Lily Evans and the Lefay Torc

Lily Evans and the Lefay Torc
by ErtheChilde

"There are very few people who could claim ownership over this particular item. I am sure once you have a moment to examine it, you will realize why you are one of them and why it is of the utmost importance that you accept that."

Disclaimer:
This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright © Joanne K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and for the entertainment of the readers. They are not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters (specifically Elsie Fenswallow), with the exception of those introduced in the books and feature films, are the sole creation of ErtheChilde and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. There may or may not be a curse in your future as well, so be warned. Remember, all things come in threes, good and bad. Plagiarizing is considered bad.

Rating:
T for some violence, minor coarse language, minor suggestive adult themes and the possibility of naked House Elves in tea cosies dancing around in the background (Note: No witches, wizards, beings or beasts were harmed in the making of this fic)

Summary:
The year after Voldemort's defeat, a stranger hands Harry Potter something that sheds light on his mother's forgotten past, revealing that she was more than just a clever Muggleborn witch loved by James Potter and Severus Snape - she was the conduit of an ancient pact sworn centuries before, whose primordial foe hunted her from her first step across the threshold of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

Pairings: The main/end pairing of this series is going to be Lily/James. However, as this is just Lily's first year, there's no real pairing. Also, there is going to be a significant amount of Lily/Severus friendship in this fic.

Note: This first chapter is just the prologue, so don't stop reading just because you see Harry is featured in this chapter :P

- CHAPTER ONE - A Snake in the Lion's Den

Harry Potter frowned at the blood caked under his fingernails as he tossed the twisted clothes hanger into the bin the squat middle-aged man held out to him. He had thought he'd done a good job of getting most of it off of him, but apparently had missed places. If the head of the Department for the Regulation of Portkey Control noticed it, he didn't say anything and instead mechanically gestured toward a long piece of parchment affixed to his desk.

"Just the signature there, Potter, and then we can both go home," the older man told him in a voice that suggested someone who was never quite happy. "'Course, I'd've been home hours ago if you'd've shown up at your appointed time. When you didn't, there was a right bit of trouble reauthorizing a Portkey departure time with the Yanks." He glowered at Harry as though it was his fault, which it was partially. "Takin' down that bloke proved a bit more of a challenge to you than you thought?"

Harry was careful to keep his expression polite as he reached for the quill affixed to the paper and scribbled down his moniker. "I suppose if hunting down Dark wizards was easy, everyone would be doing it, Mr. Chancemore."

"If hunting down Dark wizards was easy, we wouldn't need to spend folks' hard-earned pay on young upstarts prancing around with the title Auror either," the man grumbled. "Especially not ones who make such a big mess of things that they have to concoct a story about a tornado to keep the Muggles from noticing their work, eh?"

Harry gritted his teeth to keep the smile on his face, reflecting not for the first time how much he would have preferred to return to London by broomstick instead of by Portkey. Chancemore had been rather prickly toward him ever since he started at the Ministry of Magic the year before, and although Harry's co-workers insisted that Chancemore's surliness was legendary at the Ministry, and that he needled everyone he came in contact with, it was sometimes hard not to take the man's sly jabs at his expense like a direct provocation.

Chancemore frowned down at the name on the paper, as though intending to detect a forgery, and eventually nodded. "Alright then, Potter, I'll send the paperwork up to you Monday. You need to fill out all the relevant information and send it on to the Portkey Office up on the Sixth. They'll need to include your file in the annual expense reports, so you'd best be more mindful of their deadlines this time."

"Have a good weekend, then, Chancemore," Harry replied politely, and quickly departed before the old man could begin to complain about how enjoying his weekend would be impossible because of Harry's tardiness.|

He strolled across the dark polished wood floor and passed through the large stone hallway lined with fireplaces on both sides, and whose entire chamber echoed with the footsteps and voices of the various peoples scurrying to and fro. Golden symbols glittered across the familiar peacock blue ceiling, and the fireplaces on the left-hand side occasionally emitted bursts of a green powdery substance as people stepped out of them and joined the throng, while the fireplaces on the right were almost hidden by the crowds of people who waited for their turn to get home as the workweek ended. He nodded at several friendly faces as he walked, ignoring the occasional stranger's glance performing the usual wide-eyed stare upon realizing who he was.

