Harry Potter and... (HP,XO,UC,MATURE) 07-31-05 [WIP]

[Polar Thestral]

Title: Harry Potter and the Quicksilvers
Rating: TEEN-MATURE
Fandoms: Harry Potter/Roswell (mainly HP)
Summary: One, has a heart as black as his cause. The other, the fate to kill a Dark Lord. Two are estranged from their native shore. Neither are destined for what they thought. In one heart the goodness beats the thickest. The other the blood that runs the quickest. The story of four comes with love and tears, and you'll understand by the end of the year. There's only one question on every wizard's lips...who are the quicksilvers?
Ships: All over the place, and constantly changing. But includes- Max/Liz and Ron/Hermione...before UC vibes start to confuse things.
Spoilers: All of the Hp books up to OoTP. If you have not read OoTP (or the other books) you might be a little lost. Please note the end of the fifth book has been drastically changed, I couldn't bare to write this fic without my favourite character - plus he is pivotal to the story of course (cough). S1: The Pilot and The Morning After from Roswell are also included in this fic. But nothing after that is true to canon-Roswell save the characters.


I would advise that you read the Authors Notes.

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A/N: This idea came when I learned Lily Potter's maiden name *cough*EVANS*cough* and it grew to the point that I couldn't resist the whole: 'Harry Potter would never work with Roswell' challenge. This fic will contian extreme violence, sex scenes and constant annoying mysteries (hopefully) so if any of those things annoy/offend you don't read it. It is also mainly about the adventure side of the coin (though the sequel won't be) so if you want a lusty romance, this isn't the story for you. The timelines have been altered (specifically when Neville's parents were attacked and a certain photo of a murder victim in Roswell etc.) so that Roswell and Harry Potter could be merged in the way that was necessary for the plot to work. These changes will have explanations in the fic itself, so please try not to flame me on that account.

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Prologue: A Rabbit in the Woods


Breathing is a drum. Five strides for every breath. Gasp it into your lungs – don’t miss a beat of the rhythm. Run past hyperventilation.


There was a boy. Small. Tussled hair. He ran through these twisted trees ten years ago. This is the place where all fools run to die – pitiless, shadowed, loathsome. The Triundan woods by Malfoy Manor. All the trees shivered in anticipation, hearing his desperate breathing. He could no longer run in stealth, they could probably hear him as he ran but he could do nothing about it. Leaves turned curiously to see what chased him as a shadow passed over their roots.

His legs stumbled. Small and helpless, as he was, he was still determined in a way that only someone in mortal peril can be determined. He felt shutters coming down over his eyes, blinkers in the dark that he didn’t need because he couldn’t see anyway. He panicked thinking a curse had come over him, rendering him blind so he’d run in the wrong direction – then he realised it was only his wild hair.

Breathing is a drum. Two strides for every breath. Don’t stumble – adjust your feet to a rhythm. Run beyond suffocation.

His chest was burning, he knew soon he would collapse into a weary, useless pile and then he’d realise that the reason his chest cavity wasn’t rising and falling properly was because the knife was still sticking out of his chest. His right lung had collapsed and the horrible wheezing that came from his throat now included a sickening gurgle that he didn’t want to understand. Could he possible know why some strange liquid was filling his mouth? Was he too young to understand?

Ravenous yellow eyes peered at him from above the ground and amongst the blackened bark of the dark trees – they waited for him to drop but he kept running. Running and falling. Driven only by pointless fear and priceless adrenaline.

But Adrenaline will always burn itself out, leaving only debilitating lactic acid to send very different darts of fire through his limbs. He stumbled across the titan roots of a willow and this time he knew he wouldn’t get up.

Five breaths for every second. Breathe, gasp, breathe. I can’t mother, it burns.

He tried to stand, but he’d fallen on to the knife, and every ounce of energy was going into making sure he didn’t scream from the pain and the realisation that he hadn’t pulled it out, that he had let himself start bleeding to death. He sobbed – confused and lonely and wanting to cry desperately for his father. The father he didn’t know. He could hear them even now, rustling through the tangled dark of the Triundan woods that he’d left behind him. With a great effort and a moan of agony he rolled on to his back. He wasn’t mature enough to recognise the significance of death, to have even meditated what it might feel like...But he knew that if they found him something terrible would happen, something far worse than being grounded.

Stop breathing. Stay still. Hide in the undergrowth.

He’d looked them in the eye while they’d raised their wands and the spirits in the wood didn’t doubt it. There was a stubborn edge to his jaw as if he couldn’t bleed to death simply because he forbid it from happening. He was only running for he was too young to do anything else in the face of such a fight, he had no wand. His mother…her crumpled form…so cold. He could feel a similar chill in his chest, is this what happens? You go still and cold? He started to sob, he didn’t want to be still and cold! Evil spirits did not stir to pity, but watched eagerly, waiting for the boy that could have been great being destroyed so simply.

The first of them emerged from behind the tree he’d just fallen over in his haste. They were just a moving shadow, with their long black robes and frightening hoods. They had no face. He suddenly realised as he tried to gasp in shock that he couldn’t breathe any more. His face was going red, his lips were wet with a metallic liquid. It was probably better that he couldn’t see what shade that liquid was in the dark. His hand weakly reached for the knife it was hanging there by about an inch slipping out by itself. He pulled it free and let it fall to the ground beside him as he let out a horribly high pitched scream. The adrenaline was fading and he tumbled into the white static of shock, finding his way blindly through a haze of numbness into the clearer reality of excruciating death.

There was a chuckle, feminine but dark – three voices in one it hissed down on him. A ghostly echo, the source of which he didn’t bother trying to determine. He was sobbing, tears were running down his cheek but there was no sense running. He’d seen his mother lying very still – he didn’t want to lie still like some gargoyle, he didn’t want to be inanimate – even photos waved. He didn’t want to be empty…but he would be.

“Do it now, before it’s too late..” A second voice hissed and the boy could no longer discern whether it was male or female. “We should never have let him run here.”

His eyes closed.

She’d never told him how to breathe when you’re sitting still. Never told him what it was like to be unable to breathe at all.

From beneath his lids he heard the world as if it was under water – then a loud, shrill sound, made him strain his eyes open to slits, wanting to know which family member had come to his aid too late. He saw nothing but a blinding light. He heard those nasty people shriek in agony and he strained to see past a silvery glow that shimmered through his glazed eyes.

Hooves….he could hear them…galloping….they surrounded him.

He heard the shrill call of a stallion but he could no longer keep his eyes open. He was fading and he didn’t want to fight any more, because with eyes shut he could see a light fast approaching – he couldn’t lift his arms but still he felt like his fingers were just about touching it.

“AHHHHHH!!!” He screamed in shock. The light was suffocated by darkness again and he screamed once more for his loss. His eyes became wide and focused so fast that he had to force his mind to catch up to the instinct of his body. His torso had arched up into whatever had replaced the small knife, a large weapon straight through his chest. For a moment he could taste blood in his mouth, salty and metallic like his fingers after handling his mother’s galleons. Looking down he was so stunned at the sight he could do nothing but stare. A unicorn. A Unicorn, a mystical creature that was supposed to detest boys had spliced him through his torso with its ivory horn. It was holding him slightly off the ground, its legs bent and head rigid in concentration.

He was so stunned he didn’t realise that he wasn’t bleeding at all any more – his blood was actually finding its way back to him. He could breathe for the weight that had been threatening to implode his chest cavity had suddenly been lifted. He now only felt the discomfort of a dull intrusion. The light of the unicorn shimmered and the boy felt tears of awe and confusion streaking down his cheeks as this majestic creature bowed to save him – he who through stones at horses, at anything just to see them run away. His hand rose softly in the air and grazed against the silken fur of the beast's snout. The unicorn bleated, and pulled back gently. Its horn shimmered silver and he could see a strange shining liquid, like mercury coming from its tip.

The darkness in the woods hissed in anger but retreated from the horrid source of purity and love.

A trembling hand fell down the boy's chest, through the holes that his stab wounds had left in his clothes – his hands were shaking but he couldn’t mistake the feeling of smooth flesh. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend. He felt like a pathetic Muggle sprawled out on the ground below this creature. It backed off scratching its hooves against the ground and shaking a mane that glinted in the light coming from its luminescent fur. He reached to touch it again and it stilled. He had the feeling it was apprehensive about him now that he had the full use of his body. Its black eyes surveyed him questioningly but as his hand hovered in invitation and gratefulness – the unicorn eventually clopped forward and nuzzled the offered palm reassuringly.

Then just as suddenly the horse bleated shrilly and turned back into the woods. The boy called out but the beast was so fast that it was gone before he had finished his cry. The woods were dark again, every sound was like a drum, every twig that snapped felt like an omen of death.

The boy wanted to run in sudden limb-quaking confusion but he refused to submit to fear and his jaw tightened and stubbornly he remained alone, in the dark. As he stayed there, unable to grasp any part of what had happened to him – he reminded himself to breathe.

Just breathe.

TBC...

Please keep reading, I'll try and make it get better.

[Polar Thestral]

Chapter One: Revelae Mercurus

On the other side of the world and ten years later three alienated teenagers sat together in a silent agreement not to smile. A beautiful girl and two annoyingly handsome boys occupied the same booth as her in a busy New Mexican café. Suddenly as they muttered amongst themselves the girl burst into bright laughter and nudged the dark haired boy beside her in the shoulder. His face suffused with colour and he immediately tore his eyes away from their current occupation – following the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen around the room with his eyes whilst she waited tables, of course.

“One day Max you’ll burn a hole through her and then just whom will you pine over?” She whispered sweetly, her saccharine smile tightening as she sucked on the straw of her Alien Blood Smoothie. Looking across the booth to the other brooding occupant she expected a smirk to be twisting his features, but instead, only his forehead was animated.

He was staring at his palm, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as one of his fingers traced a faint line on his hand. “You know Michael if you keep doing that you’ll wear down your life line.” Isabel snipped cheerfully.

“Well aren’t we just filled with clever comments today?” Max smiled widely at her and Isabel finally scowled. She turned her attention back to her beverage and nonchalantly twirled her straw in the viscous pink fluid. She rolled her eyes, casting the straw aside, as silence settled again. Max was once again watching that annoying brunette flit around between tables.

Isabel sighed. “I’m bored, let’s leave.”

“Leave? We just got here…” Max said, startled and almost rising out of his seat to block his sister from squeezing past him. His ears turned red and colour rose in his cheeks – if they left him here he would have no way of disguising his admiration for the pretty brunette that had filled his thoughts ever since he was seven years old.

“Actually we’ve been here for two hours – don’t you remember? Liz came and took your plate and you gushed for twenty minutes about how she had smiled directly at you and not Michael.” Isabel’s eyes rolled and then moved to Michael for him to back her up. Michael finally looked up from his hand, glared at Max then moved his arm to rest along the booth maintaining his hard, fixed stare. “I should tell you Max that with Michael’s social skills it’s absolutely amazing that Liz would ever choose to show you the pearly whites instead of this mass of burning love. Are you sure she isn’t just teasing him?” Michael’s stony countenance didn’t waver and Isabel laughed at the ridiculous coldness of his face. He was so adorably obtuse and rude; it’s almost like he’d never been taught manners. She blanched at the thought, how could she think of teasing him over such a thing? It’s not like he had any family, who was supposed to teach him the social skills that her mother had given to her? It wasn’t his fault he was so shut down. Considering the state of his familial ‘situation,’ it was probably for the best.

After a moment her smile faded and her eyes filled with pity. Michael growled under his breath, “do either of you have any scars that—” but at that moment a fight broke out across the room.

Michael’s eyes narrowed as he looked across, his whole body went tense. Max looked a little confused as two large men wearing plaid and jeans, hanging low on their waists, shoved each other. Isabel was terrified and she subconsciously sunk lower on her seat.

One of them pulled a gun and a shrill female voice shouted, “LIZ!!” Michael barely had time to focus on the direction the scream had come from when a gun shot invoked chaos. The room erupted into a clutter of terrified screams as people ducked in their booths and threw themselves onto the floor, covering their heads in fear. Michael sunk in his chair and watched as the two men ran away out the door. He sat back up again and surveyed the damage in the direction of the clanging bell above the Crashdown doors. Max was still ducked low in his booth and Isabel was pressed against her brother’s side like her life depended upon it. “Oh my god…Liz!” The voice came again, softened by some sort of shock.

Max’s head flicked around at the sound of the voice, but he didn’t turn toward her but toward the girl he’d been watching so closely up until then. She was nowhere to be seen: she wasn’t buzzing around anxious customers trying to calm them down; there was no breeze of aqua by his arm as she passed out trays full of orders; he couldn’t smell the warm fragrance of vanilla as she leaned over him. Suddenly he saw a hint of aqua behind the counter and terror locked up his throat. His eyes focused on the small white sneakers that were lying pointed to the ceiling, the soft slim legs that led behind the counter to a horrible truth he could already picture.

“What are you going to do?” Max was stunned and flinched when someone touched him – two hands pressed harshly against his chest to hold him back. He hadn’t even realised he’d begun to move toward her, but now that he was aware he knew just how urgent it was. His terrified eyes looked up into the cold eyes of his friend’s – they looked concerned for a very different reason. He shoved Michael aside, “Get out of my way!”

He charged past, not bothering to tell people to get back. He didn’t hear Micahel pulling people away, didn’t hear as Maria called an ambulance for her friend who had obviously been injured when the gun went off. Max’s breath caught in his throat, she was lying on the ground, her hand resting above her dress, he could see the faint outline of blood beneath her pale fingers. Bile rose into his mouth but he swallowed it down. On autopilot he reached for the front of her uniform and snapped the buttons open.

“Oh God…” Dark blood was pooling quickly across her stomach. Max was so scared that he didn’t even realise that he was experiencing his greatest fantasy – tearing Liz’s clothes open to stare at her bra and smooth skin. All he saw was blood and he knew exactly how to get rid of it. He reached for her cheek, and laying a shaking hand there he tried to steady his voice while he whispered, “Liz…you have to look at me…”

Lazily she opened her eyes and a feeling of tenderness burst inside him at the trust, drowsiness and fear he saw there. He placed his hand over the bullet wound and felt a white light rush through his blood. Liz gasped but he didn’t hear her, he was too surprised by the images that were flickering across his eyelids. He saw himself staring at her for the first time as he arrived at Elementary school; he saw her frowning in embarrassment in a horrific cupcake dress as all the other girls teased her; he saw her smile at him just moments ago. Then suddenly a great wave of fatigue rocked him – warmth from the inside oozing out of his forehead in sweat. He collapsed forward, breathing heavy – her eyes were no longer weighed down by lethargy – they were wide and beautiful and staring at him in amazement, shock and confusion. He was resting in the cusp of her shoulder and neck – he pulled back quickly when vanilla assaulted his nostrils.

He suddenly realised where he was, there were people all around him, muttering and trying to see – he used his body to cover her reaching for a ketchup bottle when he saw the blood on her uniform was still there. He cracked it on the cabinet and spilled the red, viscous fluid all over her exposed stomach and uniform. She watched his fast movements in a dazed way, clutching her uniform together in sudden, heated embarrassment.

“KEYS!” Someone shouted and Max turned around tossing something that made a soft clinking sound to that horrible friend of his. Liz looked back at him.

“You broke and spilled a ketchup bottle when you fell…” He stumbled away from her and she sat up, her eyes afraid to lose the beautiful amber wonder of his as he tried to fight his way backwards through the spectators. “Please don’t say anything…” Then he darted through the crowd and out the front door – she had stood somehow on her way and was looking past the relieved faces of her patrons, looking into his beautiful tanned features as he flung himself into an old jeep and glanced back at her. His friend made the car screech loudly before it took off…or maybe it wasn’t his car…maybe the scream came from the sirens she could hear approaching her.

“Liz are you alright?” Liz looked up, with eyes so wide they could be flying saucers, she was clutching her uniform shut, her hand sticky from the ketchup beneath it. She nodded in a daze as friendly green eyes surveyed her face. Soft hands clutched her cheeks but she could barely see the face of her friend though it was only inches away – she was seeing his face, feeling his hand over her and the world seemed like a silly, childish dream that she couldn’t escape.

“I’m…fine. I just spilled some ketchup…” she swallowed, not even realising she’d decided to speak.

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His hands were shaking. Yes hands, his hands were shaking. He had sacrificed one of them to bring his master back two years ago but his master had rewarded him. He looked down at his hand and clenched it fiercely, it glinted silver, it felt nothing. Rewarded. Yes. No one had a hand like this but him. Because he was faithful. Yes. No. Not to the marauders, a nasty voice mocked him, nothing but a traitor. And he recognised the voice. Yes he did. It whispered to him at night, vile thing that he was. But he couldn't listen. No. No, he just hadn’t found his true path, he was a good servant now. Yes. A very good servant.

His forehead was sweaty but he didn’t dare break his concentration as he held out his wand in a shaking, silver palm. It was the simplest of incantations – he’d used far darker magic to open these vaults to be at the final door – but somehow this was more frightening. Once he had retrieved it, his mission would be complete, and the rise of the Dark Lord would no longer be done in stealth and shadow. The Second War would truly begin and Harry Potter would die.

It didn’t bother him. No. It didn’t. He told himself that forcefully even as he hesitated. The ‘Boy who Lived’ would live no more. The boy who had let him live. Yes, he remembered that very well. Foolish of him, children are fickle. Pay it no mind. Yes. In the Shrieking Shack where his childhood friends had finally looked into the eyes of the man who had betrayed them with the full knowledge of those deeds – Harry Potter had stopped Black from committing the murder he’d been imprisoned for. No, it didn’t bother him. Harry Potter had saved his life when he – Peter Pettigrew – had been responsible for their death. No…it had been done for the master and it didn’t matter that Peter would betray the Potter’s tenfold again as he sacrificed their son. No!

“Alohamora.” Nothing happened. Peter took a deep breath and steadied his hand as best he could. “ALOHAMORA!” This time a white spark shot forth from his wand and the door of the vault swung open. Picking up the pouch without hesitation, he shoved it into the folds of his robes and slammed the vault shut again. ‘Bring it to me…’ A voice hissed in his mind. Peter screamed. A year of being raised from the blood of his great enemy, the bones of his father and the hand of his servant hadn’t made that voice less sinister, even when it was only heard in the mind. Peter shivered but his steps became faster and he wondered if the Imperius curse was making him run or just his own fear.

All the spells he had broken (through instruction of course) were quiet behind him as he traced the labyrinth back up toward the second floor of the Riddle house. All his questions were hissing at his back and he heard the faint whisper of the word ‘traitor’ in his ear. He turned around and looked behind him, nothing but the darkness. It still took him several moments before he started back toward his Master. He’d half expected to see the cold eyes of Sirius Black looking back at him, wand at the ready aimed straight for Peter’s heart. An old friend…a friend who had never been particularly kind to him! No, that’s right, he hadn’t! That fiend deserved to rot in Azkaban for all his merciless teasing and James Potter had been arrogant and belittling too…and Remus Lupin…well Remus Lupin had been a friend of theirs! Yes they all deserved it, they did! So Harry Potter deserved it to for choosing the wrong side!

“Well…? Come in Peter!” The door, he hadn’t realised he was loitering outside of swung open.

Inside was a scene he had already bared witness to many times. The paint on the walls was cracking, tearing in long white coils as if fire had spread through this room and boiled it to blistering. Peter stepped over the threshold and adjusted to the much cooler atmosphere inside the Riddle’s old lounge. The fire was out, the curtains were drawn, the air was still and twenty other death eaters were turned his way. The hoods of their capes were down, for there was no need to hide amongst friends. This was the inner sanctum, no cronies, only the highest order of Dark soldiers could ever set foot here. Peter flinched at the thought, no – no need to hide amongst friends like he had for years.

They looked at him, excited, nervous, anxious, wondering why such a pathetic fop had been sent on such an important exercise, especially when much more powerful sorcerers were in this very room. Then they remembered that Peter, for all his incompetence, had been the only loyal Death Eater, that had found their Master sprung from his mortal shell and given him a body once more.

A slow clap could be heard from the side of the room and Peter Pettigrew stiffened, jerking his hands into his robes pockets to bring out the velvet pouch. “M-master, as you—”

“Accio pouch!” The pouch flew from Pettigrew’s hand and landed in the shadows. His steps were silent but the Death Eaters parted for him, eager not to touch him and risk offending him in any way. Lord Voldemort emerged into the minimal light, he looked around the circle that closed in behind him.

“This, my Death Eaters, will be the end of that poor, little, tortured child. Don’t think I don’t pity him…although in thinking such a thing you would be perfectly right.” Laughter echoed around in the circle until red eyes glanced up scathingly and his servants recoiled, most casting their eyes away from the horrid sight that they served unquestioningly. His pale face was almost completely white, his skin seemed to flake like the scaled flesh of a snake – he had no nose, only two slits, and his mouth was lipless. Gazing about with flaming red eyes it was clear that whatever Lord Voldemort was, he was no longer human.

“I lost some of my most faithful Death Eaters on the failed attempt to collect the prophecy that would tell me exactly why that pathetic excuse for a wizard has evaded his fate for so long. My Death Eaters failed me again and I began to believe that you all had no intention of actually assisting me in any way…” Voldemort’s eyes flashed in the direction of a greasy haired Death Eater, who stared back at him impassively through blackened eyes – it was Severus Snape. “As you know I was most displeased.”

He was walking around the circle eyeing them until they had to look away in shame, fear or disgust. Peter had withdrawn from the main circle, to lie against the wall of the Riddle lounge – he watched the barren fireplace and hoped for some spark to burn but there was none. There was no oxygen in the room to feed it. “Potter was meant to go to the ministry, he was meant to get the prophecy and you were supposed to get it from him! I did more than my share of work which should rightly be delegated to my servants but you still let Sirius Black communicate with him! Did I not warn you?! Did I not tell you to make sure Harry Potter could by no means communicate with him! Oh I know that Malfoy’s wife did her best but it is not a wife’s duty to do the work of her betters! Clumsy and foolish – Harry Potter didn’t communicate by Floo he communicated directly with the source. A fifteen year old bettered you! You forced me to reveal myself when my continued concealment could have meant the end of Dumbledore and Potter! For who could ever have believed that I was mightier than that foolish old man, who could have ever believed that potter didn’t vanquish me at all!?” A mad cackle sounded, full of hate and anger – daring them to admit that they had believed he would never return as well, they who had betrayed him the instant he was gone because they were too scared to stand on their own.

None of the Death Eaters dared to interrupt his tirade, they didn’t dare utter that it wasn’t them that dropped the prophecy by accident when the Aurors had come. They tried not to even think it for they knew he could get into their minds and then there would be worse things to fear then Avada Kedavra. “I lost many loyal Death Eaters…Macnair, Malfoy, Dolohov…to name just the mildly useful ones…but…” He gazed where Bellatrix Lestrange stood proudly by her husband’s side and smiled evilly, “I also have many of them back – those who were loyal even when the rest of you claimed you were under the Imperius Curse. You disgust me. But no matter, you will all have time to prove yourselves truly worthy to be here, amongst my best and most loyal. You are here to witness what you fought for even when I was gone. I realise I kept it secret from everyone why their deaths were so important…but now comes the time to reveal it. Quirrel kindly collected this from me when he realised what we had accomplished together….” Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved up in a sardonic grin that made a shiver run down Peter Pettigrew’s spine.

Lord Voldemort opened the pouch with his long, hideous fingers. Raising his wand he muttered he muttered something and watched as an ivory horn rose from within the pouches confines. His skin immediately lurched and he smiled at himself, the warning was still present – it was very amusing. When the threat no longer existed his senses were still on high alert. But he would prove he no longer had any weaknesses that people could subvert. “Watch and tremble…” he hissed and his hand enclosed the horn. Instantly a white light shot out from it like sheet lightning. The Death Eaters screamed in agony and were thrown backwards into the aging walls of the Riddle house. The Dark Lord hissed in pain, but merely buckled as the white light shot out from beneath his fingers. The blue veins standing out from his transparent skin glowed a burning white where the radiance had started to spread into Lord Voldemort himself. He tore his hand away in agony and his red eyes fixed on the blistered surface of his pallid skin. The circle of Death Eaters erupted with cries of confusion, clustering together in black groups of anguish and fear, they stayed well clear of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, both of whom had suddenly grown extremely pale.

Lord Voldemort had recovered fast. None could see his livid face for they had instantly drawn away from him when the Dark Lord had let out a tremendous hissing shriek and withdrawn to the shadow. It was not a shriek of agony but of fury and they recognised it well – they recognised the sensation of magic being drawn past them out of the very air, drawn to a source where it was building in on itself inside Voldemort’s cold heart. The horn had fallen to the ground but Lord Voldemort didn’t look at it.

“Put it away Wormtail.” Peter stepped forward, stuttering a question, but flaming red eyes fixed on him, burning the back of his skull with loathing and he closed his mouth quickly. Peter cried out and fell to his knees. “NOW!” He scooped up the horn then scurried out of the door wishing he could turn himself into a rat and run back to Ronald Weasley’s bed. Even that was better than this.

Whirling his cape around, Voldemort’s red eyes fixed on a particularly shifty looking face, he raised his wand, “is there something you want to tell me Bella?”

“Please…my Lord…” She pleaded and her shoulders continually dropped giving the impression that she was fighting desperately to stay upright.

An evil smirk lifted his mouth, “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“I-I do not know my Lord…”

“Really? Such indecision from you, it’s so very out of character…” His mouth pressed together until it became invisible in the night time light. “Imperio.” he hissed and she fell to her knees, her eyes glazed over, her mouth sagged open. “Bellatrix,” there was a vague laugh in his voice now as he watched her dazed expression, “tell me what you are so desperately trying to hide.”

“The mission for the boy in the woods failed, my Lord. We chased him but he had fled to the most inconvenient place and we were too late – the Unicorn was there.”

“A six year old boy!? You incompetent fool!” Rage was already beginning to fill him, why were the wizards who had been so promising when he had recruited them turned out to be such a burden?

“He was very fast…I don’t know how he escaped the Manor – there was more than just I there, Malfoy should know my Lord! Ask Malfoy!” Lord Voldemort removed the curse but Bellatrix remained on her knees on the ground. The Death Eaters around her looked apprehensive or excited, they knew what would come of this.

“I cannot ask Malfoy, he’s currently twiddling his pristine thumbs in the place where you should still be for ever daring to fail me!” Bellatrix was squirming on the ground beneath his merciless gaze, his wand was still raised and she was staring at the tip of it, just waiting for a flash of green light to engulf her. “And when this little horse arrived…what did you do?” Bellatrix was shaking her head but Voldemort just laughed at her fear.

“Please my Lord I have been most faithful, I—”

“Yes and you shall be rewarded for that service…but that day in the woods…what did you do?”

