance to
quickly pen his conclusion for McGonagall's homework. With that done, he had nothing left to do
in preparation for his classes. Hesitating a moment, Harry pondered if he could risk getting his
notes on memory extraction out. With Hermione the answer would have been a clear no, however,
Ron generally was much less attentive to anything that consisted of books and notes.
In the end he bent down and pulled the slightly dented scroll out, mainly because he still had 30
 minutes of his free period and then another afterwards where the single period of Defense would be
once Dumbledore found a professor where he would probably get more homework. Feeling already
tired at the thought of the workload he had loaded onto his shoulders, Harry resigned himself to a
busy day and a late night.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 Jitters
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 17, Jitters

The next handful of days had for once passed without any form of incident. Harry had gone to
class, done his homework, talked with his Head of House about getting copies of ‘Advanced
Potions Making’ so that he and Ron could attend Potions properly, however he doubted that it
would make a difference, considering that he had gotten another T for a perfectly fine potion as
well as a P for his homework, which, Snape proclaimed, must have been copied from Hermione
despite the fact that it was nothing like hers. He had also visited with Sirius nearly daily.

It felt a little surreal considering he knew what kind of shock would soon break out over the
wizarding world when they would learn about his godfather’s unfair treatment as well as the
backlash he would probably experience from going behind Dumbledore’s back against his
expressed wishes. His method of coping had been to simply not think about it and so far it had
worked.

Right now Harry was lying in his bed, pondering if he should get back up and read something. His
scar was twinging unpleasantly and he feared that he might be sucked into a vision. He could only
imagine how agonizing that would be currently. Hadn’t he thought just yesterday that it hadn’t
been too bad lately? However currently Voldemort was clearly brassed off about something. He
didn’t think it was his own disappearance, despite what Snape had said, surely he hadn’t been
important enough for the man to still be angry even after their contract was over. The fact that
Harry hadn’t answered his offer of apprenticeship probably didn’t help, but surely it wasn’t that big
of a deal. He was almost tempted to write his nemesis a letter with the request to bloody calm
down, however, that would be truly stupid.

His restless pondering was interrupted when a heavy body suddenly jumped onto his bed, pinning
him down. Instinctively, Harry summoned his wand, a curse already on his lips, when a long,
slobbery tongue licked him through the face. A very familiar sloppy tongue. So instead of a curse
he flicked his wand to cast a strong silencing and privacy barrier before he hissed, “Padfoot!”

His godfather sat back on his haunches, which unfortunately drove his fury behind directly into his
stomach and transformed back. Harry groaned as the weight on his midsection increased.

“I hope you have a good reason for jumping on me in the middle of the night,” he glared.
A grin more excited than anything Harry had seen on Sirius' face in the two years he had known
him split his face and Harry suddenly knew what news his godfather had.
“A letter just arrived. Harry, I am getting a trial!” he exclaimed, bouncing excitedly. “A real, fair
trial!”
Harry couldn’t suppress the groan and shoved at his godfather’s chest. “That’s great! But please,
Siri, get off my stomach!”
His godfather blinked and then quickly scrambled off of Harry.
“Sorry pup. But I get a trial!”

Harry’s face finally broke into a grin as well and he leaned forwards to hug his godfather.
“That’s awesome! When will the trial be?”
“In a week. They are really hurrying! It’s…. It’s…” Sirius broke off and in the pale moonlight
Harry could see his godfather suddenly blink rapidly. Harry swallowed, knowing what this news
must mean to him and simply waited.

“I honestly didn’t think that this day would ever come,” Sirius finally said, voice rough. “I don’t
even know how it happened, not after that talk with Albus. But they wrote they have evidence that
suggest that a grievous error must have occured. I think… I think they will really listen to me!”
Hugging his godfather again, Harry whispered, “I am glad. You deserve this chance!”
Sirius nodded wordlessly and hugged him back.

They sat like that for a long time, just silently embracing each other and drawing strength, until
Harry’s legs began to cramp in the awkward position and he had to pull away.
“You want to sleep here?” he asked, patting the bed next to him. It probably wasn’t the wisest idea,
but somehow he really didn’t want Sirius to leave. He could see how nervous his godfather was,
there was a fear barely kept at bay in the back of his eyes. Harry knew all too well how it felt to
desperately wish for some support, even if it only meant that somebody stayed by your side.

“I will set my wand to wake us early enough that you can leave before anybody else wakes up.”
Sirius nodded, “If you don’t mind, pup.”
Harry shook his head and his godfather transformed back into Padfoot before curling up next to
him.

Yawning, Harry set his wand, lay back down and turned onto his side. Sirius shifted a little until he
lay pressed against Harry’s chest, his fury body like a big, warm teddy bear and within minutes he
was asleep.

The buzzing of his wand woke him far too soon. It felt as if only minutes had passed instead of
hours. Yawning, Harry sat up and shook his godfather awake. Or at least tried to. Sirius whined
and turned onto his back, exposing his fury belly as well as parts Harry really didn’t want to see.

“Come on, Padfoot, you need to get up before one of my roommates sees you and I need to get
ready for classes.”
His godfather finally seemed to register what he was saying, because he blinked his pale blue eyes
open and turned over onto his side.
“You want me to let you out?” Harry asked, getting to his feet.
Sirius whined again, but hopped from his bed and followed him down to the portrait hole.
“I will visit you once classes are over,” he promised and watched how his godfather trotted tiredly
down the corridor.

Once the Fat Lady had swung close again, Harry returned to his dorn and collected his toiletry bag
and went to the showers. Waking Sirius had not taken as long as he had feared, which resulted in
him being ready much earlier than usual. Fortunately Hermione always was as well and joined him
down in the common room.

“Oh Harry, don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep again?” Hermione began as soon as she saw him
sitting in front of the fire. “Maybe you should go and speak with Madame Pomfrey…”
For a split second Harry considered telling her about Sirius’ nighttime visit, but then thought better
of it. His friend surely would start to ask questions, questions he probably would be able to answer
but didn’t wish to. Sometimes Hermione was just too rule-abiding, as the incident with the Firebolt
had shown and after what Dumbledore had said to him and Sirius, he didn’t want for the
headmaster to find out what he had done.

“I slept fine. Just Neville’s snoring grew especially ear-piercing in the early hours of the morning,”
he therefore instead lied.
Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, Neville’s snores were infamous in Gryffindor Tower.
“Then let’s wait for Ron,” she said and took the armchair across from him.

To their combined surprise Ron showed up only half an hour later, which for once left them plenty
of time to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron immediately began to pile eggs onto his
plate, but Harry was distracted, wondering if they would get letters from the Ministry this morning,
after all, he had implied that he and his friends could confirm the truth of those memories together
with some other people. He tried to not act too suspicious and forced himself to at least nibble on a
blueberry muffin.

“What do we have first?” Ron asked, reaching for another helping of bakon.
“Potions,” Hermione said. “I hope you have read the next chapter in preparation?”
“You were sitting right next to me when I read the bloody chapter,” Ron muttered. “Not that it will
do Harry or myself any good.”

For once Hermione didn’t comment; even she was having difficulty finding reasonable excuses for
their Professor’s behavior, not that there were any. By now however, Harry wasn’t bothered much
any longer. He had started keeping a sample of each potion he brewed as well as copying all his
essays before he turned them in. Once Sirius was declared innocent, he would talk with his
godfather about the matter. Regardless if he would become an auror in the end or not, he had
studied hard this summer and improved and he didn’t want to fail because of a personal grudge.
His thoughts came to a halt when the sound of hundreds of wings suddenly filled the Great Hall.
Immediately he glanced up, searching for a group of owls heading their way and indeed, he spotted
what he was looking for only a moment later.

They circled shortly over their heads, before dropping three heavy envelopes down onto their
plates.
“Great,” muttered Ron, pulling his letter from his portion of scrambled eggs and cleaning it with a
flick of his wand.
Hermione meanwhile, was examining her own letter with a frown. “The Ministry,” she stated, “I
wonder what they could want from us.”
“What?” Ron exclaimed, pailing dramatically. “Do you think it’s because of our… you know,
excursion?”
Harry shook his head quickly, wanting to calm his friend down. He knew Ron always worried
about adding to his parents financial problems. “I don’t think so,” he said calmly, picking up his
own letter. “If it were because of that, they would have contacted us earlier. It has been three
months since then.”

Hermione nodded, breaking the seal. “Harry is right. Let’s just see what…” she trailed off and then
gasped.
“What?” Ron asked impassionedly, watching as her eyes quickly scanned the missive.
Hermione quickly pulled out her wand and cast a quick privacy spell before she whispered, “They
want to give Sirius a fair trial! We are requested to come as witnesses. They say somebody has
stated we might have information of importance to his case!”
“What?” Ron exclaimed, ripping his own letter open before reading it as well. Finally he placed it
back down and said, “But how? Did Dumbledore...?”

It cost all of Harry’s willpower to not comment. To distract himself, he finally opened and read his
own letter.

Mr. Harry Potter,

You are hereby summoned to attend court on 16 September 1996 at 9AM at the Ministry of Magic,
London, England, Courtroom 10, in regards to the matter of Ministry of Magic Wizengamot vs.
Sirius Black. You have been called as a witness to give testimony, owing to indications you may
have been involved with the Azkaban escapee and may have important information regarding his
case.

Due to your status as a minor, this parchment has been enchanted as a portkey which will deliver
you to the Ministry of Magic half an hour prior to the trial’s commencement. You must take the
portkey from your Head of House’s office for supervisory purposes, so please be there prior to the
portkey’s activation.

Failure to appear as summoned without just cause will place you in contempt of court and a
warrant will be issued for your arrest.

Amelia Bones
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
“It’s in a week,” he said, unsurprised, thanks to Sirius’ late-night visit, by how quickly Amelia
Bones was moving.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Ron asked worriedly.
Hermione hesitated, then finally she said, “I don’t think so. See here? They say it will take place in
the main courtroom with the full Wizengamot. Something like that can’t beswept under the rug. I
just would like to know where this is coming from. It’s rather mysterious, isn’t it?”

Seeing his friends glance at him, Harry shrugged. “I’m just glad he’s finally getting the chance he
deserves.”
“True,” Ron agreed, before checking his watch and groaning. “We need to go if we don’t want to
give Snape an excuse to dock even more points from us. At least we got our books in time,” he
grimaced.
Sighing, Harry pocketed his letter and picked his rucksack up.

They made their way deep into the bowels of the castle. The Slytherins, as usual, were already
waiting in front of the closed classroom door.
“Yes, I am finally starting to feel better,” Malfoy was just drawling. “However, my family’s
personal healer still recommended that I take it easy for at least another week, just to be sure.
Dragon Pox isn’t something to joke about after all.”

“If Dragon Pox were still such a nasty disease today,” Ron groused, “We would already be rid of
him. Stupid poncey git!”
“Yeah, he is getting annoying,” Harry agreed, mainly because his friends would soon be getting
suspicious about his lackluster reactions and lack of annoyance. He was annoyed, but he also knew
that Draco Malfoy had truly been life-threateningly injured, and it had been his fault.

Fortunately Snape was a punctual one and before Ron could say something more, the door next to
the was slammed open and their professor barked, “Get inside!”
“Would you sit next to Hermione today?” Harry asked. “I don’t think so but maybe if I don’t sit
directly next to her I will finally succeed in handing a potion in.”
“Sure mate,” Ron shrugged, grabbing his bag and walking over to the table Harry usually
occupied.

Finally when everybody was seated Snape moved to the front of the class and began the lecture.
“Today we will brew a potion that can be both salvation as well as curse. The Dreamless Sleep
Potion. Can anybody tell me why it can potentially be so dangerous?”
Immediately Hermione’s hand shot into the air, but of course Snape had other plans.

“Mr. Potter. With how loudly you proclaim you have not been cheating these past lessons, surely
you can tell me the dangers of this potion?”
Sighing inwardly, Harry quickly searched for Voldemort’s lecture on the Dreamless Sleep in his
mind.
“The Dreamless Sleep potion is given to patients after severe injury to give the body time to heal as
well as people with psychological problems to give them the chance to recuperate…”
“Surprisingly accurate but not what I asked you,” Snape sneered.
Harry glared back and just continued. “Well, especially in the latter case the patients are in danger
of becoming psychologically as well as physically addicted.”
Snape’s sneer deepened. “And what ingredients cause this addiction?”

“The seeds of the purple poppies. It’s a strong narcotic and as with all narcotics, they are
addictive,” Harry simply answered, knowing that he was angering Snape even further by correctly
answering his questions.
“Correct. One point to Gryffindor,” he sneered.
Ron scoffed and of course the immediate reaction was, “And that will be ten points from
Gryffindor for questioning a Professor, Mr Weasley. I advise you to keep your mouth shut unless
you want your house in the negatives by the end of this class.”

Ron glared, but shut up and Snape began to explain the complicated brewing progress. Harry
already paid special attention to the potion while at Slytherin Castle, mainly in case his nightmares
would return, however, so far he hadn’t actually dared to brew a batch, mainly because of the
addictive quality he had just described.

Despite the fact that he believed he would be able to brew the potion in his sleep, he noted every
diversion from the original recipe down carefully at the side of his brand new textbook.

“Begin!” Snape finally barked and Harry rose to his feet. “If you get my cauldron, I will help
Hermione collect the ingredients,” he offered Ron, who nodded in agreement.

“So, we need Camomile, lavender, poppy seeds, honey water, sopophorous bean, sloth brain and
nightingale tongues,” he listed.
Next to him, Hermione nodded. “I am really impressed how much you have studied this summer,”
she said.
“Well, I thought I could at least use the weeks I was stuck in my bedroom productively,” Harry
shrugged, avoiding her gaze by starting to search for the dried camomile.
“I hate it that Snape doesn’t acknowledge your improvement. But when Snuffles is declared
innocent, maybe he can help you,” his friend mused out loud.
Harry nodded, reaching for the jar with the dried flowers. “Yeah, I already thought the same. I
have kept my samples, they should last for at least six more weeks without spoiling,” Harry told
her. “I will get the mark I deserve, I haven't studied this stupid subject so hard to fail becasue of our
Professor’s stupid vendetta.”

“Hear, hear!” a voice suddenly drawled behind them and Harry quickly turned around.
Draco Malfoy was leaning casually against the doorframe of the store room, a wicked smirk on his
lips. “Lucky Professor Snape wasn't close enough to hear you, Potty. Perhaps someone should
make him aware of your deprecations of his character, hmmm? Clearly for one so skilled," he
rolled his eyes on that point, "you have no need of his wise instruction. Or perhaps you're just too
stupid to understand the consequences."

Harry flinched at the emphasis the blond placed on the word consequences. Of course Draco didn't
know Harry was Voldemort’s valet and thus the reason for his near-death, but Harry himself was
very aware of the consequences which could have befallen the blonde for his lack of research and
actions. But the teen steadied himself quickly and pinned the prat with a sharp stare, not wishing
for Hermione to wonder why he wasn't rising to Malfoy's bait.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, not in the mood for this childish bickering when
potion was barely bearable anyway.
“Why would I want anything from you, Potter? I am just here to collect my ingredients,” the blond
smirked mockingly.

“Then don’t let us keep you,” Hermione said diplomatically, stepping to the side before she began
to help Harry gather what they needed quickly.
For a split second Harry thought the boy would continue to annoy them, but then Malfoy pushed
away from the doorway and sauntered over to start collecting his ingredients as well.

Seeing that Hermione was trying to hurry, Harry quickly helped her before Malfoy could start
again. They managed to leave before that happened though and returned to their tables where they
began to split the ingredients into three.

Harry quickly shielded his work space and immediately began to prepare the honey water which
formed the base of the potion. He measured 4 cups of distilled water and slowly heated it just warm
enough that the honey would melt so that the delicate properties of the honey wouldn’t get
destroyed, before adding 2 teaspoons of dark honey.

As soon as all the honey had melted, he placed the lavender and camomile which he had bound
into a small bouquet previously with the flower head first inside and set his wand for exactly 5
minutes.

While the camomile and lavender was steeping, Harry began to carefully slice the nightingale
tongues, chopped the sloth brain and crushed exactly one tablespoon of poppy seeds.

As soon as his wand vibrated he threw the sopophorous bean into the gently steaming potion base,
raised the temperature slightly and grabbed the stems of the flower bouquet to begin stirring the
mixture for three more minutes.

When the potion began to simmer and the steam turned a swirling mix of yellow and lilac, Harry
exchanged the flowers for his stirring rod and began to carefully stir in the chopped sloth brain.

Next to him Ron was once again sweating and hurriedly dycing his nightingale tongues. Wincing,
Harry quickly looked away when he saw the uneven mess his friend was producing and instead
concentrated back on his own brew. Once the sloth brain had fully disintegrated in the warm
mixture he changed the direction of his stirring and began to carefully add one slice of nightingale
tongue after the other.

It was the step that took the longest, however, the clock above the blackboard told him that he still
had enough time left even without hurrying. His potion turned a clear purple, just a shade darker
than the lavender had been and Harry quickly removed the sopophorous bean which had wrinkled
up like a raisin, just as the recipe had said.

Turning the heat off, he let it cool and stabilize for five minutes before carefully ladling the potion
into his vials. The potion could be kept for up to 6 months and while he hoped he wouldn’t need it,
it was too difficult a potion to come by to just throw a perfectly fine batch away.

One vial he labeled carefully, before reluctantly making his way to the front. He didn’t hold out
much hope, however, he would not stop trying to hand his work in.
“If you don’t stop cheating, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled, barely glancing at his potion, “You will
not be allowed to return to this class after the first trimester.” He waved Harry away, noting down a
big T next to Harry’s name on a list. “And 50 more points from Gryffindor. That makes how many
in total by now? I believe not even a quidditch victory will be able to save Gryffindor at this point.”

Balling his fists, Harry didn’t reply and simply turned on his heels.
“He is a bastard,” Ron growled when he returned with his vial still in hand.
“Let’s just leave quickly,” Hermione said, grabbing her and Ron’s sample to bring it to the front.

Nodding, Harry quickly cleared his table and packed his bag. Once Hermione returned they left
quickly for the library to spend their free period.
“We need to talk to Professor McGonagall soon,” Hermione suddenly said offhandedly.
“Why?” Ron asked, giving her a confused look.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “To inform her of our absence on the 16th of course.”
“Of course,” Ron echoed, before stopping. “Should we try and see if she is in her office right now?
Maybe we will be lucky.”
Hermione checked her watch and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that. I believe she actually has a free
period right now.”

Knowing that Hermione’s ‘believing’ usually translated to ‘knowing’ Harry and Ron followed her
up to the first floor and knocked on their Head of House’s office door. It took a second but then
McGonagall’s stern voice called them inside.

Harry and Ron let Hermione take the lead.

“Good morning, Professor,” she greeted their Head of House, coming to a halt in front of the
Professor’s broad desk.
“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, to what do I own this unexpected pleasure? Have your
potions textbooks not arrived yet?”

“They arrived yesterday, just in time for today's lesson,” Harry answered.
“What can I do for you then?” McGonagall asked, frowning.
“We have received a summon from the Ministry for the 16th of September. They have included
two-way portkeys, so we will be able to travel alone,” Hermione said.
McGonagall frowned and placed the quill she had still been holding down. “A summons from the
Ministry?”
Hermione nodded. “We have been asked to attend as witnesses, Snuffles is finally getting a trial.”

Their Head of House’s gaze sharpened and her eyes briefly flickered over to Harry, who did his
best to look innocent. Finally she nodded and said, “I must say it is a relief. This injustice has gone
on for long enough. Whoever has brought his case to the Wizengarmont’s attention certainly has
my respect.” She didn’t look at Harry as she said that, for which he was grateful. It didn’t really
come as a surprise that McGonagall had put one and one together, after all she had the only other
person beside Harry himself who had been present when he had tried to speak to Dumbledore
about finally getting Sirius proven innocent.

“That said,” she continued, “I will inform your Professors that you are excused that day. It’s a
Monday, correct?”
Hermione nodded. “Next Monday, in one week exactly.”
“Good, good,” McGonagall nodded, making a note on a slip of parchment. “Well, if that is all, I
suggest you use your free period to get a headstart on your homework.”
Hermione nodded. “We will. Thank you, Professor.”

___________________________________________________________________

The rest of the week Hermione had buried herself in the library which in consequence meant that
when they weren’t doing their homework, she forced Harry and Ron to read texts about the
wizarding court system and connected etiquette. She even went so far to get them permission to go
to Hogsmeade on Saturday, because some of the books had stated that appearance played a big
part, due to the many Lords that made up about ⅔ of the Wizengamont and still held tightly to
rather antiquated beliefs and standards.

So they had gone and brought appropriate business robes for all of them. Ron had protested the
loudest, mainly because Harry had to pay for him, however, in the end the argument that it could
be the detail that decided if they would come across as believable enough for Sirius to get
pardoned convinced him.

Sirius understandingly had grown more and more nervous which each day his trial crept nearer.
Harry had bought him a new robe as well and even had gone to ask Dobby if he was able to cut his
wild locks into something more presentable. Dobby had been happy to help and not only cut his
hair, but also plucked his eyebrows (despite Sirius’ loud protest that he wasn’t a bloody witch) and
shaved his scruffy three-day beard into something very fashionable.

Harry had to swallow when he had first seen his godfather after the procedure, because he suddenly
looked much more like the young man from his photo album than the haunted escapee Harry had
met for the first time a bit over two years ago.

McGonagall, Harry had the feeling, hadn’t told Dumbledore about their summons, because
otherwise, of that he was sure, the Headmaster would have called at least Harry up to his office
once again. That however hadn’t happened and considering how scandalized his head of house had
been at Dumbledore’s evasive reply that day in his office, it didn’t surprise him much. It had taken
Harry a few years, but especially last year, when McGonagall had defended Professor Trelawney,
she had shown everybody why exactly she was the Head of Gryffindor House; there was a lioness
carefully restrained inside of her and she could be just as righteous as all of them.

It was the evening before the trial now, however, Harry couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about his
godfather the whole time, wondering just how nervous he must be when Harry himself could
barely lie still. Finally with a huff of defeat, he sait up and pulled his invisibility cloak from his
trunk, before grabbing his wand and the Marauder’s Map before getting to his feet.

“Where are you going, mate?” Ron’s voice suddenly asked.

Surprised that his friend wasn’t asleep yet, Harry turned around and shrugged. “To Sirius.”
Ron nodded in understanding. “I bet he could use the company mate. If you don’t show up by 8, I
will come kick you two out of bed.”
Smiling gratefully, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak over his head. “Thanks, mate. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

The Fat Lady, fortunately, was for once deeply asleep as he snuck out of the tower. While walking,
he checked his map intermittently until he finally stood in front of the portrait that led to his
godfather’s room.

Hesitating only a second, Harry knocked against the picture frame. He could hear some shuffling
from the inside and then the portrait was pushed open, however, it wasn’t Sirius who greeted him.
“Harry, thank Merlin!” Remus said, stepping to the side. “I thought I would have to stay the night,
which really wouldn’t be good considering the mess after your third year…”
“What happened?” Harry asked, looking for his godfather.
Remus sighed. “Sirius is just nervous, but drinking is not the solution!” He added the last part more
loudly, probably so that Sirius’ would hear him.

“I’ll take over, you get some rest,” Harry offered, noticing the deep shadows under the werewolves
eyes. The full moon had only been two days ago, he realised, and Remus had most likely gotten a
summons for the trial as well.
“Thank you, Harry,” the former Professor smiled tiredly. “But promise me to not allow him any
more Firewhiskey. It always was his favourite coping mechanism.”
“I promise,” Harry retorted.
Remus turned towards the fireplace, but then stopped, pulled his wand out and pointed it at Sirius’
bedroom door. “Accio Firewhiskey!”

A shout of indignation could be heard and a moment later three bottles came sailing out of the
room. Two were still sealed, but from the third, Harry saw with exasperation, a huge swig was
missing. Hopefully that had been the only mouthful Sirius had managed to drink.

Harry sighed, staring at the bedroom door the bottles had pushed ajar for a moment. Sometimes
with his godfather he felt as if he was the adult rather than Sirius, and today was one of those days.
Hopefully once Sirius was cleared and the escapee could start living a normal life again, this would
stop.

“Are you sure you can handle him?” Remus pulled him out of his musings and Harry turned back
around.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure, however the werewolf looked dead on
his feet.
“I will see you tomorrow at the Ministry then,” Remus yawned.
Harry blinked. “You got summoned as well?” His earlier supposition was confirmed, though he
was honestly a bit surprised, considering the man’s furry little problem. The Ministry, as much as
Harry was aware, tried to avoid people like Remus, regardless of whether they were crucial
witnesses or not.

As if reading his thoughts, Remus smirked. “I believe we have Madame Bones to thank for my
inclusion.”
Harry smirked back, knowing that the man most likely was right. But then he sobered and said,
“Get some rest, you look dead on your feet.”
Remus chuckled and finally turned to the door. “I will see you tomorrow, then,” he said, before
slipping out of the door, leaving Harry to deal with his panicking godfather.

From the bedroom he could still hear rather loud complaints and threats that were at least not
directed against him. It seemed Sirius had yet to catch up on the change in guard. Sighing, Harry
braced himself and crossed the living room. He knocked against the bedroom door once, before
entering without waiting for an invitation.

His godfather was sitting cross-legged on his bed, back to the door and hugging his pillow. Harry
had never seen a toddler having a temper tantrum other than vaguely remembered tantrums of
Dudley’s when they were small, and the Dursleys never had allowed him outside his cupboard
when they had guests, but he imagined it would look similar to this scene.

“I don’t want to hear any wise explanations, Moony,” he sneered mockingly. “You know full well
that I am not the wise type! Besides, I just wanted to drink enough that I am able to fall asleep.”
“I agree that you don’t need any explanations,” Harry retorted, making Sirius whip around in shock
and fall off his bed. “You probably know why it’s a stupid idea to drink the evening before your
trial anyway.”

Sirius stared up at him, clearly baffled to see him. “Harry, what are you doing here?”
Harry shrugged. “I came by to see how you were coping and found a completely exhausted
Moony.”
His godfather winced and an expression of guilt crossed his features briefly, Well, that was
something at least and Sirius should feel guilty.

“Scoot over, I am getting cold feet,” Harry ordered, gesturing at his bare appendages. He really
should have put some shoes on before making the long track down to his godfather’s quarters.
Sirius obliged and Harry joined him on the mattress, pulling the blanket over their legs. For a beat
they sat in silence, Harry not knowing what to say or how to calm his godfather down now that he
was here, but then the animagus spoke.

“I am just so nervous!” he exclaimed, startling Harry. “Dumbledore tried to figure out who
requested this trial for me,” he continued and Harry’s stomach tightened uncomfortably. He could
imagine why Dumbledore wanted to find the culprit and it strengthened his resolve to not tell
Sirius anything about his part in the whole affair, despite his godfather’s nervousness.

“He fears,” Sirius continued, “that whoever brought me and Diggory back did it. That it might be
part of a bigger scheme.”
Harry couldn’t hold back, he scoffed. When Sirius looked up, he asked, “What scheme should that
be?”
“Well, to use me to get to you,” he actually chuckled a bit, before the faint smile dropped from his
features. “Of course, you bringing me back makes that a moot point, but if I’m freed, you could
finally live with me. But it would also get you away from the blood wards that protect you during
the holidays.”
Harry barely suppressed a sneer. He didn’t wish to open that particular can of worms this evening.
Instead he said, “That’s true, but Grimmauld Place is well protected, you know that.”
Sirius nodded, but he didn’t look convinced, so Harry asked, “What’s the problem then?”
His godfather shrugged. “It’s just that Godric’s Hollow was under fidelius as well.”
“Yeah, but Grimmauld is an ancestral home, there are way more protections than Godric’s Hollow
ever had. I don’t think you should worry overly much,” Harry pointed out, slowly growing
exasperated. If Dumbledore talked Sirius into agreeing to sending him back to the Dursleys, then
the Headmaster would have another thing coming. He wouldn’t return there ever.

“Just…” Sirius sighed, raking through his hair with his fingers, “If something were to happen to
you… I could never forgive myself.”
“Don’t worry,” Harry tried to reassure him, “so far Voldemort hasn’t managed to kill me. I am
resilient against Dark Lord’s murder plans,” he grinned impishly and succeeded in making his
godfather bark out a loud laugh.
“You are right, pup, you are.”

Despite his words however, Harry could see that Sirius’ worries hadn’t lessened much, so he gave
his godfather an inquisitive look.
Seeing his glance, Sirius sighed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! I wasn’t able to withstand that
look when Lily used it, either!”
Harry just grinned, making his godfather groan in defeat. “I am just worried, okay? I mean, I have
dreamed about this day for years, but what comes after?”

Harry frowned, not quite understanding what his godfather meant. Fortunately he continued
without missing a beat.

“Even if I am declared innocent tomorrow, I have been imprisoned for 12 years and been on the
run for three. That makes 15 years I haven’t worked. They will probably not take me back. What
kind of future do I even have?”
Harry hesitated a moment, he hadn’t thought about how life would continue for Sirius after the
trial, finally however he said, “Well, you’re the last named Black, you could probably live on your
family money for a bit until you decide what you want to do.”

“Maybe,” Sirius began to look glum.

“Who knows,” Harry said, forcing brightness into his face and tone, “Maybe they’ll ask you to
work in security. I mean, you are the only person ever to break out of Azkaban. And you did it
alone. You could be their consultant. Help them fix the issues.”

Sirius barked a short laugh.

“All that pranking should go to good use,” Harry continued with a smile as his godfather relaxed
minutely. “Keep the inmates in line and give the guards a laugh?”

Sirius couldn’t stop the helpless laughter that spilled from his lips and laughed until a few tears
dripped from his eyes.

“Only you, pup, only you,” he reached out and ruffled the teen’s hair. Harry wrinkled his nose, but
didn’t move away, enjoying the touch of the man and only too pleased that he had given him a
moment of respite.

“Whatever you do, it should be what you want. Not what somebody else tells you to do,” Harry
commented, hoping to get his godfather to at least think for a minute before blindly listening to
Dumbledore, especially if the man tried to send him back to his relatives. “Not everybody gets a
second chance, let alone a third,” he said a bit pointedly. “Use it well.”

Sirius huffed a sigh and then flopped down next to his godson, his eyes far away. After a few long
minutes of silence he asked, “Should I turn into Snuffles again?”
Shrugging, Harry replied honestly, “I don’t mind either way.”
His godfather hesitated for a moment, before saying, “Then if you don’t mind I will turn into
Snuffles. Everything is just easier than. A dog’s feelings are just not as complex.”
Nodding, Harry lay down and watched as Sirius shifted into his animagus form. He lifted the
blanket and allowed his godfather to crawl under, before dousing the light in the room with a flick
of his wand and settling more comfortably. Sirius snuggled closer until Harry could wrap his arms
around him and stroke his fur gently.

Unwittingly his thoughts wandered once again to Voldemort. The Dark Lord had been very
adamant about what kind of duties children had and what should be left for adults to deal with. The
wizard would probably be aghast at the sight of Harry comforting his godfather. He didn’t really
mind, only he really wished for a closer adult in his life. The Dursleys certainly didn’t count. And
sure, he had the Weasleys, but that was usually only a few weeks a year. Sirius… well, as much as
Harry loved him, the man was sometimes even more childish than himself. That wasn’t exactly the
sort of adult presence he was thinking about. Of course he loved the crazy lunatic man and
hopefully once he was declared innocent and had his life back he would grow into a proper
godfather.

But then there was Voldemort. Wicked smart, extremely powerful, leader of a huge number of wix
who all looked to him for guidance. Of course there was that pesky little problem with his anger
management… Harry actually paused in his thoughts to scratch at his scar which had been
prickling more or less constantly since he returned to school. But the man was clearly a leader.
Intelligent, strategic, and actually a really good teacher. But Harry had no one else in his life like
that.

Snuffles chuffed in his sleep and wiggled a little, but didn’t wake. His thoughts turned to his
parents. Would they have been like that? Smart and caring, giving him guidance and support? He
had been thinking about bringing them back when he made his plans for Sirius and Cedric, but had
been concerned that trying to bring four people back at once might prove too much for him. And
he really didn’t want to mess it up and lose his chance to bring them back, so he settled on Sirius
and Cedric, hoping if anything did go wrong, well, at least it wouldn’t prevent him from bringing
his parents back.

Harry fell into misty thoughts about hugs from his mum and flying with his dad, learning pranks
from the Marauders themselves, and maybe even pulling one on the twins for a change! And when
he needed help, they were both right there, loving him, helping him, doing everything they could to
guide him on his way. He only went to Voldemort to help the man, and soon, he would have his
parents back. He wouldn’t need the Dark Lord because he’d have his mum and dad!

Therefore, he gathered all his willpower and banned all thoughts of Voldemort from his mind. He
really, really, really needed to stop thinking about the Dark Lord. His life was as close to perfect as
he had known it so far, he would not destroy everything he had only because Dumbledore was still
his mysterious self and he had managed to spend 2 months with Voldemort without being tortured
(much) or the Dark Lord trying to kill him.

Pulling Snuffles closer, Harry buried his face into the thick fur on his godfather’s neck and tried to
fall asleep. Still, it felt like hours until he finally drifted off.

________________________________________________________________________
It felt as if only minutes had passed when Harry’s wand began to pulse in the pocket of his pajama
pants. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, he was greeted by a picture he had not expected after the
condition he had found his godfather in the evening prior. Sirius was standing in front of a
conjured, full-body-length mirror, straightening out a robe that looked posh enough to rival one of
Lucius Malfoy’s. He looked surprisingly sober, however, an empty potions vial on the nightstand
cleared that mystery.

“Good morning, pup,” his godfather's voice pulled him out of his tired state. Their eyes met in the
mirror and his godfather’s face broke into a weak grin at Harry’s confused look. “Yeah, I know I
look like hippogriff dung. Can’t say I slept much last night,” he said, matting his locks down. “But
you know, it at least gave me time to think and you know what?”

Harry could just stare, still too tired and his brain too sluggish to keep up with his godfather’s train
of thought.
“You were right about what you said yesterday,” the other just continued. “I mean, how many get
a third chance? I should count myself one lucky bastard.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. Having not even awoken fully, Harry wasn’t even sure if he
should believe his godfather’s words.

“Once I am hopefully declared innocent, I will look for a mind healer. I should have done that
directly after I escaped Azkaban. In fact, I should just have done something to get myself out of
this mess myself - by the way,” he went on after only a beat, “your robe is here. It’s in my closet.
You said Hermione and Ron got new robes as well?” When Harry nodded, a half smile touched the
man’s face, “It’s annoying, but things like appearance matter to the wizengamot, even though it
shouldn’t. Not everybody can afford an expensive robe after all.”

“Um…” Harry finally managed to speak, though it was of questionable intelligence. Deciding to
get dressed first, he got up and made his way over to the cupboard his godfather had indicated. It
took him only a moment to find the robe that was meant for him. It was by far the shortest robe in
the cabinet and made from a beautiful shade of forest green that wouldn’t suit Sirius’ coloring in
the slightest. He took the robe out and when he looked searchingly around, his godfather provided
helpfully, “the bathroom is the door next to the portrait hole.”

The shower helped to finally wake him up and 5 minutes later he was examining himself critically
in the bathroom mirror. He looked good, although he would look better in his new body. His new
form wasn’t quite as small and scrawny and his raven locks were long enough to tie neatly into a
small ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Scowling at his glamoured reflection, he raked his hand through his bird’s nest of hair, before
giving up and returning to Sirius’ bedroom, where his godfather was currently styling his own
locks with some sort of hair product that made them look silky and shiny.
A knock sounded and a moment later Remus stepped in. His amber eyes instantly searched out
Sirius and an expression of relief passed over his features.
“Good. I was worried that I would find you two still asleep.”

“Me, still asleep?” Sirius turned with a roguish grin on his face and winked. “Maybe. But
Harry….?” his eyes flickered over to Harry and for a split second he feared that his godfather
would say something, but he merely grinned even wider and exclaimed “never!”

Remus shook his head with an exasperated shake of his head, but then spotted Harry who had been
lingering in the doorway, not wishing to interrupt.
“Harry, you look good,” he said, his amber eyes tracing his dress robe.
Feeling still out of place with his old body in such an expensive robe, Harry blushed.
“If you say so,” he muttered, feeling uncomfortable.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sirius quibbed and came over to ruffle through his hair. Harry was
about to scold him, when another knock interrupted them.

“That’s probably Ron and Hermione,” his godfather said, before calling out, “Just come in!”

The portrait guarding Sirius’ quarters was pushed open and just as the escapee had predicted,
Harry’s friends stepped in.
“Blimey, Harry, you look… like you’re trying to imitate Malfoy,” Ron exclaimed, but whatever
else he had wanted to say was cut short when Hermione shoved her elbow into his side quite
violently.
“Don’t listen to that idiot,” she said, giving him an approving smile. “You look great.”

Harry was spared a retort when Sirius stepped up to them and said, “If you need a while longer to
get ready that’s fine, but Money and I will go ahead now. I am supposed to meet Amelia at the
auror’s office and I would hate to come too late to my own hearing.”

“The auror office?” Harry echoed, feeling worry rise inside of him.
“It was that or hand myself in at azkaban,” his godfather winced.
“But that's…” Harry began, not quite sure what he could even do, especially on such short notice,
but Remus quickly explained. “It’s a mere formality and Amelia is trustworthy. Don’t worry.”

Feeling slightly reassured, Harry nodded before rushing forwards to hug Sirius. “I’ll keep my
fingers crossed.”
“Thanks kiddo,” Sirius replied, hugging him back. “I will see you at the Ministry.”
Remus as well gave him a reassuring smile and then Sirius transformed into Padfoot and they
disappeared through the portrait hole.
Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 A Hearing Long Due
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 18: A Hearing Long Due

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their portkeys from McGonagall’s office under Notice-Me-Not
charms - a precaution, their professor said as she applied them, as instructed by their summons.
They landed between the familiar row of fireplaces and were quickly joined by their professor who
had been summoned as well. There was a large crowd making its way through the atrium toward
the lifts and down to the courtroom as she led them toward the check in desk to register their
wands.

Thankfully, due to the strength of the charms cast upon them, nobody realized the Chosen One and
his two best friends were among them until the charms were removed as they stepped into the
courtroom, courtesy of the stripping magic which ensured that those who should not be present
could not somehow cheat their way in. The glamour from the galleries above the main seating,
which Harry hadn’t even noticed during his own trial for under-age magic, drew the attention of
everyone present, including their Headmaster.