He wasn't a particularly interesting looking individual at first glance - in fact, next to the various robed individuals scurrying around the entrance hallway, he seemed positively normal. He was a tall, skinny young man all of nineteen, dressed casually in jeans and a light summer jacket, with a thin face and brilliant green eyes that gazed out from behind round glasses. However, what set him apart from others was a jagged scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, which was clearly visible beneath his stubbornly untidy jet-black hair. This scar, regarded with fascination and amazement by those who knew his story, was a relic of the night eighteen years before when Voldemort, the most power Dark wizard of all time, had tried and failed to kill him.

Bereft of his parents by that same wizard, Harry had been raised by his maternal aunt and her family, who had kept him completely ignorant of his heritage. It was only when a particularly boisterous and kind-hearted half-giant had tracked him down and given him a letter inviting him to study magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Harry had learned the truth about himself and started on a long journey to unravel the secrets of his and his parents past. The next seven years had been some of the happiest of his life, even during the rough patches that had seen him lose friends and family alike, as well as a fate that had almost killed him as he fought to destroy a resurrected Voldemort.

In the year that followed the death of Voldemort, Harry had been a part of rebuilding and ameliorating the Ministry of Magic as a Dark wizard catcher, one of several who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and who the newly elected Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had permitted to bypass their N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) in order to become legitimate Aurors in training. Despite spending the year after Voldemort's demise hunting down and capturing the wizard's followers, it was the first time since becoming aware of the wizarding world that Harry hadn't had to worry about a psychopath plotting to kill him. The remnants of the Voldemort's Death Eaters were few, as the vast majority had turned themselves in for lightened sentences and those who tried to evade capture were usually the most disturbed of the bunch and given to making mistakes that facilitated their capture. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule, Harry thought, reflecting on the wizard whom he had had to cross an ocean to follow.

Rabastan Lestrange had escaped Ministry arrest after the Battle of Hogwarts and then had led Harry on a less-than-merry chase across Britain before disappearing completely for months, turning up in the United States only several weeks before. British Aurors had very little jurisdiction in the Americas, but finding Lestrange was something Harry had felt was a loose end that needed tying up. An alliance of the British and American Ministries had allowed Harry to travel overseas. There he had picked up the hunt for the runaway Death Eater, and the result had been a vigorous duel that had clouded over the entire Salt Lake City area of Utah and ultimately caused the death of Lestrange.

The man had foolishly cast a spell to create a vortex that had ripped him apart and threatened to destroy the town itself. Harry, who had been close enough to Lestrange to be soaked with the man's blood, had almost been killed by the vortex as well, but had saved himself by Apparating away - unfortunately splinching himself at the shoulder in the process. It had taken every counter-spell and charm that Harry could call up to contain the magical after affects until it petered itself out, nothing more than an atmospheric disturbance that Muggles were calling a freak tornado. He couldn't remember much after that, as he had passed out from blood loss and awoke hours later being tended to by mediwizards.

The situation had gone from bad to worse when he had been persuaded by the American Minister to visit the Salem Witches' Institute to give an account of his defeat of Voldemort in exchange for dropping a possible charge of Exposing Muggles to Magic. What the Minister hadn't mentioned was that the Institute had an all-female population, and he had spent an entire afternoon being hounded by hundreds of young woman who made Romilda Vane seem like a mildly irritating mosquito.

He paused, slowing for a moment in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which effectively divided the large hall in half.

This statue did not resemble the one which had graced the same spot on Harry's first visit to the ministry four years earlier, nor did it in any way resemble the monstrous obelisk that had taken its place under a harsher regime more than a year before. The larger-than-life-sized statues were still rendered in gold, but the faces and postures were different. Instead of the gilded propaganda piece of Harry's youth, which had depicted a witch and a wizard surrounded by the adoring incarnations of three other magical races, the five figures which now stood there were placed in an outward facing circle, their arms outstretched to clasp the hands of those beside them as water sprayed from behind them.

When the plans to rebuild the fountain had been tabled, and the sculptors demanded models for their work, there had been an intense demand that Harry himself be depicted as the wizard in the fountain, but he had vociferously refused that.

'The only reason I've ever been half as great as what they say about me is because I've had a lot of help," he had stubbornly told Kingsley Shacklebolt not long after the former member of the Order of the Phoenix was sworn in as Minister for Magic. "I wouldn't - many of us wouldn't - be standing here today if it weren't for the foresight of one man. I'm sure you know exactly who I'm talking about."

And so the figure facing the entrance of the Atrium was a wizard, who was tall and thin, with a beard and hair lengthy enough to tuck into the belt of his sweeping robes. His nose was long and crooked, and anyone who had known the man in life would have known that sparkling blue eyes beamed out behind the faience half-moon spectacles that the statue wore. Curiously, the arm reaching out to the right was malformed and shrivelled looking, a bitter trophy of tangling with a rather Dark piece of magic.