“I-I ran.”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Bellatrix stiffened as a green light filled the room, but it was not her body that fell dead to the ground. She whimpered and looked beside her at the shocked face of her husband, Rodolphus. She was not brave enough to look at her master again. There hadn’t been a sound, he looked completely healthy except for the fact he was dead.

The room was silent and ominous. The Dark Lord didn’t issue his usual cold laughter, there was no amusement here, only pathetic failure. Voldemort was staring at her, soaking in her reaction, laughing at her feeble attempt to block him from her mind.

“Are you not grateful for my mercy, Bella? After all, you’ve been such a faithful servant, I would hate to be rid of you so soon.”

“I am most grateful and honoured by the Dark Lord’s magnanimity.” She said in a solid monotone. He turned away from her straight away, dismissing her with a turn of his back. She stood and did not look at Rodulphus again.

“Find me someone from The Order…I need to know where this boy is…now. Severus…you and I…” The Dark Lord watched him for a moment as if considering something profound, “are going to make sure he was the last. You will remain behind to…discuss it with me.” Severus nodded, then all at once the Death Eaters disapparated, leaving the body of Rodolphus Lestrange lying eerily still with his black eyes still open and staring at the carpet beneath him.

From above a strange hissing dialogue began as Voldemort turned and walked toward a chair. He lowered himself into the leather and looked toward the door. Through the ajar door he heard the hiss of a large snake, he could hear the friction of her beautiful serpentine body as she slithered through the door.

“My beautiful Nagini…” The spooky voice hissed in parseltongue. No one was there to hear and try to understand him except for the shaking man on the other side of the door. “I have a treat for you, eat it,” he hissed while gesturing at the failures cooling body. The snake looked hungrily for a moment at the body of the Death Eater, then struck fast, its jaw extending as she clamped down on Lestrange’s head, preparing to slowly devour him whole. Wormtail stepped back from the sight in disgust – he continued walking backwards until he could throw up without his Master hearing him.

In the house of Tom Riddle a Dark Lord smiled as his pet happily devoured her meal and his queasy little minion threw up outside. He smiled until the failure and disappointment settled in and he realised that he didn’t like being so accustomed to failure that he let his rage pass so fast. This set back could be costly when time was of the essence. Gradually hate began to fill him until he could have sworn that his own skin was burning…

**

Harry Potter lurched off his mattress gasping out in pain as his scar seared on his forehead with a burning fury. Tears ran down his face and his eyes begged to be closed tight to block out the pain. He squirmed and grunted but it wouldn’t go away. He tried to clear his mind but all he could hear was screaming, and an anger that was quite apart from his own began to devour him.

“Harry?” Harry opened his eyes and gazed past the sweat hanging off his eyelashes to the face that had appeared in the dark. “Was it another dream?” Harry shook his head and sat up, stroking his fingers across his scar. That was Harry’s main problem, he couldn’t tell if he was dreaming any more – but he knew somehow that he hadn’t been dreaming anything tonight so Voldemort must have been awake…

“He’s angry…he’s really, really angry…but that’s a good thing right?” Harry pulled his hand back and dropped it unceremoniously in his lap – fatigue was making his whole body slump in an unflattering way at every moment of the day. His companion reached across and ruffled his hair affectionately, then he pulled him closer for a brief hug, a strong hand squeezing Harry’s arm slightly. “Sirius?” He didn’t appreciate having his question unanswered.

“Probably but I can’t tell you for sure, you should owl Dumbledore as soon as you can.” Harry nodded and shuffled back in bed to try and get some more sleep. His eyes were wide open despite the large bags that marred his boyish face, he was terrified of sleep and insomnia didn’t make that fear decrease in any way. Sirius sighed as he was about to stand and flopped back down on the bed.

Sirius was tired too, Harry usually woke him up in some way, either by screaming or sneaking into Sirius’ own room just to check he was still there. Sirius didn’t mind, he loved having Harry around, it was just like having a part of James back although he had finally admitted to himself they were not the same. But Sirius was beginning to realise that Dumbledore may have been right to warn them off staying together, Harry’s dreams weren’t getting any better, they were getting worse. As much as Sirius despised Severus Snape, he had to admit that Severus was the best man to teach Occlumency to Harry, Harry needed walls in his mind desperately or he eventually wouldn’t be able to determine what was a dream and what was real. And though, during the Summer, Snape couldn’t give these lessons (because Harry would sooner die than see him any more than necessary) – Sirius couldn’t help but think that under the care of the Dursley’s, because of the magical bond between Harry and his blood relatives, he would be protected from Voldemort’s legelimency much more affectively.

“Harry…” Sirius sighed, “you know how much I want you here, don’t you?” Harry didn’t say anything – his green eyes stared at Sirius’ drawn face, wondering why he didn’t look particularly happy. “But do you think…under the circumstances, that maybe you should just stay with the Dursley’s a little—”

“No.” Harry glared at him but didn’t elaborate on his brief response. Sirius didn’t ask him to, he just ruffled his hair again with a sigh that sounded surprisingly glad. Sirius gazed at the muggle clock that Harry had insisted they get and a smile lit up his face.

“Well look at that…happy birthday, Harry.” Sirius jumped up and wandered back out of the room, Harry barely smiled. Birthdays shouldn’t feel like victories but that’s how Harry felt in that moment, he felt like he’d won a small victory for adding another three hundred and sixty five days successfully to his life span…he just wasn’t sure how many years he could keep winning.

Tbc…

[Polar Thestral]

Chapter two: The Three marks

Scars run deeper than the flesh –
Pain and power always mesh.
Marks can come from evil hexes,
genetic codes distinguish sexes.
Silver prints of a healers hand –
gone forever from our land.
The strongest brands go through mere skin,
they mark forever the soul within.
The Dark mark comes and it will stay
Until the Dark Lord's dying day.

**

The gilded mirror loomed silently before a very well postured man, its reflection made the room appear twice its normal size. His face was rigid, as if he was made of stone rather than muscle, a statue carved finely from the palest of granite. He stared into his own emotionless eyes – he looked impeccable, he always did. By now his morning ritual was like a well practiced dark charm, perfect execution covering the horror of the spell itself.

Losing his own glare for a moment, he adjusted two white gold cufflinks to the wrists of his silken green ramario (a kind of shirt that adjusted itself perfectly for the body type of its wearer). It was the newest of fashions in the Wizarding world that he had acquired in Paris only last week. He longed to be away from where he was again, but duty was looming before him. Just like this mirror, duty made the world seem like such a large intimidating space. He refused to admit that he sometimes felt inadequate. He was not small – not literally, not proverbially. He’d grown into his smug, tight fitting skin, he’d grown tall but without the stoop of his peers, he adored glowering over people, for it was a mighty weapon of intimidation that he intended to use as best he could.

The white gold cufflinks finally sprung to life in the slits of his ramario sleeves. The green eyes of two tiny snakes glimmered wickedly, before each snake swallowed its own tail and locked itself in place before becoming solid again.

The mirror he stood before was adjacent to a wall of windows looking out toward the horizon and a glorious view of the Malfoy grounds. You could just make out the tall iron gates that opened in to the grey stone pathway up to the Manor’s main entrance. The view over sweet scented pines was truly magnificent, but it had lost its wonder for the man who’d stared upon the green beauty for too long. He barely glanced out his window any more. His four poster bed faced away from the windows, where green velvet curtains were pulled halfway across so that no sun startled him when he was sleeping. The covers weren’t made, it was servant’s work and he’d sooner slit his wrists than stoop that low.

There were three sets of double doors. One near the foot of the bed, another directly opposite those doors and another directly opposite the windows.

The black doors near his bed contrasted strongly with the ashen stone walls of the manor. It was those doors that he strode toward with a brisk turn of his heel. He walked past his four poster bed (which was so vast it filled most of his room) and yanked the two black doors open. There was nothing before him. No passage to the hallway. No clothing, if this was a closet. Nothing there but the dull grey stone of the Manor walls. His jaw tightened and he slammed the doors shut, his ever smouldering rage beginning to crackle again.

Placing one hand on each door he leaned menacingly on the wood and spoke in a harsh whisper full of evil intentions, “I have no patience for dull witted servants. Play with me one more time and you’ll visit the great hall on a chilly afternoon as a nice convenient pile of kindling.”

He stepped back and glared at the doors but if they could reply to his harsh words, he did not give them time to. He threw the doors open in expectation of catching whatever they were off-guard. He was partially disappointed, but not surprised, when he saw what he was looking for beyond the doors. A single, flowing black cloak hung from a golden hook in the manor wall. Draco Malfoy gave himself time to smirk before he briskly snatched the cloak and slammed the doors shut again. The wood groaned on its hinges, and Draco could have sworn he heard some colourful language in the squeaking of wood.

Draco didn’t acknowledge the mysterious double doors again, but rather swivelled on his feet, his cape swirling rather dramatically around him as he had been trained by his father from an early age.

Be imperial, for you will one day have control of an empire – make all that see you tremble in fear and awe for you my son are a Malfoy. I expect you to act accordingly. Do not disappoint me.

“I am the Malfoy…” His voice scalded and he smirked a little. The smirk disappeared when he heard the snigger which his mirror version could not smother quickly enough. “Something you want to say?” Even as he glared, his reflection fiddled with the soft hair falling down the back of his neck and appeared quite frightened.

“N-nothing, Master Malfoy…” The mirror recalled all the cracks it had, had over the years and wished it was not so rigid so that it may shudder in frightful expectation at whatever Master Malfoy was about to hex at it.

There was a soft tapping coming from the direction of the mahogany doors opposite his mysterious closet. Draco’s rigid stance immediately softened in a slouch of disappointment. The Draco in the mirror let out a sigh of relief, as it followed its ‘better’ while he strode toward the door until the reflected version disappeared completely. Draco swung the door to his room open, his cool eyes regarding the beautiful woman over the threshold with a deep scowl.

“I told you I was coming.” He hissed between his teeth.

“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, darling. You know I want to meet Lady Goyle and a Malfoy is never late for their appointments even if they are forced to look less than impeccable.” The sweet voice drawled. Draco knew she was being sarcastic, Narcissa lived up to her name, if her hair was unable to be tamed she would not be seen at any of her ‘appointments’ for a week, because of the shame of it. “I may adore you enough to wait for you, but there are some who won’t.” She intoned meaningfully.

Draco’s face lost all pretence of warmth; he raised himself to his full height. She tilted her own chin and arched a sleekly clipped eyebrow at his show of defiance.

“Don’t push me, Mother….”

“Since your Father is…indisposed…” Her lips curled as she wrapped an elegant arm into the rigid fold of Draco’s and began walking with him down the main corridor in Draco’s wing. Draco stared rigidly forward, he felt like his life was on parade, but he would perform nothing else but what he was ready for, or he’d risk falling flat on his pointy face. “You are now the man of the manor.”

“I realise this, Mother.”

“Do you? Really? There are certain duties that follow—”

“I am sixteen years old and I will take the rein of those duties when I am good and ready. Father would not push me into this.” Narcissa’s lips thinned and her hand clutched Draco’s arm unnecessarily tight. He winced, though he tried desperately to cover up the weakness of it. She smiled evilly.

“Your father and I are of the same mind, even if his mind is in a rapid state of exponential depreciation.” She smirked and Draco glared at her. “Come now Draco, I’m only jesting, you know the Dementors have left Azkaban.” Draco’s face didn’t show any sign that he had heard her. She sighed dramatically. “Really you should get the house elves to search for your missing personality. Think of this as an honour, Draco darling, Lucius would not trust me to deal with his associates.”

“And has never trusted me.”

“He was only protecting you. You should be seizing this opportunity. They come but rarely, we must take whatever is offered to us, for you know he would give nothing freely if he had the choice.”

“I must take what I want. And I will. When I want it.” He took his mothers hand and as gently as possible (considering her fierce grip) plied it away. “Dumbledore would know straight away and I wouldn’t be able to hide it if he were to order me to prove otherwise. There is no subtlety in that path. I know how hard it is for Snape, and I have no experience in such matters.” Narcissa shook her head disbelievingly.

“You expect me to believe that, Draco? We are on the brink of a new world, it is not the time for your childish fears. Our family will have the position we were meant to have, the wizarding world will have the feudal structure it was always meant to have and those muggles won’t be such an irritating pestilence any more. They’ll be vapour! You’re insufferable hesitations may prove to be what delays the inevitable. Do you not care about the legacy your father has set up for you? Do you not care about what your father has done for us at all? Draco if you only knew the lengths he went to, to—”

“That is quite enough Mother, you will not order me around.” For once in his life the malicious expression of his voice was so much like his Father’s, that his Mother’s mouth snapped closed and she stepped away from her son fearfully. “I realise what my father has done and I will honour his obligations when they outweigh my own priorities, my own ambitions. Father is rotting in some damn Azkaban cell while the real filth of this world walks around free gloating about his imprisonment. I will not stand for it.”

“And what exactly are your priorities?” His mother asked calmly, smiling proudly as her son finally stepped from beneath the shadow of a mighty man and became one himself. In reply a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth, Narcissa said nothing but noted with silent glee that his expression was nothing if not malicious. “If your Lord’s impressed you may receive an offer sooner than you think.”

**

It had taken a long time for Liz Parker to beat off the crowd, the questions and the comforting stares of people convinced that a bullet had just sliced through her gut. She sighed as the door to her bedroom clicked shut and she quickly locked it. Of-course those people were exactly right which was what was freaking Liz Parker out the most at the moment.

After a slight pause, trying to steady the heartbeat that had been palpitating wildly since she watched Max Evans run away from her, she stepped in front of her full length mirror and gazed warily at her reflection. She moved her hands from the crimson stain that stretched from above her stomach to above her breasts. What interested her most was the tiny hole that sliced neatly through the centre of the already dry stain. Tentatively she pushed one finger through the hole, her hand shaking the whole time.

“LIZ!!!” She heard the scuffle. She wanted to ask what was happening. Her eyes widened when she saw the struggle for the gun. A loud bang sounded. Her body froze. On instinct she went to fall but something knocked her off her feet first. She didn’t feel the floor. She just felt the pain. The centred force of it. The tearing agony. The drowsy escape…

Her eyes fluttered as she heard the echo of that moment in her head. She turned away and rushed into action, pulling off the jacket her father had wrapped around her shoulders before proceeding to snap the buttons of her uniform open. She didn’t want the memory of it. She didn’t want to see the blood, there was no evidence that it had ever happened anywhere but in her imagination. She couldn’t even think about what Max had done. This wasn’t even a memory, it was a nightmare that she had escaped from into a dream, that was how she would look at it. Seeing nowhere to hide her uniform until she could burn it she shoved it quickly into her bookbag, zipping it closed and locking the memories inside with it.

She paused for a slow breath. Working herself up again wasn’t helping any. She stepped in front of the mirror again and felt her heart break five ribs and punch her gut out. She wanted to scream but all she could do was gape. There was evidence and she was wearing it and she knew she wouldn’t be able to just tear this evidence over her head and burn it in a garbage bin later on. Her incredulous eyes wanted to see the humour in this moment, to look up at her own face staring back at her and laugh at the ridiculous slack jawed confusion all over her face because she knew such a look was not there often. Her best friend would be proud. Unfortunately she could not tear her eyes away. Her reflection followed her movements as one hand slid over her smooth stomach, resting atop the mark of another hand that was too large to be her own. The hand print was scorched into her flesh, scorched was the only word she could use to describe it, when a mark was melted into your own flesh the force of fire was the only thing she could think of that was powerful enough. He had burned her. Healed her?

She wanted to think it was a miracle from God but her scientific brain was screaming out for an explanation. There was no such thing as miracles. No such thing as magic. Max Evan’s hand print was shining silver two inches beneath her rib cage and she needed to know why. Now.

**

Dear Mr Harry James Potter,

I’m writing to you in regards to the request Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, issued to my office, on your behest. I was not at all surprised, considering past events that this request was made, nor have I taken light of it. I feel that if I was not to act as has been requested of me, it would be an extreme misjudgement on my behalf.

However, a move as radical as that which you and your close acquaintances have proposed, cannot be passed without the consent of the majority of the Wizengamot. I am writing to inform you that such a conference will take place at the Ministry of Magic Headquarters in London, the 29th of August at eleven a.m. Your attendance is mandatory. Failure to attend will leave the Wizengamot no choice but to rescind your petition due to an obvious lack of adult responsibility.

Yours Sincerely,

Madam Amelia Susan Bones

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Ministry of Magic, London

Harry Potter sat at the kitchen table of 12 Grimmauld place, his forehead furrowed in confusion. What was Amelia Bones going on about? What was Dumbledore keeping from him now? It couldn’t be possible that there were more secrets about his life he had yet to learn, right? Next thing he was going to be informed that he was born a girl and Severus Snape was his illegitimate father.

“G’morning to you Harry, how have you been?” Harry jumped in such fright that his knees hit the table above him at the sound of the unexpected voice. His eyes shot up and a tired face smiled so warmly at him that if Harry hadn’t known exactly who this man was, he would never have been able to guess his age.

“Hello Professor Lupin…I’m good.” Harry said, as he quickly folded up the letter, deciding to harass Sirius about it when they were alone, they always fought better that way. Without interruptions.

“Nightmares?” Lupin asked. Harry shook his head as he rocked back in his seat like his Godfather did, until it was standing on two legs. “Rashes?” Harry didn’t respond, concentrating more on balancing than on what Lupin was saying. “Dementors?”

“Only every now and then…” Harry said still thinking they were talking about dreams. Remus Lupin smiled and slouching down, he leant across the table a little.

“Snape in Grandma Longbottom’s clothes putting on a drag show?”

“Look it’s not as bad as you would….” Harry was halfway through convincing Lupin that his dreams weren’t as bad as last year when he realised what Lupin had said. Lupin was laughing at him quite good naturedly and Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll ask you not to put any more of your fantasies into my Godson’s head if you don’t mind, Moony.” A third voice quipped and Harry, unable to stop himself reached for the letter and threw it at Sirius’ chest where he stood by the staircase a wolfish grin on his face. He caught it in surprise and proceeded to pull the letter out and examine it.

“What have you got there, Sirius? Harry hasn’t been expelled again has he?” Remus smiled pleasantly at Harry, who glared playfully back but was too concerned with other matters to say anything.

“Just Amelia letting us know that everything is in order…pity Harry intercepted it before I could steal his mail again.” Sirius looked at Remus meaningfully and Remus nodded, his face suddenly growing quite blank as he looked back at Harry. Harry was glaring between the two of them.

“I thought you’d both learned that it wasn’t wise to keep secrets from me…bad things tend to happen.” Harry was so angry that Sirius had to find it amusing.

“I can, if it’s your birthday present!” Sirius winked as he reached for his cloak that was draped across the back of Remus’s chair. Remus made no move to release the cloak from where his back covered it until Sirius actually growled at his third failed attempt to tug it free. Remus laughed and leaned forward.

“Birthday present? From the ministry of magic? Honestly the firebolt was much better!” Harry chided, a nervous look on his face.

“Oh no Harry, the marauders would have certainly adored the one we’ve got in store for you.” Remus said cheerily and Sirius winked at his old friend. Remus’s smile straightened out into his best professor face. “Well two of them at least.” It sounded like there was a little bit of disapproval in his voice. Sirius smiled wider.

“So, what are you doing here Profes…I mean Lupin? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Not at all, Harry. I was beginning to think you didn’t care. I’m here as your escort to Diagon Alley. Sirius informs me you were going to meet Mr Weasley and the lovely Miss Granger to collect your school things.” But Harry wasn’t paying attention to Remus any more, he was glaring at Sirius.

“You’re not coming!?”

“Sirius cannot be seen at Diagon Alley Harry…Lord Voldemort and his followers are quite aware of his animagus form and even if Fudge had grudgingly accepted that Voldemort is back, he refuses to believe that Pettigrew is still alive, not after wasting so much of the ministry budget on a dog hunt.” Remus tried to rationalise. Sirius held up his hand to stop his friend, though the glare on his face let Harry know he didn’t fully appreciate his friends pun.

“I know I promised Harry, but an urgent owl came from Dumbledore for me. He requested my presence at once. The only reason I’m still here is so I could see you off.” Sirius’s pale face searched Harry’s for understanding but Harry turned away. He wasn’t angry at Sirius but he knew that there was no matter of urgency that any other order member, Remus included, couldn’t have done just as efficiently as Sirius. Dumbledore was interfering again. He said it was for their protection but to Harry it was just bloody irritating.

“Fine. Remus and I will have fun and don’t think I’m bringing you back anything, fizzing whizbees, practical jokes or butterbeer! And I’ll make sure Remus forgets the firewhiskey! I mean it!” Harry snapped.

“That’s the spirit, Harry!” Remus winked.

Harry rubbed his scar nervously as he watched his godfather grab some floo powder by the kitchen fire. Sirius paused, tiny granules of powder falling between his fingers as he looked at Harry in concern.

“If something happens Harry, I have my mirror. I’ll come as soon as you ask for me.” Harry nodded, knowing he wouldn’t call his godfather. He watched him disappear in a wreath of green flames and then smiled at Remus. He wouldn’t be spending the day with his godfather, but he’d be with a marauder none the less, his favourite defence against the dark arts teacher moreover. He’d also be seeing his two best friends and he’d finally get to visit Fred and George’s new joke shop. The day hadn’t completely rained out yet. He just hoped that his scar prickling just now didn’t mean that he was about to get a fly in his butterbeer.

TBC

[Polar Thestral]

Chapter Three: Blood Is Thicker Than Whine

****

Of hornets and great wasps that buzzed and clung,
Weak pain for weaklings meet, --and where they stung,
Blood from their faces streamed, with sobbing breath,
And all the ground beneath with tears and blood
Was drenched, and crawling in that loathsome mud
There were great worms that drank it.
-- from Dante Alighieri’s Inferno in ‘The Divine Comedy’

****

Harry knew he had probably felt more uncomfortable before. Seeing Cho burst into tears on their first date was pretty disconcerting; having the words ‘I will not tell lies’ engraved in the back of his hand was undoubtedly disturbing; having people automatically look up at his scar instead of into his eyes was as irritating as it was inevitable. All of these occasions had probably been just as bad, maybe worse, than his present one, but that still didn’t stop him from feeling suddenly ill.

Lupin was doing his best to make it seem like it didn’t bother him but Harry knew that the pale and sickly look on his face wasn’t just because it was approaching that telling time of the month. People were staring. Not at Harry, but at Lupin and it certainly wasn’t with awe. More people than usual were staring at him, and with quite open dislike which Harry couldn’t comprehend. Lupin was one of the people he respected most, perhaps even more so than his late father and even Sirius. A frizzy haired witch wearing a terribly loud lilac robe with matching pointy hat ploughed into them from behind, almost knocking Lupin to his feet in her haste.

“HEY! Watch where you’re going…” Harry snapped as he glared after her. Her wrinkled face shrivelled up until her bottom lip was almost brushing against the pointy tip of her nose. Harry tried not to grimace at her facial acrobatics and narrowed his gaze. She mumbled something that sounded like ‘stupid half-breeds’ but he turned his back to her, making sure his former professor was still standing. After all, every time Lupin saw Harry he seemed to be getting weaker.

“Quite a shoulder that one. What do you think, Harry? Was she a beater for the Old Crones? Perhaps the Shrieking Shrews? I hear those old bats pack quite a punch…” Remus smiled and Harry felt his anger ebb slightly. He smirked back up at his father’s old friend.

“If she’s a beater I think she’s been hit in the face by one too many bludgers.” Remus bit his lip to suppress a smile.

“Now, now Harry there’s no need to be unkind. When someone is not as attractive as one would like, it is best to focus on aspects of their personality to objectively compliment them.”

“Oh right so when I called her bludger-face I should have been calling her a bigoted, rude cow?”

“That’s the spirit, Harry.” Remus muttered, Harry laughed as they approached their destination – Flourish and Blotts. “Hmm…oh no…I forgot. We probably should have picked a better day…” Lupin commented with a slight frown.

Harry looked up at what Lupin was reading. A sign was hanging over doors of the busy store reading: ‘BRIGIT GOTTE, SIGNING TODAY!’ A few wizards bumped into them as they clamoured up the steps, gleaming smiles and curious eyes, they attempted to rush into the store but were held back by the crowd bustling inside. Harry could hear their excited murmurs. If this Gotte character was anything like Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry would much prefer to go home and come back tomorrow.

“Uh I’m supposed to be meeting Ron and Hermione at the twins shop, do you think—”

“I’ll meet you back here, Harry, in say, an hour?” Harry agreed and made his way past familiar shops – Ollivanders, Quality Quidditch supplies and Madame Malkins. He smiled as a new and fairly distinct sign came into view.


WEASLEY’S WIZARDING WHEEZES


The messy script was clearly charmed onto the piece of wood – the letters shined in an assortment of colours – red and blue and gold and green and purple and aqua and puce and even orange (though Harry could distinctly remember Fred telling him he detested any colour that was so closely affiliated with his hair, unlike Harry’s best friend Ron). Not only did the sign change colours but it flashed between the name of the store and anagrams of the letters, like: Lizard, Whee, Sleaze, Zing and Swindle. Excitement bubbled inside Harry as he read the excited faces of a half a dozen young faces charge out of the store peaking into their bags and chuckling with mischievous glee. The Weasley twins must be so proud imparting their mischief making genius onto a new generation of trouble makers. Someone had to give Peeves, Hogwarts resident poltergeist, a little competition in the chaos stakes, especially after last year.

The Weasley twins had jumped on their brooms after creating a swamp in a fifth floor corridor. They were caught after fleeing the scene by the toad-like headmistress, Professor Umbridge. Harry scowled at the thought of the woman who had tried to give him a lifetime ban from Quidditch. The twins had shown her – not only did they instil their last days as Hogwarts students with chaos, but their jubilant exit in the face of her oppressing rule had inspired the entire student body to rebel against the impostor until Dumbledore returned. She had caught them during their last prank and threatened to reintroduce whipping just to punish them ‘accordingly’, but they’d summoned their brooms and rode off into Hogwarts legend. Ensuring of course, not only that they’d be talked about forever, but that their new store would have a rather large fan base of consumers to rip off.

As Harry walked inside the store, he grinned. ‘Skiving snack boxes’ were stacked up close to the entrance in preparation for a new school year. A cluster of students stood around the assorted truanting kits with looks of apt concentration on their faces.

“What do you think Hannah…nosebleed nougat or puking pastilles?”

“Stay away from the messy ones, get poxy pills or fainting fancies – that way you don’t ruin your new robes just because Snape is a git.”

“HARRY!” The smile on his face widened as Fred (or George – Harry still couldn’t tell) rushed toward him. “If it isn’t our little financial backer come to make sure his moneys gone to good use!”

“Don’t give him any ideas, Fred,” (‘yes, got it right!’ Harry thought with glee) “he may change his mind about that partnership and want a cut of the profits.”

