Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Severus Snape, Potions Master and teacher at Hogwarts, was on his way back to the school. He was only limping slightly and was oddly relieved and concerned at the same time that he was back so soon. It was still dark, only the middle of the night and not the early morning hours he was expecting to be struggling his way back to the castle doors and to the infirmary.

He was relieved because he was still alive. His death was one of the possible outcomes of the stupidly brave but necessary endeavour he had undertaken tonight. And the concern... well, the things that were spoken this evening in the last hours were definitely a reason to be concerned. He sighed as he finally reached the big doors into the castle. The grounds were empty, no sign left from the masses of people and the commotion that accompanied the last task of the blasted tournament that brought back what should have stayed lost.

He opened the doors and stepped into the entrance hall, composing himself on the way back up to the Headmaster's office. Briefly he contemplated to go to his quarters and change out of the Death Eater robes first, but time was of the essence, and if he hoped for a few hours of sleep tonight, than he had better not dwadle.

“Candyfloss” Albus and his ridiculous passwords. Warily, Severus stepped on the spiral staircase and contrary to his normal behaviour, he waited until it brought him up to the door to the Headmaster's office. A short knock and a friendly “Come in” later, Severus stood inside the warm and cosy circular office.

“Severus, my boy! I did not think you would be back so soon.” surprise was colouring Albus' face and voice. “Did you need to run? Are you hurt?” Concern was the most prominent emotion in the blue eyes, but Severus was almost certain he could also see some calculating in their depths. And there he was again, the manipulator behind the grandfatherly façade. The man that pressured him with guilt into working as a spy, the man that never failed to remind him of his errors and his losses.

“I am quite fine, Headmaster. No need to worry.” Severus took a moment to look to Minerva, who was sitting in a chair by the desk and was looking really tired. Besides her, the office was empty. She looked up and seemed relieved to see the Potions Master.

“Can you tell us what you learned this evening?” Dumbledore motioned for Severus to take the other seat in front of his desk.

“Mr. Potter's description of the Dark Lord, was accurate.”, he sat in the offered chair. “He does not look human anymore. As I learned, this is the result of a mistake made by Pettigrew during the preparation of the potion that was used this evening.” He declined Minerva's silent offer of tea and sat back, trying to get more comfortable. “The Dark Lord wants me to find the error and a cure to rectify the damage done. He told me to stay here till the end of term, and stay with him after that. I was not told anything else.”

“Nothing more?” Albus seemed disappointed by this brief report “He did not speak of his plans? You did not see any of the others? Where does he stay?”

Before Severus could start to answer, Minerva rose from her chair “I will go to bed. I can’t help here, and we have to care for the students.”

She brushed her fingers over the shoulder of her younger colleague “I’m glad that you are well.” With that, she left the office, closing the door softly behind her.

Severus breathed deeply. “I have seen none of the others. And the Dark Lord did not speak of plans that did not concern me. He may have accepted my explanation... at least enough not to kill me on the spot. But I do not think that he trusts me completely at the moment.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his closed eyes. There was a headache forming. “We meet at Malfoy Manor. But I doubt that he will stay there. There were not many words spoken. It will take time to get his trust once more. I am glad that I could leave His presence alive.” He sounded tired, almost as tired as he felt.

“I will have to prepare for my stay away from the school. We will see if I will be able to gather worthwhile information in the next weeks. But now I will go down to my quarters and will try to sleep a little.” He stood and nodded in the Headmaster's direction, spun on his heel and limped out of the door.

oooOOooo

The first thing Severus did down in his quarters was to get out of his Death Eater robes, tossing them carelessly over a chair. He sank down in his favourite chair opposite the fireplace, lighted a fire, and summoned one vial of a deep purple potion to his hand. He broke the wax seal and knocked the potion back. It tasted foul, but the tremors almost immediately lessened. Over the months as the Dark Mark became darker and darker again, he had decided to stock up on doses of his anti-crucio draught. Now he was glad he had found the time to do so.

He let his head sink back and closed his eyes. What should he do? There was an oath to protect Lily's child. There was Dumbledore and his guilt trips. There was a returned Dark Lord, whom he had not seen this sane in all the time he had known him.

There were not many options. And there was even less time.

He had told Albus only a fraction of what had transpired between the Dark Lord and himself in Lucius' manor. The Dark Lord said that he was almost certain, that he had lost Severus’ loyalty that night he killed Lily Potter. That he understood the reasons of why his potions master stayed with Dumbledore and why it was so easy for him to get a trusted position with the Order of the Phoenix. Severus let his hand glide through his black hair.

It seemed that the Dark Lord did suspect that he had been actively working for the light in the last war. That his loyalty was with the light and not the dark any more.

He did not tell Dumbledore that his spy had a date of expiry. That he had until the end of August to come to a decision. Go to the Dark Lord, take a potion that would render his Occlumency useless, and than let the Dark Lord wander his mind. Or stay away, declare that he was no longer loyal, and be a hunted man.

Neither of this options was one he would chose. But not to chose was impossible. He did not want to die. And both options would lead to his death. Either because he would break his oath to protect Lily’s child to the best of his abilities, or because he would be hunted as a traitor. Like Karkaroff, the coward that ran.

Maybe there was still hope, though. The Dark Lord only cast the cruciatus curse once. And he had been talking very logical and clear. No grandstanding, no detours or mad jumps between topics. A declaration he intended to win Severus fully back, that he trusted him enough to brew a cure for him. Maybe there was hope, that it was possible to go back to the dark, while still protecting that blasted Potter brat.

Severus groaned, thinking on this more tonight would not help him. There was still a week of school, and he would have to prepare for his “holidays”, there was much to do, and he would not get all done that needed to be done, if he denied himself the much needed sleep.

He got up and padded over the carpeted floor to his bedroom and the connected bathroom. A hot shower would do him good.

oooOOooo

At the same time, in another part of the country, a white peacock was peacefully strutting through a beautiful garden, watched by the crimson eyes of the recently resurrected Dark Lord Voldemort.

He held an empty potions vial in his hands, idly spinning it between his fingers. That was the second pain relief potion he had taken that night. Hopefully he would not need to continue to take one every few hours.

There was a knock on the door, and he spun around calling “Come in” as he did so.

The door opened, and Lucius stepped through, bowing deeply once he was inside the study.

“Tell me. what is the reaction to Potter's report in the Ministry?” Voldemort asked and watched the current Lord Malfoy with interest.

“Fudge is in denial. He will not believe that Potter is telling the truth. He told me what Dumbledore tried to make him do.” The blond Lord's face morphed to a smirk. “To Remove control over Azkaban from the Dementors, to send envoys to the giants, tell everyone. He even told me, that Snape showed his arm in his face, forcing him to step back.” Lucius face got cautious at that, but the nodding of his Lord’s head showed him that this was no news to him. “I do not think that there will be a problem from this side in the next time. They are all in severe denial. And as the saying goes, there is no one as blind as those that won't see.”

“How does he explain the death of this other boy? Diggory?” asked Voldemort, cautiously sitting down in the plush seat behind the desk and setting the empty vial down in front of him.

“He claims that one of the monsters in the maze of the last task got to him.”

“What about Bartemius? Any word about him?” He was getting tired again, he needed to rest soon. But first he had some questions to asks and tasks to give out.

Lucius was standing, trembling slightly, in front of his own desk and tried to not show his pain, fear and weariness “He left the castle right after Potter came back. He deemed it too dangerous to stay, too big a risk.” He shuffled his feet “I got a floo call from Benjamin Nott, saying that he arrived there a few minutes ago.”

“Very well”, he closed his eyes for a moment, just a few orders and he could lie down until morning. “I want information about how many witches and wizards are currently living in Britain. Get me the expected size of next year's first year class at Hogwarts. How many of the children will be from muggle homes? How many married couples are there, that are capable and likely to get more children in the next years? Every bit of information you can get on the status of our population” He waited for a nod before he continued “Begin to research old laws, and all you can find about conditions to take up the mantle of Lord Slytherin. And if there could be a possible way for me to integrate myself with the ‘law abiding citizens’ of this fine country.”

Lucius seemed perplexed for a moment about his last comment and the sarcasm in the last words, but bowed again “Of course, my Lord. Am I allowed to get help from one of the others?”

“Yes. I want this information as soon and as fast as possible. Try to stay unnoticed.” Voldemort stood once again. “Call an elf to show me my rooms.”

“As you wish my Lord. Tally!”

A young elf in a crisp white pillowcase with the Malfoy crest embroidered on it popped into the study and bowed to both wizards. “How can Tally helps her master?”

“Show our Lord to his rooms and get him everything he might need or ask for.”

At this order Tally bowed again, so that her long ears brushed over the parquet “If Masters Master would follow Tally.”

They all left the study. Voldemort to rest and hopefully sleep, despite the pain that was sure to resurface soon, and Lucius to distribute the orders for information-gathering to the others. He was sure that the information about the next first-year class had to be somewhere in his papers. The number of possible candidates was send to the governors every year around this time.

Chapter Text

Alongside happiness about the fast approaching long holidays, worry was one of the dominant emotions in Hogwarts this last week before the end of the school year.

The Headmaster was worrying about the safety of all the students of his school, both those that were muggle-borns and those who had parents who were servants of Voldemort. He was concerned for the first for being targeted by Death Eaters, and the last because it was likely that they would be pressured to become Death Eaters themselves, or would be witnesses to some horrible actions over the summer holidays. He was worrying about how many would die or become orphans, how many would suffer. But he distanced himself from those worries. He had learned a long time ago that he could not worry over individuals, so he did not lose sight of what needed to be done, so that in the end the best outcome for the whole could be achieved.

And so he focused on contacting old friends and allies and everyone he could think of who might be convinced that Voldemort was indeed back once more. On getting the Order back on track to hinder the Death Eaters and their master in every way possible.

Severus was worrying too. As the Head of House Slytherin he worried about his students. The bullying they would be subjected to from the other Houses once the return of the Dark Lord became public knowledge. The political pressure those belonging to more neutral or light families would experience over the next weeks and months. How he could get those not wishing to participate in their parents' actions, out of the pinch they were sure to land in. Shortly said, how he could keep the children in his care safe.

He was worrying about his own future too. Would he live to see the next school year? If he did not, who would protect his students? Could he live as a man on the run? He did not know the answers to those questions and tried not to linger too long on them. It would do him no good, after all. And so he focused on going through all his books in the search for anything that might be useful in the task to give a resurrected wizard a human body once more. Often he could be seen on the way to or from the restricted section of the library, and the collection of books in his quarters grew with each trip into Madam Pince's domain.

Harry was worrying mostly about the future. The immediate future, and his stay at the Dursleys' this summer especially. He thought that they probably would be more unpleasant than in previous years after the fiasco with the fireplace the last summer. And the memorable tongue toffee incident. But as this was quite normal by now and something Harry could plan for – the Dursleys were not known for being creative – these worries were not the most prominent in Harry’s thoughts.

No, his imagination was running wild with the possibilities, now that Voldemort was back. As the Ministry did not believe Harry, did not want to believe, he worried how many people would be hurt or killed before they realized that they needed to be careful. How many of his fellow students, how many of his friends would get between him and Voldemort? He was afraid that more of them would get in the way and killed.

And so he stayed away from most of the other students, only spending time with Ron and Hermione, and Hagrid once in a while. Everyone tried to tell him that Dumbledore would find a solution, that he would be safe. But Harry did not really believe them.

Hermione and Ron worried, mostly for their friend Harry, but Hermione was also worrying about the exams and her parents – she was not sure what to tell them, or if she should tell them anything at all – and Ron about his brothers and Ginny.

And so everyone had his or her own worries as the last days of term passed by.

oooOOooo

The cosy seating area in Lucius Malfoy's study was prepared for a meeting. Tea was ready and placed with fine bone china on the low table with inlays that showed a field of flowers. There were little sandwiches and pastries, and one cup and plate for each of the expected guests. One of the chairs around the oval table had been transfigured into a more extravagant version. It had green silk cushions, instead of the dark brown velvet ones, and was carved in a way that reminded of scales and snakes in places along the armrests.

Narcissa was checking for a last time that all was perfect. She did not dare to risk angering the Dark Lord residing in their home, so shortly before the school year ended and her only child would return for the summer holidays. She was rearranging the biscuits, again, as she heard the door to the study opening behind her. She turned and bowed low as she saw the Dark Lord entering the study, followed by her husband and some of the other Death Eaters.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” spoke the Dark Lord, nodding his head in her direction. “Do not let us keep you from preparing for Draco's return.” At this clearly dismissive statement Narcissa curtsied to her Lord trying and failing to not seem to be hurrying out of the room. Marvolo, as he had come to think of himself in the last week, tried not to limp on the way to his seat at the table. While the others followed and found seats for themselves, the Dark Lord lowered himself cautiously. He had punished Peter more than once in the last few days for his mistakes with the potion. And while the rat's screams were something he did like to hear, they did nothing to alleviate the pains caused by the incorrectly brewed potion. He still needed pain potions to be able to sleep at night. He really hoped that Severus would be able to find a cure and that he would be able to gain his loyalty once again.

They settled down, taking pastries or sandwiches and preparing their tea as each of them liked it. The Dark Lord let his eyes wander over his followers. Lucius had recovered from his punishment for losing his Lord's diary. In hindsight, Marvolo thought it was rather fortunate that Lucius had tried to get rid of it and tried to take a nuisance down at the same time. Had the blond not given the diary to the youngest Weasley, it would not have been destroyed, in the process freeing the largest part of his soul. And without this he might still be insane and bent on destruction, straying farther from his goals.

Benjamin Nott, the only son of his … maybe he should start calling those that had gone to school with him friends … old friend, took another pastry and tried to appear relaxed, even though he was quite tense. The same went for Avery, Macnair, and the older Lestrange... well, maybe not him. As one of his … friends, he was better at reading him and knowing that there was no real danger at the moment.

Marvolo took a bite from a sandwich – and it was a very good one – and settled a little more into his chair. Setting the remaining portion of the sandwich down, he looked to Benjamin and Lucius “What have you two found?”

Lucius started talking as Benjamin just took a sip from his cup. “We did indeed find an old law that could be beneficial in the current circumstances.” He picked up a piece of parchment he had laid down on the table and reached across to hand it to his Lord.

“In the early 1300's there was a Potions Master that tricked several witches to drink a potion that made them lose their bodies. He then proceeded to force their spirits into bodies he created for them,” here he made a face of distaste “Bodies sewn together from animal parts, or so the sources claim.” Lucius' display of disgust was shared by all the others assembled around the table.

“However, what is of interest for us is the law made in the aftermath of these occurrences. To help the victims of this madman, a law was created stating that everyone that was forced from their bodies and regained a body of their own once more, should not be hold accountable for what they did before gaining the new body.”

Marvolo’s brow rose at this explanation. That seemed indeed to be usable. He glanced at the copy of the law and its translation on the parchment.

“Originally it was to help the witches after they were freed and restored to human bodies again, so they would not be held responsible for the things done while in the fabricated bodies and under the influence of that wizard. But it is worded vaguely enough to be adaptable to your situation, my Lord.”

After a questioning look from the Dark Lord in the direction of Benjamin Nott, the brown haired man in dark brownish robes nodded. “I have read all we could find of all cases in which this law was used, and checked for possible problems. Everyone that was a bodiless spirit for any length of time and got a new human body after that can call on this law, to start fresh. The witches were considered to be newborns, free of everything they had or had not done before being reborn.” He looked at his hands and back up again. “They will probably change the law once you use it, my Lord, but they will not be able to hinder you in starting fresh, if you gain a human body again.”

Amusement flittered over the Dark Lord's face. “I see where my current body might not be counted as human at the moment. I have Severus working on that.” He laid the parchment with the law gently on the table and took the time to take a good sip from his tea. “So, there is a way to get me back into the world without anyone of the Ministry or Dumbledore's men being able to do anything about it.” Nodding all around the table was his silent answer. “Good.” He shifted his gaze to Xerxes Lestrange, whose hair was getting decidedly grey with age. “I will have to change residence. You or Benjamin are obvious choices for me to reside with after being reborn anew.”
That declaration shocked Lucius, who started to protest and rise from his chair but was interrupted by Voldemort with a sharp gesture with his hand “Say, Lucius, and be honest. Would you let someone reside in your house that placed you under the Imperius curse and forced you to commit numerous crimes?”

Lucius sank back in his chair after jumping to his feet to protest. He was thinking fast, trying to find the right answer to escape a round under the Cruciatus curse. The last aches from his punishment for the lost diary had just left him the day before. “No, I would not risk the safety of my son or wife.” he stiffened in anticipation and looked up, surprised when no curse hit him.

“So I cannot stay in your manor if we are to keep up the stories many of you told after my unlucky encounter with the Potter child.” A pointed look from Marvolo had them all cringing in their chairs for a few seconds.

“We will have to wait on this for Severus to find a way to make my appearance human once more. But tell me, what did you find on the state of our population?”

As he had suspected, the classes at Hogwarts had been smaller since the war, and the ratio of pure-blooded children to those with only one magical parent or even muggles as parents was shifting more and more to the latter. And the trend for the future was not looking up. Most of the pureblood families had only one, at the most two children. And the reasons were varied. The Malfoys had decided not to try for a second child because their standing was unstable at best. Benjamin Nott had only this one son, because his wife died shortly after Theodore was born, and he did not want to search for another wife... if one suitable could even be found. Others were not capable of getting more children, like the Longbottoms, or were simply dead like the Potters and many others. A lot of the people that should be parents right now were dead, fallen on both sides in the last war.

“It seems that getting me to be a respected part of the law abiding population is the best way forward.” He was growing tired again. Time to wrap this meeting up and send his followers out on another mission.

“Excuse me, my Lord, but why do you want to place so many restrictions upon yourself? Why can’t we continue as we were doing?” Macnair seemed truly confused, and he had to be to question his Lord in so blunt a way.

The Dark Lord looked rather pensive for a moment, toying with his wand, and Macnair paled to an ashen colour. “It is quite simple. We cannot afford to lose any more witches and wizards. Another outright war, and we may succeed in removing ourselves from the face of earth.”

Macnair gulped audibly and got white as a sheet at his Lord's next words. “If you think this to be a good plan, we can always start with you, Walden.”

That of course had not been Macnair's intention and he hurriedly assured the Dark Lord that he knew best, and Macnair would never dare question him.

The rest of the meeting was quite productive, and after a few more hours the Death Eaters left, each of them with a new mission. It seemed that for once Marvolo’s plans were going to work out.

Chapter Text

Followed by his trunk, Severus made his way up the short walk from the gates through the lush garden up to the front door of Nott House. It was a nice building, not as grand as Malfoy Manor, but of exquisite quality and homely looking nonetheless.

Yesterday the students had returned home for the summer, and, as ordered, the Potions Master was on his way to his Lord’s side. He concentrated on his breathing to slow his heart, which wanted to beat frantically in worry and fear. Instead of concentrating on everything that could go wrong, the dark haired and eyed wizard directed his thoughts to the prospect of searching for a cure. Finding the error that had caused the ancient potion to have the effect it had, and searching for an antidote, promised to be an exciting and rewarding task. Work like this was what he had hoped for as he had studied for his Mastery.

On reaching the door he took the intricate knocker, fashioned in the form of a merperson, and made his presence known with three sharp knocks on the door. Only seconds later the door of dark wood swung inwards, and a small elf, clad in a tunic made out of two tea towels knotted on its shoulders, peered out and then bowed to the man in front of the door.

“You is expected, Potions Master sir. Please come in and follow Toppy.”

He did as asked and stepped through the door into the well lit and cheerful coloured hall. House Nott was not as one would envision the hiding place of a dark lord. But as Benjamin was a rather romantic man, he had kept everything exactly as his late wife had decorated the house and its rooms. And she had been a cheerful person, loving bright colours and harmony in her surroundings.

Severus followed the elf along a hallway to the back of the house to the more private rooms. She opened the last door on the left, bowed to the Potions Master and motioned him inside.

“This is to bes your potions lab, master's master said. Toppy shall take your things to your room?” The elf looked questioning at the still floating trunk obviously thinking that his clothes were within it. And in a way she was right.

Severus sat the trunk gently down just inside the room before looking around properly. Opening the trunk, he took a small satchel from atop the many books and scrolls inside and handed it to the waiting elf. It bowed and vanished, giving the curious wizard the opportunity to study his working place for the next while.

It had been a small sitting room, once upon a time. The furniture had been replaced with worktables which had granite tops, shelves filled with jars both of glass and clay and, by the look of them, crystal as well. There had been a ventilation system installed, and one rack held cauldrons of different sizes and materials. He even spotted a small golden cauldron and one that was seemingly made from a grey stone. As he got nearer to the shelves with ingredients he felt a ward around them, probably to make sure any mishaps in the middle of the room would not cause the jars to break or fall and make the mess even worse.
There was a small window with some dark curtains, so that he would have access to sunlight if he wished, but could make the room pitch black if needed.

After the short round around the room, where he noted satisfied that all commonly used ingredients and many rare ones were present, he stepped up to the worktable that had some parchment and assorted other things sitting on top.

He sat down on the high stool by the table and looked at the neatly arranged objects. The parchment held the recipe to a very complicated potion with a lengthy brewing process, written in a neat, flowing cursive that was easy to read and that Severus had not seen before. He set the parchment down again and picked up one of the vials to take a closer look. It had a label reading potion remnants in the same script as the recipe and was filled with some cloudy, milky-blue potion that seemed to be of a watery consistency.

Then there was a scroll with the same recipe in Latin, but with some notes as if someone had written down observations during preparing and using it. The last object was a leather bound book filled with lines that did not resemble any writing Severus would recognize. It looked more like pages filled with aimless squiggels as from someone idly doodling in class. But the leather felt ancient and so he set it aside with great care.

Then he got parchment, ink and quill and started reading the translation.

ooOoo

This was how the Dark Lord found his Potions Master not an hour later: reading the translation he had written down, and surrounded by books he was referring to now and then. Not wanting to rip him from his thoughts, Marvolo set the small pensieve and the box he had floating beside him gently down on the other end of the table. It did seem that his wayward follower was at least dedicated to his chosen art, if not to him.

A few moments later Severus looked up to search for another book. As his gaze landed on his Lord, he startled, and was about to jump up from his seat when said Dark Lord motioned for him to stay seated and conjured himself another stool to sit on.

As the snake like man sat on the stool of dark wood, the dark haired wizard lowered himself on his seat again, trying to hide his nervousness at sitting in his Lord’s presence. “I see you already have started, Severus.” The Potions Master nodded. “I am pleased that you are so eager to find a solution to this riddle.” A frail looking, pale hand gestured to the small stone bowl inscribed with runes and the box of red gleaming wood beside it. “I have brought you a pensieve and all of Wormtail's memories from his brewing this potion. I tried to let him write down what he had done, but it was useless chicken-scratch. The vials are labelled and in chronological order. If you find something missing, I gladly will obtain it for you.” A cold shiver run down Severus' back due to the cruel smile on the noseless face.

“That goes for everything you might need. Other ingredients, books or scripts, information, help. Whatever it is, name it and you will get it. I tire of looking like this,” he said with scorn and waving a hand in front of himself.

Severus tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. He still was afraid and undecided what to do once the ultimatum would run out at the end of August. It was hard not to let his fear be known. And to predict the actions of this saner version of the Dark Lord proved to be almost impossible. They were sitting in an improvised potions laboratory – on simple stools! – and the most lethal dark wizard in many a decade had just told him to ask for whatever he deemed necessary, with the promise to get it for him.

“At the moment, my Lord,” Severus cleared his throat to get rid of the squeaky undertone, “I am mostly in need of information. Am I right to assume that these,” he pointed to the vials standing a little aside, “are the remnants of the potion used to get you back?” A short nod of the bald head was his only answer, so he continued, “The translation you provided, my Lord, is very detailed, and Pettigrew’s memories will be most useful. But I still am not sure what all the effects of his errors are.” He gulped and had difficulties even looking in the direction of Voldemort, afraid he would get cursed for even thinking about asking so intrusive questions.

“Other as your outer appearance, what other adverse effects did your resurrection have?” his heart started to beat faster again as the Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

But the eyes went back to normal as the Dark Lord spoke softly, “Adverse effects. Yes, there are a few. I take two pain relief potions most days, and dreamless sleep for two nights out of five. Muscles and bones ache most of the time, and I require more rest than I would like. There is not one hair left on my body, replaced with scales, it would seem.” He was thoughtful and stared directly at Snape, capturing his gaze. “I have not run a diagnostic on myself, so I am not able to tell what might be wrong with my internal organs.”

Severus at first was not sure, but as the man on the opposite side of the table just looked at him and raised a hairless brow, he guessed that he was to cast a diagnostic spell on him to get the information he required. So he stood and walked around the table, getting his wand from its holster. His knees tried to tremble as he got so near to the man he was spying on, but he refused to let this affect him.

As the Dark Lord left a few minutes later, Severus took deep, even breaths to calm down and started to organize all the information he had. Time to start with the task he was very much looking forward to: deciphering an ancient and obscure potion, and finding out what that idiot of a wizard had done wrong. Shoving back the worry and fear into the dark depths of his mind, he turned to the pensieve and got to work.

oooOOooo

Hoping that he could keep up with the happenings in the wizarding world, Harry had taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet shortly before the last day of school. Now he was standing just inside his window, waiting for the owl to bring the newspaper in the early morning light. Little Whinging was still sleeping, and the gangly teen could hear the snoring of his quite massive uncle just a few doors from his room.

The ordinary brown delivery owl came to his window before the sun could shine over the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street. Harry paid the five Knuts for his newspaper and let himself fall on his bed to read it. After a few glances over the front page, Harry threw the paper frustrated against the wall. Another day without news about Voldemort. He did not bother to check the rest of the pages, because the only news he was interested in would surely make the front page.

The rest of the time before the Dursleys would start to rise, Harry lay on his messy bed staring at the paint flakes on the ceiling. He was without motivation to do anything. No book could hold his interest for long, he had not started on his homework, even though the Dursleys had let him keep his trunk and schoolbooks. And in this motivation-less state he switched between phases of unrest, pacing his room or roaming through the streets, and apathy just lying on his bed and staring at nothing.

Apart from his odd moods, this summer was nicer than all before. Dudley’s diet had come to an end, and there were normal meals again, even if Harry mostly had no appetite. Most of the time he was left alone, just a few chores now and then, usually weeding in the garden, cooking, and cleaning.

As he got up to prepare breakfast, the sounds from his family rising now being heard, Harry suddenly was struck with an idea. If the Daily Prophet did not bring any news, likely because Fudge was still trying to deny Voldemort’s return, then maybe there could be something interesting on the muggle news? When Sirius had broken out of Azkaban, there had been something about him on the news his relatives watched each evening. Something as big as attacks from Death Eaters on muggles... surely that would be reported? Probably as some freak accident, or a natural disaster, but he would know what it truly meant. Yes, that was the way to go. He would follow the news on television and try to get informations that way.

Unhelpful letters from Ron and Hermione, and useless newspaper be damned, he would not accept to be totally cut off from his own world.

oooOOooo

At the same time in London, a man with long white hair and beard walked his big black dog down a street with old houses. This neighbourhood had once been much better than now, old townhouses with ornaments lined a little square with something resembling a miniature garden in the middle. But now the houses were dirty and in dire need of new paint. Some windows were broken and the small front gardens were overgrown with weeds.

Both dog and man strode purposefully to the place where the houses eleven and thirteen met. The residents of Grimmauld Place had long ago stopped trying to comprehend why the numbering of the houses was off, it was the way it was and only confused a new postman or postwoman now and again.

Had one of the occupants of the surrounding houses looked out of the window this early in the morning, they might have noticed the old man and his dog vanishing just as they reached the houses. But as it was much too early on a weekend, no one witnessed this vanishing act.

A door, not opened in many years, now creaked on its hinges and two men stepped over the threshold into a grimy, dusty, and dark hall.

“Could be the old elf died a few years ago. It certainly looks and smells like it.” The dark haired and gaunt wizard in old patched clothes that were too wide for him, said while looking around in disgust. “I did not think I would ever set foot in this house again.”

As they moved deeper into the hall, they came across an umbrella stand that looked very much like it was made out of a troll's leg, and some ornaments on the walls that looked as if they had belonged to some animal or other living thing before they had got here.

“Well, Sirius my boy, given the rather paranoid nature of your late parents, this place is practically pre..” The white haired man in bright turquoise clothing was cut short by some shrill screeching from further down the hall.

“HOW DARE YOU COME BACK HERE, YOU UNWORTHY TRAITOR OF A SON!”

Sirius was frantically looking around, thinking his mother had died years ago and confused as to how he could hear her usual charming self making herself known. He did not need to search long, as the constant stream of insults in his mother’s voice led him directly to an ugly painting of her, hung on the wall nearest to the staircase to the upper floors, framed by some moth-eaten curtains.

He did not try to reason with her – it had never worked when she was alive, and he had no reason to believe that death would have changed her – and simply cast a stunning spell at her. Immediately it was quiet again.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen.” Dumbledore suggested, and nodding, Sirius led the way. Once out of the hall and into an equally dingy and dirty kitchen the Headmaster of Hogwarts spoke again.

“The house needs a thorough cleaning.” He looked after a rat that scurried away and vanished behind one of the cupboards, “but it is big enough to house a few of the Order members, even all of them if need be. And with the security already in place, we will find nowhere else as suited to our needs, I am afraid.”

Sirius rolled his eyes at seeing the Headmaster’s eyes twinkle merrily “Yeah, and once we have cast the Fidelius with you as Secret Keeper, it will be even more secure. But I really do not look forward to being locked in here without hope of helping in any substantial way.” He briefly considered if it was worth a try and brought up a topic Albus had deflected more than once in the past.

“Why don't you try to get me a trial? You know there wasn't one the first time I was captured and thrown into Azkaban. You know that a questioning under Veritaserum would prove my innocence. I could help more, and be there for Harry.” Seeing that Albus was about to interrupt him, he rushed the last sentence out, “And you are Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!”

If possible, the twinkle in the Headmaster’s eyes intensified and he smiled benevolently at the little rant “I fear, my boy,” he sighed and morphed his face into a sad expression, “That I will not be for much longer. Fudge will not believe me, and paints me as a barmy old idiot. The only reason I’m still in this position is, or so I guess, that they cannot agree on a new Chief Warlock.”

Sirius growled in frustration. He was not blind, and saw quite clearly that Albus had no intention to even try to clear his name. But he was not sure why it was so important for the old leader of the Order of the Phoenix to keep him a fugitive. Still, there was no reason to rush or confront him just now.

“We should have tried earlier to clear me. It would be most convenient now if I could move more freely, and be your eyes and ears in the Wizengamot if you are indeed removed from your position.”

And with that the topic was closed once more, and they moved on to check the house for the most dangerous things to clean out, before they let the others come here to start the more basic cleanup.

oooOOooo

Severus was settling into a routine quite fast. At first he was worried that Theodore may be in trouble with the Dark Lord staying in his home over the summer. But the contact between the boy and the Dark Lord was minimal. All residents of the house were eating meals together. After Severus missed two meals on the first day here, an elf started to appear a half-hour before meals were to be served to remind him to take a break in his work and go to the dining room. So the four of them meet three times a day, talking about Theodore's summer assignments and the happenings at Hogwarts this last school year, Quidditch of all things, gossip from the Ministry, happenings on the Continent, magical theory in general... only topics that were appropriate for conversation at the table when a fifteen year old boy was present.

What baffled him even more was the order by Voldemort not to call him “Lord” while seated at the table for meals. Nott Senior was calling him “Marvolo” every time they interacted when only they were there, a name the Dark Lord suggested Severus too should be using, but all that Severus could himself get to do was call him “Sir”. With each passing day he felt more confused, something he did not like to be, as making one false move could be his death.

At the moment, however, he was in his improvised lab, chopping leaves of murtlap for the potion he was brewing. After he had found out that Pettigrew was still absolutely useless at potions, he knew where to start.

The rat had used the same stirrer for preparing the potion used to keep the temporary body of their Lord alive and for the potion that would be used in his resurrection. Without cleaning it in between of course. And he had done so repeatedly. In this way he had contaminated the resurrection potion with snake venom. His carelessness also allowed snake scales and dust from the house to get into the potion.

After his Lord got him some scales and venom from his familiar and dust from wherever they had been staying at that time, it had been rather easy to determine exactly what had gone wrong and how the resurrection potion had been altered. Discussing his findings with the Dark Lord had resulted in a lively afternoon. He had almost been able to forget with whom he had been speaking at the time as they had come up with a course of action.

Now Severus had almost finished the cure. A poison targeting serpents, that would remove anything of Nagini's from his Lord’s body, mixed with potent healing ingredients that would restore what was harmed, removed or injured in the process.

He stirred counter clockwise, counting under his breath while the potion in the iron cauldron changed its colour in stages from a vibrant green to a blue so dark it could have been mistaken for black. Lifting the stirrer out and cleaning it with a soft cloth – he would never leave equipment dirty like idiots tended to do – he extinguished the flames under the cauldron and moved it to the side to let it cool. Cleaning his hands with fresh water and casting a shield over the cauldron the Potions Master got ready to inform his Lord that the potion was finished.

oooOOooo

Lucius was feeling odd. Here he was, sitting on a love seat, nibbling on a cucumber sandwich and drinking tea, while in the chair across from him sat the Dark Lord, doing the same. He still looked not human, with ruby-red eyes, missing his nose, and the almost white and lightly iridescent skin, he resembled a snake more than anything else. But he did act so … normal. Asking about his family and offering refreshments. His Lord being charming while looking this decidedly not human was unnerving.

His thoughts wandered to his friend, who was somewhere in the house brewing and researching and kept like a prisoner. He worried a little that he might be in danger because their Lord did not believe that he still was loyal. Severus’ act as a traitor spying for Dumbledore had been rather convincing, and a better tactic than claiming to have been under the Imperius curse.

After the more mundane report of what was going on in the Ministry, he now got to the point that had him both excited and a little wary. “And finally, we have made progress in the search for information on the prerequisites for claiming the Slytherin Lordship.”

That got his Lord’s attention immediately, he sat his cup down and fixed ruby eyes on the blond aristocrat. “It seems that to become Lord Slytherin, the of-age wizard that wants to claim the title needs to be a parselmouth and to have an heir, a boy, that is also able to speak with snakes.”

Something resembling hope flickered briefly in the Dark Lord’s eyes before he leant back in his chair and a thoughtful expression replaced too brief flicker.

“So only a man with a son, both parselmouths, can claim the title?”

Lucius nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Well that is rather unfortunate.” Lucius tensed “I do not have a wife, or someone that would be a possibility to become so at this point. And I would rather not wait that long.” he trailed off, clearly thinking about ways to get what he wanted as soon as possible.

On the love seat Lucius tried to stay calm, he felt odd because before his downfall that night, a curse would surely have been cast on him by now. It was a little unsettling that his Lord's behaviour was so different than what he had came to expect.

“A few decades back, there was a scandal about a bastard-born wizard that claimed to be part of a noble family. Of course all members of this family protested the claim. If I remember correctly a Wizengamot hearing was called and the claim confirmed, he had the traits of the family that were found in no other. Look it ..” A knock on the door interrupted Voldemort mid sentence “Come in!”

The door swung inward and Severus stepped through, bowing low. “My Lord, the potion is finished and cooling as we speak.”

Lucius was relieved to see his friend in what seemed to be a healthy state, but did not show it, carefully maintaining a blank mask.

“Very well, Severus.” The Potions Master straightened again and stood waiting just inside the door. “Lucius, search for precedents on this matter and report back in two days.”

Dismissed, Lucius rose from his seat, bowed, and stalked out of the door, swinging his cane and closing the door behind himself.

“Come here, Severus,” Marvolo pointed to the floor in front of him and watched as Severus came over without so much as a flicker of hesitation. He got out his wand and saw a brief widening of the Potion Master’s eyes before he cast a levitation charm at one chair, directing it to place itself behind the other man.

“Sit down and give me your arm.”

A little wary looking, Severus sat down and started to roll up the sleeve of his robes, opening the buttons on the cuff of the shirt he wore underneath and rolling it up also, exposing the Dark Mark.

“I have thought a while now about the obvious nature of my Mark and have been researching to create a few adjustments to it.” He grabbed the pale arm of the man before him. “I have not tried this yet on any of you, so brace yourself.”

He lowered the tip of his wand to the Mark and began hissing the incantations he had worked out over the last week to change the Marks on his followers' arms. He felt Severus stiffen and saw his jaw clenching, trying not to show the pain the changes brought. In the middle of his incantation the Mark began to fade and shrink, changing colour and sliding, directed with the wand tip, down to the side of Severus' wrist.

By the time he was finished, tears were running down the Potion Master’s face, and he was breathing in shallow, fast breaths. “Relax a moment,” Marvolo said, gently laying the arm down, stepping back and taking one of the pain potions out of the desk drawer.

“Take this” he said kindly, holding the vial for Snape to take, who did so with a shaking hand.

“You can still use the Mark as you did before to call me, it will show itself clear enough if you wish to see it. Furthermore, I changed it to announce a call differently.” That got a surprised look from the still shaken man. The Dark Lord smiled a little evilly.

“I would not want to kill you by accident when you jump from pain while brewing, would I? Now it will get hot gradually, giving you enough warning not to blow yourself up.”

After the potion started to work, dampening the pain, Severus got up once more, and they both made their way to the potions lab to collect a dose of the potion to restore the snakelike man to his own body again.

Some minutes later, Severus set foot into his Lord’s own bedroom for the first time. He was carrying a case with emergency potions: blood replenishers, pain potions, some Skele-Gro, and different potions designed to heal damage to muscles and skin. His Lord carrying the dose of the potion that Severus had been brewing the last few days.

His gaze swept around seeing a big bed with a green silken comforter, many big pillows, and dark green bed curtains, some shelves filled with a multitude of books, a chair with a robe draped over it, and a small desk buried under parchments. What threw him, though, was a little ritual circle with a chair in its centre that was laid out in one corner of the room, with a clear view of the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable over there, Severus.” His Lord gestured to the chair, so Severus set the case down beside the bed before moving into the circle. He did not feel comfortable doing so, but there was no way to avoid it.

The circle was drawn with different materials directly onto the wooden floor. Complicated runes in red, black, and gold entwined around four candles, one white, one blue, one green, and the last red.

Working to stay outwardly calm he asked, “What is this circle for, my Lord?”

“It will make sure you cannot move around this room with the intent to harm me.” The Dark Lord smirked in his Potion Master’s direction. “I may trust that your pride and curiosity will not let you tamper with a potion you developed yourself, because I know you will want to know if you could actually give me a body back. But that does not prevent me from taking precautions to make sure you cannot harm me while I recover.”

A little taken aback, Severus settled in the chair and watched as the candles were lighted all at once without a word. Seconds later, hissing words falling from pale, almost non existent lips, made a shimmering dome appear, enclosing Severus and the chair, but not the circle itself.

“You can come out if there is some mishap and you want to aid me. That is the reason I want you here. But you will feel compelled to return should you change your mind once outside of the circle. Understood?” Severus nodded mutely, even if he normally disliked such behaviour, he could not find words in this moment. It seemed that Voldemort truly did not trust him any more, a notion that confused Severus a great deal. Or maybe now he was sane once more, he just could think more clearly and saw the possible dangers in this situation?

While he was pondering on the implications of the situation, the Dark Lord had set the vial down on the bedside table and started to strip out of his clothes. Then he slipped on a simple nightshirt and sat on the bed, casting some wards around it so he would not fall should he move around much. Setting down his wand and taking the potion vial, he settled down in the middle of the bed, breaking the seal and casting one last look at the man encased in a shimmering dome.

“Now we will see if the cure will work as we planned.”

Severus now was totally focused on the man on the bed, who, right after drinking down the potion in one big gulp, sank down on the pillows and started to writhe and moan.

That was going to be a hell of a night.

oooOOooo

In the smallest bedroom in an ordinary house in Surrey, a boy with messy black hair started to moan and toss in his sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned bright and early, and the rising sun woke Harry. He was sore and stiff all over, wondering what he had done the day before that made him so. Maybe sitting slumped on a swing all day was the cause? He stretched and bent, trying to make the knots in his muscles disappear, before making a fast and silent visit to the bathroom.

Back in his room he contemplated his odd dreams of the night before, therefore not seeing the small feather ball darting around his room at first. Only after he spotted Hedwig following the chirping little owl with her eyes, did he realize that Ron had written him another letter.

Guessing that this one was probably as uninformative and frustrating as all the others he had gotten so far, Harry was not overly cautious in grabbing Pig from the air and getting his letter from the tiny owl. Pig did not seem to mind and kept annoying the snowy owl by the window after Harry did release him, sinking to the floor by the window opening the letter.

Dear Harry,

Holidays are busy. We moved to a place I cannot talk about and have not a minute to do what we want. I hope that you can come soon to stay the rest of summer with us.

The twins are quite busy, always hiding something from mom. Want to take a bet when she will catch up with them? I hope that I'll be able to watch!

Your relatives are not acting too bad, are they? Anyway, don't let them get to you, and don’t leave the house. Sorry, but mom always reminds me to write that.

Hope to see you soon

Ron

Another useless letter from Ron. Hermione’s at least were longer, writing about their holiday assignments, books she had read and what she and her parents were doing. And it was better to get any letters than getting none, like in his first summer back from Hogwarts. He hated being kept in the dark about what was going on, though. Not the best way to make him stay out of trouble, he was restless and starting to lose his temper with his relatives. That they would not let him listen to the news only added to his foul mood.

Sighing, he put Ron’s letter with the others, and headed down to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

oooOOooo

Severus was rubbing his temples and resting in his chair inside the circle. It had been a hell of a night. More than once he had left the circle to give his Lord one of the potions prepared for the possibility that they would be needed. Almost all of them were gone now. He felt quite a bit of pride as he sat there, looking at the result of his research and brewing.

On the bed, under the comforter, lay the Dark Lord sleeping peacefully after a long, agonizing night. He had hair again, falling in soft waves to his shoulders and framing a pale but no longer white face with its nice rich brown colour. The face showed aristocratic lines, now that there was a nose again and the brows were once more in existence. He looked more healthy all over, with a pale but no longer white complexion and a little more muscles on the still thin frame.

Severus was not quite sure why he had left the circle to help as it had become obvious that the healing part of the potion was not potent enough to counteract the poison that was destroying every part that was more snake than human. No one else would have come in time to help, and the Dark Lord would have been stopped once again. Was it that he thought it quite possible that the circle would hold him captive even if the one that had set it up had died? Or was it that he wished to be trusted once more, now that his Lord was thinking with a clear head? The Potions Master was full of conflicting wishes. There were so many potions banned as dark just because they used human blood, many of which were useful healing potions, that had no “light” counterparts. There was so much magic that could help them stay safe from muggles, forbidden because the process of casting them required rituals that were similar to some dark ones. He did agree that those bans needed to be lifted. But the methods used to achieve this in the last war, those he could not accept. Muggle-born wizards and witches surely were a problem, eroding the culture of the wizarding world, but killing them all would just lead to more inbreeding, something that would lead to more squibs. At least that was his theory.

But now, now everything was changing in front of his very own eyes. If not for his vow to protect Harry Potter, he really might be tempted to join the Dark Lord fully once more. But who was he trying to fool? The vow was there, and two weeks of different behaviour on his Lord’s part were no guarantee that his methods really would change enough for him to be able to support his Lord’s plans without hesitation again.

“Severus?” a slightly hoarse voice ask from the bed.

Severus stood “Yes, my Lord?”

Voldemort rose slowly up and positioned himself against the headboard. Looking at his hands he spoke. “It seems that the potion did work. Did I dream that you came to my aid sometime in the night?”

“You did not dream, my Lord. It became necessary to administer some blood replenisher and additional healing potions during the night.”

The man on the bed nodded, carding his hands through his full, wavy hair. “I think showers for the both of us are in order.” He waved a hand in the direction of Severus, extinguishing the flames of the candles that had burned down almost by half, dispelling the shimmering dome.

“See you at breakfast, Severus.”

Understanding he was dismissed, Severus bowed and left for his own rooms, to shower and change into some fresh robes.

oooOOooo

Lord Lucius Malfoy strode purposefully through the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic on his way to the chambers of the Wizengamot. Today was their monthly meeting, and he was looking forward to the things they would accomplish today.

He greeted a few familiar faces as he walked alongside the Fountain of Magical Brethren, taking the shortest route to the elevators over the polished dark wood floor. His heavy silk robes, a dark shade of blue complimenting his eyes and bearing the embroidered crest of his family, swinging around his legs and making his entrance more impressive.

The others were arriving as well, easily spotted between the Ministry employees with their grand robes of expensive materials, all with their house crests on the right side of their breasts.

Waiting for an elevator to arrive, another stepped to his side and greeted cheerily, “Good morning, Lucius! How are you doing on this fine day?”

Turning to the man at his side Lucius let his eyes roam over him, taking in the details. Benjamin Nott was in his best Wizengamot robes, dark red silk with brown trim and the crest showing a merman done in silver, smiling widely obviously in very good spirits.

“I am quite well, Benjamin. You seem to be in a good mood today?”

Benjamin nodded happily and led the way into the arriving elevator. “I trust your house guests are fine?”

“Yes, they are,” the dark-haired wizard nodded. “They completed a potions experiment last night and did not get much sleep. So they went to rest some more right after breakfast.” He smiled again, and Lucius wondered how life must be at Nott House with their Lord staying there. It seemed to be much more bearable than he would have thought. Once more he chastised himself for his ill choice of cover story that now made it impossible for him to be host to his Lord.

They change topic after that, talking about the garden party Narcissa was planning for later in July. Together they walked into the oval-shaped chamber of the Wizengamot. The room was arranged in terraces. On ground level there were the seats of the most Ancient and Noble Houses. Some of them, like the Slytherin seat, empty for hundreds of years. On the next terrace there were the seats of the Noble Houses, after that followed the seats of the Houses. The seats were benches made of a variety of materials, from alabaster and other stones to different coloured woods and metals, all carved with the plants and animals belonging to the crests of the house in question. An empty seat always meant that there was still family left that could claim the seat. Most of the time those that could claim the title were not aware of the fact, so seats on this level often stayed empty once an heir did not claim.

Among the empty seats there were those of Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff as well as Black. Lucius knew that the seat of Slytherin would not stay empty much longer and he hoped that Draco or one of his sons would claim the Black seat in a few years.

The seat of the Potter family was on the level of the Noble Houses, just as his own was. In front of the bench stood a small and insignificant stool, used by the regent who was casting votes for House Potter until the current heir could claim the Lordship. As this position was filled by Dumbledore, who also was Chief Warlock, the stool was always empty as well.

Lucius reached his bench, greeting some of the others as he went past them, and sat down on the marble seat held up by peacocks, which were as white as the albino ones at home. He saw that Augusta Longbottom had brought her grandson, who was sitting beside her on the cherry wood bench carved with vines and blossoms. It was quite common for the heir or heiress to accompany the current lord or lady to learn how things were done. For this purpose the benches were big enough for two to sit on.

The last members of the Wizengamot drifted into the chamber and started to find their seats. Clerks settled themselves at the long narrow table down the middle of the oval, Dumbledore as current Chief Warlock sitting down right between the Minister and Madame Bones on the slightly raised dais just inside the doors.

The meeting was called to order with a few bangs sent from the assistant's wand. Dumbledore started to call out the order of business and came to the point calling for anyone to add to the agenda. Most were silent, but Fudge rose to his feet “I have a point to bring forward!”

“The floor goes to the Minister!” Dumbledore acknowledged, looking only mildly interested, but Lucius noted that the infernal twinkling in his eyes was missing.

“I call for a vote of no-confidence on the current Chief Warlock, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, on the grounds that he is telling stories about a certain Dark Lord being back without providing proof and therefore spreading panic throughout our community.”

Now Dumbledore could no longer hold the grave face under his mask and asked almost without emotion, “A vote for no-confidence needs at least three supporters to go through. Who supports the Minister’s call for a vote?”

Funny enough, Lucius did not need to stand himself, as several others, from light families no less, stood and declared to support the call for a vote.

All went rather quickly after that. The vote was called, and the members of the Wizengamot removed the old Headmaster from his position as Chief Warlock. Only a few voted for him to stay, among them Lady Longbottom and Lord Vance.

The next part was what had caused the most work beforehand, the election of the new Chief Warlock. It had taken quite some time to find someone who had enough supporters throughout the chamber to win the vote.

In the last days Lucius had had so many meetings over meals, most days more than one tea, each with different people, to further this: getting rid of Dumbledore in at least one crucial place. In the end they could agree on Lord Abbott, who was known to be a stickler for the rules. Originally Lucius had not been happy with the choice, bribery would be impossible and much more dangerous with him in charge. But now as their plans were relying so heavily on old laws being interpreted exactly as they had been intended in the first place, with Abbot as Chief Warlock their chances improved considerably.

Lucius watched as the meeting came to an end, people standing up and forming circles speaking with each other, discussing the new development and the meeting to be held in two weeks' time, as the rest of the agenda had been moved. The new Chief Warlock needed time to get everything in order.

“Look at the old fool.” smirked Benjamin, coming over from his seat. “If he continues the way he has, in a short while he will be a permanent guest of Janus Thickey.” They both smirked at that and turned to leave.

oooOOooo

As he had expected Lucius was home for lunch. His lovely wife, clad in a dark blue sun dress and pastel blue robes, greeted him in the floo room with an embrace and a kiss.

“You are back early,” she said stepping back again, “I guess all went well?”

“Yes, all went well. Benjamin told me that last night the potion was ready and did what it was designed for.”

Hope blossomed on the blonde lady’s face, and they both started to walk in the direction of the family dining room they used when Draco was home from school.

“Is our Lord …” Narcissa was clearly searching for the right word, wanting to express her worry for her Lord’s well-being and simultaneously not wanting to indicate that he was in any shape or form weak.

“I do not know for sure, darling. But I expect to visit Benjamin at home in the near future.” On this happy note they reached their destination and were joined by Draco, who came down from his rooms.

“Father, I did not expect to see you for lunch. Did something go wrong?” He was eager to hear about Wizengamot meetings, and always hoped his father would take him along. Now that he was fifteen, it was time for him to see more of what he had learned the theory of, in action.

“Do not fret Draco, all went rather well. We cut the meeting short because the new Chief Warlock needs time to sort everything out and assume his duties.”

They went in and headed for their usual places around the table. The room was not overly large, much cosier than the dinning room they used while entertaining guests. The table offered space for up to six people, but was laid for the three of them. The wood was a light birch, and the walls were painted in light earth tones, accented nicely with drapings in various shades of green.

“As the plans of our Lord are going so well, I think I can anticipate what will be the next step.” Lucius struck a small gong with a wave of his wand, and the elves served lunch. There was a light soup and some fresh baked bread, to be followed by some ice cream with fruit salad.

“And what do you anticipate to be the next step in the plan?” Narcissa inquired, appearing politely disinterested.

“We will have to find a boy that is a Parselmouth. In fact, I am not sure how to go about it. I guess there maybe is a young wizard from a light family hiding the gift. If there was one somewhere in our circle of acquaintances, we would surely know by now. Don’t you think?”

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully “Yes, if Theodore, Blaise, Gregory, or Vincent were so gifted, we would know. The same goes for those that are younger or older. Is there some spell to check? Maybe one designed to check newborns?”

Draco followed his parents' exchange, a little dumbstruck. How could they have forgotten? He tried to catch their attention, and finally resorted to clearing his throat, earning himself a glare from his father.

“Stop this uncouth behaviour at once.”

Ignoring the reprimand Draco seized the opportunity, “We already know a boy who is a parselmouth.”

That got him the attention he had tried to get. “Who is it?” the patriarch asked with an intense gaze on his son.

“Harry Potter.”

Both elder Malfoys now were clearly shocked.

“Don’t you remember? In my second year? The one and only, disastrous meeting of the duelling club? I cast a Serpensortia and Potter spoke to the snake. The whole school spoke about nothing else for weeks. I am quite sure that I wrote more than one annoyed letter about all the attention Potter was getting.”

Lucius' eyes began to gleam. “Well done, Draco, well done,” he praised his son, giving him a pat on the back, before returning to the meal. “I will remember to tell our Lord where I got this information.”

Smiling proudly Draco stayed quiet for the rest of the meal, listening to his father recounting the events of today's Wizengamot meeting.

oooOOooo

Lord Voldemort stood on a small improvised dais in the biggest parlour of Nott House. There would be barely enough room for all of his Death Eaters, even though they had removed all the furniture beforehand.

He was feeling a little nostalgic. Severus and Benjamin already stood, clothed in dark robes and white masks, in the room waiting for the others to arrive. He had called them all, the first time after his resurrection that they all were going to be in one place.

Sure, the young Lestrange brothers would be unable to come, as would Bellatrix; Karkaroff surely would not dare to show up. He needed to think of something he could do about the traitor, without jeopardizing his new plans. It just would not do to leave him unpunished. Maybe he could ruin him publicly and let it look like suicide.

Thinking about traitors, his gaze wandered to Severus. He was clearly conflicted, not a lost cause yet, and if he could win him back he would have once more a spy in the enemy's camp. Maybe he could find more opportunities to show his Potions Master what had changed now that he had most of his soul back.

After a few minutes the others started to arrive. All behind their masks and coming forward to bow to him, he could see their eyes and judge their reactions to his new looks.

He almost looked like his younger self again. He had cut his hair a little so it did not quite reach his shoulders. No longer painfully thin and constantly freezing, he had opted for some lighter robes that flowed with every step he took. He looked a little over thirty, for being way beyond sixty, that was not half bad. The only notable difference that could not be attributed to ageing was the colour of his eyes. They had stayed a rich burgundy and ruby red. In fact, he had spent quite some time sitting in front of a mirror, trying and failing to count and name all the shades of red present in his irises. He liked them the way they were, and he had not yet decided if he would glamour them or not, once he was out in public again.

As all those he expected to show up had arrived, he started to speak.

“As you all have seen, the first step in my plans was successfully completed. And the next steps are being prepared. Today Albus Dumbledore lost his position as Chief Warlock.”

This announcement was met with a cheer.

“And tomorrow will carry us all a step further towards our goals.” He scanned the crowd for the one he needed now. “And we begin by punishing incompetence. Incarcerous!”

Thin, flexible ropes wound around Pettigrew, binding him. With a squeak he lost his balance and fell, face first, on the ground. Two additional fast spells later, and he was unable to transform and flee as a rat and was silenced as well. Continuous squeaks and pleading would only distract them.

“Wormtail, you almost killed me again with your incompetent brewing. Your punishment will aid us on our way to a better world for Magic. Maybe you can right some errors that you have made.” A cruel smile flittered over his face, Nagini slithering over to the rat and circling him where he lay on the floor, all but ignored by those that stood surrounding him.

.:May I eat him, master?:. Nagini hissed tasting the air above the bound man.

.:You may not, my lovely. Sadly, he is needed still:. he smiled fondly at his familiar .:We will find you something that is better tasting:. he hissed in reply and left her to play.

Voldemort waved to one of the men standing a little to the back of the crowd, and sat down on his throne like chair. Now to the boring and most necessary part of the meeting: the reports.

First there were reports given on the state of the economy, the population and its development, individual witches and wizards that had been approached to see if they would be willing to contribute, happenings in different departments in the Ministry and some more little matters. Finally Lucius stepped forward, once again retelling the happenings from the meeting of the Wizengamot in the morning, the reactions of the Lords and Ladies to the events being the most important part.

After that he started to give out more tasks, mostly research, some law-designing and information-gathering. Some of the rougher Death Eaters he send to find Karkaroff and investigate him, with focus on information that could be the traitor's public downfall.

“Benjamin.” The called man stepped forward and bowed. “I trust all is ready for the meeting tomorrow?”

The stocky man bowed again. “Yes, my Lord, my request was granted earlier today.” At a nod from his Lord he stepped back again.

And now for the last part, the part that was crucial to his plans, and solely dependent on sheer luck. There was always still the other option, that would take so much longer. So try this one first.

“I want you all to look out and discreetly search for an underage wizard who is able to speak with snakes. If he was born on British soil that would be ideal, but I guess I cannot be picky, seeing that my gift is not a common one.”

That was the moment Lucius had been waiting for. He stepped forward out of the crowd directly before the raised dais, bowing once more. “My Lord, I believe that there is no need for a search. My son Draco reminded me at lunch today that there is currently a known Parselmouth attending Hogwarts.” If possible the room was now even more silent than mere moments before, the people present not daring to breathe.

“There is?” A dark brow rose towards the new wavy brown hairline.

“Yes, my Lord. Over two years ago, there was an attempt to create a duelling club at Hogwarts, during which Harry Potter ordered a snake not to attack a student. He spoke in Parseltongue in front of most of the school.”

An evil smirk developed on the Dark Lord’s face, sending cold shivers over his followers' backs. Fate did have humour, she really did.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was on his way down to breakfast, wearing robes borrowed from Benjamin. After all, he wanted to portray the confused, recently resurrected wizard staying with the son of an old school friend.

He had some spring in his step, all his plans were going reasonably well. At the meeting yesterday evening, he had changed the Mark on all of his followers as he had for Severus. He had been overly arrogant to mark those that were his so obviously. The solution now was much better.

The other task he had completed the previous evening was to alter Wormtail’s memories. The rat now remembered that he had made all the decisions himself, how to get the blood for the ritual, where to stay and to kill Bartemius Crouch senior and the muggle. Another small piece of the story he was about to tell.

He felt surprisingly energized after an evening of so much strenuous magic. Had he tried this much new marking on one evening, before he had lost his old body, he might have had a headache by now. Losing most of one's soul seemed to affect the magical endurance. Who would have thought?

ooOoo

They all met at the table, and, as usual this early in the morning, not much was said. The Daily Prophet was split between them, Theodore got the sports pages first – those with scores from Quidditch matches, broom-race results, and reports from duelling competitions – his father the gossip section, the Dark Lord the main articles, and Severus the small ad-pages, looking for people offering brewing equipment and journals. While reading they were each drinking their first coffee of the day. After swapping the respective newspaper parts, conversation usually would start.

As it did on this day. “Now that you have successfully found a cure, Severus, I do not require you to stay here all the time,” remarked the Dark Lord, taking another roll and an apple, “I am certain that you normally would use this time away from the school to get some private research and brewing done.”

The Potions Master nodded in the affirmative. “The last week was a most rewarding experience. None of my planned projects would have been even half this interesting and challenging.” He took another sip from the hot, strong coffee he had dosed liberally with honey “If there are more potions you want to have brewed, my Lord, I am more than happy to stay.”

It had taken some time, but now Severus was quite comfortable eating and drinking at meals and holding a conversation with his Lord. In a way, the meals reminded him of those held at Hogwarts where he was forced to socialize with the other professors.

“At the moment I am not in need of your talents, Severus. So please use your time as you see fit. I will call you when I need you.”

With a slightly evil and expectant smile he added “And if you have anything noteworthy to report, do not hesitate to come here and do so at any time you can get away from the Headmaster.”

This had Severus worried all over again. Yesterday the task to search for a Parselmouth, only for Potter to be mentioned, and now this only thinly veiled hint that there would be events the Order would likely speak about and react to. Outwardly calm, he started to think back over everything he had seen and heard in the last week, to find a clue to what might happen that had his Lord in so high spirits.

ooOoo

After breakfast Benjamin and Marvolo moved to the patriarch's study on the first floor. Marvolo took a small disk out of his robe pocket and handed it to the younger man.

“This is one of a pair. When I can come over, just twist the rings against each other, and my disk will heat up, alerting me.” Indicating that he understood, Benjamin took the small golden disk, tucking it in is inner pocket.

“Any more questions?”

“No, my Lord.” Lord Nott once more checked his appearance in the mirror, before stepping up to the floo, taking a pinch of floo powder from the container on the mantle, tossing it into the flames and stating clearly and firmly “Ministry of Magic, Minister’s office,” before vanishing in green flames.

oooOOooo

“Benjamin! Welcome! Welcome!” Lord Nott was greeted by the Minister of Magic and ushered over to the desk and one of the visitor chairs. “Can I offer you some tea? I take it you have eaten already?”

He answered in the affirmative and took the offer, settling down comfortably in the extravagant chair. If possible, the office seemed even more luxurious than the last time he had set foot in here. The floor was covered in thick carpets, the cushions silk, the furniture from rare woods, heavily carved in excess and accented with gold and gems. In the opinion of the Minister's visitor, the office was the definition of the saying 'too much of a good thing'.

“How can I help you, my friend? I am curious: what is so urgent that you request a meeting on such short notice, and with the request to keep it private.” There was a glint in the shorter man’s eyes, a glint not many saw and consequently underestimated the Minister and what he was prepared to do to reach his goals.

“A friend is currently staying with me. He is in a difficult position you might be able to help with.” That got Cornelius’ attention, he always took opportunities to gather favours. “My friend returned recently from a long stay abroad and finds his family estates in disorder.” Benjamin sipped from his tea, remembering his Lord's lecture to make the right impression and trying not to sound desperate, or hurried.

“I would be glad to be of help. Do I know your friend? What family are we speaking of? And what precisely is the problem with the estates? ”

“You have certainly heard of him. And, well, while absent, he was declared dead. And now that he is back, he is unsure how to proceed.”

Fudge got thoughtful, his guest was speaking of a wizard, who had been absent for some time and had been believed dead. No one came to mind, but the problem was easy to solve nonetheless. “If he can bring proof of his identity, your friend can be declared alive again.” He smiled graciously. “I can help smooth the process, a friend of yours is also a friend of mine.”

Benjamin was amused that Cornelius was not picking up on the identity of his friend. “There is another problem. My friend has only hazy memories of his past, and the days before he … vanished.” He let a small smile grace his lips, retrieving a scroll of parchment from his robes. “He asked me to request a hearing before the Wizengamot based on this old law, which applies to his situation.”

Curious, the Minister took the scroll, removed the green silk ribbon holding it closed, and started reading.

His brow furrowed in confusion. Bodiless spirit? Restored to a human body? Faint alarm bells started ringing in Fudge's head, but he ignored them, as he often did. “May I meet your friend? His circumstances seem to be unique, and I would like to speak to him personally. It will make it a lot easier to help him get everything in order.”

Smiling and full of anticipation, Benjamin nodded and took the disk out of his pocket, twisting the rings against each other.

“He will be here in a moment. I am glad that I can rely on you, Cornelius, I really want to help my friend get back on his feet. He had quite some problems even before he vanished from Britain.”

Chapter Text

Marvolo was pacing in Benjamin’s study from the fireplace along the desk and chairs to the bookcase and back. He concentrated on bringing forward the mask that he would be wearing for his meeting with the Minister.

A young, slightly nervous but confident wizard, who had a bad past but wanted to start anew.

The disk grew warm in his pocket, and Marvolo drew a deep breath, went to the fireplace, grabbed some of the content from the little tin of floo powder, and made the trip to the Minister’s office.

On the other end, he stepped out of the floo and took a good look around. Benjamin sat in one of the visitor chairs, a hidden smile in his eyes, wearing a set of his bests robes in preparation for the plans for later in the day.

Standing beside him, watching expectantly in the direction of the grand marble fireplace, was the Minister in pinstripe robes and a purple tie.

Benjamin stood to make the introductions. “Cornelius, may I introduce you to my friend Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom, this is the Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge.”

Marvolo bowed slightly and accepted the outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you, Minister Fudge. I am grateful that you agreed to meet with me.”

Fudge waved his thanks away. “As I told Benjamin, his friends are mine as well. And the story he hinted at has me curious.” He gestured to the other visitor's chair and went around his desk to sit down himself.

“Maybe you can tell me how it is this law,“ he held up the scroll with the copy of the ancient law all their plans revolved around,“ applies to you.”

Nodding, Marvolo settled down in the chair and felt a surge of excitement course through him. How long it had been since he felt this good?

He smiled a little uncertainly – all for show – and started his tale.

“It is a rather long story. If you do not mind, I will start at the beginning.”

That suited the Minister well, after all he was really curious what the story behind all this was. He ordered more tea and relaxed, preparing to hear an interesting story.

“I went to school with Benjamin’s father, Thoros Nott.” He allowed a smile and a blush in response to the surprise and disbelief on Fudge’s face. “After graduation I went on travels of the world, searching for ancient places of magic, forgotten knowledge, secrets, and wisdom.” a look of reminiscence entered his eyes, and the other wizards could hear in his voice how much he had enjoyed travelling.

“One day, after weeks of research and days of aimless wandering, I stumbled upon an ancient tomb somewhere in the forests of south America. It was a magnificent sight, and filled with powerful artefacts.” Marvolo let sadness enter his voice and face, even as joy and glee were what he felt. It was working, Fudge was buying his story and still did not comprehend exactly who was sitting in his rather comfy chair.

He gave a sigh for effect and continued “After this day I was not the same any more. Paranoia dictated my every action. I returned to my home country and started to spread violence and collect supporters, some by force. This continued until one Samhain night nearly fourteen years ago.”

Fudge’s eyes got incredibly wide as he finally caught up to what was going on. He looked to Benjamin and was met with calm eyes and a relaxed posture.

“I attacked a family and failed to kill the son. I was ripped from my body and fled, not more than a spirit, in agony. Once I calmed down a bit, I could think clearly again after years of paranoia. I fled the country, ashamed of what I had done.”

He bowed his head, as if ashamed, hiding his glamoured eyes, waiting tensely what the reaction would be.

Fudge clearly was at a loss for words, trying to comprehend what he had been told.

Benjamin, meanwhile, was thinking. Was this what had happened? Had the Dark Lord encountered a cursed object and been affected, unable to save himself? It was clear that his Lord was different now, compared to what he had been before that cursed, or maybe blessed, night. He now was much more like the man his father had used to speak about, not the madman Benjamin met back when he had joined him. He came to the conclusion that he probably never would know whether the tale told in this office today was the truth or entirely fabricated. But he was sure that the story would fill its purpose, convincing the Minister of Magic that Tom Marvolo Riddle had never intended to become the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Marvolo let his gaze rise from the floor and took a sip from the cooling tea before resuming his story. Fudge still was gaping at the man before him like a fish out of the water.

“A year ago, one of the followers of the Dark Lord, back from the time I believe I was under the influence of some curse, found me where I was hiding out in a forest somewhere in Albania, I guess. He made me a temporary body for my spirit to reside in, and he spoke of plans to get me a body of my own. At this point I was desperate to gain corporeal form again. I would have agreed to anything to change my state.” he closed his eyes, appearing to struggle to keep his composure. “As soon as I could, I got away from the extremist and all he was plotting, all he had done, in search of someone friendly that could help.”

He smiled grateful at Benjamin at this point, who had to admire his Lord’s acting skills. And then they both turned to the Minister, watching the wheels turn in his head.

After several moments of tense silence they could watch as Cornelius Fudge rearranged the story that had been told, the facts he knew of, and his outlook on the world, to create a reality that brought him back on firm ground.

A young and promising wizard had had the bad luck to encounter a powerful curse that had made him do some horrible things. When his body had been destroyed, he had come to his senses again, only to be brought back by a madman who would try to pressure him into continuing from the point that he had been at before he had vanished. His look fell on the scroll that lay forgotten on his desk. And there was the tool that he could use to make a powerful man indebted to him.

He smiled at his two guests and picked up the conversation again. “Black found you then, and made a body for you, in hopes of bringing terror back to our peaceful community.”

Confused, Marvolo had to ask “Regulus? I was under the impression that he died well before that night.”

Now it was Cornelius' turn to be confused. “No, I was speaking about Sirius Black, the older brother. He escaped from Azkaban almost two years ago.”

“But...” Marvolo did not try to hide how ridiculous this idea was. Sirius Black, a supporter of the Dark Lord?, “Sirius Black was never one of the Death Eaters.” He let his gaze wander between Benjamin and Cornelius in disbelief. “I was speaking of Peter Pettigrew.”

oooOOooo

The corridors in the dungeons were empty, as he expected them to be one week into the summer holidays. With his robes billowing behind him, Severus strode purposefully from his rooms up to the Headmaster's office. After his Lord had told him that he was free to go, he had first made a stop at Spinner's End, and then flooed promptly into his rooms at Hogwarts to find the Headmaster and report.

While he was walking the empty corridors he contemplated what to report and how. Should he report his suspicion that the Dark Lord was going a more political route this time around? Or should he only hint at it? With a start he realized that he had started to treat Albus as he did the Dark Lord, cautiously editing what to tell and what to hide, even going to lengths to hide certain information. After all, he had not told the Headmaster about the ultimatum that had been set for him. And he realised that he would not tell. He was wavering in his resolve... But no. He had to protect Harry Potter, and he was sure there was no way that he could protect the boy if he was to follow the Dark Lord again.

He reached the entrance hall and saw Minerva entering it at the same time, coming in from the grounds.

“Severus!” she exclaimed and made her way quickly through the hall to his side. A look of concern on her face, she almost started to drag him to the stairs up to the higher levels. “Let me get you to Poppy, and she will check you over. Are you terribly hurt?”

The Potions Master was unsure if he should laugh or roll his eyes at Minerva for her unnecessary concern. “Minerva, I am fine. There is no need for me to go to the infirmary or for you to play the mother hen.”

Disbelieving, the stern head of Gryffindor took a step back and gave her colleague a once over. “You look well. But you have been with him a week now. Excuse me, if I just cannot believe that you have been unscathed after so long a time there.”

Severus closed his eyes a moment, it would be nice if just once his word about how he was would be taken seriously. He conveniently forgot that he had a history of claiming to be fine even when it was obvious he was not. Opening his eyes he saw the true concern on Minerva's face. He sighted, “I really am fine, Minerva. He left me alone most of the time, and in good shape. Otherwise I would have been incapable of doing what he wished me to do.” She still looked skeptical, so Severus changed the subject. “Have you seen Albus? I would like to tell him what information I could gather in the last seven days.”

“If he's not in his office, he is probably at headquarters, he told me over breakfast, that he had a meeting with some new members planned.”

Severus let his brows rise, conveying his question without a word. They both started to walk up the stairs, their steps echoing in the empty halls. The elves had already finished with the big cleanup after the school year.

“Albus found us a secure place for meetings and to use as a safehouse. I cannot tell you where it is, there was a fidelius placed there.” Severus acknowledged this with a nod, that would be the best, so he could not tell the Dark Lord and did not need to invent a plausible reason not to tell.

As neither was found of aimless small talk, the rest of their walk up to the Headmaster’s office was a silent one.

Luckily the gargoyle was not guarding the office during the summer holidays, so they did not have to use one of the ridiculous passwords Albus was so fond of. But the circular office filled with odd instruments and bright colours was empty. “It seems that we need to go to headquarters.” Minerva needlessly concluded. “I will gather something from my office and we will meet at the great doors?”

They parted after that, and the Potions Master strode through the empty halls back down to the entrance hall. There had to be an easier way to find some other Order members and alert their leader. After all, not all of them were able to conjure a corporeal Patronus, and it was not the best method to send a message unnoticed, either.

When Minerva joined him on the front steps, Severus was enjoying the sun on his face and the calm. It was never this peaceful here when students were on the grounds.

Minerva got a small piece of parchment from her robe pocket and held it out to Severus. They both started walking to the gates to get out from under the anti-apperation wards.

Severus took the parchment and immediately recognized the writing as the one of Albus. He had written The Order of the Phoenix has its headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place in London. Severus repeatedly read the information, then set the piece of parchment on fire, letting the ashes fall to the ground and disappear among the grass.

“I have never been to this place.”

“I can side-along you there today, so you can go there on your own for following meetings.” Minerva was still not convinced that her younger friend was well... although he seemed to have no trouble keeping up with her brisk pace and looked rather healthy. As if he had seen more sun of late.

They talked about school for the rest of their walk, things like lesson plans, and items and supplies Severus would have liked to get for the potions laboratory, the fact that there were a few things for the school in general that needed replacement, students who had been a problem in the last year, and how they thought they should solve such problems in the new one.

Finally they reached the gates, stepped of the school grounds, and prepared to apparate to their destination. Were Minerva dropped him off to return to the school.

Severus was not pleased to realise that the Order's headquarters were located in the old Black town house. And that on entering he promptly run into the last Black.

“Snape, what are you doing here?” the dog animagus almost barked at him.

Smoothly he sidestepped the man and replied, “As Albus is here and I have reports to give, I think the reason for my presence in this ruin of a house should be obvious even to you.” Baiting the man was almost too easy now, just this one jipp and the man was growling, looking rather feral with his long hair – although it was washed and not as tangled any more – and gaunt face.

“Where is the Headmaster?” Severus asked, pitching his tone just right to convey that Black was rather unimportant, silently relishing the ability to get a bit of payback for all the times Black had humiliated him.

“Kitchen,” was his growled reply, inclining his head, Severus walked away without further greeting, down the dank hallway and a short staircase, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Just inside the rather dark kitchen, the spy spotted the Headmaster reading a letter and getting up from his chair. Around the table were Alastor Moody and two others, a young witch with colourful hair – blue with purple tips – and a bald man with darker skin.

His robes billowing, he took a few steps into the kitchen as he was spotted by the Headmaster.

“Ah, Severus, my boy! I am sorry, but I fear I have no time to speak with you.” He folded the letter and tucked it into one of the pockets of his almost neon purple robes. “Is there anything of immediate importance you have to tell me?”

Severus weighed his options and observed the man before him closely. The Headmaster was nervous and with his thoughts elsewhere, so the Potions Master decided to keep the information short and to the point.

“I finished my task, and was allowed to leave. At the last meeting the Dark Lord asked that there should be a search for a boy able to speak with snakes. The Potter boy was mentioned and the search concluded the same evening. I am not aware of the reason of his interest in such a boy.” He spoke in a clipped tone, following Albus back into the entrance hall.

“We will speak more, when I’m back.” were the parting words of the Headmaster before he vanished through the door, not acknowledging the short report from his spy.

Severus sadly was not surprised. Was it a bad sign, that the leader of the light showed less concern for his spy's well-being after a week without contact, than a Dark Lord after only two missed meals? Severus felt torn and the ongoing changes made his head ache.

Shoving his doubts back in the dark corners of his mind, as he had to do much to often in the past days, he returned to the kitchen, to get some of the strong coffee he had smelled, and maybe one of the pastries, he had seen standing on the table. One could say many things about Molly Weasley, but she was really good at preparing any kind of food.

oooOOooo

Marvolo stood in the hall of the Wizengamot and pretended to be amused by the stories the Minister was telling. They were waiting for the Lords and Ladies to arrive so they could 'set all to rights’ as the Minister had said before calling an emergency meeting.

As the Minister started to tell about the dignitaries he had met last year during the Quidditch World Cup, Marvolo let his gaze wander over the seats of the Houses. There were so many seats that remained empty. For one his seat, in the row nearest the centre, tarnished silver in need of a good polishing, two coiled snakes with red gems as eyes holding their heads high supporting the bench, and all the others. Why were they not claimed? Surely not all were forgotten? The Gaunts had known they were descended from Salazar Slytherin, so why had they never claimed the seat? Did they not know they could? Or did they not dare, because they lacked the money and education? He wished he had thought to ask before killing the last of them. Now it was too late to get their reasoning. But maybe he could get the reason for other empty seats, he decided to help find those missing families, staring at the seat of the Prince house.

One after another the Lords and Ladies arrived and Marvolo concentrated more on his surroundings. He reinforced the mask of young, nervous but confident wizard and followed the Minister to the front, where guests and petitioners sat.

Benjamin stayed by his side to be the sponsor requesting this hearing as part of the Wizengamot. The Minister was his second sponsor, as two were needed to get a hearing. But only the main one would stand with the petitioner.

As he saw Lucius walking proudly into the chamber, Marvolo made a show of approaching him reluctantly, as if unsure how he would be greeted. There was a brief flicker of surprise on the blond Lord’s face, quickly replaced by a blank polite mask.

“Lord Malfoy, please allow me to express my sincere regret on how our last meetings went.” Inwardly grinning, he portrayed the chagrined young man hoping to be pardoned. “I hope we will be able to repair a relationship foolishly broken by past actions?”

There was turmoil in Lucius' eyes and Marvolo had to work to hide his smirk, it was quite fun to pull the rug out under his Death Eaters' feet.

Regaining his composure and thinking his way through the maze that was his Lord’s plans Lucius realised that this was the groundwork to make it possible for the Malfoys to be seen with the soon-to-be Lord Slytherin in the future.

“We will have to see if past misconceptions can be cleared, and lost common ground regained.” He gave a curt nod and strode away like a wary Lord not quite willing to associate with a wizard who had placed him under the Imperius curse before. It went against all his instincts to turn his back on his Lord and be arrogant in the way he spoke to him, but if there should be no doubt that the story he had told was the truth, he would have to play the part.

Marvolo repeated the performance for all of his followers who had claimed to be under the mind-controlling curse after he had vanished, relishing their mostly well hidden squirming. A truly fitting punishment, and he would have the opportunity to keep at it for a while, he was looking forward to many meetings with the others being uncomfortable and not able to show it.

Finally, the last living friend from his school days came into the chamber. Xerxes did put on a good show of seeing him and realising who he was. A cautious expression on his face, he came to Marvolo and Benjamin where they were standing, observed more or less obvious by all present. “Benjamin, how are you?” he greeted his younger friend, not acknowledging his Lord.

“I am well, Xerxes. I think you may know my guest of these last few days.” Benjamin said, indicating Marvolo standing by his side and going on “May I introduce Tom Marvolo Riddle. He came to me a few days ago, asking for help, to be declared alive again.”

Marvolo gave a small bow to his younger friend, who now seemed a lot older. “It has been a long time since we last saw each other.”

“A long time indeed. Why did you not come to me for help? I would have been glad to see you again, my friend.” The way Lord Lestrange held his body and the tone of his words conveyed, that he was disappointed and sad of the lack of trust, but his eyes told a different story. He was having fun with this as well.

“I was not sure I would be welcome at Lestrange Manor. There was this unfortunate business with your sons…” he let his voice trail away, practically radiating uncertainty.

“Well,” Xerxes hesitated and seemed to be weighing the man before him, “They acted against my wishes and warnings. More than once. And I will not hold you accountable for their decisions, nor your actions during the time you were not yourself.” With these words he patted the slightly shorter wizard on the shoulder, nodding to Benjamin, who tried to not show his astonishment, and made his way over to the Lestrange seat.

As Benjamin and Marvolo went to sit down, the last missing member came through the door. Dumbledore was in a bit of a hurry and tried to see what this so-called emergency meeting would be about. His gaze fell on the guest seats and he almost fell over his own feet as he recognized the young wizard sitting beside Lord Nott.

“Tom” mouthed the old Headmaster, stunned in place and staring at Marvolo, who chuckled quietly and whispered to his host, “It seems my old transfiguration teacher still remembers me. And he did not know I would be here today.”

Did Severus not tell the Headmaster that he had changed his plans? Or had they simply had no time to meet before Hogwarts' Headmaster had to leave?

As Chief Warlock Abbott called the session to order, Marvolo concentrated on the reactions of the present witches and wizards. How they reacted today was important, he would be able to see who was an ally, who was more neutral, and from whom he would probably never get help or support.

Benjamin started with stating why he had called for this hearing, explaining the law that was called upon, while the assistants levitated copies of the law and all cases it had been used for up to the members of the Wizengamot.

Soon they were lost in technicalities of the law and how they should know that it could be used in this situation, as they all could clearly see, that the man petitioning for its use had a body.

That was the moment Dumbledore stood and requested to be allowed to speak by raising his wand. “The floor goes to the Potter regent,” said Lord Abbott, gesturing to the white-haired wizard to speak.

“Thank you Chief Warlock.” He collected himself and started speaking to all in the chamber, especially the more neutral Houses, as Marvolo noticed. “I remember a student by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle, who looked a lot like this man.” He pointed at Marvolo, who was smiling. “He left school to become Lord Voldemort.” There went a shudder through the chamber at the name. “I indeed believe this man before us is no one else as the Dark Lord Voldemort, back as I have tried to tell you all for some weeks now.” His blue eyes were twinkling, and he seemed to be convinced that he was on top in this situation.

Someone from the lighter families called “Oh, don't start again. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead.” Marvolo could not see who had spoken, but murmurs from different others agreed with the interrupter.

Xerxes stood with a small smile on his face. “Well I have to agree with the Headmaster. Mister Riddle looks remarkable like my former school friend. Why do we not ask him? If he was not You-Know-Who, then why should he be here asking for a hearing based on this law?” he held the parchments up, that each of them had received. More agreeing murmurs were heard, and the Chief Warlock turned to the petitioner.

“Mr. Riddle, have you once been known by the name of Lord,” he hesitated, “You-Know-Who?”

Marvolo stood, respectfully nodding to the Chief Warlock. “Indeed I have been known as Lord Voldemort,” agitated murmurs started, and he had to raise his voice a little, “but that was before I lost my body and existed for over ten years as a bodiless spirit.”

This declaration set the kneazle among the pigeons, and all present Lords and Ladies started to speak agitatedly without listening to each other. It took several bangs from Abbott’s wand to get them to calm down again.

“We have two different members confirming the identity of Mr. Riddle and his word to being a bodiless spirit. Can you give us evidence on this?”

“I can,” confirmed Marvolo with a nod, quite amused by the dumbfounded expression on the old Headmaster's face. “In fact, I can provide a witness to my resurrection. As you all probably have guessed, a bodiless spirit cannot perform magic without help from a witch or wizard.”

That got him a few chuckles from his audience.

“Yesterday the man that made me a new body came after me. As he wanted me to continue from the point I were at when I vanished, and I did not, Benjamin refused him entry. And as he still tried to get to me, he stunned the man. If you want, we can bring him here.”

After this everything went smoothly, even if some of the members looked as if they had bitten into a lemon. Benjamin had one of his elves bring the bound Pettigrew to the chamber, resulting in another uproar that had to be called to order with stern words from the Chief Warlock. The unregistered animagus was bound with special cuffs, so he could not escape, and questioned under Veritaserum, confirming Marvolo’s story of being a bodiless spirit, which made the law of Haxby – the name of the foul wizard who had been the cause of its necessity – apply to him.

Dumbledore managed to get all of his records of the OWLs and NEWTs erased, by stating that the law made all actions performed before being reborn null and void. Marvolo did not try to protest, merrily asking instead for information what was necessary for him to take the exams. It was a hollow victory for the Potter regent, after all.

After all necessary papers had been filed, and the more or less agitated Lords and Ladies began to leave, Marvolo stepped up to the Minister, offering his hand to shake. “Thank you very much for your help in this, Minister. I hope that we will work as well together in the future.”

Nodding happily, the Minister took the offered hand and smiled “Do let me know when you are taking your exams, Mr. Riddle. I would like to take you to a celebratory lunch after you have finished.”

Aware that Dumbledore was in hearing range, Marvolo smiled up at the Minister “That I will do. There is one more thing I would like to ask of you.” To the encouraging smile he continued “I am aware that there is a young wizard who is part of the Family, and living with muggles. I want to adopt him and need to know which department is the one responsible for this sort of things.”

“That would be the Department of Family Affairs. If you want to go right now, I can show you the way. Maybe you could tell me a bit more about your travelling, Mr. Riddle.”

As they departed, animately talking about old wizarding sites in foreign countries, Marvolo caught sight of one very white Albus Dumbledore, who was following him with horror in his eyes as all his carefully laid-out plans began to crumble right in front of him.

Chapter Text

Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE – short for Department of Magical Law Enforcement – strode into her office, stripping off her purple Wizengamot robes. Whoever thought it a good idea to choose this colour for the robes of Ministry officials for Wizengamot meetings was probably still laughing. Almost nobody looked good in this colour.

Moments ago she had sent one of her Aurors to take Peter Pettigrew to one of the holding cells, with special instructions to make sure the Animagus did not escape. In his rat form he just was so small that slipping away would be easy for him.

This day had been a difficult one up till now. She still had trouble to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. You-Know-Who back, and free to go and do what he pleased because of a forgotten old law. Peter Pettigrew not dead but very much alive. The declared newly-born man claiming that Sirius Black had never been a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There were many questions swirling about in her mind.

She resolved to start at the beginning, by reading up on the transcripts of Sirius Black’s trial. She didn't remember anything about it, but that was not really surprising, it had been a rather hectic time. She had hardly made it home to sleep and change her clothes in those days. She just had not been able to follow all of the trials that had been held.

With new resolve she made her way to the file storage rooms. It would be an enraged and confused Madame Bones coming back to her office in the evening, after discovering that there never had been a trial for Sirius Orion Black, just an order to take him to Azkaban. That would be the start of a rather thorough investigation. She did not know what to do should she discover that there had been an innocent man in Azkaban for all these years.

oooOOooo

It was hot in little Whinging where the teenage boy trotted along the side walk, carrying two heavy bags of lemonade and sweets.

Harry had had an odd day. While doing the dishes, he had been overcome by a fierce gleeful joy that was definitely not his own. No one would be this happy with both hands stuck in hot soapy water in what was called the hottest summer since start of records.

It had happened again while Harry had been washing his uncle’s car for the third time this week, another activity that was unable to inspire much happiness in Harry.

He worried, as these emotions were not his, that could only mean that Voldemort was really happy. And if a happy Dark Lord was no reason for concern, then nothing was. He sighed. As usual, the letters from Hermione and Ron were empty of any real information. They did not tell where they were staying or what they were doing. Sirius was equally scarce with information of any value. All his letters, with the exception of those from Hermione, were short and filled with frustratingly unclear hints that he would be allowed to stay with them, wherever they might be, sometime this summer. And his plan to listen to the news had not gone well. The Dursleys were not happy for him to stay in the living room with them to watch the news. They always sent him away with suspicion in their faces. His backup plan to read the newspaper only ended with his being smacked over the head with the rolled-up information source.

Setting down the bags, filled with snacks Dudley had asked his mother for, Harry flexed his fingers. The bags were a little too heavy for the flimsy handles, which were cutting into his palms. Standing up straighter, Harry’s back gave a series of cracks, and sweat ran down his brow. If he was lucky, he would have to stay here away from magic and his friends only two more weeks, more or less. And the time would be easier if he did not anger his relatives. Sighing again, he picked the bags back up and continued his way. Some of the neighbours crossed to the sides of the street and Harry snorted a bitter laugh. Well, he looked like a criminal in his much-too-big faded t-shirt and baggy jeans. If he was to meet a boy in such clothes, whom rumours claimed went to a school for incurably criminal boys, he would also try to avoid him.

Life was not fair and would probably never be.

The sun was nearing the horizon as he finally reached number four. His cousin was not back yet, and Aunt Petunia was unhappy with how long it had taken her nephew to get the small purchase done.

“Hurry up, boy! Your uncle and cousin will be back soon, and the living room needs cleaning. But first wash your filthy hands!”

Staying as calm as possible Harry just said “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” and went to pack the many sweets away before going to the bathroom. He really hoped that he only had to stay here two more weeks. He doubted that he could manage to stay calm for the rest of summer.

oooOOooo

Vernon was just back from work and reading the newspaper that he had not finished over breakfast, as an owl swept through the open window to perch on the back of one of the chairs nearest to Harry, who was doing the dishes – again.

“Get this dirty bird out of my kitchen!” screeched Petunia at the top of her lungs, startling the bird and her husband... who managed to upend his mug of coffee over himself. Vernon cursed loudly and jumped up, dropping the newspaper. Harry hurried to get the letter from the nondescript brown owl that was just too happy to leave again, not waiting to see if there would be treats or even water. As normally owls would arrive late in the evening or early in the morning, Harry proceeded to open the letter without getting away from his relatives first.

It was a letter from the Headmaster. Before he could start to read he had to duck a swinging hand from his uncle. With a few quick steps he brought the table between himself and his irritated relatives. Tuning out their shouts and insults, he quickly scanned the letter.

Dear Harry,

Please prepare to be picked up later this evening. There will be a group of people you know coming to your relatives ' house. Do not leave with anyone else! Stay indoors and be ready to leave on a moment's notice! Do not leave without the people I send!

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

The letter was odd. But the content probably would help calm his relatives down. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, Harry looked up at his aunt and uncle. They both were now silently fuming, it seemed they had realized that all windows were open, so that the whole neighbourhood could hear them if they were shouting as they had been only moments before.

“The Headmaster sent this letter. I will be picked up later today. He said I should pack and be ready to leave.” Harry felt a slight pang in his heart as he saw the relieved look on Petunia’s face and the loathing on Vernon’s face.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” growled the obese man, his face gaining a purple tinge. “Pack what's yours and be on your way! And don't think that you'll be welcome here ever again!”

Silently Harry turned and made his way up to his room. Starting to pick up his textbooks and all the other things, he tried to concentrate, his mind began turning over the puzzle before him. Voldemort had been happy today. Very happy, on more than one occasion. And now he got a letter, a hurried letter, from the Headmaster, telling him that he would be picked up from his relatives'. There had been hints that he would be able to be with his friends sometime in the summer. But he had never left before he had spent at least three weeks at Privet Drive. There had to be a connection between those two things. Voldemort happy and Harry leaving his relatives early. The raven-haired teen slowly straightened, his eyes going wide and his transfiguration Textbook from second year falling from his limp fingers to the ground. He was no longer safe here. Somehow Voldemort had found a way to get to Harry, and now they were trying to get him to safety.

With this realisation, he began to pack frantically, no longer trying to get a little order into his belongings, just making sure he had everything ready in the shortest amount of time possible. He pried open the loose floorboard to get to his most prized possessions. The album with photos of his parents, the invisibility cloak, the map and his wand. Album and map he placed in his trunk and squashed a few things so he could close it, the cloak he laid on the bed beside him, the wand he kept in his hand. Now he was ready to leave, or ready to fight, if Voldemort or his Death Eaters made it here first.

Sitting on his bed listening to the sounds outside, Harry was tense with nervousness. He heard Dudley come home and enter the house, heard the Dursleys eating and then settling into the living room to have a family film evening. It got dark outside, and the street lamps were turned on, and still Harry was waiting, almost shaking with anticipation.

Nearly three hours after the letter came, the head with a mop of black hair snapped up. Had he heard someone apparate? Only moments later there was a knock on the door to the garden and Harry was on his feet, wand in hand and cloak thrown over his shoulders.

“Who could that be?” asked Vernon downstairs.

“I do not know, dear. Stay, I'll have a look.” Petunia answered.

“I want more popcorn.” demanded Dudley.

With a start, Harry realized that his relatives could be in danger if there were Death Eaters at the door. Than he scolded himself silently, Death Eaters wouldn't have the decency to knock. They would blast the door off its hinges and curse whatever or whoever they found behind it.

“Mrs. Dursley?” Harry heard the voice of a woman politely ask after his aunt had opened the door. “We are here to collect your nephew.”

Impatient, Harry could practically see her waving her hand for the woman to come inside as Petunia spat out, “Come indoors before someone sees.”

Cautiously Harry got up from his bed, put the hood of the cloak over his head, and opened his door slowly so he could pass through. After a surprisingly long time, the back door was closed again, and a clearly unhappy Petunia called “Come down here, boy!”

Unsure these were really the people sent by Professor Dumbledore to pick him up, Harry slowly made his way to the top of the stairs, so he could look down on the group assembled there.

Four persons were standing beside his aunt, only two of whom he had seen before. Remus Lupin in patched robes that were a little threadbare at the hems, and Alastor Moody, easily recognized by his peg leg and the swirling blue magical eye. The other two, a young woman with a heart-shaped face and hair with wild curls in a tomato red, and a bald, dark-skinned wizard, he had not seen before.

Alastor’s eye rested on Harry, and the teen remembered that it was able to see through his cloak. The old wizard nodded approvingly and a small smirk flickered across his scar-littered face. “Right you are Potter! Constant vigilance!”

Slowly Harry slit the hood from his head, still holding his wand steadily trained on the three wizards and one witch standing beside his aunt.

“Professor Lupin, please tell me what you used to teach me extra lessons.” Smiling, Lupin took a step towards the stairs and answered, “A boggart.” Harry relaxed a bit, but did not let his guard down.

“And now a question from us,” Moody intercepted before Harry could start to descend the stairs. “Wouldn't do if we brought a Death Eater to headquarters, now, would it? Or does one of you have some Veritaserum on hand?”

Both the young woman and the dark wizard shook their heads.

With another smile Lupin turned to Harry and asked “What form does your patronus take?” “A stag,” was the nervous answer, bringing a brilliant smile to Lupin’s face.

“It is he.”

“Well, we need to be on our way then. Ma'am, sorry for interrupting your evening. We'll be gone in moments. Are you all packed, Potter?” Harry nodded while the horse-faced Petunia shoot hateful glares at the four magical people invading her home, before she retreated into the living room back to her family.

“I have everything packed. Why are we in such a hurry? Where are we going? What..”

But Mad Eye cut him short. “No time for this now, lad. Get your things. Tonks help him.”

Smiling, the young woman in jeans and t-shirt made her way up to Harry. “Show me the way?”

A little stunned by the abrupt manner, Harry nodded and lead the way.

Tonks looked around his room curiously and cast a quick charm on the trunk. “Now it will be lighter, easier to handle.” She led her gaze wander through the room once more. “Got everything?”

“Yes, I was packed not half an hour after I received the letter. Why are you so late?”

Picking up the trunk between them she said cheerily “Had to wait until it was dark. We can't risk the muggles seeing anything.” She almost fell over her own feet. “Uh, sorry, maybe I should levitate your trunk?” Harry nodded and let go of the handle, he didn't fancy falling down the stairs.

Only moments later they all were standing in the back garden. “Introductions later. Do you have your broom?” Harry held up the requested item. “Great. We'll fly a bit, then apparate you to our destination. Read this.” Alastor got a piece of parchment from his robes and trust it at Potter. It was the same piece of parchment most of the Order had been shown to inform them where headquarters was. Then Moody set the parchment on fire and rapped his wand rather hard on the top of the boy’s head. Harry shuddered at the odd sensation of something cold running in drops down his body. And as he looked down at his body he gave a startled cry, because he looked like the wall of the house behind him.

The dark-skinned wizard conjured a net to transport Harry’s trunk in and secured it to his own broom.

“Let’s get in the air everyone!” The adults had taken a broom each, which had been leaning against the wall, and started to mount them. On Alastor’s signal they all pushed themselves in the air and started to follow Tonk's lead. Despite the worries of what Voldemort was up to, if his relatives would be all right, and what would be happening from now on, Harry was happy to be flying again. It had been not two weeks since he had last been able to fly, but after a year of almost weekly quidditch practices, two weeks were a long time.

They were not flying long before Tonks started to descend somewhere out in the open, a field of some sort. They landed near a small copse of birch trees and hornbeam. The spell on Harry was reserved, and Remus stepped up to him as Tonks spun on her heel and vanished from view.

“Am I right assuming that you've never been taken anywhere by side-along apparation?” Remus asked Harry in a quiet tone.

“As I don’t know what apparation is, I’m not sure.”

Remus chuckled. “Apparation is a form of magical transportation. We will vanish here, like Tonks did, and appear in another spot almost exactly in the same moment. It's not a nice feeling the first few times, and to be taken along by someone else is worse than doing it alone. Once you turn seventeen you'll be able to learn to do it on your own.” The werewolf held his arm out for Harry to take who did so with apprehension. “Keep a strong hold on my arm and a firm grip on your broomstick.”

And then Lupin spun, much as Tonks had done, and Harry suddenly felt as if he were being sucked through an incredibly small rubber tube that tried to squish him into the smallest space he could possibly fit. In a way it took almost forever before it was over, even if it was at most a few seconds.

And then they were standing in a dimly lit street in a city, by the sound of traffic somewhere in the distance, and Harry was desperately trying not to retch. Not really recovered from his first travel by apparation, Moody came over and shooed them in the direction of the houses on the other side of the narrow street. “Don't dawdle, move!” And so Harry stumbled over his own feet, not paying attention to his surroundings, dragged by Remus up a short staircase and through a dark door.

oooOOooo

Hermione was trying to concentrate on her potions essay, but while Ron was pacing up and down it was nearly impossible.

“Ron calm down! Harry won't get here any faster if you walk to Hogwarts in this room.”

With a frustrated huff, Ron slumped down on his untidy bed. “I know! But I can’t stay sitting. I just can’t!” He ran his hands through his red hair, making it stand up at odd angles. “I don’t think I'll be calm until Harry is here and safe!”

They both were confined to the rooms they were sleeping in, as almost none of the other rooms were safe yet. The kitchen was, but there Snape was sitting with a cup of strong coffee, dissuading all of the students from staying in there. So they had opted for Ron’s room, that he would be sharing with Harry, to wait for their friend's arrival.

Hermione had been staying at Order headquarters for three days now, helping to clean the place to make it fit for human habitation. Today they – that is Ron, Ginny, the twins, and herself – had been cleaning a living room at the ground floor under Mrs. Weasley’s supervision, when Dumbledore had come back from the surprise Wizengamot meeting he had been called to. He had been unusually pale and had called all order members present to the kitchen. Then they had launched into a flurry of activity, watched by the baffled teenagers.

All they could learn, before they were sent to their rooms, was that Dumbledore had decided rather spontaneously that Harry should come to Grimmauld place. It had now been almost an hour since the four sent to get Harry had left and they all were rather nervous.

With a sigh Hermione set her quill down, it was futile to work on her summer assignments while this distracted.

“Want to play a game of exploding snap or something?” asked Ron, lying on his back, staring at the flaking paint on the ceiling.

“Better than staring at the walls.” agreed Hermione as she stood to get the pack of cards from the board by the door.

They had just started to deal the cards when the late Mrs. Black started to screech at the top of her painted lungs. Both of them shot up from their seat on the bed, now a little tidied up, and rushed from the room and down the stairs. They were meet by both twins and Ginny and stared down into the hall at the new arrivals.

Moody was going into the kitchen, and Tonks was just getting up from the floor where she had found herself after tripping over the umbrella stand she always tripped over. And there, just inside the door, stood Harry, supported by Professor Lupin and looking like he was going to be sick any moment now.

“Harry!” Ginny exclaimed and stormed down the stairs, barrelling into the surprised boy, who would have fallen if the werewolf standing by his side had not helped him stay upright.

“Go easy on him, Miss Weasley!” chastised Lupin, “Let him breath!”

A little embarrassed, Ginny stepped back, and Harry tried to arrange his mused clothes back into a semblance of order. During this display by his younger sister, Ron had come down to greet Harry, giving him a hug, closely followed by Hermione, who did the same. The friends started to go to the kitchen as Professor Dumbledore came out the door followed by Sirius.

“Harry! I’m sooo glad that you are here now.” with a few long strides, the still to thin man had passed the Headmaster and enveloped his godson in a big hug. “Are you well? You look a bit pale.”

As Harry could not answer the question pressed against his godfathers robes Remus answered with a small chuckle “Apparation does not agree with him.”

Harry felt better now that he was safe and back with his friends and what remained of his family. Grateful he smiled up at Sirius, who smiled back. But this happy moment could not last, as the Headmaster said with a stern voice, so unlike him, “All order members, please come to the kitchen. We have much to discuss.” And with a flourish of his robes he turned to return to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Sirius.

“I want Harry to be part of the meeting. He needs to know what is happening and what we are doing.”

Warmth spread through Harry, here was someone not thinking of him as a child, someone not willing to keep him in the dark, to protect him, only for him to be in the thick of it regardless.

“Only Order members Sirius, my boy.” Now the white-haired wizard sounded like the kindest grandfather again. “The children surely want to catch up. Molly can send them some sandwiches upstairs.” He looked smiling and with twinkling eyes in Mrs. Weasley's direction and she promptly nodded cheerfully.

“Of course, Headmaster, go on, all of you. Sandwiches will be served in Ron’s and Harry’s room in a few minutes.”

A fast glance between Harry and his godfather assured the boy that he would get to know everything after the meeting. And so he left with his friends without making a fuss.

Halfway up the stairs, Fred and George came up on both sides of Harry, whispering to him, “If you want to hear what they're talking about - “ “- we can offer you our service.”

The twin on Harry’s right side flashed a flesh-coloured and wound-up cord, that he held hidden in his hand.

“Extendable Ears,” explained the twin on the other side. “We invented them. Wonderful if you want to listen in on conversations.”

Reaching the top, Harry smiled at them “Thanks guys, but Sirius will tell me afterwards. So no need to risk getting in trouble. Let’s eat the sandwiches, and you tell me where we are and what you've been up to.” With the promise to get to know, he was much more at ease and happy to be with his friends. Moments later they were sitting on the beds in their room, listening to stories from the few short weeks of summer so far. Harry learned that his friends had been told by Dumbledore not to tell him anything that could be of use to Voldemort and his followers, for the unlikely reason that one of the owls might be intercepted.

oooOOooo

In the kitchen all the witches and wizards that were part of the Order of the Phoenix settled around the big table. The Potions Master and spy was sitting down, not his usual position. At least not in the last war. When he had attended meetings back at that time, he had always tried to be one of the last to arrive and one of the first, if not the first, to leave. And he preferred a place in the shadows to one in the middle of the group, like the one he had now. But as he had been waiting the whole day, sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating the delicious pastries, it would look odd to leave his place to hide in the shadows now. And so he just did the best to put his customary sneer on his face and ignore the others.

They all watched with wary faces as the Headmaster sat down in his conjured armchair, for once looking his age. “I sadly have to tell you that Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort is once again able to wander freely.” That brought commotion to the room, all of them were speaking over each other demanding to know how this was even possible. Holding one hand up, Dumbledore silenced them all. “Severus my boy, you did not tell me that he once again looks like a normal human.” The look the Headmaster gave his Potions Professor was one of disappointment.

And here we go again, Severus thought wryly. “I told you this morning, that I had accomplished the task that had been set for me. As I told you previously what this task was, I foolishly believed that the implications were clear.”

Albus nodded sadly. “Well it seems I was in a bit of a hurry this morning, my boy. Please be so kind as to give a full report now.”

Severus preferred to give this reports in private, as Albus most certainly knew, but at the moment he could do nothing but comply.

“Very well.” Severus took a sip from his coffee, and hid a grimace as it turned out to be cold. “The last week I spent in the same house as the Dark Lord. He provided me with everything I needed to create a potion to reverse the negative effects of the errors in the potion used in his resurrection.”

He took another sip from his cold coffee. “During this time, he behaved differently than I remember. There was only one meeting called that I was part of. Yesterday evening, all were called to give reports and receive orders. At the end of the meeting, the Dark Lord gave all of us the order to search for a boy that was a Parselmouth. One of the others informed him that Mr. Potter has this ability. After the meeting I was asked to confirm or refute this information. I had to provide him with my memory of the disaster of a duelling club. This morning I was informed that I could leave. I came here in search of you, Albus, immediately.” That were the bare bones of the things Severus had seen and heard, but most of the others only were speculations and interpretations of his own. No need to share them with all of the others.

“Have you any idea of his plans Severus? It is of highest importance that we learn of his plans. He changed them somehow, and I am concerned what he is planning.”

Trying to stay calm, wondering what the old manipulative twinkly-eyed man keep from them, Severus answered, “I suspect that he is going a less violent way to get what he wants, at the moment. The tasks he set at the last meeting, and the fact that he refrained from using the Cruciatus as often, suggests a shift in his approach.”

“Then now is my time to give a report,” Dumbledore sighed sadly. “As you all know, there was an emergency Wizengamot meeting this morning.” Nodding heads all around the table answered. “It was called from two members, Lord Nott and the Minister himself, on behalf of a petitioner, who wanted to call to the law of Haxby. I was shocked, as I recognized Tom Riddle, who once was a student of mine, sitting in front of everyone. I tried to get the others to see reason, but alas, they were stubborn and with Lord Abbott as Chief Warlock I had no way to stop this scheme.”

The young woman at the end of the table, whose name was Nymphadora Tonks, as Severus had learned during his agonizing hours of waiting, let her hair shift to a ghastly green and asked with a frown “Could you please tell us what this law of Haxby is?” There were some murmurs around the table while Severus tried to get an idea of what the Headmaster still had not told them. A short sweeping glance over the assembled Order revealed that Arthur Weasley was missing.

“Of course Nymphadora,” The young Auror made a grimace at the name she rather had not. “It is an obscure and almost forgotten law awarding a witch or wizard that had to exist any length of time as a spirit without a body of their own, a new life. They are to be considered newborn, and without responsibility for anything they did before they got a body of their own again.”

All faces went pasty white at this, all to clear were the consequences of Lord Voldemort being declared free of all responsibility for past actions.

“But that is not the worst,” Albus added in a grave tone. “At the end of the meeting, after he was granted what he came for, I overheard him talking with the Minister. He asked for instructions on what was the procedure for adopting a child.”

Severus knew instantly what his Lord was planning to do and started to panic while Molly asked confused, “Why would he want to adopt a child? And which child would he adopt, and on what grounds?”

“I think that he plans to adopt Harry, claiming that the boy is part of the Slytherin family.”

A moment of shock was swiftly followed by an uproar of voices shouting desperate plans into the room, trying to come up with something they could do to keep Harry out if the clutches of Lord Voldemort.

Severus was an island of calm in all the commotion. But only on the outside. In his mind the desperate shouts were echoed by his thoughts. The ultimatum given by his Lord now seeming to be meaningless, because he would die for not protecting the boy before the time was up. There was no way he could save the boy. They could try to imprison him here at headquarters, only to become wanted for keeping a child from their legal guardian. The same was true if they ran. He was no fool and knew that the department of family affairs always decided in favour of the old families.

In this moment Arthur came into the kitchen discarding his robes and looking around for his wife. While one after the other the enraged order members became quiet and shifted their attention to the wizard standing just inside the door, Severus started with breathing exercises to get a handle on his irrational fear. He did not know that the Dark Lord planed to kill Potter, his plans could be different, and until he did not know one way or the other, there was no use in panic.

“Arthur, what have you heard? Were you able to speak with someone from the department of family affairs?” Albus asked with his grandfatherly mask firmly in place.

“Yes, I spoke with Amanda Wisby, she handles most of the cases involving children. She told me about the ‘handsome and kind’ Mr. Riddle coming into the office just before lunch.” He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “Tomorrow in the afternoon is the appointment. I asked if this wasn't too fast, if there isn't a need for some form of inspection.”

He shook his head sadly, “She said he asked for the earliest appointment possible, so that he has more time with his son before the boy has to go back to Hogwarts for the next school year.” Defeated, Arthur sank into a chair next to his wife. “I don't think that there is anything within the law we can do to prevent Harry from being adopted.”

“It is Harry than that Tom seeks to adopt?”

Arthur only nodded to the Headmasters question.

His emotions under his control again the spy analysed this new information. Again, proof that the Dark Lord had changed his behaviour. No, he certainly could not guess what he wanted to achieve by adopting Potter.

A number of smaller discussions started around the room, tossing ideas back and forth on how to keep Potter with them. Suddenly the door slammed open and a fuming Potter strode in the room, clutching a crushed parchment in his left hand. “You think it is al right to not tell me that there is someone trying to adopt me? Think it's okay to shoo me away to play while the monster that murdered my parents tries to get the Ministry to just hand me over!? I say that is NOT OKAY!”

“Now my boy...” Albus tried to placate the enraged and distraught teen, but he would have none of it.

“I am almost fifteen, not three. Keeping me in the dark didn't work well in the past, and with something as important as this, you try again?” Harry narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster and turned to his godfather. “I would like to speak with you, Sirius.” Nodding, the Animagus stood and followed Harry out of the kitchen, past the other teens standing sheepishly in the door.

“How does he know?” asked Kingsley from his chair next to Moody.

“Probably got a notification letter from the Ministry. Albus you adjusted the wards to let ministry owls pass, did you not?” The old Auror answered.

Nodding, Albus rose from his chair, probably to go and speak with Potter, but stopped by Severus first. “Severus do you think it possible…”

With a curt not, the Order's only spy stood and swept and out of the room and the dusty house. He stood for a moment in the fresher air outside – only fresh in the sense of free of dust as it was quite hot – collecting his thoughts and strengthening his shields before apparating away.

oooOOooo

Sitting in the study Benjamin had picked for him, Marvolo made a list of everything that needed to be done in the next few days. It was quite long already, but most of it he could not start until later the next day, as the presence of his heir was needed for this. A small smile graced his face, and he called “Come in!” to the short, firm knock on the door.

In came Severus, only to kneel, bowing his head on the spot.

“I take you have news for me, Severus? Come, have a seat. Tea?”

A little baffled and quickly hiding it, Severus rose and went to sit in the chair in front of the desk Marvolo was sitting behind.

Conjuring another teacup, Marvolo asked his Potions Master “Milk? Sugar? Lemon?”

“Milk, my Lord. Thank you.”

It was obvious to Marvolo that he had caught the man off guard, and he was terribly amused by this. The normally so composed head of House Slytherin off balance was a rare sight indeed. After they both had a cup of tea Marvolo kept his inquisitive gaze on the younger man and waited for him to begin.

“The Order had an emergency meeting only moments ago. In fact, Dumbledore,” he added a sneer to the name, “sent me here to gather information.”

“To learn of my plans after I have adopted the last Potter?” interrupted the red-eyed wizard. “Yes, my Lord.”

“And you are curious as well?” He rose a brow and shot his follower a knowing look.

“Of course I am, my Lord. It is a most elaborate scheme I would very much like to be a part of.” the black-haired man flinched almost none noticeable, as this boldness could have painted a target on him if Marvolo had still been who he was before that night.

“Well, I think you are the best man to answer one of my questions at the moment.” He picked the quill back up and made a tick on one of the lines on his list. “As head of House Slytherin at Hogwarts, you should know how a parent can get an evaluation of their child’s grades, troubles, achievements, their general conduct at school?”

Severus blinked several times, confused by this seemingly random change in topic, taking a sip of his tea and clearing his throat. “A formal letter to the Head of House of the student in question asking for all desired information should suffice, my Lord. Why do you...” Marvolo watched with amusement as the professor caught up to what was happening and his eyes widened before he managed to calm his features again.

“Well, Severus, as you are teaching Potions, I will give you a little head start to gather the information needed. Tomorrow at this time I will be father to one of your students, and as the next year is the boy’s OWL year,” the almost question was answered with a tiny nod from Severus, “I wish to know if he needs tutoring in any of his classes. It will not do that he embarrasses me with mediocre performance, if he could do better.”

More or less quickly adjusting to the new situation, Severus recalled everything he had seen from Potter before and sorted through the information to form a coherent report of sorts. “I am afraid that I have only limited knowledge of Mr. Potter’s academic performance. He is average at potions, but that might be influenced by my dislike of him and the fact his Slytherin year-mates relish taunting him. Up until now he was living with his mother’s relatives, his aunt I think, who are muggles. So he was not able to do more than theory during the summer breaks.” A sneer settled firmly on the Potion Master’s face “But I doubt he ever made much of an effort. He stays in the castle for most of the breaks, does not have many friends, and was more than once a target for ridicule from other students.”

“Very well. I am curious what the other teachers will have to say about him. You can tell the esteemed Headmaster that I intend to raise the boy as my son and heir. I need one so I can claim the title of Lord Slytherin, and as procreation is a rather lengthy process, especially in my case, as I have no spouse, finding a child meeting the requirements was plan A. I am happy that plan B is not needed.” The playful smile vanished as Marvolo opened one of the drawers of the desk and took out a small vial filled with a silver mist that was swirling and shimmering.

“As I am not certain if it would benefit you or not, I decided to let you decide if you want to see my memories of that night.” He set the small vial in front of Severus on the desk and continued in a quiet, contemplative voice. “I think your request is what saved young Harry’s life. Never before had a parent been given the choice. I asked her to step aside three times, she did not. I think that was the difference.”

Taking the vial and pocketing it, Severus stood and bowed. “Potter was not happy that the Headmaster tried to keep the pending adoption from him. The last I saw, he was fuming in righteous anger. The boy is staying at headquarters, they are thinking of maybe hiding him.” Waiting to be dismissed, Severus stayed by his chair.