For a split second Dumbldore looked truly surprised, and Harry stiffened, wondering if the wizard
knew that it had been him who had deliberately ignored the headmaster's instructions to not contact
the DMLE. But then Dumbledore stepped toward the three teens, his genial mask never faltering.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice merry as ever and Harry breathed a
sigh of relief. “I was unaware of your participation in today’s proceedings.”

“We received a summons, sir,” Hermione was quick to answer the implied question. “We reported
to Professor McGonagall as the summons indicated we were to take our portkeys from her office
for supervisory purposes.”

“I see,” he replied, his eyes flickering over to McGonagall shortly.

“I filed the appropriate paperwork, Albus,” she said briskly. “I assume it is in that large stack of
documents you have yet to look over from the first three weeks of school.”

Dumbledore just hummed, seemingly unaware of the repriment in his deputy’s voice. “Well, come
then. If you were summoned, you’ll be needing to sit in witness seating,” he continued, leading
them off to the side. As they drew closer to their presumed destination, the teens spotted Lupin.

“Professor!” Hermione exclaimed. “Did everything go well with Sirius?”

“Sir,” Ron mumbled as Harry smiled and said, “Hi, Moony.”

“Good morning, kids, Albus, Minerva,” the werewolf said a bit tiredly with a respectful nod toward
the two teachers.

“I will leave Mr. Potter and his friends in your capable hands,” Dumbledore said genially, though
Harry could see the cracks in his mask as his true feelings of anger and confusion over how events
had turned out the way they had seeped through. “I must return to my seat.”
“Headmaster,” Remus and Hermione said with polite nods. Ron and Harry didn’t say anything.
Minerva just sat down and began a quiet conversation with Remus.

The noise continued for a few minutes longer before a large group wearing plum colored robes
filed into their seats. Then, to Harry’s surprise, the new Minister, Scrimmgeour rose to his feet,
clearing his throat. “Due to the many involved parties in this case, the International Confederation
of Wizards was so kind to send us an official representative to act as our Chief Warlock today. I
give the floor to Anakletos Aristoteles.”

“Thank you, Minister,” the foreign wizard inclined his head in acknowledgement, before
addressing the court room in general. “We have gathered today, on this the sixteenth of September
for the criminal hearing of Lord Sirius Orion Black. Interrogators: Anakletos descendant of
Aristoteles, representative of the ICW; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the DMLE; Court scribe
Percy Ignotius Weasley. Please bring in the accused.”

The heavy doors began to silently open and Harry’s heart picked up another notch. Madame Bones
had promised the trial would be fair, he tried to remind himself, but it didn’t really calm him any.

To his relief however, Sirius was only escorted by four aurors, and there were no dementors. His
godfather was standing tall and confident, looking for the first time like the pureblood Lord he was
born to be as he ignored the whispers that rose all around the room, and sat down in the stiff chair
in the center.

“You are Lord Sirius Orion Black?”

Sirius inclined his head. “Yes, Sir.”
“Formally of Hogsmeade Alley 22B, in Hogsmeade, Scotland?”

Harry frowned, having never heard of the address before, but then again, Sirius had been
imprisoned at “22 years of age, which meant he hadn’t lived at Hogwarts any more and neither
would he have moved back in with his parents at Grimmauld Place.
“Indeed,” his godfather affirmed, sounding unusually formal.

Anakletos nodded and glanced shortly down, before he continued with the formalities.
“You are accused of the murder of one Peter Pettigrew as well as the following 13 muggles…” a
long list of names followed which Harry barely listened to, instead he watched his godfather grow
progressively paler and paler in his chair. He could sympathize, hearing those names somehow
made the whole gruesome event more real. Maybe that was actually Anacletos' reasoning behind
listing them all, or he was just thorough, which could very well be the case. The wizard at least
seemed more professional than any ministry official Harry had the dubious pleasure to have met so
far. However, Anakletos spoke again, so he quickly focussed back on the court procedures.

“Please tell us in your own words what happened the evening of October 31st 1981.”

Sirius shifted a little in his seat and Harry could see that he had to visibly gather himself. “I went to
Peter’s place that night,” he finally began. “I had this feeling… it wasn’t even the first time,” he
explained. “It was driving us all crazy, knowing that Vodlemort was after Lily and James and little
Harry…” he trailed off, his silver-blue eyes flickering up to search for his godson, before returning
to Anakletos when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to find him so quickly. “They were the
most important people in my life. You must know the Potters had taken me in when I needed to get
away from my own family when I was 16. James was like a brother to me and by extension Lily
and later Harry. For me, the worst part was that they went into hiding, being unable to visit and
check up on them…”

Anakletos frowned, but before he could forward any question, Madame Bones cleared her throat.
“If I may?” she asked and waited for the Greek wizard to nod, before she turned her attention fully
on Sirius.

“Our witness indicated that you were falsely imprisoned and provided memories and names of
witnesses who, as it seems, can support said claim. However, to our information… the DMLE’s
that is, you were the Potters’ secret keeper. Thus visiting and checking up on them should not have
been a problem.”

Sirius shook his head. “They asked me first, but I…” his voice wavered then, and pain and regret
flitted across his features. “I advised them to take Peter instead.”
“Why was that, Lord Black?”
His godfather sighed. “I was their best friend. Everybody knew that. We even swore a brother-oath
at the end of our 5th year at Hogwarts. I thought, if You-Know-Who wanted to get to them, he
would surely send his minions after me first. I was right in that aspect, as it turned out, but having
been an auror I managed to slip through their fingers four times until that rat’s betrayal did the dirty
work for them.”

“Ah, yes,” Anakletos nodded. “The memories we were supplied with showed a rat animagus, but
we will get to those later. For now, please continue.”

Sirius needed a second to remember where he stopped, before he continued as asked. “Well, as I
said, I went to Peter’s place, feeling… concerned, however, he wasn’t there. We had kind of gotten
into the habit that I would check in on him every other day after work… whenever that would be,
the aurors were even busier back then than they are these days. Anyway, I was worried when he
wasn’t there. Once I reached Godric’s Hollow of course I immediately realized why! The bastard
had known I would check on him sooner or later, at the latest when I heard that Lily, James and
Harry had been attacked.”

“Did you go after Mr. Pettigrew right away then?” Madame Bones asked, looking down onto Sirius
intensely.

“No, not immediately. I hoped against hope that at least my little godson would have survived. Of
course, it was the least likely outcome, with Harry only 15 months old and You-Know-Who after
him specifically, but you know what they say; hope is the last to die, so I looked and… and… “ a
choked sound escaped his godfather’s mouth and Harry felt his own eyes grew hot. He had always
known Sirius loved him, but seeing proof like that… Well. Needless to say he had to swallow a
few times, hard. He rubbed at his eyes quickly, pressing them a bit to ease the hot prickling threat
of tears and focused back on Sirius as he began speaking again.
“I found him! By Merlin, I couldn’t believe it! I must have stood there, just staring at Harry for
ages. Of course, now I know it was just the first manifestation of the famous Potter luck. Not that a
thing like that existed before my godson, mind you…” he chuckled and even a few Wizengamot
members on the rostrum joined in.

“I picked him up, intending to take him to… to…”

For a split second Harry was confused as Sirius made a face, but when he continued with “My
ancestral home,” he understood.
“I always hated the place. I know many still remember the members of my family,” he sneered,
“and believe me when I say their family seat is just as dark and rotten as most of them were.
However, I also knew Harry would be safest there… but then Hagrid arrived and informed me that
Dumbledore had arranged for Harry to go to Lily’s sister. I was against it at first. Petunia and Lily
didn’t share what one would call a strong sisterly bond, but I also was nervous. I never considered
myself the parental type and as much as I loved Harry, he was still so young. And then I
remembered Peter and his betrayal and I thought ‘you can visit him every day once this is over’, so
I gave Harry to Hagrid and left to confront Peter.”

“Did you find Mr. Pettigrew?” Anakletos asked.

“Yes, I did. Rather quickly, even,” Sirius affirmed.
“Where?” Madame Bones threw in.
“In Right Angle Alley. It borders on Tottenham Court Road, as you know. Fortunately it wasn’t
early enough for workers to be on their way, or the damage would have been even worse when
Peter blew up the street and vanished into the sewers…”

Anakletos lifted a hand and Sirius halted in his retell.

“Please elaborate a bit further on what exactly happened after you found Mr. Pettigrew and before
he’ blew up the street’, as you say.”

“Oh yes… of course…” Sirius backpaddled, once again clearly shifting through his memories.
“You see, we all considered ourselves high-profile targets…”
“Who is ‘we’?” Madame Bones interrupted.
“James, Lily, Peter, Remus and I,” Serious replied and from the corner of his eyes, Harry saw
Percy taking a note with a somewhat pinched expression.
Madame Bones nodded and Sirius continued.
“We had scouted out areas we frequented regularly, Like Diagon Alley and its adjoining streets and
Hogsmeade for any escape routes, just in case we ever got caught by You-Know-Who’s men. Peter
of course had more possibilities than James and I, being much smaller in his animagus form…”
“Are you an animagus as well?” Anakletus interrupted at that.

Sirius visibly flinched and hesitated, before nodding. “I am and so was James…”
Murmurs rose amongst the Wizengamot members and Harry could easily imagine what they were
saying. Being an unregistered animagus was illegal, but it had been war back then and if Sirius was
proven indeed innocent, then they had a lot to make up for.
“Animagi are required to register here in Britain, just as in Greece, as far as I am aware,” Anakletos
commented, effectively stopping all whispering.
Sirius flashed him a sheepish grin. “I know. However, James and I taught ourselves secretly at
Hogwarts, when we were just 15 years old. There is no law or restriction for underage wizards and
witches to register and later it seemed wiser to keep our ability silent. We had planned to register
once the war was over and tell the office that we just succeeded recently…”

Once again murmurs rose, and Harry wasn’t sure if they were baffled at the marauders’ young age
when they managed the difficult transformation or indignant about their disregard of British law.
The disruption rose to such a level of noise that Anakletos had to reach for his gavel and call
everybody to silence forcefully.

While “Lord Black has admitted to an offense against British law, it is not part of this hearing and
will have to be dealt with in a later trial,” he declared admonishingly and the jury and crowd began
to quiet down once more.

“Yeah… anyway,” Sirius spoke up again, regaining his footing, “many entrances to London’s
sewer systems are of course closed off, magically in the cases of those in and around Diagon Alley,
but I remembered Peter once saying ‘if I ever have to run from you guys, I’d use that one in Right
Angle Alley’. Its charm wore off and for some reason, was never recast…” he trailed off once
more, gaze turning distant.

“And you found Mr. Pettigrew there?” Anakletos pulled him out of his memories.
Sirius jumped a little, before nodding. “I did. And I chased him down Right Angle Alley and
Diagon Alley all the way through the Leaky Cauldron into a small dead end street off Charring
Cross Road. I thought I had him… but stupid as I was I didn’t bind him immediately. Instead I
asked him ‘Why?’. ‘Why did you betray Lily and James?’ “

By now the entire courtroom had fallen deadly silent, and Harry could clearly see that they all were
lost in their own memories of that day or maybe the war in general, thinking about loved ones they
had lost themselves. But then, Madame Bones disrupted the moment.

“What did Peter Pettegrew reply?” her voice was thick and heavy. She as well, Harry remembered
Hannah telling him at the end of one DA meeting, had lost all her family with the exception of her
niece.

“He just babbled something about me having to understand… and then, before I could realize what
he was planning he blew up the street and transformed in front of my eyes, vanishing into said
sewer…” There was another grave silence, but this time it was Sirius himself who ended it. “Next
thing I knew my colleagues from the auror corps were surrounding me and carting me away to
Azkaban without a trial, which, as I understand, happened quite often back then.”

Nobody could possibly overlook the accusation. Some were once again murmuring indignantly,
that they only had imprisoned prisoners they had been sure about their sentences. However, Harry
thought that Sirius was the perfect proof that nobody could be really sure about these kinds of
things, let alone before listening to the accused at least once.

“Are there any more questions for the accused?” Anacletos asked, looking from Madame Bones to
the jury. When nobody spoke up, he turned to address Sirius once more. “Lord Black, please take a
seat at the side.”

There was a split second in which Sirius didn’t move, and just blinked as if baffled that was all to
his questioning already. But then he hastily got up and walked over to the short row of chairs that
had been placed there for the witnesses.

“The Wizengamot calls Minerva McGonagall to the stand!” Anacletos announced. McGonagall got
to her feet and calmly made her way down the stairs to sit in the chair previously occupied by
Sirius. She sat primly and confident as she waited for Anacletos and Madame Bones to begin.

“You are Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress and Professor of Transfiguration at

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”
The professor nodded, “That I am.”
“You are currently residing at Hogwarts? Any other addresses we need to know?”
“No other addresses, Chief Warlock. As I am not only a professor, but also a Head of House, I live
full-time at the castle, as it is required,” McGonagall explained.

“Well then…” Anakletos continued, looking down at his stack of papers.

“As I understand, you were Lord Black’s Professor and Head of House when he went to Hogwarts
himself?”
“Yes indeed,” McGonagall said with a wry smile. “He was quite the trouble maker.”
“Can you tell us a bit about the young Lord Black’s character?”
McGonagall nodded. “Well, I was quite surprised when he was sorted into my House, Gryffindor
that is…”
“Why so?” Anakletos interrupted.
“The Black’s were known to always be sorted into Slytherin. In fact, I believe in all their family’s
history Sirius was the first to not go there. However, the Sorting Hat never sorts a student into a
house without good reason, so I tried to remain open minded and it took not even the first week for
me to realize why he had been sorted into Gryffindor.”

“Please explain this in more detail,” Anakletos requested. “I must admit, the intricacies of British
Wizarding families as well as the sorting system of Hogwarts are still rather new to me.”

“Understandable,” McGonagall replied. “Hogwarts separates new students into four groups, called
houses, which are based on the types of students the four founders of Hogwarts prized. The four
houses are: Ravenclaw, which is known for their studious students, Hufflepuff, who values hard
work and loyalty, Slytherin, who values cunning and ambition, and Gryffindor, which has always
been known to collect brave pupils who stand up for what they believe in. Gryffindor and Slytherin
have always been rival houses; with Slytherins finding Gryffindors’ nature usually too boisterous
and Gryffindors confusing Slytherin’s more careful and cunning approach with cowardice or even
back-stabbing. One usually can discern the students of those two houses by merely watching them
a minute,” McGonagall explained. “Suffice to say that Sirius was just as brash and passionate in his
beliefs as every other Gryffindor I have ever taught.”

“And do you believe,” Anakletos went on, “that Lord Black would have been able to betray his
best friend like he is accused?”
McGonagall shook her head. “No, I do not. His imprisonment didn’t make any sense to me back
then and in fact, I find his statement that he was tricked much more believable.”

Anakletos hummed. “Why so?”

“Because, we are talking about a man who went so far as to study the animagus transformation to
support a friend who was bitten and turned into a werewolf as a small child,” McGonagall said
strongly and suddenly, there was no doubt how this strict, well-restrained woman had become the
Head of Gryffindor House as fire seemed to ignite behind her grayish-green eyes. “Because we are
speaking of a man who succeeded in breaking out of Azkaban, the first prisoner in history to do so,
only to see his godson again and protect him from the threat of the one who had betrayed the
child’s family, who lived a year on the run with only scraps and garbage to be able to stay near
said boy and search for the man who betrayed him as much as the Potters, so that he might finally
find justice and be able to take care of his godson, Harry Potter, properly.”

Heavy silence followed that declaration. Many adults currently present had been taught by the
witch that was still seated primly in the middle of the room and while not everybody liked her as
much as her Gryffindors, not even the Slytherins denied that she was a fair woman who never
acted without thinking first.

“Sirius Black is innocent and today the truth will finally come out,” she finally broke the silence
that had descended.
“And have you personally had contact with Lord Black since his escape?” Madame Bones spoke
up, her voice unusually gentle.

McGonagall drew in a breath and to Harry it seemed as if she needed to calm herself down, before
she answered. “I have, quite regularly even,” she stated. “He is once again part of the Order of the
Phoenix. Fortunately, if I might say so.” At that, she threw a glare at the jury, who had no small
part in keeping back all news about Voldemort’s return.

Madame Bones however ignored the quip, probably to proceed without interruption with the
hearing. “What impression has he made on you? Does Lord Black seem stable?”
McGonagall hesitated for a second, before saying, “As stable as a Black can possibly be, I would
say. The time in Azkaban has traumatized him, as it would anyone, however, he is very stable for
an ex-inmate of 12 years, it is remarkable, truly.”

“When you say traumatized,” Anakletos continued, “how does the trauma manifest?”

Another hesitation, clearly, McGonagall was unsure if this question should truly be part of the
hearing, but then she continued. “He has developed a dislike of staying indoors and frequently
slipped out, even though the place where he had been hiding this past year would have been much
safer. I also suspect that he suffers from nightmares frequently, which is, as I believe, a common
after effect of the exposure to dementors.”

Anakletos nodded and made a note. “Thank you, Professor. Please take a seat at the side as well.”
“I would prefer it to return to Hogwarts. We have a duty to protect the students in our care and
considering that the Headmaster is here to day as well as another head of house…”
McGonagall trailed off, rising to her feet.

“Of Course, Professor,” Anakletos agreed understandingly and McGonagall left in her usual,
purposeful stride.

As soon as the doors to the courtroom had closed again, Anacletos called, “The Wizengamot calls
Harry James Potter into the stand!”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected to be called so soon. “Wish me luck,” he
whispered, before starting to make his way down.

“Your name is Harry James Potter?”

Harry nodded, his gut twisting in on itself even more.
“A verbal reply, please,” Anakletos prompted mildly. Harry went beet red. “That's right, sir…. er…
Your Honor, I mean.”
“Sir is just fine,” the Greek wizard said mildly.
Harry flushed even brighter. He was making a fool of himself.

However, his thoughts were interrupted when Anakletos cleared his throat and started his
questioning.

“Please tell us when you met Lord Black for the first time.”
Harry didn’t have to think long. “That was in the summer before my third year when I um… left
the house of my relatives in the evening,” he told the Chief Warlock diplomatically. “I… didn’t
know it was him back then, he was in his animagus form.” A small smile tucked on his lips at the
last statement. In retrospect it was almost funny how Ron and his yearmates had believed him
haunted by the grim and doomed to die. “I saw him a few more times in that form and we thought
him to be a grim following me…”

A few soft chuckles could be heard throughout the courtroom.

“When did you learn that it was Lord Black who was following you?” Anakletos questioned
further, still sounding as serious as he had from the very beginning.

Harry was glad however, it gave him the feeling the wizard was taking him seriously, something,
he knew, not all would do questioning an underage student.
“Only after he dragged my friend Ron into the Shrieking Shack and transformed in front of us,” he
admitted, heat rising to his cheeks. By Merlin, they had still been so naive back then, not
connecting the dog that was following him with the rumored mass murderer who was doing the
same.

“By Ron,” Anakletos interrupted his retelling, “do you mean Ronald Bilius Weasley, whom we
have invited as a witness as well?”
Harry nodded. “Yes. That’s him.”
Anakletos nodded. “Please continue.”

Harry needed a second to remember where he had stopped, but then picked up the thread again. “I
thought he was going to kill us, but then Professor Lupin showed up, he had put one and one
together and the two explained to us that it never had been Sirius who betrayed my parents and that
he didn’t even wish me dead…”

“You mean Mr. Remus Lyall Lupin?” Anakletos interrupted him once more and Harry made a
mental note to specify better whom he meant while talking. But then again, he hadn’t even known
Remus possessed a second name.

“Yes. He was our Defense Against Dark Arts Professor that year. But before they could explain
that Pettigrew was still alive, Professor Snape showed up… I kinda… stunned him because I
wanted to know what it was all about and then Sirius cast a spell that forced an animagus back into
his human form at Ron’s rat Scabbers… that was actually the real reason why Sirius tried to break
into Gryffindor Tower on Halloween. Not because he wanted to kill me, but he wanted to get his
hands on his old friend to prove his innocence.”

Anakletos’ eyebrow had risen slightly at his wild tale, but his voice was still serious as he asked. “I
have a note here about an evening Lord Black escaped from the Hogwarts North Tower where he
was locked in to wait for the Aurors to arrive…”

“That was the same evening. Pettigrew confessed to betraying my parents to Voldemort. Remus
and Sirius were pretty mad, but we tied Pettigrew up to Ron and Remus was following them to
make sure Peter didn’t try anything. We were on our way back to Hogwarts with Pettigrew when
the full moon came out and we had a bit of a run in with a werewolf,” he continued. Of course
everyone knew Remus had been the werewolf at Hogwarts that year, so it wasn’t a stretch for them
to realize he was the one they ran into, but Harry hated having to say it that way. “In the confusion,
Peter transformed back into a rat and escaped.”

The teen took a deep breath and continued, “We were headed back to the castle when dementors
set on us. All of them that were stationed at the school came for me and my godfather when we
were separated from Ron and Hermione when Sirius kept Remus from attacking us and I tried to go
after Pettigrew. We met back up by the lake and were swarmed. I tried to cast the patronus, but I
could barely manage the shield and then Sirius passed out and one of the dementors started to take
his soul. Then there was a huge patronus that came across the lake and drove the dementors away.
And then I passed out. Woke up in the infirmary to hear that Fudge was all for having my
godfather kissed on sight and he refused to listen to the fact that me and my friends had actually
seen and spoken with Pettigrew. He insisted we were confunded.”

Several eyes rolled in the assembly at Fudge’s incompetence. Regardless of their age, statements
should have been taken, memories if necessary, and the fact that he had completely ignored
protocol, while surprising no one, was still a breach of process.

“Dumbledore came and told me and Hermione we might be able to help, she had a time turner to
attend all her lessons that year,” he said fondly, “so we went back a few hours. Rescued Buckbeak
the hippogryph from being executed for Draco Malfoy’s stupidity in insulting the creature when
Hagrid clearly said not to, and led him into the forest to wait. Turns out I was the one who cast the
patronus that saved me and Sirius. Unfortunately, Snape appeared right after and carted us all up to
the school, but he hadn’t heard the truth from Pettigrew or seen him transform, so he didn’t back us
up to Fudge.”

The teen sighed, but soldiered on in his story. “When we disappeared into the school, Hermione
and I took Buckbeak up to the tower Sirius was in and helped him escape,” he admitted. “Then we
ran back to the infirmary just as Dumbledore was shutting and locking us in.”

“Did you have further contact with Lord Black after you helped him escape, Heir. Potter?”
“I did,” Harry nodded. “We met a few times in Hogsmeade during my fourth year and I spent few
weeks at his Ancestral Home last summer,” he told the interrogator, deciding not to mention that
one time Sirius connected the floo system illegally to Gryffindor Tower.

“And Mr. Pettigrew, have you seen him since the night of the escape as well?”
Harry hesitated a second. He had seen Peter again, but that had been at the graveyard during
Voldemort’s rebirth. However, after the slanderous things the Ministry and the Prophet had said
and written about him this summer, and even more so after actually spending some time with
Voldemort and getting to know the wizard, he wasn’t sure if he should actually mention it. Sure
they all knew he was back now, but that wasn’t the point.

Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t actually on Voldemort's side. Hell, the wizard didn’t even
know he had been living with his nemesis for two months this summer. For all records, Voldemort
was still out for Harry Potter’s blood, the talk between him and Snape had been proof of that.
Besides, Sirius deserved to finally be declared innocent and have his life back and Pettigrew truly
was a disgusting, spineless coward, useful to Voldemort or not. However, he actually doubted the
latter, after all, he hadn’t seen Wormtail even once during his stay at Regia Magicae. So he finally
nodded in confirmation.

“I did. The night Voldemort came back,” a gasp ran through the courtroom, but Harry ignored the
disturbance and simply continued, “he was the one assisting in the ritual that gave him his new
body.”

Humming, Anakletos made another note on the parchment in front of him, before saying, “Thank
you, Heir Potter. You may join your Head of House at the side for now.”
A bit startled that his questioning was over so suddenly, Harry jumped to his feet and made his
way over. His heart was still beating faster than normal, and his hands were sweaty.

As he arrived at the row of seats, McGonagall gave him a grim smile. “Your parents would be
proud of you,” she whispered. “You did well.”

Not quite knowing what to respond, Harry merely mumbled a “Thank you, Professor,” as he
listened as Anakletos called the next witness into the stands.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley.”

Ron looked slightly green as he took the seat Harry had just vacated and the questioning began, but
relaxed slowly as he realized that Anakletos mostly wanted to check if Harry’s recollections were
accurate and not missing any details.

After Ron, it was Hermione’s turn at the front, but the questions she was asked were rather similar
to those Ron had faced. She seemed much more confident than either Ron and Harry had probably
felt or looked, and Harry could easily imagine her giving public speeches for one thing or another
in the future.

Once Hermione had joined him and Ron, the court called Snape to the front. Their Professor
looked as if he wished for nothing more to be anywhere else than the Wizengamot, helping his
schoolyard rival, but after all the things Harry, Ron, Hermione and even McGonagall had said, he
could nothing do but confirm the statements in short, clipped words as anything else would just
have made him look dishonest.

Remus came next but his account as well, matched all the others. Harry was sure that Remus
would have been the last witness, after all those matching accounts, but then Anakletos rose again
and announced, “The Wizengamot calls Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore into the stand!”

Surprised Harry turned around, just in time to see the headmaster rise to his feet with his usual
jovial smile. Of course it made sense that Dumbledore as well would be called into the witness
stand, after all, at the time the betrayal and subsequent imprisonment of Sirius had happened, the
animagus, his parents and Peter had all worked and fought closely together with the wizard.

Dumbledore sat down, and just like Harry could remember from his own hearing a bit over a year
ago, he looked tall and confident, even sitting down as he was right now.

“You are Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry?”
The professor nodded, “That I am, Chief Warlock.”
“You are also currently residing at Hogwarts? Any other addresses we need to know?”
“There is a little cottage in Godric's Hollow which I inherited from my parents and you also may
find me now and then at my brother’s pub, the ‘Hog’s Head’ in Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore
jovially.

Anakletos made a note, before beginning his questioning.

“I was made to understand that you knew Lord Black from his time as a student at Hogwarts?”
Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes, I did.”
“We also have information that you are the head of a secret organization with the goal to defeat the
Dark Lord who was back then and is now once more waging war on your country?”

Dumbledore frowned slightly, as if something about that question was bothering him, but then
nodded slowly once more. “That is also true. Although I find it worrisome that your unknown
witness has handed such delicate information over,” he said. “In the past, when the first wizarding
war was raging here on our soil, the members of the Order of the Phoenix were subject to many
assassination attempts.”

“While I understand your worry,” Anakletos said diplomatically, “Madam Bones herself has
assured that nobody who isn’t trustworthy has access to memories we have been given.”

There was a small pause, then the Greek Chief Warlock continued, “Would you agree to the
assessment of your colleagues and the previous witnesses that Lord Sirius Black was not the type to
have betrayed his best friend and his family in the manner described?”

“It indeed came rather as a surprise,” Dumbledore affirmed gravely.

Anakletos nodded, made another note, before looking straight at the old headmaster. “And was it
you, Headmaster, who cast the Fidelius charm over the Potter’s home?”

“It was indeed me, who cast the spell.”

Harry’s heart jumped a beat at that admission and he didn’t even dare to breathe in fear of missing
anything important that came next. The entire court room seemed to have fallen deathly silent, only
the rustling of the Chief Warlock’s notes could be heard as he asked, “With all that information,
why did you never speak up in Lord Black’s defense?”

Dumbledore sighed gravely, and for a moment Harry doubted he had an explanation to the thinly
veiled accusation, but then the Headmaster said, “My reasoning back then was twofold, although in
retrospect at least one of them now seems rather far fetched. As Minevra already mentioned, Sirius
comes from an old, dark family, a family known for their excessive knowledge of the dark arts.
While it is not as widely known anymore as it was in my own time, the Black library is extensive
and famous for its collection of dark arts books.” Dumbledore was silent for a beat to give
Anakletos a moment, then continued, “You must understand that the last war was as much a cold
war, carried out in secret and behind closed doors as much as it was an open, active fight. Many
important people had been put under the Imperius Curse by many equally important and generally
trusted wizards and witches. Voldemort’s people had infiltrated the Ministry, St. Mungo’s and
other official institutions. Some even filled key places in our Master Guilds. It was hard and often
even impossible to tell friend from foe. While in the past I would have never believed Sirius
capable of such a betrayal, after years of fighting and trying to uncover Voldemort’s plans,” he said
with an almost pleading expression, the twinkle in his eyes dimming, “I was not quite sure
anymore when his imprisonment happened.”

“Does this mean you thought it possible that Lord Black could have found some information in his
ancestral library you mentioned to circumvent the fidelius charm?”

“That is what I feared then, yes,” Dumbledore affirmed.

“But you no longer believe that Lord Black could have used such magic?” Anakletos inquired.
Dumbledore shook his head. “No, I don’t. The evidence, as the court must be aware by now,
speaks another story.”

“You spoke of a second reason for your quick acceptance of the accusations brought up against
Lord Black?”

Once again Dumbledore nodded gravely. “When she died, Lily Potter evoked a strong blood
protection for young Harry,” he elaborated. “Blood protection however, is usually tied to the blood
the envokee and the target share. I knew Sirius would have done everything in his power to gain
custody of Harry, to which, as his godfather, he of course had every right. However, I was also
aware that Voldemort was not completely destroyed and thus it was safest for Harry to be placed
with his maternal relatives, where the protection could be harnessed and extended, and for them to
take care of the boy.”

Glaring, Harry had to suppress the urge to comment on the so-called care the Dursleys had
bestowed on him, loudly. However, Dumbledore spoke again and Harry’s head snapped up at what
he was saying.

“As the we have already arrived at the topic of Harry’s custodianship,” the Headmaster said,
looking up at the Chief Warlock intently, “I must caution you, that even if Lord Black is cleared of
all charges today, to not allow him to take back the guardianship of Mr Potter.”

“That is not for me to decide here today,” Anakletos once again showed his skill in diplomacy.
“Of course,” Dumbledore smiled back understandingly. “I thought this court should just be made
aware of the danger for our society as we know it in allowing young Harry to live with his
godfather. That said, I am of course not speaking of forbidding their contact completely, just that
Harry needs to return for a month to his relatives house every year to continue his mother’s
protections.”

“I am sure the court as well as the Department for Child Welfare and Underage Affairs will
consider your words if the case of Heir Potter’s guardianship should be brought in front of them,”
Anakletos merely said, before dismissing Dumbledore. “You may join your colleagues
at the side now.”

Dumbledore inclined his head and rose to his feat. Once the headmaster was seated, the Chief
Warlock rose to his feet. “We will now proceed with watching the evidence that has been sent to
the DMLE.”

The door on the side swung open and two aurors came in; one levitating a marble stand and the
other carrying a pensieve.”

“The evidence consists of several memories of events two years ago, and from last year which
should have brought ministry attention to this question of guilt before. They were sent to Madame
Bones anonymously a few weeks ago,” Anakletos announced.

Finally, after he had sat down at the side as well, Anakletos announced and flicked his wand. A
white mist rose from the pensive, forming a translucent screen and then the first memory started.

Harry watched as they entered the Shrieking Shack, and followed along with the conversation.
Professor McGonagall turned a stern glare on her three lions when they all fired stunners at
Professor Snape. The man in question was sitting, stoic, but the stiffness and residual anger was
apparent. But the shocked gasps from nearly everyone when Pettigrew transformed, well, that was
priceless.

It was even more so when they got to the memory in the infirmary with Minister Fudge. Harry saw
several Wizengamot members shake their heads when the minister blatantly ignored protocol and
did not call for an auror to take the teens’ memories. And to not even call for the matron to test
them for a confundus or other mind altering spell, as he so clearly stated he believed them to be
under one was nothing short of criminal. Many minds were suddenly wondering if Fudge would be
undergoing an investigation himself. If he could ignore protocol there, what else had he done?

Harry, on the other hand, was frustrated with the fact that he had not been able to send the memory
of Dumbledore telling them to go back and rescue Sirius with the time turner. It would have proved
the man knew Sirius was innocent and had never done anything about it, even as Chief Warlock.
But he hadn’t wanted to break all ties with the man, so he seethed a bit in silence, looking almost as
stiff and angry as Professor Snape.

The next was a rather innocuous memory of meeting with Sirius in Hogsmeade. It clearly showed
that while he was far from clean, and clearly not getting enough to eat, he was sane, and perfectly
capable of holding intelligent conversation. Several of the members shook their heads at the state
of the man, clearly wondering what on earth had happened to their justice system to cause the Heir
of a family to be sent to Azkaban without a trial.

Ron and Hermione grasped Harry’s hands when the final memory began to play. It was the
memory he was least looking forward to. The entire room sucked in its collective breath when they
saw Harry and Cedric land in the graveyard. He closed his eyes, not willing to watch the green
flash that ended Cedric’s life, regardless of the fact he knew the teen had been returned to the land
of the living only a few short weeks ago.
Several heads shook as they watched the short, cloaked figure tie the teen to Tom Riddle’s grave,
and clearly saw the missing finger of the man. Shrieks accompanied Voldemort’s resurrection, but
they had their proof it was Pettigrew who was still alive and killed Cedric when the snivelling man
begged his risen master and the snake-like man actually called him Wormtail.

Harry knew he could have gotten a lot of Death Eaters on the Wizarding World's Most Wanted
lists by including the actual summons, but he also didn’t want a battle to break out in the courtroom
so he had cut the memory off once Wormtail was confirmed. He just wanted Sirius free.
Everything else could come later.

Silence enveloped the courtroom as the press, public, and court digested the information present.
After several long minutes, Anakletos spoke. “Esteemed members of this august body, we will
now take a vote. Please light your wand red for guilty.

He looked around, but there were no wands lit. Harry was actually a bit surprised. Surely the Dark
faction would love to see him back in Azkaban. Then he mentally shrugged thinking that perhaps
the evidence was just too clear and they couldn’t vote the way they might otherwise wish if they
intended to remain out of scrutiny themselves.

“And light your wand white for innocent,” the interim Chief stated calmly.

A clear majority lit up with that statement. Harry grinned. His godfather was a free man!

“Thank you, and now blue for those who wish to abstain from the vote.”

A handful of blue lights appeared, and yep, there were several of the members of the Dark, just
like Harry thought. But it didn’t matter, there weren’t nearly enough to overturn those who
declared Black innocent.

Banging his gavel, Anakletos said, “Lord Sirius Orion Black, you are hereby cleared of all charges.
You have the right to apply for re-entry into the Auror Corps, however, the Auror Departments
retains the right to require all the usual physical, mental, and magical evaluations required for any
active auror. Furthermore you have the right to apply for Heir Potter’s guardianship, however, the
Department for Child Welfare and Underage Affairs keeps the right to investigate the issues
Professor Dumbledore has mentioned and refuse your request if found reasonable. Finally you are
given a period of two weeks to register your animagus form with the Ministry before any legal
actions will be taken. Additionally a compensation of G120.000 in total will be given to you in
accordance with §284 of the Wizarding Penal Code within the next fortnight. Court is adjourned.”

Jumping up in excitement, Harry jumped to his feet and rushed down to his godfather, forgetting
all the lectures about proper wizarding etiquette Sirius, Remus, and Hermione had given him
before the hearing. He barely registered the people who had come up to congratulate his godfather
on his clearance as he tackled the marauder and hugged him tightly.

Sirius yelped in surprise, but once he saw who clung to him, he chuckled and moved an arm to hug
Harry back.
“Hey kiddo. Don’t tell me you were worried,” he grinned mischievously, but Harry just buried his
face into his godfather’s robes. He was so relieved, he must have been more worried than he had
 realized beforehand. But of course, if this had gone wrong, nothing could have saved Sirius from
the dementor’s kiss, not with all those aurors and court members surrounding him.

Ron and Hermione joined them then, followed closely by Remus, who gave his old friend a
relieved smile.
“So, how do you guys feel about going to Diagon Alley and grabbing some lunch?” Sirius grinned
back. “I want to celebrate!”

Ron nodded eagerly, but Hermione’s and Remus' expressions grew hesitant. However, before
either of them had to comment on the matter, Madame Bones joined the group. “As much as I
understand your wish, Sirius,” she said, much less formal now that the hearing was over, “I would
ask you to give the papers and the public a day or two to catch up. We wouldn’t want a mass panic
in the alley.”

Sirius pouted,”But that would be the reasonable thing to do.”

Madame Bones gave him an exasperated look. “I could always charge the costs for the auror
service to your vault. I am sure your vault manager would be delighted.”
Sirius winced and hastily lifted his hands in a soothing gesture. “Fine, fine, the Hogwarts’ kitchen
it is then. That should still be allowed, right?”

Madame Bones sighed, “As I assume that was where you were staying these past weeks at least
and the hosuelves should therefore already be used to you, that should be fine.” Her expression
softened then, “Now go celebrate with your godson, you deserve it.”

“Thanks, Amelia,” Sirius grinned, winding an arm around Harry’s shoulder as he stirred them to
leave, however, Madame Bones stopped him once again.
“And Sirius,” she said and waited until the animagus had turned back to face her.
“I sincerely hope to soon see you in the Auror’s office once again. You were one of the best and
we missed your knowledge about the dark arts.”

Harry blinked, a bit surprised at her words, but he guessed that Sirius would have at least been
taught a lot about the dark arts by his parents before he ran from home.
However, Sirius merely said, “I will think about it,” before stirring Harry finally out of the
courtroom. As they crossed the threshold to the long hallway beyond, Sirius squeezed Harry’s
hand lightly and leaned in until they were close enough that only his godson would hear him.
“Thanks pup. For bringing me back and for not giving a damn about Albus instructions.”

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R
 A Family Christmas
Chapter Notes

AN: I am finally back! Sory that it took me so long, but I had several major author's
blocks while writing this next batch of chapters. Therefore, there have been multiple
longer breaks while writing, so if anything doesn't add up, please coppy the paragraph
into a comment, I will then take care of it.

This batch is 5 chapters long, however, my betas are incredibly busy currently. I will
today start posting with ch 19 and hope to add the next for chapters as soon as
possible. I will try to post one every day or at least every other and hope that I will be
able to stick to it.

Now I wish you a lot of fun reading :-) Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 19: A family Christmas

Harry winced as he followed Ron, who was whistling a ‘catchy’ (as he had proclaimed it)
wizarding Christmas tune into their Defense classroom. 7 weeks had gone by since Sirius’ hearing
and subsequent acquittal and a lot had happened since then.