“Profits?” Harry asked. George looked quite affronted and Fred laughed.

“We are shamelessly flying in the face of Weasley convention, always told our mother we were mavericks, we did. Next thing you know the Malfoy’s will go broke!” George grinned with pleasure at the thought.

“If only…” Harry started and then smiled as another familiar face walked into the shop from some place out the back. “Hey Ro—what’s on your head?” Ron stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Harry’s voice, his face flushed red and one hand moved to touch the ever redder beanie on his head before he quickly snapped it back to his side.

“H-hi there Harry, mate…I thought you would be a little later…” Harry looked curiously at Fred and George at this unexpectedly sour reception. They seemed to be trying valiantly (and rather uncharacteristically) to suppress laughter, though their eyes fixed excitedly on a flushing Ron.

“Did I miss something?”

“NO!” All three of them replied rather quickly.

“Harry, Ron, Fred, George!” An excited voice squealed. Harry recognised the voice straight away and turned with an ever-widening smile on his face.

“Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!” George and Fred squealed in unison, jumping on the balls of their feet as she rushed forward and embraced Harry. Harry laughed as they mocked her and she glared at them over her best friends shoulder.

“Don’t forget you don’t wear your prefect badge in this store Hermione or we’ll be forced to suspend you from the premises!” Fred chided.

“It’s so good to know we can inspire delinquent behaviour without our little friend threatening to give us a detention.” George chorused.

“Or write home to our dear mother…” Fred sniggered, recalling the incident in fifth year that had frightened the twins into good behaviour.

“I tell you what, she was shouting out a different tune when we took those galleons home last week. Being naughty is a profitable venture – you should try it some time, Hermione.” George winked and then walked toward the cash register where Hannah and her friend had decided on fainting fancies with a side of blood blisterpods (just in case they were desperate to get away fast).

“I get into enough trouble without looking for it, thankyou very much,” She called after George, smiling up into the blushing face of the boy somehow responsible for attracting all that ‘trouble’.

“You’re next Ron.” Hermione said before rushing to crush Ron with a very eager hug. His face turned so red it was indistinguishable from his beanie and then her bushy hair had concealed it completely from Harry’s view.

“Hello Hermione…” Ron said and pushed her away after a moment to smile down at her faintly.

“What’s that noise?” Hermione asked looking up at Ron with furrows appearing between her brows. He stepped back abruptly and stared at George with narrow and accusing eyes. Harry didn’t say anything, even though he could have sworn he heard a strangely familiar tune for a second there as well.

“W-what noise? I didn’t hear a noise…” Ron smiled at her. She frowned for a moment and then launched into an account of her Summer in France. The normal platitudes were made, they were glad to be together again and Harry felt a familiar comfort from just being close to friends again.

“So, Hermione dear would you like to try some chocolate?” Hermione looked up to see Fred smiling down at her, his reptilian grin matching the dragon hide on his feet. She glared at him suspiciously and crossed her arms over her chest, making no move for the tempting looking treat. Fred smiled at her and tugged on the lobe of his ear.

CRACK!

Harry couldn’t help but laugh when a halo appeared floating over Fred’s head. Shimmering with the innocence that Hermione believed in about as much as she supported elfish slavery.

“That just convinces me not to try some…”

“I’ll have some, if you want.” Harry said and reached out for a broken piece of chocolate with a little heart embossed on the top. Fred’s eyes widened and he jerked the plate out of Harry’s reach.

“No…that’s ok Harry, it’s not that we don’t appreciate the bravery, but we’re still too grateful toward you to have you growing hair in inconvenient places.”

“Nice to know I’m so appreciated!” Hermione huffed.

“Don’t worry Hermione it could have been worse…much worse.” Ron said gloomily.

“Hey steady on Hermione, you might have looked appealing with a moustache, there’s no need to get snippy.” Fred grinned. Harry was beginning to think Hermione had become the twins’ favourite target to tease now that they weren’t in contact with Filch any more.

“Happy mischief making!” George’s voice could be heard from the front of the store as he passed the two girls a neatly wrapped red parcel. They beamed at him. “Now we want a full report of every successful prank – so feel free to owl, or you can howl us in the unlikely event of failure. We’re particularly dedicated to starting a collection of detention slips to add to our fan-mail.” He gestured up to a board on the wall. Harry followed the gesture and saw to his delight a glowing letter about W.W.W. In fact there were many of them. Like wizarding photos, the letters changed. As soon as you had finished reading one, it was replaced with another. Hannah was about to accept the proffered package but George didn’t let it go immediately, “you don’t suffer from haemophilia or other blood clotting conditions, do you?”

“So Harry,” Ron said drawing him back to the conversation, “how was your first birthday away from the Dursley’s? Did you like my present?”

“Every day away from the Dursley’s has been my birthday. Dumbledore’s still not really happy with me but for some reason Sirius doesn’t seem to mind the disapproval.” Hermione mumbled something but Harry chose to ignore her. “And of course I loved the extendable ears, bloody brilliant invention.” Hermione’s scowl deepened at the mention of another Weasley product but she wisely said nothing. “The sonorous amplifier was a good touch as well but I think it might have been a little heavy for Pig – you’re lucky that owl never seems to run out of energy like Errol did.”

Ron smiled at Harry and laughed, in truth he was hoping the heavy load would tire the hyperactive owl, but unfortunately Pig had flown back to the burrow the very same night even more active than normal because Harry had given him some chocolate for the return journey. Pig had bounced off the walls until Ron held a pillow over the struggling ball of feathers and threatened to make sure it never flapped its irritating little wings again.

“Unfortunately your mum comes to every meeting of the Order so I haven’t been able to use it yet.” Ron frowned and Hermione did as well, her natural curiosity was enough to make even her excuse Harry’s rule breaking behaviour when it came to the Order of the Phoenix. “She’ll slip up eventually though.”

“Don’t count on it, not with Fred and George as her sons…”

“Hey! I heard that!” Fred shouted as he showed a couple of fourth years the brand new line of Dolores Umbridge Curse Katchers (the twins had explained the device to Harry in one of their owls. Apparently it was like a dart board except you practiced aiming curses at the toad-like face of their former headmistress and inquisitor, the louder she screamed the more points the mystical board awarded you. It was apparently really popular with Hogwarts students.) Harry smirked.

“Where is Snuffles?” Hermione asked. Harry sighed.

“Dumbledore owled him on some urgent business…” the bitter tone of his voice told anyone who was listening of his scepticism on that count.

“Maybe he’s trying to convince Sirius to let you stay with the Dursley’s, after all Harry—”

“Lupin came with me,” Harry pointedly ignored her, “I’ve got to meet him at Flourish and Blotts if you want to—”

“I’m not going to be seen dead near that wretched place!” Ron hadn’t spoken. It was Hermione again. Harry blinked. He looked at Ron who was staring back at him just as dumbfounded. As their eyes met, they knew. This wasn’t Hermione. Someone had clearly put her under the imperious curse, it was lucky they found out before they said anything too damaging in front of her.

“Huh?” was all Ron could say.

“But…Hermione…it’s a book store…” Harry was just a little more articulate.

“I don’t care!” Hermione snapped; her face was growing quite red in anger.

Harry and Ron found they had nothing to say. Harry was half inclined to jump in the air and yell excitedly, while the other half of him knew that this wasn’t a good thing. He was glad for an interruption when the twins finally returned to their side grinning with glee.

“I knew it,” Fred smiled, “putting that much pressure on herself she’s bound to crack before sixth year. Pay up George.”

“I’m not cracked—”

“Yeah. She was mental before, if anything she’s normal now! Although it is a pity we won’t be able to get her help with essays anymore…”

“Oh just shut up Ron!” She hissed and crossed her arms over her chest scowling at him. “That wretched woman is there, selling her stupid book if you must know!”

Ron frowned. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” he said as he reached up and scratched at his head beneath the red beanie. For a moment Harry could have sworn he heard muffled noises coming from under his hat. Ron quickly pulled his hand out when he saw Harry looking at him. Fred and George smiled wickedly at each other again.

“What book Hermione?” Ron said, studiously looking away from his friend.

“Brigit Gotte’s stupid little book! I read about her book signing in the Daily Prophet, she’s written complete trash that has been at the top of the Daily Prophet best seller list for seven weeks, can you believe it?! It’s preposterous! Even now that he who must not be named has been exposed…I thought people would turn against that sort of bigotry, not seek it out in droves!”

“It’s a book…not a political rally…” Harry tried to soothe her.

“It’s called ‘The struggle of Wizarding Lineage: Pureblood pride and muggle whine’ – she is basically trying to use muggle science to prove their genetic inferiority!” Ron blinked, not having understood any of what she had just said.

Harry understood a little better from living in the muggle world until he was fifteen years old. She stamped her foot in agitation and though Harry sympathised and even agreed somewhat, he was still beginning to have flashbacks of SPEW. He was imagining Colin Creevey and Justin Finch-Fletchley being shoved by Hermione into a picket line. She was marching them up and down Diagon alley in his head, screaming: ‘don’t listen to that devil spawn, equal rights for muggle born’.

“…She’s a despicable woman trying to stir up hatred for muggleborns and muggles alike, as if there wasn’t enough bigotry as it is!” She looked between them and Harry felt decidedly uncomfortable, knowing that she wanted them to be as passionate about this latest upset as she was. But Harry found he had too many other more important things on his mind.

“Do you want me to get your books for you?” He offered the conciliatory gesture with a boyish grin as he adjusted his glasses. Hermione opened her mouth and Harry stepped back, thinking she was going to yell at him for his inconsiderate attempt to distract her, but instead she just sighed heavily and nodded.

**

“Where did he say to meet him?” Ron didn’t bother standing on his toes. He hadn’t stopped growing since the second year and now was at least a foot taller than Harry (and most of the people in Flourish and Blotts). Harry shrugged his shoulders as Ron scanned the excited masses, the crowd didn’t seem to be thinning.

“All this nonsense the critics have been saying about reinforcing old hatreds with unfamiliar and confusing methods is a load of pig-posh if you ask me,” a witch close to them was screeching in her most superior tone, “it’s got nothing to do with all that you-know-who stuff, everyone knows there are differences, naturally – hatred doesn’t even come into it!” She stepped closer to her friend, “although I must admit I’m glad a ministry witch finally found the sense to point out certain natural…inferiorities.” The witch flicked her brown hair over her shoulder with a tinkling little laugh that made Harry want to smack her on the head for making his scar pulse in irritation.

“Harry…” Ron nudged him in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry…did you say something?”

“Let’s just get our books, he’s probably gone to do something, he’ll be back.” Harry nodded and pulled out their class list.

He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or merely accidental but they had both always chosen the same classes. Now they were studying to be Aurors – the only job Harry thought he’d be good at and the only job Ron found interesting (perhaps through association). He was glad not to be doing divination anymore and was even more pleased that he’d received an Outstanding O.W.L for Defence Against the Dark Arts and thus was able to participate in the advanced class (which had extra lessons of ministry level training). The only class he wasn’t really looking forward to was Potions. His loathing for Snape had only increased, despite the sympathy he’d felt after seeing how his own father had mistreated the slimy git when they attended Hogwarts. If there was one good thing about returning to those dreary dungeons to freeze in the icy dwellings of snakes and bristle under even icier glares it was to rub his potions O.W.L in the potion masters rather long nose. Harry wasn’t sure how his ‘Exceeds Expectations’ allowed him to take Potions when Professor McGonagall had assured him that Snape never accepted a mark beneath Outstanding. Probably Dumbledore interfering again. Harry, strangely enough, didn’t feel grateful for the gesture even if it meant he could smirk as he sauntered into the class Snape had basically promised he would never be sitting in again.

Lost in his thoughts he only vaguely registered Ron tearing his own book list in half. He held out one half for Harry saying, “We can wait for Lupin out the front, this makes it faster. Don’t forget we’re buying for Hermione as well, I’ve got her list it shouldn’t take me too much longer to pick up the extra books.” At the thought of Hermione, Harry rushed to collect the textbooks; who knows what Fred and George were testing on her while her two friends were absent?

When Harry had collected the books and paid for them (grateful for the weightless and minimalising spells that Flourish and Blotts shopping bags had on them) he waited for Ron, who looked a little flustered as he bumped through the crowd. It was hard to ignore the temptation to acknowledge that a book signing was occurring around him, after all, Harry Potter was nothing if not naturally curious. He restrained himself however when he pictured Hermione’s angry face. Brilliant and Scary was how Ron liked to describe her and Harry was disposed to agree. To keep his eyes away he started scanning books that weren’t necessary for him to buy. Probably a first for Harry, without the added motivation of Hermione dragging him along that is.

From Gilderoy Lockhart’s book on wizarding grooming for the mentally challenged, to Fascinating Flobberworms – Harry wasn’t particularly moved to buy anything until…

A smile spread across his face as he looked over the various titles on the topic. He could picture the many faces of Dumbledore’s Army gleaming up at him as he flicked through those pages. He felt the rush of the forbidden stroking up his back and tried to bite the massive grin on his face back. He felt Hermione possess his body and his heart palpitated so strongly with the excitement for knowledge that he could have been soaring around a Quidditch Pitch with the snitch fluttering about before his outstretched hand. His hand was stretching out, ready to pick up the book of interest—

“Well, well, well…this is the last place I expected to find you!” The venomous voice was positively gleeful. Harry went to turn around in alarm when a hand shoved his shoulder, pressing him into a wall.

FLASH!

Harry blinked as he was rendered momentarily blind. He rubbed his fingers under his glasses, adjusted them and looked up with displeasure as the victorious smirk on the face of the person before him. She had glasses, red hair and an unpleasant but attentive look about her that he remembered only too well. He found himself longing for Hermione again, to wave that little glass cylinder in this woman’s face and watch her turn pale. Rita Skeeter. He finally registered that she was laughing softly with the man beside her, a cameraman – which explained the flash. Fear clutched at Harry and he turned around. In horror he saw a giant poster of a pretty black haired witch, the name Brigit Gotte flashing with an equally bright ‘applause’ rising up the wall behind him. He would never underestimate the ability of this woman to twist the truth to suit her own needs. Oh Hermione where are you…

“What brings you here on this fine day, Mr Potter?” Skeeter flashed him a saccharine smile that made Harry glower. The cameraman laughed, his teeth were so pointed they could have been a crocodiles; he certainly had the wide, crooked grin to match. His dull eyes pinned Harry with crude expectations that Harry was positive he didn’t want to know about.

“I’m here for my books.” Harry looked around impatiently for a sign of Lupin or Ron. It was unlike both of them to just disappear, especially Ron.

“Yes, I find it very interesting that you would share the views of the pureblood lineages over the place of muggleborns in our community, or is this change of heart sprung from the heartache you experienced because of a certain spirited muggleborn witch?” Rita Skeeter’s eyes flashed. He knew she was perfectly aware that Hermione had never been his girlfriend.

“I just told you I’m getting books for Hogwarts, but I wouldn’t expect someone like you to pay attention to reality when fictions seem to amuse you so much more.” She smiled at him and Harry’s stomach lurched in a far from pleasant manner. She ignored any part of Harry’s sarcasm that should have been construed as vitriolic.

“Of course dear, because you’ve been so dedicated to your studies in the past, it’s funny I thought the Hogwarts books were found over there.” She gestured to the academic section of the store which had been set up so students could find their texts easily. She had a victorious glimmer in her eyes again.

Well Harry had no choice but to wipe the smug look off her face. He stepped toward her and was pleased when she didn’t back away from him straight away. Reaching past her he picked up one of the books that had caught his interest and made sure she saw the title.

“What can I say, I felt like a little light reading…who knows when these books could be of…assistance in the future.” Harry’s eyes were shining with malicious victory as he watched her face pale slightly; she swallowed and then smiled at the cameraman as if nothing was wrong.

“Is she bothering you Harry?” A voice growled over his shoulder and Harry grinned with recognition, he laughed a little.

“Well, I see you were waiting for your companion, I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” With that she turned, her head held high with dignity, dragging a very disappointed crocodile behind her – he’d smelled blood and been denied.

“Well what was all that about?” Ron asked as Harry turned to him and winked.

“What does that woman do whenever she gets around me and my stupid scar?”

“Ah…should we be expecting your ugly mug on the cover of the Daily Prophet again? Perhaps detailing your passionate affair with Loony Lovegood?” Ron smirked.

Harry shook his head and slammed the book he was holding into Ron’s chest. Ron turned it up to his face in interest and smiled as he read, ‘How to spot an animagus by Aspec Tuckle.’ He laughed with Harry and looked in the direction she had walked hoping to catch her looking fearfully at them with her beetle-like eyes just so he could wave smugly.

“Ah, there you are Harry and Mr Weasley too, pleasure to see you again Ron.” Professor Lupin breathed, his forehead was quite sweaty and he was clutching a book to his chest as he looked at the crowd from which he must have emerged. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Hello Professor Lupin,” Ron smiled and handed the animagi book back to Harry. Lupin’s eyes followed and also narrowed.

“Well, I dare say, Miss Granger is waiting for you both somewhere, if you’d like to lead the way Mr Weasley.” Lupin smiled with friendly ease and Ron didn’t complain as he pushed through the crowd. Lupin held a hand to Harry’s chest and stopped him from following directly. “We can blame it on the crowd, I want to talk to you…” Harry knew what was coming and wished again that it had been Sirius at his side. Sirius would never caution Harry about daring to extend his abilities. He knew Lupin was about to do just that, so to prevent the lecture Harry shoved the book back on to its stand and made after Ron slowly. If Lupin was surprised it didn’t register on his face, but he followed Harry, keeping pace.

“You didn’t actually buy one of those books did you?” Harry snapped in irritation.

Lupin looked at the large tome in his hands and flushed a little. “I did Harry,” he stopped anything that Harry was about to say by continuing calmly, “it’s a very interesting theory and it’s always good to understand what the enemy is using as propaganda, no matter if that was the original intention of the work or not.” Lupin sighed. “Don’t lay judgements on a person you’ve never met and a book you have never read. It’s a foolish thing to do, to judge anything on the testimony of others. Don’t dismiss something until you understand it completely.” The patronage of the words was completely disarmed by Lupin’s generous and warm smile.

Harry would never doubt a word of what Hermione said, even if she could be an irritating and domineering know-it-all, the fact that she knew so much made Harry value her opinion above the opinions of many. After all, if he hadn’t listened to her about contacting Sirius, he might have rushed to the Department of Mysteries a few months ago. Who knows what would have happened had he been foolish enough to do so. Harry knew Hermione would have read the book already and that was enough for him no matter what Lupin said.

As they emerged into Diagon Alley again, he could see Ron walking toward a very disgruntled looking Hermione. She had her head in her hands, drawing them over her face, saying something to him. Ron’s face flushed red and he turned around looking for something. Harry began to walk toward them in curiosity when a book was slammed softly into his chest.

Harry looked down and let Brigit Gotte’s book fall into his hands, he opened the cover and smiled at the neat writing over the first page. “Does understanding propaganda include the study of signatures and the symbolic meaning of little kisses and hugs?” Lupin snatched the book back as he flushed and slammed it closed.

“Sirius and I went to Hogwarts with Brigit,” he said shakily after a moments recovery, “she was a year above us. Ravenclaw I think, nice enough girl and it’s a very interesting theory even if it’s a little overdone.” Harry scoffed, so Lupin continued, “it’s not all about muggles. It’s not all about racism and hereditary conditions…” His voice trailed off to a mutter and he looked over to where Ron was now being restrained by Hermione. Harry wanted to run over there and demand an explanation. Before he could launch himself down the steps of Flourish and Blotts, Lupin stopped him again, Harry actually groaned.

“What is it? Something’s happening with Hermione and Ron…”

“Yes, I can see that, Harry, but there’s something I must tell you that is important and I want you to listen to me. Sirius is a good man, but he often gets his priorities confused with his desire for amusement.” Harry didn’t immediately defend Sirius because he knew how much the two men respected and loved each other, so Remus must have been saying this for a specific reason. “You are not your father and you do not need to feel that you have to fill a void in Sirius’ life just as he cannot fill the void in yours. It’s best not to seek out trouble at a time like this, when trouble has a habit of finding you all on its own. I’d hate to think you added any more concerns about your safety to the Order, especially when such concerns may be avoided by utilising your very good judgement Harry.”

Remus sighed, his hand reluctantly squeezed Harry’s shoulder and he looked away from Harry’s eyes before walking away. Harry didn’t know what to feel – he felt his pride rattling a cage that the Order had tried to enclose him in ever since Voldemort came back to power; he felt amused that Remus could lecture him so effectively without mentioning the word ‘animagi’; he felt a desire to prove to the man who taught him his most effective defensive magic that he could do whatever his father had done just as well.

“Now what seems to be the problem here?” Lupin’s warm voice distracted Hermione as she looked up in surprise. Ron used her distraction to his advantage and broke free.

“Come on, Harry!” Harry took off after him without being asked twice and he vaguely heard Hermione saying ‘Oh no’ behind him. Ron was running toward the Leaky Cauldron and Harry almost grabbed the back of his cloak to ask him what he was upset about but they fell through the doors of the pub before he could close his hand around the flapping material. Breathing heavily Ron looked around. Harry noted with amusement that his hands were clasped over the red beanie on his head, quite desperately. He paused in his survey of the room and his jaw clenched. Harry followed his line of sight and felt his own jaw grinding his teeth together. He didn’t need to know what had happened, the sight of the smug grin striding out of a booth to meet him was enough to make his violent urges all but overwhelm his common sense.

The doors to the Leaky Cauldron flew open behind them. Lupin and Hermione burst in, breathing heavily but Ron and Harry didn’t stop glaring at the silver haired boy in front of them.

“Don’t! He’s not worth it!” Hermione gasped out between breaths.

“Still alive there Potter, I see…” Draco Malfoy was now only a few feet from them, Harry’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t back away. “I wouldn’t count on staying in that unfortunate condition for too much longer.”

“Six years and nothing has changed, Malfoy. You must be mental not to register how little you scare me.” Harry said with as much malice as his counterpart.

“Come to defend the honour of your little mudblood girlfriend?” Ron made a sudden vicious stab at the air with his fist and Malfoy stepped back laughing at him as Lupin grabbed the back of Ron’s cloak effectively restraining him. Ron gagged, his face went red and he stopped struggling immediately.

“I see you’re here with your delightful mother, Mr Malfoy, perhaps you should return to her. She seems impatient for your company.” Lupin said as pleasantly as he could in a last attempt to diffuse the tension. Everyone but Draco and Harry looked to the elegant woman sitting in the booth Draco had vacated. In actual fact she was surveying her own reflection in a tiny compact mirror which was whistling at her in overzealous appreciation of her beauty. Hermione looked confused and Harry rolled his eyes. Narcissa indeed. Draco and Ron continued to glare at each other even as Draco replied to his former professor.

“She is impatient for you to be removed from her sight…professor.” Malfoy enunciated the last word the same way he said ‘the famous Harry Potter.’ Remus smiled faintly at him and Harry wondered at the man’s self restraint. That tone made Harry want to crack Malfoy’s skull (then again it didn’t take much with that pointy little face scowling at him). “I’m surprised you can even stand the humiliation to be seen in public with those rags on…you give the term ‘mangy’ a whole new depth of meaning.”

Ron made a growling noise but Lupin’s hand hadn’t abandoned his cloak and he wasn’t stupid enough to choke himself just to hit the ruddy bastard. Yet.

“Then again,” Draco continued in the same condescending drawl, “you are better than some…” His dagger-sharp blue eyes flicked to Hermione’s flushed face, his lip curling in disgust, “did you like my present Granger? You must have, why else would your little friends come bounding in here? Jealous were they? It’s Ok Ronald, dogs may titillate your fantasies but her kind’s never been present in mine.” Ron seemed lost for words and instead he could only splutter a string of curses and gibberish as he tried to crane his head around and slap Lupin’s hand away. Hermione’s chin tilted and her eyes darkened with hate.

“Three hundred pages of kindling for my fire – very much appreciated Malfoy.”

“Three hundred pages of reasons why you’re not worth the dust I walk on!” Draco sneered and Hermione glared harder.

“No, she’s not worth the dust on your feet – she’s worth ten times your whole ruddy family!” Ron roared and Draco merely laughed at him.

“Careful there Weasley when discussing things of financial value, I know how unfamiliar you are with the concept of money.” Malfoy hadn’t even smiled smugly at his well aimed diatribe when his face suddenly distorted in pain and he made a convulsive grab for his left arm. It stifled whatever retort had been in Ron’s throat, as four pairs of eyes narrowed on Malfoy’s arm in suspicion. Malfoy straightened himself. His face became pale for a moment and Harry knew he must have become aware of what he’d just revealed to them. He looked to his left and right – but he didn’t find his bumbling bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle, Harry’s eyes glinted with a mad desire to crush his enemy into the ground.

“Following in your fathers footsteps are you, Malfoy?” Harry couldn’t resist. Draco made a jerking motion for a moment as if he’d been about to launch himself at Harry but thought better of it. Harry smiled. “How is dear old dad? I bet you’re glad the dementors are working for your boss now, your father wouldn’t have lasted a week with them, he’s probably mumbling to himself already as it is.” Malfoy’s bottom lip was trembling, a vein was throbbing at the top of his head. Harry had never seen him look so ugly, or so mad, he’d never before left Draco speechless and felt a little sick at the thought of saying something so horrible that it could have such an effect.

“I can’t wait for you to follow in the footsteps of your own father, Potter. At least my father’s still alive,” Draco spoke with a quiet precision after a lengthy pause, “your father was so pathetic his own friends killed him just to be rid of his ugly face!” Harry wasn’t sure who moved first, all he knew was that Ron was suddenly free and flying through the air, Harry reached for his wand while Draco tried to draw his own. Remus had even drawn his wand before stopping himself and tucking it back into the sleeves of his robe. Ron tackled him to the ground and collective gasps went about the Leaky Cauldron as all eyes were drawn to the weekly scuffle between a Malfoy and a Weasley.

“Get off him, Ron!” Harry roared, trying to aim his wand at Malfoy’s ugly mug. Lupin grabbed his wrist and shook his head, hissing that he was forbidden to do magic outside of Hogwarts, then he reached forward and pulled a struggling Ron off an equally enthusiastic Malfoy. As Ron was heaved backwards, Malfoy saw his opportunity and punched Ron across the jaw. The impact made Lupin collapse backwards with Ron on top of him, and Ron’s red beanie finally came loose.

A whooshing sound came from Ron’s scalp and a blinding red flash engulfed the room for a moment. Malfoy gave a startled and high pitched yelp, fearful that Ron had sent a curse toward him before he realised something very odd was happening and gaped at Weasley’s unusually bright red hair. Harry and Hermione were likewise staring while Lupin pushed Ron aside and rolled away. He too, started to stare quite openly when he regained his footing.