The centaur to the right of the wizard was depicted as young, and the sculptors had done well in their depiction of his expression, which was knowing and kind, while at the same time exuding a quality of dignity and pride. In a gesture to promote peace between the race of human and centaur, a male named Firenze had gone against the usual centaur custom of ignoring the affairs of wizards and allowed the sculptors to use his features in the statue. His was one of only two statues to depict one of the living.

Harry smiled sadly at the figure next to the centaur's depiction. While he had been stubborn about Dumbledore immortalized in the statue, he had been absolutely adamant about this depiction, and had for the first time in his life effectively used his fame to get what he wanted. The house-elf that smiled out at the world had huge tennis ball-sized eyes and a long pencil-thin nose, and although as small as all house-elves were in relation to wizards, the proud puff of his chest exuded importance. Unlike the house-elves that Harry had come across, Dobby's likeness had been sculpted finely in clothing: a smart cap, a neat shirt, trousers and mismatched socks. Far from giving off a comical appearance, it was one which instilled curiosity and wonder in most passers-by.

Sadness turned to amusement as he glanced at the fourth figure, a witch dressed in what was meant to be Muggle clothing - jeans, sneakers and a hooded sweatshirt. Her hair flared out around her in a bushiness that was only somewhat diminished by the sleekness of the gold she was moulded from, and her chin jutted out proudly. Most curious about her was the arm stretched toward the elf - the fabric of her shirt was rolled up, and a crude message had been carved there on purpose, proclaiming the word 'Mudblood' to the world. Harry remembered his best friend Hermione Granger's attempts to beg off the 'honour' of being depicted on the fountain being as fervent as his - until her boyfriend and Harry's other best friend, Ron Weasley had jokingly mentioned what king of publicity it would mean for her pet project, the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. After that there had been no stopping her, and she had insisted that she be depicted as she had felt at her lowest - minutes after a madwoman had carved the foul word into her skin.

The last figure that Harry looked upon was a goblin, and one whose presence he was also partially responsible for, albeit indirectly. When the time had come to ask the goblins for one whom they wanted emblazoned in the Ministry of Magic, they had chosen a deceased goblin Griphook, who had become a legend among his people for trying to return a goblin-made sword to the goblins, but had been summoned and killed by Voldemort before he could carry it out.

Harry shook his head, and kept walking. 'It's just like goblins to glorify needless death and violence and call it courage.'

Leaving the fountain behind, Harry murmured a greeting to the watchwizard on duty at the gilded gates separating the Atrium from the lifts, and hurriedly climbed into one that was headed up, ducking several low flying pale-violet interdepartmental memos as he did so. The golden grilles of the lift swung shut, and with a slow rattling of chains, it began to rise.

Ignoring the cool female voice that announced each floor, Harry glanced down at his wrist and the dented gold watch upon it, whose stars in place of hands told him that it was half-past five. 'That will give me an hour and a half before I have to meet Ron and Hermione for dinner. Just enough time to draft the Lestrange report.'

Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows as Harry got off the lift and strolled down the hallway and through the heavy oak doors that led to the Auror Headquarters. The vast open area was divided into cubicles from which the buzzing chatter and laughter of his co-workers emanated, and several of the memos which had followed him from the lift soared into different parts of the room. Harry let out a sigh of contentment, glad to be back in familiar territory.

"All right, Harry?"

A tall, freckle-faced, long-nosed man with chin-length red hair and several days' growth of beard had spotted him and started toward him, a wide grin on his face. Harry felt an answering grin appear on his face at the sight of his best friend. "Ron. Been keeping out of trouble while I was gone, I hope?"

"That's rich coming from you," Ron Weasley pointed out with a snort. "A tornado, Harry? Really? Can't you do anything small? You're making the rest of us look bad."

"Not hard to do," Harry joked as he clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Or should I remind you who blew up half of Brixton Road in April?"

"The git insulted the Cannons," Ron shrugged. "He was clearly evil, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes. "When are you going to just accept what the rest of us already know? The Cannons won't win until every player is replaced and then pumped up with Felix Felicis."

"When Hedley Chancemore admits his unholy desire for you." Ron grinned wickedly.

The two of them started down toward their cubicles.