Many had expected that Sirius would buy himself a plane ticket, or an international port key as
soon as his declaration of innocence was affirmed and filed and go on that world-tour he had
sometimes talked about in the years prior. Harry however, hadn’t been surprised when his
godfather had announced that he had other plans after all. Hermione especially had looked
disbelieving when, three days after Sirius release Harry had gotten an owl in which his godfather
had informed him, he had gotten a place for an intensive therapy at St. Mungos to help his mind
and body heal from the trauma the dementors had inflicted on him.

Harry had been allowed to visit his godfather every Sunday for two hours, and had been amazed to
see how effective and complex wizarding healing could be. Sirius’ therapy consisted of a
combination of talk therapy, mind healing, and cleansing potions to wash the residue of the
Dementor’s magic from his system. It had clearly been taxing and strenuous on Sirius, however,
after the first two weeks the mental as well as physical improvements had been visible to even
those who weren’t quite as familiar with him as Harry was.

Once released, Sirius had filed that request for magical, mental, and physical evaluation by the
Ministry, which allowed him to return to the working world. His godfather however, instead of
rejoining the auror corps, had taken on the empty position of Defense Professor, stating that he felt
not quite up to returning to the field yet. Harry secretly had the suspicion that it was less a question
of his godfather's mental, magical, or physical state, but more of his trust in the wizarding law
system, which he honestly could understand after what his godfather had gone through and
anyway, Sirius seemed quite happy with his new job.

Initially, Hermione had still voiced her doubt about Sirius being a good choice to fill the still
empty teaching position, but Sirius quickly proved her wrong as it became clear that they had
forgotten one important fact: Sirius had not only been an auror which included a vigorous
apprenticeship, but had also been raised as the Black Heir until the summer before his 6th year at
Hogwarts. His knowledge about Light and Dark arts was truly astounding, just as Madame Bones
had said when they had talked after the hearing and his godfather clearly knew how to handle
students, even those like Draco Malfoy. Harry suspected it was because Sirius had grown up with
those kinds of kids.
Harry, for his part, was mainly glad that after last year, Defense was once again bearable and the
subject had returned to its spot as Harry’s favourite.

Cedric in contrast had not returned to Hogwarts and Harry suspected that Amus who had always
seemed slightly overprotective of his son, had forbidden him to return after what had happened at
the end of the Triwizards Tournament almost two years ago.
Harry had asked McGonagal one day after class if she knew what Cedric was doing now, having
wished for a chance to speak to his fellow champion, but had only learned that the Hufflepuff had
sat his NEWTS at the Ministry a couple of weeks prior and was now working there as an
apprentice to some Department.

“Have you two planned anything special for the Holidays?” Hermione’s voice pulled him out of
his musings and thankfully, away from Ron’s horrible whistling.
“Not really,” Harry shrugged. For the first time in his life, he would neither spend Christmas alone
in his cupboard, nor nearly alone at Hogwarts. It was still a strange thought, but he was honestly
looking forward to his first real Christmas. “The Weasleys invited us to lunch on Boxing Day but
other than that, we will just spend the time together and probably overdose on hot chocolate,” he
grinned. “At least that’s what Sirius said. Oh, and I offered to cook for us on Christmas Eve,” he
added as an afterthought.

“That sounds lovely,” Hermione smiled back as she began to unpack her schoolbag. “You two
deserve a nice Christmas together. Although I think it’s good that you will do the cooking. At least
then I don’t have to worry that you will end up in St. Mungos with food poisoning.”

“You know,” Ron joined the conversation, “mum is still pondering if she should send a roast goose
over, but I told her that you are as good a cook as she is.”
“Did she believe you?” Hermione questioned curiously.
Ron shrugged. “Not really. But speaking of it, she said I was to tell you that if you are such a good
cook, you could provide the appetisers and dessert on Boxing Day.”
“No problem,” Harry shrugged back. “Tell her I will think of something. How many people will be
coming? I need to know that or we might end up with too little.”
Ron looked horrified at the thought of too little food on Christmas for a moment and then hastily
began to list, “Let’s see. There is you and Sirius. Mum, dad and all my siblings and me of course,
so that makes 11. Plus Fleur,” Ron added and sighed. “ Mum and Ginny are still going on about
her. They say she is is only with Bill to get closer to Harry and that she is the kind of woman who
aims high like that.” Hermione huffed. “That your mum and sister don’t like any female
competition in their home is hardly a reason to end a relationship,” she stated. "Yeah," Ron agreed.
"I mean, why would she be together with my brother and even be planning their wedding
otherwise?” their friend asked sagely.
“Well," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes, "Your mum and sister probably argue that it’s a sure
way closer to Harry. Everybody knows Harry practically is family and that when she met him at
Gringotts, she just saw her chance.” "But Fleur isn't like that. She actually is rather down to earth."

At that statement, Hermione's expression darkened, but fortunately Sirius chose that moment to
enter the classroom, effectively cutting off any approaching argument.
“Good afternoon. I hope you have all practised your non-verbal shielding, because we will pair up
today and you will have to shield yourself from your opponent,,” he announced, motioning for
them to get up and pack their books and quills away. “I will give you ten minutes to prepare, then
we will begin.”

Excited whispering rose in the room, but it was more that kind of nervous excitement rather than
the anticipatory sort. Wordless magic was undoubtedly the most difficult thing they had to learn so
far and it showed.
Malfoy, to Ron’s horror, was fairly good at it, and so were many other Slytherins. Harry suspected
that not only their private tutoring, but also the different teaching methods dark families applied
was the cause of their easier success. Harry as well had noticed that his ability to actively sense and
direct his magic helped a great deal with not only silent, but also wandless casting, just as he had
suspected back at Voldemort’s castle.

The class dispersed into small groups and Harry, as had become his habit, went to a quiet corner
where he could sit down and meditate in peace. By now he had meditated so often that his purple
core rose in front of his inner eye as soon as he closed his eyes. He still felt awed at the sight and
its feeling and Harry doubted it would ever change. Magic truly was amazing, an incredibly
valuable gift and it was kind of ironic that, despite all their pureblood-bias, the only one he had
ever met who had valued magic’s gift as much as himself was Voldemort. Not even Hermione felt
that strong sense of awe and it often made him wonder why.

Touching his core reverently, Harry began to guide it through his body; into his arms, hands and
even his feet. Was it possible to cast through one’s feet? He didn’t know and he didn’t quite dare to
try it, just as he didn’t dare to send magic towards his head and brain in an attempt to finally
conquer occlumency.

He fell so deep into his meditation, that he only realised they were supposed to pair up when Ron
came over and prodded him none-too-gently with his foot.
Blinking his eyes open, he returned to awareness just in time to hear his godfather saying, “...I will
not pair you up, you are old enough to do that on your own. Just remember if you pair up with your
best friend, you will have to fight them all the sooner.”

As soon as his godfather had stopped speaking, excited whispering rose in the classroom.
However, before Harry could look for one of his friends, somebody tapped him on the shoulder.
“I know I will probably not be much of an opponent…” Neville said, clearly afraid of the task
Sirius had given them.

“Don’t sell yourself short, but sure.” He gave the other Gryffindor a reassuring smile and they went
into an unoccupied corner.
“Just… be gentle when knocking me out,” Neville said as he took a fighting stance.
You know, this isn’t actually a duelling competition. we are just supposed to practise our non-
verbal shielding,” Harry tried to calm the other, but Neville continued to look nervous.
“I know. but my non-verbal spells are even more hopeless than my verbal charms.”

Harry just nodded. He wished he could talk to his friend, speak honestly and openly with him about
his affinity and that he believed that it was okay, that it didn’t make him evil and that Neville
should maybe consider not binding his magic any longer. However, the middle of their defence
lesson was certainly neither the right time, nor the right place, so instead he just asked, “Do you
want to start with shielding?”

“Na, better you start. At least, you’ll have a chance to practise before knocking me out.”
Nodding, Harry concentrated on that feeling of his magic. He hadn’t quite let go of the sensation
anyway, he rarely did these days. actively directing his magic had almost become second nature
and he wagered, by the end of this term at the latest, he wouldn’t have to concentrate on it
anymore.

Sometimes Harry wondered if this state was similar to the one he had been supposed to gain
through his occlumency lessons, however, Harry wasn’t quite sure whom he could go to with that
question, now that he didn’t have Voldemort to tutor him anymore. However, his musings were
interrupted when he noticed a bright red stunner flying towards him. Neville had gotten really good
with those, none had grown as much as Neville had during their DA meetings.

He sent his magic towards his wand and just as with the fidelium spells Voldemort had taught him,
he concentrated on his intent rather than the incantation. His shield shimmered into life and
Neville’s stunner rebounded. His shield wasn’t quite as strong as his verbal one had always been,
but it was a good start.

Neville yelped, and stumbled backward, almost falling over his own feet.
“I should have expected the rebound,” he chuckled as he had regained his feet, an embarrassed
flush spreading up his neck. “You have always been brilliant with defence. I wish I could do magic
like that.”

“Everybody has their own talents, and you are a great wizard, Nev,” Harry said, trying to cheer his
friend up.
Neville didn’t seem convinced however and simply prompted, “Again?”

Sighing in defeat, Harry nodded. What Neville needed was not empty platitudes, but some spell or
ritual to unbind his core and a mentor, or at least a good book on elemental earth magic.

Returning to his defensive position, Harry gave his friend a sign and Neville shot another stunner
at him. Raising his shield quickly, the spell rebounded again, but this time Neville was prepared
and ducked out of the way without falling.
They repeated the exercise five more times, before Harry caught Sirius eye and realised that his
godfather would come over if they didn’t switch places soon.

“Do you want to try the shield now?” Harry therefore asked, turning back to his friend with what
he hoped to be an encouraging expression.
“Not really…” Neville began, but then noticed their new Professor’s stare as well, “but I will try
my best.”

Seeing his friend’s nervousness, Harry walked over and asked, “Have you been taught how to find
and access your core? I know it’s a technique purebloods usually teach their children…” he trailed
off, not wanting to accuse Neville’s grandmother of anything openly.

Neville hesitated a second, but then nodded. “My gran taught me, however, I don’t do it often…
My core…”
His friend trailed off, however, he didn’t need to finish, Harry could imagine what he meant and it
probably was something along the lines of ‘is not a pretty sight’ or ‘it’s unbearable for me to look
at it, bound as it is’.

“Will you still try it?”

“Yeah. Just… give me a moment,” his friend replied, closing his eyes.

Neville clearly had more practice in that exercise, Harry realised as he watched his friend, eyes
closed and utterly calm. He himself could not have gone into his core standing up and neither did
he connect as quickly as his friend did, he realised, as Neville blinked open his eyes only a moment
later. However, as easy as it apparently had been on the other Gryffindor, it was clearly as hurtful
as he expected. Neville had grown quite pale, and harsh lines suddenly marred his usually cheerful
face. He looked tortured, Harry couldn’t find better words for it.

Suddenly a wave of anger at the Light side and the stupid ministry rose inside of Harry. Seeing
Neville like this, a boy who was the most kind hearted of all the people Harry knew, was
unbearable. He suddenly felt bad that he hadn’t made the time to speak to his friend in private as he
had planned. He had known for nearly four months now how much his friend was suffering.
Making a mental note to look for a way to unbind Neville’s core once all the Christmas
celebrations were over, Harry renewed his vow to help the other boy.

“Harry, you ready?” Neville’s voice suddenly pulled him from his musings and Harry quickly
concentrated back on the task at hand.
Nodding, Harry gave his friend a moment and then shot his stunner at him. Neville’s eyes widened
in panic and Harry already saw his friend unconscious on the ground, when he jumped out of the
spell’s path just in time.

“At least you are good at dodging,” Harry laughed shakily, his heart racing.
“Sorry, I told you I am crap at this non-verbal stuff,” Neville flushed.

Sighing, Harry raked a hand through his mop of unruly hair. He wanted to help his friend, but he
just didn’t know how. Still, something had to be done, something short term to get him through
this and their next lessons, if nothing more.

“When you have connected to your core, do you send it towards your wand hand?”
His friend hesitated a moment, but then nodded. “I do, but that just doesn’t seem to be enough.”
Harry hummed, wracking his brain with what else could be the problem here. What tips had
Voldemort given him again? ‘Send your magic towards your wand’ and ‘It is yours and it will
listen to your command’, he had said.

It had been such a profound thing to say, every wizard and witch of course knew that their magic
was theirs, but after that exercise Voldemort had guided him though, Harry had felt that he had
never truly understood its meaning before.

“When you meditated before, have you ever touched your core and tried to change its shape?” he
asked.
Neville shook his head. “Can you even do that? I mean… it's this huge ball of energy...” he trailed
off with uncertainty. Harry thought that he sounded even slightly scared.

Shrugging, he replied, “Of course. It’s your magic and I have never heard of a case where a
person’s magic actually harmed them. I mean it is you”
Thinking that he might have an idea how to improve Neville’s limited skills, Harry pressed, “You
can actually touch and shape it at your will. Once you have mastered that, it’s not much harder to
control the amount you send out for a spell and direct it towards your wand. That’s how I learned
it.”

“Whenever you explain magic, it sounds so easy,” Neville laughed weakly. “I already thought so
when you taught the DA last year. Do you really think I can do it?” A note of hope had entered the
other Gryffindor’s voice.

Harry hesitated. With anybody else he would say ‘yes’, however, he knew what exactly Neville
was and at which cost his magical gift came. He didn’t want to give him false hope. “Honestly, I
am not sure,” he finally admitted. His friend’s face fell and he hastily continued, “Don’t get me
wrong, you are an incredible wizard, however, wordless and wandless magic is tricky. But that
doesn’t mean that you can’t be strong in other areas.” That at least was true and Harry believed
fully in it.

“But that won’t help me in my classes,” Neville sighed dejectedly.

Unfortunately that was true as well. “We can always try to teach at least wordless magic to you,”
Harry tried to cheer him up. Really,Neville didn’t deserve the scorn he got from most people. “I
learned non-verbal casting during the summer holidays while I visited two friends who have
already graduated. They insisted it would help me gain an edge in my classes this year. However, I
had the same problem you have, until one of them taught me how to meditate and access my core
deliberately. Before he taught me meditation, I didn’t even know one could do that.”

“I wish I had friends like you…” Neville sighed and Harry couldn’t stop himself from shooting
back teasingly, “Why? But you do! And if you want, we could always try if that method won’t
help you, too. Who knows, maybe it will!”
Neville blinked once, as if startled, but then his face softened. “You’re right, you are just as good a
friend.”

“Thank’s Nev,” Harry smiled back. “Come’on, let’s practise this a bit more slowly.”
He walked up to his friend and easily fell back into the role of DA instructor. “Now, defensive
stance,” he prompted and waited until Neville had moved into the right position. Checking his
stance, Harry nodded. “Now, send your magic to your wand hand. You don’t need a greater amount
for non-verbal, that only comes into play with wandless or spells that are especially power
demanding, and the former I haven’t learned that yet either…” he trailed off shortly, before
continuing, “once you have done that, just concentrate on what you wish to achieve. The intent
matters more with wordless and wandless magic than the words. ”

Neville nodded once, his concentration written all over his face and Harry watched closely as his
friend’s expression changed into one of concentration. Neville had to repeat the exercise three
times before finally a shimmer appeared in front of his wand. It was far too small, just about the
size of a plate, but Harry still smiled at him broadly.
“There you go. Nothing is impossible!” Still, he thought silently, it’s just painful to watch how
much effort Nev has to put into it just because some stupid wizards decided that elemental magic is
dark and his gran goes along with it.

They practised another ten minutes and managed to increase the radius of Neville’s shield slightly,
before Sirius once more called the class to attention.
“That’s it for today! I wish you all a Merry Christmas in advance. See you in the new year!” With a
flick of his godfather’s wand the tables righted themselves.

“Thank you again, Harry, and Merry Christmas,” Neville said with a small smile.
“I really don’t mind, so, don’t worry,” Harry smiled back. “Let’s write during the holidays, merry
Christmas!”

They separated and returned to their respective seats to collect their school bags and in Harry’s
case, wait for his godfather to finish setting the classroom to rights.

Harry would be flooring to Grimmauld Place with Sirius to spend the holidays together. It would
be his second Christmas outside of Hogwarts, but unlike last time, they had plans to spend it with
just the two of them to have a real, traditional family Christmas. Well, as traditional as it would
probably get with Sirius in the mix.

“Are you coming, Harry?” Hermione’s voice interrupted his musings.

Harry shook his head. “Actually, no. Sirius and I are going to floo to Diagon Alley from here and
then apparate. Dumbledore said we could leave early.”
“Lucky, you,” Ron groused, coming up behind him. “We will have to take the train tomorrow
morning.”
Harry just grinned back, feeling excited about the upcoming holidays. “Yeah, being related to a
professor does come with some perks,” he quibbed.
Hermione just gave him a soft smile. “Enjoy the extra time with Sirius, you two deserve it. I will
see you at the Weasleys.”
“Right, mate,” Ron agreed, before following Hermione out.
“Give me just a second,” Sirius said, flicking his wand at a couple of chairs which had somehow
toppled over. “Cleaning up is by far the worst part of being a professor. Just after correcting essays
and writing lesson plans.”

Harry just snorted. “If it's this bad, why don’t you go back to the aurors?”
“Na,” Sirius winked, “they don’t deserve me.”
“But we do?”
“Sure,” his godfather shot back, before finally pocketing his wand.
“I sent Kreacher back to the Hogwarts kitchen. It was that or murder him next time I heard him
pray for my propper death again… Unfortunately,” he continued apologetically as he led the way
back to his quarters, “it also means we will have to go shopping and cook for ourselves. But I think
that is still better than having the disgusting little blighter around! But you better start thinking of a
menu because I am utterly useless in the kitchen.”

“I don’t mind cooking,” Harry cut his godfather’s rambling of with a cheeky grin. However, it did
make him wonder if there was a single person in his life aside from Mrs Weasley who wasn’t
utterly useless with a pan.
“That’s good,” Sirius grinned back sheepishly, clearly relieved. “Anyway, Moony originally had
planned to join us as well, but with Dumbledore sending him back to those werewolf packs he
won't be able to… as if that ever worked with those wild beasts. In my experience they love being
werewolves too much and they relish in the excuse the curse gives them for harming innocents.
That is why, if anyone, they will join You-Know-Who again.”

Harry just hummed in reply, wondering if the situation could be simplified like that. He had met
Fenrir Greyback and his pack and while they certainly had seemed more beastly and animalistic
than Remus, he had still been able to talk reasonably with them and they certainly had seemed
happier and healthier than Remus. Maybe trying to suppress one's nature like the professor did, did
more harm than good after all.
They entered the small apartment where a house elf had already deposited Harry’s packed trunk.
His godfather’s was nowhere in sight, which probably meant the animagus had already shrunken
and pocketed it, so Harry quickly did the same while Sirius lit the hearth and threw some floo
powder in.

“You go ahead, pup, and no getting lost in Knockturn alley.”

“It only happened once and it was my first time flooing!” Harry threw his godfather a glare, but the
man just snickered. “Yeah, but from everything I’ve heard, your floo-travelling-skills haven’t
improved much since then.”
Knowing that this was an argument he wouldn’t possibly win, Harry called out “The Leaky
Cauldron,” and stepped into the green flames.

The floo ride was as unpleasant as ever, he probably never would get used to it, but at least it was
rather short. The dank and dingy pub was almost empty at this time of day as he stumbled out a
moment later. Only two shady looking, hooded figures sat in one corner, but they paid Harry no
mind and only a moment later the hearth flared up again and Sirius joined him.
“Let’s just get going,” his godfather said, turning towards the back door.
The backyard was as deserted as the pub had been, so Harry didn’t hesitate to grab Sirius’ arm and
before he knew it, they were standing on the doorstep of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Home, sweet home,” Sirius groused, looking unhappily at the old building, “but I guess I should
be thankful that I can even see this haunted house again.”
“Let’s get inside and hang some Christmas decorations up,” Harry suggested. “Fred and George
sent a box over, bet they will make even Grimmauld Place look cheerful.”

Apparently he had said the correct thing, for Sirius began to grin broadly and march ahead. They
put their trunks into their respective rooms, but left any unpacking for later, before meeting up in
the ground level hallway again.

“Let’s do the shopping first. I want some hot chocolate with firewhiskey or maybe some eggnog,”
Sirius proclaimed, before stopping. “Do you know how to make eggnog?”
Harry just shrugged. “Yeah, I do. But we should think about what we want to eat over Christmas
first, so that we don't need to return to the store later.”
“Good thinking,” his godfather nodded enthusiastically, however, that was all he did. Sighing,
Harry resigned himself to planning their menu on his own. He wanted something easy, filling, but
delicious.
“Do you like onion tart?”
Sirius just shrugged. “Kreacher was never allowed to make it. The Black females didn’t like
reeking of onions for days, that was at least what they said. But I know I like French onion soup.”
“Then you will like onion tart as well,” Harry decided and summoned some spare parchment and
quill to write a shopping list. He hoped he would get the typical white wine one drank to onion tart
and for dessert maybe those chocolate lava cakes once again? Humming at the thought, he added
the necessary ingredients as well. However, he had also promised to bring some soup or appetiser
to the weasleys. Maybe some French onion soup considering he would be chopping a sack full of
onions anyway? He could bake some homemade baguettes to go with it. Besides, Fleur would
surely like some familiar food and he wanted to do something nice for her. How Ron, Ginny and
Mrs. Weasley were talking about her wasn’t nice and Fleuur didn’t really deserve it. While Harry
hadn’t been especially close to her during the Triwizard Tournament, she had always been polite to
him, at least, once the excitement over a second Hogwarts champion had calmed down somewhat
and even more so after he had saved her little sister.

Making up his mind, Harry added some more items to the list, before pocketing it and sending the
quill back to where it had come from.

“Let’s go to M&S,” Sirius said, holding the front door open for Harry. “It’s muggle, but I don’t feel
like flooing over to the wizarding market,” he made a face and Harry gave a sympathetic nod. His
godfather had turned into some kind of celebrity ever since the announcement of his innocence.
Like a tragic hero and that he was his legal guardian only added to his newfound fame.

They left the narrow side alley and began to walk Pancras Road northwards. In contrast to
Scotland, it hadn’t snowed in London yet, but there was a definite chill in the air. Fortunately the
convenience store wasn’t far away, and soon they stepped into the inviting warmth of the
supermarket.

“Man, last time I was here I stole expired stuff from the trash cans as Snuffles,” Sirius said, looking
around almost wistfully. “Actually, that’s not quite true. I snuck here a few times while I was stuck
at Grimmauld. But if Molly ever asks you, I only went here as Snuffles, desperate and hungry,” he
winked.
Harry just snorted. “Maybe I just won’t mention this muggle supermarket at all. It will also save
me from Arthur’s excited questions.”
“Too true,” Sirius hummed and began leading the way further into the store, but then fell back
slightly, letting Harry take care of the rest.
“Could you fetch one of the carts, we will need quite a bit. I promised Mrs. Weasley to bring the
appetiser. À propos, do you want any soup or salad or is the main course and dessert enough?”
“Maybe just some green salad on the side?” His godfather hummed, pulling out one of the carts
and dumping some iceberg lettuce in. Harry added a big sack of onions and a package of soup
greens before making his way over to the section with the baking stuff. He would need flour for
the chocolate lava cake and the baguette, so he added two packages of those, just to be doubly sure.
“You can grab some of that chocolate,” he pointed at the shelf across the aisle while he went ahead
to the refrigerators to fetch heavy cream, creme fraiche, butter and a small carton of vanilla ice
cream.

Looking at his steady growing pile of groceries, Harry wondered what Voldemort would be having
this evening. Probably not much, or at least nothing special considering his talent for cooking. But
then again, maybe the wizard didn’t even celebrate. If anything, Voldemort would celebrate Yule,
but the festive season traditionally lasted from December 21st to January 1st, so there was no
saying when Voldemort would celebrate or even if he hadn’t already. Still…
Turning to Sirius, he asked, “Is there a way to send a friend some Christmas food? He hasn’t any
family and no talent for cooking.”
His godfather bliked, looking for a split second surprised but then nodded. “Sure. I still should
have my magical lunchbox, they keep everything you put in warm and fresh. Or you could just
invite him. I guess it's not Ron?”
“Er…” Harry floundered, “he is actually quite the loner, so he wouldn’t want to come anyway. But
I just feel bad that he probably doesn’t even have something nice to eat.”
“I can look for my old lunchbox once we are back home,'' Sirius promised, tossing a package of
crisps into the card.

Half an hour later they finally had everything they would need and left the store. It was getting dark
outside, despite the fact that it was still rather early, only 4PM. Sirius hurriedly shrank their
groceries and pocketed everything, before grabbing Harry and apparating them back to the front
step of his ancestral home.

“I bloody hate this freezing cold!” he said in explanation. “I always have but it's worse since
Azkaban. It was bloody freezing there too!'' He pushed the front door open and Harry followed him
inside and watched his Godfather disappear into the cellar.

Sighing, Harry decided to give him a moment for himself. The therapy at St. Mungo’s had helped a
lot, but there still were moments where it was plain to see that his godfather was and probably
always would be, traumatised. At least to a certain extent. He guessed he should just be glad that
the marauder didn’t confuse him with James any longer and having Sirius, even in this state, was
still better than not having him at all.

Deciding that he would use the time Sirius needed to unpack, Harry went first into the old parlour
where the old fashioned magical record player stood. He found some Celestina Warback and soon
her cheerful voice echoed through the gloomy halls of Grimmauld Place, then he went further up to
his own room to begin unpacking.

However, once he pushed the door to the room he usually shared with Ron open, he was greeted by
a surprise. A rather shocking surprise as his room looked totally different than last time he had
stepped a foot inside. Everything, from the cover of his comforter and pillow, to the plushy set of
armchairs in the corner, to the hangings in front of the window was Gryffindor red and gold.
Apparently, Sirius had used his newfound freedom to redecorate and used his old common room as
inspiration. There even was a Gryffindor banner over his headboard. It was - quite overwhelming,
if he had to be honest.

Resizing his trunk, Harry began to unpack. It actually was quite nice. He had never had a room to
unpack his belongings in. When the Order had stayed at Grimmauld the years prior, he had shared
the room with Ron, so it hadn’t really been his and whenever he had stayed over at the Weasleys,
there hadn’t been enough space to actually unpack and settle in.

Sirius had made a built-in wardrobe which was about the size of his old bedroom at Private Drive.
Standing in the midst of it, a set of drawers to his left with a long clothes rail for all his button-
down shirt hanging shiny and new above it and compartments for t-shirt and the many pair of
shoes he didn’t posses to his right, Harry felt as if he was defiling this new addition to the house by
putting his old hand-me-downs away. There even was a small footstool just behind him and an
expensive looking, silver shoehorn in a matching silver stand just behind him. However, he also
didn’t wish to seem ungrateful after Sirius had gone to such length and expenses for him. He really
needed to buy new clothes.
He was nearly finished when a soft knock finally interrupted him.

“Hey pup, I found my old lunch box,'' Sirius said, holding a medium sized container up - it was
also red and gold and sported the Gryfindor house crest. He snorted at the thought of Voldemort
receiving this lunchbox, but merely said, “Thanks, could you put it in the kitchen? I’ll be down in a
minute.”

“Should I start with some dinner preparation?” His godfather asked, looking as if he wasn’t quite
sure if it would actually be a good idea himself.
“No, just unpack maybe,” Harry quickly said, he really didn’t fancy the idea of burned Christmas
dinner.

Sirius vanished downstairs again and Harry quickly hurried to unpack the rest of his trunk, then, he
as well, went downstairs. When he arrived in the kitchen Sirius was stirring in an old copper pot.
Wincing, Harry glanced over his shoulder and sighed in relief when he saw that his godfather was
just heating some milk.

“Do you want some hot chocolate as well? I know there was this spell to whip cream…”
“Don’t worry,” Harry quickly retorted, making his way over to the still mostly packed bags, “I can
do it.”
“That's probably the safer bet,” Sirius agreed, summoning the chocolate they had bought and a
bottle of fire whiskey, while Harry fetched a bowl and an eggbeater and started whisking the heavy
cream.

“Are you not using a spell for that?” Sirius asked, giving him a sceptical look.
Harry shook his head, While he had to admit that the cooking spells Voldemort had taught him
were useful if he had to cook for a larger group, he still preferred cooking the muggle way. “I
learned it like this and it's not as difficult as it looks.”
“I bet,” his godfather agreed doubtfully, before taking his pot from the stove and pouring cacao in
two mugs and topping them off with a generous helping of fire whiskey.
“You realise I am only 16?” Harry asked, eyeing the mug his godfather placed in front of him
suspiciously, however, Sirius just waved him off. “Don’t worry. It’s not as if we will share an
entire bottle,” he said.
“True,” Harry grinned back and took a sip. Instantly he had to suppress a moan. “Hm, this is really
good!” he exclaimed.
His godfather just chuckled and took a huge gulp before putting his mug back down and grinning at
Harry with an expectant look. “Now, what do we need to do first?”
Feeling slightly confused, Harry blinked. “We?”
Sirius just nodded eagerly. “The cooking. I wanna help.”
“Oh… um…” Harry winced internally. He really would rather cook on his own. “You really don’t
have to…” he tried, but when Harry looked over at his godfather, he saw his big puppy eyes and
knew he was beaten.

Resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get rid of his godfather so easily, Harry quickly
searched his brain for something easy he could have Sirius do. Something that wouldn’t lead to
their dinner being uneatable if he messed it up.

“You could start with chopping. The salad needs to be cut and all those onions as well.” he said
with a vague gesture towards their shopping bags. “I will join you as soon as I have prepared the
dough and the sauce for the onion tart.
With a flick of his wand, Sirius summoned the bag of onions as well as a long knife and a cutting
board and started chopping with a merry tune on his lips, leaving Harry to get out everything he
needed for the dough.

“You know, celebrating Christmas with you was one of those fantasies that kept me sane while in
Azkaban,” Sirius said after a while.
Harry, who had just been pulling a big bowl from one of the cupboards, paused and looked up.
However, before he could say something, his godfather already continued.
“Of course, in those fantasies you were a lot younger. Just a few years older than when I last saw
you,” he chuckled. “Your first Christmas we spent James, Lilly, you and I spent together, your
parents said they didn’t want me to spend the holidays alone in this ruddy house, drinking my
brains out until I can’t even remember my own name. But that year you were still too young to
realise what was going on…” he sighed wistfully. “I would imagine how you would stare with
those big, green eyes of yours at a pile of presents - of which 90 percent I’d bought you, of course.
Or how you would be all excited and annoyed days in advance, until your parents couldn’t take it
any more and dump you at my flat so that they could get at least an afternoon of peace,” at which
Sirius laughed loudly, but it trailed off into a sad sigh.
“I wish I wouldn’t have missed those years where you had been young enough to still be excited.”
“I am still pretty excited every Boxing Day,” Harry said truthfully, leaving out the fact that it was
because the first time he had celebrated the holiday and gotten presents had just been 6 years ago.
No wonder he still felt like a small, excitable child whenever Hagrid dragged those huge pine trees
into the great hall.

“Don’t worry about it, pup. You don’t have to explain, I am just happy that I can finally spend the
holiday with you again.”
“We will have the best Christmas ever, Harry promised, finally pulling a bowl from the cupboard.
The recipe for the pastry dough was easy enough. He just mixed flour, butter, some vinegar, salt
and water. However, creating that flaky texture was a different matter. Fortunately for that as well,
Voldemort had taught him a spell - or rather, had handed him a book with the unappealing
sounding title “Advanced household spells for the Pureblood Lady” and this spell, actually was a
spell he was glad about.

They fell into an easy routine. Sirius cast a spell that interchanged Celistina Warback with famous
muggle Christmas songs and they began to sing along while they chopped, mixed and drank more
hot chocolate with fire whiskey. By the time Sirius went upstairs to set the table in the old, dusty
parlour, he was singing much louder than one and a half hours prior.

Chuckling, Harry summoned his godfather’s old lunch box and winced again at the sight of the
Gryffindor House Crest and all the red and gold. Hopefully Voldemort would be able to look past
it, and not curse the box on sight, it really would be too sad about the foot.
An image of Voldemort’s eyes widening in disbelief as an owl dropped a Gryffindor lunchbox into
his lap flashed in front of Harry’s inner eye and he snickered. He really wished he could see it. But
thinking of owls, he would ask Sirius if he knew how to send the box to Voldemort, he certainly
couldn’t use Hedwig to deliver it - everybody knew that she was Harry Potter’s owl after all. But
first things first.

Armed with one of the old kitchen towels, Harry made his way over to the oven where the onion
tart should be ready by now. One look at the perfectly golden onions and raised dough told him
that his instinct for cooking hadn’t left him since he had left Voldemort.

Carefully, Harry pulled the oven tray out, placed it onto the counter, cut a sizable piece from the
tart and carefully placed it into the lunchbox. He added some of the green salad and flamed a piece
of the christmas pudding and placed it in the box as well - he really loved magic and bottom-less
charms.

For the soup however, Harry realised he would have to get more inventive. Unfortunately
tupperware was a rarity in wizarding households. Looking around for some sort of inspiration,
Harry’s eyes fell on the nearly empty fire whiskey bottle. Getting an idea, he poured the rest of the
whiskey into Sirius’ mug and cast a cleaning charm on the mug before pouring some of the clear
broth inside and closing it securely with the cork again.

Satisfied, Harry added the bottle to the lunchbox as well and picked it up to ask Sirius how to get it
to… well…

When Harry entered the parlour a moment later, Sirius was just putting the box of Christmas
crackers they had bought earlier onto the table, but looked up as soon as he heard his godson enter.

“Dinner ready?” he asked with a look at the box Harry was holding.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, but I wanted to send this off first. Any idea how? I don’t want to use
Hedwig… you know how noticeable she is.”
To his surprise Sirius waved him off. “An owl isn’t necessary. This box has a charm permanently
cast on it that allows one to send it anywhere as long as you can picture the destination clearly. It’s
similar to apparition, only you stay here and only the box leaves.”

Well, that was convenient, Harry supposed. “so, how do I send the box off then?”
“Just close your eyes, envision the destination - as I said - and well…” his godfather shrugged. “I
will bring up our dinner in the meantime.”
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at the eloquent explanation, Harry did as instructed, wishing
for an instruction closer to Voldemort’s level of advice. His magic spiked and in the next second
his hands felt empty. Blinking his eyes open, Harry saw that the lunchbox had indeed gone.

_____________________

Voldemort closed the book he had been reading with a snap that was far too violent for the ancient
and fragile tome. Fine paper dust rained down, but he ignored it as he rose to his feet and glared at
the spot he had been sitting for the past three hours; where he had leaned against the backrest a thin
sheen of black curls now covered the spot where his head had rested.

His condition had progressively deteriorated since his valet had left and in contrast to what he was
used to, ever since then, he had run into nothing but walls. He hadn’t been able to find out who
exactly Hades Dursley was, and by now he strongly suspected that the boy hadn’t given him his
real name. In retrospect, he had to admit that he had been foolish to not demand any proof of his
person. Unfortunately there were nearly 300 persons with the surname Dusley in the United
Kingdom and while a few of his lower ranked Death Eaters were slowly wading them, it was
proving to be a slow and tedious task.

The quickest way would have been to ask Severus to inquire with the Order, however, if
Dumbledore truly was close to a family with that name, any inquiries could far too easily set the
old wizard’s alarm bells off, especially considering that Voldemort couldn’t still be 100% sure
about his spy’s loyalty.

To complicate the search for his wayward servant it had turned out that the glamour he had helped
the boy construct hadn’t even reflected his true, pre-inheritance appearance and therefore, the
description he had given his Death Eaters might be just as misleading.

Voldemort had tried to look into the ancestry of the Peverell family as well. Unfortunately, while it
was known that two of the three lines (the one of Cadmus, his own ancestor and Ignotus, the one
Hades obviously must stem from) had continued through quite some time, he hadn’t been able to
uncover much more information on the matter. He couldn’t even find out which wizarding family
had continued Ignotus’ legacy after the line had died out in the male line. It of course had to be a
pureblood family, however, the last male ancestor of Ignotus Peverell had sired five daughters and
there was no clue who of them and continued her family’s legacy.

The black temple that had appeared on his grounds during the night of the boy’s inheritance was of
no help either. He had tried to enter, but whenever he neared the building countless graves around
the outer walls would burst open and an army of - Voldemort could not actually say just exactly
what they were. They certainly weren’t living humans any longer, however, neither were they
inferi; they had seemed far too aware to be categorised as such.

At the very least the boy didn’t seem to have betrayed him so far. Or maybe he merely hadn’t been
able to break the vow he had taken so far. However, if the latter was the case, it was only a
question of time considering that his parents were apparently close to Dumbledore, which was one
of the few points in Hades’ story he didn’t doubt now, especially considering whom exactly he had
brought back a couple of months ago; Sirius Black.

In contrast to the ignorant public, Voldemort knew exactly how the ex-auror had died in the
Department of Mysteries. Sirius Black had been a constant thorn in his sight during his last rise to
power. As a Black he had received nothing but the best education in all kinds of magical fields. In
addition he was intelligent, powerful and less unstable than most of the later Black Generation.

But what worried him even more was that Black was Harry Potter’s godfather. There was no doubt
in his mind that Hades had been acting on Dumbledore’s order and it was just the first plan of a
new plan of his. However, all of his followers’ endeavours to find more detail of this newest
scheme yielded no results.

Equally fruitless was his research on what might be contributing to his degenerating physical and
magical health. It had taken him about a week to notice that the amount of hair he was losing
wasn’t in the normal range anymore. And while losing his hair again wasn’t anything he minded
especially, he did start to worry as he realised that it was merely the first sign of his general
declining health.

At this point his eyebrows were long gone and the bridge of his nose had grown a bit flatter and
more non-existent every day. Soon, if it continued, he would be back to the state he had been in
after his resurrection. But what worried him even more was the possibility of Dumbledore’s curse
returning. So far there were no signs, however, the thought of finding himself once again so close
to death frightened him. As much as he hated to admit it.
Unfortunately, information on necromancy was rare. As far as Voldemort could tell, he hadn’t
made any mistakes constructing his resurrection ritual and Wormtail, as astounding as it still was,
had also made no mistakes carrying it out.

