Black Aeon

Chapter Ten

Remember Who You Are

If people noticed that Draco Malfoy and Wylow Potter were now on speaking terms and thought it odd, no one said anything. Probably because Wylow had taken to sweeping down the corridor like Professor Snape with a slight sneer on her face if someone knocked into her. She didn't know why she had changed that little bit, but she had. Well, actually, she had a suspicion as to why but she was hoping it wasn't true.

When her friends turned the corner, they found her screaming at some poor unfortunate Hufflepuff first year in French.

"Si vous frappez dans moi un plus de temps, mon dieu, je vais vous décapiter avec un couteau à beurre !"* The Hufflepuffs' lower lip quivered, and they mumbled 'Sorry miss' and ran away, crying. She straightened her robes, and turned around, to find herself face to face with Hunter, Arielle and Jacob. Hunter looked furious.

"What the hell was that about?"

"The kid is seriously clumsy. It's not my fault that he banged into me for the fifth time today!"

"That's no reason to go around frightening little children! My god Wyl', the kid's only eleven!" She sighed, and ran her ringers through her hair, fingering the white blonde streak for a moment. He was right, damn him.

"I should probably go find him and apologise, shouldn't I?" Hunter sighed, and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"Wait until dinner, then go and apologise then. It'll make it less easy for him to run away from you." He smiled, and ruffled her hair, kissing her cheek tenderly. She blinked, surprised. Last time she had stood beside Hunter, she had reached his shoulder. Now, she was up to his chin. This was definitely odd.

"Weren't you taller?" The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. Hunter blinked, and looked at her in surprise. Arielle came and stood beside her, and stared to find herself on eyelevel with the formerly tiny girl. Jacob raised an eyebrow.

"Wylow, I think it would be better for us to ask 'Weren't you shorter?'. Have you been taking a Growth Potion of some sort? Because those tend to wear off after a while." Wylow shook her head. Great; now she was growing taller then was natural. Wonderful.

~

Nothing pissed Harry off more then noticing that his little sister was now taller than him. Only by a couple of inches, but it was still bloody annoying! And he wasn't sure, but he was pretty positive that the white streak in her hair was a lot wider then it had been. Oh well.

Harry stared in bewilderment at the parchment which he had written his History of Magic homework down on. He had no idea what he had meant. 'rite 2ft parch. on gob reb. 1677. nt 1876.' He understood what it meant; write two foot of parchment on the goblin rebellion of 1677 not 1876. He just had no idea where to begin. And why was he supposed to care at all? He threw down his quill with a sigh, and stared out of the window. The weather was a typical Scottish late autumn day, and he was longing to fly. In fact, he was going to. The home work could wait for another time!

Ignoring Hermione's disapproving scowl, he got up, walked up to his dormitory, grabbed his broom stick and stomped down the corridors and out of the castle. The chilled wind bit at his cheeks, and he smiled into it. Other students had had the same train of thought as him, and were outside under trees, walking about, or down by the lake. Some were flying but not many. The sixth year girl he had been talking to the other day was standing talking to her friends, blatantly boasting about being chatted up by Harry Potter ('THE Harry Potter!' he heard her squeal). And her skirt was still tiny... oh this could be fun. With a wicked grin, he mounted his broom stick and kicked off. Swiftly, he came out of the dive, and flew very low to the ground, flipping the broom over so that he was flying upside down. He flew straight through a gap in the girly gang, and got a rather excellent view up the sixth years' skirt. The girls screamed and dodged aside. "Hi girls!" he yelled to them, grinning devilishly.

Some one threw a rock at him, and a voice yelled "Five points from Gryffindor for being a perverted bastard!" rubbing the sore spot on his head, he manoeuvred the broom to see his twin standing on the ground with Carlisle, Marlowe and Morlock, her hands on her hips, glaring up at him through her glasses. Typical, she always spoiled his fun. With an eye roll, he flashed his middle finger quickly in her direction. "And ten more for swearing at the Head Girl!" great. Fifteen points off of Gryffindor in less than two minutes. That had to be a record for any one who was not in trouble with a teacher. Or related to the person removing the points.