“If they try,” a small disk was thrown Severus’ way and he caught it with his good reflexes, trained in years of keeping students from blowing up themselves “twist the rings on this to inform me.”

Bowing a last time, Severus left and Marvolo started to work on his list again, smiling to himself. All his plans were going well. There was benefit in a sound mind.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next morning at Grimmauld Place was a bleak affair. Molly Weasley tried to cheer every one up, but her smiles were strained, and her voice betrayed her anxiety. Harry was sitting beside Ron and across from Hermione, stirring his porridge listlessly.

“Harry dear, you need to eat something!” Ron’s mother picked up a bowl of fruit and placed it in front of the pale teen.

Refilling his mug from the coffee pot, Sirius stood and went around the table to sit on Harry’s other side. “Did you sleep at all last night, pup?” Shaking his head no, Harry let himself slump down and lean against his godfather. “At least not much. Why is my life always this…“ he paused, desperately trying to come up with an adequate word. Not wanting to lie, Sirius tried a reassuring pat to Harry’s arm.

Sensing that here was a situation needing a good talk without an audience, Molly started to herd her children, and Hermione, out of the kitchen to give the both of them a little privacy. “Come along, everyone, the parlour isn't going to clean itself.” As Harry started to get up too, the matron added “Finish your breakfast first, Harry dear,” before bustling out of the kitchen after the other teens, closing the door behind her.

Making an effort to eat at least a few spoonfuls of his porridge, Harry sat at the table beside the man who was the closest thing to family that he had, a not entirely comfortable silence stretching between them.

As he finally gave up on finishing his meal – his stomach just did not feel up to eat anything – Harry stood to join the others in their quest to make this house habitable. He had almost reached the door when it swung inward, admitting his Potions Professor.

“Black, Mr. Potter.” The dour man nodded in greeting. “I want to speak with Mr. Potter.” He shot a sour glance at the wizard still sitting at the table nursing his mug. “Alone, if you do not mind.”

“But I do mind,” answered Sirius, standing from his chair with suspicion clear on his gaunt face. “If you want to speak with my godson, I will be there too!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape sighed “Very well.” He motioned for Harry to sit down again and followed him to the table, to start pacing in front of the other two. Spinning with billowing robes, to face his student, the professor took a deep breath. “Do you know about my position?”

Harry was surprised. Why would the professor, who so obviously hated him, want to speak with him in private, and then accept when Sirius refused to leave? Slowly nodding, Harry sat down in the chair he had sat in earlier. “You are a spy, sir. Not that anyone told me anything. But I was not totally unaware at the start of summer.” The teen fixed his professor with a questioning gaze, “But I do not know for which side you're actually working.” At this Sirius snorted snidely.

Harry wasn't sure, but for a moment he thought he saw a brief flicker of surprise in the dark eyes of his teacher. But as he continued to talk, he was hiding again behind his customary blank mask. “If either of them would come to question my loyalty, I would be in grave danger.” That got another snort out of Sirius, he could not refrain from making a comment, but choose not to interrupt the Potions Master with words. Harry understood plainly enough without needing more explanation from Professor Snape. If Voldemort would suspect him, he would die, and probably not as fast as he would like. And if Dumbledore should come to doubt him... well, Harry wasn't sure what would happen then, but Azkaban and the Dementors were a possibility. As the Professor seemed to wait for a response from him, Harry nodded.

Satisfied, the spy continued, “Yesterday evening I went to report the reaction of the Order and the Headmaster. He...“ Here the Potions Master closed his eyes briefly. “I do not think, that the Dark Lord intends to kill you, Mr. Potter. He asked after your grades, and what a parent would have to do to get a complete evaluation of their child's performance in class.”

The young wizard was out of balance and desperately trying to understand. What was his Professor trying to tell him?

Sirius, on the other hand, was not speechless. “What are you trying to tell us, Snivellus? Why should your master change his mind about Harry? He's tried to kill my godson three times now. If you have nothing useful to say, leave!” The voice of the animagus rose in volume toward the end of his speech, and he bristled in anger as he was ignored.

“Try to behave respectfully, Potter. The Dark Lord never was a patient man. Show respect, restrain your temper, and remember that you are not truly alone.” Harry stood open-mouthed in the face of the softly spoken words.

Turning from the dumbfounded teen to the pissed-off animagus, Severus changed his tone back to the well known drawl. “Albus told me that there is a potions lab in this ruin, where can I find it?”

“Out the door, left, down the stairs.” Sirius’ voice was full of anger, and his desire to hex the insensitive spy was evident from the white knuckles of the hand clutching his wand.

Without more words, or any form of greeting, the Potions Master left the room, leaving behind an enraged animagus and a bewildered teen.

ooOoo

Outside the door, Severus took several deep breaths, to calm down, before he went to inspect the potions lab. He had done what he could to increase the boy’s chance of surviving. Now only hope remained that he actually had interpreted the Dark Lord’s plans in the right way. Steeling his nerves and pushing the unwanted and unhelpful doubts into the depths of his mind behind his shields, he started on the self-imposed task to have a reason to stay at headquarters, until it was time for Harry to leave for his appointment at the Ministry. Checking that the disk was still in his pocket, he drew his wand and opened the door cautiously.

ooOoo

In the kitchen Harry tried to wrap his mind around the warning?... advice?... the Head of Slytherin had just given him. And pondering the words, Harry realized that the man had not said to which of his masters he actually was loyal. But his last words could be interpreted as a promise to help Harry if need be. The teen was not sure, but it would match the pattern. Professor Snape had helped him in more than one dangerous situation, like the broom incident in his first year. While Harry was deep in thought, Sirius was rambling on about greasy-haired bothers under his breath.

Neither had much more time to ponder over the strange words of Severus Snape, as the old and wrinkled house-elf Kreacher popped into the kitchen. He held a scroll of parchment tightly to his tea-towel-clad chest. He was decidedly dirty, his tea towel more of a brownish-gray than the white it had probably started out with. “Master has letter from Ministry,” he told them in a respectful tone and bowed, adding in a clear to understand mock-whisper. “Great disappointment for his mother, he was. What would mistress does? All this ghastly folk coming into respectable Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

Ignoring the ramblings of the old elf, Sirius snatched the parchment from the spindly fingers, curiosity getting the better of him. He briefly looked at the seal, recognizing the colour and design as the one used by the DMLE. Belatedly realizing he ought to check the missive for nasty spells and curses first, he drew his wand – sadly not the one he got at Ollivanders as he had been eleven – set the scroll down on the kitchen table, and cast a few charms to detect anything dangerous.

They came back negative, and under the equally curious gaze of his godson, Sirius broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. The strange words of Professor Snape momentarily forgotten, Harry watched his godfather’s face closely. He saw wonder, disbelief, happiness, and anger flicking by rather fast, and wondered what was written in the letter that could cause this mix of emotions in the wizard before him.

Throwing the letter on the table, missing the plate with bacon and sausages only by a hair, Sirius stood and began pacing across the entire available space, muttering angrily under his breath. Deciding to give the agitated man some time to calm down, Harry leant over the table, minding the jugs of milk and pumpkin juice, grabbing the scroll and sitting back to start reading.

Only a few sentences in, the green-eyed teen understood the mix of emotions. The letter had been send by Amelia Bones, the Head of Law Enforcement, informing Mr. Sirius Orion Black that the kiss on sight order had been revoked and a renewed investigation of his case started. That in itself was wonderful news, what followed was bewildering. The letter further informed Mr. Black, that charges of murdering a man named Peter Pettigrew had been dropped as he, as of yesterday, was being held, quite alive, in a Ministry holding cell. And therefore it was impossible that Mr. Black had murdered him.

This news slowly sinking in, Harry realized that the rat had probably played a part in the Wizengamot meeting of the previous day, meaning that Dumbledore could have told them that a new investigation was possible, even likely. Why had he not told? Still unsure of what to think, Harry looked up at his honorary uncle, who was pacing and even angrier-looking. “You don't believe that it just slipped his mind, do you?”

“No,” answered Sirius, sighing and running his hand through his no longer matted hair “It would be foolish to believe this miscommunication was an accident.” Having trouble believing this, Harry started to protest, but Sirius did not let him speak, continuing in a tense and angry tone, “As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he could have made sure I got a trial, which I did not get the first time. He even could have started a new investigation, pointing out that a trial had never been held to start with, when you convinced him that I had been innocent all along. He chose not to.” He ran his hand through his hair again and picked up his pacing. “So I have to believe, that he also chose not to tell me about this!” He pointed at the scroll lying on the table next to Harry’s long cold breakfast.

His eyes full of hurt and betrayal, Harry looked up and asked in a small voice, “Why?”

“That is the question, pup. That is the question.”

oooOOooo

Theodore was watching his father and their summer guest speaking in the Floo room. He was sitting a little to the side with one of the books his tutor in ancient runes had assigned.

The day had been busy thus far. One of the rooms next to his own had been opened and cleaned. It was to be the room the heir of Lord Slytherin would be staying in, until the Lord had decided on a house, more likely a manor, to stay in, and had completed the warding.

It still felt surreal, that the Dark Lord was staying at Nott House and was going to adopt Harry Potter, the model child of all things Gryffindor. The young wizard was unsure if he should be envious of the opportunities the other boy would get, or pity him for becoming the Dark Lord’s ward. Even if the so young looking wizard with the deep red eyes, had been decent so far, he could not forget the warnings his father had given him, only moments before the Dark Lord had stepped through the door to stay in their home.

The differences between what he had seen in the last week and the stories, that had been told in the common room over the years, all whispered and shared under promise of confidentiality, were startling. And Theodore had decided to err on the side of caution. So he treated the Dark Lord with the respect and caution he would use for a slightly insane madman.

He ceased to pretend to read, as the Dark Lord said, “I will not be long Benjamin. My new son will eat dinner with us later.”

“We will await your return, Marvolo,” answered Theo’s father smiling. With a curt nod the Dark Lord turned to the floo, took a pinch of floo-powder from the tin on the mantle and, with a swirl of another set of borrowed robes, vanished in the green flames to the Ministry.

Theodore watched as his father breathed deeply and turned to him. Coming over, he sat beside him and Theo placed the book on the small table between the chairs.

“I want you to not only be polite to the Potter boy, but friendly. Try to be his guide into our society. After today he will be our Lord’s son and heir, all of your classmates and probably all of Slytherin House will try to become an important part of the boy’s life.” A grave and serious face reinforced the importance of this orders, Theodore did not deceive himself into thinking that they could be anything else. “As they will stay a few days here, I count on your ability to make the most of it. Do you understand, Theodore?”

“Of course, father. I will do my best to become someone Potter will rely on.” Hopefully he would be able to keep his promise.

oooOOooo

At Grimmauld Place, Molly was desperately trying to find some clothes that could be considered respectable among those belonging to Harry. The teen sat on the bed in the room he shared with Ron, feeling empty and kind of numb. He watched the frantic witch riffling through the hand-me-downs he had got from the Dursleys, and his school robes. Watched as she sent Ron to fetch some things from the twins, and started to assemble some clothes from her children into an outfit Harry could wear to the appointment at the Ministry. Harry couldn’t care less. All morning he had tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Dumbledore seemed not to care what would become of Sirius, even going so far as to keep information from him. At lunch his own problems had come back to his mind full force. All resident Order members, and quite a few others, had come to get a plate full of Molly’s delicious cooking, discussing possible ways to keep Harry from being adopted. Only Professor Snape had said nothing, watching the proceedings with barely concealed scorn. And he was right, there was no way to keep Harry away from Tom Riddle. And they all knew it. Tiring fast of the useless babbling Harry had retreated into the bleak room he now sat in.

Finally Molly Weasley had collected a set of grey trousers, green t-shirt, black socks – those belonged to Fred – and Harry’s best shoes and placed them next to Harry on the faded and threadbare bedspread. “Get dressed, Harry dear. Arthur is waiting downstairs and will take you to the appointment.” With a pat to his shoulder and a sad, wavering smile, the witch left Harry alone.

Mechanically Harry removed the too big jeans and baggy t-shirt to change into the things Ron’s mother had found for him. He felt alone, empty and defeated. At first he had felt so angry, but now all his anger had vanished, leaving nothing behind. Well, that was not quite right. With each article of clothing he put on, dread began filling him. Nervousness took hold of him as he started to wonder what would happen. What would life be like, living with the monster that had killed his parents? That grown wizards and witches feared, so much even that they did not dare speak his name. What would he look like? Harry imagined an older version of the Tom Riddle he had seen down in the Chamber of Secrets as he had gone off to rescue Ginny, back in his second year. But maybe he would look different. Packing his trunk – only a few things were outside, as the letter had stated he was to bring all his belongings – he finally had nothing more to do to stall.

His friends were waiting in the kitchen, together with all the others, who were sitting helplessly watching him walk to his end. At least it felt that way. Sighing, he grabbed one handle of his trunk and began his trek down to the others.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was dark. They all had either pitying looks or blank looks of despair on their faces, and Harry could not stand to look long at either of them. Mr. Weasley tried to be a little more optimistic, and Hermione chimed right in, “We'll keep searching for a way to get you back Harry. Sirius said he'll let me use the black library and hire a really good solicitor to find a way to adopt you or something. Just give us a little more time and we will find a way.”

Smiling weakly, Harry gave her an awkward hug “Thank you Hermione, I know if there is something to be found to get me out of this you will not rest until you have found it.” She nodded at this and wiped at her slightly damp eyes.

Ron gave him an awkward hug as well. “Don’t let this get you down mate, ‘Mione will find a way.”

The twins patted him on the shoulder, each one on one side, and nodded encouragingly. “We'll write you,” said one of them.

“Keep you up-to-date on our business,” said the other.

“And if need be, just write and we'll find another flying car.” This weak attempt at humour did not lighten the mood one bit. Sirius was the last to hug Harry, and he clung to him, almost as if he was the last solid thing in the world preventing him from drowning. With a last few waves at the others, Harry followed Mr. Weasley out the door, his last gaze over his shoulder landing on the spy standing in shadows and staring intently at the two departing figures. Then Mr. Weasley shrunk down Harry’s trunk, which the teen had left in the hall, told Harry to take his arm, and apparated them both to their destination.

They landed on one of the apparation spots in the Great Entry Hall of the Ministry of Magic. Harry needed a moment to catch his breath, and then took a good look around. This was his first visit to this place, and beside his nervousness he still was curious what it looked like. To soon Mr. Weasley touched his arm. “We have to go, Harry. It would be bad if we were late.” And so they set into motion through the crowd of witches and wizards to the elevators. Harry almost immediately felt his nerves again. If this kept up, he most likely would be ill.

The only thing Harry noticed on their way to the offices of the Department of Family Affairs where the paper-plane memos zooming around just over the heads of the people walking around. Arthur, noticing Harry’s interest, explained. “These are memos and letters exchanged between the departments. I was told, that once they had tried to use owls. But this practice was abolished quickly, all the mess owls make…” he trailed off again and Harry had lost interest anyway.

As they reached the floor marked as ‘Department of Family Affairs’, Harry came out of his stupor. He needed his wits about him, or dangerous things could happen. The Potions Professor’s words echoed through his head: show respect, rein in your temper. If he managed this, than maybe he would survive until his friends and family found a way to get him free.

Mr. Weasley stopped them in front of the office of Amanda Wisby and turned the smaller wizard to face him “Whatever happens, Harry, you are a part of our family. Don't forget that! And write as often as you can. Do not lose hope, Harry. We all want you back with us.”

Not sure what to say Harry only nodded and took several calming breaths before he said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Releasing the teen's shoulders, the red-haired wizard knocked at the door and a cheery “Come in!” answered from inside. With his stomach rapidly falling below his knees, Harry followed Mr. Weasley into the office.

His first impression of the room was one of ordered chaos. There were stacks of files everywhere. Books and papers were stacked in haphazard heaps on several mismatching desks and chairs. The second thing he noticed was a wizard standing at one of the desks bent over it, obviously reading a long parchment filled with tiny writing. The man wore robes of a deep green over his suit of dark grey, and his hair carefully styled and with a little wave to it.

He ripped his gaze away from the man turning his world on its head as a cheery witch in a bright yellow summer dress, without robes, came around another desk, missing more than one of her heaps by a breath, smiling at him. “Mr. Potter wonderful, now all are here! I always love days on which I can reunite families. Come, come don’t be shy.” She ushered him over to the desk by which the other wizard was standing. Harry moved reluctantly away from his escort. How he wished he could wipe that smile from Mrs. Wisby’s face. This was not a happy reunion as she seemed to believe. In his eyes, this was a kidnapping, nothing more, nothing less.

As the teen approached the desk, the man, whom Harry assumed was Voldemort, looked up from the papers. Harry’s speculations had been spot on, he did look like an older version of the Tom Riddle he had met as a memory. Even his eyes were the blue he remembered them as being.

And then the man smiled, kind, open, friendly... and Harry felt something cold run down his spine. “Harry, how nice it is to finally meet you. I have heard many things about you in these last few days. And I am glad that we will be family from today onwards.” He turned to the still beaming witch “Can we proceed?”

Harry had to suppress a shudder. The man had to be a consummate actor. There was no other way that he could sound so sincere. Avoiding to look at the man about to adopt him, Harry’s gaze fell onto the papers lying on the desk. It was something titled Adoption Documents and what seemed to be his birth certificate. There it stated: Harry James Potter, son of James Charles Potter and Lily Potter née Evans.

“Yes naturally Mr. Riddle, here is the quill.” She handed him a sleek-looking black quill with a very sharp tip. “You only need to sign your full name on this line.” She indicated a dotted line at the bottom of the long parchment of the adoption document.

Harry wondered why there was no ink and stared, shocked that the process of his being handed over to the man that had tried to kill him on more than one occasion would run so fast. He watched, unable to avert his eyes, as the quill was set down on the line and Voldemort started to write Tom Marvolo Riddle in red ink and a flowing cursive. Magic swirled through the room and around the teen and the man adopting him. It sank into both of them, flashing in a blinding white light. As soon as he could see again, Harry saw the name on his birth certificate change. Harry changed to Henry and behind Potter appeared the name Riddle. Now he was Henry James Potter-Riddle, adopted son of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Even though the names of his real parents were still present on the document, the world would never be right again. Harry was sure that he had to look deathly pale, how the Ministry woman could still be so cheerful, he could not comprehend.

“And now the other part,” said Voldemort rather cheerful himself, and Harry flinched in surprise. What was happening now? His eyes widened considerably as the evil wizard started to draw his wand, holding it with both hands in front of his chest at the height of his heart. He was even more surprised when the dark haired man started to speak in parseltongue .:I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, descendant of Salazar Slytherin, do hereby claim the title of Lord Slytherin. To fill the responsibilities of a Lord to his people, to further the welfare of the wizarding community, to serve magic. As heir, I declare my adopted son Henry James Potter-Riddle. So have I sworn, so mote it be:.

Again magic swirled through the room, this one feeling like more. More power, more responsibility, more obligations, more duties. It tested the man and boy claiming the titles of Lord and Heir Slytherin. Harry flinched as the magic settled like a heavy cloak not only in the man beside him, but in him as well. And with a faint feeling he watched the name on his birth certificate change again. Now it read Henry James Slytherin-Potter. He so wished that this was a bad dream.

But it was not to be. “Come, son, we should leave. There is much to discuss.” Harry turned, numbly receiving his shrunken trunk from Mr. Weasley, who looked shaken, nodding and reaffirming the promise to stay in touch, and then followed his new guardian out of the office and back to the elevators.

“We will stay the next few days with Lord Nott and his son at their house. By then I will hopefully have found a house we can live in.” After that they stayed silent on their way to the public floos.

“You will go first, Henry. Have you used the floo before?” Nodding his answer, unable to form words at the moment, Harry received a pinch of floo-powder. “The address is ‘Nott House’.” Throwing down the powder, Harry stepped into the flames and said, “Nott House.” He was swept away into an uncertain future.

Chapter Text

On their way through the Ministry, Marvolo thought about the tasks that had to be done next. Highest priority had to be establishing rules with his new son. And probably some kind of truce. The boy was much too pale, he noticed, glancing at him as they stood in the elevator back down to the entrance hall. As if he believed he was walking like a lamb to slaughter. But surely this was not the case... was it? Thinking about it, the new Lord Slytherin had to confess that it was entirely possible for the boy to think he was going to die. A healthy measure of fear Marvolo did approve of, but Henry seemed to be in a kind of stupor, or terrified beyond measure. That would not do. He needed a cooperative heir, one that was able, and willing, to support him. He would have to lure the boy in. A smile graced the handsome face of Lord Slytherin, he always had enjoyed finding out the desires and needs of people that would benefit him. He would enjoy doing it again to gain the Boy-Who-Lived.

Finally they reached the public floos, and Marvolo gave the address to the still pale teen. Following the boy – his adopted son, he thought smugly – Marvolo prepared to start the game.

ooOoo

They arrived in the cheerfully painted Floo room – it was predominantly light greens and blues, reminding Marvolo of an early spring – at Nott House. As he had requested, neither of the Notts was present. The boy, Henry, was standing just a few steps away from the Floo, staring at his feet and breathing too fast and in shallow gasps.

Marvolo drew his wand. “Accio calming draught.” A messy black head snapped up just as the small vial of clear lavender potion came sailing through the air straight into the hand of the wizard summoning it.

“Drink this. You need to be calm enough to actually follow what I will be telling you.” Marvolo extended his hand to the teen, offering the vial. With reluctance clear in his brilliant green eyes, Henry took the vial and uncorked it. Sniffing at it first – Marvolo nodded in approval – he swiftly drank it down. The effect was almost instantaneous, his breathing evening out and a little colour returning to his cheeks.

“Follow me. There is much to do today and only limited time.” Marvolo led the way to the study Benjamin had vacated so that his Lord could use it.

As they reached the room with the dark wood panelling, Marvolo sat down in the leather chair behind the desk. Establishing authority was always a good thing. The adult wizard indicated for the teenager to sit down in the chair opposite him. While the boy complied, Marvolo set a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill in front of him.

“You will not interrupt me. If you have a question, write it down, so you will not forget it, you can ask them after I have finished. Is that clear?” As the boy only nodded, Marvolo added in a stern tone, “I expect verbal answers. And since we are on this topic, you will either address me as ‘sir’ or ‘father’ while in public. You may call me Marvolo when in a private setting. Understood?”

A sullen, “Yes sir,” was his answer.

“Very good.”

Before he could even start to give his careful prepared lecture, the raven-haired teen started to scribble down some notes. Calling for an elf, Marvolo asked for some tea. And after they both had a cup before them, he started.

“First of all, I think you should know my reasons for adopting you, as well as my intentions for your future.” Throwing an anxious glance at the elder wizard, Henry swallowed and tensed. “As the last war reduced the number of magical people a great deal, another war might well reduce us so far that we will vanish. Taking all I want to preserve down with us.” He took a sip from his tea and looked at his son, gauging if he was indeed listening. “With war out of the question, the only way for me to reach my goals is through political means.”

A confused look crossed the boy’s face and he reached for his quill, only to stop as Marvolo continued to talk. “You know I am the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin. To claim the title of Lord Slytherin and use the connected influence, I needed a son. And not just any boy would do. It needed to be one that was a parselmouth. So you see, I do want you well and educated. You do not need to fear death by my hand.”

Marvolo noted with satisfaction, that his son – he could not get enough of calling him that – looked decidedly less pale and prone to panicking.

Opening a drawer to his right, Marvolo took out a golden chain with a pendant in form of a shield. Holding the chain for Henry to take, he instructed in a neutral tone, “You will wear this at all times, never take it off.” Glancing unsure up at his guardian, the teen accepted the chain. “You want to know what this is?”

“Yes, sir,” was the slightly firmer answer.

“It is an emergency portkey, the Minister kindly approved it for us. It is set for two locations: St. Mungo's and this house. There are two activation phrases that have to be spoken in Parseltongue: ‘Hospital’ if you are in need of medical attention, and ‘home’ to get here. As soon as I have decided where we will live it will, of course, change.” Nodding at Henry, who looked like he wanted to ask a question really badly, he allowed him to ask now.

“Why do I have to wear an emergency portkey? Who besides you ever tried to hurt me?”

Raising his brows in surprise at this lack in common sense, he calmed his initial response so as not to jeopardize his progress with the boy. "For one, you are a celebrity. And those tend to attract the crazy. Such people normally do not need a reason to do something drastic,” he said with a mocking smile. “Then there are those that will object to you being my son. On both sides of the last war, I would guess. And then there are always those, that think they have something to win in harming or kidnapping the son of a Lord.” Henry still did not seem convinced, chewing on his lower lip.

“If you had had something like this,” he indicated the pendant still held in a small hand, “you could have fled to safety from the graveyard the moment you recognized there was danger.”

Confusion was obvious on Henry’s face as he slipped the chain over his head and tucked the pendant under his shirt. “But why did Dumbledore never gave me one, if they are so useful?”

Shaking his head, Marvolo answered truthfully, “I do not know, Henry. This answer you can only get from Dumbledore himself.” And then he smirked in humour. “Want another parchment to write down your questions for Albus Dumbledore?”

Still unsure of what to think, Henry nodded. “Yes, sir. That would be great.”

Taking the second piece of parchment from Marvolo, Henry proceeded to write down his question for the Headmaster. Shortly afterwards he crossed one question from his first parchment.

“The pendant also has a shield charm on it – it will only hold against one curse, but that should give you enough time to get to safety – as well as a tracking charm. With that I can find you, if you are not able to activate your portkey.” At this proclamation the boy looked rather offended, but with a huff closed his mouth again without saying anything.

Standing up, Marvolo drained his cup, walking over to the window behind the desk. It was a really nice and sunny day outside. Turning back to the teen, who was again scribbling on his parchment, he cleared his throat and started on the next topic on his list.

“You will have privileges and duties. Failing in the latter will result in loss of the first. Also, disobedience and lack of respect will result in the loss of privileges.” Marvolo quickly decided on what tone to use for the next piece of information, stern but benevolent was his choice. “There will be no corporal punishment of any kind. But I reserve the right to get creative with my assignment of essays, tasks, or chores, to get across the point I want to make. Understood?”

Slightly paler again, Henry nodded and, gathering his courage, asked, “Can you give me an example of what to expect, if I … if I would lose my temper in public over something you want me to do?”

At the stern and calculating stare from Marvolo, the teen gulped and trembled. “You expect this to happen?”

Looking at his hands, Henry nodded his messy head. “I have a volatile temper at times.”

Writing down ‘meditation’ on his own list, Marvolo took his time studying his charge.

“I would demand a public apology. You would lose privileges, like the use of your broom or visiting with friends. Also, depending on what it was you refused to do, I would assign an essay or something similar.” Marvolo closely watched his heir while relaying this example. He seemed to relax a little at his new father’s explanation.

“That sounds fair. Sir,” he said quietly, taking his tea to drink the cup dry.

“Take another cup, son. By the way, are you hungry?”

Blushing a little as his stomach answered this question, Henry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Toppy!” Marvolo called the elf that waited on him in this house. With a soft popp the elf appeared in the room, bowing to both wizards. “Get us some snacks, please. Sandwiches, fruit... scones if you have any.” Bowing again, the little being vanished into thin air without a word.

Returning to his chair, he adjusted his robes and poured himself another cup of tea, adding lemon and three spoonfuls of sugar, to his son's amazement, he glanced at his list checking which topic was next.

“Duties. Writing to and visiting with your godfather is one of them. Visits will have to wait until he is cleared, but you will write him a letter after we are finished here.” Dark amusement filled him as he took in the open mouth and wide eyes of the boy in front of him. “Close your mouth. A display like this is not becoming for the heir of two houses.” With an audible clack the boy got his face under control again. Almost chuckling over shocking his son this easily, he moved on.

“You will also take lessons over the remainder of the summer. What those will be, we will have to decide in the next few days. I intend to send a request to your teachers to see which classes you could use help in. After all, this is the year you will take your OWLs”

At this moment a tray with snacks appeared between them on the desk. Seeing that his son was having a little trouble coping with all the information, Marvolo started to spread raspberry jam on one of the scones. Moments later the bewildered teen followed his example, taking some apple slices to munch on.

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying their little meal. As time was short, though, Marvolo did not let the silence continue long. “What do you think your worst classes are?”

Swallowing the last bite of his cheese sandwich, the boy answered without hesitation. “Potions, History and Divination. But I don’t think I want to bother with Divination. It's rubbish.”

Raising a brow to this, Marvolo asked with a drawl, “And why take a class that is ‘rubbish’? You could have chosen something else.”

Blushing, Henry lowered his gaze to the tray. “Ron took this class, so I did the same.”

“I take it that you have no talent as a seer?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. The Sight cannot be taught. So I have no objections for you to use your time on other, more important and useful subjects. What are your other electives?”

“Only Care of Magical Creatures, sir.”

Thoughtfully stirring his tea, Marvolo weighed the options. And as he already had intended to make his son study another subject, the decision was not hard to make. “You will take up Ancient Runes as one of your classes this summer. Maybe we can get you through the material for third year before the term starts. Then you would be able to drop the ‘rubbish’ and take Ancient Runes with the fourth-years.” He made a note on his parchment, so he would not forget to add this to his letter for his son’s Head of House at Hogwarts.

“Young Theodore has a tutor for Ancient Runes. I see no reason why you should not learn with him.” Now on to a topic he suspected troubles with. All the families were rather protective about the way they educated their heirs. The main points they always valued, family rituals and magic, were different from family to family, so they tended to be protective about them. Asking about them was not something that was done. But he needed to do so now. Steeling himself to not react to a show of the ‘volatile’ temper the boy claimed to have, Marvolo asked, “How far have you come in your lessons as the heir of the Noble House of Potter?”

Instead of anger and resentment – that he would have understood – he only got a blank face, eyes blinking owlishly at him. “My what, sir?”

Blinking in confusion himself, he almost could not prevent it from entering his response. “You have had no lessons in politics, laws, the workings of the Wizengamot and Ministry? Dancing? Penmanship? Manners? Family history? Duelling?”

Receiving a shake of the boy’s head to each question, Marvolo pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache.

“You are aware that you always were the heir to the Noble House of Potter, to take up the title of Lord Potter on your seventeenth birthday, having a seat on the Wizengamot waiting for you?”

Looking embarrassed and with the beginnings of anger in his green eyes the boy asked incredulously, “I should have learned all this? Why was I never told?” Sighing, Marvolo took up his quill writing ‘everything’ down on his list next to ‘heir lessons’. “I believe that is another question you will have to ask the Headmaster. As far as I know, he made most of the decisions before you were in school. And probably has done so the whole time.”

Nodding grimly, Henry made a note on his second list of questions.

“Seeing as you were kept ignorant in these matters, I guess you are not aware that Dumbledore is filling the position of regent until you are of age?” Getting only an embarrassed shake of his son’s head, Marvolo huffed. Fantastic, now the boy felt guilty over the failings of others. “Do not be angry with yourself over this, son. It would have been the duty of the adults in your life to make sure you got to learn what you need to know.”

Noting down ‘records of voting, Potter regent’ on his steadily growing list, the older wizard sighed again, looking at his son in sympathy. “You have a busy summer to look forward to. We will need to prioritise what you need to learn first and what can wait until later.”

Marvolo took another sip from his tea. He was at a loss as to why nobody had deemed it necessary to educate the boy. Not even in duelling. What could be the reason for keeping him ignorant of almost everything? Even the things all heirs learned, regardless if they were from a dark or light house. No use in trying to solve this riddle now. Best to continue with the things he had planned to talk about.

“There will be social functions over the summer, you are required to attend. And if your schedule permits it, I will take you to at least one session of the Wizengamot.”

Marvolo’s son was now intently listening with a burning anger in his eyes. Maybe this was a way to sway the young wizard to his side: Including him in decisions concerning him, and giving information. Both were simple enough. What kind of fool was Dumbledore, leaving his hero this open?

“Now, privileges: You will be allowed to fly with your broom, when your lessons for the day are finished and the weather permits activities in the sky. Furthermore, you are allowed to write your friends. But I must insist on a minimal standard regarding your letters' quality. You may also visit with your friends, from time to time. Once you are back at Hogwarts, playing Quidditch and visiting the village on Hogsmeade weekends are privileges too.” On hearing this, Henry crossed out another question on his parchment.

“Before I relay the plans for tomorrow. Are there any questions regarding your duties and privileges?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. I have an appointment at Gringotts after we are finished here. You will write letters. One to your godfather, and to your friends, as many as you wish. I will read them before they are sent.” Henry opened his mouth to protest but was stopped by an upheld hand. “You will not embarrass the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin with sloppy writing and error-riddled letters. Once I am sure your writing meets my standards, I will no longer require to read your letters.”

Under a pointed glare the teenager gave in, grumpily replying, “Yes, sir.”

“Tomorrow morning a healer will be here to check you.”

At this the teen, who had been calm and collected up till now, jumped up from his chair as if he had sat down on a knarl. “Why? I’m fine! I don’t want to see a healer!” A stern gaze and raised brow made the teen falter and his anger dissipate, falling back in his chair, blushing.

“I know, for a fact, that you were subjected to all three Unforgivables. You were living with Muggles, are a growing teenager and Seeker on Gryffindor's team. Seeing what other duties others have neglected, I will make absolutely certain that you are indeed ‘fine’.”

Seeing that there was no chance to change his guardian's stance on this, Henry gave in.

“In the afternoon a tailor will be here, as we both are in need of a proper wardrobe. I hope that I will have finished a part of your schedule by then.”

A last glance at his list and Marvolo was sure he had said all he had planned. So he took another scone. It was still quite some time till dinner, and he was rather hungry. “Those were the most important topics for now. Are there still questions open?”

“Yes, there are, sir.” Looking on his own list, the teen placed one finger of his left hand on the last item that was not crossed out. “Where will we live, sir?”

Marvolo smiled and nodded in approval, a very practical question. “I do not know yet. Most likely one of the Potter properties. As the Slytherin estates and money were lost several generations ago, I will select one of yours for the time being. It is for this purpose I am going to Gringotts later. As your guardian, I now manage all things belonging to the Potters until you come of age.” He could see, clear as day, that the last Potter was unsure if he was happy with this or not. But he said nothing, crossing out the line and moving to the last open item.

“Why have you changed my name?”

Marvolo had wondered if the boy would ask about this, if he even had noticed, he had seemed rather out of sorts in the office of Mrs. Wisby. “As soon as you are Lord Potter, you will not want all business acquaintances to call you Harry. And to keep them calling you Lord Potter would be unwise. Harry just implies familiarity that will mostly not be present. Now you have a name allowing to keep your distance if you wish to keep it. And it is still possible for all your friends to call you Harry.”

Looking none to happy with this explanation the boy nodded and Lord Slytherin stood from the chair “Toppy!”

The elf they had seen earlier appeared in the room and bowed “What can Toppy do for master’s Master?”

“Show my son Henry,” here he waved his hand at the teenager still sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk “to his room and around the house.” He turned to his son. “Remember to write to your godfather. I expect to see the letter at dinner. At the moment, only Lord Nott and his son Theodore are here. Be polite, we are guests in their house.”

Following the elf to his room, Henry left the study, leaving his new adopted father to prepare for his visit with the goblins.

oooOOooo

Harry sat in his room – a very nice room – inspecting his new emergency portkey. The shield had a crest on both sides. One was obviously the coat of arms of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin. It was divided into four fields. One, in the upper right corner, held a snake, done in an emerald green. The field right below this held the image of a ladle and stirrer crossed over a cauldron. In the upper left field there was a crown, maybe it represented the noble part. And the last field held some kind of flower. Only the serpent was done in colour, the rest was relief on solid gold.

The other side held the crest that most likely belonged to the Noble House of Potter. Harry was angry over the fact that this was the first time he had gotten to see his own family crest. And that because Voldemort, of all people, had given it to him. Given it to him in the form of an object meant to keep him safe. The Potter crest was only divided into two fields. The one on top held the image of a sleeping lion, the one in the bottom held a crown and a vase, or a pot of some kind, on a tiny table.

Slipping the crest back under his shirt, Harry let his head sink onto the table before him. He had written some letters, and though they were short, it had taken him quite long to write them. He had started with the letter to Sirius, as this was the one he had to write, and tried to not write anything that Voldemort could use against him in some way. He was fairly certain that he had failed to achieve this, but he had had to try. Then he had written letters to both Hermione and Ron. In the letter to Hermione he had written about the fact that he probably had to take many lessons on different subjects during the summer. Something she would certainly find interesting. As she was taking Ancient Runes, he asked her if he could borrow some of her notes. He was certain to get an enthusiastic letter in response, Hermione always was one to encourage learning. The letter to Ron held the same information. What else should he write about? That his name had been changed? He really would prefer to tell this to them in person. That he was made to wear a tracking charm at all times? What would he gain by this? Possibly problems with his new guardian – never in a thousand years would he call that monster ‘father’ – and maybe sympathy from his friends. But that would not get him anywhere. So as surreal as it felt, he tried to abide by his Potions Professor’s advice: To keep his opinion to himself, show respect, and rein in his temper. It was harder than he thought it would be. He suspected that the calming draught he had been made to drink had helped in the beginning.

He sighed and went over to his big four-poster bed with a dark blue coverlet and its equally blue bed curtains. Sitting down, he let himself fall back, staring at the canopy. He was so angry. Angry with himself for being so meek. For saying ‘yes, sir’ to almost anything Voldemort had told him. For going with the monster's suggestion to keep a list with questions. For starting to doubt the Headmaster. Why had the old man never given him a portkey to get to safety in an emergency? Why had he never told him about the things he needed to know? Never told him that his father had been a Lord? He was angry with Dumbledore for putting him in this situation and keeping him in the dark. That the white-bearded wizard had not told Sirius that the real traitor had been handed over to the Ministry, had never tried to get his godfather a trial, made Harry want to throw things against the walls with their soothing sage-green colour.

Anger and confusion... he had a feeling that those two would keep him company in the next days. He was confused by Voldemort’s behaviour. At the moment it seemed that he truly wished for Harry to be his heir. Wished him to be healthy and educated. He just could not wrap his head around that one. And trying gave him a headache.

As he stood to start pacing over the nice parquet, there was a knock on his door. Cautiously he made his way over there and opened the door to find Theodore Nott standing on the other side. “What do you want?” Harry spat impatient.

“Sorry for disturbing you, heir Slytherin.” Harry got big eyes at that. He could only remember too well how Malfoy and his cronies had taunted and ridiculed him at every turn, and here was Nott, a Slytherin, speaking with respect. But in a way it made sense, at the moment he was set to be Lord Slytherin one day, was he not? “But it is such a nice day, so I thought about playing a round of Quidditch. Do you want to come?”

Standing in his door Harry contemplated the suggestion of the other boy. He was allowed to fly. After he had finished his duties. Were his letters done? In a way, yes, but he was quite certain, that they were not ‘up to standard’. Drops of ink were everywhere. But he just could not get them better. Aiming a thoughtful gaze at the young Nott standing before him, Harry came to a decision.

“I really would like to fly a round or two. But I have to finish some letters first.” He swallowed his pride, he needed to learn this, even if he got away from Voldemort again, he needed to know the things a Lord did, and writing letters without ink stains on them was one of those things. “I assume you learned to write with a quill?”

Mildly confused, and showing it, Theodore nodded to this odd question.

“Can you show me how to avoid sprinkling ink all over the parchment?” Blushing and trying not to show how embarrassed he was by this situation, he continued, “I haven't gotten the hang of writing with a quill yet. And I better learn fast now.”

Sporting a friendly but mostly blank face, Theodore nodded again “Sure, I'll show you. Do you want me to come in, or shall we go over to the schoolroom?”

“A schoolroom?” Harry asked, what would that be? A room to have school in?

“Yes. It has a blackboard and desks. It’s a bit like a miniature classroom. Before Hogwarts I had lessons there, writing, reading… now I have lessons there over the summer. Like Ancient Runes.”

Harry stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him, saying without word that he wanted to go to the schoolroom.

“Why don’t you bring your letters?” Theodore suggested. “You could write them again there, and we won't need to walk back to your room before we go down to the pitch.”

“We'll need to go to my room regardless, getting my broom and leaving the letters there. But you're right. I better write them in the schoolroom. Maybe you could check my spelling as well?”

Theodore raised a brow at this. “You would let me read your letters?”

“He will read them before I'm allowed to send them, anyway. So I haven't written anything I don't want others to read. So yeah, I have no problem with you reading them.”

Swiftly Harry got his letters, and they made their way to the schoolroom on the ground floor of the house.

An hour later Theodore had shown Harry how to prepare a quill before starting to write, since no one had deemed it necessary to show him that the tip needed to be cut, and how to get rid of excess ink to avoid drops and smudges.

After that, they both enjoyed a game of Keeper and Chaser, switching the positions every so often.

oooOOooo

Severus Snape sat in his bookshelf-lined living room, a glass of red wine in one hand, his eyes trained on a small phial, filled with a kind of silvery vapour, standing on the low table in front of his armchair. He was waiting. Waiting to learn that he would die because the son of Lily Potter had been murdered at long last, he failing in his vow to protect him to the best of his abilities. Or waiting to be called by either of his masters. He would prefer the later option and was unsure for which summons he should hope: Dumbledore's telling him of a plan to get the boy out of the Dark Lord’s hands, discarding his role as spy. Or the Dark Lord's asking for help with the teenager, to brew potions or give the boy lessons.

He sighed and sipped from the excellent wine, a birthday present from Lucius, the man had excellent taste in wine.

While he waited, he pondered what to do with the memory his Lord had given him. The memory of the night he had gone after the child whom a prophecy had foretold would be able to destroy him. The night his best friend had died.

Did he want to see her last moments? What would knowing for sure, witnessing it, do to him? Would it be salvation, knowing she had made the choice, seeing it? Or would it destroy him to see the happenings of this night with his own eyes?

There was no way to know for sure. His mind wandered to the Dark Lord’s explanation as to why he had given him the phial. To let him make the choice if he wanted to see this night, or if he preferred not to watch it. For a moment he asked himself what Dumbledore would have done had he this copy in his hands. There were only two possibilities Severus could think of. Either he would have hidden the memory, never telling Severus that it was in his hands. Or he would have just presented Severus with a Pensieve, saying there was something he had to see. No, Dumbledore would not have given him a choice.

The Potions Master was not able to decide which would have been better. Never knowing that the memory had even existed, maybe being forced to watch it, or to have the choice and the agony of not being able to make it.

As he had no Pensieve of his own, he was unable to watch the memory without borrowing one. And the only two people he knew that were in possession of one were the Headmaster and his Lord. Draining the wineglass he came to a decision. Not a big one, like what he should do with the memory or the ultimatum, but a decision nonetheless.

He stood and went into his bedroom to change into his best everyday robes. He was going to invite himself to dinner at a friend's house. After all he had some information to relay to his Lord, and he needed to check on Harry Potter for his Headmaster. It was always nice to handle the work for both his masters at the same time.

oooOOooo

At 12 Grimmauld Place, Molly Weasley was preparing dinner for quite a few people. Different Order members had been dropping in to inquire about the appointment in the afternoon, and if anyone had heard anything new. It was likely that there would be many people in to ask for more news.

Hermione had commandeered one end of the large kitchen table, covering it with books. Sirius had helped her find anything that might be of interest in the Black family library. She first had said she could go alone, she was good at finding the books that might hold information that she could use. Trying to find something to free Buckbeak she had acquired a knack for finding old court files and precedences. After Sirius pointed out that he did not want to come to help her search, but to keep cursed books at bay and ward her against anything nasty they might encounter, she was all to happy for him to come.

And now she was sitting buried in books, taking notes and wishing she had access to the vast library of Hogwarts. So far she had not found anything that could help them free Harry from his fate. All she had found were accounts of cases where the family of Black had taken in orphans and children with Muggle parents that showed signs of the rare metamorphmagus ability. It was widely considered a Black family trait, and all children sporting it were considered family. As this supported the reason You-Know-Who was able to adopt Harry, Hermione was not happy with this. Even if she was fascinated by the idea that the pureblood families once were all too happy to find a ‘lost’ child and bringing him or her back into the family. Briefly she wondered if Malfoy knew about this, the way he always picked on her for her parentage suggested that he did not.

Sighing in frustration, Hermione took a new book from the heap on her right. Why did she only find evidence that the adoption was right by all laws and traditions? It felt so wrong, it was impossible that this was the way it should be.

Sirius came into the kitchen, a dark look on his face. Hermione barely looked up from the books as the owner of the house came over to her and sat in the chair on her left side.

“Found something?”

“No. Nothing useful, at least. Family gifts seemed to have been important in the past. But I was thinking…” she trailed off.

“Yes?” prompted Sirius after a moment of silence from the young witch.

“Didn't Harry’s parents make any arrangements for him, if something should happen to them? Wasn't there a will?”

Sadly looking down on his hands clasped on the table, Sirius nodded. “Of course they made arrangements. That's why they choose a godfather, me, and a godmother, Alice Longbottom. But as neither one of us could take him after his parents died, he was placed with his closest family: his mother’s sister.” Looking back up at the tired face of one of Harry’s best friends, he added, “And I don't know if they made a will, or if it was found when they did make one. The house was almost destroyed that night.”

Hermione huffed and laid her quill down on the parchment with her notes. “And why can’t you take him in now? Why can You-Know-Who just waltz in like this and adopt him?” She rubbed a hand over her face. “The wizarding world does not make sense most of the time!”

That startled a laugh out of the grey-eyed man. “Oh, Hermione! Even though something doesn't work the way you expect it to work, it still can make sense.” Seeing that the girl was about to protest, Sirius held up a hand “Let me explain.” Nodding, Hermione sat back, listening with curiosity and a little bit of stubbornness in her eyes.

“Family was always important for those of magic. Families shared similar gifts and learned many things about those. In times when not many could write or read, all the knowledge was passed on through oral tradition. As there was almost no written records, family was defined by the gifts they shared. And even as this changed, when the art of writing was spreading, family was still defined through gifts shared.”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed with the joy of learning something new, she listened with rapt attention. This was something she could most likely not find in a book, only told to the sons and daughters of the old families.

“As you can see, if one is to learn everything that there is to know about a gift, one needs to find the family that has this gift. So the Department of Family Affairs traditionally places children – who come to be in their care – with witches and wizards who share their gift. And there is no doubt that Harry is a parselmouth, a gift associated with the Slytherin family.” He put his elbow on the table and let his head sink into his hand. “And as godparents only get guardianship if no other family is found, I don't think that we have any chance of getting Harry back. At least not until his new guardian,” he spat the word out with hatred, “proves that he is not capable of caring for a child.”

Hermione perked up. “That's a possibility! I have to research what is considered proof of that. Thank you, Sirius!” She jumped up and sprinted out of the room, almost tripping over Mrs. Weasley on her way to the door.

A little sad, Sirius stood up to follow the enthusiastic witch to the library. It still was not safe in there.

oooOOooo

Coming back from Diagon Alley, Marvolo found two of his followers sitting in the parlour of Benjamin’s home discussing the OWLs. As they saw him enter, they both started to rise from their respective armchairs, but Marvolo waved them back down.

“Where are the boys?” he asked, curious, handing his travel cloak to Toppy.

“Theodore and your son are outside. I have seen them flying on the pitch,” Benjamin answered and held up the decanter in a wordless offer of a glass of wine.

Walking over to the other two, Marvolo conjured himself another armchair, a slightly fancier one, and sat down, accepting a glass of wine from Benjamin. “So there was no problem in my absence? Henry did not try to run? Or throw a tantrum?”

“As far as the elves have told me, there was nothing of significance happening. I am rather surprised, but so far he has only interacted with Theo, we still have to meet.” Sipping from his glass, Lord Nott smiled a little, amusement evident in his eyes. “I admit it is not what I had envisioned.” That had both Benjamin and Marvolo chuckling.

“We will see how long this lasts. Was there something you wanted to tell me, Severus?” Marvolo looked curious as Severus gathered himself before replying. Had he already watched the memory he had given him? Was he on his way to winning the Potions Master back? He really hoped that he was. It would be a waste if he had to kill the man.

“Well, I have not seen the Headmaster since I reported last evening. The other members of the Order have been running in circles since Arthur Weasley left with Mr. Potter. Miss Granger was raiding the Black library to get information, and researching to find a way to get her friend back. At the moment, there are no plans to use force. But I am almost certain that at one point or the other it will be considered.”

As if speaking about them had conjured them, both young wizards came into the room. Theodore was a few steps ahead of Henry, smiling, while the shorter teen was trying for a blank face and failing miserably. It was obvious to all the men that he was nervous and cautious, ready to run at a moment's notice if necessary. They both had changed their clothes, and Marvolo sighed internally: his son needed a new wardrobe. His garments looked more like rags than proper clothes.

Seeing that the boy held some parchment in his hand, Marvolo held out his own. “Hello, Henry. I see you have finished the letters.”

With a nervous, “Yes sir,” and quick glances to Theodore’s father, Henry took the few steps to the man sitting in the only green velvet armchair, passing over the letters.

Reading them, Marvolo noted the erratic writing, far from the flowing cursive one would expect from the heir of two noble houses, but was pleased that the letters were free of splotches and spelling errors. He also noted that they were all short and held only basic information, nothing of the boy’s feelings or other personal matters. He probably had no reason to wonder why, he had told his son that he intended to read the letters before he was allowed to send them.

“I am pleased,” he praised and caught a brief flicker of surprise followed by suspicion, still a long way to go. “You can send them after dinner.” Standing up, he gave the letters back to his son. And they all made their way over to the dining room.

Unlike all of last week the table was set for five people, rather than four. As they took their usual places, Henry had to sit across from Severus and beside Theodore. They were served a nice pumpkin soup with freshly baked bread as the first course. The adults spoke about different things regarding magical theory until the main course was served.

“How was your visit to Gringotts, Marvolo? What did the goblins have to say?” asked Benjamin, taking a bite from his lamb roast.

“Well, it seems that most of the Potter wealth is still intact. Henry and I will have a few properties to choose from.” He shifted his gaze to his son, who was moving around his food on his plate, he had not eaten much so far. “There are two townhouses, one in London and one in Edinburgh. And a manor near York. There are smaller houses – the cottage in Godric's Hollow and a small shop with a flat in Hogsmeade, some vacation homes on the Continent – but I think we should take one of those three. In the next few days I will have a look to confirm that they are safe, before taking you, Henry. As I have no preference one way or the other, I think it best that you have the last choice.”

Nodding with his mouth full and looking bewildered, Henry gave the impression that the day had worn him thin. Giving the boy time to eat properly without standing in the centre of attention, Marvolo shifted the talk to members of the Wizengamot, he needed the information, and it wasn't anything he did not want his new son to know.

After they had pudding – vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries – the boys stood and excused themselves, Henry emulating Theodore, much to Marvolo’s delight, and the adult wizards stayed behind.

Reaching in the pocket of his robes, Marvolo pulled out a letter sealed with the Slytherin coat of arms, offering it to Severus to take. “Can you take this letter to the Head of House of Gryffindor? I hope that she will not burn a letter from me, if you are the one to deliver it.” He smirked in response to Severus’ carefully neutral face.

“There is a faculty meeting tomorrow morning, I will give it to her then. My report on the boy is finished, do you want it now, my Lord, or shall I give it to McGonagall to send with the others?”

Although he was curious and wanted to know more about the boy he had adopted, and it was not likely they would have an amicable conversation any time soon, it would be best not to be too obvious about using his connection with Severus. “Send it with the others.” Severus nodded at this order. “I have another question for you, Severus. Did the old meddler tell you the rest of the prophecy?”

“He did not, my Lord. I do not think he has ever told anyone,” Severus answered deadpan.

Surprised, sitting straighter, Benjamin exclaimed “He surely has to have told the boy, did he not?”

Shaking his head, Marvolo sighed, telling both his followers in a quiet and slightly furious tone, “Considering everything he has held back from the boy, I would say that I would be surprised if he even knows that there was a prophecy to begin with.” And as Benjamin contemplated this information, a little surprised, Severus did look like he had known all along.

Chapter Text

Slipping into his deep black silk robes – it was a rather hot and humid night – the current Dark Lord prepared for a meeting in the middle of the night. He just had been in Henry’s room, finding the teen curled up in the middle of the bed, buried under the blankets, feigning sleep. There was no way anyone could sleep this wrapped up with the current temperatures.

Smiling to himself, he wondered when the teen would be comfortable enough to start acting up. He was almost looking forward to it, being a moody teenager would at least prove that the boy no longer feared being murdered by his new guardian. Still smiling, he went to the entrance hall.

Trusting that two almost fifteen-year-old boys could stay alone a few hours... well, not completely alone, there were house-elves after all, both Benjamin and Marvolo left for Malfoy Manor.

Lucius came to greet his Lord, falling to his knees the moment Marvolo stepped into the large ballroom set up for the meeting. Marvolo smirked at that. It was rather funny to watch his Death Eaters learning how to switch between roles around him. Soon enough they would know when to treat him like a Lord of the Wizengamot or their Dark Lord and ruler. And in some cases, even as a … friend. An alien concept even for him. But all for his goal. Not everything could be easy.

He held out his hand to the kneeling aristocrat, and Lucius obediently laid his wrist into it. Immediately the smaller version of the Dark Mark became visible. A small snake curled around an equally tiny skull. After Marvolo pressed his finger onto the mark, the blond flinched at the pain caused by the magic rushing through him, to call all of Marvolo’s followers to him.

One by One they appeared before their Lord, all in the dark woollen robes and intricate white masks that were the uniform of the Death Eaters.

Soon they were all present, Thorfinn Rowle rushing in as the last one, clearly terrified of being punished for his tardiness, and with a sweep of his robes, Marvolo moved into the middle of the small dais erected in the middle of the east wall.

“I have called you all tonight to inform you of another successful step in our plans.” There were a few cheers at this declaration, but they quickly stopped under his glare. “As you all will, no doubt, read tomorrow in the Daily Prophet, I have adopted Harry James Potter and subsequently claimed my birthright as Lord Slytherin.” Now they were too stunned to react, and Marvolo did not wait for them to get their heads around this turn of events. He thought he saw some of his simpler followers standing open-mouthed farther back. “All of you that have children attending Hogwarts are to warn your offspring of the change in my son's status. I will not tolerate physical or magical attacks of any kind. And as I do not want to harm children, you will be held accountable!” Shudders ran through the ranks as he hissed out the last. This probably would not be enough to get them all to behave, but it would do for the moment.

Searching over the masked faces, Marvolo’s eyes fell onto the one follower that had been one of his most loyal. Time to reward him. “Bartemius.” The man stepped forward and fell to one knee with all the grace he could muster. “After we are finished here, you will take this portkey,” he held up a small bronze disk, “to a special healer near Moscow. When you return with a new identity you will work as personal assistant for me in my role as Lord Slytherin.” Smiling and sending shivers down the spines of many standing in the first row, he added in a silky voice, “You did well in aiding me. This is as much a reward as an opportunity. Use it well.” Accepting the disk with a reverent, “Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord.” and bowing low, the man retreated to his place.

“Thorfinn.” Calling the still-terrified man to the front – he had punished the last one to enter quite consistently in the past – he asked, “You are part of one of the Obliviators' squads, are you not?”

With a quiver in his voice – which he tried to suppress without success – the blond wizard answered, “Yes, my Lord. I switched to this department a few years ago.”

Nodding, satisfied, Marvolo gave his orders. “You will compile a list of all magical children in the muggle world for whom you, or any other team, was sent to cover up some accidental magic. Also mark their age and whether they live with their parents or in an orphanage or in foster care.” With bewilderment in his eyes, Thorfinn acknowledged his orders and returned to the spot he stood in before.

“I want you all to be on the lookout for a way to identify those children of magic that are not born in our world. As early as possible. Do nothing but bring their names, ages, and circumstances of living. Am I clear?” There was “Yes, my Lord,” to hear from all over the ballroom. “Good.”

He made another round on the dais, swirling his robes, getting a bit of fresh air under them. It really was hot, and he was wishing for a thunderstorm and the refreshment it would bring. He let his gaze roam over the assembled wizards.

“And one last thing. All of you who are not married have a year to find a partner of your choosing to start a family with. If you do not choose within the year, I will help you find a partner.” An evil grin appeared on his face at this thought. “And all those who are married … I think you should reconsider the size of your families.” His gaze briefly rested on Benjamin, who was a widower, and Allonsius Greengrass, whose wife could not have any more children without risking her life. “Some cases require special attention. Those of you I consider such will be called individually in the next week. If you consider yourself a special case, you have two days to inform me of the reasons you do so.” Sweeping with his gaze over them and enjoying their confusion over these unprecedented orders, he lazily waved his hand. “Dismissed!” As they all bowed low and shuffled out of the ballroom, Marvolo contemplated that it was time to go to bed. Tomorrow was packed with tasks he had to undertake himself, so he'd better be rested.

oooOOooo

It was a more-than-usually-grouchy Professor Snape who was on his way up from the gates of Hogwarts. He was on his way to the much-too-early staff meeting the Headmaster had called after Harry Potter had been adopted by the man who once had been known as Lord Voldemort. In his pocket he had the letter from Lord Slytherin to the Head of Gryffindor House and his own report on the boy’s performance in Potions. He had tried to be impartial and found it to be a rather appalling endeavour. He found that he had not been fair to his student, never really acknowledging his work for what it really was. Lily’s son was by no means above average at Potions, but that was more than he would have told anyone had they asked sometime in the last year.

He was the last to arrive, and he gladly took one of the chairs farther back, summoning a cup of strong black coffee to himself.

“You look like death warmed over, Severus. Are you well?” Minerva asked with concern, sitting in a chair next to him.

“I am fine, Minerva, thank you for your concern. I merely got no real sleep last night.” He nodded gratefully in his colleague’s direction and deeply inhaled the delightful aroma of the coffee.

“Severus,” Albus addressed him from across the room, and all the other professors fell silent and turned their attention to the Potions Master “Do you have new information for us, my boy?”

Taking another sip from the hot and strong coffee, Severus was inwardly rolling his eyes. Why did the old man just need to remind everyone that he was older? Lately he had felt more valued when in the presence of the Dark Lord. At that thought, Severus started. Had he just thought he felt more valued by the Dark Lord than by Albus? Hiding his unsettling revelation, he set the cup down on the paper-littered table and nodded at the Headmaster.

“I have indeed.” He turned to his fellow Head of House “Minerva, Lord Slytherin asked me to deliver a letter, to his new ward's Head of House.” He drew the missive from one of the inside pockets of his robe, offering it for Minerva to take. “He wishes to receive a full report on Harry Potter’s performance in his classes.”

Warily casting a few detection spells before taking the letter, Minerva asked, curious and a little bewildered, “Whatever for? Why would he ask for this?”

Now sneering openly, Severus said in a slightly mocking tone, “The boy comes into his OWLs year. Naturally he doesn't want to be embarrassed by a total failure of the boy he took in to be his son.” What were they all thinking? Severus looked at all of them and quickly saw that they fully expected to hear of Harry Potter’s death sometime soon.

He closed his eyes for a moment, what would he give to get the chance to go to bed and sleep a few hours.

“I saw Mr….” he faltered because Potter was no longer the brat’s name, before he settled on continuing to call him Potter in his current company, “Potter yesterday evening. We shared dinner. And he was healthy, if rather tense.” That brought only minimal relief to the other professors, so he added, “And around midnight, the Dark Lord called all of us to him. He informed us of the adoption, and about the fact that any form of magical or physical attack on the boy would be severely punished. He even ordered all parents to warn their offspring to change their behaviour around Mr. Potter.”

He switched his gaze solely to the Headmaster. “I doubt that the boy’s death is anywhere in the Dark Lord's immediate plans.” He only got a short nod as acknowledgement and felt another spurt of hurt at this. He could not prevent himself from comparing this blatant disregard of the dangers he went through to get the information, to the praise he'd got from the Dark Lord in the last few days. And shortly afterwards he called himself all kinds of fool. He should be above the tricks the Dark Lord used on people to lure them to him, and here he was, almost falling for the actions that had been his downfall in his youth.

While the others discussed ways to get the boy back or at least away from the man who had murdered the Potters, Severus sat contemplating once again the order given to all at the meeting last night. This order was the reason he was so tired this morning. He had been in bed, but not sleeping, when the summons came. And after he was back at home, he could not find rest. Marry in the space of a year, or at least find a witch to marry in this time, or get a bride assigned by the Dark Lord himself. He had difficulties wrapping his head around this. Of course the goal behind this was obvious, or at least one of the goals: more children from his loyal followers meant more people to do his bidding.

But the implications this order had for Severus himself, those he could not comprehend. He'd never had a desire to marry. First he had been working on his mastery – in the middle of a war – then he had been unable to prevent his best friend’s death. And now, several years later, he had taught so many idiot dunderheads that he had no desire for children of his own.

Pinching the back of his nose in frustration, while an argument between Pomona and Septima rose to an almost unbearable volume, the ultimatum came back to the forefront of his mind. He probably did not need to start worrying over finding a bride until after the first of September. If he was still alive by then, there was plenty of time to despair.

If the summer holidays were going to keep being this much stress, he might just die of exhaustion before the first term of the next school year came to an end.

Minerva had opened the letter in the meantime, reading it with a look of utter disbelief. She cleared her throat more than once to get everyone's attention. Severus watched her reactions and facial expressions closely, curious what she would make of a letter from the Dark Lord written in his capacity as a parent of one of her charges.

“This,” she held up the letter, “is a very formal and polite request for a complete account of the performance of Harry Potter in the last school years.” She had a look about her face that suggested she was chewing on a lemon, a quick glance confirmed that most of the others shared the sentiment. “There are no grounds for us to refuse, so I ask all of you that had Mr. Potter in your classes to write a report – a detailed report – as requested by his … guardian.” At this Snape got out the quite lengthy report he had written the evening before. Accepting it with a raised brow, Minerva asked without saying a word how it was that the Potions Professor already had the report finished. All the other professors nodded in agreement, some making a note, so they would not forget to write it up.

“He asked me about the procedure to request this, so I had a head start.” Nodding to this, she shifted in her chair to face Bathsheda Babbling, the professor teaching Ancient Runes, who looked surprised, as Harry Potter didn't take her subject.

“Lord Slytherin, requests the possibility for … Mr. Potter to take an exam in Ancient Runes at the end of the summer holidays to make it possible for him to drop Divination and take up your subject. He proposes the idea of having Mr. Potter take the class with the fourth-years.”

Severus saw the strain it was for Minerva to remain professional on this. To treat a person she saw as a raving madman as a parent. He could sympathise with this, it was really hard wrapping his head around the changes in the Dark Lord’s behaviour.

Nodding thoughtfully, Bathsheda smiled. “Well, it's not like we haven't done something like this before. If he passes the exam, I see no objections. Maybe it will be a challenge to plan the schedules, but manageable, I think.” She smiled again, happy about the prospect of getting another student into her classes.

The Headmaster got Minerva's attention to ask, “Is there a reason given as to why the change in subjects?”

With a small smile the Scottish witch answered, “Apparently Mr. Potter discovered that he has no talent as a seer, and does not wish, and I quote, to ‘waste the instructor's time’.” At that Filius tucked his head and hid a grin behind his hand. The Head of Ravenclaw had no real patience for the art of divination as a subject for everyone to take. You either were a seer or you were not. No need to waste time trying to teach the unteachable.

After this they changed subjects, much to Severus’ relief, to other students, the next class of first-years, and the still not filled post of Defence against the Dark Arts Professor. Albus asked for all of them to think of someone to ask, as there were rumours that the Ministry would try to intervene if they didn't find a new professor soon. The rest was the same as all the other years on the first staff meeting, even if normally it would be held in the first week of August and not in the middle of July.

The staff meeting ended with a reminder from Minerva to Mr. Potter’s teachers to finish the reports as fast as possible, and Severus was glad to have finished this, for now he could get a few hours sleep. He dearly needed it.

oooOOooo

At the same time there were four people sitting around the table in the dining room at Nott House. A rather sleepy Harry looked onto an almost disturbingly domestic scene. Voldemort was reading the main articles of the Daily Prophet, drinking tea, with three huge spoonfuls of sugar, and eating waffles. Across from him sat one of his Slytherin year-mates reading the sports section of the newspaper, while Lord Nott, a Death Eater, was reading the society pages.

Harry almost was convinced that he was still sleeping and dreaming ludicrous things due to exhaustion. He hadn't been able to find sleep last night until the sun had started rising and casting rays of early morning light on the floor of the room he was staying in. That someone had come in in the middle of the night hadn't help matters.

At least he was calmer than yesterday and tried to get a feeling for the moods of the man who had killed his parents. If he wanted to avoid problems and get to his friends in one piece, he had better learn to read the man, the way he had learned to read his uncle, aunt, and cousin. And so he had declined the offer to a part of the shared newspaper and opted for staring at his plate, shooting glances at the adult wizards at the table.

After the first cups of tea were drained, conversation started up between the three Slytherins. Theodore relayed the plans for his day to his father and then participated in a discussion over a Quidditch match that was reported in the Prophet.

Completely off balance, Harry took to looking at his plate, silently finishing his toast with some cherry jam and a few strawberries.

He almost jumped out of his skin as Theodore's father addressed him. “One of my elves informed me that a snowy owl arrived in the owlery during the night. I assume that it is yours … Henry.” Harry was not sure, but he thought he'd seen a covert glance to Voldemort from the other wizard, as if he was not sure how to address the teen forced into his company. “If you are finished with breakfast, Theodore can show you the way to the owlery, and you can check on her.”

Harry was not really happy with doing what a Death Eater told him to do, even if it was phrased as a suggestion. But he wanted to see if the owl mentioned really was his Hedwig. He would be happy to have one of his friends here, and an owl he trusted to deliver his letters. So he stood placing the silverware down. “I am finished and would like to check on my owl now.” Struggling with himself and chanting, ‘keep your temper, show respect, keep your temper….’ silently in his head, he turned to address Voldemort and asked, “May I go?”

The teen clenched his fists as the bastard set down his cup, making a shooing gesture at him and said, “Off you go! I will send an elf to inform you when the healer is here.”

Barely managing not to roll his eyes or grind his teeth, Harry followed the other teen out of the room and down a long corridor. Once outside at the back of the house he whispered just loud enough to be heard by the other boy, “Does he think we're five?!”

Laughing loud at that, Theodore led him alongside a path through a rose garden to a small building resembling a spindly tower with open arches as windows. And then he started to introduce all the owls, while Harry stroked the feathers of his loyal friend Hedwig.

oooOOooo

At Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black held a short letter from his godson in hands. A nondescript owl had brought it this morning. He was glad that Harry had written, yet felt so sad about how impersonal the contents were. But it was to be expected, as the things Harry had written led him to believe that the bastard of a dark wizard most likely was reading everything Harry would send to his friends and family.

But at least letters to him, the boy’s godfather, were considered duties, so it was likely that he would get a letter quite regularly. And visits, once he was cleared. His eyes fell onto the other letter he'd gotten the day before. Once he was free to be seen again, he would make sure to spend as much time as possible with his friend's son. No way would he leave him with the murderous git.

In another room of the same house, Hermione and Ron read Harry’s letters to each other, wondering how it must be to be forced to live with Slytherins. Ron spun tales worthy to be handed in for one of Professor Trelawney’s classes. Hermione tried to be more sensible, but had trouble keeping her imagination from running away with the more likely aspects of Ron’s horrible little stories. They both started to write answering letters on the spot. Hermione’s naturally coming out longer than the one the red-head wrote.

oooOOooo

Marvolo stood in the guest room Healer Greengrass, the younger brother of Lord Greengrass, was setting up to be the room for Henry's exam. He had already sent an elf to fetch the boy and had only to give a few more orders before he came here.

“I want you to explain everything before you proceed. And to answer any and all questions my son may have.”

The healer nodded, setting down a self-recording quill on the parchment that was to become Henry James Slytherin-Potter’s medical record, and answered with a small bow, “Yes, my Lord.”

In this moment there was a knock on the door. After Marvolo’s call to enter, Henry stepped through the door, the elf that brought him here vanishing into thin air behind him. “Come in, Henry. I want to introduce you to Healer Malcolm Greengrass.” He waved a hand in the direction of the young man, just a year older than Severus, wearing sensible dark grey robes. “He is to be your personal healer.”

Bowing to his young patient the healer greeted, “A pleasure to meet you, heir Slytherin-Potter.” He straightened again and smiled in a friendly manner at the young suspicious-looking wizard. “Today I will perform a thorough magical health exam to determine if there is something we need to address or monitor.”

Waiting for Henry to acknowledge this, the healer got his wand, polished to a subtle sheen, out of its holster. After Henry had nodded that he understood, he was ushered to sit down on a wide padded bench.

“I will start the exam by looking at your eyes. Please remove your glasses for the first step. I will use a spell to tell me how well you can see without them. After that we will repeat the spell with your glasses on.” He conjured a floating picture of a unicorn near the opposite wall “I want you to look at the unicorn while I perform the spell. It will probably tingle a bit but that is all you should feel.” Henry took his glasses off, folding them to hold in his left hand, turning his gaze to the prancing unicorn across the room. Marvolo was of the opinion that it was a little childish to use the picture of a unicorn, and by the look on his face, Henry was not impressed either.

As the spell was performed, the quill started to record the findings, and after the second round of the spell, with glasses on, Healer Greengrass turned to the parchment to read the results.
“When was the last time your glasses were checked? They do not fit your needs at the moment.” Expectantly waiting for his answer, the healer smiled a professional, kind smile at his young patient. Henry was trying for a blank face and partially succeeding as it was not obvious what emotions exactly were making him look at his feet rather than at the healer he was speaking to.

“I got the glasses when I started school. They haven't been checked since.”

“Well, it's a good thing we did check them now. I'll make you some glasses to wear until your father can take you to get you a new pair. But maybe that will not be necessary at all, because your eyesight is treatable with the Oculus Sanus potion.”

“And why did Madame Pomfrey never offer this, if there's a way to make me see without my glasses?” There was a spark of righteous anger in the raven-haired teen's eyes, as he fixed the healer with his gaze.

Marvolo was happy to see this. The day before, the boy had seemed a little too meek for his taste, and he had feared that he might have broken him. He had admired the fierce spirit the boy had shown the night of the third task.

“That would probably be because the potion is classified as 'dark' and placed under several restrictions because of it.” Answering to the confusion on the teen's face, Malcolm continued, “It's not illegal to use the potion. But it is illegal to distribute the recipe in any way, or teach how to brew it. It's also illegal to sell the potion, or to use it in a public clinic. Basically, it can only be used if a Potions Master, who is already in possession of the recipe, brews it for free.”

Rapidly blinking a few times, Henry asked, “And why is the potion considered dark?”

“As far as I know, the potion uses the blood of the patient it's intended for. But I never have actually seen the recipe, due to the restrictions, so I'm not really sure.” After a short silent exchange between the healer and his Lord, he turned to the teen once more. “But I am certain that your father can explain in more detail.”

He straightened his robes and went over to a leather doctor's bag sitting on a low table. He took out a simple pair of glasses, with gold wire frames and slightly oval glass, tapping them with his wand and mumbling something under his breath. The glasses shimmered golden for a moment before Malcolm handed them over to Henry. “Try these.”

Placing the new glasses on his nose Henry’s eyes grew round, making it obvious that he had not seen this clearly in a very long time.

While the teen looked excitedly around, testing his new glasses, the healer returned to his bag, taking out several small objects. He came over to the low bench, laid the small stone-like objects down, and made his way back to the low table to get some candles out of the bag.

Eyeing the man warily, Henry ceased to look around the room wildly and sat uneasily in his spot. “What's that all for?” the teen demanded to know.

“These are rune stones.” The healer held them so Henry could examine the symbols engraved into them. “To get a really thorough examination, I can either cast diagnostic spells for the next two hours, or I can perform a diagnostic ritual and be done in under fifteen minutes. And as the ritual is more precise in its results and fairly straight-forward, I prefer this over casting spells one after the other.” Malcolm gave his patient a once-over “As it is you I will examine, you can choose.”

Marvolo watched the exchange silently, standing to the side, observing, but not interfering. He wanted to see how Henry would react, how he would decide.

With in suspicion narrowed eyes, Henry regarded the healer and the rune stones. “Is this illegal as well?”

Shaking his head so that brown wavy hair brushed over the shoulders of the healer, he answered, “No, it's not illegal. The ritual is no longer taught during healer training, and is frowned upon by St. Mungo’s. But it is neither illegal to perform nor to teach it.” As the teen did not ask more or respond in any way, he continued to explain. “If we go with the ritual, you would need to change from your clothes into a linen shirt I have here. After laying down on the bench, I would place these rune stones on several places along your body, while chanting the necessary words. After that I would place candles around you, lighting them and waiting for the results to be recorded. That's all there is to it.”

Both adult wizards were watching as Henry struggled with the decision. Marvolo was pretty certain that he knew what his son was thinking. On the one hand, he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, so that would favour the ritual. On the other hand, he firmly believed that this ritual was in some way dark, and did not want to be part of it, which would rule in favour of the two hours of cast spells.

Finally Henry came to a decision, steeled his resolve and pointedly ignored Marvolo, who had sat down in a chair by a desk in one corner of the room. “I do not want the ritual.”

With a suffering sigh the healer packed the candles and stones back into the bag. “As you wish, heir Slytherin-Potter. Please lay back.” He got out his wand and stepped up to the bench. “I will tell you what each spell is for, before I start casting it. Prepare to remain mostly still for the next two hours.” And with this he started to explain spells and then cast them, the recording quill happily scratching away. Marvolo sat back in his chair summoning a book to him – gaining a dirty look from his son – to pass the time he would be waiting.

After a little more than two hours of casting diagnostic spells, from checking every single organ in Henry’s body to checking his bones, growth, and many small things, Malcolm took the long parchment and started reading. Finally, another twenty minutes later, he stood before his Lord and his Lord’s heir recounting the findings.

“As was expected, there is evidence that your heir, my Lord, was subjected to all three Unforgivable curses. It is fortunate that none of them seem to have left lasting damage. There is only the scar and some lingering magic left from the killing curse.” The young healer started with the findings to be attributed to the most dangerous magic, glancing nervously at Marvolo as he came across the effects of the killing curse. He paled a little as the saw the look on his Lord’s face, it was not that of a man happy with the news he got.
Quickly changing the topic to more mundane findings, Malcolm continued. “There is damage to several of his internal organs, due to too little and not the right kind of nourishment for long parts of his childhood. They will not cause problems any time soon, but will start to act up some decades from now,” the younger Greengrass told his Lord, then switched his attention to the teen. “This malnourishment also caused you to be shorter than you should have been by now. Both issues can be addressed by a regimen of nutrient potions, which are not illegal.” He added the last with a smirk for Henry’s benefit. “There were also some bones broken and not healed correctly. Most of them will only start to cause problems in a few years' time. The only exception being a break of the right wrist. I assume that the wrist is causing trouble while writing, at the moment.” As it was clearly more a question than a statement, Henry nodded reluctantly, confirming that he had trouble while writing too long.

Contemplating this information, Marvolo realised that the trouble with the boy's hand probably was at least partly to blame for his abysmal penmanship.

“How did you break your hand, Henry?” he asked, pushing concern into his voice. He really wanted to know, and wondered when this had happened and why the school medi-witch had done nothing about it. But seeing what all had not been done, and the findings Malcolm had listed, he had an idea.

Henry was broadcasting unease and reluctance, paired with obvious doubt over the validity of Marvolo’s concern. After a moment he answered anyway. “In the holidays after my second year. I was working in the garden and my cousin fell on my hand. It didn't hurt too much, and after a few days it didn't hurt at all.”

And just there his son had lied. Not by much – Marvolo was sure the mentioned cousin had played a role in breaking the wrist – but enough to deflect more questions and attention from the matter. It was a grim picture that was painted here. Keeping information about his standing in the world from the boy, not enough food for large parts of his childhood, badly healed broken bones, an aversion to seeing a healer in the first place. Yes, this was painting a grim picture indeed of the life Henry had had until now.

“I assume Skele-Gro will not be enough to mend those bones?” he finally asked.

“You are correct, my Lord. We could either vanish and regrow the bones. Something that happened before for all the bones in Henry’s right arm.” He lifted a brow questioningly in Henry’s direction, who mumbled, “That idiot Lockhart vanished them all after an accident during a Quidditch match during my second year.”

“Or we would have to re-break them. Neither option is pleasant, but I recommend them anyway. It is better to mend the bones properly, than to deal with the problems that they will cause later if left untreated.”

Seeing his heir going pale at this declaration, probably remembering the last time he had to re-grow all bones of one arm – what incompetence! – he quickly inserted, “Well, we should probably wait a while to do so. When we start with the nutrient potions – as soon as possible – the improvement in your health should help in mending your bones. Furthermore, we will postpone lessons in penmanship until after your wrist is healed. But that is no reason not to at least try to avoid spelling errors and ink blotches on your letters.”

Gaining a bit more colour, glaring daggers at the floor, Henry nodded, quietly adding a, “Yes, sir.”

“All his other injuries are mostly minor stuff. A few scars from burns and cuts. But he did not receive the potions used to immunize children against some common maladies. Which should be resolved rather easily.” Healer Malcolm concluded his findings extending a scroll to his Lord. “A list with all required potions.”

Taking the small scroll from the healer, Marvolo rearranged his plans for the day. “I want you to pick one of your summer assignments, Henry. Have a rough draft of what you want to write ready by dinner. You should also think about if you want to see without glasses again. If you have questions about the potion, you can ask them later today. Either way, we will go to Diagon tomorrow.”

Marvolo walked over to his son, looking him in the eyes, and was met with defiance. But there was confusion as well. With enough time, he would get the teenager on his side. “You may go now. We will see each other again at dinner.”

Swallowing and visibly forcing himself to remain respectful, Henry stood straight, nodding to the Healer and then his father. “Have a good day. Sir.” After this he turned and left the room.

oooOOooo

With a start, Severus shot out of his bed. His arm was so hot it hurt. It took him a moment to register that he was being summoned. Fumbling to get dressed, he began to work on waking up fully. It would not do to be half-asleep before the Dark Lord.

Only two minutes later, Severus walked up the hall to the study his Lord was in. As soon as he opened the door in answer to the harsh “Come in!” he stepped through and fell to the floor. It had been a long time since he'd seen his Lord this angry, pacing the floor, muttering to himself, Nagini waving her head nervously from side to side. Suppressing a shudder, Severus stayed kneeling on the floor, his head bent to touch the carpet, waiting to be punished for his tardiness. How long had his Lord been calling before he had awakened and made his way here?

As no curse came his way and he instead heard the measured breathing he associated with calming exercises, he dared to rise a little so he could chance a glance at his Lord. Said man was standing facing away from his Potions Master, looking out of the one window, fists clenched as his sides, breathing in a pattern designed to calm himself down.

Severus almost jumped up and drew his wand, as with a shout of, “He is doing it again!” the Dark Lord violently knocked a porcelain ornament, depicting a rearing pegasus, to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Having found an outlet for his rage, the Dark Lord became calmer, and finally addressed his trembling follower without turning to face him. “Rise, Severus.”

As the dark-haired man did so, he saw a scroll of parchment bound with a green ribbon floating through the air to stop before him. “I need you to brew these potions for me.” Severus heard the suppressed anger in his Lord’s voice and wondered what had happened to anger him so. Plucking the scroll from the air and untying it, he was prepared to find poison and some of the darker potions intended to do harm on the list. He was very surprised, to the point of actually making a sound, to find long-lasting and slow-acting healing potions, as well as nutrient potions, on the list. As he came to the end, he saw the Oculus Sanus potion and finally realized why his Lord was as angry as he was and for whom these potions were intended.

He felt the blood drain from his face, his breathing becoming shallow, as cold fury and utter despair battled for dominance. Lily’s son, the boy he was sworn to protect, had been abused in the house he was living in. All the while the man he had trusted had persisted in claiming that the boy was safe and well cared for.

Severus barely registered that a chair was levitated to stand behind him, and he himself was made to sit down in the chair. As he finally managed to get his feelings back under control and behind his shields, he became aware of his Lord's watching him with calculating and curious eyes.

“It seems that I miscalculated. I thought I'd lost you to Dumbledore. But it seems I lost you to the boy I have now adopted as my son.”

“My Lord.” Severus was still shaking from the revelation just made to him, and had trouble processing that he had just blown his cover, pretending never to have left the Dark Lord’s service. Before he could come up with a way to react, a decision if he should flee or fight, or try to lie his way out of the trap he had just landed himself in, the Dark Lord patted him on the shoulder. “Loyal to my son? I can work with this.”

Taking a shuddering breath Severus flattened the crumbled list and without looking at his Lord tried to explain his reasons. “To keep me out of Azkaban, and to find some way to ease my guilt, Dumbledore made me swear an oath to do all that I could to protect Lily’s son.” He traced the lines on the list with his finger. “How bad was it?” He spoke so softly that the Dark Lord only understood what he asked because he was standing directly in front of the Potions Master.

“I do not yet know. Extensive damage due to malnutrition, some badly healed bone breaks. At the least, it was neglect and bullying. But I think it was more.” The Dark Lord rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair. “Brew these potions. And after that you can prove your claim and be a part of your family again.”

Standing with the list still in his hand, Severus bowed and prepared to leave, reaching the door as he heard his Lord speaking to himself. “Repeating his errors a third time. And I thought he had finally learned…”

With much to think about and a decision finally made, Severus left for Malfoy Manor. The potions lab there was up to his standards, and he needed a friend to speak with.

oooOOooo

Marvolo came out of the Hall of Records, his pockets filled with the shrunken files on all the votes the Regent of Potter had made, as Madam Amelia Bones came down the hall from the elevators right up to him.

Putting his most charming smile on his face, even if he did not feel like smiling after what he'd learned this morning, he greeted her. “Madame Bones! What a pleasure meeting again. How can I help you?”

“Nice to meet you too, Lord Slytherin.” She tried to keep her face blank and polite, but her eyes did betrayed her distaste. “I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to be a witness in a trial for Sirius Black. Even if you are no longer who you were,” Marvolo had to control a laugh at that, she clearly did not approve of the fact he had been exonerated of all his past crimes, “I am certain that you hold enough memories of that time to help clear the matter.”

This was something he admired about Amelia Bones, always sticking to her principles, despite the circumstances. And as she was working within the confines of the laws, he was reasonably sure to be able to predict her moves and make use of them. And as she was aware of the fact that she would be played, he could admire her despite her self-imposed constraints.

“Yes, I am willing to contribute in the endeavour to get justice to be heard. Just owl me the date and time, and I will be there.”

She snorted. “I am sure you will be, Lord Slytherin.” Shaking her head, she left him standing in the middle of the corridor.

Marvolo smiled a genuine smile. Life was so much better now that he was sane again. It was fun, and maybe he would be able to actually make an impact in regard to the problems he saw.

On his way back to the entrance hall, where he planned to apparate back to Nott House and the appointment his son and he had with the tailor, he came across a witch in ugly pink and rose robes. His brows rose at the overt... pinkness... of her appearance. Benjamin had told him about the undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge, but his imagination obviously was not vivid enough to conjure an image even close to the reality. And this person was such a force to be reckoned with? He almost could not believe it. Well, in a week there would be a session of the Wizengamot, the first one he would be attending in his function as Lord Slytherin. And in this he would meet her for real for the first time. He was sure it would be fun.

oooOOooo

Later in the evening Harry was sitting on his bed in the guest room he was staying in. He was wearing nice new clothes. A shirt of silk, trousers of fine wool, and robes of linen. All in colours he had picked himself.

It had been a surreal moment this afternoon. He had seen Voldemort only in his undergarments and socks, being measured to be fitted for robes, shirts, and trousers.

They both got a full wardrobe of clothes sewn from silk, the finest wool, and linen. Mostly clothes fit for summer, as Voldemort pointed out there was plenty of time to get warmer clothing, and ‘Henry’ was due a growth spurt.

How he hated it when the murderer of his parents called him by that name! He managed to keep his temper, if more than once only barely. He prayed that he would be rescued soon, else it be too late.

He tried to hate the clothes too, as he hated the man that paid the tailor to make them for him, along with the Quidditch uniform, the new robes with the Potter coat-of-arms, the new shiny leather shoes. And he maybe could have, if not for the fact that there were also muggle jeans and t-shirts and trainers. He never would have thought that Voldemort, of all people, would get him clothes he actually would want to wear.

He was not allowed to wear muggle clothing to dinner, or when out in the wizarding world, but he had them.

No, who was he kidding? He hated to be in this position. Treated nicely by his mortal enemy. Left in the dark and ignorant by the man who should be his ally.

He had, for the first time in his life, a full wardrobe of nice clothes that were not his school robes. There had been a healer to see him, and no one had mocked him about the things the man had found. Harry was pretty sure that Voldemort had actually understood what his health problems were about, and he had expected to be mocked mercilessly. But that had not happened.

Starring at the heap of folders, all about the way Dumbledore had voted for his seat – Harry’s seat – on the Wizengamot, and the laws that had been voted on, Harry tried to comprehend his feelings. Voldemort had got them for him, so he could see for himself if he wanted the Headmaster to stay the Potter Regent. And so he could learn what he needed to know. There were two more books lying on the desk next to the enormous stack of parchment. One on meditation – a muggle book on meditation no less – and one about the structure of the Ministry and the Wizengamot, and how they were supposed to work together to protect and govern the magical part of Britain.

He had now been with Voldemort a little over one day. He had learned in this time so many things about himself and his position, the duties he should have known about since he could walk. And in all the years he had been at Hogwarts and in contact with the Weasleys and Dumbledore, no one had told him about these things, not even in passing.

It was obvious that Voldemort had ulterior motives to give Harry knowledge, clothes, and lessons, that he checked on his health, was interested in his school-work. If he disregarded the fact that the man had killed his parents and was a monster, he could be classified a decent parent.

Harry buried his face in his pillow and laughed a desperate laugh, tears starting to fall. The Dursleys had messed with him. They must have. How else was it possible that he even remotely could think the Dark Lord Voldemort could be a decent parent?

He felt totally lost, cut loose from everything he thought he knew, caught in a void between what he thought was right and the things he knew to be wrong. It seemed that there was a lot of grey in the world, and not really much white and black.

It would be hard to stay away from the net Voldemort had so skilfully set up for Harry to be caught in. But he had to try. He had to learn what he could, now that he knew about the fact that he would be Lord Potter one day. And here he was, presented with the opportunity to learn. He would take it and learn what he wanted to know. Hoping that Sirius would be able to get him free and take him in.

Harry wanted to be free. To choose his own path. To know and to learn. He was not sure what it would take to get what he wanted. But he was pretty sure that neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort would want him to be free. The only hope that remained was that Sirius would help him on his path to independence.

That night Harry cried himself to sleep, full of frustration over his predicament, full of anger and despair.

Chapter Text

The next morning Harry woke with new determination. He was going to seize the opportunity and learn as much as he could as long as he had to stay in the enemy’s camp. With this thought he made his way to his own bathroom to freshen up before getting dressed.

As he came out again, half an hour later, he found a stack of letters on top of his desk. Curious, he walked over, only clad in a towel wrapped around his middle.

The letters were from almost everyone he knew. Hermione’s letter was the thickest, there were letters from Ron, the twins, Ginny, Sirius, Remus, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley... but none from the Headmaster. Happy that his friends had written, at not being forgotten, Harry turned to get dressed first.

He opened the door to the walk-in wardrobe – a concept that boggled his mind – and looked at the selection of robes, shirts, and trousers he now had to choose from. Wandering between the shelves, Harry let his fingers trail over the soft fabric. Finally he settled for simple dark grey, almost black trousers, black socks, an off-white shirt, and a pair of comfortable black leather shoes. He would go to Diagon Alley today and – he cringed inside at admitting this – as the heir for the Noble House of Potter, he needed to project a certain image. As he came to stand by the robes lined up on their hangers, he briefly brushed his fingers over the fine silk of his two formal robes.

One was done in different shades of green, a middle green base with embellishments and embroidery done in lighter and darker shades along the hems and seams. Only the coat of arms of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin was done in fine silver thread. Right next to it was an equally posh robe done in a deep, dark, brownish-red with embroidery reminiscent of flames. Here the coat of arms was done in gold. The tailor was still struggling with coming up with a way to combine the family colours of both the families he was heir to, without it looking like some Christmas decoration.

Voldemort had explained yesterday that Harry would wear one of the three robes, depending on the occasion and which role he had to play.

It was all a little much to take in, but Harry loved having a robe to wear to represent the Potter family. Taking a step further down to the more everyday robes, Harry picked one with wide arms, which only had buttons over his chest, but was open otherwise, in a deep, vibrant, Caribbean blue. The tailor had literally spent hours holding swatches of different coloured fabric to Harry’s face to find those that suited him the most.

Stepping out of the wardrobe room, now fully dressed and with the gold wire-frame glasses on his nose, he went to the desk, sat down, and opened the first letter from the top, breaking the seal.

Hermione told him about her research in the library to find some way to get him back again. She rambled on about magical family gifts and how fascinating it all was. Harry could tell she had written the letter in a rush. Normally they were more structured than the letter he currently held in his hands. That he would have lessons on different topics was fine by her book, and she encouraged him to keep his eyes open and learn.

Ron’s letter, the next on the stack, was much shorter. He promised some kind of rescue mission, like the one they had launched in the summer after first year, and lost track trying to come up with a substitute for the flying car. He told him to use the chance to try to spy on the enemy, maybe even sabotage the enemy’s plans.

The letter from the twins was written in two different hands. They had taken turns writing it, bringing a smile to Harry’s face. They told him about the plans for their joke business, that they had started looking for a shop and were developing quite a bit during the holidays, whenever they managed to slip their mother’s attention. They even asked if Harry thought he could use his “in” with the Slytherins to open a new market to them for their products. They closed on a promise to find a way to get him back and a sentence stating that they would refrain from relaying their mother’s orders to keep his head down and out of trouble.

Sirius promised to keep in contact and to do all he could think of to get Harry home. Well, short of illegal things, as he was certain Harry would kick his ass if he got himself sent back to Azkaban.

Ginny’s letter was too sentimental to read, and the ink was smudged in places where it looked as if some drops had fallen onto the parchment. A little uncomfortable with this sign that Ron’s younger sister still had a crush on him, he laid this letter quickly aside.

Remus had not written much and mostly advised him not to lose his head.

The letter from Ron’s parents basically was a warning not to do anything stupid, like running away, and to gather information, sending it in a letter, so they could find a way to reverse the adoption.

Harry frowned, there were quite a lot of hints that he should gather information and relay it to the Order. Shrugging and dismissing it as coincidence, Harry got up and left his room to go to breakfast.

In the hall he met Theodore, who left his room at the same moment. As the other boy turned around and saw Harry, he smiled politely, gave a tiny bow from the waist, and greeted, “Good morning, Heir Slytherin-Potter.”

Harry groaned and gave Theodore a withering look. “Is that really necessary?” They started walking side by side.

“Yes, it is. You are the heir to two Noble Houses, and one of them is an Ancient and Noble House to boot. And I'm only the heir to House Nott, nothing with noble. So there are rules we both have to follow.”

“Wonderful!” Harry said with feeling and sarcasm. “And there's nothing we can do to change that? Wait!” Harry whirled to face the other teen. “I've always been Heir of the Noble House of Potter. No one ever addressed me as heir at school.”

Stopping himself, Theodore turned to face Harry. “Yes, the rules at school are different. It is not as strict. But at the moment, you're a guest here at Nott House, and so all the rules apply.”

With an exasperated huff Harry started to walk again. “And there's nothing we can do about it? I'll go mad if this continues for the rest of summer.”

Laughing, Theodore fell into step with him. “Well, you could allow me to call you by your given name. There's no other way. And on occasion the formal address still would be the one to use.”

They turned a corner and started to descend the stairs. “Oh, what a lovely hell.” Harry weighed his options. He really did not want to be called Heir Slytherin-Potter the entire time he would be staying here. Did he want a Slytherin, one of the people that had taunted and bullied him in the past, to call him Harry? With disgust he realized that the name change he had not asked for now could come in handy. He could allow Theodore to call him Henry, or live with being called Heir Slytherin-Potter all of the time. Remembering the nice afternoon they'd had together flying on their brooms and playing chaser against each other, he took a good look at the Slytherin in front of him. Sighing, Harry rubbed his hand over his forehead. He composed himself and offered in a polite tone, “I would be glad if you would call me Henry.”

Extending his hand, Theodore answered, “And you should call me Theodore.” They shook hands and made their way down the hall and to the dining room.

Harry’s life had taken on a surreal feeling, he wondered if it ever would feel normal again.

Sitting down at the breakfast table, after greeting the adult wizards already deep in the newspaper, Harry accepted a section of the Prophet, as reading seemed better than staring at the others while they were reading.

He got the part with the advertisements and notices. He skimmed over them, at times pausing to have a closer look at one. There were witches offering to swap editions of Witch Weekly, offers of crup pups or kneazle kittens, one mother of a five-year-old boy was searching for others that would be willing to join in a sort of neighbourhood school to teach the children reading, writing, and maths. Harry had always wondered how the students from wizarding families learned the basics. Now he knew of two ways, hiring teachers if you were rich, or doing everything alone if there was no money to waste. But home-schooling was seemingly the way to go.

Taking a bite out of his toast with scrambled eggs, he read some of the job offers. The Knight Bus was searching for a second driver to cover half of the shifts, and it seemed that Professor Dumbledore was still on the search for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Harry almost choked on his tea as he came across a job offer posted by Lord Slytherin. It read:

Tutor for History of Magic needed. OWL preparation. One student, several hours per week, possibly continuing after term start. Beginning at earliest possible time. Teaching experience and NEWT in history required. Pay negotiable.

Dumbfounded, Harry dropped the paper to the table and set the cup down. The others were also looking up from their reading. Blushing, Harry realized that they had heard his reaction to the job offer.

“What is the matter, Henry?” Voldemort asked “Are you all right?”

Taking a deep breath and coughing some more, Harry shook his head. “I’m fine. Just surprised. You placed a job offer in the Daily Prophet, sir? Why only for History? Did you already get an answer about my grades?” He felt off balance. Did he really only need tutoring for history? That didn't feel right. And it certainly was not enough time to get a report in his grades from Hogwarts, was it?

Raising one brow and folding the newspaper, Voldemort turned slightly in his chair to face Harry more directly. “No, I have not yet received an answer. But you said that History and Potions are your worst subjects. So it seems prudent to get you tutoring in these, regardless of what your actual grades are.”

Still looking confused, Harry debated if he should ask, and decided that yes he would. Voldemort seemed to be determined to get him educated, so questions regarding said education should be at least remotely safe. “Then why only search for a tutor to teach me History?” But even before Voldemort could answer this, realisation dawned on Harry and a look of horror replaced the confusion.

“As you realized, I have a tutor for Potions already at hand. And,” he said in response to Harry getting paler by the second, “it would do you well to have a cordial working relationship with your Potions Professor once you are back at Hogwarts.” An evil smirk appeared on Voldemort’s handsome face, sending cold shivers down Harry’s spine. “I think that Severus will be sufficiently motivated to do better in teaching you than he did before.” Taking his napkin to dab at his mouth, Voldemort studied Harry and finally added, “And if it does not work out, after a decent try to make it work, mind you, I will find you another tutor.”

Contemplating this, Harry came to the conclusion that this maybe was not the worst possible outcome. Snape could be a link to Dumbledore and the Order. Even if they could not stand to be near each other, the Potions Professor had saved Harry’s life in the past, and his advice, before Harry had been brought to the Ministry to be handed over to the man who had tried to kill him, had proved valuable. He shuddered at the thought of how exactly Voldemort would make sure Snape was motivated. He probably ought to make a real effort to spare the most hated professor of Hogwarts the torture if they failed to work together.

Deciding not to chance pushing too far too soon, Harry just nodded said “Yes, sir,” and resumed his breakfast.

oooOOooo

It had been a whole day since Harry had left Grimmauld Place with Mr. Weasley, and spirits among those in the house were accordingly downtrodden.

Eating their breakfast, the Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, and Remus did not speak much. Dishes were passed back and forth between the people sitting at the table, the room filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, coffee, and fried sausages and bacon.

The twins were bent over the Daily Prophet searching for advertisements of shops to rent. They wanted to get a feel for how much money they needed to put aside for the rent of rooms to set their shop up in. And then Fred spotted a job offer that got his attention. Pointing it out to his brother they both read it carefully once more before addressing their former Defence Professor across the room.

“Professor Lupin, sir!”

“Still looking for a job?”

“We might have found the opportunity for you!”

Smiling despite the gloomy mood, the werewolf answered, “I am not a professor anymore, so please call me Remus. And you both know that I am searching for a job. I don’t think that someone will hire a werewolf, though.”

“We think that that...” “...Will probably not be an issue with this...” “Job offer.”

Fred charmed the page with the job offer to fly as a bird over to the confused and curious-looking Remus Lupin. Fishing the paper bird from the air, Remus started to read, while Molly Weasley glowered at her sons. She did not approve of their chosen career path and made this clear whenever she could find a chance to bring it up, even making some up if none presented themselves.

Sirius was eyeing his friend and the twins, who looked really excited about the advertisement they had found, trying to understand what was so special about it. Losing his rather short patience, he got up from his chair and went around the table to read over his friend’s shoulder. And after he read it once, he started again at the beginning. “That is an opportunity,” stated Sirius. It took several more minutes until the last of the marauders had wrapped their minds around this and started to plan.

In the end, Remus and Sirius decided that Remus would apply to be the History tutor for Harry. As they were pretty sure that You-Know-Who was not the one hiring a tutor for himself. Even if Fred, or George, reminded them that he actually had to take his OWLs and NEWTs again, startling a laugh out of everyone.

Molly was not happy with Sirius' making a decision without consulting the Headmaster first, but she had no means to hinder the men, and so Remus sat down, writing an application for the job of History tutor.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was sitting in his chair in the study at Nott House. Severus was standing opposite him, projecting calm. But Marvolo was sure that this was only a thin layer over a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and fear.

At the moment, he was waiting for his son to come down. He had sent Henry to his room to try to tame his hair some. He barely was able to contain a smirk as he saw the boy rolling his eyes at this order. But the boy was probably right, taming that mop of hair could prove to be impossible.

Between the Potions Master and his Lord stood a case with dozens of small vials filled with the various potions Henry would have to take to recover from the damage done to him by those generously called his family. Severus had likely been up all night to get them brewed to be ready to be taken for breakfast today.

“I have asked you to stay, to discuss two points with you.” With that Marvolo got the other wizard’s full attention. “First, I want you to tutor my son in Potions. I am certain that he will be motivated to study hard, and you should be able to leave old animosity in the past.” He added with a smirk, “Now that you no longer have to pretend to hate the boy. And for the Headmaster, you can pretend to pretend to be nice for a change.” He had thought about calling his new son “Lily’s son” but decided against it. That would have been a cruel blow, and he was trying to get Severus firmly back on his side, so no low blows for a while. He saw Severus swallowing. “And be sure to start with the basics. It seems that the old meddler made sure that Henry was totally unprepared.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Getting the small vial with potion he had prepared himself from a heavily warded drawer of the desk, Marvolo fixed his most effective spy with a speculative gaze. “We need to find a time for this. When can you be missing for a day without Dumbledore getting suspicious?”

The Potions Master eyed the vial with a little fear in his eyes, and then switched his gaze back to Marvolo. “He will not suspect anything, even if I should vanish for more than a day. He knows that you having a task for me is going to happen more often now. I made it clear that I will not always be able to inform him of my absence.”

Marvolo noted the artificial calm but did not comment on it. “Come over after dinner tonight, you can stay the day and sleep off the effects. After that, I have several more … challenging research tasks for you.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Henry stepped through the door after Marvolo had opened it with a wave of his hand, at the same time depositing the vial back in its warded hiding place. It was thrilling to be able to wield his magic so easily again.

The boy’s gaze fell onto his Potions Professor at once, and he stiffened as he walked in to stand before both men. “I’m ready, sir.”

Assessing this statement, Marvolo looked his son over and noted that he was neatly dressed but his hair still resembled a bird’s nest. “Did you try growing your hair out?” The boy shook his head. Marvolo raised a brow and gave the teen a pointed look, waiting for him to catch up. Finally the boy realized what the problem was and added a “No, sir.”

“Maybe you should try. Longer hair might be more manageable. Think about it.”

Leaving the topic of the Potter family curse – unmanageable hair – behind, Marvolo addressed both other wizards with a small speech he had prepared. “Starting after we have settled into our own home, you both will start working on getting along. You,” he turned to his adopted son, “will do your best to be respectful and learn from your tutor. And you,” he turned to the Potions Professor, “will start to teach my son to the best of your ability and with patience. Is that clear?”

A sullen “Yes, sir,” and a respectful “Yes, my Lord,” were his answers. “Good.” He stood and straightened his robes, casting a small charm wandlessly to get rid of the wrinkles that came so easy to linen clothes. “I will see you in the evening, Severus. Come, Henry, drink your potions, we need to get going, you do not want to be late to your first lesson on Ancient Runes this afternoon.”

Taking the first of the row of small vials, Henry made a grimace at the taste after swallowing the potions.

They left the study, Severus to stay the rest of the day at Malfoy Manor, Marvolo and Henry to go to Diagon Alley.

oooOOooo

As Lucius came into his study, shortly after a long and nice breakfast, he found his friend sitting on the love-seat in front of the fireplace, clutching his hands together and staring at the cold hearth.

Determined to lighten the mood, he sat down on a chair next to the love-seat and said in a teasing tone, “Narcissa is delighted by the prospect of helping you find a bride. She is currently in matchmaker heaven.”

Lucius was taken aback, when Severus’ only response to the teasing was a tired glance from under his curtain of black silky hair. Sighing, he let the teasing rest and searched for words to get his friend to share what troubled him so. “What troubles you so, Severus? Don't carry all your worries alone. You do remember that we are friends, don’t you?” Lucius started to worry as the dark-haired wizard let his head sink into his hands at this. What was the problem? Was Severus in danger from their Lord because of the situation with Dumbledore?

Luckily Severus was not inclined to let him suffer too long, not knowing what was going on. Even though the blond man did not understand where he was going at first. “Do you know why I was selected to spy on Dumbledore all those years ago?”

“Because you are an excellent potioneer and there was a spot open for the Potions Professor on Hogwarts staff?” Lucius offered.

“Partially,” Severus agreed. “But the real reason was, that my Occlumency skills are so good, I can keep the Headmaster out of my head and even lie to him without being suspected.”

Severus fell silent again, until Lucius got impatient and prompted, “Well?”

“This is also the reason why Dumbledore believes me to be his spy in the Dark Lord's ranks.”

The Potions Master fell silent again, and Lucius tried to untangle the hints dropped by his friend. “You're trying to tell me that Dumbledore believes that you're able to lie to our Lord?”

Nodding in agreement, Severus elaborated, “He not only believes, but knows. I am able to lie to both of them.” Leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, he let his hair fall to cover his face, staring at the hand-woven carpet under his feet.

Understanding dawned for Lucius. If his friend was able to lie to their Lord, the man could not be certain that Severus was still loyal to him. That was certainly a reason to be so gloomy. “Is there a way…” Lucius trailed off, unsure how to even ask what was on his mind. He had suspected for a while now that Severus had come to waver in his loyalty at the end of the last war. And how could he fault him, as it was obvious that their Lord had lost some of his sanity by then? But speaking out loud of such things was just not done.

Severus took the more acceptable meaning and answered another unasked question. “There is a potion that forces an Occlumence to lower all protections.” The dark-haired man shuddered.

Taking that as confirmation that his friend was still loyal and willing to prove it, Lucius simply asked, “When?”

“Tonight after dinner.” Severus leant back and let his head sink onto the back of the love-seat, closing his eyes. It was obvious that his friend was distressed about this, but not really why he was so worked up. Hoping that it was only because Severus did not like anyone knowing much about him, and not his desire to hide something crucial from their Lord, Lucius decided it was time to distract his friend and bring another worrisome topic forward. “Let us get your mind on something else.” Severus looked up, raising a brow questioningly. “Narcissa is waiting in the family parlour, she wants to plan some social events.”

Severus groaned, a matchmaking Narcissa had been his nightmare a few years ago.

“Now, now, my friend. You heard the orders as well as I did. Do you want to find your own bride, or do you want our Lord to select for you?”

Standing, Severus answered with a poor attempt at humour, “After tonight he might be the person most suited to pick for me.”

Laughing, Lucius led his friend from the study and over to the parlour. Best to keep him occupied with other things until the evening than letting him wallow in misery.

oooOOooo

After a short visit to the optician, Harry walked alongside Voldemort down Diagon Alley towards Gringotts.

Harry liked his new glasses and had been pleasantly surprised when Voldemort did not insist on one particular style, or restricted the amount of money to be spent. So the young wizard had been able to browse the available selection at his leisure and select the glasses that appealed to him. He still was not sure if he wanted to take the potion to correct his eyesight. It would be neat not to need glasses, but the fact that the potion was considered dark irked him.

As they passed the shops on both sides of the alley, Harry was aware that they were being stared at. Witches and Wizards came to the windows of the shops, stopped in the middle of the street, even turned to walk past them a second time, to stare at them and whisper about them with those next to them.

They were also followed by two wizards that Harry had last seen that night in the graveyard. Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe had met them at the entrance to Diagon Alley, to be their lookouts and guards. Voldemort had insisted, and Harry had not dared to make much of a fuss. They both had been polite enough, and after two tries by enraged wizards to come near them, shouting something about necromancers and evil reincarnate, Harry was glad the two wizards had their backs. If he had to walk beside Voldemort through Diagon Alley, he'd best have someone there who was willing to protect him. He felt strange thinking this, but that made it not any less true.

Ascending the stairs leading up to the entrance of the bank, Harry wondered what this appointment would bring to light. Voldemort had said that they had to be related in some way, as there was no way anyone outside of the Slytherin family could be a parselmouth. Of course Harry had disagreed. He remembered well the day Dumbledore had told him that the night Voldemort had tried to kill him as a baby, some of the dark wizard's power had been transferred to the toddler. The teen had not told this to the man, not sure if it would be something the Headmaster would want their enemy to know.

But thinking about their appointment brought a question back into Harry’s mind that he had forgotten about as he saw the wizards waiting for them an hour earlier. “Why do we have to go to the goblins to get this ancestry test done, sir?”

“During one of the earlier goblin wars, around 845 I think, a peace treaty was made.” They stepped into the enormous hall and got in line at one of the counters. “At that time the goblins fought to not be hunted by wizardkind to be used as potions ingredients. Some part of them is used in the potion needed to perform the most effective ancestry test. We know some others, to test for paternity, and who the grandparents were, but to get a whole family tree, this potion is needed.” Harry was amazed at how easily Voldemort fell into lecture mode and tried not to look too excited at getting something explained without being scolded for not knowing it before or even for asking. “To get peace once again, the wizards of that time agreed to hand over all knowledge of this potion, or destroy it, in exchange for a promise from the goblins that they would offer to perform this test for wizards. For a fee, of course.” Harry nodded to confirm that he understood, and the other wizard added a bit more explanation. “This is believed to be the start of this bank, and one of the reasons why goblins are almost always involved in marriage contracts, wills, and other matters where family connections are important.”

As it was now their turn at the counter, they stepped forward, and with a curt nod to the goblin behind the counter, Voldemort stated their intentions. “I am here to get an ancestry test for my adopted son,” here he pointed at Harry standing by his side, “formerly known by the name of Harry James Potter.”

With much too much teeth shown – was this a grin or a snarl? – the goblin gave a tiny bell a shake, and another goblin came from somewhere in the back. “Follow Grookfangs, he will conduct the test.”

They did as told and were led into a small office with a nice marble floor, expensive mahogany furniture, and some lethal-looking weapons and martial wall hangings, depicting battle scenes, as decoration. Sitting down, Harry watched with a foreboding feeling as the goblin got an oddly off-colour parchment and an ornate silver dagger out of a small cabinet standing at the far wall.

Laying both items on the desk in front of the teenager, the goblin smiled/sneered again. “You will have to prick a finger or make a cut on your palm and let at least three, better seven, drops of blood fall onto the parchment. Nothing simpler.”

Harry was fairly sure that “even a wizard should be able to do it” was added, even if not spoken out loud. So he took up the dagger, quite heavy for such a small weapon, and turned his left hand so the palm was facing up, gathering his courage.

Moving the blade over his palm with almost no pressure – goblin made weapons were sharp – Harry made a shallow cut, tilting his hand so that the blood could fall onto the parchment. Almost the moment the first drop hit, splattering small droplets in all directions, writing began surfacing out of the parchment. It started with his name, as it was now, Henry James Slytherin-Potter, followed by the names of his father and mother. The names of his father’s parents were easily to read, Charlus and Dorea Potter, with Dorea born a Black, but the names of Lily’s parents were only blurs. From there the tree branched out, getting more and more branches. Only the parents of a person were shown, no siblings, so this was not a full family tree, only the direct ancestors of Harry. He got to see that the Potters had married into a lot of other families, and he was related to most of his classmates in one way or another.

It got really interesting once the names on the Evans side of his ancestry started to be readable. There was an Alana Gaunt who married a Lionel Evans some five generations back. Her name was barely legible, as was her husband’s. His parents were only nameless blobs, but four generations before that there was a Malfoy who had married a nameless blob.

Harry was mesmerized by the gentle growing of his family tree. He did not pay attention to his surroundings, almost not registering that Voldemort gently took his hand and cast a small healing charm on the cut, closing it. Following the tree up from the names on his mother’s side it became obvious that names started to appear on both sides, but the Gaunts were only present on his mother’s side. From “Gaunt” the name changed to “Selvyn” and then to “Slytherin”. As it reached ancestors who had no last names, the growing stopped, and the parchment was now several times larger than at the start of the process.

Harry was still too much in awe to react as Voldemort tapped on the tree, right at the parents of Alana Gaunt. “These are on my tree too. It seems we have found the connection. That is curious indeed,” Voldemort murmured, tracing the tree with his right index finger.

Harry could only agree. It seemed that his mother was not truly a muggle-born witch with no wizarding ancestors, but a witch descending from a really old family. Still in a daze and truly confused, Harry was led from the bank and back to the point they would apparate from.

There was no denying it any more. He was related to Voldemort. The man who had killed his parents really was family. He had problems wrapping his mind around this new shocking information.

Walking beside his adopted son, Voldemort was equally stunned and silent.

Chapter Text

Lunch at Nott House had been a quiet affair. Theodore and his father had exchanged looks, wondering what had happened, and tried to keep a conversation going. It was a hopeless case, though, as both house guests seemed to be deep in thought.

Now Theodore and Harry were sitting in the school room, listening to Mr. Dorian, the tutor that Lord Nott had hired for his son’s lessons. Harry had feared at first that he would have trouble concentrating after the revelations of the morning. But the subject was captivating, and he found himself studying the first few runes with interest. After Mr. Dorian had listed all the possible applications for runes, wards, and permanently enchanted objects, like coats with warming charms, the teen had wondered why he had let himself be talked into taking the easy classes by Ron.

Harry was glad he now got the opportunity to change his classes, dropping Divination that had proven to be a waste of his time, and taking up Ancient Runes, which sounded interesting and like something he might actually use one day.

Together with the usefulness of the name change, the uncovered family relation between himself and Voldemort and the fact that he was cared for, at least regarding all his material and health needs, he started to fear that he would get to like the people he was surrounded by. And this thought alone made him feel uncomfortable. Why should he fear to get to like someone? Theodore had been nice enough. Healer Greengrass had been nice – for a healer poking him – and had accepted his decision to not use the ritual. Lord Nott had been nice, even if he was a Death Eater. He was also Theodore’s father and lived in a cheerful house, not matching what was speculated about Slytherin homes by the Gryffindors. Maybe he should try to see what was really there, how the people acted, and not just take the rumours and prejudices repeated over and over for the truth.