Therefore he had turned to what kind of necromantic magic the Peverell heir might have used to
stabilise his state, but it seemed that the Peverells had been very careful about records on their
craft. They just were not circulated. Not that he hadn’t expected as much, considering that the
solitary book he had been able to track down during his initial research on necromancy some five
decades ago had been written in an runic alphabet he had never seen before and never encountered
again since.

Frustrated beyond measure, Voldemort pushed the thought to the back of his mind and turned to
leave his parlour. Work was piling up on his desk and there still was the matter of the upcoming
election. If things continued to process at the Ministry as they currently were going, he would have
to eliminate Rufus Scrimgeour before the wizard was elected as the next Minister for Magic and
turned the Ministry into a serious threat to his own plans. He certainly couldn’t afford to constantly
think about his wayward servant.

He made his way into his office, where stacks of reports had started to pile up on his desk and the
small side table that stood in one corner. Sitting down, he pulled the stack with the attached note
‘urgent’ closer and began to read through the first file.
He quickly realised that the report would not contribute to lifting his mood.
Apparently former Unspeakable Broderick Bode was regaining his ability to speak and
communicate. Scowling, Voldemort tapped his index finger in annoyance. After Lucius had
handed in his first report on that particular mission, he had known right away that Bode would
cause trouble. While many Ministry employees were mindless sheep, the unspeakables certainly
were not.

Lucius had always been prone to arrogance in his job and on his missions and this was just another
example of the same. The blond should have known that trying to put an unspeakable under the
Imperius curse, especially for a prolonged amount of time, would be nigh on impossible.

He would have to make sure that Bode was disposed of before he started to remember and regained
enough of his communication skills to cause even more trouble. Normally, he had enough low
ranked underlings for such tasks, however, Bode was still in St. Mungos.

Pushing his left sleeve up, he pressed his finger to the crimson tattoo that now adorned his
forearm. He stroked it for a moment, thinking about the decision to mark himself. When Hades
disappeared, it quickly became apparent that Barty would be unable to accomplish anything of his
own if he was constantly required to be on hand in case he needed to call one of his followers.
While he didn't have any particular feelings regarding the presence or absence of his own mark on
his flesh, he had to admit the expediency of being able to summon without requiring the presence
of another was nice. And a time-saver, which he appreciated with all the work he had to do.

Knowing that it would take a few minutes, he returned his attention to his pile of folders and began
to read the next one in line. He was halfway through, when a soft knock sounded and Peneios
Greengrass, current Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass and leader of the hit
wizard squad, stepped in and bowed.

After himself and Hades - once his little Master of Death had returned and studied his family’s
magic thoroughly at least - Peneios Greengrass was certainly the most dangerous mage in his dark
army.

That man was very knowledgeable on rare and deadly curses and able to wield an unprecedented
array of weapons. However, what truly made him so lethal was his utterly commonplace
appearance. He was a man you would pass by on a street and immediately forget.

“My Lord.”
“Peneios,” he greeted, motioning for the man to straighten. “I have a task for you and your squad,”
he began without preamble. “Bode has been regaining his ability to speak and communicate
recently. He needs to be disposed of. You may take care of the matter yourself or pick one of your
squad members, I don’t care as long as the matter is handled quickly and discreetly.”

“Consider it dealt with,” Peneios replied. He was also the one wizard in his fellowship who
possibly was even less prone to chit-chat than himself and Severus Snape.
“Good. You may go.”
Peneios bowed and left without another word, leaving Voldemort to once again return to his stacks
of reports.

He worked for several hours and had successfully read through over half of the accumulated files
when a second soft knock disturbed him.
Without looking up he called out for his visitor to come in. The steps told him that it was Barty,
however, he finished reading the report in front of him first, before turning around.

“My Lord, dinner is prepared.”

“Thank you, Barty, I will make sure to eat the salad before it wilts.”

Since Hades had left Barty had made it his business to gain some cooking skills. So far he had only
succeeded in learning how to prepare salads and whip up simple dressings. Although admittedly,
including the latter, Barty had now officially mastered an art better than he himself. However, that
didn’t mean that he appreciated brat for each dinner, especially considering that after his
resurrection and Dumbledore’s curse his body still could use some more weight, not less.

“Then, if it is acceptable, I will eat first, my Lord.”

“Suit yourself,” Voldemort replied, already turning back to his desk.

He worked like this for another hour and was just about to reach for the report that lay waiting on
his desk when something suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a pop in front of him.

His wand was in his hand in an instant, pointed at the offending object, a curse on his lips - then
his brain caught up to what had appeared in front of him. A lunch box. A garish, Gryffindor red
lunch boy with its bold emblem roaring up at him, to be precise.

For a split second he wondered who could have sent him such a thing, but then he remembered that
Barty had mentioned that the boy’s mother had been a Gryffindor.

Still, it was concerning. While these kinds of magical lunch boxes were enchanted to indeed be
sent in a way that could closest be compared to apparition, his wards should certainly have kept it
out. However, the same could have been said about his little valet as well.

So far Voldemort had assumed that it had been the boy's special legacy that had allowed him
entrance, after all, he himself, as magic’s chosen dark lord, could enter places and perform deeds
normal mages could not even start dreaming about. However, there clearly had to be more to it,
considering that any magical legacy would not stretch to one's possessions. It seems, Hades
Dursley was an ever-growing mystery.

Frowning, he waved his wand over the lunch box. He didn’t truly believe that the boy would send
him poisoned or cursed food, but he hadn’t survived this long because he was negligent.
As expected however, nothing showed up. Satisfied. Voldemort pocketed his wand once more and
lifted the lid of the lunch boy. Instantly, a delicious smell filled his nostrils and his stomach made
an impatient noise. It seemed he had missed Hades’ cooking more than he had realised.

Checking what exactly the boy had sent him, he found two generous slices of onion tart, a small
portion of salad, a big piece of Christmas pudding, three slices of home baked bread and a whisky
bottle full of what seemed to be french onion soup.

Snorting softly at the last item, Voldemort wondered who had emptied the bottle; the boy, or his
parents. Pushing the ridiculous question from his mind, Voldemort put the lid of the box back on
and left with the container for the kitchen.

The kitchen was cold and dark, as it had been ever since his valet had left. Unwittingly, his mind
returned to the afternoon where he had taught the boy household charms here, not that Hades truly
had needed them, other than to impress people like the Malfoys, who believed that anything done
without the use of magic wasn’t worth their attention.

However, in his weeks alone at the castle, Voldemort had been forced to realise that no magic in
the universe could feed you if you were not talented. Cooking was quite possibly the only area he
didn’t excel in.

Sitting down behind the sturdy work table, he conjured a plate, cutlery, and a bowl and began to
dish up the food his little servant had sent over. Voldemort had never cared for Christmas much
and aside from his duties as Lord of Magic, he didn’t particularly care for the celebrations
surrounding Yule either, although in the past he attended at least one bigger celebration.

However, smelling the delicious scent of the food, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that at
least one good thing had come out of the festive season this year. In addition, he now had proof
that his little valet clearly had not forgotten the summer months at his castle which meant there was
a good chance that he would be able to lure him back in. All he needed was the right bait.

Pondering over the matter, Voldemort began eating. While neither a traditional muggle or
wizarding Christmas dinner, the feast Hades had sent was as good as anything he had ever cooked.
It certainly filled his stomach more thoroughly than Barty’s salads. Maybe he should see if he
couldn’t find a house elf in need of work after all; or just bribe one of his followers to hand one of
theirs over. If not as good as Hades’ cuisine, then it certainly would be more comfortable than
things were right now.

Pushing the thought to the side, Voldemort dipped his slice of bread into the soup once more and
focused back on the truly important question. Unfortunately he didn’t know the boy well enough to
gauge what a good bait would be.

He usually tended to stick with the classics; threatening with harming family members, however,
even if his followers had been able to find the boy and his parents, considering how easily he was
able to resurrect people, Voldemort doubted that that threat would work. Which left him with only
one other option: luring the boy into coming back by himself through gifts. It wasn’t a way he
usually preferred, he disliked how pathetic it made him feel; he rather preferred the other party
being the one bagging for favours, however, in this case it seemed the best course of action.

The present would of course have to be something that caught the boy’s attention and certainly
something more special than the usual trinkets he gave his followers as a reward.

A sudden sound pulled him once again out of his musings, however, it was only Nagini who was
searching him out.
“Give me some rats, Master. The snow is so high, I don’t want to go out hunting,” she demanded,
dragging her huge body into the room and coiling it around the legs of his chair.

“You know very well that snow is not harmful to you. Don’t be lazy,” Voldemort replied, glaring
at his familiar.

“But it’s uncomfortable. Even my hatchling has returned from the forest to spend the night in her
mother’s nest,” she said, just as a second snake head appeared in the crack of the door.

“Mother’s Master,” the reptile greeted him, making her way over.
She had grown long, Voldemort noted. Angrboda was Nagini’s only hatchling so far, a rare cross
between a magical snake and a basilisk. Centuries ago, these cross-breeds had been named
‘worldserpants’ after the horrific beast that haunted the sea in northern mythology. These hybrids
were the only natural way a basilisk could reproduce and while certainly not as deadly as the
legendary beast, those offspring certainly were impressive in their own right.

Voldemort had initiated the mating back when he had still been a student at Hogwarts. After
insemination it had taken several years until Nagini had laid the egg and afterwards, another
decade for the basilisk-snake hybrid to emerge.

Nagini had allowed him to choose her daughter’s name, even though he could not bond to her in
addition to his own familiar. It was an unfortunate fact that a mage could only bond to one magical
creature at a time. Post owls were the only exceptions, but they didn’t truly count Angrboda,
bringer of fear, he had chosen, which looking at the pubescent snake now, certainly was an apt
title. A worthy name for a worthy snake. And one day, a snake who would be a powerful familiar
for an equally powerful master one day.

Already she was nearly as long as her mother, but her broad head suggested that she would
eventually be at least be half again as large. In addition, Angrboda possessed ridges and horns
around her head and down the entire length that, just like a real basilisk, made her strongly
resemble a dragon. The black colouring however, Angrboda had inherited from his Nagini, as
Basilisks were typically green. However, there was a chance that, just as Nagini had taken on his
family’s green colour, Angrboda would one day add a second colour to her skin once she bound
herself to someone.

Halting at his train of thoughts, Voldemort turned to face the reptile once more.
“Say, Angrboda, have you been able to find a possible master yet?”

The snake shook her heavy head. “No, master of mother. Angrboda has been looking, but has only
found weak wizards so far. They are unworthy to be more than prey.”
"What would you think about bonding to a wizard I know?" Voldemort asked, knowing that the
snake would react better to a request than an order since she wasn't his familiar.
“Mother’s master has found a master for Angrboda?” the reptile questioned, raising her head in
interest.

Humming to himself, Voldemort nodded. “He is still young and has not yet come into his full
potential,” he said, warming up further to the idea whilst he spoke. There was certainly no one
more deserving of the only basilisk-hybrid on the isles than the Master of Death. His prophesied
key to victory. “He is the Lord of the Black Cosmos, the world of the passed on.”

“Then he is mother’s master’s ally?” the reptile questioned. “Because Angrboda does not wish to
fight her mother.”
It was times like this Voldemort realised how young the hybrid still was. However, it was hard to
estimate when the serpent would be fully grown as ancient records showed a great variety in those
cross-breeds. Their general strength, abilities and size depended on many factors that were related
to the non-basilisk parent.

“Yes,” Voldemort confirmed. “He is destined to be my ally and I will make sure that it comes to
pass,” Voldemort vowed as much to himself as to the serpent.

“Then Angrboda will gladly accept this young wizard as her master.”

_____________________

“This was great! The best Christmas dinner ever!“ Sirius proclaimed as he fell onto the sofa next to
Harry.
“Thanks, Padfoot,” Harry grinned, licking some spilled eggnog from his wrist.
They had finished eating and exchanging gifts with Remus a while ago and Harry was feeling
pleasantly warm and lazy. Sirius had gotten him a whole new wardrobe and forbidden him to
complain about the amount of gifts or the money all those shirts, pullovers, jeans, trousers, shouse,
belts, cloaks and robes must have caused.

Truth to be told, Harry hadn’t even thought about contemplaining or rejecting the enormous pile -
mostly because he really needed new clothes and secondly, because the stuff his godfather had
bought him was quite plainly amazing.

The things were a mixture of the highest wizarding and muggle fashion and in contrast to what
Harry might have expected, weren’t al all the style the animagus himself would were but rather
things, that didn’t only underline Harry’s better physical attributes (and yes, he was amazed that he
actually possessed any) but also his character. The items were all fashionable and elegant in a
modest way and to Harry’s delight the majority would even suit his changed looks as well.

“But you know what is really, really missing from this Christmas still?”
His godfather’s voice interrupted his contemplation and Harry turned his head to the side,
squinting when Sirius' visage looked slightly blurry and possessed a third eye just atop his nose.

“What?” he asked, meeting those huge, puppy-dog-eyes and feeling as if he should know.
“Your parents!”
Harry just blinked, but the fuzziness in his brain wouldn’t dissolve.
Finally he said, “Yeah, I miss them, too.”

“Then why?” his godfather asked, looking as if he didn’t understand the world. “
Harry at least, certainly didn’t. “Why what?”
“Why didn’t you bring them back? Like me?I’ve been wondering ‘bout that ever since you brought
me back!”

Harry knew he had reasons for why, but by the love of Merlin, he couldn’t remember them right
now.
Sirius meanwhile, pressed on. “You can do that, right? I mean, you brought me back and that
Diggory-kid.”
“Yeah…” Harry affirmed and quickly stopped nodding when the motion made the world spin.
However, it had been the wrong thing to reply, he realised, when Sirius once more asked

“Then why?”
Harry shrugged, trying to remember this really good, solid argument he had given himself back in
September, but all that came out was, “I need all those really expensive and hard to get ingredients
and last time I went to Knockturn Alley for your stuff the witch at the Apothecary wanted to buy
my virgin sperm.”

Sirius snorted. “But would you do it if I bought the ingredients for you? Or, we could steal from
old’ Snivellus! I bet he has all kinds of fishy, half-legal stuff in that basement room of his!”
“Well, um…” Harry replied intelligently, trying to find a way out of this. As if sensing his
hesitation, his godfather continued.
“I mean, wouldn’t it be great to have them back? You could finally get to know your mum and
dad! Just imagine Remus’ face when he learns that the pack is once again complete!”
Sirius’ enthusiasm was as always contagious and Harry really couldn’t remember anymore why he
hadn’t brought them back together with his godfather and Cedric. If he thought about it, he could
already see himself going to Quidditch matches with his dad or baking Christmas cookies with his
mum next year. Surely whatever reason he has had couldn’t have been as good as these?

Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Hig godfather’s face broke into the happiest expression Harry had ever seen. “Then you will do
it?”
“Yeah, I will,” Harry affirmed, the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading even further through his system.
“Great!” Sirius exclaimed, jumped to his feet and began to pull Harry out of the parlour by his
hand. “Snivellus thinks I can’t get into that Potions lab he has set up in the cellar, but as
A blooded Black I can get into any room in this nasty, decrepit house,” he rambled excitedly,
dragging a grinning Harry down the staircase. Really, why hadn’t he done this earlier? Sirius
flicked his wand, illuminating the dark hallway with a dim light.

Sirius finally halted in front of a closed door that looked just like any other down in the basement
and let go of Harry. Immediately, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at the door. A moment later
a quiet click could be heard and his godfather threw him a broad grin.
“One obstacle down,” he winked, pushing the door open.
Excited, Harry followed his godfather into the cold potions lab.

The room just screamed of Snape. The meticulous way the stirring rods and ladles hung on the
wall, from smallest to largest and the spotless counters was just like when he entered the Potions
classroom before any other class had entered. Next to him, Sirius looked around with a sneer.
“Let’s hurry, I can’t stand that greasy git or any room he regularly occupies,” he said, walking over
to a door in the corner.
Harry followed, surprised when he saw that the storage room wasn‘t warded as well, but then
again, not even Snape would probably worry that someone would raid his cupboards here.

“So what do you need?“ Sirius asked with an inviting gesture at the shelves in front of them.
“Um…“ Harry fumbled, his excitement dimming as he tried to remember what he needed.
Unfortunately he neither had an eidetic memory like he suspected Voldemrt possessed nor was he
as studious as Hermione.
“Wait a sec,“ he said, pulling out his wand and returning to the cellar door.
“Accio resurrection ritual!“ he shouted, pointing his wand in the direction of the staircase. It took a
moment, however not as long as his broom had needed when he had summoned it in the first task
of the Triwizard Tournament. The scroll came zooming down the hallway and he caught it a bit
more clumsily than usual, before returning to the storage room.

“You had it in your trunk?“ His godfather grinned with a glance at the old parchment.
Harry shrugged. “Should I have left it in my dorm at Hogwarts?“
“Good point,“ Sirius winced and waited while Harry looked for the long list of ingredients.
“We will need…“ he began to list the ingredients necessary to bring his parents back.
Sirius, clearly much better at recognizing potions ingredients than Harry had thought, skipped up
and down the tall shelves, collecting everything while Harry read out.

“That's quite a list,” he finally said after the last item had found its way into the basket.
“Yeah, well, it’s a complicated ritual,” Harry said, not sure if it was meant as an excuse or a mere
explanation, “and we need everything twice.”
“True, true,” Sirius hummed, the happy grin that had faded while he had concentrated on the
preparation returning. “Now all we have left to do is baking those loaves of bread?“
“All that all I have left to do,” Harry corrected him. If he didn’t trust Sirius to cook their Christmas
dinner, he certainly wouldn’t let him bake bread for a ritual. “We also still need a place for the
ritual.”
Sirius just waved him off. “Leave it to me, I already figured the perfect spot out.”

“Where?” Harry asked, curious, but his godfather just waved him off again.
“You will recognize it once we are there.”

Maybe it was the mischievous gleam that had entered the marauder’s eyes, or maybe it was just
one of those strange, precognitive feelings he sometimes got before his life turned crazy, but
something stopped Harry from asking further. Instead he turned to leave the potions lab.

“Come on Sirius, it’s already late and we promised Mrs. Weasley to be at that Burrow at 11. You
can help me find 2 pounds of flour.”

They sent the basket up to the front hallway, protected by a series of protection spells Sirius
insisted upon “I don’t want to risk my best friends’ lives,” he had said the left out “again” audible
for Harry.

In the kitchen Harry told him to sit down and just listen to some music while he quickly started
baking. As it was already rather late and the ritual circle needed to be ready before the stroke of
midnight, Harry followed the advice of a small, handwritten note at the side of the document and
baked two pairs of simple bread without yeast like those people in Arabian countries preferred. It
cut the time until the four loaves were ready by ¾.

Seeing that his godfather had snapped off in exhaustion, Harry went over and carefully shook him
awake.
“Wha…?” he mumbled, jerking into a more upright position.
“It’s ready. We can leave,” Harry said, gesturing towards the baked goods which he had wrapped
into a simple linen cloth for protection.
Sirius needed a second, but then his grey eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, suddenly once
again wide awake. “We will need to apparate there,” he said, leaving the kitchen without even
checking if Harry was following in his excitement.

Fearing that the animagus would apparate away without him, Harry hurried after his godfather. He
found Sirius in the entrance hallway, where he was already busy pulling his heavy winter cloak on.
“This perfect place…” Harry wentured hesitantly, his eyes darting towards the window where
snow had covered the front yard beneath a thick, white blanket, “it isn’t by any chance a proper
ritual chamber in some abandoned Black property?” He didn’t fancy the thought of getting
undressed outside in this weather.
In answer his godfather just snorted. “Do you want to give your parents a fright as a welcoming
present? I always knew you had a marauder in you but that might be a bit much.”
Praying that the Master of Death was immune to death by hypothermia, Harry followed his
godfather out onto the porch.
“Ready?” Sirius asked, holding out his arm in a gesture reminiscent of earlier.
Nodding, Harry grabbed his arm and he was whisked away. A frosty wind greeted him a moment
later.

Looking around, Harry tried to find out where Sirius had brought them, his godfather had said he
would recognize the place instantly, but the sight of the front lawn actually didn’t look familiar at
all.

Brambles had overgrown a large portion of the sizable front garden, even the thick blanket of snow
wasn’t able to hide them completely. The cottage that stood in the centre didn’t look much better,
in fact, it looked as if it had been the location of a battle. Even in the dim light Sirius’ wand and
the muggle lanterns cast on the place, Harry could make out shattered windows and the broken-in
door.
“Do you want to do the ritual in the house or better out here? We could also go into the back
garden.”

Letting his gaze wander over the snow covered garden, Harry said, “Better inside. I don’t know
how the herbs will react to being soaked through by snow and I need to light a ritual dish.”
“Makes sense,” his godfather hummed and began to walk slowly ahead. “By Merlin it’s been
years,” he said, the snow crunching unnaturally loudly beneath his feet in the silence of the night.
Not knowing what to reply, Harry stayed silent. Sirius’ eyes were darting around as if seeing things
that were long gone. He had no idea where exactly they were, but his godfather clearly must have
known the place well. Once. Ever since his return to the plane of the living, Sirius had been more
serious, but even then Harry had never seen him as solemn as he looked right now. A part of him
wanted to ask, but an even bigger part didn’t dare to interrupt whatever his godfather was
remembering.

They finally reached the front door. It had been red once, but heat and rain had long since bleached
the bright colour that was now peeling off in several places. Next to him, Sirius paused to draw in a
shaky breath, before carefully pushing the door open.

As he followed his godfather inside, the light of his wand illuminated a narrow hallway. A
destroyed shoe rag stood to the right, while a dust covered mirror hung opposite the door.

“I think the living room will be our best bet,” Sirius said, turning towards the door on the right
side, the dust muffling his footsteps. A strange feeling of deja vu overcame Harry as he followed
his godfather further into the destroyed house. The door to the living room was in even worse shape
than the front door had been, having been blasted right off its hinges, at least that was what it
looked like.

The living room, if possible, looked even worse. The sofa looked as if it had caught fire at some
point and the many book shelves that once had covered at least ⅔ of the walls had toppled over and
strewn their contents all over the floor.

The sound of splintering glass let him halt and look down. Seeing that he had stepped on
something that looked suspiciously like a photo, Harry lifted his foot and bent down to pick it up.
The dust was so thick that he couldn’t make out the picture, but following an impulse, he wiped it
on his cloak. It took him a split second to recognize the young couple in the picture.

His mother looked incredibly exhausted, clad in a simple, white gown, her red hair plastered to her
forehead by sweat, but she also smiled more brightly than in any other picture Harry had seen
before, as she glanced down at a tiny bundle in her arms. His father sat next to her, propped on the
edge of her bed as he vacillated between smiling at his wife and newborn son and grinning into the
camera.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, suddenly seeing the house with new eyes. “Siri…” he said, searching
 out his godfather in the dimness of the room. “This house… is this…”
“Godric's Hollow? Yes, where did you think I had brought you?”
Harry just shrugged, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the destroyed room. He had heard so many
stories about his parents’ heroic fight; how his father had bravely faced Voldemort to protect his
mother and him. Suddenly Harry felt sick at the thought that he had spent the summer with the
man who had done this. He had cooked for him and nursed him back to health.

Seeing this destruction, all the destroyed dreams that once had lived in this house, Harry wondered
if his parents would ever be able to forgive him. He would get his chance to find out soon, if he
ever found the courage to tell them.

“How should I know?” he retorted, once again looking around, however, he couldn’t imagine how
the house had once looked.
Sirius turned to him with a look of incredulousness, but then his expression sobered. “Right, you
were too young. I sometimes forget, you know. I have all those memories; how you took your first
steps in the kitchen. Or how you chased me in the garden and fell so hard that you refused to walk
again for an entire week. You mum was beside herself. I hope they will rebuild this house, so that
you can finally experience it yourself. You deserve it…” he trailed off.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Harry fixed his eyes on the dirty floor, his mind
already picturing the rune circle he would have to draw there, and said,“Let’s begin then.”

Chapter End Notes

AN: So, was it good? I felt like I sumarized a lot in this chapter, however, I want Harry
to return to Voldemort, which will happen in ch 24, btw.

Please comment and tell me your thoughts :-) Comments are cookies :-)
JSG
 Spirits of Christmas Past
Chapter Notes

AN1: Thank you all for your support and the nice reviews. As promised, here comes
ch 20 :-) I hope all of you will like it just as much as the last.
AN2: My friend and fellow author GeMerope pointed out to me that Ron's opinion of
Fleur is inconsistent in ch 19 and 20. Therefore I will be going back to chapter 19 and
adjust that. It won't be a major change and you will certainly not have to re-read it. Just
know that Ron's defense of Fleur in this chapter is how he will behave in future, too. I
am sory for the inconvenience.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 20: Spirits of Christmas Past

Sirius stood silently back, watching intently, as Harry moved with an ease that spoke of how often
he must have prepared this particular ritual in the last couple of weeks.

Fascinated, he watched Harry work. As a Black, he had witnessed many rituals in his younger
years; he had also learned more dark magical theory than he cared to remember, however, he had
never seen anything as complex as this ritual site was already beginning to look and Harry had
barely started.

He had started in the centre by emptying the two sacks of earth they had found in the old garden
shack into two even piles and divided those into three sections. Now his godson was busy placing
the normal and unsalted bread he had baked earlier, the wine and the freshly pressed grape juice
next to what later would become the new bodies of his two friends.

Harry had a proficiency about himself that would have told Sirius, even if he hadn’t known it
before, that this wasn't the first time had performed this particular ritual. Apparently. Satisfied with
the position of the four sets of dishes, his godson went over to the old, rusty swing and picked up
the bag of ground herbs he had placed there earlier and carried it over to the ritual site he was
preparing.

Sirius had never studied runes much but even an idiot could have recognized that the pattern Harry
began to draw meticulously a moment later, was bloody complicated. Then finally his godson
straightened and vanished the bag the herbs had been in, before turning to face the two piles of
earth.

Realising what would come next, Sirius’ heart missed a beat and he watched pensively as Harry
stepped in front of the soil and held his wand out in front of his chest. His godson’s voice echoed
ominously through the room as he began to recite:

“By the Virtue of the Holy Resurrection and the agonies of the damned, I conjure and command
the, spirit of James Charlus Potter deceased, and Lily Jane Potter nee Evans deceased, to answer
my demands and obey these sacred ceremonies, on pain of everlasting torment. Berald, Beroald,
Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba, arise, arise- Incendio!” Harry stepped up to the closest ritual site and
lit the first dishes, breads and woods, before tapping the soil nine times with his wand, and then
repeated the procedure two times, and finished the incantation
“I charge and command thee!” Sirius’s breath hitched as Harry withdrew a dagger, inlaid with the
darkest of onyx gemstone, and had to suppress a sound of protest when it sliced a pattern into his
godson’s chest, over an old wound. It took him a moment to recognize the symbol, a rune - Algiz.
He hadn’t seen it since his school days and certainly not used in this sort of manner.

''I call upon you, Glory, to aid in my conquest of restoring the wisps of the taken,” Harry continued,
seemingly unfazed by the blood dripping from the rune upon his sternum. Sirius shivered as a cold
wind manifested in the sealed room. ''For blood spilled in fight, bloodshed at night, blood shared
through rite, I call upon my right: “Supplantor homo liber amphora, innocentia propritia amphora
nee propritia, I proclaim ownership. My pursuit ensues. Glory, grant me amorphousness.''

The wind strengthened and Sirius bore witness as ghostly figures coalesced around Harry. He had
to fight the instinct to barge forward and try to shield his godson from the apparitions. The weight
of apprehension settled heavy in his stomach as the dishes were set alight and Harry’s frame
sagged. Something in the air felt - off, was the only way he could describe it and he was once again
overwhelmed with concern, but he forced himself to remain immobile even though Harry’s posture
now resembled that of an inmate who had been Kissed. He began to regret pressuring Harry into
doing this as the reminder sent unpleasant flashbacks racing through his mind.
And then suddenly, the piles of earth on the ground began to shift and change. A cold shiver ran
down Sirius’ back as his two late friends began to form from the insight out. Of course he should
have expected something like this; after all, it was dark magic Harry was wielding and the dark arts
were just gross, one of the reasons why he had never grown comfortable with them.

Still he forced himself to watch as the clay formed first bones, then organs and muscles. Finally it
was over and a thin layer closed over it like healing skin. As he let his eyes wander upwards, he
suddenly realised that sometimes during these past seconds the figures on the ground had begun
resembling his late friends. One was much taller than the other; Lily had always been just about
average height for a woman, but James had been just as tall as him, Sirius suddenly recalled.

It was strange how many small details came back to him while the flames around Harry and the
ritual circle roared higher. So many small things he hadn’t thought about in years, because it had
been too painful; like the dimples that formed whenever James smiled or his booming laugh that
had been even louder than his own.

Sirius twitched and almost took a step forwards, expecting his late friends to open their eyes any
moment, but before he could take a single step the flames around the ritual sight suddenly
escalated almost to the ceiling, swallowing the two bodies and his godson. Despite his desire to
move closer, he knew better than to interrupt a ritual in progress while the magic was at a
precipice.

As soon as it had started, the flames died down to a smoulder, then dwindled into a sputter until
nothing but ash remained. The charge of magic in the air dissipated with the flames and the
temperature returned to normal. His eyes were inevitably drawn to the remnants of blood dripping
from the dagger held limply in Harry’s hand, then to the rune in his chest, which had scabbed over
in the short period of time since the ritual began, then to the fully formed bodies of James and Lily.
The urge to approach was strong again, but he waited for Harry to break the ritual circle himself.

Except Harry did no such thing. In fact, Harry didn’t move a muscle, not even to sway in exertion
after such a powerful show of necromantic magic. An uneasy pit grew in his stomach as he waited
and waited, but Harry was like a soulless shell on his feet.
“Harry?” he called out softly, not wishing to startle his godson in case he was just simply
exhausted or just in a daze. However, Harry still didn’t move, or even blink.

His panic spiking, Sirius took a step forwards into the ritual circle, effectively breaking it, but that
as well made no difference.
“Harry?” he repeated, more loudly, even though he knew that calling out to his godson would most
likely not be enough to righten what had gone wrong; Rituals were complicated magic, even the
most basic ones and what Harry had done had been anything but basic.

Still he shook him, if just to make sure or out of rising panic, Sirius wasn’t sure, but of course
nothing.

"Okay, Padfoot,” he muttered, his eyes darting frantically through the destroyed living room,
“think! Think! You were tutored in the dark arts for 16 years…” he was sure his parents had taught
him something for precisely a situation like that, after all, rituals were complicated and the slightest
wrong move could have unpredictable consequences. His parents, while crazy, had never been
suicidal or reckless.

If only he could remember!

He raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes returning to Harry, who still hadn’t moved. Clearly,
if Sirius didn’t do something, his godson would not return. Forcing himself to calm down, Sirius
began to dig in his mind for the buried and half forgotten dark arts theory his parents had forced
down his throat.

However necromancy was an obscure subject, even amongst dark mages, and he had fled his
parental home before he could truly delve into the material. Necromancers were wizards that used
their magic to build a connection between the world of the living and the world of the dead for
crazy, scary things like speaking with a deceased soul. Thinking of that, he had never heard about
a necromancer capable of bringing people back, not if the soul of the deceased had already crossed
completely over. Throughout history there had been enough mages crazy enough to try to cheat
death but as far as he knew, something like his godson had done was considered impossible, even
by those desperate bastards.

Sirius pushed the thought to the side, that was not the point right now after all, and forced himself
to concentrate again.

So, however impossible resurrecting his parents should be, surely the basic theory behind the ritual
had been the same, right? Which meant that while the ritual had ended, Harry was still connected
to that other world…

Suddenly an idea struck him. It was a desperate, mad idea, but it was the only idea he could come
up with.

Pulling his wand out, Sirius pointed it at his godson and with an internal voice, cast a spell at his
godson which his parents had taught him at the very beginning of his home tutelage, meant to
disrupt any kind of magic, especially if it had gone haywire.

______________________________

It felt as if a million icy cold hands wanted to drag him under.Reaching the Black Cosmos had
been surprisingly easy, as if Death’s realm had been waiting. However, something had made him
feel uneasy from there on out. Distinguishing souls within the cosmos wasn’t actually easy. Maybe
that was where exactly his uneasiness stemmed from, but somehow Harry couldn’t actually tell if
he had found both of the souls he had been looking for.

They all had the same, uniform form, regardless of gender or age. Some were slightly smaller, as if
they might still have been very young when they had passed on, but they generally didn’t look like
the person they once had been during their life.

Had he known back when he had resurrected Sirius and Cedric? He couldn’t even say as much. As
far as he remembered, he had just done the ritual and returned to the world of the living.
What he could tell though was, that the ritual had run its course and he should be returning to his
body now and leave this surreal place. He wanted to go back, no, he needed to go back. Finally he
would have a family. Parents that loved him. Harry could already imagine how he would go to
watch.

Quidditch matches with his dad during the summer break or help his mum to set the garden to
rights again. Only he couldn’t follow them.

It was then that he remembered.

Death had warned him of precisely this and that he risked being eternally stuck in the Black
Cosmos. That the world of the dead didn’t like to let souls leave, regardless if they had already
moved on or still possessed a body in the world of the living.

Surely travelling to and fro between the two worlds had to be possible, but because Harry had
decided that he wouldn’t delve deeper into his obscure inheritance he had never tried to find the
right method to do so.

He regretted it now. A whole swarm of souls had gathered around him, pressing up to him so
tightly that Harry felt suffocated despite their bodiless appearance. Goosbumps erupted wherever
their icy cold forms touched, which was practically every inch of him, and their featureless faces
seemed to stare directly into his soul.

Fear of a kind he had never felt before grabbed him; it reached soul deep and left him without any
defence against their assault. He began to struggle, desperate to get away, but the more he
struggled the more strength the souls put into dragging him under.

In his desperation he tried to scream, maybe Death would deign to help him one last time, but as
soon as he opened his mouth his throat and vocal cords froze as if he was drowning in the polar
sea.

His mind tried to race for a solution, even as his thoughts seemed to slow as if wading through a
pool of molasses. The one thing that stood out to him was that he had been so close. He had
returned Barty as a sort of penance to Voldemort for what Dumbledore had done and because he
knew he was leaving. He had returned Sirius and Cedric because neither should have died as they
had. But his parents? That was for him.

Even as his brain tried to form images of his parents, half-idolised forms built from pictures - the
only way he had known them after all - his thoughts stuttered. The souls were no longer just
pulling him down. The biting cold had distracted him, but now he could feel their wraith-like
bodies attempting to merge with his own. They covered him completely and he had a last mad
moment to wonder if that was how Nagini’s prey felt right before being swallowed whole. As the
souls engulfed him, entered into him, a strange tiredness grabbed Harry’s mind and before he knew
it all his

memories, all his thoughts and feelings faded to a distant echo. Was that what death meant? Losing
oneself?

Then, as his consciousness had nearly faded completely a powerful jolt went through him and
something inside of him seemed to snap, as if whatever kept him chained to the Black Cosmos
burst and Harry was slammed unceremoniously back into his body.

It was a violent experience that jolted his bones and left him dizzy and disoriented. Gasping, he
blinked his eyes rapidly, looking around. His gaze landed on two very familiar faces. Faces which
he had only ever seen in old photos. Immediately the panic he felt just a moment prior was
drowned out by a sense of relief and Harry’s body, which had been taut like a bow string shortly
before snapping, sagged.

Then as he truly began to take in those peaceful faces his heart started again, but with a different
kind of excitement this time. They looked so peaceful and so young, not a day older than in the
photos, which, really, he should have expected.

His mum and dad had only been 21 years old when they had been brutally murdered, which made
them barely 5 years older than him. A hilarious thought hit him then; they were 5 years younger
than Ron's oldest brother, Bill, was right now. In fact, Harry now had the same age difference to
his parents as his friend had to his brother. At the thought of that a hysterical giggle escaped his
throat. He tried to hold it back for a second, but it burst out of him.

He stretched a shaking hand out to softly touch his dad’s hair, which was indeed as messy as his
own had been before his inheritance and then, without warning, burst into tears.

He had them back!

He finally, finally would be able to get to know them!

His mum’s peaceful face was framed by her fiery locks, contrasting beautifully with her pale skin.
It had a different shade than Ron’s, which was more ginger than auburn. Staring at her, Harry
wondered if her eyes would really be the exact shape and shade as his had once been. It sent a pang
through him, that he had lost that small connection, just as he had lost all resemblance to his dad.
But then again, it was what allowed him to call them back.

As a child, he had often dreamed that one day the Dursley’s door bell would ring and he would
find his parents standing there, desperate to take him back home. Of course it had never happened

and with time he had realised that they were truly dead and dead people didn’t just return. Only
now they had.

He would finally be able to experience and do all the things with them he had always wished to do.
Suddenly a thousand questions flooded his mind. What else beside quidditch and pranking did his
dad enjoy? Did he like movies too? Or was he a pureblood in that sense, like Ron, who didn’t mind
muggles and muggle borns but had no clue about them? And what about his mother? He knew
even less about her. Just a few minutes ago he had imagined gardening with her, but did she even
like flowers?

Letting go of his dad’s warm, slightly sweaty palm, he reached out for her, only to freeze when his
hand came into contact with her and his heart missed a beat. His mum’s skin was icy cold, just like
the soil had been that had formed her new body.

Panic rising inside of him, Harry crawled closer, his eyes frantically examining her still figure,
desperately to find some sign to reassure that everything had worked as it should had and that she
had returned just like his dad. However, upon closer inspection, he realised that there was more
wrong with his mum than just the temperature of her skin. Lily’s breathing was shallow, almost
non- existent and as he pressed his hand against her chest, her heart was beating slowly.

“No! No, no, no no NO!” He began to babble under his breath, as if it were a mantra capable of
making her alright.

“Harry?” Sirius’ panicked voice interrupted him, “is everything alright? Has something gone
wrong?”

Harry just shook his head, unable to answer in any other capacity as he desperately tried to
remember if he had read anything about any complications that could occur with the resurrection
ritual.

Now panicking himself, Sirius carefully reached out for Lily as well, but recoiled quickly as he felt
unnatural coldness emitting from her. Something must have gone wrong. Suddenly an unpleasant
thought entered his mind; was it his fault? Had interrupting the ritual been wrong? He had thought
it had finished, but what if he had interpreted the sight incorrectly? His parents had taught him a lot
in his youth, but he had never properly listened and it had been over two decades since then.

Trying to keep calm despite the situation, he once again turned to his godson, who had gone from
radiantly happy to as pale as a ghost.