“Oh, kill me…” Ron muttered softly and moved to collect his beanie quickly before…Draco snatched it from his hand and threw it across the floor, watching with malicious pleasure as Ron’s hair began to stand on end.

“Ron?” Harry said. His red hair was standing straight up in the air, appearing more like fire then it did normally. Then as if it had been merely stretching in preparation for the real performance, his hair began to sway from side to side like a red wave, the colour suffused into Ron’s cheeks and a collection of high pitched voices began to sing. Harry and Hermione let out startled yells as a few snake heads appeared amongst his hair, it seemed that they were responsible for the voices:


“I feel pretty
oh so pretty
I feel pretty and witty and gay--"


Ron bound across the floor and grabbed the beanie trying to haul it onto his head as the voices rose louder and louder and stiffened in rejection of the hat that had kept their voices muted all day. Laughter erupted all about the room, but none laughed as loud as Malfoy from his position on the floor. He didn’t bother standing up and Harry had the unnerving impression that if he had stood up, he would have fallen back down with mirthful convulsions from the torrent of glee he was experiencing at the expense of Ron’s pride. The twins had done it now. Harry looked at Lupin and Hermione as Ron ran from the Leaky Cauldron back into Diagon Alley. The song continued even as he ran, his hair stretched backwards as if reaching toward the biggest audience it could find despite Ron’s desire to find a place of solitude.

“Serenading suckers?” Was Lupin’s only comment before Harry darted out after his friend, trying to ignore the fact that all of the patrons in the Leaky Cauldron had unwittingly taken Draco Malfoy’s side in their laughter.

**

Harry was in a bad mood by the time he got back to the head quarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Those feelings became even fouler when he saw two large eyes shining from beside the staircase, madly. He hated Kreacher. That horrible little house elf almost succeeded in sending him to certain doom at the Ministry of Magic last year. Who knows what would have happened if Harry hadn’t thought to open the package that Sirius had given him at the last minute. He’d been plotting how best to dispose of the elf with Sirius over the break, they couldn’t give him clothes because he knew too much about the Order. But Hermione had been scandalised when she heard and had become Kreacher’s protector (even from a distance), no matter how many times the ugly little thing called her ‘a mudblood befouling the house of Black’. In the end Sirius had ordered Kreacher to not move an inch from the Black house and Kreacher had obeyed (Harry was almost one hundred percent sure).

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry asked impatiently.

“The master has retired…” Kreacher said with the vaguest hint of a bow, before he muttered in quite a loud voice, “why does it talk to Kreacher? Horrible boy, Kreacher hopes he falls down and hurts his nosy head, Kreacher does.”

“That’s nice, Kreacher,” Harry said conversationally as he jogged up the stairs toward Sirius’ room. He knocked on the door. There was no response. Harry could hear Buckbeak scratching around the room across the hall so he leant closer, pressed his ear to Sirius’ door and knocked again. Silence. “Sirius?” He opened the door a crack. The room was in darkness and Harry felt the urge to say ‘lumos’ but quickly squashed it, he longed for next year when he would be an adult wizard and finally understood why the twins went spell happy when they achieved their full wizard licences.

Harry opened the door wider. The dying sunlight that managed to creep through the restrictive venetians revealed Sirius’ neatly made bed. Sirius’ leather recliner was facing the window, it wasn’t moving and seemed to be unoccupied, an ominous silence tickled Harry’s ears to full alert as he took one step into his godfather’s room. He made a startled noise when the crackle of breaking china sounded like a thunderclap beneath his foot. He jerked his foot back and looked down at the vase shattered near the door, there appeared to be several other delicate treasures laying in pieces by the doorway. Harry was truly worried now, what if his godfather had been taken by Death Eaters? What if they’d found a way to track down the headquarters of the Order? He knew it was ridiculous even as he thought it, Dumbledore was the secret keeper of the location and he would never tell anyone unless he had the upmost faith in them but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding or his hand from shaking as he pulled his wand from within his robes.

“SIRIUS!” He bellowed, fully expecting silence to greet his plea. Instead the chair by the window rotated until it was facing Harry in the dim lighting. Harry could vaguely make out a figure. He was slumped back into the cushiony surface of the upright recliner. The sunlight that bled through the venetians made the roots of his hair shine with whisps of gold, while his face became a dark inscrutable shadow. Harry took a breath but the fear didn’t retreat as he tiptoed over the crunching china and stood just inside the room. He felt the biggest urge to say ‘why didn’t you answer me when I called you?’ but thought he’d sound like a selfish little pillock so he just shifted on his feet trying to think of something else.

“What did Dumbledore say?” The chair gave a slight squeak, then silence. “You don’t have to tell me I guess but I just want you to know that if he told you to send me back to the Dursley’s again…that’s the last thing I’m going to do and it’s not his decision it’s ours.” Sirius leant forward in the chair and gazed at Harry, Harry still couldn’t make out the expression on his face.

“Dumbledore would never force you to do anything, Harry, above all things he supports a person’s right to make their own choices.” Sirius chuckled very darkly indeed, “Even if he intentionally withholds vital information frequently, the knowing of which could prevent disastrous consequences.” Harry was a little startled by the bitter response from a man who usually esteemed Dumbledore enough to smother his temper under the much heavier weight of respect and admiration. Harry found he couldn’t say anything, the need to know what Dumbledore had told him was almost burning the back of his skull.

After a long pause, Harry went to walk closer to Sirius – to comfort him – to talk to him – to see the expression on his face that he was hiding in the shadow…but Sirius leant back in his chair automatically. He spoke in a strained whisper, “I’m tired Harry, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Before Harry could say anything else the recliner had pivoted again and Harry was left staring at the back of his godfather’s chair.

**

Picture this. Open your mind.

The boys eyes are a looking glass. Now come closer, lean down and understand how to remember the long forgotten. Time has made that looking glass fractured. It bounces, so as you look through the images are not only blurred but moving up and down in a sickening swirl of colour. Unfocused.

You can see a hand stretching out clumsily as the images rush past you. Finely manicured, tiny fingers, pale skin. He stumbles, the ground rushes up toward you. Darkness for a moment then light starts to appear in blinding little stars. Disorientated lids open. For a moment you don’t feel so motion sick because he is shocked out of delirium. The ground is a stone grey colour filled with dirt, cracked and obviously old. Darkness again as his lids close and though you don’t sense his movement, when they open you see two cherub hands push against heavy looking doors, ignoring the gold trimmed handles shaped like a snake with its underbelly puffed out toward you. He finally manages to open one and for a moment all you can see is finely polished red wood as he squeezes through the tiny gap he’s made.

Not a stone floor inside but smooth tile. Indistinguishable colours are blurred peripherally but even though you’re curious about this cold place, the looking glass disappoints you. He’s rushing, the feet that fly beneath his sight are wearing tiny black boots – dark smears across an otherwise grey picture. A staircase, green carpet, smudged pictures on the landing up above. Opaque figures seem to move on the canvas but you cannot see their faces. Perhaps they aren’t even there, just a peripheral hallucination that he has injected into his memory through his desperation. Perhaps desperation can not be observed, but you can certainly hear it…

Listen closely.

The harsh breathing is irritating for its coming from lips beneath the eyes you’re looking out of, in a face that you’ve never seen. He’s crying, but not in pain, he’s crying a name. If you block out the swirls of colour that are making you motion sick you can almost hear it, like a whisper beneath overwhelming static. It starts with M but is otherwise indistinguishable amongst the frightened shrieks, the panting and the sobs.

In a sudden jolting movement of clarity the vision you are seeing clears. He’s stopped moving. You can see a banister, stretching up one more flight of stairs to the second floor, the green carpet beckoning you closer for a look. He’s reluctant you can tell because you can see his hand on the banister now, clutching tight until his knuckles are white and the pads of is fingers are blue-red. As if knowing the method you used to try and decipher his cries, he closes his eyes and now you can’t see a thing.

Listen instead.

“No! PLLLEASSSSE! DON’T…no...Den...! DEN STAY AWAY!!” A woman screams.

Eyes snap open but you can’t see a thing. The paintings beside you are a streak of colour. There are no footsteps. You are flying through sensations and not absorbing any of them. On the landing you turn abruptly, following a sound that has already died. A door stands clearly amongst the distorted images, it’s flying towards you as you move closer. Faster. Faster. Just behind it. Heart pounding. A little closer. Tiny cherub hands reach out and –

“ARGHH!!” Michael lurched out of bed, hitting the ground with a resonating thud. His body was covered in sweat, a grey T-shirt clinging unpleasantly to his skin and he knew he had sweat patches under his arms and a telling V down the back of his spine. He was breathing heavy and he wondered why. It had only been a dream, he hadn’t exerted himself. Pulling himself abruptly to his feet he perched on the side of his bed with his head in his hands, felt a cool stickiness over warm skin and struggled to recall any details. Nothing. He found it very hard to recall dreams but tonight he at least could excuse his amnesia because he couldn’t stop thinking about the pulsing pain in his temples. This headache must have woken him up. He rubbed his fingers in slow circles across his temples until the pain abated a little.

His jacket was lying in a crumpled brown heap on the ground beside his feet. He picked it up quickly, shoving his arms into his sleeves. Disjointed bursts of snoring and wheezing could be heard through the thin linoleum door of this closet space but Michael wasn’t listening. He congratulated himself on not owning pyjamas. Sleeping in your jeans was much more convenient when you did this often. He disappeared out of the window with a rather loud thud.

**

“Ouch….shit…” He swore and then clamped his lips shut in a thin line. A stinging sensation swept over his skin. He looked down at his left arm and frowned, rubbing the thin scratch slashed in dribbling red across his under arm. When did this bush get so damn big and grabby? Michael thought as he tried to avoid molestation from the wooden beast. “Max…” The room just beyond the last branch, above the dilapidated flower bed that he had long since destroyed with his work boots, was in total darkness. “Psst…”

He contemplated throwing a rock at the glass but immediately stepped on the idea. He didn’t want Max to get the wrong impression about any urges motivating this meeting. Plus, he wasn’t known for his physical restraint – he could hear the glass breaking in his head as he stared down at his feet. It was freezing and since when was Max a heavy sleeper? A shiver curled menacingly down his back. He stiffened and even realising how much of a cliché it would be, he could feel the hairs on his neck prickling to a stand. A twig snapped and Michael wasn’t entirely sure he had done it. He was just about to turn and look behind him when the window in front of him swung open.

Max’s eyes were glazed, his hair seemed to have shifted to sit disproportionately on the left side of his head, his face pale features were twisted into a sulking pout. He didn’t say anything.

“I couldn’t sleep…” Now Michael felt completely stupid, but then again, he usually did whenever he came here. That didn’t stop him from needing something out of this, whatever it was. Max grunted and stepped back, falling back on to his bed ungracefully. He made a couple more fatigued noises and didn’t bother saying anything else. Michael climbed in after Max and finally turned around to look behind him.

Nothing. He sighed and ran a hand through his tussled hair. Paranoia. The shiver was still curling up his back, but it was spreading like a horrible and seductive hand around his abdomen. He tried to ignore it. Michael closed the window and wrapped his arms around himself, he felt choked down by something and wondered again what his dream might have been about to put him in this state. Perhaps it was just one of those days when he wanted to punch his hand through a glass window just to see the blood spurt from damaged arteries. Just to see if Max would heal him like he’d healed Liz. Just to know if he mattered that much to his friends as well. He could almost hear his foster fathers voice demeaning him in his head as another shiver raced down his back. Perhaps it was just a cold night and cold nights make you remember all the bad things when there’s no warmth left to cling to.

“Max…do you…I don’t know…feel that?” He almost blushed at the stupidity of the statement, but he knew his features would give nothing away. Max grunted a barely discernable ‘goodnight’ before there was silence. Michael sighed. He was being silly, whatever he was feeling was probably brought on by the cold, he’d just curl up, go to sleep and forget. But as he sat down, for the first time in a long time, the presence of his best friend didn’t calm his anxiousness and he lay awake, his eyes wide and wondering. Wondering why he felt like he would never be happy again…

TBC


[/img]

[Polar Thestral]

Asabetha: I didn't actually consider doing that. Harry's way too stubborn and I don't think Dumbledore would want to send him so far away - it bears thought though.

Kittens: Thanks, this is the first time I've ever written anything slightly CC so here's hoping it goes well....

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A/N: The Chapter heading roughly means ‘shadows from light’. Ask if you have questions. I’m so happy the real story is starting now! Woohoo. Also, Roswell fans might notice that the year on the photo has changed, yes this is important, no I'm not telling you why...*winks*

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CHAPTER FOUR: Ombres de lumière


Journal appertenir á Draco Malfoy

Page 24, Task Three

D.Malfoy & B.Shadowhawke Vs. V.Crabbe & G.Goyle

5 July, 1989
Malfoy Manor, Dragon:
HA! Twats will neva top this! Nicked fathers dagga for last dare. You lose! We’re blood brothas now and nothing can beat us! HA HA HA! You r so dum, can’t wait til u come to the manor so we can murder u again! HA HA HA HA HA! NA!

6 July, 1989
Goyle House, Gargoyle:
U r too little, we’ll pound u muggle breath! Hope your daddy catchis u! So ther!

6 July, 1989
Malfoy Manor, Hawke:
We can read each others thoughts and stuff now it’s wicked, no way you can beat us – we’ll dual and see! Too bad we can’t use wands – could take mums tho, that’d show you! She neva liked you, cos you’re nasty and ugly and stoopid. Seeya next week losers!

9 July, 1989
Berkshire, Giant:
O yeah wel shut up!

….

….

….

Page 194, n/a

August 1st, 1998
Malfoy Manor:
It happened again. Left arm stung at lunch. No visible wound. I don’t care if mother says the aurors killed that murderous traitor -- he’s alive, I know it. Somehow he’s alive damn it.

August 1st, 1998
Goyle House, Gargoyle:
Woo? Wat? Y r u sending this to me neway? I thort you sad it was dum.

August 5th, 1998
Malfoy Manor:
Reminiscing…Never mind, don’t ask stupid questions, I was just thinking you dolt, which is clearly a past time you know little about. Please don’t try and participate you might strain something.

August 5th, 1998
Goyle House, Gargoyle:
Soree mate.

**

Roswell, New Mexico, August 8th, 1998

The more Michael Guerin saw Liz Parker the more restless he became. She had said something to Max about a silver handprint and a corpse from 1989. That meant there were more of them. All this time they’d thought they were alone, that their families had died in the crash, or worse, they’d been murdered. But the crash was in 1947 and if there’d been a murder (probably in self defence no matter what Isabel said!) in 1989 it meant that at least one of their relatives had survived the crash, maybe they weren't the only aliens who hybernated. Maybe it was their parents. He knew it was a long shot and perhaps he was delluding himself, afterall the ship had crashed forty years before that man had been killed. His longing for answers made the most ephemeral piece of evidence feel like a grail of truth. It didn't matter how slim the chance was in Michael's eyes, it was still a chance.

Michael’s body was pumping with energy. Usually he was restless and anxious when he tried to sleep because his foster father Hank made his life hell, but he found himself floundering for a different reason than he had been a week before. It was not despair, or worry, or fear…it was hope.

That’s how Michael found himself at Max Evans’ window again.

As Michael pushed open the double doors of the window a torch light suddenly blazed in his eyes and another body charged forward out of the light—

“NO, NO, NO—” he shouted and the charging body paused, wooden bat still poised in the air, “don’t hit me.” The torch light was lowered a second later and the bat fell to the floor. Michael was breathing heavily, watching the silhouette of his best friend walk across the room and switch his bedside lamp on.

“Argument with, Hank?” He didn’t stop moving as he grabbed the familiar sleeping bag and threw it at Michael before collapsing back onto his bed.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Max waited for Michael to try his best to sleep now that he’d come all the way across town for it. Michael remained sitting where he was, watching his friend with an expression of hawklike alertness and desperation.

“Hey, I was sleeping.” Max grumbled, knowing that if Michael was determined it wouldn’t matter how tired he was. And Michael had been very determined recently, especially since Max had undergone his own reckless behaviour in saving someone else’s life. It was almost as if Michael saw this as an opportunity to go as out of control as he liked.

“Amazing,” he drawled.

“What’s amazing?”

“That you can sleep when the key to our entire existence is out there.” Michael insisted, the pure honesty and longing in his eyes exasperated Max more than it inspired him.

“Michael—”

“Max, listen…that picture Valenti showed Liz in his office means there’s someone else out there – someone who was here in 1989 – that means he could have been here when it crashed. Or...at least that we're not alone. He knows where we came from, he knows who we are, he knows why we’re here…maybe he knows how we get back—” The hope in his voice was too much.

“Michael I know how you feel…” the look on Michael’s face was best described as sardonic, it was clear he didn’t believe Max’s conjecture at all, “believe me…I want to know too. But the Sheriff has that picture so we’ll never see it.” Michael didn’t respond. His jaw tightened and his eyes had a peculiar hard look about them – Max was familiar with his friend’s ability to pull shutters down over his emotions, it had always unsettled him. “I mean that would be impossible…right?” The silence persisted, Michael was sitting unusually still as he stared at the wall above Max’s head. Max licked his lips, a familiar feeling of anxiety popping uncomfortably some place near his ribs. “Michael?”

**

London, South England, August 8th, 1998

When Sirius had exited his room two days later, Harry had expected him to be surly (possibly drunk), angry and probably smelling a little funky. But his godfather emerged in one of the brightest moods Harry had ever witnessed him with, his smile was so spontaneous and full of laughter that Harry thought he’d tripped into a pensieve and was witnessing Sirius as he’d been prior to Azkaban. He’d been too scared of destroying this wonderful, world-loving humour Sirius had encountered, so for the first couple of days he’d said nothing about the strange comments Sirius had made. When curiosity finally got the better of Harry, he’d received only this reply, ‘you should have brought me back a butter beer, I was most disappointed’ and a wide, toothy grin. He’d been standing so close to him though that Harry noticed something he’d been fool enough to miss all week. Sirius’s eyes held warning and darkness, they were even more haunted than they were on an ordinary occasion and his Godfather turned away from close scrutiny so quickly that Harry was sure he didn’t want that pain to be seen by anyone.

But why??

Harry had tried again but Sirius had merely talked over him. He first declared that the house was much too empty now that the Weasley residence had been fitted with further wards (‘why last year we could scarcely move there was that many people running about the place. At least when I stepped on Kreacher then, I could say it was an accident…he is a small bugger after all!’), then he basically demanded that Harry owl Ron and Hermione immediately with invitations to stay at headquarters until Hogwarts recommenced in September.

Now…why did Harry get the feeling that his friends’ presence was meant to conceal more than the hapless assault of maniacal house elves? But harry didn’t argue. The truth was, a very selfish part of Harry didn’t want to worry about what could trouble Sirius so much, he had enough of a burden with his own secrets without bearing the weight of his Godfather’s as well. Still he detested himself for thinking those thoughts and the vague sense of a building depression made him eager to see the happy faces of his best friends again. He hated being locked up in this house almost as much as Sirius himself and would do anything for some outside company.

And so it was that one week from his visit to Diagon Alley, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were walking out of the Kitchen fireplace with wide grins on their faces. They hadn’t been apart for long, but Hermione still hugged him as enthusiastically as she had in Diagon Alley. Harry gasped for air when she released him. He shook Ron’s hand, trying not to smile at the memory of singing hair. Ron flushed when he saw Harry’s eyes discreetly move over his hair, taking in the absence of a flaming red beanie.

“No serenade over supper?” Harry’s lips twitched as Ron scowled. He dropped Harry's hand looking simultaneously disgruntled and amused.

“Don’t worry about me Harry, after I threatened to tell everyone that Zonko’s products were better they gave me the reversal cookie pretty quickly – tasted like broom polish however. Pillocks. If I had my way I’d shove those serenading suckers so far up—”

“Has-your-father-heard-from-Dumbledore?” Harry asked Ron in desperation. He could sense a Weasley tirade coming on. Anyone who knew the Weasley family recognised that their flaming hair was actually a warning of a red hot temper concealed within every member of an otherwise wonderful family.

“—that their lower intestine would be humming ‘I’m an asshole’ until they were sent to St Mungos for emergency rectal repair!” Harry laughed at the image of Fred and George dropping their daks while their rears serenaded a baffled mediwizard. “It wasn’t funny!” Ron roared. Hermione cast Harry a scathing look and he swallowed. It was clear Hermione had been listening to this rant all the way from the Burrow and wasn’t in the mood for the second act.

To distract Ron he told them everything that had happened while they’d been apart. This overture mostly detailed the strange incident of Sirius Black brooding like he’d drank two gallons of sullen solution (the nifty little antidote to an unhealthy overdose of pepper-up potion). Hermione looked thoughtful. Ron rolled his eyes and said Sirius’s dilemma was nothing to his own because—

“Oh shut up Ron! Really, you’ve been cursed far worse that that before! You don’t think that something terrible has happened do you Harry?”

“Well the weirdest thing is, ever since that night he’s acted like it never happened, and then he basically wrote your invites himself, I think he’s trying to distract me. It was very…odd.” Harry blushed at the somewhat pathetic adjective. “Dumbledore was really angry with him for letting me stay here, he’s kept us locked up as best he can ever since—”

“Well you’re in real danger! More than ever…Oh Harry, you should have listened to Dumbledore! I tried to tell you last week—what if something terrible happ—”

“That’s what I mean!” Harry snapped at her, annoyed. “He’s been keeping us locked up, what could he say about me that he hasn’t told him before and why would he risk making Sirius leave all by himself just to tell him the same thing all over again?! Don’t you think it would have made more sense for Dumbledore to come here? It’s something else, Hermione…something no one else in the order can overhear. I’ve been trying to tell myself that maybe it’s to do with this weird birthday surprise their conspiring to give me but why would that upset him?”

“Perhaps Dumbledore told him he couldn’t jump out of your cake.” Ron snickered and Hermione thumped him over the back of the head. Harry appreciated the tension breaking humour even if she didn’t.

“Whatever it is, I’m going to find out – he should know he can’t keep things from me forever.” Harry heaved in a breath, his green eyes sparkling up at her with determination. She blinked and the thoughtful expression returned to her face. Ron was squinting in the same way as Hermione but his eyes were fixed on her and Harry had the impression that he was faking the thought process while he waited for her answer. Finally Hermione turned to him and smiled a little.

“I have no idea.” There was silence for a brief pause before they all laughed. Well, Hermione didn’t know everything after all, wonders never cease.

“Let’s get these bags upstairs, you should see what we’ve done to the place, Buckbeak’s room has been completely renovated, although Hagrid said he’s trying to see if he can get him a new home with other hippogriffs, and we got rid of the last boggart a month ago – the place is really quite boring now—“ At that moment Ron tripped over the bottom steps and the bags he’d been carrying tumbled from his arms in a great crash.

From around the corner they heard a shrill scream echo down the corridor and Harry cringed blocking out the words that he could almost recite verbatim:

“MAY ALL THE DARK POWERS ON EARTH EXPEL YOU!!!! ABOMINATIONS!!! UNWORHTY LEECHES!! BE GONE FROM THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!”

“Ergh….well the sticking charm on that old crones portrait proved a little resilient….Sirius says if worse comes to worse he’s ordering in a painter to give the old bat a muzzle.” Ron chuckled as he covered his ears and Hermione tried to suppress a smile. They heard running from upstairs and a haggard looking Sirius jumped over the railing a few steps from where they stood and charged down the corridor toward the sound of his mothers high pitched screaming.

Ron and Hermione blinked. It wasn’t long before the voice paused a moment to recognise the new imposter and start a new tirade.

“YOOUUUUUUUU! Shame of my flesh—”

“Ah, the shame of my flesh spiel, he’s thinking of getting this one tattooed on his back – he says it’s starting to sound rather catchy.” Harry smiled.

“You’ve been here too long, mate.” Ron said in a mock sympathetic voice, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. He picked up his and Hermione’s bags again as they recommenced their ascent to the second floor.

“He didn’t even greet us,” hissed Hermione, obviously quite put out by his strange urge to ward off headaches rather than have a shouting conversation with her through the noise, “oh Harry, I hope you find out what’s troubling him soon.”

**

Roswell, New Mexico, August 10th, 1998

“Are you insane??” Isabel shrieked as she looked down on Michael through appalled eyes. Michael felt like declaring ‘no, I know exactly what I’m doing, it just happens to be plotting breaking and entering is that so bad?’ but he held his tongue away from his proverbial cheek. Isabel was perched on the arm rest of the couch, he was sitting impassively munching on a peanut cluster from the box next to him, completely averse to the idea he’d done something stupid…again.

“Look…I didn’t just wander in all right? I had a cover story.”

“And what was this cover story?” Michael and Isabel turned towards the occupant of the other couch in the Evans living room. Max was trying to hide his interest in Michael’s scheme but Michael was so desperate to find out about this mysterious other alien that he could see through the charade better than Isabel. Max wanted to know too, which would prove very helpful in persuading him to participate.

“I was selling candies for charity,” Isabel tried not to laugh at his response, “peanut cluster?” he offered and she had to turn her face away to hide her smile. She was still angry at him damn it.

“And they bought it?” Max asked, because he certainly wouldn’t coming from Michael.

“Nope they all seemed to be on a diet.”

Blink.

“Not the candy Einstein, the story!” Isabel hissed, she had a strange urge to slap him over the head but restrained herself by grinding her teeth.

“Yeah they bought the story…” Michael really looked up at her for the first time and felt his restlessness pause. She was perched on the edge of the couch, her large dark eyes staring down on him, her hair was falling blonde and loose around her shoulders, arrowing toward her supported cleavage just like her very low cut top. He couldn’t really prevent his eyes from noticing the glitter dappled across the skin in the valley of her breasts, after all, the outfit was designed to draw attention…draw attention! “Why are you wearing that?” He asked suspiciously, eyes snapping back to her face in a narrowed glare.

Isabel, having noticed his contemptuous gaze, did a couple more buttons up on her shirt and stood to her feet, turning away from him in embarrassment. He followed her with his eyes, waiting for an explanation. “Because Michael, I have a date….with a guy I like. In fact, I like my whole life here. In fact, I have a date next Friday that I’m hoping I won’t have to miss because I’m running from the law!”

“You two, the point in this – that file has got to be in Valenti’s office, right? He leaves for the day at seven thirty, there’s no one else in that entire wing of the Sheriff’s station. We go in. We find the file. We get the info. We put the files back—”

“So how do we break in…?” Max had launched himself off his own seat, to move closer to Michael by sitting forward in the chair his sister had previously occupied. Isabel lowered herself on the arm rest of Max’s previous chair and stared at him in annoyance. His eyes flicked back to her momentarily, “…hypothetically…” He amended. But Michael didn’t care, this was more like it. He sat forward as well.