After an hour the lesson was wrapped up, Harry was given a book to read and a few runes to draw repeatedly to memorize them, and Theodore was handed a longer text to translate. After the always happily smiling teacher had left, Harry and Theodore stayed a little longer, tidying up the room.

While Harry was wiping the blackboard and Theodore swept the floor of the wood shavings resulting from the carving exercises he had done during the lesson, the older teen gathered his courage and started. “Henry, I wanted to ask you something.”

Looking over his shoulder to the other boy, Harry asked with a cautious look, “And what did you want to ask?”

“My birthday is in the middle of our end-of-year exams. That is why I usually have a party sometime during the summer.” He stopped what he was doing and leant on the broom. “That party will be tomorrow. Some of my friends will be coming over, there'll be something to eat and we'll play Quidditch.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to come too.”

Harry turned around and was now facing the other teen. “Are you serious?” He sounded exasperated. “A whole afternoon alone with the people who've done nothing but ridicule and taunt me? You're okay, but I don't really want to meet the rest.”

Theodore stood a while, contemplating. Harry just stared at him, past hurts clearly visible on his face. “I know that Draco is quite bad,” Theodore replied. “But what have the other's done? Daphne? Blaise? What have I done?”

Harry noticed that Malfoy's bookends and the girl Parkinson had not been mentioned, but it was of no real importance either way. “And what was last year? The incident with those buttons?” As Theodore just stood there, looking uncomprehendingly at his house guest, Harry elaborated, “Potter stinks? Doesn't ring a bell?” He turned with a huff, attacking the blackboard with more fervour than before.

Finally understanding what the younger boy wanted to say, Theodore got a sheepish look about him. And the embarrassment was clear as day in his voice as he answered, “Well, it's not exactly easy to decline a button given out at the entrance to the common room when everyone is on the way to breakfast.” As Harry seemed to ignore him, he added with a little anger in his voice, “Tell me, what House do you cheer for during a Quidditch match against Slytherin? I'll tell you: whatever House we're playing against!” He threw the broom away, and it landed with a clatter on the floor. “And it's not only for Quidditch. I tried to befriend a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, no need trying for a Gryffindor. And even though they said I was nice enough, they didn't want to be seen with me. Didn't want to be seen with a Slytherin.”

Harry realised with a pang of guilt that this was true. He had assumed that this arrangement would only last for the summer, never once had it crossed his mind that they could continue on the small path to friendship once back at Hogwarts.

“We'll stick together no matter what, when not in our common room. We cannot hope to find friends elsewhere, and we can't risk appearing weak and divided. So, sorry if I appeared to be a bully, it wasn't by choice.”

Both boys stood in silence for a while. Both embarrassed over the loss of control in front of one from the opposite House.

It was Harry who finally broke the uneasy silence. “I’m sorry. You are nice, I think, and most of the bad stuff was started by Malfoy.” He rubbed his neck. “I would like to meet some of the others.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “But if Malfoy gets too annoying, I will leave. Is that okay?” Seeing that Theodore still had his hands clenched into fists by his side and was staring at the floor, he tried to get some semblance of order in his thoughts. “See, I'm totally confused at the moment. Too much has changed in the last days. You've been nice and helpful and...“ he huffed in frustration, this was entirely too hard. “I want to get to know you. Away from all this House rivalry. But I don't think that Malfoy will help matters.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Theodore turned to Harry. “You're my guest, we're not at school, so the rules are different. And if Draco is a prat, you can go to your room. But I don't think he will be. The adults will be here too, so… I don't think that he or any of the others will be a problem.”

After that they cleaned up the rest of the room together and went to the library, Harry to write letters to his friends and read his books, and Theodore to work on his summer homework. It was a little awkward, but Harry had the feeling that they had made a big step in getting to know each other. He just had to give the Slytherins a chance, especially those that had never actively participated in the bullying.

ooOoo

Theodore sat working on his Potions essay. He was a little smug, because he had found a way to get Henry to reconsider his beliefs about Slytherins. He had known that simply stating the facts in a clear and calm manner would not convince the Gryffindor that he was speaking the truth. So he had dropped his control and brought his emotions forward. And it appeared to have worked. And it had felt good. Not something he would do often, but once in a while, to reach a goal and get the frustration out of his system, was acceptable. So tomorrow he would get a chance to establish his place as a friend and advisor to the heir of Lord Slytherin in front of the other Slytherins.

At the start of summer, his father had said that he could not promise his son that he could hold his party this year. With the Dark Lord in their house, it might not have been possible. Considering the possible complications of a slightly mad man staying, he understood but was sad none the less. But now, the man had been proven to be sane and quite nice company, so the party would be held. Theodore suspected that the Dark Lord had ordered his father to organize the gathering, so Henry would get the opportunity to meet with the others. Not that he would complain, this was better than missing out on the party.

He opened the book he was using as reference, inked his quill, and started on a rough draft of his essay.

oooOOooo

At the same time Lord Slytherin and Lord Nott were sitting in the study on the ground floor, with a nice view of the rose garden at the back of the house.

They had tea sitting on the desk between them, Marvolo sitting behind the desk as if this was his study. He really needed to look over the houses he now had available, so he and Henry could move, and he no longer had to borrow studies from his followers.

Benjamin looked on curiously as he pulled out the folded family tree and laid it flat on the unoccupied part of the desk.

“Do you think it is possible for you to find records on Squibs that were born into the Nott family in the last two hundred years?” Red eyes fixed on the point on Henry’s tree where there was a Squib of his own family that had married another Squib, just to have at least one muggle child together. It went against everything he thought he knew about the way magic was passed on from parents to their children. He had thought that magic was lost when a squib was born, but it seemed to only go dormant for a few generations, only to resurface again some decades later.

In a way, this could prove useful for his plans. It would be so much easier to get the pureblood families to accept muggle-borns – well they needed a new term for them – if they were distant descendants from their own families. But for this to work, he would need to track the ancestry, without going to Gringotts. At least to begin with, it would be best to not attract too much attention.

Benjamin gave him a puzzled look. “I'm not sure,” he answered, obviously thinking about the problem. “There are the family tomes, of course, but normally there wouldn't be anything written about such failures.” He drummed the fingers of his right hand lightly on the desk. “All children born are named, with date of birth, parents, and so on. Maybe I can compile a list and see what is written about each of them. I would guess that Squibs are just not mentioned after the point they were identified.” The older-looking wizard frowned. “May I ask why you want this list?”

By way of explanation Marvolo turned the tree, so Benjamin could get a good look at it. “This is the ancestry test we had made this morning for Henry. And here,” he laid his finger on the crucial point, “Is a Squib of the Gaunt family, married to a man who is also noted as a Squib.” He moved his finger down the line until he reached the name of Lily Potter née Evans, “And this is the first witch born in generations from this family. But the magic did not come out of nowhere. She actually was family to me.”

Benjamin’s eyes grew bigger at this explanation, he leant forward and let his gaze wander up the part of the tree that was mostly muggle, and thus unreadable, but had sprinkles of Squib names here and there.

“But this… this implies that all Squibs thrown out to live with muggles are responsible for the catastrophe of witches and wizards born to muggles!”

“It would seem so,” Marvolo confirmed in an even tone. “We need to find the families that have dormant magical blood, and we need to bring the Squibs back.” He sighed, “But one step at a time.” He took the tree and folded it back again. “I want to bring magical orphans and those that are in foster care back into our world as fast as possible. I want to place them with good, traditional families, so they can learn our way of living.”

Benjamin nodded thoughtfully and listened with rapt attention, while Marvolo explained his plan for the children. “I would like to place them with actual family. But as I want us to use the muggle system for the adoption, we would need to know of the family connection before they are brought into our world.”

Now Benjamin looked apprehensive “You wanted to speak with me about the order to marry and get children?”

Understanding the man’s worries – he just could not see himself with another woman than his beloved Juliet – Marvolo attempted a friendly and soothing smile. “I do not require you to marry, but I want you to adopt at least two more children. You could hire a nanny, a Squib maybe? And fill this house with the laughter of small, happy little witches and wizards again.”

Benjamin smiled relieved, a little amused over the rather overdone speech about children. By the way Marvolo smirked, it was done on purpose, maybe to lighten the mood. Which it certainly did.

“I also want you to visit with the others and deliver my task to them. I need time to check over the houses, so Henry and I can move. I want to have it done well before my son’s birthday.”

Giving an almost-bow in his Lord’s direction, Benjamin answered, “I'll pass the task along, my Lord.” Benjamin was one of the Death Eaters who were faster in picking up the right pattern of when to treat him in what role. “And I'll make sure that all guests for tomorrow's little get-together can come.”

They both rose from their chairs, the tea set vanishing from the desk, collected by one of the elves, one to go over to the Malfoys, the other to check out the one Manor and the town houses he deemed suitable for his son and him to live in.

oooOOooo

While Lucius and Severus had a nice, long chat with Narcissa, later joined by Benjamin, Draco sat in the garden with Vincent and Gregory, complaining about his school rival.

“It's so irritating, that Potter is getting everything handed to him. House points for breaking the rules, getting on the Quidditch team as a first-year, flying on the bloody hippogriff, all the teachers simply love him!”

He listed all the unfair happenings around the Potter git, and listed them again. He worked himself up to the point he could no longer sit still, and started to pace up and down in front of the others.

On the first train ride to Hogwarts, he had tried to make friends with Potter, and he had rejected him. That had hurt. So he convinced himself that he did not want to be friends with Harry Potter. And now he had to try to become his friend again. On his father’s orders, no less. He saw that it was a smart move, to be friends with the son of the man he would swear his loyalty to, once he was of age. But he saw no way to achieve this. He huffed in frustration and stalked in tight circles over the well-tended grass.

Greg and Vince were not particularly helpful, but they were patient and listened to his tirade. He was aware that he was behaving like a child. Today he could be like this, but tomorrow he would have to be grown up and swallow his pride, to try to make amends. He only hoped that Theo had not made his task impossible.

After over an hour of aimless rambling and pacing, Greg got his two friends to the Quidditch pitch and they started to fly. A much better way to spend an afternoon.

oooOOooo

Sirius breathed heavily, trying to control his anger, crumpling the parchment of a Ministry letter in his hand. Across from him, at the other end of the table, sat Dumbledore, for once not with madly twinkling eyes.

The others, namely all the Weasleys, save the older sons, and Hermione, were looking on with a horrified fascination, normally reserved for the most gruesome accidents. They really did not want to watch, but could not look away.

Half an hour before, there had been an owl from the Ministry again, delivering the letter summoning Sirius to his own trial on Monday, the seventeenth of July. Sirius was elated over the prospect of gaining his freedom, the ability to walk into Diagon Alley and buy something, or going to the Leaky Cauldron and drink a butterbeer. He could not wait to share the good news. Peter Pettigrew and Lord Slytherin had been named witnesses, as Shacklebolt had told him in passing a day ago, so he was pretty sure that he would be cleared.

The twins and Arthur had been happy for him, and started making plans for what he could do once he was no longer a wanted man. And then Dumbledore had come to the house. It had gone quickly downhill from there.

The old Headmaster had not been happy to learn that he had not been told about the impending trial, and accused Sirius of being ungrateful and working against the Order. Never mind that the few aurors in their ranks had known as well. The whole department still talked about the furious Madame Bones storming into the office Monday morning, demanding preparations for a trial to be started as fast as possible.

Sirius jkhad brought up the point that he could take up his seat on the Wizengamot, after his name had been cleared. As Albus no longer was part of the Wizengamot, they needed a new set of eyes and ears in the meeting of Lords and Ladies.

Dumbledore deflected this reasonable idea by suggesting that it was a trap to lure him out and that he could not risk placing himself in danger, now that Harry needed him more than before. As this did not have the desired effect – Sirius only sneered – he changed tactics again, claiming that Sirius was not capable of handling the responsibilities of a Lordship and had best go on a long vacation to heal after his long stay in Azkaban.

“You meddling old fool! First you claim that I can’t risk contact with the Ministry for fear of a trap and the fact that my godson needs me, and now you want to send me on a long vacation?” Sirius growled out, sounding remarkably like his animagus form.

“Now, my boy, you clearly are distraught. Maybe you should take a calming draught. I only have your best interest in mind. It's no wonder that the long stay in Azkaban has affected your health. I think...”

With a growl of frustration Sirius interrupted the grandfatherly drawl of the man he had once looked up to. This was enough, he no longer would put up with the Headmaster deciding his every move. “As you seem to want to treat me like a child, I don't want you here any longer, Albus! Leave my house. And you should find another place to use as headquarters.” With this decision made at long last, he felt calmer and much more like himself. He turned to the elder Weasleys and smiled at them. “You can stay here, if you don't feel comfortable returning to the Burrow.”

A little shaken, Arthur nodded. “That would be good.”

Albus stood next to the kitchen table, dumbstruck and not preparing to leave.

Sirius glared in the old man’s direction. “Leave, or I will use the wards to throw you out of my house!”

Without a word the Headmaster gathered his robes around him, nodded in Arthur’s and Molly’s direction, and left.

Sirius took a deep breath and made his way to the wardstone down in the basement. He needed to adjust the wards. And after that he would have to write a response to Madame Bones, and find a solicitor. No time to lose. He wondered idly what Moony would say to this.

oooOOooo

After dinner Marvolo went into the study to prepare. He set up candles for soft light and transformed one of the visitor chairs into a wingback chair.

Only minutes after he was finished with his preparations, he felt a person crossing some of the wards he had set up and not yet fully activated. A moment later there was a knock on the door. “Come in, Severus,” he called out.

Severus stepped in, closed the door, and sank gracefully into a kneeling position, head bowed. Setting two vials filled with potion down on the desk, Marvolo sat down on a stool in front of the new, well-padded wingback chair regarding his Potions Master.

The man seemed calm and collected on the surface, but he was anything but calm. “Do you want to talk before we start?”

Nodding, Severus took a shaking breath and directed his gaze up to his Lord’s eyes. “When I realised that Lily became your target, my Lord, I did not only beg you to spare her. I also went to Dumbledore to warn him, and by extension her.” He closed his eyes, steeling his resolve before he opened them again. “He demanded I spy for him, and I did. I would have done anything to get my Lily to safety again.” Severus watched his Lord with wary eyes, and as the man only waited calmly for the kneeling wizard to continue, he got to the next bit of his story. “After the night she died, I wanted to die as well.” He struggled to keep the tears from falling. “Dumbledore used my mourning, my despair and guilt, to bind me with an oath. He was sure you would be back, my Lord. And I could not bear the thought that the last bit of Lily would vanish as well.”

Marvolo listened with rapt attention. The Potions Master sounded sincere, but so had he all the other times he had told lies. But tonight he would see for himself what the truth was. But first he needed to calm the man down a little more. The task would be easier on him if the man did not attempt to struggle and was calmer overall.

“Regardless of what I will find in your mind tonight, I do not intend to kill you. But my findings will determine how much you will know and how deeply you will be involved.” Still kneeling just inside the door, Severus breathed in a pattern Marvolo recognized as one from the typical calming exercises taught for meditation. “Two tasks are set: Tutoring my son, and brewing the potions he will need to overcome the damage done by those vile muggles.” Marvolo smirked inwardly at seeing a spark of hatred in the dark eyes of the spy. Good. Hatred for the people who had harmed his son was an emotion he could approve of. “Come here Severus.”

Cautiously the man stood and sat in the wingback chair his Lord indicated. Both potion vials rose from the desk and floated over to the two men. “This,” Marvolo took the vial nearest to him, containing a light lavender coloured, milky liquid, “is a strong calming potion. It will hopefully help in dampening the panic you most likely will feel after your shields are rendered useless.”

Severus nodded reluctantly.

“The other will lower those impressive shields around your mind.” He handed Severus the calming potion and grasped the other vial with the extremely obscure potion out of the air, removing the stopper.

“Down with it, Severus,” he said in a hard, commanding voice. He did not like the fact that his suspicions had been proven correct. That he had miscalculated so badly and had not seen that Severus would change his allegiance over a witch.

With shaking hands, the Potions Master opened the vial in his hand and, after sniffing at it, downed it with one big gulp. Marvolo smirked despite himself, old habits died hard.

The effect was almost immediate. His eyes began to droop, the shaking lessened and then vanished altogether, the dark man’s breathing evened out and became deeper. Knowing that the man was now no longer capable of doing much on his own, Marvolo stood and conjured some silken ropes to bind the man to the chair he was sitting in. All texts he had read concerning the potion he was about to use, mentioned that strong Occlumence were known to jerk around while under the influence of it. And as he needed to keep eye contact, that was not an option. He did not want to cause any permanent damage to his Potions Master, after all.

Gently tipping the head of the younger wizard back, Marvolo let the potion, stinking of foul eggs, flow into the slightly opened mouth, causing Severus to swallow sluggishly.

Fixing his head to the wing chair, Marvolo began to prepare himself for the task before him. He started with activating the wards keeping everyone away, he could not afford to be interrupted. Next he made himself more comfortable on his low stool, casting a cushioning charm on the hard seat. Lastly he cast a curse on Severus that would keep the man’s eyes open until it was removed. He saw the raw terror in the dark, almost black, eyes. Gently picking up one of Severus’ hands, placing his own fingers so he could monitor the heartbeat, he met the dazed and panicked gaze and delved into the usually well-protected mind.

First he moved through the panic and fear that dominated the thoughts of the Potions Professor. He carefully erected a weak barrier around those feelings, containing them so they would not get in his way, making sure that barrier would fall as soon as Severus’ shields came back up.

Then he started his search for the crucial memories and thoughts. He started with Lily. She was the reason Severus had turned traitor, so he needed to see exactly what had happened. The first memories were of two children, friends spending time together, peaceful afternoons in the park and with Lily’s parents – at least he thought they were her parents. And always linked with those happy memories, the contrasting ones from Severus’ home. Those he had seen before, as Severus had shown him his motivation to join him, his reason to hate muggles. As the years of Hogwarts raced past his eyes, he realized that Lily Evans had been the young Severus’ only happiness. No wonder a threat to her had shaken his loyalty.

He saw the night Severus had taken the Mark, and felt how good the young man had felt despite the pain. He saw the day he had heard the first part of a prophecy. Felt the shock seeing the announcement of the birth of the son of James and Lily Potter, painting a big target on his only true friend. Saw the moment Dumbledore had wrenched the oath out of the grieving man.

Marvolo moved with the utmost care from memory to memory, getting to more recent ones. It was obvious that Severus did not enjoy teaching young students, preferring to tutor those that had talent for the subtle art.

On more than one occasion, Marvolo got to witness Severus resenting an order given by Dumbledore, the old man using guilt to get the younger wizard to do his bidding.

Marvolo saw the world through the other wizard's eyes, and what he saw answered the question he wanted the answer to. Severus Snape wanted to preserve traditions, and he did not see the reason to eradicate the so-called dark arts. Monitor, yes. Make sure those that learned them knew what they were doing, yes. But not ban them. He wanted to change the world he lived in. And neither of his masters had the right way to go about it.

Retreating, Marvolo found himself in the study again. The candles were almost gone, and one look at the clock told him that he had been in the other's mind for close to four hours. Standing up and working the kinks out of his back, Marvolo lifted the curse holding the Potions Master’s eyes open. Carefully removing the ropes and checking that he had not done too much damage, he yawned. Time to go to bed. He lowered the wards and left the study, the floating body of his follower behind him. He would settle him into the room prepared for this occasion, and go to his own room without further delay.

ooOoo

Trapped in his body by the extremely powerful calming potion, Severus cried silent tears. To live through all those memories again had been painful. To see what he had hidden for so long in the dark of his mind behind his most potent shields had opened old wounds.

But he could feel what the man invading his mind had felt. Whether by accident or on purpose, he didn't know. Just that it had given him another point of view on his own life. There was no point in dwelling in the past. If he wanted to make a difference, he needed to live in the present, not the past.

He would not forget the first and only woman he had ever loved. But he would strive to change the magical world to a better place for her son. And maybe the Dark Lord was the person capable of bringing the changes needed.

oooOOooo

Dumbledore was pacing in his office, wondering when his plans had started to go so horribly wrong. He never would have thought Tom sane enough to try for a political approach. And now he had lost control of Harry to him, of all people, and if Sirius' name was cleared, he would not regain that control, even if they managed to somehow get the boy back.

He was almost certain now that he understood what had happened on that Halloween night. He was not happy with his findings, but he needed Harry to behave a certain way. If he did not find a way to sever the link, there was only one way to make Tom mortal once more.

With a sigh the Headmaster moved to his desk. He still needed to find a new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, and on top of that, he now had to search for a new headquarters. He was getting too old for this.

Chapter Text

Walking into the dinning room for breakfast the next morning, Harry was surprised to find Snape sitting at the table with the others.

The man seemed to be paler than usual, something the teen had not thought possible. Like the Potions Professor had not slept well, or was having a headache.

Another thing had him curious. Beside Voldemort’s chair stood a basket full with letters and scrolls. Instead of reading the Daily Prophet, like the last days, he had a letter in hand and dropped it, just to take another from the basket, the moment Harry became aware of this oddity. Seeing the gaze of the teen falling to the basket Voldemort explained “The Prophet delivered the applications for your history tutor today. The ones I have read so far,” he indicated a small stack of parchment to the left of his plate, “Where not very promising yet.” With a flick of his hand he sliced the top of the envelope open, taking the letter out. “Have you slept well, Henry?”

Thrown by the kind inquiry, Harry merrily nodded and answered with a soft “I have, sir.” and sat down on his usual chair.

Like every other day the selection of breakfast foods was vast and Harry had a hard time to decide what to eat. He finally settled on grilled mushrooms, tomatoes and scrambled egg with some toast. They would mask the taste of his potions best. Yesterday he had spent studying and reading, trying to put as much knowledge into his head as he possibly could, and he intended to do so today too.

Conversation at the table consisted only of Theodore and his father hashing out the last details for the big party this afternoon. From what Harry was able to gather, there would be most of the Slytherins from Theodore’s year present, and some of their parents. The way Lord Nott spoke of them, most likely Death Eaters, all of them. But as Harry was confident he only needed to really interact with the other children, he tried to ignore this.

“The report on your grades came with the morning post, Henry.” Voldemort held out a thick envelope with the familiar emerald ink stating the address to the raven haired teen. “You were correct with your assumption, that you needed tutoring in Potions and History. Though the report from Binns is rather funny.” An honest smile manifested on Voldemort’s face, unsettling Harry because it simply felt wrong to see the monster this human. “He addresses the report to a Lord Selwyn, and speaks about Hadrian’s inattentiveness in class.” A frown formed on Harry’s forehead and he wondered, not for the first time, why a ghost was even teaching at Hogwarts.

“There was a Hadrian Selwyn a few years younger than my father. Wasn’t there?” Lord Nott suddenly asked with a surprised expression. Happily nodding, Voldemort almost grinned and confirmed “Yes, two years I think. To funny that Binns is so out of sync with time, that he writes a report on a student that is grown by now, and has grandchildren already.”

Startling almost out of his chair, Harry suppressed the urge to giggle, eyeing the monster turned man, at least in appearance, with barely failed horror. There was again the happiness that was not his own, encroaching on his feelings, making him want to run and never stop.

He needed a moment to register that Voldemort spoke to him holding out the thick letter with his teachers reports. “Henry? Are you alright?” Harry frowned as a brief flicker of concern washed over him, shaking his head he raised his gaze and apologized “Sorry, I was lost in thought.” Patiently Voldemort repeated what he already had said three times. “Do you want to read it yourself?”

“I very much would like that, sir.” The teen answered taking the reports and starting to read them.

While the low murmur of conversation between the four other wizards faded into the background, Harry concentrated on the reports given by his teachers. He only shortly skimmed over the report from Binns, confirming for himself, that the ghost had written a report that had nothing to do with Harry. Then he proceeded to the other reports, starting with the one from Professor McGonagall.

There was a common pattern to the reports. All of the professors wrote, with different words, that they thought he was capable of more, if he only would apply himself more to his work. And his handwriting was mentioned by all of them as well. A blushed creped up his neck as they all criticised his sometimes illegible script.

He was glad Theodore had shown him how to prepare a quill properly, and even was thankful that the healer had found the old break in his wrist and was going to do something about it. And there it was again, something good coming out of the fact his mortal enemy had adopted him. He breathed deeply, like he had read in the book about meditation, and remembered himself of his resolve to use what he could get out of the position he was in. And if that included getting a better handwriting, so be it. At least his professors would cease to complain about not being able to read his essays properly.

There was a little part of him worrying that he would become grateful for what Voldemort did, and that would be weird. So he ignored that thought for the moment in favour of reading the report of one Severus Snape.

He was a little curious if the report would be like the normal lashing he would get in class, or if the dour man had managed to be professional about it.

As it turned out the potions professor had been professional. Besides his complains about Harry’s writing he remarked about the lack of structure in Harry’s essays, his glaring lack in respect for the Potions Professor, the fact he did not seem able to follow instructions written on the board and his lack of understanding for the importance of several different ways to prepare, stir or otherwise manipulate the ingredients.

Harry had to concede that the man had a point. But he could not forget how much he had looked forward to his first Potions class, only for his interest to be crushed by the teacher, that very first lesson.

Finished with the reports, folding them again, Harry let his gaze wander to the black haired man on the opposite side of the table. Observing the man, pouring a new cup of coffee and adding several spoons full of honey, Voldemort’s words came to mind. That the Potions Professor would be sufficiently motivated. Taking in the abnormal pale complexion Harry vowed to himself that he would do his best to actually learn from the Professor during the tutoring lessons.

Ah relieved exclamation from Voldemort dragged Harry out of his musings. “At least one competent applicant. He taught at Hogwarts. What do you both think about Remus Lupin?”

Harry perked up at the name of his father’s friend. Theodore set his cup down and answered with a slight smile “He was one of the better professors for Defence. But he was fired because he is a werewolf.”

Shaking his head Harry corrected Theodore “No he resigned. He didn't want to wait to be fired. And he was our best teacher in Defence against the Dark Arts. He taught me the patronus charm.”

That got him some curious looks from the others. Voldemort shoot Snape a questioning look, prompting the man to answer the unspoken question. “I heard rumours. And I saw … your son … produce a patronus during a quidditch match. I did not quite catch if it was corporal or not.” Harry thought that the man’s voice was not as smooth as normal.

Finding himself under a contemplating gaze of Voldemort, Harry squirmed in his seat. “Do you think you could show us, Henry?”

Bewildered he fingered his wand that was placed in a robe pocket. “But, it is summer. We are not allowed to do magic out of school.”

Visibly suppressing a sight, Voldemort nodded once, pinning Harry with his gaze. With a start the teen realized that the eyes were red, a deep burgundy red. “There are several exceptions to this rule. A child under the supervision of an adult wizard is allowed to cast. As is a child in danger.”

Harry spluttered “But that is totally unfair against all those that have no magical parents!” And he was even more perplexed as Voldemort nodded, smiling.

“It is, but if something goes wrong non-magical parents cannot do anything. So it wouldn't be safe for their child to practice magic. The Ministry is of the opinion that magical parents can supervise any magic practiced and are responsible enough to make sure their children do nothing too stupid.” The red eyed man gestured for Harry to go ahead.

That was a challenge he could not ignore. Maybe he would proof that Professor Lupin would make an excellent teacher. Closing his eyes, gripping the wand firmly in his hand, Harry concentrated to find a thought happy enough to produce his patronus. He thought about Hermione, about Ron, about Sirius and Remus, who had applied for the job as his history tutor, caring for him. In a clear and strong voice he spoke the incantation “Expecto Patronum.” and in a blinding, white light his patronus, prongs, galloped out of his wand, circling the room and halting beside him, as if he wanted to be petted.

“Well done Henry.” praised Voldemort, and Harry felt a little pride quickly followed by horror at this evidence he came to hate the murderer of his parents a little less. “I will invite Mr. Lupin to an interview.” Red eyes wandered to the now slightly healthier looking Potions Master. “Why don’t you start with the first tutoring session for Henry, Severus? I am sure Benjamin will allow you to use the potions laboratory in the basement.”

Standing and giving a nod to the most powerful wizard in the room, Severus said “As you wish, sir.” before beckoning Harry to follow and leaving the room.

oooOOooo

Walking down the hallway to the stairs, leading into the basement, Severus was aware of the teenager following him quietly. He still felt not well. His shields shaky and not back to their full strength, he was weary to spend a prolonged time in the presence of the boy, being so easily able to stir up his temper and his bad memories. Reminding himself that he had made an oath to protect the boy and the insight he had gained during the slow torture of the previous night, he calmed his racing heart and tried to get rid of the lingering feeling of contempt and hatred towards an image of Harry Potter that could not be real. It was a fact that Lily’s son didn't grow up a pampered prince, waited on hand and foot by his relatives. He had seen the list of potions the boy needed to take, to overcome the damage done by those that were called family. He had brewed this potions. He had to accept that he didn't really know Harry Potter, he never had. And he knew all too well, that being expected to be a certain way could bring out the behaviour in the first place.

After a few minutes of silence they reached the well illuminated laboratory. Without a word they both entered and his pupil sat on the stool behind the workbench obediently.

Severus moved to one wall that had a blackboard on it, pacing a few times up and down. Finally he gathered his courage and turned to face his Lord’s adopted son.

“As I have been informed, you did not get the information normally given to children that grew up in the muggle world, before they start at Hogwarts, Mr. Slytherin.” He saw the boy flinch at his new name, but resolved to call him by his new name whenever possible, he needed to get accustomed to it.

“This did place you at a disadvantage. We will strife to rectify this negligence.” Walking over to a tool cabinet, Severus opened the doors with one of the few charms he could cast silent and without his wand. Inside he found a sturdy set of stirrers and knives. He took both out and walked over to the table, laying them before the teen.

The next fifteen minutes the Potions Master described the different tools, their material and form as well as the applications they had while brewing. He was surprised to find an eagerly listening student, who asked not unintelligent questions to clarify some points.

After that Severus moved on to the topic of preparation. For today he laid the focus on work with the knife, describing and demonstrating the difference between slicing, cutting, shredding, chopping and dicing. After that he gave his student a few different roots, a cutting board and a knife like all the students had, and set him to practice the techniques.

While the boy was concentrating on chopping a beetroot, getting the red juice all over his hands and the cutting board, Severus began setting up another batch of the nutrition potion. As he came back from one of the storage shelves the boy addressed him with a question.

“Do you know, sir, why I was not given the information pamphlets for muggle raised students?”

“I do not, Mr. Slytherin. Maybe there was a mix-up, because both your parents had been magical. In almost all cases only students born from muggles, are raised by them.” The boy huffed at the name, rolling his eyes, but seemed long past flinching.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Slytherin?” answered Severus, carefully measuring water and pomegranate juice for the base and thus not looking up from the beaker.

“The healer that came to check me over, said that there was a potion, that could repair my eyes.”

As this was no question, Severus waited, lighting a small flame under the cauldron, slowly heating the ingredients for the base, while starting to stir clockwise.

Hesitant the boy looked up from his work, setting the knife down. “I was told that the potion is considered dark, because it requires the blood of the person to be healed. I …” Emerald green eyes looked back down on the thin slices of beetroot “I wanted to ask, if you can explain to me why the blood is needed. I know that it is illegal to reveal the recipe, but an explanation would be okay?”

Severus could see clearly how desperate Lily’s son was to find orientation again, after being tossed into foreign waters. He briefly contemplated how best to tackle this specific tangle of problems. In the long run it would probably be best if his friends only child would get a more rounded outlook on what was called The Dark Arts, than what he would get at Hogwarts. And best he was the one slowly introducing him than any of the others he would surely get into contact with during the rest of summer.

“This information you are asking for Mr. Slytherin, is undoubtedly the one the Ministry wanted to censor, as they declared this potion and several others similar to it dark. But as they have not explicitly stated this, I can, legally, explain this to you.” He lowered the heat under his cauldron, as required at this step, and got himself a board and knife to slice the parsley root. “The few drops of blood, that are added last, moments before consuming the potion, are required so that the healing properties of the potion can target the person. Without this alignment with the person to be healed, the effect would only be marginal and most likely temporary.”

“But,” Severus glanced up from his slicing to find a confused teen staring at him. “Why would that make the potion evil?” Severus flinched at the implied all dark is evil, and cleared his throat “It is the concept of targeting a potion to a person, through the use of their blood, that is considered dark. As you see it can be used for healing potions, to increase their effectiveness, but I could also use it to make a poison that will only affect one person.”

A horrified look came over the boy’s face. “You could dump it in a jug of juice and only the one targeted would suffer, even if more than one would drink from it!?”

Nodding in assent, Severus could not stop the slightly snarky comment from slipping past his lips. “It seems all hope is not yet lost. You are right, Mr. Slytherin. And that is the reason all potions using blood in this manner were outlawed.”

Both picked up their work again and a comfortable silence – only broken by the sound of roots being cut and knifes coming in contact with wood – fell over the potions laboratory.

Severus could hear the boy mumbling under his breath “Why ban something useful, only because of that? The Ministry is barmy.” Smiling to himself, Severus started to concentrate fully on the potion he was brewing.

oooOOooo

In the Ministry offices Madame Bones was busy preparing the trail for Sirius Orion Black. Yesterday she had send him a letter informing him of the date. She hoped that he would turn up. Her letters had reached him so far, of that she was certain. But the customary tracking spells, placed on all Ministry owls, did not give more information than the fact, that the owls had not left London. So she assumed the last Black was somewhere in the city, probably under heavy wards.

Sighing, she tackled the newest stack of letters. They came in all times of day, and were delivered in batches from the post room, three times a day.

The amount of mail to her office had tripled since the day Lord Slytherin, she huffed, had adopted Harry Potter. Mostly it was bullocks, claims to have seen the man doing illegal stuff, that would have been grounds to revoke his guardianship of the boy, and similar. Some were inquiries from concerned witches, mostly so far only three wizards had written such letters, about if the boy was save with a man that had been You-Know-Who once.

Sadly she could not simply toss the whole mail out, but had to open and read all of the missives. Half way through the pile the witch came about a more interesting letter. It had been send by none other than Sirius Black himself, addressed to her. Curious she opened the letter – checks for nasty surprises were made by the post room staff – flicked it open and started to read right away.

She was relieved to read that Black intended to come to his own trial. And she fully understood that he did not want to risk being in Ministry custody until the trial. He informed her that he was about to hire a solicitor to represent him in court, and that whoever he would choose would send a letter and arrange all matters that would come up.

With this worry out of the way Amelia had a much more relaxed day at work.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was sitting in his borrowed study, in between meetings, checking his notes. He had been surprised how many of his followers could be considered special cases. He currently was working in reassuring them that they did not need to marry someone they could not stand at all. He still encouraged them to find a partner, and maybe look for a young squib woman to be part of their family and carry their children. Well the last only if they were men who preferred men. A pair of women just needed to decide which of them would carry the child.

Now he was exceedingly glad, he had taken all the journals out of the chamber of secrets before he had graduated. If he remembered correctly there had been some recipes for potions to get a woman pregnant, both parents would have to add something from themselves, but that should be easy enough.

Best to let Severus have a look at the notes, and work out a version that would work the way he wanted it to work.

Marvolo rubbed his eyes. There was another reason he had to speak with Severus soon. He had had odd bouts of fear, terror almost, and despair in the last days. He could not make out a reason, but he still could remember vividly, how he was assaulted by feeling again, after being reborn. He was not sure if this was another side effect of the ritual used to resurrect him.

To distract himself until the next of his followers came for a talk – it should be both of the Greengrasses – Marvolo got out one of the journals, turning the old and brittle pages softly with magic to the point where a potion named something along the lines of veil over past was described. It seemed that this one never was finished, because there was no finite name written down. Maybe Severus would be able to make use of the notes, so with red eyes trailing the squiggles of parsel-script, Marvolo started to translate the notes into English.

oooOOooo

Pacing once again in his circular office, Albus Dumbledore was berating himself for the errors he had made the day before. He should not have reacted the way he did to Sirius’ desire to clear his name.

Now he had lost even more than if he had supported the wish. If, by what means he was unsure, they would manage to get custody over Harry again, he most likely would get under the custody of his godfather. Because there was no doubt in Albus’ mind that the court would rule in the last Black’s favour.

Had he not made this fatal error – that got him tossed out of Grimmauld Place – he at least would have some measure of control over Harry. Now the chances for him to play a significant role and be close to the boy, were slim at best.

Maybe it was not too late yet to mend the fences. Yes, he would write a letter, explaining that only worry had spoken yesterday. That he could not get the thought out of his head that this was an elaborate trap by Fudge, to lure Sirius out of hiding, to get him into his grasps, to administer the dementor’s kiss. If he was convincing enough it might work.

Maybe he could solve two problems at the same time. He still was searching for a new Defence Professor. Maybe Sirius would like to teach at Hogwarts. If Tom let Harry go to school the next year, he would get the opportunity to spend some time with his godson.

Happy with his idea Albus sat down behind his desk taking out a piece of parchment, picking up his favourite peacock quill and the emerald green ink, and started the letter.

oooOOooo

The elves of House Nott had worked the entire morning to prepare the garden for the party Theodore held every year. Balloons of various cheerful colours, green, blue, yellow, orange and red, were floating in bundles over a long table laden with strawberry cake, ice cream, plates full of fruit, sandwiches and all other foods one could imagine to eat on a picnic. Marvolo stood in the shade of a pavilion in light robes of linen, over a shirt of silk and trousers of light wool. He had selected light colours and was curious to see how his Death Eaters would react to the unusual selection. Normally he preferred dark colours, but the day was hot enough that one should take advantage of even the simplest measures to keep cold. And casting a cooling charm was just not the same.

He nodded in approval to his son, as the teen stepped through the back door out onto the terrace followed closely by the Nott heir. Henry was wearing light clothes too, his shirt was short sleeved and the robes flowing and wide. Marvolo had instructed one of the elves to lay the clothes out for his son to wear, and he was happy to see, that the boy had complied.

He was equally happy about the report Severus had given him, after the first tutoring session with Henry. It seemed that they would be able to work together, moving past the difficult past they shared.

As a mark of his gratitude Marvolo had send the Potions Master on another mission to research and experiment. There were two potions he would need. Or more precisely, there were two ideas for potions, with notes and failed experiments written down. And as he himself had not the time, and not as much skill as Severus, he gave the task to his follower. He smiled at the memory of the gleaming eyes and the eagerness he could sense from the man as he had bowed and accepted the translations Marvolo had prepared.

For his odd bouts of inexplicable emotions Severus had asked of him to keep a diary about when they happened, what he was doing, who was around him and what else might be of significance. It would be bothersome, but he had no choice but to agree that they needed more information to get to the bottom of this mystery.

One after the other the guests started to arrive, as he was not the host of this gathering, he could watch the Lords, Ladies and their children arrive by floo, greeting Benjamin and his son, who were standing next to the floo in the back parlour.

Soon the small tables were surrounded by chatting witches and wizards and the teenagers moved over to a large blanket under a tree, a little of to the side. Marvolo had watched from afar as Theodore had introduced his son to his friends from Slytherin. All children from his followers, so he was not concerned they could try to harm his son. But he still was curious how they would react to each other and the changed circumstances. So far it seemed to go as well as could be expected.

Satisfied that Theodore had the situation under control Marvolo shifted his focus to the adults. Lucius and Narcissa were moving in his direction. The blond Lord trying to decide how to act around his Lord at this gathering. Even so it only consisted of people that were loyal to the Dark Lord, there were a lot present that were not marked as Death Eaters. Marvolo was looking forward to let them all squirm a bit more.

“Lord Malfoy, what a pleasure to meet you again.” Marvolo greeted as they came near enough “Lady Malfoy, how are you on this fine summer day?” he bowed over her hand kissing the back of it.

With a smile Narcissa curtsied and accepted his greeting with grace. “I am quite well Lord Slytherin. How are you and your new son adjusting?” They fell into playful banter and Marvolo enjoyed the afternoon a lot. When Narcissa changed tables to stand by the other Ladies, from what he could see there were Lady Parkinson and Greengrass standing together eating cake, he was left alone with Lucius for a moment.

“My Lord,” Lucius was visibly nervous “my wife wanted me to thank you, for your orders. She…” trying not to chuckle Marvolo interrupted the other man. “No need to thank me. But maybe we should find a way to mend the difficulties between our families. Any ideas? No? Then you better start, see you later.”

Marvolo moved on to another table, another group of adults, to charm the ladies and terrify the men. He should go to more parties.

oooOOooo

While the grown ups were holding small talk near the pond, the young witches and wizards were sitting on a big blanket under a tree. Harry was glad over the shadow to sit in, as it was a really hot day. On the blanket there were plates and bowls with many different snacks and a jug with chilled pumpkin juice. More than a simple picnic, at least in Harry’s opinion.

At the moment none of the Slytherin students paid him any attention. Daphne, her younger sister Astoria and Pansy were talking animatedly about some beauty charms mentioned in the last edition of teen witch monthly. A topic Harry did not want to comment on or, worse, be dragged into.

The boys, namely Vincent, Gregory, Draco, Blaise and Theodore, discussed the Slytherin Quidditch Team and the possible changes that would come this year. They were all looking forward to it, as they had missed the matches. One year of the Tri-Wizard-Tournament had been nice, but a year without Quidditch not so much.

Harry silently agreed that having Quidditch matches again was great. He disagreed with the sentiment the tournament had been nice, in his eyes the blasted event had been nothing other than awful.

Brooding, the black haired teen nibbled on some cherry pastries, sipping the pleasantly cool juice now and then. He was aware of the glances the others shoot his way and the strain his presence placed over the gathering. He did not care. His thoughts circled around his wish to sit here with Ron and his siblings, Hermione and maybe Neville. Instead he was forced to sit here with Malfoy, the git, and the others he did not really know. He felt a tad guilty that he had not known most of their first names, but showed this feeling aside ruthlessly. Not really hungry he started to shred his pastry, filling his plate with crumbs.

Finally, in a lull in their conversation, Draco decided that it was time to draw the Gryffindor out of his brooding.

“Tell us, scar-head, how does it feel being a Slytherin? We ought to show you the common room, now that you are something like an honorary Slytherin.” he grinned maybe trying to look friendly. But his expression changed quickly to confusion at the angry glare and clenched fists of the other teen.

They all paled at the angry, tight and quiet words they heard next.

“How it feels to be forced to live with the monster that killed my parents? Tried to kill me, more than once? How it feels to be dragged away from friends and family? That everything was changed without asking me?” breathing heavily Harry stood, glared at Draco and turned to Theodore, who sat next to Daphne with a worried frown. “I do not feel well, Theodore. I will go to my room.” briefly closing his eyes he added in a quiet voice “Sorry Theodore, enjoy your party.”

Before any of the others could react, Harry had stalked of, avoiding the adults, vanishing into the house.

ooOoo

“Well done Draco” Daphne said with a sarcastic tone. “You always were so good with delicate topics.”

Blushing, Draco started to defend himself. “How should I have known? To be heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin is an honour. Why would anyone react this dramatically?” Looking from one to the other, on a loss what they should do now, the teenagers stood awkwardly, as two of the adults came over to them.

The young Malfoy paled drastically, recognizing the Dark Lord, accompanied by Theo’s father, stalking towards their place in the shadow of the old tree.

“Is there a problem?” asked the elder Nott.

And as host of their party Theodore answered “Henry is not feeling well. He left to lay down in his room.”

Draco shifted nervously under the sceptical look of Lord Slytherin. He tried to not look guilty. But this was harder than he would like to admit.

“What have you said to my son, heir Malfoy?”

To his immense embarrassment Draco was not able to answer. After a moment the Dark Lord shifted his gaze away from Draco, who could then breath more freely, to the others, clearly expecting an answer. Seeing that the boys were trying to vanish in plain sight, Daphne straightened her light green silk robes over her emerald summer dress and took a step forward, drawing the Dark Lord’s attention to her.

“My Lord,” she curtsied “in our conversation the topic of his parents death came up. He was understandably upset.”

Henry’s adopted father pinched the bridge of his nose hissing something under his breath, no one understood. He turned to the other adult, excusing himself before walking off in direction of the house. Shortly after, Lord Nott, with a stern look to his son, left as well, leaving eight shaken teens behind.

“He is fucking scary.” Vincent said with feeling. And even though Daphne started to berate the boy for his language, Draco was sure they all thought the same. The Dark Lord was scary as hell.

oooOOooo

On his way back to the house, Marvolo analysed the information he had been given. Obviously the Malfoy heir had said something insensitive, upsetting Henry enough to make him leave in anger. Both the Nott heir and the Greengrass heiress, were crafty enough to cover up the blunder. For all involved. His son’s rudeness and whatever the Malfoy boy had said to cause all this.

Marvolo did not wonder why this happened, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Now to find a way to smooth it over, or even get something useful out of it.

He passed Nagini sunbathing on a large patch of grass near the back doors.

.:What made your young one so angry?:. she inquired lazily.

.:My young one?:. he hissed in reply, surprised .:Why do you call him that?:.

.:Because he smells a little like you. Like family smells alike. Is he not yours?:.

Looking at his familiar pensively, Marvolo wondered over this new bit of information. He would not have expected the adoption to affect the boy’s scent. Maybe he would look deeper into this once he had a little spare time at his hands. He snorted at his own thoughts. The way things were developing it would be years before he had something even resembling spare time again.

.:In a way he is mine. He most certainly is family:. Marvolo reassured his large snake .:As to what made him angry? I do not know exactly what happened. Only that there was a disagreement of some kind, with the other young ones:.

Nagini lazily raised her head .:I better go check on him then:. And without waiting for a reply from Marvolo, she slithered to the door and into the house.

Briefly contemplating if that was a good idea or not, Marvolo got inside, heading for the study. Once there, he reached for a small piece of parchment and his favourite quill to write down a short note.

Henry,

I heard that you are not feeling well. I hope this will make you feel better. As it seems ignoring our past is not working out well, I would propose a talk this evening.

Marvolo

“Flimm!” he called one of the Potter elves, which he had met the other day while checking over the houses. With a soft pop the elf appeared before him clad in a crisp white pillowcase, bowing deeply, but missing the happy expression Marvolo had come to connect with happy serving elves.

“What can Flimm be doing for yous Master?” Marvolo was aware that the Potter elves addressed him only with the bare minimum of politeness, and he found it hard to blame them, after all he had killed their last master.

“Bring this note and a tray with juice and ice cream to Henry’s room. He is not feeling well, and can use some cheering up.”

Bowing low again and levitating the note to grab it, the elf vanished into thin air. Sure that he had done what he could to show he cared – a great way to win someone over to your side – Marvolo made his way back to the garden. He still had some followers to tease.

oooOOooo

In his room Harry paced up and down, torn and with a feeling of unrest in his chest. He had thought he was doing well, keeping calm, taking advantage as much as he could, and now here he was, losing control, storming of from Theodore's party, embarrassing the other teen and likely getting in trouble with Voldemort.

Frustrated he tossed a pillow from the bed, only to grab the others, one by one, and throwing them with as much force as he could muster against the far wall. It was not as satisfying as throwing something that could shatter, but better than pacing.

He almost jumped out of his shoes as he heard hissing from the door .:What are you doing in there young one?:. Harry heard a thud from the door, like something being was banged against it. .:Are you well? Speak with me, I know you can understand me:.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted, dropping onto the bed staring at the canopy.

.:Do not be rude, young one. You seemed angry, you did not even see me. You can tell me what is wrong, maybe I can help you hunt down whatever angered you:.

Huffing in frustration, Harry tried to picture a snake .:Just leave me alone. I do not want to talk:.

He heard something like leather sliding over carpet .:You do not need to talk. I can talk for both of us:.

And with this she, he was pretty sure the snake was female, started on a long and detailed description of her day. After only a few minutes Harry wished the snake would leave. And he got another shock as a house elf suddenly appeared with a floating tray beside it.

“Master Potter sir! I has juice and ice cream. Most not stay unhappy on such a fine day!” the tray was placed on the desk and the small green being bowed so low, that its nose touched the expensive rug. “If Master wants anything, just calls Flimm, and Flimm will comes.”

.:What is in there with you, young one?:.

Rubbing his temples, there was a headache on its way, Harry nodded to Flimm, comparing the elf to the other ones he had met so far. In comparison this elf appeared rather collected. “Thank you Flimm, I will remember.” with another bow the elf vanished.

Now to the nuisance in the hall. .:Will you stop talking all the time, if I let you in?:.

There was a moment of silence and then a soft hiss .:I will:.

Harry got up and opened the door. In slithered an enormous mostly green snake. She went for a place under a window, where the sun was shining in, and curled up. .:You have a nice warm spot here:. and with this she stayed silent for a while.

Grateful for small mercies, Harry closed the door again and went to the tray, to retrieve the ice cream. He found a note under the bowl and flicked it open. After reading the note, Harry sat down on the windowsill, starting to eat the still cold ice cream. Wonderful, a talk with Voldemort, about their past. He could imagine many things that he rather would do. But he probably had no real choice.

Chapter Text

Finally all the guests had left, and Theodore slipped out of his robes, opening the topmost buttons of his shirt. The party had not been such a catastrophe as he had feared it would become, after the scene between Draco and Henry. At first it had been awkward, but soon they had fallen into familiar patterns. They even managed a game of pick-up Quidditch.

All in all, it had been a nice enough afternoon.

He glanced over to his father and the Dark Lord, talking while they stood next to the floo, where they had seen off the last guests. As the Dark Lord turned and went to the stairs up to the bedrooms, Theodore took a deep breath and walked over to talk to his father. He just had to know if Henry was in trouble.

The other boy had been staying at Nott House for only a few days now , but Theodore had started to like him. He liked the openness he showed once he started speaking, the fearlessness he had to make biting comments about the Dark Lord, while he showed the common sense to make them out of earshot of the man. He was almost certain they could be friends in time. Well, he hoped they could at least. “ Father?”

A s he heard his son, Benjamin Nott turned to face the teen. Smiling, he said, “Theo! How did you like your party?”

Theo smiled back, but it was a weak one.

“What's wrong, son?”

“I don't think it was a good idea to invite Henry to my party.”

With sudden understanding of what bothered his son, Benjamin laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, guiding him over to the seating area, directing him to sit down on the plush, sky-blue love seat.

“If you had not invited him, Marvolo would have insisted he come regardless,” the older Nott assured the worried teen.

“But it was a disaster!” Theodore frowned, looking at his father.

“It was a controlled setting.” Theodore’s frown deepened, “One of these days he had to interact with your friends, their parents. Your party was relatively safe ground. Only people loyal to the Dark Lord were in attendance. Whatever was to happen would stay here.” The man’s voice was kind as he explained the reasoning to his son.

Looking down on the folded hands in his lap, Theodore was lost in thought. Not happy with the Dark Lord’s reasoning, and probably his father’s as well. Benjamin observed his son thinking, and started to explain some more. “The party at Malfoy Manor is coming up, as you know. Lord Slytherin, and his son, will be invited, as will be the Minister and several other, not entirely friendly, nobles and officials. It was better to have the first encounter with your schoolmates here.” A little worry made its way into the father’s voice. “It didn't ruin your party, did it? I wouldn't want you to suffer due to petty politics.”

With a more real smile and a reassuring pat to his father’s arm, Theo shook his head. “It was fine, father. I would wish it had gone more smoothly, but I had fun.”

Relief clear in his eyes, Benjamin stood, patting his son on the shoulder. “Go to bed, son. And don't worry, Henry isn't in trouble.”

Nodding, though he was not entirely convinced, Theo stood, giving his father a quick one-armed hug, before vanishing up the stairs to his room. He would have to see how Henry was the next day at breakfast, before he would believe that the Dark Lord had no intention of hurting his adoptive son. The warning his father had given him, the day the dark wizard had come to stay at their home, still ringing in his ear.

oooOOooo

Marvolo stood in front of the door of Henry’s room, hearing hissing from inside. It seemed his son was telling Nagini a story about a visit to the zoo and the first time he had spoken to a snake. He took a deep breath, a last time going over his plan for this conversation and his Occlumency shields to control his temper. It would do him no good to lose it and scare his son.

He took the last step to the door, knocking with enough force to be heard and not appear timid, but not too much, so he would not make an aggressive entry.

“ Come in,” he heard the voice of Henry from inside. Laced with many feelings. A little anger, apprehension for what was to come, worry, and stubbornness. Marvolo could not make one wrong move, he was aware that this would be a crucial point in his relationship with his adopted son. The moment it would be decided if there was to be a chance for trust between them, ever.

He opened the door and stepped inside. His gaze fell on Henry and Nagini curled up on the bed, looking comfortable. But as soon as he was inside, Henry made an attempt to stand up from the bed, hindered by Nagini sliding over his legs, to keep him seated. .:Do not go! Summer evenings are cold, I like your warmth close:.

Marvolo had to chuckle at that. Nagini was a truly unique serpent, he never had met one as demanding or witty. “Stay seated, Henry. No need to get up, we are in your room, after all.” Warily the boy complied and Marvolo turned the chair from the desk to face the bed, sitting down with a sigh. Standing up the whole afternoon made his feet happy to finally sit again.

He wiggled his feet, sighing again, before placing them parallel on the floor.

“I was told you did not feel well. Are you better now?”

A low growl came from the bed. “What has the git told you?” And as an afterthought, “Sir?” Marvolo had to suppress a smile, here he was again, the boy that had stood against the monster that had killed his parents. He was glad that Henry had finally found his footing, finding secure ground. Enough to oppose his new guardian.

“Draco Malfoy told me nothing. Theodore said you did not feel well, and heiress Greengrass said that your parent’s death came up in conversation. A reasonable explanation why you would not feel well out of the blue. They didn't tell exactly what happened. But I can guess that the younger Malfoy said something to upset you.”

If looks could kill, he would have to find a new body by now. “What did you want to do, after the other said, what he said?” Marvolo asked a little awkwardly, but it got the point across.

“I wanted to punch him. Hard. On the nose.” The teenager was visibly angry now. If Nagini had not had him pinned to the bed because she was laying across his legs, he most likely would have jumped to his feet by now.

“And what have you done instead?” He himself kept his voice calm, it was more a challenge to keep his amusement out of it than anything, looking for the smallest indicators that he needed to change his approach. This was not a laughing matter. Too much was at stake, he had to remember this. Even if it was highly amusing that there was a boy of not yet fifteen sitting on a bed, pinned there by his large familiar, clearly not cowed by fear, like so many grown wizards he had met through the years.

“I walked away,” came the almost hissed reply.

Nodding in approval, Marvolo smiled a proud smile. “And this was the sensible thing to do. Well done, Henry.”

With wide eyes and an open mouth, said teen stared at the man with the many-shaded red eyes, not processing what had been said.

Continuing with the same voice, calm, slightly proud, explaining, Marvolo added “Before we go to the next party, we should go over topics that will most likely come up, and ways you can deflect them, if you do not want to speak about something. But if in doubt, moving away is always better than attacking.” Irritated at the confusion he suddenly felt, he moved on to the next topic. Not waiting for Henry to get back his wits. No need to give him too much time to come to his senses. He did not want to risk a shouting match he could not take part in. Not and refrain from scaring the boy because he behaved too much like Voldemort again.

“Before we talk about our past, I want to inform you that I received mail from the Ministry today.” Perking up, Henry gently moved Nagini’s coils from his legs. At her protesting and sleepy .:No. It’s so much warmer on your legs:. He answered with a small smile.

.:I do not feel my legs properly anymore. I need to get up and move a bit:.

At Nagini’s huffed reply .:I do not need legs, I think you do not need them either:. Marvolo chuckled again

.:Let him get up, love. Wizards do not slither over the ground:.

Reluctantly Nagini moved, allowing Henry to get up. Which he did, slowly, so as not to rest too much weight on his sleeping feet too soon.

“The trial for your godfather will be held next Monday. Madame Bones has requested I come as witness. I think she just asked me so I will not be one of those voting. But I do not know exactly why she does not want me to be one of the judges.”

The boy listened with wary attention. Eager for every bit of information he could get, but worried that it might not be trustworthy. Getting the letter from a pocket in his robe, he levitated it over to the boy standing by the bed, only in trousers and shirt. Obviously he had discarded his robe some time ago.

“Do you want to come?” Not assuming anything, letting the boy make the decisions whenever possible. His son never had any measure of control over his own life. He could still remember how he had felt, when he was young, forced by Dippet and Dumbledore to return to the orphanage every summer. He took the control on every other aspect of his life as soon as he could. Better to give it to his son, than have him take it by force.

With flaring temper Henry returned, “Of course I want to come! How can you even ask, Sir!”

“I did not assume that you did not want to come. But I did not want to assume you would either.” He shrugged, “It is your decision. But I am happy that you want to come. I think you should sit in the Potter seat. Observe the Wizengamot working.”

The boy nodded, hesitant, and started to pace, only to stop next to the window, looking out over the garden.

Marvolo briefly looked at his hands, then up again. “Before I try to explain why I did what I did in the past, I want you to tell me what you think are my intentions for adopting you.”

Throwing him an incredulous look, Henry sat on the windowsill, frowning. “You need an heir to claim the title of Lord Slytherin, and you need the title to gain your goals.” The frown deepened. “Which I know nothing about.” The teenager's voice became more agitated with each word he spoke, jumping up from his seat, pacing over the carpet with the floral pattern. “So you want me alive, healthy and, well, maybe even happy. But what if you get married, have children of your own? I’m replaceable. Not really important in the long run, only now.” At the end he was panting staring at the older wizard with fire in his eyes.

Slowly nodding Marvolo met those fire-green eyes with his calm red ones. “I am thinking about marrying.” He held up a hand to stall Henry’s desire to yell at him. “But even if I find a woman who I can persuade to marry me. Even if we manage to have a child. Even if the child is a boy and turns out to be a parselmouth. Even if all this was going to happen, you,” he pointed his finger at Henry, “would still be my oldest child and heir.”

The teenager only snorted at this, clearly not buying a word. “I will make a vow if you need it to believe me.” And he would do it. Marvolo did not believe that he would find someone better to be his heir than the boy now standing before him. Calculating, defiant, and resourceful. He needed to gain some measure of trust from the teenager. All his plans would be so much easier to achieve if he had the wizarding world’s hero on his side.

Boxing one of the pillows from the window seat, the boy slumped back against another, narrowed his eyes with suspicion, changing the direction of their conversation. “You did not want to talk about the future, but the past.”

“You are right.” Marvolo sighed again, this would be not easy, but he had not thought it would be. “When I was young, a little older then you are now, I started some extracurricular reading. I was interested in all magic, not only what was in our teachers' lesson plans.” He was watched closely and highly aware of the fact. Nagini meanwhile started to snore lightly, not at all affected by the tension between the two humans in the room.

“I roamed the restricted section and found many books that have been removed since then.” The next part he did not like at all, but it was important to stand by his errors, by his weaknesses. If he could not share them with his own son – to gain some trust – he could just give up on his plans for the future.

“I found rituals and old spells to gain power, to gain immortality. And in the arrogance of youth, I undertook them, not heeding the consequences.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “It was perhaps my biggest mistake, or at least in the top five of them, and cost me large parts of myself. I lost my sanity, my ability to weigh consequences against gain and focus to stay on track to my goals.” Marvolo opened his eyes again and saw emerald green eyes fixed on him, listening with great attention, searching for a lie.

“I told the Minister I came across a cursed object, and fell under its influence. And this is the story all outside this room should believe.” He gave the boy a pointed look, met with a surprised one from across the room. “But it was my own stupidity that led to my most cruel and pointless actions.”

He made a small pause, conjuring himself a glass of water – speaking so much made his mouth dry – and ignoring the subtle flinch from his son as he got his wand from its holster.

“I was in my prime, concerning influence and the number of people fearing me. But at a low when it came to my ability to think, to plan, and my strength in magic. I was not aware of this fact – then – but I have realized in these last weeks just how much I had cost myself with my actions.”

He leant forward in his chair, placing his arms on his knees, looking to the floor, trying to make it clear that he wasn't trying to hide anything, that he was being as open as he could be. “During this time, there was a prophecy spoken. One of my Death Eaters heard the first part of it, before he was spotted and thrown from the place. He wanted to gain favour with me, desperate for recognition, as he had been bullied his entire school life, ignored by many, and treated harshly by his family. So he came before me, not really believing in divination, but sure that I would have wanted to know, and told me what little he had heard.”

Marvolo carded both hands through his hair, tangling the loose locks. “Maybe that was my biggest mistake, definitively another of the top five. I acted upon a half-heard prophecy.” This was a lot harder than he had thought, acting for the Minister and the Wizengamot had been a walk in the park compared to being honest with his son. “You see, the prophecy spoke of a threat to me, something I could not ignore in the state my sanity was in.”

Not longer able to hold his question in, Henry interrupted him, almost shouting. “What has this all to do with me?!”

“ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… ” giving the boy a look full of meaning, he answered the question. “ That was what I was told. And instantly I started to look for the threat, the one able to foil all my plans. I decided to wait, as there were more than one couple that had defied me three times. I could not be sure if it had to be exactly three times, or what form the defiance had to take... “ He trailed of f , huffing frustrated ly . “Divination and prophecies are ambiguous at best. But at that moment I was insane and paranoid. And as the birth announcements at the beginning of August spoke of two boys born on the last days of July, I decided to go after one of them.”

“Me, you tried to kill me.” Horrified, wide eyes, filled with tears, locked with tired red ones.

Continuing, before the anger could get a hold of the boy, Marvolo nodded. “Yes, I went after you. I know now that my plan to go after the Potters and me telling my followers, sent one of mine to be a spy, to warn Dumbledore and your parents, and sent you all into hiding.” He picked some imaginary lint from his trousers. “I was incredibly frustrated when I could not find you, and elated when Peter finally came to me, so proud of himself, telling me he could hand me the Potters.” He shook his head, closed his eyes, tired and weary.

Now to drive home Dumbledore’s shortcomings. Redirect the anger to a different target, at least partially.

“So the Headmaster did not tell you of the prophecy?” he asked with real interest obvious in his voice. He did not understand why the old man left this many doors open for him to waltz through and steal the boy away.

“No, he didn't,” the teenager said, his voice sounding as if coming from far away, his eyes not looking at any specific point. “But I asked him, asked him why Voldemort attacked us, killed my parents, tried to kill me. He said I was too young to know, that he would tell me in time.”

Quite suddenly Marvolo felt rage. And was instantly puzzled. That was not his emotion. He did n ' t have much time to contemplate the oddity, as Henry stood and punched the wall with a horrifying crun c hing sound. Jumping up in alarm, Marvolo wanted to hurry to the teen ' s side, assessing the damage, but he stayed where he was, wary what the boy would do if he sh ould come only one step closer.

Whirling to face Marvolo, Henry cradled his hand to his chest, fury-filled eyes locked on the grown wizard. “Why? Why?” The cry was more a universal question for why me? why them? directed at the universe, and not a question Marvolo could have answered. He tried anyway.

“I know that there are no words to change anything that happened in the past. But when you destroyed my diary, you undid some of the rituals costing me my sanity. You gave me back what I had thrown away out of arrogance and fear. I am different now from the man that came to your house that night. It changes nothing, I know. But you deserve to know, to make your own choices based on facts and not on lies, assumptions, or guesses.”

With a frustrated roar, Henry started to punch the wall, and Marvolo took the last steps to the boy, a little afraid the boy would do serious harm to himself. To prevent this, he yanked the teen back, turning him away from the wall, making himself the target for the blows. And while he felt small hard fists raining down on his chest, he realized with horror that the bottomless fury he felt was indeed not his own, but that of the boy in his arms. Not able to think about it at the moment, he concentrated on keeping the boy from harming himself further.

After several minutes the fury ran dry, giving way to silent, exhausted tears. Carefully Marvolo guided the boy over to his bed, sitting him down, dropping to his knees in front of the teen, to inspect the hand that he thought most likely broken. He expected Henry to resist, take his hand away, punch him again, or at least shove him away. He did not expect the quiet questions that followed, and that he answered, honestly. Even if he sometimes left out parts.

“Why tell me?” the boy’s voice was raspy.

“I think you should know. And even though I think I probably should just forget about it and act without taking this prophecy into account, you may decide otherwise. I know that it is hard to disregard something you know. But knowing there is something maybe important and not having it is equally difficult.”

“Is there a way to get the whole thing?”

H ere he nodded, carefully checking the hand to see if there were broken bones. “Yes. You could ask the H eadmaster again. He was the one witnessing as it was made. Or we could go to the Ministry. There is a hall in which copies of all prophecies made are stored.”

“What are your goals? You still haven’t said.” The boy was right, he had not, and even now he would stick to the basics, no need to overcomplicate things at this point. “I want to make sure that no magical child will ever again be treated like I was, like Severus was, like you were. No Muggle should harm one of us. And I want to increase our numbers, we cannot risk dieing out. We are severely outnumbered as it is.”

Yes, the hand was broken. He needed to call Henry’s healer. The boy’s next question, asked with eyes firmly fixed on the hands of them both, startled Marvolo into silence for a moment.

“Why did you tell my mum to step out of the way?”

“How do you know?” Marvolo questioned back.

“It I's what I hear whenever I'm near Dementors.” Deciding not to ask when the boy had come near Dementors, the red-eyed wizard briefly contemplated his answer, it would probably be the best to tell the truth. “Severus asked me to spare her. He begged, actually. And as I was happy with his work, I tried. I believe they were friends in school.”

The laughter started small and almost inaudible. But soon it was loud, punctuated by sobs, and hysterical. Henry bent over his hands, tears falling from his eyes, shaken by his violent crying.

Marvolo was out of his depth, he had never had to deal with hysterical people in a kind fashion. He had seen many, victims of torture, by his wand or by the hands of one of his followers. But never had he been present when one was in need of comfort, when he was the only one present who could be expected to offer it. So what to do?

And then he felt hysteria rise in himself. But he was not hysteric, he was confused, a little angry, but nothing ever had sent him into hysterics. As realization finally hit him like a bludger, red eyes widened. He called for Toppy, sending the elf for a dose of calming draught. And then turned to his sobbing son. He was feeling the boy’s emotions. The fear, the frustration, and now the hysteria. There was a connection between them, and Marvolo could only think of one time that such a connection could have been formed. And if he was right, he had another complication at his hands.

Had Dumbledore known? Henry surely had told the man about the diary. And he had known that Marvolo was not truly gone. So he must have suspected what Marvolo had used to gain immortality. Had he guessed what this connection was? Was he even aware of its existence?

He was brought out of his musings by Toppy's bringing the potion. He took the small vial, nodding in thanks, and turned to Henry, still clutching his head and sobbing. “Henry, come son, sit up. You need to drink this potion. You need to calm down, you will harm yourself.” It took some time, but finally he calmed the boy down enough, with kind words and a carefully schooled voice, to get him to drink the potion and then lie down against the pillows.

“I hate you.” It was said without heat, without the emotion behind it. But it was the truth. Of that Marvolo was sure. “I know. And I understand.” He gently removed the boy’s shoes, setting them aside, proceeding to spread a comforter over him, to keep him warm. “But I hope we can find a way to work together, for both our benefit.” To this there was no visible reaction. But as the teen’s eyes were following him still, he thought it was probably prudent to ask now. “Have you had odd emotions, lately? Some that did not match your situation or what you had felt moments before?” Trying to think of more ways to phrase it, Marvolo was stopped by the slightly surprised look in emerald green eyes. “So it goes both ways?”

“You know of the connection between our minds?” That he had not anticipated. If Henry knew, it would be a miracle if Dumbledore did not.

“Of course I do. My scar always reacted when I was near you. Last year I dreamt of places I had never seen.” A little bit of life returned to Henry. “What is this link? Do you know?”

“I do not know. Not yet. Maybe I have an idea what it could be. But I do not want to speak of it without proof.”

Nodding his head, his adopted son gave his agreement.

“I will send for Healer Greengrass, to see to your hand. I think it is broken.”

As Marvolo stood, Nagini lifted her head. .:What did I miss? Why are you smelling like that? Like a running rabbit:.

Shaking his head at his sleepy, confused familiar, Marvolo hissed to her, .:Keep my young one company. He does not need to be alone at the moment:. And not waiting for a reply, he moved out of the room to make a floo call. Best to go about this in a more conventional way. It would not do for the healer to appear in Death Eater robes at his friend’s house.

He had the solution to his worries about his tumultuous emotions. But with the answer came a pack of other worries. Did Dumbledore know about his horcruxes? Where they still safe? If he knew about them, was he searching for them? Did he know that the Boy-Who-Lived was maybe one of them? And if the old meddler did know, what was his plan? As far as Marvolo knew, there was only one way to destroy a horcrux that could be done by someone other than the maker. Destroying the vessel. If he could prove that Dumbledore knew and planned to kill Henry, it could be the wedge he needed to get Henry away from Dumbledore’s side for good.

oooOOooo

In his book-lined sitting room at Spinner's End, Severus was sitting by the only window, a gentle breeze moving his freshly washed, silken hair. After the tutoring session for Lily’s son and the short talk with his Lord afterwards, he had come to his house – he would not call it home – carrying texts for his next two projects.

He was immensely relieved. That he was still alive, that his Lord still included him in his plans, that the boy was safe. And he was glad that he did not have to wait for the ultimatum to run out to find peace again.

The texts he had been given, translations by the Dark Lord’s own hands, held information about two intricate brews, both still more on the experimental side, as far as he could tell. He had been ordered to complete them. He loved a challenge, and these two potions would surely fit that description.

One potion was intended to put a veil over past memories, dulling them, almost disconnecting the person drinking it, from the memories' emotions. He had not been told for what purpose the Dark Lord wanted to use this. But Severus saw applications for young victims of trauma, too deep to be overcome through different means.

The application of the other, though, was much more obvious. From the notes, the young Potions Master gathered that Salazar Slytherin had tried to help one of his sons, and the man this son had loved, to have children of their own.

He had succeeded in combining the family traits of both men, but the success to actually get a child varied. Taking a dose of the potion only resulted in pregnancy half of the time. And only one child had been born during his tests, dying soon after.

Clearly this potion needed more work. Thinking about the discoveries muggle scientists had made in the field of human reproduction, Severus saw several ways to improve the potion and its likely success.

For one there was the timing, that should probably be adjusted to the cycle of the surrogate mother. Then there was the matter of what to use from both parents to be, to get their genes. Salazar Slytherin had used blood and hair from his son and his partner. But Severus scribbled down a note that it would be worth a try to use other body fluids. It should work for two fathers, at least. And maybe drinking it was not the best way to administer the dose.

Happily scribbling away his notes and ideas, Severus hummed a tuneless melody.

If he found a way to keep the Headmaster off his back, his life would be much happier than it had been in a long time. Whatever had given the Dark Lord back his sanity, he was grateful for it.

oooOOooo

Harry was staring at the door to his room, only listening with one ear to Healer Greengrass’ explanation of what he would do to heal Harry’s broken right hand.

He was thinking. The talk with Voldemort had brought up some interesting new points. And he was totally at a loss as to what to think about them.

So there had been a prophecy the Headmaster knew of. Why the man had not told Harry after the events involving the philosopher's stone, the teen thought he understood. He had been only eleven, after all. But that he had not spoken of the implications of a prophecy, maybe predicting that he would be the one to stop Voldemort, after said man was back again, that he could not understand. Even he, at fourteen years old, could see that he would be a prime target, and that this information could be used against him. He was aware of his curiosity and his need to get to the bottom of a mystery. And he had thought that Dumbledore had realized this some time ago.

If the old wizard had only mentioned the existence of this prophecy, Harry would have been happier. Naturally he would have liked to know the entire text, but not knowing of its existence at all... that was just unacceptable.

That Voldemort had told him added insult to injury. Harry was aware that Voldemort was using his hunger for information, and Dumbledore’s tendency to keep secrets close, to sway the teen to his side. And even while still unsure if all he was told was true, Harry was pretty secure in his assessment of the situation.

There was a prophecy. Voldemort knew parts of it and had acted, at least partially, on this knowledge when he had gone to kill Harry. It was evident that the man that he had seen these last days was not the same man that had climbed out of the cauldron in the graveyard. He was not going to get away from the man, because he really was connected to him by blood. And not only the blood that Wormtail had stolen from him after the third task.

Only barely aware of the tingling sensation in his hand as his healer cast the spell to mend the broken bones, Harry noted the door opening. Voldemort stepped in, carefully watching the teen for further signs of emotional turmoil. If he could blush at the moment, Harry would have. He had truly broken down after hearing of the prophecy, and on top of that, learning that Snape and his mother had been friends. Friends! He still had trouble accepting that concept. Not many people had told him things about his mother. Mostly he got to hear that he had her eyes and that she was quite bright. Aunt Petunia never even mentioned her sister’s name. And now he learned, after years of knowing the man, that Professor Severus Snape had been a good friend of his mother's in school.

It had simply been too much. And without the calming potion Voldemort had made him drink, he probably would be freaking out still. He could not quite believe that he had punched the man, and was still sitting up in his bed and not writhing on the floor under some painful curse.

While Healer Greengrass spoke to Voldemort about his findings in the hand which had made contact with the rather solid wall, Harry tried to decide what he should do now. Voldemort had been forthcoming with information, and he had acted civilly. He had to admit that he had behaved more civil, than the Dursleys ever had.

Dumbledore had seemingly kept information from him, beginning with his standing in the wizarding world as heir to a Noble House and his coming responsibilities, and not stopping at the existence of a prophecy.

If he only took this knowledge and disregarded everything Voldemort had done before he had lost his body. There were only a few things left that he could not really dismiss. The slain unicorns and the attempts on his life in his first year, and Cedric’s death. Not things he could forgive. But after the man was a man again, and no longer a bodiless spirit, he had acted almost normal, as far as Harry knew.

It was so incredibly hard. Part of him wanted to keep hating the man, to stop eating in protest, to rant and fight and sulk. And part of him wanted to use the opportunities presented, to learn, to gain someone that cared about his studies, asked about his homework, gave him tutors, clothes, regular meals, and medical attention.

Why had he been placed in this spot, without a way to decide what to do, without his friends to talk to, to ask what they thought of all this.

Healer Greengrass left, with some words to Harry that the teen never really heard or even registered, still staring at the wall opposite from his bed. The door clunked shut, and Voldemort once more took the chair from the desk and sat down in it, facing Harry’s bed.

The man was gathering his thoughts, maybe trying to decide where to start, but the green-eyed teen did not wait for the older wizard to start the conversation. “I want to meet my friends.” It came out rather flat, not with the determination Harry had wished to express, he was still heavily affected by the calming draught.

Regarding him thoughtfully, Voldemort nodded his head. “I think we can incorporate a meeting with your friends into my plans for tomorrow.” The man nodded again. “In the morning I want us to visit the houses, so you can choose which you would like to live in. After that, I have several job interviews planned in Diagon Alley. I cannot invite them into a friend's house, after all. You can accompany me and meet your friends at the ice cream parlour?”

Harry felt himself nodding to the suggestion, and scowled a bit. He really wanted to disagree with everything the man said, but it was damn hard to do so when he sounded so reasonable. “Yeah, I would like that.”

“I will send letters after we are finished here. Whom do you want to invite?”

Frowning a bit, Harry contemplated the question. Who did he want to see? Ron and Hermione he was missing the most. So he wanted to see them. But could he invite Hermione? Or would he put her in danger, if he asked her to come?

“What do you plan to do about muggle-borns?” Harry asked without explanation of why he wanted to know now.

But it seemed the dark wizard did not need an explanation, he did not look surprised at all. “The so-called ‘muggle-born’ witches and wizards are quite safe from me now. As your ancestry test has shown, the beliefs about their origins are not true. And as we are so few as it is, I do not want to kill them, but encourage them to become part of our world in full.”

Vows and oaths to guarantee the truth behind spoken words came to mind, but Harry was not sure if he wanted to bring up this topic. And he had heard the oath Voldemort had made as he had claimed the title of Lord Slytherin. Best for the magical community. Sadly, best was a not well-defined concept. What he thought best could vary greatly from what Voldemort thought best. But still, in Diagon Alley, what could he do there in front of so many witnesses?

“I want to invite Hermione –Granger – and the Weasleys.” Remembering it might be wise to stay polite he added, “Sir,” a little later.

“Very well, we will see if they have time tomorrow afternoon.” Absent-mindedly stroking Nagini, who had slithered up to the man during their short talk, Voldemort asked a half-question. “You said your scar reacted in my presence. In what way? And how has it acted since I adopted you?”

Rubbing at said scar with the newly healed hand, Harry tried to work through his drugged state. “It tingled or burned. I've felt happiness, mostly, the last days.” He was getting quite tired by now.

“I want to test my theory about this connection tomorrow evening. The sooner we know for sure what it is, the sooner we can work to find a way to block or break it. I do not like experiencing foreign emotions without warning, and I would guess you feel the same?”

Nodding, Harry yawned and asked, blinking a bit slowly to clear his bleary sight. “How will you test your theory?” and after another yawn, “Sir?”

“There is a ritual to test it. This is the only way,” he added as Harry looked alarmed by the prospect. “And it neither involves blood, nor pain, or any things considered dark by the Ministry.” Smiling slightly Voldemort suggested, “You should go to sleep, we can discuss it in more detail tomorrow. I will go write the invitations and send them by elf. Sleep well, Henry.”

Moments later Voldemort was gone, and Harry stumbled into his bathroom to get ready for bed. He hoped meeting with his friends again, without Voldemort there to monitor his talk with them, would help him find his way back to hating the man, without doubts.

oooOOooo

Lucius was sitting in his study, a tumbler of firewhiskey in his hand, rubbing his temples. Draco's stupidity knew no bounds, it seemed. In one afternoon the boy had ruined his father’s work to be top of the Dark Lord’s advisers. If he could not find a way to mend the damage done, he might end up somewhere down with the likes of Wormtail. He shuddered at the thought.

He had given Draco quite a lecture after they had returned home. And an essay to write about what he had said, why it had been unwise to say it, what he could have said instead, and how he intended to repair the damage done during the garden party they would have at Malfoy Manor in a few days' time.

If this did n ' t help, he might need to get his father 's cane out of its spot deep in the cupboard with the cleaning material s . He had placed it there after Draco had been born, never wanting to use it on his son, as his father had use d it on him. But if his son insisted on provoking the Dark Lord, it might save the boy’s li f e if he used the cane to get his point across.

He was brought out of his musings by an elf announcing the arrival of the Dark Lord, and he stood, wondering what could have brought the man here, this late at night.

He bowed deeply as his Lord strode into the study, still in the clothes he had worn to Theodore Nott’s party.

“I need to borrow your ritual room, Lucius. Make sure that it is ready by tomorrow evening.”

Puzzled by this sudden request, the blond Lord bowed his head, hair falling forward into his eyes. “Should I prepare the room for anything in particular?”
“ No need, Lucius, I will bring everything I need.”

Chapter Text

Walking into the still not entirely clean kitchen, Sirius found a stack of letters next to his plate. He sat down and began to methodically work through them.

One letter was from his solicitor, Bench & Bench. Probably with more details for the trial to be held on the day after tomorrow. Sirius laid it aside to shuffle through the rest. Another letter was from Gringotts, a rather thick one, another from his cousin Narcissa – he would recognize her handwriting any time – several were from tailors: Twilfitt and Tattings as well as Madam Malkin's, to name a few, probably offering their services to make him robes for Monday. One letter was from the Daily Prophet. He was not looking forward to reading that one. There was one from Dumbledore, but as he knew what would be written inside, he just placed it on the same stack as the others he would read later... probably.

He stopped short as his eyes fell on the coat of arms of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin.

Why would he write him? The letter Harry had sent had been sealed only with a blob of wax, nothing more. So this had to be from You-Know-Who.

The wizard with messy black hair and beard stubble was still staring at the unopened letter in his hand as Hermione and Ron came through the door into the kitchen, bickering.

“‘Mione, you need to take a break. All the time, you're in the library, nose in a book. You should do something different for a change. Like, play exploding snap with me, or something.”

The bushy-haired witch huffed in frustration. “Ron! I can’t just leave Harry hanging! If you're bored, you could always help me find a way to free our friend!”

She stopped abruptly, poking the red-head in the chest with a finger. “He's your friend, too. Or have you already forgotten?”

Shaking his head with a look of worry, Ron walked past Hermione to his usual seat at the table, falling gracelessly into his chair, grabbing the pot of tea. With narrowed eyes, Hermione followed, clearing the way for the other Weasley children, as well as Molly and Arthur. They all settled around the table, chatting and filling their plates with the wonderful-smelling food that Molly had prepared before going to fetch her family.

Only when Arthur finally started to relay the Ministry gossip about his impending trial to Sirius, did they notice him staring at the letter in his hands.

“What's wrong with the letter, Sirius?” asked Arthur, a little concerned.

Startled out of his thoughts, Sirius looked up and after blinking a few times, swiftly broke the seal. Flipping the letter open with a flick of his wrist, he started to read without explaining to the others.

In polite words, Lord Slytherin informed Lord Black that his godson would be in Diagon Alley this afternoon, meeting his friends, if they had time. The letter did not mention that Sirius might want to come as well, but the animagus got the impression that exactly this was somehow written between the lines.

After this bit of information, Lord Slytherin only mentioned that he would be called as witness at the trial on Monday and that Harry, who was called Henry in the letter, would be there too.

Switching his concentration back to the kitchen, Sirius became aware of the silence in the room. All of the teens had gotten letters they were now staring at, just like Sirius had done only moments before.

“Did You-Know-Who write you, too?” Sirius’ voice was a little unsteady, and he was not surprised to get four nods in response.

“Open them. It’s probably an invitation for this afternoon. It was mentioned in my letter that Harry’s friends would get one,” the young Lord Black encouraged his guests, holding his own letter up.

Hermione was the first to open hers, closely followed by the twins. And they all were almost finished reading before Ron even blinked again.

Her hands with the letter sinking down to the table, Hermione waited for Fred and George to finish theirs. They all wore similar looks of confusion. “You were invited too, Hermione?” asked the twin on the right. “For ice cream in Diagon Alley?” added the twin on the left.

Nodding slowly, Hermione read the letter a second time. And without looking up, words started to hurry out of the young witch's mouth.

“It's odd that he would write the invitation and not Harry. Don’t you think? He writes something about a long day. But why would a long day stop Harry from writing? I hope he is not ill or something like that. No. If he was, he wouldn't be able to go out for ice cream. Should we go? Maybe he will be there, even if it says here that he has appointments this afternoon. But even if, we can’t let Harry down, can we?”

Suddenly her rambling stopped, her eyes getting wide, her brow furrowed. “How did the letters get here? Sirius, are the wards still in place?”

Glad that something had stopped the fast flow of words – seriously, did the girl not need to breath? – Sirius shook his head and smiled. “No need to worry. How do you think all this,” he indicated the huge stack of parchment beside his plate, “could be here, if the excessive wards Albus put in place were still in effect? No, I changed them a bit after the Headmaster's dubious decisions.”

The torn thoughts of the young witch over the Headmaster and all that had happened were clear on her face for Sirius to read, but it was not his job to make up her mind about the things that were happening. He needed to concentrate on clearing his name and supporting his godson. There was no room for anything else at the moment.

So, back to the matter at hand. “Do you want to go? We shouldn't let you go alone.”

Arthur and Molly looked worriedly at their sons. Ginny was staying with her aunt Muriel for a few days.

“I’m afraid I have to go to work,” Arthur said regretfully.

“But it's Saturday!” Molly interrupted her husband.

Before they could get any further into this topic, the door to the kitchen opened and Remus came in, freshly shaven and clearly confused by the tension in the room. The werewolf looked from one to the other, trying to get a feeling for what was happening. Sirius had seen this often enough to recognize what was happening, and helped his friend by explaining.

“We got letters from Lord Slytherin,” he said, the title thick with sarcasm.

“Letters? Like this one?” asked Remus, getting a letter of his own out of his robe pocket, showing the green wax of the seal to the others.

“Exactly,” nodded Sirius. “Were you invited for ice cream, like the teens?”

“It's an invitation, but for the job interview. The one for the History tutor position. It came yesterday morning.”

Glad for his friend, and for the opportunity this position presented for them, Sirius smiled, briefly wondering why Remus had not told him yesterday. But his irritation quickly vanished, as he thought back to the previous day.

He had been in meetings with his solicitor most of the morning and great parts of the afternoon. And while he had not been in a meeting, Remus had been off working in his current job as a help in a muggle library.

“When and where will this interview be?”

“Today. In the afternoon. The letter says to come to the Leaky Cauldron. It seems he rented a room there.” With this Remus moved over to the table, sat down next to Sirius, and gave the letter to the other remaining Marauder.

“So the claim he will be in Diagon on some appointments...” “...is real.” Said the twins, getting a determined look.

Sirius got nostalgic, the two of them reminded him so much of his own time as a prankster during his Hogwarts years.

“You kids will not go alone!” Molly put her foot down, before the teenagers could get funny ideas.

“Of course not,” agreed the owner of the house. “It might be a public place, but we can't be cautious enough.” With a gleam of mischief in his eyes, Sirius turned to Hermione. “What do you think about taking the dog of a friend out for a walk?”

oooOOooo

Harry was standing in the garden of the biggest manor he had ever seen.

As promised the day before, Voldemort had taken him to see the Potter houses he deemed appropriate to live in. They had started right after a quiet breakfast that followed the familiar pattern of a shared newspaper and oddly mundane conversations.

Much to Harry’s relief, the happenings of the evening before had not come up until now, and he hoped it would stay that way until the evening.

They had started with the one manor on the short list. A big house with two ballrooms, an entire wing full of guest rooms... well, more like suites, several parlours, and studies. It had a really big kitchen and several rooms in the family wing. The family wing!

“Well...” Harry started, unsure of what to say.

“Maybe a little big, for only the two of us?” inquired Voldemort, glancing back at the grand front door, over his shoulder.

Harry nodded, it was too big for only two people. If they lived here, he would have a lot of space to avoid the other, but he was sure he would never be able to feel at home.

Startled by this thought – he wanted to feel at the home while living with this monster? – he quickly said the first positive thing about the manor he could think of. “I like the Quidditch pitch in the back.”

Tapping the index finger of his right hand against his chin, Voldemort looked around the slightly neglected garden. “If you want to use the pitch, you can do so without us living here.” He turned to look at Harry. “You can certainly come here to use it from time to time. This will be a great place to hold balls and parties of any kind.”

He smiled and Harry shuddered under the watchful red eyes. It was still a troubling sight to see the dark wizard smile.

“Shall we try the townhouse in Scotland?” the older wizard asked with a smile still in his voice.

Reluctantly, Harry stepped up to Voldemort. He did not like apparation, and needing to touch the man did not make it any better. He was only lucky that contact did not result in pain any more. He wondered why that might be.

Moments later, and after again being squeezed through an impossibly small rubber tube, they stood in the small front garden of an old townhouse, the noise of the city faintly reaching their ears.

The teen’s first impression was not favourable. The house front gave him a dark and miserable feeling. There was grotesque stone masonry to see near the roof, and the stone from which the house was built was dark and stained with decades of grime.

Voldemort produced a large and intricately designed wrought-iron key out of his pocket, went to the door, and used the key to open it.

As he had at the manor, he went first into the house, casting a few spells in rapid succession to make sure all was safe. Satisfied with the results, he gestured for Harry to follow him into the entrance hall. They took a good look around.

There was a lot of dark wood in the panelling, furniture, and flooring. Together with the dark paint – a murky green – on the walls above the panelling and the dark wool woven rugs, it was a rather gloomy place.

The few paintings of people hanging around the house did have quite the attitude, sneering at them and whispering among themselves. They looked nothing like the people Harry had seen in the mirror of Erised over Christmas in his first year at Hogwarts, so they probably were not Potters. But they seemed somewhat familiar.

From the size, the house was much more reasonable than the manor, but Harry was not happy with the atmosphere of the place.

“You do not like this one either?” Voldemort remarked after they had seen the third bedroom on the second floor. In this one a rather garish green and black together with dark oak dominated the décor.

Harry nodded, looking disgusted at a painting of a pale and drawn-looking woman with grey-blue eyes and a sour expression.

“Not really, no, Sir.” the teen answered glumly. At this rate he would not only be stuck with Voldemort, but in an unpleasant house to boot.

“Do not despair just yet, son,” Voldemort said, picking up Harry’s less-than-cheerful moot. “The files I got from the goblins indicated that this house was a wedding gift for your grandmother Dorea, a born Black. It certainly is their style, if I remember correctly from the one visit I made to the Black townhouse in London.” A look of remembrance shortly made an appearance, quickly replaced by one of calculation.

“Maybe I can use the ambience. And separate work from our home.”

Harry got slightly ill at the thought what ‘work’ might entail, and decided not to think about it too much.

They left the house, and Voldemort apparated them over to the last property the dark wizard considered a possible dwelling place.

The teen hoped this house would be better. At least if they were living in London, he would not be too far from Sirius.

Another unpleasant trip later, they were standing in the entrance hall of the second townhouse. The feeling was different from the last one, and Harry felt at home right from the start. Sunlight fell through the stained glass windows on both sides of the front door. The floor was oak, the rug a patterned grey weave with speckles of light golden tones. The walls were covered half with a cherry wood panelling from the floor to about halfway up, and painted in a light golden yellow from the ceiling down to the panelling.

This light-hearted colour scheme continued in the kitchen, with its dining area and furniture of white-painted wood, as well as all the other rooms Harry wandered through, followed by an amused looking Dark Lord.

On the ground floor there were, beside the entrance hall and kitchen, a study and a parlour with a door to the small garden in the back, a big wardrobe and storage room next to the kitchen, and a formal dining room with a table to seat twelve people.

The first floor up had a guest room and a library Harry wanted to show to Hermione as soon as possible.

Stepping into the study of Lord Potter, Harry’s eyes fell onto a painting of two persons. A man and a woman, in expensive robes in front of a shelf of books. They both smiled at him, the woman dabbing an embroidered handkerchief at her silver-grey eyes. Beaming at the teen, the man in the painting, with the same unruly mop of black hair as Harry, spoke with happiness in his voice.

“You have to be Harry. This hair is our family curse, and you have Lily’s eyes.” He nodded and held a hand out to the boy in front of the portrait. “Welcome to Griffin House.”

The teen could only stand there and stare at the two, who, he assumed, had been his grandparents. Harry jumped a little in surprise as Voldemort entered the room behind him, and his grandfather’s gaze became so cold it could have frozen the entire great lake.

“As you can see, I did as I said and brought him here,” the red eyed wizard addressed the portrait’s occupants.

“Very well,” the late Lord Potter conceded and turned his attention back to his grandson, a smile returning to his face. “I am so glad to finally see you, Harry.” From behind his round glasses he shot another freezing gaze at the softly smiling dark wizard standing just inside the door. “How are you doing? He said you will live in one of the Potter properties, from now on. Do you know which one?”

Smiling, a little bewildered, Harry answered, his thoughts on other matters. “I’m not sure which I'll pick.” He stared at his grandparents. Why had no one told him that there was a portrait of his father’s parents? Was it possible that a portrait had been made of his parents as well?

“Is it possible…. I mean, do you know? If…?” Harry stammered, not really daring to hope.

“I am afraid it's most unlikely,” Charlus said as gentle as he could. “Most do never consider having a portrait made. And the others wait well into their forties. I am sorry, Harry. But I don't think that our son and his wife had a portrait made.” The painted wizard tried an encouraging smile to cheer the young man up.

Before Charlus could say more, Voldemort indicated the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. “We need to leave soon, if you do not want to be late to the meeting with your friends. There will be ample opportunity for you to come here and speak with your grandparents.” Sauntering over to the desk, picking up one of the paperweights, he spoke, looking questioningly at Harry. “Are you able to pick a house for us to live in, now?”

The teen went over the impressions collected during their visits to the houses. The manor was simply too big, even if he liked the style and the pitch. The house in Edinburgh was too dark for Harry’s liking. Considering that the house here in London was nice like the manor and not as big, it was probably the best choice. The opportunity to speak with Charlus and Dorea was just the cherry on top of the cake. “I want to live here, sir,” Harry voiced his conclusion.

Over the excitement of meeting his friends again, he quickly forgot his sadness over the fact that his parents had not left him a portrait so he could get to know them even a little.

“Very well,” Voldemort nodded. “I will see to it that our things are moved. Ready to go meet your friends?”

The raven-haired teen nodded and turned to the portrait, smiling. “I'll come talk with you soon. See you!”

“Have a nice afternoon with your friends,” Dorea said in farewell.

With a cheery wave over his shoulder, gently directed to the door by a hand of Voldemort on his other one, Harry left the study and the house.

With mixed feelings, Harry prepared to be apparated again. On the one hand he was happy to be living in a house belonging to the Potter family, in a house with the portrait of his grandparents. On the other hand, Voldemort would be living there too. The teen was entirely unsure of what to think about that.

oooOOooo

Together with his son, Marvolo walked down Diagon Alley to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. They were followed by Goyle and Crabbe acting as bodyguards. Not for him, but for his son. Even if he suspected the Order would be sending some adults to watch over the children, he preferred to make his own provisions.

Marvolo was amused by the way the other patrons were avoiding them, making a path for them, while backing away. During their last visit, Henry had been disturbed by this. But this afternoon he was too focused on the prospect of meeting with his friends to notice anything. It was funny to watch the boy. Maybe his suspicion about their apparent connection was unfounded? How could his son be this dependent on others and be carrying a part of his soul? But maybe the part was so small, that the influence was minimal or even non-existent? He sighed. No use in speculating now. The ritual would prove it one way or the other. Until then, he just had to wait.

Drawing nearer to their destination, he spotted several redheads. Oh joy, the Weasleys. Well, Henry had invited three of their children, so it had to be expected. As he spotted a huge black dog lying next to a young girl with bushy brown hair, a small smile briefly graced his face. So he had come. Nice to know that the man would take risks to see Henry.

Finally they reached the small group of people waiting for them, and Marvolo instantly spotted two sentries the Order had placed to watch.

Beside him, Henry was almost vibrating with suppressed need to run to his friends and hug them. So Marvolo was glad that he had insisted on drilling Henry in the proper protocol for such occasions before the party yesterday. So the boy waited for his father to greet the adults present, before he could rush to his friends.

“Mrs. Weasley, nice to meet you.” He bowed his head as protocol demanded from a Lord when greeting the matron of a house while in public. The Weasleys were poor, but nonetheless purebloods with a long history.

The look of surprise on the witch’s face was worth the small slight to his pride. “Nice to meet you too … Lord Slytherin.” There was a noticeable hesitation before his title, making his smile grow.

He turned to his son. Now after being polite to a blood traitor – no, that would not do, he needed to find a different word for those without wizarding pride, too – now, after being polite to a political adversary, it was time to make the impression of a caring parent.

“I want you to behave, Henry.” He waited for a nod of acknowledgement that he received almost as soon as he had stopped talking. “Do you have your portkey?”

“Yes, sir.” His son said, fishing the pendant out by its chain.

“Good. Use it if there is any trouble. Any trouble at all!”

He changed to parseltongue, noting the paling of the people gathered around the table. .:And I mean it! No heroics. If there is a problem, let the adults handle it. There are two of mine and two of the Order watching. So there is absolutely no need for you to do anything. Understood?:.

Henry gave him a furious look but nodded.

And now on to the other objective of this meeting. Marvolo got a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his dark green linen robes. “Here. You said you wanted to show this to your friends.”

With a look of wonder and suspicion, Henry took the family tree from Marvolo. How fast the emotions of the boy could change, and how easy it was to read them from his face.

With another small bow to the Weasley matriarch, Marvolo started to say his farewell. “Nice dog, Miss Granger.” Turning to the only adult at the table he added, “I will be at the Leaky Cauldron, if you need me, Mrs. Weasley. I will come here to pick my son up around 6 pm.”

With a last nod he left, leaving behind some stunned teenagers and a bewildered witch.

And now off to find a tutor for his son. He sighed. He was starting to get restless. This approach without violence was all nice, but it lacked opportunities to release tension.

oooOOooo

After the man with his glamoured blue eyes had left, Harry let go of all enforced manners and almost ran the few last steps to his friends. Finding himself with an arm full of witch, his face buried in unruly curls, a black dog almost pushing him over in his quest to lick the teen's face, he laughed with relief. “I am so glad to see you all!”

“Oh, Harry! We were worrying so much! How are you? I’m so happy to see you!”

Laughing and pushing his friend back, Harry tried to calm Hermione down.

“I’m fine, Hermione. Really. And so happy to see you. And thanks for bringing Snuffles.” He smiled down to his godfather and then over to the twins, who were grinning broadly, their mother, with glittering eyes, and Ron, who looked a little peeved.

“Come sit down, all of you, and select what you want to have!” Mrs. Weasley commanded.

With a much lighter heart then he had had in the last days, Harry sat down and was soon sandwiched between one of the twins and Hermione. They each named the flavours they wanted to have, Mrs. Weasley noting them down before she went inside to give Mr. Fortescue their order.

The twins and Hermione were chatting happily, but Harry had trouble paying attention, as he was staring at Ron. His first friend was looking at his hands, only then and now sending heated glares at the others.

“What's wrong, Ron?” he just had to ask. He didn't know when he would see him again, if there was a problem, they should talk now.

Now all eyes were on Ron, who flushed with anger and embarrassment.

“You look like that pompous git Malfoy!” growled the young boy, earning surprised looks from his brothers, an enraged one from Hermione, and a growl from the large black dog sitting next to Harry.

The teen with his mop of black hair had gone pale. This blow had hurt. Why would Ron say something like that?

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione, the first to get her wits back under control. “How can you be so shallow?” She turned to Harry, her face getting soft. “You look great, Harry.”

Slobbering Harry’s hand, the animagus, currently not able to change back, expressed his agreement with the young witch's assessment.

Under the murderous glares of his brothers, Ron shrank into his chair before pushing it back and storming away.

“What's wrong with him?” Harry asked no one in particular.

“Little, ickle Ronnikins has been gloomy the last days.” “We thought that...” “...He was worried for you,” “...Harry.”

The twins looked bewildered, one looking in the direction Ron had vanished, the other at Harry.

With a slightly wavering smile – he had hoped after the tournament that Ron was over his issues – Harry nodded to them and patted his godfather's head. Taking a calming breath, using one of the meditation exercises he had read about in the book Voldemort had had him read, he let his anger go. It was not the first time Ron had acted in anger and without thinking things through. Being the youngest son with five older brothers, he got way too many hand-me-downs. Seeing Harry in completely new and expensive clothes – silk and finest wool for today – was almost certain to spark the other teen's jealousy. He did not like it, was hurt and angry, but... “Well, he's not completely wrong,” Harry said softly. “I think this,” he pinched his robe to make clear what he was speaking about, “was made by the tailor the Malfoys use, too.”

“You look better.” “Must be something about...” “...the fact that you're not...” “...a bloody git!” exclaimed the twins, grinning like maniacs.

Their antics never failed to cheer Harry up, and so he chuckled and smiled gratefully.

Before they could start a new conversation, Mrs. Weasley came back, followed by Florean levitating a large tray filled with bowls overflowing with ice cream of the most delicious flavours.

“Where's Ron?” his mother wanted to know.

“He stormed off...” “...in a huff.” was the twin's response, as they distributed the ice cream around the table, floating the bowls, revelling in the fact that they were old enough to use magic out of school. The last bowl was placed on the floor, attacked on the spot by the dog, licking happily on the treat.

Used to the back-and-forth talk of her twins, Mrs. Weasley looked over to Hermione for confirmation and got a little nod and shrug in response.

“Eat your ice cream. I'll look for your brother.” Muttering to herself, the Weasley matriarch hurried over to Tonks, standing guard in the shade by one of the apothecaries.

Determined to not let Ron’s behaviour spoil his afternoon with his friends, Harry plunged the spoon into his mound of chocolate-mint-hazelnut ice cream and smiled at his friends, asking, “Now, what have you been doing since I … left?”

“Searching for a way to free you, of course,” said Hermione, eating her vanilla-strawberry sundae at a much more sedate pace.

“And? Found something useful?” Harry wanted to know, even if he was almost certain that his book-wise friend had found nothing. Voldemort was too sure of himself for there to be any way to get Harry away from him.

Hermione’s crestfallen expression and sad brown eyes answered the question without the use of words. “If we could prove that you aren't related to You-Know-Who, or if we had evidence that he wasn't a fit guardian...” she trailed off, curious over the pained look from Harry.

“If anyone thought the Dursleys fit guardians, then Voldemort would be considered fit, too.” He shook his head at the astonishment on his friends’ faces. “Did you know that I'll be Lord Potter once I turn seventeen? That I need to know a lot of things to fill this responsibility?” Searching their faces he slowly nodded at what he found. “So you did know. I didn't, until he told me the afternoon he adopted me.” Raking his hair in frustration, Harry took another deep breath. “Why did you never tell me?”

Looking a tad guilty, Hermione cleared her throat. “I thought you knew. And as you don't like to talk about your fame, I thought this was a part of it. And I only learned in third year.”

Eager nods from the twins, their mouths full of ice cream, indicated that they had thought the same.

“Well, I didn't know.” Getting the folded ancestry tree from his pocket, Harry continued to relay the information Hermione would need to find a way. “And I am related to him. We went to Gringotts for an ancestry test on Thursday. And this is the result.” He smoothed the parchment out, turning it so Hermione could read it readily, tracing the path from himself, over his mother, all the way up to the Gaunts. “These two are on Voldemort’s tree, too. We are related.”

Hermione followed the path with her own finger, going further back, all the way up to Salazar Slytherin. With a trembling jaw she looked up at Harry and down to the tree again. “Your mother had wizarding ancestors? You're a descendant of Slytherin?” She got the look in her eyes that Harry recognized as the one she always got when she found something she wanted to research.

“You don't need to search more about ways to free me, based on not being related.”

But Hermione did not listen. “How does this test work? Why go to a bank to get it performed?” The gleam in her eyes intensified. “Do you think I could go and get the test done?”

Shrugging Harry said “Well, yes. Why not? I think anyone with the money to pay it can get it done.”

“Well,” she demanded impatiently, “why in Gringotts? And how does it work?”

“You need to let some blood drop onto a prepared parchment. And..” briefly Harry contemplated what he should do. Tell her what Voldemort told him? Or pretend to be oblivious about how it worked?

“Something about a treaty between the goblins and wizards. I’m not quite sure.” He shrugged again.

“I think I'll go now,” the bushy-haired witch announced, getting up. “I want to know now. And I have the money.”

The boys exchanged looks, but did not try to dissuade her. After the whole business with the SPEW in the last school year, they knew better than to stand between Hermione and her intended target.

Her decision made, Hermione finished her ice cream, then stood to leave for the bank. She passed by Mrs. Weasley, who brought back her youngest son, only briefly stopping to ask where the younger witch was headed.

Ron was made to apologize by his mother. And the rest of the afternoon was spent in slightly awkward conversations, over summer plans and pranks the twins had in mind for their last year at Hogwarts.

That was, until Hermione came back. Then they had to console a distressed friend.

oooOOooo

Sitting behind the table in one of the private rooms off the main dining room in the Leaky Cauldron, Marvolo was rubbing his temples. The second applicant had just left, and he felt a headache coming. This was a veritable nightmare!

The first applicant had been a blubbering fool that obviously had been living under a rock somewhere, because he had not known anything about Marvolo’s previous identity and had almost fainted at the question of whether he would be able to work for the man who had been Voldemort. The slightly overweight man had left quickly after that.

The second applicant, an elderly witch, had seemed to think that she could win favour with him by repeating all the rhetoric about pure blood and how it was superior to anything else. Well, she maybe would have been right only a few weeks back. But now, and considering he was searching for a tutor to teach The-Boy-Who-Lived, this was an instant means to be out of running for the position.

He closed his eyes, groaning slightly, leaning back in the chair. He felt the need to punish someone, to curse someone into next week and back. When had been the last time he held someone under the cruciatus curse? Too long, it seemed. Not feeling it prudent to punish the last one to arrive at a meeting, he still had to concede that this practice had the benefit of providing a target for his need to make others suffer, every time.

He would have to find another outlet for his urges if he was to keep up the face of Lord Slytherin as an upstanding member of society.

Maybe he should make some of his followers practice duelling with him. He would get to hit them with some curses, relieve some of his tension, and there would be nothing unreasonable about it. Yes, that was a plan he could try.

Standing up to straighten his clothes, and taking a few steps before the next applicant arrived, Marvolo took a look at his list of names. The next one would be Remus Lupin. At least the man would know who he was, and would not try to impress him by repeating meaningless prejudice.

He hoped that the werewolf would be an option. Giving Henry more of his past in a controlled setting would serve to secure the boy’s will to stay and not do anything foolish. Considering his past actions, there was a high probability of the boy's taking matters into his own hands if he was not satisfied with a situation.

He just had taken his seat again, filling the cup with fresh tea, when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” the red-eyed wizard – he had discarded the glamour as soon as he had sat foot into the room – called out.

In stepped a lean man, wearing some robes that clearly had been of good quality once, but had long since lost their aura of wealth. Now they were threadbare at the hems, and had more than one attached patch that told a story of poverty, even if they were artfully done.

“Mr. Lupin?” Marvolo asked for confirmation and got a tiny nod in response.

“That's right, Lord Slytherin,” the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher said with another polite nod of his head.

Well, that was a nice change. No outward animosity, but no grovelling either. Not many wizards knowing of his past actions were able to pull that off.

“Please take a seat.” Lupin complied, sitting down in the chair across from Marvolo, on the other side of the table.

“Would you like some tea?” Bemused, Marvolo realized that he had offered tea quite often lately to people he had meetings with. It felt funny in a way to act this hospitable, but it served its purpose, so why change it? And so he let the teapot float over and fill a cup in mid air.

Getting comfortable and looking a last time at the curriculum vitae the man had provided, the former insane madman started his questions. “I see that you have taught at Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin. So your experience with teaching teenagers is not something I would doubt. But you were not teaching history. What qualifies you for the position as a history tutor?”

Avoiding eye contact, Lupin locked his gaze firmly some centimetres over Marvolo’s left shoulder, answering the question with unwavering politeness. “I had an Outstanding in my History OWLs and NEWTs, mostly through self-study. I never stopped studying my favourite subject, and would like very much to teach it to some young witches and wizards who are suffering under the tenure of Professor Binns.”

Marvolo hid a smirk at this response. Suffering was the right description for sitting in one of Binns’ lectures. He had had the dubious pleasure of being taught by the ghost in his own years at Hogwarts, mostly using the time to do study on his own, and not always on the subject matter of the lesson.

Nodding in acceptance – he had records of the OWL and NEWT scores with the other information in the application – he moved on to the next question. “Will you be able to work for me? Accept money from me and act on my wishes?” He did not need to add why these things might be a problem for the man sitting, seemingly relaxed, opposite from him. They both knew well enough what was standing between them.

“For Harry, I will,” was the calm and simple reply.

“Your duties would be as follows: tutoring my son Henry,” he stressed both of these words, “in History so he can pass his OWLs with at least an Exceeded Expectations. I think lessons on three days a week are a minimum requirement. I also would like you to continue to support his attempts at studying by himself over the term. It is obvious that he needs a little more guidance to accomplish a reasonable effort.” The werewolf seemed to agree to this, slowly nodding his head, still refusing to make eye contact. A smart man. Marvolo was intrigued.

“I also demand that you, Mr. Lupin, take wolfsbane for every full moon. I will provide the potion. You can stay wherever you want during that night, but I can provide a warded area with a sparse forest you could run in.” Severus had brewed the potion for the man over his entire time as professor at Hogwarts and would do so again on his command. And the manor they had visited today had a small forest inside its wards. With only a few, small updates to the wards, it would serve quite well as a place for a transformed werewolf to run free.

With a slight narrowing of his eyes, the man with grey flecked light brown hair asked a question of his own. “From where do you intend to get the potion, Lord Slytherin? It's a complicated brew and highly toxic if not prepared right. I will not consent to risking my health and life over a potion from a shady apothecary.”

Even this accusation was brought forward with the most polite tone. Marvolo could see hiring this man. He was quite entertaining, something he could use now and then.

“I will ask Potions Master Severus Snape to brew it. He already brews all the potions my son and I need. I see no reason why he should refuse, or why you might question the quality of a potion prepared by him.”

There was a small flinch in the hazel eyes of Lupin at the mentioning of his and Henry’s new status. So the werewolf was not as cool as he pretended to be with all this.

“I indeed know of the quality that Severus always strives for in all potions he brews. There will be no problem with this from my side.”

“Good,” Marvolo accepted. “You will receive a salary similar to that which you got as a Hogwarts professor. You can also have a flat in one of the Potter houses. There are quite a few standing empty at the moment.“ Looking again at the shabby robes of the young wizard, he added thoughtfully, “And if I hire you, you would have to accept at least two sets of decent robes. I will not have someone working for me, making me look stingy.”

Marvolo almost let a smile slip at the quickly hidden surprise and bruised pride on the werewolf’s face.

After getting a reluctant nod to his last proposal, Marvolo started a discussion over some controversial topics from different times in history. Remus Lupin was the first applicant reaching this state of the application interview, and Marvolo was not sure if he even should bother interviewing the others.

ooOoo

Finally out of the room and out of the pub, back in Diagon Alley, Remus took several deep breaths and rolled his shoulders. Tension was slowly seeping out of him. That had been a rather tense half-hour.

But he got the feeling that it would be worth it. Not only because the pay would be high, the same money he got for teaching seven years of students in almost fourteen classes at five days of the week, for teaching only one student was generous indeed. The addition of the offer of a flat, the robes – that offer still grated on his pride – and the wolfsbane potion, made the offer almost too good to be true.

He sighed and started to walk back to the ice-cream parlour. He hoped that he would get the job, keeping close to Harry would be worth his pride. More than worth it, if he was honest with himself.

Quickening his stride, Remus smiled at the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon in Harry’s company.

oooOOooo

The sun was casting patterns onto the wooden floor of the small room. The shadows had travelled quite a bit in the time Marvolo had been speaking to the applicants who had passed the first test with their applications.

Gathering his papers and notes, shrinking them down, and shoving them into his pocket, Marvolo checked quickly that he had not left anything behind before leaving.

The main room of the Leaky Cauldron had filled quite a bit, with witches and wizards eating dinner and drinking something at the bar. Silence fell as he stepped into the room, and all eyes followed him. As the door closed behind him, voices erupted into excited chatter. Smiling evilly, Marvolo stepped up to the brick wall, tapping the bricks to open the passage. It was nice to know that he still was feared.

As he came closer to the place he had left his son, he spotted the teenagers having a lively discussion. Checking, he saw both pairs of sentries in the same places they had been in earlier. Shifting his attention back to the table, Marvolo noticed that one of the redheads was sitting sulkily and turned away from the others at the table.

One of the identical redheads was the first one who noticed his approach. He elbowed his brother sitting beside him, and silence quickly fell over the group.

Looking up, Henry spotted him and the smile vanished, replaced by a calm mask. Pleased by this sign the boy was learning how to behave as a respectable heir, Marvolo nodded to the adults at the table, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Lupin, before addressing his son.

“Did you have a nice afternoon, Henry?” he tried to inject care and friendliness into his voice and was not at all sure if he really succeeded. Portraying the caring father was something new, maybe he should arrange something to enable him to observe some of the parents among his followers with their children, to get more to base his own actions on.

“Yes, we had a nice afternoon, Sir,” was the teen's answer. But the short worried glance over to Miss Granger and another, not worried but resigned glance, at the younger Weasley boy, Ronald, told another tale.

As Miss Granger looked like something was troubling her, and the boy only seemed to be sulking about something, probably inconsequential, the dark wizard decided to try to get more information about the young girl’s plight. “Why are you looking so worried, Miss Granger? I hope there was no problem for you all because Henry was here?”

Startled, the girl looked up, attempting a smile. “Not at all, Lord Slytherin. I'm simply not feeling well at the moment.”

Henry gave her a sympathetic look and pat on her arm.