“Harry, do you know what happened? Is there anything we can do?” he asked. Surely there had to
be something that could be done about Lily’s state, after all, James' sleeping form was proof that
resurrecting his two old friends was possible.

Harry however, just shook his head again, before summoning his wand wordlessly from where it
had fallen onto the dirty wood floor before proceeding to summon the scroll with the original ritual
with it. As soon as the parchment landed in his hands, his green eyes began to rapidly fly over the
scribbled lines.

Unfortunately, Sirius could only read parts of the notes. A quarter, maybe, the rest had been
written in a strange, runic alphabet he had never seen before. It had to be some sort of magical
language that worked similar like parseltongue, because his godson seemed to not even realise that
not everything was written in English.

“Nothing!” Harry breathed after a minute or an hour had gone by. “There is nothing written about
any possible complications…”

“Maybe it was my fault?” Sirius voiced his worries. “When I interrupted the ritual, you were still in
a trance… I thought something was going wrong, the ritual circle looked as if the magic was
completed, but…”

He was interrupted by another shake of his godson's head. “No, what you did was good. I was
trapped in the Black Cosmos, the dead didn’t want me to leave,” he said, making Sirius’ blood run
cold. However, Harry didn’t seem to realise what effect his words were having because he
continued, “I had problems leaving the Death’s realm before and he warned me that something like
that could happen if I…” Harry paused for a moment, trying to remember what exactly the deity
had said, but the only thing he could recall was that Death had called him foolish. Foolish, he was
foolish indeed, trying to enter the Black Cosmos once again, even after the deity’s clear warning. It
had nearly cost him his life. Still, he didn’t believe that that was the reason why something had
gone wrong with his mum.
“If you?” His godfather suddenly prompted and Harry quickly pulled himself back to the presence.
He couldn’t waste his time with useless memories, he needed to find a solution. Something to help
his mum. He couldn’t lose her so soon again. It would be like loosing her twice only this time, he
was the murderer.

“If I enter like this. Whatever he meant by that.”

“He didn’t explain further?” Sirius questioned further and then belatedly added, “Who is he
anyway?”

Feeling confused, Harry blinked up at his godfather. “Death, of course. Who else do you think I
was speaking about?”
Sirius flinched. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe some shifty wizard from Knockturn? How did
you find out that you are a Necromancer anyway?

“I didn’t. Not until I spoke with Death the first time,” he shrugged, averting his gaze. He was well
aware how foolish that explanation sounded.
“So you just found that scroll, read the ritual and thought ‘Oh, that sounds great, let’s try it!’?”
Sirius couldn’t stop the incredulous tone to his voice. He knew he had done many foolish things in
his youth, but nothing he had ever done had been that stupid. It honestly worried him that Harry,
after all his experience with You-Know-Who, and especially the trouble with that Diary in his
second year he had told him about, would go and just try an unknown, dark ritual which he
couldn’t possibly have understood at that point. Harry honestly should have known better and that
he hadn’t even given his idea a second thought, made Sirius wonder just how unhappy his godson
was. He was well aware that his remaining relatives were scum-bags, who didn’t love him and
only gave him second hand stuff. What Harry had told him just now however, made him wonder if
that was all, or if the situation at the Dursleys maybe was worse because that was the only
explanation he could think about that would make his godson behave so recklessly. He would have
to get to the bottom of the matter, however, one glance at Harry told him that right now wasn’t the
right moment to bring his relatives up as well, so instead he asked, “By the way, where exactly did
you find that scroll anyway?”

Harry just blinked again. “At my friend’s house. The one I sent dinner to yesterday. Didn’t I tell
you? He has a lot of obscure books and stuff.”

All of the sudden Sirius wished he had forbidden Harry to send anything over to that boy. What
kind of family had necromantic rituals just lying around? Unfortunately he knew exactly what kind
it had to be, because his family had been the same.

Harry slipped into silence, his hand being leeched of its warmth by the persistent chill of Lily’s
skin. Or whatever shell of the woman it was lying in front of him. He couldn’t believe he had
forgotten Death’s warning and wouldn’t have known how to resolve the issue even if he had
remembered.
Was this his punishment for not fixing… whatever it was?

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted when somebody stepped up next to him. It was then that he
remembered that Sirius was here with him. Still, Harry couldn’t bring himself to move his eyes
even an inch away from his parents.

“Is he a Slytherin?”

“He was, but I don’t see..:” suddenly realising that he was about to defend bloody Voldemort Harry
quickly shut up. He had told his godfather far too much already anyway. “Never mind.”
They fell silent then, their gazes returning to Harry’s sleeping parents and after a moment, they
both moved over to his dad, unable to stand whatever had become of his mum.
After her cold body, his dad’s warm one was a relief. Harry wanted nothing more to put him to bed
and join him until he awoke sometime tomorrow. Now that he was calming down, the exhaustion
was catching up to him. His body felt as if it was two seconds away from shutting down, he could
even feel his eyes slowly closing… he was so tired.

“He is truly alive,” his Sirius’ voice jerked him back to full wakefulness. “Even if it’s only
James… thank you, pup.” he trailed off before bursting into tears. However, they were not the
hysterical kind like Harry still wanted to shed, instead they sounded as if Sirius was washing out
years of sorrow, desperation and regret. Harry knew his godfather had always felt responsible for
his parents’ death.

Finally, however, his godfather blew his nose loudly and said, “We should take them somewhere
where they can wake up in peace and not freeze to death in the meantime. Lily, too. just in case…”

“Yeah, we should…” Harry nodded, pushing himself back onto his feet. “But we can’t take them
back to Grimmauld.”
“Right… the Fidelius.”

It wasn’t actually what Harry had meant. He had rather thought that Dumbledore would grow even
more suspicious if he found them sleeping peacefully in one of the beds. However, he decided to
not mention it right now, they both were still too distraught to discuss any more serious business.

“Where then?” he asked, “We can’t leave them like this.”

Harry shook his head in agreement and searched for a solution. The Shrieking Shack was surely
still warded, but, while the nights had already grown chillier when he had resurrected Sirius in
September, it hadn’t been that cold yet. Letting his dad sleep in a draughty room while it was
snowing outside would be a sure way to send him directly back to the place where he had just
come from. And Lily. Harry shouldn’t forget his mum. Maybe he would be able to fix whatever
had gone wrong; he would definitively not give up hope so quickly.

Maybe Voldemort would know how he could help her? But for that he would have to return to the
wizard, which he hadn’t wanted to do. Still, a surge of excitement rushed through his body at the
thought. Besides, the Dark Lord probably knew more about necromancy than anybody else. Didn’t
he have an army of inferi at some point during the last war? Voldemort was probably a master in
that darkest of arts and would be able to help him within seconds.

Scowling at his train of thought, Harry pushed the idea to the recesses of his mind. He should at
least try to find another solution. Asking Voldemort should be his last resort, after he had tried
everything else. The wizard probably was still angry because of his disappearance and he didn’t
look forward to the punishment he would receive for it. Why was he even thinking of his enemy
again? He should stop that habit, after all, it wasn’t as if he needed Voldemort anymore now that
he had at least his godfather and dad back and hopefully soon his mum as well.

No, once he had slept and recovered a little, he would go into the Black Library and search for
books on necromancy and find a way to help his mother there. But first things first; his parents
needed a place where they could stay until they would wake up.

Hogwarts unfortunately was out of question, too. He didn’t see himself able to secretly levitate
them into the castle, even though the Room of Requirement would be able to provide his parents
with everything they needed. However, Hogwarts possessed some of the strongest wards and he
couldn’t be sure if some of the ritual’s magic still lingered on them. If so, the wards certainly
would pick up on it and alert Dumbledore, something he couldn’t afford. Grimmauld Place as well
was out, for multiple reasons, as he had already concluded.

Looking around, Harry wondered if it would be possible to leave them here. Maybe there was one
room they could warm and heat with the help of charms? That would probably be their best option.
So he asked, “What about warding a room here? And maybe conjure a bed and some blankets?”

Sirius hesitated for a second, then nodded.

“We might have to return and refresh the heating charm, but that should work.” He hesitated again,
before saying, “How about you look for a room and I will go and fetch some clothes for them. It
will be easier finding their size than conjuring any out of nowhere. Besides, my conjured clothes
tend to vanish within 3 hours.” Sirius grinned sheepishly.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Harry nodded, and after one last, long look at his sleeping parents, tore
his gaze away from them.

Sirius did the same, before turning back towards the front door which somehow, miraculously, still
hung in its hinges and leaving.

Suddenly alone in the parental home he had never known, Harry hesitated a moment with
indecision. He wasn’t quite sure if he truly wanted to see the house. What he had seen so far
looked as if no one had even attempted to clean up after Voldemort’s attack and he was frightened
of what he would find in the other rooms.

He had never even once considered visiting Godric's Hollow and even if he had, Harry was pretty
sure the most he would have done would be taking a look from the outside. The thought that his
parents had died here, that everything looked exactly the same as on that fateful day and that he
would possibly find even scarier traces of the fight than he already had, made him sick to his
stomach.

Pushing these thoughts far away, Harry didn’t hesitate any longer and simply walked down the
hallway ahead of him. He soon found a door to his right, and with his heart beating in his heart,
reached out for the handle. His hand was shaking as he slowly pressed it down and pushed open. A
familiar scent wafted towards him; it was the scent of books, bound in leather and uncountable
stacks of parchment and scrolls. It smelled like the Hogwarts library, Flourish and Blotts, and even
Voldemort’s living room and study. And if that wasn’t a strange thought, to compare one of the
rooms in his childhood’s home with the Dark Lord’s castle, Harry didn’t know what was.

However, the room beyond was so dark that he couldn’t really see a thing. Pulling out his wand, he
muttered “lumos” under his breath and lifted his wand high above his head to get a good view.

The room was a small study. There was a single desk to the right and shelves stacked with books
lined all other free space. More books were piled hap-hazardly in numerous corners and piles of
scrolls filled a small side table and the surface of the desk, until only a small spot in its middle
remained to work on.

Starled, Harry blinked at the study; it looked like a room that could be Hermione’s, only she would
go bonkers at the sight of its untidy state. He couldn’t really imagine that his dad had ever
possessed such a study and sure thing, as he walked in a bit further, Harry found a framed picture of
his father holding his baby-self and grinning proudly into the camera.

Looking at the room, Harry wondered suddenly what kind of job his mum had; he knew his dad
had been an auror, but he had no idea and neither had he asked what his mum had done. It made
him feel guilty and like a bad son. Why had he never asked more questions about his mother?
Hopefully he would soon be able to ask her those questions but if not, he vowed to at least ask his
dad all those things and get to know her better that way. He left the study again and continued

down the hallway. The next room turned out to be the kitchen. It was a wide space, with the
counter stretching from the left side to the one across the door and a large table with a cluttered
array of chairs stood to the right. The chairs all looked like antique single pieces, each very unique.
A cold hearth was set into the wall just behind the table. Harry imagined that the kitchen had once
been a warm and cosy place, perfect for spending long hours drinking tea and talking to friends and
family.

Leaving the kitchen, Harry returned to the small vestibule that separated the living room from the
front door. He had seen a staircase there earlier and considering that his mum’s study was too
stuffed to house two sleeping adults and the living room too big to ward and heat with a simple
heating charm, he hoped that he would find a fitting place upstairs.

However, as soon as he turned towards the staircase, he regretted his idea. There were scorch
marks all over the red carpet that covered the stairs. Suddenly he remembered all those tales about
his dad trying to stop Voldemort, that fight must have happened here. As if to confirm his
assumption, his eyes landed on a dried, reddish-brown stain halfway up and nausea nearly
overwhelmed him. The killing curse didn’t leave any visible mark, but its victims still could hit
their heads falling to the ground. This, then, must be his father’s blood, spilled as he had tried, and
died, defending him and his mum.

To think that, not long ago, he had spent his summer holidays at the castle of the wizard who had
been responsible for this and had even chatted quite amiably with him. His stomach lurched as he
froze in his tracks. How could he have been so monumentally stupid? Certainly he could disagree,
even vehemently, with Dumbledore’s actions in casting that awful spell, but there was no need for
him to make amends. Voldemort was an egocentric, psychopathic megalomaniac bent on world
domination! Had committed murder at sixteen via basilisk. Had actively hunted down his family
and killed them at seventeen. Had waged a violent war against wizarding kind for decades. Harry’s
thoughts stopped abruptly. Voldemort had been so fixated on a prophecy that he had hunted down
a promising young family and murdered them in cold blood to assure his own life. And that was
the man Harry had spent his summer serving and was even thinking about contacting regarding the
issue with Lily, though hopefully something else would work first. Bile rose hot in his throat but he
battled it back, not wanting to sully the evidence of his father’s struggle. He gulped in deep
breaths, trying desperately to settle his roiling stomach, even as his thoughts continued to trouble
him.

How someone could be so intelligent and reasonable as Voldemort and still cause such senseless
destruction was a riddle Harry doubted he would ever solve.

Everything inside of Harry rebelled against the thought of stepping onto that staircase, walking all
over those battle marks and past his father’s blood. The question of what he would find upstairs

frightened him even more. However, he knew he had to. There really wasn’t any other place he
could bring his parents too, not without revealing that he was the necromancer who had been
resurrecting people, anyway.

So Harry braced himself and forced his feet to move, one step at a time. He tried to not step on any
scorch marks and practically jumped over the stain of dried blood, eyes as much averted as
possible.

Once upstairs he was greeted by a long hallway, with rooms to both sides, however, what drew his
attention was the sight of a crib standing innocently in a room directly across from him. He quickly
looked away and turned to the first room to his right to distract himself. However, it was only a
bathroom, which Harry left quickly once again.

The next room however, was the first Harry thought they could possibly ward and heat. It was his
parents’ bedroom and despite all the destruction in the rest of the house, it looked nearly unscathed
aside from a few patches of mould and holes in the hangings in front of the windows and covers,
which Harry guessed had probably been caused by moths. The room was also not as big as the
living room or the kitchen, small enough that a warming charm would probably hold for a
moderate amount of time, anyway.

“Pup?” His godfather’s voice pulled him out of his musings.

“Upstairs!”

Steps sounded and a moment later Sirius entered the bedroom, coming to a halt next to him.

“Huh, this room looks nearly untouched,” he echoed Harry’s earlier sentiment.
“Yeah, it does. Do you think it will work?”
“Better than any other,” the marauder agreed with a shrug before beginning to cast the required
spells.

Surely Harry would have known many of them himself, but, after all that had just happened he
couldn’t recall a single one of them. In addition, he probably shouldn’t perform any strenuous
magic before he recovered for at least a few hours. So he just watched.

Soon the sheets looked as good as new, crisp and smelling like a fresh spring breeze. The hangings
repaired themselves and the cool air vanished with the help of several powerful warming charms.

“This should be enough,” Sirius finally announced. “Will you help me levitate them upstairs?”
“Sure,” Harry nodded, despite his tiredness. A simple levitation charm he could still manage, he
was sure of that.

He followed his godfather downstairs, where he found his parents now both dressed in jeans and
Weasley jumpers. His mum, he noted, was wearing one of his own, emerald green with a golden
‘H’, while his dad had gotten one of Ron’s brown ones, most likely because James was actually
almost as tall as Harry’s lanky friend.

“I transfigured one of your new jeans into a woman’s pair,” Sirius explained. “But don’t worry,
they will turn back soon enough… actually, it will most likely revert sooner than it should,” he
laughed awkwardly, before pointing his wand at Harry’s dad and muttering “Levicorpus”.

Harry did the same for Lily and they carefully brought them upstairs. It was a bit difficult, the
staircase was quite narrow, with a low ceiling and they had to take care to not bump his parents'
heads. Soon, however, both Lily and James lay peacefully in the repaired bed, covered by their
duvets and an extra set of warming charms.

Swaying slightly, Harry stared down on them and wished they would wake up soon. However, by
now he knew that not even his dad would wake before later this evening, and he wasn’t sure if he’d
be able to fix whatever went wrong enough for Lily to wake at all.

As if reading his thoughts, Sirius suddenly spoke up, “How long will they need? Is it the same for
every person you resurrect, or does the time span vary?”

In his exhaustion Harry needed a moment to realise that he was meant to give an answer. Blinking,
he rubbed his eyes and finally managed to reply. “I have never monitored the time, but it takes
time. I have resurrected three people before this and they all needed over 12 hours to wake up.”

“You have resurrected three people? Who was the third?” his godfather enquired and only then did
Harry realise what he had just admitted to.
Winzing, he hastily shook his head. “Just somebody who shouldn’t have been kissed. I…” he
hesitated, but then decided to be completely honest, at least with that part. “I needed somebody to
try the ritual on. Not that practising it helped any today.”
Sirius gave him a long, indiscernible look, before he finally nodded. “You didn’t wish to try it out
on anybody you truly care about, I understand, pup. Besides, nobody could have foreseen what
happened with your mum today. I am sure it was not your fault, sometimes things just don’t work
out as planned. If nothing else, that’s something I have learned about life. Besides…” he hesitated
a moment then, before continuing with a grin that was not quite as broad as his usual cheeky

smiles, “you saved another sorry bastard. Maybe you can introduce me to that other lucky one. We
could found a club,” he winked.

Harry wanted to snort, but the sound got stuck half up his nostril and he swayed again. Just when
he feared he would collapse right on his dad’s chest, a strong arm was there to catch him.

“Let’s get you to bed as well,” Sirius said.

Harry just nodded and let himself be let back downstairs and into the garden.
“Hold on tight, I will side-along you again, just to be safe,” Sirius said as soon as they had left the
garden. However, as he saw that his godson was still swaying on his feet from exhaustion and
didn’t react, he thought better of it and just embraced the small teen tightly, before apparating them
back to his ancestral home.

It had been a good thing too, because as the ground rematerialised beneath his feet, he realised that
the only thing keeping his godson up was his hold on him. Harry had passed out from exhaustion.

Reminding himself that this had not been the first time his godson had resurrected somebody and
so far he seemed to always have recovered without a problem, Sirius quickly levitated him inside
and put him into bed. They would have to floo over to the Weasleys in not even five hours.

___________________________________

“Pup? You need to get up, we have to be at the Weasleys’ in less than 30 minutes… I already put
the presents you asked me to buy in your cloak pocket. And the soup and bread you prepared for
lunch is already packed and waiting next to the fireplace. Would be a shame to forget it after all the
work you put into it…”

Harry woke up with a groan. His entire body felt as heavy as lead and his head was pounding.
Blinking his eyes open, he fumbled for his glasses. What the hell had he done the evening prior?
He couldn’t remember a thing. How had he even gotten into bed?
“What happened,” he asked, propping himself up.

“You don’t remember?” his godfather’s blurry outline asked, before shoving something into his
hand. “Drink this, it will help with the hangover. I also put a mild pain reliever onto your night
stand, in case you still need it afterwards.”

Feeling too shitty to argue, Harry did as told and downed the potion in one swallow. Immediately a
tingling sensation swept through his body, the headache and nausea vanished and his mind cleared.
For a second he felt blissfully cheery, then the memories of the evening prior came crashing down
on him and he winced.

What the hell had he done? He had brought his parents back, had let himself be talked into it,
despite all the good reasons he had previously gathered against it and just as feared, something had
gone horribly wrong. His mum - so cold, like a soulless husk - he stopped his thought right then
and there, he couldn’t think like that! Crying about it would not help anyone, least of all her.

“I need to go to the library!” he said, jumping to his feet.

However, before he could get far, Sirius grabbed him by the wrist. “"What do you need the library
for? We've got to leave for the Burrow."

Suddenly angry, Harry wrenched his arm free. “This is all your fault! I told you I didn’t want to
bring them back and that I had my reasons!”
His godfather opened his mouth as if to protest, but Harry didn’t give him a chance.
“I was sloshed and you knew that! Just because I couldn’t voice a single straight thought didn’t
give you the right to talk me into it! If I had been any more sober I would have told you that I
know practically nothing about that ritual!” Harry continued, voice growing in volume. “They were
dead for so long! So much longer than you or even Cedric!” he shouted. “I shouldn’t even have
gone there like that again, Death warned me the last time, but I forgot! Oh Merlin, I nearly couldn’t
get away!” He exclaimed, panic rising belatedly inside of him. Those cold, dead hands, that
endless desolation of that world… he had nearly gotten stuck there for all eternity.

“Harry…”Sirius began his hesitant voice pulling him from his approaching panic attack.

“What if the ritual wasn’t made for resurrecting someone who has been gone for so long? What if
not even dad turns out alright?” he asked, his mind going back to the day he had seen Neville’s
parents at St. Mungos. “What if he is insane now?”

“Harry!” The animagus repeated, but in his state, Harry barely heard him. The air in his bedroom
seemed to grow thinner with every breath he took and his heart began to race in his chest.

“What if…” he repeated, but he couldn’t actually formulate his fears, there were just too many.
What if his father came back, but their resurrected bodies would fail after only a few days? That
sounded even more horrible than having never gotten to know him in the first place. It would be
even worse than seeing his mother so despondent. Finally getting a taste of what he had wished

for his entire life, only to have it snatched away again after mere days. Could there be any worse
torture?
“What if…” black spots appeared in front of his eyes and the world tipped sideways.

Strong hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Harry, calm down!”
Harry's eyes, which had moved restlessly from one point in his room to the next, snapped over to
Sirius. His godfather’s pale grey eyes were cool and calm, a soothing contrast to Harry’s raging
panic. He had never seen the man look like this; so serious. But then again, his godfather had been
an auror once.

“Pup, listen to me! Take a deep breath and listen to me!” he said sternly. “I am sure your dad is
fine and merely sleeping peacefully. You are an impressive young man and a great wizard and the
ritual was flawless, as far as I can tell and believe me, thanks to my parents I can tell a lot more
than I care for!”

“But mum…” Harry interjected, but this time it was Sirius who didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“What happened with your mum was just… bad luck, or fate. I can’t say, but it certainly wasn’t
your fault. Once we visit the Weasleys, we can go to my family’s library and start searching for
answers, but for now, you have to get ready. Molly is waiting for the soup you prepared and I am
sure Ron is eagerly waiting for his best friend to come visit as well. Okay?”

Still staring wide eyed at his godfather, Harry drew in a shaky breath and nodded. “Good,” Sirius
sighed and pulled him into an embrace. “Now, you will take a quick shower and I will floo call
Molly and Arthur to tell them that we were a bit delayed.”

Harry actually managed a snort at that. “Delayed, by what? Our own stupidity?”
Sirius pushed him to arms length and gave him a wide grin, “By my excellent and very famous hot
chocolate with Ogden’s finest!”
“I think you mean infamous,” Harry muttered, but nodded.

“That’s the spirit!” Sirius, clearly wanting to cheer Harry. “And once we are back we can check on
your parents together,” he added, patting his back.
Harry just nodded for what felt like the umpteenth time and moved over to his wardrobe. For a split
second he hesitated, Sirius had given him so many new and nice things, but in the end he decided
to only take one of the jeans and pair it with his favourite Weasley jumper. He felt like he needed
the comfort of the soft, warm wool right now, besides, Mrs. Weasley was always happy when he
wore them.

Once he had fetched his toiletry bag as well, Harry made his way to the dingy bathroom and got
under the shower. However, for once the magical power of the warm water failed to raise him and
with how exhausted he still felt, he didn’t dare to turn it to cold. Instead he tried to wash himself
quickly, but each movement he made still felt sluggish and incredibly slow, so did dressing. In the
end he opted for a charm to dry his hair, having the feeling that he had already taken much longer
than Sirius had warned the Weasleys about and while the charm saved him a lot of time, it also
made his already chronically messy hair look like an exploded chicken.

Cringing at his reflection, Harry concluded that he had neither the time nor the strength to try to
make it look any better and even if he had, that still wouldn’t make the blue bags under his eyes
vanish.

Sighing in defeat, Harry left his dirty pj’s and toiletry bag in the bathroom and made his way
downstairs. He found Sirius already in the dusty parlour, now dressed in a pair of fashionable
wizarding robes. His godfather, Harry had found out since his acquittal, still preferred ripped
skinny jeans and skin-tight leather trousers, however, he suspected that not even Sirius dared to
cross Mrs. Weasley on Christmas.

“There you are!” Sirius waved him over. “I was about to come up and check if you had fallen back
asleep in the shower.”
“Not quite,” Harry retorted, lifting a hand to cover a yawn.
“Do you want me to floo call Molly and tell her that you feel too bad to come? I could say you
caught the flu?” Sirius questioned, examining him worriedly.
Harry shook his head. He couldn’t do that. As Sirius had said, the Weasleys expected them and just
in case Dumbledore found his parents after all, it was better to have an alibi.

Sirius wasn’t convinced, but sober as he was, he suspected that his godson had a good reason why
he wanted to go. Most likely it had to do with the headmaster. Not that they didn’t trust the wizard,
they did, but if Dumbledore found out that Harry had been meddling in necromancy things would
get overly complicated. So he just asked, “Do you want to go ahead?”

Nodding, Harry walked over and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the silver bowl on the
mantle. He really didn’t feel like going, no matter how much he liked the Weasleys, but all he
wanted to do right now was go back to bed. Or maybe go to his parents, crawl under his dad’s
blanket and wait for him to wake up.

However, now he was awake enough that actually returning to bed, or going back to his parents
would be stupid for multiple reason and the Weasleys’ disappointment was only the start. And
how

much worse would it be if him being missing triggered Dumbledore’s suspicion when his parents
awoke in a few hours.

Throwing the floo powder into the hearth, Harry waited for the flames to turn green, before calling
out his destination and stepping inside. Fortunately, the floo ride wasn’t long, because after his
exhausting night it felt thrice as jarring, and a short moment later he stumbled out into the
Weasley’s cosy, but empty kitchen.

Dusting the soot from his cloak, Harry’s eyes wandered from the pots and pans that were silently
bubbling and sizzling on the old fashioned stove, over to the kitchen door from where merry chatter
was wafting into the room.

Before he could join the redheads, however, Mrs. Weasley came busling in, a pinched scowl on her
face.
Worried what could put such an expression on the usually so fierce but cheery woman, Harry was
about to open his mouth and ask, when Ron’s mum finally spotted him and her face brightened.
“Harry, dear! It’s so good to see you,” she greeted with a warm smile that made Harry glad to have
come despite his still lingering exhaustion.
“You look good! Did your godfather give you those new clothes?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, he did, a whole wardrobe full,” Harry smiled back, walking over to accept
Mrs. Weasley’s hug.

“Well, it was about time that you got something other than those awful rags your muggle relatives
provided you with,” she retorted, clucking her tongue. “You have no idea how often I counted our
money to see if we couldn’t afford a few nice shirts and trousers for you,” Mrs. Weasley
continued, sending a pang through Harry’s heart. In a way, he had always known that Molly and
Arthur saw him as a part of their family, maybe even their seventh son, but to hear that they had
worried so much, when he had always believed that nobody even noticed the cloth he had to run
around in, was heartwarming. “Anyway, that's fortunately in the past now,” she finally concluded
and before Harry could say anything more to the matter, the fireplace behind him flared green and
Sirius stepped out.
“Merry Christmas!” He bellowed, loud enough that even the rest of the ginger family must have
heard him and sure enough, only a moment later Ron, Ginny and Hermione appeared in the
doorway.

“Hey mate,” Ron grinned at him. “I see, you haven’t starved over the holidays yet. You know,
mum was seriously worried.”

Harry just grinned back, “We brought the soup I promised and some bread. I think Sirius has it,” he
said motioning over to Sirius who was just pulling the shrunken basked from one of his pockets
and enlarging it again.

“Let’s go back to the living room,” Ron said, “Mum will heat your soup, don’t worry.”
“A pro your mum,” Harry said, glancing over at her, “Is she alright? She seemed stressed when I
arrived.”
“It’s her,” Ginny piped up before Ron could answer. “She is driving everybody mad.”
To Harry’s surprise, next to Ginny, Hermione was nodding along, a scowl on her face that could
rival the one Mrs. Weasley had sported earlier.

“She is. She is so full of herself!” she agreed, only for an annoyed look to appear on Ron’s face as
well.
Ron huffed and rolled his eyes, making Harry wonder how often his friend had heard that
particular argument since the beginning of the winter holidays.
“Can’t you two lay off her for five seconds?”
That, however, had clearly been the wrong thing to say as the two girls turned to glare at the boy.

“Of course you would defend her,” Hermione immediately hissed back. “After all, you can’t get
enough of her.”
“Yeah, men are so stupid,” Ginny muttered darkly in agreement.

Having finally had enough of not understanding what was going on, Harry exclaimed, “Would one
of you please tell me who you are talking about?”
The two girls blinked in confusion as if it should be obvious and so did Ron, before realisation
suddenly struck his friend. “Of course, you don’t know yet. Feur is here!”

That would indeed explain the girls’ bad mood, Mrs. Weasley included. Hermione had already
disliked the blond quarter veela in their fourth year and so had Ginny, as far as Harry remembered.
Ron however, sounded just as excited as he had back then.

“She and Bill have apparently been dating for a while now,” the redhead explained further. “She
started working at Gringotts and got to know each other there.”
“Yes,” Ginny sneered, “and next summer they want to get married. After a single year of dating!”

“I understand of course…” Mrs. Weasley joined in sagely. “With all this uncertainty of You-
Know- Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts
of decisions they’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people
eloping left, right, and centre —”

“You mean like you and dad?” Ron shot back, clearly not having given up on protecting the
unpopular girl.

“Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” Mrs.
Weasley asked. “Whereas Bill and Fleur . . . well . . . what do they really have in common? He’s a
hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, and she’s —”
“A cow,” Ginny piped in with a nod. “But Bill’s not that down to earth. He’s a Curse-Breaker, isn’t
he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour.................. I expect that’s why he’s gone for
Phlegm.”

“Stop calling her that,” Mrs. Weasley admonished, but secretly, Harry thought that it didn’t really
make a difference at this point anymore.

“Yeah,” Ron interjected, tone once again annoyed, “Stop acting as if you wouldn’t immediately
agree if it were Harry asking you to marry him after a year. You would happily say yes as well.”

“That's true,” Ginny said, suddenly grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him flush against her. “But
for that, he will first have to ask me out.”
“Um…” Harry replied intelligently, feeling rather uncomfortable. Hadn’t Ginny gotten over her
crush? At least he had thought so. Fortunately the girl only winked at him before letting go of him
again.
“Don’t look so scared, I don’t bite, at least, not unless you want me to.”

Flushing, Harry took a step back, but before he could shoot something remotely witty back, a
barking laugh interrupted them and Sirius stepped up next to him.
“I see, just as popular with the girls as your dad always was, Pronslet.”
“I am not popular with girls,” Harry muttered, wanting nothing more than to get out of this
situation, however, before he could flee, his godfather placed an arm around his shoulder, keeping
him firmly in place.

“Don’t be so embarrassed, it isn’t a bad thing!”

Suddenly fed up, Harry shoved the arm off. “I know,” he snapped, feeling his neck burn. Sirius
merely chuckled in reply and ruffled through his hair, clearly not taking him seriously.
“You know, I don’t understand just where you got your shyness from,” the animagus instead said.
“James was always confident and your mother was a firecracker, just like Ginny here. But don’t
worry, I understand if you want your privacy for your first romantic endeavours.” He winked first
at

Harry and then, to his chagrin, at Ginny as well and gave her a thumbs-up before finally leaving
the kitchen.

Once his godfather was gone, a moment of awkward silence ensued, which was fortunately quickly
broken by Hermione who cleared her throat loudly. “Let’s join the others,” she said, giving Harry a
sympathetic look. At least one of his friends understood how uncomfortable he had found the
conversation.

“Yeah, let’s!” Ron exclaimed, suddenly looking eager again at the prospect of food and presents.

Ginny threw one last look over her shoulder at Harry, but then followed her brother back into the
living room.

“So, when did you arrive?” Harry asked, falling into step with Hermione. “I thought you would
celebrate with your parents?”
Hermione nodded. “I did. I am just here for lunch. Have to leave by 4 at the latest. My
grandparents are coming over for dinner at 6 so my mum and dad want me back before 5. Now tell
me, how was your first real Christmas with Sirius?” She gave him a sideways look that was a
strange mixture of curiosity, happiness and sadness.

“It was something else,” Harry replied honestly.

“Well, I didn’t really expect a traditional Christmas, regardless of what he said about family time,”
Hermione chuckled. “Was it good?”
“Yeah,” Harry smiled, thinking that, despite their earlier fall out, it had been really good. And
maybe his dad - when he woke up - would be alright and they would find a spell that would help
his mum. Then everything truly would be good. “I cooked for us and we drank… honestly too
much.” At that admission, Hermione laughed. A bit surprised, Harry looked at her questioningly.

“Oh please,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “We are all 16 and I have cousins who like to party, you
know. As long as you don’t overdo it, or it becomes a weekly occasion, I think it's all part of
normal development.”

“If you say so,” Harry replied intelligently, still surprised by Hermione’s reassurances, before
falling silent as they entered the living room.

Ron’s family was already gathered around the huge kitchen table, which someone must have
levitated out here especially for this occasion. Amongst the many redheads, her silvery hair stood
out starkly.

“Arry, merry Christmas! “Eet ‘as been too long!” She greeted him with a broad smile, rising to her
feet. Before Harry knew it, he was swept into a bone crushing hug that could rival Mrs. Weasley’s
and kissed on both cheeks.

“I ‘ave been longing to see you! Gabrielle too will be delighted to see you again. You remember
my seester?”
“Of course,” Harry nodded, wondering how he should have forgotten the girl he had saved from
the Black Lake not even two years ago. “Is she here too?”

“Oh no, no, silly boy!” Fleur said with a tinkling laugh. “I mean next summer. Do you know the
good news already?”
“Your wedding?” Harry asked, smiling back at her. “Yeah, I heard about it.”
Fleur’s expression turned disappointed. “Oh, it must ‘ave been one of your leettle friends!” Her
eyes flashed over to Hermione and Ginny, apparently the animosity was mutual by this point.
“Anyway, I ‘ope you will come as well?”
“Of course,” Harry promised. Even if he did dislike Fleur as much as Ginny and Hermione did,
which he didn’t, he doubted that he could just not show up to one of his best friend’s brother’s
wedding.

“Come, come, I ‘ave saved you a seat!”

With that Harry was pulled over to the chair next to Fleur’s and pushed down. Across from him
Hermione and Ginny were scowling once again. Harry gave them a shrug, which didn’t seem to
appease them.

Fortunately Mrs. Weasley returned to the living room just then, the pot with the soup and the
loaves of bread he had prepared floating in front of her.
“Harry was so helpful and prepared the first course this year,” she announced.
“Oh, what did you cook?” Fleur asked, sniffing the air. “It smells delicious. Like onion soup?”
“Yeah,” Harry replied awkwardly. “French onion soup. It’s Julia Child’s recipe.” When Fleur only
gave him a questioning look, he elaborated, “ She was a famous muggle cook. The first female
cook. She brought French cuisine to America. My aunt is a fan of her books and shows.”

“How delightful,” Fleur laughed her tinkling laughter again. “I will enjoy this bit of ‘ome you
brought me to this dreary country.”

“England and English cuisine is not that bad,” Mrs. Weasley muttered, motioning for everybody to
fill their plates.
“I am sure Fleur didn’t mean it like that,” Mr. Weasley said placatively, earning himself a betrayed
glare from his wife.

However, his words had broken the awkward mood and they all began to fill their bowls and
distribute slices of Harry’s homemade bread. His soup, Harry absently noted, tasted even better the
second day, the flavour of the sweet onions having come out better and for some time, nothing but
the clinking of spoons against china could be heard.

Unfortunately, this blissful silence left far too much room for Harry’s mind to wander back to his
parents, who were still sleeping in a draughty, nearly collapsing house, their fates undetermined.
The anxiety which he had so successfully pushed to the far corners of his mind upon arrival at the
Weasleys returned full force.

The rest of the lunch went by in a blur; Harry didn’t listen to any conversation, or all the praises his
soup earned and neither did he taste any of Mrs. Weasley's roast and Yorkshire pudding. He didn’t
even really notice the treacle tart she had baked especially for him.

Sirius was shooting him concerned glances, but with the level of noise and the exuberance of the
Weasley’s prevented him from doing or saying anything to help his godson.

After the meal came the noisy confusion of opening presents. Harry barely remembered to thank
people as he mechanically opened the small pile next to him. Even Hermione’s ever-present
planner didn’t get so much as a shared eye-roll between him and Ron. While the Weasley’s hadn’t
noticed anything amiss given the large number of people present, Sirius certainly did.

Seeing the teen’s growing distraction, and the panic beginning to work its way back into the
expressive green eyes, the grim animagus started looking for a break in the conversation. Things
finally died down when Mrs. Weasley put on Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas music and Hermione
had to leave. Seeing it for the opportunity it was.
“I believe we should call it a night as well,” he said, standing as well.
“Already?” Mrs. Weasley asked, a note of disappointment in her voice.
“I kept Harry up too late last night,” Sirius replied, shooting her one of his cheeky grins. It had the
effect he wished for.
Molly huffed, arms akimbo. “You really should know better. One could believe Harry to be the
adult between you two!”

Sirius just grinned more broadly. “Why? Harry happily helped me empty the pot of my special hot
chocolate.”
Molly just glowered at him, but he was too used to her disapproval by now to really care. Not that
he had ever been the type to care much for other people’s opinion. Instead he turned to his godson,
who hadn’t even noticed their argument, too busy staring nervously out the living room window
and chewing his bottom lip bloody.

“Hey pup, are you coming?”

The teen blinked once and finally looked up.
“What?” Harry asked, clearly confused.
Chuckling, Sirius beckoned him over. “We are leaving. Before you fall asleep in the middle of the
living room.”

A pang of guilt shot through Harry, but at this point he was just too glad that Sirius had come up
with a believable excuse for him. Frankly, if he continued like he had behaved these past two
hours, one of the Weasleys would most likely grow suspicious. Or Hermione, if his clever friend
wasn’t already.

“Sorry,” Harry replied, trying for a sheepish expression. It seemed to work, for Mrs. Weasley's
annoyed expression melted away. “You don’t need to excuse yourself, Harry dear. It’s not your
fault.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Charlie winked at him, “You will find your limit sooner or later.”
Harry actually managed to grin back, before he finally followed his godfather over to the fireplace.
“Number 12 Grimmauld Place!” the animagus said. The flames turned emerald green and he
motioned for Harry to go ahead, which he happily did.