~

"You wanted to see us?" Hunter elbowed her in the ribs, and she glared at him before sighing and adding "sir" to her previous sentence. Dumbledore smiled at her pleasantly, pretending not to notice the irritation and distrust coming off of her in waves. Honestly, she thought, if I were a cartoon of me, I would have sizzle lines coming off my shoulders or something.

"Yes Miss Le Fey- Potter, I did." She would correct him, and tell him that it was either, 'Potter' or 'Le Fey', not both, but frankly, she didn't think that it was worth her wasting her breath. Especially not on some one like this man who sat before her pretending to be the good, wise Headmaster of a school. "You in particular. It has been brought to my attention that you keep copious amounts of weaponry in your bedroom. And in your private common room. And in the small kitchenette you requested." Hunter, Jacob and Arielle, turned, and stared at her. They hadn't been in her bedroom or any of the other rooms for a while now, and she had... redecorated. In her own way.

She smiled.

"Oh, who told you?"

"Dobby. But would you be carrying any weaponry on you at this moment?" Oh, now this would be fun. She smiled, and set to work.

By the time she had finished, there was a twelve inch long dagger, three throwing knives, the necklace, two boot daggers and one thin stiletto blade on the desk in front of her. The necklace had been turned into the throwing star, and the knives were all freshly sharpened to deadly points. Dumbledore looked at the pile in surprise. "Nothing else?" he had obviously meant it sarcastically. But there was one more thing. With an innocent smile, she reached into her school bag, and pulled out her cross bow, fully loaded but with the safety on. She placed that on the desk as well. There was silence in the room surrounding her, and she smiled innocently as her boyfriend swallowed audibly. Dumbledore looked up at her. There was an oddly proud look in his eyes that made her wonder if the man had finally completely lost it and had decided that he was going to make weaponry part of the school uniform, and that he had called her here to ask who her supplier was. "This is, my dear girl, a very impressive display. And it is exactly what I was hoping to see."

"...I beg your pardon? I don't understand what you mean?"

"I was hoping that I would see that this sort of thing was in your nature. As it had been in your mothers."

"In my nature? What are you talking about?" Hunter poked her, and she breathed "sir" silkily, making sure that he got the note of danger in her tone.

"Weapons and fighting was your mothers' area of expertise as well. Also playing tricks on the other students with the aid of a rather unlikely member of another House. But I was unsure whether you would share her love of things 'sharp and pointy' as she put it." This was getting rather odd. Dumbledore was looking very solemn, and when that happened, there was usually going to be something bad. And it would probably happen to you. Hunter put an arm around her protectively, and Jacob and Arielle moved forward to stand beside her, drawing attention to the fact that Wylow was now at least two inches taller then Arielle, and the same height as Jacob. Jacobs' voice was low and cold when he spoke. "What exactly are you getting at sir?" Dumbledore looked from Wylow, to Hunter, back to Wylow, to Jacob and Arielle, then back again. He nodded.

"I see that you are all as close to each other as I hoped. Good, because what I am about to ask of you is not an easy thing." Oh, are we supposed to be scared? Wylow thought viciously, because it really, really isn't working! "The four of you are among the top five students in the school, along with Miss Granger. You, Mr. Carlisle, in Potions, you, Miss Morlock, in Herbology, you, Mr Marlowe, in Transfiguration, and you Miss Le Fey- Potter in Defence Against the Dark Arts-"

"Wait, how am I top in that? Harry's always been the best!"

"You write your own spells. You put more power behind them. You try harder, where as Mr. Potter has a tendency to think that things will just happen for him. He is good, but not as good as you. Don't tell him that, he'll hate you for it.