Marvolo contemplated Whether it was worth prying more, as a snort from the younger Weasley boy drew the attention of all to him.

“Of course you're not feeling well. Learning that you're related to the Lestranges is rather shocking. I'd be sick, too, if it were me!” he drawled with a scowl on his face, not noticing the murderous looks he got from his brothers and Henry, instead looking at his feet and the cobblestones of the street.

Grasping what must have occurred earlier this afternoon, Marvolo turned to his son, a brow raised questioningly.

“I showed Hermione the ancestry tree. She was curious about her own ancestors and went to have the test done herself. What she found shocked her quite badly,” Henry reported reluctantly and with quick gazes to his friend, making sure she was not angry over his sharing her secret.

So his theory had another proof. Another so-called muggle-born with magical ancestors. It seemed possible that magic needed some fresh blood now and then to stay strong. He was not sure how he would sell this to the more fanatic of his followers.

“How far back is the connection?” Marvolo asked politely, trying to get into a conversation about this. “I went to school with Xerxes Lestrange, and am still in contact with him. I could introduce you to him, if you would like to get to know your wizarding relatives, Miss Granger.”

The girl in question was visibly contemplating what to do. Accept the offer and get the access to more possibilities to gather knowledge, or decline it and stay away from a family infamous for being dark?

The other adults seemed thrown by the revelation and did nothing to stop him from taking a few steps closer to the table, peering at the folded parchment in front of the young witch.

He smiled as she opened the parchment and turned it, so he could read it. He let his eyes widen seeing the tree. On the mother’s side there were only unreadable blobs, a pure muggle ancestry. But on the father’s side, there was a Squib, his mother, the girl’s grandmother. The names of her parents were familiar to Marvolo. A second later he knew why they seemed familiar. They were Xerxes' parents! His old school... friend was the girl's granduncle.

“My friend will be happy to learn that the family is not doomed to extinction. With both his sons in Azkaban and them without children of their own, it was a great concern of his.” He bowed slightly to the wide-eyed staring girl. “It would be a pleasure for me to introduce you to your family.”

He felt that they were no longer welcome... well he was no longer welcome, so he gestured to Henry to come over to him. “Thank you for looking after my son,” he bowed to the adults as well as to the transformed wizard sitting at the feet of his godson. “Have a pleasant evening.” He waited impatiently, while Henry embraced the twins and the Lestrange girl as well as the adults, including the dog, and turned him to leave the moment he stepped to stand beside him.

Walking through the street, followed by the two wizards acting as their guards and followed by the curious gazes of many others, Marvolo contemplated how to best use the information he had gathered today.

He had not known that Xerxes had had a sister. It was not surprising, though, as Squibs generally were hidden from society, cast out, or killed. Something he needed to change. It would be best to somehow get the girl under the influence, if not the custody, of the Lestrange Head of House. He was not certain yet if he would manage to get his other followers out of Azkaban. And even if he found a way, it was not certain that they would be able to live in the open as themselves. That would be, of course, the ideal scenario, but sadly, it was unlikely.

Maybe the trial for Lord Black would show him a way to get them out, at least a few of them. Was it possible to create evidence clearing some of them, by placing the blame on others? It was a course of action he would have to examine.

But they would have to wait. First he needed to test his theory on his and Henry’s connection, then he could start with thinking about ways to rescue his most faithful.

oooOOooo

Back at Grimmauld Place a few hours later, Hermione sat heavily down on the bed she was using, confused and a little anxious. What should she do with this new information?

She still remembered her gran. She had been a kind woman, with carefully-styled white hair and bright blue eyes. She had always smiled and listened to her granddaughter's reading her stories. She had liked those with magic in them the most.

But she never spoke. At the time she already had lost most of herself to her illness. Dementia. Death of personality and knowledge, long before death of the body.

Hermione wondered, if she had been borne a few years earlier, would she have known of the magical ancestry long before now? Would she have known about Hogwarts, magic, and about being a witch? It was likely, as her gran would have been able to tell her all about it, being born to magical parents.

What had it been like, living without magic in the magical world? Being cast out from the family, denied all contact? She was furious for her grandmother. Squibs weren't treated any better than house-elves, or so it seemed. There had to be something she could do about it!

But first she would write a letter to her parents. Tell them about what she had discovered today. They deserved to know.

Getting up and walking over to the desk, Hermione sat down in the creaky chair, getting out a piece of parchment, the ink, and her favourite quill, and started on the letter.

oooOOooo

Avoiding stepping onto an albino peacock, Harry followed behind Voldemort on his way up to Malfoy Manor. They had apparated instead of flooed, to avoid being overheard, as their destination was to remain a secret. Therefore they had arrived in front of the gates to the grounds and not inside the house.

Harry had to admit that the building they were walking up to was quite impressive. It seemed to be as huge as the Potter manor they had visited earlier today. Several wings to the building, more than two stories, surrounded by extensive gardens.

But this observation only briefly occupied his mind. The happenings of this afternoon, Hermione’s unexpected ancestry, Ron’s anger, and the problems his first friend’s jealousy probably would cause, as well as his apprehension over what they were going to do this evening, left no room for admiring a building.

He was startled out of his thoughts as they reached the large, ornately carved double doors. They swung open without Voldemort's doing anything that Harry could see. Inside the door Harry looked around and noticed the great chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, the tiled floor with its geometric pattern, a few sophisticated pieces of furniture, and several paintings of wizards. All in expensive robes from different epochs, but all with white-blond hair and steel-grey eyes.

A house-elf bowed to them, and Voldemort sent it to announce to the owner of the Manor that Lord Slytherin was here.

Only moments later the blond Lord Malfoy came into the entrance hall through the smaller door on the right side. He was not carrying his cane and was clothed in what passed for casual robes for the man. He bowed deeply when he was a few steps away from the door, and Harry could have sworn that Draco’s father had almost fallen to his knees.

An image of the same man in dark robes, his face hidden behind a bone-white mask, dropping to his knees, crawling over the ground to kiss the hem of a black robe worn by a man resembling a snake flashed before Harry’s inner eye.

It seemed the change in Voldemort was not as big as he wanted all of wizarding Britain to believe.

“My Lord, the ritual room as been prepared as you ordered.” Another small bow accompanied this information, and was not acknowledged by Voldemort at all.

The dark-haired man simply stalked off into the direction the other man had come from, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Harry was following him.

Pushing the mixed bag of other worries into the background, Harry’s anxiety over what was about to happen took the front seat. Not daring to risk making the man angry, Harry hurried to follow, convinced he would get lost in the manor if he did not stay close to the red-eyed monster.

After a short, hurried walk through several rooms – a ballroom, music room, a gentleman's parlour, a study. Harry had trouble identifying them all – they reached a hall ending at a plain wooden door.

Voldemort opened it by turning the glass handle and gestured for Harry to precede him into the room. Hesitantly the teenager stepped over the threshold into a room made entirely from dark bare stone. From the smooth floor to the bland windowless walls, all was made from the same lightly shimmering slate-grey stone. Their steps echoed as they walked to the middle. Turning to Voldemort, Harry observed as the man took a small pouch from his robe pocket, waving his wand over it to return it to its original size. A white shirt, long enough to fall at least to the knees, was produced and handed to the teen.

“Change into this. You should not wear anything else. And I mean it!” Harry found himself under an intense stare and had trouble keeping calm. “Anything that is not cleansed can interfere with the ritual. So please remove all your clothing, fold it, and then slip into the shirt,” Voldemort added in explanation.

Walking over to one corner of the room, frowning but not complaining, Harry was glad that the room seemed to be heated, at least a little. While he started to remove his shoes and socks, Voldemort got several stones, different coloured candles, chalk and herbs, a bowl made from some shiny metal, and a few vials out of the pouch.

Making quick work of getting undressed, his back turned to the other wizard, Harry was quickly finished. The shirt fell down over his knees. Before he could lift his stack of clothing it started to float, directed by Voldemort’s wand, through the room and onto a small shelf, formerly hidden behind a slab of stone, now leaning against the wall.

“Come over here, Henry,” Voldemort said in a friendly voice. As the teen came into arm's reach, the dark wizard laid his hand on his shoulder, turning him to face the material positioned on the floor.

Without much fuss the taller man launched into his explanation. “You will be sitting inside a circle I will erect around you. To do so, I will place the candles and draw runes on the floor. All you have to do is sit, breathe as calmly and regularly as you can manage, and wait. Do not speak or move until I tell you to. Understood?”

Eyeing the candles, Harry nodded, turned and walked over to the place Voldemort indicated. He sat down, and immediately got the impression that it would get uncomfortable fast, sitting on the hard, cold stone floor in nothing but a thin shirt.

Once he was positioned, Voldemort got really busy. First he placed the pouch in the niche before closing it with the stone slab. After that he placed the four candles, one white, one blue, one a dark red, and the last one brown, in a cross formation. One was in front of Harry, one behind, one to his left and one to his right.

Then he started to draw intricate symbols on the smooth surface of the floor. If he had not been so nervous, Harry would have had difficulty to not laugh at the sight of Voldemort moving around the room on hands and knees.

By the time the circle of symbols was finished, Harry could no longer feel his buttocks, and his feet were starting to lose feeling, too. He wished he had asked for a time – so he would know how long it would take – or a pillow to sit on.

Taking one of the vials into his hand, removing the stopper, Voldemort started to chant something in a language Harry did not understand. A fluid, changing its colour, began to flow from the vial, floating through the air and making contact with the chalk drawings. The chalk absorbed the fluid, starting to glow, the air growing heavy, and breathing getting more difficult. One after the other the vials were opened, adding to the glow of the circle, which got brighter, more colourful and pulsed faster and faster. Herbs placed in the bowl suddenly caught fire, filling the room with their smoke and scent.

Harry struggled to keep calm, surrounded by pulsing magic so thick, he wondered if it would become visible soon.

Just as he thought he could not stand the growing pressure any more, Voldemort’s chanting changed in tone and pace, and Harry felt the magic entering him, coursing through him, into every finger and toe, from the top of his head to the sole of his feet, warm and cold at the same time, tingling with energy, holding him in place.

An eerie light filled the whole room, and suddenly everything was over.

Harry lay panting on his side, head resting on the cool floor, his scar burning, the rest of his body cold and sore.

He watched as shiny dress shoes made their way over to him, robes pooling on the floor as the owner of the feet crouched down by his side.

“Henry? Can you hear me, son?”

Blinking, Harry tried to get up, but abandoned the effort on the spot. It was much too difficult to move at all.

Gentle hands turned his head so he was looking up to the ceiling, instead of off to the far wall. He blinked stupidly up into red eyes and noticed for the first time the many shades of red present in them. It took him much too long to recognize the grim expression on the face looking down at him.

“Let’s get you back home and into bed,” Voldemort said, scooping the boy up, and walking purposefully out of the room. With a lolling head, Harry briefly wondered if the man had tidied up after himself. Slowly getting his wits back, the teen noticed Mr. Malfoy walking beside them, but could not follow what they were speaking about. Before they were back in the entrance hall, he was back in control enough again, to remember what the reason had been to perform the ritual at all.

.:Did it work?:. he tiredly hissed. He did not want Malfoy to understand what he was asking.

.:Yes:. was the hissed reply, sounding tense .:I was right. But I will explain tomorrow. You are not able to follow a complicated explanation at the moment:.

Harry nodded his head a little. He had to agree, he was much too tired to stay awake for much longer.

He was slipping into a light sleep as he heard two cracks of apparation. Some angry words and rustling of cloth was the last he heard before sleep claimed him.

Chapter Text

Marvolo was walking carefully back to the entrance hall. In his arms lay the limp body of his son, breathing quietly now, exhausted and barely aware of his surroundings. He looked down on his son and wondered how this boy could be a container for a part of his soul and still be this… innocent. That was probably the best way to express it.

The manor was quiet, as it was no longer early evening, and he encountered no one for quite a bit of their journey back to the front hall. He could have breached the wards, Lucius had given him access to them, so he could lower them if necessary, but there was no need, and he wanted to give Henry some time to recover before apparating them back.

A few years back... well, more like a few decades, really, while researching ways to become immortal, he had wondered why those two rituals existed. One to identify your own horcrux inside of an object, and another one for the same, only when the container was a living being. Marvolo remembered clearly that he had scoffed at this ridiculous idea. Who would entrust a means to their immortality to another living being? And who would forget what they had used?

He had assumed, then, that living for hundreds of years could cause a loss of details in one's memories, so that one would need a means to check. But that had made no sense for the ritual for checking living beings. He was glad it existed. Had he had to invent one himself, it would have taken that much longer to gain certainty. He always had assumed that no one had dared to go as far as he, striving for immortality. After what he now knew, that splitting one's soul too often meant to lose sanity of mind and magical strength, he could understand the warnings, subtle as they were, that had been written into the texts he had read. Had someone else walked his path? Made their souls unstable to the point they created unintended horcruxes? It was no longer an impossibility. But he still thought his first explanation, that he had come up with in his teenage days, the most likely. Some witches and wizards invented rituals, potions, or spells, just to prove they could. Not because they intended to use them, or even needed them.

Well, it was futile to ponder on this conundrum too much. He had more important things to do. One right at this moment was to get his son back to Nott House and into bed. And to get some sleep himself, as he had not slept the night before.

The ritual had needed a number of potions that he 'd had to brew himself no more than a day before they were to be used. And so he had spent last night in the potions lab brewing several potions, containing his tears, blood, spit, and … other bodily fluids. It was a rather intricate ritual.

Reaching the music room, with a grand piano taking the centre, he saw Lucius coming in through the door from the direction Marvolo was heading. The Lord bowed low, falling into step beside his liege.

“I hope all went well, my Lord?” inquired the blond man politely.

Marvolo smirked, he could practically feel the urge to ask what exactly he had been doing radiating off the wizard.

“It did,” was his short answer, he had no intention of telling his follower about his horcruxes at all, and so there was no reason to explain his doings.

“How is your work progressing, Lucius? Anything new from the Ministry?”

Obediently Lucius launched into a report on the happenings of the last days. It seemed that the new Head of the Wizengamot was well on his way to have everything prepared for the postponed meeting. Everyone was excited over the trial to be held the day after tomorrow, and Lucius still was looking for laws that could be exploited to their benefit.

Marvolo added another specific request to the list of topics that the blond should cover. All laws that concerned magical guardians and sponsors regarding young witches and wizards with a lack of magical parents.

The boy in his arms stirred and blinked up to him. Hissing his question, if it had worked. Hissing back his reply, smirking at the stiffening of the elder Malfoy at the sound of the serpents language, Marvolo noticed that Henry would be sleeping for real soon.

The three of them reached the entrance hall, and Marvolo turned to the man beside him to say his goodbye, as two resounding cracks echoed through the high room. The red eyes fell onto three persons that had appeared before him.

One of them was bound and unconscious, the other two were the Death Eaters he had sent after the traitor.

“Amycus. Alecto. What are you two doing here?” Marvolo inquired in a frosty tone.

The Carrow twins bowed with a shiver – this tone never preceded anything good – and quickly communicated with a glance who of them would answer their Lord. Marvolo was looking at the prisoner in the meantime, trying to identify the wizard. Not an easy task as he obviously had been beaten quite thoroughly, resulting in eyes swollen shut and bruises concealing the man’s features.

“We have fetched the traitor for you, my Lord.” Alecto's voice was filled with pride and her posture, even bowed and looking at the ground, spoke of confidence and happy anticipation. She and her brother seemed to believe that they had done well.

“Please remind me, what were your orders, Amycus?” Marvolo had no time for this. His son needed sleep, and for this he should be in his bed. Sighing inwardly the rubine-eyed man came to the conclusion that this would become his second night without sleep in a row.

But a light began gleaming in the depths of crimson-flashing eyes. Maybe he could indulge in some of his favourite stress relief activities tonight.

“We should find the traitor, observe him and gather information, my Lord.” Finally the twins caught up to the fact, that they maybe had made a blunder. Their posture lost its confidence, and they barely managed not to look to each other for reassurance.

Faster than any of the others could see, Marvolo had his wand in his hand, and Alecto was writhing on the floor, her red hair escaping its pins, spilling over the black and white tiling.

Switching his focus to the trembling brother, Marvolo spoke calmly and with ice in his voice to the man. “Explain why you thought you could act outside of my orders, and kidnap the traitor. Bringing him here.”

He held the curse and Amycus hurried to explain, ignoring his sister’s plight, or trying to, as Marvolo could clearly see that he flinched every time a scream tore from her throat.

“The coward went into the mountains, just as a storm was rising. He was warned by all that saw him go, and we followed unnoticed.” The man with short, curly red hair swallowed. “All will assume that he lost his way in the storm, falling down some cliff to his death.”

Marvolo thought that the man had a point, but was distracted as Henry started to squirm and moan, furrowing his brow in his sleep, like he was having a bad dream. Realising that this was a reaction to his casting one of the Unforgivables, or his anger, he lifted the curse, leaving Alecto a panting mess on the floor.

“The next time you see fit to change plans so drastically, inform me before just apparating with a prisoner into a place where someone light could be at the time.” He regarded his trembling followers before he rearranged his son, who was sleeping a little calmer now. He needed to take some actions to make sure his son would get a good night’s sleep without being influenced by the things Marvolo was planning to do.

“Place him in a secure location. Then wait for my call.” With these last, quietly uttered words, Marvolo turned with swirling robes, his son still held in his arms, nodded to Lucius in thanks for the use of the ritual room, and apparated away.

ooOoo

Standing in a dark room, peering out through the crack of the not quite closed door, Draco had trouble keeping his frantic breathing silent.

It was the first time he had seen the cruciatus curse performed on a human being. He had had trouble understanding the warning that his father had repeatedly given. Those were now gone. This man was no one to antagonize, not someone Draco would dare risk to irritate.

Watching as the red-haired man – Amycus, the Dark Lord had called him – helped the woman to stand, Draco calmed his racing heart. He needed to find a way to stop teasing Po… no, he was no longer only a Potter. Furrowing his brow, Draco wondered how he should call the Dark Lord’s heir in his own mind. Maybe Henry? No, that would not do either. If he slipped up, he might end up calling the other boy by his given name without getting his permission first. So the new last name, Slytherin, was probably his safest bet.

He needed to find a way to stop teasing Slytherin. If he didn't, there was no change for him to ever reach somewhat neutral terms with his Lord’s adopted son.

Deep in thought, the Malfoy heir retreated, just as his father levitated the prisoner out of the entrance hall towards the back, and the hidden stairs to the dungeons, that were located under the cellar rooms.

oooOOooo

Coming from a game of chess with his father – he had lost, again – Theodore walked through the entrance hall on his way to the stairs. He had hoped that Henry would be back by now and they could talk about the houses the other teen had visited with his father earlier today. Worrying about their young summer guest, Theodore made his way past the spot reserved for apparation, as the telltale crack of an apparation made him jump.

Turning, his eyes fell on the Dark Lord carrying an unconscious Henry. At least Theodore hoped the other was only unconscious. One never could know with the Dark Lord.

The man nodded in Theodore’s direction and strode off, with the teen, clad only in a long, pristine white shirt, held securely in his arms.

His worry had to be pretty obvious, because the Dark Lord started to talk moments later, taking the first step on the way to the bedrooms.

“He will be as good as new in the morning. He is only exhausted.”

Theodore was surprised by the explanation and the soft tone of voice it was spoken in, so he could only watch the man carry his son up to the bedrooms. The closing of a door was what brought him out of his stupor. Continuing on his way, he was struck by a realisation. The Dark Lord had carried Henry. In his arms. Why would he do that, as he could have just used magic to levitate or float the teen?

Deciding that he was much too tired to think about something this complicated, Theodore opened the door to his bedroom and went in.

Time to go to sleep. He would ask Henry in the morning about his day.

oooOOooo

With a little wandless magic Marvolo opened the door to his son’s room. Or rather, the guest room he was staying in. The boy still was much too light. He had had no troubles carrying him through the whole of Malfoy Manor and Nott House to get him to his bed.

Another bit of wandless magic turned to blankets down, so he could place the teen on his bed. No need to change him into different clothes, the shirt he was still wearing would do an adequate job as sleepwear.

The tall wizard sat down beside his son on the bed. Smoothing the messy fringe away from the boy’s forehead, Marvolo laid eyes on the scar. The infamous scar all were constantly speaking about. The one place that had glowed with an intensive black-seeming light during the ritual. The son he had adopted was an unintentional horcrux. Had the piece of his soul influenced the boy? Or those around him? Maybe it had been the other way around, and the tiny piece of soul had been influenced by residing in an innocent child for almost fourteen years? There wasn't really a way to know.

The important thing was that they find a way to cope with the strange connection this soul piece forged between them. And maybe to find a way to remove the horcrux without harming the container. But first, a way to prevent the bleeding-over of their emotions.

Thinking about this, tonight promised to become one with many potentially strong emotions, likely to affect his son. Not something he would like to happen. A strong sleeping potion or draught might do the trick.

“Flimm!” Marvolo called for the Potter elf he had assigned to his son.

With a soft sound the elf appeared in the room, a few steps away from the bed, right in front of Marvolo. “Young Master's guardian is calling. What do you need?”

The so-address man smirked, elves had a way to let their disapproval be heard.

“Get a dreamless sleep for Henry,” he ordered without explanation. He needed to acquire his own elf, or elves. He was sure the moment his son turned seventeen, those he could call now all would cease to follow his orders. Maybe he should plan to create a fortune for the name of Slytherin. At the moment, both he and his son were living of the Potter wealth. It would be best to separate the fortunes, properties, and such, so that his son’s children could carry on the two family names as separate families.

At that moment Flimm popped the vial of dreamless sleep onto the nightstand. Concentrating on the present, Marvolo lightly shook his son to wake him.

“Henry. Son, wake up.”

Rubbing at his eyes, the teen reluctantly left sleep behind and started blinking in the dim lighting from only a few candles on the desk.

“Mhhh…”

Marvolo chuckled at the obvious reluctance to awake.

“Here, drink this, it will ensure you get the rest you need.”

And without really registering what was happening, still mostly asleep, Henry drank the potion and, settling back into the pillows, slipped back into sleep right away.

Covering his son with the thin sheet – it was too warm to sleep under anything heavier – Marvolo stood to leave for the house in Edinburgh. He had some things to prepare, before he could start to punish a traitor.

oooOOooo

Albus watched, sitting in his plush and comfortable chair at the head of the table, as one after the other, all members of the Order arrived at their new meeting place.

He had spent quite some time searching in the last two days to find a place as well suited to this task as Grimmauld Place was. Such a pity that Sirius had thrown them out. He had been too careless in his handling of the man. It could not be helped. At least not at the moment. Maybe it would be different once the trial was over and Sirius got a taste of what it meant to be a Lord. All the boring and tedious work that he would have to do. The adventure of being an Order member could be exactly what the young man would need after a few weeks of being a responsible adult.

Or maybe he would reconsider accepting the teaching position for Defence against the Dark Arts that Albus had offered more than once already. The man had declined, saying that he would need all his time to concentrate on his duties as Lord Black. Returning the estates to order, getting up to date with the Wizengamot. The old wizard was not sure if this was what Sirius had planned, or if he just used these so-called plans as a diversion. He still needed to find a teacher, or risk the Ministry appointing one. Sirius would certainly prefer to stay close to his godson as a teacher, over boring paperwork.

At least he could hope.

Molly was distributing plates with homemade cookies on them on  the big carved oak table, chatting nervously with the others that were already seated around it. He was glad that he had not lost the Weasleys. As their children were friends of Harry's, he still had some measure of control over what the boy would be doing at Hogwarts.

Because this was the first real, big meeting they had had since Sirius had decided that he would no longer trust the Headmaster, there were quite a few items on the agenda. They only were waiting for Severus to arrive. Filling the time with gossip and idle chatter.

And only moments later, said man walked through the door, his usual sneer firmly in place, robes in his customary black swinging around his legs. Albus nodded curtly to his spy, assessing the state the man was in. He could not see any limp, or other signs of injury, and the Potions Master did not appear to be overly tired. He was curious what his turned Death Eater would have to tell.

Calling the gathering to order, Albus prepared to start the meeting.

“Welcome to our new headquarters. We have not met in a while, so let us start right now.” He turned to Molly. “You were in Diagon Alley today. Please, can you tell us how our dear Harry is coping with the situation.” He smiled grandfatherly and his eyes twinkled merrily. He would get the whole situation under control again.

“Yes, well,” a flustered Molly began the tale of the afternoon. “The kids got invitations for ice cream. We meet at Fortescue’s.” She nervously ordered her red curls “Harry and You-Know-Who came from the Leaky Cauldron, both dressed in fine and new robes. Harry still looks much too thin, but he was smiling.”

“Probably happy to meet his friends again,” Interjected Dodge.

That got many different reactions from around the table. Severus was sneering, clearly not happy with the way Molly conducted her report, Moody observed all that was going on with a grim expression, the others expressed their agreement to this statement in different ways.

“You-Know-Who was polite, and he seems to care about Harry. I…” Molly blushed. If it was a reaction to the charming man she probably had met, or her embarrassment over the whole situation, was not clear to Albus.

“Harry mostly listened to the others telling of their summer. But he showed a family tree. Showing that Lily was a distant relative of the Slytherin family.”

Alastor leaned forward in his chair, fixing his normal eye on Molly. “I saw the parchment.” He turned to Albus. “It seemed to be genuine.”

Albus nodded his head, projecting deep contemplation. This certainly was something he had not thought possible. The young witch he had met, a descendant of Slytherin. He never would have guessed. How many other witches and wizards, seemingly born of muggles, were related to old, well-known families? And what were Tom’s plans concerning this information?

“So it is not likely that we will get Harry away from Tom again on this angle.” He caressed his white beard and nodded at Alastor, so he would continue his report.

“They were followed by two wizards. Crabbe and Goyle, if I am not mistaken. A good thing they were. There were many angry glares sent in their direction,” Moody gruffly stated, his blue magical eye swirling like mad in all directions. “They stayed, watching the perimeter.”

“It almost felt like we were on duty together,” Tonks added with a shudder. “That was really creepy.” Her hair changed from the bubbly pink it had been, to a muddy green, and back to an angry red.

Smiling at her, Albus congratulated himself over his new acquisitions for the Order. Two from the younger Aurors, an impressive catch, in his opinion at least.

“So he is concerned for Harry’s safety. To protect him from all those that could voice opinions about his being heir of Slytherin, and probably to thwart rescue plans from our side, as well as escape attempts from Harry.” Albus could see that Alastor did not totally agree, but the others needed these little reassurances that Voldemort – or Tom like he liked to call him – still was the evil man they knew him to be.

“Severus, can you tell us something new?” Albus finally came to the item on the agenda he thought to be the most pressing one.

“I can,” was the short, clipped answer.

Good Severus, always effective in his reports, always so impatient for the reports of the others to come to an end.

“At the moment, I'm brewing several potions for the Dark Lord that Potter will have to take.” Raising the volume of his voice slightly, Severus spoke over the murmur that started, “Strong nutrition potions, long- and slow-acting healing potions, pain-relief potions, and Dreamless Sleep.” His glare stopped the speculations about potions to control people and others of equally malicious intent.

“Furthermore, the Dark Lord makes the brat study.” A sadistic smirk made its appearance on the pale face, saddening Albus and reassuring him. Obviously the Potions Master had not changed his attitude towards Harry, and if he did not change this, only caring for the boy’s safety because of his guilt over Lily’s death, he probably had not changed at all and was still firmly on Albus’ side.

“I have to teach him potions. As you all know, he will study History, and as far as I know, he gets tuition on ancient runes together with one of my Slytherins.”

“Do you know of Tom’s plans for Harry? Or his plans in general?”

Murmurs from the others made Severus sneer again. The seemingly uninterested drawl was thick in his voice.

“Judging by the time he invests in getting the boy a respectable education, I would guess that the Dark Lord wants the boy to be his heir. Concerning his general plans, I can only speculate. He is interested in the state of the population. I have to research potions linked to procreation and mental health. There have not been many meetings with all of us. So I do not know much about what the others do.”

Alastor gave the younger wizard a calculating look, he never had trusted the reformed Death Eater. Something Albus only reprimanded him for now and then. In fact he was quite glad to have another person keeping Severus’ guilt alive, and an eye on the man.

Someone that had changed his allegiance once was likely to do so again. Better to be careful.

Severus looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. “I know that there is much research going on, and some have been sent to search for Karkaroff.”

“So he’s still on the run?” slurred Mundungus from his place at the edge of the group, sitting in his cloud of whiskey and stale smoke.

“I didn’t think he would last this long.” drawled Alastor, full of contempt.

Several others expressed their astonishment with eager nods and exclamations, echoing Alastor’s words. Albus kept a close eye on his spy, trying to see if the young man worried about being found out.

But Severus showed only his usual disdain for the company present, and his collected and attentive front blocked out all that he might be thinking.

Just as Albus shifted his attention back to the rest of the Order, he saw Severus flinch and grab at his forearm, drawing a sharp breath.

All attention quickly was on the Potions Master, the room in Albus’ old childhood home was suddenly so quiet, that one could have heard the sound of a doxy's sneezing.

Ignoring the stares of all the others, Severus stood, gathering his robes around him, and looked over to his employer.

“I have to go, Headmaster,” he nodded to Albus, swept his gaze over the assembled members of the Order, and left quickly through the door to the hall.

A quick look assured Albus that most of the Order was concerned over the fact that Severus Snape was on his way to Voldemort. The ancient wizard was sure that Molly was concerned for the professor’s safety, and that his old friend Alastor did not trust Severus, despite Albus’ frequent reassurances.

The silence following Severus’ exit did not last long.

“After Sirius is free again, can’t we use his name and the fact that Harry’s grandmother on his father’s side was a Black, to shift the guardianship from You-Know-Who to Sirius?” The other young Auror, Kingsley, brought the discussion back on track.

Quickly forgetting his spy on his way to another meeting and the dangers entailed in getting in contact with Tom, Albus focused on discussing plans to thwart the plans of their enemy.

oooOOooo

Severus breathed deeply once he had left the old and derelict house at the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. He was not happy that the Headmaster had chosen this house as the new headquarters of the order. At the moment it was not under the fidelius, but the Potions Master suspected that this would change during the course of the remaining evening. The only improvement over the house in London was that the mutt had not been present at this meeting.

As it was unwise to be late, even if the last one now was not punished automatically on entering, Severus quickly turned on his heel, apparating to his home in Spinner’s End.

Summoning his robes and mask, rather than entering the house, Severus was quickly clad in his Death Eater garb and apparated, concentrating on the low burning sensation of the mark on his arm.

It really was a handy piece of magic, the Dark Mark. And now that it was not visible the whole time, it had become really useful. Apparating to a place he had not seen before had demanded quite a bit of trust and courage the first few times he had followed the call of his Lord. Now it was like second nature.

Only stumbling slightly as he appeared on the path up to an old and neglected house, hearing the traffic from a muggle street through the wards, Severus quickly righted himself and walked up to the door. He never had been to this place, but he got the impression that he had seen another house like it. He passed the wards keyed to the Mark on his arm, as he heard two near-silent cracks behind him. So this was a bigger meeting, the third one since the Dark Lord had returned.

Severus made his way through the front door and down a dark hallway, with spots where portraits had been taken down, and into a rather generous parlour. All the furniture had been removed, and the floor was bare, as the big carpet that probably had covered it was lying rolled up near one of the walls.

The Dark Lord was standing on a dais, before a grand throne-like chair at the short far wall. There was a big door, closed, behind the waiting dark wizard, and some of the others were already standing in the room, waiting. Severus spotted his friend Lucius – the way he stood was too obvious, even if they were all wearing the same robes – and quickly walked to the dais, to bow to his Lord.

After he rose again and got a small nod from his Lord, Severus went over to stand by his friend. He shot him a questioning look, and got a small shake of the other's head in response. So Lucius did not think an explanation about the meeting to take place was wise at the moment.

They didn't have to wait long as, one after the other, all Death Eaters came through the door, walked up to their Lord, bowed, and found a place to stand in the growing crowd.

While waiting, Severus looked around, trying to determine why this house had a familiar feel to it. As his thoughts turned to possible ways the Dark Lord had come to use this house, to even ward it so that only those marked by him could enter, he finally made the connection.

This house shared a décor and the feeling of its ancient wards with the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. What an irony. Smirking slightly to himself, Severus turned his attention to the possible reasons why they all had been called to the house and this meeting.

He didn't have much time to ponder the question, as soon the last wizard – Goyle, if Severus was not mistaken – had arrived and their Lord started to speak.

“My dear loyal servants. I have called you here tonight to let you take part in punishing one that has betrayed us all.” His dramatic pause left enough time for the door behind him to open slowly, creaking ominously.

Two Death Eaters, Severus would have guessed that they were the Carrows, were dragging a third person into the room. The man between them had seen better days, and it took the Potions Master a moment to identify him.

A thrill of fear washed through Severus as the realisation hit him that this could have been him, the moment he recognized Karkaroff. If his Lord had not given him the opportunity to prove his loyalty, redeem himself, then it would have been him dragged into the middle of a circle, at the mercy of the merciless. He was really glad in this moment that his Lord had adopted Harry Potter, and therefore he was able to fulfil his oath and promise to Lily, and stay loyal to the Dark Lord at the same time.

“I have called you so we can punish the traitor for his transgressions, make him suffer as he made us suffer, to show him and all that might be tempted that we will not idly watch when our cause is betrayed.”

All assembled shuddered under the intense magic emanating from their Lord, engulfing the whole room. Their looks concentrated on the bound man, pushed into a kneeling position before their Lord by his two guards.

Severus was sure that they all remembered the few times someone was punished by all of them for a big mistake. But they had never had to punish a traitor this way. There never was anyone caught in the act who did not die immediately at the wand of their Dark Lord.

Said man now cast a cruciatus on the kneeling former Headmaster of Durmstrang, almost as if he wasn't really paying attention, as if the man he was torturing was not worth his time. Within seconds the man fell to the ground, writhing in his bonds, trying not to scream.

Lifting the curse and shoving the whimpering man from the dais, so he fell with a thunk to the lower floor, the Dark Lord let his gaze wander over his assembled followers, smiling an evil smirk.

“Each of you gets to give him a part of his punishment. Get creative! And do not kill him... yet!”

Severus watched as the man went to sit on his throne, a smug smile on his relaxed face, waving his hand lazily at them.

“ Begin!”

There was no hesitation, as the order in which they would get a go was a preordained one, rehearsed on more than one occasion, when they got to torture prisoners after they had given all the information they possible could give.

Severus was unsure how he felt about this. He thought that the Dark Lord was the best to bring the changes so dearly needed in their world, and he knew that their goals were unlikely to be reached by always being nice. But torture was never something Severus relished, unlike some of the others. And Igor Karkaroff had done nothing to him that would help him to feel anger and a need for retribution.

To his immense relief the Dark Lord spoke to him, over the screams of the man targeted by several bone-breaking curses from Lucius. “Severus, please assist Malcolm in making sure our traitor does not escape his punishment before it is over.”

Now no longer required to take an active part in the punishment, Severus stepped up to the other man, their healer, wand at the ready and closely watching what was cast on the man on the floor.

They all were being creative, as demanded.

Rowle held Karkaroff under the tickling charm for over a minute, making the man gasp for breath, writhing on the floor, to try and escape the tickling that made him laugh, even as he was whimpering in pain from the injuries he had accumulated since the start of the punishment.

Macnair cast a spell that conjured many insects and other small, many-legged animals, bed bugs, spiders, fire ants, crawling into the man’s nose, his ears, his mouth, making him scream and flail in his quest to get rid of them.

After the male Carrow had freed Igor from the little pests with fire, Malcolm called for the first halt in the punishment. Karkaroff had lost consciousness and they needed to check on him. A few healing spells and potions later, Malcolm cast an enervate on the traitor, stepping back to let the others continue.

Severus watched as, one after the other, the Death Eaters stepped forward, cast curses on the traitor, and retreated again. More than once a chill made its way down his spine as he could not prevent the thought that it could have been him, screaming until his voice gave out, bleeding on the hardwood floor, healed repeatedly only to be tortured again.

Nott, the last in the line of torturers, used an aguamenti to make Karkaroff believe he was going to drown, before stepping back.

The first round so finished, they all turned their eyes to the Dark Lord, who was lounging in his throne, a devilish smirk on his handsome face framed with his carefully styled hair.

They all waited for their Lord to cast the last curse and kill the traitor, to tell them to start another round, or to grant the honour of the killing blow to someone else.

“Malcolm, patch him up, and let Alecto and Amycus help you take him down to the cells.” The smirk morphed into the most evil and delighted smile Severus had ever seen on his Lord’s face.

“Remember, all of you, traitors will beg for death long before they will be granted their wish.” With elegant poise the Dark Lord rose and took a few steps that carried him over to where Malcolm was bent over the injured man, working quickly and efficiently on patching him up enough so that he wouldn't die from the damage inflicted.

“Thank you all for providing such wonderful entertainment. Enjoy the rest of the night.” Dismissed, the Death Eaters bowed as one and started to leave.

Severus got up from his bow to leave and report to Albus when he was called back by his Lord.

“Xerxes, Severus, stay.”

oooOOooo

Feeling more relaxed than he had in days, Marvolo walked with a spring in his step from the parlour he had changed into the meeting hall to the study he had claimed as his. He certainly needed a way to decompress and combat the stress of conforming to the rules of society. He surely had neglected to practice enough in the last years he had had a body. Now he had to pay the price.

Severus and Xerxes were following him, silent and a few steps behind, as he opened the door and went to sit in the padded chair behind the desk.

“Have a seat,” Marvolo invited them to sit.

They both took one of the chairs facing the desk, removing their masks as they did so. Severus had a carefully blank face, quite obviously hiding what he was feeling and thinking.

It seemed his Potions Master was affected by witnessing the torture. Thinking back over the raids and meetings of the past, it was clear the man never had revelled in the torture as the others did. Well, Marvolo did not need aggressive and cruel people, he needed smart followers with connections and skills that contributed to his goals. He wondered where this left many of his current followers. And those rotting away in Azkaban because they had been loyal to him. The Dark Lord sighed, he needed to think about this and come up with a solution, and soon.

Xerxes was more relaxed. As one of those that had known him as a boy, it was only logical that he would be more at ease in his presence.

Resisting the urge to yawn – he really needed a good night’s sleep – Marvolo gave his old school friend a more or less kind smile. Practice makes perfect.

“Did you know that your sister had a son, Xerxes?” he asked idly, watching his friend's face closely for a reaction.

Lord Lestrange blinked a few times and then answered, “I have not heard from her since I was a little boy of ten years. She was sent off to a girls' school when she turned eleven.” The wizard with greying hair took a deep breath. “So no, I did not know she had a son. Why do you ask, Marvolo?”

Said man smirked, he had hoped that Xerxes would be fast in picking up when to call him by his name rather than his title. It seemed he had been right.

“The son married and had a daughter.” He folded his hands and got more comfortable in his seat. “The young girl is in Henry’s year, and a friend of his.”

The dumbfounded look on Xerxes Lestrange’s face was too hilarious, in fact it was humorous enough to actually make Marvolo chuckle quietly.

“My sister’s granddaughter is a witch?”

Taking pity on the man – it was a rather big shock to be told that a squib family member had magical descendants after all – Marvolo started on a more thorough explanation.

“Henry met with his friends today, and told them about the ancestry test I had him take. His friend, Hermione Granger, went to test the theory that all so-called muggle-born witches and wizards in fact have some magical ancestors. Just as Henry’s mother was a distant relative of mine.”

Seeing that the family patriarch was not able to form questions right now, Marvolo did not wait for him to say anything but kept talking. “I have seen the tree, and recognized the names of your parents. I offered to introduce her to her wizarding family, but frankly, she was not thrilled.”

“Why ever not?” asked Xerxes, upset over this slight.

Giving the questioning look from Severus a tiny nod, the Potions Master answered the question.

“She thinks of herself as a muggle-born witch, and only heard of the Lestrange family in connection with blood purity and the attack on the Longbottoms. She is a Gryffindor, and certainly biased in her view of families usually considered dark.”

Xerxes sighed. “Of course, you are right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. “What shall I do?” the oldest-looking man in the room asked his school friend, seeming lost. “There is a young witch that could carry on my family name, the family line, and she hates us, without ever having spoken to any of us?”

Marvolo raised a brow. “You truly do not think that I will keep my word and get my loyal followers out of Azkaban?”

“To imply this was not my intention, my Lord.”

Marvolo was impressed, Xerxes really was quick in learning the nuances of their relationship.

“But I do not hope that my sons will be able to walk in the open again. And because of this, every child they might still have in the future cannot be heir.” There was a decidedly sad undertone in Xerxes’ words.

“Well, I am working on this problem. But you should not give up hope so soon. I have Lucius searching for laws to get you some influence over her. Maybe a sort of sponsorship, like your father offered me in sixth year?” He tried an encouraging smile and was rewarded with a knowing smirk.

“The girl is certainly too curious for her own good. Running to Gringotts in the middle of a visit with a friend, to satisfy her need to know? I don't think that she can resist temptation if you promise knowledge or help in getting it.”

His Lord’s calm words visibly helped Xerxes to put the news into perspective and to see the promise of opportunity and ways to manipulate the situation to his benefit.

“ Severus has been her teacher for the last four years, he certainly can help you to get a feeling for the girl ' s personality.” Both men acknowledged the implied order with a curt nod.

Marvolo’s gaze fell onto a letter from Yaxley that had arrived as he had been preparing the house to be the future meeting place for him and his followers.

Nodding to Xerxes, Marvolo dismissed him with a few last kindly spoken words. “I will keep you informed about everything I might learn about your grandniece from my son. And, of course, about any and all laws that you can use to get some control over the youngest member of your family.”

With a low bow Lord Lestrange left the study, closing the door softly behind him.

“How does your work progress, Severus?” Time to reassure his Potions Master, by emphasizing his usefulness. It was easy to see that the punishment for the traitor had rattled the man’s composure.

“I have gathered all ingredients I will need, and have brewed a first version of both potions. They need adjustment, but I have ideas on how to proceed. At the moment I am pondering ways to test their effects once I am reasonably sure that they should do what they are intended to do.” Back on familiar and comfortable ground, the dark-haired young wizard started to relax ever so slightly.

“Please add the costs for all you need to the bill for Henry’s potions.” Briefly contemplating the letter and its contents, Marvolo came to a decision. “Make the potion to veil past memories your priority. I will need it as soon as you can finish it. Please inform me of what you need in test subjects, and I will see to it that you get them.”

Severus nodded to this and seemed reluctant to leave, even if he clearly had heard the dismissal in Marvolo’s tone.

“There is more you want to speak about?”

“ Yes, my Lord.” The young dark-eyed wizard swallowed. “I was in an O rder meeting when your call came. How do you want me to continue there? Dumbledore clearly thinks of me as loyal to him, and as his spy. I can continue to play this role and spy on him for you, my Lord.”

Nodding slowly, the red-eyed man touched his chin with the tips of interlocked fingers. “It would be unfortunate if he came to suspect your return to your rightful family. I know you are adept in this role, keep the information you feed him vague, centred around Henry and my treatment of him. The lessons you will give him. Maybe my quest to regain my OWLs and the act of gaining the trust of those that claimed I had them under the Imperius before my fall all those years ago.” The nodding got more decisive. “Yes, that would be best. If there is something I do want you to give them, I will say so. Please write reports whenever something interesting comes up. I trust you can sort the information by priority.”

As an afterthought – Severus had almost reached the door – Marvolo added in a soft voice, barely above a whisper, “I have found the reason for my odd moo d s.”

Turning quickly, dark eyes full of curiosity fixed on the man with his dark brown waves of hair, looking down onto the top of the desk before him.

“The night I failed to kill my son, there was a mental connection forged between us. The fact that I have a body again, and that my son and I are in such close proximity to one another seems to intensify the interaction between us. I will have to research to find a way to dissolve the bond. But in the meantime, we need a way to live with the connection.”

Red eyes rose to meet black ones.

“Would you be willing to teach Henry Occlumency? I know of only three people that are good enough Legilimens to teach the art. I do not want Dumbledore to teach my son, not that he would if I asked. It is also highly unlikely that Henry would be willing to let me teach him, let alone trust me enough to be even able to learn from me. So that leaves you as the only option.”

Marvolo worked hard to keep it a question and not an order. Normally someone wanting to learn this obscure art of magic did so on his own. Not because it could not be taught, but rather because there seldom was a master of the art around to learn from. Learning on one's own was slow going, and that was not really an option for Henry. As the boy would need the ability to protect his mind as soon as humanly possible, he had to have a teacher.

But given the history between Severus and Henry, forcing them to work together in this would not work out well.

“ I will have to think about this, my Lord,” was the P otions M aster’s cautious reply, before he bowed and left the study.

Finally alone and able to let his mask down, Marvolo yawned and stretched to work some kinks out of his back.

Hopefully Severus would finish the potion quickly. Yaxley had found a young wizard living in the streets of London, probably after he had run away from home, who needed help. And fast. It was rather shocking, that the Ministry did nothing to help those magical children who were stuck in the muggle world, being treated like dirt, cast out and miserable. The faster the potion was ready, the faster he could send some of his best hunters to retrieve the boy. And then he could see to it that the child found a home with one of the families that could not get any more children.

But now, he yawned again, he should head to bed and sleep. Everything else would have to wait for at least eight hours. He looked forward to a nice bed with fresh linen blankets. He apparated on the spot, bending the wards to his will, and shortly after walked the way to his guest room in Benjamin’s house. Time for some long-needed sleep.

oooOOooo

In a dingy and dark cell, reeking of decomposing seaweed and fish, sat a woman with matted dark hair, a pale complexion, and not only because she had not seen the sun in years, holding her left arm cradled to her chest.

A fleeting smile graced her features, and with closed eyes she clung to the feeling of the Mark burning a few hours ago.

This had been the third time in what felt like only a few weeks. Or maybe days? She only was sure it had been a short time between the calls of her Lord. He was back, finally back. Back and planning to get his most loyal out of this never-dry prison, on this godsforsaken island amidst waves of the salty sea.

Only a short while now, and she would be free again. Free to hunt down the filth on this world, to serve her Lord and prove her worth.

Desperately trying to cling to this positive feeling, she started to shudder in her faded grey rags, as the dark gliding shapes of their guards came closer to her cell, feeling the positive emotions coming out of it, sucking them up.

The Dementors tended to stick by those that had still some good thoughts left, even if they were supposed to stay closer to those in the high-security cells. After over ten years of imprisonment, there was not much to get from the prisoners there.

Shivering, the chattering of her teeth and the crushing of the waves against the island the only sounds, she waited. Waited for the moment she would be free again. Waited for the smallest opportunity to get back to her Lord.

Chapter Text

It was Sunday the 16th of July and Xerxes Lestrange was sitting in his study, tiredly staring at a blank parchment.

After the meeting with his Lord and follow Death Eaters, Xerxes had invited Severus Snape over to his manor, to ask the man for information on his grandniece. It had been an instructive and interesting meeting. The young witch was a stubborn Gryffindor and a very bright student or at least so Severus thought.

What a mess.

He had tried to stop his sons to go with Bella’s plan. But he had no success in stopping that fools errant and so both his sons had been apprehended, charged for their crimes, found guilty and thrown into Azkaban.

Since this day he was living alone in the enormous, old house he had inherited together with the title of Lord Lestrange.

He was to old to marry again and have more children. So many years ago, he had accepted that he would be the last Lord Lestrange and that the family would die once his sons succumbed to the horrors of the wizarding prison.

And now her she was. A spark of hope that not all was lost. But also the real fear, that all efforts would be in vain, because Xerxes trusted in Snape’s assessment of his student, as a passionate young woman, proud to be born of muggle parents and opposed to the old families solely on the grounds of their bias and discrimination against children of her background.

Not for the first time the current Lord Lestrange cursed his parents for sending his sister away. Smiling despite his mood, he remembered the many pranks they had played in this very halls, the many times they had gotten into mischief in the potions garden, the kitchen or the forest surrounding the grounds. They had been only a year apart, getting along better than most siblings he knew of, inseparable in many ways.

And then had come the year that his sister should have received her Hogwarts letter. But it never came. He still could remember how sad his sister had been. The bright girl that had learned so fast and easy, crushed under the expectations of their parents, crying herself to sleep. And he, the younger brother, helpless and bewildered trying to console her.

Now, looking back at the years of his carefree childhood, he could see the worry of their parents, the fact that Dorcas never had shown any signs of magic, even as he started to use his own on an almost regular basis.

Their parents had decided to send Dorcas away, to a good school in the muggle world, together with other bright girls without magic, to learn in an environment where she would not be an outcast, a failure. They had tried to sell it as something good, a mercy. Xerxes had disagreed and not spoken to them for months after Dorcas had left.

He never understood why his sister had to be hidden away. At least not until he started his education at Hogwarts. Peer pressure had done quick work of his innocence and naivety. Squibs were ridiculed and bullied by his classmates and not only the ones from so called “dark” families. And even those families claiming to be “light” and the epitome of “good” watched those born without access to magic with pity.

His proud and incredibly intelligent sister would not have been able to live with that.

For years he had tried to forget and live his life. Now he wished that he had kept in contact with Dorcas, even if it got harder with each letter, send against his parents' order, to connect, as they had been living in so different worlds.

This was the second hint in short time that the problem with muggle-born children was a home made one. There would have to be many changes to combat this. First of all they would need to change the way Squibs were seen.

He sighed, getting the quill from its resting place, casting a look around himself, the dark wood shelves filled with the books of the family chronicle, he would have to search for others that had been cast out, but first he had a letter to write. He tipped the quill in the ink and started to write.

Dear Miss Granger,

I am aware that we have not meet before, and that this letter is a breach of protocol, but I feel the circumstances warrant this unusual move on my part .

Yesterday, Lord Slytherin informed me, that my late sister was your grandmother. You maybe can imagine my surprise, but probably not the hope this brought to me.

After our parents send her away, I had little to no contact with Dorcas. I am intrigued with the possibility to learn about her life and to get to know her son and granddaughter and daughter in law .

I would ask to meet with you and your parents, Miss Granger, at a time and place at your family's convenience.

In hope of future friendly interactions

Lord Xerxes Caius Lestrange

Sealing the letter and giving it to an elf to be send, Xerxes summoned the latest book from the chronicle to the desk. Time to search for more family members that had been robbed of their rights and cast out into the muggle world.

oooOOooo

Snuggling deeper under his covers, Harry tried to go back to sleep. But with the sun shining brightly into his room it was harder than he would have liked. Debating if he just should give up and get out of bed, he startled as something heavy suddenly rested on his legs.

.:Are you awake yet, little one?:.

Harry yawned and sat up.

.:Now I am. Why are you here?:. The teen wanted to know.

Slithering her way up the bed, over Harry’s legs, until Nagini could rise to be level with the teenager, the big snake flicked her tongue out and answered the question.

.:Master said he would be sleeping until the sun is on its highest point. But I want company today, so I made him let me in as he brought this flat thing:.

She jabbed her head in the direction of the night stand, and following her motion with his eyes Harry spotted a folded parchment, probably addressed to him, pinned under his water glass.

First reaching for his glasses, he still marvelled how much better he could see with them, Harry then sat back against the headboard comfortably, to read the note.

Just as he had suspected it was addressed to him and written in the hand of Voldemort, or so he guessed. After all, he just had seen some papers lying about the man’s desk, they could have been written by someone else.

While Harry unfolded the note, Nagini slithered down to the floor and into a patch of bright sunlight. .:Get me, when you leave to hunt for food:. she hissed content, soaking up the warmth.

A little apprehensive Harry started to read.

Henry,

as I have missed two nights of sleep, I will have to catch up on it today. Do not expect me to be around before lunch.

I suggest you dedicate part of the morning to your summer assignments. I expect to see at least an outline for one of your essays this afternoon.

We will discuss the past evening then, after a lesson on the etiquette needed for tomorrow’s events. It would not do for you to embarrass either our family or your godfather.

Marvolo

PS: Nagini insists on keeping you company. Do not let her boss you around.

The last sentence was a bit sloppier than the rest. Maybe the man had added it standing in the corridor, or bent over the desk in the corner.

Sighing a little put out by the delay, Harry had to acknowledge, that he had not been up to an explanation the night before. He did not even remember how he had made it into his bed. He flushed red with embarrassment as he realised that Voldemort probably had moved him here.

Quickly making his way over to the enormous wardrobe, almost tripping over the blankets during his hasty departure from the bed, he grabbed fresh clothes and made for the bathroom. He wanted to shower and get rid of the sweat from the night, along with the smell of the herbs that had been burned during the ritual of the evening before. Getting out of the ridiculous shirt he still was wearing, was a bonus.

Almost half an hour later Harry emerged from the bathroom, dressed in comfortable clothes, covered with a lightweight robe in a vibrant caribbean blue tone. He smiled at the snoring snake, curled up in a sunny spot on the floor.

It was almost too easy to forget that this huge snake was the familiar of the most evil wizard of recent times.

As he walked over the wooden floor, the snake was alerted to his movements by the vibrations he caused, and moved her head to look at him.

.:Ready to leave, little one?:.

Harry huffed a laugh .:I am heavier than you. It seems funny you calling me little:.

.:I will stick with young if you find little too funny. Lets leave. I am getting bored. I wish the funny rat was still here. Chasing him was always fun:.

At this Harry was not sure whether to laugh or shudder. Imagining the large snake chasing a transformed Wormtail was funny and unsettling all at once.

They left the room heading for breakfast.

Following the order, he did not one moment think it was a suggestion, to do his homework, Harry spent most of the morning sitting in the school room, working on his potions essay. He searched for the information he would need to answer the question, and noted points he did not know on a different sheet of parchment, so he could ask the professor for advice in the next tutoring lesson.

If he was forced to spend time over the summer, learning potions and being in the company of his least favourite teacher, he would take full advantage of the fact.

Theodore kept him company, working on his runes essay and some letters his father made him write for practice.

After they had finished their tasks, the Slytherin boy took the Gryffindor out to the gardens and to a secluded spot under some trees, to chat about Harry’s visits to the houses belonging to the Potter family the day before. After that they started on Hogwarts gossip and news from the quidditch league.

Nagini never leaving Harry’s side, provided some comments to almost everything. More than once Harry burst out laughing and had to translate for the other boy’s benefit.

Also it was a nice day, and he felt good for having a part of his homework done, Harry had troubles to keep his thought on the moment and away from the ritual and the result of it. He remembered the little conversation he had had with Voldemort after it had been finished. The man had said that his theory had been proven right.

But what did it mean? And what had been the cause of the sounds and voices he had heard before sleep had claimed him? Or had he dreamed that part? He fervently wished that the talk scheduled for the afternoon was already over. Or would never come. He was torn. He hoped it was nothing bad. But knowing his luck, he did not dare to hope.

oooOOooo

Unable to find true sleep, Hermione had gotten up at the first hints of dawn. After she had made herself a simple sandwich in the kitchen, avoiding Kreacher, she went to the library determined to find what she could about the family of Lestrange.

Her family.

It felt strange to know that her grandmother had been a Squib. That she had family that was magical. She wondered what would have happened if her grandmother had kept in contact with her brother. Would she have grown up knowing about magic? Would she be looking down on supposed muggle-born witches and wizards? Would she be in Slytherin and considered dark?

Hermione really hoped that she would not be much different if she had grown up knowing her ancestry. But she was realistic enough to suspect, that live would have been very different, and therefore she would have grown up to be different to.

Hermione was bend over some back issues from the Daily Prophet, she had found them in one of the lower shelves at the back of the small library, reading about the trails for the Lestrange brothers, the wife of one, a former Black by the name of Bellatrix, and Bartemius Crouch Junior, as Ron and the twins came in.

“Here you are” “Hermione” exclaimed the twins with exaggerated looks of happiness.

“Where else.” Muttered Ron, rolling his eyes, not low enough not to be heard.

One of the twins took a chair from the table next to Hermione, turned it to face the other direction and sat down, folding his arms atop the backrest. The other twin placed his hands on the table and leaned over it to read the article Hermione had her eyes fixed on.

“What depressing reading for a morning” “as nice as today.”

Hermione looked up at the twins and noticed they were wearing an unusual solemn expression.

“I need to learn what I can about … them.” She was not able to call them family out loud. After what she had found Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange had done, how they had tortured poor Neville’s parents, she was not sure if she ever would be willingly calling them family.

“Found something positive?” Asked the twin sitting beside her, she really wished she could tell them apart.

Ignored by his brothers and his friend, Ron huffed and dropped into a chair by the door. With a roll of his eyes he watched Hermione take a book from one of her stacks.

“Not much. But the books I have found here are rather limited on family history related to families other than Black.” She sighed unhappy. “I had hoped to find something more. There are a few mentions of someone of the name of Lestrange, but mostly it is …” She trailed of, playing unhappily with the pages of the book before her.

“I would emigrate to Australia, if I was related to such a dark family. Really, there is nothing worse. The whole family is rotten.” Ron butted in, disgust clear on his face.

Shocked, Hermione slowly rose from her seat by the book laden table, wide eyes fixed on her red-headed friend. With tears welling up, she rushed from the room, hurt by Ron’s words and his open disgust at the idea of being related to the family Lestrange.

As the girl stormed up the stairs to the room she shared with Ginny, Fred and George turned to their younger brother, darks looks on their faces.

“You are an idiot little brother.” “And an insensitive prat.”

Seeing the bewildered look of the younger Weasley boy, they sighed and shook their heads synchronously.

“You just said, that you hate anyone of the family Lestrange.” Fred explained, while his brother nodded his head in beat to his twin’s words.

Confused, Ron looked from one of the twins to the other. “And? Where is the problem? They are dark wizards, most of them in Azkaban!”

“Hermione is related to them.” “And not too distantly either.”

Horrified, Ron paled so his freckles stood out against his skin, his mouth gaping, standing there trying to comprehend how he could have hurt his friend. She was a Granger after all.

oooOOooo

With a funny feeling in his stomach, Harry walked to the study Lord Nott had relinquished to his summer guest, following Voldemort after their joined lunch.

He hoped that he would be able to concentrate during the first part of the talk. It was difficult to comprehend how fast the day for Sirius’ trial had approached. Tomorrow his godfather would be cleared of the crimes he had been imprisoned for, and Harry would be there, giving his support. So it was important that he paid attention to the lecture about manners he was sure to receive in a few moments.

But the looming prospect of learning about the strange link between himself and Voldemort threatened to distract him. Harry took a few calm and deep breaths. He had read about a few breathing exercises from the muggle book on meditation Voldemort was forcing him to read. They had proven useful in the last days, as they made falling asleep much easier.

Approaching the study door, it opened seemingly on its own accord and closed with a soft click behind them, once they were inside.

The first thing catching Harry’s eye were a few clothes bags hanging in mid air.

“It seems your robes with the combined family colours have arrived.” Mused Voldemort, going over to the hovering bags, separating them to be able to open them.

Curious, Harry was still unsure how the tailor wanted to manage to combine red and green without making the robes look ridiculous, the teen approached and slit one of the bags of the robe inside.

Well, it seemed the tailor had not been able to pull it off after all. The green robe with red trim Harry had uncovered, looked remarkably like some Christmas decoration. But it was not only one robe floating there. So he moved on to the next bag, while Voldemort went over to the desk to sort through the stack of mail waiting for him there.

This robe was much like the other, just with the colours switched, so it was a red robe with green trim. He so was not going to wear this where anyone could see him.

One last chance.

Hoping the last robe of the batch was something Harry would like to wear, he opened the bag up and got the robe out. His eyes widened as he saw it. This one did not go with green and red as the main colours. It was a medium dark slate grey robe, with a lining that shimmered silver or gold, depending on the way he looked at it. On the outside there was embroidery done in deep smaragd green and vibrant dark red, depicting flames, in green, and snakes, in red, curling their way up all the seams and hems. With the family crests side by side, this was definitely the best of the three choices.

Harry felt the other wizard stepping up to him, looking at the three robes.

“Which one do you want?” Voldemort asked, eyeing the robes with the main colours green and red critically.

“I think this one is the best.” Harry answered, pointing at the mostly grey one, hanging to the right of the others. “I do not wish to look like some Christmas tree!” He scoffed.

Nodding in agreement, Voldemort summoned the rejected robes to his outstretched hand. “The family colours certainly do not mesh well. I approve of your choice.”

He turned and called for an elf “Flimm!”

With a soft pop the bubbly elf appeared in the study, bowing low to both wizards, with a fond smile for Harry and an empty but polite face for the red eyed wizard standing next to the teenager.

“Take this robe,” Voldemort held up the robe Harry had chosen, “to Henry’s room, and those two back to the tailor.”

With a snap of his finger the elf vanished the robes, bowed deeply, brushing his bat like ears over the polished floor, and vanished himself with another soft pop.

“Come let us sit down, Henry.” Voldemort said, walking around the desk and sitting behind it. With the uneasiness returning full force, Harry complied and sat down in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs in front of the desk.

Tea appeared between them and they both prepared a cup to their liking. Harry watched amused, and trying not to show it, as Voldemort added three whole heaped spoons of sugar to his one cup. The man had a serious sweet tooth. It was odd, that the wizard, who had killed Harry's parents and so many more, had some disturbingly human quirks.

And so a long and tedious lesson on proper manners for a courtroom and on the proceedings of a trial began.

Harry was shown and had to practice several bows, and how to greet a Lady. This last lesson was practiced with a dummy conjured by Voldemort, for which Harry was grateful. It was hard enough to pretend Voldemort was one of the Ministry Officials, trying to pretend he was a Lady, would have been impossible.

Not for the first time Harry noticed that Voldemort could be a decent teacher, if he wanted to be. The first time he had noticed, the man had explained the situation with the goblins and the ancestry tests. And now he was surprisingly patient, while Harry fumbled to get the bows right and to do them with some grace.

After the important matter of proper behaviour was covered, they moved on to the proceedings of the trial, so Harry would know what to expect.

Voldemort started with an explanation of the various types of courts. Tribunals in times of war, those that judged crimes, those that mediated between private parties. It was a little overwhelming for Harry.

They concentrated on the information concerning trials against criminals, even if there should have been a tribunal when Sirius first had been arrested.

Harry had trouble to follow the different parts and roles playing a part in the trial, he tried his best though, knowing that he would need to know all this information once he was of age and Lord Potter.

Other parts where logical and easy to understand. Like why he, if he had been old enough to hold the seat of the Noble House of Potter, would not be part of the jury as the injured party. And equally logical was that a theoretical Lord or Lady Black would not be part of the jury, because of the ties to the accused.

Voldemort explained that he was called to be witness in the trial, and therefore would not be part of the jury either.

Tea time had come and gone, and with it a snack provided by the Nott house elf, as they finally changed topics and came to the results of the ritual.

Trepidation returned full force, as Harry watched Voldemort getting two vials of slightly lavender coloured potion out of a drawer. He placed one on the desk in front of the teenager and opened the other to drink it on the spot.

“A calming draught, in case you need it.” Voldemort explained needlessly, setting the now empty vial down in front of him.

“What do you know about vows and oaths?” The man wanted to know, confusing Harry with this random change of topic.

“Not much?” was the hesitant answer.

Closing his ruby eyes, the dark wizard gave an exasperated sigh. And after opening his eyes again and seeing the slight pout on Harry’s face he shook his head. “Not your fault. So let me see.” He made a pause and gathered his thoughts.

“There are different vows and oaths as well as contracts a wizard or a witch can make. They are all binding in a way, some more, some less. There is for instance the unbreakable vow. Made between to people and witnessed by a bonder, this vow will kill the one breaking it. Most of the time one of the two people will be the one bond to the words of the vow and the only one suffering if the vow is broken.” He shoot Harry a short look to see, if he was still following, and Harry, also he still was confused what this had to do with the ritual and their strange link, nodded to signal he was listening.

“Then there are contracts. Those can have many different forms of punishment for breaking them. You could formulate a contract stating that if a specific secret is talked about without consent of all parties, the offender will be turned blue.”

The mental image of a wizard complete tinted blue made Harry snort, and a little of the tension vanished from his shoulders.

“Contracts tend to punish all signatories equally.”

Harry nodded, still unsure where this was heading.

“Similar to this, there is an implied family oath connected with the membership of one person to a house. So in effect you are subject to two magical oaths. One for the Slytherin family and one for the family of Potter. You are with me so far?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded, he did not like the direction this was taking. He was under an oath, without his consent? No, he really did not like it.

“This oath can protect information that is shared in the family when explicitly shared under the protection of the oath. It will protect the information even if you should ingest veritaserum.” At Harry’s questioning look he sighed again and added an explanation.

“Veritaserum is the most effective truth serum, odour and tasteless, clear like water, highly toxic if not used correctly and highly regulated by the Ministry.”

Voldemort took a sip from his tea before he resumed his monologue.

“And the family oath will protect the information if someone should try to steal it out of your mind. It also will prevent you from telling anyone without the approval of the Head of House.”

Taking a deep breath Voldemort paused again, and Harry watched him with wary eyes. He was sure he would not like it. He shared everything with his friends, by the sound of it, he would not be able to share this. And he was sure he would want to share it, the build-up was just too much for it to be something unimportant.

“What I will tell you now, I tell you under the family oath of the Slytherin family.”

Harry was startled as the man before him suddenly looked down on his clasped hands. Such an unusual sight, he seemed unsure, something Harry had not seen before.

“You remember my little speech from the graveyard? Of course you do.” He sighed again, and Harry fidgeted in his chair. Where was this going?

“The way to immortality. When I was only little older than you are now, I feared nothing more than death. I found a book pointing out a way to defeat death, to become immortal. And in my youthful arrogance I disregarded all warnings in the text, concentrating on ensuring I would never have to fear death again.”

Red eyes locked with green ones. “Now I see that this was maybe my biggest mistake. On the day I came for you I had destabilization myself to the point, that the slightest actions could fracture me further. I had lost most of my reasoning ability, my focus, my magical strength. I was caught in paranoia. As I was blasted from my body there obviously was another break and the splinter of me, ripped from the rest, attached itself to you, to survive.”

They broke eye contact, Voldemort again looking at his hands, Harry staring at the teacup standing in front of him.

“So Professor Dumbledore was right.” whispered Harry.

The teen missed the others head snapping up. “What did the Headmaster say? And when?” Voldemort asked with a strange intensity in his voice.

“He told me after the thing with the basilisk, that on that night some of your power was transferred to me. He claimed it was the reason I can speak with snakes.” The raven haired teen shoot a questioning look at the wizard on the other side of the desk. His eyes widened at the fury he saw in the depths of the others eyes.

“He knows! Oh, this manipulating old bastard!”

Harry shrank back into the chair, frightened by the anger, even if it was not directed at himself. He watched as Voldemort started to breath in a deliberate manner, calming himself down again.

“The way I stayed bond to this plane after loosing my body, relies on parts of my soul to be sealed into different containers.” Voldemort spoke, fury shining through his words.

Harry’s breathing quickened, as he sensed where this was going, and with his gaze fixed on the edge of the desk he did not see the concerned glance that Voldemort shoot at him.

“I made more of them than anyone else. More than was prudent. And it seems I made you one, the night I tried to kill you.” He was speaking slowly and in a low voice, the fury all but gone.

“This is the reason for the connection between us. I do not know what the implications of a living container are. But I know that as long as at least one of those containers exist I cannot die.”

“How,” Harry cleared his throat because he was so hoarse that he was almost impossible to understand, “how are they … how can they stop existing?” A fine tremble started to shake the teen.

Closing his eyes, a resigned expression on his face, Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose. “The only ways I know of, end with the containers destroyed. I will research other ways, and until the time I find a safe way to remove…”

But Harry heard no more. He jumped up from the chair, sprinted out of the door, that opened without him touching it, and through rooms he did not register, until he reached the garden. There he ripped the portkey from his neck, tossed it aside and kept on running.

Finally he ended up in a remote part of the gardens, behind some bushes under some trees with low hanging branches.

Huge sobs shook his body as he fell to his knees.

There was a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him. As long as he lived the evil wizard could not die. And maybe Dumbledore had known! Had known he would have to die for Voldemort to be defeated for good.

He fell forward, burying his face and hands in the dry grass, feelings of betrayal, disgust and grieve coursing through him.

oooOOooo

In the study Marvolo sat behind the desk, staring blankly at the vacated chair with its fish pattern on the blue upholstery opposite from him. He should have anticipated a violent reaction of some kind. The calm Henry had displayed in all the time he now was with him, had lured him into a false sense of security. He could count himself lucky that the boy only had opened the door in his turmoil, and not flung the bringer of the bad news into a wall.

Marvolo snorted. It was good that he had taken a calming draught before he started his explanation. Otherwise there would be quite some things to repair by now. It had been hard to tell someone, even if the one he told was his heir, and the secret protected by magic through the family oath.

But if he had learned something about the young wizard he had adopted, it was that he did not react well to being kept in the dark. And he understood only all too well. Coming from such a background as they did, control over the situation and information were something they craved. He still did not know how much damage this wretched muggles had done to Henry, but he was determined to help his son overcome this legacy. To get stronger. And if he was able to do so, he would like to spare him the struggles he himself had had to face. Severus had had to face. That the old goat had repeated his error with someone belonging to a light family, someone praised for defeating a dark lord, he just could not comprehend.

Standing up, straightening his robes, Marvolo slowly made his way out of the study and into the hall.

Where had Henry run to? The boy certainly had more questions, and he needed to tell him, that they would move to the London town house this evening after dinner.

At least he needed to make sure the boy was not hurting himself in his emotional state.

Taking out his wand, Marvolo cast the detection spell that would lead him to the pendant with its tracking charm.

He unhurriedly made his way through several rooms, out of the back door from the music room, onto the patio and into the garden. Giving the boy a little time to calm down was probably a good idea, so he did not hurry on his way.

As he came to a flowerbed with some blue flowering plants, he found the pendant and chain laying there, discarded. Well, an act of defiance. Finally.

Taking a deep calming breath, Marvolo told himself that this was a good sign. Maybe.

Going against the orders of a parent was normal behaviour for a teenager. If Henry was confident enough in his knowledge that Marvolo would not hurt him in punishment, then it would be a big step in the right direction in their relationship.

Considering this for a moment, he had to concede, that maybe the teenager just had not been thinking clearly. Well, he would think about this more later, now it was important to find the boy.

“Flimm!” he called. The elf would be able to track Henry down.

oooOOooo

She had cried most of the morning, laying on her bed in the room she shared with Ginny. Once Ron had come to the door, trying to apologize. But as he could not tell her, for what he wanted to say he was sorry, she had sent him away. She was not in the moot to explain herself to her insensitive friend.

Around lunch Mrs. Weasley had brought her some sandwiches, and Ginny had sat with her for a time, visibly unsure of what to do.

Now though, Hermione had cried herself out and could think clearly again.

For one she was sure, that she did not have to tell more people than already knew about her ancestry, so she could at least delay reactions from others. She shuddered at the thought that others might react like Ron had, or would pity her, which would be equally as bad in her opinion.

And two, she had only read about a few members of the family who had made bad choices, following You-Know-Who. It would be prejudiced of her, if she judged the last remaining member of the family, the current Lord Lestrange, based on the actions of his sons. OK, one could argue that the sons probably learned their ways from the father, but influence of peers should not be underestimated. And just because the man was old enough that he had went to school with the boy who grew up to be a dark lord, was no reason to dismiss him as a hopeless case.

Maybe she should look into the records of the Wizengamot to see how the man had voted, and try to meet him in person?

For the time being, she would clean up and get something to eat.

Hermione got up from the bed, grabbed her wash-bag and made for the bathroom a few doors down. It was clean, even if the décor still made it seem gloomy and grim. It fit with the theme of the whole house. Hermione idly wondered what a house Lord Lestrange was living in. One equally as dark as this house? An old one? Something more modern?

As Hermione walked into the kitchen, a good fifteen minutes later, she found Mrs. Weasley working on one of the counters, preparing for dinner.

Mr. Black, Sirius as he insisted she call him, was sitting in a chair at the table, many sheets of parchment laid out around him. The man preparing for his trial on the next day, looked up as he heard the door closing behind the young witch.

Hermione was surprised how good he looked. He had cut his hair and styled it, so it was falling in gentle waves to his chin, his beard was carefully cut and accented his features nicely. It was like night and day, compared to the man she had seen back at the end of her third year at Hogwarts.

“Hermione,” Sirius greeted her with a warm smile, “I am sorry that I have been a bad host the last days. But with the trial…”

“Of course!” She hurried to assure him. “I understand. You need to prepare for the trial.” It would be wonderful if she had someone understanding the magical world she could have turned to, but she understood that Sirius and the Weasleys had their own worries and children, and therefore not much time for her.

“Nonsense!” The wizard in his smart robes waved away her unspoken apology. “I pay enough for my solicitor that he can do the work. It is not much, but I have met Lord Lestrange in the past, so if you would like I can tell you what little I know.”

Eager to learn more from a source that was not biased towards the old pureblood families, Hermione nodded and sat down at the table in a chair near the end.

“That would be wonderful! The library was not especially informative. There is much about the Blacks but not much on the other families.”

“Well this is a house belonging to the Blacks, it is only natural that there would be more on the family than on others. What do you want to know?”

And so they started a lively discussion about the things Sirius still remembered about the Lestranges. The late parents of Sirius had been acquaintances of Lord and Lady Lestrange, so that he had met them on more than one occasion. He could tell, that Lord Lestrange had been a strict but loving father, that he had a biting sense of humour and that he never openly had sided with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

As Sirius was talking about the marriage of his cousin Bellatrix to the older Lestrange brother, he had not managed to wiggle himself out of this one, they both did not see Ron coming into the kitchen.

They did not see him making a face and rolling his eyes over their topic of conversation, and only looked up as they heard the door closing behind him, as he left again.

By the time dinner was served, Hermione had formed a plan. She would continue to search for records of the dealings of the House of Lestrange. Sirius had promised to get her the records of votes for Lord Lestrange from the Wizengamot, as his request likely would be handled faster, a fact that rankled Hermione, a way for her to determine the man’s political agenda. And she would try to get to know the man. At least she could learn more about the childhood of her beloved gran.

The tasked proved to be easier than she had anticipated, as an owl brought a letter for her, just after they had finished dinner, a hearty stew with freshly baked bread. She quickly excused herself, clutching the letter with the Lestrange coat of arms on the envelope, and a letter from her parents, which had arrived during the afternoon, to her chest, intending to relay the contents to either party.

Not for a moment she thought about Ron and the words he had said to her in the morning. In fact she ignored him completely, consequently missing the dark look as his eyes followed her retreat.

The twins on the other hand, did see the look their younger brother shoot at the bushy haired witch. Silently communicating their concern, they resolved to speak with their brother, before he could do something stupid.

oooOOooo

Led by the elf, Marvolo found his son in the back of the garden, hidden behind bushes, in the shade of some low hanging branches.

He hesitated in his step, unsure what he should do in the face of the grief the boy suffered. Loud heaving sobs filled the small space with their sound, drowning out everything else. Thinking back to interactions he had observed in the past, Marvolo came to the conclusion, that some comfort had to be given. He sincerely doubted he was the right person to give it, but he was the only one there, the only one the boy could speak with about the reasons for his bone deep sadness.

Slowly and silently he made his way over to the teenager, who was pounding his fists on the dry grass and hard soil. Lowering himself to a sitting position next to the boy, he hesitant laid his hand on the boy’s back and started to rub it in small circles.

Several minutes later, the sun nearing the horizon, the sobs started to get slower and quieter. As the teen finally sat back up, rubbing his bruised hands over his swollen eyes, obviously embarrassed over the whole situation, Marvolo held out the portkey, he had had stored in one of the pockets of his robes, out to the teen. In silent agreement they both pretended the last few minutes never happened.

“I think I was clear, that you should wear this at all times.” He raised a brow and fixed Henry with a pointed look.

Blushing, the boy took the chain and slipped it back over his head, tucking the pendant into his shirt.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” Marvolo asked, watching as the teen got white as a sheet, realising what he had done and clearly fearing the reaction of Marvolo to this actions.

Avoiding the older wizard’s gaze, Henry gave a shrug, playing with the grass in front of him.

“Running of like that was not respectful nor was it polite.”

Hatred for the muggles Henry had lived with rushed through Marvolo, making him want to hex them to the moon and back, as he saw the teen shrinking into himself, rounding his shoulders, looking like he expected blows to start raining on him.

“But understandable, given the news you had to hear today.”

Wide, unbelieving eyes suddenly were fixed unblinking on Marvolo, sitting on the ground, in the garden. Benjamin's prediction, that being a father would lead for him to do things he never thought he would do, seemed much too accurate for Marvolo’s taste. He feared what he would come to do during this endeavour.

“Do you know what you could have done better?” Marvolo was able to keep the fury over the mistreatment of a wizard at the hand of muggles out of his voice, and sounded calm if stern.

“Not throw away the portkey?” Catching on to the meaning of the pointed look and raised brow, Henry quickly tagged on a quiet “Sir.”

Nodding once Marvolo acknowledged that this was part of the answer.

“That too. But you could have told me, that you needed time for yourself, to think. I would then have informed you, that we will move to London after dinner today, and that you can eat your dinner in your room here, if you do not wish for company at the moment.”

The incredulous look the teen was giving him was highly amusing. Throwing others by not acting the way they expected him to act was not getting old, and hopefully would not for quite some time.

He got up from the ground, casting a silent and wandless charm to make all the dead plant matter, clinging to his robes and clothes, fall silently to the ground.

“You should move to your room, and see to it that the elf has packed all of your belongings. I will send your meal there?”

“That would be nice, sir?” His son’s answer came out more like a question, but it was better than the shrugging Henry so often resorted to, so he let it slide.

“Good. We will discuss your punishment, for not wearing your emergency portkey, and therefore putting yourself at risk, at a later time. Maybe tomorrow after breakfast?”

Rapid blinking and a small frown gave away, that Henry was not happy with this plan. But if he did not want to wait this long, or was averse to the fact he was going to get punished for his rash action, Marvolo did not know.

So he looked questioningly down at his son, who was still sitting on the ground, covered in dried grass and leaves.

“Is it possible to discuss it now?” The teen wanted to know, averting his gaze again, looking down to the ground.

So not wanting to wait it was then.

“Very well.” Quickly weighing the options, Marvolo decided on a punishment, unsure if it was the right one, he should have prepared a few in advance. Punishing his followers for errors was much easier than this parenting he had to do now.

“You will answer a type of quiz I will provide you with. And after the trial tomorrow, you will immediately return home.”

The puzzled look at the mentioning of a quiz quickly morphed to horror at the punishment, of missing out of the anticipated victory party after the trial.

Marvolo watched as the wheels turned behind Henry’s eyes, the boy searching for a way, to change Marvolo’s mind on this.

“Did you not say, that spending time with my godfather was one of my responsibilities, Sir? Is attending a celebration hosted by him not one of these?”

Smirking to himself, happy to see some of the cunning he had known was buried somewhere deep inside his son, Marvolo inclined his head considering.

“You are right, that this could be considered as one of those situations. You can choose. Surrender your broom for a week, or return home the moment the trial is over.”

Marvolo was almost sure that he knew what option Henry would choose, but the teen had surprised him more than once, and so he waited seemingly indifferent, curious what the young wizard would do.

“I will give you my broom, sir.” Henry almost whispered.

“The quiz will be on your desk in your new room in London.”

And with this last words, he turned and walked back to the house. This had been an eventful evening. Being a father surely was a tiring and exciting life.

oooOOooo

Humming tunelessly, Severus Snape, Potions Master, came out of his private lab, closing the door softly behind him. After sleeping in, something he rarely ever did, he had made great progress with the potion he was currently working on.

He had managed to find substitutes for the ingredients no longer as readily available as they were back in the time the instructions had been written, and with an alternate stirring sequence it now was not as prone to blowing up, as it had been on his first try.

It had not happened in a while that a potion he was working on had been this volatile, he mused idly, entering his kitchen. Setting the kettle on the fire, Severus started to prepare tea.

While he waited for the water to boil, the young potions master thought back to the happenings of the night before.

He was relieved that he now no longer was in danger to be considered a traitor, watching Karkaroff being tortured had been an exercise for him. To keep the disgust of this actions from his face out of his posture, had not been easy. He could understand the need to reinforce, that there would be no mercy for traitors, and even the need to keep the Death Eaters happy with the possibility to inflict harm on others. But he did not like to watch, and hoped that it would be a long time before something like it came up again.

The talk after the big meeting had been interesting in comparison.

Learning that Hermione Granger, the most annoying know-it-all he had to teach in years, was related to Lestrange, had been quite the surprise. He wondered if this little titbit of information had been spoken about at the order meeting of the previous evening. His guess would be that Albus did not want this information shared with to many.

Telling the older man, it was hard to comprehend that Lord Lestrange was as old as the Dark Lord, as the dark wizard looked so much younger, about everything he knew about the girl had been something he gladly had done. Maybe the Lord could help the girl acclimate to the wizarding world better than she had done so far.

He distantly remembered some rumours from the last school year, claiming that the elves refused to clean Gryffindor Tower, as the girl tended to hide knitted clothes in the debris littering the floor. Not that this would even work to free the elves, but they perceived it as an insult.

She would do good with a mentor versed in the ways of the wizarding world. The question was if she would take the advice.

Severus was sure, that Lord Lestrange would be able to find a balance with the girl and would not alienate her with prejudice and bias.

Thinking of prejudice. Severus was unsure if he could teach the son of Lily, as his Lord had asked of him. It had not escaped his notice, that it had been a question, not an order. For a brief moment his thoughts wandered to the question what Dumbledore would have done, if he thought the boy needed to learn the art. It was not much of a question. He would have used Severus’ promise to protect the teenager and his guilt and forced him to do it.

The dark haired wizard had no doubt how this would have ended. Teaching the mind arts was nothing that could be done if either teacher or pupil were resentful or forced.

He poured himself a cup of tea, added honey and walked over into the living room, sitting down at the small writing table stashed away to the side, starting to prepare the report and request for test subjects he had to write.

As he could follow the Dark Lord’s reasoning, neither he nor Dumbledore were suitable teachers for Harry, he resolved to work on his attitude so he would be able to teach occlumency to the son of his childhood friend. If they managed to salvage their relationship, it might be possible that they succeeded.

Taking a sip from his tea, opening the inkwell, Severus started to write his report, filling the parchment with his neat, spidery handwriting.

oooOOooo

Looking around the room, Marvolo got his papers out of his robe pocket, enlarging the small package. The filing cabinet in one corner behind the exquisitely carved desk, would do as a storing place, after he had added a few wards of his own.

This day had been a trying one. Henry’s reaction to his revelations, had been not what he expected. Even if he was not sure what he had expected. An emotional breakdown of some kind had been unavoidable, of that at least he was sure.

As he had apparated them both to London, he had asked his son, if he wanted to talk about it. And the teenager had requested not to speak about it tonight. It was a reasonable request, as he certainly needed more time to process the information he had been given.

Only a moment later, the teenager had gotten his broom out of his trunk handing it over to Marvolo, before setting off to select a room for himself.

That his son was not arguing about the punishment had Marvolo surprised. He was unsure if he was glad about it or not. Was it too easy? Or too harsh? Disciplining teenagers was hard. Knowing that Henry had been at least neglected by his previous guardians, only added to the difficulties.

Pinching his nose, Marvolo decided not to think about this more, getting out his wand he started to cast the first few wards around the filing cabinet. The more intricate ones he would cast in a few days, as they required runes to be carved and a ritual to be performed. Maybe Henry would consent to watch. It was, after all, a practical application of the subject he had taken up, and therefore a good way to help motivate him.

A few minutes later he was satisfied that no one would break into the cabinet, without alarming him and being immobilized, so he would find the would be thief once he arrived here.

Opening the drawers, and admiring the high quality wood and carpentry, he sorted his files on various things into different groups.

Things pertaining to the estates he now had to manage, one for everything related to his son, one for his own correspondence and a last one for his research on distant family members. Everything that was related to the shadier parts of his live, he had left at the other house. He had to separate his personas as much as he was able. This house was the home of his son, everything too dark would not come here. Even if he should succeed in swaying Henry to his side.

As the last file he added the contract with the private detective he had hired to research in the Muggle world. He needed to track down all possible branches originating from the one Squib on Henry’s ancestry tree. And he had to keep an eye on his son’s cousin. He might be a muggle, but it was possible that one of his children, or grandchildren, would be magical.

And as he neither had the time nor wanted to spent any time between muggles, he had searched for an expert.

He was unsure how to find out if there had been more Squibs that had had children.

Closing the drawer, Marvolo went out into the hallway, ignoring the painting of the Potters, like they ignored him, and extinguished the light. Time for him to go up to his rooms.

oooOOooo

In the bedroom farthest from the master bedroom, Harry finished placing his school books into the cherry wood bookcase by the desk. Despite all that had happened today, he marvelled at the fact, that this room now would be his.

Careful he let his fingers wander over the carvings of griffins and phoenixes that adorned the bookcase and the desk. The floor was a nice light oak parquet, that was almost invisible under the wool rugs in different shades of blue. the walls were painted in a rich blue, which reminded the teen of a nice sunny and hot summer day.

He had a study area by one window, with a desk, chair and bookcase. A separate sitting area with a love seat and armchair placed around a fireplace. A big bed not unlike the one he had in the Gryffindor dorms, with a silken comforter in a nice earth tone and curtains in a blue, dark like the sky after dusk.

His school trunk was standing at the foot of the bed and was now mostly empty. Only the drenches of sweet wrappers, old socks, broken quills and other small rubbish, remaining.

His clothes had been placed in his own, small walk-in-closet by Flimm, who would be his personal elf, whenever he was home for the holidays.

Harry smiled as he thought what Hermione might would have to say about this.

With all things placed where they belonged, Harry had now nothing left to distract himself. And without delay his thoughts returned to the talk, he had had with Voldemort this afternoon. Struggling to not think about the reason for the connection between the two of them, Harry instead focused on the oddity of being comforted by the Dark Lord of their time.

First he had not realised who was sitting beside him, rubbing his back and murmuring nonsensical words in a soothing tone. He just had been glad, that he was not alone, that there was someone that cared.

As he finally realized that it had been Voldemort, he had been mortified. And now, looking back, he realized that the adult wizard had felt the same.

Once, Harry had listened from his cupboard as Petunia had explained to Dudley the concept of something called Stockholm syndrome. The captive coming to like sometimes even love their captor. He had thought the idea ridiculous, but now, now he could guess what would cause such a change.

Not for the first time he wondered, how it could be that Voldemort cared more for him, than every other adult he ever had encountered. It was a puzzle he was not able to solve. And a danger to him. He had to remember that Voldemort was the enemy.

Harry heard a soft popping sound, and turned to the desk. A scroll, bound with a dark green silken ribbon, now was laying in the middle of it. Frowning the teenager assumed, that this was the quiz that was part of his punishment. He was proud that he had found a way to be able to celebrate with his godfather after the trial, but sad, that he had to give up his broom for a whole week in exchange.

As he was sure, that he would not be able to sleep right now, and as it was better to get it over with, Harry moved over to the desk, sat down on the soft but firm pillow in his chair, and opened the scroll.

First he was unsure what he should think, as the parchment was blank. But moments later, before his very eyes, the now familiar script of his current guardian started to write out a caption, ‘Quiz over the uses of portkeys’, and a first question.

Smiling despite himself, Harry was sure he knew where this was going. He got a quill out of the casket, sitting at the edge of the desk in the upper middle, tested the point the way Theodore had shown him, and got ready to answer the questions.

What is the best response from those given, if you find yourself in the woods faced with two wild sows (female wild boar) and their young?

1. Try to incapacitate them with spells, hoping to take both out before they attack.

2. Running away

3. Climbing one of the trees and waiting until they have moved away

4. Freezing in terror

5. Using an emergency portkey to a safe location.

He made a check at the fifth answer, and watched as the next question appeared. He snorted after reading it and wondered what would happen, if he decided to answer one of them wrong. As a third question appeared he asked himself how many there might be. Only one way to find out.

And so Marvolo heard some quiet laughter coming from his son’s room, as he made his way to his own room an hour later. He smiled. Hopefully after this exercise the boy would know the value of an emergency portkey and would not discard his again.

Chapter Text

In the en-suite of the master bedroom, Sirius checked one last time that his hair was styled into the respectable cut Mr. Bench insisted on.

Not entirely at home in the shiny new dress shoes, the dark blue trousers of fine wool, the silk dress shirt with the silver cuff-links, waistcoat of Gryffindor-red silk and an open black over-robe, Sirius took a deep breath and turned to the door.

As he reached the formal parlour with the floo, where they all wanted to meet, only Remus was already there. The former professor had thrown on his best robes, which had seen better days... a long time ago. The werewolf gave his friend a reassuring smile and walked over, looking his appearance up and down.

“You look good, Padfoot. So … respectable!” At Sirius’ exasperated eye-roll, Remus started to chuckle. “Sorry, old friend. Just nervous, I guess.”

“James Bench assures me that there is no need to be nervous,” Sirius said in a joking manner. But his eyes betrayed his own nervousness.

The door to the parlour opened, and Arthur walked in, followed by his children, those that still were in school, and his wife. They all were in their best robes, Sirius noticed. He felt a nice warmth welling up inside of him. All those people cared about him, went to some trouble to be at his trial and provide moral support.

As the last one, Hermione came into the parlour, dressed in a pleated skirt, a nice blue blouse, knee-high white stockings, and a simple open dark-blue robe, just a tad longer than her skirt. It was obvious to Sirius that she had put thought and effort into her appearance, taming her curly hair into something less bushy by braiding it.

Sending her a smile and getting a shaky one in return, the animagus turned to the fireplace and the roaring green flames that brought his solicitor into the house.

“Mr. Black, I see everyone is ready to leave.” The burly man in his pinstripe robes over the black satin waistcoat and dark grey trousers, greeted with confidence. “We will leave for the office of the Head of the DMLE,” the solicitor nodded in Sirius’ direction. “The rest of you will have to floo to the atrium and go to the courtroom and into the public section.” The man smiled brightly at the assembled group and asked, “Are there any more questions?”

As all were shaking their heads indicating that there were no more questions, the solicitor held out his arm to Sirius motioning for him to go first.

Taking a fortifying breath, Sirius smiled at his supporters, stepped up to the floo, and took a pinch of the sparkling green powder out of the small ceramic bowl on the mantel. He threw the powder down, stepping into the green flames, clearly stating, “Ministry of Magic, Amelia Bones’ office.”

Spinning rapidly around his own axis, Sirius got a last glance at his friends, before the fireplaces started to rush through his vision.

A moment later he stepped out of the floo into the office of the current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where two aurors and Director Bones were already waiting for him.

“Good morning, Madame Bones,” Sirius greeted with a proper bow, trying not to flinch as one auror trained his wand on him, while the other came closer, probably to search him for dangerous objects or substances, and to confiscate his wand.

Sirius was not entirely comfortable with parting from his wand, but he knew that there would be a cold day in hell when they would let him keep it.

He gave a relieved breath as James Bench appeared in a flash of green flames, only a moment behind him.

“Mr. Black,” Madame Bones said in a businesslike manner, “Auror Wood will escort you and your solicitor to the temporary holding cell, until it is time for you to come to the courtroom.”

The man that just had taken Sirius’ wand out of its holster on his right forearm, nodded after handing it to his colleague. “If you would follow me.”

Nervousness that had lurked in the background of his mind all morning, now slammed full force into him, and made his stomach churn and his knees tremble. Taking a deep breath, getting strength from the confident posture of his solicitor, Sirius followed the auror out of the office and down a corridor.

Only today, and then he would be free. He would manage this. For Harry. For his godson.

With a confident air, hiding the nerves, Sirius followed on his last way as a perceived criminal.

oooOOooo

Harry was nervous. And exasperated over that fact. Sirius would be a free man after today. There was no room for doubt. After all, the man who had killed his parents would tell in front of the judges that it had not been Sirius who had betrayed his parents, but Peter Pettigrew.

The man who had tried to kill him, adopted him without his consent, and had splintered his soul so often that a piece of it had attached itself to Harry.

He still had trouble wrapping his head around that.

After he had finished the quiz the evening before, he had gone to bed in his wonderful new room and had tried hard not to think about the soul-piece.

He had not succeeded.

It had been confusing, all of it. Beside the fact that it was possible to split a soul and store pieces of it in containers, the teen could not understand why someone would even think about doing it. And that Voldemort had done it several times. It was just a concept he would never understand.

Being told this was even more confusing. Harry was not accustomed to anyone telling him things. That is, adults telling him things concerning him.

And here was Voldemort, murderer, madman, evil Dark Lord, telling him the secret behind his not dying on Halloween of 1981. Even if Harry was not able to tell anyone about this because he was bound by the Family oath, he now knew. Knew something that probably no one else had ever been told, or ever would be told.

At breakfast, in the kitchen with waffles made by Flimm, the man had asked how Harry had slept and if he was up to going out into the open, going to the Ministry for his godfather’s trial. Harry had gotten the impression that if he had said no, he would have been allowed to stay home.

Instead he had said that of course he was fine and would come to the Ministry. So the man with the red eyes had asked for the portkey and reset the “home” location before handing it back, and told the raven-haired teen that if he wanted to speak about the link, or anything related to it, he was welcome to seek him out.

Slipping into his room - he had been up to the small owlery in the attic, next to the elf rooms, to check if Hedwig had made it safely here - Harry went over to the clothes that were laid out on his bed.

Time to get dressed.

While he went through the motions, Harry could not stop his thoughts from returning to his newest dilemma.

Dumbledore. Yesterday the young wizard, named a hero by many, had seen the fury in Voldemort’s eyes over the fact that Dumbledore had known about the link and its likely cause, and done nothing. Or at least Harry had concluded that this was what the man had wanted Harry to believe.

Still wary of information given by the man, Harry had come to the same conclusion while lying in his bed, turning restlessly from one side to the other, searching for a spot that was still cool. Dumbledore had hinted that there had been some kind of transfer the night Voldemort had tried to kill Harry. And he had seen one of the containers the evil wizard had used to store a piece of his soul. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was too intelligent not to have come up with the idea that there might be something more about the scar on Harry’s forehead, and the pain he had felt when near Voldemort.

And the old man had done nothing. Or appeared to have done nothing. He had not spoken with Harry, had not tried to confirm the suspicions he must have had.

The list with questions Harry had for the Headmaster was growing rather long.

Why had no wizard or witch ever checked on him, while he was staying with the Dursleys? Why did he have to go back there, when he so clearly said he did not want to go back? Why not check after that? Why had Dumbledore not told him about all the things he had to learn to fill the spot in the Wizengamot waiting for him? Was it because the Headmaster thought that Harry had to die?

It was a sobering thought. One Harry fervently wished he could dismiss, because he wanted to believe the Headmaster cared for him. But he just could not.

Too often he had been ignored, not been told important things, shoved away at the Dursleys, isolated.

No, Harry was not happy with the Headmaster of his school. The first place he had called home. And how pathetic was that?

Stepping in front of the mirror in his wardrobe room, Harry checked his clothes. He wore the formal robe with the combined family colours over a dress shirt and waistcoat, black embroidered with silver and golden thread, and simple dark trousers. Looking down at his shiny dress shoes, Harry felt good and out of place all at once. He looked so wealthy. Not like some runaway in clothes nicked from the second-hand store or welfare.

Another thing that should have raised some questions at Hogwarts. If not from Dumbledore himself, then from one of the teachers.

It felt so wrong to feel cared for by the man that had always been painted as the greatest evil on earth.

He wanted someone to care for him, to ask about his homework, his grades. Someone to set some rules, to be a parent.

He had hoped this person would be Sirius, but had understood that he could not take this place as long as he was on the run. Another thing he had to lay at Dumbledore’s feet. Would Voldemort have been able to simply adopt him, if Sirius had been his guardian? He was a wizard after all, and not just a muggle aunt.

Slipping his wand into the holster on his arm, Harry took a deep breath and turned to leave for the entrance hall.

They would apparate to Nott House and use the floo from there, as Griffin House was not currently connected to the floo network. Over his second cup of coffee, Voldemort had told Harry that he intended to use their trip to the Ministry today to file the request for the house to be connected. There were a few other things they probably would be doing after the trial, like getting information from the Department of Magical Education about the OWL exams and when they were offered.

And maybe Harry would get the opportunity to ask Headmaster Dumbledore some of the questions that were constantly on his mind.

Reaching the entrance hall, Harry found Voldemort standing just inside the door, waiting for him. The man was dressed in formal robes himself, hair styled to perfection, his eyes glamoured to hide the fact they were actually red, now appearing to be blue.

“Ready to brave the masses?” Voldemort asked with an assessing look over Harry’s clothes. He gave a nod of approval and smiled at the teen. Harry thought the man looked a little unsure and wondered why that could be.

“Before we go, a few last things.” The look the man sent to his adopted son spoke clearly of the importance of what was to be said next. “Do not go anywhere on your own. Stay with Benjamin, Theodore, me, or the parents of your friends. Do not speak with strangers, especially not with the press. They tend to be like grindylows when blood is in the water. We should wait for you to have more experience with them, before you deal with them on your own.”

Thinking about his encounters with the press, in the form of Rita Skeeter, during the tournament of the last school year, Harry snorted and nodded his head, there would be no arguments about this from him.

“I think that is all. Let’s go.”

They left the entrance hall through the front door and stopped on the front step. The wards to hide from the muggles of the neighbourhood extended up to the small gate in the fence surrounding the small garden, and did hide all unusual things happening in front of the house. All this Voldemort had explained over breakfast, after Harry had not been very forthcoming and conversation had been strained.

The mornings at Nott House had been much more relaxed.

They landed in the designated apparation spot inside of Nott House. Harry stumbled and got a good look at the mosaic of a dolphin jumping out of waves, as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

“Marvolo!” the elder Nott greeted. He too was dressed in his Wizengamot robes, and was followed by his heir. Theodore smiled broadly at Harry, who smiled back.

The Slytherin was an all-right guy. Harry was a little embarrassed that he was so surprised over it. Maybe they would never be real friends, the way he was with Hermione and Ron, but good acquaintances, that was a real possibility.

“Hello, Henry! How is the new room?” Theodore was clad in trousers, shirt, waistcoat and robe much as Harry was, only his colours were those of the Nott family. And while Harry started on a detailed description of his new room, he felt a pang of worry. How would Ron feel next to him, now that he had such nice new clothes? If the redhead’s reaction from the afternoon at the ice-cream parlour was any indication, it was not going to be easy.

A few moments later, the single fathers had finished whatever they had to discuss and took a boy each per side-flooing to the Ministry. The boys were a little miffed about this, clearly thinking that they were old enough to go on their own. But the fathers did not want to take any risks.

oooOOooo

Helping steady his son as they exited the flames from one of the public floos in the Ministry atrium, Marvolo swept the huge room with his gaze.

Just as he had thought, the hall was filled with people milling about. Uncounted numbers of Ministry workers and officials, aurors, press, and the interested witch and wizard from next door.

All the chattering morphed into a background buzz, and with all the colourful robes, Marvolo felt himself reminded of the market days in London when he had still been a kid.

“Stay near, Henry,” he cautioned his son, and started to walk over to the security desk to get their wands registered, so they would be able to go to the courtroom where, hopefully, they would be relatively safe from being assaulted by the press.

Noting that Benjamin and both boys were following him closely, the dark wizard resumed his restless observation of the room.

He was nervous. And not the kind of nervous from being excited over a challenge to come, like the morning before his first meeting with Fudge. No, it was more like a foreboding feeling that something was going to go wrong.

He had not had this feeling for … a really long time, as he could not remember feeling it ever. Maybe before he had lost so much through his own errors. Mulling the problem over in his head, cautiously avoiding the other people walking about, they slowly made their way over the dark floor.

As they stepped into the line, waiting to be processed by the lone auror trainee behind the counter, Marvolo looked at his son, as he was standing with Theodore chattering in low voices about the last runes lesson they had had together and the homework they had been assigned. Seeing the seemingly carefree smile of the teen, Marvolo wondered about Henry’s reaction to the punishment he had been given.

Was this normal? Or was Henry reacting as he, Marvolo, had when he was younger? He never had been punished for anything while in Hogwarts. Mostly because he had not been caught. But he had been punished in the orphanage. Unfairly, or so was his own opinion. And it had made him resent those that were meant to care for him, and who never did.
Was Henry’s reaction to it all the same? Was he hiding his true feelings? Marvolo was not really sure. Had he been unfair?

His thoughts came to a grinding halt. Had he just thought he might have acted unfairly? Being a father really was affecting him. Forcing his thoughts onto a different path, Marvolo decided to speak with Severus on his opinion of what punishments were useful with teenagers. The man had been the Head of House in Hogwarts for quite some time now and had experience.
Maybe he could also ask him about Henry’s reaction, as the man never lost so much of his emotions, he likely was better to judge how a boy from a background like theirs was likely to react to different punishments and situations.

As the wizard came to this conclusion, it was their turn to get their wands checked. They stepped up and saw the young man behind the counter pale as he recognized who was standing before him.

Marvolo felt the urge to smile, it was funny to see the reactions of everyone, their floundering because they just did not know what to think or how to react, but he opted to look a little sad instead. Handing over his wand with great reluctance he masked expertly, it was checked, and within moments, their little group was processed.

“I think we should go ahead and find a place for the boys in the courtroom,” Benjamin suggested, eyeing the growing crowd a little worriedly.

“I agree,” Marvolo nodded, steering his son by his shoulders in the direction of the elevators.

The line up to the counter now was easily twice as long as it had been the moment they had taken their place in it.

There was potential for something to go wrong with this many people in one place.

Thinking it might have been wise to take Crabb and Goyle with them, Marvolo spotted some people he wanted to speak to in the line, waiting their turn.

Just as he made a step in their direction, Henry spotted them as well and gave a wary and curious glance from the corner of his eyes to his guardian.

Not bothering to lower his voice, Marvolo inclined his head in greeting and addressed the man he had spotted, standing in the line accompanied by a few teenagers.

“Mr. Lupin.”

The addressed man inclined his head in return and answered in a polite tone. “Lord Slytherin.”

“It is a fortunate coincidence that we meet here.” Marvolo smiled charmingly and saw the small flicker of amusement over the acting in the eyes of the werewolf. “I want to offer you the position of history tutor for my son and heir.” He did not add that the man had been the best of all applicants, by far the best.

Marvolo stretched his hand out and Remus Lupin took and shook it. “Thank you, Lord Slytherin. I am happy about the opportunity.”

Henry was not able to suppress a small cheer, a really quiet one, and Mr. Lupin gave the teen a bright smile.

“The offer of the use of one of the flats belonging to the Potters in London still stands. There is one over a small odds and ends shop in a side alley to Diagon,” Marvolo offered, getting attention back to himself.

“I’m happy with my current accommodation, Lord Slytherin. But thanks nonetheless for the offer,” Mr. Lupin declined politely.

Accepting this decision with a nod, Marvolo briefly wondered about the difference in behaviour between this polite and educated man and the werewolves he had worked with before his fall. Education clearly made a difference.

“I will send the contract ready for your signature by owl sometime later today.” The wizard in his shabby robes nodded in acknowledgement. “And I would suggest to starting lessons tomorrow, if this is agreeable with your schedule?”

“It is,” was the werewolf’s reply after a short pause.

Marvolo was about to get a small roll of parchment from his robe pocket, as a small “Hem hem” of someone clearing her throat to gain attention, sounded from behind him. Scolding himself silently for not paying better attention to his surroundings, even if it was difficult to keep track of the people around them with this many milling about, Marvolo turned to face whoever was standing behind him.

He could not resist raising a brow at what he was seeing. The short witch standing there, with a sour expression he would expect to be directed at a sticky toddler and not himself, was clad head to toe in different but equally ugly shades of pink.

“You are aware that you are hiring a werewolf? Or was it trying to trick you?” The woman had a sneer on her face and a tone of voice so ugly, that Marvolo felt the hair on his arms rise. He had seen and done many things that would make others faint, but for whatever reason, this woman made him uneasy. She was someone to keep an eye on.

“I am aware that Mr. Lupin is affected by lycanthropy. And who might you be?” He gave her his best uninterested, why-do-you-even-dare-to-bother-me look and was happy to see that the woman bristled with hurt pride.

“I am Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge. And you are?” The rather small woman tried to look down on him, an action that made her look even more ridiculous than her ghastly clothes.

From behind there were retching sounds to be heard and giggling from the teens, forcing Marvolo to use all his control not to start laughing. Oh, life was so much better with more than a little fragment of soul.

Moving his hand so that the family ring with the Slytherin coat of arms reflected the light, the handsome wizard smiled unpleasantly. “Lord Slytherin will be enough.” The witch paled under her greying hair.

Only a moment later the colour came back in a flush of barely contained anger. “The law forbids the Ministry or Ministry officials to hire those monsters.” She stabbed a finger in Mr. Lupin’s direction, her voice rising higher and higher, getting shriller with each word.

Keeping cool, and aware of the growing audience, Marvolo considered his options and decided to start to push his new political agenda regarding werewolves.

“In fact, Madame Undersecretary, that is not entirely correct. The law states that wizards and witches affected by lycanthropy cannot be hired for posts in any way connected to the Ministry. And as I do not hire Mr. Lupin as a soon-to-be member of the Wizengamot, but in my capacity as a father, there is no problem at all.” He smiled at the silently fuming witch.

“And before you start,” he held up a hand as if to stop her going forward. “I know about the other ridiculous and pointless laws passed in the last few years. That so-called ‘werewolves’ are not allowed to own immovable property, has no logical reason. And that anyone employing someone affected by this curse can be held accountable for any damage done during nights of the full moon is just petty.”

Without a word, Madame Umbridge turned and stalked over to the elevators with a rigid spine and trembling hands.

“What a toad,” came the snide remark from one of the young Weasley boys, and Marvolo agreed silently.

Shaking his head, the dark wizard turned around again, to meet the mixed bag of expressions in the small group behind him.

Benjamin looked mildly curious, contemplating what those statements might mean for their cause. Theodore was mostly listening and taking in to evaluate at a later point in time. Henry was looking confused again, as were the Weasley twins, confused and scheming. Mr. Lupin looked pensive, like someone confronted with a puzzle and not sure yet whether he should try to solve it or let it be. Ron Weasley, the boy who was a friend of his son, looked ready to murder someone, and Marvolo was quite certain this someone was him. Hopefully this hatred would not be carried over to Henry, his son had few friends to begin with and could not afford to lose one at this point in his life.

And then the blue-glamoured eyes fell on the pale face of the youngest Weasley child. Ginny, or Ginevra, was staring wide-eyed at Marvolo, trembling slightly. For a brief moment the new Lord Slytherin wondered what had the girl so terrified until he remembered.

He flinched, visibly, guilt for having forgotten that this young girl had been in possession of his diary for an entire school year, writing in it, ending up possessed by the part of his soul entrapped in it, washing through him.

He quickly averted his eyes, thinking furiously about what he should do, how he should react. The girl was one of the few, if not the only one, associating his real face with evil. Well, maybe Dumbledore was another one linking his face to the persona he had created in his youth. Most others had an easier time separating Voldemort from the young-looking Lord Slytherin.

Settling on acting like someone uncomfortable with the whole situation, Marvolo let his body show the reactions he had. First he paled in shock, then he flushed in embarrassment, ducking his head, before he regained control over his mask.

As an attempt to apologize in such a public setting would have been not only inappropriate but foolish, he merely got the scroll out of his pocket and extended the hand holding it to Mr. Lupin.

“A letter to the owner of Twilfitt and Tattings. I want you to go there and order three decent sets of robes.” Reluctantly the new history tutor accepted the scroll from his new employer with a nod and tucked it away in a pocket of his own fraying, dark-grey robes.

“May I impose on you to keep an eye on Henry?” Marvolo finally asked. The line of waiting witches and wizards, had moved on quite a bit, and they had to go to the courtroom pretty soon. “I am certain my son would prefer the company of his friends.” Here Marvolo indicated the teenagers standing behind the werewolf. “And as I am to be called as witness, I cannot watch him all the time.”

Without looking, Marvolo felt Henry perk up at the prospect of sitting with his friends, instead of sitting with one of Marvolo’s associates, and the smiles on Miss Granger’s and the twins’ faces were brilliant as well.

After Mr. Lupin had agreed to look over the teens, the group split up. Benjamin and Marvolo went to meet with the other Wizengamot members, Theodore went to meet with Draco and his mother, who walked past at this moment, and Remus Lupin and his herd of teenagers made their way to the places in the section traditionally used by those belonging to the one accused.

oooOOooo

Remus herded the teenagers through the crowd and to the benches. Ginny was decidedly pale, so he made his way over to her. “Are you okay, Ginny?” The former professor laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

The girl turned to look at Harry, who was walking between the twins, listening to their description of some prank, and instead of answering Remus’ question asked one of her own of the well-dressed teen. “How can you stand looking at him? Being near him?” Her voice was shaky and her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

At first the dark-haired teen looked absolutely clueless, but only moments later understanding dawned on his face and, concerned, he moved over to the younger girl’s side.

“I see him at each meal, he teaches me what I need to know when I will be Lord Potter in a few years. I…” he searched for words, raking a hand through his locks, destroying the carefully groomed hairstyle. “I guess it's impossible to stay in a state of constant fear and hatred if the source behaves decently?” Harry looked a little sheepish and said the last word with much reluctance.

Before the conversation could turn into a shouting match, Remus stepped in, changing the topic slightly. “Do you want to go home, Ginny?” Just at this moment Mrs. and Mr. Weasley came to their spot on the benches, and the mother bustled over to her daughter, starting to question her over her sickly appearance.

Relieved that he did not have to console the poor girl, Remus turned to the older teenagers. The twins had sat down, saving places for their group and watching the others pouring into the courtroom with interest. Hermione hovered near Molly and Ginny, unsure if she could and should try to help. Harry had a guilty look, standing near Remus.

“You okay, Harry?” the werewolf asked his honorary godson quietly.

“I don’t know?” was the reply. “Nothing fits together. I know what he did. What he probably will do again. But he acts so differently...” Harry trailed off, shrugging, clearly struggling to come to terms with his situation.

Before they could continue with their conversation, Arthur left his wife’s side and searched all their faces. “On the way here I heard a most interesting rumour.” Remus shifted his attention to the head of the Weasley family. Here and now was not the place to speak with Harry about his situation, that would have to wait for later.

“Lord Slytherin, supposedly, got in a kind of argument with Madame Umbridge and disagreed with her?” His blue eyes searched the crowd left and right, as if to check that no one he did not want to hear what he was saying was near. “About the werewolf legislation?”

Remus nodded, but before he could say anything, the twins started to speak.

“That was fun!” “That toad of a woman is a nasty one.” “He called the laws ridiculous and pointless.”

Even if they were speaking in their usual manner, changing who spoke frequently, they were not as hyper as usual. Remus noted their pensive look and the gazes both sneaked at him and Harry as well as Ron.

“So it is true?” Arthur sounded not really convinced. “He wants to abolish those laws?”

“It certainly seems to be so,” nodded Remus. He turned to Harry, “Has he spoken to you about politics?”

“Not really. Not about anything concrete. More about how everything works. He wants me to decide if I want Professor Dumbledore to stay regent. I have to read all the decisions he made. Most of it is boring,” Harry tried to explain.

Molly came over. “I will take Ginny home. She is quite shaken,” The resolute woman informed them.

“Do so, dear,” Arthur agreed, giving his wife a short kiss.

They all watched mother and daughter find their way through the crowd, down to the floor and out of the doors.

“Seeing Lord Slytherin was a shock for her,” Ginny’s father said to no one in particular. He sighed and turned to his sons.

“He looked guilty though,” George, telling the twins apart by scent had been easy since he had to teach the pranksters for a year, stated.

“As he should be,” Ron added, anger evident in his voice, face, and posture.