A moment later he stumbled out into the parlour of Number 12. Sirius followed a moment later, an
apologetic look on his face.
“I should just have excused us from the beginning. I am sorry, Harry.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s really not your fault. Besides, we needed that alibi, just in case.”
His godfather sighed and combed with one hand through his locks. “You’re right.” A beat of
silence followed in which Harry was too scatterbrained to actually string a coherent sentence
together, before Sirius added, “You want to go back to Godric's Hollow?”

“Yeah…” Harry nodded. “Yeah, I - that would be good. But I need to get some books first…” he
trailed off, thinking that while he sat vigil at his parents’ bedside, he could start searching for an
explanation of what might have gone wrong with the resurrection of his mother.

“I’ll get the books for you, pup. Let me take you back to Godrick’s Hollow first,” his godfather
offered as an alternative.

Harry hesitated a second, knowing that Sirius hated his family library even more than ‘stuffy
books’ as he often called them. However, he also very much wanted to return and check on his dad.
Whatever had happened, he had no doubt that it had been either his fault or his fault or his
ignorance (which came down to the same thing in his opinion) so it wasn’t really fair to the
animagus.

However, as soon as he looked up to his godfather to decline, Sirius cut him off as if he had
expected his reaction. Really, the man was starting to know him far too well.
“It’s no problem, really. Besides, I have a better idea which books in my family’s library might be
cursed and I have additional training to recognize cursed objects on top of that.”

Unable to suppress a small smile, Harry nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Siri.”
“Not for that pup,” the other replied. “What happened is partly my fault as well. And don’t you
dare say otherwise. You were right this morning when you said I shouldn’t have taken advantage
of your drunken state like that.”

They left Grimmauld Place again, this time through the front door. Once outside the wards, Sirius
grabbed Harry’s arm and apparated them without further prompting.

If possible, the house in Godric’s Hollow looked even more decrepit in broad daylight.
As if reading his thoughts, his godfather suddenly spoke up.
“You know, the first time I went to see the house after my escape from Azkaban, it was a shock. I
always imagined that someone would take care of the house properly, until you were old enough to
move in on your own. I also imagined that you would grow up in the wizarding world. I already
expected that Remus would probably not be allowed to raise you due to his known status as a
werewolf, but Alice Longbottom was your mum’s best friend and your godmother. I didn’t know
what had become of her and Frank back then. And if they, for some reason weren’t capable of
taking you in, there were still the Weasleys…” he trailed off.

“Both options would have been nice.” Harry replied, not knowing what else he could say. His voice
sounded weak to his own ears. “Better than growing up with the Dursleys in any case. Did you
know them?”

Startled by his question, Sirius turned his head to look at Harry as they made their way through the
snow covered front yard. “Not really. But James and Alice had to console your mum many times
after she went home during the holidays because of something nasty her sister had said to her.
She is four years older than your mum was… is, I mean, and by the time we entered our 7th year at
Hogwarts, she had moved out of their parental home and the contact basically broke off. Lily tried
to reach out to her and send her sister an invitation to her wedding, but Petunia refused to come.”

Harry made a face, but his godfather’s story didn’t surprise him. In fact, he would be more
surprised if Sirius had told him that she had come, with all her talk about witches and wizards
being freaks.

However, Harry was spared from making a reply as they arrived at the front door and fell silent as
they entered his parental home. In silent agreement they climbed up the stairs and made their way
down the hallway to the warded bedroom. As they neared the room, Harry’s heartbeat began to
quicken. He just hoped that his dad was still fine.

Despite himself his thoughts returned once more to Voldemort.

Maybe he should have spoken to the wizard about what he planned after all, or at least asked if the
man would explain the ritual to him in more detail than the ancient scroll provided when he still
had been residing at his palace. Maybe he could have avoided this situation. Maybe the Dark Lord
would even have been able to tell him why it had grown more and more difficult to leave the Black
Cosmos with each visit, after all -

Realising what he was doing - again!-, Harry forcefully pushed all thoughts about Voldemort from
his mind. He had to stop thinking about the wizard! He was his enemy after all! Besides, while the
summer at Regia Magicae had been nice, much nicer than any summer at the Dursleys could ever
have been, he was getting his parents back (hopefully at least) and that would be even better!

With that concluding thought he finally pushed the bedroom door open and made his way over to
the repaired double bed.

The first thing his eyes honed in on was the slow but steady rise and fall of his dad’s chest.
Heaving a profound sigh of relief, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed. Now that he was here
however, he didn’t know how to behave. On one hand, he was feeling totally embarrassed about
his earlier outburst and his behaviour at the Weasleys. On the other, he felt this huge weight lifted
from him with the confirmation that they were indeed in the same state as he had left them; his dad
asleep and his mum… at least not in a worse state as well.

“I kinda want to wake them up…” Sirius said softly, conjuring a chair and sitting down. “But
maybe not.”
“Yeah,” Harry breathed, finally giving into the urge and reaching one hand out, just as he had done
earlier. It was a simple thing to do, but it felt so miraculous. He had never imagined he would ever
touch either of his parents, feel his dad’s warm skin and see his mum’s fiery hair.. He never wanted
to let go. He wanted to crawl in between them, snuggle up like a child and wait like this until they
finally woke up.

“Anyway…” His godfather interrupted his train of thought, “I will go fetch those books. In the
meantime if James wakes up, or you need anything, just…” Sirius started but then broke off, before
correcting himself, “actually, don’t do anything like send a patronus, because they will sence the
spell as soon as it gets out of the warded area.”

“Noted,” Harry promised, conjuring himself a chair with a small desk attached to one of the arm
rests as Sirius turned to leave. However, once at the door, his godfather halted once more.
“Harry?”
Harry, who’s eyes had wandered over to the now completely still form of his mum, looked up at
the tone in the other’s voice.

“Once your dad wakes,” Sirius began hesitatingly, “what do you want to tell him?”
When Harry didn’t immediately reply, he added, “Not that I mind either way, I just don’t want to
say anything that contradicts what you tell him.”

That made sense, however, unfortunately Harry still wasn’t sure what to answer. He didn’t want to
lie to his dad. It felt wrong to start their life together like that, but could he actually tell him the
truth? And even if his dad didn’t mind him meddling in necromancy, would he be able to keep it a
secret from Dumbledore. If only he knew what kind of person his dad truly was, but he didn’t.

“I think it’s better we stick to what Dumbledore told me when you woke up at Hogwarts - you
know, about some random necromancer reviving people close to me, probably to lure me out.
We’ll just have to make it clear that so far, you and Cedric haven’t actually experienced anything
odd and nobody has located any controlling magic on you. I don’t want him to panic entirely, you
know? I mean, he died in the war, and now we’re back in it, so he’s probably going to be worried
enough anyway.” Harry chewed on his lips, unsure of himself as he looked up at his godfather for
confirmation.

“Okay, pup. That’s what we’ll do,” Sirius just replied, before slipping out of the room and leaving
Harry alone with the unconscious forms of his mum and dad.

For a short moment, Harry wavered between the chair and the edge of the bed, but then settled
down next to his dad once more,

Harry just nodded again, his eyes never leaving the peaceful faces of his parents. He wondered
what their voices would sound like. Would his dad sound like him? Everybody said he looked just
like his dad, so he might have a similar voice as well. But then again, while he could certainly see
quite a resemblance, his dad was much taller than he would ever realistically grow to be. James’
physique was also much bulkier, with a broad, muscled torso and broad shoulders, just like he
should have expected from an active auror.

Physically, Harry felt, his eyes weren’t the only similarity he had in common with his mum. She
had the same small and rather delicate hands he had.
 And then he suddenly remembered with a pang that he, if fact, didn’t look at all like either of them
anymore. He had given up this connection in exchange for a lineage he came to realise he hadn’t
even begun to understand. However, he could also not truly regret his decision, because without
this sacrifice, his mum and dad would have forever stayed dead and he would never have gotten to
know them at all. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to take his glamour off anytime soon, if ever,
anyway, so this way at least, they could still look like a real family. But maybe someday, he could
at least tell Sirius. His godfather already knew far too much anyway and it would be nice having a
true confidant.

At the thought of his godfather he looked up, but the animagus had already left. He would thank
him later for his understanding. Surely Sirius didn’t truly want to leave and he certainly didn’t have
anything important scheduled on boxing day, considering they left their only appointment
prematurely.

Getting to his feet, Harry picked up his chair and moved to the other side of the bed to sit down
next to his mum and reached for her hand. Hopefully they would wake up soon.

Chapter End Notes

AN: So, that's it for today. I have gotten many reviewes these past couple of days and
they were fairly split between those who didn't want Harry to be able to revive his
parents at all and those who wished for him to finally get his perfect happy end. I hope
that I managed to find a good middle ground. Tbh, bringing both Lily and James back
felt too much of an unrealistic faiytale. In addition, if I had brought Lily back, she
would have stood in the way of my future plot... but that will be explained in time.

Anyway, I hope you liked the update. Pleas R&R,

JSG
 Bittersweet Awakening
Chapter Notes

AN1: Wow, two chapters in two days! I actually had forgotten to write the scene at
the very end yet, but it's done now :-)
AN2: I also want to thank everybody for your incredible reviews! I got so many that I
still need to catch up on replying to them all. Also, I hope I will not disappoint with
this chapter; many have written their thoughts on what the outcome of the ritual will
be. I also want to congratulate Florian_Raflesia for hitting the nail on it's head, so
CONGRATULATIONS!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 21: Bittersweet Awakening

The first thing James registered was pain. Not the sharp pain one received from a deep wound, that
was located in one specific place, but the dull kind that spoke of burning, sore muscles and joints
and too many hours of night shift and overtime.

Mind still foggy, he tried to remember what he had done last. The war was at its height and as an
auror he was called in because of some attack or gruesome crime scene nearly every other day.
Lily was already going nearly insane, because Harry had started to cry for hours when he didn’t
return in time for his son’s bedtime story. Besides, James knew she was starting to feel very much
like a single mum with his constant absence.

Only, he suddenly remembered, he hadn’t gone in for work for nearly half a year, after his wife’s
childhood friend, that greasy git, had warned Dumbledore about You-Know-Who’s plan to kill
them. As order members and high profile targets they had been more or less living in hiding for
two years. However, for most of that time he himself as well as Lily had still gone to work every
day. They had both been aware that they were taking a risk, however, they also had wanted to
continue contributing to the resistance against the evil wizard.

James would never have believed it, but apparently there was a loyal bone in that lanky, pale body
after all. One day he would have to thank him earnestly and apologise for his behaviour as a
student. Fatherhood had provided him with many realisations, one of them being that he would not
only be angry, but also quite dumbfounded if his little baby boy one day came home during the
holidays to tell him that he was bullied because of his hair, or his complexion or his love for books
or any other hobby he might develop. But that was a concern for another day, he thought, trying to
dig deeper in his mind for what had happened last.
It had been autumn, All Hallows Eve, he remembered slowly. Remus and Sirius had been over, the
letter giving Harry quite the scare by showing up with a ridiculous muggle monster-mask, resulting
in a screaming fit and several shattered glasses. His little boy was going to be one strong wizard
one day, if his magical outburst was anything to go by.

Lily had scolded Sirius quite severely and put him on duty to calm Harry down, at which his friend
succeeded much quicker than he and Lily were ever able to do. Somehow, all it took was for Sirius
to transform into Padfoot and Harry would stop crying and start laughing and babbling in delight.

They had a nice evening after that. They hadn’t been able to go out for trick or treat, but they had
eaten a lot of muggle Halloween sweets while sitting in front of the television watching horrible
muggle Halloween movies. Lily had even allowed Harry to suckle on a jack-o-lantern shaped
chocolate lolly, which had made quite the mess, chocolate getting everywhere, especially onto their
new, cream coloured sofa.

Moony and Padfoot had stayed until ten, but then Sirius had needed to go because he was down for
the early shift at the auror office the next morning. Remus decided to give him and Lily some
private time after Harry had finally fallen asleep, obviously exhausted, in Sirius arms and been put
to bed by his godfather.

Trying to remember more, James blinked his eyes open and for a moment, stared at the white
ceiling above. Turning onto his side, he found Lily still sleeping deeply and peacefully. James
didn’t know what it was, everything seemed as always, but somehow, he still couldn’t shake the
feeling that something was off. It was his instinct, the one that all Potters possessed and which had
made them one of the most well-known auror families with a long history in the department that
went straight back to its foundation.

There was a strange smell in the air. It was subtle, but it smelt a lot like mould and then there
was…

James’ eyes flew open when he registered an unfamiliar magical signature. Far too close for
comfort. Within a split second he was out of bed and calling his wand while his eyes scanned the
room. They immediately landed on the figure who had fallen asleep near the foot end of his bed.
He couldn’t see much of the young man, but if James had to guess, he would say the boy was still
underage, which didn’t necessarily mean anything considering how early You-Know-Who started
to recruit his next generation of followers. Strangely enough, stacks of books were haphazardly
strewn around him. From many of them, he could see colourful notes sticking out, as if the boy had
been studying them not long ago. Snorting inwardly, an image of the teen studying for his OWL’s
while keeping watch over his ‘prisoner’ sprang to mind.

Annoyed that his wand had not arrived, and therefore was not where he remembered placing it, he
instead began to catalogue other characteristics of the intruder: the boy was neither tall, nor did he
seem to have a particularly strong build. In fact, he looked rather scrawny, but as a wizard, James
knew that size didn’t always equate to strength. He couldn’t see the kid’s face as it was buried into
the lower end of his blanket.

It was ridiculous, James thought, trying to not feel affronted. Voldemort had to truly be losing his
touch if he thought that a mere school boy would be enough to guard a former auror.

Suppressing a surge of annoyance, James quickly changed his plan and whispered, “Accio
intruders wand!”

That kid really had to be a greenhorn, because a wand immediately came sailing from his pocket
into James’ outstretched hand. It was made from a light wood, holly, if James wasn’t mistaken,
which, quite honestly was a surprise as it was a wood which rarely chose dark wizards. Swishing it
once, he wasn’t surprised to find that it was much less pliable than his own mahogany wand.
Stretching out his magic again, James scowled as he found the wand quite unwilling to listen to
him; whatever core it possessed, this wand was loyal to a fault. Of course, if it came down to it, he
could always try to break its will by force, but maybe the kid would be frightened enough when he
realised that he had been disarmed in his sleep.

Happy enough with his plan, James silently crept around the bed until he stood diagonally behind
the kid. With a well aimed move he kicked the boy’s chair from under his bony arse and pointed
the holly wand at him.

The boy fell to the ground and began to scramble wildly as he tried to regain his bearings.

“Stand up, turn around, and no funny business.” James’ voice didn’t shake.

And then the teen turned around and James’ world screeched to a jarring stop.

______________________________________________________

Harry awoke with a violent jolt. He hadn’t even realised that he had fallen asleep, face buried into
the warmth of his dad’s side, until the ground seemed to suddenly fall from beneath him.

Somebody stepped up behind him, casting long shadows over his crumpled figure as his mind
scrambled to make sense of what was happening. Hadn’t he just been at Godric’s Hollow, keeping
vigil over his parents?
“Stand up, turn around, and no funny business.” An unfamiliar, angry voice growled threateningly.
Panicked, Harry tried to scramble back to his feet while simultaneously reaching into his back
pocket for his wand. Only to find that his wand wasn’t there. Desperate, he spun around and found
himself staring into a face that looked nearly like a copy of his own, glamoured one.

He froze, eyes rapidly darting across the man’s face, pleasure at seeing his father slowly
overwhelming the fear he had woken to. Whatever had gone wrong with his mum had clearly not
affected his father, and while the bitter taste of failure was present, he was so excited to have one of
his parents back with him.

As his emerald eyes roved the familiar features, so similar to his own, he locked on to the few
differences - James’ brown eyes, the brownish tint to his father’s hair. The man was still young,
and obviously brought back in the peak of health given his good colour and steady hands.

“Dad?” he said hesitantly, hopefully, wondering if this would be where everything fell apart.

______________________________________

James was frozen. He knew those features and he knew those eyes. How happy had he been when
he had realised that the typical blue eyes all babies possessed weren’t turning into his boring
brown ones, but Lily’s amazing emerald green orbs?

Suddenly the memories came rushing back; the explosion as their front door was blasted open,
Lily’s screams, the tall, dark figure in the doorframe and the green light. But surely that couldn’t be
true? Because if it was, he wouldn’t be standing here right now.

And then the boy spoke.

“Dad?”
It was only one word, but it was spoken with so much hope that James’ didn’t doubt its veracity.
Without even thinking, he let the wand drop to the floor.

“Harry?”

“Yes,” the boy whispered tearily.

But how was that possible? Had he and Lily fallen into a coma after You-Know-Who’s attack? If
so, how did that happen? That green light had been the killing curse, he had known it the instant he
had seen the spell flying towards him. However, before he could wonder any longer, he was nearly
tackled to the floor. Automatically, his arms closed around his son and he hugged him tightly.
Without hesitation, Harry buried his face into his pullover and for a long moment he just stood
there, holding each other.

His son smelled of something uniquely his own and of pine trees and christmas spices. Was it the
season?

“By Merlin, what happened? How long… how many years…?”

“I… I am 16 now…” his son replied, voice audibly hesitant.

James had to close his eyes. 15 years. He had somehow missed 15 years of his little baby boy’s
life. His son was small, for his age, much smaller than he himself had been, but there was no denial
that he had outgrown his childhood already. Tightening his arms around the slender frame, he
buried his face into those messy locks, and vowed to himself to never let go again. Whatever quirk
of fate or luck or higher power had granted him this second chance with Harry, he would seize it
with both hands.

________________________________________________________________

Harry didn’t want to let go. His dad’s embrace was strong and warm and so incredibly warm. It
was all he had ever imagined and more. James basically towered over him. He was about as tall as
Voldemort, with a broad, expensive chest that spoke of the hours of vigorous physical training
active aurors had to partake in every week. Maybe that was also why he exuded heat like a furnace;
Harry wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that his dad clutched him to his chest as if he was a
treasure he had lost and finally, after years, found again.

Unfortunately all good things have to come to an end sooner or later and Harry couldn’t even really
fault his dad for it considering the unlikely situation Harry had thrust him into.

“What happened? How did we survive?” he asked, pushing Harry onto arms length without letting
go. “Have I been in a coma?”

Suddenly very unsure how he should explain everything - or where he even should begin - Harry
averted his eyes to his new pair of dragon hide boots and began to fidget uncomfortably.

As if sensing his insecurity, James squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, let’s sit down somewhere, it
will be more comfortable that way,” he said, his eyes beginning to search through the bedroom. It
was then that his gaze landed on his wife.

“Lily!” he called out, making a motion as if torn between wanting to stay by Harry’s side and
needing to rush over to check on her.

Harry’s heart sank, this was the first thing he would have to tell his dad. Being confronted with the
situation now, he realised he should have thought about it beforehand, made a plan or at least
settled on what to tell him exactly. However, feeling James' broad palm lift from his shoulder, he
knew his time was up and quickly grabbed his wrist to hold him back.

“She won’t wake up,” he whispered, wanting to shy away from those confused, brown eyes that
once more turned on him. However, his dad had a right to learn about his wife’s fate. Lily had been
the love of his life, after all. So he pressed on, trying to be strong, even as his voice came out
nothing but a whisper. “Not now at least and maybe… not ever…”

“What do you mean?” his dad queried, a note of denial in his voice.

“Let’s sit down,” Harry just said, shifting his grip from his father’s wrist to his hand.

He let him over to the bed, where he sat down on the edge and pulled James down next to him. The
angle they were sitting at allowed them to see his mum clearly; her peaceful, if slightly distorted
face the man probably couldn’t see if James’ eyes were anywhere near as bad as his own, and her
chest, barely rising and falling ten times a minute. Once again his dad made a motion to reach out
to her and this time, Harry didn’t stop him.

As soon as his dad’s hand touched his mum’s face, Harry could see that he understood. He
watched as the shocked recognition of her cold skin filtered into his mind. Saw how the man’s face
crumpled with the knowledge that whatever became of his wife, it would not be the feeling of
waking from a too-long nap, but would likely end in a permanent sleep.

“What is wrong with her?” his dad asked, eyes never leaving his wife’s still face. Harry wanted to
look away. Since he had realised what had happened to his mum, he had barely looked at her and
had not been able to force himself to touch her again. He hadn’t even sat next to her when he had
read through all those useless dark arts tomes earlier, but his dad was actually holding her hand,
softly stroking his thumb over her icy cold skin. It made him feel like the worst son on the planet.

Needing something to distract himself, he finally answered. “That Halloween Night in Godric’s
Hollow, you two died.”
“We… but that’s…” his dad began, eyes focusing on him once more.
“Mum did something that helped me survive,” Harry continued, “some sacrificial magic… I don’t
really understand it myself… but I survived and was found by Siri a few hours later who handed
me over to Hagrid.”

“But if we died that night, how can we be here right now?” His dad interrupted him.
Harry couldn't help but look away in shame. He hated lying to his father, but he also knew that
telling the truth was too risky at this point. Hopefully however, his guilty conscience wasn’t
written all over his face.

“You were brought back. Although, something went wrong with mum,” he went on. James
frowned, his brow furrowing with his racing thoughts.
“I don’t know what, but I promise you, I will find a way to fix it. To fix her,” Harry rushed out,
wanting to reassure him, but his dad merely sighed, and shook his head slowly.

“You shouldn’t dabble in that kind of magic,” he said, picking one of the dark arts books up.
“Whoever brought us back, they were a dark mage, practising very dark magic. That is not
something I want you trying, regardless of the reason,” he said, focusing on his son and pinning
him with a piercing stare. “It is too dangerous and the risk of addiction is too high. Besides, you
were not the one who resurrected us, therefore it isn’t your responsibility to try to fix it.”

If possible, Harry felt even worse. He didn’t want to imagine how his dad would react if he ever
found out the truth and learned that his son had become a necromancer, readily and without
hesitation just to try and bring his parents back. To finally learn what being a happy family and
loved felt like.

“But we can’t leave her like this,” he protested.

“No, we can’t,” his father agreed, placing an arm around his shoulders. “That is why Sirius and I
will look into the matter. We were trained to handle such materials appropriately after all. Or am I
wrong assuming that you got those books from the Black library?”

Unable to suppress a sheepish smile, Harry shook his head. “Padfoot gave them to me. He didn’t
want me to go there on my own either,” he admitted, making his dad chuckle.

“That almost sounds like he grew up at some point after all. How is living with him?”

It wasn’t difficult to realise what his dad meant, however, Harry wasn’t feeling like another serious
conversation about his poor childhood, so he just grinned up at his dad and said, “It’s great. He
introduced me to his special hot chocolate this Christmas.” And in a sense, he wasn’t really lying.
Living with his godfather was awesome, much better than with the Dursleys, but of course he knew
that his dad would want to know that he hadn’t grown up with the guardian he had assigned for
him.

“I am not sure I should condone that,” his dad huffed and reached up to ruffle his hair.
“Did you see your friends, too?”
Harry nodded, glad that the conversation had shifted to a safer topic.
“I saw Ron and Hermione just earlier and I exchanged letters and presents with Nev.”
“Ron?” His dad perked up, “Isn’t that Arthur’s youngest?”
Harry nodded.
His dad chuckled. “Then I don’t have to ask you which house you were sorted into. There is no
way a Weasley would ever be sent anywhere but Gryffindor. Is Minnie still the head of Gryffindor
House?”
“She is,” Harry confirmed, thinking it better to not comment on his sorting and instead watched as
his dad grinned sheepishly.
“Well, you can’t possibly cause her more trouble than we did,” he commented.

Harry wasn’t so sure about that, but was distracted as his dad suddenly asked with a leering grin.
“And this Hermione, who is she? Your girlfriend?”
“Oooh no,” he grimaced. Even if his brainy friend hadn’t become like a sister to him, he somehow
doubted that she would have been her type. Not that Hermione wasn’t great, but… suddenly an
image of a wicked smirk sprang to his mind. However, before he could even comprehend where
his mind had been leading him, they were interrupted by the bedroom door banging open and his
godfather stomping in, a middle sized present wrapped in green paper in hand.

“Harry, you’ve gotten another present. That one friend of yours sent it with the lunch box…” he
said, but broke off when he looked up and saw who was sitting next to his godson.
“James!” The Christmas package dropped to the floor and with two long steps Sirius stood in front
of his best friend.

Looking at those warm, brown eyes and that messy mop of hair, Sirius realised that despite all the
evidence to the contrary, he hadn’t really believed he would ever be able to speak to James again.
But his old friend looked just as he remembered, as if he had never been gone. He didn’t even look
a day older, but then again, he also looked younger and much better since Harry had brought him
back, though he still didn’t understand how that was possible.

“Padfoot,” James grinned and before he could react, the other marauder had gotten to his feet and
pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Bloody hell, he had forgotten how strong his friend had
gotten during their auror training and in contrast to him, James had never skived off even
afterwards, once they had graduated from the academy and gotten their first jobs.

“Prongs!” He whispered back, arms lifting to return the embrace. He inhaled deeply, but James
even smelled the same, only the scent of his favourite eau de cologne was missing.
“You are really back!” tears sprang to his eyes and his voice broke.

“I am,” his friend replied.

Feeling very much as if he was intruding on something private, Harry got up and made his way
over to the dropped package. He wondered a bit why his godfather had thought it necessary to
come over just to give it to him, thinking that it could have easily have waited until he returned
later or even tomorrow, however, his question was answered when an annoyed hiss reached his
ears from the inside.

“Nasty humans! I will bite them! They shall fear my poisonous fangs!”

Wincing, Harry picked the box up and went back to the bed. Why the hell had Voldemort thought
it a good idea to send him a snake? Couldn’t he have just sent a singing christmas card and a box of
homemade cookies? He would even have preferred skull-shaped ones over whatever moody beast
he had sent him.

Maybe I can send it back? Or would that be considered impolite? Probably, and the last thing Harry
wanted to do was affront the Dark Lord even more than by just vanishing.

“What do you have there?” his dad asked, plopping back down next to him. Sirius followed in his
wake.
“A present. From a friend,” he replied absentmindedly.
“Yeah sure, kiddo. A hissing one,” his godfather snorted, sitting down on his other side.

“Hissing? As in somebody has sent him a snake?” his dad queried. “Why would your friend send
you such a strange and possibly dangerous gift?”
“Well, Harry here is a parselmouth and due to some incident during the duelling club in his second
year all of Hogwarts learned about that little titbit,” Sirius provided before Harry could even start
to search for the right words to explain to his dad that the son, of whom he was so proud to have
been sorted into Gryffindor, could also speak to snakes, an ability mostly only revered by
Slytherins.

“Oh… um… that’s unexpected,” his dad replied, his eyebrows flying to his hairline. “Well then;
free the poor animal,” he said, sounding somewhere stuck between incredulousness and hesitation.

Still, Harry hesitated. He was well aware how most Gryffindors viewed them with caution and
mistrust and many were even afraight of them. Not that he didn’t understand after all, not even the
ability to communicate with them necessarily saved one from their wrath.
Therefore he asked, “You sure dad?”

“Of course,” James nodded. “The snake can’t stay in that box forever and at least you can tell it to
not bite any of us.”

“If you are sure…” Harry replied, still not convinced. Who knew what kind of snake Voldemort
had sent him, he thought wryly, an image of the wizard’s own familiar springing to mind.

Seeing the encouraging (if slightly wavering) expression on his dad’s face, Harry turned to the
green present.
“If I free you from this box,” he hissed, “will you listen to me and not bite any of the people here?”

“I will only listen to my new Master. The one that smells of death and the purple eyes.”

Well shit. However, he hardly could take his glamours off, which meant, all that he could hope for
was that glamours didn’t cover a person’s scent as well and that the snake knew enough of wizards
and magic to have heard of glamours. If she had grown up with Nagini and Voldemort. Harry
considered his chances were hopefully not all that bad.

“I will let you out now,” he hissed, knowing that he wouldn’t get any other answer from the snake.
Snakes were stubborn creatures, and very loyal, which was good when they listened to you and bad
if they didn’t.

Carefully, he pulled the silver ribbon from the square box and pulled the wrapping paper to the
side, revealing a plain cardboard box. The snake inside had fallen silent, but Harry wasn’t quite
sure if that was a good or a bad sign.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered and finally lifted the top.

The snake rose from its prison. It was a beautiful, entirely black creature with very unique features
that reminded Harry more of a dragon, or the basilisk he had faced down in the chamber of secrets.
If only the reptile wouldn’t have hissed at him threateningly, he could have liked her at first sight.

Next to him his dad and godfather stiffened.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have encouraged him to open the present after all?” Sirius hissed. “That
snake looks bloody scary.”
“I find it much more interesting to question what kind of friend that guy is to send my son such a
beast!” his dad shot back, but Harry ignored the two of him as he kept his eyes on the agitated
reptile.

“Are you my new Master?” the snake hissed, venom dripping from her impressive fangs. “You
smell right but your eyes are not purple.”

Glad that the snake was talking and not biting first before asking questions, Harry replied, “My
eyes are purple, but I am wearing a glamour. A spell to make me look different,” he quickly
explained. “Have you heard about it?”

The snake closed her mouth and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. His dad and Sirius did the same,
reassured that the venomous serpent wasn’t attacking Harry outright.
“I have. His Lordship has mentioned it and mother, too.”

“Then you believe me? And will listen to me?” Harry prompted, wanting to make sure.
“Yes Master. Angrboda will listen to you and protect you,” the snake replied.

Relieved, Harry nodded. “Angrboda? Is that your name?”

“Yes,” the reptile affirmed. “Now give me your blood so that I can bind myself to you,” she hissed.

“My blood?” Harry echoed confusedly, wondering if she wanted to cut himself or bite him.
However, after his experience in the graveyard, neither sounded like a good idea. “I don’t think
that's a good…” Unfortunately, he didn’t get any further as the serpent launched forwards. A
piercing pain shot through his hand and his dad and godfather shouted in shock, rising to come to
his aid. However, Harry was distracted by the tingling sensation that seemed to spread out from the
point in his chest where he knew his magical core was located. The snake glowed briefly, her eyes
turning from black to a purple that mimicked Harry’s own unique eye colour and a matching
pattern appeared down the length of her body. Finally she let go and coiled herself around his under
arm.

It still took Harry a few heart beats longer to realise that he was not dying of snake poisoning. Once
he did, he turned back to his dad and Sirius, who had gone as pale as ghosts.

“Angrboda promised to listen to me. She will not bite any of you,” he said, only to pause as he saw
their shocked expression morphe into disbelief.
“Is something wrong?”

His dad shook his head as if waking himself from a strange dream. “Your friend gave you a
magical familiar.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean, but shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Their awestruck expressions didn’t fade. Harry was confused as well.

“Wow,” his godfather breathed, resuming his seat. “Wish I had a friend like that!"
If possible, Harry grew even more confused. “Why?”
“Because magical creatures powerful enough to bind themselves to a mage,” his dad answered,
“and become a real magical familiar are rare and expensive and being given one is…”
“An honour,” Sirius finished.
Harry didn’t really know what to say to that, all he knew was that he should probably read up on
magical familiars as soon as they had returned to Grimmauld Place. That, and send Voldemort a
thank-you card.

“So her name is Angrboda?” His dad inquired, leaning slightly closer. “Or is it a he?”
“It’s a she,” Harry confirmed. “Don’t know where that name came from….”

“North mythology,” Sirius frowned. “Certain pureblood families still tell their children those stories
because many of our traditional wizarding holidays are connected to them.”
Frowning, Harry wondered out loud, “I thought Samhain and such had their origin in the Celtic
culture?”

To his surprise, it was his dad who answered. “You cannot compare the old gods with religions
today. The Celts, just as the Vikings were Germanic tribes and while they all had their own names
for their gods, their origin and purpose were often the same or at least quite similar, just as their
myths and holidays.”

It came as a strange feeling realisation after all the stories he had heard from his godfather, but his
dad really was a true pureblood. Maybe a liberal and open minded one, but clearly a pureblood
nonetheless.

“Still… his godfather’s pulled him out from his shocked state, “I can’t believe that a snake will be
moving in with us.” He gave Harry’s new familiar a closer look, before visibly suppressing a
grimace, maybe too weary of the magical snake of unknown origin.

James snorted, before he got to his feet. “How about I make us some cheese sandwiches before we
continue?”

“Sounds good, but you would have to apparate over to Gr-, argh. Fidelius. Headquarters.” Sirius
said dryly.
“Besides, Harry had made a really good onion tart yesterday and we still have some leftovers,”
Sirius piped up.

“You can cook?” his dad asked, sounding surprised.

“Yup and very well too,” his godfather grinned.
“Huh, who would have guessed.”

“What do you mean?” Harry huffed, annoyed at the implied disbelief of his skills.
“Well, just… of all the hobbies I would have guessed my son might have…“

“Are you trying to say that cooking is only for girls?” Harry mock-glared and shoved his dad
lightly into the side.

“I would never!” His dad grinned back. “And at least we won’t starve then. Not like your mother
could cook. Nor can I.”

Harry groaned, wondering how it was possible for him to not know a single person who could
cook. It didn’t really surprise him to hear that his dad apparently was as talented in the kitchen as
Sirius, just as he had never expected Ron to possess that skill, however, it seemed that not even the
women in his life could put a meal together.

And yes, he knew that Hermione would chew his ear off for his chauvinistic thoughts. However, in
his defence, he honestly found the whole situation more ridiculous than anything else and besides,
he was a boy and he liked to cook very much.

“Shall we apparate over to headquarters then?” his godfather picked up their original conversation
again, getting to his feet as well.

His dad nodded, but Harry honestly had reservations. Even if Dumbledore didn’t show up at
Grimmauld Place for a surprise visit (he rarely did even for Order meetings as far as he was aware)
that didn’t mean that others wouldn’t. Remus might want to check on Sirius and him as well as
some other order members.

However, leaving his dad in this run down house didn’t feel right either. To leave him alone in this
ruin of his past life, in these destroyed rooms with all those scorch marks and blood stains - Harry
couldn’t do that. So he said, “If we go to your place, we need to be careful.”

His dad gave him a confused look. “Why do you keep mentioning headquarters anyway, Sirius?”

“Eh,” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I may have given a certain townhouse to
Dumbledore to use for the Order. It still needs some work, but the wards are great.”

James' eyes widened as he followed his best friend’s train of thought. A laugh escaped him, “Sure,
I may have been taking a 15-year nap, but unless your entire family kicked the bucket, I can’t see
you willingly going back there.”

Harry couldn’t stop the snort, and Sirius grinned at his best friend, “Well, not all of them, Andy,
Cissy, and Bellatrix,” he sneered the marked woman’s name, “are still alive.”

“Much as we might wish it otherwise. Except Andy, of course,” James deadpanned, much to the
other two’s amusement.

“True, very true,” Sirius smiled and continued. “But my father and brother died before you went
into hiding, if you remember,” James nodded, “and my harpy of a mother followed him a couple
years later. There’s lots to tell you,” he said, glossing over his stay in Azkaban hoping to get
through the conversation quickly before having to delve into all the horrible details, “but suffice it
to say that I live in that decrepit mausoleum now.”

“Okay, sure,” James shrugged, “but that doesn’t explain why we have to be careful. It’s your
house!”

“Er, yeah,” Sirius actually looked sheepish. “But, well, the Order is using it as headquarters.”

“Your mother is rolling in her grave!” James chortled.

Sirius smiled though Harry grimaced, thinking about the horrid old woman’s portrait.

“You have no idea,” the grim animagus muttered. “But anyway, Albus was already worried when I
came back…” Sirius began, but was broken off by his friend’s harsh voice.
“Came back? Came back from where?” James looked between his best friend and his son. Seeing
their hesitant, almost guilty looks, he asked, praying he was wrong, “You were dead as well?”

Inwardly, Harry winced. Couldn’t his godfather be a bit more circumspect for once? His dad had
just come back from the dead, for Merlin’s sake! Sirius of all people should know how confusing
that was. But then again, the hyperactive marauder had bounced back as if he had never been gone,
in contrast to Barty who had been clearly off kilter when he had first woken and interrupted
Voldemort's ritual. So maybe it wasn’t that surprising after all that the former marauder wasn’t any
more careful.

“Only for a little while,” Sirius rushed to explain, even as he winced at all the details they were still
leaving out. “But anyway, I’m back, and Albus is worried that whoever is bringing people back is
doing it to draw Harry out. He thinks there might be some controlling aspect to it,” Sirius rolled his
eyes and grinned, though James looked concerned.

“So the war is still going on, somebody, probably Voldemort, has a necromancer who is raising
people close to my son and could control us for purposes as yet unknown?” The man’s face was
getting more and more pinched as he spoke”

“They haven’t found anything controlling yet,” Harry quickly jumped in, hoping to head off any
possible explosions. “Madam Pomfrey checked and Sirius hasn’t done anything out of character,”
he continued, praying the information would mitigate some of his father’s worry. “But since
Dumbledore is concerned, the Order is concerned, sooooo…”

“Fine,” his dad finally huffed. “I promise to behave and hide in case somebody shows up.”
“Then let’s go eat some of Harry’s incredible cooking!” Sirius grinned, jumping to his feet and
heading for the door. However, James’ eyes had flickered over to his unconscious wife, clearly
battling with indecision.
Seeing this, Harry stopped as well. “She will be alright. It hasn’t been 24 hours yet…”
“That’s still rather long,” his dad replied, “We should look some Medicare spells up after we have
eaten as well. Can’t have her kicking the bucket for lack of food and water.”

That actually sounded wise. So far Harry had never worried about keeping the people he had
brought back fed and hydrated, however, they all had woken up within half a day.

“It will be alright, Prongslet. We will find something that will help Lils,” Sirius stated, having
finally picked up on his best friend’s struggle as well. Harry watched as he came over and
squeezed his formerly late best friend’s shoulder. And something passed between them. It
reminded him very much of himself and his friends, whenever they didn’t need words to
understand what the other was thinking.

It was good that his godfather had his dad back, because what he had clearly searched for in Harry
these past two years, he would never have been able to give him, because nobody could ever
replace one’s best friend. Not even said friend’s son.

“But first, let’s get some food for you. I was starving after I first came back and that had been after
only a bit over two months.”

They finally left the bedroom, Sirius walking ahead and Harry bringing up the rear. At the door his
dad stopped for a second and Harry could see his muscled chest expand as he took a fortifying
breath.

He waited patiently, wanting to help his father but not knowing how or if it even would be
appreciated. His dad had Sirius after all, and had been rather protective of him earlier, after all.
Before he could make up his mind, his dad finally followed his friend.