"You may not have heard of the Order of the Phoenix-"

"Oh yeah, that."

"Sure we have!"

"Of course, do you think we never listen?"

"Stop treating us like plebeians and get on with it; no big bragging speeches, please!" Dumbledore smiled slightly, and continued speaking. "Well, Miss Le Fey- Potters' mother was a member. The youngest member in our history, as a matter of fact. She served us well for two years, before her young life was taken. We ask that you join us. For our sake, her sake, and your own. We need your help." For a moment, there was silence. Arielle smiled, and nodded.

"I'll do it." Jacob raised an eyebrow, and nodded his head once.

"So will I." Hunter squeezed an arm around Wylow's waist. Surely he wouldn't join as well; he wouldn't stab her in the back like that.

"And me." Wylow froze. They had done it. They had actually done it. They had all joined in to help the man she hated only a little less then Snakey man. The four of them were looking at her expectantly, smiling, as though waiting for her to say 'hey, sure, I'll sign up too! It'll be a laugh!' and smile happily. She slowly withdrew herself from Hunter's arm, and looked at them all with cold, level eyes.

"Don't tax yourselves waiting for my answer. You can guess what it is." Before anyone could say anything to her, she turned and slowly walked out of the room, making sure that her footsteps were evenly spaced and firm. The moment that she was out of the room, she stalked toward the kitchens; she needed a drink. And a strong one at that.

*

The glass of wine that she had eventually ended up ordering, as the house elves had never heard of vodka or absinthe, sat glimmering dully in the light of the raised section of the kitchen that she had asked to be put up so that she could think. The elves had been delighted that she should want to come their domain to think; it was the ultimate honour to be so favoured by The Harry Potter's sister it was! The poor simple minded sweet fools. She took a quick sip of it, before sighing and cradling it in her hands. How could they? They knew how she felt about the Headmaster, that she disliked him intensely for what he had done to her mother, her father, her brother and herself, and yet when he had beckoned, they had gone leaping to him like some sort of demented puppies. It wasn't fair. And the kitchen didn't stock absinthe, one of her all time favourite drinks, which was even worse.

She took another sip of the wine. It was alright, to be honest. The wine, that is. It just... wasn't what she wanted or needed. She needed her friends back with her, and for them not to have sided with the hooked nosed, mucky bearded git. And she needed a decently strong drink.

A hand touched her shoulder. She turned around, and saw Weasley standing there, looked concerned.

"Wylow? Why aren't you in class?"

"I could ask you the same thing Weasley."

"Touché. Can I get some butter beer and cream cakes?" he asked a passing house elf, who squealed happily and ran off to get his order. "So, what's wrong then? Harry said you haven't been yourself recently." He settled down on the chair opposite her, folding his long legs beneath the table.

"You know Weasley; I am beginning to think that you are abnormally tall. You're what, six foot five?"

"Six foot seven, if you must know. Stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not, I'm making conversation."

"Why did you get made Head Girl? Why not some one nicer?"

"Oh for goodness sake, you know you would have been bored senseless if you had had a nice, sweet, boring Co- Head. Or a bossy, irritating 'I know everything you are a plebeian' Co- Head like Granger." Weasley snorted, and grinned.

"I have to agree with you there." That was interesting.

"Odd that you should say that; rumour has it that you and Granger are secretly head over heels in love with one another, but neither of you will acknowledge it." Weasley, who was taking a sip of his newly arrived butter beer, choked on the mouthful. Wylow sighed, and waited patiently for him to cease trying to cough up his liver.

"Me... and Hermione?! You have to be joking! She's like my second sister, although much more annoying and even more of a smart arse!"