Remus heard Harry sigh behind him, and started to make them all sit down. The start of the trial was only minutes away.

ooooo

In a corridor outside the room used by the Wizengamot members preparing to be the judges of the trial, Marvolo stood with the few of his followers who never had been implicated and could openly associate with him.

“How do you like your new home, Marvolo?” Xerxes asked his old school friend with a little smile.

Chuckling a little, Marvolo smirked to his friend. “Well, it is not as dreadfully Gryffindor as I had feared. In fact it is a nice house, not too big for only my son and I, and warded enough so we will be safe.”

Benjamin listened to his Lord, smiling and watching the reactions of the others, who were arriving now that the trial was about to begin.

And he was watching his Lord too. The man was saner, looked really handsome, he drew looks from many a Lady walking by, and seemed to make better decisions. Considering the last few days, he deemed it unlikely that Marvolo - it was getting easier to think of his Lord by that name - would go back to being a madman.

While Xerxes talked about the correspondence he had started with Hermione Granger -Benjamin was curious over the reason behind that- he spotted Lucius coming down the hall. The blond Lord walked with his head held high, reminding Lord Nott of the peacocks Lucius was so fond of.

“Xerxes, Benjamin,” Lord Malfoy greeted with a nod. And as an afterthought, following the cover needed with his story from after the fall of their Lord, inclined his head in Marvolo’s direction. “Lord Slytherin.”

They both sported neutral expressions, and Benjamin looked forward to the careful political dance he was about to witness.

“I heard the most intriguing rumour on my way down here,” drawled Lucius with a polite smile and a spark of fear in his eyes.

The blond Lord had maneuvered himself into an uncomfortable position by claiming that he had been under the influence of the Imperius curse during the last war. Benjamin always had wondered how the Malfoys had managed to get out of the mess and was now hoping to find entertainment watching how they worked to get back into their Lord’s group.

“And what rumours might that have been?” Lord Slytherin answered with a raised brow.

“That you, Lord Slytherin, advocate for equal rights for werewolves.” The last word was spoken with venom, but Benjamin saw right through the act, as the spark of fear spiked. Speaking against their Lord, even if needed for a mask in public, was something they had been trained to fear. Even at the thought of doing so, Benjamin felt the hairs on his arm stand, and a cold chill running down his back.

“Well, yes. One could say that I do.” The smile of their Dark Lord got decidedly predatory. “I daresay every sensible man would do the same.”

That got several surprised, if hurriedly hidden, looks from all those around them. This was more a performance to get the information out there, than an explanation for the benefit of Lord Malfoy.

“Oh, is that so?” Scepticism oozed from Lucius’ voice and posture. Benjamin internally applauded his friend for his acting skills and looked back to Marvolo. Changing looking at each one in turn felt a little bit like watching a beginner's duel, where spells were cast by turns.

“Yes. The law as it stands pushes affected wizards and witches to live in the muggle world, or the wild, if they want to live at all. This increases the threat to the Statue of Secrecy due to the increased exposure. If we change the laws, we can keep them in the magical community. I think this is preferable.”

Before they could get deeper into the discussion, the chime sounded that called them all to the chamber. The group quickly parted, the Wizengamot members moving into the antechamber, Marvolo moving over to the room in which the witnesses waited until the point they were called to give testimony.

Benjamin straightened his robes and followed Lady Longbottom through the door.

ooooo

Harry watched the members of the Wizengamot come in through a door behind the elevated seats. He spotted Neville's grandmother and Theodore’s father, as well as other notable figures of the various factions Voldemort had tried to get him to learn. Keeping all the names and faces straight was difficult. But at least he would spot them on the street. Or so he hoped at least.

As the room settled into a hushed silence, Harry’s nerves made themselves known. The teen barely could sit still in his place between Fred and Hermione.

“Order! Order in the chamber!” called Percy over the din that had started again after the Wizengamot members had sat down. As junior secretary in the Ministry, Percy did duty as a scribe quite regularly. He looked happy to be here in this capacity for this important trial.

The din faded to a low murmur, and Harry froze in his seat as two aurors came into the courtroom bringing Sirius with them.

It felt like an eternity since Harry had seen him. The teen had to smile at the formal robes his godfather was wearing, as he normally preferred to dress in much less formal wear.

Harry saw him flinch as he sat down in the chair in the middle of the almost round room and the chains attached to the chair wound around him.

Then Madame Bones - Voldemort had made sure Harry knew the faces and names of the important officials in the trial – stood, and the show began.

“Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, Minister. We are here for the trial of Sirius Orion Black,” began the stern witch in her official robes that clashed horribly with her skin tone. “He was arrested in 1981 under suspicion of betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles.”

The whole room held their breath in excitement. Some cameras were flashing as the press took pictures. This was one of the events of the year.

“Due to new evidence brought before the Wizengamot and the DMLE earlier this month, a new investigation was started, uncovering that there never had been a trial. This error will be corrected today.”

She turned to the wizard with wig and black robes standing beside Sirius. “Mr. Bench, your client consents to being interrogated with Veritaserum?”

The solicitor gave a small nod. “My client consents.”

On a small gesture from the head of the DMLE an auror walked forward, holding something small in his hand that Harry could not really see from his place in the crowd.

As the auror in his crimson robes stood beside Sirius, the man tipped his head back and opened his mouth. The auror moved his hand to hover over the opened mouth, dropping in the necessary three drops of potion, as was procedure.

They waited a few tense moments, before Madame Bones started the interrogation.

“What is your name?”

“Sirius Orion Black.”

A shiver run down Harry’s spine at the monotone and empty voice Sirius answered in. He felt only too clearly the reminder of the evening of the third task as the house-elf Winky had been interrogated by Dumbledore with the very same potion.

“When were you born?”

“November the third, 1959.”

She nodded then, the effectiveness of the potion proven. Harry knew now the real questions, the important ones, were about to be asked.

“How did you manage to escape from Azkaban?” So she was starting with the most recent happenings. Harry was not happy about this, but he had known that it was a possibility she would do that. Voldemort had seen to it that he was prepared. The man had stressed more than once that Harry had to keep his cool in the courtroom and not embarrass anyone. And he thought it more likely that Harry would manage it, if he knew what to expect.

“I changed into my animagus form, slipped through the door as food was brought, and swam to the mainland.”

An excited murmur swept through the room at this explanation.

Madame Bones did not let this distract her, and she continued with the questions.

“Why did you wait so long and only fled when you did?”

“I had no reason until I saw Peter in this picture in the Prophet.” Of course Harry already knew all this and was by now sitting on the edge of the bench, itching to jump up and shout for her to get on with it.

As the DMLE had not been able to keep the information from leaking to the public, despite their best effort, the answer did not shock the watching public as much as it could have. But there was still a rise in chatter, as the news from the various publications was confirmed by Sirius’ answer.

“What was your intention in fleeing from Azkaban?”

“I wanted to catch the rat that was so near my godson. Keep Harry safe and kill the traitor as I had tried that night in 1981.”

Sirius was staring almost unseeing straight ahead, but tears started to build in his eyes. Starting to fall as he blinked the next time.

“Were you, Sirius Orion Black, the Potter’s secret keeper in 1981?” Harry’s breathing quickened, this was the important part.

“No.”

“Do you know who was the secret keeper? And if you do, who was it?”

All in attendance were now holding their breath, and Harry let his gaze wander over the witches and wizards from the Wizengamot, looking for their reaction. He flinched as his eyes came to rest on the witch they had met in the atrium, the one that had been so awful to Remus. There was only hatred in her eyes, inexplicable hatred as far as Harry was concerned.

“Yes, I know who it was. It was the traitor Peter.”

“Please give the full name.”

“Peter Pettigrew was the Potter’s secret keeper.”

More flashes from cameras illuminated the room. Madame Bones called for the court healer to come forward, check on the accused and administer the antidote. Quickly Sirius came back to himself once more, shaking himself as Harry had seen him do in his other form as Padfoot, looking around until his eyes found Harry. He gave his godson a reassuring smile and turned his attention back to the proceedings.

Amelia Bones now started to call the witnesses. Each in turn, as they were brought in from the waiting room, sat in the witness stand and after answering the questions found a place in the audience to watch.

Dumbledore was asked about the arrangement that had been made to protect the Potters and why he had not known about the change in secret keeper or why he had not worked to get Sirius a trial the first time he had been arrested.

The Headmaster explained that it was possible to change secret keepers without the knowledge of the one that cast the spell in the first place, if it was done in the presence of the people hidden and or in the place hidden and with the consent of the current secret keeper. Something Harry was not sure of if he believed it or not.

The questions turned to the happenings of early summer of 1994, the end of Harry’s third year, and Dumbledore’s attempts to convince the Minister of the innocence of Sirius Black. The Headmaster proved to be a master at answering questions without telling much. Harry was not sure if he should believe the Headmaster’s crestfallen look as he admitted that he in fact had believed Sirius to be guilty and therefore had not seen the need to waste time on a trial where nothing new could be found, when so many other trials with dubious endings had to be held.

Then Severus Snape was called and asked about the night Sirius Black had been caught and escaped again.

As far as Harry could see his potions professor answered all questions truthfully, if with his usual unpleasant demeanour.

Soon Harry understood what Voldemort had meant with his words, as he had described trials as mostly boring affairs, at least in instances such as this, where the facts were clear, but no errors were allowed to happen because someone politically powerful was involved. From witness after witness the same questions were asked, confirming the answers given by Sirius under the truth serum, just to be asked again from the next to be called.

And Mr. Bench, the solicitor Sirius had employed, asked almost exactly the same questions, sometimes only getting some minor detail out of the witness after sitting down again until the next was called.

“Why are you not called as witness, Remus?” Harry wanted to know, whispering his question to the man sitting next to Hermione.

“I’m a werewolf Harry, we're not deemed trustworthy and therefore whatever I have to say, will not be counted. So Mr. Bench will not call me, and neither will Madame Bones.” This explanation was given in a calm and measured tone, only a flash giving away how the well-educated man resented being treated like an animal.

Then Hagrid was called as witness, recounting the night he had taken Harry from Sirius to take him to Surrey and the state the young wizard had been in as he had seen him. As before, some members of the Wizengamot asked clarifying questions, and Madame Umbridge was not nice about it.

After that the aurors that had arrested Sirius were called, giving their recollection of the evidence they had found on the scene and the state the accused had been in.

It was discovered that there had not been an interrogation or medical assessment before he had been shipped off to Azkaban.

After the last auror had answered the questions, being grilled by Mr. Bench over the Ministry's failings, a recess was called.

oooOOooo

Harry stood from the bench, stretching and looking around. The trial so far had been interesting yet surprisingly boring. For him it was absolutely clear that Sirius would be discharged to go home after all this. But despite this, all those officials were going through the motions, asking all those questions. It was maddening.

“I think a snack is in order,” Remus cheerfully stated, looking to the others of their little group for their opinion on this idea.

Ron immediately perked up, his stomach grumbling. The twins were eagerly nodding and Hermione smiled with fond exasperation at the boys.

Harry blushed and cleared his throat. Eating sounded nice, but he had another more immediate problem. “I think I have to use the loo.”

“How about this,” Mr. Weasley stepped in, smiling. “Hermione and I go up and get us all snacks. Remus stays here, making sure our seats will be empty when we return, and you boys go to the loo. We meet again before the break is over?”

“I want a sandwich and some crumpets!” Ron ordered with enthusiasm. “Make sure you get enough!”

They parted ways, Hermione and Mr. Weasley vanished into the crowd on their way up to the cafeteria to get them some snacks, and the boys went down a hall to the bathrooms.

“This trial is kind of boring, isn’t it?” Ron idly asked as they walked through the thinning crowd.

Harry was about to agree when there was a call from behind them.

“Harry, my boy! Wait! I want to speak with you.”

With dread in his stomach, Harry turned and was greeted with the sight of Headmaster Dumbledore in the loud robes he had seen earlier. From closer they did not look one bit better. In fact, they had a pattern of slowly falling leaves and flowers on them that might have looked good on the wall of a child's room, but were decidedly out of place at a trial in front of the Wizengamot.

Meeting the twinkling eyes of the man, Harry noticed with dismay that he felt uneasy in the presence of the old wizard. Only such a short time constantly in the presence of Voldemort and he started to distrust those that he could have trusted the most in the past?

But that was not entirely true, was it? He had thought he could trust him. But now he knew better. Now he knew what the long-bearded wizard had kept from him.

Remembering the lessons on proper behaviour - they had managed to squeeze in quite a few over meals in the days since he had been adopted - Harry inclined his head politely and greeted as was proper. “Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Letting his eyes travel up and down his student, the Headmaster of Hogwarts smiled at Harry, only giving the others short nods, which did not go unnoticed by the Weasley brothers.

“I’m glad that we are able to speak without Tom here,” Dumbledore said jovially, moving their small group a little more out of the way. “I want to assure you that we are working on getting you out of the unfortunate situation you have landed in.”

That sparked Harry’s anger over the whole thing. Unfortunate situation? “And how is this going to work?” The suppressed anger was clear to hear and Ron’s eyes widened in surprise as he realized how angry Harry was.

“Mom was a descendant of the Slytherin line. I am a parselmouth. Do you plan to kidnap me? Force me to live on the run?” His words were clipped and his eyes blazing. Now here was an opportunity to get a few answers out of the old man. At least he could try. He wished he had taken his parchment with questions with him. But he had not truly believed that there would be a meeting between him and the Headmaster.

“Now, Harry, do trust us, we will find a way to free you from…” Harry interrupted the Headmaster, his anger further increased by the soothing manner the words were spoken in. He was no bloody child any more. He might not be an adult either, but he certainly was not five.

“Trust you? When exactly had you planned on telling me that I will be Lord Potter once I turn seventeen? When had you planned for me to learn all I need to know, while others start learning as soon as they can walk? Why did you never check in on me while I was living with my aunt?” Now Harry was trembling, his hands clenched at his sides, his breathing rapid.

Dumbledore was taken aback. It was clear he had not expected so much anger directed at him.

“I always had your best interest in mind. Growing up out of the spotlight, away from the fame over something you would likely not remember.” The attempt at an explanation did nothing to calm Harry down.

Their not exactly silent exchange had started to gain attention from people walking by, some of them looking in their direction, slowing down to get a better look.

“Your keeping information from me has made this situation more difficult. Now I cannot simply hate him, because he helps me learn what I need to know. Gives me information where you have kept silent. Has cared for me where you appeared not to.” Harry got his portkey out of his shirt, holding it up for the others to see. “Why did I not have had a portkey for my safety? Cedric and I could have fled from the graveyard.” He almost whispered now, only just load enough to hear over the din from the other hall. “Why did I have to be adopted by Voldemort to get to see my family’s crest?”

Without another word, he walked past the Headmaster and through the door into the bathroom.

Once he got out of the stall again, the twins and Ron were waiting for him.

Harry went over to wash his hands, and splash some water on his face. He felt a little better for getting all this off his chest. Even if he had not gotten any useful answers.

“Living with him is not awful?” Ron sounded really unsure, but eager to know and understand.

Harry nodded, drying his face and hands. “Most of it is actually quite nice. Did I tell you there is a portrait of my father’s parents in the house we now live in?”

The brothers shook their heads. “Wicked! Don’t you think, Fred?” exclaimed one of the twins.

“That it is, George!” agreed the other.

“And that is the problem. I am totally confused. I should hate him, and yet…” Harry trailed off and then shook himself, forcing his thoughts onto another track. “Let’s get back, I’m hungry.” That got Ron beaming, and they all shared a laugh at his grumbling stomach.

But once they came out of the bathroom, they stopped dead in their tracks.

In the hall, unnoticed by the people walking back to the courtroom, a few boys - Harry thought they were a year or two ahead of him in school - were tossing something back and forth between them, and a blonde girl was trying to catch it.

It could have been a friendly game, if not for the cruel taunts and evil laughs of the boys.

“Why do you wear something made of trash, Looney?”

“Dotty, loopy, Looney!”

Harry instantly was enraged again. He could not stand bullies. Purposefully striding in the direction of the circle of boys and the girl in the middle, the teen weighed their chances.

There were five older teenagers, Ravenclaws if he remembered correctly, standing around the girl. The blonde herself only made halfhearted attempts to get back whatever it was the boys had stolen from her. She looked a little like she was not really paying attention, but she did not look happy either.

With Ron and the twins they were four, the girl did not look like she would help, so they were one short.

Deeming that an acceptable risk, Harry stepped into the circle, wand in his hand, catching the flying object with the practiced ease of the seeker.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded to know. With a little confidence he might be able to scare them away, before they realized that they had a real chance at overpowering them.

As the bullies turned to face the one interrupting their fun, Harry sighed in relief as Fred, George, and Ron stepped to his side, wands in hand and concentrated looks on their faces.

At the moment it counted, one could always rely on real friends.

“What is it to you?” asked the biggest of the boys with a sneer. “We were just having fun.” The others agreed and tried to pass it off as some game.

Harry turned to the girl and recognized her as a Ravenclaw, younger than them, he had seen a few times in the Great Hall.

“Did you have fun?” Harry asked her.

“Not really. Actually I thought that I saw some Blibbering Humdingers back here.” She smiled serenely and Harry was struck by her odd appearance, with actual leaves as her earrings and her permanent surprised look. Not sure what he should say or do, Harry held out the necklace made from butterbeer corks to her, which she took with a happy smile and slipped around her neck.

A chime indicating that the recess was nearing its end sounded through the halls, prompting the bullies to leave. And before Harry could gather his wits, the girl with her waist-length pale blond hair smiled and waved, “You are nice, Harry Potter,” just to vanish into the crowd returning into the courtroom.

“Come on,” Ron urged, taking Harry’s arm and dragging him to the door, following the flow of people, “If we wait any longer, all the crumpets will be gone!”

Happy for the moment at the easy camaraderie he had missed the last few days, the raven-haired teen followed his red-headed friends back to their place in the audience.

As he spotted Dumbledore sitting next to Mr. Weasley, chatting about something, Harry made sure that all the others were placed between him and the Headmaster. He did not want to speak to the man at the moment. So best get as much distance between them as he could manage.

And then the next act of the play began.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was sitting in the witness waiting room, reading the book he had brought. He had had to hide a smirk as he had first entered the room. The Ministry had not left anything to chance this time around. Every precaution possible for trials was observed. Separating the witnesses from the audience, not letting them listen to the trial, those measures were not often taken.

And so Marvolo had waited in the same room as Dumbledore, the half-giant Hagrid, Severus, and a few others that he did not really knew. As there were aurors stationed inside the room to prevent them from speaking to one another, the peace held. Even if the Headmaster of Hogwarts sat there with twinkling eyes watching Marvolo the entire time, until he was called to give his testimony.

To pass the time - he was to be called after the recess - Marvolo had brought a comprehensive collection of transfiguration theory. It had been a while since he had studied those, and with the need to repeat his OWLs and NEWTs, he thought it prudent to revise and get a few facts straight in his head. In the practical application it was important to know what all the laws said, but not so much who first had stated them when or what they were named.

The dark wizard almost chuckled over the startled looks of the other occupants of the room and the one auror that came, seemingly accidentally, to stand behind him and sneak a look at the text. The man clearly thought the wizard that claimed not longer to be Voldemort would read some dark text.

If all the aurors were as dimwitted as this one, he better had give up on his plans to get a few into his service.

In time the other witnesses were called, and the room emptied. Finally he was alone, and he heard the chime for the start of the recess. On a table in a corner, a plate with sandwiches and a pitcher with water popped into existence. Storing away his book after marking his place, Marvolo walked over to get a snack.

As not one of the aurors still in the room was brave enough to address him, and he was not really inclined to start a conversation, they passed the break in silence.

Curious as to what his son was up to, Marvolo cautiously lowered his occlumency shields, which he had kept mostly up since they had discovered the link and its reason, to see if he could get any feelings from Henry.

He had peeped a few times during the first part of the trial, but mostly there had not been any strong emotions. And he did not dare try to make the link stronger, or go closer to Henry’s mind. Even if he was quite sure he might be able to look out of Henry’s eyes if he only tried hard enough.

But now there were strong emotions, seeping through the link. Frustration mostly, and anger. What had the boy this upset?

Chewing the chicken sandwich, Marvolo listened, for lack of a better word, to the changing emotions of his son. They quieted down pretty quickly and he thought there would be nothing interesting coming after this, when there was surprise and righteous anger slamming into him so he almost had a visible reaction.

He would have to ask what that had been about. It would be a good way to start a conversation over their link and what he intended to do, so they could live with it, until he found a way to extract his soul piece without harming Henry.

Soon after, the break was over, and Marvolo was finally called into the courtroom to give his testimony. He stood from his chair, shrank the book to place it in his robe pocket and straightened his robes.

With a confident stride he exited the waiting room and made his way over to the witness stand. During his short walk, he searched the audience for his son. He gave a small smile as he found Henry sitting next to his friends, but as far away as he could get from Dumbledore, who had seated himself in the same row next to Remus Lupin.

Henry seemed quite focused and a little curious. A state of mind Marvolo shared. He really wanted to see what Madame Bones wanted to know from him.

He reached the stand and turned to look at the raised seating filled with Wizengamot members and Ministry officials.

The room got eerily quiet.

Madame Bones stood and started the little speech required for every witness, they really did not dare to cut even the simplest part of procedure this time.

“You are Lord Slytherin?” the prim witch formally inquired.

Before Marvolo could answer in the expected way, he was interrupted by a witch somewhere at the back of the crowd before him. “Why should we believe anything he says? He got out of trouble by a mere technicality!”

She sounded properly disgruntled. There was the enmity he had expected over his stunt to use the old law to be cleared of all his old deeds.

Others fell in with this statement, and they got louder, feeling safe in numbers. Marvolo saw Lucius joining in, keeping with the act, and Benjamin smirking, clearly looking forward to another act from his Lord.

Marvolo kept his composure, but let a little sadness over being doubted shine through. After all, he had been under a curse and truly was horrified by the things it had made him do.

Finally the new Chief Warlock let a small bang loose from his wand, getting silence almost immediately.

“I think we can all agree, that it will be not easy to take the answers from Lord Slytherin in unbiased, without a little help. He has quite a past after all.” That got nodding all around. Marvolo subtly inclined his head a little forward, looking more to the floor, projecting mostly hidden shame over the alluded past.

“Maybe an oath to speak the truth,” he was interrupted by calls that this would not be enough, and added “or Veritaserum can take care of this problem.”

To the murmurs of acceptance from the judges, Marvolo raised his head once again, fixing his gaze on the person first questioning his trustworthiness before he looked over to Madame Bones.

“If we can agree on the questions to be asked, I am willing to be questioned under the influence of Veritaserum.”

It was clear that no one, either in the audience nor among the judges, had expected him to agree with this.

But he had contemplated what being called as a witness to this trial could pose for threats and opportunities. And the possibility of Veritaserum had been on both lists. If he could influence the questions, he could build his new image a little faster. It was worth the risk.

With a raised brow Madame Bones floated a parchment over to Marvolo, who gracefully plucked it out of the air to read it.

Calling one of the many quills present in the courtroom to him, Marvolo started to make amendments to the questions written down on the parchment. Mostly they were safe, but some left too much room for ambiguity for his tastes. Such questions could prove dangerous.

After he was finished, he send the quill back to the scribe, a Weasley if he was not mistaken, and the parchment back to a clearly amused Madame Bones.

She raised a brow as she read the first two questions and looked at Marvolo, a question clear on her face.

“As questions that are not easily answered or have too much ambiguity can get dangerous for the person under the potions influence, I would prefer the wording I have written. I do not wish to endanger my health. I have a son, after all,” Marvolo explained in a quiet but determined tone.

Madame Bones inclined her head in acceptance. “Please excuse my surprise. I have not seen a change to the opening questions at all, until now.” After that she turned to the Chief Warlock and nodded. “I agree with the questions as they are written here.”

A chair was brought, so Marvolo could sit down, then the healer and the auror with the vial of the colorless potion came forward. Opening his mouth, Marvolo’s gaze fell onto his son’s face. The boy seemed torn, unsure and very attentive.

The three drops fell onto his tongue, and swallowing, Marvolo felt the haziness take effect. With his occlumency shields he could keep a bit of awareness, but fighting the potion could cause stress to the body. Enough stress in fact that people had died while trying to fight the effects. It was better to go with the flow and only try to influence the wording, slightly, if necessary.

Through the haze he heard the first, adapted question.

“What is the name given to you by your mother?”

He had lived under too many names to be able to answer this question without problem, if worded in the standard way.

Even as he answered he heard the murmurs spread through the room.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” It was funny hearing himself sound so out, speaking from far away and not in control of his own body.

“What was the date when you were first born?”

Another adapted question. After all, his regaining of a body had been a birth of sorts.

“Thirty-first of December in 1926.”

Now the basics were down, it came to the questions that he had not altered. The ones that would see Sirius Black free. And hopefully would gain him some good will with his son and the wizarding public.

“Who informed you about the hiding place of the Potters?”

“Peter Pettigrew.” Marvolo breathed in deliberate calm breaths, to force himself not to fight the haziness. It was not easy. Hopefully this questioning would not take much longer.

“Was Sirius Orion Black ever a follower of the man called … Voldemort, also known as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or the Dark Lord?” She was thorough.

“No.” Another question done. Not long now and he would get the antidote and get back his control. He had not anticipated how hard it would be not to fight the potion.

The Head of the DMLE just was about to ask the last question they had agreed on, confirming his former identity as Voldemort, as Lady Longbottom barked a question of her own.

“Are you even able to feel regret for all the grief you have caused?!”

Outraged aurors and a concerned healer looked at the matron. But all this Marvolo did not see.

Under the haze he worked hard to give a somewhat truthful answer without giving away the actual truth. He had no regrets for the deaths he had caused, or the bloodshed and destruction. But he regretted his errors, which led to his loss of sanity. So with sweat starting to form on his brow he answered.

“I regret my past errors.”

He felt his heartbeat quicken, now no longer able not to fight the potion. He did not enjoy not being in control. He really did not.

Before the healer could manage to administer the antidote, another witch, with her high pitched voice, asked a dangerous question.

“What are your political goals? What is your agenda?” She sounded gleeful. And Marvolo wondered if she was aware that these kinds of questions could easily kill someone, as there was no simple factual answer to these questions. The potion had been designed to get facts out of people, simple, clearly well-defined facts. Asking questions about beliefs, morals, or philosophy got into conflict with the need to answer in short sentences and answer the truth. If the mind was conflicted about what “truth” was, the strain could cause heart attacks or a stroke.

His breaths came quicker now, sweat rolling down his face as the potion uselessly tried to make him answer this much too complex question.

He felt his head being tipped back, and the antidote being administered. He swallowed and welcomed back his control. Well, this had gone better than he could have planned. Showing the wizarding public that he was human was something he had to do, if he wanted to be successful on his new path. And no one could claim he had staged this. And the best part was it was actually true.

While he regained his composure, being checked over by the healer, who muttered something about irresponsible witches under his breath, he listened to the lecture Madame Umbridge got to hear from the Head Auror. That woman was trouble. He should appoint someone to gather as much dirt as possible on her.

But for the moment, the healer declared him fit enough to leave, and after a short nod from Madame Bones, Marvolo stood, bowed shortly to the Minister and the Chief Warlock, and walked over to the place his son sat with his friends.

ooooo

Harry had watched with fascination. He never would have thought that Voldemort would agree to something like this. He had not been able to wrap his head around the fact that the man would give testimony at Harry’s godfather’s trial. But there he was, willingly taking Veritaserum and being vulnerable in public.

The questions were not really interesting, the answers expected. Well, maybe not the one about his birthday. The man was old, much older than he looked.

With widening eyes Harry followed the reactions to the unauthorized questions asked by Neville's grandmother and that horrible witch they had met earlier in the atrium.

And then he watched as Voldemort made his way up the stairs to where they were sitting, to wiggle into the small space between Harry and the older man sitting beside him.

“Everything all right?” the man asked in a whisper, and Harry could only nod as he watched Peter Pettigrew being brought in, chained and fighting every step.

After seeing two wizards taking the potion willingly, the teens now got to watch a wizard being forced to take it. The aurors certainly were efficient in what they were doing, but the healer hovered beside the drugged prisoner as he clearly would fight the potion from the beginning.

The questions asked of the rat animagus were nothing Harry had not thought of. If he had been the secret keeper for the Potters, if he had betrayed their secret to You-Know-Who, if he was a Death Eater.

And the answers were exactly as Harry had expected them to be.

The whole trial was rather anticlimactic. But now the moment his godfather would once again be a free man was drawing nearer and nearer.

Pettigrew was taken away and the judges vanished behind a ward, blocking out all sound. Around them the audience started to chatter.

“Well, they certainly make sure that this time there is no opening for an error in proceedings,” commented Voldemort from the place beside him.

Harry nodded. “I had not believed you, when you said it would be mostly boring, sir. But it was.”

“But after this, he will be free. There cannot possibly be another outcome,” was Remus' comment on the matter.

And nodding in agreement, they all watched the lively discussion held behind the silencing wards.

“What are they arguing about?” one of the twins wanted to know.

“Over a reimbursement,” Voldemort said, his eyes locked onto the faces of the arguing witches and wizards. His certainty earned him some surprised looks. He smirked.

“Reading lips is a useful skill to have.”

Harry saw a spark of interest in the twins' eyes and wondered if they would start to learn lip-reading. He had to admit that it was a useful skill, following a conversation even if you could not hear what was said.

It seemed like an eternity, yet also as if it lasted only seconds, before the wards were dispelled and the din around them died down.

Madame Bones stood, her back straight, her gaze firm.

“Sirius Orion Black, for the charge of murdering Peter Pettigrew, this court finds you innocent.”

Harry breathed deeply, calming his racing heart. He was nervous even though all around him seemed so sure of the outcome.

“For the charge of the murder of twelve muggles, this court finds you innocent.”

Sirius sat in the chair, bound still by the chains, his eyes fixed upon Madame Bones, his expression expectant, hopeful, this had better come out right.

“For the charge of betraying Lord and Lady Potter and their son to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, this court finds you innocent.” Voldemort had flinched beside Harry at the moniker. Musing over his own hated moniker, Harry had to reluctantly acknowledge that the man probably did not really appreciate being called these ridiculous names.

“As all charges that led to the now proven unlawful imprisonment were dropped, you are pardoned for the escape from custody. For being an illegal animagus, you will have to pay the usual fine of one thousand Galleons...”

Harry gasped, that was quite a hefty fine.

“...To be subtracted from the reimbursement of fifty Galleons per day spend in imprisonment.”

That brought an uproar to the chamber. For twelve years of imprisonment, give or take a few days, that would amount to quite the sum.

“You are free to go.”

The chains fell to the floor and Sirius stood, accepting his wand back from an auror, and turning to find Harry’s eyes.

Free at last.

Chapter Text

Sirius was relieved. The familiar and long-missed hum of his wand, his very own wand, the one he had bought at Ollivanders when he had been eleven, in his hand. He had thought it had been snapped as he had been carted off to Azkaban. But it seemed that had been another part of the normal procedure that had been ignored, like the part with the trial.

He snorted, straightened his robes, and sought out Harry on his bench, next to the man who had been Voldemort at some point in time.

Exchanging a few pleasantries with the wizards and witches surrounding him – not that he was paying them that much attention – the now freed wizard hurried to make it to the side of his bests friends’ son before that bastard of a Dark Lord could drag him away.

Finally Sirius had shaken the last hand, got the last congratulation, and started to walk to Harry and his friends. Taking two steps at a time, Sirius made his way through the crowd streaming to the exists. He dodged the few not fast enough to get out of his way and finally reached Harry and all those that had come to be his moral support.

With a cry of “Sirius!” Harry launched himself at his godfather and enveloped him in a hug. Closing his arms around the teen, Sirius was a little overwhelmed and smiled at Remus, Arthur, and the kids standing there, beaming. Then his eyes fell on the bastard standing there too, looking solemn.

“Congratulations, Mr. Black,” the wizard with blue eyes said, giving a respectful nod. “I am glad that I could be of assistance in getting the charges dropped.”

Harry released Sirius from his embrace and turned around. “Why 'Mister'? You said the Black family has a seat on the Wizengamot. Shouldn't it be 'Lord Black', sir?”

A sharp jab of pain shot through Sirius at seeing Harry address the man that had murdered his parents in such a respectful manner. But in the same moment he realized that the teen had no other alternative. He had to live with the man, was under his control. If Lord Slytherin decided to do so, he could send Harry to another school, make sure that he didn't get to see his friends again until he was of age. And that was only what he could do and not break any laws.

Sirius had no doubts that breaking the law was not something that Lord Slytherin would hesitate to do.

“He will be Lord Black as soon as he claims the title,” explained the man patiently, confusing the acquitted wizard standing next to him greatly. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I claimed the title of Lord Slytherin the day I adopted you.”

Harry nodded. “I remember.”

Sirius thought that his godson paled a bit, and wondered why. But now was not the time to ask, as he doubted that Harry would be comfortable speaking about his feelings with this big an audience.

But he had another question he wanted to have the answer to. “It was quite the risk to take Veritaserum.”

An eyebrow was lifted. “A calculated risk.” The blue-eyed wizard gave Sirius a thoughtful look. “A risk you took too.”

Sirius nodded, it was true, after all. “But I was pretty sure that no one would ask dangerous questions of me. So, not much of a risk.”

Now it was for Lord Slytherin to nod in agreement. “I had anticipated questions along the line of Dowager Longbottom’s outburst. The one Madame Umbridge asked was a nasty surprise.”

Harry was looking back and forth between the two wizards, one arm from Sirius still slung around his shoulders. “Why was it a risk? Besides having to answer a question you did not want to? What could go wrong?” the teen asked, voicing a question Ron and his brothers would have liked to know the answer to as well. At least Sirius interpreted their interested faces and nodding in this way.

“The potion can be taxing on the system. Some questions demand more than others,” Lord Slytherin answered with a tone that reminded Sirius of the Professors he had had as a student. “But your godfather is better equipped to explain. He was an Auror, after all, and has the Ministry training.”

Sirius saw his earlier assumption confirmed. The man that had adopted his godson was utterly confusing, and happy about it.

Deciding that he was not up to word games with a Slytherin, Sirius turned to the others, frowning after he noticed the missing faces.

“Where are Molly and Ginny?”

Arthur glanced at Lord Slytherin, who looked down at the floor like he was uncomfortable, and then ignored the man, answering Sirius’ question.

“Ginny did not feel well, so Molly took her home.”

Noticing the murderous looks the Weasley boys gave the wizard standing to the side, near them but obviously not part of their group, Sirius realized that Ginny’s not feeling well probably had to do with You-Know-Who.

“I know that it is impossible to make right what happened to your daughter.” They all startled at the honest regret colouring his voice, as Lord Slytherin addressed Arthur Weasley. “I can only repeat that I truly regret the errors of my past.”

He did not offer compensation, and Sirius had to agree that there was no way someone could compensate for what had happened to the only Weasley girl born in a few generations. Smart of the man to not even try, as it would have seemed cheap and as if he did not truly understand.

His eyes narrowing, Sirius wondered if the man was acting, or if it was really true. For the moment, he would assume it all was an act. Maybe someday, far in the future, Lord Slytherin would manage to earn the trust of the future Lord Black, but Sirius would not hold his breath.

Changing topics again, the newly freed man remembered the reason they all were standing here and started to smile brightly.

“I have made a reservation at a fancy restaurant in the muggle part of London. And then I wanted to go to the cinema and watch a film. I’m not sure what's being shown at the moment, but I think we'll find something that we like.”

Feeling Harry tense under his arm, Sirius watched Slytherin and started to search for arguments, so the teen would be able to come.

But before Sirius could start, the man addressed Harry.

“I want you to behave. If there is any incident in which you fear for your safety, use your portkey.” He sounded stern, but not angry or as if he resented the planned outing. “And if you want to be collected to return home, just press this.” He got a small disk out of his pocket and gave it to Harry. “It will notify me.”

The disk vanished into Harry’s pocket, and Lord Slytherin turned to face Sirius.

“Have you been to Griffin house, Mr. Black?”

Sirius could only nod.

“I would like you to drop my son off at around ten in the evening at the latest.” Harry’s smile at that was blinding, and Sirius had to agree, he had not thought that it would be so easy to get to celebrate with his godson.

“If there is a problem, use the disc or send an owl.”

Giving a smile to all in their party, Lord Slytherin inclined his head to the adults. “I will be off then, running a few errands. Oh, before I forget.” And with these last words, the man turned to Harry and started a disconcerting hissing.

A cold shiver ran down Sirius’ spine as Harry answered in the same manner. After a few moments of the hissed conversation, the dark wizard inclined his head again and turned to descend the stairs, walking purposefully to the congregated members of the Wizengamot still standing and talking among themselves.

“That was eerie,” Ron muttered, and Sirius felt Harry tense again. While he agreed with the young Gryffindor, he never would have said it out loud. It was a part of Harry too, and he would always support his godson.

Derailing the possibly dangerous topic, Sirius began ushering his companions out of the courtroom and through the members of the press, dodging their questions. Now it was time to celebrate, not time to answer obnoxious questions.

ooooo

After he had reached the bottom, Marvolo turned and watched as his son walked off with his godfather, his friends, and the new history tutor. Before he went to mingle with the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, Marvolo went through the tasks he had to accomplish today.

A little networking, a trip to the Floo office to get Griffin House connected, and a short stop at the Education Department to register himself for the OWL exam in transfiguration. As a last stop he had an appointment with one of the Unspeakables at the Hall of Prophecies.

Henry had been calmer than he had thought the boy would be, as he had told him of this plan. They just needed to know what that blasted bit of divination said. Not knowing was simply too big a risk.

And, well, getting a few test subjects for Severus. But that he would do after he was finished at the Ministry.

Taking a deep breath and fixing the mask of polite, young wizard on his face, Marvolo walked over to the others, almost instantly spotted by Lucius.

“Lord Slytherin!” the blond Lord greeted him, a sparkle in his pale blue eyes. “You are lucky that the healer on duty today was a competent man.”

Nodding, Marvolo easily agreed. “I was indeed. I never had thought that a Ministry worker would be as careless as this... Madame Umbridge?” Several of the people listening nodded in agreement. “I guess the standard in education has dropped in the last few years.”

“Will you press charges?” Benjamin asked with a look of concern.

Keeping a smirk from his own face, Marvolo met his friend's eyes. “I am thinking about it.” Aware of all the others listening in on their conversation, he added a little more, keeping his face contemplative and polite.

“I do not think Regent Longbottom had any ill intent,” he saw the older witch flinch out of the corner of his eye, “so there is no need to press charges against her.” He let guilt wash over his face, and all watching him made the connection to the torture her son and daughter in law had been subjected to. The sympathy and guilt vanished. “But Madame Umbridge is either dangerously stupid, or wanted to do me harm.”

Marvolo then turned to Xerxes, time to sow some doubt about the guilt of Rabastan and Rudolphus. “I am truly sorry about the loss you had to endure, because of things I had started.”

“You did not send my sons after the aurors, Marvolo,” the older looking wizard replied gruffly. As if he wanted to move on. But Marvolo knew his old school friend better than most. They had shared a dorm for seven years, after all. So for him it was obvious that Xerxes had caught on to his intention and helped build a tentative start to getting his sons out of prison.

“No, but I manipulated them.” Marvolo looked away, portraying uncertainty and guilt. “Bellatrix was eager, but your sons. So many of them...” He just shook his head, letting this path of conversation die. To establish doubt about who he now was in those surrounding them, it was a wonderful feeling to deceive the political elite of wizarding Britain. So much better than brute force.

“You intend to take your seat at the next meeting?” Benjamin moved the conversation to safer ground.

“Yes. But until then I have much to do. Starting with getting my OWLs and NEWTs, and building a fortune for my family.”

Lucius perked up at this declaration. Looking contemplative during the allusions at guilt and regrets of past actions, he was working diligently at laying the groundwork for a renewed allegiance between them. “If you need advice regarding the current economic climate, Lord Slytherin, I would like to be of help.”

“Your help would be of great value,” Marvolo said with a few carefully measured traces of gratitude in his voice.

“Before you go,” Xerxes stopped his Lord from turning and walking away. “I am thinking about founding a school in the memory of my late sister. I know you had at one time considered becoming a teacher. I would really appreciate your input.”

Smiling brightly, confusing most of the Lords and Ladies still present, Marvolo nodded with enthusiasm. “Walk with me and tell me what you have planned so far. Maybe I can give you some feedback and pointers.”

And with a cheerful mien and polite farewells, Marvolo left the courtroom at the side of Lord Lestrange, leaving behind a group of witches and wizards who priding themselves in knowing almost everything about the others' families, wondering what sister their fellow Lord had been talking about.

ooooo

Albus stood near one of the smaller doors to the courtroom, watching Tom speaking with Sirius and the others who had come as moral support for Harry’s godfather.

The Headmaster wondered what had happened that gave Tom his sanity back. Before the fall in 1981, when he had last seen him, the man and self-fashioned Dark Lord had seemed beyond help. And now he was back to his younger, charming self. A true conundrum.

As Tom walked to the Lords and Ladies standing near the main entrance and Sirius left with the others, dodging the press, Albus turned to leave.

A while, and one apparation, later, he walked through the streets of Godric’s Hollow, passing the memorial for the Potters at the town square, on the way to his childhood home. It lay at the edge of the village, and he had to pass the cottage in which the Potters had tried to hide, back in 1981.

It always pained him to see the ruin. Preserved as a reminder to them all what had been sacrificed to save them.

Now that Tom had changed his tactics so drastically - Albus did not believe that he would resort to open violence again - he had to adjust his approach too. They needed to find and destroy all of the horcruxes the man had made. And to do so, Albus needed to learn how many there were.

Time to find Horace. The man had performed a formidable vanishing act after Albus had sent out his warning to all he knew, about Tom’s return.

Sighing, Albus contemplated again what he could do about the horcrux in Harry. First he had not known what the scar meant, and later he had hoped he erred. But since Harry’s second year and the destroyed diary, there had only been more hints every year. The dreams Harry had reported to Sirius had been the last hint, which finally had convinced him that his assumptions had been right.

And ever since then he had been searching for ways to save the boy. Regrettably, he had come up empty. The only hope he saw to defeat Tom with Harry surviving was if the boy went willingly to his own death. Albus had been glad that his decisions up to that day, keeping his heritage from the boy, had ensured that Harry knew nothing about his responsibilities to the wizarding world, beyond saving it.

And now, as the rant of the teen had proven, Tom had given all this information to the teenager, making him aware that he had a responsibility, things to learn, a goal to work towards. Something that the teen might deem more important than getting rid of a Dark Lord, who had seemingly stopped killing.

As Albus reached the door to the new headquarters of the order, a place neither he nor his brother had set foot in for decades, he opened it and walked in. Was it possible that Tom knew of the horcrux inside the boy he had adopted?

No, it was not possible that he knew. Because if he did, of this Albus was sure, he never would let the teen out of his sight.

So what to do?

Tom would not kill the teen, as in doing so he would lose the political influence, together with his title of Lord Slytherin, so the small chance for Harry to survive was lost. Could he risk letting the boy live and finding and destroying all the other horcruxes first, and getting to Harry last? Or would the political influence Tom got through the boy cause too much damage?

A lone tear made its way down his cheek. Why was it always he who had to make the hard decisions? He loved the boy as if he were his own, but for the good of all of them, he was prepared to sacrifice what he loved.

For the greater good, he would see to it that the horcruxes keeping Tom tied to this world were destroyed.

All of them.

oooOOooo

Walking a step behind the Unspeakable who had met him at the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, Marvolo looked around himself. There were high shelves filled with glass orbs. Dust and spiderwebs were everywhere. The only light came from candles in holders fixed to the towering shelves. The blue flames bathed the room in flickering light. Marvolo wrapped his robes closer around himself, it was cold in here.

They walked in silence until they reached row ninety-seven

The man in his dark robes, face hidden under his hood, stopped and stood back. Marvolo took a hesitant step toward the shelf, his eyes roving over the orbs. Some shimmered with some inner light, others were dark like a cloudy night. There were little yellowed tags attached to the shelf under every orb.

Finally his gaze settled on one label that read:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

1980 May 1st Hogwarts

Dark Lord

Harry Potter (?)

Marvolo’s brow furrowed in confusion. He was not clear on the date he was told the little part of the prophecy he knew. But he was sure that Severus had said he had overheard the prophecy in the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. So why was there another location written on this label?

“How does this recording work?” He put as much curiosity into his voice and face as he could, hiding his irritation and confusion under this other emotion. It took some getting used to, feeling this many emotions again.

“We are not entirely sure how it works,” the Unspeakable answered from under his hood. “But we know what it does.”

Glamoured blue eyes locked onto the shimmering globe of glass, Marvolo asked another question. “Is it something magic does on her own?” This was an interesting phenomenon, and it was entirely unclear why these records were being made.

“There are records of a circle of magicians casting a spell to create this hall.” He waved his hand around. “All prophecies made anywhere after the spell was cast, are recorded here.” A sigh ghosted through the air. “To what purpose this was cast is lost to time. The records about the spellcasting are old and mostly destroyed. It seemed a few hundred years ago, there was a fire in the records room, and the wood panels with the texts pertaining to this hall were destroyed.”

A few steps carried the Unspeakable to the shelf, and a pale hand touched the label. “The people involved in the making of the prophecy, the one hearing it and the one speaking it, are recorded. As is the time and place of it. We add the names of the people involved.”

“I heard rumours, that only those a prophecy is about can lift the orbs from the shelves. So how are you able to add the names to the labels?” No time like the present, and who knew when he would find another Unspeakable willing to talk about their research.

“There is always one member of staff that is able to replay the records. We think it is something that was part of the original spell.” Eyeing the other man, the Unspeakable finally asked impatiently, “Do you intend to take it? Or did you only come to watch it?”

It took more courage than he would ever admit, to extent his hand and take the small orb from the shelf. It felt warm in his hand as he closed his fingers around it.

“How do I listen to it?” The man who had once called himself Lord Voldemort - such a childish thing to do using an anagram - wanted to know.

“You could just shatter it, this way it will replay once. Or you could get all whom this prophecy is about, to touch it. This way it will be replayable more than once.”

Nodding in thanks, Marvolo pocketed the orb, casting a cushioning charm on the pocket. No need risking that the orb would shatter because he bumped into someone.

He thanked the Unspeakable and they walked back to the entrance hall, where Marvolo left to go to Griffin house. Now only collecting some test subjects remained of the errands of today.

ooooo

Coming back from his short break to go to the loo, Kingsley walked along the wall so he would not collide with one of the many people running around today.

He was wearing Alastor’s invisibility cloak and was on his way to his round of watching over the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.

He was not sure what they were guarding there, as Dumbledore had not told them what was so important in there. But he could guess. In there was the Hall of Prophecies. And there had been rumors, rumors about a prophesied savior. Kingsley suspected that they were guarding this prophecy.

He flattened himself against the wall, as he saw Lord Slytherin walking along the corridor, obviously coming from the Department of Mysteries. He started shaking in rage and fear. After the dark wizard had left in the lift, the Auror hurried to get out of the building, without being noticed. He needed to inform the Order. It seemed their enemy had gotten what he had been searching for.

oooOOooo

Deep in thought Marvolo walked into the study in Griffin House. Transfiguring a small stand for the glass orb and placing it on the desk, the man dispelled the glamours on his eyes. It was an annoying necessity, but leaving them off probably would sabotage his efforts in gaining some trust.

“What is this?” asked the elderly wizard from the portrait hanging opposite from the desk.

“This,” Marvolo carelessly waved his hand at the orb, “is the record of the prophecy that sent me after your son, his wife, and their son.”

“Do you not intend to listen to it?” Charlus wanted to know.

“I do. But I promised Henry that we will listen to it together.” Carding his hand through his hair, Marvolo made his way out of the study, ignoring the next question of the portrait.

He needed to change out of his robes before he went into the big cities in search of some homeless people. So he started on his way to the family rooms upstairs.

He was restless. Since he had met Ginny Weasley this morning, a feeling of guilt had settled into his stomach. And he could not figure out why he felt guilty. He had not felt guilt since the day back in the orphanage when he had smashed the bowl of apple compote. He had been four or five, and they all had been sad that they did not get to eat the sweet dessert.

But now he felt guilt again. Why? What was different here?

He reached his room and slipped out of his expensive silken robes, hanging them on a hanger and putting them back into the wardrobe, all the while not really paying attention to his surroundings. He was lost in his own thoughts, which he had shoved into the back of his mind, not able to solve the problem while he needed to concentrate on his interactions with others, while he had to concentrate on his mask.

The damage done to Ginevra Weasley had not been intentional on his part. It did not achieve anything. It was without a goal, without purpose. Every other time someone had died at his hands, or suffered, he had achieved something with it. Even if it just had been alleviation of his boredom.

This was a possible working hypothesis. Needless death or suffering was just that: needless. And inflicting it made him feel bad. He would have to monitor this, to prove or disprove the theory, but it was a starting point.

Mulling over the conundrum of whether experiments trying to re-create his inflicting unnecessary suffering, would actually work, as the suffering inflicted would have the purpose of experimenting if the theory was correct, Marvolo walked back into the study. Better not to leave Severus’ list behind.

oooOOooo

In high spirits, Harry stepped away from Sirius the moment the dizziness from apparating stopped. They were standing in the warm summer night in the small front garden of Griffin house, just inside the outer wards.

It had been a wonderful day.

But now it was time to return to the house in which Voldemort was waiting for him.

The teenager sighed. How much better it would be if he could return to Grimmauld Place with Sirius. Even if the room here in Griffin house was much better, cleaner, than the one he had shared with Ron in the old Black town house.

“Don’t despair, Harry. I will make sure to get you out of here as much as possible,” Sirius murmured near Harry’s ear, one arm casually placed over the boy’s shoulders. “Maybe we can visit the zoo the day after tomorrow?”

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “Maybe we get him to agree if you promise that we'll visit the reptiles.”

They reached the door, and before they could open it, it was opened from the inside, a house-elf peeking out.

“Welcome home, young Master Potter,” the elf squeaked, bowing low and stepping aside, though they could enter the house without tripping over the small being.

Taking a deep breath, fortifying himself, Harry stepped over the threshold into the cheerfully lighted hall. He was relieved as Sirius stepped inside right behind him.

“Master Slytherin is in the Lord’s study,” they were informed by the elf before the little one - Harry would guess it was female – vanished with a pop.

Glancing at Sirius over his shoulder, Harry got a small nod and preceded his godfather on the way to the study.

Only a few steps over the grey rug and they were standing in front of the door to the study. Nothing was to be heard from inside, but they could see the light from the room under the door.

Harry raised his hand and knocked.

“Come in!” Harry heard Voldemort call from the room.

They opened the door and saw Voldemort sitting behind the desk and Professor Snape standing before it. As the Potions Master saw Sirius behind the teenager in the door, he sneered but got his face under control only a second later.

“Mr. Black, thank you for bringing my son back home,” the dark wizard said, while rising from his chair, smiling invitingly at the two standing in the door. “Flimm will show you out.”

A little surprised by this sudden dismissal, Sirius returned the nod Voldemort gave him, and gave a last hug to his godson before he followed the male elf out of the room and the house.

“Come over here, Henry.” Voldemort pointed at a second chair right next to the one Snape was sitting in. “Did you have a nice day?”

Sitting down, with a quick glance at his teacher, who now looked calm again, Harry nodded. “Yes, it was a great day. First we hailed a taxi. Mr. Weasley was so excited. The food was really great, and I liked the film.” He stopped after that, unsure if he really wanted to tell Voldemort, a murderer, about his day with friends. He wanted to tell it to someone, a parent, but that someone could not be the man sitting behind the desk across from him. Or could he?

Shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought, the teenager concentrated on the here and now. It was dangerous to be lost in thought in his present company.

Still smiling, Voldemort settled deeper into his padded chair. “Henry, I have been thinking about ways we can reduce the side effects of our connection, until the time we have a way to dissolve it.”

Tensing in his chair, Harry only nodded, glancing at the Professor, wondering why the man was here.

“There is an obscure art that allows the one using it, to close his or her mind against intrusion. Severus is a master of this art, as am I.” Like every time the man was explaining something, his voice was calm and his tone pleasant, nice to listen to.

“Normally one has to learn Occlumency on his own, because there is no master able to teach it. At the moment I use this art to block my emotions from reaching you. But to really close the connection, you would need to use it too.”

As the man clearly waited for some sort of comment from Harry, the raven-haired teenager slowly looked from one adult wizard to the other. “You want me to learn this… Occlumency?” he asked, hesitating over the new word.

Inclining his head, Voldemort agreed. “It would be beneficial, as Occlumency is also an effective protection against a Legilimens.” To Harry’s questioning look he added an explanation. “A Legilimens, like me or Dumbledore, is able to enter the mind of another, seeing the thoughts and memories of the person. This can happen almost unnoticed, or it can cause pain. If you were to learn Occlumency, you would notice intrusion and could cast the attacker out.”

Furrowing his brow in thought, Harry mulled over the new information he had just gotten.

There were people out there who could read minds? And do so without his being able to notice?

The teenager paled and closed his eyes. “Have you… have you…” He could not get the question out. But he did not need to.

“No, I have not used it to get into your mind.” Voldemort reassured the young wizard.

“I have asked Severus if he would be willing to teach you.” Red eyes focused on dark ones, both wizards nodding to each other. “He agreed.”

With this the Potions Master took over the explanation. “To teach the art of Occlumency there needs to be trust between teacher and student. If you do not think that you can trust me to keep the secrets I inevitably will see in your mind, it might be better for you to learn on your own.”

Turning in his chair, so he could get a better look at the Potions Master, Harry examined the man. Could he trust the teacher who had ridiculed him in every lesson he ever had taught him? The last times they had met, the dark-eyed wizard had been polite, almost cordial. But why? Could he trust this change?

“Why is it better to learn from a teacher?”

“Because it is faster, and you would be able to avoid some pitfalls that can slow you down,” Voldemort answered Harry’s quite question.

“You do not need to decide right now, think about it a few days. You can study a book on the topic until then.”

Harry nodded. A few days time to think about this was probably a good idea. He still had to completely comprehend the fact that he was carrying a piece of a murderer's soul with him. Learning that there were mind readers walking about just added to the feeling that there was nothing safe left in the world.

“Severus, it is time for you to leave.” Voldemort dismissed the professor, not looking as the man rose from the chair, bowed low, and left the room with a murmured, “My Lord.”

Harry started at this obvious sign that his potions professor, the man that had taught him for the last four years, was a follower of Voldemort. A Death Eater. He had known, of course, but seeing him act like one, that was new.

A glass of water was placed in front of him. “You look pale, Henry. Drink something, please.”

Taking a sip of the cold water, Harry’s eyes fell onto a small wooden stand on which a dusty orb of glass was resting. A faint glow surrounded the glass, barely visible in the low light. Setting down the glass, Harry started to reach for the orb, before he realized that it might not be wise to touch something sitting on the desk that was used by Voldemort. It could be cursed or something.

“This is the prophecy.” The soft murmur came from the man on the other side of the honey-coloured desk. “The Unspeakable told me that we can replay it more than once, if we both touch it at the same time.”

Green eyes met red, and Harry was almost sure that he could see uncertainty and worry in the other's eyes as they both extended their hands to touch the fragile looking orb resting on the desk between them.

They hesitated short of touching it. “Whatever it says, Henry, I give you my word that I mean you no harm.” Nodding uncertain – because who would trust a Dark Lord – Harry closed the distance together with the other man.

The orb felt warm, and as soon as both touched it with their fingertips, a small pearly-white figure appeared over it, slowly spinning around its axis. Harry gasped as he recognized the gaudy scarves and big glasses Professor Trelawney always wore.

And then a ghostly voice filled the room as both wizards and the people in the only portrait present listened intently:

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

Harry gasped, and all colour drained from his face, he started to shake in his chair, his hand falling back into his lap. He mulled over the words, repeating the part about killing each other over and over.

“Want a calming draught?” his prophesied murderer, or the one he had to kill, inquired from the other side of the desk.

Harry shook his head, and then, as the calm, even relieved voice registered, he quickly looked up. Voldemort looked calm, relieved, and almost happy. Harry was confused, did the man think that it would be easy for him to kill Harry? Was that the reason he was happy?

“It seems this is one of the self-fulfilling prophecies. And that explains the oddities I have seen today.”

“Self-fulfilling?” Harry sounded shaken and hated it.

“You said yourself that Divination is rubbish, did you not?”

Harry nodded, he had said this, after all. And he had believed it, so why did he fear for his life now?

“And even if there are some true prophecies, there are more that never come to pass, than those that do.”

The teenager nodded again, he could believe that.

“Prophecies are always prone to interpretation. Who is the ‘Dark Lord’ in this prophecy? All assume it is me, but can we be sure?” As this clearly was a rhetorical question, Harry chose not to answer, but he could see where this was going. Grindelwald had been a Dark Lord too, so there always had been more than one, and likely there would be more sometime in the future.

“Then the part about ‘thrice defied him’. What constitutes defying? Does it have to be exactly three times? Can it be more?”

Finding confidence again, Harry straightened in his chair, raising his eyes to meet the red ones watching him carefully. “So why did you act on the part you heard?” There was definitely a challenge in his voice. If he did not believe it now, why had he done so then?

“Today in the Hall of Prophecies I got a good look at the label. It states who spoke the prophecy and to whom. That I knew. But it also states the when and where.” He made a pause taking a sip from a glass of water. It was again a rather hot night.

“I was told on the second of May what my man had overheard in a back room of the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. But the label said the prophecy was made on the first, in Hogwarts.”

Green eyes widened in surprise, earning him a nod from Voldemort.

“I did a lot of research after being told of the prophecy. Wanted to know all there was to know about them. Most I found was rubbish, just as you so aptly put it. But I found that they can be classified. There are those that will always come true.” The dark haired wizard seemed to search for an example. “There once was a king, Krösus, who asked the Oracle of Delphi for a prophecy before he started a war against a neighbour. He was told that if he were to cross the river Halys, he would destroy a big empire. And he did. He lost everything... even though he thought that he would win, destroying the empire of his neighbour.”

“However this would have played out, the prophecy would have been right. There are many examples of this type. So ambiguous that they can’t not come true.”

“So, practically useless,” stated Harry, gaining himself a nod of approval.

“They are. The next biggest group is the one of self-fulfilling prophecies. They come true, because the people involved make them happen.”

“And you believe this one,” Harry pointed at the glass orb between them, “is one of those?”

“I do, and I think Dumbledore thought the same. If I had never learned of it, I would not have chosen one of the children, never ‘marked’ my equal. It would simply not have come to pass. So after he heard it at Hogwarts, he orchestrated the circumstances, so that it was spoken again, overheard by a Death Eater, to be reported to me.”

Did Dumbledore really do that? Painted a target on unborn children? To get someone able to kill Lord Voldemort? It seemed that he did. The more Harry learned, the less he understood the Headmaster.

But was the word of a murderer enough? Could he trust the man not to kill him? The answer was easy: he could not.

“I do not trust you, sir,” Harry stated firmly, chin raised defiantly, staring the man before him right in the eyes. Mind reading be damned.

With an amused glint in his eyes Voldemort nodded, conceding the point. Given their history, only a fool would have trusted the man without question.

“I don’t want to be a murderer, and I do not want to die. So I demand that you take an oath, or better yet, an Unbreakable Vow.” He felt much less brave than he let on, suppressing the shivers of fear, this could go so horribly wrong. But he needed to do it.

A brow raised in amusement, Voldemort pursed his lips. “And to what words exactly do you demand I make the vow?” the dark wizard wanted to know.

The businesslike tone surprised Harry, he had expected mockery at the very least.

And now he had to come up with words, foolproof words for his protection. He floundered a little for what to say, finally settling for describing his goal.

“That you will not kill me yourself, order me killed, or stand by when another tries to kill me.” Had he covered every angle? Or was there an obvious gap?

He once again was surprised as the murderer of his parents, nodded. “That is a good starting point,” he said, and got parchment and quill.

Almost an hour later, they had worked out the wording for an Unbreakable Vow. Voldemort had made Harry reflect on every word, and how someone might get around his intention by using different interpretations of the words' definitions. He suspected the man had turned the whole thing into another lesson, and he was not sure if he should be annoyed or amused about it.

With the final version written on parchment, Voldemort got up and stretched. Then he got his wand out of its holster, tapping the top of a small snake ornament sitting on the desk with the pale wand two times.

They waited in silence, Voldemort seemed not inclined to talk, and Harry was too nervous to try a conversation. He did not trust this, waiting for the man to start laughing manically or something like that. But that moment never came.

There was a knock at the door, and Voldemort called out a short “Enter!” after which Severus Snape stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and went down on one knee in a graceful bow.

A cold shiver did run down Harry’s spine observing this. To see the most hated Professor of Hogwarts so deferential to Voldemort drove home the point that they had been right all along. Snape had worked for Voldemort, the proof was there, right in front of his eyes.

“Rise, Severus.” The man clad in dark robes did as he was told, adopting a respectful stance. “You will be our Binder.” Harry saw the man stiffen at this declaration, and it seemed Voldemort had seen it too, because he sneered and, while stepping around the desk to stand beside Harry, said quietly, “Do not fret, Severus. It will be I making the vow, not Henry.”

The dark wizard chuckled as Snape started, and went to kneel, prompting Harry to follow his example.

“The vow is on the desk, Severus.” The tone was authoritative and only loud enough to be heard. Harry started to seriously doubt that this had been such a good idea. He was sure Hermione would have tried to talk him out of it, if she had known.

Kneeling on the floor of the study across from the portrait of his grandparents, staring into the red eyes of Voldemort, Harry attempted to calm his breathing. He wanted this assurance, this additional protection from coming to harm.

They clasped their right hands, and Snape stepped up to stand beside them, wand in hand, handing the parchment to the kneeling teen, his face unreadable.

Harry tried to start with the procedure, as Voldemort had described it, only to let the parchment drop out of his shaking hand.

“Deep breaths, Henry. You can do this.” It was disconcerting how soothing these words were. Brushing these thoughts to the side, Harry let his left hand fall to his side, raising his gaze to lock eyes with the man kneeling opposite from him.

Reciting the words from memory, Harry started the ritual to bind Voldemort to his word not to kill him.

“Will you, Lord Marvolo Slytherin, refrain from killing or permanently disabling me through any means?”

“I will.”

A small fiery tendril curled from the wand tip and wrapped itself around their joined hands.

“Will you hinder anyone who might be trying to kill or permanently disable me to the best of your abilities?”

“I will.”

Another tendril of fire joined the first, wrapping around the first one and their hands.

“Will you not order your followers to attempt to kill or permanently disable me or get others to do so?”

“I will.”

A third tendril joined the others, forming a red-glowing rope that started sinking into their hands.

Harry took a deep breath. He had done it, he had gotten an Unbreakable Vow from Voldemort that he would not attempt to kill him. It was not without loopholes – he had learned that it was almost impossible to formulate a vow without them – but it gave a certain measure of safety.

Sitting back on his heels, Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, only barely registering Snape leaving. All in all, it had been a truly remarkable day.

oooOOooo

Standing in the front garden of Griffin house, Severus passed a shaking hand over his face. He could not quite believe what he had been part of a few minutes prior. The Dark Lord had sworn an Unbreakable Vow not to kill Lily’s son.

Hearing the word 'Binder' from his Lord had been a shock. He had feared that Harry -- he still struggled what to call the boy in his own head – would be made to swear the vow. But learning that the Dark Lord would be the one... that had been a much bigger surprise. He had needed all his long practice in controlling his emotions not to start laughing hysterically.

Calming his mind with the practiced actions of an accomplished Occlumens, Severus prepared to apparate. There was an Order meeting planned for this evening, and he was already late.

Moments later the Potions Master was standing in the overgrown garden behind the new headquarters. He was not happy that the house stood in the village that had been the last place Lily had lived in. It was surprising, but he wished they were still meeting in the mutt’s house in London.

He quickly made his way to the house, avoiding the wild roses and their thorns, through the corridor and the shabby kitchen to the dining room, which they used as their meeting place. Dust was thick on the carpets, puffing up in little bursts with every step he took.

The others were already there, the message Albus had sent him via his Patronus had said it was a small meeting, and so he slipped into one of the chairs a little more in the shadows of the room.

Briefly making eye contact, they exchanged a small nod, before the Headmaster rose, drawing their attention to him.

“I have called you here to inform you that Voldemort was in the Hall of Prophecies today. Kingsley saw him leaving from there after the trial today.”

Moody leaned forward in his chair, his blue eye swirling like mad. “Do we know if he has taken it?”

Minerva listened intently, shooting covert glances at Severus, or what she as a Gryffindor considered covert glances. Her concern for him was equally as heartwarming as it was annoying. Deceiving Dumbledore was easy, the man had always been a manipulator, using his guilt against him. But Minerva had always been kind, even if she had done nothing to curb the Marauders' bullying. It was harder to lie to her.

Remembering the glass orb standing on the desk in Griffin house, Severus weighed his options. Telling the Order that the Dark Lord had indeed taken the prophecy would gain them nothing of substance, but it would cement his position. How ironic that he had made the same choices for his position in the Dark Lord’s ranks not so long ago.

“He has,” was all he said, but it made the others shut up and look at him.

“Don’t be so difficult, lad,” Moody groused gruffly.

“I was called to his current residence this evening. A glass orb was resting on a stand on his desk.” He sneered at their shocked faces, white as if they expected to hear that Harry had already been killed. Only Dumbledore seemed unfazed. Almost as if he was waiting for something, hoping maybe. Severus filed this observation away, to think about it at a later time.

“He wanted to discuss lesson plans with me, coordinating the potions lessons with the lessons in history, dancing…” He trailed off and decided to add a little more, to make the act believable. So he donned his most hateful sneer and laced his voice with contempt. “Just as I was leaving Black brought the brat there. I have no doubt that he is well.”

“Thank you, Severus, we all appreciate the dangers you brave to bring us information,” Albus said with the infernal twinkle in his eyes.

Minerva nodded to this declaration, but Moody sneered, the paranoid ex-Auror had never trusted the lone spy the Order had.

From there the Headmaster declared that they had to find Horace Slughorn. But he never said why it was so urgent. He only alluded to the need to speed up their plans, now that Voldemort had learned of the prophecy's content. Severus flinched at the name as he had always done, even if the cause for this reaction no longer existed. With the changes to the Dark Mark, his Lord had removed the pain triggered by his name. Nothing the Order needed to know.

And so Severus Snape listened to the Order members plotting and planning, committing everything to memory and silently mulling over the things he had seen today. He never would have guessed, that night at the end of the school year, that keeping Lily’s son safe would be easier once he was under the Dark Lord’s control.

Chapter Text

After days of frequent and careful correspondence by owl, Lord Xerxes Lestrange was sitting in a nice little café in the centre of London, occasionally sipping from his glass of ginger lemonade. He was nervous and fiddled with the sleeves of his brand new suit. Lucius had recommended a tailor, descendants of a Squib, who worked fast and produced quality.

Every time the door opened, Xerxes looked up. It was ridiculous how nervous he was. On the other hand, it was understandable. He was about to meet his nephew and his wife, both non-magical. It was the first time he would interact with Muggles. So being nervous was to be expected.

Checking that the briefcase he had brought was still standing under his chair, the current Lord Lestrange took a deep breath to calm his nerves. There were not many people in the café, it was a Thursday and early afternoon, so most Muggles in the city were still at work.

Finally the door opened to admit a man and woman, followed by a young girl with bushy brown hair. They were in high quality clothes: skirt, blouse, and Mary-Jane shoes for Hermione, her mother was in similar attire, the father wearing a suit.

Thanking Lucius for his hints at how to dress for Muggle London, Xerxes rose from his seat and was promptly spotted by the young witch.

Xerxes stood beside his chair, smiling invitingly and inclining his head in greeting. “Doctor and Doctor Granger, I assume?” Snape had explained that the title of Doctor in the Muggle world was equivalent to the title of Master in their world. A great accomplishment that should be acknowledged.

“That is right,” nodded the father of his sister’s granddaughter, “You are Mr. Lestrange?” He sounded unsure about the title.

But Xerxes nodded, his title of Lord better stayed out of their conversation, as long as they were in public in Muggle London. “I am.”

Gesturing for them to sit, he pulled the chair out for Mrs. Granger to sit down, while Mr. Granger did the same for his daughter.

Taking his own seat, Xerxes started the conversation to avoid an awkward silence. “I’m glad that you agreed to meet with me. You probably don’t know how pleased I am to be able to get to know you. I never got over the separation from my sister.”

“So my mother really was your sister?” the brown-haired man, with a short haircut, wanted to know, getting a menu lying next to his place, where Xerxes had laid it earlier.

“The ancestry test your daughter had done proves it.”

“Mum always told us her family died in a big fire while she was in her last year at school.” Mr. Granger sounded sad, but there was curiosity in his eyes too.

Sadness welled up in Xerxes and he did nothing to prevent it from showing on his face. “I can understand why she would do this.” He sighed. “The magical world is not a nice place for Squibs at the moment, and our parents pretended that there never was a daughter.”

The incomprehension over such behaviour was clear as day on the faces of the older Grangers, their daughter looked like she wanted to strangle someone, and Xerxes remembered the tale about her quest to free all house-elves that Severus had told. If he made the right moves, he might get closer to her by involving the young witch in his plans for a school.

“I want to change our world to be more welcoming of Squibs. Starting with the founding of a school.” Hermione’s eyes lit up at this. As Xerxes had known they would. “I have much planning to do still.” He smiled and got the briefcase out from under his chair.

“I brought an album with pictures from our childhood.” He brandished the small leather-bound book.

“As have we.” A smiling Mrs. Granger said, getting a big album out of her elegant bag.

In this moment the waiter came over and they all ordered cool drinks, cake and ice cream.

After that they started trading stories, about the time Xerxes and Dorcas had wanted to make a cake for their mother and ended up covered in flour and eggs, or the one summer Fabian, Hermione’s father, had found an injured bird and insisted on caring for it.

The older Grangers were fascinated by the moving wizarding pictures and Xerxes asked if their daughter never had shown them pictures from school. A little sheepish, Hermione said that she had no wizarding pictures of herself or her friends.

That was something that he could easily fix.

They had a very enjoyable afternoon with stories about the childhood of both Xerxes and Dorcas up to the day that her Hogwarts letter didn't come. Mrs. Granger and her husband told about the childhood of Fabian and Hermione. They talked about the dental practice of the doctors, and the estate Xerxes was managing. And as he only ever had gone to Hogwarts, Xerxes asked the Grangers for pointers of what he should include for a primary school that would educate young magical children, both from the magical world as well as those that were born in the muggle world. He even told them about his tentative plans to expand the school for children over the age of ten who did not get a Hogwarts letter.

They parted later, as the sky started to grow dark, with plans to meet again very soon.

On his way back home, apparating from a small side alley, Xerxes contemplated his first ever meeting with people from the Muggle part of Great Britain. The parents of his grandniece, his nephew and his wife, were intelligent and polite people. They had manners and a sense for good food. It had been they who had decided where they would meet. He had thought it prudent to give them the advantage of choosing the place for their meeting, as he had the advantage of magic.

Stepping into his manor, he walked straight to the library, and from there to his study and the liqueur cabinet. Filling one of the small crystal tumblers with his favourite brandy, he walked over to the French door, opened it, and walked out into the small garden, smelling of herbs in the warm evening breeze.

Marvolo had approved his plans for a school. They both agreed that they had to change the way Squibs were educated to keep them in the magical world. To combine this school with one for the younger children was only logical. It was a chance to integrate the Squibs with the Magicals of their age. It was nothing that would change their world overnight, but they had to start somewhere, and starting with the children was the wise thing to do.

ooooo

At home in her room in her parent’s house, Hermione sat on her bed, staring at the bookcase filled with her favourite books, playing with her hair and thinking about the meeting with the brother of her grandmother.

It was surreal to think that her great grandparents had been magical, that she was related to Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, the criminals - Death Eaters - sitting in Azkaban.

But Xerxes Lestrange, the current Lord and head of the family, the man with the friendly smile and the long grey hair she had meet today, was nice. He had spoken about his sister with such sadness and fondness in his eyes, Hermione did not think that he could have faked the emotions.

She sighted, frustrated. Lord Slytherin had said that he and Lord Lestrange had been in school together. The man had called him a friend. So had he agreed with the goals of the man that was called You-Know-Who? Had he been a Death Eater like his sons?

Hermione felt torn. Her parents had always told her not to judge people based only on things others said about them, not to judge by appearances alone. But could she risk taking the time to get to know him better? Was she even able to really get to know him? She had suspected that he had been a Slytherin, and he had confirmed her assumption this afternoon. So he probably was able to hide his true intentions and manipulate those around him to reach his goals.

Was she about to become a pawn on the chessboard of Headmaster Dumbledore and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? She truly hoped not, because she wanted to contribute to the school Lord Lestrange was planning. She was sure that she would have been a lot happier as a small child had she known that she had magic. Attending school with others just like her, not the outcast concentrating all her energy on studying to get the teachers’ attention.

Huffing a sigh, she stood up and went to the bathroom. She was tired and wanted to take a shower. Maybe standing under the warm water would help clear her head.

oooOOooo

After the trial on Monday, Harry’s days started to take on a pattern. He had history lessons with Remus, whom he again called Professor Lupin while they were at Griffin House and in the small school room with the view of the overgrown back garden, every day for an hour. And he did not complain, never had History of Magic felt more real. Remus was a really excellent teacher.

Every other day the teen flooed over to Nott House for his lessons in Ancient Runes and an afternoon flying session with Theodore. Runes quickly became a favourite of his, and he regretted that he had not selected the subject instead of Divination in his third year. And after he had watched Voldemort putting wards around a filing cabinet in the study, he was even more eager to learn.

Evenings he often spent in the study in front of his grandparent’s portrait, listening to the Potter Family History. He loved those conversations, about his parents, the ways his family had worked with the others on the Wizengamot, the ideals they had stood for in the past. Voldemort never was present for these talks and Grandfather Charlus – as he insisted on being called – had explained that these things never were discussed with someone outside of the family.

Harry had been bemused at the thought that the man who was called a Dark Lord by his followers would abide by any rules. But as they started the same lessons about what the Slytherin family stood for, who their allies were and so on, he quickly learned that the man obeyed the rules because he valued them as tradition. That Voldemort valued anything was a strange concept, but Harry could not prove otherwise, and it was the only explanation fitting the evidence right in front of his eyes.

After the man had made the unbreakable vow not to kill Harry, the green-eyed teen had relaxed. Not by much, but noticeably. He slept much better now, and he had an easier time asking questions. Why he had agreed to Harry’s demand, the teen did not know and did not dare to ask.

The man was behaving oddly, Harry mused, sitting in the school room, waiting for his next teacher. Only moments ago Harry had seen the red eyes bright with fury and heard the smooth voice full of anger.

Sitting at the pupil's table, a book about potions in front of him, Harry let the last few hours replay in his mind.

It had been his first lesson on dancing, posture, and proper manners for the ballroom and “social functions”, as Voldemort had called them. The haggard witch that had flooed into their reception room next to the hall had bowed low to Voldemort, greeting him in the way Harry had seen from Snape. So she probably was one of his followers, but probably not a Death Eater. She looked more as if she would be blown away by a strong gust of wind, and not as if she would be able to fight or duel any length of time.

Fifteen minutes into the lesson, only the knowledge that he needed to know all of this kept Harry from yelling at the woman and stomping out of the dining room. The elves had removed the chairs and the big table so they had enough room, and the witch made Harry prance up and down the whole room, criticizing his posture and the way he walked in a shrieking voice and with scolding words.

More than once the spindly hands grabbed the boy, forcing him into a stance that felt entirely unnatural. After the tenth time, she started to use stinging hexes on him whenever he slumped or let his shoulders slack forward. The first yelp from the teen had brought him another round of choice words about his utter lack in manners and got the old woman wondering what he had learned up till now.

As the door had opened and Voldemort had stepped into the room, Harry had yelped again, rubbing the spot on his back where another stinging hex had landed. Harry had spotted the angry look on Voldemort’s face and taken a step back, expecting to get yelled at because he did not pay enough attention, was not working hard enough.

But then the teen's eyes had widened further and further, as Voldemort had told the old witch off, asking whether or not he had said that no means of physical punishment or encouragement – the last was said with a sneer – was to be used. After a good ten minutes of this, the witch was sent away.

Before sending Harry to work on his summer assignments, Voldemort had promised to find another teacher. Harry was not sure if this was meant as a threat or not.

The whole situation was utterly confusing, but the evidence that Voldemort would keep his word started to pile up.

Yesterday he had been over at Sirius’ place for tea. And tomorrow he would see the man again. It was nice to visit, and he would have loved to live with his godfather, but he could not deny that his room here in Griffin House was much better than the one he had shared with Ron the short time he had stayed at Grimmauld Place.

The world would be perfect, if Harry could live with his godfather here in Griffin House.

But visiting was better than nothing. Or so he repeated over and over in the hope that he could convince himself.

The most confusing lessons were two times a week with Professor Snape. One lesson was on potions and the other, the one he was waiting for at the moment, was Occlumency.

Harry already knew what to expect from the potions lessons. The last one, the day after the trial, had confirmed his suspicion. He was made to revise all the basics. The first lesson had been on the various cutting techniques used in potion-making. And the last one, on the day after the trial, had been on stirring.

He had learned of the right way to hold a stirrer. Why there were so many different forms and materials used. And most enlightening: what the effects were if one was stirring clockwise compared to the effect a counter-clockwise stir had.

So much of his past problems with potions, understanding the why and how, now were clearer to him, and his early enthusiasm for the subject made tentative steps toward reappearing.

But Occlumency lessons were unknown territory. Harry tried not to think too much about it, not to speculate. Because he knew that his imagination was prone to come up with the worst scenarios it could conjure. And that was oh so helpful... not.

Forcing himself to return to his assignment, the teen started as the door opened and his most hated Professor from the last years came in with black billowing robes.

Harry scrambled to get to his feet, nodding his head in greeting.

“Mr. Slytherin. How nice of you to be punctual,” his teacher's deep and silky voice acknowledged his greeting. The words were similar to those the man had always used, but there was missing a certain... bite.. to them.

“Sit down,” the man ordered him and walked over to the desk reserved for the teacher, right in front of the blackboard that was hanging between posters with images of various magical creatures on the right, and different poisonous plants on the left.

Harry did as he was told, and closed his book, moving it off to the side. Anticipation and nervousness were fighting a battle inside of him and he was not sure which was winning.

“As you should know,” Snape raised an eyebrow at this. “We are here so you can learn Occlumency, to close the link between you and the Dark Lord from your side.”

Harry nodded, not feeling that this needed an answer from him.

“As the study of Occlumency requires a certain amount of trust of the pupil for his teacher, and our past was not conductive to forming trust,” another raised brow, “I intend to start there.”

The teenager kept a frown from his face, that was a rather ominous start.

“I assume that you have many questions about me, my intentions, and loyalties.” Harry studied the professor’s expression. If he was reluctant to talk about himself, it did not show in the man’s pale face. “You may ask every question you want. But I reserve the right not to answer if they are too personal.”

With that said, the man leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Not a really approachable pose. But Harry was not ready to let himself be intimidated. He had spent almost a week alone in a house with Voldemort, he could cope with the antics of his potions teacher.

“Why do I need to trust you, for you to teach me Occlumency?” A brief expression of surprise flashed across the dark-haired wizard’s face. That obviously was not the question he had expected.

“Because to test your shields and to help you build your proficiency, a teacher for the art of Occlumency needs to enter his or her pupil’s mind. It is impossible to not see those things the student most wishes to hide in the first lessons.”

Bright green eyes widened. Snape would enter Harry’s mind? See his secrets? His fears? He would really prefer to avoid this.

“If there is not a sliver of trust for the teacher, the lessons can become more torture than actual lessons to learn to shield.”

That sounded about right. Having someone you did not trust enter your mind and seeing your most embarrassing moments. Harry was not sure that he would be able to do this with Snape.

“You will have to trust me not to reveal what I see to others and not to comment on or judge what I will learn.”

Harry gave a shaky nod. He needed to learn how to shield his mind, to keep Voldemort out of his head. And as he had learned from the few books he had read over the last few days, it was much easier to learn the art if one had a teacher. And it would be a cold day in hell if he allowed the dark wizard into his mind willingly. So Snape it had to be.

Taking a deep breath, Harry fixed his gaze on Snape’s form, casually leaning onto the desk, arms still crossed.

“Why do you hate me?” Because it was more than simple dislike. It had to be hate for the man to cut him down with harsh words at every opportunity, for taunting him and his friends. More than what could be explained by the Slytherin Head of House’s dislike for Gryffindors.

Professor Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath of his own he started his answer, or more of an explanation, in a low voice.

“Hated. I do not anymore.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. He would believe it as soon as he got to see the change.

“And several reasons. None of them your fault, Mr. Slytherin, at least at the beginning.” He let his arm fall and opened his eyes, looking directly at Harry.

“A big part played my deplorable past with James Potter and his merry band of friends.” A sneer settled in on the professor’s face. “You look entirely too much like your biological father.”

Harry rolled his eyes, he had heard it too often ‘just like your father’, and trust Snape to make the distinction between a biological and an adoptive father.

“Another part is that it is... was... quite painful to look at you.” Seeing the questioning look from the boy, the older wizard explained more. “Your eyes are exactly like your mother's. And she was my first and best friend until I said something incredibly stupid to her. Her becoming a target made me go to the Headmaster for help. I blamed you for surviving where she died.”

Snape and his mother had been friends? Somehow it was hard to imagine the man as a child. Harder still to see him being the friend of his mother, a Muggle-born witch.

But, wait, Snape went to Dumbledore because Lily had become a target? And Dumbledore had sent him to Voldemort the night after the third task.

But first... “What has changed? I look the same as I always did.”

With a calculating look Snape started to pace.

“You are aware that I am the one brewing your potions?” He gave Harry a pointed look as the teen puzzled over this cryptic remark.

He flushed with mortification as he realized that the Potions Master knew about the damage done by the treatment he had received at the hand of his relatives. Was it pity that had changed the perception?

Harry raised his eyes from the floor up to Snape. There was no pity in the man’s eyes, only calm knowledge.

Deciding to let the questions on this particular topic rest, Harry changed to the other question haunting his mind.

“Are you still a spy, sir?” He could not keep the curiosity out of his voice.

“I am,” was the simple reply.

“Does he know?” Still unsure where Snape’s loyalties really lay, Harry did not specify whom he was referring to.

A knowing smirk graced a pale face as the teacher stopped in his pacing and turned to face the teen. “They both know that the other thinks me to be his spy.”

It took Harry a moment to make sense of this convoluted sentence. “And how does it come that they both trust you? He said that both him and Dumbledore are Legilimens.”

Nodding in confirmation Snape answered, “They both are. But I am an accomplished Occlumens, enabling me to lie to both of them.”

“I can see Dumbledore believing you, but not him.”

“Headmaster or Professor Dumbledore,” chided the Potions Master, starting to pace again, deep in thought. Finally he came to a decision and turned again to face the teen.

“The Dark Lord made sure that I am trustworthy, through means you do not need to know. He discovered that I am committed to keeping you safe.”

They both stayed silent for several minutes after this, both lost in their own thoughts, until Snape started the lesson.

Thankfully it was mostly theory in this first lesson, ways Harry could use to come to a calm state of mind, ways he should test over the next week to find the method that worked the best for him.

As Professor Snape repeated several times during the lesson, each mind was different, as was each person, so each individual had to find the method to use that worked for them.

ooooo

Later the same day, in the biggest bedroom in his dreary house in Spinner’s End, Severus Snape stood clad only in shirt and trousers in front of his wardrobe, peering in.

As he had come home from his tutoring session for his Lord’s son, Severus had found an owl sitting on the fence surrounding the small front garden. If one could call the overgrown and dry patch of land a garden. The owl had carried an invitation written in elegant, loopy cursive with expensive dark green ink on the most posh parchment one could buy. Severus scoffed just remembering the extravagance now lying on his desk in his workroom.

He had been invited to the yearly summer party held at Malfoy Manor. And now he tried to decide what he could wear to this unavoidable social gathering. He held no illusions as to what Narcissa intended, inviting him. She would try to find him a witch to marry. And he supposed that he should accept her assistance. Because, like it or not, he needed to find a partner within the year.

Looking at his entirely black clothes, with only his undergarments and shirts in white and the colour of unbleached or only half-bleached linen, Severus thought back to the Occlumency lesson from that afternoon.

Pot… no, not Potter anymore, Slytherin had not asked questions as dumb as he had expected him to. In fact he had asked quite astute questions. The one about the reason for his hate was one he had contemplated, but not believed the teen would ask. But maybe he had underestimated the boy’s Gryffindor bravery.

But his own answer had surprised him even more. It was true, he had hated the sight of Harry Potter, the clone of his childhood tormentor James Potter with the copy of his best friend's eyes in his face. It had been a special kind of torture to look at the child of his best friend and his schoolyard nemesis. But to learn that the boy had not disregarded his education of the proper ways to behave as an heir to one of the old families, but had never received such in the first place, had corrected many of his misconceptions.

The fact that his aunt and uncle, and perhaps their son, had abused Lily’s son, to an unknown extent, made it impossible for him to see his student in the light he had before. No, he needed to start fresh, to get to know the boy, to be able to keep him safe.

It seemed he had moved on from grieving for his best friend. He contemplated the black clothes. Black, the colour of grieving. He had always preferred the dark colours, but never before her death had it been exclusively black. He never made a conscious decision to do so, but it seemed that he had not only mourned in private for her all these years. But most likely no one had realised.

He supposed it was finally time to move on. So a trip to the tailor was in order. He sighed and closed the doors to his wardrobe. Maybe he could set up some kind of stipend or something similar in Lily’s name. To pay for an apprenticeship for a muggle-born. He hummed. That thought had appeal, if he spun this right, he might get his Lord’s approval, and Dumbledore certainly would support him in this.

With new determination and plans forming in his mind, Severus put on the robe and shoes he had discarded earlier. If he wanted new robes for the Malfoy’s party, he needed to order them today.

oooOOooo

Benjamin felt uncomfortable, he was wearing a muggle suit and followed Rowle through some of the shadier parts of Muggle London. None of the others were there, only the two of them searching for the little wizard living on the streets.

Yaxley had wanted to come as well, but their Lord had decided that it would be wise only to send those that the boy already knew or would get to know soon.

He wished they had found the child already and could go home. He would take a really nice hot and long bath once he was back.

In the pocket of his light coat Benjamin had a potions vial of the concoction Severus had brewed for the purpose of blurring past memories and dampening their emotional hold on a person. He was to give it to the child, so he would have an easier time adjusting to his new life in the wizarding world.

Alongside the vial, the pocket held adoption papers. The muggle variant. Over the last few days, Benjamin had tracked down the boy’s parents and planted the necessary paper trail to let it seem as if he had started the process of adoption at the appropriate time to get to adopt the boy today.

He sneered, remembering the poor excuses for parents he had met. He could understand why the boy preferred to live on the street to living with his parents. The little flat had reeked, and he had seen a rat scurrying along a wall. The adults were dirty as well, with matted hair and unclean teeth, and were uncouth in their behaviour. He had not even tried to reason with them, he just had cast the Imperius on them and got them to fill out the papers granting their permission for their son, Aiden, to be adopted.

And now they walked from spot to spot asking other homeless children where they might find Aiden.

Rowle waved Benjamin forward, pointing to a small form hunched over in a corner behind a big rubbish container.

Nodding to the other wizard, Benjamin made a little detour so he could approach the child from the front so as not to startle him. Rowle took a position along the other wall of the narrow alley, so he could monitor both ways in and prevent the boy from running, should he try to escape.

“Aiden?” Benjamin called out to the small child with his dirty blond hair, curled into himself as if he was cold.

The boy’s head snapped up, brown eyes looking cautiously up to the wizard.

“Are you Aiden?”

The boy shook his head, no he was not Aiden.

Benjamin felt cold fury rising. Another child on the streets, what were the muggles thinking? Children were precious gifts, and nothing to be cast to the streets!

“Do you know him?”

An enthusiastic nod was the response.

“Do you know where he is?” Benjamin was speaking in a gentle tone, crouched near to the ground so as to appear less threatening.

The boy nodded again. “The man took him with him.”

A cold shiver ran down Benjamin’s spine. Had they come too late? And the way the child spoke of the man suggested that he was not an unknown figure to the children.

“When? And where did they go?” Urgency was clear in the wizard’s voice and he felt the other tense behind his back.

“Just before you came. And they went down there.” The boy pointed at the other alley opposite from the one the two wizards had come from.

“Thank you.” Benjamin smiled, rose, and started to run down the alley the boy had pointed at. Normally it was beneath a Lord to run like a common muggle, but speed was of the essence, and as he did not know where he might find Aiden, he could not simply apparate to get there.

Silently he promised himself to find a way to get this young muggle boy off the streets, not even animals treated their young in this manner.

Nearing the end of the alley, they could hear the muffled pleas of a child, “No, let me go, I don’t want to come. Let go!” And the snarled response of a man demanding he be quiet.

Rounding a corner, Benjamin only took a moment to assess the situation. There was a muggle contraption standing on the street, seats inside and a door opened, a tall and lean man in what appeared to be casual muggle clothing tried to get a boy into the thing on wheels, but the boy struggled with all his strength.

“Stupefy!” The man fell, stunned and unconscious, the child spun around, searching for the source of the shout.

Wary eyes found the two men running towards him, and he tensed, only to relax again as he seemed to recognize Rowle.

Benjamin could not restrain himself from falling to his knees next to the boy, embracing him tightly, assessing if there was any damage.

“You're the man that unstuck the creep from the wall,” the boy stated in a detached manner, shock most likely, Benjamin noted.

“That I am, little one!” Rowle said with amusement in his voice, ruffling the boy’s hair, before he aimed his wand at the muggle that had tried to abduct a young wizard, levitating the man into his means of transportation.

“Has he hurt you?” Lord Nott asked, easing back a little to get a better look at the child he intended to adopt.

The boy shook his head and started to chew on his lower lip. His eyes, a warm brown colour, wandered from the man kneeling by his side, to the one working inside the muggle vehicle - at least that was what Benjamin assumed it was - creating a scene believable enough to explain missing memories.

“Are you wizards?” the boy wanted to know, studying their faces attentively.

“We are,” Benjamin confirmed, squeezing the boy’s shoulders in reassurance. Noticing the slight flinch, the widower chided himself, the boy probably would develop severe bruising on his arms, the way the filthy muggle had manhandled it.

Retrieving the potions vial from his pocket, what he planned was a betrayal of sorts, but he quieted his conscience with the knowledge that his future son would have to take it anyway and that it would do no harm. Severus had said the child would get sleepy and wake hours later, mouldable to new circumstances by being told the facts of his new truth.

“Here, take this.” Benjamin removed the cork from the vial, holding it out for the boy to take. “It will heal you and let you sleep. When you wake again, we will be at home.”

With approval Benjamin noted that the boy was suspicious of his declaration. “What do you mean, ‘at home’?”

Chuckling, Benjamin reached into his robes, retrieving the shrunken adoption papers. Waving his wand over them and restoring them to their original size, he turned them so that Aiden could read them. “I want to adopt you. You are a wizard, and should live in our world.”

Watching the child read the papers, the warmth of affection blossomed in his chest. “I have a son. He is older than you are. And he looks forward to having a younger brother.”

The boy looked up, locking gazes with Benjamin, the wizard could see a spark of hope in them. Smiling encouragingly, he again extended the vial for Aiden to take.

With new-found determination, the young wizard born to two despicable, non-magic humans took the vial, scrunching his nose at the not-quite-appetizing smell, and pinching his nose drank it down in one big gulp.

“Good boy,” praised Benjamin, steadying the child as he started swaying on his feet. Only moments later he lost his fight against sleep, and Benjamin lifted him into his arms, to carry his second son.

“I’m finished here,” proclaimed Rowle, and without further delay they disapparated to their respective destinations, leaving the muggle behind in the alley, where a fire started to reach for everything inflammable.

oooOOooo

Waiting in a chair in the reception room of Griffin House, Marvolo reassessed his decision to find a mind healer for his son. Mr. Lupin, as well as Severus, had advised him to find someone that could help the boy to cope with all the traumatic experiences he had had. Severus had only been brief, when Marvolo had asked the man what he thought of Henry’s reaction to the punishment he had given the boy for his disrespectful behaviour. Severus had assured him that the young wizard was not in any danger to go the way they had, loosing himself to the dark, at least not now, and if he could speak with someone about his life, then the danger would even lessen.

Mr. Lupin had said essentially the same thing. That the teenager was confused about his new position in life. That he had been adopted by the man that was responsible for his being an orphan. That so many things had been kept from him.

He had thought about it for a few days, while researching mind healing and what it was capable of.

After a few hours he was convinced that to offer some kind of help for Henry to cope was a reasonable idea, and the course of action he wanted to take. But he also was convinced that what was considered “mind healing” in wizarding Britain was not adequate.

Mostly it consisted of confining wizards and witches who were not capable of caring for themselves, or were even a danger to others, and giving them potions to keep them calm. There was not really a way to deal with the aftermath of trauma, abuse, or losses.

The methods used were extracting memories to store them in a pensieve, selective obliviation of the problematic memories, and Occlumency. Not really options he would like his son to use, even if he wanted him to learn the art of closing his mind to intrusion from the outside.

And so he had reluctantly started to research Muggle means of healing such damage. He had been surprised to find that the Muggles had come so much farther in this field.

But it was impossible to send Henry to a Muggle mind healer. He would have to speak about magic, he would need someone who understood their world.

A few weeks back he had asked his followers to find all their Squib relatives and make a list of them and their progeny.

To their luck an aunt of Quintus Goyle was a Squib and had studied to become a Muggle mind healer. She was now in her fifties, and Marvolo was waiting for Goyle to bring her here.

Chuckling, Marvolo remembered the fear in the man’s eyes as he ordered him to bring his aunt to Griffin House.

The floo flared to life, filling the cheerful room with green light, and after the flames had died down again, only the sun was illuminating the room as before.

Marvolo turned to greet his guests, his actions causing the wizard steadying his aunt to look confused and a little afraid.

“Mrs. Goyle, I presume?”

The woman nodded, eyeing the Lord in his expensive silk robes cautiously. “And you are Lord Slytherin?”

Marvolo inclined his head and called for the house elf. “Flimm! Take Mr. Goyle to the conservatory and get him something to drink.”

The small elf nodded and gestured for the other wizard to follow him. With a worried look to his Lord, the square of a wizard left his aunt alone with him.

“Please let us move to the study, Mrs. Goyle.”

He preceded the woman through the halls, working on his expression as the law-abiding Lord Slytherin, hiding the Dark Lord. He was doing this as the father of Henry, he had to act as such.

They settled into a small seating area off to the side of the study, and Marvolo offered tea and biscuits.

As they had settled down, he felt the curious gaze of the Squib on his face. It was a completely alien setting for him. It had been decades since he last had interacted in a peaceful manner with someone that was not magical.

Taking a deep breath, he started to talk. “Has your nephew told you why I asked for your presence?”

She snorted. “Ordered is more like it. And yes, he told me.”

Annoyance and amusement shot through Marvolo, and he wondered briefly over the combination before deciding to go with amusement, as it was harder to come by. He gave the silver-blond-haired mind healer an expectant look, waiting for her to tell him what Goyle had told her.

“He said that you are searching for someone to help your son adjust,” she added with an eye-roll, taking another sip from her tea.

“That is correct, but not all of it. Before I tell you more, I ask you to sign this magical contract.” He let a piece of parchment float over from the desk and handed it to Mrs. Goyle. “It is only to make sure that nothing you learn here will find its way into the press.”

Raising an eyebrow, but nodding, the woman, built like most of the family although she looked the part of the medical professional with her tailored clothes, took the quill he presented to her and added her signature swiftly, after she had read the short contract.

Marvolo added his own signature, and the contract flashed a bright golden before returning to its unremarkable appearance.

“As now you are sure that I will not tattle to the press, what is the problem you think I can help with?”

Collecting his thoughts, Marvolo launched into a longer explanation, closely watched by the healer sitting in the other chair. “As you probably know, I adopted the Boy-Who-Lived. That alone is reason to search for aid from someone who was specialized in healing the mind.” He took a sip from his tea, looking to the window with the curtains billowing in the light breeze.

“Through the medical examination I had him take, it was uncovered that he has been abused by his former caretakers.” That got the attention of the mind healer.

“I do not know to what extent, but starvation and broken bones were regular occurrences. I am pretty sure that the abuse was not sexual, but other than this I have not tried to get more information from him.”

“That is wise, given your history.”

Marvolo nodded, accepting her assessment, she was the expert after all. He had learned how to manipulate others, he knew his way around a mind to get information he wanted, but to help some? That was not his forte.

“Furthermore, he likely feels betrayed, because the adults in his life, and especially Albus Dumbledore, have never told him about his seat in the Wizengamot, or let him learn what he needs to know. I have given him all such information available to me, but that does not change the fact that he has been kept in the dark for quite some time.”

“And you want me to help him cope with the abuse and the betrayal?” she asked, refilling her cup with tea.

Marvolo nodded. “Among other things. There is a prophecy claiming that one of us will kill the other. I made an unbreakable vow to assure him that I will not kill him, but I guess he is still stressed over this.”

Marvolo closed his eyes and rubbed them with the fingers of his right hand. He was tired, it was hard feeling all the time. He remembered now why he had embraced the loss of feeling and emotions. It was nice to feel the triumph and amusement, but the worry over making a faulty decision... he could do without that.

“Will you take on my son as your patient? Mind healing in the wizarding world is not suited to help him, but a muggle, what is the term, psychotherapist?” She nodded. “...will not do, because his problems are too closely entwined with our world, his fame, my past deeds, his experiences.

“You combine the best of both worlds. Knowledge about magic and the history, the customs of our world, and the methods the Muggles have come up with to treat damage to the mind.” Marvolo had spoken with quiet intensity, trying to impress on the Squib before him that he valued her skills. If someone had told his younger self he once would ask for help from a Squib because she knew things he did not, he would have laughed disbelievingly. How the world had changed.

“I assume that you have another contract with more restrictive clauses for me to sign?”

Marvolo nodded, admiring her calm and collected demeanour, restraining himself from entering the woman’s mind to see if it was a mask or if she really was sitting calmly across from the man she knew to be a dangerous, dark wizard.

“I would like to read it and think for a few days about whether I can help your son, or not.” She observed the dark wizard for a few heartbeats before she decided to ask another question. “Why come to me? There are several muggle-born mind healers combining muggle and wizarding methods for mind healing with great success. Why ask a Squib?”

Knowing that in time he would have to reveal his political agenda regarding those born to magical parents that could not access magic on their own, Marvolo decided to answer honestly. Using the opportunity to gauge the reaction he would get with his plans.

“For one thing, I want to prove and show that Squibs can lead meaningful lives staying in the magical world. Secondly, you grew up with our traditions that are unknown to those that are stranded in the Muggle world and only come back home after many of their beliefs are already laid down.” His pleasant smile turned predatory, and his eyes flashed red through the glamour he had placed on them. “And lastly, your nephew belongs to me, it gives me another measure of control over this whole situation.”

A small frown crossed the healer’s face. “I will think about helping your son. And you should think about searching for help yourself, Lord Slytherin.”

That got him to chuckle mirthlessly. “Maybe I could have used help when I first came to Hogwarts, now is much too late, I fear.”

Chapter Text

He was running through the alleys of Little Whinging. Jumping over a low fence, Harry ran, trying to get more distance between him and the bullies hunting him. Calling taunts and banging sticks against the walls they ran along.

The streets were empty, the light low, darkness around them.

In the next moment Harry stumbled over the uneven ground of a graveyard. To both sides of his path there stood people wrapped in black robes wearing silver masks, watching and standing impassively, not aiding him, not hindering him.

The teenager was breathing fast, looking wildly from side to side. This was wrong. It was not what had happened. He needed to get back to safety. But where was safety? He did not know.

Suddenly Uncle Vernon was standing in the starlight, a nasty smile on his face. And Dudley and his friends were standing behind Harry, snickering evilly. The young wizard was surrounded.

“Freak!” Vernon spat. “Did you think you can escape us?” They all advanced on Harry and he spun around his axis, scrambling for his wand and not finding it. And then he had to curl and duck under the fists of the muggles that had always harmed him. The ones he had thought would never harm him again.

Blows were raining down on him and he cried out, beaten by muggles while the Death Eaters looked on, doing nothing.

ooooo

With a start Marvolo woke, the weight of Nagini on his legs and desperate pleas in his ears. Pleas that came from the room Henry was sleeping in.

.:The little one is dreaming bad:. Nagini said with obvious concern, slithering to the ground and towards the door.

Marvolo nodded. He had not noticed his son having nightmares regularly. But it was not too surprising he was having them. With everything the boy had had to endure in the past, it was to be expected. Shaking his head to wake up properly, Marvolo slid out from under his blanket and walked over to the door on bare feet.

As he opened the door of his room he heard Henry screaming and hastened across the hall to open the door to his son’s room, closely followed by Nagini.

The light fell on the bed where Henry lay tangled in the blanket, writhing with his face contorted, mumbling and screaming from time to time. Whatever he was dreaming, it was not pleasant.

Not sure what he could do – how would Henry react to being woken from a nightmare by one probably filling a starring role in at least some of them? – Marvolo started to murmur reassuring words, trying to communicate to his adopted son, that he was safe here and that he would not come to harm, that he should wake up, that everything was all right.

Nagini slithered up on the bed, keeping away from the flailing arms of the teenager, starting to hiss more reassuring things, clearly copying her Master’s attempts to calm the dreaming boy down.

After Henry went still, he woke with a start and scrambled away from the two beings perching on the edge of the bed until he collided with the headboard of the large four-poster bed.

.:All is well, little one:. Nagini hissed in her most reassuring tone of voice.

Clearly bewildered, Henry looked around in the dark room, lit only by the candles burning in the holders mounted on the walls of the hall.

“You were having a nightmare.” Stating the obvious might seem unnecessary, but to a clearly not-fully-awake wizard it might prove helpful.

Marvolo felt a little out of his depth, comforting a distraught teenager was not something he had experience in. But by adopting a teenager he'd had to accept that there were things he would have to do that he never had had to do before. He even had asked those of his followers who had children for advice and was happier by the day that he had done so.

Henry nodded. “You were there. Two times.” The raven-haired teen looked up to him, clearly bewildered. “One of you agreed with my uncle. The other…” The teen trailed off, and Marvolo did not try to get a more coherent explanation.

“Do you have nightmares often?” he asked instead.

Henry nodded and Marvolo frowned. Why had he not known of this? The boy’s nightmares obviously were quite violent. They had had rooms next to each other in Benjamin’s manor. So why had he not heard one of the dreams before?

It only took him a moment to remember that Juliet once had told him over a meal at their house, how she'd had the elves cast silencing charms over all the guest rooms. They had probably never stopped that. As Benjamin had altered nothing else his beloved wife had initiated, Marvolo did not think that his follower had changed that. So there was his explanation as to why he had not heard his son’s bad dreams before.

“Occlumency can help with this in time. But for the moment I can get you a vial of Dreamless Sleep,” the red-eyed wizard offered.

“Yes, please,” came the quiet answer as Henry settled down again, a little more to the centre of the bed.

Casting a summoning charm for a vial of Dreamless Sleep, Marvolo contemplated the talk he had had with the muggle-educated mind healer the evening before. He had not heard from her since then, but it might be wise to broach the topic with Henry.

“There is another thing we might attempt to help you cope, Henry.”

The boy looked up and waited for Marvolo to elaborate, not saying a word himself.

“I have asked a mind healer if she thinks that she can help you to come to terms with your past. What I did, and what those Muggles have done. Healer Greengrass can help cure the damage done to your body, but these nightmares prove that there is more you need help with.”

At the moment he mentioned a mind healer, he could see the face of his son clouding and closing down. Maybe he should tell the teen what the woman had told him, it could not do any harm, probably.

“She is a Squib, and studied in the Muggle world. At the moment she is contemplating if she is willing to sign a magical contract. And she proposed that I should search for this kind of help myself.” A wry smile stole across his face as he remembered the astute woman. He shook his head. “It is much too late for me. Or at least I think it is. But you are young enough to learn a different way to cope with the anger. It might help you to learn Occlumency, I would like you to at least meet her once.”

“She would be someone I can speak with about everything? Without her being in danger?” Henry asked sceptically.

Nodding and catching the vial flying through the still-open door, Marvolo answered, “The contract would make sure that she cannot speak about the things you tell her to anyone. So I would not get to know what you do not want me to know, and no one would learn of the things I do not want known, either. She knows enough about wizards and magic so that she can help you and understand, but she has learned from the muggles, so she has better ways to go about mind healing.”

Henry accepted the vial of pale purple potion, spinning it between his fingers. “You think the Muggles are better in healing the mind?” Scepticism clear as day in the teen's voice made Marvolo snort.

“It sounds unlikely coming from me, does it not? But sadly. it is true. Healing the mind is a neglected branch of magic. Extracting memories or obliviating them is about the extent that is used. I think most just do not acknowledge the damage the mind can take, and how much it takes to be obvious even if the effects already are damaging.”

And with a start he realized it was true. Magicals just did not accept that the mind was so fragile, and mostly ignored all damage done to it. That might be a field he should push into the public eye. Maybe he could use his past to get the needed interest? But that might clash with the story of the curse he had spun for the Minister. But there was no rush, after all, this was something that had no immediate implications.

Henry nodded slowly, conceding the point made by the man known as a Dark Lord to his followers. The teen opened the vial and took its contents with one big gulp. “I will meet with her and see if I can talk with her. I think it might help to talk to someone.” He yawned and laid down, letting Marvolo tuck the blanket around him.

“Tomorrow we will go to Nott House for an adoption ritual,” Marvolo told his son, getting up from the bed and straightening the blanket. “A muggle-born wizard will become part of the family. His parents were even worse guardians than your aunt and uncle.” It was only a short explanation of his plans for the next day, but better to tell the young wizard now and get him accustomed to the idea than waiting till the morning. After the nightmare, Henry might accept the need to get a wizard into a magical family more easily.

But maybe the teen had not registered what he had been told, after all, the potion was quick acting, and the green-eyed boy was mostly asleep already.

.:Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to come with me?:. Marvolo asked his familiar with low hisses.

.:I will keep the young one company:. the snake decided and curled into a tight heap next to the boy’s feet on the thin summer blanket.

Knowing that it was futile to argue with his companion, Marvolo nodded and walked back to his own bed, closing the doors on his way. If some of his followers could have heard this talk, he likely would have to get rid of them. But it simply was the truth. That Occlumency was such an obscure branch of magic was testament enough that wizards and witches greatly underestimated the mind and its health.

With a sigh and a last sip from a cool glass of water – cooling charms were rather a necessity this summer – Marvolo settled down again to sleep a few more hours.

oooOOooo

The next morning, Saturday, Harry was mortified to remember the night and his nightmare. It was not his first one since he had been adopted, but it was the first one that had been witnessed by anyone. After the first night at Nott House, Harry had asked Theodore about the guest rooms and had learned, to his immense relief, that there were silencing charms on the rooms.

It seemed that there were no such charms on the rooms at Griffin House.

His dream had been unusual, with its combination of the Dursleys and Death Eaters, as well as two Voldemorts. Never had he had a dream with wizards and Muggles hunting him at the same time. Well, that was not quite right. They were not both hunting him at the same time. One of the Voldemorts, the one looking like the man did now, had tried to get Harry to come to him, promising help. The other, looking like the monster that had climbed out of the cauldron at the end of the tournament, had only been standing there nodding to everything Vernon had said.

And his uncle had been his usual charming self, calling his nephew a freak, a waste of space, and a burden. Seeing one Voldemort nodding in agreement with a Muggle and another claiming the opposite had been disturbing. Waking to find the man sitting on his bed murmuring soothing words had been even more discomfiting.

Thinking back to all the times he had awakened from nightmares in the last years at the Dursleys' house and their reaction, and comparing their screeching and sneering to the slightly lost look on the face of the wizard most would claim to be the most dangerous and evil man currently alive, a sharp pain shot through him. He needed to remind himself of all the times Ron and his other dorm mates had tried to console him after a nightmare, so he would not feel too bad about the fact that a Dark Lord had more compassion than his mother’s sister and her husband.

Walking back down from the owlery in the attic where he had sent a letter to Hermione, Harry started to prepare mentally for the plans for this day. He would wait for Hermione’s reply to the suggestion of seeing a mind healer before he decided if he would give this idea serious consideration. And he would concentrate on the oddity of seeing Voldemort in his nightshirt and with bare feet to forget about the nightmare.

For now, he had to slip into the Potter robes to represent his family during the adoption ritual he would be attending this day. It seemed that it would take the whole day.

He remembered what Voldemort had told him over breakfast, in one of the impromptu lessons they would have about various aspects of magic, society, and politics. He had told him that the young boy named Aiden had been living on the streets of London, because he could not stand living with his parents. And that he would be adopted by Benjamin Nott, so that he could grow up knowing about magic.

Harry had problems with not agreeing with this sentiment. He was sure that he would have been much happier growing up with any magical family. And he meant any magical family. Even if he would not have been able to escape his fame, almost anything would have been better than being hated for something he could not change.

Harry took a deep breath. It was obvious that Voldemort wanted to change the wizarding world. It was equally obvious that he was going about this somewhat differently than the last time. Harry was not about to just help the man, but if he attempted something Harry would do on his own if he was able, where was the point in not helping? Would it not simply be petty to oppose him just because he was who he was? Even if the thing he was doing was something Harry approved of? In a way this sounded right, but Harry did not truly feel good with this course of action.

He resolved to speak with Sirius and Hermione about this. He was certain they would be able to help him untangle the mess that were his thoughts.

ooooo

Theodore was out in the garden with Aiden and the other children who had come for the adoption ritual they would be having today.

He was happy observing the young blond boy who was laughing happily at something Daphne’s younger sister had said. It was an incredible change his soon-to-be younger brother had gone through since Father had brought him to Nott House a few days back. He had been timid and a little nervous at first. But the next day he started to be curious, asking questions about everything he saw, playing with gobstones and wizarding chess, little dragon miniatures that shot sparks out of their muzzles, and a deck of Exploding Snap cards.

“Look who's there,” Draco said from his side, pointing at the door to the house where Henry emerged, wearing robes in Potter family colours, looking around.

Just in that moment Henry spotted his Ancient Runes study partner and came over, an easy smile on his face.

“Keep your temper, Draco,” Theodore whispered to his blond friend, remembering the unhappy ending of his birthday party.

“Hello, Theodore,” Henry greeted happily, only giving a slight nod in Draco’s direction. “Heir Malfoy.”

Draco stiffened at this, but could only reply with a nod of his own and a murmured, “Heir Slytherin.” As it was perfectly polite, even if the insult was heavily implied.

“I was sent to collect you,” Henry addressed Theodore. “We both shall help laying out the circle for the adoption ritual.”

Agreeing easily, Theodore cast a last look out for Aiden, still talking with Astoria, before he nodded to Draco and followed Henry into the house.

“You still do not like him, do you?” It was almost Gryffindor brash to ask so directly, but Theodore wanted to know where he was standing, and his careful probing had not got him anywhere.

“He does not give me any reason to like him. So why should I?”

There was not much to be said to that, so Theodore stayed silent on their short trek down to the kitchen.

The Ritual was to be held at the heart of the house, and the fire in the kitchen hearth was considered to be the centre of a family's home. So this was where they found the Dark Lord and Theodore's father, as well as most of the other adults that would be taking part in the ritual.

Waiting respectfully to the side until they were invited to step closer, both teenagers were listening in.

“Thank you for offering to lay the circle for this, Marvolo,” Lord Nott said to the man in Slytherin green robes standing across from him, sorting through the contents of a silk bag.