Slowly they made their way downstairs. James hadn’t realised how bad the fight against You-
Know-Who had been, but seeing the destruction of his once beloved home, made his blood run
cold. It made his son’s survival seem even more impossible. How his little baby boy could have
survived, he didn’t understand, not even after Harry’s explanation. Which admittedly, had been a
bit lacking. He would have to ask somebody who understood more about magical theory and the
more obscure side branches.

Which meant that he would have to somehow contact Albus, against the promise he had just made,
a thought that didn’t sit well with him. However, his first duty as a father had always been and
would always continue to be, to protect his child, which he wouldn’t be able to do hidden in a safe
house.

He wasn’t quite sure why his son didn’t wish to speak to the headmaster. James had worked
closely together with the senior wizard for years and he had always been a good, understanding
man. He couldn’t imagine that had changed.

“I got you this,” his old friend turned around to him, and his thoughts came to a stop. He would
have to think about the matter with the headmaster later. Blinking in confusion, James followed the
line of the outstretched hand and belatedly realised that Sirius was holding something out to him.

Taking and unfolding it, he saw that it was a short note in a familiar, looping handwriting, stating,
“The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”

“We will have to apparate,” his friend added. “Do you think you can manage on your own, or
should I side-along you?”

Glancing back at his son, James shook his head. “No, I am alright. You take Harry.”

Sirius gave him a concerned look, but then nodded and walked ahead out of the house.

Stepping into the crisp evening air felt liberating after the mouldy air and the sight of all the
destruction. He was admittedly glad that he would be leaving, at least for some time. If only he
could take Lily along as well, but hiding her would be difficult if somebody came to the
headquarters, he understood that.

Looking around, his heart sank at the state of the garden. It had been Lily’s whole pride, she had
spent hours making it beautiful as well as safe for their little boy. Who wasn’t all that little
anymore, he thought with a sideway glance. 15 years… he still couldn’t believe it. At least as far as
he could tell Harry had developed into a fine young man.

Having overheard the short exchange, Harry walked over to his godfather and grabbed his arm. He
didn’t want to leave his father’s side for even a second, but he guessed it was better if his dad
didn’t do a side-along apparition first thing after he had not used magic for so long.
“I will see you in a minute, dad,” he therefore said, before he was whisked away.

They landed a moment later on the front steps of Number 12 and Harry breathed a sigh of relief
when his dad appeared only a few steps away in the snow covered front garden. Reassured he sent
him a smile and turned to push the front door open.
“I will go downstairs and heat up the tart,” he called over his shoulders, stopping only briefly in the
front hallway to take his new dragonhide boots off. That was really the downside to the buckled
shoes; he couldn’t just kick them off.

“Do you want some help, Harry?" his dad ask, kicking the trainers he wore (which looked
suspiciously like the pair Ron had purposefully forgotten at Grimmauld Place last Christmas
because they already looked so shabby) much quicker off than Harry had been able to with his
own.

“Um… sure… but if you rather want to go with Siri…” he replied, not wishing to affront his dad by
rejecting the offer.
“Na,” his dad waved him off and turned towards the staircase. “By the way, is that nasty house elf
still alive?” he asked as they went downstairs.
“If you mean Kreature then yeah… he still is around. But Sirius sent him to Hogwarts to help in
the kitchen there,” Harry frowned. He didn't particularly like the elf particularly, however,
Kreacher also was very much what the Blacks had turned him into. Between Walburga, who Harry
suspected had been nearly as crazy as Bellatrix even before she became a portrait and then living
with and following orders from that cursed piece of art for over a decade, having no actual human
being or other house elf to talk to, Harry by now believed that Kreacher’s nasty character was not
his own fault. “He said it was either that or throttle him the next time he heard him pray for his
return to the Black Cosmos.”

His dad chuckled and came to a halt in the middle of the spacious kitchen. “This looks still the
same…” he stated, with a troubled look around. “It’s strange to think… considering how long I
have been… absent.”

“Sirius didn’t like living here… the year he had to and now he actually lives at hogwarts, he is the
new DADA professor,” Harry mused in a way of explanation.

“The DADA professor, hu?” James repeated, surprised. He still remembered how eager his best
friend had been to join the auror department and how thrilled he had been when they both had been
accepted into the training program. “You know, one day you have to tell me what all happened,”
he added a bit wistfully.

Harry hesitated, his wish to not talk about certain aspects of his live waring against the knowledge
that, if anybody, his dad had the right to learn what he had all gone through so far. Finally, his bad
conscience won out.

“I actually grew up with the… with mum’s relatives,” he started softly, hoping that it would lessen
the blow if he didn’t call his aunt and uncle ‘the Dursleys’ outright. However, his plan didn’t work
as his father still flinched.
“That evening, Sirius came to check up on us and found the Fidelius charm broken and you and
mum…”
“We had been killed,” his dad finished for him, eyes pressed close in apparent pain.
Harry just nodded, knowing not a single word or sentence that could possibly make this story hurt
less. “Hagrid arrived shortly after to take me to Dumbledore, and Sirius agreed, because he wanted
to avenge you.”

“That stupid fool…” James cursed weakly.

“Sirius found Peter, but he blew up a street, transformed into his animagus form and vanished into
the sewers,” Harry continued while summoning the preserved onion tart from the storage
cupboard.
“Sirius was arrested and put into Azkaban without a trial while Dumbledore used mum’s sacrifice
to erect some blood wards around her sister’s house.”

“I guess You-Know-Who wasn’t completely defeated then afterall?” James mused out loud. He
had wondered about this already when he had heard about the current headquarter of the Order.

“No,” his son just replied. “He lost his body, but he didn’t die that night.”

“Anyway…” Harry picked up the threat of his tale again, wanting to get away from the topic of
Voldemort and their many encounters. “Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon didn’t want to let me go to
Hogwarts at first, but Hagrid fetched me and took me to get my school supplies. Fortunately
Voldemort didn’t regain his body back until a bit over a year ago…”
“... it would have been better if that bastard never got it back,” his dad interjected.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, hesitantly and then, out of an impulse he didn’t quite understand himself,
added, “but I guess that never truly was a possibility. He is just too intelligent to be hindered by
such an issue forever.”

Not quite believing what he had just heard from his own son’s mouth, the boy who had defeated
You-Know-Who as a mere babe, James turned around with an incredulous expression.

Realising what he had just said, Harry quickly paddled backwards. “I just mean, he never was
really dead to begin with. You were really dead and still, somebody managed to create a body for
you and call you back.”
Phrased like this, Harry’s words made more sense and didn’t sound quite as revenant. However,
while his son certainly had a point, what this omenouse necromancer had done wasn’t quite normal
either. In fact, as far as he knew - and as a fully trained auror he knew more than most - nobody
should have been able to bring him back. It was something they would have to investigate. A
necromancer this powerful was dangerous. Besides, as happy as he was to get the chance to get to
know his son after all, James had always believed that the dead were not meant to return.

“Sirius broke out of Azkaban when I was 13 and found me, but he died only 2 years later during a
fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries.”

“But that means, he cannot be back for long either…” James frowned, considering that his son had
just started his 6th year.

Harry shook his head. “No, he was brought back during the first week after the summer holidays.
And about 6 weeks ago he was also finally acquitted,” he added with a grin.

Getting the feeling that his son didn’t wish to speak about any more serious topics any further,
James smiled back at him in return. Harry had given him enough to think about for now, the rest of
his questions he could go to his best friend with and get the answers he needed from him. Like how
horrible Harry’s childhood with Lily’s awful sister and her husband truly had been and why none
of their many friends could have raised his son instead.

Instead he followed his son who was checking on the baking tray with a concerned frown on his
face. The smell that was waving from the open oven door however was mouthwatering, so he
couldn’t really imagine that something was amiss with their food. It seemed Padfoot hadn’t been
lying when he had said that Harry was an incredible cook.
Still he asked, “Is everything alright?”

Harry made an unhappy sound, before straightening up again. “I am not sure if it will be enough
for all three of us. But I could prepare a salad quickly.”
“Sounds like a plan,” James just smiled, wondering where from his son had this motherly attitude,
because he certainly didn’t inherit it from either Lily or him. Lily had always been a strong,
modern woman. She hadn’t been against cooking, but neither had she cared enough for the idea of
the wife feeding her family and creating a comfortable home to learn it.

James himself hadn’t minded. If he had wanted a traditional pureblood wife, he wouldn’t have
fallen in love with Lily in the first place. From the moment he had first spoken with her, he had
loved her determination and intelligence and had supported her wholeheartedly in her desire to
become an Unspeakable. Only later, when Harry had started to eat solid food, had she spoken
about buying some cook books and learning at least the basics.
Pulling himself back to the present, James realised that his son had already filled three bowls with a
simple salad, made from iceberg lettuce and tomatoes, drizzling it with a delicious looking
dressing, and was now putting small chunks of raw meat onto an extra platter.

“What is the meat for?” James questioned, wondering if it was a special recipe he didn’t know,
however, when Harry replied, he could slap himself from stupidity. Maybe dying and being
resurrected had addled his brain after all.

“It’s for Angrboda. I hope she likes chicken…” Harry worried. Nagini had always preferred live
prey, so there was the chance that his new familiar wouldn’t be thrilled by the selection either, but
he currently didn’t have access to a barn full of rabbits.

“Why wouldn’t she?” his dad frowned.

Harry shrugged and grinned. “Snakes are persnickety creatures. The only other magical snake I
know always complains when she doesn’t get live prey and considering she is Angrboda’s
mother…”

“Do you talk to snakes often?” James wondered, glancing from the plate of raw meat to his
Gryffindor son, who blinked and looked up as if surprised by the question.

“Usually only to garden snakes and while they can have quite the ego as well, they are also rather
different.”

James had the feeling his confusion must have been written all over his face, becasue his son
immediately began to elaborate.
“They are less intelligent for one and I don’t know how to put it…” he hesitated shortly, clearly
searching for the right words, before finishing, “They also have a more limited view of the world.
Or maybe I only gotten that feeling because Angrboda’s mum has lived with her master, my friend,
for who-knows-how-long already.”

Seeing that the onion tart had heated enough, Harry turned to his dad and asked, “Could you maybe
bring up the salad? I will just quickly dish up and then follow right behind you,” he questioned,
grabbing a tray and holding it out for his father.

“Sure thing,” his dad replied, placed the bowls on the tray and left the kitchen.

Harry watched his father leave with a feeling of surrealty and wondered, how his life would change
now. Would they move back into Godrick’s Hollow? It sounded logical, however, his father
couldn’t even leave the house at this point and Godric’s Hollow was a ruin. But where would
James stay then? He couldn’t just live at Grimmauld Place either.
Shaking the problems from his head, Harry swished his wand and the three prepared plates of
Onion tart lifted into the air. They could figure out a place for his dad to stay in later, after they had
eaten. Leaving the kitchen, Harry began to climb up the staircase.

His godfather’s exuberant voice could be easily heard through the entire hallway as he told his
returned his friend some clearly exciting tale. Harry could practically see Sirius waving his arms
excitedly in front of his inner eye. However, his internal amusement was short lived as he ascended
further and heard what exactly his godfather was telling his dad.

“Seriously, James, aside from the cooking, Harry is the perfect example of a Gryffindor. He even
became the youngest seeker in a century! I bet he could even beat you, Prongs!”
“That is certainly impressive,” his dad chuckled. “More impressive than defeating Voldemort as a
mere babe,” he retorted teasingly.

Deciding that his godfather had boasted enough, Harry pushed the dining room door open and sent
the plates to settle onto the table, cutting any further conversation off effectively.

“Wow, this truly looks delicious,” his dad commented, looking up with an impressed expression.

Flushing, Harry just sat down, distributing the plates with another wave of his wand. He had never
dealt with compliments well and honestly, cooking wasn’t that impressive of a skill. It wasn’t like
brewing potions, where one had to remember about a thousand rules. Everybody could learn it, in
his opinion. Well, with the exception of Voldemort, maybe. The Dark Lord would probably poison
himself first, or shoot a killing curse at the stove.

“Your mum will be so impressed,” his dad pulled him from his musings. “The few times she tried
to cook for you…. Let’s say it’s good that babies are used to mushy stuff anyway.”

“It’s really not all that difficult,” Harry replied and for a moment silence fell as they all began
eating.

“Snivellus also claims that potions brewing is easy,” Sirius muttered under his breath, but all
Harry’s dad said with a grin was, “At least I will get some good, home cooked meals whenever
Harry returns home during his holidays.”

“Right,” Sirius hummed, swallowing another bite. “Speaking of it, do you already know where you
will stay? I would offer you to live at Grimmauld Place, but with the order coming and going at all
times of the day, it might be wiser to get you a flat somewhere. Actually, I still have my old flat
right after school.”

James merely shook his head. He had always trusted his friends above all else, with the exception
of Lily, of course, however, what Harry had told him about that fateful Halloween night, had him
thoughtful. He would never have believed that Peter could betray him, but his friend had and it had
gotten Lily and him killed and orphaned Harry. Charms like the Fidelius were only as trustworthy
as their secret keeper or caster and he wouldn’t ignore that obvious weakness a second time.

“Actually, I am thinking about reopening Potter Manor,” he told his friend. “My parents
wanted us to move in with them and in retrospect I have to say, I wish we had followed their
advice.”

“Would that have changed what happened Halloween night?” Harry asked curiously, having the
feeling he was once again missing something purebloods like his dad and godfather understood
automatically.

However, it was Sirius who answered with a grimace. “Pureblood families have this inbred belief
in their family wards,” he stated.

“They are right, though,” his dad added with a sigh. “The wards protecting old family seats are
usually a form of blood ward and only allow blood relatives or persons keyed into the wards to
enter. A bit like those wards Albus cast around your aunt and uncle’s home, only much stronger
because of their old age and the many mages that have poured their magic into them over
generations.”

This however, didn’t explain why his mum and dad had decided against moving in with his
grandparents, so he prodded, “Why didn’t you and mum move in with them then?”

His dad just shrugged and sighed again, regret marring his young features. “We were young,
freshly married. We didn’t wish to move in with any of our parents. While my mother and father
have greeted your mum with open arms, they still were purebloods and often thought about things
much differently. Visiting them has always been nice and tiresome to equal parts.”

Harry nodded, thinking that he understood. It had to be similar how Ron always felt about
returning to his family during summer. Molly was a great mum who loved her children dearly, but
she also could be quite overbearing with her motherly affection, protectiveness and nurturing
nature.
Turning to his new familiar, Harry hissed, “I brought you some meat, would you like some?”
At his words Angrboda poked her head from under his collar.

“We are not in the old nest anymore,” she stated, her dark purple tongue flickering out to taste the
air.

“No, we aren’t. But that nest wasn’t in a good state anyway. I usually live here.”

Angrboda’s purple eyes scanned the room shortly, before she finally turned to the small piece of
meat Harry was holding out to her.
“I am sorry,” Harry added apologetically. “I don’t have anything else for you right now. But as
soon as the Holidays are over, I can go and get you some rabbits, or whatever you like.”

His new familiar nodded and with a quick move snatched the piece of chicken from his fingers.

“I still find it hard to believe you’re a parselmouth. I don’t recall it running in the family,” James
brought up all of a sudden.

“It doesn’t. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort transferred some of his abilities to me when the Killing
Curse rebounded,” said Harry, shrugging his shoulders like it was an afterthought.

Sirius cringed at the mention of the Dark Lord’s true name while James looked a little
uncomfortable with the thought that his son acquired something from him. Their reactions didn’t
go unnoticed.

“Oh come on, it’s just a name,” Harry said.

“If this is Master’s nest,” Angrboda interrupted their banter, “can Angrboda return to her true size
now?”

Harry blinked. “Is this not your true size?”

The snake shook her head.
“How large are you then?” Harry inquired, unsure about letting her roam around freely at
Grimmauld Place if she was as long as Nagini.
Angrboda cocked her head as if searching for the right words. “Angrboda is taller than mother but
smaller than my sire.”

Well, that wasn’t quite the answer Harry had been hoping for. Nagini was already huge…
“Who is your sire?”
“He is the great serpent familiar of Salazar that lives in the cold stone nest of many hatchlings.”

“Then you are half-basilisk?”

“Angrboda is a Midgard serpent.”
“But if your sire was a basilisk, doesn’t that make you a half-basilisk?”
“Angrboda is no basilisk. I can only freeze, but not kill... ” she replied with a pout in her voice.
“But I can grow!”

How encouraging. “I think it would be better if you stayed small like this,” Harry hastily stopped
her, before the snake could give his dad and godfather a heart attack.
“But Angrboda can protect Master better when she is bigger and my scales always grow itchy when
I can’t stretch them out.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry sighed, feeling apologetic, but knowing such a large serpent was impractical,
“My sire isn’t a speaker and neither is…” he floundered for a moment. Parseltongue was limited in
this sense. Most snakes didn’t even know either of their parents, only magical snakes protected
their young and then it was mostly the mother, therefore their language didn’t include words like
‘godfather’ or even ‘uncle’ or ‘cousin’. “...his nest mate,” Harry therefore settled on. “They are
already anxious with you around and I fear that would only increase if you were even taller.”

This, for some reason Harry could not have predicted, seemed to please the snake, who puffed up
in an expression of pride and glee. “Then Angrboda will just bite quickly.”

“Only if I am truly in danger,” Harry conceded, before offering Angrboda another piece of meat
and turning back to his own plate.

“Shall we go to the library then?” his dad asked when even the last crumbs were cleared of their
plates.
Harry nodded and sent the dirty dishes back to the kitchen with a flick of his want before following
the two men out and across the hallway into the library.

The library of Grimmauld Place was a middle sized room with a small seating area tucked into one
corner. Somehow, Harry had imagined a bigger collection of books. Not that the library didn’t hold
more books than Harry would ever read in his life, but he had heard stories about pureblood
manors and libraries and they had always sounded more impressive than this. But then again,
Grimmauld Place as well was rather small for an ancestral home of such an old and once
prestigious line. And while their prestige had certainly dwindled, their wealth had not, as far as
Harry knew.

“The worth of the Black library,” his dad suddenly leaned into him as if he had read his thoughts,
“has always lain in the many rare and banned books than it’s size.”
Blinking, Harry let his gaze wander over the room again, this time with different eyes. If that was
the case, and all these books were rare and/or banned, he didn’t want to even guess how much this
library was worth.
“I didn’t know that.”
“For us, it’s especially good because the Blacks never cared for collecting books just to possess
them, meaning that you will find no useless books here and the amount we have to go through is
considerably smaller than that of for example the Malfoy family.”

“That's relief,” Harry grinned, liking research not much more than Sirius did, however, in contrast
to his godfather, he saw that sometimes research was necessary.

His dad chuckled and winked at him, before turning to the rows of shelves that lined the room.
“Now, what do you need? Something for your homework?”

“Actually, I wanted to look magical snakes up and familiar bonds,” Harry told him.
“Sounds like a good idea,” his dad hummed and swished his wand. Books came sailing out from
all directions and stacked themselves neatly next to Harry.

Seeing how many books had gathered, James gave the stack a once over before pulling out two
tombes. “These should hold all the information you will need.”
Thanking his dad, Harry walked over to the seating area, where Sirius was busy transforming an
old quill into a two seater.

“Don’t worry, it won’t collapse,” he grinned at him. “At least not within the next two to three
hours.”

“I see your transfiguration skills have not improved these past 15 years,” his dad said, lowering
three piles of books onto the old coffee table.

“Would have needed a wand for that,” Sirius just grinned cheekily.

Feeling that the two old friends could use some time to get to get reacquainted with each other,
Harry excused himself, “I will go up to my room for now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” his dad asked.
Harry nodded. “It’s too cramped for all three of us in here,” he said, gesturing at the, for a library,
rather small room. It made him wonder why the Blacks didn’t own a manor like other purebloods.
They certainly had always been rich enough as far as he knew. “BEsides, its too dark in here.”

“It’s dark everywhere in this rotten house,” Sirius muttered, but his dad replied, “I will come
upstairs and fetch you once we are finished here.”

Harry nodded in agreement and left the library. He ascended to the second floor where his room
was located. Angrboda, sensing that they were going somewhere else, poked her tiny, black and
purple head from out from under his collar.

“Is this Master’s nest?”

“This is the room I have in my godfather’s house,” he replied. “But my sire wants us to move to his
house, so this is only temporarily whenever I visit here.”

Angrboda fell silent, slithering down his arm to examine the room more closely. Harry let her be
and settled comfortably on his bed. Remembering that there had been a letter added to the lunch
box Angrboda had arrived in, he decided to summon it first, just in case it held enough information
that he could skip reading that dusty, old tombe. The lettering inside was tiny at best and from
what he had gathered at first glance, the author had been a particular dry sort.

Fortunately someone had taken the lunch box back to Grimmauld Place, because it came sailing
towards him just a moment later. Catching it mid-air, Harry Unfolded the short note, Harry stared
at the neat, elegant handwriting for a moment. He had seen Voldemort write multiple times during
his stay at Regia Magicae, but it was still strange to see Tom Riddle’s handwriting once more. But
then again, the two were the same. Pushing those thoughts to the recesses of his mind, Harry began
to read. It wouldn’t be of any use to ponder about past things like that. Besides, Tom Riddle had
never been the friend he had believed him to be. He had been Voldemort and he had tried to kill
him.

Dear Hades,

This is Angrboada, my familiar Nagini’s only offspring. She is a hybrid called a world serpent or a
Midgard snake. Angrboda has been searching unsuccessfully for a master to bond to for years.
However, I believe you will in time prove worthy of her. I hope she will prove to be as much a
valuable ally to you as Nagini is to me and that soon we can renew our own alliances as well.

Sincerely,
LV

Snorting, Harry placed the letter to the side.

Renew their alliance.

If Voldemort knew who he really was, Harry was sure he wouldn’t offer such a thing. Even if he
wanted to return, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to.

Returning his attention to the book in his lab, Harry skipped to the correct chapter and began to
read. The book proved to be much more helpful than Angrboda’s explanations or Voldemort’s
letter.

World- or Midgard serpents as Angrboda had said, were a hybrid between a basilisk and a
magically powerful snake. With basilisk being created artificially by letting a toad incubate a
chicken’s egg, these hybrids were the only offspring they apparently could sire.

Their name apparently stemmed from Jörmungandr, the legendary beast mentioned in the Edda.
The legend said that the first Midgard serpent mages recorded had been a hybrid between a basilica
and a sea snake which reminded the Scandinavian tribes of the snake mentioned in their folklore.

Due to the fact that these snakes were hybrids, it was hard to universally say which powers they
possessed; generally they were venomous like the basilisk, although, to Harry’s great relief, the
book stated that their poison was not incurable. They also always seemed to possess the ability to
freeze their prey, like Angrboda had already mentioned, but never to kill it on sight. All other
abilities were generally determined by the non-basilisk parent.

It would have been helpful to know what exactly Nagini was capable of, but unfortunately Harry
had never asked Voldemort about her. It had seemed too risky back then. He had feared that any
conversation about her might uncover his parseltongue gift, which would have given his identity
right away. Now he regretted his caution. The topic would probably have been safe enough to
broach as long as he didn’t speak while looking at Voldemort’s familiar.

No sense crying over spilled milk.

Placing the book about magical snakes to the side, Harry grabbed the one about familiar bonds
next. It was much slimmer and to his relief, the writing also was not as tiny.

It seemed one could strengthen the familiar bond through meditation. This way, even if he weren’t
a parselmouth, he would be able to communicate somewhat with her. Not to the same extent, of
course, but enough that Angrboda would understand what he wanted from her. Also, it would allow
him to summon her by sheer will, which explained why Voldemort didn’t mind Nagini roaming
around as much as she did.

He had just finished the chapter about how to exactly strengthen the bond, when a soft knock
interrupted him and his dad poked his head in.

“Hey prongslet, can I come in or am I interrupting?”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at his dad. “No, I just finished.”
James returned his smile and softly shot the door behind him, before coming over and sitting down
on the bed next to Harry.

“Were the books helpful?”

“Yes and no,” Harry admitted. “Angrboda already told me that she is a Midgard serpent and so did
the letter of my friend. Unfortunately its difficult to say what she is capable of without knowing
exactly what ability her mother has. That’s her non-basilisk parent and my friend’s familiar,” he
explained.

His dad’s expression darkened and Harry got the feeling that he better sholdn’t have said anything.

“I am not sure if I want to know how your friend managed to breed such a beast successfully.
There is a reason why Midgard serpents are so rare,” his dad frowned. “Are you sure he is a good
friend?”

“Um…” Harry replied avoidingly. He could hardly admit the truth. But it actually made him think;
would Voldemort truthfully be such a bad friend? Admittingly, the wizard probably didn’t have
any, but from what he had seen of him during the summer, he possessed a strong sense of duty
towards his followers. Harry couldn’t actually say that everything was just about the gain of
absolute power for him. The death eaters wanted a more diverse education for their children and
for the original wizarding custom not to disappear into obscurity, both of which Voldemort was
trying to legalise.

That his methods were more than questionable was most likely beside the point for the dark Lord
and his followers.

But hinking about it, those goals didn’t actually sound bad; it just made Harry wonder where
things had gone so horribly wrong that Voldemort had turned to murder, terrorism and oppression
to push them through. The wizard possessed political understanding and Tom Riddle certainly had
been able to charm and entice people; so why hadn’t Voldemort taken the political route?

Voldemort also was a well of endless and obscure knowledge; Harry doubted that there was a
question the wizard couldn’t answer.

“Yeah, he isn’t as bad as you think.”

It was the long look his father gave him that pulled him out of his musings and made him realise
what he had just admitted to his dad and himself. Instantly, a sense of unease spread through him.
Voldemort also had committed and ordered countless inhuman deeds. Crimes that never could be
excused, like the killing of countless muggle borns, enemies and attempted murder of a small
toddler. He could never think of Voldemort as a friend.

“If you say so,” his dad said, pulling him out of his thoughts again. “Anyway, it has gotten rather
late, so I wanted to wish you a good night, Harry. I originally had planned to apparate over to our
family’s manor today, but it’s too late now, so we will do that tomorrow morning.”
 Perking up, Harry asked, “Can I come with you? I’ve never been there.”
“Sure. We can go after breakfast,” his dad smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Don’t stay awake for too much longer,” he said, rising to his feet.

“I won’t,” Harry prommissed, suppressing an unexpected yawn. A glance at the grandfather clock
in the corner told him that it was already past 3AM.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

His dad left his room then and Harry got up to change into his pyjamas. Despite his nap at
Godrick’s Hollow earlier, he was exhausted. Sliding under the cover, he called for Angrboda who
appeared from behind his closet and held it up so that she could slither beneath.

Harry nearly jumped as she suddenly began to grow next to him, but merely said, “Make sure to
stay hidden if my sire or godfather comes to wake me in the morning.”
“Angrboda will be careful,” the snake prommissed. She sounded already half asleep.

Closing his eyes, Harry curled around the large body and fell asleep.

Chapter End Notes

I will try to straighten out ch 22 quickly, however, I realised that I need to change the
ending of ch 23, so that may take a little bit longer. Also, I mentioned to a few that
Harry and Voldemort will reunite in ch 24 but that just wasn't working so it will be ch
26 or 27. However, I promise it will not take longer than that!

Please R&R
 Potter Manor
Chapter Notes

Wow, I am on a roll today. I had to adjust the beginning of this chapter, but it's all
done now.
Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 22: Potter Manor

Harry was woken the next morning by the sound of laughter. Smiling to himself, he yawned and
stretched before pushing the duvet to the side and sitting up. Angrboda hissed unhappily and
merely curled herself into a tighter coil, apparently not yet ready to get uup.

“I will go down for breakfast,” he informed his familiar. “If you want anything, remember to
shrink yourself again. I will leave the door ajar so that you can find me if you want.”

The snake didn’t reply, so he made his way over to his wardrobe. He settled on a simple pair of
jeans once again, but combined it with a simple, but elegant and very expensive looking green
pullover. It was so soft that Harry had no doubt it must have caused a fortune. It most likely was
cashmere or something equally expensive.

Once dressed, he left his bedroom and began to search for his dad and godfather. He checked the
kitchen first, but he had slept much longer than he had thought, so he found the room dark and
empty.

After checking the parlour, Harry finally found them in the library, once again reading their way
through stacks of dusty tombes.

“How is it going? Found anything yet?” he asked in a way of greeting.

His dad and Sirius both blinked in a manner that reminded Harry of Ron whenever he woke his
friend at the end of a History of Magic lesson.

“No, not yet,” his dad replied. “But we haven’t actually expected to find anything so quickly.
Necromancy is a difficult topic. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
Harry shook his head. “Not yet, but I am not that hungry anyway, besides, it’s already late and you
wanted to apparate over to the manor.”
“You still should eat,” his godfather cut his excuse short. “I hate to agree with Molly, but you are
far too skinny.”

Harry wanted to protest, he had been eating much better lately, especially considering that he
hadn't spent his summer with the Dursleys, but his dad spoke before he had a chance.
“We have enough time,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s not that I am expected somewhere.”

Put like that Harry couldn’t really argue.

“I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in half an hour,” his dad said, making a shooing motion to get
his point across.
Sighing in defeat, Harry left the library and once more made his way downstairs.

A quick wave of his wand had the fire in the hearth and the stove lit again. However, what to cook
proved to be a much more complicated question. They hadn’t gone shopping since their arrival at
Grimmauld Place and their supplies were running short. Very short, to be precise.

Sighing, Harry grabbed the last two slices of bread as well as the last small egg, some cinnamon
and sugar and quickly whipped up a portion of French toast. He would have to tell Sirius that he
needed to go shopping while his dad and he reopened the manor.

He was just sitting down, when the door to the kitchen and Angrboda came in.

“Didn’t I tell you to shrink again before you leave my room?” Harry admonished, glaring at her
over his slice of toast.

“Don’t worry, little Master. Nobody saw Angrboda,” the snake replied with a dismissive hiss.
“Still,” he replied pointedly.
Angrboda hissed irritatedly, but obliged and a moment later a much smaller snake was slithering up
his leg to settle around his shoulder.

Satisfied, Harry finished his breakfast and charmed the dishes to wash themselves before
informing his familiar, “My sire and I are going to reopen our nest. Do you want to come along or
stay here and I’ll pick you up once we are done?”
“How is Angrboda to protect her master when he is off galaventing on his own? Anrgboda will
come along!” the snake replied, tightening her body around his neck as if threatening to suffocate
him if he dared try to leave her behind.

“Fine, but loosen your grip, please,” Harry agreed.

Angrboda did as told and they left the kitchen together.

His father was already waiting in the entrance hall, bundled up in one of Sirius’ new travelling
cloaks and ready to leave.
“Sorry, am I late?” Harry asked, slipping into his dragon hide boots.
“No, at least I don’t think so. I actually didn’t check the clock when you left, so I had to guess,” his
dad admitted sheepishly.

Snorting, Harry took his cloak from the rack and followed his dad out into the snow covered front
lawn.

“I will have to side-alon apparate you,” his dad said and held out his hand.
Making a face, Harry said, “I expected as much,” and grabbed the appendage.
“Ready?” His dad asked and waited just long enough until Harry ahd nodded before whisking them
away.

The travel felt almost as long and daunting as his portkey trip to the Graveyard of Little Hangleton
had felt. Harry was just about to grow worried, when the magic finally eased around him and they
landed at the edge of a snow covered path that wound in many twists and turns uphill.

Potter Manor towered like a great, looming bird perched on the very top of the highest hill in the
surrounding area.
“That village down there,” his dad supplied pointing at a small village down bellow, “is the
muggle village John o’ Groats.”

Looking around curiously, Harry didn’t need to ask where exactly John o’ Groats was located. The
many rolling hills surrounding the sleepy village were a dead give away that they were somewhere
in Scotland.

“It didn’t look quite so daunting in my memory,” his dad commented next to him, frowning up at
their venerable family seat. “But then again, it was built in 1066 and Anglo-Saxon architecture
always looks a bit like the perfect set for a horror movie.”

“I didn’t know our family was this old,” Harry replied, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the sight. It
made him wonder, when the Potters could trace their lineage back to 1066, how old the family he
now was Lord of was. But then again, the Peverells didn't necessarily have to be older than the
Potters. They could have originated around the same time, with the Peverell family vanishing once
they only had daughters.

“Well, let’s go,” his dad said after a moment of awestruck staring.
Nodding, Harry pushed his previous train of thoughts to the side, it had been useless thoughts
anyway, as now, that he had his parents and godfather back, he didn’t intend to force himself
deeper into the Peverell’s magical birthright. Only if his mum required some necromantic magic to
right whatever had gone wrong during her resurrection would he continue the practice, but that
would be the extent of it.

Tugging on his Gryffindor scarf until it covered the tip of his nose and half of his face, Harry
began to follow his dad up the winding path. They had landed on a narrow gravel path that led in
soft twists and turns up the hill towards their destination. A bit in the distance, Harry could make
out an iron gate that looked just as imposing as the manor itself.

They hadn’t been able to apparate any closer to the house, or the gate, for that matter, as the wards
stretched this far down and Harry still needed to be added. Not that it would be a difficult matter,
seeing that he was a Potter by birth, but still, only babies could be apparated directly inside without
their parents needing to stop by the gate or somebody adding him from the inside.

The landscape certainly was beautiful, however, he would have been better able to enjoy the view
if the wind hadn’t blown so harshly. As cold as it had been in London, Scottish winters were
something else, Harry knew as much from his Christmases spent at Hogwarts. Speaking of it, he
wondered how far away the castle was from Potter Manor. But then again, aside from Hogsmeade,
there was no town or village even remotely close by to the castle. Harry assumed that the founders
had cast strong muggle repellant wards around the grounds generously.

“Next time we will take brooms,” his dad grumbled. “Sirius said you are a good flyer. Better than
me, even, if I am to believe him,” he winked at Harry.

Grinning cheekily, Harry shot back, “We should be able to determine who of us is better. How
about a seekers’ match in the garden, once we have moved into Potter manor?”
Snorting, James replied, “In the garden? We have a quidditch pitch! Wouldn’t have wanted to lag
behind families like the Malfoys.”

“Even better,” Harry grinned, before borrowing back into his scarf. It was just too bloody freezing
to talk. They continued to march onwards, pushing their way through the snow that began to cover
more and more of the gravel stone path as they slowly ascended.

Then, suddenly, when Harry was pondering if snow could be vanished, he felt a tingling in the air
and shortly after the gate appeared out of the darkness of the night.
“Finally!” his dad exclaimed, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the frosty temperatures.

Breathing heavily, Harry could just nod. His lungs and leg muscles felt as if they were burning
from the exertion; something about being out in this weather was just beyond exhausting.

His dad stepped up to the gate and motioned for Harry to do the same. The gate had no visible
handle or keyhole, however, wizarding doors usually didn’t.

“You need to add your blood to the wards. A small cut in your palm will be enough, then press
your hand against the family crest,” he instructed, motioning at an unfamiliar crest engraved into
the gold of the gate.

Nodding, Harry pulled his wand out and did as told. The metal was freezing under his touch as he
waited for something to happen. Frowning in confusion, he glanced over his shoulder at his dad,
who by now wore a puzzled expression on his face. However, before Harry could ask, the fence
gave him a magical shock and he stumbled back with a yelp.

“Maybe it’s because the manor was unoccupied for so long…” his dad mused, his frown
deepening as he stepped next to Harry once again.
Harry somehow doubted that, but didn’t say a word as James grabbed his hand, pressed it to the
engraved crest and intoned, “I, James Fleamont-” he winced slightly in embarrassment, “-Potter,
Lord of the Ancient and Noble Hose of Potter, permit Harry James Potter unrestricted entrance to
this manor. So mote it be.”

The crest glowed for a moment and Harry’s hand began to prickle with magic, then, the sensation
stopped and the gate in front of them finally swung open. They stood, he realised, at the beginning
of what looked like a very long driveway. Someone, probably a small army of dutiful house elves,
must have vanished the snow not long ago, or maybe the smooth cobblestones were charmed with
some form of protection magic, because not a single speck of white could be found on them. In the
distance, the road broadened into a wide expanse as if horse-drawn carriages were meant to park
there. Or maybe to land, he thought, remembering the carriage the Beauxbatons delegation had
arrived in.

“That’s much better,” his dad commented as they stepped out of the knee-deep snow and started to
walk again. Without the hindrance, they proceeded much quicker and soon Harry could see that
there wasn’t only one Manor house, but two; a big one directly in front of them, and a smaller one
to the left.

“That’s the Dowager House,” his dad said, following his gaze. “It’s the seat of the widow. Your
mum would have been ready to move into Potter Manor if my parents had agreed to move their
habitation there, but your grandfather didn’t wish to hand over the reins yet and the reigning Lord
cannot live in Dowager House.”

“How did my grandparents die?” Harry asked, his eyes still roving over the face of the second
manor.

“Revenge for not siding with the Dark Lord - err, V-voldemort,” James corrected himself when
Harry turned admonishing eyes to him. Saying the name of his killer felt borderline sacrilege, but
he didn’t want Harry to think he was a coward.

“They didn’t think they would be high profile targets, seeing that your grandpa had already retired
from the auror corps and they stayed out of all conflicts, however, Voldemort saw that differently
and they were ambushed on an outing-”

Suddenly a volley of pops sounded, and James was interrupted by the arrival of three house elves.
They appeared neatly in two rows to either side of the front steps, one to the left and two to the
right. They all wore clean tunics, finely tailored and with the Potter creased sewn onto a small
breast pocket.

Harry had never been as radical as Hermione in his view on house elves in the wizarding world,
however, he was relieved to see that his family clearly treated their servants well.
As they reached the front step a moment later, they all bowed and greeted, “Welcome home Master
James and young heir.”

“Thank you,” James smiled at them, nodding briefly at each house elf, before stopping in front of
an house elf that was possibly even older than Kreacher.
“Rose, is the Manor prepared for us to move in?”
The old elf straightened and huffed slightly as she replied, “of course the Manor is ready to receive
their Lord and heir.”
“That’s a relief,” James just replied, smiling at her.
Rose just huffed and tapped with her small cane onto the pavement in an impatient manor.
“Impertinent as ever, I see. I hope your son has inherited the manners of her late Ladyship. We will
freshen the beddings in the Master and Heir’s suit,” she added and a moment later all five house
elves popped away again, leaving Harry to stare a bit confusedly at the empty spots where they had
stood just a second prior.