“The window, it’s got a lock on it, nothing you can’t handle.”

“What about an alarm system….hypothetically?” He eyed Isabel warily, conscious that she was about to explode at any moment.

“Piece of cake, even I could deactivate it.”

“Max, don’t humour him, ok?” Isabel was worried that this was going too far, it was all surreal, especially witnessing Max cooperating with Michael on a clearly brainless scheme. Morons. “I can’t believe you’re even considering this.”

“I just wanted to see how feasible the plan is…” His sister looked so flustered as she paced the room once more that Max quickly added, “which it’s not…feasible…” Michael shifted noticeably in his seat and Max changed his tone to a calm warning, “it’s not feasible Michael.”

“This is what we’ve been waiting for our entire lives. I mean this is our first clue that might tell us who we are!” Couldn’t they see? Was he the only one who still cared that this wasn’t their real home? “We don’t have a choice!” But before he could tell them why, before he could make them remember that this place was just purgatory before they reached Heaven the sounds of the front door opening interrupted and Mr and Mrs Evans called to their children.

“Hey!”
“Anybody home?”

Michael hated seeing Max and Isabel with their human parents. He quickly rushed on, “And with Government Agents after us we ought to get our arses into gear don’t you think?”

“Agents?” Max was incredulous, it was clear he’d missed some part of the story because he’d yet to find himself running down the street away from crazed alien hunters in black suits and expensive ties.

“What are you talking about?” Isabel whispered urgently.

“Talk to Liz.” Then Michael rushed out of the house as fast as he could, refusing pizza and trying not to meet the eyes of adults he saw as rivals for the affection of his own family. Enemies.

Max only ate two slices of the pizza his mother had brought home even though he was extremely hungry. He remembered Liz questioning him after Geometry the other day, telling him that the new teacher was asking too many questions about Michael and wasn’t that weird? He knew Michael so well that he hadn’t thought for one moment that Liz saw him as a stranger would. She wouldn’t know that she had to keep startling assumptions away from him because Michael wasn’t a person who thought things through – he acted on impulse, often to his own detriment. Isabel was right, he shouldn’t have humoured Michael in his quest, and he should have told Liz not to encourage him. Michael had always liked chasing phantoms and now he had evidence that the phantom he’d never quite caught up with was really out there somewhere, that it wasn’t just an illusion. It was the worst thing to happen at the worst moment and Max realised he was partially to blame. But his own rash actions were to save somebodies life, not to put more than one life in danger – and he expected Michael to be able to recognise the difference. He had to see Liz and sort out the misunderstanding before things got worse.

**

London, South England, August 11th, 1998

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Sirius and Remus were seated at the kitchen table a couple of days later playing an energetic game of exploding snap. Just as Remus slammed his hand down and a spark of electric light was ignited under his fingertips, a fire quite unrelated to Lupin’s victory blazed ferocious and green in the Kitchen and a series of figures began to step and stumble out of the fireplace.

Sirius shot immediately to his feet and the excited screams of Ron, Hermione and Remus became quieted. Nobody moved for a moment as they surveyed their unexpected guests.

Harry gently placed the cards he’d been holding before him on the table and looked about the sombre faces of Albus Dumbledore, Nymphadora Tonks, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Severus Snape. They were all members of the Order of the Phoenix, but no meeting had been arranged that Harry knew of. After a moment of staring at the dull faces before him he looked questioningly to Sirius, at whom, everyone seemed to be staring, even Remus. The trepidation and resignation on the faces of Remus and Sirius respectively – told Harry that this intrusion had not been a surprise for either of them.

“Harry…Ron…Hermione…” Dumbledore inclined his head slightly and sighed. “I wonder if I could borrow your companions for a moment…this…should not take long, if you’ll forgive me the intrusion.” The seriousness of his voice made Harry quite mute. He could do nothing but shake his head in acquiescence while Hermione squeaked out ‘sure’. All three of the young Gryffindors were positive that his question hadn’t required an answer anyway. The seven of them walked into the meeting room without making another sound. Sirius was the last to walk toward the door, his steps were very slow but he still managed to collide with the man he least wanted to see. Two pairs of eyes flashed darkly at each other and they stood in the doorway glaring, unmoving until a sharp voice called them inside. Sirius pushed Severus Snape out of the way and charged in before him with an angered energy that Harry was familiar with. Snape slithered in after him and the door slammed behind him.

Harry stared at the door and waited for several minutes. Then he waited some more. But nothing happened.

“RON!” He finally hissed, turning toward his friends with a smile. “They didn’t charm the door!” Without further hesitation the three of them charged up the stairs and emerged with a small rubbery ear attached to an elasticised length of tubing. Extendable ears, TM Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Ron grabbed a metal instrument shaped like a funnel and quickly shoved it inside the cochlea of the ear. It was the sonorous amplifier he’d sent to Harry two weeks prior, and was meant to make the sounds from the extendable ear a little clearer during mass snooping exercises. They all gathered close to listen while Harry dropped the other side of the extendable ear down the stairs, next to the infamous order meeting room.

“—how did this happen?”

“How do you think? He’s a bumbling idiot, close as you are even a man as stupid as you should have realised that the Dark Lord would squash him without so much as a—”

“That’s quite enough, Severus, you are not helping.”

Silence.

“The question we must ask is not how, it is why, I am afraid. What does Tom want to know that only an Order member could tell him…That is a question only you can answer Severus.”

Silence.

“I know nothing that I haven’t already told you.”

“Death Eater to the grave—”

“I’m afraid I don’t feel the need to explain myself to a coward who has not even attempted to be of any real use to this order.”

“I should kill you!”

“Try.”

“ENOUGH!” Upstairs Harry, Ron and Hermione startled at the booming sound of Dumbledore’s voice. “For once put your petty, YES petty, squabble aside and help me – there are more important matters at hand. Voldemort knows that they failed to accomplish one of his most important orders, we also know now, thanks to Severus, that Voldemort is much closer to discovering their hiding place. They chose a most inconvenient time to exercise their true powers. We knew this day could happen, especially after the events in the Dark Forest five years ago. Now,” he sighed, “Tell me again exactly how it happened…we need to be sure they have taken him.”

“Well I-I’m not sure, I didn’t see but – they must have,” the voice of Tonks squeaked, she seemed quite unsettled, “we were supposed to be obtaining our target’s apparition records from the Apparition Licensing Department, we figured our target would have less security over such matters considering he has been incarcerated, but my partner didn’t report to our schedule…he didn’t…not at all….as you know I’m by no means as useful as Dung at entrance charms and with my luck I’d set off a million ministry alarms, so I tried to see what was holding him up…he wasn’t in the ministry that I could find but Shacklebolt told me—”

“Kingsley?”

“I was keeping watch for ministry aurors – we’ve doubled our security patrols since the events last June. Someone like Dung would have no chance prowling the corridors at night, so I made sure he made it to the elevators…there shouldn’t have been a problem since Tonks was meeting him only a few feet away on the apparition level.”

“But he never came!”

“Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”

Silence.

“Malfoy or he-who-must-not-be-named must have realised what you were doing.” Bill Weasley’s deep voice sounded worried, which in turn worried Harry. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Ron’s oldest brother sounding so stressed.

“I don’t see how…” Tonks sniffled.

Silence.

“I have a question for the great potions master.”

Collective sighs.

“It was clear Malfoy knew, it is clear also that he could not have known unless someone from the order informed him of the raid. Now perhaps I’m barking up the wrong tree here but there’s only one order member that has always followed Lucius Malfoy around like a pup in heat.”

“I will let your frequent canine analogies slide for the moment Black because I know that the mind never strays too far from its home. But if you try and imply that it was I who had your moth-ridden friend kidnapped you will regret it.”

“I’m not implying anything, Snivellus, I’m downright bloody accusing you. I know you did it and if Dumbledore doesn’t see what you’re doing—”

“Calm yourself Padfoot—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down Remus! I’m not going to put up with this slimy little snake, he’s rotten to the core and he’d rather have us all dead than harm a single hair on Malfoy’s head!”

“In case you weren’t informed, Lucius Malfoy is currently in Azkaban prison, even if I had an interest in that gentleman’s concerns, he is beyond my reach. And if he is in communication with loyal subjects than I am the least of your pathetic concerns. You are better troubled with the dark lord himself, I have no doubt that this particular order came from him and not one of his servants.”

“Why is that Severus?”

“He was taken alive, Lucius would never have been so…subtle.”

“SUBTLE??”

“Perhaps you will be more comfortable with the term…cautious.”

Silence.

“I told you of the meeting he called at the Riddle house – he mentioned that he needed an order member, but considering that we were all informed of this, I assumed the order would be strategic enough to remain covert at this time.”

“It’s hard to remain covert when you’re in the middle of a crisis, Severus…” Remus chided but Severus talked right over him.

“Apparently I was mistaken, subtlety has never been a Gryffindor strength, if only we had a few Slytherins we would be fine.”

“Yeah why don’t you ask a few of your friends to join…oh wait, that’s right they’re too busy with their life long membership of—”

“Even worse, the ministry ordered their preliminary protection to be done in the most irresponsible fashion and now has abandoned them for stupid priorities like chasing an innocent man.” Kingsley’s smooth, deep voice sounded disgusted by his own task, as leader of the hunt for Sirius. He was bound to be removed from the case shortly, Harry knew that, for he’d had no success in tracking down the man that he was in reality helping the order conceal. “The Order of Mercurus is extinct as far as the ministry is concerned, we have survived without them and they are no longer classed as a high priority but as a past failure.”

“If the ministry no longer realises their importance it is a happy fact that some of us still remember, Kingsley. Bill, I’ll need you and Remus tonight – you’ve been briefed and I know it is sooner than expected but we have no choice. We do not know the extent of his knowledge and if what Severus claims is true, he could be upon them already.”

“Of-course.”
“You’ve got it.”

“Severus try and learn all that you can from your associates we need to learn immediately what information Voldemort wants from him specifically, especially if it can assist him in any way with their location. If he already knows of their location contact Remus or William immediately.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Now, Kingsley I need you to contact—” But they never found out whom Dumbledore needed to be in contact with because the door slammed open and Harry tugged the extendable ear so hard that he fell back onto the landing behind him with a shriek. Hermione quickly rolled the extendable ear up and shoved it behind them on the landing while Ron heaved Harry to a sitting position. Severus Snape gave them one piercing glance as he strode for the door. Harry glared back, but the flushed expression of all their faces spoke of their guilt.

“Good evening to you gentlemen…” Kingsley bowed and forwarded toward the fireplace, where he shouted to Ron’s surprise, “the burrow!” and disappeared into the green flames.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want him coming here any more…” Sirius said tiredly as he ran his hands over his once-handsome face.

“Aren’t you concerned at all about your friend, Sirius?”

“Of course I am!”

“Then you must put an old feud aside to save an older friend—”

“It is no secret that I hate that slimy snake but…but this is not an old feud. I only just found out—”

“I know.” Dumbledore smiled at him and made a move to grasp his shoulder but Sirius stepped back, placing his hands on his hips and turning his back on his former headmaster. The three Gryffindors watching leant forward and pressed their faces against the banister beside them, for a better look at the discussion. “I am sorry.” Sirius didn’t seem to hear him.

“How can you expect me to put this behind me and be of assistance when you won’t let me be of assistance? Will praying for him help? That’s all you will have me do!”

“That’s all any of us can do,” the glare Sirius sent him told the teenagers sitting on the stairs that he doubted this statement as much as they did.

“At least let me go with Remus and Bill.”

“You know that's impossible.”

"If I'm captured that's my problem and my choice--"

"And you know very well that's not what I was talking about." They stared at each other for a long tense moment before Albus smiled at him as brightly as he could. With that Dumbledore gave a cheery wave to the stairs. He called for Tonks, who came tentatively into the room before following Dumbledore to the front door of Sirius’s house.

Sirius looked up toward Harry, and lurched. Surprise registered briefly on his face before he turned away. The three teenagers didn’t take their eyes from him as he slowly made his way around the staircase to start ascending towards them.

“You weren’t listening were you Harry?” Sirius asked with a mischievous smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d prefer it if you just told me what went on in there…” Harry replied.

“Well I’m tired, g’night Ron, Hermione, Harry….” He jogged up the stairs, smiling the whole time, he even whistled as he passed them.

“He’s probably going to ask me to invite Ginny here tomorrow Ron.” Harry muttered following his Godfather with his eyes until his door shut softly.

“Harry….he-who-must-not-be-named…he has Mundungus Fletcher.” Hermione whispered, she was shaking slightly, Ron moved to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She smiled at him faintly before turning to look at Harry, Ron’s ears went red.

“The question is…why.” Harry whispered back hearing Dumbledore’s own voice in his head. “Why….?”

“I don’t know Harry, but whatever it is, it’s got them all really worried, I mean, who were they talking about being hidden? The Order of Mercurus? This is the first I’ve heard of them…” That was saying something indeed but Harry didn’t bother to tell her that secrets weren’t supposed to be knowledge catalogued in a book she could read. “And what kind of dire secret could they have trusted Mundungus with that would worry them this much?” Hermione almost scoffed, it was clear she wouldn’t trust Mundungus to keep her quill from snapping. As Harry remembered the raggedy old man who’d inadvertently abandoned him to a Dementor attack for a bunch of cheap cauldrons, Harry was disposed to agree with her.

**

Roswell, New Mexico, August 12th, 1998

Max was more surprised than anyone that Liz’s rash judgement about the Government in Roswell could have been spot on. He’d seen their new substitute teacher plotting to capture Michael himself. Though part of him still wanted to label Michael’s paranoia as delusional, he knew that something was definitely wrong, and if they were caught it would be his entire fault. All he could think about was making sure Michael stayed away from that woman until they were certain she was who she claimed to be.

He pulled his jeep in front of the Crashdown, barely acknowledging Liz as she darted into the inside to cancel her shift as a waitress. If there was one thing he was glad about, it was how much closer he was to her now. She knew what he was, she understood and even better she wanted to protect him as much as he wanted to protect her. He was startled from more pleasurable thoughts as he saw a familiar tall boy running across the road toward him.

“Michael, something’s up—”

“They’re taking things out of the sheriff’s office!” He yelled through gasping breaths. It was clear Michael had been running around looking for him as well. Max was startled but he wasn’t any closer to a decision, they couldn’t risk it…but he was torn. What if Michael was right? What if he let this go and they never had another chance to follow the path behind them back to the beginning of the story? “It’s now or never Maxwell.” Now and they could be caught. This act would be proving it for them. Never and they remained in ignorance. But the Sheriff would know nothing too. Was it a risk they could take?

“Michael…it’s important to me too—”

“All you want to do is protect what you’ve got here in Roswell.” Michael had never before looked like such a stranger to Max. His face was so hard, his glare so full of loathing and disdain. If Max had seen inside Michael’s heart during that moment, he wouldn’t have felt so defensive; he would have understood why Michael really did have no choice. But Max saw nothing in his best friend’s eyes but rebellion – stupid, thoughtless rebellion that needed to be stopped to protect them all.

“That’s right I do!”

“Did you ever think about what it’s like here for me Max?” Max looked behind him for Liz’s approach as an excuse to hide his feelings about that.

“Of course I have.” Liz ran through the doors, breathing slightly unevenly, Michael shifted his glare to her and she paused several metres behind them. Max looked between them and sighed, Michael didn’t even know what was going on, but he would understand to leave it alone if he knew something bigger was happening in the background of his little quest for self discovery. He’d have to keep it short and explain how he knew later. “Look, the woman who pulled your records, she’s on the way to your place—”

“WHAT?”

“Just stay away from there tonight. Isabel’s waiting for you at our place. Go there and wait.”

“Wait for her to come and find me?” Michael spat at him, already backing away from the scene.

“Just don’t do anything stupid.” Max called after him.

It was this last comment that changed Michael’s mind; that set his resolve to do what he needed to do – to hell with everything else. Max had always made him feel like an idiot and maybe he’d done a few things wrong, but if he needed a father it wasn’t going to be Max, oh no if he was to get himself a father he’d chase the real thing. If he had family out there somewhere, he wasn’t going to stick around here because he was scared of a dumbass human cop trying to make a name as an alien-hunter.

And so it happened that two hours later Isabel Evans was pacing her living room with growing frustration. She’d never been a nail biter, so as she gripped her fingers into her hands, she made little half moon indentations instead with the curves of her nails. The house had a horrible stillness about it, even though her parents were only in the next room reading, it was this stillness that worried her. Lately, when she’d been alone, she’d been sensing something that made her stomach twist sickeningly. She felt awkward like she would when forced to entertain an unwelcome guest. The truth was, when it came to their powers: Michael was an amateur, Max was a jack-of-all-trades but she was an expert when it came to the cognitive powers that neither of her brothers was proficient at. She could walk into people’s dreams, she could connect with just about anyone, she received more emotional flashes than her brothers and when something bad was going to happen she felt ill. And Isabel Evans had never been really ill in her life.

“Mum, I’m borrowing your car!” She shouted as she grabbed for her jacket and the keys on the lounge room coffee table. She heard her mother shouting something after her but didn’t particularly care what it was. The street was very quiet outside and Isabel subconsciously picked up the pace of her walking, spotting the silver car parked in the driveway, she pulled her mobile out of her jacket pocket, and quickly pressed in a number from memory.

It rang three times before she heard her brothers voice politely telling her to call back later or leave a message. She squealed in frustration and stamped her foot as she swung the door open. “Max if you get this message, Michael is A.W.O.L, I’m going to head over to the Crashdown because let’s face it, that’s probably where you are.” She rolled her eyes furiously and slammed the door behind her. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” She tossed the mobile into the passenger seat and started reversing down the driveway without looking behind her first. She exhaled a heavy breath and glanced into the mirror for a second, straight away she flicked her head back and slammed her foot on the brakes. The tires shrieked in protest and she flinched at the noise. Their standing in the middle of her path was a man who didn’t seem in a particular hurry to move.

“Unbelievable.” She hissed and slammed the heel of her hand into the steering wheel, a low pitched horn sounded and the man standing in her way got the message and jumped to the side. She passed him by without a second glance and turned toward the famous alien-themed restaurant. He irritated her more than his sudden appearance had frightened her.

But perhaps she would have been frightened if she knew the man standing on her front lawn hadn’t moved after he had let her pass. He watched the intriguing red tail lights of her car shine as the car paused at a ‘stop’ sign further up the street. When she turned the corner he looked up at her two-story house and frowned. A soft sound like a cork falling into a bottle popped several metres behind him and he turned around pulling a strange looking stick from his pocket which he aimed in the direction the sound had come from. There stood another man, who had appeared just as suddenly as his companion.

His hair was of an inscrutable colour tucked up inside a baseball hat, his slightly sun warmed skin was set off by dazzling blue eyes that looked slightly startled as he held two hands up in defence. He looked vaguely harmless, although tall and athletic in build, there was a warmth in his face that would calm the nerves of the most suspicious person. From his ear dangled a rather large tooth, which was bouncing from side to side slightly in the wind. When the first man took all of this in, he relaxed his stance very fast and lowered his wand slightly. If they were friends they made an odd pair since the first man would have blended fairly easily into a shelter for the homeless and looked quite older. The jeans he had on were torn across the knees and worn to a dusty white shade across his buttocks and thighs. He was wearing an equally holy brown, woollen jumper which showed glimpses of a grey cotton shirt beneath where it was torn or moth eaten. In short, he looked much frailer than his companion.

“You failed?” He said disbelievingly.

“Someone was looking for him already, I was standing too far away to tell if we should be worried about that, couldn't see her face. Conveniently enough he wasn’t home. But we may not have much time. What about you?”

“The girl just left but I know where she’s going.”

“What about the boy?”

“She was on her way to meet him. Any idea where yours could be?” They were clearly anxious, standing rigidly even though their eyes were ever-moving; the elder of the two kept looking in the direction that Isabel Evans had driven with sharp eyes and a tired grimace.

“None whatsoever.”

“Well this is going well. I think it best if I remain here. Head to the Crashdown Café you know where that is?” His companion nodded quickly and pulled a similar looking stick from inside the sleeve of his denim jacket. “Don’t lose them, use any means necessary to get them back here, we don’t have much time.” There was another popping noise and then he was standing by himself again. If anyone in this street had been as naturally suspicious or as curious as the Dursley family in England, they would have found it oddly suspicious that such a man would stand gawking at their neighbours house. Or indeed that men could disappear completely. Perhaps they’d think drug dealers were inspecting their neighbourhood, or that those Evans people were even stranger than they’d first presumed all those years ago when they’d moved in – they knew a queer bunch of oddities. But everyone was too busy with their own lives to bother with this man as he walked toward the door of the Evans residence.

Ten minutes later when the street was dark and empty a high pitched scream echoed ever so slightly, several neighbours heard it clearly. They laughed gently to themselves, people should really learn to turn their televisions down this late at night.

TBC....

[Polar Thestral]

**

Chapter Five: (In)Sincerely yours

**

Messer Malfoy,

My dear child, it has come to my attention that your worries over your dear Father’s welfare have been confusing your priorities. Let me assure you that your Father remains in my care and I would never allow harm to befall him. Your family continues to be of importance to me. You must realise how very special such a family is and in being so, Malfoy concerns will always be one of my priorities. Do not trouble yourself, my child. Your family will be together again soon.

(unsigned)

**

Drake,

What in Salazar’s name have you been doing? You better remember who you’re dealing with you insufferable little pillock, because I won’t be treated like this! You will regret it. I know that you couldn’t make it this Summer but I at least expected a couple of Owls, or is that too much trouble for you now that Daddy’s out of the way?? Don’t let it go to your head Draco, he’s not dead yet.

P

**

Dearest Draco,
Congratulations on receiving a Prefect position once again at your little school. I understand it is a much lauded position, even if it was dealt through default. After all, they couldn’t give it to anyone else in your house considering the idiocy of your cohabitants; you are in the happy position of being able to spell. Even still, it would be good to make it seem as if the position demanded some sort of effort on your part. You always were vaguely clever so I leave it to you, to settle details. I’d hate to see a downturn in your successes at school now that your Father isn’t there to make certain you keep your priorities straight. I’ll be watching you in his place, just to be certain. I’m sure my efforts will be appreciated.

Augustus de Guerre

**

Ferret,
Here is your precious book back, do excuse the slight adjustments I made but considering the gaping holes in the research and your own lack of aptitude in that department, I figured you could use all the help you could get. If you ever pull a stunt like this again you can forget about me pulling my friends in line to keep them from marring your pointy little face.

May you rot in hades you petty little snipe.
(unsigned)

**
Puff,
.
Hey there gorgeous – guess what?!! You’ll never believe this, after all the annoying refusals my mother’s been kicking up about me staying up there, I’m finally being allowed to come visit. And not just for a week either! I’m staying the whole year! Looks like I can finally catch up with you, I’ve missed your sour face. I’m arriving the day before you leave for school which doesn’t give me much time to speak with you. Maybe we can catch a play or something? Please meet me in London, for lunch and we’ll bum around, yeah?

Love,
Tarz

**

Dear Draco,
Your Grandmother has just informed me that she sent you an Owl last week. Am I to understand that your manners are slipping to the extent that you can’t even reply when someone wishes to speak to you? You do realise that she takes out your annoying imperfections on your own poor Mother? This is unacceptable, I refuse to take the blame for your stubbornness and don’t think I’m going to lie to protect you! Stop being so impossible!

Sincerely yours,
N. Malfoy

**

My dearest Pansy,
You don’t really believe I’ve been ignoring you, do you my darling? No, no that’s not even possible for me. Allow me to apologize if you’ve been labouring under that misapprehension. I’ve been preparing my own surprise, from which I think you’ll receive a considerable amount of joy. I couldn’t write to you, knowing that I would not see your beautiful face – it pains me to be so deprived. I’m imaginging being close to you even as I quill this Owl and I know I shan’t be satisfied until I’ve spoken to you face to face. Let’s meet in London for breakfast before departing for Hogwarts, I have much to share with you.

Sincerely yours,
Draco Malfoy

**

Dearest Grandmother,
My kindest regards toward your health and happiness. Thankyou for your support in this trying time, I am sure my Father appreciates the guidance, counsel and interest you have taken in me, as surely as I have myself. I am sorry I could not write sooner, I have been so taken in by the preparation for a new school year that I must confess I’ve hardly had the time. But for you my dear Grandmother, I shall make it.

Do keep in touch throughout the year, and I’ll make sure you are updated on my every accomplishment.

Sincerely yours,
Draco Malfoy

**

Mudblood,

I swear to the Gods you must have learned your manners in Hades but I shall never accompany you there. In fact if that was my fate I wouldn’t care if I was tortured in the inner most ring of hell as long as I didn’t share your company! But I hope I’ll be the one to send you there! No one has ever returned something I’ve given them before, common courtesy dictates that you keep it. If you even think about returning it again, it will come back with a hex so strong your stupid beaver hair will be the least of your concerns. Do you understand me bitch? I haven’t forgotten what you and your ingrate friends did to my family, mark my words, I will revenge my Father.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

**

My beautiful Tara,
Well excuse me while I bathe in the glow of such overwhelmingly good news. It will be extremely good to see a woman like you in a city so lacking in natural beauty. It has been too long and I can hardly contain myself, to see the woman you’ve become, for once I am glad that your cousin will not be around to drag you away from me. I will be immeasurably happy to speak with you, just tell me when your portkey arrives and I’ll carry your obscenely heavy luggage back to the manor….would my own quarters be too presumptuous?

Sincerely yours,
Draco Malfoy

P.S don’t call me Puff again if you expect any kind of response from me.

**

Dearest Mother,
I assure you I had every intention of replying to all of my mail; a task which I have completed directly since your lovely reminder note. I hope that nagging dragon is appeased, if not perhaps we could lock her up somewhere in Romania with some of her more reptilian relations? I thought you were looking into having that beast put down actually, don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve?

Sincerely yours,
Draco Malfoy

PS – If any more Owls come from Pansy Parkinson please make sure the Owl leaves without delivering its message. If it returns, feed it to the House Elves as a reward for being so ugly. I’ve heard all about the fate of the Parkinson fortune and I can only rejoice that I no longer have to put up with her asinine excuses for interesting conversation.

**

To the delectable Draco Ignatius Malfoy,
You always were full of shit. My portkey arrives at eleven o’clock, you have 24 hours to sweet talk me – the best of luck to you.

Tarz

**


Roswell, New Mexico, August 12th

A pair of combat boots landed with an uncanny lightness of foot on the floor of the Sheriff’s office. They didn’t remain stationary for even a moment, but walked past the desk toward the grey filing cabinets that represented all the glory of a Holy Grail to Michael Guerin. His hands were shaking as he slipped on a surgical glove and pulled the small slit-like handle of the top drawer until it was halfway open. He paused. There was nothing, not even a tiny shred of paper that might have been torn from the U.F.O files in haste. They’d taken it all. The photo wasn’t there, until that moment it had all been rather theoretical, but now Michael realised just how badly he had wanted to see that photo, just how badly he’d wanted to see the material proof that somewhere out there he had a family just like Max and Isabel.