“Have you had your Aiden tested by the goblins to see if is a descendant of a magical family?”

Theodore felt Henry tensing beside him and wondered why the other would react to this question. Maybe because it was a sore point with the other teen, that he had been left with Muggles? Letting the question go – he was not likely ever to get an answer to it, after all – Theodore instead concentrated on his father’s answer.

“Yes, we went there yesterday. He is related to the German family of Hauser, three generations back. Like your Henry and young Miss Granger, from a Squib line. I wonder if this is always the case.”

“It is quite possible that it is. We will have to keep testing to get to the roots of this.” Turning to the teenagers standing beside him, the Dark Lord smiled and hissed something to Henry, or at least Theodore assumed the hissing he heard was actually something spoken, prompting Henry to take some of the items from the table where the Dark Lord had arranged them.

“Let us start. Theodore, help Henry to paint an accurate circle in front of the hearth, please.”

oooOOooo

Harry looked around the relatively big kitchen of Nott House. It was filled with several adult witches and wizards, as well as some small children and teenagers.

Theodore and he, together with Voldemort, had just finished setting up the ritual circle. It was a nice work of runes drawn on the stone floor of the kitchen, drawn with chalk, sand, and, in two places, flower petals. Harry was still amused about that one.

The other thing that had the teenager curious was the group of people assembled here. He had not been surprised to see many Death Eaters here, or at least they were some of the same people who had been named during the event of the graveyard. And they had brought their wives and children. Draco was there, obviously trying to be polite, as were his mother and father. He had been surprised when Madame Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother had come into the kitchen, accepting a cup of tea from one of the elves and sitting down in one of the chairs standing to the side.

Harry was sure that she was in no way associated with Death Eaters and therefore not friends with Lord Nott. But she was there anyway, and as now, while they were stashing away the tools they had used to prepare the ritual, Madame Marchbanks, another decidedly-not-dark member of the Wizengamot, came into the kitchen, closely followed by Cornelius Fudge, Harry was sure that there was something more going on.

The teenager turned to the man that had adopted him and was now cleaning his hands in fresh water at one of the sinks. .:Why did you not do such a ritual, when you adopted me, sir?:. It was maybe a roundabout way to ask this question, but most of the time it was easier to get the answers he wanted to have, when he didn't outright ask for what he thought he wanted to know.

.:This ritual was designed to accept a witch or wizard into the Family Magic. It fell out of use somewhere around two hundred years in the past. The very fact that we are both speaking Parseltongue now proves that we were already family where magic is concerned. We only needed the paperwork done:. As Harry had come to expect, the man was patient and friendly when explaining something, and everyone hearing them hissing to each other flinched. The teen was pretty sure that some of the explanations he had been given during the preparations were only given in Parseltongue to make all present aware that they both were the last known Slytherins. Harry was not sure what he thought about that.

.:Why did it fall out of use? I guess it is not deemed illegal?:. Harry glanced to the present Wizengamot members and the Minister as he asked this. And got his assumption confirmed with a quiet chuckle.

.:Even if it could be considered blood magic, it never was considered dark. It never works against the will of those concerned, and as you can see in the runes, only protection and belonging together are invoked. And I think theories about purity of blood let the ritual fall out of use:.

Letting his gaze wander over the circle of runes they had inscribed on the floor, Harry nodded. There were many runes for family, parents and children, sister and brother, clan, and quite a few for home, house, fire, and hearth in the circle. The most notable thing about the layout were the small circles with familiar crests in them, surrounding the centre. Harry was not familiar with all of them, but he recognized the crests of Slytherin, Potter, Black, and Malfoy. With a small frown on his brow, he turned from his contemplation of the circle back to the smiling Lord Slytherin standing beside him.

.:The magical community is giving their blessing that a child is accepted into a family that is not their own?:.

Voldemort only nodded and was prevented from explaining further as Professor Snape came into the kitchen, led by Lord Nott. He got a relatively large bottle out of his robes, setting it onto a table beside an intricately decorated goblet.

“It seems that now all are gathered to welcome Aiden into the Nott family,” Voldemort proclaimed, getting the attention of everyone present, silencing the conversations being held around the room.

The man stepped into the circle and smiled, open and friendly to all present. Harry had to admire the man’s acting skills. If he had not known that this man was capable of murder, he would never have guessed it.

“As my old friend Benjamin has asked me to conduct this old ceremony to welcome a child into the family, I shall briefly explain what all of you will have to do.”

Lord Nott smiled happily and had his hands on the shoulders of a small boy, who looked around curiously and smiled at Theodore coming to stand beside them. Harry watched the little family. The small boy looked happy, he was dressed in fine robes, his short hair styled and the brown eyes sparkling. Harry was reasonably sure that Lord Nott and Theodore would be good to him, it was funny how fast the prejudices against magicals born to Muggles seemed to be changing. It was probably not as easy as it looked now, Harry was sure that no one would dare to go against Voldemort who was one of his Death Eaters, but the reactions to Hermione’s ancestry and the adoption of the boy Aiden today, made it seem easy.

“The family, that is you, Benjamin, and the two boys, will stand in the middle. The representatives of the old families will be standing in the circles marked with their family crest.” Waving his arms to direct the people to their respective places, Harry came to stand on the Potter crest and watched as the others found their places.

“Severus,” Voldemort called to the surprised Potions Master, “You will stand for the Prince family. Come over here.”

The green-eyed teen watched with interest as the normally so pale man blushed and walked stiffly over to a circle drawn between the ones of Longbottom and Fudge, taking the place he was ordered to. Maybe Prince had been the name of the man’s mother?

Soon the three Notts, Benjamin as the father, Theodore as the older brother and Aiden as the youngest son, were surrounded by seven witches and wizards standing for the Families of Slytherin, Potter, Malfoy, Black – represented by Narcissa Malfoy who had been born a Black, they had asked Sirius Black, but the man was not feeling well enough – Fudge, Prince – represented by Severus Snape – and Longbottom. Around that circle, and outside of the circle drawn from runes, stood the others in two concentric rings. The children were in the middle, and the rest of the adults stood as the final, outer ring. They barely fit into the kitchen.

The witches in the outermost ring each took up a candle and, directed by the smiling Lord Slytherin, lit them while stating a wish for the family about to grow. Going around the circle counter-clockwise, which would have a stabilizing and charging effect if they were stirring a potion – Harry hoped he would remember later so he could ask if this was also correct here– the witches wished for health, harmony, and wealth, and other things in line with these often-made wishes, until eleven candles were burning.

After that the potion Snape had brought was poured into the goblet, held by Theodore while Lord Nott got a small silver dagger from his robes. Both Notts, father and son, made a small cut into a finger and let a drop of blood fall into the potion. Then a drop of Aiden’s blood was added, and the next part of the ritual was started.

Prompted by Voldemort with a pointed look, Lord Nott started to speak the words he had practiced over the last several days.

“By my own free will I ask the magic of our Family to accept the child Aiden as one of us. He shall be considered a son of the House of Nott, with all that entails. As the Head of the House, this is my wish.” After that he lifted the goblet to his mouth and took a sip, then handed it over to Theodore in a fluid motion.

The teen took the goblet in both hands, looked smiling over to Aiden, and spoke softly his part of the ceremony. “By my own free will I ask the magic of our Family to accept the child Aiden as one of us. He shall be considered a son of the House of Nott, with all that entails. As the heir to the House, this is my wish.” Then he too took a sip of the potion mixed with their blood and handed the goblet to Aiden, who smiled nervously.

The young wizard looked between the man that was to be his father and the teen that would be his older brother and took strength from their encouraging smiles. Taking a deep breath he started, a little wobbly, with his part of the ceremony, gaining confidence as he spoke. “By my own free will I ask to be accepted into the Family of Nott, to be son and brother, to learn, be protected, and protect.” He took a small sip from the potion, making a grimace at the taste, and held the goblet so that Benjamin and Theodore could touch it too.

Harry felt magic building around them, it was like a buzz in the air, a little like static electricity and different from the magic he had felt as he had been adopted and Voldemort had claimed the title of Lord Slytherin.

Going by age, the seven standing for the Families of the community spoke their words as witnesses, stating that they saw the earnest desire of the family to have Aiden as a part of the Family, and Aiden’s sincerity in wishing to be part of the Family. They all choose slightly different words, as Lord Slytherin had told them that the intent was the important part, not their exact words.

Then all present spoke the closing words, “So mote it be!” And with a bright flash of warm light the circles lit up and vanished, bathing them all in a feeling of community and acceptance.

Shivering a little under the magic, rubbing the goosebumps on his arms, Harry looked around and only stepped out of his place after he got a small nod from Voldemort.

The assembly quickly dispersed into a normal party, with the adults getting wine and little pastries and the children being ushered into the garden to cool butterbeer and ice cream, as well as a small gobstones tournament.

Harry was glad that Aiden and Theodore were in the centre of attention, and he was able to blend a little into the background. Tomorrow that would be different, as they were invited to the big Malfoy summer party, and Voldemort already had warned him that he was expected at least partially to take part in the political manoeuvring that was sure to happen.

But that was tomorrow. Today he could see what playing gobstones was like, as he never had tried before.

Chapter Text

Settling back behind his desk, Sirius huffed a sigh and rubbed his brow. Getting the estates back into some semblance of order was hard work. And most of it was shuffling paper around, not his favourite kind of pastime.

But if he wanted to get influence, which he needed to even try to get involved in any way in Harry’s life, he needed to repair the reputation of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. And getting the finances in order was the first step he needed to take.

Visiting the party tomorrow was the second step. Not going to this adoption ritual today was one thing he could get away with, but after that he would have to go to the events held by the families of society.

He sighed again. It seemed as if it was his fate to become everything he had wished to avoid. Oh, the irony of it all.

He raised his gaze from the contract that was on the desk in front of him and let it roam over the room. Everything was covered with the dust of ten years. Spider-webs were spanning the distance from the wall to the shelves, from the ceiling to the candelabra. And the other rooms were in no better shape. Everything that was from some kind of fabric needed to be replaced, some of the furniture had bugs in it, and not only the magical type.

It was obvious that Kreacher was simply no longer capable of caring for the house properly. He would need to find another elf.

Molly came over some days of the week, but since he had thrown the Order out of his house, and Hermione and the Weasleys had returned home, she came more infrequently. And why should he blame her? The Weasley family still held to Dumbledore, and as Grimmauld Place was no longer the headquarters of the Order, it was no longer a priority to get the house into a habitable state again.

Sirius sighed again and stood as he heard the door to the house open and felt his friend pass the wards.

“Remus!” he greeted the werewolf as he stepped into the study. “How is my best friend today?”

With a wide grin the sandy-haired man stepped into the room, and closed the door behind himself. “As we are between moons at the moment, I’m feeling fine.” Eyeing the stacks of parchments, Remus turned his slightly mocking smile to his animagus friend. “And how does Lord Black cope with his paperwork?”

The Lord in question groaned. “Don't remind me.” He let himself drop into the chair again and flopped his head back. “I just found this old betrothal contract father had set up for poor Regulus.” Sitting up straighter, Sirius looked his old school friend in the eyes. “And that got me thinking. Will he make something like this for Harry? It is likely, isn't it?”

Hoping for a negative response from the other man, and knowing that he would not get one, Sirius looked under his long fringe to Remus, who sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk.

“From what I have seen so far, he educates Harry like any other heir to a House with a seat on the Wizengamot. So it is likely that he will arrange a marriage for Harry.” Remus leant over the desk, his hand touching the other on one arm. “But he takes good care of him.” Regret and revulsion quickly chased over the werewolf’s face. “It's hard to admit, but I believe that Harry now lives under better conditions than he did with Petunia and her husband.”

Both men sat in silence for several moments.

Sirius had to agree with Remus, it was hard to admit that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was behaving with more decency than Petunia and Vernon Dursley. A Dark Lord more human than two Muggles? It was really too much to bear.

But it was true. Harry had always looked too thin. Compared to his parents, Lily and James, he had been too short and too thin, as if he had been ill as a child, or a picky eater. And now the last time he had meet with his godson he had looked better. Not as thin, wearing decent clothes, and rested as if he had finally gotten enough sleep, after a long time.

“There will be a line of witches, with the intention to marry me,” Sirius sighed, sadly smiling at his friend.

“And what do you want to do about that?” Remus wanted to know.

“Choose one?” Taking the old contract into his hands, Sirius read the stilted words used in those contracts that still held such importance in the world of the old families of the wizarding world. “I don't think that I can flee now, like I did when we were teenagers, Moony.”

If he wanted to exert influence in society, he would keep to the rules of the society. Even those that seemed to go against all the rules decent citizens would want to uphold.

After he got himself a new elf, he would have to check the cabinet with the blackmail material.

oooOOooo

Severus Snape watched playing children in formal robes running through the gardens of Nott House. He had a glass of iced wine in his hand and thought about the happenings of this morning. The ritual had been a revelation. He had been a bit wary when the Dark Lord had given him the text explaining the old ritual and the potion that was needed, demanding that he brew the potion and deliver it to the ceremony.

Taking part as one of those blessing the adoption as part of the community had filled him with a sense of kinship, of belonging. It had been a powerful rush of magic. He was sure that only a few of those present had truly felt it. His Lord was one, of course, and he suspected that Potter – no, Slytherin, he had to get it into his head – had felt it to.

Dumbledore had sent him here, or thought he had done so, and was now waiting in his tower for his spy to bring him a report on the ritual.

Draining his glass, Severus placed it on a small table where it vanished – courtesy of the elves – before he turned, and saw the young heir Slytherin being covered in slime as he lost a game of gobstones against the recently adopted Aiden Nott.

The teenager gave a carefree laugh and flung some of the goo at the young boy, who ducked under the blob, turning to run, starting a merry chase around the garden.

It felt surreal, all this merriment, this carefree laughter, a summer party with smiling adults and playing children. All this because the Dark Lord had ordered one of his loyal followers to kidnap a child – even if there were adoption papers, it had been a kidnapping – and take it into his family.

Severus searched for Benjamin to take his leave and kept looking for their Lord, as he wanted to check what information the man wanted to be passed on to the Headmaster. The Potions Master found their host standing on the patio speaking with Madame Longbottom, near their Lord who was in a discussion over the agenda of the next Wizengamot session with the Minister, and waited politely until Benjamin could turn to him to receive his words of thanks.

While he waited he made eye contact with his Lord and suddenly felt the man at his mind shields. Not daring to deny him entry, Severus lowered the outer shields, presenting a mental image of the headmaster’s office and projected a feeling of purpose. He almost flinched as he felt approval projected into his mind. Quickly he projected questioning and an older image of himself giving a report to the Headmaster.

In the few heartbeats he waited for his Lord’s reply, Severus contemplated the implications of this form of communication. He never had read about something like this, of two Legilimens communicating mind to mind, using images and emotions to convey information. Was it just something no one had ever wanted to write down for others? Or was it that the level of proficiency needed was only seldom reached by two individuals in the same time and place so that it never even came to this even being possible?

Before he was able to formulate more theories, the Dark Lord projected a few scenes into his Potions Master’s mind. First a fast forward of the adoption ritual from his perspective with a clear focus on the happy smiling faces of Benjamin Nott and his now two sons. After that followed a clearly imaginary picture of Lucius and Narcissa, both with radiant smiles and Narcissa obviously pregnant. And the last was a wedding party set in some garden with Severus standing, smiling, in the place of the groom, beside him an undefined person.

Taking a steadying breath, projecting an image from himself bowing low into the Dark Lord’s mind – getting amusement back – Severus turned to Benjamin, who just had finished his discussion with Augusta, who went for a new glass of punch and some pastries, and turned to the professor.

“Severus, already on the way back to your laboratory?” teased the older Lord with a fond and happy smile. This day was one of the happiest in the last years and it was showing.

“The summer is the only time of year I can even hope to get a little research done, Benjamin,” drawled Severus, easily falling into the banter he engaged in with the more intelligent of the Dark Lord’s followers. Some of them he once had considered friends. Maybe now with the changed dynamics and goals that could be true once more? But that was something to be pondered over. Not something to be hastened.

“I thank you for giving me the opportunity to brew this interesting potion, and for inviting me to be part of the adoption of your youngest son.”

Benjamin Nott smiled, raising his brow mockingly, they both knew that the Dark Lord had ordered Severus to brew and Benjamin to invite the Potions Master. But with all the people listening in at this cheerful summer party, neither of them would even think about it too loud.

“You are the best Potions Master around, Severus Snape. And you are Head of House to my oldest. Of course I would invite you to this important event for my family. Thank you for coming, and have a nice day with your research.”

On his way around the house and to the edge of the wards Severus exchanged polite greetings with a few of the guests and finally, with a last look at the playing children, apparated away.

ooooo

Walking in the summer heat from the gates over the grounds up to the castle, Severus prepared his Occlumency shields, shuffling memories around and sorting them, so he was in the right mental state to go before the Headmaster and give his report.

Severus snorted, realising that he now acted the way he had done every time he had walked to a meeting with the Dark Lord as he had worked as Dumbledore’s spy in the past.

It was appalling how fast everything had changed.

A few minutes later Severus stepped into the Headmaster’s office and stopped in his tracks, because there were more people present than he had expected.

“Pomona, Filius, I had not expected to see you here,” the Potions Professor said as he took his seat in the last empty chair standing between those used by his colleagues.

“I thought it prudent to have all Heads here, after all, we are speaking about one of our future students,” the Headmaster said offering a small silver dish of pale yellow candies to the dark-haired wizard, and as he declined, to the other professors.

“And,” the old wizard hesitated and placed the dish with his favourite candies back on the desk, “there was a fire reported in London on Thursday that did not use any kind of accelerant known to Muggles. A man died in the fire.”

Severus looked up to the Headmaster and saw that the twinkle in his eyes was absent. Not about to give the man any hints, even if he could guess where this was going, dark eyes only threw a questioning glance at the Headmaster.

“The man was known to the police for his unhealthy interest in small boys.” All present shuddered at the thought, that there were actually humans capable of such evil. “And the Aurors are investigating the fire because they believe that it might have been caused by a wizard or witch.”

“I dare say he will not be missed,” was Severus’ casual reply, he had known it was going in this direction. Albus was fishing for information. Well, he could give him some.

Sighing for effect, Severus sat back in his chair and started his report on Aiden Nott.

“I know that the boy, Aiden, was living on the streets of London. It seems he was not happy with his parents and chose to live on the streets. He was retrieved on Thursday, and the adoption papers were signed by the boy’s biological parents on the same day.” Dark eyes met blue. “I have been asked to provide nutritional potions for the child, as well as a potion used in the Familia Adoptio Ritual.”

At the name of the ritual Filius reacted with widening eyes, interrupting Severus’ report. “Was this ritual not abandoned by the old families bent on blood purity, because it only adds a child to the familial magic and does not affect the familial connection?” He sounded and looked astonished, as if he could not believe a family like the Notts, known for caring about the purity of blood, would use a ritual with this known “problem”.

Severus nodded. “There are rituals and potions, illegal ones, that will change the parents of a child to those who add their blood to the potion, thus altering the appearance of the child, making it an actual descendant of the family adopting the child.”

Before Severus could explain more, Albus interrupted with a question of his own. “Could you have brewed the illegal potions, my boy?”

Rolling his eyes, Severus answered his employer with mockery clear in his voice. “I have encountered nothing that I could not have brewed if you gave me the recipe and the ingredients. So, yes I could have, but I was not ordered to.”

It seemed that the Headmaster did not truly value his skills, or just wanted to ask obvious questions. Better to talk about the important bits of information.

“Aiden Nott is not in any danger. When I was leaving, he had just won a game of gobstones against Mr. Potter. He was having a good time at a party given for him. The nutrient potions indicate that his previous life was not ideal. I have seen a happy child today.” Concentrating on the Headmaster, who looked like he did not approve of the happenings of the day, Severus stated in a matter-of-fact voice a theory he had held for quite some years now. “Say, Headmaster, this boy was living on the streets, because he could not bear living with his parents. Do you think he would have reached the age of eleven and come here, if Lord Nott had not taken action and adopted him? The man that died that day, you clearly believe that his death is somehow connected to Aiden’s adoption. Why would you think that? And if they had met and the death in the fire was connected to the child, do you think he was about to take the young wizard to a safe place? Headmaster?”

All other Heads of House shifted uneasily in their chairs, Pomona fidgeting with her sleeves, Filius dangling his legs above the ground, Minerva checking her bun, they all had asked the Headmaster to check how many children in the book recording the birth of magical children within the borders of Britain were crossed out. How many children had never received a letter because they had died before they had turned eleven?

They all had let the Headmaster talk them out of their desire to check. And Severus was sure they all recognized what had happened two days prior, and realized who was to be thanked for rescuing a young wizard from a gruesome fate.

The tension in the room was rising until the Headmaster nodded solemnly and smiled, his eyes twinkling once more. “You are right, Severus my boy. Aiden now has a happy home, and the Aurors are capable of finding out if there was a spell involved in the unfortunate death. We have other matters to discuss.” He turned to the Heads of House of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. “Pomona, Filius, thank you for your time. I shall not delay you further. In a few years we will meet Aiden Nott at his sorting ceremony, and then we will hopefully see a happy child coming to one of your houses.”

Filius jumped from his chair and followed Pomona out of the circular office. Only the members of the Order of the Phoenix remained in the room, and Albus banished the now no-longer-needed chairs.

“Severus, you know that to check on the book we would need to break the wards that surround it. And to do so would endanger it and its magic, only to get a list of children we cannot save. Is it worth the risk? I know that there is a problem, but we need to find another solution.” For a long moment dark eyes were locked with twinkling blue ones, and finally Severus lowered his gaze.

They had argued about this several times. The book that recorded the births of magical children was protected from humans coming near it, to make sure that no one tried to kidnap young Magicals from their families, or kill those born to Magicals that had no magic themselves. They knew that each year muggle-born children died from different reasons, and they wished that they were able to prevent it. The Ministry did nothing to get such children out of their families, because they argued that if there was a problem, like abuse, then the Muggle Authorities were capable of handling it. And keeping closer watch to prevent magical accidents would risk the Statute of Secrecy.

Severus wanted to get the number of deaths to prove that there was a need to do more. But Albus argued that if they risked the magic of the book, they would never be able to invite those that did survive.

A vicious circle in Severus’ opinion. But maybe the Dark Lord had decided to do something about it. Recognizing this as the perfect opportunity to present the information in a unsuspicious way Severus let a faint expression of realization pass over his face. It would not do to display it too openly, or not show it at all. Albus Dumbledore was no amateur in this game, so the Dark Lord’s spy needed to give it his all.

“I guess the Dark Lord has decided to do something about the problem.”

“What do you mean, my boy?” asked the Headmaster, leaning forward in his chair steepling his fingers.

“Lucius told me a few days back, that he will not require me to brew him the contraceptive potions for the next time. And I have been ordered,” he had to struggle to tell this, not only to make the whole more believable, but simply because he liked his privacy and had to tell the old manipulative goat and Minerva something really private, “to find a partner and start a family.” Ignoring the twinkle in the Headmaster’s eyes and the gasp from the Head of Gryffindor House, Severus simply continued with his report, a scowl on his face. “Together with the adoption of a young wizard who likely would have died in the streets, I think there is a pattern emerging.”

A small, wrinkled hand appeared on Severus’ arm and Minerva squeezed it gently in silent support. Ignoring it for the moment, the Potions Master fixed his gaze on the Headmaster, who contemplated the spy’s conclusion.

For several long moments, only the hissing and whirring of the countless strange silver instruments distributed over all the shelves in the office was to be heard.

“I see what you are hinting at, my boy. But I can’t see the reason he would act this way.” The question was not stated, but obvious in the pale blue eyes.

Shaking his head slowly, Severus answered in the negative: he did not know why either. “Maybe he got his hands on a muggle book on genetics? I do not know his reasons. I can only speculate based on my observations.”

And so they started to speculate over the Dark Lord’s plans. Dumbledore started asking for the particulars of the ritual, which Severus gave in all the minute detail he was able to, so it was several hours later that Minerva and the Potions Master left the office of the Headmaster.

On their way down to Minerva's quarters to get a nightcap, the Scottish witch asked her younger colleague, “How long do you have to fulfil your orders?”

“A little under a year to find someone to marry.” There was almost no inflection to Severus’ reply.

In an obvious effort to cheer the younger wizard up, or at least distract him a little, Minerva asked with a cheeky smile. “These robes aren't black, are they?”

“They are not, Minerva, as well you know. The colour is called midnight blue. I was attending an adoption, black would hardly have been acceptable.”

Laughing heartily, Minerva gave her password to the lion painting guarding her door and let Severus go in before her.

Severus just knew that his former Transfiguration Professor would be telling amusing stories all evening to cheer him up. There were worse ways to spend an evening.

oooOOooo

Back at Griffin House in the dining room, Marvolo ate his soup and watched his son absent mindedly rubbing at his joints. He wondered if this was a sign of magical exhaustion from participating in the ritual, or if he just had over-exerted himself running around in the gardens of Nott House. He would have to ask a few questions to get to the bottom of this mystery, but maybe he should start with something else before he began to pry.

“How did you like the day, Henry?” he inquired between two spoonfuls of soup.

Clearly contemplating, the young green-eyed wizard finished chewing his bread and took a sip of his watered red-wine – pulling a grimace, he did not enjoy wine – before he answered. “Aiden was very happy. As was Theodore. It was the first time I had a chance to play gobstones. It was a nice day.” He shrugged and tried to look unconcerned, but failed miserably – at least Marvolo thought so.

“What did you think about the adoption ritual?” Marvolo really wanted to break his son’s bad habit of thinking of all rituals as dark. Reflecting on what rituals the teen had been part of, he clearly had to stick to the adoption ritual for the moment. Maybe he should create a few occasions for more positive rituals in the future.

“It was… different. Why did no one knew what they had to do? Why hasn't it been used in so long?” The unasked question – whether it was illegal – stood unvoiced between them.

“It fell out of use as the views on purity of blood started to take a broader hold on the old families. They stopped adopting magical children found in the Muggle world into their families, and thus stopped using this ritual.” Sipping from his own wine, the red-eyed wizard examined the teen on the other side of the table. “Ask what you want to know. I can virtually read your question in the air.”

Holding back a smirk at the scalding glare Henry shot him at being made to say it out loud, Marvolo waited patiently for the teenager to voice what was on his mind.

Grinding out his question through his teeth while sending death glares at his guardian, Henry finally asked, “Was it a dark ritual?”

“No.” Marvolo smirked a little. “Not according to the categorization after the magical theory. It would be considered grey, because on the one hand it requires blood, but on the other it only works if the participants are willing.”

Henry furrowed his brow. “What do you mean after the magical theory, sir?”

“Well, the Ministry has its own categorization. It differs in large parts from the one used in magical theory. The number of dark spells and rituals considered dark under the Ministry’s definition is large. But there are only a few truly dark or light spells and rituals.”

The soup plates vanished, replaced by dinner plates, while a platter with a light meal of various vegetables and chicken appeared in the middle of the table.

Marvolo filled his plate with mostly vegetables, he had had quite a few pieces of cake over the afternoon and now was not really hungry.

Henry rubbed his fingers, as if he was in pain, before he filled his plate. He started to worry a little, why was the teen doing this? But how to ask and not set the teen off?

“What would be an example of a light spell?” the boy wanted to know, trying to steer the conversation back into less dangerous territory, calming down.

“The Patronus Charm is one of the only light spells I know of. Because it cannot be cast with malicious intent, and only serves the purpose of defending the caster, or others, against dark creatures.”

With surprise clear in his green eyes Henry asked, “And what about healing spells? Aren't they light?”

Shaking his head and swallowing his bite of carrots, Marvolo replied, “I can cast a healing spell so someone will not die before he can be tortured further. So they can be cast with ill intent, and therefore are not truly light.”

Mulling over this new information, a frown on his face, Henry was silent for the rest of the meal. But before he could excuse himself after the pudding – strawberry ice with vanilla sauce and whipped cream – Marvolo gestured for him to stay seated.

“How are you feeling?” He managed to let his voice stay neutral. Even if he felt anything but. Marvolo did try not to think about what he was feeling or why. Maybe concern about the health of his heir? It had been a big ritual, only seldom had he felt this much energy from one.

“Fine,” came the automatic reply, the teen shrugging, rubbing his arms.

Now it was Marvolo’s turn to frown. “Do I need to repeat that I do not want you to lie to me?” There was a threat of anger in his voice and he shot the teenager a calculating look.

But Henry did not notice, he was looking at the table, kneading his hands.

“Sometime this afternoon my arms, legs, and hands started to hurt.” The head covered in unruly black hair – all attempts at taming it had been futile – snapped up and Henry started to babble. “But it is not really a problem, I’m sure tomorrow it will be gone. Really, sir, no need to make a fuss about it.”

Taking a deep breath – it would not do to snap at the teen – Marvolo shoved his anger at the Muggles who had harmed the young wizard, deep down into his mind. He had to stay calm.

“I will decide if there is need to make a fuss. I will cast a diagnostic charm at you, so we can see if there is something to worry about or not.”

Getting his wand out of its holster, Marvolo stood and waited for the teen to give his consent. No need to force the boy if he might yet say yes.

And as the teen nodded Marvolo murmured the spell, making the flowing, swirling motion of the general diagnostic charm, one of the only healing spells he actually knew. Maybe he would find some time to learn more about healing, as he had told Henry, it could prove useful to be able to heal others.

The result was inconclusive. Marvolo frowned and Henry looked apprehensive. “I think I will get your Healer here.” With raised hand he stopped the teen from speaking. “I know you do not think there is any reason to make a fuss. But do remind me, have you finished a Healer’s education?”

The teen shook his head mutely.

“Neither have I, so I will call an expert, so we can know for sure.” Indicating for Henry to stay where he was, Marvolo turned to the door and walked the short distance to his study. There he tapped the small snake ornament and walked back to the dining room. It was still and hot, and he sat down, taking another helping of the ice with a large dollop of whipped cream.

Henry got himself a new portion too, and they waited.

They did not have to wait long before Flimm brought Healer Greengrass into the room. And as all his Death Eaters would do, the young healer fell onto one knee in reverence.

“Henry has had pains in his bones since this afternoon. We did participate in a big adoption ritual this morning, and were at a garden party after that. I want you to check for the cause.”

Getting up from the floor, the healer turned to his patient and explained what he was about to do, while Marvolo looked on, eating his dessert before it could melt.

It only took a few moments and a few spells until the healer turned to address Marvolo and his adopted son.

“My Lord, heir Slytherin-Potter, there is no need for concern. These pains are rather common for growth spurts. He can take a pain potion if he needs one so he can sleep. And in a few days they should vanish. That it is setting in now is a sign that the nutrient potions are doing their work.” Malcolm Greengrass was smiling, happy to bring good news. And Marvolo was feeling rather happy as well – a somewhat novel experience, being happy about the news that another was not ill – and nodded in approval to his healer.

“It also means that we can start to think about treating those badly healed bones. Have you decided which method you would prefer yet?” the healer asked of the young Slytherin heir.

Watching his son thinking about his options, vanishing and regrowing the affected bones or breaking them anew to heal them, Marvolo was not sure which option he would have chosen. He dimly remembered having a broken arm when he had been maybe five or six, and he remembered that it had been rather unpleasant. And he knew, from theory and watching, that having bones regrown was a nasty experience.

Finally the teen, decidedly pale now, fixed his bright, green eyes on the healer. “Re-breaking and healing them on the spot is the faster way, right?” asked the teen, visibly nervous.

“It is,” nodded the younger Greengrass, “But breaking the bones again will be as painful as the first time.”

“Vanishing the bones might not be painful, but I remember an arm without bones, that was odd.” Henry shuddered. “And regrowing them was hard and took long. I rather would have it over with quickly.”

“I suggest the start of August, after your birthday, Henry,” Marvolo suggested, ignoring the healer for the moment, he never would repeat anything he would hear or see here.

Nodding in agreement, the teenager stood mute, rubbing his hands.

“Go up to your room and prepare to go to sleep. It has been a long day. I will send a potion up to you.”

Nodding again, Henry turned and gave a minute bow to the healer and then went, without further greeting, out into the hall and up to his room.

After the teen's steps had faded away, Marvolo turned to his only fully trained healer, who had resumed his kneeling position from earlier.

“Prepare everything for the second of August, if you need potions, inform Severus Snape so he may brew them. Are there any questions? Dismissed.”

The healer left and Marvolo took a last bowl of ice along to his study. If he worked fast, he might get the paperwork done today, so he would not have to bother with it tomorrow before they had to leave for the Malfoy garden party.

oooOOooo

Getting up in the early hours of the morning, Narcissa rushed to get dressed in comfortable, light robes, while Lucius took extra care with shaving this morning.

It was Sunday the 23th of July, the day of one of the two big events they hosted every year. All the important people of wizarding Britain would be here today, and it had to be perfect.

“I will be in my study, Lucius,” she called back over her shoulder, almost out of their bedroom.

“Yes, my dear. I will meet you there,” sounded the slightly muffled voice of her husband from their bathroom.

It was a really important party today. Much more so than all of those of years prior. The Dark Lord, Lord Slytherin, would be in attendance, as well as the Minister, her newly freed cousin Lord Black, and a great number of others that were of some importance in their world.

While Narcissa went down to the study calling her elf, Flower, to her to go over the number of dishes and how they were to be arranged, she thought about the objective Lucius had for the day.

Staging a new start for their relationship to the new Lord Slytherin in a way that would seem inconspicuous to the light wizards and witches. In some way that would not set off the aurors, or Dumbledore.

Yesterday evening, after they had already extinguished the light in their bedroom, Lucius had confessed to her that he still did not know how he would go about it. He just hoped to find an opportunity at the party, or create one in a stroke of inspiration.

Turning her mind to the problem of where to place the ice-cooled drinks with and without alcohol – there were a few that had problems with judging when they had had enough – Narcissa lost herself in the planning.

ooooo

Draco was standing in his best formal robes, the crest was done in silver thread on the darker blue silk robe, lined with a pale blue silk with a pattern of feathers woven into it. He loved his new robes, but at the moment he felt rather hot in his fine woolen trousers, the long-sleeved silken shirt, and the robes over it all.

He nodded in greeting to Madame Bones as she stepped out of the floo, following the Minister. As was custom, the heir was standing beside his parents, greeting all the guests and being bored to death.

And then there was the Dark Lord in green robes with the Slytherin crest, followed by Potter in mostly grey robes with embroidery in red and green, snakes and flames respectively. Remembering the night he had witnessed the Dark Lord torturing that witch in their entrance hall and trying to not think about it, Draco gave the expected greeting.

He looked forward to the moment he could slip off and meet with his friends back at the small pond under the old trees in that out-of-the-way corner of the grounds. They had arranged to meet there in the letters they had exchanged.

Nodding to yet another pair of old people in formal robes, the blond teenager hoped that this ordeal would be over soon.

ooooo

For the moment Harry shadowed his guardian, as instructed, and they were standing in the shade of a big parasol, each holding a cooled drink.

It became apparent quickly that this was an occasion used for politics, scheming, and fencing with sharp tongues.

And so here he stood together with the Minister of Magic, the pink Undersecretary who had asked the dangerous question during Sirius’ trial, Voldemort, Lord Nott, and another of the Death Eaters Harry had seen that night in the graveyard, McNair.

They were speaking about different topics, mostly about problems with the control of magical animals and the struggle it was to keep Muggles from noticing them.

Harry was sure that if this had been the summer of last year, he would have tried to find a way to get out of the conversation as soon as possible. But now that he knew he would have to be a politician, at least part of the time, he was paying special attention to what was happening around him.

The topic of conversation changed with the arrival of Sirius to their group. Harry smiled at his godfather and got a smile in return.

“I do not understand why you claim that our current laws regarding werewolves are insufficient,” the pink witch said in a voice sweeter than sugar. Harry felt unwell with the way she smiled at Voldemort, like she was talking to a stupid child, that was not going to end well.

But Voldemort was made of sterner stuff, and he was a consummate actor. The man smiled politely and seemed to be totally unconcerned. Sirius was rolling his eyes in Harry’s direction and politely listened to the answer given.

“All beings need certain things. Shelter, food, company. Your laws deny those witches and wizards affected by lycanthropy those basic needs. Only the most strong-willed individuals are able to stick to their morals while denied what everyone craves.”

A worried look crossed the blue eyes, a look that Harry knew to be false as well as the eyes' colour.

“This need is an easy tool to use for someone to get the alliance of most of them.” That he had exploited these weaknesses in the past went unspoken but heard by all present.

Harry briefly wondered if he would have noticed the unspoken conversation last year and guessed that he would have... if he had been able to stay calm, that is.

With a scoff, the witch, resembling a toad quite a bit in Harry’s opinion, disregarded the other’s words. “They are no more than savage animals. If not for the soft-hearted liberals, we could have solved the whole problem long ago.”

Stiffening in anticipation of an explosion of his godfather’s temper, Harry closely watched the man’s face and noted an exchange of glances between the newly appointed Lords Black and Slytherin. The former Lord Voldemort seemed to say ‘let me handle it’, while a sceptical Lord Black send a look of incredulity and something like ‘sure, try, it's your funeral’ back.

“While I was searching for a History tutor for my son, I received several dozen applications. I only could invite ten of those to an actual interview. And only Mr. Lupin was in any way competent enough for me to hire to teach my heir about our history. So I would contest your claims.”

The smile on Voldemort’s face was poisonous, the smile on Madam Umbridge’s face was strained, and Sirius looked a little stunned.

Harry was a little bewildered. Why was Voldemort defending werewolves?

oooooo

Sirius wandered over to the buffet with the fruit cakes, as he was hungry. It was a little confusing. That bastard of Lord Slytherin defending werewolves, making sure that Harry and Sirius got to meet as often as they did.

He wanted to be more involved with his godson, even if he had not dared to hope that he would be as involved as he was now, he wanted more. He wanted to be able to decide some things: about the money of the Potters, about where Harry was living, who was to teach him, what he would learn.

Taking a strawberry tartlet, Sirius stepped to the side so that others could get to the table and take some of the delicious-looking pastries and tartlets.

Lord Black was contemplating methods to get more involved with young Harry’s life. One way would be to make Harry his heir. It would grant him some more influence, as a Lord, or Lady, had the right to see to the way their heir was educated.

Sadly, Sirius was not sure if Harry could fill the spot, as he did not know all the requirements of the Black heir. As Harry’s grandmother had been a Black, he was at least related to the family not too far back. But Draco had a closer relationship through his mother. Furthermore, Harry was a half-blood due to his mother being born of non-magical parents, but Draco was a pureblood. He needed to go through the old family books. Maybe he could get one of the older portraits to help him get all the requirements listed. He dearly hoped that Harry was a better candidate than Draco.

Finishing the last crumbs of the tasty tartlet, Sirius turned to find some friendly faces to talk to when he spotted the widow Zabini walking over the short, green grass, looking around as if she was searching for something or someone. Fearing that it was him she was looking for – she had been known for hunting for wealthy bachelors to marry even in the days before he had been sent to Azkaban – Sirius quickly ducked behind some wizards on their way to the buffet and hurried to be somewhere else.

Maybe he could find Harry away from that bastard Slytherin and talk with him.

ooooo

With a friendly smile to counteract the sour face of her husband’s friend, Narcissa motioned Miss Strout to step forward. She was a healer in the Janus Thickey Ward, and the blonde Lady hoped that Severus would not manage to run her off too quickly.

Watching the Potions Professor speak with the witch in her rather outdated robes – they surely were at least from last year – Narcissa contemplated what qualities a woman needed to be a suitable wife for the youngest Potions Master in several hundred years.

She needed to be intelligent, Severus needed someone he could converse with, debate. She needed to be able to counter his sharp sarcastic statements and his often gloomy moods. It would probably be best if she had brown, blonde, or black hair... as long as it was not red, and any colour of eyes but green.

Narcissa strongly suspected that Severus still was attached to the unobtainable witch, better to find him someone that differed as much in appearance as was possible.

But to find someone would be hard. All that were younger by a mere four years had been taught by the man at some point. So she had to stick to those he had gone to school with, or some that were older.

And she only had close ties to the pure-blooded witches, and most of those were already married by now. Or not suitable at all for one reason or the other.

And so she watched a conversation die right in front of her eyes and she planned and plotted, thinking up ways that she might be able to find a selection of witches that might be a match for Severus Tobias Snape.

Maybe she could send out a question into the circles for witches interested in marrying the last of the Prince family. The way things were developing, it might be a good idea to flaunt this, he was a half-blood, so not related to quite so many families, so with the stigma of impure blood being lessened, he became a rather interesting catch.

Yes, that might prove to be the way to go. Only one year. Too short a time, but what was she to do about it?

ooooo

As he searched for a spot a little away from all the hubbub, Harry found Neville standing beside a curious-looking flower.

“Hi, Neville, did not think you would be coming here.”

Turning, startled, Neville smiled brightly. “Harry! So good to see you. I've been hearing the weirdest stuff about you all summer. Gran told me you've been adopted by… You-Know-Who?” The round face of his fellow Gryffindor was coloured with concern. “Is it true?”

Nodding reluctantly, eliciting a startled gasp from Neville, Harry smiled sadly. “It is true. And weird. Really weird.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“And you are okey?” Neville asked reluctantly.

Before Harry could answer, a few other teens came around a bush, talking animatedly.

Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria, as well as Pansy and some more of the Slytherins from their year, came to stand before the two Gryffindors.

Bowing slightly, Draco Malfoy greeted the other teens. “Heir Slytherin-Potter, heir Longbottom. What a pleasure to meet you.”

Remembering the proper response Harry bowed as well, not as deeply, as his Houses were of higher standing than the House of Malfoy, and replied, “The pleasure is all mine.”

As he came back up from the bow he caught the surprised looks on the faces of all the other teens, and could not refrain from rolling his eyes.

“That I was denied the opportunity to learn what I need to know, does not mean that I am incapable of learning.” he pointed out.

“You didn't know?” Neville turned to his friend and stared incredulously at the raven-haired boy.

“I knew nothing.” Harry sighed. “What do you want?”

“Want to play a round of exploding snap?” Asked Theodore all of them and got reluctant agreement.

Together they found a place under a tree, and Malfoy junior called for an elf to bring them a blanket and a pack of cards.

ooooo

Buzzing through a flowering bush and the heavy scent of it, a shimmering green beetle searched for a group of people standing near enough to one of the plants to hear what they were talking about.

The beetle, with a complex pattern around its head and antennae, found an interesting group consisting of the Minister of Magic, the host of the party Lord Malfoy, the newly named Lord Slytherin, who was largely an unknown factor, and some minor workers and assistants standing in the shade of a linden tree. That looked promising.

Finding a low branch to sit on, the beetle made itself comfortable and listened in on the conversation.

“How have you been adjusting to being alive again, Lord Slytherin?” the Minister of Magic asked in a cheery tone, sipping from the glass of cool lemonade he held in his hand.

“Mostly well, Minister,” the young and quite attractive-looking Lord Slytherin answered. “Henry and I are adjusting to living as a family, and we have moved to one of the Potter properties, so that we no longer impose on the hospitality of Lord Nott.”

“I think it must be rather strange to come back into society after being cut off from all company for so long,” drawled Lucius Malfoy with a badly hidden sneer on his face. There seemed to be quite a bit of animosity there.

Nodding his head and looking a little forlornly at the ground, only to look back up and lock gazes with the blond Lord and host, the wizard with his bright blue eyes spoke with a deep sadness evident in his voice and posture. “It is. But stranger still is the realization that my wand killed one of the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin, a member of my family.”

He looked to the side, closing his eyes for a short moment, and the beetle sat with fast flapping wings in excitement.

“Henry and I went to Gringotts to get an ancestry test done, and learned that his mother,” he gulped but forced himself to continue, “that his mother was a descendant of a squib line descending from Salazar Slytherin.”

This revelation clearly shocked the Minister and made Lord Malfoy think, if his furrowed brow was anything to go by. This was good, more than good. So as not to miss anything the beetle shifted its place a little closer to the end of the branch, a little closer to the wizards standing beneath the tree.

“And even knowing that I was not strong enough to fight the curse that made me do all those horrible things, I still feel somewhat responsible for the things that happened.”

Here the wizard in Slytherin green robes, with his brown hair carefully styled, turned to the host of this party. “I remember that the Imperius curse was placed on you, Lord Malfoy. And I know that there is nothing that can reverse what happened. But I hope that we will be able to start over again.”

With a thoughtful gaze, Lucius Malfoy played with the glass he held in his hands, nodding slowly, inclining his head, he conceded, “I think that a civil working relationship between the houses of Malfoy and Slytherin is possible.”

With a bright smile and a jovial mien, the Minister looked between the two Lords. “You see, Lord Slytherin, it all turns out well in the end. I can help you to make amends to those that … had problems with you. Arrange meetings. And with young Harry, you are on the right way as well. I’m sure of it.”

The small wizard reached as high up Lord Slytherin’s shoulder as he could and clapped awkwardly in what probably should be a reassuring gesture.

He got a small sigh and a sad smile for his efforts. “You are right of course, Minister. Henry has given me purpose again. Ordering the estates for him, giving him the education he will need. He is the light of my life. And I hope that I will be able to rebuild the Slytherin fortune, so his children can continue both families in the future.”

One very smug beetle launched itself from the light green leaf into the fragrant summer air in search of another group to listen to. This party would fill the papers for weeks. Of that it was sure.

ooooo

Shuddering inside, Marvolo watched the Minister walking over to another group of wizards, standing a little nearer to the pond. The Minister was much too self-important to even recognize when he was being used. And the lower clerks always following in the man’s wake would spread the horrid sob-story he had performed all over the Ministry. It would not take long, and hopefully would defuse some of the more sinister rumours starting to creep along the grapevine.

Maybe he should organise some outings for Henry and some of his classmates, maybe he could arrange for Xerxes' grandniece to be included, so the public would get to see him in a context of happy family life.

Parting ways from his follower, searching for some others he should speak to, Marvolo made his way around a group of chatting witches – they seemed to be discussing the pregnancy of one of them – towards the manor.

Maybe one of the blueberry muffins could help with getting rid of the foul after-taste of his performance.

ooooo

A group of several witches and wizards had gathered around a bench and nibbled on pastries, sipped on drinks. They looked on as Lord Slytherin parted ways with the Minister and his entourage, walking over to another group and striking up a conversation.

“Do you believe his story about that curse?” Amelia Bones asked no one in particular, distractedly watching a group of small children running by.

“Not one moment,” snorted the new Chief Warlock. “I am sure that the story about some curse that affected him is fabricated. But it is undoubtedly true that he is saner now.”

They all nodded their heads. It was obvious that the man different from what they remembered of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But what exactly was different, none of them was really sure.

“If I did not know who he used to be…” Augusta Longbottom shook her head, making her hat with a big flower arrangement wobble dangerously “... I would never suspect the way he is acting now.”

Dodge nodded solemnly. “Whatever he did to get back, I think he will be much more dangerous now.”

“I wonder why the Prophet is surprisingly quiet about the whole affair. It is something that Skeeter woman normally would love to write about.” Amelia drained her glass and set it down on the bench beside Lord Abbott.

“They probably don’t want to admit that they were wrong in claiming that Potter had lost all his marbles. Give them a few more weeks and they will be all over this story. By then most will have forgotten what a smear campaign they were driving against the poor boy.” Abbott heaved a sigh and leant back in the bench.

“We all allowed ourselves to be too easily surprised,” growled Augusta. “Why was it no one of us knew what was going to happen?”

“He always was a master of deceit, if we are to believe was Albus tells me. I would guess that he planned that very carefully, and only involved those he can trust,” Elphias Dodge offered as an explanation.

“It does appear, though, that Malfoy really was under the Imperius,” mused Abbott.

Amelia snorted. “I doubt it, but he is a hell of an actor.”

“We need to keep close watch on what Lord Slytherin is doing,” Augusta practically demanded, a purple flower on her hat quivering with her fury.

“I will make absolutely sure that he respects the traditions and rules of the proceedings in the Wizengamot,” Chief Warlock Abbott promised.

“And I will keep an eye out for any law breaking.” Amelia said, sighing. “I wish I could use his old crimes to get a warrant to search his house and put an auror on him. Can you do something about that law he used?”

oooOOooo

Looking back at the day, Harry downed his pain potion so he could sleep despite the pain in his arms and legs. He only was wearing shorts and a t-shirt to bed.

It had been a weird day. Seeing all those he knew to be Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, mingling with all those other wizards and witches, those that proclaimed themselves to be Light, had been a bewildering experience. And the card game with the Slytherins had been weird too. He never would have guessed that he could be civil with them. Or better yet, that they could be civil to him.

How would they react when they learned that his mother had magical ancestors, that Hermione was related to the Lestranges? The magical world was about to change, and his world with it. He still was not sure what he should think about that.

Slipping between the thin silken sheets on his bed – it was too warm for anything else – Harry looked out of the slightly opened window to the stars and waxing moon. How he wished that he could speak with his parents. Ask them for advice. Ask them what he should do.

Could Sirius answer his questions? He was not sure if the man could really leave his bias out of it, though. From his parents Harry would expect that they would want the best for him, whatever that would entail. But Sirius had a tendency to not see very far, or at least it had seemed that way, that night in the Shrieking Shack and later in the hospital wing after the third task.

Why did his life have to be so complicated?

Chapter Text

Pacing in a semicircle in his office, ignored by Fawkes, who groomed his magnificent tail feathers, Dumbledore grumbled into his beard, agitated. How did it happen that everything was going this wrong?

He had declined the invitation to the big summer event the Malfoys hosted every year in the gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor. He had thought that meeting Harry would be counterproductive. But he never would have guessed what other things would come out of this event.

Turning sharply, his robes brushing the shelves, the aged wizard marched in the other direction, throwing a furious glare at the Prophet from this morning laying on his desk, among all the other mail he had gotten.

Rita Skeeter had always been a little liberal in interpreting the facts to get a big audience to read her stories. And Albus suspected that the big opening article on the front page of this morning's edition was as firmly based on fact as all other articles the reporter had ever written.

It was a ridiculous story. A mix from the rumours started the day they had to declare Tom Marvolo Riddle alive again, exonerating him of all the crimes he had committed, and some bits of a conversation she had probably been spying on.

But the worst bit was, the public loved Rita Skeeter and her sensational articles. They practically were eating out of her hand, believing everything she wrote. They had believed the drivel she had written about Harry during the Triwizard Tournament. They would believe what she was writing now about the young Lord Slytherin.

She had asked the question if Lord Slytherin was a villain or a tragic scholar. It was laughable. But it made him realize that he would not be able to work in the open. No, he could not be seen as working against Lord Slytherin. He was the champion of the Light, the man that granted second chances. And he was running out of time.

He needed to start now. He had hoped that he could get more information before he had to start. But it seemed that he would have to begin collecting now. He already knew where the Gaunts had lived, and suspected that the ring Tom had suddenly stopped wearing was one of his horcruxes. Probably the second one the boy had created, if he was to assume that the diary had been the first one.

He wished he could concentrate on collecting memories, the people that knew anything of value about Tom Marvolo Riddle and what he had been up to after school had started dying off, if they were not already dead.

Throwing himself into his chair behind the desk, Albus started to riffle through his mail. He had come to a decision. He would start searching for the horcruxes, he had to abandon his plan as it was highly improbable that he would get Harry to cooperate. He sighed. The boy had grown on him, it was a shame that he had to die. But maybe… he would leave the horcrux in Harry for last. Maybe by then he would have found a way to remove it from the boy without harming him, or Tom would have found a way.

The old face brightened into a smile, as Albus found a letter from Alastor. The old auror had found the place Horace had been hiding out. Maybe he had a chance to get a little more information out of the old Potions professor. One should never let go of hope.

A trill from his familiar made the old wizard look up to realize that it was time to leave for the meeting of the Wizengamot.

No need to hurry, as he only was attending as the regent for the Potter seat. But maybe he should use the opportunity to gauge the reaction the blasted article was getting.

Determined to make the best out of this complicated situation, the Headmaster left his office to walk to the edge of the wards, so he could apparate to London.

oooOOooo

At the breakfast table in Griffin House, Lord Marvolo Slytherin was chuckling quietly. He had hoped that the story would get out to the public, but he never would have guessed that it would get out so fast.

Spooning some fresh cherries – cooked and in a sweet sauce – onto his porridge, he subjected the picture accompanying the article to an intense scrutiny. It was a picture captured from a memory and seemed to be shot from an overhead angle. They had stood under a tree, and he was reasonably sure that there had not been anyone hiding out in the branches. Maybe someone on a broom under disillusionment and silencing charms? But it did not really matter in the end.

Lucius probably would start panicking by now, wondering how someone from the press had managed to breach his wards. Or if someone among his guests had been spying with the intent to sell what he or she learned to the press.

Smirking and starting to read the article for a third time, Marvolo tried to identify what part of his story that he had told the Minister had been overheard. This Skeeter woman went all in. Bringing up that he had been prefect and head boy, the award he had gotten after he had framed that half-giant Rubeus Hagrid – not that she mentioned any details – the story he had told the Minister, and pretty much everything he had said about his current situation yesterday at the party. She had thrown in a few numbers about damage to property and death from before his fall, and brushed past the tragic happenings of that night.

He had to admit, that she knew how to do her work. She had found a lot of details about him, more than he had thought anyone would be able to, who had not known him in his younger years. But he also had to say that she obviously did not care one bit for the truth.

He scoffed and added a third spoon of sugar to his tea, stirring to mix it thoroughly. Rita Skeeter exaggerated without reason, and the way she had written the headline ‘Villain or Tragic Scholar?’ already implied that she wanted to paint him as a tragic hero. And the rest of the article only added to this. Each negative fact was countered by one of her funny little positive lies. It was almost too good to be true.

As he started on his breakfast in earnest – they had to be on time for the Wizengamot, so it would not be wise to dawdle – Henry walked into the room in casual robes and with messy hair. It was a losing battle to try to tame it.

“Good morning, Henry. I hope you did sleep well?”

The teen nodded in response, settling into his chair to the right of Marvolo. “Good morning, Sir.”

Eyeing his son critically, looking for signs that the teenager was still in pain, Marvolo levitated the newspaper over to his the still half-asleep son.

Wordlessly declining the offer with a shake of his head, Henry grabbed two pieces of toast and started to spread some raspberry jam on them.

“Have you decided if you want to keep the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts as your regent?” Marvolo asked between two sips from his morning tea.

“I’m not sure, Sir.” Henry hedged, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

Smiling and taking the last bite from his porridge, Marvolo explained to his son again, “You know that I will have to speak for you if you want to change who is regent and gets to vote the Potter seat. So I need to know.” He gave the teen a pointed look, and got a small nod in return.

“I will decide before we leave. Is that early enough, sir?” The last was spoken in an annoyed tone and Marvolo was happy to see the teen getting more comfortable around him. He was sure that in a few weeks he would be not so happy anymore that the fear was gone and the teenager was behaving as they all did: moody, unpredictable, unreasonable. The parents among his followers had assured him that it was normal for teenagers to rebel against their parents. And a little rebellion was something he should be strong enough to endure, hopefully.

“Make sure to decide if you want to sit on the Potter seat, or with me during the session. If you sit with me I can give you live commentary. If you choose to sit alone, I want a detailed report on your observations once we are home.”

Henry groaned and shot his guardian a disgruntled look, before concentrating solely on his breakfast. Smiling to himself, Marvolo took an apple and started to peel it. Life was much more exciting now that he could see clearly again.

Then the post arrived, levitated by the house-elf on a silver tray, and they divided the small pile between them. Almost every day Henry got a letter from one of his friends. Henry smiled and opened the letter that Marvolo guessed was from Xerxes' little grand-niece.

He himself had a few letters from different business-wizards to whom he had made inquiries about investments, one from the manager from the weaving mill that belonged to the Potter family and that he had reactivated, and one from Witch Weekly.

At Marvolo’s incredulous laugh, Henry looked up from his letter, startled.

Waving at his son Marvolo shook his head. “Do not worry, Henry. This,” he held up the envelope and the parchment that had been folded inside, “is a request from Witch Weekly for an exclusive interview.” He chuckled. “It feels quite surreal.”

The raven-haired boy rolled his eyes and returned to his own letter.

oooOOooo

At another breakfast table, Neville Longbottom was gathering his courage to ask something of his grandmother. He had really rather not ask for anything. But he had a feeling that this was something important, something that he had to do, something he really wanted to do.

Even if she despised everything that had to do with Lord Slytherin. She had ranted a lot over this man since that emergency session of the Wizengamot and even more since the trial of Sirius Black. To say that she did not like him was an understatement of gigantic proportions.

Swallowing his bite of sausage, Neville caught Augusta Longbottom’s eye.

“Gran, I was wondering if I might invite Harry over for an afternoon?”

After a long searching look, the grey-haired old witch nodded slowly. “He is a Gryffindor, is he not? And I suppose we should help him get away from that man as often as possible. So yes, you may, Neville.”

They smiled at each other, both happy. Neville for getting what he wanted, and his grandmother over the fact that her grandson was showing a little bit of initiative.

oooOOooo

They were both dressed in their family robes, clashing beautifully in their Yuletide colour combination, as they walked into the chamber of the Wizengamot, Henry just one step behind Marvolo. The teen immediately spotted his godfather standing to the side, speaking with some of the more neutral members of the chamber.

Green eyes searched for contact with glamoured blue ones, clearly asking for permission to go over and say hello to the other newcomer at this month’s regular session.

.:Behave yourself:. was all Marvolo hissed to the boy, who smiled and hurried, as dignified as he could manage, over to the man in black robes with silver trim.

Marvolo nodded to Lucius, Benjamin, and Xerxes standing together and discussing the agenda of the day, walking over to Augusta Longbottom and her grandson. Time to put on the mask of polite, young Lord Slytherin, and make sure that Henry’s first real decision about his political standing was carried out.

Funny how things developed sometimes.

ooooo

Sirius quickly got rid of his current company as he saw Harry walk in behind that bastard of a Lord. He was glad about it as only moments later his godson walked as fast as was just this side of unacceptable to him, a huge smile on his face.

Returning the smile and happy greeting, Sirius gave his godson an assessing look. “You look good in Potter colours. What was that robe yesterday?”

“That was the combination of both the Slytherin and Potter colours.” With a look of remembrance Harry smiled and added, “You should have seen the other robes the tailor sent. They were horrendous.”

Sirius gave the teenager in his mostly red robes a questioning look, getting a chuckle from his godson. “Green and red? It looked like Christmas decorations.”

They shared a laugh.

Sirius looked around, seeing that no one was paying them much attention and Lord Slytherin was walking over to Augusta. “How is life?” he questioned in a low voice.

Looking to the side, pulling his hand through his perpetually messy hair, Harry sighed. “I love my room in Griffin house, I love speaking to the portrait of my grandparents. But it's so weird... living with him. I just don’t know anymore, Sirius.” The desperate and bewildered look in the green eyes, asking for reassurance and help, was almost too much for Sirius.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Sirius started an explanation. “Would you like a few more colours to add to those dress robes? I’m searching for an heir. I have to check the requirements, but I think you would be right. But I would understand if this would be too much responsibility,” he started rambling, and took a deep breath to get back on track. “As my heir I would have a certain influence over you…” he trailed off.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” huffed Sirius.

Harry looked unsure, but before they could get deeper into the topic, Neville walked over.

“Harry, good to see you again so soon.” He smiled and nodded politely to the adult wizard standing beside Harry. “Lord Black.”

Smiling at the son of Alice and Frank, Sirius returned the nod and the greeting. “Heir Longbottom.” The boy looked good. It irritated Sirius to no end, that the man who was somewhat responsible for the torture that rendered the parents of this boy incapable of caring for him, was standing with the boy’s grandmother, free to go as he pleased.

Getting his mind off this unpleasant topic – he could not do anything about it anyway – Sirius turned his attention back to the two teenagers speaking animatedly about what the day was to bring.

Harry seemed happy. Sirius was totally bewildered by that fact, but it was obvious. Shooting a speculating gaze at the back of Lord Slytherin, Sirius wondered if a monster could change, or if he just had changed into another kind of monster.

Probably only time would tell.

ooooo

“Madame Longbottom, may I ask for a moment of your time?” Marvolo made sure to approach the resolute witch so she could watch him the entire time, and kept his stance non-threatening, his voice polite, his bow slow and not an inch deeper than was necessary. He did not want to make her suspicious, or at least not more so than she already was.

“Neville darling, why don't you go over to your friend and talk with him. It is his first day here, after all,” were the words the witch used to send her grandson away, not averting her eyes from the younger-looking man, standing before her.

The young wizard did not hesitate, and Marvolo watched him walk over to Black and Henry.

To make sure that they were not overheard – he did not want to ruin the surprise – he waved his hand, erecting Severus’ excellent privacy charm. It would be rude to draw his wand, and it was convenient to demonstrate just how capable he was concerning magic.

“What do you want, Lord Slytherin?” her voice conveyed just enough disdain to be perceptible.

“I want to speak to you on behalf of my son.”

That got a surprised reaction from the witch. Oh, that was fun, it was a good feeling to surprise people.

“I made him read the records of the votes from the current Potter regent. I wanted him to decide if he was happy with the way the Potter seat had been used.” He briefly looked over to his son, checking on him, before continuing. “He was not happy. And so I asked him to name another person.” He gave her his most charming smile, delighted over the way she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I know that it is highly unusual to ask so suddenly, but Henry only told me about his decision before we left the house this morning.” He watched the understanding dawning on the lines of the face of Augusta Longbottom. “Would you be willing to be the regent of Potter until my son comes of age and will be able to take over the seat himself?”

“You are serious,” were the first shocked words after a long moment of silence. Marvolo stood silent and let her eyes roam over his face, searching for deception, sure she would find none, as he was sincere with his request. Henry needed to learn to make decisions and trust in his judgement. At the moment, he felt that this witch would represent his political ideals the best.

Marvolo would have enough time in the next two years to sway the boy away from Dumbledore’s way of thinking, and giving him enough room to come to the right conclusions while feeling in control would only help in the long run.

The boy had been failed by almost all adults in his life. Proving to be reliable would give him a tremendous advantage.

“I am honoured by your request. I agree to be the Potter regent. We will arrange meetings between Heir Potter and me to discuss his political goals, and Neville has stated his interest in spending more time with… your son, Lord Slytherin.”

She clearly was not happy calling Henry his son, but Marvolo did not mind, he was getting what he wanted. Smiling winningly, he took down the charm again, nodding in the direction of the Ministry seats, indicating the people getting to their seats. “I thank you, and I am sure we will be able to find time for those meetings. It seems the session is about to start. Madame Longbottom.”

They parted and made their way over to their respective seats.

Now to see what Henry would decide on where he wanted to sit for the day.

ooooo

Harry listened intently to Neville telling about his lessons preparing him to one day take over the Longbottom seat. Once again anger filled him over the Headmaster’s decision to keep him in the dark, he did not understand why the old man had done so. What was the purpose?

“Where will you sit?” the other Gryffindor wanted to know.

“I haven't decided yet,” was Harry’s answer, and he looked over to the Slytherin seat, carried by two coiled snakes, and then to the Potter seat in the row in the middle, carried by a male and a female lion, seemingly made from some sort of clay.

“What do you mean ‘you have not decided yet’, Harry?” Sirius wanted to know, looking back and forth between the rows of seats and his godson.

“He said I can sit with him, with him giving commentary, or sit on the Potter seat and give a report at the end of the day.” Rolling his eyes and huffing an irritated sigh, Harry explained, “I think he demands that to make sure that I do not start daydreaming.”

“And where do you want to sit?” Neville looked curious and slightly terrified at the idea of sitting near the man that had once been Voldemort.

“Not really sure.” Harry eyed the stool standing in front of the bench made of clay. “I do not fancy sitting the entire day so close to the Headmaster.” Harry scowled at the bearded wizard striding in through the doors, long after almost everyone else had already arrived. “I get why he wanted me to grow up out of the spotlight. But he could have made sure that I learned everything I need to know. Now I have to cram all that into a little over two years.”

Sirius nodded and looked at his godson with calculating eyes. “There is something more, Harry. I know that look. What prank is about to be played?”

Neville looked confused but Harry sported a grin. Yes a prank, that was what it could be called. The Headmaster was about to experience quite the surprise. Only in a fleeting thought did he remember with whom he had planned what was to happen today. Regardless who was involved, the Headmaster had left him with the Dursleys, had never checked on him, and had kept too much too important information from him. A prophecy, that he was carrying a part of a soul around with him? No, the man was not trustworthy. And it was a chance to test if Voldemort would keep his word.

“I think I should go over. See you later.” Harry smiled and gave a little bow to the other two. “Sirius. Neville.” They parted ways, Neville going to his grandmother, taking a seat on the cherry wood bench carved with vines and blossoms beside her, Sirius walking over to the seat of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, a bench out of black, silver-veined marble resting on two big crows, and Harry walking over to the stained silver seat of the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin.

Let the show begin.

ooooo

Marvolo felt smug as he saw Henry walking over to the Slytherin seat and not the Potter one. This day was promising to get good.

“Sit down, keep quiet and observe, Henry,” he quietly said to his son, lightly placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, guiding him to sit on the right side of the bench. Then he sat down beside the teen, folding his hands over his knee, crossing his legs and letting his gaze wander around the hall, watching as the others took their places.

“Do you remember the sequence of procedure for a Wizengamot session?” They had not much time for Henry to learn all that he needed, so Marvolo turned everything he could into a lesson. After the announcements from the Chief Warlock, each of the Lords and Ladies would be asked if they had something to announce, and newcomers would be called to give the oath.

Alphabetical order, so he would have to wait to near the end. And Black would be one of the first.

After Lord Abbott had called them all to order, and the last of the Lords and Ladies had taken their seats, the Chief Warlock started with the announcements. Listening with one ear, Marvolo checked on his followers. Lucius had brought his son, but Benjamin had let his stay at home. Probably to keep his new, younger son company. Many had brought their heirs, but many benches still were empty. Maybe he could manage before the end of the year that one more seat was once more filled.

They were asked to make known if they wanted to announce something, and Marvolo sent his little scroll over to the secretaries with a wandless floating charm. He felt a smile curl his lips: his first Wizengamot session, a day to celebrate.

One of the secretaries, a red-haired, lanky, young wizard, compiled the different little scrolls into one long list and handed it over to the Chief Warlock.

“We now start with the oath for our new members. Lord Black, if you would be so kind as to stand.”

A few seats to the right, Sirius Black stood from the bench, getting his wand out of the sleeve of his silk robes. He placed his wand, holding it with both hands, over his heart and looked determinedly in the direction of the Chief Warlock.

“Lord Sirius Orion Black, why have you come here today?”

“I came to claim my rightful place in the midst of the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot.”

“Are you willing to swear an oath? If you are, speak after me.”

Marvolo watched Henry watching the proceedings with rapt attention.

Lord Abbott started to state the oath all members of the Wizengamot had to swear the first time they came to a session.

“I, Lord Sirius Orion Black.”

And the last of the Blacks – the last of the direct line – repeated the words with the gravity appropriate for the occasion. “I, Lord Sirius Orion Black,”

“Swear my most solemn oath.”

“Swear my most solemn oath.”

“To always work for the good of the Magicals of Britain, to the best of my knowledge.”

Magic started to build up, not as thick at it had been the day he had claimed his title as Lord Slytherin, but noticeable nonetheless.

“To always work for the good of the Magicals of Britain, to the best of my knowledge.”

“So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” repeated Lord Black and with a bright flash of light the oath took effect.

“That is all?” came a baffled whisper from the teenager on the bench beside him. “That is the oath that's supposed to make sure that the members of the Wizengamot are…” the teen struggled to find the words to express his disbelief, and Marvolo chuckled quietly.

“It would be a ridiculous oath if that was its true purpose.”

Green eyes looked questioningly up to Marvolo, they had come a long way since that disastrous first day.

“The purpose is to make sure that each of the members bases his or her actions alone on their moral compass. Not to be swayed by blackmail, fear, or outright force. If one wants to grant even a small measure of free will, oaths tend to be quite weak and open to interpretation.”

A small frustrated huff came from Henry, who watched Black sit back down. “So it is basically pointless.” After a small pause the teenager hissed .:And you could continue like you did before, sir:.

Marvolo contemplated for a moment before he hissed his reply. .:If I was convinced that it was the best for our community, then you are right, I could continue the same way. But that would not be the best:.

The look from the teenager was sceptical, but he stayed silent and turned his attention back to the proceedings.

“Lord Marvolo Slytherin, why have you come here today?” Chief Warlock Abbott now directed his words to the youngest-looking man wearing a Lordship ring in the room.

Marvolo stood, his wavy brown hair brushing along the high collar of the shimmering dark green robe, getting his wand out of its holster, smirking inside as he saw several people flinch.

Intoning the traditional words, Marvolo noticed the pinched look and forced smile on the Headmaster’s face, where he sat on the small wooden stool in front of the Potter bench. “I came to claim my rightful place in the midst of the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot.”

The words of the oath were repeated and Marvolo felt the magic settle in him alongside the oath he had taken a few weeks before.

A few unimportant notices later, Lestrange was called to make his announcement.

“I, Xerxes Lestrange, change the rules of inheritance for the seat of the Noble House of Lestrange. From this day onwards, the position as Head of House can be held by a witch, as can be the position as heiress. By the magic of our family, so mote it be.”

A murmur swept through the hall. They all knew of the plight of the family Lestrange: the current Lord not married and unlikely to have more children, the only sons without children and in Azkaban for life. For as long as anyone could remember, the Lestrange Head of House always had been a wizard. But now the position could be held by a woman.

That move was sure to create rumours. Was there a witch waiting in the wings? Someone that could take over once the current Lord would die? Marvolo knew, of course, that there was a possible someone: Henry’s little friend, the incredibly intelligent Hermione Granger. It seemed as if his old friend hoped to convince her to become heiress.

Their gazes briefly met, and Marvolo nodded with a small smile. A good move, even if he should fail at convincing the young witch. There just might be more Squib lines to be discovered.

Benjamin announced the adoption of Aidan, an announcement no one was surprised by, they all had been invited to the ceremony, after all, and quickly the letters went by. Until “Potter” was called.

Dumbledore made to stand, but Marvolo waved him back into his seat, standing himself. “As the adoptive father of the Potter heir, I will speak for my son.”

Another murmur swept through the Wizengamot, and Marvolo spotted some smirks and some disturbed faces among those attending.

Turning to the front and concentrating on the round face of Lord Abbott, Marvolo smiled and started with his announcement. “My son is not happy with the way the Potter seat was voted in the past decade. And I’m not happy with the way the current regent has performed his duties. Therefore Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore will no longer be the Potter regent from today.”

Chaos erupted at this proclamation. It took several minutes to quiet the enraged witches and wizards down again. Funny that they did not react this violently and loudly as they had to free him from his past crimes, but now that he was about to change who was regent for his son, they made a fuss.

Maybe because this was much easier to process and a move they had anticipated, in contrast to his suddenly appearing before them, looking totally different, unearthing an ancient law no one had heard about before and pleading to be declared alive again. They had come to terms with the fact that he had not actually died that night.

With a face as red as a howler, Lord Abbott sat down again, waving for Marvolo to continue, glaring at all the others to stay silent. Nodding in assent, Marvolo did just that. “I asked Madame Longbottom if she would take the position as Potter regent, and she agreed. So from today, Madame Longbottom will be regent for my son, the way he wishes it to be.”

And more whispering and murmurs were the result of this.

Marvolo had to really control his face to prevent the smirk from showing, as his eyes fell on the flummoxed faces of his followers. That was not something they had seen coming. Not at all.

ooooo

Harry realized quickly that most of the work in the Wizengamot was boring. Well, from his perspective at least. After the hubbub from the announcement and the joke of an oath Sirius and… his momentary guardian had had to make, it got rather hard to keep paying attention.

At the moment, two Lords were having a heated debate over fees for importing cauldrons. It sounded distressingly like Percy lecturing over the thickness of the bottoms of said cauldrons.

He rolled green eyes as the Lords slid into childish insults. And startled at the quiet chuckling from beside him.

.:They tend to do that, or so Lucius told me:. hissed Voldemort in his direction, clearly sounding amused.

.:That is utterly unproductive! Why is the Chief Warlock not doing anything about it?:. Rubbing his scar, Harry suppressed a yawn. It was really hard to pay attention. He was glad that he had chosen to sit on the Slytherin bench with Voldemort, otherwise he would have had trouble giving a report at the end of the day. What a surreal thought.

.:Stay awake, Henry. Is the scar bothering you?:. Was there worry in the hissed words? Harry was not sure.

He shook his head. .:No, sir. Just a regular headache:.

.:If you are sure:.

They listened to some more childish bickering before the Chief Warlock finally called a halt to it and called for a vote. Voldemort raised his wand with those against the raise of the fees, hissing the explanation to Harry that there was no reason to raise them except that the one Lord had invested in some apothecaries and would lose money if the fees for cauldron import were raised, and both families did not get along well.

Harry was amazed how childish politicians seemed to be.

The next point on the agenda was a new law proposal regarding werewolves.

Harry immediately recognized the witch they had met on the day of Sirius' trial. She stood and cleared her throat, trying to get the attention of the assembled members.

“The elusive Madame Umbridge. It is surprisingly hard to get any information about her,” murmured Voldemort near Harry’s ear, continuing with the promised live commentary he had provided at every turn.

As the witch finally began speaking about the law she wanted to see passed, the green-eyed teenager quickly realized that the woman was in her own personal war against werewolves. She cited statistics about an increase of near-attacks, near-fatal attacks, and newly infected in the last years, claiming that the aurors had to take a harder stance against the ‘monsters’.

And suddenly Voldemort was standing, and all eyes turned away from the speaking witch to rest on him.

“Excuse me, Madame, but may I ask a few questions of you?” he sounded so polite. Harry wondered if Voldemort would consider a career as an actor if this taking over the Ministry plan didn’t work. Wrenching his concentration back to the reality happening around him, Harry almost laughed over his absurd thoughts.

Clearly irritated, Umbridge nodded, “Sure, you may, Lord Slytherin.”

“Is it true that the increase in the number of attacks from werewolves started after they were denied the right to possess land or property, after employers were made responsible for eventual slip-ups rendering werewolves unable to find work?” He made only a short pause, mockingly raising one brow, before he continued. “We have the means to keep ourselves safe, to keep them safe. We can ward a stretch of fields and woods, we have the wolfsbane potion. But the laws we currently have prevent werewolves from paying someone to ward a place, or buy the potion. They can’t even do it for themselves, because we deny them a proper education. That is where we are wrong, and the law you were about to propose would only make the situation worse.”

The chamber was pandemonium after that. Umbridge tried to claim that all werewolves were monsters that did not want to keep away from potential victims on the nights of the full moon. Some demanded to see those statistics, others brought up topics that only were a tangent to the original problem: unemployment in general, low qualifications of werewolves, the lacking quality of school brooms at Hogwarts.

Harry only tried to follow the different directions conversations – mostly shouted – were taking before he gave up, rubbing his scar.

The new law was neither discussed nor voted on in this session, and the Chief Warlock called for the lunch break quickly to get the mass of people under control again.

While they were waiting for the room to empty, so they could walk over to the smaller chamber holding a buffet to grab a bite to eat and something to drink, Harry turned to the man in green robes standing beside him.

.:Why do you… why standing up for werewolves?:. He wanted to know this now, and to avoid being overheard he used parseltongue as they had done throughout the morning.

.:I may have made a promise to get rid of the oppression against werewolves the Ministry enacts:. was the nonchalant answer, given with a small smile. .:I may had planned to use other means to get it done, but I’m still able to work to that goal:.

Harry frowned. “I do not really know what your goals are. Now, I mean.”

“No, you can’t. I have not told you, so how could you know?” The man looked down at Harry, clearly contemplating what else to say. “I do not think that it would work out if I were to simply tell you. But you can ask me what I think of a particular subject. I will do my best to explain my point of view to you. Maybe not then and there, but when there is enough time and privacy.”

Not sure if he could believe this statement, and fully aware how ambiguous and open to interpretation it was, Harry just nodded and followed Voldemort over to the buffet, hoping that something to eat and a glass of water would help with his headache.

And so they walked over to the buffet through all the others, mingling and talking, avoiding those that they could not stand and connecting to their allies.

ooooo

Lucius felt like someone had grabbed the rug he had been standing on and had jerked it away. His Lord appointing a Longbottom as regent for his son? He could not quite wrap his head around it all.

He took a little cucumber sandwich from one of the plates. The morning had been quite amusing, seeing Dumbledore leave after he had been replaced by Madame Longbottom as regent and finally his Lord’s passionate, if short, speech about werewolves, he was glad that he had taken Draco with him today. Mostly these sessions were tediously boring.

Seeing his son looking over to the Longbottom boy standing with his Lord’s heir, Lucius nodded to the blond boy. “Go over and speak with them. Take a break from all us boring adults.”

“Thank you, father,” Draco quietly replied, straightening his robes and walking over, visibly steeling himself for the conversation with two Gryffindors.

As Lucius turned back to the buffet, Lord Slytherin and Lord Nott stepped up to him, and they started an easy conversation. He waited for the perfect opportunity to bring up the topic he had wanted to discuss for a few days now. It presented itself when Benjamin started to speak about tutors he wanted to hire to teach Aiden.

“Master Snape will take Draco on a trip to collect ingredients in the woods. I promised him to ask if your sons could accompany him.”

Smirking, Lord Slytherin asked, “And Master Snape knows about his luck to be responsible for three teenage boys at the same time?”

“I told him of the plan to invite the others, he was not overly thrilled, but agreed.” Lucius assured, aware that Severus normally liked to keep to only one child per tutoring session.

“When is he planning on going to gather ingredients, and what will he be gathering? And where?” Benjamin wanted to know.

“He mentioned the Forest of Dean, and I think he will not change the location, as he was going to request a portkey for travelling with three teenagers, and something about collecting different ferns, mosses, and lichen,” Lucius explained, taking a sip from a glass of lemonade. “And I proposed next Saturday, the twenty-ninth. Does the date agree with you?”

They agreed to the outing for their sons, and Nott House was appointed as the meeting point, so that Severus could pick the boys up.

After that they split up and spoke to others until the break was called to an end, and they continued with much more normal topics until the evening.

oooOOooo

It was infuriating. The nerve of that man! But he would get what he deserved. It seemed to be ridiculously easy to get him out of the way, even without targeting the man himself. A short chat with the secretary of the portkey office and the place and time was clear.

Now plump fingers grabbed a form and a quill, filling out the information needed. Place and time, different numbers, a name, and placing filled-in form with stamp and seal placed between many others, and all was set.

In not a week's time the problem would be out of the way. There was no way he would be able to stay in his position and in her way any longer. In the next meeting all would go as planned.

oooOOooo

Harry sat on the chair in front of his desk in his room, writing a letter to Hermione. He wanted to tell someone of his day at the Wizengamot. And telling Ron was not really an option. For one, Harry was certain his friend would not be interested, and he had not replied to the last letter Harry had sent. Maybe Ron was still angry over what had happened, or maybe jealous. They had disagreed over the way Ron had treated Hermione, and it seemed that he still was sulking.

So he was writing to Hermione. She would likely pester him with questions in her next letter. About the session of the Wizengamot, his lessons, and probably about his life with Voldemort.

He in turn had questions for her. How the meeting with the brother of her grandmother had gone, if she had known he would change the rules about who might hold the position of Head of House for the family Lestrange, what she was going to do about the whole mess.

Standing to get rid of his outer robe – it was hot in his room despite the open window – Harry paced a little. Over dinner his current guardian had asked him what he wanted to do on his birthday. And Harry was unsure what he wanted. He wanted to have a party with his friends, and Voldemort had told him it was expected to give a party for the families of the Wizengamot members. Maybe he could get both?

Only a week until his birthday, the first laden with expectations and social obligations. What a mess.

The teen sat down again, finishing his letter to Hermione, who might find herself in a similar situation to his. Thrust into the life of an heir, or heiress in her case, ignorant of their ancestry until now.

Maybe he should invite her over one of the next few days.

Chapter Text

Hermione walked into the kitchen, where her mother sat drinking a cup of tea and reading the morning paper. The young witch held two letters and the morning edition of the Daily Prophet in her hands, biting her lower lip. She needed to talk to someone. Ron would not understand, Harry was not reachable without hassle, and her father was at work, so only her mother was available.

Not that she would hesitate to speak to her mother about her problems, at least not everyday normal girl problems, but what to make of her recently discovered magical ancestry in light of the current political climate in the wizarding part of Britain was different. It was a tad more complicated than how to know if a boy might like her.

“Mum? Do you have a moment?” the girl got her mother’s attention.

“Sure, sweetheart. What's troubling you?” The brown-haired woman folded her newspaper and placed it on the table, concentrating on her daughter.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione took a seat across from her mother, deciding that it was time she told her parents more about what was happening in the magical world.

“I’m not sure what I should do about Lord Lestrange.” Hermione opened the wizarding newspaper to the politics section, pointing to the article about yesterday’s Wizengamot session. “Yesterday he changed the rules governing the family's legal order of succession. Before, only wizards could become Head of House Lestrange. Now this position can be held by a witch as well.”

Hermione saw understanding dawn in her mother’s eyes. She always was quick in analysing a situation. “Who is the current heir?” the muggle woman wanted to know, tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear, out of her face.

“No one,” answered Hermione, getting a questioning gaze from her mother. “Both his sons are currently residing in Azkaban, the wizarding prison. And their sentence was for life.”

“So you think he might make you the heiress?” the older woman concentrated on the important part, her intense eyes focused on the still worried Hermione.

For this sort of practicality, Hermione loved her mother. Her father was more like her in wanting to know every detail, obsessing over the small parts. Her mother disregarded large parts that were not of immediate importance. Like why the sons of Lord Lestrange were in prison. It did not pertain to Hermione's worries about what she should do about the situation, or so it seemed at least, so she concentrated on the more central points of the question.

“He already offered,” the young witch explained, holding up the letter with the seal of the Lestrange family on the outside of the envelope.

“He wrote about his wish for me to carry on the family. Offered tutoring so I could get to learn what I wished over the holidays, could learn what I need to know if I were to accept.” Hermione took a deep breath so as not to fall into rambling, fiddling with the paper and the letters in her hands.

“And you're uncertain if you should accept his offer, because...? I got the feeling he is a decent man the afternoon we met.”

That was her chance, her chance to really tell her mother what was going on in the wizarding world. In the last years she always had glossed over the worst parts, mentioning them in passing, not going into details. But if she wanted to get real advice, if she wanted to keep her parents, she had to tell them the truth. And with this recently discovered connection, she hoped they would be less likely to try to keep her away.

“Do you remember me telling you and dad about the war that ended when the Potters were attacked?”

Jean Granger nodded that she did remember.

“Well, those two sons are in prison for belonging to the dark wizard’s organization and killing and torturing in his name.”

Waiting patiently as her daughter ordered her thoughts, Jean poured herself another cup of tea.

“It was suspected that Xerxes was also part of that organization. And, well…” in for a knut, in for a sickle. Hermione took a deep breath. “It seems that the dark wizard leading these… terrorists may be the best description… was not really dead.”

“How can someone be not really dead?” asked Hermione’s mother, more curious than anything else.

“I don’t know. Not really... he did something to prevent himself from dying, and it seems to have worked. Anyway, he came back at the end of the tournament that was held at Hogwarts, and claims that he was under the influence of some ancient curse.”

“And you don't believe a word of this?” Jean prompted her daughter.

“Yes, no? I don’t know!” Hermione exclaimed, getting up from her chair, pushing it back and starting to pace in front of the kitchen cabinets.

Silence settled over the kitchen. Hermione paced agitatedly up and down, her slippers making no sound on the black and white tiled floor. Jean Granger sat contemplating the sparse information given by her daughter.

Finally Hermione slumped back into the chair she had vacated earlier, looking to her mother for help to clear the mess and order her tumultuous thoughts.

“You call them terrorists. What are their goals? All terrorist organizations have some kind of goal they claim to be working towards.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “I’m not really sure. I only know what has been told by families called light. And have read what is written in the history books. But as all history is written by the winner, and the light side won, I would speculate that I only have a biased view.”

As her mother stayed silent, Hermione continued to voice her thoughts on the topic. Listing the few facts she had. “They supposedly want to get rid of the so-called muggle-born, preserving the old traditions, practising what is called dark magic. Some of the older families, like the Lestranges, are claimed to be dark. Whatever that term even means.”

A quirked eyebrow urged her to continue.

“I tried to look up the definition. But all I could find looked like it is just a label attached to anything that the Ministry or some other influential party does not want to be used any more. I couldn't even find a comprehensive list of supposedly dark magic. This feels a lot like censorship, and I do not like this. At all.”

Hermione saw the fond smile of her mother, clearly remembering that one time when one over-eager mother had tried to ban several classics from the school library, because she thought them to be inappropriate for children to read. Hermione had gathered what support she could and organized a collection of signatures, banners, and posters to hang around the school, even a small rally in front of the school library, to halt what she had called censorship.

“And well, loss of tradition is a problem all around the world, I guess. So I could understand that. And I detest censorship.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Harry was adopted by Lord Slytherin. I told you about that, right?” Hermione glanced at her mother, who nodded, before looking down to the letters again.

“That's the man who was the one leading the Death Eaters, the terrorist organization, but he was declared not responsible for all the crimes that were committed before Harry defeated him in ‘81.

“I’m just so confused, mum.” Hermione let her head drop into her hands, her bushy locks falling haphazardly around her head and onto the table. “Harry didn't know a thing about his responsibilities as the last Potter. About his seat in the Wizengamot. Mr. Black had no trial, even if Albus Dumbledore as Chief Warlock would have had to make sure he would get one. Why would those that are supposed to be the good ones do such a thing? And Harry wrote to me, that Lord Slytherin is working against the nasty laws regarding werewolves that are in effect right now. Why would he do that? Why would he offer to introduce me to Lord Lestrange if he truly was evil?”

Desperation in her voice, Hermione looked up to her mother, who had her thinking face firmly in place.

“Xerxes knows about your view on the world?”

Hermione nodded.

“So he offered you the chance to become the next Head of House despite you having grown up in the Muggle world?”

The girl nodded again, her curls bouncing around her.

“And as a Head of House you would get to sit on this… Wizengamot? Decide on the laws?”

Hermione nodded again and started to see where her mother was going. “And act as a judge in court. You think I should accept this chance and then make change happen from within?”

“I propose that you try to get more information from another source. You admit that your information is most likely biased, and I know that you are a capable researcher. So I guess you need to find another source of information. Xerxes can be that. And I think your dad would be only too happy to get to know his uncle better. Don’t you think?”

Nodding happily, jumping up from her chair, bending over the table to give her mother a peck on her cheek, Hermione grabbed her letters and the paper, dashing from the kitchen and to her room.

Now she knew what she would do. She would write Xerxes – he had insisted on being called Uncle Xerxes by them all – to state her wish to get to know him better, and to learn more so she could decide if she felt up to the responsibility of being heiress. She thought it a clever way to get more information without committing to something she might not want in the end.

And she would write a long letter to Harry. He had complained about dancing lessons in one of his last letters. Maybe he would tolerate them better if she would be taking part in them. She had gone to a summer course on dancing before fourth year, but dancing in the wizarding world probably was a little different. Also, she needed to see more of how Harry was with his new guardian, needed to see if he was being treated right.

Getting out a new piece of parchment, she started to make drafts for her two letters.

ooooo

In the kitchen Jean Granger drained her cup of tea. She remembered the long discussions she and her husband had had after Hermione had gone off to a school somewhere to learn about magic. Smiling at the thought that Hermione still did not know how much information her parents had been given by the deputy headmistress, she reiterated the conclusion they had reached after the incident with the petrification in her second year.

She was a witch and nothing would change this. She had found friends, a first for their daughter. Keeping her from her world, however dangerous it might be, would do no good, because those dangers were likely to follow her. After all, those dangers surrounded them all. Not being able to see them did not change that.

They had learned about the prejudice of the wizarding world, the dangerous things that happened at the school. But they had decided to support their daughter and accept her wish to keep them ignorant about the dangers they could do nothing about.

It seemed they had been right: the dangers would follow their daughter, but it seemed that she might be able to come into a position to create real change. That thought made her smile. Hermione was such a determined girl if a topic caught her interest. And there was nothing she was more interested in then fairness, equal rights, and opportunities for all. The wizarding world would not know what was happening if she should decide to take up the mantle of heiress.

oooOOooo

Standing awkwardly in the reception room of Nott House, three teenagers waited for their potions instructor.

Draco had to try hard not to fidget or tug at the hems of the sleeves of his sturdy robes. His mother had insisted he wear something sturdy enough to wander through the woods, and not his favourite summer robes of linen and silk. So now he was wearing robes of cotton twill in a nondescript brown colour. He was not really happy with that, but after he had stepped out of the Floo, finding the other two already waiting with robes of much the same material, he had felt better.

But now Potter – no, Slytherin – ignored him in favour of talking with Theo about Aiden and his new tutor. It was infuriating. How could he manage to become a friend to the Dark Lord’s heir if he was not even speaking with him?

Taking a few steps so he was standing next to Potter – no, Slytherin! – in his moss-green robes and Theo in his dark blue ones, Draco tried to integrate himself into the conversation.

He had just opened his mouth to add a comment about being home-schooled for the basics like reading and writing, as the boy with his messy black hair turned so his back was to Draco and didn't even try to let it look accidental.

The blond teen was getting frustrated. His father had told him to get closer to the Potter boy, to become his friend and guide. And after what he had seen the Dark Lord do to the traitor in their entrance hall at Malfoy Manor, he was certain that he would not risk being on the boy’s bad side. Considering how their interactions had been in the last years, he had his work cut out for him. But he did not know what to do.

So he fell back onto well trodden paths. “It is rude to just ignore me!” Draco drawled, shoving his way between the two others, gaining their attention the only way he could think of.

Theo was rolling his eyes at his old friend, and stepped back, letting what was to happen run its course. Draco noticed his friend not taking his side but was much too agitated to process what was happening and act accordingly.

“And you're not rude at all?” asked the Slytherin heir, raising a brow and not backing away.

A little irritated, Draco noticed that they were almost the same height now, but he took another step, coming chest-to-chest with the other teen. “Why do you make it so difficult? I’m trying to be friendly here. We ought to be friends, you know? I can help you.” The blond spoke with urgency, trying to force the other to see reason, to understand, his grey eyes practically sparking.

He took two steps back in shock as the other boy gave an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Did someone mix something into your breakfast this morning?” Green eyes wandered up and down Draco’s figure. “Maybe I have it wrong, but two encounters with barely polite interaction are no grounds for friendship. Especially considering the abysmal former interactions we've had.”

Before the spluttering Draco could manage a response to that accusation, the young Slytherin heir continued with contempt clear in his words. “Let’s see… first time we met you insulted the person I was with and then me, even if you might not have known. Second time we met, you insulted the one I was with for his family’s lack of wealth, and me by claiming I was unable to make good choices for friends. And your tendency towards insults, bigotry, and childish taunts just continued from there.”

The sneer now gracing the face with its green eyes would have been worthy to adorn the Potions Master’s face and made Draco take another step back.

“A lot more would have to happen before I ever would consider being friends with you, Draco Malfoy.”

Silver-grey eyes widened at that statement. He would be in so much trouble once his father heard about this.

“But you're friends with Theo!” Draco wailed, throwing up his hands. Only a small voice in the back of his head tried to gain his attention to point out that he was behaving like a spoilt three-year-old.

“Leave me out of this,” Theodore said, looking mildly horrified, taking a step back, and holding up his hands before him like warding off some noisy girls.

A head covered in messy black hair shook. “You don't get it.” The green-eyed teen sighed. “And I would say Theodore and I are friendly acquaintances. Maybe we can become friends somewhere in the future, but it takes more to be friends then playing a game of Quidditch now and then.”

With that the other boys again ignored Draco, who walked over to one of the tiny love-seats situated around the room, sitting down gracelessly, pondering what he could have done differently. How could he get the Dark Lord’s son to be friends with him? Was it even possible after this?

While he was cooling down, thinking about all that had been said, Draco realized that the other teen had been right. He had a tendency to insult others, and he loved the laughs he could get from his house-mates, the fact that he was the centre of attention when he put someone down. Contemplating where this behaviour had ended with one that now suddenly held a position of power, he started to realize that the moments of fun and attention might not be worth the troubles they might bring in the future.

Draco hoped that the heir Slytherin-Potter would be agreeable to being civil to each other. He would be glad if he could manage a truce and work from there.

oooOOooo

Taking a last look at himself in the mirror, Severus checked a final time that he had everything he would need for an afternoon with teenagers in the forest. His emergency potions kit was distributed among the many pockets of his short, new – and above all, light – robes. Antidotes to some of the more common plants, sunburn paste, blood-replenishing potions... it may seem a bit over-cautious, but he would be responsible for the heirs of three Lords of the Wizengamot. Discretion was the better part of valour, after all.

He placed his dragon-hide gloves in the outer pocket and checked that his dark brown trousers were tucked into his new boots. He was pleased with his new robes and clothes. He had exchanged some of his older black ones for others in dark, muted but nonetheless coloured robes, shirts, and trousers. The robes he had selected today only reached his knees, making for easier movement in the shrubs of the forest.

Stacking four willow baskets and placing the knives in them, Severus walked down from his room to the Floo in his living room. Time for the afternoon Lucius had talked him into.

The blond wizard had sought an opportunity for his son to spend more time with their Lord’s heir before the summer holidays were over and the students would return to Hogwarts for another year. Severus had agreed reluctantly because he doubted that the afternoon would do any good. He would see what the day would bring.

A moment later he was standing in the receiving room of Nott House, looking at a sulking Draco sitting by himself and two animatedly talking dark-haired boys standing a few paces away from the Floo.

Sighing inwardly, Severus realised that the afternoon had already started to go wrong. At least they were not fighting with fists or casting curses at each other.

The students noticed their teacher’s presence and moved to stand before him, forming a line with Draco on one end, Theodore Nott in the middle, and the adopted son of his Lord at the other end.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Do you all have your wands with you?” Each boy nodded, showing that they had them on them indeed. “And your dragon-hide gloves?” Three pairs of gloves were shown, and Severus noticed that the Dark Lord obviously had purchased a new pair for his adopted son.

Nodding in approval, Severus handed out a basket with a knife to each boy. “We will be gathering different mosses, ferns, and lichens today. As there are several plants that can provoke unpleasant rashes, you will wear your gloves the entire time.” He got a series of nods from the boys and got out the portkey, holding it so that they all could touch it.

Moments later they were in the middle of the Forest of Dean. Sunlight was filtering through the leaves, casting them all in a pleasant green light.

Mr. Nott and Mr. Malfoy – in a setting such as this, Severus preferred to think of his students the way he would address them at school – had managed to remain standing, but Mr. Slytherin had landed on his behind in a bush of nettles. The boy looked mortified and a little too pale.

Mr. Nott managed to get the other teen on his feet again, and Severus realized with a start that travelling by portkey might trigger some unpleasant memories for Lily’s son.

Deciding that it might be best to pretend that nothing of importance had happened, Severus walked over to a tree that had some of the lichens on its bark that he wanted to harvest on this trip. He started to demonstrate how to identify the different plants they were to collect and harvest correctly, he let his mind wander.

Henry Slytherin-Potter – he repeated the name in his mind as often as possible so as to ingrain it and prevent slipping up – had proven to be quite different from what the Potions Master had assumed. After he had learned how different the boy’s life had been and that he had not received the education he should have had, it had been rather easy to see where the perceived arrogance and disregard for rules had come from.

The two potions lessons they had had, and the two lessons on Occlumency had gone quite well. The teenager paid attention, asked intelligent questions – considering his lack of knowledge through no fault of his own – and worked well with adequate instruction.

Yesterday they had had their second Occlumency lesson, putting into practice what they had studied in the first lesson. Severus had guided his student in a meditation, a variant concentrating on filling the boy’s mind with the images of a repetitive task combined with a calming breathing pattern. It had surprised the dour man that the young wizard had selected the weeding of a garden and the tending of plants as the images. Despite his surprise, he had to concede that the selected method was suitable for the active mind of a Gryffindor who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve.

All boys had now demonstrated that they had understood how they were supposed to collect the ingredients, and Severus returned his full concentration to his students once more.

“We will split into two groups.” Catching a pleading look from Draco, Severus reconsidered the pairing he'd had in mind. “Mr. Nott, you and Mr. Slytherin will go together. Stay in viewing distance of each other, and be back here before it goes completely dark. Mr. Malfoy will come with me.” Dark eyes looked between the students before him. “Any more questions?”

“No, sir,” was the reply in three different voices.

“Good,” nodded the professor. “Before you go off, let me cast an insect repelling charm on all of us. I do not wish for you to pick up ticks or get pestered by gnats.” He cast the handy charm he had learned after Lily had found it one summer over each of them.

And with this they parted ways. Severus and the blond teen walked in silence over the leaf-covered ground, listening to the fading voices of the two other teens speaking to each other, trying to agree on a direction to walk in.

ooooo

They now had been gathering for almost an hour and Draco had kept throwing glances at him whenever he thought that the teacher was not looking. Severus was quietly amused by this but kept his mouth shut. Whenever Draco was ready he would speak his mind, and until that time Severus would enjoy the quiet and tranquil atmosphere, the little insects flying through sunbeams, and the birds singing from somewhere up in the trees.

“Sir, might I ask you a question?” an embarrassed teen asked of his teacher, fiddling with his knife, cutting some fern close to the ground.

“I’m here to teach you, Mr. Malfoy. This includes answering all questions you might have about the subject you are here to learn.” Judging by the tone and the time it had taken the youth to come out with it, Severus doubted that the question had anything to do with the gathering of potion ingredients, but he was not inclined to make it any easier on Draco.

“The question I need your help with, sir, is more one I would ask of my Head of House.” Succeeding in getting the fern cut, Draco stored it in the basket already filled with several other fern stems before he got up from the ground and looked at the Head of House Slytherin at Hogwarts.

Sighing to himself, Severus placed a handful of moss into his own basket and turned to the young man who was shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks decidedly more flushed than they normally were. Was it the heat of the day, the activity, or maybe embarrassment?

“Why do you want to ask me? We are not at school at the moment, and you certainly could ask your parents for advice, or not?”

Draco looked down to his feet, then up again. “I need advice on something my father wants me to do. I fear that I will be unable to fulfil his wishes.”

Sighing again – louder this time – Severus nodded and set his basket down, turning fully to face Draco. “I will listen and give you advice if I am able.”

Swallowing, Draco nodded and started speaking. “My father wants me to become friends with our Lord’s heir. I tried and failed before. Now I tried again today, but I don’t think that it will work out.”

That had not really been a question, but what the boy wanted to know was obvious enough. “You want my advice on how you can become Mr. Slytherin's friend?” Severus asked for clarification, clasping his hands behind his back.

To his surprise Draco shook his head. “No, he made it quite clear that this will probably not happen.” The teen took a fortifying breath. “No, I fear what father and the Dark Lord might do if I fail to become one of Potter’s friends.”

A look of utter defeat was on Draco’s face and he looked up with pleading eyes to the man he had known for far longer than the years he had been a student at Hogwarts.

“You do not have to fear our Lord’s reaction. He ordered us to make sure all children knew not to attack his son in any way. He did not order us to make sure you all become his friends. If you can remain civil, or even just avoid each other, you should be fine in this regard.” The other part was harder and Severus sighed again. How had he come to be in this position again? Emotional blackmail from a meddling Headmaster, and several dumb decisions in his youth. He had to make the best of it.

“I guess Mr. Slytherin informed you of his reasons?”

Draco confirmed with a nod and a low murmured “Yes, sir.”

“I remember quite a few altercations between yourself and our Lord’s heir. And you certainly have a tendency to clash with his friends as well. If you can avoid those, maybe get a real truce, that could be a starting point for a civil relationship.”

Draco sighed and nodded. “Thank you, sir. I fear that will be the only way.” He made a grimace. “But I really do not know if I can be civil to that know-it-all or the red-headed fool.”

Deciding to warn his friend's son of the changes that were about to come to their world, Severus got his basket from the ground again. “You should try to change your perspective on so-called muggle-born wizards and witches. I know of three instances that an ancestry test done at Gringotts proved a magical ancestry for them.”

Severus saw grey-blue eyes widen in surprise.

“You certainly heard about Aiden Nott’s relation to an old German Family, and I know that our Lord’s son and the Dark Lord himself share a common ancestor through the teen’s maternal line.”

Draco collected his basket from the ground and fell into step with Severus.

“The third example I am not in a position to share with you. But these are three out of three, and I guess that there will only be more added.”

Draco thanked his teacher and fell into a contemplative mood for the rest of the time they spent gathering before they turned to get back to their meeting place.

oooOOooo

Harry had a great time wandering the woods with Theodore. They had filled their baskets with ferns, moss, and lichen, chatting over different topics from their last runes lesson to the last game of the Quidditch league.

But now they were on their way back to the place the portkey had taken them through the increasing gloom of the forest.

Professor Snape and Malfoy were already there, the professor going through the blond’s collection, showing him where he had made errors in harvesting and demanding that each part was identified. With a satisfied smile, Harry noticed that their Potions Master used the same tone to impart his criticism as he used when talking to Harry about his errors.

Theodore and Harry set their baskets down and waited, watching as Draco’s harvest was inspected, until it was their turn.

Harry was rubbing his arms. It was getting a little chilly here. As this fact made its way through the tired mind of the teenager, Harry looked up, furrowing his brow. The day had been pleasantly warm and it was rather unusual for the temperature to drop quite that rapidly. Was there a thunderstorm approaching?

But that thought did not feel right either. Agitated, the raven-haired teen turned on the spot, peering into different directions, trying to penetrate the ever-growing darkness surrounding them.

“What is the matter, Mr. Slytherin? Are you above paying attention to my lecture?” Professor Snape demanded to know in a scathing tone.

“Do you feel this too, sir? Something is not right here,” Harry said uneasiness clear in his voice, ignoring the reprimand from his teacher.

And for the first time in a long time, an adult actually listened to him. Snape had his wand in hand immediately, looking around and casting a lumos. The others started looking around too, catching on to the nervousness their classmate was practically oozing.

Before they could react or even decide what to do, big dark shapes were descending through the leaves above them. Dark robes were covering them, and the drop in temperature got so severe that their breath steamed, forming little clouds before their faces.

Feeling the despair closing around them, Harry saw Theodore go to the ground beside him. There were more than three Dementors descending on them, maybe five? But in the end it did not matter. Harry held his wand in his hand, not really sure how it got there, searching his mind for a happy memory to use and conjure his Patronus. Concentrating hard as the despair started to creep in from the edges of his mind.

He decided on an afternoon spent with Sirius talking about pranks the Marauders had played, and shouted “Expecto Patronum!” resulting in the silver shape of Prongs breaking from the tip of his wand, rushing at the Dementors, chasing them away.

Only seconds later another silvery shape joined his stag, and Harry's gaze met the wide, dark eyes in the paler-than-usual face of Severus Snape.

Warmth was returning, but with an evening spent answering silly questions still clearly in his mind, Harry bent low to be near the shivering Theodore and got his emergency portkey out of his robes. Gripping the portkey and one of Theodore’s hands firmly in his hand, Harry hissed .:Hospital:. to activate the emergency measure given to him by Voldemort to get to safety.

oooOOooo

After an utterly frustrating afternoon trying to come to an agreement with the goblins, Marvolo was now hurling curses against Lucius Malfoy, dodging the few that he could not easily shield against.

He had hoped to convince the goblins to let them use the parchment for the ancestry tests outside of Gringotts. He had intended to pay, of course, even had offered to pay more. But no, the goblins had stayed adamant. These tests were only to be made in the presence of a goblin. And that was that.

Casting a rather angry-looking orange hex at the other Lord, one that would cause a nasty itch all over the target’s body, Marvolo snarled in frustration. Now they would have to adopt the children they found before they could determine to which family they might belong. That was a rather unfortunate turn of events. It would have been better if they could have placed the children with actual family.

Chuckling as he batted away a low-powered tentacle curse, Marvolo decided that duelling for practice with his followers was a good way to relieve tension. Not as effective as torturing them, but better than tea.

But maybe he had to get them to duel him in pairs. This was hardly a challenge. Or maybe the man was simply too terrified to actually try. Duelling against Severus might prove more challenging.

Before Marvolo could put the cruciatus curse on Lucius, a silvery, glowing shape entered the duelling room through the wall at the old Black town-house he had made his Death Eater headquarters, striding without pause directly over to the Dark Lord. Wide ruby-red eyes fixated on the doe-shaped patronus. He remembered Severus' memories of Order members sending short messages via patronus and assumed that this was a message from his Potions Master. A cold feeling of dread settled in his stomach. Why would the man decide to send such a message to him?

As a second patronus entered the room, trotting over to the wide-eyed blond Lord, the unpleasant feeling only increased.

“We were attacked by Dementors. All boys are mostly unharmed. We are at St. Mungo's.” Severus’ impassive voice told him before the patronus vanished after it had finished its mission.

Red and blue eyes met across the room. “Go home, change, and fetch your wife. We will see us at the hospital.” Not waiting for a reaction from the other man, Marvolo spun on the spot, apparating through his own wards, to the reception room of Griffin House, calling for his elf. “Henbane!”

The elf popped into the room, bowed, and waited for his orders.

“Get me a fresh set of robes!” Marvolo already started getting out of his tight-fitting duelling robes that were scorched in some places, covered with some slime, and stained with sweat. He cast a freshening charm on himself, getting rid of the evidence of the past two hours.

He had just finished as Henbane popped back in, placing a set of green linen robes on a love-seat and vanishing again, taking the dirty robes with him.

Not wanting to lose more time, since his heir was maybe injured and in danger – why would Dementors be in the Forest of Dean? – Marvolo apparated directly into the entrance hall of the best wizarding hospital Britain had to offer.

oooOOooo

Healer-in-training Augustus Pye had been up since the early hours of the day and quite happy that the end of his shift was drawing near. He hoped for a quiet end to the shift, so he could drink another cup of the awful coffee in the staff room and read the latest issue of Healing Today.

As the alarm started in the staff room, Augustus knew it was not to happen.

Sighing he got up and abandoned his cup to get cold as he rushed to the reception area. Someone had arrived by emergency portkey. Those usually were hard cases. Potions Masters working in research and regularly having accidents, those working with the dangerous plants or animals – those were his favourites, always something new to learn – and chronically ill patients that had a portkey for when their condition became worse.

As he reached the arrival zone only seconds later, he spotted two bodies hunched on the floor, teenagers probably, and added rich and paranoid lords and their heirs to the list. Judging by the green flashing light over the two, at least one private healer had been informed. Splendid, he hated working with those entitled bastards.

He was just crouching down beside the pale boys with dark hair, as a crack of apparation sounded beside him and another two bodies made their appearance.

An adult and a child this time.

He started to work at assessing the reason they had come here in this fashion.

ooooo

Severus sat on a padded exam table eating his last piece of chocolate, watching over his three charges sitting on hospital beds eating their own chocolate bars, looking a little less pale than when they had arrived here.

Greengrass was standing off to the side with the healers from St. Mungo's speaking about the documentation of the after-effects of the run-in with the Dementors.

It had been ten minutes since Severus had cast the Patronus charm three times to inform the fathers of the three boys. He had done so in full view of the hospital staff to make sure that there was no doubt over how the parents had been informed. No need to stir rumours about the continued existence of the Death Eaters. It had not been common knowledge, but enough aurors had known that the Dark Mark could be used to call the Dark Lord.

Now there was no doubt he had used one of the few truly light spells to deliver the message.

The Dark Lord was the first of the fathers to arrive. The man stormed into the small curtained space, only stopping briefly to orientate himself before hurrying to his son’s side.

Severus watched as the boy raised his head and looked at the worried face of Lord Slytherin. Watched as surprise briefly flashed in those green eyes.

Knowing that a report from him was required, Severus got up from his resting place and walked over past the other two beds.

“Are you well?” Severus heard his Lord ask of his heir. He quickly repressed his urge to raise a surprised brow, there was true worry in that voice. Even with all that he had seen since the Dark Lord’s return to sanity, he would never have thought that the man was capable of true worry for another being. But maybe it was the worry over the prospect of losing his heir and therefore his claim to the Lordship, and not true concern for Lily’s son.

Either way, it was more concern and caring than the boy had experienced up till now.

“I am. But I wonder what they were doing there.”

“Eat your chocolate while I speak with your teacher.”

Meeting the blue eyes – the glamour the Dark Lord wore when he was in public – Severus felt the probe against his shields. The probe was light, almost gentle, not at all like he had learned to expect before his Lord’s fall. He lowered his defences and projected a picture of him bowing low, his robes pooling on the floor, for his Lord to see.

“What happened, Master Snape?”

So now he had to play the role of private tutor and potions supplier of the Slytherin family. What was another role to add to his mix?

“As we gathered again to assess the harvest, it was getting dark, the temperature suddenly plummeted. It was getting darker, but there was nothing to see until Dementors dropped through the canopy. Your son cast a Patronus charm moments before me, and then we came here.” His report was short and to the point. He managed to keep the horror at being near the happiness-sucking monsters out of his voice. But only barely. The memory of kneeling on the floor of his room at Spinner’s End, rocking back and forth, clutching the newspaper to his chest, grieving for Lily, was still too raw for his comfort.

The mortification that the Dark Lord had seen a glimpse of that last thought was quickly pushed aside, and the Potions Master concentrated on the surroundings. He felt responsible for shielding and protecting Henry Slytherin, and so he would. Not to mention that he was compelled to do so by his vow.

Lucius and Narcissa were the next to reach the hospital, rushing over to their little darling, enveloping him in their arms. Severus was a little surprised. They never displayed their feelings this openly in public. But maybe the news that their child had been in danger of getting his soul sucked out by a Dementor would change the rules.

“Thank you for keeping our son safe, Severus,” was all the acknowledgement he got from the blond Lord and his Lady, but he was happy with what he got, he considered them his friends, after all.

As Benjamin Nott arrived as the last one, his younger son Aidan in tow, Severus rose and discharged himself from the hospital against the healer’s advice.

Another brief eye contact, and the Potions Master had a new task: Checking if the Order of the Phoenix had had something to do with the attack.

ooooo

Pleased with Severus, who had ordered the healers to record their findings on all three boys, Marvolo was working on plans to discover who might have set Dementors on his son and how to prevent further attempts on the boy’s life.

He was thinking furiously, but at the moment plotting had to take a back seat, he had a child to attend to. It was simply not an option to behave the same way as those blasted Muggles or that old goat of a headmaster.

“Why did you not use your portkey the moment you knew there was something wrong?” Marvolo was a little proud for keeping his question free of accusation. He wanted to know what had happened and why Henry had taken the actions he had, not assume and place blame right from the start.

“Casting the Patronus is almost instinctive by now,” shrugged the boy, a smudge of chocolate in the corner of his mouth. “The moment I realized what the problem was, I just cast. Once the despair was gone, I remembered the portkey and used it to bring myself and Theodore here.” Henry spoke quietly, looking down at his hands, which were twisting in the boy’s lap, tugging at the hems of his sleeves.

Realizing that the child was nervous, Marvolo patted his son’s leg lightly. “You did well. All of you came back safe and in one piece, and that is the most important thing.”

Startled green eyes met calm blue ones. It felt as if he was gaining ground with the boy, his son, his heir. It proved to be easier than he had anticipated. At least up till now. Once the children were back at the school his influence would be lesser, and Henry would spend much more time with people firmly in the headmaster’s pocket. The progress would probably slow down then.

“Let me speak with the healer. He might release you into the care of Healer Greengrass, so you can return home.” A shaky nod and smile were his response, but he could clearly see that they were a mask.