"When I heard the rumour myself, I laughed. Usually when I hear it, I still laugh. More often then not, I can stop myself laughing before people start backing away and talking about soothing potions that I could take." Weasley grinned, and she couldn't help grinning back; it was infectious. They had started to make friends more thoroughly after term has started, and now they often sat up in their Common room at night, simply talking about everything under the sun. Granger and Jay, who were often with them, would usually get on with some work, or talk as well. Jay did the talking, Granger did the work. She also glared at Wylow, and would occasionally sigh and look longingly at the entrance to the Head Girls chamber, and the glossy plaque over the top of the archway, which proudly proclaimed; Head Girl, M. Wylow Potter, Slytherin, 1997. If she had her way, it would have been H. Louise Granger, Gryffindor. But it wasn't, and that gave Wylow no end of evil pleasure.

"So Wylow, why aren't you in class? I'm skiving off because I over slept. What about you?"

"I'm hiding from Hunter, Jacob and Arielle. Oh, and Dumbledore."

"Why?"

"Too hard to explain. Let's just say I'm not exactly enchanted with our dearest Headmaster." Weasley blinked to hear his hero thus slandered, but didn't say anything. He knew not to argue with Wylow about this. She smiled, hoping she looked cheerful, and raised her glass of wine.

"To the Head Boy and Girl of the school; may they reign long, and never be pushed off of their thrones, the cocky shits that they are." Weasley laughed, and brought his butter beer bottle to her glass, the glass ringing softly as it was struck.

*

The two of them went back to their Common Room at the end of the school day after dinner, having decided to have lunch and dinner in the kitchen where they could talk more easily without having to go and sit at the Prefects table where only the pompous or friendless sat. Technically, it was the same thing, so they really didn't want to have to sit in the ugly wooden thrones at the table. Weasley grinned, and gave her a soft punch on the shoulder, before walking up to his chambers. With a slightly more contented sigh, cheered by having had a decent conversation about random nonsense, Wylow mounted the stairs that lead up to her chamber, brushing her fingertips over the wolf moon and rose bearing winged serpent that was engraved into the wall. As she paused to open the door, she rubbed the coloured skin of her arm, which felt warm when ever she passed that section of the wall. With a quick shake, she opened the door, walked into her room, and kicked it shut behind her.

Hunter glowered at her from the window seat. Great, now he casually walked into her room whenever he pleased. Wonderful. She glared at him. "What do you want Carlisle?"

"To talk to you." Oh, yeah, because talking solved every one of mankind's problems thus far, didn't it?

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Tough shit. I'm here; you are as well; we're going to talk." When all she did was glare at him, he sighed, crossed the room, and put his arms around her. "Look, I'm sorry if our- my- decision offended you. We honestly thought you would be ok with it. But it isn't up to you what we do; we have to decide for our selves if we want to fight You- Know- Who."

"Voldemort."

"He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named."

"Snakey git."

"What ever. The point is, as much as we all love you, me especially, you can't make our decisions for us. You need to let us have our own minds." He was still holding her tightly, rubbing his hand over the stem of the rose that ran the length of her spine. And she knew that he was right. She just hated to admit it. "So, forgive me? Please love?" How could she resist? She slowly put her arms around him in return.

"Of course I forgive you hunny." She felt rather then saw him grin.

"Good; because I have a surprise for you." He pulled away from her, and picked up a box from the window seat. She hadn't seen it before. The box was very long, and almost flat. She took it, one eyebrow raised at the surprising weight. It was almost the same weight as her old swords. What had happened to those anyway? She didn't know after she had thrown them at Malfoy. She laid the box on the table, and pulled off the lid.

Inside, were two long, slender swords. Laid over then was a back sheath. The swords were of a classical style, except for the ornamentation of the hilts. Those matched-

"Your mothers' swords. Remus, Fal' and I had them remade. We knew how much you loved them." Wylow wasn't really listening; she was too much enraptured with the beautiful weapons. They were absolutely perfect. She slowly turned, and smiled at her boyfriend. He smiled back. Still smiling, she reached up, and undid his tie.

"It's late; lets go to bed." His grin was burned into her memory.