He closed the drawer just as lightly, he didn’t need to check the rest to know they were empty, but he did anyway. It was probably just the masochist in him, he wanted to torture the glimmer of hope in his chest until he had snuffed it out completely. It was sort of like kicking sand over a campfire, spattering tiny orange glimmers out across the sand, but without really accomplishing anything either way.

Running his hand through his hair in frustration he looked about the shadowed office, toward the door, through which he knew Deputy Hanson and perhaps several other officers were waiting for the night shift to end. Part of him couldn’t believe that he’d risked going to jail for nothing, breaking and entering, saying ‘go to hell Max!’ – all of it was for nothing. He could see Phillip Evans shaking his head in dismay as he came down to the station in two days and bailed out that rat-bag friend of his sons because he couldn’t resist the puppy dog face Max had perfected throughout the years.

“It’s not Michael’s fault. He’s an abused child, you should really blame the system dad…”

Michael wasn’t just thinking scathingly about this because of frustration, he’d lived through it before, when he’d been stupid enough to blow out the windows of a neighbour’s car and gone into a violent rage with a baseball bat to cover it up. He’d never been good at controlling his powers.

Moving on the sheer desire to find something, he moved with quite a bit less stealth to the Sheriff’s desk and began opening up drawers. Nothing. Nothing. Pens, staplers, release forms…nothing! The last drawer was locked. Michael’s forehead furrowed in concentration as he pressed the palm of his hand against the old fashioned lock. The slits between his fingers shone red for a moment, as they did when placed over the light of a torch. The drawer clicked open. He was disappointed to find only a soup canister. With a sigh be pushed the drawer closed. Then his shoulders stiffened and his hand stilled; something strange and foreboding was tickling the edges of his awareness and he jerked the drawer open again.

He always trusted his instincts. No there was nothing else inside the drawer, but no soup Michael Guerin had ever tried was worth locking up in a drawer, especially when nothing else in the office had been locked except for the window. Picking it up quickly Michael stilled when a metallic rattling sound jarred through the room with the clatter of a metal drum rolling around the floor of an empty hall. He was almost paranoid enough to believe Deputy Hanson had super-sonic hearing and was charging down the hallway right now to arrest him. He quickly turned the lid and flipped it off. Inside he found a key resting atop the ceiled cover. Strange. There were no obvious markings on it, it was anticlimactic really, it just looked like an average key….except for the fact that no one hid anything that was average.

“Psst…Michael!”

He’d been concentrating so hard that he almost sent the key skittering across the floor in his shock. Max was crouched on the window ledge, glaring at him murderously. Michael got the gist of what Max was whispering urgently at him. The Sheriff had come, Michael nodded, his heart palpitating in a stacatto rhythm inside his chest cavity.

“Right…” He grabbed the key and felt a rush of something cold and chilling pierce through him. Shock sent his body sprawling across the floor in a loud crash, he heard the Sheriff’s chair sliding away from him but his mind couldn’t focus on anything except the invasion rushing over his senses. He couldn’t grasp any of the images but he knew he was experiencing flashes – he’d had very few in his life in comparison with his siblings. He was very rarely emotional enough to receive them, but this storm of images seemed relentless in fervour. So sudden was his abstraction from this world that he gasped and jerked to a sitting position, blinking eyes through sweat and staring down at the key in his hand with a sort of awed horror.

“Come on!”

Then he became aware of footsteps pounding in their direction. With clumsy fingers and hands larger than they normally were, Michael screwed the cap back onto Sheriff Valenti’s canister and threw it into the drawer. He didn’t have enough time to lock it if they were going to escape. He could hear the Sheriff’s voice, the clip-clop of Isabel’s heals and knew that whatever distraction she’d intended to delay the Sheriff hadn’t worked. Clutching the warm piece of metal in his hand he launched after his brother and watched on as Max’s expert hand cleaned up his mess again. The lock was sealed shut as Michael gripped the armoured bars designed to keep normal criminals at bay. Michael Guerin and Max Evans were anything but normal.

The door opened and they pulled their faces out of sight, drawing to either side of the window. There was only one choice and it was going to be quite messy. Max looked at the garbage bin beneath the window with loathing but began to count down with the resignation of a man about to walk a plank.

“1…2….3…” Simultaneously they released their hold on the window ledge and plummeted into black plastic bags, rotting fruit, old newspapers and other smells, the source of which would be better not to ponder.

“See…piece of cake Maxwell.” Michael husked as he climbed from the bin scraping small pieces of trash from his old jeans. Max looked down at his favourite sweater and glared so vehemently at Michael that his brother had to try not to laugh. Wonderful, caring Maxwell – when had he learned to glare with such sharpened hate? Michael knew he probably wasn’t a good influence on his brother, but at least he had the ability to influence him.

When Max had finally managed to stop slipping and climb out, his face was flushed, his eyes were dark and he was charging toward an alley. If Michael used any kind of common sense he would have realised that following a boy with homicidal tendencies into a deserted place probably wasn’t very intelligent but then he hoped Max would hear him out before stabbing him to death.

Max had stopped walking halfway down the first of a series of familiar backstreets. His back stiffened and he turned on Michael waving his arms in the air and uttering a few inarticulate phrases not even able to get a firm grasp on just how stupid Michael was being.

“Max—”

“I told you to lay low and where do I find you?! If Isabel hadn’t driven all the way back here and found me you’d be in jail right now Michael!”

“I know, but—”

“No! When are you going to stop and think for a second?! I’m sick of fixing your mistakes!”

“No one asked you to!” Michael hissed lethally and turned on his heel.

“Where do you think you’re going!? You can’t go back that way if the Sheriff sees you, no amount of little hand magic is gonna keep you out of the slammer!” Max looked like he was building up steam but Michael just sighed and turned back to him.

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” He walked past him casually, but purposefully made the effort to shoulder barge him. It would be useless to ask why he intentionally antagonised Max, Michael had never been one to study his own idiosyncrasies. Max grabbed him by the collar before he could get past, there was nothing vicious in the movement, Max’s face had even cooled somewhat, but Michael still stiffened and his hands flexed into fists naturally.

“Well?” Max’s clenched teeth managed to say. Michael didn’t ask what he meant and he tried not to smirk at his Brother’s obvious interest in his findings no matter how much he had protested.

“No files. No photo. They were gone, I told you we should have gone sooner. Try not to stutter next time Maxwell.”

“If I recall I didn’t want you doing this at all!” Max hissed, Michael ignored him.

“I did find something though…” He took the key out of his jacket pocket and flicked Max in the nose with it. Max jerked it out of Michael’s hand and examined it.

“A key?” The scepticism in Max’s voice made Michael’s heart clench. “You went up there and grabbed some old key? Well great, now we’ll be able to go visit Grandma Valenti in her Florida home! How do you know this has anything to do with us? This is straw clutching if ever I’ve seen it--”

Angrily Michael snatched it back. Max shivered and pulled his jacket closer around him, stepping a little away from his brother. It was really cold all of a sudden.

“I had a flash, arlight! You’re not the only one who gets them!” The anger in Michael’s voice seemed to chasten Max. A tentative hand clutched Michael’s shoulder and he apologized. Michael’s jaw clenched. Max made that sound so easy but Michael would never return the favour with sincerity. This hadn’t been wrong, the little metal mystery he held in his hand was proof enough that this had been a good idea.

“You’re right…” Max said softly, “Isabel’s going to meet us behind the UFO center in the jeep.” Max turned as if to walk away. He stiffened abruptly, hesitated then began to speak again, “Michael…I…I’m glad you didn’t get caught…I don’t know what I would have done if…I never saw you again…y-you’re a third of me and…I just couldn’t cope…” Max’s words caught in his throat, he sounded so ridiculously sad that Michael actually smiled. What a sap! He looked up at his brother mischief dancing in his eyes, but he froze when he saw the tears in Max’s. Was he serious?

“Max? Come on man don’t make me deck you.”

Max didn’t respond and Michael felt a chill of dread rush down his throat and clench somewhere under his solar plexus. But it didn’t stop there, it spread and Michael began to panic. Sensations like this didn’t linger in his body – nothing did. But this cold was climbing down his legs and making his spine ache beneath his skin quite unnaturally, his temples throbbed and he felt the most painful feeling of desolation engulf him.

“Max?” He said. But Max was just reaching for him pulling him close for a hug. Michael stiffened and pushed Max away almost as soon as contact was made. “Max, snap out of it!” Something told Michael this wasn’t natural – there was warning running through him. He'd felt this...he could almost swear he'd felt this. This...fear.

He’d always been able to sense when danger was approaching; it was the one thing he’d been better at than Max. Max called it paranoia for Michael trusted no one even the people that were his closest friends. When they’d first woken up he’d observed Max and Isabel from a distance until he was certain they meant no harm. When he’d come forward to greet them finally he had known when that car was coming round the bend in the road – before he’d heard it or seen it. He had known humans were bad, he’d stayed lost for a week before they’d caught him, he was a survivor. Max had no instincts, he thought too much.

From behind Max, Michael heard a rasping noise, like a pack-a-day smoker wheezing air through dying lungs. Many parts of Michael baulked at the idea of searching out the cause of the noise, but his eyes moved quite quickly of their own will and Michael almost screamed out in terror at what he saw gliding quickly toward them.

“I’m so cold…” Max whispered into his shoulder, that’s when Michael remembered when he'd felt this way. Had this...thing been...following him?

“Get down!” Michael shoved Max aside and he tumbled to the ground heavily. He didn’t get back up.

Michael started backing away as the shadowy figure drew closer and closer, it seemed to be flying though Michael knew it was impossible. It was probably just the eerie effect of the big black cape it was wearing, if it was a man he moved like he was on roller blades and he was over seven feet tall. On instinct Michael’s hand flew up to ward off the approaching predator and he felt a tingling sensation begin to war with the cold chill freezing his insides. It began to accumulate in his hands and Michael was grateful for even the smallest warmth in his body.

The man stopped in front of him and reached out a hand toward him. Michael made a horrified croaking sound, he would have screamed if his lungs would expand enough to let the sound escape. He collapsed to his knees. The hand slipped past his line of vision and Michael’s stomach revolted at the sight of scabby flesh stretched sickeningly taut over long bony hands. This thing had long since stopped being human if it ever had been. For a brief moment he wondered if this was his family, another alien, but that was a ridiculous idea. He knew it wasn't hear for a family reunion, this was not a good thing.

The creature bent over him, the sickening hands raised and lowered a loose black hood but he never got to see this things face. His eyes became shadowed as if he was seeing through a dense unmoving fog, his hands grappled with the cloth in front of him. As his hands brushed the creature pins and needles ravaged his limbs as if the touch could kill him if he held on too long.

“Well what are you lookin’ at?”
“Someone ugly.”
SMACK
“Say that again.”
“S-someone….ug-ly.”
SMACK. SMACK SMACK. SMACK..
(sobbing)
“Go on. Say it again tough guy….(sobbing)….you little coward.”

Michael didn’t know where the voice was coming from but he knew he’d heard the scene before…he’d lived it. From somewhere outside of his delusions he could feel the creature closing the distance between them, it was holding him by the collar of his jacket now pulling him closer and closer and the sounds grew more horrid.

“DEN! No don’t stay away! Don’t!! DEN! DEN!! PLEASE!”
….
“What have you done? No…what have you done??! You’ve killed her!”
“Come here child, don’t be afraid!”

Michael felt as if he had flinched in recoil of those words, but in reality he was frozen, shoulders hunched up and spine rigidly curled down protecting his torso. The voice came again, louder and louder, it echoed, words rebounding from temple to temple inside his head until he felt like she was being tortured inside of him and would stay in that hell forever.

“DEN!! NO, DON’T! STAY AWAY!! DON’T! DEN! DEN! PLEASE!”

The woman was screaming and screaming that name over and over again then he was plunged into silence. The lack of movement inside his cranium made him disorientated; the stillness inside his head unsettling against the nauseating reverberations he’d been feeling moments before. He’d never heard her voice before, Michael knew but still amongst all his fear and pain a rage began to grow. Beneath the chill that had brought him to his knees something inside of him burned. His hands shot out and shoved at the creature without a hint of weakness, he heard a shrill hissing noise and then screamed as a jolt of powerful electric light pulled them violently apart. Michael landed with a sickening crunch three metres from where he started. His forehead was sweaty and his left leg was throbbing painfully.

“Well I'll be buggered…”

Michael lifted his head, he could have sworn he heard someone but he was probably still hallucinating. Why had he been hallucinating? Unless that was just a different kind of flash…his head spun and Michael swallowed, keeping completely still to nullify the need to purge his stomach of all fluids known to mankind.

He struggled to sit up. The creature wasn’t in sight but his vision was still extremely blurry.

“M-ax?” His voice sounded strange so he coughed then called again. “Maxwell?”

His ears were on high alert to compensate for his horrid sight, but Max didn’t reply. He could hear something moving behind him however and a familiar chilling creep went down his spine. But he was too weak to fight it. Darkness was pulling at the edges of his grey, fogging landscape and Michael no longer had the energy to stop it. Come death…

The last thing he heard before surrendering completely were the sounds of running footsteps and he prayed that Max had finally heard him.

**

Isabel Evans tried her brother’s cellular for the fifth time in half an hour. It rang and rang until she heard his message bank recite the usual ‘not here, call back later or leave a message’ that she had been hearing more than her actual brothers voice all night. Furiously she hung up the phone and jumped into the jeep.

Returning to the main drag was impossible. She didn’t want to risk the Sheriff seeing her again when she’d told him she was going home. It had taken her an hour to calm her heart down. She’d been so certain that her diversion tactic of a flat tire hadn’t worked when she’d heard that crash come from the Sheriff’s office. They’d obviously escaped…so where the hell were they?

They were supposed to meet her two hours ago and still hadn’t shown up, well she wasn’t going to wait any more they could walk home for all she cared. How dare they forget her and just leave?

Ten minutes later, Isabel was storming into her house. “Mum! Dad!” Her angry voice called out as she dumped her purse on the bench just inside the door and threw her jacket over the couch. Her eyes were narrowed and determined. She paused and smiled with relief as she entered the kitchen.

The refrigerator door was open and she could see a male figure crouched down with his head deep inside the appliance, a denim backside just visible past the door. Isabel grinned.

“Lose something in there, Max?” She enquired with a smug grin.

He jumped so violently that his head slammed into the freezer door. “Bloody hell!” He groaned and collapsed to his knees, slowly backing away from the evil appliance. Isabel was laughing with mad glee.

“Bloody hell? Max, you haven’t been watching Faulty Towers again…have…who are you?” Isabel backed away as a red faced man stood up who was very much not Max.

In fact he was almost the complete opposite of Max. His skin was pale, his face gentle, he had a wide pouted mouth that was currently gaping at her in gob smacked embarrassment, his eyes were a shockingly dark blue made all the more prominent by a blazing head of ginger red hair falling past his shoulders. Isabel blinked, looked about her for her parents and retreated several steps.

First Max and Micahel go missing, now her house was being invaded by some strange man and her parents were nowhere in sight…ok don’t’ panic…don’t panic…she backed away quickly trying to make it to the telephone before he could grab her. He closed the refrigerator door clumsily and walked after her.

She panicked. “Stay there, don’t you dare move! MUM! DAD!!" When there was no response she glared and hissed at him, "Who the hell are you?”

“Uh…I’m deeply apologetic. I didn’t mean to scare you, really, I was just looking at your strange cold box thing.”

He’s Brittish?! Where the hell is Max? Cold box thing? Where are my parents? Oh hell I look like a train wreck! I have an Englishman in my house?! Don’t they have refrigerators in England? What is that thing on his ear?

Isabel’s brain was rushing through a million superficial thoughts so fast that when it came her turn to speak she could only squeak out a crisp, “what?”

“The um…” he clicked his fingers toward the kitchen as if trying to search for a word.

“Refrigerator.” She supplied.

He clicked his fingers again as he pointed at her, a charming smile spreading across his warm face. “Got it in one. Quite a clever contraption isn’t it? I understand a little of what my father finds so interesting now…must be a useful sort of thing to have in Egypt if well…you know – because it’s so hot,” he continued musingly, his eyes darting back to the kitchen like a child whose hand had been snatched from a cookie jar.

“Whatever…you still haven’t answered my question.”

Something about his nonchalance to her presence disarmed her fear but she still maintained her distance. After all she’d known him for less than five minutes and yet she still knew he was the strangest man she’d ever met. He flushed again and looked her straight in the eye.

“I’m real sorry, you surprised me and my manners went right out the window. William Weasley, how do you do?” He put out his hand but made no move to approach her, in fact she would have thought it was some strange British salute if he hadn’t smiled at her encouragingly to get her to make the first move. After a pause she walked forward and accepted his handshake with a cool smile. “You must be Isabel Evans, of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

She nodded briskly, wondering if she should tell him that her parents had never mentioned anybody named William Weasley. What kind of a name was Weasley anyway? He must have had a horrible time in the playground as a child.

They were still shaking hands, or rather holding hands. She looked down at the soft grip, for some reason reluctant to relinquish the hold. Her cheeks flamed and she pulled her hand away, trying not to make her desperation for space so obvious. His smile made her feel as if he was somehow aware of her own thoughts even though they were existing quite apart from her own mind. She had no idea why she was blushing.

“Where are my parents?”

“Not to worry,” he grinned, “I haven’t diced them up or anything, your father is in his study conferring with a colleague of mine and I was pushed out of the meeting to wait for…you actually…oh and your brother of-course.” He grinned roguishly again and strode past her toward the lounge. “Your mother was nodding off last time I checked…a bit knackered.” Isabel’s forehead furrowed in confusion, it was almost like he was speaking another language, an amazingly charming and sexy language but hell, who needs to understand someone who administers the butterfly effect on your stomach with a single grin. “Your brother arrived a little before you and passed out on the couch…”

“The couch? But I walked right past….ooops!” Isabel shrieked and darted across the room. There was quite clearly a breathing bulk buried beneath her jacket, she could have smothered him! Some sister she was, so worried about them she hadn’t even seen him lying there as she charged past! Then again he deserved to be smothered….she snatched her jacket away with a scowl. Immediately she wanted to put it back where it was when Max snorted loudly, mouth dropping open and proceeded to snore. William laughed good naturedly.

“Well at least we know he’s alive…he hasn’t moved since he collapsed there.”

Isabel’s scowl deepened.

“Oh and his friend too…” William pointed to the other couch where Michael was sleeping quietly. He looked terrified and pale, Isabel walked closer to him for a better look, William’s voice stopped her, “you do know him don’t you?” he sounded worried that the rough looking kid with the scratch on his face was an imposter. Why was his face scratched?

“Michael Guerin, of-course I know him.” Isabel scowled and faintly brushed a finger over his cheek, “didn’t dad tell you that?”

William raised an eyebrow at her response but said nothing.

“I wonder how his face got cut up…Did they say anything when they came in?” She said, growing more worried about them as the time went on. Michael was a notoriously light sleeper, Max had told her he was quite the insomniac and now he was lying there while they talked above him and he wasn’t even twitching.

“No. They didn’t even ask who I was – I copped that on the chin and decided not to take it as an insult, they were probably just tired.” He smiled again. Isabel felt the insane need to tape his mouth shut, not because he was irritating or even overly talkative, just because she felt uncomfortably aware of something whenever he grinned. It was stupid and she’d never acted stupid before. It’s not as if she liked him, sure he was good looking but his hair was way too long to be fashionable and it was so very, very red! And aside from that he had some kind of fake dinosaur tooth hanging off his ear, which might have given him a nice edgy look but was a little try hard for her taste. Obviously. He was way too old anyway, he looked at least twenty five, maybe older, so way past his sexual prime and she shouldn’t even be pondering this because she didn’t date seriously and….ok stop thinking. I’m not interested so I shouldn’t even be listing his defects. Isabel restrained the urge to beat her brothers around the head until they woke her up and rescued her from William Weasley, the British intruder who was not in the least welcome to make her heart go all a flutter.

The silence grew quickly uncomfortable.

“Why did you have to wait up for me?”

“Nothing at all to worry about. You father wishes to speak to you about something, but since you’re all so tired…” William pulled a large block of chocolate from an inside jacket pocket and tossed it to her. She only just managed to catch it, frowning down at it.

“We’re a bit old to believe in the ability of chocolate to cure all illnesses, don’t you think? Exactly what age do you think I am?” She laughed. William smiled after a moment but his eyes seemed to be studying her, contemplating how serious she was being.

“They’re not ill…I thought it would give them a bit more energy to stay up. That’s all.” He said but Isabel was beginning to think he believed in the magical ability of chocolate with a little too much seriousness. The silence stretched again as she turned the slab of chocolate around in her fingers.

“Michael’s a bit of a light sleeper so do you mind moving into the kitchen again or something?”

He inclined his head in acquiescence and she lead the way to the kitchen. “Do you want a pop or anything?”

“Did you just proposition me?” He asked in a soft and horribly alluring tone. Isabel blinked and rewound the conversation. Perhaps he was having translation problems too.

“Um no,” she flushed, “do you want a pop? You know a drink? Soda? Do you have a different word for it in England?”

“Soda’s fine.” He said, his face serious and troubled, he looked briefly down the hall that led to her fathers study and she in turn studied him.

He was jolted out of his reverie when she dumped a bottle filled with a dark brownish, red, liquid. The label read Pepsi. He had no idea what that was but he’d try anything once. When he opened the bottle he smiled and laughed with glee and the little sound it made like a relieved exhalation.

“Does it always make that sound?” He asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

She smiled crookedly. “You’re odd.”

“Odd…?” he contemplated that for a moment as he took a sip and examined the bottle for a few moments. He tilted his head up and smiled wickedly, “do you mean odd as in unique and interesting or odd as in creepy and disturbing?”

“The jury’s out.”

His eyes were smiling at her, almost winking across the kitchen counter that separated them, he was leaning close cradling the pop within his hands and gazing steadfastly into her eyes. Perhaps it was because he was older but Isabel suddenly was made breathless by that unrepentant stare. Most boys she knew walked in awe of her, boys like Alex Whitman who clung to her but gazed away whenever she raised an eyebrow at his staring. This look was unashamed, confident maybe even arrogant, and she suddenly felt so feverish she was almost convinced she was sick for the first time in her life.

The moment was broken when a door down the hall opened and two men muttering together walked down the hall. Isabel turned away from William as if he’d threatened her with a garden hose, she leaned on the sink and pretended to be getting herself a glass of water (despite the fact she had just been drinking a soda).

“…that package may help you further understand the urgency of our case.” The voice was grave yet comforting, it came from her father’s companion.

He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. Her father looked different from any time she’d seen him before, he was pale and gaunt, fidgeting nervously as if he’d been told there was no need for a legal system in the country any more because the senate had voted on anarchy as the best means to achieve liberty. His companion was younger than her father, but had more grey hair for some reason, he had a homely but frail appearance to him and his clothes were about three years past their used by date. She wondered what they could possibly have to discuss unless her father was defending him on some minor criminal charge. They made an odd pair whispering together and their audience of two was riveted for two very different reasons requiring the same intensity of concentration.

“Look it over tonight, we can only give you twenty four hours to make the correct decision before we go to the parties themselves and skip all middle men. It would probably be best if you could somehow manage to disclose this information to your associates tonight as well. I know it’s short notice but it cannot be helped. We haven’t much time in this neighbourhood, you understand?” The stranger spoke and Phillip Evans nodded twice, blinking as if a rather large piece of dust was caught on the edge of his lashes.

Finally he licked his lips and said, “Umm…about my…uh…well you know…” he flicked a nervous glance to Isabel and then purposefully angled his head back towards his office. The stranger raised his hand to his mouth and William looked down. For some reason Isabel had the impression they were both trying to hide smiles.

“Yes I was most upset about your wife’s sudden headache. Do give her my best wishes for her future health. I’m sure by morning she’ll be as good as new, if not,” he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a card, “that’s the number for my…doctor.” The stranger flicked a glance at Isabel before returning to Phillip. “He’s great I assure you.”

“I hope our visit didn’t disturb her too much.” William said. Phillip glared at him. The silence stretched until Phillip realised his daughter was staring at his companion with obvious curiosity. A lump clenched in his throat and he coughed to unsettle it.

“This is Mr Remus Lupin, Izzy, he’ll be around the next couple of days…”

“Hey…” She said.

“Pleasure, Miss Evans.” He nodded toward her and she gave him a tiny smile a little ashamed at her own rudeness. All she wanted to do was get them both out of the house so she could listen to whatever her dad had to tell her (probably that they were going on a picnic this weekend, yay fun) then drag her brothers up to bed and hit them on the head until they were conscious and able to construct long detailed excuses for their disappearance this evening.

For a moment none of them said anything.

“Escort them out, Izzy.”

“Sure.” She slammed her drink back down on the sink and smiled faintly at William who returned the gesture, leaving his pop where it was and following her toward the lounge again.

“Izzy…don’t go to bed. Make sure your brother stays up too.” She was about to tell her dad that Max was pretty much already dead to the world but the door to his study closed and she was left with the strange impression of being completely shut out.

As they walked through the lounge she heard the man called Remus mutter ‘uncanny’ and paused.

“What’s uncanny?” She asked, he was gazing at the prone form of Michael with a scary intensity.

“H-How very different American children are from back home,” Isabel wondered if he was being intentionally patronising just to annoy her, “there’s merely an ocean between us after all…uncanny.” He smiled. Isabel shrugged, completely uninterested. There was something off about both the men following her and she suddenly had the urge to have them far, far away (hopefully to never, never return). She opened the door and Remus walked out quickly.

“Goodnight Miss Evans, try to have a pleasant evening.” Odd how a smile on a face as tired as his was could seem so sad.

“I know we will meet again very soon I dare say.” William whispered too close to the skin of her ear for comfort. She stiffened in alarm as she felt his hot breath and flicked her head toward his, her walls came slamming down and she smiled brilliantly at him careful not to reveal how his nearness had shaken her.

“Goodnight William.” She whispered in a strangely husky voice. He backed off with a confident swagger that she had never seen in a boy before.

“Oh no that simply will not do…” She looked confused by his pained wince, “you make me sound like a grandfather…call me Bill. All my mates call me Bill.”

“Oh…and that’s what we are?…mates?” The fact that she was American and American’s weren’t prone to use the word ‘mate’ colloquially, gave the word a whole different meaning. He stared at her, smile slipping away until his face was as blank and intense as her own. A cough broke them out of their mutual daze. Remus grabbed William’s arm and dragged him down the three steps up to the Evans’s front door, William almost tripped but righted himself at the last moment.