"Speaking of Quidditch, Ginny had that interview today," Ron said. "They wanted her to do a trial run with the Holyhead Harpies, to see if she's good to take over as reserve Chaser for next season. They've been in a right fix since Wilda Griffiths joined Puddlemere United. I heard they already signed Valmai Morgan."

"Excellent," Harry said, genuinely impressed. "Though, knowing your sister, she's going to insist I change my team now."

Ron looked serious. "There are some things you should never change for a woman. Your politics and your Quidditch allegiances."

"Says the prat who's been trying to get me to root for his team since I met him."

"That's completely different. Best mate trumps girlfriend, especially when she's my sister."

"Go soak your head, Ron," Harry laughed.

Ron's response was cut off as someone suddenly barrelled out of the cubicle nearest them and bumped into Ron, resulting in two cries of surprise and the sudden explosion of parchment and quills flying into the air.

"Neville!"

"Sorry, Ron!" Neville Longbottom, a tall, round-faced young man with dark blond hair and wide eyes was shuffling around on all fours, trying to pick up everything he had been carrying. "Williamson's on the warpath - apparently Yaxley's been trying to make a deal for a reduced sentence from Azkaban, and getting the paperwork figured is like trying to pry jewellery from a niffler. Williamson wants everyone who worked that case to bring him anything they've got, or he's threatened to demote us to Magical Maintenance until Christmas."

"Damn," Ron grumbled, and hurried off toward his cubicle. "I was on that case." He glanced at Harry. "Sorry, mate, see you later this evening then, if I can get out in time."

"Don't bother rushing," Harry told him. "I've got my own report to write, remember?"

Neville had finally managed to gather all of his materials, and smiled at Harry in a lopsided way. "And we all thought we'd be done with writing papers when we finished Hogwarts."

"No such luck. See you, then, Neville. And my best to Luna."

"And mine to Ginny."

Harry's cubicle was at the farthest end of the row, almost parallel to the hallway leading to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, which had once been headed by Ron's father, Arthur Weasley, but since the latter's promotion several years before was now headed by a ministry wizard named Perkins. (Of course, that didn't stop Mr. Weasley from poking his head in every so often to examine the various Muggle artefacts that came in!) Harry's cubicle was very similar to those of the other Aurors; the walls were plastered with a bizarre collection of pictures of wanted wizards, Daily Prophet articles, posters of their favourite recreational activities (in Harry's case, several moving pictures from the Quidditch World Cup the year before) and photographs of their families and loved ones. As he neared the booth, his gaze flew automatically to the photograph of a pretty young witch with vibrant red hair, smouldering brown eyes and a wicked grin, who was dressed in the scarlet and gold robes of Gryffindor house's Quidditch team. The photo was of his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, and had been taken several months before when she had led Gryffindor to victory in the House Cup as Quidditch captain.

He paused in his perusal, though, suddenly aware that he was not alone.

Turning into his workspace, he saw that someone was waiting for him. A young woman dressed in a black dragon-hide duster was sitting - if leaning backwards with her heavy boots on his desk could be called sitting - in Harry's cubicle, her back to him so that all he could see was her short, auburn hair. She was staring at the picture of Harry's one-year-old godson, Teddy Lupin, a brown-eyed child who was racing around on a toy broom in some grassy field, his tawny hair changing to brilliant fuchsia as he laughed and waved at Harry, whose portrait self was trying to catch up with him.

She must have heard his approach, because she turned fractionally to look at him, and he could take in her features. She had an oval face, with full lips and a long straight nose. Her wide eyes were an unnaturally deep blue, and were set beneath arched eyebrows. When she pushed herself to her feet, in a movement that was languid and unapologetic, he saw that she was slender and of average height, and under the duster, she wore black denim pants and a navy tank top. Despite the intimidating effect of her presence, Harry felt an irritating note of familiarity, which escaped identification.

"Can I help you?" he finally managed after a moment of puzzling out her identity.

"I have my doubts about that, but go on, give it a go," she replied in the lilting voice of an Irishwoman that would have been pleasant were it not for the distinct undertone of mocking.

Harry frowned.

"Have we met?"

"On a number of occasions. I'd be insulted that you don't remember me, but then again, we lesser mortals always did escape your notice," she replied easily. Harry decided not to rise to her bait, instead raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to continue, which she did after a moment. "Elsie Fenswallow."

She didn't offer her hand, nor would he have taken it if she had. Instead, he took a moment to repeat her name in his thoughts, making the connection.

"I know you from Hogwarts, don't I?" he remarked, striding around his desk and sitting down. "You were in Ginny's year. I remember you from her convocation ceremony."