“Sorry about that,” his dad chuckled. “Rose served my great grandfather and has grown a bit
stubborn and impatient over the years. If you ask her, she will tell you that she has grown too old to
waste time, but she told that to your grandfather and she is lively as ever. Besides, Rose is a good
head elf. You will like her.”
“I never said I didn’t,” Harry replied with a grin. “She certainly has a more pleasant temper than
Kreacher.”
His dad just chuckled before leading the way inside.
Harry wasn’t quite sure what he had expected; never before had he even considered that his family
could have owned an old manor house, despite having known that old wizarding families usually
lived in one. From the outside the manor certainly had looked imposing; so much so that he had
honestly feared what he would find on the inside. Something very similar to Grimmauld Place
possibly, even though, considering that Sirius had fled to the Potters when he had left his parental
home, that picture didn’t quite make sense. And fortunately Potter Manor indeed was nothing like
Grimmauld.

Where Number 12 looked pleasant enough when you were standing on the street in front of it and
only made you wish you had not accepted the invitation once you had entered, Potter Manor was
the reverse.

With its gargoyles and battlements it gave quite an intimidating impression, however, once past the
front door, the manor was quite welcoming. It opened into a wide entrance hall with two high
arched windows to each side of the door, probably flooding the space with light during the day.
While there was a lot of dark wood, Harry immediately noticed that between its ceiling beams the
ceiling was painted a warm, creamy white.

The tiles on the floor were mainly white, with some smaller, black squares forming diamond
patterns in regular intervals. A crimson carpet on the wide staircase as well as matching curtains
provided sprinkles of colour and on delicate side tables the elves had placed bright flower
bouquets.

Harry wasn’t sure how his grandparents or whoever had designed and picked out the interior, but
despite its size and age Potter Manor looked very warm and inviting. Homy even.

“What do you say?” His dad’s voice interrupted his staring suddenly.
Jumping a little, Harry turned around with a broad smile. “It’s great!”

“Let me give you the tour then,” James smiled and walked up to an unassuming door in a corner
close to the entrance.
“This is the receiving room. Guests can arrive via floo here,” he said, opening the door to a middle
sized room. A grand fireplace seemed to be the centrepiece but there was a coffee table and two
armchairs to the side. Probably in case the unannounced guests had to discuss something more time
consuming or too sensitive for a firecall.

“Traditionally, the rooms on the ground floor are to impress,” his dad said as they left again and
walked over to a set of double doors. “This is the ball room,” he pushed the door open, revealing a
wide room that reminded Harry very much of a room he had seen in Voldemort’s castle. Mirrors
lined the wall opposite, making the wide space seem even bigger and another double door led into
an adjoining garden.
“Very impressive,” Harry grinned. “At least now I know where to find a room if I ever wish to
celebrate my birthday with the whole of Hogwarts.”

“I am sure Rose would view it as a welcome challenge to try to impress whatever snooty Malfoy
heir would appear at that birthday party. I believe Lucius had a son a bit before you were born.
They announced it in the Daily Prophet.”

Harry snorted, not really surprised that the Malfoys would do something like that. “Draco. He is in
my year. About as arrogant as his father but less competent.”
“Really?” his dad questioned, sounding curious.
Harry shrugged. “I think he could do much better if he would pull his head out of his arse. He isn’t
weak and his grades are always very good.”

“Maybe Narcissa spoiled him too much, or Lucius himself,” his father mused. “Rumours back then
had it that the two of them tried for a child for years and had suffered through several miscarriages
and stillbirths already.”

A lump suddenly settled into Harry’s stomach. He didn’t particularly like the Malfoys, none of
them. He found Barty with his easy-going nature much more agreeable, however, nobody could
deny that Lucius and Narcissa cared for their son very much. The son whom Harry had almost
killed 4 months ago. The couple hadn’t deserved such an experience, he had known that even
before today, but now Harry felt even more awful about that. Maybe he should apologise again
whenever he saw the Malfoys next. Only that they wouldn’t recognize him as Hades.

“Let’s go to the next room down here,” his dad said, interrupting his contemplation. They left the
ballroom again and made their way across the hallway where another double door was located
directly across.

“This is the great dining room here, which can accommodate up to 200 people,” James announced.
Harry wasn’t quite sure if the pride in his voice was meant to be mocking or not. Hopefully it was
the former because he really didn’t wish to dine with 198 strangers. At least, thanks to Voldemort,
he wouldn’t be fumbling cluelessly with his cutlery anymore.

The room was about the same size as the ballroom had been, which made sense considering that
Potter Manor was a square building. Windows lined the wall across from the door and just as in the
other room too, a set of doors led into yet another garden. However, the many mirrors were
fortunately missing, instead golden curtains framed the row of windows to either side.
The centre of the dining room was a great table, however, as Harry looked more closely, he saw
that it could be split up into multiple smaller ones to be then arranged in a more relaxed setting
around the room. However, there also were two more doors at either side leading to rooms Harry
couldn’t quite see from here.

“The door there leads to the formal smoking room,” his dad provided, pointing at the door to their
right. “And this one to the formal parlour. You can reach the formal parlour from the entrance hall
as well, however, after a great dinner it is tradition for the men to gather for a smoke together
while the ladies chat and are served some port or sherry.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry replied, not quite sure what he should think about such old fashioned traditions.
Hermione certainly would have a few choice words for his dad if they ever threw a formal dinner
party and invited her as well. However what interested him far more at this point was, “Will we
have to eat in here?” he asked, letting his eyes once again wander over the endless table. He had
once seen a scene in an old movie at his aunt’s and uncles. “Little Lord Fauntleroy” had been the
title and in one of the scenes, the young Lord sat with his grandfather at a table just like that,
unable to converse properly because of the distance. He didn’t fancy experiencing something like
that himself.

“By Merlin, no!” his dad laughed. “We have a family dining room just upstairs on the first floor,”
he told him and motioned for Harry to follow him once more.

The dining room was located directly across the landing. The Potters, Harry realised, must have
enjoyed light open spaces, because instead of the thick, solid wooden doors from downstairs, doors
with a glass panel were the norm here. The expectation was another double door in the middle of
the corridor as well as a single door a bit further down.

“On this level you find all the family rooms,” his dad informed him. “The family dining room and
the family parlour as well as a smaller smoking room for the Lord to use with close friends. The
double doors lead to our family’s library and the wooden door a bit further down to the Lord’s
office.” As he talked, James began to walk down the hallway, opening the doors as he went. Harry
followed a bit more slowly, looking into each one of them.

Although quite a bit smaller than the rooms downstairs, the open style continued and Harry was
relieved to see that light wallpapers and comfortable looking furniture dominated these rooms.

The library was less impressive after having read through countless books in Voldemort’s, but
certainly sizable enough.

Finally Harry found his dad in front of the office door, which, for some reason, was still closed.
“I will have to unlock the office, it’s a security mechanism if the Lord dies before he has handed
over his title officially,” James explained. “Anyway, I will take care of that later.”

They climbed up another level where they found the hallways split by two doors to either side.

“The family wing is to your right,” his dad explained. “It contains the master bedroom and the
heir’s suite as well as the spare’s bedroom and a nursery. To your left you’ll find the guest wing,”
he added before turning down the right corridor.

“This used to be Siri’s room after he fled from his awful parents,” his dad told him, opening the
first door on the left. “It’s meant as the spare’s room, but my mum, your grandmother, never
conceived a second child, even though I believed she wished for another son or daughter very
much.”

“I don’t understand how pureblood can believe that intermarrying so closely could strengthen their
line,” Harry sighed, stepping past his dad into the room. Even if he hadn’t known who had lived in
here last, he would have guessed that it had been his godfather.

“This looks like my new room at Grimmauld,” he stated.

His father laughed. “That sounds like Padfoot. Most likely this one was the inspiration for your
room,” he grinned. “So, when he asks if you would like to take your new things along, what should
I tell him?”

Harry winced. “Tell him that I will be looking forward to enjoying my new room whenever I visit
him and sleep over.”

“Very diplomatic,” his dad winked, before leading the way to the next room.
“This will be my room,” he said, hesitating a moment.
Wondering what was wrong, Harry gave him a questioning look.

“It will be strange moving into my parents room. Sleep in their bed…”
Harry winced. He had never thought about it, but that had to be the pureblood way. Living in the
house of your father and grandfather. Using the same office, sleeping in the same bed and watching
how your children moved into the rooms you yourself had once occupied. It was kind of scary.

“Let’s skip this one for now and take a look at your room,” his dad said, sounding a bit forced. “I
hope I cleaned up before I left last.”

So, is it the door just next to yours or the one across?” Harry asked, realising that his dad needed a
change of topic.
“The one across. The door next to the Master’s bedroom leads into the nursery. The Potters always
have raised their children themselves, with just a bit of support from their house elves, unlike some
other families.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. While he liked house elves, he would never have even thought of handing
his child over to them. But if that was the way most of the Slytherin Purebloods had been raised, it
didn’t surprise him anymore why so many of them had poor social skills. Their elves probably had
fulfilled every wish and every order, never mind that their masters and mistresses had barely
outgrown their diapers.

“So, did you plaster your room with Gryffindor flags as well?” Harry asked, trying for a cheerful
tone as if he hadn’t noticed his dad’s sudden depression.

“No,” his dad smiled, still a bit sad. “While I was proud that I had been sorted into Gryffindor, it
wasn’t quite something as special as for Sirius.”
“True,” Harry agreed and upon a gesture from his dad, opened the door to his room.

‘Room’ Harry quickly found out was the wrong term, but then again his dad had called it a suite
previously as well. The door opened to a spacious parlour with an elegant but comfortable lounge
arranged near the fireplace. The wood of the furniture was dark, but the walls and curtains were a
light cream with gold and red patterns.

“Your bedroom and bathroom is through that door,” his dad said, stepping up beside him and
pointing at a door in the far right corner. “The door on the left leads to a small study and if you pull
the curtain to the side, you will find a balcony.”

Suddenly something began to move beneath Harry’s shirt and a moment later Agrboda poked her
head out of his collar.

“Where are we, Master?” she hissed, tasting the air.

“This is the nest I told you about yesterday. The nest of my sire,” Harry replied, stroking with one
finger over her smooth scales. However, Agrboda pushed his finger away before slithering down
his body to explore their new accommodations.

“Want some help with unpacking?” his dad drew his attention back towards him.
“Sure,” Harry shrugged. He didn’t particularly like to pack or unpack and he had nothing to hide.
Nothing but the Peverell notebook and ritual dagger but both were either with Sirius or still at
Godric’s Hollow. He probably should ask his godfather at some point if he had collected those two
items.
They followed Angrboda into his bedroom and looked around for a moment.
“This is a good nest,” his familiar commented . “Much better than the other one.”
Looking at his new bedroom, Harry had to agree. Not that Sirius hadn’t put much effort into his
room there, but Grimmauld Place as a whole was just unpleasant and despite all the renovations on
his newly furnished room there, the grime and mould still seemed to cling to every corner.

This bedroom however, was a dream come true. The mattress and duvet on the queen-sized bed
both looked warm and heavenly soft. The only thing odd about it, was imagining that his dad had
grown up in these rooms once upon a time.

Pulling the shrunken trunks from his trouser pocket Harry placed them onto his new bed and
returned them to their original size, before turning to his dad, who had gone over to the wardrobe.

“I always had some spare clothes in here, but the house elves must have put them into storage at
some point,” he commented.
“Was there anything special?”
James just shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be replaced, aside from my old quidditch uniform, but
ever since I started with Auror training, I didn’t fit in them anymore anyway.”

They began unpacking and silence fell over them. Harry never quite knew if he liked silences. He
certainly didn’t dislike them, after the constant chatter and noise of the dormitory he actually
enjoyed some quiet, however, it also made him realise how little he still knew about his dad. He
didn't even know what to talk about. With Ron he would just have mentioned the results of the
latest quidditch match, but his dad had no idea how the league had developed these past years.
Neither could ask him if he had already read the latest issue of ‘Quidditch Monthly’ and if there
had been an interesting article.

Harry was considering just starting to tell his dad how the quidditch season had been so far this
year, when his dad actually spoke up.

“I see Sirius still enjoys dressing other people. Or do you actually have more fashion sense than I?”
Harry couldn’t stop himself, he snorted. “I probably have less. Between my lack of interest and
Dudley’s hand me downs…”

His dad threw him a sharp look and realising that once again he was giving away much more than
he had ever intended, Harry quickly prowled onwards. “Anyway, they are really great so I don’t
mind. And hopefully now Hermione and Ginny will stop nagging me about going to Twilfitt and
Tattings during Hogsmeade weekends. Did mum always nag you as well?” he asked, hanging
another set of robes up.
“No, actually not,” James said, shaking his head and glancing over at his son. “But the only reason
for that was that I was a pureblood heir and your grandma always made sure that our tailor had my
measurements and my wardrobe was on par,” he joked. Harry’s face however, merely turned into a
slightly lost expression.

Harry, he was coming to realise, behaved in many ways much like Lily had done in the beginning,
like a muggle born. That was something neither he nor Lily had actually wanted for their son, they
were mages after all and had lived and worked full time in the magical world. It made him wonder,
how this could have happened. Even with the blood wards and Harry’s upbringing in the muggle
world out of safety reasons, he should have known more. Been taught more about their world.
Harry was the chosen one after all, the only hope for their world, but how was he supposed to save
a world he didn’t really understand? Pureblood politics and the intrafamilial relationships were so
complicated one basically had to grow up with it to truly have a chance of understanding it.

Glancing over to his son once more, James wondered how to do this. Not only had he suddenly
become father to a 16 year old son while still looking and feeling like his past 21 years old self, he
also had no idea how to find out more about him. Usually, he would contact his friends and
teachers, but that path was closed off to him. Hopefully Sirius would be of help there too,
otherwise, James really would have to think about something.

Sighing internally at the repetitive nature of his thoughts, he turned back to his son’s trunks. The
clothes were so typically Sirius he would never have believed that Harry actually had picked them
by themselves. As he picked up the next pile of spell-folded clothes, his eyes landed at an
assortment of Hogwarts letters that lay strewn around the bottom of the trunk.

Wanting to slap himself, James turned to his son and asked, “Can I take a look at these?”
Harry, who had been walking over to the cupboard, paused and looked at what his dad was
pointing at. “Of course. But there are a few letters from my friends as well.”
James waved him off. “Don’t worry, I won’t read your mail from your friends. I will sort them
out.”
Harry shook his head. “That's not what I mean. Just… they will probably not be very interesting for
you.”

“You are my son,” James pointed out. “Everything about you interests me,” he said, while aptly
placing those missives who had not come from Hogwarts onto his son’s nightstand. Sitting down
on the king-sized bed, James, for the first time since his return to the world of the living, felt like a
true father as he pulled the first Hogwarts letter out and scanned it quickly. The marks, he noticed
with a frown, weren’t anything special. E’s and A’s mostly, and in contrast to what he had
expected, there wasn’t a note about extracurricular tutelage.
Even more worrisome possibly, was the very first Hogwarts letter Harry had ever received, or
rather, the address it had been sent to back then. The cupboard under the stairs, he fervently hope
that it was just a mistake, however, James knew that the addresses for the Hogwarts letters came
from the Hogwarts directory, a magical book that once upon a time had been crafted by goblins
with the help of powerful blood magic. A mistake was impossible.

James had always known that Lily’s sister was a cruel, hateful woman. For years, he had watched
as Lily had suffered, refusing to see the truth. Only after she had been rejected once again, with
words so painful that not even his kindhearted wife could find excuses for Petunia anymore had
Lily realised that the older sister she loved so much, truly despised her for what she was; a witch.

Lily would have never wanted for their son to grow up with her sister, however, truth to be told, the
possibility of such a thing happening had never crossed their minds. They had assigned godparents
and in the wizarding world, godparents were well aware that by accepting the request, they
promised to take the child in if something unfortunate happened to the parents and that
responsibility extended to their spouses in their world.

Never would Lily and he have imagined that not only Sirius, but also Alice and her husband Frank
would be unable to fulfil that promise. But even without them, they had been more than well
connected. Surely it would have been possible to find another young couple to take Harry in? Only
that, if his son’s explanations had been correct, it hadn’t been a matter of finding a loving couple
who would love Harry as their own. Dumbledore’s concern first and foremost had been about
protecting Harry from those death eaters that were out for revenge for their Master after Harry had
defeated You-Know-Who as a baby. Although, looking down on the address written in green ink,
the word ‘protection’ left a bitter taste in James’ mouth.

However, his son’s upbringing wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment. He would visit
Petunia one day and confront her about her and her husband’s inhuman treatment of a young,
defenceless child, just as would demand an explanation from Dmbledore. He had no doubt that his
old mentor had known that Harry hadn’t been treated well, never had there been a single occasion
the old wizard hadn’t known exactly what was going on and James didn’t believe that there hadn’t
been an alternative to his son being raised by those hypocrites. At the very least Dumbledore could
have checked on Harry and the Dursleys regularly and made sure that he was treated well, if not
loved and cared for like a real son. However, for now Harry’s continued survival had priority.

“Say,” he spoke up with a glance at his son, “Did you ever receive any additional training or
tutoring?”

“No. Not really. Last term Snape was supposed to teach me occlumency, but that was a disaster
and it ended when I was thrown out of his office.”
“Why would Sniv-Snape throw you out?” his dad questions, frowning at the Hogwarts letter he
had been reading last. It was difficult unlearning childish behaviors, but he was the parent here and
wanted to set a good example for Harry.
Harry just shrugged, by much less with the end his occlumency lessons had taken. Sure, he
shouldn’t have looked at his Professor’s memories, but that hadn’t changed the fact that with Snape
as his instructor, the lessons had been doomed to fail from the beginning. In fact, the guilt which he
initially had felt at the beginning of summer had rapidly dissipated over the beginning of the term,
as he had tried his best to do his utmost in potions and had been declared nothing but a liar and
cheat by the Potions Master.

“I looked at his pensive,” Harry admitted and at the disappointed look his dad gave him, quickly
added, “I know it was wrong, but the lessons were doing nothing but make me feel sick anyway.”

At that comment, his father’s frown deepened. “Occlumency lessons should usually be only
uncomfortable in the way that they can be embarrassing when the tutor sees a memory the student
would rather have kept hidden and make you rather tired in the beginning.”

Harry shook his head. “I got massive headaches and my scar hurt for hours afterwards,” he
explained, however, his dad only looked even more concerned.
“That shouldn’t have been the case,” he said, combing with one hand through his hair in a gesture
that Harry knew all too well from himself when he was stressed. “Why were you supposed to learn
occlumency anyway?”

Realising that he wouldn’t get out of the conversation, Harry sat down next to his dad, who
immediately pulled him into a one-armed hug.
“Voldemort and I are connected through my scar,” he explained. “I am not sure how exactly, but
whenever he experiences strong negative emotions, my scar hurts and when he…” he trailed off for
a moment, unsure how to phrase what he meant properly, “when he is very fixated on a topic, I
sometimes can even see through his eyes, like a vision.”

James’ heart missed a beat. Prophecies were a tricky thing and even if one believed in them as
whole-heartedly as Dumbledore did, how they affected the people concerning them was a difficult
matter to pinpoint. If he was completely honest, until the night of October 31st, neither he nor Lily
had known if they should even believe in that Prophecy and not even really even then. The only
thing that evening had truly proven, was that You-Know-Who believed in it enough that he would
act upon a few spoken words. The real proof, James now realised, Lily and he hadn’t been there to
witness anymore. Only now that he sat with his son safe and sound was he able to see it.

“Anyway, Dumbledore feared that Voldemort would use our connection to trick me and lure me
out, which he did. That was how Sirius got killed. I saw Voldemort torturing him in the Department
of Mysteries.”

James tightened his embrace around his son. Sirius might be back, just like he himself, but the pain
and guilt were still audible in Harry’s voice and it broke his heart. It made him wonder how much
hardship those so adventurous sounding stories had come with. If only there was a way to help his
son, however, as long as he didn’t quite understand everything that had happened and how it all
was connected, there was nothing he could do.

But one thing he didn’t understand was how, what with the connection between the Dark Lord and
his son and all the prophecy implied, Harry had not received any extra education. James didn’t
know what Dumbledore’s plan was exactly, but that certainly wouldn't do. Surely, it was in all their
best interests that Harry received proper training.

Seeing how uncomfortable his son with the current topic was, James changed it slightly, “How is it
that you barely scraped by with an A in Potions these past four years but then managed an O
during your OWLs?”

Instandly, Harry’s expression darkened further. “It’s because Snape is an overgrown, biased bat
who would rather come up with any excuse imaginable than admit that James Potters’ son can
actually brew a usable potion!” he exploded.

James winced. That temper Harry could only have gotten from Lily.

“Sure, I admit that I will never be a creative genius like Snape, but I am a decent enough brewer as
long as nobody throws random stuff into my potion. Let’s not mention his bad teaching methods. If
not for a friend tutoring me nearly every day during the summer break, I could have forgotten my
dream of becoming an auror!”

James scowled, he should have known that Snape would be the type of petty bastard who took out
his revenge on his nemesis’ son. However, sending an official complaint or even taking the
problem to Snape himself was currently (again) out of the question. James was really starting to
hate this confinement.

“Well, at least you have gotten into the NEWT course,” he tried to cheer his son up, however,
Harry just snorted.
“Question is how long I will stay there. Snape has threatened to throw everybody out who doesn’t
measure up to his expectations. But that reminds me,” he continued and began to rummage around
in his trunk until he had found a small bag. “I have kept a sample of all my brews. Snape didn’t
accept a single one of them.”

“Why not?” James questioned, accepting the bag from his son.

“Because it’s clear that I must have cheated. I believe he thinks that Hermione brewed them for
me… as if that’s even possible with how much work these potions have been. ‘Mione was busy
with her own brewing.”
Nodding in understanding, James reached inside the back and pulled one of the many vials out and
turned it until he could read the label. It proved difficult however, as his son’s penmanship was as
atrocious as Lily’s had been in the beginning, and on top of that, he had inherited James’ scratchy
handwriting. Maybe his own dad hadn’t been so wrong when he had sat him down at age 8 and had
him practise calligraphy until it had looked neat and legible.

“Wit-sharpening potion?” he asked, taking a wild guess.

Harry nodded and waited a bit anxiously as his dad lifted the vial up until the light fell through it,
then he began to turn it this way and that, examining it closely. Trying not to fidget, Harry watched
with increasing nervousness. Was it normal to feel so anxious when one’s dad checked over class
assignments?

Finally however, his dad lowered the vial and said, “Well, I am not a potions master and it’s been
ages since the auror course, however, as far as I can tell this potion is brewed perfectly fine. Or at
least good enough that it should have gotten you an E. You should bring that problem up with
Minnie.”

Confused, Harry echoed, “Minnie?”

“Minnie as in Minerva, your head of house,” his dad grinned, handing him the potion back. “If you
write a letter, I can check it over later. You should sort this out before the holidays end, just in case
Snape really wants to kick you out,” he advised. “NEWT’s potions is difficult enough without
missing a week’s worth of lessons.”

“I still have to reply to Neville anyway,” Harry replied.

“Sounds like a plan,” his dad replied, rising to his feet. “If you are fine by yourself for a bit, I will
floo over to Sirius’ and start searching for anything that might help your mum.”

A pang of guilt shot through Harry at the reminder. “Can’t I help somehow? You could pick out
books that are safe enough for me to read…” he questioned once more. It just felt wrong to leave
this task to his dad and godfather, because despite the accusations he had thrown at Sirius, he must
have messed up the resurrection ritual somehow. Or maybe he just didn’t understand it well
enough, but that in itself was a huge error. Performing magic one did not understand fully had been
just plainly stupid. He didn’t need a professor to point that fact out to realise it. However, the
prospect of getting Sirius back had been just too tempting and the ritual had worked well the first
three times. Add to it his drunken state on Christmas Eve and all previous precautions had flown
right out the window. However, he could hardly tell his father why he felt so strongly about
helping them.
“It’s fine,” his dad waved him off. “You go and enjoy your holidays. Term will start up soon
enough and I still remember how exhausting the last two years were.” With that his dad ruffled
through his hair once and left.

Sighing, Harry turned back to his trunk. He would finish unpacking first before he would write
those letters.

______________________________

James hoped that it didn’t look like fleeing as he made his way swiftly down the marble staircase
until he reached the entrance hall. It was the only spot in the manor one could apparate out of, just
as the receiving room was the only place guests could arrive in and right now he needed to get out
and clear his head.

There was a tightness in his chest that didn’t bode well for his ease of mind. He felt disappointed at
that was one feeling he would never have thought of in connection with his old friend and mentor.
Harry’s education had been abysmal so far, at least considering what lurked in his son’s future. He
had trusted Albus to protect and prepare his Harry but right now it seemed as if his old mentor had
failed on both accounts.

At the same time James didn’t want to judge the old wizard too quickly. He didn’t know all the
facts yet; how could he really after only being back for a day? But also, he wasn’t quite sure how
he should handle such a betrayal if it turned out to be true.

Hopefully though, Sirius would be able to clear things up for him a little; maybe his friend knew
things that would give everything a different perspective.

Before he and Harry had left they had agreed that the dog animagus would send a patronus over if
any visitor were to arrive unexpectedly, however, as no message had arrived so far, he simply
apparated away.

Grimmauld Place looked just as dingy as it had earlier. Looking at the house James couldn’t, even
as an adult, blame his friend for running away as a teenager. The house was just horrid.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the stray thoughts, James pushed the front door open and stepped
inside. Having been warned about the portrait, he didn’t announce himself but swiftly kicked his
shoes off and made his way upstairs where, to his surprise, he found his friend already pulling out
books in preparation for their research.

“Hey Prongs,” Sirius greeted him, glancing up from the row of books he was examining. “I didn’t
expect you for at least another hour.”

“Harry is busy unpacking and replying to his friends’ Christmas cards,” he replied, picking one of
the stacks of books up and carrying it over to a sitting area with two ugly wingback armchairs and
an equally ugly coffee table that stood between them.

Looking at his friend, James tried to decide how to breach the topics he wanted to address,
however words were failing him as he wasn’t even sure how to phrase what was all on his mind.

What exactly did he want to ask anyway? If Sirius knew why Dumbledore placed Harry with the
Dursleys, against their expressed wishes? Or why their old mentor failed to train Harry properly?

With a sigh, he decided to postpone his worries until he actually knew what exactly he wanted to
ask his childhood friend and instead picked up the paper book on the stack and opened it in his lap.
However, his mind was too occupied for him to be able to read.

Sirius as well must have noticed his distraction, because half an hour into their research he asked,
“What’s the matter, Prongs? Did something happen between you and Harry?

James sighed and closed the book. It was as good an opening as any.

“Nothing happened. Not really, at least.”

“You know, that sounds even less convincing than your sighing,” Sirius teased before growing all
sober. “Talk to me, James. I know how confusing it is to suddenly return and realise you have
missed months in which life just continued… I don’t even want to imagine how it must feel for
you.”

Placing the book to the side, James rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his armchair,
trying to find the right words to start.

“Just say it,” Sirius prompted once again and as those words had been a spell, his worries began to
just spill out.

“When we were unpacking Harry’s luggage earlier, I found his Hogwarts letters and asked if I
could read them…”

“Harry’s OWL’s were pretty impressive, I’ve heard,” Sirius grinned; however, his expression
sobered once again when James just sighed.
“They were, however, I expected that he was receiving extra training from Dumbledore. To
prepare him for the task ahead…”

His friend was silent for a moment as he shifted into a more comfortable sitting position in his
armchair. Seeing his friend pull his long legs in as he had already done when they had been young
teenagers, just at the brink of puberty, brought a much needed smile to James face. However, the
distraction was short lived as the other finally spoke.

“I have never worried about Harry or his training in the past. After I escaped Azkaban and before I
died I was simply convinced that Harry could accomplish anything. However, since I returned and
visited a counsellor I started to wonder about it as well.” He heaved a sigh and James was about to
speak, when the other continued, “Maybe dying showed me that merely believing in something
isn’t a guarantee and Harry is far too precious. I don’t want to lose him.”

James had to strain his ears to catch the last bit, so quiet his friend’s voice had gotten.

“I asked him if he received some form of training and if it were just not noted down on the
Hogwarts letters. I thought maybe for safety reasons they wanted to keep it a secret,” he continued,
“but Harry said he never received any special lessons aside from a few weeks of occlumency
training by Snape, of all people. As if his treatment of Harry in his classes wasn’t indication
enough that it would be a waste of time.”

“That reminds me,” Sirius sneered, “I still have to pay Snivellus back for that.”
“Padfoot,” James admonished his friend, but it was half-hearted at best. Besides, currently Lily
wasn’t even there to scold him for insulting her old friend and neither was Harry to pick his bad
language up. If he hadn’t done that from Sirius by now, anyway. Besides, Sirius definitely had a
point.

“By the way, Snape apparently has been harassing Harry in his classes this year.”
His friend just snorted. “That’s nothing new.”
“Apparently he is aiming to kick Harry out after winter break.”
That made Sirius sit up straighter. “He won't be able to do that. Harry has gotten quite good at
brewing or otherwise he wouldn’t have achieved an Outstanding for his OWL,” he said with a
dismissive wave of his hand.
James just shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet on it,” he told the other. “Harry has told me that Snape
has refused to grade a single potion of his so far, claiming he must have been cheating. Fortunately
he kept a sample of each one of them, so I told him to send them to Minnie together with a letter.
She should be able to have them graded independently.”

“But you know you are right though,” Sirius returned to the matter at hand. “Harry should receive
proper training and I honestly don’t know why Albus hasn’t done anything so far. I mean, he is
basically on a first name basis with the entire auror corps. Surely one of them would be happy to
help out the Boy-Who-Lived.”

James made a face. “Is that what they call him?”

“Sure it is,” Sirius chuckled, before adding, “Anyway, we even have two aurors in the order.
Kingsley and little Nymphadora,” he winked.

“In that case I understand his reasoning even less,” James sighed, raking a hand through his thick
mop of hair. “Maybe I should ask Harry to send a letter to Albus as well? Maybe he is just waiting
for some initiative on Harry’s part…”

Something crossed his friend’s eyes then, but it was too quickly gone for James to read the
emotion.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” his fellow marauder said.

They once again fell silent and picked up their books. Feeling much better after the conversation
with his friend, James opened his to the first page once again and finally found himself able to
concentrate on what was written there.

______________________________

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as he finally threw the lid of his trunk shot. Sirius had given him far
too many clothes and him disliking putting clothes away didn’t help matters. His dad had been
gone for nearly an hour and he was only finished now.

However, that unfortunately left him with nothing to do but writing the letter to his head of house,
Voldemort, and Neville. Out of all three of them, only the letter to Neville didn’t make his stomach
knot uncomfortably.

He had never written to one of his professors before, and now he wished he had talked to
McGonagall in person. He had originally planned to do so weeks ago, however, he had forgotten it
over setting up Sirius’ trial in the end.

Leaving his bedroom, he made his way over to his personal study. It still felt odd, the thought of
having so many rooms now. He probably had as much space as Draco Malfo now and if that
wasn’t a strange thought, then Harry didn’t know what was.
He entered the study and found it equipped with everything he needed; parchment, quills and two
inkwells in an elegant, golden holder. Unscrewing one of them, Harry found it filled to the brim
with black ink. One of the house elves must have refreshed it, or otherwise the ink would have
dried over the years.

He picked up a piece of parchment and chose one of the quills randomly and began to pin the first
letter.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I am writing today in hopes that you can assist me with a school issue. I am concerned about my
Potions grade. Professor Snape has continued so far in his absolute dislike for me that he has not
accepted a single one of my potion samples this year. He has been claiming I have been cheating
and could not possibly produce the results by myself, and vanishing my entire cauldron contents.
Thankfully, I have saved a vial of each potion I brewed before he removed my work.

I do not want to be kicked out of the class after the holiday, which would destroy my opportunity to
join the auror corps, but I’m at a loss as to how to proceed. I wanted to write you and see if you
could arrange for my samples to be graded by someone else so I can continue with Potions. Please
let me know my next steps, how I should get my potions samples to you, or if I should send them
directly to whatever external examiner you may be able to procure.

I very much appreciate your assistance in this matter.

Sincerely,
Harry James Potter

Placing the quill to the side, Harry read the letter over once again, before placing it to the side and
reaching for another sheet of parchment. However, the thank-you letter to Voldemort turned out
even more difficult than he had expected.

How was he supposed to address his enemy?

Voldemort surely would expect something honorific, like ‘My Lord’, however, Harry refused to
write that down. It had been bad enough that he had been forced to address him so respectfully
during the summer, but writing the title down now would feel like agreeing to something he didn’t
wish to agree to. In the end he was still Harry Potter and Harry Potter would never bow down to
Lord Voldemort. Besides, what if the letter was intercepted? Of course he wouldn’t sign with his
real name, but sending a letter blatantly addressed to the dark lord just sounded too dangerous for
even his liking.

Maybe Harry shouldn’t write a letter at all. After all, Voldemort had sent him Angrboda in reply to
the meal he had sent over, so one could say that they were quits, right? Deciding that the risk
wasn’t worth it, Harry placed his quill on the parchment and began to write a letter to Neville
instead.
________________________

After he had answered all Christmas cards and letters he had received, Harry spent next few hours
relaxing in his living room with Angrboda. It was nice to actually have the time and peace to read a
book that he didn’t have to read for school (or the Dark Lord’s insane lesson plans). For the first
time he could see what Hermione liked so much about reading, although Harry knew that he would
never be able to concentrate enough to enjoy a book in the middle of the busy common room or at
the Burrow. But here in his new rooms it had the potential to become his new favourite hobby, he
thought as he sipped on a mug of hot chocolate with a topping of whipped cream which had
appeared on his coffee table, courtesy of one of their house elves. Besides, Angrboda, he was
quickly learning, liked being patted as much as a house cat or a dog and it was a good way to fulfil
her demands without being bored to death at the same time.

The clock was already approaching eleven when a soft knock finally interrupted him.
“Harry, are you still awake?” his dad’s muffled voice sounded through the thick wood of the door.
“Yeah, Come in,” he called out, summoning a piece of paper as he actually didn’t possess a
bookmark.

“You two look very comfortable,” His dad said after entering the room, his eyes fixed on Harry’s
new familiar with an uncertain smile.
“We are,” Harry smiled back and closed his book. “How was your visit with Sirius? Did you find
anything to help mum?”

James sighed and shook his head. “So far no luck.”

Harry’s heart dropped. Not that it actually had been very likely that his dad and Sirius would find
something right away. Necromancy was an obscure topic and most books on it had been banned in
Britain.

“Don’t worry, prongslet,” his dad tried to cheer him up, “We barely scratched the surface of the
Black library so far.”

Harry nodded silently. He knew that what his father said was true, however he couldn't help but
feel worried. A sudden dip in the sofa next to him made him look up.
“The house elves informed me that they have set up a room for your mum and will bring her here
shortly,” he said and placed an arm around Harry to pull him closer.

“That’s good,” Harry replied, burying his face into his dad’s robe and inhaling the unique scent
that was slowly growing more and more familiar.

They sat in silence for several minutes. The soft crackle and pops from the fire formed a quiet
backdrop to their overdue bonding moment. Even Angrboda’s soft hisses didn’t disrupt their peace,
but simply served as a soft reminder to keep patting her.

“Harry,” his dad finally spoke up, bringing the peaceful moment to an end.
Suppressing a yawn, Harry sat up a little straighter.
“Sirius and I talked about your current education,” his dad began hesitantly.

“But my OWL’s were fine,” Harry pointed out, feeling slightly hurt. He had put so much effort into
achieving good marks and it had paid off. The only subject that still had a bad grade were those he
hadn’t retaken, but truly, when would he ever need divination?

Seeing his son’s expression shift from content to upset, James hastily continued, “That is not what I
mean. Your OWL’s were more than fine, but Sirius and I believe that you need additional
training.”

Harry nodded slowly, he could see where his dad was going with this and he was right. Even after
months of training with the DA, he had felt more than lost at the Department of Mysteries.
Hogwarts’ education wasn’t bad, but the spells he was taught there also weren’t enough to pose a
challenge against death eaters. He of course had learned much more impressive magic during the
summer holidays, however, he hardly could tell his dad that he possessed an arsenal of dark spells
and curses that would most likely guarantee his safe escape unless he faced off with Voldemort
personally like Dumbledore had done.

“We think,” his dad continued, pulling Harry out of his musings, “that it would be a good idea if
you could send a letter to Albus. Ask him for additional instructions in defence.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure if that would work. Although he’d turned to the Headmaster for help or
answers a few times, Dumbledore's aid came in very different forms than asked for. The
Headmaster offered help in oftentimes frustrating ways such as the posing philosophical questions
or entangling one into baffling conversations.

Last year Dumbledore had ‘helped’ him by avoiding him nearly an entire year and while he had
promised that he wouldn’t do the same again, so far this term hadn’t been much better. To Harry it
didn’t make any sense as well. Surely if he was to defeat Voldemort he needed additional training?
The thought made Harry’s stomach tighten uncomfortably, however, he resolutely ignored the
feeling. Just because he had spent a few weeks at the dark lord’s castle without getting killed,
didn’t mean he wasn’t a psychopath who still planned on killing every muggle and muggle born in
England. Voldemort’s goal sounded all well and good as long as one ignored that little detail,
however, Harry would never be able to do that.

Unfortunately he doubted that his dad would understand if he told him that he didn’t believe
 contacting Dumbledore would lead to receiving practical defence training, which left him with one
option only; “I can do that,” he agreed. Maybe if a negative reply came back, it would get easier to
talk to his dad about these things.

“If you want me to read over the letter before you send it off, I’ll be in my dad’s old studdy,” his
dad smiled and squeezed his shoulder.
Nodding, Harry watched his dad leave, before getting up and going once again into his study.
Grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment, he pondered for a moment how exactly he should word his
letter. For once, he wanted a straight answer, which meant he needed to phrase it clearly and in a
way that would leave no space for Dumbledore to reply in that cryptical manner he loved so much.

Finally he reached for the quill he had used earlier and began to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I have been thinking a lot about what happened at the end of last school year lately. I must admit
that I feel largely unprepared to face Voldemort or his death eaters. Therefore I wanted to ask you
if it is possible to receive additional training in defence?
I hope you had an enjoyable Christmas and my best regards,

Harry

Finished, he read over the short missive again, but couldn’t find anything to improve. Satisfied,
Harry got up to show it to his dead. He wanted to send it off quickly; owls were nocturnal anyway
and he wanted a quick reply.

Chapter End Notes

Please R&R

End Notes

Please R&R.

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