“Are you quite through, Mr Weasley? Stare any longer and you may get stuck this way. Much as I think this garden could use a good statue or two, perhaps the neighbours might find it a tad strange.” The man smiled with a wicked delight at embarrassing his companion but Bill didn’t even stammer he simply winked and saluted Isabel before strolling off with his friend. She could hear Remus laughing as she closed the door and exhaled softly across the trembling fingers of her hand.

She sat down next to Max, intending to wait for her father to come out of his study, but the comfort of the leather seat soon began to seduce her. Within ten minutes she was dozing as deeply as her two brothers.

**

London, South England 13th August, 1998

When Harry plodded down the stairs the next day he was greeted by a very enthusiastic Hermione.

“Oh Harry! Would you like a crumpet? Or I have pancakes? Scone perhaps?” She chirruped. Harry looked at Sirius. His Godfather had his head resting on his hand, half his face was crushed toward his nose, he was clearly very tired. At least his face wasn’t smashed down on the plate in front of him yet. Sirius glared at Hermione when she refilled his coffee and proceeded to pour syrup on his untouched pancakes.

“I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“Nonsense, we can’t have anyone in this house dying of malnutrition, not when I still have four recipes to try in that nice cookbook your mother got me, Ron!” Her voice lifted at the end of her sentence and she smiled in the direction of Harry.

Harry turned around, only just noticing that a familiar red head had followed him down the stairs.

“Hermione….?” He said, looking over her food hungrily, “are you sure my mother didn’t possess you through that book?”

Hermione pouted at him and threw the pancake pan she was holding into the sink. “Well…fine…if that’s how you feel…”

“It was a compliment Hermione,” Harry soothed with a grin. Ron was already turning red, he approached the kitchen table with caution.

“Oh, right…of course, she’s a brilliant cook, silly me.” She grinned at Ron and he turned an even darker shade of red.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Harry couldn’t resist asking. Hermione laughed and ran for her bookbag, she pulled out a copy of ‘The Struggle of Wizarding Lineage’ by Brigit Gotte. Harry frowned, what was so exciting about a book she hated?

“I stayed up all last night reading it—”

“You read that Ferret’s gift in one night? But it took you a whole three days to read the book I sent—”

“Yep! And I know exactly where I’m sending it.” She finally let herself sit down and began piling up her own plate. Sirius shrugged his shoulders at Harry, he had a smile on his face that Harry didn’t want to understand. He reached for the book where she’d placed it on the table, she started laughing again as he opened it.

“Jesus…” Harry whispered, “isn’t this blasphemous to you?” Ron raised himself up on his chair to peer down at what Harry was seeing. He almost spat out his food. Hermione had scribbled down the border of the very front page. Harry was bemused to read five footnotes to other stories under the title of the publisher….seeing Harry’s confusion she spoke up smugly.

“Those books were all published by the same people and have since been discontinued because their content was mostly if not completely contrived. They are hardly what respectable Wizard’s read if they are searching for the facts. I also provided some research that refutes almost everything that horrid woman says. The only species she was even partially sympathetic to were werewolves and vampires – who are both known for going wild and tearing out peoples throats. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I hardly think that someone your age is in any position to foray a highly respected official.” Sirius spoke softly, his eyes were hard and chastising. “Especially since we are all familiar with a werewolf that doesn’t go about tearing people’s throats out.” Hermione’s jaw dropped open.

“Respected?” She made a choking noise, ignoring the last of what Sirius had said, “how could you say such a thing after what she wrote about—”

“Did you even read it? It sounds to me like you spent the whole night flicking through your other books to find evidence that refutes everything in her book. That doesn’t show me that you had a particularly open mind. Considering the person who gave you the book, I can’t exactly blame you but…What if this is groundbreaking research and that’s why everything that came before it is so very different?” Sirius said, still speaking in that calm voice as he sipped his coffee. Hermione’s rage began to flush her cheeks, Ron made a swift exit, pretending to get some more jam for his scones even though it was sitting in the middle of the table. Sirius continued sipping his coffee.

“You’re just playing Devil’s Advocate! You’re the one who hasn’t read it! I thought you of all purebloods would understand!” She hissed. Ron coughed. Sirius smiled at her.

“Exactly. You’re thinking of me as a pureblood racist now aren’t you? It has nothing to do with that and as such an intelligent girl I really thought you’d know me better than that.” His words cut off whatever she’d been about to say, but she could no longer eat. She stared at her food, her triumphant mood severely dampened. Harry looked between them as Ron returned to the table, he didn’t think it was right for Sirius to take out his own problems on Hermione.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea, are you going to send it to Brigit Gotte or what?” He grinned conspiratorially, his hands still absently flicking through the pages littered with her intelligent insults.

“Nope. I’m sending it to the Ferret himself.” The table suddenly became still.

“Are you MENTAL?” Ron hissed. He didn’t make the mistake of calling her stupid again.

“For the last time…no. I just think it’s about time he woke up to himself.”

“And you think a couple of scribbles on a stupid book is going to turn Malfoy into some kind of saint over night? You know what, you really are stupid!” Ron said impatiently.

“Well at the very least it will annoy him, I’m sick and tired of him always coming out on top in our fights! Him and his stupid smug grin always winning—”

“That’s not how I or my fist remember it!” Ron threw back, Harry agreed with a nod. She stood up her bushy hair flying over her shoulders, her eyes glinting.

“That’s because you’re the stupid one, Ron! He provokes you, he makes you attack him and look at what happens! You should just walk away!”

“Hey I distinctly remember a time when you took a good shot at him yourself!”

“That’s my point! He always gets to us! He always knows exactly what to say, why can’t we just do the same thing? Violence is horrible and it makes us worse than he is! You get detention, or points taken, Snape gets to walk all over you and what about what happened to Harry last year? He’ll have to beg the Ministry to let him onto the Quidditch team this year because he beat Malfoy up! It might be satisfying to you but in the end it’s just proof that he gets to you! So if he wants to fight with words, I’ll do the fighting from now on, this book will score points against that prat without me actually having to slam it into his face!”

Ron was staring at her, completely enthralled by her passionate dislike of his very worst enemy. Sirius was grinning.

“Ah so this isn’t about Madame Gotte at all….” He chuckled.

“Of course it is.”

“Hermione,” Harry said as he turned the page again, “I think you missed a chapter, you’ve torn every other one apart except for this…” Harry held up the book for her to see the almost flawless page.

“No I wrote on it…down the bottom there.”

“Oh…” Harry turned it around and read her neat writing in the bottom right hand corner, ‘There’s no such thing, talk about an exercise in fiction!’ The chapter heading was ‘Unicorn Bloodlets: The Quicksilvers.’ Sounded like a great fictional character to Harry.

“Just do one thing for me before you send this on its merry way.” Sirius said, “Don’t use Hedwig, the last thing we need is to send Harry’s Owl to Malfoy Manor.”

“I was intending to use the Diagon Alley Owl Office I’ll have you know.” She said primly.

At that moment the floo in Sirius’ kitchen began to blaze green, but instead of a member of the order stepping out, a package came flying through the flames instead. It landed on the ground. They all stared at it for a moment.

“What the…?” Sirius whispered. Ron stood up and walked toward it but Sirius grabbed him by the shoulder quickly and pulled him back down into his seat.

“No! Don’t touch it…I wasn’t expecting any packages in today from the Order.” He got up himself, removing his wand from his pants pocket. He muttered a spell, then another and another…by the time he was satisfied that the package was safe, Harry’s curiosity had built to almost painful anticipation. “It’s addressed to you Harry which is why I think it’s best if I open it.” Harry shrugged and watched as Sirius ripped the package open. Inside was an intricate chess set.

“Wicked…” Ron whispered as Sirius placed it on the table, he was frowning when he handed Harry the note that accompanied it. Harry’s eyes flicked over the chess set, it really was beautifully designed, the board was heavy and charmed to glow – squares made from what looked like mother of pearl shells and onyx gems. The black pieces were peculiarly dark and heavy as Harry lifted one up, the white pieces glowed with a blue white luminescence.

The note read:

Happy Birthday Harry!
Sorry this is a bit late, but it was only just completed. Please accept this as a token of our regret. Chess isn’t just about pleasure, it’s about saving lives and living! Hope you enjoy it!

“Well they’re certainly keen…” Harry muttered.

“Sounds like Hermione would like him, I think this bloke is about two bumps-on-the-head away from starting P.O.P. Society For the Protection of Pawns.” Ron laughed.

“Maybe I would like him, at least he isn’t a brute, it sounded quite poetic to me!” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, Ron rolled his eyes. She never did grow a personality.

“Strange, it’s unsigned…” Harry’s eyes flicked to the top of the parchment and he rolled his eyes, of course it was unsigned it came from the Ministry of Magic, as if any of their people wanted to admit liability for the huge guffaw of judgement that had made Harry and Professor Dumbledore be slandered so viciously by the Wizarding press.

“That’s not all that’s strange.” Sirius said. He watched as Ron picked up one of the pieces and shook it, a look of confusion screwing up the boys forehead. “you’ve noticed to?”

“Noticed what?” Harry asked, peering precariously at the glinting board.

“Well it doesn’t appear to be tampered with…in fact the chess set has many protective spells on it…it’s just that. Well it appears very much to be a Wizarding Chess set except—”

“The pieces don’t move mate!” Ron shook his head, “I think whoever gave this to you was ripped off, it’s a basic spell really, they must be bloody stupid to have forgotten it.”

“Wouldn’t a movement spell interfere with a protective spell…? After all that game is so barbaric.” Hermione sniffed.

“True…” Sirius said with a smile in her direction, but there was something about the pensive look on his face that made Harry think Sirius did not quite believe that explanation. “Well we’ll leave it on the table for now. Harry I have something to show you that might be of interest after you visit the ministry.” The ministry? Oh. Harry had forgotten about that, immediately he shot to his feet and began following his Godfather to the Black study.

“But what about breakfast?” Hermione said.

“Later. I want to show Harry some books.”

“Oh. Wait for me.” Hermione said and skipped off down the hall in their wake, Ron rolled his eyes again, remaining exactly where he was. He grinned at the assortment of food which was at his disposal. It wasn’t very often a Weasley didn’t have to fight off a pack in order to get the last pancake, and this was all still so warm…he was salivating in anticipation but just as he was about to pile some cream on his already thickly jammed scones, Harry’s voice came down the hall,

“RON! Come and look at this!”

Sigh.

**

While Harry showed Ron all the books Sirius had ordered to help Dumbledore’s Army when school went back, Hermione browsed the rest of the library. Her fingers ran over the titles, she’d read most of them and it was kind of boring. She was about to push Ron out of the way and help Harry go through his books when she spotted a familiar title.

“Sirius! You own LadyHawke? This is my favourite love story of all time, I swear!” She made a grab for the book and held it close to her. The cover was beautiful, maroon leather with a picture of a dog and a hawk embossed into it. Sirius’s head snapped up and he moved across the room to her. Slowly he removed the book from her hands and stared pensively at the cover.

“Yes…” He looked so transfixed that Hermione was sure he was about to tell her some interesting story about how he came across that book. Instead he just smiled at her warmly, and slid the book back into place. She screwed up her face and reached for it. “Come on Hermione, stop procrastinating, I didn’t think it would be you trying to get out of going through those defence text books.”

“No, I wasn’t! Of course not!” Hermione was appalled he would think such a thing.

“Off you go.” She ran toward Harry and snatched a book from the top of the pile. Harry laughed at her.

“Insult your studying skills did he?” Harry laughed with Ron, while Hermione smiled faintly. She was so easy to manipulate.

Easy to dupe as well, as she later discovered. For as she snuck back into the library a couple of hours later, the book was gone. Sirius had tricked her into forgetting about it for a while so he could remove it from her sight. Either he was just being cruel or there was something special to him about that book. Hermione had wanted to read it so desperately that she was irritated enough to snoop around and find out just what his reasons were.

**

post was too big one second....

[Polar Thestral]

(In)Sincerely yours Continued.....

**

Roswell, New Mexico, August 13th, 1998

“Try and concentrate!” Isabel hissed, passing Max a glass of water. They had both slept way over twelve hours and still seemed like they’d been awake for a sleepless week. Isabel was getting worried. Michael was more irritable than ever.

“Would you just can it?! There were no files ok, and since all you got from the key was Ricky Martin in the shower it was all freakin’ pointless. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you? Ok maybe this is my key! Now stop talking.” Michael shivered and pulled his jacked closer, curling his large body up on the couch.

“That’s stupid Michael, we’re all in this together, maybe you were just hallucinating!”

“Ergh.” Max said holding the glass of water to his face. When he tipped the glass up it spilled down his chin.

“Ok, what is up with you two today?” She hissed impatiently. “You don’t want my concern. Fine! Where the hell were you? We were supposed to meet remember! It was freezing, I could have been killed, just what the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I don’t remember…I don’t even remember coming home.” Max husked, trying to shake off the nausea he was feeling.

“Michael?!” He ignored her by ripping open a block of chocolate that Isabel had whacked him with in order to wake him up this morning. They all hadn’t had their showers, their hair was in tangles and none of them were in any hurry to fix their appearances any time soon. Except for Isabel of course, who was only sticking around because her brothers were travelling backwards this morning to the prehistoric era of communication: ‘ergh’, ‘nuhhh’ and ‘huh’.

As soon as Michael bit down into the chocolate warmth infiltrated his system. He sat up, savouring the taste. “My God…” It melted and glided seductively across his tongue, slipping down his throat in a seductive curl. “This is the best chocolate ever!” He said, suddenly insanely energetic. He bit down on it again, chewing eagerly and tried to read the wrapper he’d just torn. “What brand….Honeydukes…never heard of it but we must buy out the whole supply immediately!” He grinned up at Isabel wiping chocolate fro his top lip. She was glaring at him. “Try some, it’ll turn that frown upside down!”

“I’ll turn you upside down if you don’t tell me where you were!” Isabel hissed.

Michael’s face suddenly stilled, he could remember now that he thought about it…but he also knew it couldn’t have happened. He remembered pushing Max out of the way as some seven foot ringwraith type creature swooped toward them, that horrible hissing noise, the darkness and that woman screaming….he blinked. It was probably a really realistic dream. It couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t remember either.”

“You’re impossible and stop eating that chocolate!” Isabel snatched it from him.

“Hey!”

“Yeah well maybe if you were of any use in this conversation I might let you have some!” Isabel snapped off two pieces, handed one to Max and bit down on one herself. She didn’t taste anything spectacular about it but the glare on Michael’s face was enough. Somewhere during the night they’d regressed back to fourth grade but she didn’t care. Max chewed on his chocolate as well.

“Wow! Michael….I think you’re right, this is great.” Colour rushed into her brothers cheeks and he perked up a little, savouring the taste with moans of satisfaction. Isabel looked between them in confusion.

The doorbell rang.

“Great!” Michael went to stand, “don’t you even think about moving! I’ll get the door and you’ll stay there until you get hit by an epiphany, ok?! OK!” She charged toward the door but her father cut her off.

“I’ll get it Izzy, you go on back to the lounge room.”

“O…K.” She stopped by the kitchen first to get a juice. Her mother was staring out the kitchen window, the blinds pulled up so that she was staring into the backyard. “Everything ok, Mum?”

Diane Evans turned and smiled at her daughter tightly. “Not if your father gets his way.”

“What do you mean?”

“IZZY HONEY!! Can you come here please!” Her father called from the loungeroom. Isabel remained where she was, looking at her mothers pale face with concern.

“Are you still feeling sick? Why don’t you go lie down mum?” Her mother laughed bitterly.

“Yes I am feeling sick, you better go sweetie. Tell your father I want to speak with him before I go to sleep.”

Isabel passed on the message, her father refused most uncharacteristically, his jaw squaring stubbornly as he looked at his new companions. It was only then she realised it had been Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley at her door. They both smiled at her politely and Isabel squeaked out a small high as her eyes flicked across Bill’s face quickly.

“Sit down Izzy, these men have something to tell you,” Phillip said.

“I still don’t know why I can’t go, I need a shower, Mr Evans,” Michael growled impatiently.

“Don’t you think that it would be better if you told them yourself, Mr Evans?” Remus Lupin said.

“I don’t know anything…”

“You know the most important part.” Remus said kindly before turning his back and escorting Bill a couple of metres away to give them a little privacy.

“OK…kids.” Max and Isabel’s father sighed, his head bowing. “I don’t know what to say so I’m just going to talk and please don’t say anything until I’m finished. Michael I don’t know how you fit into this, perhaps you will be told that later. I know about…your powers.” Isabel gasped and looked at Max, Max was wearing his poker face, he would never believe people had proof of that and Isabel tried to pretend she hadn’t gasped in order to back him up. “I had always hoped they’d never appear that you’d be what these gentleman refer to as a Squib. My brother being normal and all….what I mean to say is that it was no coincidence I found you that day in the desert. They’d set it up so it looked accidental but…well you were always meant to come to us. Again Michael…I’m not sure…” Phillip shook his head. Michael was frowning, what was this crack pot talking about? “You see your names really are Max and Isabel Evans and we really are related. Except instead of being my children, you’re the children of my brother, Aaron.”

“What? You never told us—” Isabel started.

“I assure you that I have a brother, I also have two half sisters but I haven’t seen them in a very long time. Unfortunately my brother and his wife passed away in a horrible accident, leaving their two children orphaned, suffering from amnesia. Of course we took you in.” Phillip paused to observe how they were taking it. Isabel had a lost and somewhat confused expression on her face. She looked to Max, he was still expressionless.

“This is ridiculous.” Michael spat. “It’s just a coincidence that you’re meant to find two kids on the same day that I’m also wondering the desert with no memory? Yeah right.” Phillip looked at Michael with consideration before turning toward the two strangers.

“It was no coincidence, you are right.” Remus spoke, “but I can assure you, you are by no means related.”

“Dad, who are these men? Whatever they’ve told you….done to you…you can’t believe. People are after us.” Max said urgently.

“I know,” their dad returned, his voice breaking, “for so long I thought you would be safe here, but I was wrong. These men are here to take you somewhere that is safe, where there are people who can protect you.”

“PHILLIP!” Mrs Evans had just walked into the room. She looked distraught tears were running down her face. Remus and Bill lowered their heads and looked away. Isabel was crying as well, looking at every face about the room without finding any answer etched into their features which could calm her suddenly ragged nerves. Michael gripped her hand. “How could you? We’ve protected them all their lives! We can’t just drag them up out of their roots and plant them somewhere else, we would never see them!”

“Mum….?” Isabel asked. Max was growing restless as well.

“Protect them? There hasn’t been any threat! Max only just escaped with his life last night! We can’t be selfish about this! Now that danger has come how are two muggles supposed to protect them?!”

“Don’t you call me a m-muggle! I’m proud of who I am!”

“That doesn’t change anything!” Phillip gripped her close in a tight emotional hug, “you know I wouldn’t do this if there was another choice…we have to let them go.” Diane broke into anguished cries, clinging to her husband and sobbing so heart wrenchingly that Max began to rethink his idea about his parents duping him into revealing a secret. Isabel was watching her mother, knowing that everything her father said was true. She was relieved. The powers weren’t explained, the separation from her parents wasn’t explained either but all of this felt so true to her. She was torn apart. Michael had listed avidly to Mr Evans and one sentence stood out from the rest. ‘Max barely escaped with his life last night.’ Last night! Michael remembered pushing Max away, remembered Max passing out, remembered that same chilling sensation come into his own chest, the screaming…passing out. He swallowed. That wasn’t real, was it?

Max wasn’t buying any of this, it was completely against everything else he’d ever learned about himself. What if these two men had hypnotised them to steal the three of them away?

“Dad, whatever you think we are…” he knew he had no choice, “whatever these men have said to you. It isn’t true. The truth is, we’re aliens.” A loud cackle of laughter sounded from across the room.

“Bill!”

“Sorry…”

“When we were six years old we came out of these—”

“Pods?” Max froze as the strangers voice interrupted him. “Pods, Mr Evans? Cylindrical filled with blue jelly if I remember correctly.” Max glared at him. “You believed what you were meant to believe. The truth is you’re very much human, Mr Evans.”

“Maxwell…what happened in that alley, do you remember?” Michael asked suddenly.

“No…” He said, shaking his head.

“This thing attacked us…” Michael looked at Remus Lupin’s honest face, “you know what it was don’t you?”

“I wasn’t there.” The man replied. Slowly he turned to the redheaded man standing beside him.

“A Dementor, three Dementors actually.” He said. Michael’s forehead furrowed. “We can’t explain everything to you, but I can tell you that that was one powerful charm you pulled off. Really made the hair on the back of my neck stand up!” He smiled at Michael, Michael nodded at him, not quite sure what he was being complimented about. “You took out two of them with one charm. I’ve never seen a Dementor disintegrate before.”

“No, nor have I.” But Remus Lupin didn’t sound as excited about it as Bill Weasley did.

“You just let that thing attack us and we’re supposed to what? Give up our lives and follow you back to England?” The accents were unmistakable but they were fooling themselves if they thought they’d just pack up their lives to go live in toffland.”

“Well it took me a while to find you, you’re quite slippery the three of you.” Bill smiled, “I think my brothers would like you very much.” He laughed, “I took out the third one with a simple patronus and had to portkey you back here. I hope your ministry didn’t pick up on it because it wasn’t a registered journey. Necessary though.” None of them had a clue what he was talking about but they were too dumbfounded to ask him to repeat himself in American. “I was worried that they’d already taken your sister, luckily she made her way back here by herself.” Isabel could feel him look at her but she didn’t lift her gaze from her own knees. “We’re here because you’re in trouble with some very bad people, who found you through some of your stronger powers that you used recently. We need to take you to safety.”

Isabel and Michael glared at Max, he grimaced in embarrassment and tried not to look at them.

“We’re not human, humans can’t do what we can do – if you expect us to trust you, you have to at leats explain that!”

Bill and Remus exchanged a look. Bill nodded slightly and stepped back, he reached for the blinds and clicked them shut. Apprehension trickled down the spine of every person in the room, except for two. Diane Evans stopped sobbing abruptly, she clung to her husband. Isabel gripped Michael’s hand tighter but he didn’t feel it. He could hear them moving. Suddenly a flare of light erupted from the centre of the teen trio. Isabel screamed and launched herself backward in the chair, Max and Michael similarly retreated and Diane Evans fainted dead away. Phillip didn’t seem all that surprised. But as the glare cleared it became obvious to Michael Guerin that there was no threat, a blue glow was still emanating from the same place but the source of the light was now visible. Michael stood and walked towards Remus Lupin, hardly believeing that what he saw was true.

“You are not aliens, you’re as human as we are,” Remus spoke softly and offered up his palm for Michael to inspect, there dancing away was a blue flame, moulded to Remus’s hand by its base. It shifted and twirled becoming different excitable shapes – a woman dancing, a star shooting about, an ever-green tree, all in dazzling white-blue. “You’re wizards.”

Max looked at his own hand and gasped, he’d been so transfixed by what he saw that subconsciously he’d been imitating it. A light blue glow was emanating from his palm.

“This is too weird…” Isabel said softly.

Max laughed nervously as he shook his hand until the light went out. Remus smiled, “Not too bad.” Then he blew the dancing flames on his hand out and rendered the room in darkness again.


TBC....

[Polar Thestral]

Chapter Six: Unspeakable

**

'Tis in my memory locked,
and you shall keep the key of it.

- Hamlet, 1.3

**

London. He was in London. Not that he was soaking up any of the conventional tourist traps that a typical American tourist would sojourn to. He hadn't seen Big Ben. Or Buckingham Palace. Or Leicester Square. He hadn't been to Notting Hill to look for a blue door. In fact, he was pretty sure that most human beings (muggles, he amended) had not seen what he had seen. It was hard to soak it in. He'd spent all that time hiding in the shadows during his life in Roswell. He had thought the three of them - Max, Isabel and himself - had perfected the art of dancing in the dark. Apparently not. Their kind - the wizards - had a whole world just beyond the corner of muggle perception. They had a ministry with politicians, they flew on brooms, they had magical wands that could make things fly and appear out of nowhere. And no one had a clue. He remembered Bill winking at him slyly as the phone booth began to disappear underground "they don't look properly" was all he had said by way of explanation. Not a muggle had noticed.

For all his memory, Michael had never left New Mexico. He'd been to several different cities in that arid state, but never outside of it. Max and Isabel had a family, but he had learned the foster system in America intimately. He remembered pain but not places - those memories were like dust. His life started when he found Max and Isabel. And Hank. He'd always wanted more, but now that he had it, he longed to crawl under his rock again and turn off the light. It was too bright, too loud, too overwhelming, too soon. But they were still together. They were all sitting in a waiting room, trying to ignore the paper aeroplanes that would occasionally zoom in to the rude lady behind the reception desk. They'd been told to sit down and shut up. All very hush, hush. So they'd sat down. Shut up. And they were still there two hours later. Still as silent. Still as seated. Not a f*cking damn thing had happened. There was no sign of Weasley.

Michael ran his hand through his hair in frustration, inhaling through his teeth. He felt like sinking his teeth into his arm and just tearing at his own skin. He jumped in shock when warm fingers threaded through the gaps between his own.

"Calm down." A cool, feminine voice said.

He didn't look across, just clenched his jaw and tried to look insulted. Michael Guerin didn't need her comfort. This is what he'd always wanted - to be out here in the world, to find where he belonged. His fingers shifted and his hand clasped her tighter. Though he didn't see, she looked across at him, her hard eyes softened and she smiled gently. Same old Michael. Tough and brittle on the outside, nothing but chocolate syrup deep down. Hmmm food analogies, Isabel's eyes darted up to the clock on the wall. She gave a small start when she read 'Lunchtime' rather than 'one o'clock'.

"Huh," was all she could say.

Michael didn't hear her - his eyes were fixated on the two chairs opposite them. On one chair was their appointed guard. A young but stuffy looking fellow, constantly shifting around in his seat trying to hide the title of the magazine he was reading. There was a silly little smirk on his face, a gleam in his eye. He flicked a page, eyes darting left and right with obvious zeal. Michael tilted his head to the side and just caught the words: Witch Weekly. Was that like a Woman's Day? He smirked. Inside his mind the small piece of information was filed away for future mockery if the guy turned out to be a jackass.

The tiny smile died when his eyes shifted to the occupant of the next chair. He had the photo out. Again. His eyes were doing that horrible watering-puppy thing. It was getting to the point where Michael wanted to tell his brother to go find a water hydrant if he was going to be such a bitch. Isabel shared in his mockery of their brother. Max had healed the girl, exposed all of them (and Valenti had turned out to be the least of their concerns), spent about a week yapping happily because he finally had his chance with her, only to be boarded on the next portkey to London, England. Life's a bitch, and so was Max Evans.