Marvolo grimaced in the privacy of his mind. He was quite sure that the chance was high that he was starring in the memories Henry had to endure in the presence of Dementors. Maybe he should work on starring in some of the memories able to conjure a patronus, as well?

It was not easy to get the healers of St. Mungo's to release their teenage patients into the care of their parents, even when a private healer would care for them, and they were deep into a debate, three Lords of the Wizengamot talking at the two healers, as a house-elf popped into the room.

It held out a letter to Marvolo, bobbing a curtsey. “An express owl from Ministry brought letter for Master, sir.”

Wondering whether the incompetent fools at the Auror Office had managed to find the culprit already – attacks from Dementors had to be reported on the spot, and so the hospital had already informed the authorities – Marvolo opened the letter and started to read, ignoring the silent stares of the others standing around him.

He snarled in surprise as he read the first few words of the letter. ‘Warning for performance of underage magic…’ that could not be real. Why had he had such problems overtaking the Ministry the last time he tried? The incompetence was appalling. And the resulting inconveniences were annoying.

oooOOooo

Later the same day, Harry sat at his desk in his room. A cup of hot chocolate standing by his side, he filled out a kind of form the house-elves had given to him. They insisted that he decide what would be served at his birthday party. Another similar one from Sirius sat, already finished, at the side of the desk.

He would have two parties this year. A thought that felt alien to him.

On his birthday there would be a party at the Manor, or more precisely, in the gardens around it. The invitations had gone out a few days before. All allies, and those that could maybe become allies, were invited. Well, not all. Only those that had children around Harry’s own age. So he would be surrounded by mostly Slytherins, a few Ravenclaws, one or two Hufflepuffs, and Neville. As the ward of his regent, it was obligatory that he and his grandmother be invited.

Harry dreaded the whole thing, even if he felt a little flattered and excited and ashamed at the prospect of getting a real, big birthday party. He didn't really know what he should feel. Someone other than the Weasleys was throwing him a party, two someones in fact, as Sirius was throwing him a party as well. On the day after his birthday, but he got to invite all the people he wanted to invite.

This day had started so nice. And the trip to the forest had been nice as well. Talking with Theodore, wandering through the green all around, and gathering ingredients.

Draco’s entitlement had only been a small blemish on the day, his relief at getting some of the frustration off his chest by telling the little prat what he thought of him.

Really, the nerve of the blond. Harry was starting to wonder if the Slytherin had any real friends at all. If he had not been so angry, he might have felt pity for the other.

But the attacks by the Dementors had been the worst. Who would, could, send Dementors after him? Who had known that they would be there? And then the cold dread had brought his worst memory back to the surface. He had cast the Patronus before he had to experience it again. But as he got to see Voldemort at the hospital, with that odd look on his face, it had brought everything back. That was the man who had tried to kill him. Who had killed his parents. And today he had stood at his bedside, worried over his well-being, patting his knee, trying to comfort him.

His confusion only got worse. He had hoped that it would get easier, but now he guessed it never would. He needed to find another way to deal with it all, ignoring the elephant in the room was not going to work much longer.

Marking vanilla ice cream with strawberries and chocolate muffins as the choices for dessert, Harry finished the list for the elves, setting it to the side.

Sighing, he got up and gathered the list and letter for Sirius. He would walk up to the owlery to send the letter tonight.

The time until he could get back to Hogwarts could not pass fast enough. Why was it always him?

oooOOooo

In the dark, crickets making the only sound in the warm air, a white-haired man in dark blue robes covered with tiny fluttering hummingbirds, stood on a path looking at a shack that was starting to crumble.

It was an unassuming place, utterly unremarkable. But only for those that were not sensitive to magic.

For him the area was saturated with spells and wards. Mostly to prevent Muggles from coming near but also some geared to prevent magicals from entering the property. There were some nastier wards farther in. All in all, it would cost Albus quite some time to get through it all if he wanted to prevent the intrusion from being noticed.

And he wanted to stay unnoticed.

Allowing himself a small victorious smile, Albus apparated back to Hogwarts. He had found the old shack that had been the place Tom’s mother had grown up and met Tom Riddle senior. Albus had suspected that one of the horcruxes was hidden there, and now he was happy to have discovered that he had been right. All these wards were not placed there for nothing.

Thinking about when he would find the time to break those wards and get to the soul piece in its container, the headmaster walked leisurely over the grounds up to the school.

And if he could find a new teacher for the post of Defence professor, this day would be perfect.

Chapter Text

Thanks to the Dreamless Sleep Healer Greengrass had made him take the evening before, Harry had slept long and deep. The sun had awoken him, and after a long hot shower, he now was on the way down to the kitchen and breakfast.

Just as he reached the end of the stairs, he heard the voices of two men coming from the study and altered his course to see what that was about.

“This is ridiculous, Cornelius,” Harry heard Voldemort say, clearly irritated.

“But you can’t dispute that the trace activated. The boy did cast a Patronus charm in the middle of a forest frequented by Muggles,” the whiny voice of Minister Fudge answered.

Harry silently crept closer, keeping to the wall. This was about the attack yesterday and he wanted – no, needed – to know what was going on.

“I do not dispute this. But I have proof from the healers at St. Mungo’s that Henry and the others were exposed to Dementors.”

A heavy silence filled the next moments, and Harry tried to move even more silently while he found a place in the hall not easily seen from the study, but with a good view of the hall.

“It is outrageous to claim such a thing!”

Harry felt rage grow inside him at the spluttering denial of the Minister of Magic. There had been Dementors, they had been attacked. How could the Minister claim that he was lying, that they all were lying? Even if he had not said it in that many words, he had implied that it was impossible for Dementors to have been there.

“Even if three teenagers and one Potions Master had erred and imagined the presence of Dementors in the Forest of Dean – And I maintain the claim that there indeed were Dementors present – The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery clearly states some conditions under which it is perfectly acceptable for an underage wizard to perform magic.”

Harry wished he could see the faces of the two wizards speaking with each other. With all his confusion over Voldemort and his motives, it would be really helpful to know what the man thought about the happenings of yesterday afternoon.

“Well,” Fudge sounded really unhappy with the whole situation, “there are those that think the boy is only doing such things to get attention. I’m not one of them,” the Minister suddenly added in a frantic tone, and Harry thought that Voldemort must have send one of his glares at the man, “but I have to work with them. It is not so easy… Oh, don't look at me this way.”

Harry heard steps on wooden floor, like someone was pacing.

Voldemort sighed. “I’m pretty sure that the Dementors are still under Ministry control. Am I right?”

There was no answer to hear, so the eavesdropping teenager assumed that the Minister had nodded in response.

“Then someone must have sent them to the Forest. So there has to be a paper trail. If we can locate it, you could find the person willing to use Dementors against children, Cornelius.” A hand slapped against a wooden surface, a table probably. “Children!”

A deep breath was to hear.

“There were three heirs at risk yesterday afternoon. And they all tell the same story. Believing yourself to be in a life-threatening situation is enough to be allowed to cast defensive magic. There is nothing more defensive than a Patronus, Cornelius. Whoever is putting so much pressure on you, they have nothing to base it on.”

The pacing picked up speed, and the Minister muttered something under his breath, too low for Harry to understand from his hiding place out in the hall.

“I know that you need to secure your position. Especially after you helped me, Cornelius. But dragging Henry to a hearing for underage magic in such an obvious case of justified use of magic will not do this.”

Voldemort was speaking with some determination, a quiet intensity. Harry felt odd. Why? Why was he doing this? Harry was tired of being confused all the time.

“But going against someone abusing their power... that can get you some influence and respect.”

Harry realized that Voldemort was trying to influence the Minister to do what he wanted. And at the moment, that seemed to be leaving Harry alone and going after the person that had set Dementors on him or the others.

A reluctant Cornelius Fudge answered, “You probably are right, Marvolo. Lucius’ and Benjamin’s sons were attacked too. Those in opposition to you – I’m sorry to say, but there are quite a few that can’t let the past rest – can’t possibly say something about me trying to help their fathers. Yes, I think I can work with that.”

With another sigh – Harry was sure it was only uttered for show and effect – Voldemort stood from his chair, judging by the sound of chair legs on carpet. “If I can be of any help, let me know. And you need not try to shield me from those that are still angry. I still remember. I’m not that monster any more, but the past cannot be undone. I only can try to make amends and work for a better future.”

Harry listened as the two wizards exchanged farewells, contemplating what he had overheard. After Voldemort had made the unbreakable vow he should have known that the man would not kill him, but seeing was more convincing than simply being told. And it really seemed that the man wanted the best for Harry, the evidence was piling up. Could he accept it? The desire to care that showed with growing clarity from Voldemort... somehow it felt wrong.

oooOOooo

Marvolo felt Henry come close enough to the study to listen to his meeting with the Minister. He had added proximity wards to the study a few days ago. As the attractive young wizard was of the opinion that his son had the right to know what the Ministry had tried to do with the warning for underage magic, and was sure that Fudge would transform into a clam and disappear if he should learn of Henry’s presence, he kept silent.

A few moments later he escorted the Minister back to the Floo and watched him vanish in the green flames. The man’s tendency to bowler hats in eye-watering colours was something he probably would never understand.

Meeting Henry in the hall on the way to the kitchen, he smiled at the teen wearing a light blue robe over black trousers and a dark blue shirt. It seemed as if the sleeves and the trouser legs were getting a little short.

“We will need to get you some more clothes. Those are getting too short.”

They fell into step, walking to the kitchen, Henry obviously trying to decide if he wanted to comment on what he had heard.

“If I did not want you to hear, I could have met the Minister at his office, or I could have put up a silencing ward.” Marvolo allowed a small smile to curl his lips at the small gasp from the teen beside him. “Do you have questions, Henry?”

“No, sir. Or maybe…”

“Ask, Henry. As I have said before, you can ask. I’m not promising that I will answer all your questions, but I will not lie.”

“Why were we attacked? And am I in trouble?”

“You are not in trouble, Henry. You were totally right to cast the Patronus charm. There were no Muggles present, and everyone has the right to protect himself from Dementors,” Marvolo started to reassure his son about the whole underage magic situation. The boy needed the assurance that someone was on his side, he had been left to deal with such problems alone much too often.

The other question was just as pressing, but not as easily answered. “And I have many enemies. Many of them are in the Ministry or have connections there. Any of them could have sent Dementors after one of my known followers and the heirs of three known conservative, or dark, families. You remember what I told you at that first day?”

Henry nodded, and they entered the kitchen.

“There are many that would wish you, or Theodore, or Draco harm. Carry your wand and the portkey everywhere, and do not hesitate to cast whatever comes to mind to buy the time you need to use the portkey to get away. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” was the quiet answer from his son.

They settled down at the table, each with his favourite breakfast being placed before them. Fried eggs, toast, bacon, and an apple for Henry, porridge with cream, raisins, and honey for himself.

They split the newspaper and Henry started to look at his letters. The boy still got a large number of letters every day. From the different Weasley children, the young witch from Xerxes’ family, and a few others.

Today one of them looked much like an invitation. But Marvolo restrained his curiosity, snooping about in his son’s mail was not a move that would be conducive to his goal of gaining the child’s trust. The wards he had in place around the house, in addition to those that had been here in the first place, made sure nothing dangerous could get in.

“Sir?”

Marvolo looked up from the article reporting about a small theatre starting near Diagon Alley, to look over to his son.

“Neville… Heir Longbottom has sent me an invitation to his birthday. May I go?”

There was hope and a little resentment at being forced to ask for permission in the deep green eyes. Marvolo vividly remembered those eyes full of defiance, on several occasions. In the face of Lily Potter the night she died, in the face of an eleven-year-old Henry fighting back over the Philosopher's stone, and again in the graveyard only a few weeks prior.

“Do you want to go?” He did not really have any objections, and encouraging connections and interactions with known light families would throw the old meddler a little off the trail, keeping him distracted. Granting a wish to Henry had the added benefit of casting a positive light on himself, something he really could use now and then.

“Yes, I do, sir.”

“Then you will go. What do you want to give him as a gift? As we are speaking of this, what do you want for your birthday?”

And moments later they were deep in birthday celebration preparations. Henry was a little flustered by the idea that all of Marvolo’s people – the man avoided calling them that outright, or using the correct term of “followers” or “Death Eaters” in front of his son, even though both of them knew that this was what they were – would want to get him some kind of gift. And as the teenager did not know what to wish for, they delayed that decision for another day.

oooOOooo

Severus walked up to the Order's headquarters, late and not caring one bit. Yesterday, after he had informed the Headmaster of the attack on his students, a meeting of the Order had been scheduled for the next morning. He had been glad, as it had given him the time for a long hot bath and several cups of hot chocolate. Now the horror of encountering the Dementors and all the bad memories they had stirred up from the depths of his mind had receded, and he was calm again.

The Potions Master reflected about what the goal of this day was, and wondered again at how much everything had changed.

He stepped through the door and heard the muffled voices of the others from down the corridor. Seemed he was the last to arrive. But that was what he had expected, as he had decided to make a short detour and stop at the graves of Lily and James Potter.

Severus had hoped going there, for the first time, would help him come to a decision regarding the memory the Dark Lord had given him. It had not. He still did not know if he would be better off viewing it, or not viewing it.

Locking these thoughts away behind his shields, Severus reached for the doorknob and twisted it to gain entry into the meeting room they had used the last few times. Upon his entering the room, all quiet conversations died quickly, and all eyes locked on him. There were a few new faces in the crowd around the table, and all the old faces were there as well.

“Severus, my boy! I feared that you might not be able to come. How are you?” an overly concerned-looking Albus asked from his place at the head of the table, gesturing for him to take the last open seat between Miss Tonks and someone Severus assumed was another auror.

So Severus walked around the table, getting a good look at all the people present. Augusta Longbottom was there, the older Weasleys, Mad Eye, with his eyes – both of them – following the Potions Master on his way, Mundungus, and even the werewolf was there. Thankfully, though, the mutt was missing.

“I am well enough, Headmaster. I just took the time I needed to counter the effects of close proximity to five Dementors.”

Miss Tonks turned to him as he sat down, her hair changing colours from a vibrant hot-pink to a sickly-looking green, eagerly asking, “The rumours are true then?”

Rolling his eyes – how was it that everyone he had to work with was so infuriating? – Severus sat and glared at the young woman. “What rumours are you talking about?”

“That Harry cast a full corporeal patronus in front of several muggles, because some deer startled him.” Her hair circled back to a more vibrant shade – an almost neon green – and she added, shifting her head from side to side. “But there are several variants circling around the department. So is it true?”

Leaning back from the much-too-eager young witch, Severus sneered but was prevented from answering on the spot because Molly Weasley made her concerns known.

“The poor dear! First that blasted adoption, and now even more commotion.” Her red locks were quivering as she wrung her hands in front of her and she only calmed slightly as her husband laid a hand on her arm, squeezing in reassurance.

Ignoring the murmurs around him, the inquisitive gazes from the other Order members, Severus turned his eyes to Dumbledore and started his recount, a more thorough one than the one he had given yesterday. “Lucius talked me into giving this lesson for his son and two others. He made the invitations at the last Wizengamot meeting. At least, that was the plan he told me about.” A glass with water was placed before him by Molly in her usual mothering way that no one was safe from.

“Whoever sent those Dementors probably got our location from the portkey office. As I did not want to apparate with more than two passengers, I insisted that Lucius would get one.”

“Should be easy enough asking who wanted to see those forms,” Moody drawled, and those working in one of the various Ministry departments nodded in agreement.

“And they intended to kill all of us. They could not have known that Potter is capable of casting a full corporeal Patronus, and the superstition that dark wizards are unable to produce one is widely believed.” The Potions Master sneered over calling himself a dark wizard and dared the others to protest that they did not think of him as such, but no one took the bait.

It was not easy this far away from the Headmaster, but Severus was reasonably sure the man was trying to ascertain if he could use this in some way to gain something. The Potions Master felt disbelief spreading in his guts. The worry he saw in the faces around him... most were not really worried about the children that had been in danger yesterday, they worried over other things. Many were contemplating other concerns.

“Who kept it from the paper?” Kingsley wanted to know. And a small side discussion started that was quickly squashed by the Headmaster.

“How did Tom react to the attack?” asked the Headmaster and leader of the Order before the meeting could take off on another tangent.

“He came to the hospital as soon as I informed him. He showed concern and care, as I would expect from any parent,” Severus relayed his observation. Unbelieving faces and a few snorts answered, and the dark-eyed man could not resist rolling his eyes. What did they believe the Dark Lord would do in a public place, such as the wizarding hospital?

“He always was a good actor,” Albus mused, and his blue eyes fixed on the form of his spy. “Could you learn more of his plans? Severus? Remus? Augusta? You all were in contact with him. What is Voldemort doing?”

The three named exchanged glances, and Augusta Longbottom, as the eldest, started to speak. “We talked about times the boy and I can meet, so as to speak about how I will vote as his proxy and so forth. I got the feeling that he wants to give the boy the opportunity to form his own opinions. It did not feel like he was trying to force the votes of the Potter seat into a certain direction. I think only time will tell. It was certainly a surprise that I was asked to be regent.”

Severus was impressed by the quiet dignity the older woman showed and noted that all present were equally baffled by this decision of the Dark Lord. Being a spy for the Dark Lord in earnest for the first time felt odd, but gratifying. It was easier to gather intelligence, now that he was no longer forced to find only harmless tidbits of information to tell him while appearing to provide valuable information.

Remus picked up with his own report next. “I only get to interact with him in the capacity as Harry's tutor. He certainly is placing quite a focus on Harry's education, but despite this... I do not see them interact often.” The werewolf shrugged apologetically, offering a small smile. “I know from Sirius that they see each other several times a week, so he is not trying to isolate Harry.”

To Severus' interest, that got a small frown from Albus, and not the twinkle he had anticipated. It seemed the rift between the mutt and the Headmaster was deeper than he had thought. Taking a sip from his water – after testing it for potions and poison, to the obvious amusement of Alastor Moody and the indignation of Mrs. Weasley – Severus started in on his report. He was glad he had asked the Dark Lord for the information he was allowed to relay. The list he had gotten was quite extensive.

“At the moment there has been quite some time spent on planning the boy's education. Beside history, potions, and runes, there are lessons on politics, manners, and dancing. And I'm sure all of his teachers will appreciate the lessons in penmanship.” At first Severus had been a little surprised that his Lord had given him permission to speak about the brat's education, but as the boy obviously was able to speak about it himself, there was no harm done if Severus spoke of it. And so he always started with this topic and laid emphasis on it.

By now he noticed that the Headmaster's patience was wearing thinner and thinner with every meeting on this topic, leaving only the conclusion that Albus did not really care about what Potter was learning. Severus started to wonder if the old wizard would manage to stay outwardly calm should his spy start talking about an education in the Dark Arts for the boy the Order was pinning all its hopes on.

As he left the safe ground of education, the spy sharpened his senses for all reactions. After all, his Lord wanted to know what the Order made of his actions.

“There is a big celebration planned for Potter's birthday, and the Dark Lord is spending a lot of time on ordering the Potter and Slytherin estates. Several of the times that I met with him in the study at Griffin House, the papers before him pertained to this.” Still not what the Headmaster wanted to hear, if Severus was to judge by the man's expression. “There have not been any big meetings of Death Eaters recently. But I have been asked about my progress whenever I have been there to give lessons to Potter. I'm still working on potions pertaining to procreation, after I finished one to help with traumatic experiences. It does not seem that there will be any openly aggressive actions in the near future.”

A flash of disappointment seemed to make its way through the old blue eyes. And not for the first time, Severus wondered what they were expecting the Dark Lord to do. His actions so far made it quite clear that he was aiming for a more peaceful approach.

“And my most recent mission is to determine if the Order had anything to do with the attack. My answer to this will obviously be a no.” Severus concluded his report, leaning back in his chair weaving his fingers together, returning to his role of watcher.

During the next hour the Order distributed missions among themselves, mostly they were still searching for precedence for removing minors from their guardians' care, and now, subtle research into who had sent the Dementors was added to the list.

Severus paid rapt attention and made sure to have more than one good look at the new faces at the table, so he could share them with his Lord later. Hopefully the meeting would not go on for much longer, he had had a rather important step in his experimentation for the “Two-Fathers-Potion” – his working title – before him, and would rather be working on this then sitting and listening to Gryffindor scheming and planning. It just lacked a certain finesse.

ooooo

After the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix – the first he had been invited to – was finished, Proudfoot stood by his younger colleague Tonks. He was happy that he had gotten the opportunity to do something about the evil wizard who had managed to just waltz back into society. He was a little ashamed that he had at first doubted the Headmaster and Harry Potter when they had claimed that You-Know-Who had returned in the aftermath of the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. But now he was a member of the very organization that had stood against evil in the last war and would stand against evil now.

There was just one thing he needed to ask. “Say, Tonks, that Snape fellow, is he really a spy? I remember that there were rumours of him being a Death Eater back then. And the way he speaks...” he let his sentence trail off in the hope that Tonks – he once had made the mistake of calling her Nymphadora, he never would do that again – would get what he wanted to know without the need for him to actually voice it.

An understanding look came to the face that so often changed form. She mostly had the same base features and just changed small things, mostly the length and colour of her hair, and she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “He was a spy back then and is a spy now. He's really good at what he's doing, even if he is a snarky bastard. Be happy that he only started teaching at Hogwarts after you had finished there. I needed to take my NEWT for potions at the Ministry because I couldn't learn what I needed in his classes... he is not a good teacher. I heard that he only returned to the Death Eaters this time because Dumbledore asked him to.” That last bit was added in a conspiratorial whisper, and the older Auror felt better. He knew a dark wizard when he saw one, but it probably was impossible for a light wizard to be a spy in the Death Eaters.

They left together, speaking about the newest office gossip, leaving the uncomfortable questions of who had tried to murder three teenagers behind.

oooOOooo

In his most muggle clothes, Harry was standing in a nice room somewhere in Muggle London. He did not really know where, as Voldemort had apparated them to a small courtyard and walked with him here.

Today he was to meet the Mind Healer his guardian had found for him. Harry had mixed feelings about this, as he had about so much since he had been dragged to the Ministry and been adopted. A small part of him hoped that the woman he was to meet today would be able to help him bring a little order to his thoughts and feelings. But a much larger part feared that she would call him a freak as the Dursleys had done.

The teen tried to dry his sweaty palms on his jeans without being too obvious. He just knew that such behaviour would get him a displeased look from the dark-haired man standing at his side.

It was bizarre that Voldemort, the man known to hate all things Muggle, was standing here in a suit in the waiting room of a psychologist waiting for the call to come in. Harry hoped with all his might that the man would not come in with him. That would just be too mortifying.

“Henry, just remember; I want you to give her a chance to help you. If you do not think that it helps you, just tell me and I will stop bringing you here.”

Before Harry could formulate an answer to that statement, which had been repeated more than once up to this point, the door to the doctor's office opened and a woman build like a square, in professional looking clothes, took in their appearance. “Lord Slytherin and Henry, am I right?” she asked in a nice-sounding voice. Harry only nodded and followed her over to the door as Voldemort started to walk over.

The adult wizard stopped short as the woman held a stack of papers for him to take out in his direction.

“The secrecy contract you required. Please come back in an hour, Lord Slytherin. Talks between patient and doctor are private.”

She sounded so sure of herself, and Harry held his breath, waiting for Voldemort to lose his patience, get his wand from the holster he knew was hidden in the sleeve of the dark suit jacket, and curse the squib.

But the moment went by without the grisly visions in Harry's mind becoming reality. A head covered in dark wavy hair was inclined in a polite nod and the papers taken. “I will be back in an hour then,” Voldemort agreed and, turning to Harry, he added in quiet hisses .:If you feel unwell or threatened, use your portkey. Do not run out onto the street. Do you understand?:.

Nodding, unable to speak at the moment because he felt as if some huge frog was stuck in his throat, Harry followed the older woman into her office and heard the door close behind him.

Trying to calm down, Harry started on one of the breathing exercises Snape had him practice for Occlumency training and let his gaze wander through the room.

The furniture was nicely modern and from a light wood. Cushions and rugs were in different shades of sunny yellow colours, making the whole room into a cheerful and calm place. As green eyes met the green eyes of a lazily blinking cat-like creature lazing in a spot of sunshine, Harry felt himself getting calmer.

“This lazy fellow over there is Tom. My kneazle. He helps me with the more skittish patients. Don't you?” she bent down to the feline slinking over to her to get his head scratched, arching his back and starting to purr as she complied.

Realizing that this tomcat shared a name with the man that now was known by the name of Lord Voldemort, Harry started to laugh. At the questioning gaze from the silver-blonde-haired woman, the teen sat down in one of the comfortable seats standing around the room and started on the tale of the shared names. He was much calmer after that and got into a comfortable conversation with Mrs. Goyle.

As he was fetched after the hour was over, they made several appointments for the time until school would start again. How they would proceed after that they would have to see, but Harry had hopes that she would be able to help him.

ooooo

Carisma started a new file after her newest patient had left with the man her nephew was bound to. She was most curious if she would manage to get the man to agree to start therapy of his own. She just knew that he needed help. But equally certain was that you could not force anyone to start therapy who did not want to. And in some cases, such as this one, trying to do so could get the trouble really started.

So for the moment she concentrated on the young boy the Dark Lord had brought to her for help. Harry was a nice boy, cheerful and polite on the surface with carefully hidden depths and wounds under the mask he was wearing.

She only got glimpses during the one hour they had sat in her office, chatting and petting Tom, who kept changing between sitting with one or the other. Almost as if he were sampling their abilities and trying to decide who made the better place to sleep.

At the moment Harry, as he insisted she call him, needed help to cope with his current circumstances: Living with the man that had killed his parents but who had promised not to kill him. She quickly had realized that the images Harry had of the man, both from before he had been adopted and after he had started living with the man, did not match in any way. After some careful questions, she learned that he did not even look the same.

So she suggested that the teenager find two different names for the seemingly different persons, so he could keep what he knew better separated and could compare easier. Because, she reasoned, it was entirely possible that the man had changed as much as it did appear.

Harry had thought about this idea and agreed that it might help him. After all, neither of them could disprove the claim that he had been affected by a curse that had been lifted, as his previous body had been destroyed.

Carisma was happy that she had kept in contact with the wizarding world, even after she had left to find her calling in the Muggle world. If she had not, she might not have been able even to try to help this remarkable young man.

Shortly before they expected Lord Slytherin to be back, Harry had told her that he wasn't sure that he would be able to talk about the things that were causing him problems, and she had promised to offer him different ways to express his feelings. She was thinking about getting him to express what was troubling him with art. She was going to get some clay and paint, unsure if he would prefer painting or sculpting.

All in all, it had been a promising start. There were years of work before them, but she was confident that she could help him work on his problems.

oooOOooo

Clutching the book wrapped in fine silk to his chest, Harry stopped spinning and stepped out of the Floo in Longbottom Manor. It was the afternoon of Neville's birthday, and Harry had just made his way here to celebrate it.

A beaming Neville, in nice robes in earthen tones, stood in front of the Floo in the reception room and stepped forward to greet his friend.

Stumbling a little through the still unfamiliar words of the formal greeting, Harry bowed and offered the present he had brought to the other boy. “I hope you like it. We went yesterday to find it,” Harry added by way of explanation.

And in fact he and Marvolo – the name he had decided to use in his mind for the after version of his guardian – had been to Diagon Alley yesterday, or, more accurately, Knockturn Alley. The older wizard had placed strong charms on them to change their appearances, and they had strolled from shop to shop. Harry had not known how many little shops selling second-hand goods there were in the dingy street. Marvolo had cautioned Harry not to touch anything before he had checked it for curses and similar dangers. And the teenager had complied.

Harry was almost sure that some of the shop owners had recognized the man, by the way they had acted once they were inside. But Marvolo had ignored them, only asking for books about plants, as that was what Harry wanted to get for Neville.

Originally he had wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts, but Marvolo had suggested getting a one-of-a-kind book. Like a personal research journal or something of that kind, and so they had ended up in the street the Weasley children were forbidden ever to enter.

Seeing the beaming smile getting ever bigger on Neville's face, Harry was glad he had accepted the idea.

“Oh, that is wonderful, Harry!” exclaimed the portly Gryffindor. “This is a journal on experimental breeding of magical plants. Where did you find this?”

Smiling at his eager friend, Harry shrugged. “We went through some second-hand shops, I thought something like this was more interesting, and I didn't really know what books you already own.”

After that the afternoon went as Harry had thought it would. They had tea and cake with Neville's gran and some old distant relatives. The infamous uncle Algie was one of them. It was rather stuffy, and neither boy felt entirely comfortable sitting at the table, listening to talk about aching joints and the best charms to clean shoes.

Thankfully, soon enough they were allowed to excuse themselves, and Neville led Harry out to the greenhouses to show him his plants.

Wandering from one patch of bright flowering plants to the other, Harry watched his friend gathering the courage to ask him something.

“You really did not know that you were the heir to the Potter family?” he finally asked, continuing the conversation they had started at the Malfoy's summer party.

“I didn't even know that magic is real, or how my parents died. I knew nothing before I got my Hogwarts letter. And even then I wasn't told that I would have to learn so much to become Lord Potter once I was of age.” Harry had to snort in the face of the astonished and wide-eyed stare from the other boy.

“But why?” was the dumbfounded question Neville got out after several tries.

Walking the few steps over to a bench and sitting down, Harry thought about what he wanted to tell the other. He was in a similar position as Harry's, without parents to care for him, heir to a family... out of all those in his year, Neville was the one closest to him in the things he had experienced.

“I'm not sure. Most of this is guesswork,” Harry started and got a little nod from Neville, who sat beside him on the bench, waving away a vein away that tried to wind around his shoulder. “Before I turned eleven, I think Dumbledore had promised my aunt and uncle minimal contact with wizards. And he claimed he wanted to give me a childhood out of the limelight.” Picking at some flaking paint, Harry added slowly, “I kind of understand that.”

“Yeah, being hounded by reporters can't be fun,” Neville agreed.

“But why I got no lessons after I started Hogwarts... on weekends or something like that? Maybe in all the holidays I stayed in the castle... I have no idea what the Headmaster was thinking. And I'm not sure if he even would tell me if I asked.”

“And now?” Neville asked cautiously, clearly curious, but not wanting to set his friend off.

“Now? Now, I have lessons around the clock. Or at least that's the way it feels. He was really surprised there hadn't been any lessons before. Not even duelling. I think that made him pause the most. After all, he thought the Headmaster would think me the best bet to defeat him for good.” Harry shrugged and shifted the topic from him over to Neville's own lessons.

The rest of the afternoon they were sitting in the greenhouse talking about some of the more embarrassing lessons in dancing and manners Neville had had, Harry talking about his penmanship lessons from Theodore and the one disastrous lesson from the elderly witch and the way Marvolo had chastened her before he made her leave.

In the evening Harry left by Floo, happy in the knowledge that he would not lose this friendship, even with the Lord of Slytherin as his adoptive father. He felt lighter.

But in the back of his mind, there was the question wandering around, whether Dumbledore knew or suspected that he was a horcrux and had planned to kill him at some point, and therefore had not seen any use in educating him. It was not a comfortable thought, not at all.

oooOOooo

The next morning was Harry's own birthday.

After waking when the sun had wandered around enough to shine into his eyes, Harry lay on his back looking up to the ceiling, contemplating what had changed in the few weeks he was now staying with Marvolo.

He came to no conclusion and finally got out of bed, donning the robes Flimm had placed on a chair for him. They were light and casual. Harry still felt all dressed up, if he wore clothes that were called “casual” by the elves and Marvolo, but he had nothing different, so he just did as he was told.

Taking a deep breath, Harry exited his room and walked down to the kitchen, where they took their breakfast in the mornings. As he entered, Marvolo placed the newspaper down and stood, smiling in a way he obviously thought to be friendly. Harry was not sure if it actually was, it had a slightly puzzled quality.

“Good morning and Happy Birthday, Henry. I hope you slept well?”

“I did, thank you, sir,” nodded the teenager, his eyes almost magically drawn to a table piled with wrapped boxes and objects, waiting to one side of the room. It appeared to be bigger than the pile Dudley had gotten for the last birthday Harry had had to stay with the Dursleys.

“Yes, these are all for you. Some people will bring your presents to the party in the afternoon, and I think those that are invited to the party your godfather is planning have not sent their presents here... Maybe eat something first?”

Feeling a little like he was dreaming, Harry nodded, walked over to his chair, and sat down. The green-eyed teen spoke not a word while they were eating, and only a quick levitation charm from Marvolo kept the pitcher with orange juice from falling over and spilling its contents all over the table as Harry tipped it over.

After a few more near-accidents the red-eyed man – he never glamoured his eyes when they were at home and alone – finally asked “Is everything all right, Henry? Are you not feeling well?”

Hearing a concerned question from the man still was such a conundrum that it snapped Harry out of his stupor. “I never got this many presents, it feels like I'm dreaming,” the teenager confessed and started a little at the flash of fury in the red eyes.

“Maybe you should start with opening them, then, so you can see that it is real,” Marvolo said summoning one of the smaller parcels over to him, and handing it to Harry.

“From me. I think you might find it useful.”

Accepting the book-shaped gift, Harry murmured a quiet “Thank you,” and opened the deep green silken ribbon wrapped around it.

Inside was indeed a book, a handwritten one, quite old by the looks of it, with the title The Magic of Intent printed in silver on the cover. Something was odd about the script, but Harry could not pinpoint what it was until his guardian added an explanation, and he spotted the name of the author.

“It was written by Salazar Slytherin in something that seems to be a written form of Parseltongue. I can teach it to you, if you are interested. I found it in a small study behind a wall somewhere in the dungeons. It covers the theory of how magic can work without incantations, wands, and all the other things that are now considered necessary tools.” The man almost sounded embarrassed over the gift he had chosen, and Harry quickly tried to reassure him that he was happy with it.

And he was, in fact, it was a really thoughtful gift, an heirloom from the Slytherin family, the family his mother had been descended from.

“Thank you, sir. I will make sure to care for it well.”

After that Harry started to open all the other presents. He quickly noticed that many were from Death Eaters. Those mostly got him sweets – after a few gifts he started to get a sample of the entire Honeydukes product line – and books about Quidditch. A few books were summoned out of his hands before he could get a good look at them, and at his questioning glance in Marvolo's direction, the man lifted a brow and asked in a pointed tone, “Are you interested in learning the Dark Arts?” Harry shook his head quite fervently. “Then you will have no use for those books. Can you give me the cards that came with those as well? I think I have to explain what I meant by age appropriate to a few of them.”

He even got a present from Professor Snape. In the box was a little picture in a frame, showing a young red-haired girl with a couple who were obviously her parents, sitting on a bench in front of a lake, smiling into the camera. And underneath it was an exquisitely crafted silver potions knife. The card that was inside was written in the distinct spiky handwriting Harry knew so well by now.

In the hope that good tools will help improve your performance. The picture was something I found in my old school things. Happy Birthday.

After that they got ready for the party that would be held in the gardens around Potter Manor, showering and changing into their best robes. Harry wasn't sure that it was a wise move, he totally planned to play Quidditch, but as the robes were getting too short anyway, it probably didn't matter.

Later Harry only remembered the day in snatches.

The first time someone made a real fuss of his birthday.

He would always remember fondly the one time he had celebrated his birthday at the Burrow, the cake in the shape of a snitch, the day in the wilderness called a garden.

But this was different.

Xerxes Lestrange was there, and he had brought Hermione, this fact made Malfoy almost trip over his own feet in shock. Theodore and Aiden Nott were there, together with their father, the Malfoys were there, Lady Malfoy sticking to the lemonades, which seemed odd to Harry but was quickly forgotten.

There were many members of the Wizengamot, almost all Slytherins of his year, and their younger and older siblings. Many grown-ups, a few toddlers. It was a bigger crowd than Harry was strictly comfortable with. And at the same time, so large a crowd he could avoid those he didn't want to speak with, once the greetings were out of the way.

Despite it all, Harry enjoyed the games of pick-up Quidditch they played with the brooms they found in the little shed by the pitch, cheered on by Hermione and some of the others who were not comfortable on a broom. The food was excellent, and the games and activities organized for the children kept Harry occupied so that he could ignore the politics going on around them, as the adults watched and spoke to one another.

The day came to a close as Harry took part in a traditional group dance the boys and girls performed on the dance floor, surrounded by all the other guests.

Later, when Harry found himself back in his bed at home – and it really had become home, even with Voldemort/Marvolo living there with him – sleep found him fast, a happy smile on his face.

ooooo

Standing to the side, not encroaching on the happy celebration, and trying to keep out of his son's perception, Marvolo watched Henry interact with all the other children. It was obvious that he preferred the company of Miss Granger, Heir Longbottom and Heir Nott over most of the others. But he saw no reason why he should try to change that. They all were acceptable choices, and trying to meddle with this would most likely backfire on him.

At the moment he stood with Lucius and his wife, as well as Xerxes, drinking one of the white wines, smiling to himself as he noticed that Narcissa had opted for a strawberry lemonade. “How are your plans for the school progressing, Xerxes?” he asked his old school friend, genuine interest colouring his voice.

“I have plans for the subjects I would want to be taught. And I have thought about a way to get the younger students to the school, as well as a way to inform and monitor non-magical parents. What I am missing at the moment is a building and a name.”

“A school?” Narcissa asked clearly interested.

“Yes. After Marvolo told me about my dear Hermione, I realized that we should try to prevent the Squibs from leaving our world altogether. And I think a school for them to learn at, would help to realize this. And if I already start a school, I can be thorough and add classes for young children as well,” The grey-haired wizard happily explained.

“Hermione Granger?” Lucius asked, not yet aware of the relationship between the older wizard and the young witch.

“Yes, she is the daughter of the son of my older sister. Dorcas was a Squib and left the family for the Muggle world soon after she was not accepted at Hogwarts. I never heard from her again. But Hermione was curious enough to get herself tested at Gringotts, and in this way found out about the fact that I am her great-uncle. I'm really happy that she accepted my offer to help her find her place in our world.”

Marvolo chuckled to himself at the look of utter disbelief on Lucius' face and turned to Narcissa. He had to ask her something and now was probably the best time to do so. “Narcissa, may I ask for a favour?”

“What can I help you with, Marvolo?” She asked with a friendly smile. They had agreed to call each other by their given names earlier that day, working further on making a believable reconciliation after the horrible things Voldemort had supposedly done to the Malfoys.

“I need someone to teach Henry the finer points of etiquette and manners, dancing, and so on. The last witch I asked to teach him was not able to follow my directions. She was unable to teach without corporal punishment.” He sneered, clearly expressing his disdain for something as crude as slaps as tools of education. “Draco is such a well-behaved young man. I think you taught him yourself?”

Flattered, Narcissa inclined her head. “Yes, I taught him myself. I think it works best to teach those important things to your children without the help of strangers. But I understand that you are not in a position to do so. After so many years without proper care, the estate is likely taking up most of your time.” Her hand placed over her heart, the other holding her glass, Narcissa smiled understandingly, reassuring Marvolo that he, as a wizard and Head of an Ancient and Noble House, could not be expected to teach etiquette to his son.

“Maybe you can teach both Henry and Hermione together. She is eager to learn, but had not the time nor the inclination to do so before now,” Xerxes pitched into the conversation.

It didn't take long before they had arranged two lessons a week for the two children to be drilled in the right way to walk, talk, eat, and dance like proper little heirs. For convenience and safety they would be held at Griffin House.

After that, they started to talk more about the school Xerxes was planning, and Marvolo watched Lucius put the pieces together.

Once the party broke up, all children going home happy and tired, the blond Lord had understood what was happening in the wizarding world.

And Marvolo was happy, despite the problems with the ancestry tests and the Goblins his plans were working out better than he could have hoped for.

Chapter Text

Harry, wearing jeans and a bright red t-shirt, as well as a pair of new trainers, was standing beside the Floo, waiting for his guardian to arrive. The man had said that he would take his son to the Burrow and would later come and pick him up again.

The teenager was not sure that this was a good idea, but he was sure that it was not a good idea to argue about it. The look in the red eyes as Marvolo had announced his plan had not been one to argue with. That much Harry had learned in the time they had now lived together.

It only had been three weeks since he had been adopted. It felt so much longer than that. What all had happened, what he had learned in that short a time. And it would only be four more weeks until it would be time to go back to Hogwarts again. In a way, this summer was longer than any he had had to spend at the Dursley's.

And better.

Visiting Sirius as often as he did, being able to cast magic – as long as he was in one of the heavily warded houses belonging to one of those he now was forced to associate with – learning even more magic, not needing to worry over owl post upsetting his aunt and uncle or alerting the neighbours. It was great living full-time in the magical world.

The now fifteen-year-old teenager was getting nervous – he really did not want to be late to his own party – when Marvolo finally walked into the room.

“Are you ready to attend your second birthday party?” Harry was asked, and the green eyes filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. There was no telling in what way Ron would react.

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded his head, black locks falling into his eyes.

“Good, then we will apparate to the edge of their wards. I'm not sure if it would be wise trying to use the Floo directly inside.” This was said absolutely casually, and Harry realized that the Dark Lord Voldemort knew where the Weasleys lived if he was able to apparate to the edge of the wards around the Burrow. Not a comforting thought.

Harry took hold of the offered arm, stepping closer, so that the apparation hopefully would not be so hard on his system.

With a faint crack they vanished from the reception room, to reappear almost instantly just outside the building known as the Burrow.

ooooo

Sirius sat outside the Burrow watching as the older kids of Arthur and Molly set the table out for Harry's birthday party. The dog animagus knew that there had been a party yesterday, but he preferred to think of this as the real one, the party Harry got to invite only the people he wanted to invite.

In his own mind, Lord Black could admit that it probably was not the ideal party. In the last weeks he had seen that Harry had started to develop a friendship with one of the Slytherins, the Nott boy. And his memories of how hard it had been to try to maintain a connection with his brother after they had been sorted into different houses were still fresh enough. What he remembered of the difficulties Lily had had trying to stay friends with Snape only added to his knowledge. Harry now was in an equally tight spot, or would be soon enough.

Friendships across house boundaries were hard, and harder still if the houses were Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Neville, Ron, Fred, and George finished placing the plates, while Ginny was inside helping her mother finish the cake. Hermione, whom he had picked up a little earlier at her parents' house, was sitting to the side under an apple tree, surrounded by the files he had promised to get her.

When she had told him this morning that she intended to take Xerxes Lestrange up on his offer to get her lessons on how to be an heiress, he had been speechless for a few moments. And before he could regain his senses enough to start dressing her down on how she could let Lestrange have so much influence over her, she had asked him if he had gotten the voting records of House Lestrange.

Then and there he had known that Hermione Granger, great-niece of the current Lord Lestrange, was not one to take information at face value. She would tap into all sources of information she could get her hands on and then form her own opinion.

Ever since he had handed her the files and she had shuffled over to a secluded spot – after Molly had said she should go ahead and that the boys could help her prepare the garden for the party – he had been contemplating the implications of a 'muggle-born' heiress to the Lestrange Family. It had appeal, and was sure to shake the old structure up.

Taking everything into account, concentrating on the public and the good it would do for their society, it would be better for the Lestrange family to carry on with Hermione as the Head sometime in the future than to perish without an heir. After all he had learned about her, the quest to free house-elves, her attempt to save the hippogriff he later had flown to freedom with... she certainly had a novel outlook on their world.

“Knut for your thoughts,” Remus said, sitting down beside his last remaining friend from school.

“Aren't my thoughts worth more to you?” Sirius answered with mock indignation.

Remus laughed, looking so much better than he had done only last month. With his well-paid job as Harry's history tutor, he could buy food and all the other things he had had to go without for too long.

Sirius joined in, and they laughed in simple merriment for a few moments.

“I thought about what changes wizarding Britain would undergo should Hermione Granger choose to become heiress to Xerxes Lestrange,” the canine animagus finally answered his friend after they both had calmed down.

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “I agree, she's not one to be coerced into acting against her morals.”

“Let's just hope that she'll be enough.” Sirius sighed and got up as he heard a crack from the border of the property. It was about the time that Harry should show up. Maybe that was him and Lord Slytherin.

ooooo

Carefully balancing a huge creation of vanilla ice cream and various berries, placed under a cooling charm by his mother, Ron made his way out to the table set up in the garden. He hoped that he would be able to speak with Harry. He was not happy with the way their last meeting had gone. He really hoped that he could get Harry to see reason. His mother had given him a stern talk about his behaviour towards his two friends, and he had not been happy about it.

Ron was aware that neither of them had chosen who they were related to, but he did not comprehend why they were okay with it. At least it felt as if they were okay with it. And that just did not make sense to Ron. If he were in their shoes, he would refuse to eat, run away, scream... in short, do everything he was capable of to make clear that he was not okay with the situation.

He had set the mountain of ice cream down on the table as there was the sound of apparation from the front of the house. The red-head turned around, peering around his brothers, and spotted Harry speaking to the tall well-dressed wizard he had seen in Diagon Alley.

Gathering all his courage, Ron started to walk over and watched as the dark wizard bowed to his mother before he spun and vanished again, leaving Harry behind.

Ron broke into a sprint, crashing into Harry, who had stepped through the gate into the garden.

Harry laughed, “Hi, Ron! I missed you too!”

Several minutes of exchanged hugs and happy greetings followed, ending with them all seated around the table behind the house, Harry at the head of the table with Ron to his right and Hermione to his left. A small heap of presents was piled in front of Harry, and Ron's mother encouraged the birthday-boy to open them.

Smiling, Harry complied. Hermione had gotten him a set of two books, she had given him one yesterday, and now he got the second. Ron had to keep from rolling his eyes, as it was a set on ancient Egyptian script. He really did not get Hermione's preference for learning.

The twins had gotten Harry a box of their best tested joke candies, they promised to explain them properly. And their Declaration:

“You have to test them on...”

“...his evilness!”

“We really would like to know...”

“...If they work well on someone as powerful...”

“...as him.” got several different reactions.

Sirius started to laugh and their mother to scold at this exuberant display of the twins, and Harry paled under his summer tan. Maybe he was not as happy as Ron had believed him to be.

The other presents were quickly opened. Remus had gotten Harry a book with the title The Art of War, claiming it had something to do with one of the history lessons they had had. Sirius had purchased a set of Quidditch practice balls in a nice wooden chest. Ron had opted to give his best friend a fan shirt from his own favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. It was rather hard to come up with a present for Harry. And his parents had organised the party.

Once the presents were opened, the cake was distributed, and they had a cheerful afternoon, forgetting the problems surrounding them, laughing and joking, enjoying the cake and ice cream.

“How was your birthday party yesterday?” Ron's father wanted to know suddenly.

And there were all of Ron's worries again. “You had a party yesterday, and didn't invite me?” the youngest Weasley son demanded to know in a dangerous tone.

Looking sheepishly for help from Hermione or his godfather, Harry shrugged a little helplessly. “I didn't think you would have had fun?” It sounded somewhat like a question, even though it truly was none.

Not letting Ron start on the rant he so wanted to let loose on his friend, Hermione prevented any of the others from speaking by starting to explain in that bossy way she sometimes got about her. “Lord Slytherin made the guest list. He only invited political associates. I was only there because Lord Lestrange took me with him. And Neville didn't look too happy either, among all those Slytherins and Ravenclaws. It was mostly politics, and a boring adult party.”

“No,” Ron shouted cutting her off, “you didn't even ask!” Ron screamed into his friend's face. “Maybe I would have liked to come! You couldn't have known! You're becoming one of the snakes! You... you... traitor!”

Ron jumped up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste to get away. Not reacting to the others calling for him to stop, come back, Ron ran over to the orchard, vanishing under the trees.

ooooo

Harry was stumped. He had feared something like this would happen, and now he realized that not asking his friend to come to his party had not been his best idea. It just seemed so pointless and potentially dangerous to invite Ron to a party that Draco Malfoy and many more Slytherins would be attending, a disaster in the making.

As the teenager stood from his own chair, he realized that this was a surprisingly Slytherin way of looking at the situation. Dismissing the thought – now was not the right time to contemplate his less rash actions in the last weeks – Harry started to walk after his first human friend his own age. He had to make this distinction, Hagrid and Hedwig had been his first friends, after all.

He simply had to find a way to mend this disagreement. If he only knew what had Ron's knickers in a twist.

Not paying attention to the few words exchanged between those remaining at the table, Harry walked through the wonderful wild garden surrounding the Burrow down to the orchard they had used more than once to play Quidditch in.

He didn't hurry, giving Ron some time to cool down, and giving himself some time to compose an apology for not asking him to come to his birthday party on his actual birthday.

Finding his friend under a pear tree, leaning against the tree trunk, Harry settled beside him in the grass. It was getting dark. The crickets were making noise, providing a nice backdrop for their silence.

“I'm sorry for not trying to invite you. But Hermione has it right, I didn't make the guest list. Not sure if I could have managed to get your name on it.”

Ron remained silent, clenching his hands into fists repeatedly, still aggravated.

“Can you tell me what the problem is?” Harry asked quietly. He was no Legilimens, and even if he could have read his friend's thoughts, he would not do so. It would be a gross breach of trust between them. “Why are you so angry at me?”

“You're transforming into a pureblood git!” Ron answered, yelling, desperation evident in his voice. “The clothes, the way you talk, walk, write! You'll be another Malfoy! I'll loose my friend!”

At first Harry was stumped, again. Why would he become an idiot like Malfoy? Just because he was being made to learn some things?

But as he thought a few moments in the growing darkness under the trees, he realized that from outside it would look different. Seen from Ron's perspective, all the things that had changed about him – the fact he no longer had to wear Dudley's cast-offs, that he was made to pay more attention to the way he moved and talked – were probably hints that Harry would, or at least could, lose himself and turn into a stuck-up idiot.

How to go about explaining?

“My father was Lord Potter when he died. He worked in the Wizengamot. The portrait of my grandfather told me about it. Don't you think my dad would have wanted me to follow him into this role, someday?”

Reluctantly the red-haired and blue-eyed teenager nodded.

“And when I have to be a Lord, do you think I'll be able to achieve what I want to, without knowing the rules they all play by?”

Ron shook his head, his hands relaxing, his posture less stiff.

“Just because I know how to be a 'stuck-up pureblood' does not mean I will act like one all the time. What I do out of the public eye doesn’t have to fit the image I am required to hold up in public.”

They were quiet for some time, watching the sun go down the rest of the way behind the horizon, each lost in their own thoughts.

“This is all really fucked up, isn’t it?” Ron suddenly whispered in the dark, not turning to look at Harry who was still sitting in the grass.

“You can say that again!” Harry agreed wholeheartedly. “The whole thing is terribly confusing. The house is great, and the portrait…” He started with enthusiasm, only to trail off as he saw a clenching fist out of the corner of his eye.

“But most of the time it is really confusing.” Harry shifted topics rather suddenly to something he knew for sure would agree more with Ron. “I constantly wait for him to snap back to his normal way of acting, but he never does! And do you know what the weirdest thing is about the whole mess?”

Ron shook his head but Harry could see clear as day, even with the poor lighting they had in their spot in under the pear tree, that his friend was curious. “If I compare this summer to those I had to spend at Privet Drive… It is better, worlds better, than that, despite him.” Harry stressed the last word and shook his head ruefully. “Can you imagine that?”

Ron had a slightly horrified look on his face. “Were they that bad?!”

Harry made a grimace, count on his friends to pick up exactly the things he wished they would ignore. “Well, this summer I've actually been getting food regularly. I get to visit Sirius and my friends. No problems sending owl post, Hedwig is not imprisoned in her cage… Shall I go on?”

Ron haltingly shook his head. “No, I think I get it. The whole everyday stuff is easier with someone not hating magic. I get it. But it's still weird as hell, mate!”

“You can say that again. Sometimes I wish I just could be normal for once.”

That got Ron chuckling and they started to retell all the adventures they had that marked both of them as not really normal students of Hogwarts.

ooooo

It was a few hours later that Mrs. Weasley went into the kitchen to get a late-night snack for them, some blackberry cobbler she had hidden away somewhere. Harry sat, tired but content, between his two best friends, listening to the twins telling them all about some of their more successful experiments.

After Ron and he had returned from the orchard, the day had taken a turn for the better. Harry would describe the current state of their relationship as an uneasy truce, and he was vexed about the fact that the constant lessons on political alliances and the Slytherin families' way to go about them were having an impact on how he thought about interactions with others.

It went against everything he had experienced with his friends, and at the same time felt more natural than he was prepared to admit. In Gryffindor you either were friends or you were not – a concept clearly demonstrated on several occasions in the past by most of his house-mates – not this disturbing grey area of in-between states of relationship he now had to consider.

All still sitting at the table turned as they heard the tell-tale sound of someone apparating in sounding from the edge of the wards around the property.

It was dark in the garden, only the occasional lampion floating in the air casting some multicoloured lights, so they could see only that someone was at the fence, but not who it was.

Mr. Weasley got up, and Harry started to get up as well, because he had a fairly good idea who it might be. It was late, after all, and Marvolo had said he would be back to pick him up. So far the man had done exactly as he said he would, with everything. It felt a little unnatural, who on earth was able to fulfil all the promises they made, follow through with all plans?

Just before he could stand, both adult Weasleys came back. Mrs. Weasley was levitating a big casserole emitting mouth-watering scents, and Mr. Weasley was leading a casually-clothed Lord Slytherin to the table.

Before the awkwardness could settle in – Harry assumed that people who had engaged in actual combat against each other would be awkward around each other in a peaceful setting they did not really trust – Mrs. Weasley addressed the man that had come to pick up his ward. “We just wanted to eat some blackberry cobbler from the first blackberries this year, to conclude the day. Do you have you to leave now, or is it possible to stay a bit longer?”

Several startled gasps sounded around the table as Molly Weasley invited the man called only You-Know-Who by the family to sit at their table and share their food.

Said wizard inclined his head politely, smiling, and after a quick glance at Harry answered with the best manners possible. “I never would decline the opportunity to sample the famous cooking I have heard about in the past weeks. Thank you for inviting me.”

And to the astonishment of all present, Lord Slytherin walked around the table and sat down in the chair next to Harry, smiling politely and accepting a plate from the resolute matriarch of the family.

ooooo

“Either he is the best actor ever, or he had a personality transplant when he got a new body,” Sirius griped next to him, as they watched Harry leave with Lord Slytherin.

Remus turned to his friend and smiled a little sadly. “Albus always assures us that he was able to lie like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Even as a student. So I would guess that he just is that good an actor.”

“He never slips?” Sirius wanted to know, staring off to the distant stars in this warm summer night.

“I've never seen it. And judging by the relaxed atmosphere in the house, I guess he doesn't slip there either, even if I’m not around.”

“You think he just goes elsewhere to be a Dark Lord?” Remus furrowed his brow. Why did Sirius sound so hopeful?

“If I were him, I would make sure to keep everything not strictly legal away from the place everyone knows I live at, Padfoot. What are you on about?”

“Still hoping to find a way to get Harry back home,” Sirius sighed. “But I guess it is rather unlikely by now. Do you know why Dumbledore did not try to get Harry’s story about what happened in the graveyard into the process of ‘freeing’ him from his past?”

Remus shook his head. “He never told me. But maybe he was reluctant to bring Harry there, or it wouldn't have been possible to bring him there in time?”

They both remained silent for a moment until Sirius finally added another idea. “Or maybe he thought after the smear campaign by that Skeeter woman, everything he might have said would have been discounted?”

Remus nodded thoughtfully, and they both stayed silent until it was time to go home.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was pacing in his office at Griffin House. He had tried to work, revising for the OWL exams he had registeredfor that were to be held in the last week of August, and had abandoned the task after a few moments, unable to focus.

Originally he had hoped to be sitting by Henry's side while Malcolm Greengrass was tending his son's badly healed bones. But the boy had declined his offer to stay, almost demanded Marvolo to leave. And so he had nodded to the healer, said he would be waiting downstairs and went to do just that.

Marvolo knew that Malcolm was a master of the bone-breaking curse, had worked long to be able to break a bone exactly in the place he wanted to. Never had a prisoner died from unintentionally inflicted damage when the younger Greengrass had been in charge of interrogation.

Henry would be fine.

But strangely this knowledge did nothing to ease Marvolo's mind.

To pass the time until the family Healer would be finished, Marvolo started to analyse his new feelings, occluding as best he could to keep away the pain his son probably was feeling – despite the strong potion made by Severus, to dull the pain and send the child into a calm and relaxed state – and to contain his irritation.

In a way it was logical that not only positive emotions, like elation over well-working plans or amusement about floundering Death Eaters, would come back, but that those he had rather not have, and had been happy to lose in the past, would be back as well.

He understood anger and frustration and could deal with them, but the small stirrings of friendship he felt towards Xerxes, or the not-really-clear feelings towards Severus – and if that situation was not frustrating he did not know what was – this obvious concern for the well-being of another made him anxious.

He huffed in frustration and threw himself into the chair behind his desk.

Marvolo was aware that the regaining of half his soul had had a positive impact on him. His magical strength was still growing, his ability to reason was much better now. Planning and scheming was easy and brought him satisfaction, something he had only been able to gain through torturing someone in the months before he had lost his last body.

Every so often the thought of what would happen were he to absorb other horcruxes back into his body, mending his soul, came to him. He was reluctant to really consider this idea, but his researching on how to safely remove the horcrux from his son made sure that these thoughts were never far away.

Easier command of his magic, more of it at his disposal, but equally more feelings, more empathy... probably, he was not sure if he truly was capable of feeling with others... he was truly undecided.

With the knock on his door, the first Lord Slytherin in centuries banished all thoughts pertaining to split souls and their impact on the one doing the splitting, and called out “Enter!” sitting up straighter in his chair, so as not to let the other see the distress he was in.

Healer Greengrass, wearing a light coloured robe, entered upon the call, walked a few steps into the room, and sank gracefully onto one knee, his robes pooling around him on the ground. “My Lord,” he said in a calm voice, only a hint of strain to be heard.

“Report,” was Marvolo's curt order, he had no patience left at the moment. And he felt not a morsel of remorse as he saw the healer flinch.

The man raised his head, looking up to his Lord and started to report, as ordered. “The potion from Master Snape worked wonders. Your son, my Lord, stayed calm through the entire procedure.” Taking a deep breath as if to brace himself, Malcolm continued. “I had to break ten different bones. I healed each one only an instant later. Your son has a remarkable pain tolerance and made my task easier by remaining still during my work. I'm not sure what to think of this,” the young man added with troubled blue eyes.

Marvolo only nodded, he had noticed this high tolerance to pain himself the night he had regained a body, and he had a clear idea where this came from. Marvolo had to restrain his temper. How he would like to take out his rage on those blasted Muggles.

“Now he is sleeping, and will probably not wake till morning. I advise for him to rest the whole day, and to take this dose of Skele-Gro.” The healer got a small vial filled with the potion from a pocket of his robes, which Marvolo floated over to himself, setting it down on the desk. “After that, he should be fine.”

Eyeing his follower, Marvolo noticed that the strain he had heard in the man's voice was not entirely caused by heavy use of intricate magic within a short time frame, but from something else as well.

“What has you so tense, Malcolm?”

“As per your orders, my Lord, I explained what I would be doing before your son took the potion.” The young man looked troubled and Marvolo wondered what had him so agitated. Was there something wrong with Henry? Had he expressed distrust for the healer?

“He questioned why I would be using a curse to re-break the badly healed bones, and I could almost see his further, unvoiced, questions once I explained that I was most sure to get it right with this particular spell over others that might be used for the same purpose.”

Not in the mood to let Malcolm struggle further with expressing his concerns, Marvolo interjected with a – maybe overdue – explanation. “Henry is aware of the fact that you are one of my sworn followers. It might not have been spoken openly, but I have called you in a manner he would recognize, and you have addressed me and behaved in my presence as Henry has seen Death Eaters do on numerous occasions by now. He is not so oblivious as not to realize that you are old enough to have been in my service before my fall, nor that your duties were not only in healing your fellows. It seems he will not judge you based on assumptions. So do not fret overly much. If questions come up about whether something you want, or need, to use is to be considered dark, send him to me for answers.”

After that the man was quickly sent on his way, and Marvolo moved up the stairs, followed by Nagini, to check on his son.

One more problem taken care of. It seemed possible to get the boy into a healthy state before he had to send him off to school on the first of September.

oooOOooo

The day after having several bones broken by a curse, just so they could be set and healed correctly right afterwards, Harry lay resting on his big comfortable bed in his room at Griffin House.

The teenager was glad that his healer had commanded him to take this day lightly, resting for the most part, as it simply was too hot and humid to move much. A thunderstorm in the evening was likely.

Surrounded by all the books he had been given for his birthday, currently reading the one he had been given by Marvolo, Harry enjoyed the silence.

Nagini was resting in a patch of sunlight, lazily flicking her tongue out to check the scent in the room from time to time, keeping him company, as she had proclaimed after she had let herself in. Harry had not known that a snake could operate door handles. It made him think about using a locking charm on his door before going to sleep. Even if the big snake was nice to talk to most of the time, he did not fancy to wake to her being draped over his legs.

Taking another deep red bean from the case of “Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans” he had gotten for his birthday – he had had luck most of the time today – Harry flipped the page over and continued reading as a knock on the door got his attention.

Who might that be? It was not really a question, as only one other person was in the house, but there was a small chance it could be Professor Snape or maybe Lupin for a theory lesson. He had still so much to learn that it felt a little like wasting time just to be resting.

“Come in!” Harry called around the surprisingly hot bean – maybe some kind of chili? – and set the book aside as Vol- no, Marvolo walked in carrying several books and rolls of parchment.

“How do you feel, Henry?” the man wanted to know, taking the scene before him in with his red eyes.

“Okay, I think. Tired and hot.”

The adult wizard chuckled a little. “It is rather hot today. May I ask you something?”

Intrigued by the unusual fidgety manner of the man called a Dark Lord, Harry only nodded, not bothering with offering the other a seat. If he wanted to sit, he probably just would do so.

“I'm in need of some help revising the theory for my transfiguration OWL. Would you mind?” The man held the material he had brought out to Harry, his wavy hair now reaching his shoulders and brushing the emerald robes he wore over a simple ensemble of shirt and trousers.

“You want me to help you revise for OWLs?” Harry could not help but feel confused at this request. And this confusion sounded strong in his voice.

“Yes. I want you to help me study. I'd rather ask my son for help – who is still attending school and used to taking exams – than ask one of those that have been out of school for a long time too.” Books and scrolls were floated in the air and a chair conjured. “I'm sure that I will have no problem with any of the practical parts of the exams, but transfiguration is not something I studied to any great extent once I had finished school, so my theory is a little rusty.”

Harry was still staring dumbfounded as Marvolo sat down in the comfortable leather arm chair now standing in the middle of the room between the bed and the bookcase beside the door.

“Why do you even need to take OWLs again?” Harry wanted to know, too confused to bother with the normally added polite 'sir' he tacked on when speaking with the wizard.

“Have I not told you?” Marvolo asked, furrowing his brow in thought. “Maybe not. Well, when I was freed of responsibility for all crimes that might have been laid at my feet, Dumbledore made sure that all former academic achievements of mine were no longer mine to claim. I have to repeat the OWLs as well as NEWTs. I intend to take the OWLs this summer. So I have to freshen up my knowledge now.”

Still a little bemused, and amused over the pettiness of the Headmaster, Harry nodded and accepted the books that were now floating through the air towards him. “You know that I do not yet know all the stuff taught in fifth year, sir?” He got a nod from Marvolo as well as an impatient hand wave to just go on with it.

So Harry unfurled one of the scrolls, uncovering methodically made notes in a neat cursive, and started asking questions.

And so the rest of the afternoon was spent studying. First Harry asked his guardian questions on transfiguration, whichwere answered quite accurate most of the time, Marvolo only stumbled once or twice over some definition, which he grumpily decreed narrow-minded and not really lining up with his experience, later they changed to talking about the essay Harry had to write for charms.

It was oddly peaceful, and Harry wondered what Sirius might think, what his friends might think, if he told them he had been studying for OWLs with You-Know-Who. Hermione would probably ask what they had been studying; Ron would want to know why he had studied during the holidays and if it had been Dark Magic... Thinking about Ron was still very confusing and Harry just continued to stay in the moment, relishing in the attention he got from an adult, for the first time, positive attention directed at him, and only him.

oooOOooo

Sitting in one of the frequent staff meetings on Friday the fourth – they had more staff meetings this summer than any Severus could remember – the Potions Master did not listen to Pomona advocating for some new plants to acquire, again, but mused over his first week of August.

After the big Party given for his Lord’s heir – he still had trouble with deciding what to call the boy in his own mind, even if he had decided to call him Slytherin around the crowd of his Lord, and Potter around the Order – Narcissa had invited him over to a smaller party at her home and set him up for a date with one of her friends who had gone to Beauxbatons for a date. It was one of the more awkward social interactions he had had to endure in quite some time.

And as sad as it was to admit it, that was saying something.

Maybe enlisting her help had not been such a bright idea in the end. But he was at a loss where he might find a woman to marry. He would not consider one of his colleagues – he had to suppress a shudder at that thought – and most who were younger than he were either married, not interested in marriage, or had been his students at one point. Maybe he should settle for one of the woman he knew of who were not really interested in men – for whatever reason – but wanting to stick with tradition in providing heirs for their families. On second thought, he still had over half a year to search, so there was no necessity to forego a chance for a satisfactory relationship just now.

As Filius started to propose the idea of some in-depth study projects for some of his NEWT charms students, Severus shifted his thoughts over to the Occlumency and potions lessons he was giving to Lily’s son. Only the day before, he had instructed the boy on the different ways to grind ingredients. He had been slightly surprised by how precisely the child suddenly was working. As he had a look at the notes his student was taking, he started again. The boy’s writing was so much neater. Even neater than after the boy had been shown a better way to handle a quill than the one he had picked up by himself from his friends. It had taken Severus only a moment to come to the conclusion that one of the bones that had had to be re-broken and mended – Malcolm Greengrass had asked him to brew a potions to dull the pain and keep the child calm, so he had been required to explain in detail what it was he had planned to do – had troubled the boy while writing.

It troubled him greatly that he had not noticed what had been happening to one of the children he was teaching. He normally prided himself with noticing such heavy cases of bullying, even if it was happening at home. That this had slipped his notice just drove home how much he had chosen to disregard the child.

The Occlumency lessons were progressing well too. In one of the next lessons he would start to actually use Legilimency. The Potions Master was more than a little surprised that the child had picked up a method of meditation so fast.

When Minerva started to speak about the fact that the letters had not gone out yet, Severus started to actually pay attention to the present.

“Seriously, Albus! We cannot hold out on the letters much longer. The new first-years have been informed, but we need to inform the new prefects, so they have time to accept or decline their appointments. We need to send out the supply lists.” Albus made as if to speak, but closed his mouth again as Minerva simply kept talking, her green eyes looking furious from behind her square spectacles. “I know we still have no new Defence Professor and you hope to avoid letting the Ministry appoint one, but we simply need to inform our students of what they need to buy for their next year.”

Albus sighed, giving a weary look to his deputy. “You are, of course, right my dear. Do you think we can delay another week? I hope to visit a few possible candidates before then.”

Minerva gave the Headmaster a short and unhappy nod and the topic of conversation shifted again. Now the attack of Dementors on a group of teenagers and their tutor was the topic of discussion. Severus listened only with half an ear as the others voiced their concern if the Ministry would lose the control of the Dementors soon and what to do if this should happen.

To his great relief the meeting came to an end shortly after. And as he swept out of the room before any of the others he took a deep breath. Since he had changed his wardrobe from almost all black clothes to some more ‘cheerful’ colours, his colleagues tended to remark on his choice of robes almost every time they met. In some way he understood that the change from only wearing black and the odd white shirt to dark blues, greens, and even reds was a big step. But why the others had to comment on it more than once, that he did not understand.

Taking a deep breath, Severus marched down to his potions lab. He had the stock for the infirmary to replenish, and only a few weeks left until term would start. Not knowing what Albus or his Lord might come up with in the interim, he was resolved to use the time he had.

oooOOooo

Kingsley was sitting at his desk with Tonks, both of them going over a roughly sketched plan on how they planned to investigate that Dementor attack from the end of July.

“We need to find the order that sent the Dementors there,” Kingsley reconfirmed with a resolute nod.

Tonk’s bubblegum pink hair flopped with her not-as-enthusiastic nod. “That is going to be a nightmare. Have you seen the filing room? Some nutjob has cast some experimental sorting charm in there, everything is in a mess on the floor.”

A sigh from the bald, older Auror was the only confirmation. The filing room was a mess. A little too convenient for whomever sent Dementors to attack kids. But sadly it was a rather common occurrence at the Ministry of Magic of late. The Department responsible for all the paperwork had offered a reward for a more efficient sorting charm, and so everyone with only a faint idea of spellcrafting was trying their luck.

Kingsley suspected that the culprit knew of this and had used it to his or her advantage.

And as those papers all were spelled against direct summoning… It was a nightmare!

The two of them just had stood from the desk they had been working at as the Head of the Auror Department came over to them. Scrimgeour was followed by Dawlish.

“Shacklebolt! Tonks! You are about to start the investigation into the incident from the 23rd?” Both Aurors confirmed with a nod. “Tonks, I need you for an undercover operation against a man selling fake Felix Felicis.” The wizard with his lion-like head of hair waved the wizard following him forward. “Dawlish volunteered to help with this investigation.” Turning on his heel Scrimgeour called to Tonks to follow him and she complied with an exasperated look to Kingsley.

Several tense moments the wizards stood across from each other, trying to weigh the other with their eyes.

“I know we don’t see eye-to-eye most of the time. But I would like to believe that we all want to know who would send Dementors after children. Am I right?” Dawlish finally broke the silence.

The wheels were turning in Kingsley’s head. The Order knew that there were people of You-Know-Who in most of the Ministry Departments. Even here in the Auror Department, despite how hard it was to admit it. So was this wizard one of the Death Eaters? It did sound as if he was insinuating that he was. But until he saw the Dark Mark on the man’s arm he could not be sure.

“I guess so.” Pausing for a moment, Kingsley weighed his options. In the end there was not much he could do. “We wanted to start with the search for the order that sent the Dementors into the Forest of Dean. Other suggestions?”

Dawlish shook his head. “No. We need to know the name on the order.” He walked a few steps in the direction of the elevators before he spun on his heel. “What are you waiting for?”

Reluctantly Kingsley followed.

As they stepped into the elevator down to the archive, Kingsley murmured to himself, “I hope our culprit doesn't simply vanish.”

He was startled out of his musings as the man standing beside him said quietly, “It's almost impossible to predict how he will act once we know a name.”

There was nothing more to say after that, and they started to sort through the mounds of paper on the search for one single Dementor attack order form the moment they reached the archive.

Kingsley let his brown eyes wander through the room, over the chaos in it. Months of work were waiting here. He sighed and started to sort the files at his feet.

Chapter Text

In the smaller ballroom in the west wing of Malfoy Manor, four teenagers moved over the dance floor to the music. They moved with different levels of confidence and skill, following the directions of Lady Narcissa Malfoy.

It was the second lesson she was giving them, but the first in dancing. Her students were her own son, Daphne Greengrass from the same year, Harry, and Hermione.

Harry was enjoying the lessons, contrary to what he had expected. The one lesson he had had prior to this had been horrible, but this was fun, even if he felt clumsy moving Hermione around over the mosaic floor. Draco was behaving as best he was able, almost constantly battling with his habit of belittling Hermione and snapping at Harry himself. And Harry found the irritated scowl frequently making an appearance on the blond’s face highly amusing.

Narcissa Malfoy was a good teacher. She was patient and able not to be condescending to her pupils. The first lesson had been on table manners. To get to know what Hermione and Harry already knew about this, she had hosted a small dinner party. Draco and Daphne had been there as well. Harry was pretty sure that Narcissa was trying to provide her son with more opportunities to mend the fences between the two boys. It was not working, but to have the two Slytherins there had proven to be useful. Dancing with only one girl tempted him to only learn the movements to dance with her and not what was necessary to dance with a large number of different women.

Harry wished that he had had these lessons before the ball during the tournament last year. He would not have made himself into such a laughing stock if he had known how to dance then.

At the moment they were practising the waltz to some old-fashioned music played by a turntable. It was incredibly hot in the room, and Harry hoped that they would stop and rest for a while really soon.

A house-elf popped into the room, bowing to the Lady of the Manor. “Mistress is needed in the kitchen. There is some problem with delivery.”

With a wave of her wand the music stopped and she turned to the four children standing in the middle of the room. “Take a few moments to rest. Drink something and practice your conversation skills. I will be back after I have sorted this problem,” was the short and distracted instruction Mrs. Malfoy gave the teenagers on her way out.

“Bring us some lemonade,” Draco ordered the elf before he walked over to a small seating area off to the side. Shrugging, Harry followed, placing Hermione’s hand in the crook of his elbow as he had learned earlier that day.

The four of them settled down around a small, low table, taking a glass of lemonade each.

“It is much too warm for this much dancing,” Daphne said before she sipped mannerly from her cool drink.

“Well, we have too much catching up to do to be able to stop just because it is too hot,” sighed Harry, taking measured sips from his glass. The lemonade was wonderfully refreshing, and he wished he could empty his glass in a few big gulps as he would have done only a few weeks ago. But as the heir to both the Potter and Slytherin families, he just could not behave that uncouth in public. He mentally sighed. Maybe Ron was not so far off with his fear of his changing too much.

Daphne shook her head. “I have trouble wrapping my mind around this whole story. Do you both have any time to actually have holidays this summer?”

Smiling, Harry shook his head. “Not really. Beside these lessons here, I have lessons in ancient runes, history, politics, all the stuff associated with the families – both of them…” he shrugged. “I think you both should know what that entails.” Both Draco and Daphne nodded and did not bother to hide their grimaces, they did know. “And you, Hermione, probably will learn that in the next few days. You have decided to become heiress, haven't you?” Hermione nodded, her bushy hair bobbing with the small motion.

“All that in one summer?” Draco asked, eyes wide with doubt. “Not possible! We start learning much earlier!”

Hermione threw him an amused glare. “Just because you had more time,” she snorted. “Uncle Xerxes is determined to streamline the information for me. And I’m determined to seize this opportunity. You lot know that you are not really forthcoming with the finer points of tradition, culture, and society? And as sad as I am to admit it, this is something that one can’t learn from books.”

Silence settled over their little group while they all drank some more cold lemonade, resting their feet. Draco forced himself to stay calm and polite, looking all the while as if he was chewing on lemons. Daphne looked pensive and like she was trying to decide if she wanted to ask what was obviously on the tip of her tongue.

Amused, Hermione and Harry watched their Slytherin class-mates. It was funny that those two seemed so easy to read, almost suspiciously so. Or were they just not as closed off as they were at school?

Daphne fixed Harry with her cold blue eyes, curiosity bright in them. “Does Lord Slytherin contemplate a marriage contract for you?”

Harry blinked a few moments in shock, marriage contract? “Noo…” he answered hesitantly.

Before he could formulate a more eloquent answer, Hermione had started to speak.

“Uncle Xerxes told me about this custom. He said that it is not easy to find a suitable partner for an heir or heiress. To secure someone, contracts between families were – or rather are – quite common for the old families.” Harry fixed his gaze on his very good friend. “But he told me that the new discoveries of the last weeks will probably change much of this. Because there are suddenly more possible partners.”

Thoughtfully Daphne nodded. “Astoria and Draco have a preliminary contract...” At Harry’s questioning look she explained, “A contract that can be easily dissolved if both parties wish for it,” Harry nodded to signal that he had understood. “It is harder to find someone for me. I’m heiress, so I hardly can marry an heir. And many of the families my parents would approve of only have one child, if they have a son at all.” She huffed, taking the last swallow of her lemonade, setting the glass down on the little coaster placed before her on the light wooden table. “The likelihood of finding someone not too young or too old is small, and I do not dare hope that I actually have a chance to find someone I could fall in love with.”

With a dismayed grimace Harry started to play nervously with his robe sleeves. “Until now he has not mentioned anything about this to me. Maybe I should ask, not that he makes some decisions without ever asking me.”

“If more, or even all, of our fellow students are related to some of the old families, the pool of candidates he would approve of,” she scoffed at the implied preference for a specific ancestry, “should grow quite a lot,” Hermione said reasonably. “Your mother was a descendant of Slytherin, after all. I do not see him forcing you together with someone you cannot stand, Harry.”

Daphne sighed a little forlornly. “I have asked father if he would think Aiden Nott was a possibility. He is a younger son and descended from an old German family. That is quite good actually. Not so closely related to the British wizarding families.”

Being forced to look at marriage from this point of view was slightly horrifying. Selecting a partner based on if he or she was a younger or the oldest child, and how closely related they were to you... it simply felt wrong. Harry rubbed his arms but kept silent, going over the implications in his mind while he listened to Hermione lecturing about contracts between married people in the muggle world. The young purebloods were slightly mystified by the acknowledged need to secure fortunes and how a marriage would be broken if certain things were to happen. Neither Draco nor Daphne had thought it possible to find something so similar to one of their upheld traditions in the Muggle world.

Harry knew from history lessons from before Hogwarts that noble families all over Europe had made a point of finding politically advantageous partners for their children. The way the old – traditionally oriented – wizarding families were going about it was close to that, only a little more restricted. They insisted on old magical families and thus had a smaller pool to choose from. Harry was of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with falling in love with a Muggle and marrying one, but taking into account that it was not allowed to talk about magic to Muggles, and the possibly perceived betrayal of keeping such a big secret for so long… That would complicate an already complicated affair – he more often than not felt mystified by girls – to a degree many might simply just avoid. Going for a witch or wizard was so much simpler, less prone to misunderstandings, with less opportunity to get hurt. Thinking of the way the Dursleys were acting around magic, Harry had to admit that it was too likely that a Muggle, learning that their spouse was a witch or wizard after they had married, would react badly. When were they even allowed to tell their partners? Knowing the Ministry, it was probably really only after they were already married. He would have to ask to be sure. Maybe that was something that had to be changed.

Their discussion was cut short as Draco’s mother returned, muttering something about substandard strawberries under her breath, and they returned to their dancing.

oooOOooo

Sitting in a nicely padded leather chair, Marvolo sipped on his tea and leafed through the notes Xerxes had given him after showing him to the meeting room. He was waiting for the others to arrive, curious how a meeting led by another would go while he was in attendance.

Voices were drawing near. It seemed one of the others had arrived.

“I still am not sure why I’m here, Lord Lestrange,” a silky male voice drawled. That had to be Severus.

“None of that, Severus. It is Xerxes,” their host answered, scolding the younger wizard, “And as I’m planning a school, and you are the only one of us with years of teaching experience, I think it is wise to have you here.”

Marvolo assumed that Severus nodded to that because there was nothing said and a moment later both men stepped into the small dining room they would be using for this meeting.

Xerxes nodded his head to Marvolo and Severus sank down onto one of his knees.

“I will check on the elves and greet the others,” the Lord of the house explained as he was leaving the room again.

“Please rise, Severus. Take a seat,” Marvolo said and indicated a chair across from his own place at the table for Severus to take.

The Potions Master complied and watched his Lord with attentive dark eyes.

“Tell me, Severus. What is the current Hogwarts policy regarding the education of the students in matters of interactions between them?” Marvolo grimaced in the privacy of his mind. That was a rather awkward way to put it. But despite the fact that he looked like a young man in his early twenties, he was last a teenager in the early forties, and the Muggles had been rather prudish... and the wizards had not been much more open.

Thankfully Severus was a quick thinker and knew almost immediately what he wanted to know. With a slightly annoyed look the Hogwarts professor started his explanation. “I would guess that the policy has not changed much since your days at the school, my Lord. There is no lecture from the school nurse or the Heads of House. Generally it is assumed that a child’s parents will take care of informing their offspring.” It was obvious that Severus did not approve of this practice. “When I notice one of my Slytherins becoming interested in things like that, I make sure they know how to prevent unintentional pregnancy, but I’m pretty sure that I’m the only one of the Heads doing so.”

“Thank you, Severus. It seems that I will have to take care of this myself then.” And he was bemused by the feelings elicited by this prospect. He was maybe the darkest wizard ever to live. Had had done countless things others would shy away from. And now here he sat, terrified by the prospect of having to speak with his adopted son about courting, sex, and all it entailed.

The irony was not lost on him. But now was not the time to think how he would go about this task. He would contemplate this when he was home again and alone.

And so he waited for the others to arrive, to help his friend plan his school. Another thing he had never done before and never expected he would get to do. Thankfully, this was a task he was looking forward to.

ooooo

After his Lord had stated that it would fall to him to inform the former Potter brat on the facts of life he would need to know, Severus stayed still in his chair. He was looking at his folded hands so as to not risk eye-contact with the Dark Lord. He could not take the chance that the man would pick up on his current thoughts. And with the situation as it was, Severus was not sure if he would be able to keep them hidden.

The mental images his imagination was conjuring for him were just too ridiculous to ignore. How he wished he could be a fly on the wall to witness this conversation.

Imagining the Dark Lord in the role of a father was still hard. Even if the day of the Dementor attack and the wizard's reaction, the concern Severus could see clearly in the blue eyes, had made it somewhat easier.

Seeing the man now, sitting not at the head of the table but in one of the chairs along the side, clearly thinking on how to go about this dreaded talk, was something entirely new. Severus actually was glad that he had made the decision to keep on living, to turn on Dumbledore and return to the Dark Lord’s side.

This was the way the other attendants of this meeting found the two wizards, sitting across from each other at the table, silent, both lost in their thoughts. Lucius sat next to his friend, Benjamin taking the place to the left of their Lord, the others – like Lord Greengrass – sitting down and reaching for the snacks and drinks provided by the house-elves in the middle of the table.

“Thank you all for finding time this evening to help me with a pet project of mine,” they were greeted by the owner of the house, as Xerxes Lestrange took his place at the head of the table. Severus barely refrained from rolling his eyes as some of the others tensed as someone other than their Lord sat down at the head of the table.

“Many thanks especially to you, Marvolo. I know that you have much to do.”

The Dark Lord smiled – a truly eerie sight as none of them were accustomed to any other smile than cruel ones on their Master’s face – and waved his hand as if to dismiss the thanks. “Your idea complements my plans most usefully. I’m glad if I can help you realize it.” Severus marvelled over the obvious changes in the man’s behaviour. The story that had been told, about some curse affecting his behaviour before his old body was destroyed, started to sound more plausible by the day.

“Before I start with the reason I asked you to come, let me provide you with a little background information.” The smile on the older Lestrange’s face was a little strained now as he took a sip from his tea and started to explain. “I’m sure most of you do not know that I had an older sister. She never received a letter from Hogwarts and left for the Muggle world shortly after that.”

The looks exchanged around the table made it obvious that beside the Dark Lord and Severus, no one really had known.

“After Marvolo had adopted Henry and the ancestry test revealed an existing familial connection, one of the boy's friends got curious and went to get herself tested as well.”

Interrupting his friend, Lord Nott leaned forward, turning to look at the already grey-haired wizard, astonishment clear on his face. “The Granger girl! That is the reason you finally changed the inheritance rules?”

Xerxes nodded. “That is right, Benjamin. My sister married and had a son, who is the father of Hermione.” Murmurs went around the table and Xerxes waited a moment for silence to return before he continued. “I’m of the opinion that a school for Squibs to attend so they do not feel pressured to leave our world is the best measure to keep them with us, and make sure there are no magicals born stranded among Muggles. Hermione was lucky that her parents are not afraid of magic. But we know that this is not the norm,” the older wizard stated with a slight frown on his face.

Remembering his own youth with a muggle father who had not known that the woman he had married was a witch until his son had his first bout of accidental magic, Severus had to agree. Life for more than one magical child living with Muggles had been hard. And it would continue to be.

“At the moment I plan a two-part school. Classes for younger kids – those born into magical families and those stranded in the Muggle world – and one for those children that have not enough magic of their own to attend Hogwarts.” He now had the undivided attention of all present. Each of them knew of at least one child that had not been invited to Hogwarts. Most were adults now, living somewhere in the Muggle world or on the edges of their society. Severus even remembered that he once had found a text speaking of the practice of killing Squib children. It seemed that these days were over for good.

“Let’s start with the elementary classes. Severus,” the Potions Master was addressed. “You get to see all children once they come to Hogwarts. What can you tell us about the state of education they are in then? Any advice on what we should consider for those classes?”

Happy that he actually was here for his experience, Severus started to rant his complains he had had for years now. “Get them some decent language lessons. The number of spelling and grammatical errors is horrendous. The fact that almost none of the little dunderheads know how to structure an essay properly is just a minor inconvenience in comparison. The level of knowledge greatly varies between those that had tutors,” here Severus inclined his head in the direction of Nott and Malfoy, “those that were home-schooled, and those that were sent to a Muggle school for the young.”

“In what way do they differ?” Lucius wanted to know, his blond hair falling into his face as he leaned forward to get a better look at his friend.

“Those coming from Muggle schools and tutors mostly are competent enough. It greatly depends on whether they are dedicated enough to keep up with their studies. But those that have been home-schooled have a disadvantage if the parent teaching them is not knowledgeable enough.”

Lucius nodded and Severus could see in the faces of the others that they had no problem in following his reasoning.

“So English and mathematics are a given. I would propose a cultural class, to help the children from Muggle homes get acclimated to our culture easier and earlier than they can now.” A lot of nodding around the table signalled that they were in agreement over this.

“I thought some basics in other fields of magic – mostly those things that do not require any magic to learn – and physical activities could be other lessons to incorporate. What would you propose?” And so Xerxes opened the floor for the discussion.

Pretty soon they were engaged in a passionate discussion: what should be taught, who could be hired as teachers for single subjects, what a building would need to be acceptable as a place for the school, when schooling should start, and many details more.

Severus was actually surprised that they managed to agree on Xerxes’ suggestion to use a vehicle similar to the knight bus to collect the children from their homes in the morning and return them in the evening.

It was a rather novel experience to be discussing something productive, something that would create, and not the next raid or attack to kill, torture, and destroy. Severus enjoyed the opportunity to be involved in reforms for the early education of the magical children.

oooOOooo

Two old friends were standing on a small street somewhere outside of Little Hangleton, looking at what remained of the shack once inhabited by the last of the Gaunts.

“And what are we doing here?” Alastor wanted to know, looking over to his companion standing by his side, his blue eyes wandering over the trees and shrubs standing around the ruin.

“Looking for something Tom has hidden here, Alastor,” Albus answered, smiling at his friend. “What do you think about the wards and other protections surrounding this run-down shack? Why would he go to all this trouble if nothing valuable was hidden here?”

The old, retired auror scoffed and let his magical eye survey the moss-covered walls, the roof that had collapsed several years ago, judging by the small trees growing inside the walls, and the grounds surrounding what maybe once had been a sound building.

“Whatever he has hidden behind these muggle-repelling wards and the notice-me-not charms, it certainly was not the building he wanted to keep safe. That’s for sure!”

Piercing blue eye roved over Albus, but he chose to ignore the silent question of his friend and ally. He had brought him for backup, not to explain how Tom had achieved a form of immortality. It was better if not too many people knew of the horcruxes and the need to find and destroy them. “Let’s see if we can manage to get through these wards without triggering any alarms, shall we?” Albus said, his eyes twinkling merrily. It always was fun to go against another that had similar magical strength and the cunning to pose riddles to be solved. If only the boy had stayed away from the dark.

Sighing, Albus stepped forward and in concert with Alastor found a weak spot in the wards. They both came to the conclusion that the spells had been placed here several decades ago and had not been checked up on since then.

“Bloody insanity,” bellowed Alastor, not even trying to keep quite. “Why go to all this trouble to protect a place and then not return to make sure it stays protected?”

They now were inside the protective wards and fighting with the tall grass and the thistle growing in between on their way closer to the building, or more accurately, what once had been a building.

“Tom always was most assured that no one was as clever as he. I would guess he never would think another capable of even finding this place.” They reached the place where a door with an old rusty nail hung off a last remaining hinge, in danger of falling over to the ground any moment. “Let’s have a look around.”

They split up and searched the small number of rooms, or what once had been rooms. Albus wished he had foregone the robes for this endeavour, they always got tangled in one of the roofbeams or the plants covering the ground.

After a search of not more than ten minutes, Albus found a spot on the floor that had a menacing feel about it. “Alastor, I think I found it!”

Some moments and several colourful curses later, the sound of Alastor coming over – his peg leg was unique and far from silent – made Albus look up.

“Let’s see then, Albus.”

Together they moved a few wooden beams out of the way and removed some young trees until they uncovered the floorboards. Under one of them they found a small casket from precious woods with the picture of a snake on the cover.

“How careless! No additional wards. I thought he would be more vigilant!”

“If I’m right, Alastor, it is entirely possible that Tom hid this here when he was barely out of school. And when he never returned here, why should the protections be better than a young man would think of?”

A small wandless levitation charm later and the two wizards had an unimpeded view of a heavy gold ring set with a black stone that had some lines etched into it. The lines were not easy to see in the twilight under the trees inside the old ruin.

“Our work is done here,” Albus said with finality, a suspicion making itself known in the back of his mind, he would need a moment alone with the ring and better light to make sure. “Let us return to the school.”

Nodding his consent Alastor stepped back to let Albus rise, watching as his old friend waved his hand to close the lid and levitate the small casket out of its hiding place.

They took great care while leaving the place. It would be a disaster if they were to trip any alarms on their way out. Once the two wizards had left the wards behind and were once again standing on the small street that led down to the village they did not wait long before they apparated back to the border of Hogwarts.

ooooo

Alastor contemplated their afternoon adventure the whole way up to the castle and the Headmaster's office. They set the box with the ring down in the middle of the desk, first removing some of the trinkets Albus was so fond of.

“And what now, Albus?” Alastor wanted to know, sitting down in one of the visitor chairs. His leg was killing him, and his back demanded he take a break. How he longed for the days of his youth when he could duel several dark wizards for hours without getting out of breath.

“Now, I think, we should destroy this ring to break the magic that is bound to it, don’t you agree?” Was Albus’ answer, his eyes merrily twinkling.

Scoffing, Alastor flicked his wand, opening the casket and exposing the ring again. This was one of Albus’ damned secrets again. He knew the man too well to expect an explanation of any kind from him. But he would ask anyway.

“And what magic is anchored in this ring, Albus?” his magical eye was searching the small box for any hidden compartments or nasty spells.

“One of the most foul there is, my friend.”

Shaking his head, Alastor gave his friend a glare. “All your secrets will come back to bite us in the ass, Albus!” As said wizard just kept smiling, the ex-auror shook his head. “What is needed to destroy the anchor?”

“If you could get the sword of Gryffindor from its place in the Trophy Room, I will prepare what needs to be done here.”

Highly sceptical, Alastor got up and made his way down to the room in which all awards, trophies, and other remarkable and flashy objects from Hogwarts' long history were stored and displayed.

He was sure that Albus’ tendency to keep secrets and only tell those around him the bare minimum of information once he was forced to do so would get them all into big trouble. He himself was torn as to which was better: to keep essential information between as few people as possible, so as not to risk it getting into the wrong hands, or to share the information with all who were trustworthy, so it would not be lost.

Both ways had something he thought necessary, and both had risks. He huffed, descending the last flight of stairs, his wooden leg making clunking noises with each second step.

The sword was easy to spot and even easier to get down from its display. Hogwarts had lax security measures. No wonder there had been so many dangerous situations in the last few years! Any first-year could have wandered into the room and gotten the sword. Snorting, and with the ruby-encrusted weapon held securely in his hand, he started his way back up.

A few minutes later – it was a rather long trek from the trophy room back to the Headmaster’s office – Alastor walked in on a gruesome scene. Albus was bent over his desk, his face contorted in pain, his breathing shallow and fast, his right arm was hanging by his side, the ring on his hand, the appendage blackened. As Alastor hurried to his friend’s side he could watch as the black discolouration crept higher from the wrist towards the elbow.

“Albus, what have you done?! You idiot! You knew the ring was cursed. Get it off!” He shook Albus by his shoulders, getting him aware enough so that he was able to remove the ring again.

“Crack the stone with the sword!” gasped Albus, and Alastor complied even though he was not sure that it would help with negating the curse. And he was right, even as a new crack graced the surface of the ring, the curse did not slow down or recede.

“Get Severus,” Albus managed to say between moans of pain. So Alastor cast his patronus to send it with a message to Severus Snape. He did not like the man, but he knew more about dark magic and curses than Alastor himself, and probably they would need a Potions Master to keep Albus from dying.

After the silvery shape had left the circular office, the grey-haired and one-eyed wizard started to cast a steady string of spells to keep the Headmaster of Hogwarts alive while all the former headmasters and headmistresses watched from their portraits.

Alastor prayed to any god listening that the brat would hurry.

oooOOooo

The meeting was going well. They had compiled an extensive list of possible teachers for all the subjects they thought should be offered at the new school, with second and third options for most of the positions. Severus was surprised that most of the persons named were Squibs. He never realized how many of those there were in the wizarding world.

At the moment they were comparing different houses belonging to the families, which might be used to house the school. The Dark Lord already had offered to help improve wards around the school, and Lucius had offered his help in purchasing a suitable house if neither of them had one they could part with.

“I have another aspect to consider,” their Lord said and got all attention on the spot. “I tried to get the Goblins to agree for us to use the ancestry test – provided by them of course – outside of Gringotts, but they insist that they are to be performed in the bank and for children only with a legal guardian with them.”

“They let Hermione take the test without her parents being present,” Xerxes remarked, filling his cup with fresh tea.

“I’m aware. They most likely want to pressure me into accepting some outlandish conditions.” Red eyes were rolled, and Severus had to control his face so as not to blink in astonishment. The Dark Lord was acting disturbingly human.

“But I think we could actually use this to our advantage. If we could somehow incorporate a short-term orphanage into the school, then we could get cases like Aidan to safety and find out to which family they belong before they are adopted.”

Before anyone could answer to this idea or react in any way, the Dark Lord’s eyes got impossibly wide and he sank to the ground curling in on himself. Immediately all around the table wizards sprang to their feet, drawing their wands, looking wildly around them, searching for the threat.

Severus took the shortest way possible to his Lord’s side – directly over the table, crushing some of the remaining pastries – casting a quick diagnostic over him. “My Lord, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Waiting for an answer Severus went over the list of potions he had on him in his head.

“Backlash,” was the whispered answer as the most powerful dark wizard started to shake with tremors and pressed his jaw together like he was trying to prevent cries of pain.

Severus had gotten a pain reliever potion out of his pocket and had managed to get the cork out of the vial as the silvery shape of a genet ran through the wall over to Severus and spoke in the voice of Alastor Moody. “Get your sorry ass back to Hogwarts. Albus needs your help. And hurry, boy!”

Ignoring the irritating auror and his demands – what the hell went wrong this time, and why was it always him that needed to save the day? -- Severus turned to his Lord again, trying to get the man to drink the pain potion. But instead of drinking the potion the Dark Lord fixed pain-filled, red eyes on his Potions Master. “Go… keep your cover… help... him…” And he added a hoarse “Go!” as he realized that Severus was about to ignore his order to stay by his side.

But this was an obvious order Severus better not ignore – the Dark Lord had been somewhat more reasonable of late, but was sure to be irritated after this – and to keep his cover and place in the Order he could not ignore this call for help.

So he stood, bowed to his Lord, who was still suffering enormous amounts of pain by the look of it, and turned to leave the room.

“Get his healer here!” Severus snapped at Lord Greengrass as he passed the man on his run out of the room and the wards. He had the feeling that the state his Lord was in and the call for help from Moody were somehow connected.

ooooo

While Severus hurried to get to Hogwarts and the Headmaster’s side, where he would spent several hours stabilizing the man by giving him potions, some of them freshly brewed, and casting wards on his hand to contain the curse from spreading further, Lestrange Manor was filled with slightly panicking Death Eaters.

Lord Greengrass had called his brother by floo after Severus’ order had shaken him from his stupor. And now the younger wizard was administering potions and casting a huge number of different healing spells in the small sitting room next to the dining room they had used as their meeting place, while the rest of them were standing fretfully in the hall, shifting from foot to foot, unsure of what they should do.

It had been twenty minutes when finally Malcolm Greengrass stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. “Our Lord is now sleeping and will be fine again by morning,” Malcolm announced, as instructed by his Lord. And by the easing of the tension that went through the room in that very moment it was clear why he had been instructed to tell them.

“Can you inform us of the cause?” Lord Malfoy wanted to know, his expensive robes crumpled and his hair in disarray.

Malcolm nodded, catching a questioning gaze from his brother and trying to reassure him with a small smile. “He thinks that someone triggered a really old protection he had placed somewhere several decades ago. It was not quite compatible with his new body, and there was an odd reaction because of this. As I said, he will be fine by morning. There is no reason to worry.”

It seemed that they all felt better to know this, and Xerxes took charge of the situation, sending the others home, asking them to remember the things they wanted to research.

While the group broke up into several smaller groups of quietly speaking wizards, the healer walked over to Lords Nott and Malfoy. “Our Lord instructed me to tell you that his son Henry shall stay with either of you for the night.”

The blond and the brunette looked at each other. “Our Lord’s heir is certainly more comfortable in your home, Benjamin,” Lucius said, casting a charm to straighten his robes out.

“You are right, Lucius. But is he not at the moment at your house, getting instruction on dancing from your wife?” Benjamin answered, taking the customary steps in the dance, trying to get the advantage of housing their Lord’s heir in a situation of distress. An opportunity to prove loyalty and competence, as well as establish some sort of accord with the boy. But as it would have seemed uncouth to just grab the boy and keep him – figuratively speaking – they had to make it seem as if they felt not worthy of the honour, encouraging the other to take on the task, even if they wanted to have the honour.

Malcolm scoffed in the privacy of his mind. He was so happy that he was not the oldest son. Having to work this way all the time because he was Head of his House and sitting in the Wizengamot… no, he much preferred his work as a healer.

“I think a known environment, like his old guest room in your house, Lord Nott, would be best. I can provide a calming draught that works well with his other potions,” Malcolm intervened. If he did nothing of the sort, this delicate manoeuvring could take hours.

“Very well,” Lord Malfoy conceded, turning back to Lord Nott. “Benjamin. If you would accompany me, then you can inform our Lord’s heir and take him to your house.”

ooooo

Late in the afternoon the young witches and wizards had to pause in their dancing lesson. Harry had developed a severe case of migraine Hermione suspected of being caused by something connected to the one man she had trouble naming in her head. Should she keeping with the ridiculous habit of calling him You-Know-Who, call him Voldemort as the Headmaster insisted they do, or go with Lord Slytherin as would be proper considering tradition?

Regardless of what she would call him, Hermione remembered too well the few things Harry had told her and Ron last year, how he felt it when Voldemort – there was no question who the wizard had been back then – had had strong emotions. And the few times in their first year Harry had complained about odd pains in his scar. She was concerned this was somehow like that.

As the pain potion Lady Malfoy had an elf fetch did nothing to ease the pain, Hermione was almost convinced that her suspicion was right.

Finally Harry recovered somewhat, drinking some water, as Lord Malfoy came home accompanied by Lord Nott and her uncle Xerxes. Her friend immediately stood from the settee the Lady of the house had forced him to sit on earlier, walking over to the three Lords.

“What happened?” Harry demanded to know, his green eyes sparking with determination to get an answer.

A part of Hermione – the part that did not dare question her teachers, or what was written in books – waited for the adults to brush Harry off, maybe even scold him for his disrespectful question. But the bigger part of her – the part questioning everything, the part that had been growing for years now – was not surprised as the men only exchanged glances until Lord Nott bowed his head in Harry’s direction and started an explanation. “It seems some old protection your father had placed somewhere in the past, was breached today and caused some sort of backlash. Healer Greengrass is sure that Lord Slytherin will be recovered by morning. Your father asked that you stay with one of us,” here the dark-haired Lord in his light summer robes indicated Lord Malfoy and himself, “for the night, Henry.”

“If it is all the same to you, Lord Malfoy,” Harry said with a proper small bow in the blond's direction, “I would prefer to stay at Nott Manor for the night.”

Slowly picking up on the subtleties of the interactions between the old magical families, Hermione noticed the sour expression on Lord Malfoy’s face as he responded. “You are free to choose the place you feel more comfortable to stay, Heir Slytherin-Potter.” And she noticed the difference in address, smiling to herself at the obvious lower esteem the Malfoys had in Harry’s eyes.

“I will take you back to your parents, Hermione,” Xerxes addressed her, smiling. And she answered with a smile of her own. “Thanks, Uncle Xerxes.”

The teenagers said their farewells and Harry assured Hermione with a look and a small nod that he would inform her of what he knew as soon as they had less of an audience.

They parted, hoping to meet soon again.

oooOOooo

On the way up from the entrance hall to get to bed, Marvolo quietly stepped into Henry’s room.

It had been a long day and a long week. He just was back from the house he had made his headquarters, receiving a report from his auror who was working on the investigation of the Dementor attack, and felt the need to check on his son.

Looking into the room bathed in the light of the waning moon, Marvolo spotted the art supplies spread over his son’s desk. The therapy seemed to do the boy some good, but only time would tell how far the help could go. One effect it had had was obvious though. Henry had uncovered an urge to express himself through art. And as long as his son did not slack off in his studies, Marvolo saw no reason to hinder the boy. Therefore they had made a small trip to Muggle London on Friday – Marvolo had found much amusement in Henry’s reaction to their destination – buying different colours and media so Henry could experiment and find the medium he wanted to use. Several sketches and attempts with oil paint, different kinds of pencils and crayons, and water colours were littered over the desk, almost hiding a potions essay beneath them. Taking a few steps into the room, Marvolo spotted a sketch of a huge black dog, one of a hatching dragon, and one of a centaur, on top of the piles.

The silvery moonlight on his son’s peaceful face directed Marvolo’s thoughts back to the happenings of Thursday that week. The night of the full moon, and the day Dumbledore had destroyed another of Marvolo’s horcruxes.

Looking back, the young Dark Lord was happy that he had finished the last touches on the wards surrounding Potter Manor a few days early. This way Remus Lupin had had the promised safe place to roam in. The day after, once Marvolo and the werewolf had recovered, they had met and agreed that this arrangement – the potion brewed by Severus combined with the place to run free in without risking harm to anyone, not even himself – was satisfactory to both of them.

That was the nicer part of the outcome from that day, along with the planning they had accomplished for Xerxes’ school project. But being forced to reabsorb a part of his soul, because another horcrux had been destroyed, that had been unpleasant. More than unpleasant, if he was honest with himself.

Severus’ show of loyalty had been nice, and to learn that the ring had been the one destroyed had been valuable. But to know that Albus Dumbledore now was walking around a dead man, that had given him some satisfaction. At the moment he was unsure if he should offer to lift the curse – as the one who had placed it on the ring he was able to – but he was still contemplating it. He already planned to tell the Minister that someone had stumbled into a trap he had laid while he had been under that blasted curse which had made him into Voldemort. Best to place the pieces so he could spin the story the way he wanted and not let the Headmaster of Hogwarts get the upper hand.

Next week he planned to check on the other horcrux he could reach. As one was hidden at Hogwarts and another in a vault he had no legal access to – not one of his smarter moves to hide them there – only the one he had hidden in that cave by the sea, was available to him. He would take the traitor with him so he would not have to take a house elf again. The last time he had not truly known the value of those little creatures to the families they were serving, a traitor was much less valuable and he would greatly enjoy exposing the former Headmaster of Durmstrang to the ingenious little potion guarding the locket.

He would need to find a way to get the other two back under his direct influence and hide them better. What use was there in a prestigious hiding place if others could get access more easily than he? The diadem he might be able to pick up once Henry was back at Hogwarts. Maybe he would visit during one of the quidditch games. After all, his son was Seeker for the Gryffindor team. Was it not something natural for parents to want to watch their children doing sports?

The one he had entrusted to Bella was a bigger problem. Bella was in Azkaban, and he had no real plans to get her out of there. Even if he felt slightly guilty about that. Marvolo huffed, frustrated, and took the last few steps up to Henry’s bed, adjusting the light blanket that had almost fallen to the floor. With the last bit of soul that he had regained, he had gotten another boost of emotions. And feeling guilty because he had no intention of getting those followers of his who had gotten themselves caught and thrown into Azkaban – by their own stupid actions, he might add – was just something so out of character for him. He had not felt guilty in a very, very long time.

In fact, he had trouble remembering a time before that he had ever felt guilty. He smiled down at his son as the raven-haired boy mumbled something unintelligible, turning over and tossing the blanket away again, reassured that his son and heir was well. Maybe he felt a little guilt because those that were incarcerated had been loyal to him, acting on his wishes faithfully for long years before his fall. Beside his Death Eaters, no one had ever acted this way for him before. Maybe some form of obligation from the Lord to his vassals was the root of this unfamiliar sensation.

Nodding to himself, Marvolo left the room to go to his own. This was actually a reasonable explanation. Now he only needed to find a way to quench this feeling of guilt. Maybe he could get the cases re-examined? He had to think about it.

The state of the investigation into who had tried to kill his son made Marvolo angry and frustrated. Dawlish had been trembling in his boots as he was reporting on what he and Kingsley, who belonged to the Order as Severus had informed him, had accomplished. Shaking his head in exasperation on how anyone could think sorting charms would work on files that were spelled against direct summoning, Marvolo closed the door to his rooms behind him. He got out of his robe and stepped into his bathroom to start on his nightly ablutions. It was beyond his understanding how a head of a department could be this ignorant about charms theory and spellcrafting. Of course the state of the file room and archives made the work for the aurors that much harder and they had not managed to find the order yet. They had taken to spending a few hours each day helping those ministry workers trying to sort through the mess, and the rest of the day going after witnesses and checking possible motives. Sadly, there were a lot of people that would like to harm him, any of the other Lords whose heirs were targeted, or Henry himself.

Probably the most dangerous fallout from the attack was that some of the bleeding hearts at the Ministry had gotten to see the report from St. Mungo's and were now demanding that the Dementors be banished for good. On the few short trips to the Ministry to speak with the Minister and give his statement to the aurors on who he thought capable of wanting to harm his son, Marvolo had heard rumours that some people thought it was safer to remove the Dementors from Azkaban in the event he, that is, Lord Slytherin, would try to break his followers out. A foolish idea. But regrettably one that might actually go through. No one liked Dementors. And all those ears he had listening to rumours and gossip, reported that the atmosphere was in favour of getting rid of the guards of Azkaban for good.

Marvolo sighed. Thankfully the estate of House Potter was mostly ordered now, and he had made the investments he had planned on to build up a Slytherin estate again. Maybe he could sell the ground the Gaunt shack was standing on, or maybe he could build a real house there?

Slipping under his blankets into his bed next to a sleeping Nagini, Marvolo began clearing his head. He had to be careful not to get too involved in too many things at once. It would not do to lose control of the most important jobs that had to be done, because he got sidetracked into less important but more exciting tasks.

Only minutes later the Dark Lord was asleep. It had been an emotionally exhausting week.

ooooo

Back in Harry’s room, the teenager lay awake staring at the ceiling over his bed. He had woken because it was too warm all of a sudden, and as he realized that someone had tucked him in and was now leaving the room, he had been stunned.

Marvolo, also known by the name of Lord Voldemort, had come into his room, checked on him, and tucked him in. Why would the man do so? Was he concerned that Harry would try to run away? That he would strangle himself with his blankets? Harry snorted and green eyes were closed again.

He was glad that Marvolo was well again. As the man’s pain had hit the teenager that awful day, he had started to panic. Only after the meeting with his mind healer the day after did he understand why it had happened. Not because of the pain or fear for himself, but because he somehow had managed to get attached to Marvolo.

He was pretty sure he would not tell anyone any time soon that he had begun to like the man who had adopted him without asking for his opinion first. Or that he had started to separate this man with the wavy brown hair and his dark red eyes from the man with the pale skin and missing nose that had killed his parents. The latter had been a monster, but Marvolo seemed like a human being.

With all his tumultuous thoughts, Harry was glad that Severus had cancelled the Occlumency lesson in favour of another potion-brewing session, because of the mental strain the teenager had had to endure.

Clearing his mind as Snape demanded he do every night before going to sleep, Harry folded the blanket down to prevent getting too warm again and slipped into a restful sleep soon after.

Chapter Text

Sidestepping the other patrons in Diagon Alley, Severus made his way from the Leaky Cauldron to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary as he did every year at about this time. While Pomona grew quite a bit of the ingredients needed in the student's potions, most of the animal parts and many of the more fickle plants, and those ingredients that needed to be pre-processed – like essences and dried plant parts – Severus had delivered to the school. And in his opinion Slug & Jiggers were the best. The quality and freshness, as well as the reliability of their delivery, were better than those of any apothecary he had tried in the past.

Today he needed some things for his own experimental potions, and those he was brewing for the Dark Lord too. After he had cancelled the Occlumency lesson for his Lord’s son on his orders, Severus had found the time to make good progress on the two-fathers-potion. At the end of the last week – it was Monday the fourteenth today – Severus had informed his Master of his progress, and the man had promised to select a couple matching the requirements the Potions Master had requested for the first trial. In fact, three persons would be needed for this first real test of the potion: the two prospective fathers, and a woman who would carry the child. Considering that Severus had determined that the best time to administer the potion would be the time the woman was in the middle of her cycle, it would take some planning, and the 'when' was yet to be determined.

He was rather excited over the prospect of finishing the creation of such a unique and powerful potion.

Reaching his destination, Severus stepped into the fragrant air of the apothecary, looking around for Mr. Jiggers, the lone owner of the shop since Mr. Slug had died in an accident some years ago, without children or other family to inherit his part of the business.

As he could not spot the stout man, Severus went over to the counter, addressing a woman a few years younger than he, who was working there on some books. “Excuse me, Miss, may I speak to Mr. Jiggers?”

“My father is not in the shop today, Mr....?” the young woman answered, lifting her brown eyes from the neat columns of numbers she had written in the ledger lying on the counter before her.

“Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts. I am here to arrange for the delivery of ingredients for the next term. Are you authorized to make such arrangements, or do I have to come back another day?” Curiosity overpowered the small threat of resentment over the possibility that he would have to come back again. Who was this woman?

Her hair was a dark honey colour, her eyes brown and sparkling. She was wearing some sturdy orange robes over a dark green skirt and a cream-coloured tunic. Sensible and nice-looking clothes, a combination Severus did not get to see often.

“As Father wants me to take over the business in the near future, I have the full authority to make decisions and sign contracts.” She closed the book and ink well before standing from the chair. “Will you come back into the office with me, Professor Snape?”

“That sounds like a reasonable idea, Miss Jiggers,” Severus agreed, inclining his head and following her billowing robes into the office.

“Martin! Please mind the shop, while I speak to Professor Snape,” the young co-owner instructed one of the helpers re-stocking one of the shelves as they walked past him.

“Will do, Miss.”

The office looked the same as it had always done: Dusty old ledgers standing on a big shelf on one wall, a desk covered in paperwork next to the door, a few worn-out leather chairs grouped around the small table that was used for meetings like the one they were about to have.

“Take a seat, Professor. Do you want a cup of tea? Or water maybe?” the young woman offered.

“A glass of water, please.” It was a little too warm to drink tea, at least for Severus.

As they settled down, Miss Jiggers going over to a small sideboard to get two glasses and a pitcher of water on a tray, Severus started on the customary small talk. “Did you attend Beauxbatons? I do not remember you as one of my students. There was a Mr. Jiggers a few years back. Your brother?”

She settled the tray on the table and poured Severus a glass, which he accepted with a polite nod. “That was my older brother, yes. And no, I went to Wycombe Abbey School and later studied accounting at London School of Economics and Political Science.” Her tone was challenging, daring him to comment on the fact that she had not attended one of the magical academies but had gone to a muggle school and university.

Blinking in surprise and masking his delay in response by sipping from his water, Severus tried to compose himself enough not to offend the daughter of one of his most frequent business contacts. “These are both prestigious institutions. I guess you finished your studies not so long ago?”