"Got it in one," she told him coolly, sitting down again, this time refraining from putting her boots on his desk. "I was supposed to be top of the class. If your pal Granger hadn't decided to come back for her N.E.W.T's, I would have been the one making fancy speeches at graduation."

Suddenly recalling several letters from his friend complaining about some girl who had been giving her some trouble when she returned to Hogwarts, Harry was able to put the name to the face. Not for the first time, he was intensely proud of Hermione's intelligence.

"Well, these things happen, don't they," he told her calmly. "Now is there something you need? As fun as this romp through memory lane is, I've got work to do before I leave for the day."

"By which, of course, you mean that you can't be bothered to be seen with a former Slytherin."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

They regarded each other coolly for another moment, and Harry was strongly reminded of his old nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

To his surprise, her entire posture relaxed, and she smirked at him. "You Gryffindors always were so easy to taunt. It's that whole pride thing. I apologize for my manner."

"A Slytherin with a conscience," Harry deadpanned. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Thank your lucky stars I have one, Potter. I'm not saying half the nasty things I'm thinking about you right now," she chuckled. "Granted, they would be counterproductive to my business here, but it'd be a kick."

"I think we're done here," Harry said shortly, standing up and nodding towards the hallway. "You can leave now."

"If only it were that simple," the girl sighed, reaching into her duster. Harry reflexively prepared his own wand, which was fixed with a special harness to his right wrist for easy access. The girl paused, and raised an eyebrow at him. "If you had any sort of observational skills, you'd have noticed that my own wand is stuck down my boot," she told him, and continued groping around in her jacket. He saw that she was right, but didn't relax his grip. "I'm not here to pick a fight with you, Potter - "

"Could have fooled me."

" - there's something I need you to investigate for me. That's your job, isn't it? Be on the look-out for Dark magic and such?"

"Dark wizards."

"Close enough," she said dismissively. "This was left in my possession after the Battle of Hogwarts. You white-hats weren't the only ones to lose loved ones that night. I'm sure you're familiar with journals of this type?"

She had removed a small, thin book and placed it on his desk in front of him. It was bound with a dark-green leather cover that was scuffed from wear, but was still in good shape. Immediately, Harry's thoughts flew to just such a book, which he had come across in his second year of school, and which had hidden more than one sinister secret within it.

"Investigation of cursed objects isn't my job," he told her guardedly, but found his eyes wandering toward the journal of their own accord. There was nary a word on it, and it appeared to be a completely harmless book, but he had learned long ago the books often held the most dangerous of magic. "Trythe Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office or bring it before the Ministry Curse-Breakers down the hall - "

"I'm afraid they wouldn't quite appreciate the contents," she replied glibly, "whereas I have absolutely no doubt that you will."

"And telling me what's in it would, of course, be too much trouble."

"Now, now, Harry." She wagged a finger at him. "Where's your sense of adventure? Half the fun of these things is working it out yourself."

"I've had enough adventure to last me a lifetime."

"Even if it were an adventure to keep your loved ones safe?" she purred, getting up and wandering back to the picture of Teddy. "He really is adorable. I've heard that he lives with you. How does that work, when you're off catching Dark wizards? I suppose then he stays with his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, no?"

By now Harry had stood up abruptly and was glaring at the young woman furiously, his hand once again tightening on his wand. "If you're trying to threaten me into opening that thing, it's not going to work. And if you don't want me to arrest you for trying to intimidate a member of this Department, you'll leave right now."

To her credit, the girl didn't even flinch at the threat; instead, she slowly stood up and gave him a smooth, impertinent salute. "As you wish, of course."

She started to leave.

"And you'll take your cursed book to the proper authorities."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's yours."

"Are you mad?"

She gazed at him levelly, but made no move to recover the book. "There are very few people who could claim ownership over this particular item. And I'm sure once you've gotten off your high horse and examined it, you'll realize why you are one of them. It's important that you accept that."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you don't," she retorted. "However, I would have thought you'd be very interested in the owner of that book." She made a mocking bow. "If you do change your mind though, I'm down in Xenolinguistics on Level Three." She stopped again, sizing him up and then grinned. "Mind you, if you do decide to look into it, be sure to do it when you have a lot of time. It's a rather...absorbing."

Before he could stop her, she had disappeared, almost as quickly as if she had Disapparated. For several seconds, Harry remained still, frowning at the space where the witch had been standing and trying to avoid the almost magnetic pull that the book appeared to be exerting on him.