**

"Liz…" The word was spoken reverently, as Max reached from the booth and touched her arm. She paused and smiled down at him - one of those irritating big pearly-white smiles that make you look around for the nearest orthodontist convention (to please take her away). Max hesitated; Michael kicked him in the shin under the booth with a well-placed and quite heavy Doc Marten. Max ignored him. "Could I…could we…maybe talk - in er…private?"

He was blushing, and she was blushing. It was a huge blushfest with Liz biting her lip, hair falling in her face, eyes looking up from beneath those long lashes. Max stared at her intently - his cheeks so rosy they were almost glowing…no wait, they were glowing. Michael pushed aside his chips. Better not tempt his up-chuck reflex.

"Sure, Max - let me just tell my dad I'm going on break."

He led her outside, his arm hovering above the small of her back but not touching her. It was a protective gesture. Max was constantly looking around distractedly even as he broke the news - those Dementors had really shaken Max, and he hadn't even seen them.

Michael watched them, having discreetly followed to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Their heads were so close together. Though at times they seemed to edge closer, they never bridged the distance between them. She leaned against the wall and he stood in front of her, shielding her from the cold wind without obscuring her face from their avid audience. Her eyes had started focused somewhere on Max's sweater then they had bounced up all of a sudden and widened with alarm. And pain.

Michael hated her.

But this was goodbye and he could only relish it. The knowledge that they'd probably never see her again brought a pleased satisfaction to him that he knew he shouldn't feel. But it was there, warm and radiating in his chest. He felt no sympathy for the tears she wanted to cry - there had been no possibility for love between them yet. The seed had been there but it hadn't bloomed. If it had Michael would have put his Doc Martens to use once more by stomping it out. Liz Parker didn't belong with them. And an ocean between them should make Max see.

**

But it hadn't. Michael didn't know when she had given him that photo. Maybe he'd just always had it. Maybe he'd snapped a photo of her one day when she wasn't looking, and kept it under his pillow like a true romantic (or as Michael liked to call him - a faithful stalker).

"Could we just hurry up, Draco's waiting." A voice whined from the receptionist's desk. Her nails were drumming on the desk impatiently - black and probably manicured. If they had that sort of thing in the Wizarding World. Michael's eyes scanned her for a moment with disdain - a bubblegum chick. He already detested her: from the sound of her dulcet voice, to her long blonde hair and knee-high boots. She was the type of girl that yapped on and on because she was just too damn happy, and Michael hated happy people more than anything. It was unnatural to be so…chipper. It may be a wonder to some people how he could tell what she was like just by looking at her, but it wasn't only him that could read her like a book. Isabels' eyes flicked over her once - she could recognise her own species and instantly detested her.

"Do kindly take a seat Ms. McCarthy." The words had been gritted through very impatient teeth, and accompanied by a stern glare. There was something about a woman with tiny spectacles that made glaring that much sharper.

"Geez it's not like you work for me or anything, just call me Tara." The girl didn't seem to notice that these words only made the receptionist's shoulders tighten even more. The girl sighed boredly, rocked on her boots and continued her tapping.

"Please desist with that infernal tapping!!" The stern woman slammed her hands down on the desk and raised herself halfway out of her seat. Her temper was really quite alarming when matched with her tight grey bun, high collared robes and a dog's bottom pout to rival Miss Frigid, U.S.A.

"Sorry, nervous habit."

"Impatient habit more like." The woman mumbled crossly.

The girl's head turned to the side, toward the bustling in the corridor beyond this somewhat cramped office. Michael caught the slight glimpse of a grin and rethought his opinion of her. Maybe she wasn't oblivious to how she was affecting the bitch behind the desk; maybe she was just enjoying getting a rise out of her. Michael looked across at Max, who had tilted his head and was now discreetly reading Witch Weekly over their captor's shoulder. He could completely respect the urge to ridicule, and the bubblegum girl had gone up a notch in his esteem.

For a while there was silence, but almost like she couldn't sit still the tapping started again. Not her nails, but her feet - the dull percussion was accompanied by the humming of a song Michael didn't recognise. He grunted with annoyance: bubblegum girl drops down two pegs. Isabel smothered a laugh beside him.

"Look, my Aunt is --"

"I do not care if your Aunt is married to the Minister of Magic; I don't care if your brother is Harry Potter, or if you won the Little Witch contest three years ago! I will not process you until your name comes up on the parchment in front of me." She stabbed at the parchment with one long, bony finger.

"Yes but a name hasn't come up on that parchment for at least --"

"The other exchange students are waiting patiently enough. Do kindly have some compassion for a poor underpaid witch and wait like everyone else, Miss McCarthy."

It seemed the girl had finally lost. Her shoulders slumped dramatically. She swung her leg and walk toward them, dragging her feet as if a twenty-kilo load was weighing on her shoulders. She muttered 'It's Tara' mockingly to herself, but she said it so lowly that it was obvious she had accepted defeat as er…graciously as she could. The smoke of a fire-breather was breathed down her back as she walked away.

"So hey…are you exchange students too?"

Michael's head jerked up from perusing his laces in shock. His eyes narrowed on her face - wide blue eyes, a round full-cheeked face all framed with wavy, golden hair. Shirley Temple lives. Although he was sure Shirley Temple would never wear robes made of leather.

He was sworn to silence and would say nothing in reply. Isabel looked at Michael for a moment, waiting for him to say something. His arms were crossed against his chest and he was glaring up at this girl with an insolence that seemed to snarl 'I dare you to say one kind thing to me then POW right in the kisser.' The girls eyebrow raised slightly, her face screwed up, her mouth curled a little. She was clearly unimpressed.

"Yes, we are."

"American." She said with interest. Both of her hands reached up steadily, seemingly of their own volition, and started twirling the hair falling to the left side of her face. Michael watched the gesture with a sneer.

"Obviously." He snapped.

"I'm Australian." Still twirling.

"Obviously." He reiterated (even though he hadn't quite pinned her strange accent down).

"He's a happy one isn't he?" She asked Isabel, looking at Michael with a slight frown of annoyance. Still twirling her damn hair.

"If you don't like it, take a hike."

Tara had never much liked the outdoors. She screwed her nose up in distaste. "Well I'm bored and my best friend is better at insulting me then you, so…deal." She said sweetly with a slight tilt to her head. He glowered.

"Why don't you just go sit in a corner and speak to your hair, since you seem to like fondling it so much." He snarled, with no idea why he was so determined to piss her off.

She looked down at her hands and instantly stopped the twirling, instead she wrapped them behind her back, removing the temptation. She looked at him for a moment, but didn't know what to say, so she just glared. He wondered if she was flirting with him for a second before a voice across the room said--

"Leave her alone Michael she's just trying to be friendly." Max said, clearly annoyed with him.

"Why?" He snapped back.

"So you're going to Hogwarts?" Isabel tilted her head to the side and studied the girl standing in between them all.

"Yes, I always wanted to study there but mum wouldn't let me come back. I can't wait."

"Well you're going to have to because I just put you at the bottom of my list Miss McCarthy." A delighted voice said from behind her. Tara rolled her eyes and pursed her lips slightly. A second later she smiled at Max and blocked out the rest of the room.

"So there's three American's as well. There's apparently three Aussies, but we came separately. Strange that you're all here at the same time."

"What's with the questions?" Michael asked. Before Tara could respond Isabel cut in "we all went to the same school. Salem Memorial. My name's Katie, that's my brother Matt over there and this is our friend Michael."

**

"The first thing you need to remember is that I won't be able to show you to the registration office in the Ministry of Magic, you'll be guided by Arthur Weasley, Bill's father. He works there and it wouldn't look suspicious as he heads the Misuse of Muggle artefacts office. Only natural for him to be interested in wizards raised by muggles like yourselves.

"Secondly remember you mustn't use your real names in public. In fact, it'd be much better if you just did not use your old names at all. Michael - your name is fine and untraceable, since you were not placed with family in America you don't actually have your real name. No one will know the difference." Remus smiled sadly at him for a moment.

"What's my--"

"Isabel and Max on the other hand, you will need to have different identities. We can't risk you being exposed. Luckily Dumbledore does have connections in America and we were able to obtain two aliases for you. Remember to use them always."

"Maybe if we understood the threat a little more." Max probed.

"All in good time. I have been given specific instructions and it is in your best interest to trust me. Everything will be revealed to you when it should be. Your history is a delicate matter, if we spoke about it too much it could damage your memory during the recovery period."

They all blinked, but before they could ask him what the hell he meant he was already explaining that Isabel and Max Evans were now Katie and Matt Williams. "Now Williams is an old wizarding family from Massachusetts, they weren't too powerful but they have been around for years. This is useful for two reasons - one, in the war sixteen years ago there was a Williams family that was killed and you could be survivors raised by muggles. Secondly, we have forged documents that you attended Salem Memorial. Try not to tell people your surname pseudonym if it's at all possible. There are some very old families at Hogwarts who could possibly know this family, though it is doubtful it is still better not to risk it. We do not want them to discover your secret. That would be very bad indeed."

"We can do that." Isabel breathed deeply to reassure herself. Remus smiled gently at her, heaving a tired sigh into his lungs.

"Your biggest problem will be that you in fact have not attended a magical school."

"It's just like regular school isn't it?" Michael said with a frown.

"No." Blunt but effective. Max and Isabel shifted while Michael glared impatiently at the man across from them, hoping for an elaboration. "You'll be entering sixth year at Hogwarts, the students with you have studied magic for five years already - they have wands and know how to use them, they can create potions, identify magical creatures - many things that due to your muggle upbringing you have not experienced. Their mindset is so totally different to yours that it would be impossible to fake for a full year."

What were they supposed to say to that? Even Max looked like he wanted to either run for his life or hurl something heavy at Remus's head.

"That's why we chose the Salem school. They are particularly gifted at Potions, which may be a difficulty for you, but they do not use wands for their magic. It's a small school, with a curriculum dedicated to preserving the old pagan rituals, the use of one's own energy through the hands…" he opened his palm with a slight smile, "wandless magic."

"So we won't be getting wands?" Max asked. He sounded so disappointed that Remus slanted him an indulgent grin.

"Not at the moment, no, it would appear unrealistic. You should not be upset that you cannot use wands, wizards who have been educated to rely on them can work for years at wandless magic and never succeed. But you have achieved a rare level through self-education. You healed someone, Mr. Evans…" Remus gripped Max's shoulder slightly. "However disastrous the consequences might have been, take heart in the fact that I know no other wizard who could perform so powerful a feat without his wand. You may be mocked and teased when you first arrive, a wizard without a wand is often ridiculed as impotent, but…we'll see who's cackling once classes start." He winked at them, and reached for his teacup to take a gentle sip.

The three teenagers exchanged worried glances in the draughty room of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Don't look so worried. Have some chocolate, you'll feel better."

**

Tara and Isabel spoke stiltedly. It was usually Max who started each conversation, but Michael knew it was because Max wanted the lull of mindless chatter as background music. Once a conversation was started Max didn’t participate at all. Silence was more apt to make him think. About Roswell, and Liz and all he'd left behind to chase the history that had eluded them.

They waited until two p.m. At that time, the fire (which had been smouldering pathetically in the corner) suddenly blazed high and green. Isabel gasped and lurched back into Michael's side.

"It's just a floo - no need to panic." Tara smiled at her strangely. Isabel tried to return the smile but at best it came across tremulous.

From within the flames a tall figure appeared in a whirl of hacking coughs and ashen black robes.

"I hate the floo, stupid ash, stupid fire--" He grunted when his cloak got caught on the cuffs of his robes, "stupid cloak!!" He growled in aggravation until he managed to wrestle himself free. He continued muttering to himself as he patted down his cloak. Lastly he swiped a pale hand through his dusty hair, shaking his fingers until it returned to its regular jet black (and decidedly messy) state.

"Ah. Mr. Potter, right on time. I assume you've come to tell me that there is no need to--" He had moved across the room and nervously shoved something into her hand. She smiled at him tightly, when she looked down at the paper in her hand her grip on it tightened significantly and the smile could no longer be held in place. The paper crumpled in her fingers whilst Harry tried to prevent his mouth from widening into a grin. "I see." She ran a finger around her lips. "Very well, yes, very well. Just um…take a seat." She stood shakily from her seat but before she left she turned to him with a nervous tone. "Will Mrs Bones be up here soon?"

"Professor Dumbledore was talking to her when I left, apparently they're both in the same bowling club." Harry tried to maintain his confident grin as the dumpy old hag disappeared behind a door at the back of her office. His lips were quivering, his whole body was shaking - he just couldn't believe it. After all the crap he'd been through last year, he couldn't believe something positive would come of all of it. Well, that's if this revelation turned out to be positive.

**

"This is an equity hearing whereby the plaintiff is challenging ss59 of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. I understand you are hoping for special permission to obtain an adult wizarding licence immediately?" The kindly eyes of Amelia Bones smiled at him as she looked up from the parchment in front of her.

Harry blinked. "Huh?" Dumbledore poked him in the ribs. "Oh…um…yes?"

"Very well then. Let us not dally, tell me Mr. Potter why should the department of underage wizardry grant you special pardon?"

**

What makes you so special? Harry had never been able to answer that one.

Harry's stomach still knotted when he thought about it. He had been quiet for a full two minutes just blinking and stuttering and looking at Dumbledore hoping he'd know an answer that wouldn't make him look like a fool. He hadn't requested this for himself, this was Sirius and Remus's idea of a 'birthday present' and he wasn't at all prepared. It was too much. No wonder Remus had said that the marauders would have loved this present. It symbolised freedom - that wondrous state of being part way between thrill and fear.

He couldn't believe how it turned out, even now his wand burned in his sleeve. He could feel the wood - suddenly heavier - against his arm and he wanted to flick his wrist, feel it between his fingers as he shouted the first incantation that came into his head. And he'd wait and wait for the Owl to come and tell him he had broken the law. He'd wait and wait to learn that this was all a mistake, that they hadn't called in all those witnesses, and she hadn't said those fateful words.

"Harry Potter you are now a fully licensed Adult Wizard. Your wand is no longer monitored under the relegation of the Department of Underage Sorcery. You will not be protected by our alerts when you use defensive magic. You will be judged as an adult if any infringement to other wizarding law occurs. You are not a child. You are an adult, with all the corresponding duties and responsibilities."

And just when Harry thought the knot of excitement and dread in his throat couldn't get any tighter, Dumbledore had leaned down and whispered into his ear, "best not to tell anyone at Hogwarts about this Harry…except perhaps Miss Granger and Mr Weasley of course." His eyes had glittered at that amendment, for it was clear the first thing Harry would do when he returned to Grimmauld Place was cast a thousand different spells for his best friends, just to show them he could do it without reprisal.

**

"Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry's head jerked up at the sound of the excited female voice. He grimaced, noting the way her eyes were locked on his forehead searching for the tell-tale scar. He smoothed his hair down, hoping to cover it before she could see. Embarrassed, he mumbled 'yes' and met her eyes blankly.

"Oh my…I mean I knew you went to Hogwarts, it just didn't click that I might actually see you," she giggled slightly, "Wow."

His flush increased to pained embarrassment and he coughed. "Um…thanks."

Michael frowned in confusion. The kid wasn't anything special. Not that Michael really knew what girls found 'hot' in his own sex. He was too thin, his hair wasn't even brushed but sticking up strangely at the back, he was wearing a pair of unflattering round glasses. He had no posture and it appeared little confidence as well. Why was the bubblegum girl in swooning fits at the sight of him? "Who are you? Some kind of wizarding Buddy Holly?"

Harry smiled at him, shaking his head. He didn't bother to tell this surly stranger who he was, taking his own pleasure in the anonymity he rarely had in the wizarding world.

"You don't know who Harry Potter is?" Tara sounded quite scandalised. "Have you been living under a rock?"

"Yes." He said with a mirthless grin. Isabel whacked him across the shoulder and shot him a warning look.

"Michael…" The boy two seats down from Harry shook his head with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Matthew." They both glared at each other.

"Uh, already here, Harry. Good, good - didn't want to have to go and rescue you from the mob." Harry looked up to see the grinning face of Mr. Arthur Weasley, and a returning smile lit his features. He stood to his feet and walked quickly to his old friend offering him his hand. Arthur laughed and brushed it aside giving him a quick hug then roughing his hair even more. Harry blushed and did his best to pat it back down. "And you must be Miss Williams and Mr Williams." Arthur moved to shake Isabel and Michael's hands.

"I'm Katie Williams this is actually Michael Guerin," Isabel said, "my brother's behind you."

"Ah," Mr Weasley swung around with a pleasant grin and shook Max's hand. "Pleased to meet you Mr Williams. Sorry about the delay Dawkins," he addressed the burly figure that had been reading Witch Weekly, "I had some trouble with Harry here as usual." Mr Weasley winked at the boy and Harry smiled crookedly. "Now, let's see what we can do about hurrying Bertha along - she's a bit of a procrastinator I've heard." He turned toward the office window and took out his wand discreetly muttering something under his breath.

In the next moment a shrieking alarm went off that sounded like a banshee being strangled. Dawkins hurried from the room with his ears covered while the other occupants crouched in their seats in shock. Arthur stood there waiting calmly. Moments later the receptionist burst from behind the door, a napkin still half curled into her collar and a distinctive orange stain down the front of her pink robes. She waved her wand tightly, the screaming ceased, and she glowered at Mr. Weasley.

"Ah I was wondering when you were going to come back from your break Bertha." He smiled. "I have to escort the exchange students under my care to Diagon Alley and explain a few things about Hogwarts. I was wondering if you'd completed their exchange papers, you have - after all - had three hours to complete them."

"Well we all know how busy we get Arthur…" she laughed nervously. "They are almost done. Give me just one moment--"

She disappeared again and fifteen minutes later returned with four manilla envelopes, each marked with a name: Katherine Williams, Matthew Williams, Michael Guerin and Tara McCarthy. They all eagerly accepted the packages, not because the documents inside were particularly interesting but because they symbolised freedom. Tara, however was somewhat more subdued than she had been before and her friend Draco's impatience did not seem to have the same pull on her. She alternatively sent speculative looks between Michael and Harry, only turning to leave when the chatter of their party began to carry them towards the elevator.

"So you attend Hogwarts?" 'Matt' was asking Harry.

"Yes, it's a great school, you'll really love it. Dumbledore is a brilliant wizard and most of the Professor's are erm interesting as well."

"What do you mean interesting?" Max asked dubiously as he pulled out his interim class list (he still needed to be sorted into a temporary house before his schedule could be concreted).

"Well I'd stay away from Potions if you could manage it at all." Harry laughed. The laugh stopped when he saw the frown on Matt's face.

"The first thing on my list is Potions."

"Uh. Rotten luck." Harry sent him a commiserating grimace and tapped him lightly on the back.

Meanwhile Tara was walking behind the briskly moving Michael Guerin, trying to get a better look at his profile. He wasn't really her type, so she hadn't given him more than a once over when she'd seen him. There was something familiar about him, but it was a very vague sensation. Like when she was sure she'd seen an actor in a movie but couldn't quite pin down where she'd seen them before. Tara knew it would bother her all day if she didn't figure it out now.

"Have we met before?" She asked, scooting up beside him. He cast her a disdainful look and simply said, "No."

"I'm not trying to hit on you."

He raised an eyebrow and scoffed sceptically.

"I'm really not, you just seem so fam--"

The elevator pinged, the doors slid open and Tara's sentence stopped when she saw who was standing inside.

"Draco!" Her grin widened and she instantly forgot about Michael. Draco Malfoy was her type and he was wearing the sexiest scowl she'd ever had the privilege to see on him. Ten years worked wonders. Yes sir.

"Just where the hell have you been? I do not enjoy having my time wasted."

"That is so not my fault, the bitch in the registration office decided pumpkin juice was more appealing than doing her job."

"Well she won't be working here for much longer." Draco smirked and ran a finger along the line of her jaw by show of welcome.

She blushed and giggled foolishly. "You're bad."

"I always remember you quite liking that about me."

"You always were quite up yourself."

"Who would you rather I was …up?" His smirk widened when she blushed even redder.

"I can't think of a retort right now, but I will."

"I'll be patiently waiting."

"Damn you, if my friend was here she'd kick your ass at this."

"It's a good thing there's no one here of any real intelligence then," he winked, but before she could be insulted he'd kissed her hand and she'd forgiven him completely.

The elevator pinged again and the doors began to close, that's when Tara remembered they weren't alone. Her hand shot out, holding the doors open. "Are you guys coming?" They were all standing there, staring at them with mingled expression of curiosity and horror. Mr. Weasley was holding Matt and Katie by the shoulders as if he had restrained them from boarding. Harry was glaring fiercely at the silver haired boy and Michael had a strange distant expression in his eyes.

"Guys?" Tara laughed nervously.

"Why hello Potter, has the ministry finally snapped your wand in half?" Draco's eyes gleamed momentarily in pleasure - then they flickered about Potter's companions and he seemed to register that he was by far outnumbered and they had all taken offence to him insulting the mild-mannered boy-hero.

Harry was staring back at him, clenching his hands and chanting in his head: I will not use my wand, I will not use my wand, I will not use my wand. He knew by all rights he could whip it out and turn Malfoy's hair red (he was sure the prat wouldn't appreciate that) - but Dumbledore had told him to tell no one, and Malfoy would surely be the worst person to tell.

"Malfoy." Was all he said, straightening his spine and taking a step backwards.

"Good move Potter, we don't want any dirty half-bloods stinking up our elevator space." He looked to Tara to move her hand from the doors, but she was staring back at him. Her eyes were wide with surprise, she was quite pale but she smiled at him tremulously.

Harry had stiffened and moved a step forward but Matt put a hand out restraining him by the wrist. "What's a half blood?"

"It's a--never mind he's just a racist. Oh yeah, that's another thing - try to avoid the Slytherins if you're not sorted there, they're nothing but bigots and snakes." Harry made sure his voice was loud enough for Draco to overhear. The elevator doors protested against Tara's arm and just as she was about to withdraw the restraint, Draco's own hand shot out to keep them open. His eyes were glinting blades focused on Harry's face.

"Everyone better listen up. The famous Harry Potter is spouting his own propaganda for a few more fans…would you like me to gather you a larger crowd Potty? We wouldn't want that head of yours to deflate." His eyes flicked over Katie and Matt's faces disdainfully, when his gaze landed on Arthur Weasley he chuckled. "Well at least you have the obligatory Weasley." His smile was malicious. "Where's that pet beaver of yours?" He pretended to look up and down the hall.

"Why don't you just get back onto the elevator Master Malfoy, and we'll get the next one." Arthur Weasley tried to say calmly. Draco ignored him.

"I see, maybe the beaver finally learned her place. Madam Gotte certainly has a way with words."

"And the pages of that book are so sturdy; they fed our fire for at least three hours last night." Harry said with a brilliantly fake smile, Draco's jaw twitched.

"Do you hear that, Tara? The famous Harry Potter thinks he's so powerful and your Aunt is so pathetic that he just desecrated her hard work. He has no respect for her, no respect for his betters. Don't be fooled by him"

Harry was surprised to find Tara glaring at him after Draco's scathing words. When his forehead furrowed in confusion she looked imploringly at Draco, hoping they could just leave. She hated confrontations.

Michael was still standing in the same place, his head was starting to ache at the temples, the longer he watched the verbal dual. A horrible pain was filling his head, nails were scratching across the top of his scalp then drilling through his skull. The pain snapped his impatient temper and he stepped into Draco's face.

"Look, Drack, Droke whatever your name is - get in the elevator and go wherever it is you were so impatient to be. You're giving me a headache."

Draco looked at him for the first time, and to the lean figure of Malfoy, Michael Guerin was quite an intimidating person to see. His shoulders were wide, his eyes fierce and he had twice the body weight though they were probably no more than an inch different in height. In his heart Draco Malfoy was a coward; Michael Guerin however madly desired to punch something. The reaction of the pale boy stepping into the elevator would have been completely natural given the circumstances and their characters. Instead they just stared at each other for a moment, decidedly unnerved by their uncharacteristic reaction to this strangers face. They both stepped back simultaneously, eyeing each other suspiciously. Tara watched their behaviour with calculating eyes flicking rapidly between them.

"And your name is?" Draco hissed when he was back inside, still holding the door open. The elevator door was now muttering curses at them and pushing insistently against his palm.

"None of your business." Michael snapped then moved forward to shove Draco impatiently back into the elevator. His hand collided with a cashmere cloak but as he pushed against his chest a bizarre thing happened. While Draco was shunted only two steps back, Michael was launched into Arthur Weasley violently. Both men tumbled to the ground with startled yelps.

"MICHAEL!" Katie called out, turning toward him--

Inside the elevator, an unsettled Draco regained his footing and stepped forward determinedly. The doors slammed shut in his face. The cheery elevator music disorientated him for a moment, juxtaposed completely against the tense atmosphere they had left behind. Michael she had called him. Michael…Oh he'd pay for that one. Draco's shoulders stiffened then he turned around and took Tara's hand kissing her knuckles briskly.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Those who matriculate Hogwarts are not up to our standards all the time, but I'll make sure you don't fall into their grubby hands." He smiled at her.

She made a slight noise in her throat, still pale. "Will you get in trouble?"

"For what?"

"Draco, you sent him flying across the room." Tara chuckled lightly. "You're in the ministry of magic, and by the looks of things Harry Potter doesn't like you very much. You're not allowed to use your wand outside of school. Do you think you'll get in trouble? "

"I'm a Malfoy." He brushed what she was saying aside stiffly.

"In other words…yes?" She laughed.

"Of course not." He sounded insulted. The elevator continued its ascent. "How's your father?" He asked to fill the silence.

There was some pain in Tara's face when she looked at him, she tried her best not to let it show. Unfortunately her poker face was crap, and he read her emotions easily. "He's great." She breathed in deeply. "And yours?"

Draco's face went completely blank, she could not discern what he was thinking as his eyes met hers. "He's perfect."


TBC....



Authors Notes:

I have my nudge-wink to Arthur Miller fans out there: the 'Williams' family from Salem comes from Abigail Williams in the Crucible.

The line 'POW right in the kisser' is for my dad, he loves that mouse from the Looney Tunes cartoons: 'one of these days Alice, one of these days….' Favourite catch phrase of his.

Please do not flame me about the OC Tara McCarthy, as she is based on my best friend we would take great offence - hehe.

You will learn more details about what happened during Harry's hearing as the story progresses - and who the 'witnesses' were I promise. No, Bertha is not Bertha Jorkins I know she is very dead.

And yeah…sorry about the wait - so much had to happen in this chapter so it was pretty hard to write.

NEXT CHAPTER - the hogwarts express and the sorting hat sings again…what house(s) will our favourite Roswellians be in?

Cheers and Beers,

B xxx