Her surprised look – that was quickly masked behind polite indifference – convinced the Potions Master that he had succeeded in not showing any negative reaction to her declaring herself a Squib in a roundabout way.

Before the Dark Lord and Lord Lestrange had started to have a closer look at Squibs, Severus had never realized how many there really were. He had of course known of Mr. Filch, the caretaker, and Mrs. Figg, the kneazle breeding old lady, but obviously the families were really good at hiding their shameful offspring away from the rest of their community. And, he noted to himself, most of them most likely elected to vanish into the Muggle world instead of lingering in the shadows of the wizarding world.

“What is your brother up to these days? I have not heard from him since his graduation. I do not even remember your father mentioning him, Miss Jiggers.” He took another sip from his water. There had to be a cooling charm on the jug, as the water was pleasingly cool.

“John was never really interested in the business, he preferred wandering around the woods. Father is a little disappointed with him and his adventurous streak. But John is of the opinion that he can contribute by finding rare animals, creatures, and plants on his travels to sell in the shop.” She quickly regained her composure and smiled charmingly, redirecting their conversation back to the deliveries they were here to organize.

“Professor Snape, shall we go over the ingredients you want to have delivered to the school and when?”

And so they started to talk plans and dates, quantities and variants, coming to an agreement over what should be delivered when to Hogwarts for the Potions lessons.

Before Severus left he got the things he needed for his experiments. Finally he exited the apothecary in particular good spirits. He had been worried that Mr. Jiggers would have to sell his shop and he would have had to get used to another person heading the business, or changing the apothecary he bought his ingredients at. Now it seemed that his daughter would continue to run the shop just as her father did. A nice surprise indeed.

With a spring in his step, Severus walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, flooing back to the school to give the delivery plans to the house-elf that helped him keep the storeroom in order. After that, he had plans to spend the afternoon brewing.

oooOOooo

Cleansing his brush on a large cloth, and then, with a special spell he had found in a little book about magic in art, Harry cleaned up his current working space. In a few moments Professor Snape would arrive to give Harry his first real Occlumency lesson. He had been nervous the entire morning, alerting his guardian to the fact with his endless fidgeting. The man had paused in his lecture about some odd, long-abandoned customs related to the turn of the year to suggest he find something to do to calm down.

Harry had decided to try using the oil paints and had found the experience quite calming indeed. He had created somewhat of an abstract piece, blending different colours together to create something resembling the effect of summer light through leaves.

With a last glance over his shoulder – maybe he could get it to glow somehow – Harry left his room, casting a preserving charm at his palette, walking down to the school room.

“Mr. Slytherin, I hope you are well rested after that attack of migraine last week,” drawled the Potions Master as he entered the room with billowing dark green robes, only moments after Harry had taken his seat in the room.

“I’m all better now, Sir,” nodded Harry, standing beside his desk, his hands clasped behind his back in a mannerly fashion.

“Then let us begin.” Snape waved for Harry to take a seat and leant against the teacher’s desk, crossing his arms and ankles. His manner was businesslike and his expression serious. “We will begin today to subject your mind to the intrusion of Legilimency. There really is no other way to build shields against this art or to learn to recognize the intrusion.”

Harry sat down and contemplated that it probably was easier to learn Legilimency over Occlumency, because to practice reading minds, one only needed another human. Developing skill in defending against a Legilimens required one to actually attack.

“I must reiterate that I will most likely come to see your thoughts and memories, especially those you want me to see the least.” Snape threw him a pointed look. Swallowing nervously Harry nodded that he understood.

Pushing away from the desk, picking up a chair on his way over to where Harry was sitting, the Potions Master walked calmly over. He sat on his chair opposite from Harry, giving the teen a long calculating look. “Do you know why your adoptive father wants me to teach you Occlumency? I feel it is not only to protect you from the Headmaster’s attempts to fish for information from your mind.”

Harry had wondered what Marvolo had told the professor about why Harry had to learn to protect his mind. And it seemed that Snape had been told next to nothing. A hint that Marvolo was using the Death Eaters as he always had, despite his seemingly changed behaviour. Remembering stories that had been told to him about what Death Eaters had done in the past – mostly it had been rumours exchanged between the students at the end of the last school year, and stories the Weasley twins had told the short time Harry had stayed at Grimmauld Place – Harry guessed that some of them maybe needed someone to control them. Dismissing this train of thought – jumping to conclusions from only biased information that was spotty at best was not a habit he should keep up – Harry focused back on his teacher.

Green eyes looked thoughtful. “I know why I have to learn. But if you were not told, sir, he likely does not want you to know.” There was an awkward pause. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Taking a deep breath, dark limp hair swung forward with a short nod as the professor got out his wand from the holster hidden in his right sleeve. “For the moment, I want you to try and hold a meditative state while I will enter your mind and have a look at the surface. Try to keep calm and recognize my presence. You should learn to see the influence a Legilimens exerts over the mind, pulling forward what he is searching for. Countering those attempts will be the next step, followed by blocking access completely.”

Harry only nodded, his mouth dry with nervousness. Falling into the now familiar pattern of the breathing exercises, Harry cleared away all the stray thoughts, concentrating on his image of pulling up weeds in the front garden of his aunt’s house.

Green eyes met dark ones and the Potions Master spoke “Legilimens” in his silky smooth voice. At first Harry felt nothing different until suddenly he lost control over the image he was seeing. First he began to feel the ache from working in the garden for hours, then suddenly memories of him pruning the roses, mowing the lawn, being taunted by Dudley while working under the blistering sun started to rush past his mind's eye. But as fast and unexpected as it had started it stopped again.

Slumping back in his chair Harry pinched his eyes closed and rubbed at his temples. He was starting to get a headache.

“Not bad for a first attempt,” Snape stated rather neutrally from his place only an arm's reach from Harry. “You will need to work on detaching all emotions you have to your chosen image. It was rather easy to find strong enough emotions to follow them to memories. Once that is managed, other areas of the mind will be easier to access.”

Nodding again – it did sound not too outlandish – Harry sat up straighter, meeting the eyes of his teacher with determination.

“Take a few moments to regain a calm mind again, Mr. Slytherin,” Snape said waving his wand to get a glass of water to float over from the teacher’s desk.

Harry emptied the glass with thirsty gulps, only belatedly remembering to thank the professor for getting him something to drink.

They repeated the same exercise a few more times, until the professor decided that it was enough for their first lesson of this kind. A little disappointed that he had not managed to feel the intrusion or stop the popping up of memories somehow connected to the garden at Privet Drive and all the work he had done there, Harry was glad, nonetheless, that they had stopped, as he had started to have a rather nasty headache.

He was sent to rest for an hour, receiving a pain-relief potion from the Potions Master, and went to do just that after thanking his teacher with a little bow. They were to meet again next week to continue.

It was really bad luck that Harry would not have much of a holiday this year. Now Snape had added another exercise for Harry to practice every day at all times of day, whenever he had a moment to do so. Even with it being his OWL year, Harry got the feeling that being back at Hogwarts might be more relaxing than being at Griffin House here in London.

ooooo

Severus sat back in his chair, following the teenager with his gaze. It was a rather promising start for one so young, beginning to learn to occlude his mind.

He shuddered, thinking how easy it would be to slam through the flimsy beginning shield and dig for the most embarrassing memories he could find, and how likely it would have been what he would have done had he been asked to teach the child before he had been made aware of the treatment Henry Slytherin-Potter had been subjected to.

The memories he had seen heavily hinted at mistreatment. At least they should have dispelled the image of the pampered prince. But if Severus was honest with himself, his grudge for all things Potter probably would have made it impossible for him to see the truth.

He sighed. There was no use in brooding over what-ifs and maybes. Severus stood and made his way over to the study his Lord was waiting in. He had a report to give and intended to do so in a timely manner. There was a potion waiting to be finished in his lab at Spinner’s End.

After knocking and being called in, Severus opened the door, taking a step into the room and sinking down on one knee, the door closing behind him directed by magic. Severus listened to a quill scratching over parchment, his eyes trained to the floor.

He did not have to wait long until he heard an inkwell being closed and parchment shuffled around. “Please get up and take a seat, Severus,” The Dark Lord said, sounding a little distracted. Not waiting for the order to be repeated – even with his sanity restored, it was not a good idea to annoy the Dark Lord – Severus rose from his position on the floor, one knee protesting the treatment, and walked the last steps over to one of the visitor chairs.

“Do you want something to drink? Lemonade or tea, maybe?” Red eyes rose from sorting the desk to watch the Potions Master.

“A lemonade would be most appreciated, my Lord,” Severus answered the question, inclining his head respectfully. Normally he would prefer tea, but it had been a rather hot summer so far, and it did not look as if it would get cooler any time soon.

A few minutes later they sat in two wingback chairs near the cold fireplace, facing each other, each with a glass of ice-cold lemonade in hand. “How did the first lesson go?”

“Considering his age, my Lord, it went as well as I thought it would,” Severus answered keeping his tone even. He sipped from the excellent homemade lemonade.

“Will Henry be proficient enough by the start of term?” the Dark Lord wanted to know.

Severus sighed again. What would ‘proficient’ stand for in this context? “Will he need to be able to lie to an expert Legilimens? In addition to blocking the link between you, my Lord?”

Startled, the Dark Lord fixed Severus with wide crimson eyes. “No… I do not think it will be necessary for him to lie. It will be enough for him to recognize invasion. If he learns to block his mind – and not necessarily in a subtle way either – later, that would be good enough.”

Raising a brow, Severus nodded and contemplated his suspicions for the reasons. There was something more going on, that much was obvious. And that the Dark Lord was not inclined to share what was happening was obvious as well. Severus never had heard of this kind of link forged between two minds.

“I have another topic to discuss.” The younger-looking wizard with his aristocratic features changed the subject of their conversation. “I have talked to the Minister and tried to make as many people as possible aware of the fact that someone tripped some old – dangerous – protections I had set.” A hard stare bore into Severus' eyes. “Am I right to assume that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has been cursed?”

“You are, my Lord.”

“Considering that the wizarding world is not currently mourning the defeater of Grindelwald, I guess you were able to contain the curse for the moment?”

Severus nodded, draining his lemonade and setting the glass down on a small side table.

“Make sure he knows that I offer to lift the curse. No favours owed, no strings attached. It simply needs to be known that I have changed and am trying to help.” A small evil smirk graced the young face.

Severus nodded again. It still was not easy to read the Dark Lord. The evil, sadistic madman had been rather easy to read compared to the young-looking, smiling Lord Slytherin sitting across from Severus.

“Please inform the Headmaster of my offer.” The Dark Lord sighed. “I will finish some more paperwork.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Severus stood, bowed, and left the study, walking straight out of the wards to apparate back to his own home.

oooOOooo

Wednesday the same week, there was to be another Order meeting. Albus carefully let the sleeve of his robin-egg-blue robes fall over his blackened hand. Severus had done a wonderful job containing the curse to the hand. Preventing it from spreading as fast as it was meant to do, giving the ageing Headmaster maybe another year to live. He sighed, sinking down into his chair, waiting for the others to arrive.

Molly and Arthur were the first, quickly followed by all the others, Severus bringing up the rear as he was prone to do. Molly started to distribute the cookies she had brought, always doing her best to lighten the mood and make them all feel at home.

Smiling with the customary twinkle in his eyes, amused over the dark blue robes Severus was wearing – he would really like to know what had caused his Potions Master to give up on his all-black colour scheme – Albus opened the meeting. “Thank you all for coming here today. Even if Voldemort seems to be laying low, we cannot cease to be vigilant,” more than one pair of eyes shifted to look at Alastor at that little barb, “if we want to have any hope at thwarting his plans.”

Albus turned to those working at the Ministry, as he had suspicions that Tom’s plans were based on his spies there. “What can you tell us? Any rumours or odd happenings of late?”

Arthur nodded, his receding red hair shining in the late afternoon summer light shining through the dusty windows. “There is a rumour going around the departments. More of a request to keep our eyes open, in fact. Lord Slytherin has told the Minister, so it is said, that last week someone tripped some old protections he had placed somewhere. Supposedly there was a curse attached to that protection. All are looking out for someone that was recently cursed.”

Tonks spoke up from the other end of the long table. “The same story is told among the aurors. Lord Slytherin reportedly wants to lift the curse and hopes that whoever tripped the wards comes forward so he can help in time.”

Albus felt a little off-kilter. What was Tom up to? How did he know that there had been someone on the property and near the ring? Had they tripped a ward on their way in or out? Alastor’s lone blue eye met with Albus’ own across the table. The old auror obviously shared his old friend's curiosity. What had gone wrong? And was the offer of help, of lifting the curse, genuine?

The others began debating among themselves. Wondering what Lord Slytherin was up to. If he was seriously planning to lift the curse, and who might have tripped the protections. Albus tried to catch Severus’ eye. Maybe his spy did know something. After several moments of futile efforts, the Headmaster finally made eye contact with the Potions Master, and he just knew that Severus was aware that it had been him tripping the protection and getting cursed.

With a slight widening of his eyes, Albus realized that Tom had probably felt something as they had destroyed the horcrux. That that was why he knew that someone had been there. Only, how he had known that the curse placed on the ring had affected him was still not clear.

“Severus, my boy, do you know something new?” The debate instantly ended. They all wanted to hear from their only spy, so they turned to look at him.

“Mr. Potter is still fine, almost constantly in lessons as far as I can tell.” Severus started with the part of his report he always told them first. “Last week there was a meeting to plan a school. It was organized by Lord Lestrange, and I was invited because of my teaching experience. The Dark Lord experienced some pain and claimed it to be backlash from some protection spells he had put up somewhere. As far as that goes, the story seems plausible.”

“A school?” Dedalus Diggle wanted to know. “A school for dark wizards?”

Severus shook his head and looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but could just refrain from doing so. “A school for young children, and for those that have not enough magic to attend Hogwarts. The Dark Lord wants Squibs to stay, and Lord Lestrange wishes for the same.”

After that the meeting got lost in details and technicalities. Severus was pestered to explain why there suddenly was interest in keeping Squibs from leaving.

More than once Albus had to steer the conversation away from dangerous topics. He felt his grip on the members of the Order of the Phoenix slip. Tom and his odd behaviour brought only confusion to the ranks. It had been a long time since he had felt this frustrated.

ooooo

On their way out of the old building in Godric's Hollow, the aurors Tonks and Kingsley, as well as the Weasleys, Hestia Jones, and Remus Lupin fell back behind the others, slowing to a standstill before leaving the property and the wards surrounding it.

“How have you fared this full moon, Remus?” Hestia asked, concern evident in her voice. Remus felt grateful that his fellow order members cared so much for him, but sometimes it was hard that they all seemed to expect him to tell them all how he felt. It almost was like he had no privacy.

Smiling reassuringly to the others standing around him, Remus replied, trying to set their minds at ease, “Severus brews the potion for me, and wards have been placed around Potter Manor’s grounds so I can run free there. I’m fine.”

Molly looked sceptical. “And Severus brews it out of the goodness of his own heart? Those ingredients are pricey, are they not?”

“They are, Molly,” Remus nodded, “but the potion is part of my payment for tutoring Harry in history. So the costs are carried by Lord Slytherin.”

“Why do you think Albus deflected all attempts to speak about those rumours around the werewolf legislation?” Hestia wanted to know, and Remus nodded in agreement, he had wondered the same. But with the debt he owed the Headmaster for helping him attend Hogwarts, and the job as professor, he had not dared to ask during the meeting.

“Sirius told me about the political actions to change the current laws that have been set in motion. Lord Slytherin seems to be the one leading the movement, and Umbridge is the one leading the opposition.” Only too glad to steer the conversation away from his own person and his health, Remus added his own information to this new path of thought.

“He seems changed. Doesn't he?” Arthur asked of no one in particular. “Why does Professor Dumbledore still want us to keep such a close watch?”

“Albus knows best, Arthur,” Molly almost growled. “That is the man that sent Death Eaters to kill my brothers! That is the one that killed Lily and James! Only because he hides it better now, does not mean that he isn't still a monster! I agree with the Headmaster, we need to keep an eye on him and make sure his plans fail.”

Silent in the face of the real grief of Molly Weasley for her two brothers who had been killed in the last war, no one continued to question if Lord Slytherin and the one called the Dark Lord by his followers were the same man. Remus silently went his own way, apparating back to London and Grimmauld Place, thinking about what he knew thus far.

Lord Slytherin certainly managed to behave decently most of the time. Harry looked healthier now than after the summer when Remus had been professor at Hogwarts. There had been no unexpected deaths or missing people, if he did not count Igor Karkaroff, who might be only hiding. There were political moves being made to improve the situation for werewolves and Squibs. He had only Albus Dumbledore’s word that the pupil he had taught, who had become He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had been a sociopath as a child.

Shaking his head and walking through the door, Remus wondered if he ever would get all the information he needed to make a sound judgement of the situation. All he knew now could indicate that the story told to all wizarding Britain, of a cursed object somewhere in a far off land, could be right and Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin, was a man with good intentions.

“Sirius, I’m back!” The only really important thing at the moment was to make sure Harry was safe and happy.

The head of his friend poked around a door. “Did you have to wake the old harridan?” Sirius spoke over the wailing of the late Lady Black, maybe it had not been his smartest idea to call out to announce his return.

With a sigh the both of them started to draw the curtains back over the portrait. They had to find a way to get rid of her, they really did.

ooooo

Severus stayed after all the others had gone, following a silent request from Albus. Only the three of them, Albus, Alastor, and Severus, remained.

“How does he know of the curse, my boy?” Albus asked, patiently watching the young man who had come begging at his feet so many years ago.

“Moody’s Patronus barked into the meeting, planning the school,” Severus sneered at the ex-auror. “There was no way he could not know after that call for help. He actually told me to go and save you.”

Alastor slammed his hand on the table in frustration, taking a deep breath to calm down somewhat. “Do you think his offer is genuine? Is he able to lift this curse?”

Albus raised his hands, trying to placate his friend. “Have you told him about my condition?”

With a shake of his head the dark-haired wizard answered in the negative. “I didn’t need to. He already knew what would happen. He only wanted to know if I had been able to slow it down. I confirmed that I indeed managed that.”

Dark eyes gave the Headmaster a long, searching look.

“I was ordered to convey the offer to lift the curse. No strings attached. His words, not mine.”

Albus stood from his chair and started to wander around in the room, contemplating the conundrum before him. Curses like the one now troubling him were designed to kill fast and not be lifted. Only Severus’ vast knowledge of potions and the dark arts was what had rescued him in time. If not for the young wizard, Albus would long be dead. If someone were able to lift the curse, it would be the man casting it in the first place. But it could be a trap. Maybe Bill could have a look at his hand and tell him if it was even possible to lift the curse.

“It looked to me like you wanted to keep your state a secret for the moment.”

“You are quite right, Severus, my boy. At the moment it would only cause undue concern if my impending death was well known.” Nodding solemnly, Albus smiled at his spy. “If there is nothing else of importance, please do not let me keep you from your experiments.”

Severus nodded to both older wizards and left as silently as he had entered the room.

“I don't trust him, Albus,” Alastor growled behind his friend's back as the door had long closed behind Severus Snape.

“There is no reason to be so suspicious, Alastor. Since Tom killed Lily Potter – no... since he set his eyes on her and her family – Severus has been on the side of the Light. And there is nothing in this world that could make this man waver in his resolve.”

Albus could see clearly that his old friend was not convinced, but maybe that was for the best. One of them should have a close watch on Severus. Just in case. The man was a Slytherin after all, even if Albus long since had felt that they might be sorting the children too early.

oooOOooo

Wearing robes heavily charmed to be repellent to water and everything else, as well as stand up to wear and tear, Marvolo walked through the halls of his headquarters down to the old cellars that had been refashioned into cells.

He finally had found an afternoon to go check up on the locket. While Henry was in his lessons – ancient runes at Nott House with Theodore and Miss Granger, followed by dancing and proper manners at Malfoy Manor – he would have time to fetch his traitor, check on the locket, and afterwards rid himself of some of his stress.

Reaching the old wine cellar Igor was currently contained in, Marvolo gave the man a once-over. Malcolm had worked well, even if he was weakened greatly, a shell of his former self, he was healthy enough to live several years further.

“Igor! Get up, traitor! You will accompany me on an outing today!” Marvolo said in a cruel, cheerful tone. Flinching, Igor obeyed, getting to his feet. His robes were filthy and tattered. He showed all the signs of having been tortured several times. The former High Master did not raise his eyes from the floor and stumbled after the Dark Lord up from the cellars to the ground floor, where the wards allowed for apparating. At least if one was the Dark Lord.

Moments later they reappeared on a nice small ledge only a few feet above the water. Conjuring a small rowing boat – he did not intend to swim through the passageway – Marvolo let his eyes rove over the open sea. Not spotting any fishermen, he pushed Igor into the boat. “Row!” He could cast an Imperius on the man, but seeing him tremble in fear was much more enjoyable.

It was easy to overcome the protections he had placed here. They were still in place. But as he had set them to be reset if someone managed to get through them – he had thought it would be nice to add to the army resting in the lake – that was no indicator that no one had been here. In hindsight it was not one of his better ideas. He had obviously had quite a few of those not-quite-brilliant ideas in the last years before his fall. Or maybe more like since he had created that first horcrux.

Healing the small cut he had made on one of Igor’s hands – the man had pleaded with a broken voice to be spared – they walked along the bank of the dark lake to the place the little magical boat was hidden.

Red eyes stared out over the water infested with sleeping Inferi, intent on the small island and the green glow. He should have placed some sort of indicator so he would have known if someone had been here. He huffed in frustration, waving his hand over the boat as it rose from the waters. He had brought someone with more magic than he had planned when he had set everything up, so he needed to adjust.

Marvolo did not pay much attention to the prisoner he had dragged along, nor to the smell of wet sand, rotting fish and seaweed, all his senses were focused on trying to feel if someone had been here. Had Dumbledore managed to come here? Get the locket and leave? He had thought that no one could leave who drank the potion of despair. But as he had learned over the last weeks, it was entirely possible that he had erred. He was loath to admit it, but it was an unfortunate truth.

With a slight bump they reached the island, Marvolo gripped Igor by his arm and pulled the man up to the basin.

“You will now feel all that will let you despair. Drink!” Marvolo lowered the goblet provided into the potion and made Igor drink it. Soon the man was sobbing, begging not to continue, to be allowed to stop. But Marvolo ignored him, his eyes glued to the basin and the slowly falling level of potion.

Finally the potion was gone, and Marvolo cast a body-bind on Igor – no need to let him crawl to the lake, drink the water, and be dragged under by the Inferi – his eyes never leaving the locket at the bottom of the basin.

Something was off. Slowly the Dark-Lord-returned-to-sanity reached for the chain and lifted the locket out of the stone basin. That was not the one he had placed here the last time he had visited. His hand started to tremble. Someone had swapped them. Someone had been here.

Not setting some sort of alert had been monumentally idiotic. Maybe he should start writing down all that he had learned about the negative effects he had experienced after splitting his soul. The information available was severely lacking, after all. Not anything able to caution a young eager mind.

With trembling fingers, Marvolo opened the locket and picked the small folded parchment out of it. The locket fell to the ground as the small parchment was opened by the slim, well-manicured fingers.

The fine tremble spread through his whole body as Marvolo read the words written by Regulus Black, so many years ago.

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

He was frozen in place. Frozen with fear. He felt strangely detached from his feelings, not something he had felt in recent time. His analytical mind told him that he was in shock and started to process what little information he had.

Some time before he himself had met his downfall in Henry, he had borrowed a house-elf from Regulus. Borrowed it to test the potion he had brewed. And he had vacated the place, leaving the elf behind to find his death. And he did not know if the being had died. Still shaking, Marvolo sat down beside the basin, folding the parchment. The elf had been left behind here, dying, but maybe it had been ordered to return? With more than a little annoyance, Marvolo acknowledged that he always had dismissed the power of elves. He had warded this place against wizards and witches in all the ways he knew of, but he never had bothered to ward against anything else.

So the elf returned, told everything to his owner and brought him here? It was the most likely explanation. And Regulus never planned to return, expected to die, judging by the words of the letter. Another Horcrux was in danger, a third one. Marvolo did not feel particularly good. It had been a long time since he had felt fear, but now he feared again.

Pushing the fear aside and strengthening his Occlumency shields – no need to let Henry feel the same way he was feeling at the moment – Marvolo closed his eyes and took a few breaths to calm down. The locket was missing, and he did not feel it near, so that had to imply that the wizard had drunk the potion and the elf had returned to its home with the locket?

Falling back into comfortable patterns, Marvolo pushed the fear down with anger. The locket was pushed into one of the robe pockets, the petrified wizard grabbed by his arm, flung into the air and levitated. The dark wizard that had created the army of Inferi sleeping under the water of this lake strode to his little boat and returned as fast as he was capable of to the entrance to the cave, apparating back to the old Black property once given to Dorea Black as a wedding present. He was seething with rage. If he had been able to think clearly in this moment, he would have pitied whoever would meet him first.

ooooo

Thorfinn held a long list of young wizards and witches living in less than ideal conditions to his chest. He had come here to headquarters to give his report, as requested, only to find the house empty. So he had found the room they had named the waiting room and sat down in one of the chairs, waiting.

He had been there an hour when he felt his Lord enter the wards of the house. He was angry, very angry. And trembling in his fear of being the target of that rage, Thorfinn stood from his chair to sink to the ground in a prostrating pose, knees bent, eyes to the ground, his forehead touching the carpet.

The Dark Lord did not acknowledge him, and that was all well by Thorfinn’s point of view. Because the man was so mad about something that the magic almost visibly crackled around him. A stiff-as-a-board Karkaroff was floating behind his Lord, falling with a muffled thud to the ground as the levitation spell was cancelled.

Grey eyes grew ever wider and wider as Thorfinn could no longer keep from peeking and got to watch an irate Dark Lord conjuring pottery, furniture, and glasses just to blast them to smithereens that exploded in all directions.

Thorfinn cowered as close to the ground as he could manage, praying to every god that was listening to grant him mercy. After what felt like an eternity, all the splinters were vanished and the Dark Lord spoke, “Elf! Take the traitor to his cell, make sure he survives.” A small elf popped into the room and took the wizard in tattered robes away with a pop. “Thorfinn, get yourself cleaned up and come to my study.”

With his robes flaring out behind him, the Dark Lord left the room and his trembling Death Eater behind.

It took him a few moments before he could cast the required spells on himself. One to clean himself after he had lost control in his fear, and one to get rid of the cold sweat he was drenched in. A few more flicks of his wand and murmured incantations later, his robes were clean again – all dust and wood splinters gone – and his short-cropped hair straightened out.

The blond wizard was a little bemused over his Lord's behaviour. But as it was not his place to question his liege, he just walked over to the door to the Dark Lord’s study and knocked. After the calm-sounding order to enter, he opened the door, stepped in, and bowed low. He only could hope that he would return home unscathed today.

ooooo

Once Thorfinn had left, Marvolo thought about his possible courses of action. He did not know if the locket Horcrux had been destroyed, but he doubted that it was. Extrapolating from his change in state of mind now and before the ring had been destroyed, his emotional responses should be more pronounced if the locket shard of his soul had returned to him.

He had to assume that his Horcrux was lying about somewhere around the Black estates. Like the cup he had entrusted to Bellatrix. Luckily it was not easy to destroy one of his soul containers. Maybe he could offer something to Black – Sirius, that was – in exchange for something he had cursed under the pretext that he was planning to remove the curse? That could work. Maybe.

Severus had told him that Black was not happy with Dumbledore, and considering that the old Headmaster tended to keep his cards close to the chest, it was unlikely that Black knew about the Horcruxes and their significance.

Getting his favourite quill and a piece of simple parchment, Marvolo started a draft for a polite letter to Lord Sirius Black. He could offer to retrieve – or try to – the body of Regulus Black so that the younger brother of Black could be properly buried, in exchange for a dangerous object he wanted to neutralize.

It was a delicate dance and a risky move. But trying to steal it, or sending Henry to do it, was a much bigger risk. No, establishing a working relationship between himself and his son’s godfather was the better plan. This might prove to be an opportunity, he only needed to find the right approach to use it.

oooOOooo

Cornelius sat in his chair behind the desk in the Minister’s office, contemplating a problem he had hoped would solve itself with enough time. It had not.

He sighed. It was rather unfortunate that no teacher had managed to keep the position as Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts longer than a year. He had watched as Albus had struggled to find a new teacher each year. And now it seemed that Albus would not find a teacher in time. It was the middle of August, and the position was still open. Due to a law Lucius had pushed for a few years back, the Ministry was authorized and obligated to appoint a teacher when the current Headmaster was unable to find someone for a position a month before the start of a new school year.

He now had pondered the problem more than a week. They could not spare one of the aurors, even if they were the most logical and best suited candidates. And it had to be someone he could rely on to act in accordance with Ministry guidelines.

The short wizard got out of his chair and started to pace over the expensive carpet that had been a present from a Persian diplomat visiting a few years back. Marvolo was concerned over the fact that his adopted son would return to Hogwarts and under the influence of Albus Dumbledore. And Cornelius would be too, if he was in his shoes. After all, Marvolo had once been… You-Know-Who, and Albus had always fought against him with all he had at his disposal.

Furthermore, the past weeks had proven that Albus did not believe the story about the ancient curse influencing Marvolo to commit all those horrible acts. Cornelius himself was not too sure that the story was true. But he recognized the desire to act on the political stage in the so much younger seeming wizard by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle, or more accurately, Lord Marvolo Slytherin.

If he managed to keep him on the political stage, it might be possible to keep him from becoming Lord… You-Know-Who, again. Cornelius scoffed, it was a little pathetic that he could not even think his name. Maybe Dolores would be a good candidate for the job? She was driving him ragged with her agenda regarding werewolves, and getting her away from politics for a while might help sort that tangled mess out.

He knew that Dolores had her own agenda, but she always held with his directives, so he might be able to keep an eye on the happenings at the school. Giving information to Lord Slytherin, keeping on his good side, keeping him on the good side.

He sat down behind his desk, dragging a parchment for one of the flying memos to himself and started writing to her, asking for her to come by this afternoon. He would appoint her to the position of DADA professor, accomplishing several things at once. He would be getting her away from the Wizengamot for the next year, getting a set of eyes at Hogwarts, and maybe gaining a favour from Lord Slytherin.

Once the little paper plane had left his office, Cornelius felt better. Maybe, just maybe, he could end his career without a new war starting and being remembered as the Minister that brought peace back to Wizarding Britain after the war against.. You-Know-Who. After the trouble of the Tournament, he had feared the worst, trying to ignore the signs. A fool’s way to deal with a problem, but the only way he had to deal with his fears at the time. The situation now was much more to his liking. A sane Lord was someone he could handle, a situation he knew, so much better than an insane Dark Lord.

Smiling, Cornelius Fudge waited for Dolores Umbridge to come to his office. And maybe Amelia had news for him regarding that nasty business with the Dementors later, if they could find the culprit, they might be able to keep their guards at the prison.

Problems tended to act like the heads of the Hydra. If you severed one from the body, two new ones grew almost in the same moment. There was no way to deal with this other than to tackle one problem at a time. So first: getting Dolores Umbridge out of his way.

oooOOooo

On Sunday the 20th of August, Sirius stood at the floo after he had sent his godson back to Griffin House and the man that had custody of Harry. The afternoon in the small garden on the roof of the Black house at Grimmauld Place had been wonderful. They had talked at length over pranks Sirius and his friends had played during their time at Hogwarts.

Harry seemed so happy and carefree, had even brought his sketchpad and showed him some rough sketches of him in his animagus form. It grated to admit it, but it seemed that Lord Slytherin was doing a good job of being a guardian. Sirius had trouble putting 'father' and that bastard into the same sentence, even in his own head.

A letter he had received a few days ago had brought only more confusion. It mentioned an old protection that he had placed during the time he had been Lord… You-Know-Who, and the concern that there were more objects out there that could reach hands that did not know what they were doing.

It seemed that one such object had not been where it had been placed, but there had been evidence that Regulus had moved it. Lord Slytherin claimed that he had not known what had happened to the younger Black, and always assumed that he either was killed by an auror or Order member, or some nasty creature, but now suspected that he had run into some protections. He offered to try and find the remains of Regulus Arcturus Black in exchange for the possibility of searching for the object that had been protected and was a danger to everyone that might come into contact with it.

Sirius really was conflicted over this. He had not told Harry any of this, and did not plan to do so any time soon. But the prospect that he might get to bury his brother, that his little brother had defied the bastard of a dark wizard, that he had tried to return to the light, filled him with some fuzzy warm feelings.

He had to speak with Moony. It could, after all, be an intricate trap. He needed a second opinion. Sirius changed direction to walk up to Moony’s room, might as well speak with him now.

Chapter Text

As he stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room of the Burrow, Molly was fussing over some tea and some small sandwiches. Bill was sitting at the low table, laying out some runestones in preparation for the work they had planned for this morning.

“Good day, everyone!” Albus greeted cheerfully, casting a quick wordless cleaning charm to get rid of the soot and ash covering his robes. Arthur was not there, he was at work, Molly looked not really happy with Albus or the situation, and Bill was looking deep in concentration. The other children were probably with friends or somewhere outside. Not really concerned about the size of the audience, Albus walked over to sit beside the curse-breaker, who was going to have a look at the curse bound to his hand and decide if it was liftable or not.

“Your sandwiches look delicious as always, Molly.”

She snorted and nodded to her son, she looked as if she were chewing on a lemon, unsure of herself and her decisions, “Bill, I will be in the garden helping your siblings degnome it.” And with that Molly was gone.

Albus was unsure what he had done to make her act this way, or if anything he had done truly was the reason for her behaviour. But now was not the time to ponder this, he was here to find out if he should accept the offer from Tom to lift the curse.

“Come here, Headmaster,” Bill said, waving for Albus to give him the cursed hand. “I will cast the best detection spells I know. We will discover what this curse is.”

Without another word, Albus shrugged out of his bright yellow robes, sitting on the old sagging sofa only in his tunic and trousers, pushing the tunic sleeve up to his elbow.

Waving his wand over the shrivelled, blackened hand and murmuring under his breath, Bill started his work. The chants and spells got longer and more complicated as he resorted to more languages than Latin, such as the older versions of English or French. Different coloured auras flared around the hand and lower arm, not something Albus could have interpreted, but Bill seemed to learn something from it.

The red-haired wizard laid out a pattern with the runestones, placing the headmaster’s hand in the middle of it. A parchment and a quill were prepared and the chanting started anew.

During Bill’s chanting, rearranging the pattern of runestones, and the quill recording, Albus contemplated what he would do if the curse proved to be liftable. Because he had already decided what he would do if it was unliftable.

He knew that if he did nothing, he would not live to see another summer. But he also knew that Tom was not offering to lift the curse out of the goodness of his heart. Albus had known from the moment he had met the child back then, that he was rotten to the core. He had hoped, of course, that he might be able to help the child back onto the right path, but as with his good friend back when he was still dreaming, all hope had been futile.

Once he had not recognized a dark wizard for what he was, but he had promised himself never to repeat that error. That the little orphan boy was stealing at his age and able to speak to snakes, and with all the stories the matron had told him… it had been foolish even to dare to hope. Or maybe not truly foolish. Sirius and Severus were excellent examples of wizards destined to be dark who had turned from that side and had seen the light. No, there was always the possibility of love and friendship turning a dark wizard back to the light.

Most likely the move Tom was making with this unexpected offer was a political one. If his former student wanted to confine himself to political manoeuvring, Albus was not someone to stand in his way. Cutting down on the violence was not the thing Albus had wanted to work towards. It would be that much harder to convince the other magical people in Britain that Tom Riddle, now called Lord Slytherin, was a danger, if he was keeping to the political arena. But now that it seemed it was going to be a mostly political struggle, he would find a way to work with it.

It would take some time to find out what the other horcruxes were, and where they were hidden. Only two had been identified so far. Albus still remembered vividly the day Harry had brought him the diary, pierced by a basilisk fang, and the epiphany it had been. But besides confirming his suspicions of just how Tom had managed not to die that night, it also provided more evidence that Harry was another of the anchors tying Tom Riddle to this world.

Considering that at some point Harry had to die, and he did not know anyone who could take over the important task of finding and destroying all of Voldemort’s horcruxes, Albus had to stay alive to do all of that himself.

Now he only had to hope that this curse was actually one that could be removed.

“Well, that's interesting,” Bill said, sheathing his wand and looking up from the parchment and the data recorded on it. “It seems the curse is Egyptian in origin. An anti-theft spell woven together with one often used to guard tombs. It will reduce intruders to mummies in a matter of minutes.” The young man sounded eager and excited. It was obvious that he loved his work and the new things he got to see on a regular basis. “I haven’t seen such a combination before. The way these two were woven together with a kind of switch, so that it can be lifted again, but only by the original caster… that is the work of a master of his art.” Bill focused his attention on the old Headmaster of Hogwarts. “If you can find the person who did cast this curse in the first place, and he or she is willing to lift it, you should be fine.” Admiring blue eyes looked at the unsightly hand. “The restraining curses and charms placed on your hand – while excellent work – will only hold so long.”

Albus could see that the young wizard was almost bursting at the seams with questions, and quite eager to ask them all, pestering Albus until he would answer. Forestalling the barrage of questions, Albus stood with a kind smile for the oldest son of the Weasley family. “Thank you very much for your help, William, my boy. I will show myself out. Relay my best wishes to Molly.” With a last nod, Albus walked out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the garden. With a cheery wave at the Weasleys working in the overgrown garden, Albus left the wards and apparated back to Hogwarts.

He had a letter to write and a meeting to arrange. The prospect of meeting Tom again and allowing the man to point a wand at him, made Albus feel a little uneasy.

oooOOooo

Marvolo was sitting in a café in Muggle London that catered to the eccentric and the artists. He was waiting for Lord Black to join him, inspecting the odd paintings the walls next to the table he had chosen were lined with. In fact he had not thought that much would come of his tentative offer to meet and speak about the trade he had in mind. But now here he was, sipping his sweet tea and waiting for the other to arrive.

The young girl with bright blue hair working here had just brought him his second cup of tea, as Sirius Black made his way into the room – Marvolo had opted for avoiding the heat in the open – searching with wandering eyes and finding the one he had come to meet, with his wandering eyes.

“Nice you could make it,” Marvolo greeted the other, aware of the Muggles surrounding them and listening in on their conversation. They would have to wait a bit before they could come to the topic for which they were meeting.

Black nodded, “This is something I’m really curious about, so I just couldn't not come.” The other Lord of the Wizengamot took a seat and picked up the menu to see what he would order.

They sat in silence till the young waitress came back, taking their order – black coffee for Black and a big slice of chocolate cake with whipped cream for Marvolo – only to fall back into silence the moment she left.

They stayed in this uncomfortable and strained silence until Marvolo could cast a privacy spell Severus had invented, after their order had been brought to their table.

Spooning three small heaps of sugar into his cup, Marvolo finally broke the silence. “After I became aware that someone broke some old enchantments of mine and got cursed in the process, I realized that there are more dangerous things still laying around that I probably should take care of.”

Black could not refrain from snorting at this, blowing at his coffee to cool it down a little. Marvolo rolled his eyes, but let it slide. After all, Black was right. He should have thought about this earlier, for several reasons Black was not aware of.

“As you probably know, I still remember what I did while in the grip of the ancient curse.” A flicker of resentment in Black’s eyes told Marvolo that the other did not truly believe the official story, but had no evidence to disprove the claim. “I checked on one place I used to ward a dangerous object and did not find the object, but instead found a letter from your brother.” The older Black brother tensed in his seat, his knuckles turning white with tension as he gripped his cup harder. “He said he intended to move it and did not expect to live. I have not dismantled the protections yet, but plan to do so soon. I might be able to recover the remains of your brother, Lord Black, but I will not take the risk needlessly.” A spark of resentment flickered to life in grey eyes but was quickly squashed. Marvolo knew he was goading the other man, but he enjoyed it too much to simply stop.

“You Slytherins never do anything without looking out for yourselves first,” Black spat in distaste, but with much less venom than Marvolo had expected. It seemed that Black truly wished for the opportunity to reclaim his brother's body. “What do you want? Your letter was not really forthcoming about that.”

“I had borrowed the help of a Black house-elf to finalize the security around the object. I think that this is the answer to the question of how Regulus came to know about the place. I need to recover the object your brother moved. No one but me can disable the dangerous spells layered into and around the object. Most likely it is somewhere in one of the Black properties, or it would have caused havoc long ago.” Marvolo took a bite out of his cake, smiling at the rich chocolate taste. He loved a well-made sweet. “I want your permission to speak with the elf, if it is still alive, and search the Black properties for the object your brother moved from its protected location.” The dark look in the stormy grey eyes did suggest that Black was not happy with what he wanted out of this deal. “In exchange I will do my best to retrieve the body of your brother to return him to you.”

Black snorted. “That hardly is a sound deal. Retrieving a body and not promising to even return him, only to try! That is a joke!”

Tiredly rubbing his temples, Marvolo quickly thought about what to tell. It was rather risky to try to retrieve a body from among the Inferi. Well, maybe the truth was the best option in this situation. “I will have to risk much if I try.” He sighed. Life could be so simple, had been so simple. “I used a rather sizeable number of Inferi to guard the place, Black. So as easy as it may sound, it is anything but.”

Pausing with his cup raised halfway up to drink from it, Black stared at the wizard sitting opposite from him. He blinked a few times really slowly and Marvolo started to worry that he might have broken the other man.

“Inferi,” mumbled Lord Black rather weakly. Marvolo only nodded, taking another bite from his cake. No use in wasting a perfectly fine dessert.

Tapping on the table with the fingers of his left hand, Black watched Marvolo with thoughts whirling behind his eyes. Marvolo concentrated on his cake. It often was tempting to take a dip into the mind of someone to get answers a little faster, but it always was risky to give in to the temptation.

Slowly speaking, Black laid out the plan he had cooked up in the last few silent minutes. “Is it possible that some others among those… protections could be people missing still? Wizards and witches missed by their families, who do not know what has become of their loved ones? I will not allow you to search my properties for only the chance to get the body of my brother back!”

Now it was Marvolo’s turn to think. Was he willing to search for other wizards and witches among the Inferi? He was not even sure that he had used the bodies of magical folk to create the Inferi in the cave. And he certainly did not remember every insignificant person who died in the war. He would need names and pictures to have even a snowflake’s chance in hell to recognize anyone. He had just not cared, so now he did not remember. Maybe he could use that to build up the credibility of his story.

So, young wizard recovering from an ancient curse of paranoia... he could pretend that to get one horcrux back under his control. He spoke, hesitant, eyes downcast, hands clasped as if to stop them from shaking. “You must know that not everyone that died, died in… my presence, or by my hand.” He took a deep breath as if to calm down, fighting painful memories. “If you can get pictures and names of those still considered missing, I can search my memories of the war and convey what I can remember?” The offer came out as a question on purpose, and he had to hide a smile at the confused look on Black’s face. It seemed that he could have made a decent living as an actor.

Black nodded. “I'll see if I can get you that list of names and pictures. Maybe a time frame when they vanished would help as well?” There was a hint of sarcasm in the last Black’s voice. Or were there some relatives somewhere that could carry the name on? Marvolo only knew of the three Black sisters, all married. If Sirius Black had no children, another family would vanish in the male line. A pity.

Marvolo forced a contemplative look on his face, nodding slowly. It was a good idea. And this all could work in his favour to establish him as some young wizard working to right past wrongs, separating him farther from Voldemort. “Dates when someone was last seen and where can help.”

And now on to the other topic he had planned to speak about, not that he had told the other so in the letter he had sent. “Before we part, there is another topic I want to talk about with you.” He had no need to pretend to be nervous now. And he still was infuriated that he felt uncomfortable with this topic. “Seeing what information has been withheld from Henry, I do not dare to rely on his previous guardians to have explained certain things to him.”

Marvolo could clearly see that Black was not following. He sighed. He probably had to be more blunt, he was speaking with a Gryffindor, after all. “Your godson has turned fifteen this summer. I would expect that he will be entangled in the more complicated social interactions between teenagers sometime during the school year.” Black still had a small frown of confusion on his face. “I’m certain I can explain the customs of courtship and blunders to avoid to him, but I suspect that there are more personal questions Henry might want to ask that he would be more comfortable discussing with you.”

With a sudden burst of laughter Black bend forward in his chair. After several moments the man managed to rein in his laughter, still gasping for breath, wiping his eyes clear of the tears his boisterous laughter had caused. “Yeah, send him to me for explanations. I doubt that you, Lord Slytherin, have much experience with the ladies. In fact, I think you can forego the whole thing. Just send Harry to me and I will tell him everything he needs to know.”

His pride bruised, but hiding it well – or though he thought – Marvolo shook his head in polite decline. “I will be held accountable for his actions. I will make sure he knows what is expected of an heir in this regard. But I know that for some of it, my son –” Oh how much he liked the flinch that got out of Black, “– will be more comfortable speaking with his godfather. So you do agree?”

“I do.”

They each paid their bill and left soon after that. Marvolo actually was quite happy with the outcome of the afternoon. There was a certain risk that Dumbledore would learn of his searching for a dangerous object hidden somewhere in one of the Black houses. But not searching made it much more probable that someone would stumble over the locket... and that someone could well be the Headmaster.

oooOOooo

This afternoon Marvolo had been in Muggle London meeting with Sirius. Harry was now sitting at the table across from his guardian, wondering how the talk had gone. He knew that one of the horcruxes had been removed from its hiding place, and Marvolo thought Sirius’ younger brother had moved it. It was refreshing that an adult actually told Harry things that were going on. Of course he could not have missed the pain as Marvolo had been forced to reabsorb another horcrux, but being informed about the fact that another one had not been where it had been hidden, and that it was possible that it was hidden somewhere his godfather had access to, Harry felt good being in the know, so to speak. So he had been told that the meeting between Marvolo and Sirius was to talk about the locket and the possibility of searching for it in the Black properties.

“How did the meeting go?” Harry finally caved and asked what he wanted to know.

“I think it is reasonable to say it went pretty well,” Marvolo answered, nodding with a small grim smile. “Your godfather insisted that I would have to give him more than the possibility of maybe getting the body of his brother to bury, so he will assemble a list of names of missing wizards and witches he requires me to provide information about.”

“Information?” What information could Marvolo have about some random missing people? But even before the man picking at his fish stew could answer, Harry’s eyes became wide with the realization that Voldemort would have had a hand in their disappearance in the first place. “Oh.”

Marvolo only nodded and changed the topic of conversation by asking Harry about this day’s lessons. The tutoring in ancient runes had been stepped up a bit in preparation for the exam he was to take in two days' time. Glad for this much less dangerous topic, Harry started to recount the things he had done that day and what he had planned for the next.

Over dessert – a concoction of different summer berries, meringue, whipped cream, and vanilla ice cream – Harry finally gathered the courage to ask what had been on his mind since that first dancing lesson at Malfoy Manor. “I've wanted to ask for a while now, if… if you are contemplating arranging a betrothal for me, sir.” Green eyes were now locked on the dish of cut crystal filled with the dessert, nervously waiting for an answer. He had not anticipated hearing a small sigh from across the table.

“I have indeed thought about this problem. But I do not intend to make arrangements at the present moment.” Harry huffed a small sigh of relief. “But I have something related to this that we need to speak about.”

Nervously Harry raised his eyes again and almost did a double take at the nervousness the other was projecting into the room.

“Obviously you are aware of the custom of arranging marriages between those from old families with seats on the Wizengamot. There is more to it than a plan to marry later in life – mostly after the parties involved have finished their schooling – and you need to know about that as well.”

A little apprehensive – was this going to be a talk about bees and flowers? – Harry nodded and slowly continued to eat his dessert.

“You probably will get interested in some of your schoolmates in the next years. That is only natural, and I do not truly wish to get involved in your discovering this part of being an adult. But there are certain rules that need to be observed if you do not wish to bring disgrace to both the Slytherin and Potter families.” A pointed look was directed at Harry and the teenager had trouble preventing a blush.

It was to be a talk about ‘bees and flowers’. How mortifying. And he thought that he already knew the basics. He lived in a dorm most of the year, together with several other boys. And the fact that he interacted with the twins and the others of the Quidditch team provided him with more information than he really wanted on some points. But maybe this was more about social customs – rules, he had said – and not the mechanics of kissing… and other things. So he kept quiet and tried not to blush too much.

“It is equally okay to be with boys as it is to be with girls, but I would ask that you do not engage in anything with someone more than one year younger than you are.” Curiously, the obvious discomfort of Marvolo did nothing to reduce the same feeling in Harry. Why was it necessary to speak of such things?

“But you need to make sure that the one you go on dates with, hold hands, kiss… or more –” now both wizards were fixing their stares on their dessert dishes, “– is not betrothed to anyone. It would be a severe insult to just disregard such an arrangement.”

Hurriedly Harry nodded to communicate his understanding as soon as he realized an acknowledgement was needed from him.

“Besides that, you should always be careful to prevent a pregnancy. It would cause a great scandal and would probably ruin the girl’s reputation and future.” By now Harry felt as if his head was about to catch fire any moment.

They both were now finished with dessert and Marvolo stood, waving Harry to follow him over to the study with the painting of his grandparents. “Can we go up to my room instead?” Harry asked, embarrassed but determined not to have this conversation in front of the parents of his father James.

“If you prefer. I see no reason not to.” Marvolo accepted Harry’s wish and started to ascend the stairs up to Harry’s bedroom.

Once they had reached the room they settled down, Harry on his bed and Marvolo in the chair from the desk which he had turned so he was sitting facing the teenager. “I have no problems with you… getting involved, with either a boy or a girl, nor with someone of… mixed ancestry.” Harry was fairly sure that the red-eyed wizard would be squirming in his seat with discomfort if he was not so strong-willed and determined to hold up a certain image. And he was on the verge of laughing out loud over the man who once had been Lord Voldemort, bent on killing off Muggles as well as wizards and witches born to non-magicals, telling him that it was perfectly fine to go on dates with a muggle-born witch… or wizard. Harry wondered, could he imagine holding hands with another boy, kissing another boy? He honestly was not sure. Girls were pretty confusing most of the time. It probably would be easier with a boy. Or not?

“I would mind if I were to learn that you were breaking curfew to sneak around with your crush. Or got up to any other rule-breaking.” The stern glare was somewhat diminished by his slightly red-tinted face. If Harry could ever bring himself to tell Ron and Hermione about this talk, he was sure the both of them would not believe him. Seeing how embarrassed they both were, Harry suspected that this talk would never be mentioned again once they were finished.

“Why would I be sneaking around after curfew?” Harry blurted out, his blush getting deeper.

“The other may be from another house?”

Harry had to concede that that might be a reason to be out after hours.

Two books zooming in through the door were caught deftly by Marvolo, who most likely had summoned them without a wand or an incantation. “This is a book about the intricacies of courtships... Common pitfalls for a young wizard or witch... What is expected of both in interactions with another. And other things of interest in regards to this.” Marvolo held out a hefty tome bound in dark brown leather and with a nice patterning around the cut edges. Harry took it, placing it next to him on the bed. “This book,” Marvolo held a much smaller book with the title ‘Useful Charms for the Young Bachelor’ up between them, “Contains spells I think you should know. Besides one to shave, some for mending clothes, and the contraceptive charm, there are others that you might find interesting.” Harry took this second book full of apprehension. A book that had a wizard known for practising the dark arts blushing made him anxious.

“I talked to your godfather, and he agreed that you can talk to him about anything you might want to know regarding this topic. While I understand if you are not comfortable discussing this with me, I want to assure you, Henry, that I will always take the time to listen and help you to find answers.”

Harry felt tension leave his body, it seemed The Talk was about to be over.

“But I insist on showing you the contraceptive charm now. I need to know you are proficient in casting it.”

It took Harry a record time of only fifteen minutes to pick up the charm. Humiliation and the need for solitude seemed to do wonders for his ability to pick up something new.

After Marvolo had left – relieved, Harry judged by the way he hurried through the door – Harry picked up the book of charms for bachelors. Soon Harry was blushing again. In between spells to clean up a room in record time and mend clothes in a fix, were some that certainly were not on the curriculum of the school. And the contraceptive charm was certainly the tamest of them. Reading them, and the situations they were to be applied in, Harry came to the conclusion that he barely knew the fundamentals of kissing and… other things. He briefly wondered if there were more books out there to get a better overview. He started to laugh quietly, imagining Hermione’s face if he was to ask her for help finding those books. No, he probably would try the twins first. Or maybe Sirius. He suspected that talking to him would be embarrassing as well, but he should have some first-hand experience. Hopefully.

ooooo

Marvolo was glad that this particular task was now behind him. With some luck, all further questions would be asked of Black and he only had to concern himself with this in regards to the social demands that a young Lord should be married.

He tiredly rubbed his eyes once he sat in his chair behind the desk. The last parties he had attended he had been stalked by some not-yet-married witches, and some that were widows. He probably would not escape getting married for long. But he was not sure how to pick someone to spend the rest of his life with. Or at least live with for several decades – he still did not intend to die – and he was not even sure he fancied witches.

How did one know if one was attracted to the male or female sex? He sighed, pushing these thoughts away and starting on the paperwork. He wanted to start with planning the wards for Xerxes’ school, but he would work on the more boring stuff first. The warding could be a treat after he finished the rest.

oooOOooo

The last days of August were speeding by. Finally, in the last week before the start of term, the Hogwarts letters arrived. Harry was glad, he had gotten worried that he would not get to buy his things himself. Marvolo had set the rule down that he needed at least two days of warning before he would take his son – Harry started to lose the resentment every time the man said this – into the public.

So now here they were, in some of their best robes – Harry’s lengthened with a spell as all of his clothes were getting short – waiting for the rest to arrive. Messrs Goyle and Crabbe were to accompany them as guards. They would floo to the Leaky Cauldron and meet up with the rest there. Harry had exchanged owls with Hermione and Neville, arranging to meet and get around together. All the adults anticipated an overflowing Alley, as all families with Hogwarts’ students had to buy their things in the very last days. And as many parents were working on weekdays, Saturday the 26th was bound to be the day most would choose to go to London.

Harry was sure he would meet many from the school he had met at the different parties he had had to attend. Once word made the rounds that he had been to Neville’s party and had given a birthday party himself, he had been invited to many more small and large gatherings of Hogwarts students close to his age. He quickly learned that they all were somehow connected to the Ministry, and those that also invited Marvolo were somehow bound or connected to the more traditional, or as they were called by those designating themselves as light, dark families. Harry was not sure if he understood that divide any longer, it seemed pretty pointless. He had met people he liked in both groups, as well as those he could not stand. The truly dark arts were horrible, that much Harry regarded as truth, but he still was amazed that Marvolo never even allowed him to get one of those books down from the shelves.

After ten minutes of waiting the two burly wizards they had been waiting for came in and got down on one knee, after they had thrown uncertain gazes at Harry. The green-eyed teenager simply ignored them. He already knew they were Death Eaters – they had been at the graveyard, after all – but as always he was resolved to ignore their behaviour towards Voldemort, because to him the man always acted as Marvolo. And that was the important part as far as Harry was concerned.

“Do you have your portkey, Henry?” Marvolo said waving his wand over his eyes, turning them from their startling red to a blue just as bright.

Rolling his eyes – that was the third time this question was asked – Harry answered with as much resignation and respect he could muster. “I have, sir.” The quiet chuckling, quickly turned into a cough, from one of the guards waiting near the door, indicated that he had not been quite successful.

“Then let’s go!” Marvolo led the small group into the floo room and Goyle, or Crabbe – Harry had not managed to identify who was who once – went through the floo first, followed by Marvolo and then Harry. The other guard brought up the rear.

ooooo

Petting the smooth surface of her new silken gown, Hermione wondered at the drastic changes that had taken place in her life in the past few weeks. Since she had accepted the position as the heiress to House Lestrange, new responsibilities and lessons had crowded her schedule. Her parents had been eager to help her Uncle Xerxes plan the curriculum of the school he was founding in remembrance of his sister. Hermione had eagerly followed the process and even visited the places being evaluated for their usefulness as a school building. They were down to two places, both big manors surrounded by smaller buildings, and Xerxes planned to make a decision before September the first.

Slipping on the gown over her undies, Hermione gathered her hair together into a style better suited to the heat, and slipped on her shoes and a light summer robe. She needed to hurry so she would not be late to meet Harry.

Bounding down the stairs she came upon her parents talking amiably with Lord Xerxes Lestrange. The old wizard spotted the young woman on the stairs and smiled at her. “Hermione, I’m happy to see you, are you ready to brave the masses in Diagon Alley?”

Smiling to the twinkling in his eyes, Hermione nodded. “I am, uncle.” She gave brief hugs to her parents and went outside to the garden with her uncle. They would apparate to their destination.

“Ready?” She nodded in answer and braced for the odd and uncomfortable sensation of side-along apparation.

Only seconds later she was catching her breath, clinging to the arm of Xerxes so she would not topple to the ground and embarrass herself and her family. How quickly she had picked up this stupid thought pattern, Hermione thought irritably. But what others thought of you still had much weight in the wizarding part of Britain. Scanning their surroundings, Hermione conceded that celebrities in the Muggle world were held to impossible standards of conduct as well. So maybe it was not so old-fashioned and backwards as she would like to believe.

The moment the two of them stepped into the tavern, Hermione spotted Harry standing beside the three imposing wizards. Finding her path through the crowded place, the curly-haired witch managed to stop herself from embracing Harry the moment she came near enough, nodding at him in greeting instead, before turning to Lord Slytherin. “Nice to meet you, Lord Slytherin. I hope you have a good day.”

The man that had adopted her friend without asking first smiled charmingly. “Nice to meet you too, heiress Lestrange. I’m thankful you have agreed to keep my son company on this shopping outing.”

Fighting off a shiver – knowing who the man was or had been still creeped her out – Hermione nodded back politely. “It is my pleasure,” before she turned to Harry who grinned at her with sparkling eyes.

“Marvolo,” Lord Lestrange greeted his old school friend who now looked so much younger, and was greeted with a happy “Xerxes” in return.

“Shall we start with getting new school robes?” Lord Slytherin proposed and gave Hermione a small smirk as he added, “I think we should keep the book stores for last, or we will not finish everything we have to do today.” They shared a laugh about this joke at Hermione’s expense and started to walk out into the backyard and through the portal opened by Mr. Goyle, who acted as guard. Hermione was unhappy that such measures where necessary, but because they were she did not say anything, falling in step beside Harry, eager to relate her newest news to him.

“I was made prefect.” She was almost bouncing beside her friend. “Are you the male prefect?” she had to ask, even if she had started to doubt that Professor McGonagall would even suggest him or that the Headmaster would approve it.

Harry’s slight shake of his head confirmed her thoughts. “Have you any idea who it might be?” Dean and Seamus, Ron or Neville... she had trouble deciding who of those boys in her year was suited for the job.

“I have no idea. What are the requirements for the job?” Harry said and ignored all the stares and occasional jibes directed at him. Hermione admired his ability to let all this not affect him, or at least appear as if it did not affect him.

Soon they stepped into the shop of Madame Malkin – walking by some glowering and some cheering patrons of the Alley – ordering new Hogwarts robes and a new set of clothes for Harry as well.

Spending time with her friend, even if they were followed everywhere by guards, was wonderful, and Hermione tried to keep to the positive parts for the afternoon. She stepped up on one of the small stages to get her measurements taken.

ooooo

Draco Malfoy was stepping into the robe shop of Madam Malkin as a party of several people were leaving. It took him a moment to recognize just who those people were. He managed to curb his urge to bow to the Dark Lord just in time and managed a nod instead. In passing he greeted the others. Lord Lestrange and his heiress – his teeth hurt to think that the girl he had ridiculed and insulted constantly now was the heiress of one of the old families – the fathers of Vincent and Gregory, and Henry. After several lessons by his mother, the other boy had finally conceded to allow Draco to call him by his given name, as it became cumbersome to keep to the more formal address.

They were not carrying any bags or boxes, probably sent them home with a house-elf, and were soon lost to Draco in the sea of people. It was exceptionally busy in the alley today. “Why did we not come earlier for those things we knew I would be needing?” The blond teenager asked of his mother, who was following him.

“Because I wanted to keep it all as short as possible. So finishing all in one day seemed like a good idea,” the Lady just shrugged, herding her son inside and out of the way of those wanting to enter or exit the shop. Resigned, Draco did as he was told, submitting to the fussing of the shop assistant. He had had a growth spurt over the summer and was in desperate need of new school clothes.

ooooo

Strolling through the overly crowded apothecary, Severus looked at the newly arrived exotic ingredients and the neatly stacked first-year kits near one of the windows to Diagon Alley. It had not escaped his notice that he now was here the third time since he had first met the daughter of the owner. An evening spent pacing in front of his floo, taking sips from an excellent red wine – a present for one of his birthdays from Lucius – had been enough for him to examine his feelings over the whole meeting. He had come to the conclusion that he liked the young Squib, even found her attractive. Trying to distract himself with work only had culminated in a rather swiftly executed experiment of the two-fathers-potion. Now they were awaiting the result. It was a sad fact that it took at least a few days before a charm could detect a pregnancy. But they did not want to risk the magic of the charm affecting the result in any way and were waiting for nature to run its course.

And that he had only gotten the ingredients he needed immediately, creating an excuse to come back soon.

The order he had received to find a partner, marry, and start a family, was not something he could forget. He felt a little guilt for looking at Sonja Jiggers with the thoughts of fulfilling his orders. And he was not even sure she was the one he could live with for the rest of his life.

They certainly had enough common interests, as proven in many heated and animated debates about the quality of plants grown on the British Isles. And with the way they tended to banter – maybe it could even be called flirting? – the attraction seemed to be mutual.

Avoiding another gaggle of little students, Severus spotted the Dark Lord and his heir walking down the street outside of the apothecary. There were others following them, but Severus was not paying attention. His eyes were trained on the beautiful woman standing behind the counter, filling small jars and bottles with ingredients for the customers. She noticed that she was being watched and smiled in his direction as she spotted him. An almost invisible smile curled Severus’ lips as he nodded in acknowledgement.

She was a Squib, and Severus did not mind a bit, but he wondered if the Dark Lord would have reservations about a match with a person unable to wield magic. There probably was no other way than to ask, and better to do it soon before he got involved further. He did not know if he would be able to let go and follow his orders, if he got too attached.

He got what he needed, walked over to the counter to pay and left with a small smile on his face, refraining from waving to Sonja, he had an image to hold up.

ooooo

They finally reached the book store. Hermione was still thrilled to be there, storming into the depths of the shop searching for books she wanted to buy, forcing Xerxes to follow with an apologetic shrug to Marvolo.

Harry was tired by now. Walking around, avoiding collisions with other shoppers, and selecting the things he would need for the next school year, his OWL year, was more strenuous than one would think.

The green-eyed teenager got out his list of books he needed to buy, smiling smugly as he saw again the entry for the fourth-year runes text. He had managed to get a good grade in his exam, resulting in him being allowed to attend the fourth-year runes lessons, getting rid of divination in the process.

Marvolo and he went through the rows of shelves, placing book after book in a basket that was floating beside them. They had trouble getting through the shop. The last time Harry had seen the shop this filled with people was the year Gilderoy Lockhart had held his book signing there. Between one moment and the next, Harry was facing two freckled faces topped by red hair.

“Look what we have here, Fred! A young heir of Slytherin!” one of the twins exclaimed, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

“Fred, George, how are you?” a happy Harry beamed at them, all his weariness forgotten.

“We're fine, Harrykins. Looking forward to our last year at Hogwarts.”

“The best opportunity for market research, right there at the customer base.” They both were looking excited and full of energy.

“Your investment has helped us a great deal. We were able to perfect some of our products. Now we need to make sure that all people react the same way to them.” Harry was surprised by the earnestness and seriousness in the twins. But this was what they wanted to do with their lives. Maybe it was not surprising that they would let their more childish side rest about the important stuff.

“Will you show me a few of your products?” he inquired eagerly. But before the twins could answer, a mass of people were pressing in from the side, separating them. Harry tried to spot Marvolo or one of the guards, but could only spin in place, stumbling every time he was pushed by someone as they all tried to leave the shop. At first Harry wondered what was happening until he got a good whiff of the stench that drove the customers out into the open. And Harry agreed wholeheartedly, turning – gagging – to find his way out before he started to search for the adults he came here with.

He finally made it out of Flourish and Blotts. Taking a few deep breaths, he started to turn around his own axis looking to find the others.

Suddenly he was grabbed by someone and dragged into a small alleyway next to the shop on the left from the book store. “What do I have here?” a slimy voice whispered next to Harry’s ear, turning the young wizard and pressing him against the wall.

“A young lordling. Silencio. No calling for help now.” There was a nasty smile on the man’s face. Harry decided on the spot that he did not like the man one bit. His robes were dirty and torn, his teeth yellow. But most of all the disturbingly evil smile unnerved Harry. And with the spell on him he could not call for help, nor activate his portkey to just get away. But there was still the tracking spell on the pendant. He had not believed that he would be glad about it anytime soon. So now he just had to make sure to stall as long as he was able.

“Oh, what your father might pay to get you back! Just be a good boy and do as you are told, then nothing bad will happen.” With those words he tried to get Harry to walk deeper into the dank alleyway, away from the agitated crowd, away from Marvolo. He was not okay with that, so he pretended to have injured his leg, starting to limp.

“What is it, lordling? Hurt?” Harry winced and nodded, trying to be convincing. But with little success it seemed, as the man just continued on his way down the alley, dragging Harry along.

Thinking quickly, sure only desperate measures would help him now – the man’s grip around his wrist was like devil's snare – Harry let himself fall to the ground the next time he was tugged to walk faster.

His would-be kidnapper cursed, kicking Harry in his chest before trying to get him back on his feet by pulling on his arm.

Slipping through his grip, Harry rolled away from him, scrambling to get to his feet and run, his hands almost touching the ground. Before he knew it he felt his robes being grabbed and slipped out of them, leaving a swearing man behind and tumbling into the arms of an enraged wizard with blazing red eyes.

.:Where have you been?:. hissed Marvolo furiously and protectively pressing Harry against his chest.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to say anything and too scatter-brained at the moment to come up with a way to explain why he was unable to answer.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a swirl of colours. He was apparated back to Griffin House and placed into his bed, with a calming draught and an admonishment to rest: he did exactly that.

And Marvolo was there with him almost all the time. After he had set his people after the one trying to abduct Harry and gave his statement to the aurors, of course.

It had been a really eventful summer. Hopefully the year at the school would be a boring one for a change.

oooOOooo

Later in the evening Marvolo was sitting in the study a tumbler with fire whiskey before him and three letters on the desk.

One was the report of the aurors, stating that one customer had dropped a phial of skunk secretion in the back of the book store, causing a panic. They had no idea where the wizard that had tried to kidnap Henry had run to. But they were searching.

The other letter contained his OWLs results. He had managed Outstandings in all the subjects he had taken them in. He was happy, but at the moment his academic achievements were not really important.

He was trying to calm down from his fear over loosing his son. He had panicked once he realized that Henry was no longer next to him, and the crowed had pressed in from all directions. Marvolo was still shocked that he had felt so strongly.

But at the moment he tried to decide what to think about the last letter. It was one in a long line of letters he had exchanged with the Headmaster since the day he had made sure his offer to lift the curse was circulating in the rumour mills. They still were tap-dancing around one another, Dumbledore demanding information and promises as well as oaths from him, like he was the one holding something that Marvolo wanted to have and not the other way around. Maybe Marvolo simply should ask someone else for help.

Tonight was not the time to find the answer. He sighed, got up and went to bed.

Chapter Text

On the morning of the first of September – a Friday this year – the teaching staff of Hogwarts met for their annual meeting to discuss the last things needing to be sorted out before the students would be back.

Severus accepted a cup of strong coffee – sweetened with honey – from Pomona with a polite nod before he turned his attention to Minerva, who was waving a few letters around. As the Headmaster was currently at the Ministry – probably trying to gain some information before the belated August meeting was to take place – his deputy was conducting the meeting in his absence.

“First of all I want to discuss things related to one of the students in my House. As all of you already know, the son of James and Lily has been adopted by Lord Slytherin.”

Severus noted the dismayed expressions of most of the teachers around him. It had been obvious in the last days leading up to this term that most of them were conflicted about what to think of all that had happened since the last days of June. And the Potions Master could not blame them one bit. Remembering back, how he had felt and what he had thought, he could understand their being uneasy and questioning the intentions of Lord Slytherin. Maybe it was up to him, as one of Mr. Slytherin's tutors, to reassure them of the boy’s safety.

“I received another letter from him,” Minerva went on. “He demands that his heir be addressed as Mr. Slytherin by us teachers. He refers to one of the older bylaws stating that the guardian of a student belonging to more than one House decides on which name is to be used when addressing the student.” Severus had to suppress a smile at the Transfiguration Professor’s annoyed tone of voice.

Pomona looked like she wanted to add a comment about that but was stopped by an upheld hand from Minerva. “I thoroughly researched this claim with the help of Irma.” The witch with her stern bun nodded to the librarian, who nodded in return, looking grim. “It seems that there once was a student who was heir to three houses, and addressing him with all the names was cumbersome and impractical in class. The rule was added to make it legal for the professors of that time to leave out all but one name. I’m afraid we will have to adhere to Lord Slytherin’s wishes in this.”

The murmuring in the staffroom quickly settled down again as Minerva got another letter out of the stack of parchment in front of her. “Poppy, Lord Slytherin also sent this letter for you.” A little surprised, the medi-witch accepted the sealed envelope from her old friend. “Judging by what was written in the letter to me, the one you have contains details of Mr. Slytherin’s health and details about the healers he is seeing.”

Poppy mouthed healers and quickly opened the letter to read it then and there.

Severus was quite informed about the state of Mr. Slytherin’s health, he was the one brewing the potions the boy was still taking. And he had been in a position to see him shoot up like a weed over the summer. Once again guilt made his stomach churn over the fact that his wilful blindness had let him miss such an obvious case of neglect.

“Lord Slytherin also requested that we make it possible for a Squib healer to visit with his heir at least every other week. Any suggestions?” The way she spoke the Dark Lord’s official title amused Severus greatly. He almost was tempted to wager with someone how long the deputy Headmistress would be able to keep this level of animosity alive. Sadly, there was no one there that would appreciate such a wager. Maybe he could get Lucius to agree to a bet. With his position on the board of governors, he was in a position to observe.

“If Lord Slytherin can organize someone to apparate the healer to the gates on prearranged dates, I see no problem. There certainly is room in one of the isolation rooms in the infirmary, or in one of the empty classrooms?” This logical and pragmatic solution came – predictably, Severus thought – from the Head of House of Ravenclaw.

“That might actually work, Filius.” Minerva nodded, wrote something down on a piece of parchment right in front of her, and moved on to the next topic: the schedules.

The plans were passed around and they all had a good look at which groups they had to teach when, this year. Severus sighed as he saw the way the first-years were grouped this time. It was Slytherin together with Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw with Hufflepuff. Again this way. As Minerva asked for comments and questions, he quickly started to speak. The way all the others sat back in their chairs, it was obvious that this was as much tradition by now as was the meeting itself. “Why, by all the Founders, are the first-years again paired Slytherin with Gryffindor? Do I need to stress – again – that this is the worst possible pairing for a beginners' class of brewing? Until they learn the most basic of safety procedures and get a little older – and hopefully a little more mature – placing them together with volatile potion ingredients, open flames, and one another into one room is utter madness.” Severus spoke with fervour, as he did every year. But it had been not long after his first year of teaching that he had understood the Headmaster's reasoning for this pairing.

“Albus insists, as you well know, Severus,” Minerva said with a hint of sympathy in her voice.

Severus sat down again with a huff. “One of these days there will be disaster brewing on opposing ends of my classroom and I will be unable to save all of those little dunderheads.”

That the old meddling wizard would risk the students' lives to make sure that the little Gryffindors started out their Hogwarts career hating their Potions Master and their Slytherin classmates, instilling the rivalry as early as Albus was able. Severus still had trouble wrapping his head around that realisation. Only once had he dared ask the Headmaster for his reasons for insisting on this pairing. The ancient wizard had claimed he wanted to prevent the meek Hufflepuffs from being crushed by the more boisterous Gryffindors when Severus himself had to be so strict to maintain order in the teaching of this dangerous subject. That there was one more possible combinations – the Hufflepuffs together with the Slytherins, leaving the Ravenclaws to be paired with Gryffindor – had been dismissed without further thought.

After that Severus had repeated his protests every year, but had never asked the Headmaster for his reasons again. It was of no use, after all.

A few more changes were made to the schedule – one of them to allow Mr. Slytherin to attend a fourth-year Ancient Runes class – before they moved on to new professors and replacements, as well as plans for who would stay over the holidays to keep an eye on the castle.

“As you all probably noticed, our new teacher for Defence against the Dark Arts, Dolores Umbridge, has not yet arrived. She sent an owl late yesterday evening stating that she would arrive in time for the welcoming feast and sorting today.”

This announcement was met with uneasy silence. They all did not expect much from this new professor. The last decades had not instilled any hope that a witch or wizard picking up the post that was rumoured to be cursed would stay long, and the repeated death, injury, or loss of reputation had scared away the more competent in this field. That the Ministry had to appoint a professor because the Headmaster had not been able to find someone for the post only stressed the problem.

“Hagrid is still on vacation, but Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank has agreed to step in for him until his return. At the moment she is out on the grounds checking on the inhabitants of the forest.”

They talked about patrol schedules, who the new prefects were, the results of the OWLs of the previous year, the prospect of being rid of the Weasley twins after this year, and other topics of interest, until they called an end to the meeting and went on their respective ways. Most had still to unpack and prepare their quarters. Severus intended to read in silence as long as the students were not back. He always tried to use the last hours of silence to the best of his abilities.

ooooo

Minerva watched her colleagues go and wondered about what this year would bring. Albus had been distracted since Harry had been forcefully adopted by a resurrected and cleared-of-all-crimes You-Know-Who, they had a horrible woman as a professor this year, and she was overworked already. And it was only the start of a new term.

Her eyes were trained on Severus. He seemed to feel better, but appeared apprehensive. She had learned to read him quite well over the years. When Mr. Potter had returned from the maze and told of what had happened to him, she had feared for Severus’ safety. That he was going back to spying had been a certainty after the disaster with the stone. But she never would have thought that spying would improve the man’s mood and health.

If Severus was not still as invested in keeping Harry safe as he always had been, she would suspect him of having changed sides again. But it simply could not be, could it?

oooOOooo

Like every year on the first of September, Gregory was running through the house to find all his things, even if his mother had reminded him every day for the last week that he needed to pack his trunk for school. Quintus ate his breakfast in silence, listening to his son running around and his wife scolding the boy for his carelessness. But Quintus was quite happy.

A few days ago he had been frozen with fear, quivering in his boots, thinking about things to say to avert the fate awaiting him. Or the fate he had thought was awaiting him. He and Crabbe had made a terrible blunder, they had lost sight of their Lord’s heir, and a lowlife had tried to kidnap the boy. After the child had been back, safe at home, they had been called to their Lord, the now invisible mark on his arm burning.

Once they had arrived, the expected punishment had turned into a strategic debriefing. Their Lord had wanted to know what had gone wrong that day, and how to prevent further problems like that in the future. They both had experience as bouncers at a few clubs, guards for some that ventured into the dangerous parts of forests to collect potions ingredients, and guards on occasion for musicians, Quidditch players, and others that were reasonably famous. But guarding a teenager as well known as the so-called Boy-Who-Lived... that was new.

And so they had started a discussion – both he and Crabbe waiting to be cursed at any moment – coming up with a plan to avoid repeating the mistakes that had been made. Outings into public places would never again occur when they knew the place would be packed with people. They would go with more than one pair of guards, and their Lord’s heir would have to be drilled in proper behaviour, like keeping close to his guards.

Chuckling, Quintus finished his meal and started with cleaning up. He still had trouble believing all the changes. But it seemed to work. So who was he to question the way their Lord decided to reach their goals or command his people?

Twenty minutes before the train was about to depart for Hogwarts, Quintus took the trunk by side-along apparation to the station, while his wife took their son. How fast time was passing, it felt like yesterday that they had made this journey for the first time, and now Gregory would start to prepare for his OWLs. He was growing up so fast.

ooooo

Marvolo felt nostalgic. It had been the summer after his last year at Hogwarts that he had been on platform 9 ¾ for the last time. And now here he was again. He and Henry had apparated to a small alley near King’s Cross and had walked into the station and through the barrier. The way he always had arrived there, the way all the families arrived that were not living in the magical world, the way Henry had arrived here the last few years. Others apparated directly onto the platform or used the one Floo that was installed in a remote corner. As both options needed permission to be used, only those that could pay the fees could use the options that made evading all Muggles possible.

The platform was filled with students and parents, younger siblings, and aunts and uncles. They were watched from all around, but most were occupied with saying goodbye to those that would leave for school or stay behind.

Before Henry could run off to search for his friends, Marvolo moved the trunk – a new one of the best quality available – into a still empty compartment. They had arrived early so Henry would get to pick a compartment, and Marvolo could make sure it was safe. In the relative privacy of the compartment, Marvolo got two shrunken items out of the pockets of his over-robe. “I know you wanted to take all your art supplies. Maybe these can tide you over until the holidays.” He felt a little ridiculous – giving a gift to the boy he once had tried to kill and now had adopted – but before the boy would be back at Hogwarts under the influence of Albus Dumbledore, he wanted to make a gesture to reinforce his image as a caring adult.

And he liked to see the child smile.

“Thank you, sir,” Henry said with a genuine smile, accepting the small sketchpad and a tin with high quality charcoal pieces. There were small runes scribbled on them that, once removed, would return the items back to their original size.

“I want to receive regular letters. And remember that you can go to Severus for help if you should be in need of aid. Do not get involved in any mad schemes. Am I clear?”

With a small cheeky smirk and green eyes sparkling, his son answered “As you will not be plotting something to get rid of me, I hope I can stay out of trouble.”

“If you feel someone is trying to get you into trouble, tell me. Immediately! It is a possibility that someone may be trying to get to me, using you.”

The teenager rolled his eyes, but nodded. “I remember the lecture, sir. And I really will try to stay out of trouble.”

Marvolo knew that his son was sincere. But he also knew that trouble had a tendency to find the boy. He was really glad that Severus was loyal to him and working at Hogwarts. Otherwise he would have had trouble letting his son, heir and horcrux leave for the school.

So many things had changed since he had his body back. Sometimes it felt longer than merely two months. Now he had to hurry if he wanted to be finished with his paperwork before the August Wizengamot meeting was to start.

ooooo

Harry watched as Marvolo left the train and nodded before quickly leaving the station. He clutched his new sketchpad with his left hand in his robe pocket. It felt surreal to be returning to Hogwarts. Not so long ago he had been on his way to the Ministry, getting adopted, fearing to be killed within minutes of leaving the place with the man he knew as Lord Voldemort.

And now here he was, about to leave for school, the one thing he had wished for more than anything to get away from his aunt and uncle, and already missing the place that now was home.

Hermione would be here soon, as would be Theodore, Draco, Daphne, Neville, and probably all the Weasleys. It promised to be a challenge to get all those he would like to spend time with organised without starting a shouting match.

One thing about the new school year was something Harry was looking forward to: no more lessons with Trelawney. He was really happy about that. But how the students would react to his being adopted, how Ron would behave, what that Umbridge person would do... He really was unsure if he would manage to keep out of trouble. Somehow he had a feeling that it would be difficult. A woman ousted from her position at the Ministry, demoted to being a teacher at a school and therefore in a position of power over him, the son and heir of the one Lord working against her laws and goals. That was not a comfortable position for him.

Harry sighed and pushed his new-found politically analytical mind aside, he was here to spend time with his friends. Being part of the traditional train ride up to Hogwarts. For a moment he wondered: trains were a comparatively new invention. How had the students reached Hogwarts before the train had been installed? He snorted and retreated into the compartment. If he really wanted to know, he just had to ask Hermione, the story about the Express probably was written down somewhere in the enormous Hogwarts: a History . And Hermione had read the book more than once.

The wait for his friends did not take long. Neville was the first to arrive, and soon they were talking like the good friends they had become over the summer.

oooOOooo

One step into the hall of Griffin House, Marvolo felt the call from one of his men. Sighing, Marvolo changed direction to his bedroom to change into some dark robes, a more intimidating Dark Lord type of robes and not the casual ones he had selected to drop his son off at the Hogwarts Express. This day promised to get a bit hectic.

As he finally reached the audience chamber – the big parlour he had changed to be used for big meetings and where they had tortured the traitor – he saw Amycus standing over a bundle on the floor. So there was a really good reason for the man to call for him. He had been thinking what he would do if he had been called needlessly. He needed to find a way to punish errors that did not involve dangerous torture. There was not really enough time to recruit replacements if he accidentally killed one of his Death Eaters.

“What do you have there, Amycus?” Marvolo asked, walking casually up to his follower.

Whirling around to face his Lord, Amycus almost instantly fell to his knees, bowing low to the ground. As fast as he had dropped, the redhead was standing again. Clearing his throat, the male part of the Carrow twins pointed his hand at the bundle of rags on the floor. “One of my contacts reached out yesterday night, told me he met a man bragging about a failed attempt to kidnap a ‘lordling’. Said the man matched the description I had given him. I picked him,” he stabbed a finger in direction of the bundle moving with shallow breaths, “up from a hiding place and brought him here. I think that it could be him, my Lord.”

Using a push of wandless magic, Marvolo turned the bundle on its back, exposing the face of the man. He matched Henry’s description. A weak stinging hex made the excuse for a wizard startle awake and yelp. Marvolo used the moment the wizard had his eyes wide in fear to slip effortlessly into the man’s mind.

It did not take him long to find memories of his son in the weak wizard’s mind. It had not been a planned assault but a spur-of-the-moment decision. Amycus had found the right one. Marvolo quickly checked the man’s mind for other memories that might prove useful. What the man himself thought of as important was uninteresting. Small thieveries, selling illegal potions to desperate people, bad forgery.

Marvolo backed out of the mess of a mind, sneering. He held his hand, palm up, demandingly out to Amycus, who dropped back to one knee, giving over his arm, the wrist exposed. Concentrating on the Death Eaters currently searching for the man that had dared lay a hand on his son, Marvolo touched his finger to the tiny dark mark that appeared at his touch. He called for them to come as fast as possible.

To use the time they would be waiting for the others to arrive, Marvolo turned to Amycus, ignoring the man shivering on the floor. “Can his disappearance be linked to you?” One of the most important rules of Slytherin House – at Hogwarts and for the actual family – was, do not get caught. He planned to follow this rule to the letter.

“No, my Lord,” Amycus said with certainty in his voice. “My contact is a vampire known to prey on those that prey on children or hurt them. He was in the shady excuse of a bar this idiot was bragging in about his attempt. My vampire friend saw him, made the connection, and shadowed him to a small side alley. If someone misses him, they will think he ended up as a snack.”

Nodding approvingly, Marvolo walked the short distance to stand over the one who had tried to harm his son. A foul stench was rising from the man, and he was shivering, blue eyes looking fearfully up at Marvolo. There had been many situations like this in the past. He had missed it, at least a little bit. But it did not really match the image of the upstanding member of society. He just had to make the best of the few opportunities he would get.

“It was not smart of you to try and harm my heir.” His tone was calm, detached, uninterested. The man on the floor – a nice one with inlayed floral patterns – got even paler.

“You can’t do a thing. Have done nothing wrong. Stick to the laws! A Lord on the Wizengamot,” mumbled the wizard, trembling and with fear in his eyes.

Marvolo snorted. Did that filcher really think that just because he had a place on the Wizengamot, he had to keep to the laws? Well, the wizard's actions the other day had indicated he was not the smartest kneazle in the litter. “You will soon learn that you do not know as much as you had thought.”

One by one the other searchers arrived, bowing low to their Lord, and surrounding them in a circle. Most had donned the full regalia, dark robes, masks, and all. The captive quickly realized how serious this was and started to plead, whimpering more than anything else.

When all finally had arrived, Marvolo stalked to stand in the circle. He had to make this quick, there was not much time until the meeting, and he still had to finish his paperwork. The joys of handling an estate and trying to rebuild one from nothing.

“As you can see, your work was successful.” That was met with cheers and a feeling of smugness in the room. “Amycus found him. You all get to curse him once. As a reward.” He let his evil smile come out and the foul stench reaching him from the floor intensified. Disgusting filth of a wizard. “Do not kill him.” With that he stepped back and let them have their fun.

While he watched his Death Eaters taking turns casting curses, the victim screaming with a high pitch fitting for any small girl, he conjured a bottle and cast a charm on it to preserve the contents in the state they were in the moment they were put into the bottle.

After all of the search team had had their turns, the one that had tried to harm Henry was left a sobbing mess on the floor of the grand ballroom.

Marvolo stepped forward, pointing his bone-white wand at the man. “Do you think you can deliver my thanks to your contact, Amycus?” He cast a spell that would transfer all the blood out of the wizard and into the bottle he was holding, while leaving what would appear like a vampire’s bite to all ways of investigation.

“I should be able to track him down easily enough, my Lord,” Amycus answered, sounding like he would be happy to do just that.

Floating the filled and sealed bottle over to Amycus, Marvolo ignored the now dead wizard on the floor. “Find him and convey my thanks. If he needs something I can grant…” He trailed off, making sure Amycus knew what he wanted to say without actually telling him what that was. It was a way to circumvent some of the truth-indicating spells that some people used. An area of grey they could not clearly indicate. Better to be cautious. Aurors would come speak to him once the body was found.

“Macnair, get rid of the trash at one of the known vampire dumps, will you?” With a wave of his hand he dismissed the group and made his way out of the house. He had paperwork to complete. One of the weaving mills belonging to his son needed new workers, and Marvolo wanted the manager to look into employing some Squibs. And there were some investments to evaluate for the money Lucius had lent him to build up a fortune for the Slytherin family. Papers to read, decisions to make. It had been easier just taking the money the rich families had handed him. Learning to manage an estate was proving to be both interesting and time-consuming.

So much to do and so little time. He sighed and apparated over to Griffin House.

oooOOooo

Shortly before the train would started its journey up north, the compartment Harry was sitting in was filled with laughter and happy chatting. Beside Neville and Harry, Theo – he insisted on being called that by Harry, and the green-eyed teen had granted the Slytherin the privilege of calling him Harry – and Daphne were sitting in there, the Weasley twins visiting and telling about their product range they would be testing this year with the help of the Hogwarts student population. A test with Canary Cream-filled muffins had brought on the current bout of laughter. Neville’s befuddled expression was just too funny not to laugh.

“Harry?” a well-known female voice asked from the door.

“Hermione!” Harry happily exclaimed. “That badge suits you.” He was happy for his friend and sure she would be good at her job as one of the prefects.

Hermione blushed, obviously happy with her new role as well. “I'll make my way over to the prefects' carriage soon. We will get our orientation on the rules there, what we have to do, and all that.” She looked around the compartment, greeting the Slytherins with a nod and a murmur of their names, to get the same in return from them both. Their relationship was still on shaky ground, her change in status just too sudden for the others to adapt to. “I’m happy to know that you won't be sitting by yourself. Have Fred and George told you that Ron was made prefect as well?”

Eyes wide as saucers, Harry shook his head. Before he could say anything, the twins started to talk. “Didn't see what's so important about that. Mom was over the moon.” “Of course! All her boys prefects now.” They rolled their eyes, startling a few chuckles out of the others, because they never were even close to getting that position.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Harry said and smiled at Hermione. “Greet Draco.” That got him a light glare from Hermione before she strode away to meet with the other prefects as well as the Head Boy and Girl.

The train started to roll, jostling all the occupants of the compartment. The twins stood, making exaggerated bows. “We're off to see Lee and the others. See you later!”

The rest of the train ride was enjoyable. After a while Luna Lovegood joined them in their compartment – her wand behind one of her ears, a necklace of butterbeer corks around her neck – mostly reading a magazine called “The Quibbler”... upside down. No one dared to ask why she was doing it. She did not engage in conversations much, but seemed happy to be there. A large number of Slytherin students from each year stopped by to talk a moment with Harry – who was a little exasperated over the political manoeuvring – politely and mostly about what his summer had been like.

The teenagers played exploding snap and chess, and read their summer homework over to pass the time. If not for the steady interruptions by students to speak to the heir of Slytherin – ironic that he now was what all had thought him to be during that debacle with the Chamber back then – and those that walked by to throw dark looks at Harry – those were mostly Gryffindors – it would have been one of the nicer train rides.

When the door opened and Draco Malfoy, with his green prefect badge pinned to his robes, dropped unceremoniously into the seat by the door, Harry had un-shrunken his new sketch pad and was working on a sketch of Hedwig. The blond looked like he had a foul taste in his mouth and relaxed into the seat.

Harry ignored the blond, knowing that nothing got him to talk faster than being ignored. During mostly boring lessons on dancing and finer manners, one got to know the other students.

“Not sure if I’m still happy with having made prefect,” the new Slytherin prefect sighed. “I think you got the better deal, Henry. That meeting was dull, and patrolling the train is not as much fun as I thought it would be. Having Granger looming over us all, making sure all of us stick to the rules.” Draco glared at Theo, who was snickering and trying to hide it. “And I’m not sure why Weasley was made the Gryffindor prefect.”

“Maybe to balance out Hermione?” Harry ventured a guess. It became easier and easier to speak with Malfoy, even if he stayed cautious. It most likely was a political move to get to be friendly with him, the strained politeness the son of Lucius Malfoy – one of the Death Eaters that had been on the graveyard, Harry had trouble forgetting that – showed every time he interacted with Hermione was a dead give-away of that.

“I guess the Headmaster named them to help shield you, Harry,” Theo suddenly chimed in.

“That seems possible,” Neville agreed, nodding earnestly, finding another spot for his little cactus for the nth time.

“If he did, I’m not sure it'll work the way it was planned.” Harry waved that away, he had no intention of messing with it now, or thinking about the reactions he would have to bear as soon as they reached the school. Even trying to ignore them, he had noticed the many students giving him angry, dark, or confused looks. Those only looking curious, like Cho Chang the Ravenclaw seeker, were a nice change in the long line of students.

“But that isn't even the worst,” Draco whined, getting their attention back to him. And Harry was glad about it, he did not want the attention, so let Draco have it. “They made Pansy a prefect too! I'll have to spend more time with her!”

That brought on a round of friendly ribbing from both Theo and Daphne. It seemed that Pansy Parkinson had a crush on Draco and was trying to get the boy interested enough so he would ask his parents to set up a contract with her. It was obvious that this was not something Draco would do, and he did not seem to enjoy the girl's attempts to change his mind.

Harry returned to his sketch, quite happy with the current situation and trying to distract himself so he would not think about all the things that could go wrong once the train arrived. This was a first. Normally he only wished for the train ride not to end on the way back to the Dursleys at the start of summer. But now he wished for the ride to last, so he would not return to school and all the problems he felt were waiting for him there. Having more knowledge about politics and what others might do to get power had never felt like something he would wish not to have. But now he wished he could be ignorant still. It promised to be a difficult year. Thinking about the book hidden among his robes, the one with charms for the young bachelor, he blushed and concentrated on sketching. It would be an interesting year, of that he was sure.

oooOOooo

“Madame Bones! So glad I’m meeting you here.” And he was. Marvolo turned to walk beside the formidable witch in the unfortunately coloured Ministry Wizengamot robes and fell into step with her.

“Lord Slytherin.” The Head of the Department of Law Enforcement nodded her head. “What is so urgent that you are so happy to see me?” She seemed distracted and fiddled with the folders she held under her arm.

“I have a problem I need a second opinion on, and had hoped you would be so kind as to give yours,” Marvolo answered her inquiry with a polite nod of his head. They walked slowly through the bustling corridors of the Ministry on their way to the chamber the Wizengamot was meeting in.

“And what is this problem?” She seemed not really interested, but Marvolo was sure that once he had started to explain, that would change quickly.

“You might have heard the rumour that I’m searching for someone who tripped some old spells I had set up somewhere?” He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded in confirmation. “I have learned that Albus Dumbledore is the one that tripped the protections on that place. And it seems that he found someone to help him, as he is still alive.”

The look she gave him at that seemed to ask, “That nasty a protection?” and he looked down in a show of guilt, taking a deep breath as if he had to force himself to continue despite his feelings about what had happened in the past.

“I offered to lift the curse he will die from it if he does not let me help.” He sighed in irritation, that he would feel frustrated over someone rejecting his help. He never would have thought that something like this would happen.

“In fact, he wants me to swear an oath that would make it impossible for me to even disagree with him,” Marvolo scoffed. He did not know what the old man wanted to achieve with that. He just had to know that no sane wizard or witch would make an unbreakable vow never to attack another in any way. Even a discussion that got heated or passionate could be interpreted as an attack.

Amelia's gaze snapped to the wizard walking beside her. “How is it worded?”

Inwardly smirking – now he had her hooked – Marvolo furrowed his brow. “Before he will allow me to cast magic at him to lift the curse, he wants me to make an unbreakable vow that I will never attack him in any way.” He did not manage to keep his feelings of incredulousness out of his voice, but felt it was an appropriate reaction even from a law-abiding Lord of the Wizengamot.

“And how is it that those protections could be triggered by him?” She gave him a pointed look, clearly wanting more information from Marvolo. And he felt that he would have to give her the information she wanted to have. Maybe this would help in getting the horcrux out of Gringotts if he managed to make it sound like he wanted to get rid of dark objects he had given to his followers.

“There are many dangerous things still laying around. I started with those I thought were more likely to be found.” He shrugged apologetically, he was just one man, so there was no way he could dismantle so much all on his own in such a short time.

“If you tell me, I might be able to get the Aurors to help.”

Before the witch had even finished, Marvolo started to shake his head. “No, I … I made damn sure that no one but me could dismantle the wards and spells layered as protection.” He gave her a weak smile “But thanks for the offer. If I find myself in a position that I need help, or a situation where others can lend a hand, I will come to you, Madame Bones.”

She huffed, not entirely sure she was being told the truth, but Marvolo was sure that she tended to believe him.

They finally reached the Wizengamot chambers, and Marvolo walked up to the Ministry seats with Amelia Bones. “Can you help me with the problem of a man dying that refuses my help?”

She placed the folders on the bench and turned to Marvolo standing beside her in his best family robes. “Approach his friends with your concern over him declining help. Offer another way to reassure him that you will only lift the curse. Maybe some oath that you will only cast magic to lift the curse during a specific meeting… And if my department can be of help to get rid of some of the legacy that was left behind, all you have to do, Lord Slytherin, is ask.”

Marvolo nodded, forcing a grateful smile onto his face, he was really happy with her advice – after all, he was not always sure what way would be the respectable one, he needed a refresher course on that – and happy that he had managed to get his desire to help and get rid of the legacy still lurking in the back, out into the open, into another set of ears.

As the others started to trickle into the room, Marvolo walked over to sit in the Slytherin seat, after he had cast a cushioning charm on the bench of silver. He would have to sit on it for hours, most likely, he did not want to be stiff at the end of the day.

ooooo

Amelia sorted through her files, contemplating the strange encounter with Lord Slytherin. She just did not know what to make of him. He seemed so earnest, like he really wanted to help. But she just could not believe him. Not truly. In fact she felt as if she were walking in a moor surrounded by mist, walking without direction or even a destination in mind. Albus was not sharing information. The Minister was hedging and not commenting on anything, only repeating that Lord Slytherin was a new person and not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was frustrating.

But that he wanted to lift the curse that had the Ministry talking for over a week now, speculating on who was affected by it? That gave her hope that the man would not act too differently from other politicians. Not a rousing endorsement, but at least an assurance that there would be no overt violence this time.

Sighing, she sat down watching as all the Lords and Ladies came in to take their place, gossiping with each other. It might be the first of September, but this was the August meeting. They tended to reschedule it, as most of the members of the body were away on holidays during the summer, when the children returned from school.

All in all, there were only a few simple topics on the agenda. Simple topics besides the one she was sure would bring them all to their feet shouting. The controversy was just too big for it to stay a calm and reasonable debate. She was not looking forward to it.

She watched as all attendants walked into the chamber, and Lord Slytherin greeted those that had been Death Eaters in the last war. They all had claimed that they had been forced to become part of the organization, saying they had been under the Imperius. She never had believed that story, but the way they were interacting – all polite distance and cautious dancing around each other – the story was either true or they all were supreme actors. Considering they all were Lords and politicians brought up to be exactly that, she still was sure they were actors and the story was just that. A story.

They all settled down when Chief Warlock Abbott called the chamber to order. They started with the easy points. So Amelia stood and started to talk about the trials they had to schedule. There had been a case of a brawl in a bar with destroyed furniture, and one of attempted thievery. The accused claimed that the experimental anti-theft-charm used was too sensitive, and of course the owner of the shop disagreed.

Each trial was overseen by three members of the Wizengamot, and those were assigned by random selection, one of them being rejected only if he or she was related or in any way connected to one of the parties involved. Lord Slytherin was not one of those selected and did not seem upset about it. As no one liked to be forced to sit in on the more boring trials, and those new to the Wizengamot seldom were selected, it was to be expected and nothing suspicious. After that she sat down, full of dread over the next topic on the agenda.

“Lady Marchbanks has brought forward a petition to examine the appointment of Dementors as guards of Azkaban.” The Chief Warlock moved on to the next topic, getting louder towards the end, as the level of noise rose significantly. “Lady Marchbanks, if you would.” The floor was given to the elderly witch to speak about her petition.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” the witch with white hair artfully styled, wearing her family robes, nodded to the man presiding over the assembly before turning to speak to all of the people attending. “Considering the fact that Dementors have tried to kill several heirs and a renowned Potions Master, whether under orders from someone in the Ministry, or acting on their own, I think it is utter madness to keep them in charge of our prison. They could be ordered to kill any of the prisoners they are to guard, or just decide to do it because they want to.” She was talking with passion, strong gestures underlining her points, eyes filled with determination. Amelia noticed that many of those traditionally thought of as light and neutral were nodding almost unconsciously. “I propose to move them to the empty part of the island until it is clear why those Dementors did what they did. To prevent them from doing further harm.”

There were murmurs of agreement and a few of doubt.

Quickly the floor was given over to Lord Malfoy. As one of the fathers of the heirs attacked, it was only natural that he would speak.

Giving the immaculate image of a pure-blood Lord, Malfoy stood straight in his powder blue robes, his long blond hair tamed with a silver barrette, he waited a few moments to capture the audience’s attention. “I understand the urge to do something, anything, not only waiting for a result. My son was attacked. I can hardly stand feeling like I am doing nothing.” He got a few nods all around, most of them were parents and knew how it felt to be unable to help. “But acting just to not feel helpless anymore can be dangerous.” His cane made a clicking sound on the stone floor as he thrust it down to emphasize his point. “I would rather have the aurors who would have to take up guard duty, helping in sorting the mess in the filing room. So we would know sooner who it was that sent Dementors after school children. Let us concentrate on getting the facts and not on blind activism, doing something just for the sake of not being seen as not acting fast enough.”

Amelia followed others speaking for or against the petition, seeing the majority's opinion change with each speech. The way she saw it this could go either way. And she was not sure what it was she wanted. It was not a comfortable thought that someone might have ordered the attack. But the thought that the Dementors had acted of their own free will, against explicit orders, was even worse. From her position as head of the DMLE she would rather see nothing changed until they knew for sure what the cause of the attack was.

Amelia was surprised when, as the last to speak, Lord Slytherin raised his wand. Her brow rose up in silent wonder at what the man would say. Whatever he said, she was sure that he might reveal a bit about the way he would act in the future. She did not dare to predict his actions by what she knew of Voldemort’s way of acting in the past.

“Are you all serious?” the young looking wizard with wavy brown hair brushing his shoulders asked of all present. “I was happy that you were able to look past who you knew me as. But I did not realize that this behaviour was not something you had to work at, but something you always do.” Amelia was intrigued by this approach, she never would have guessed that he would dare to bring his former identity into this debate, or any other, for that matter.

“Many of you probably were part of the judges that decided what should happen with those men and women that were followers of Voldemort. Those dangerous people are now in Azkaban. Only still there because Dementors keep them confused and weak.” His brown eyes sparkled with fury and repressed anger. “If you remove the Dementors from the prison, you will enable them to regain their senses. They are dangerous even now. I should know. Even as I wish I could forget, I still remember them all at their worst. It would be foolish to risk them escaping.” His tone was intense, capturing the audience with his words. Amelia was sure he believed what he said, but he sparked an explosive reaction in the others.

As she had predicted, soon all were on their feet shouting. The divide between those arguing to keep the Dementors where they were and those who wanted them to move out of the prison was like a chasm.

After several minutes the Chief Warlock managed to get order restored and called for a vote. Anxiously Amelia counted the wands raised at each question. It was by a slim majority that Lady Marchbanks’ petition was accepted and the Dementors were to be removed as guards from Azkaban.

She watched as an exasperated Lord Slytherin walked out of the chamber, shaking his head, clearly unhappy with the outcome of this session.

Sighing, Amelia gathered her papers. She had guard shifts to organise. The Minister had been quite clear that he wanted the Head of the DMLE on this and not only the head of the aurors. She would have to contact Rufus, but if she knew him, she was sure that the man would be still in his office, waiting for the outcome of this meeting.

There was much to do.

ooooo

Marvolo was still shaking his head as he reached Malfoy Manor with Lucius in tow. “I want you to take a few of the others and check on the old safe houses. See which ones are still standing and unoccupied, and place alarms to notify us if someone enters them.” He did not need to add that he wanted Lucius to place some of those charms he had invented that specifically targeted those bearing his mark. Like the wards he used to keep those not marked out, he had others that had helped to organise his troops. “They all know that I am back, but they do not know about our change in how we want to reach our goal. Should they manage to escape the prison, we must make sure that we find them before they can cause harm.” He still could not believe that they really had voted to remove the Dementors from Azkaban. Even if it was a temporary measure until the investigation into the attack was finished, it was a foolish move. He couldn't decide if it was a dastardly plot to derail his plans for a more or less peaceful overturning of the Ministry, or the misled attempt of a Gryffindor to “do the right thing”. And he was not even sure which one would be the worse.

Rubbing at his brow, he turned to find a house-elf offering him a glass of fire whiskey. He accepted the glass and sat down on one of the chairs in Lucius’ study. “What a nightmare.”

Hesitantly sitting down himself, Lucius cautiously started to speak. “Are you sure, my Lord, that an escape of those imprisoned is to be expected?”

Marvolo smirked at the obvious reluctance of the blond Lord to question something his Lord had said and sipped from his glass. Then he sighed. “Sadly, yes, Lucius. Black managed to escape, with Dementors around. Sure, he was aided by his animagus form in keeping his sanity. But your sister-in-law had left sanity behind a few years before my fall. I do think, once the haze of constant Dementor exposure recedes, she will recover enough to attempt flight.”

Before Marvolo could vent more of his frustration over the idiots and their actions, the others arrived, and they started to discuss ways to act should those of them imprisoned manage to escape.

Marvolo was still unsure if he should attempt to help them flee, get them out of the country, get them a new identity. Or if he should try to get them back into prison should they manage to leave without help.

It was late at night before Marvolo made it back to Griffin House, which felt empty now, even with all the elves still there. Attributing his uneasy feeling to the fact he had last been alone as a spirit floating around, powerless and desperate after over a decade without a body, Marvolo went to bed, taking a light sleeping draught to be sure that he would get enough rest. He tended to keep thinking and not finding sleep after a day like this.

oooOOooo

Finally they reached Hogwarts, and the students started to leave the train. Harry trailed after his new acquaintances over the platform and through the station to the square where the carriages were waiting.

Harry mustered the leathery-looking winged horses. Thestrals. If Marvolo had not spoken about them in one of their discussions of what the next year at Hogwarts would bring, he would have been surprised by them. Wondering why the horseless carriages suddenly were pulled by the eerie-looking animals. Another thing no one had thought about telling him. Most of the adults had seen someone die, they all knew about the thestrals. But not one of them thought about speaking about them to Harry.

“They are beautiful, aren't they?” the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood spoke next to him.

Harry turned to the blonde girl, her hair hanging around her unkempt and untamed, and smiled. “They are.” He was sad, to see them now was only possible because he had seen Cedric die. As interesting as they were to look at, he would have gladly foregone seeing them for Cedric to be still alive.

“Thanks for one of the more peaceful rides on the train.” The girl smiled serenely and clambered into the carriage, closely followed by a bemused Harry. She was odd, but he liked being around her nonetheless.

Now he had to face the music. He sighed, somehow, he was sure it was going to be bad.

Chapter Text

On the way from the entrance to the Great Hall to their preferred seats at the Gryffindor table, Harry and Hermione scanned the teachers' table.

“Hagrid is missing,” Harry murmured, as he could not spot the half-giant among the other teachers. Hermione let her gaze drift over the head table and frowned at the one witch with her curly grey hair, clad all in pink, sitting next to the Headmaster.

“Isn't that the witch we met in the entry hall on the day of Sirius’ trial?” the young bushy-haired witch asked, sitting down on the bench in front of one of the still-empty golden plates.

“Umbridge. The Ministry appointed her for the position of Defence professor.” Harry shook his head and sat down, looking incredulous as a third-year gave him a dark look and slid along the bench further away from them.

“What's the toad doing here?” one of the twins asked, falling gracelessly onto the bench on the other side of the table.

“Defence teacher,” Harry repeated and ignored a sixth-year who shoved his way more roughly than necessary past the place Harry was sitting.

“Seriously?” the twins looked at the head table and seemed disappointed. “Our last year, and we get a lousy toad as a teacher?”

Harry snorted and settled down for the sorting. The door opened again and Professor McGonagall entered the hall, followed by a line of small first-years, who looked terribly nervous. Concentrating on the hat sitting on the stool the new students would sit on while they were being sorted by the hat, Harry ignored the whispering and the odd looks as well as his grumbling stomach. He could not wait for the feast to start. Ron sat next to his brothers, and Ginny was smiling at the green-eyed fifth-year, who was slightly puzzled by her behaviour. He had hoped her crush would have vanished by now.

As the hat began its song, Harry let his eyes wander over the little kids standing, waiting to be sorted. How many of them were living in the Muggle world? Was one of them the heir or heiress of one of the other founders? Marvolo had speculated that there might be others, since there was still a bench for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor empty in the Wizengamot chambers, there was family left able to claim the title.

ooooo

Severus sat at the head table, watching as the new students shuffled in after Minerva in a neat line. As he did every year, he inspected the students and sorted them in his head, grouping them after what he guessed would be their Houses. His record was quite good and had only improved over the years.

He did not really listen to the Hat’s song. He never did. After all, the content of the song was essentially the same each year. Describing the characteristics of the four houses and how he, the Hat, had come to be. This year the Hat harped about unity between the houses, in a way he had last heard in his own years as a student.

Severus’ focus tonight was not on the Slytherin table, as usual after the summer – he knew those were not the people likely to cause trouble – but on the Gryffindors. He had a feeling that the house-mates of his Lord’s heir would be causing troubles for the boy. The other unknown factor this year was Dolores Umbridge. The Dark Lord’s orders concerning the current Defence against the Dark Arts Professor were specific. As the woman’s agenda concerning werewolves was diametrically opposite to the one the Dark Lord tried to push through, it was likely that the woman would target the only one under her power. Henry. It was Severus’ job to make sure the boy would not come to harm.

His orders concerning the Headmaster had been a lot more vague. The Potions Master had gathered that the old wizard was a threat to the young Slytherin heir. But why the boy was in danger of coming to harm through the actions or inactions of the Headmaster had not been explained.

Looking back over the years since Lily’s son had started school and what had happened, Severus was not sure if so much had changed. The gauntlet the old meddler had had assembled to ‘protect’ the stone was, in hindsight, nothing more than an obstacle course designed to be overcome by students. Or more specifically, one particular student. Considering the prophecy – of which Severus was not sure he wanted to know the full content – there was the distinct possibility that the Headmaster believed that the Boy-Who-Lived was to play a deciding role in thwarting the Dark Lord’s plans. If the man did, then it was reasonable to believe that he would get desperate now that he had lost control over the child.

The Hat had finished his song, and Severus clapped slowly along with the others. While one after the other students were called and took their turns under the old hat, Severus continued to think about all he had to keep in mind, only clapping when a student was sorted into Slytherin.

Finally the line of students was distributed among the four Houses, and the Headmaster declared that this was not the time to make speeches, sending them all to eat their fill. While Severus filled his plate with excellent steak, green beans, and others of his favourites, his colleagues started to chat about inconsequential things. Severus ate in silence, plotting ways to protect his Lord’s heir from the other Gryffindors from his position as the Head of Slytherin. Maybe he would have to enlist Minerva to help him. Or get the boy re-sorted. He snorted at that ridiculous thought – as far as he knew, there had never been a re-sorting and the stories told were just that, stories – and took another sip from his glass of wine. He promised himself a nice glass of red wine once he was in his chambers after this traditional exuberance.

ooooo

Minerva watched with tepridation the tension among her Lions. Hermione and Harry – in her head she indulged herself in calling her favourite students by their given names – were at the receiving ends of quite a few stares. Their being related to traditionally Slytherin families, or in Harry’s case, even heir to Slytherin himself, was not sitting well with the Gryffindors. But sadly, she had no real idea how to ease the tension. Maybe she could get Severus to help her out with that problem.

After a small serving of her favourite dessert – a junket with blueberries – she shifted her attention to the headmaster as Albus stood to give the usual announcements.

“To all the new students: Welcome! To all the others: Welcome back! Before you head back to your dormitories, let me make a few announcements.” Minerva smiled over the big gestures, only to wince at the blackened hand that was revealed as one of his over-long sleeves fell back from his fingertips to the elbow. He quickly lowered the arm so the hand was covered again, but she could see the concerned glances exchanged between a few Ravenclaws and those students sitting closer to the head table. Why Albus was waiting this long before accepting the help of Lord Slytherin to get rid of the curse, she did not understand. Each attempt from her to speak about it only ended with Albus bringing up an important topic related to the school.

“You all should take note that the Forbidden Forest is named so because it is forbidden to enter it, and for good reason. A few of the older students would do well to remember this as well. Mr. Filch has asked me – for the 462^nd time, he said – to remind you that performing magic in the corridors in between classes is not allowed, and that there is a list of banned items that can be reviewed in Mr. Filch’s office during the regular office hours.” As was almost traditional, Argus grumbled into his non-existent beard at Albus’ way of phrasing this. It was only too clear that the Headmaster put no stock in this list and did not intend to enforce it. An ongoing sour spot for the caretaker, but a topic that arguing about was futile. Minerva had tried long enough.

“Furthermore, there are two changes to our staff. Professor Grubbly-Plank will take over the classes in Care of Magical Creatures,” the witch stood, bowed to the politely clapping students and sat down again, “and Madame Dolores Umbridge will assume the position as our Defence against the Dark Arts professor.” Another short splattering of clapping followed this pronouncement, and Albus started to talk about the Quidditch try-outs when he was interrupted by the pink witch. There was no other way to describe her, and so this moniker had quickly established itself among the faculty.

With a feeling of slight horror – never in all her years at Hogwarts had someone interrupted the headmaster! – that was shared by the others as far as she could see, Minerva turned in her chair so she could watch the short, pink witch giving a small speech.

“Thank you, Headmaster, for your friendly words of welcome!” Minerva had to suppress a shudder, this sugar-sweet tone was hard to tolerate. If Umbridge always spoke like that, the school was in for a year full of caries-damaged teeth.

“I’m happy to be back here at Hogwarts and delighted to see so many happy faces looking up at me.”

Happy was not a word that the Head of Gryffindor would have used to describe the students' faces at the moment. Amused, bewildered, and aghast were much more fitting.