For all his other qualities, his curiosity and proclivity to a good mystery had always caused him no end to trouble. However, instincts honed over years of getting neck-deep in situations kept him from giving into them. He had no intention of opening the book - not until he performed every test for Dark magic that he knew of at least. Ron had once told him about a book that you could never stop reading, and if this book was anything like the journal of a certain Tom Riddle, he could just imagine being trapped in the damned thing for the rest of his life.

Deciding to ignore it, he went on to write his report, occasionally eying the offending book in case it decided to waltz off of his table.

After the sixth attempt of finishing his opening paragraph and leaving off in the middle of a sentence, Harry decided that his report was going to have to wait until Monday after all. He pulled out his wand and began the laborious task of trying to find whatever Dark magic had been placed upon the book.

(*)

"I tried everything I could think of," Harry told Ron and Hermione later that night as the three of them waited for their food at the Leaky Cauldron. He had the journal safely tucked into the pocket of his travelling cloak, having only decided to keep it on him once he was certain that touching it would not cause him any harm. He refrained from banging it on the table in front of his friends, although he wasn't sure whether this was his adherence to Ministry rules about bringing home items suspected to be cursed, or his own unfathomable reluctance to part with it. "There's absolutely nothing sinister about the book. No invisible ink, no hexes or charms that I could find. Nothing."

"What about an Unsealing Spell?" Hermione asked, a familiar wrinkle in her brow, which always appeared when she was puzzling over something apparently unsolvable. She was dressed smartly in a navy blue cardigan and matching pencil skirt, and her thick hair had been aggressively twisted into a knot that would have reminded him of Professor McGonagall's, except Hermione's hair was a lot more rebellious than their former Transfiguration teacher's "You know that if it's been Sealed, you're not going to find out any of the spells that were used on it."

"Tried it," Harry replied. "Nothing. It's as though it's just a book."

"Maybe it is just a book," Ron interrupted through a mouth full of fresh bread.
"Not everything's got some sinister purpose, Harry. If you keep seeing Dark wizards around every corner, you're gonna end up like Mad Eye Moody."

"You mean paranoid or dead?" Harry asked, unsmiling.

"I actually agree with Harry on this one," Hermione said, ignoring Ron as he rolled his eyes and muttered 'Big surprise' under his breath. "I wouldn't trust anything Elsie Fenswallow gave me. In fact, I'm shocked you didn't turn it right into the Ministry Curse-Breakers to work on."

Harry decided not to tell her that he felt a strange pull to the book that had made him want to know what was inside. Instead, he changed the direction of the conversation. "What do you know about her?"

"Mostly that she was typically Slytherin," Hermione said grimly. "Proud, spoiled, sneaky..."

She trailed off, as though struggling to find the word.

"Smart," Ron interjected. "'Mione never got over the fact that she had competition when she went back to school."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do - didn't you say the only reason you beat her in the end was because she got sick during your Potions N.E.W.T and couldn't continue?"

"I'm sure there was more to it than that," Hermione replied airily, and returned her attention to Harry. "The point is, she was rather like Malfoy used to be."

"And still is," Ron added darkly.

"I know that," Harry said, answering Hermione's comment. "I remember that much. I recognized her from the convocation. What I meant was, what do you know about her other than that?"

"You'd have to ask Ginny," Hermione said, lowering her voice as the old barkeep, Tom, came by with an arm full of pub fare, grinning toothlessly at them. The man was getting on in years, but you would never know it from his cheerful disposition. "She knew her all throughout Hogwarts, didn't she? And they were both into Quidditch..."

"Huh?" Harry perked up. "When?"

"Our fifth year on, when you missed the match because of Umbridge," Ron suddenly piped up. "I remember her now too! She was Chaser for Slytherin. First girl I've ever seen on their team. She was a sight - she had those thick glasses and wore - what do you call 'em? Bases?"

"Braces," Hermione clarified. "Which I always thought was strange, considering she's a witch. And a Slytherin. That can't have made her popular, traipsing around school with obviously Muggle hardware."

"Who cares - she was a brute on the pitch. She got fouled so many times - actually, now that I really think of it, I've heard of her more recently than that," Ron interrupted himself excitedly. "I was reading in the Prophet that the Falmouth Falcons wanted her. But she turned them down." He snorted. "Probably weren't vicious enough for her."

"I don't think that's it at all," Hermione mused. "Some of the younger students talking before graduation - her sister's a Gryffindor, would you believe - they were saying she couldn't sign with the Falcons because there wasn't anyone to take care of the family. She's the oldest. The story is, her parents died at the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Well, that's what happens when you choose to follow some snake-faced bastard with delusions of grandeur," Ron said loudly.

"Only they didn't," Hermione deadpanned. "Her parents apparently died fighting Death Eaters. No one's really clear on the matter, but anyhow, she's left taking care of the family herself. So she took a job in Xenolinguistics because she's evidently quite good at that sort of thing, and it keeps her able to see her family. I heard Higgins from the Being Division say she's got as much talent for languages as Barty Crouch senior..."

"Let's hope she's not as big a crackpot as he was, or Harry might be in for it."

Harry was silent, thinking over this new information. It appeared discovering anything about the mysterious book in his possession wasn't going to be found by investigating the person who had given it to him, as she appeared to be a walking contradiction.

"Guess I'll have to ask Ginny after all," he sighed.

"Ask me what?"

The three of them looked up. Ginny Weasley had appeared beside them, still dressed in casual Muggle athletic attire and carrying a broom. Her brown eyes flashed wickedly at Harry, and he felt warmth throughout his entire body.

"How your try-out went," he said smoothly, getting up to embrace her. "Ron told me about the Harpies when I got back this afternoon. How'd you do?"

"Well," she replied, taking the empty seat at the table and leaning her broom up against the wall. "You are looking at next season's newest Chaser for the Harpies. I've been signed."

There was a chorus of cheers and well wishes from the group, and Ron called for a round of mead for the table to celebrate.

"That's amazing," Harry told her, squeezing her hand. "But I thought you were only going to be a reserve?"

"Me too. But when I got there and they saw me fly, they told me that one of the other Chasers is going to be taking leave - she's going to have a baby in a few months, so they need someone to step in."

There was another round of congratulations, and after Ginny had ordered some food, she looked pointedly at the trio.

"So what cozy little get-together did I interrupt?" she asked. "You lot look the exact same way you did back at school when you were plotting to hunt old Voldie in the girls' toilet, all huddled up and secretive." They exchanged glances. She narrowed her eyes. "Oh come on; now, I'm not ten years old anymore, for Merlin's sake!"

"It's not that," Harry said quickly, detecting a show of temper that his girlfriend had inherited from her mother. "See, Elsie Fenswallow came to see me today."

Was it his imagination, or did he detect a subtle hardness in Ginny's mouth?

"Did she now?"

"Er, yes," Harry continued. "Had something she wanted me to take a look at - but I wanted to check for any possible curses or hexes before I did - I checked her out too, but she doesn't exist in any of the files we have on Dark wizards, and such, but - she didn't come off as being the most altruistic of people."

"She's not." At their questioning looks, Ginny continued, "She's the most opportunistic, conniving, underhanded she-wolf I've ever met. She's always working an angle - she was like it for the past seven years. I doubt she's changed in the past few months."

"That bad," Harry wondered heavily.

Ginny didn't reply as she took a sip of the mulled mead that Tom had brought her. She cleared her throat. "You'd best be giving whatever you've got from her to be checked for curses, and that's all I'm going to say about that."

Something in her tone and the way her eyes darted to Hermione and Ron told Harry he shouldn't press the issue further, and when Ron decided to go on a diatribe about the personality disorders of various Slytherins and Dark wizards, he let the subject drop. 'For the moment, anyhow.'

The rest of the meal was a lighthearted affair, and before Harry knew it, the four of them were leaving the Leaky Cauldron and strolling onto the streets of London. Hermione was leaning into Ron's arm, the latter looking as flustered as he always did with displays of affection directed at him, and Ginny had laced her fingers through Harry's.

They ambled comfortably for a while, until they reached Hyde Park, where Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny. "Well, I'm off then. Mum and Dad always love to hear about how my day at work went. It's actually become somewhat annoying. They always need to know what I've been up to..."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with that time you erased their entire memory of you and sent them to Australia, would it?" Ron asked glibly, earning a reproachful look from Hermione.

"I guess we'll see each other Monday then," Hermione went on, ignoring him. "And we'll talk to the proper authorities about that book, yes?"

Harry didn't answer, and Hermione didn't notice because Ron had followed her now and was bickering with her.

" - you can make tasteless jokes, but you expect you'll get to see me home, do you Ronald Weasley - ?"

" - come off it, 'Mione, you can't take stuff like that to heart. It'll age you right quick - "

" - oh, so now I'm old?"

Ron groaned and started after her as she stalked off. Harry reflected that she probably wasn't too angry, as if she had been, she would have Apparated away without him. Ron looked back over his shoulder and called out, "Bye, Harry! See you at home, Ginny!" in a tone that warned both her and Harry what he would do if she didn't find her way home before he got there.

Ginny and Harry laughed together, and linked arms. Everything went dark as he was pressed in from all sides, and with a sudden burst of rushing air and whirling colors, the two of them stood in the back alley of the Camden apartment building where Harry lived.

"I still find it slightly funny that you spend your whole life wishing like mad to be back in the wizarding world, and yet you buy a flat in the middle of all these Muggles," Ginny told him as they strolled around to the entrance of the building.

"The last thing I need I need is more fanatic wizards trying to get a look at me," Harry replied easily, digging through his pockets for his keys. "At least in the Muggle world, I get some privacy."

"I suppose..."

He noticed there was a vague note in her voice, and looked up. Ginny was glancing off into space, a frown in her eyes. Remembering her finality on the subject back at the pub, he decided to try his luck.

"So are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

"What?"

"At dinner. I've never seen you so standoffish about anything. Is there something about this Fenswallow bint you didn't want to say while Ron and Hermione were there?"

"Oh, Harry, do we have to?" she sighed.

"Ginny, I'm bound to find out somehow," he said firmly. "I always seem to find out things I'm not supposed to, can't you at least save me the blood and trouble this time?"

"Why do you have to know?" Ginny replied. "As far as you know, it's simply some witch showing up with some book that she says you've got to look into. Maybe it's just that. Can't you just let this one go?" There was real pleading in her voice, and Harry found that although he wanted to do what she asked, he couldn't. Something was tugging at his mind, insisting that he needed to investigate the whole matter. Before he could answer, she spoke again, laughing bitterly. "Of course you can't."

To Harry's consternation, she shook her head and pulled away from him, turning back toward the alley.

"Hey - Ginny - wait - !" He hurried after her, grabbing onto her arm. He felt warmth in his cheeks. "I thought...I thought you were going to stay tonight."

"So did I," she said flatly. When she saw his hurt expression, she leaned in and grasped his face in her hands. "Listen, Harry, I'm not angry with you. It's her I'd like to brain right now." He didn't have to ask who she was talking about. "But...I can see that you really want to figure this out. I wish you didn't. If I were the selfish type, I'd have you promise me you wouldn't. But that wouldn't be fair to you, and it wouldn't be either of our style, so I'm just...I'm going to leave you to it, because I think you need to be by yourself for this."

She let go.

"But Gin -"

"She and I are hardly the dearest of friends," she told him, backing away. Harry hated the look in her eyes, "but I promise you, there won't be any curses or Dark magic on that book. She wants you to read it, and so she would make it as safe for you as possible."

"How do you know all this? What aren't you telling me?"

"Harry...I can't. Just...trust me when I say I really can't tell you anything,"
Ginny said miserably. "Now...good night. I love you, and when you've had time to digest everything, I'll come see you. Promise."

Before he could make another move for her, she had Disapparated.

Harry swore, and for a long time paced angrily in front of his flat. Questions flooded his mind, both about the mysterious book and Ginny's sudden change in behaviour. He remembered the last time she had been this avoidant, had been possessed by Voldemort's sixteen-year-old self, but this didn't strike him as the reason.

Running his hand angrily through his hair, he decided that there really was only one way of unravelling the latest mystery that had been thrown his way.

He entered his flat, ignoring the mail that had piled up in the entranceway while he had been gone, tossed his cloak into the living room and took out the journal, the source of all of his latest curiosities.

For a long time, he could only stare at it, trying to talk himself into opening it.
When he finally did, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he read the words at the top of the first page.

'My name is Lily Evans and I live at number Nine, Roscoe Lane in Mill Town with my parents and older sister Petunia...'

He hardly had time to wonder at this, when the book practically jumped out of his hand and the pages fluttered rapidly until they reached the end of January.

Silvery words glinted on the page, glowing brightly as they began growing larger and larger, until they leapt off the page and began to surround Harry in a whirl of words and whispers. He felt a strange tugging sensation and found himself pulled toward the book, as the words grew and began to assault him, siphoning themselves into him, and the world suddenly went completely white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: Harry's behaviour is based on the idea that it takes a little bit of time for him to completely trust anyone from Slytherin, despite Severus Snape's sacrifices. Of course, we won't hear about all this until later, because the rest of the story is very much Lily-centric...

Thanks to my beta, Kim, for catching all the little mistakes I missed!

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