Under a Dragon Moon

Wemyss

Story Summary:
The sequel to the AT-housed

Chapter 02 - The Very Dead of Winter: A Cold Coming They Had of It

Chapter Summary:
In the border marches between the dreamt and the waking, Draco and Harry envision a post-War world with its own new threats and its newer joys ... and a very old threat as well, one imperilling Blaise's mother and threatening all. Are the Burning Times returning, at the Muggles's hands?
Posted:
01/29/2006
Hits:
682
Author's Note:
The rating is belt-and-braces for later chapters. The obvious references to the whole of English letters, from the Authorised Version to Plum, are not an assertion of copyright in those works by me, nor a claim against Crown copyright where applicable.


UNDER A DRAGON MOON

by Wemyss

a Sequel to Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn

---------------------------------

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter....'

- Eliot, The Journey of the Magi

It was no summer progress. A cold coming they had of it at this time of the year, just the worst time of the year to take a journey, and specially a long journey. The ways deep, the weather sharp, the days short, the sun farthest off, in solsitio brumali, the very dead of winter.

- Lancelot Andrewes, Christmas Sermon, 1622

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

- Eliot, Four Quartets, I. Burnt Norton

I have said before
That the past experience revived in the meaning
Is not the experience of one life only
But of many generations - not forgetting
Something that is probably quite ineffable:
The backward look behind the assurance
Of recorded history, the backward half-look
Over the shoulder, towards the primitive terror.

- Eliot, Four Quartets, III. The Dry Salvages

The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

- Eliot, Four Quartets, IV. Little Gidding

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

- Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium

---------------------------------

2. The Very Dead of Winter: A Cold Coming They Had of It

---------------------------------

When we sleep, when we dream, we are at once in both realms, and in neither. In all realms, and in none. We are in the marches, the borderlands, the debatable lands between what is and what is not - or is not yet: far from the fields we know.

These are the dreams and some of the days of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, as the crisis of the ages overshadows them, and the world's last night.

But which are whose, now? And which are dreams, and which, days? What is future, present, past? What is true vision, and what, nightmare?

To this question they return no answer. They do not answer it; they do not ask it. They hardly know to ask. They do but dream, and dreams, of course, need not hold coherence, sense, linearity, consistency.

They had failed, once before, failed themselves and their world, failed Albus, failed all. They had failed in their waking lives after coming so near triumph in dreams. Now the too-vast orb of the world's fate was poised, balanced, trembling, upon the merest point of agate, suspended, pendant, pending upon their choices. And they slept. A hundred miles and more from each other, they slept, and met in dreams, and in dreams was decided the future of the world.

---------------------------------

'You look green as a spring onion, Ginny. Oh what can ail thee, sister dear, alone and palely budding out?'

'"'My bulb has come upon me,' said the Lady of Shallots".'

'Shut your cakeholes, both of you, at once,' said Harry, grimly, crossing to the door, where Ginny stood with a white face and unfocussed eyes. 'Ginny? Ginny, what's wrong?'

'You're - you're wanted downstairs, Harry. You have a ... visitor.'

'Ginny?'

'Just go, Harry.'

Harry drew his wand, and kissed her forehead. 'Steady on, love.' He glared at the Twins, who were fidgeting, abashed, as the fact that Ginny had some reason to be alarmed, sunk in.

'Try to act like adults,' snapped Harry, 'and guard her at all costs. And don't start in on her, either - the bright, music-hall crosstalk can wait for a better hour.'

---------------------------------

'Severus?'

'My lord?'

'Where is your ... charge? Your ... protege?'

'I am afraid it became necessary to discard him, my lord.'

'DRACO!'

'Silence, Narcissa! You interrupt me at your peril. I do not recall giving instructions or permission for such an act, Snape. Explain yourself at once.'

'After his signal failure to, shall we say, execute his task, my lord -'

'Failure, Severus? Failure? I was given to understand that the Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore was dead - who has dared attempt to deceive me?'

'Albus Dumbledore is dead, my lord, but not at the boy's hand, despite his having been granted the honour of killing the old bungler by you.'

'He knew the consequences of his failure. Who rid me of the senile meddler?'

'Albus Dumbledore died at my hands, my lord, but of course I am but the humble instrument of your supreme will.'

'My lord! He would deceive you! He killed the superannuated blood-traitor - if he did - only because I forced his hand!'

'Crucio! You speak out of turn, Bellatrix. Oh, finite, explain yourself.'

'The insolent brat's Mummy Dearest went to Snivellus by night to beg him to make certain of the boy's task, I went along to see that all was well done, I could not trust any of them. I made Snivellus take an oath, I bound him in an Unbreakable Vow -'

'An Unbreakable Vow?'

'Bella, you fool, shut up!'

'--An Unbreakable Vow, to assist the brat in carrying out the high and glorious destiny with which you saw fit to entrust him -'

'Questioning my judgement, madam? Crucio!'

She writhed for a good minute under the curse before it was ended.

When she was able to speak, she resumed, panting. 'I did not mean to imply that, my lord. Narcissa demanded that Snivellus -'

'Crucio!'

It took her longer to recover, and when she spoke again, it was haltingly. 'Narcissa wished for Sn-, for Snape, to aid in the task, to protect the little shit, and to carry out the mission when - "if", she said, but I knew it was, "when" - when her little puppy of a son failed. I made them enter into an Unbreakable Vow, my lord, I looked after your interests -'

'An Unbreakable Vow? Did I authorise this vow? Did I approve it? Did it comport with my specific instructions and assignments? I think not. Lestrange, you and Crabbe and Goyle take your wife away and secure her, I shall discipline her later. You want to be cautious, Bella, darling, you're quite likely - if you're fortunate - to end up in the same ward at Mungo's as those little people you put there, and for the same cause - the Longbottoms, wasn't it? Get her out of my sight!'

The chamber was very still and silent as they dragged away a suddenly blanched Bellatrix Black Lestrange.

'Now. Severus. I do trust you have a much superior explanation for your own ... independence of action?'

'My lord, I apologise if I was in any way, in my deeds, presumptuous. You know my thoughts, and from you, no secrets are hid. My intent at least was to do you service. It was my understanding, firstly, that the Potter brat was and is yours to dispose of.'

'That is so.'

'My fellow Death Eaters seemed not to be assured of that, and I wasted valuable time in managing our departure.'

'They shall be dealt with. Stop waffling, Snape.'

'Your pardon, my lord. Alecto and Amycus, and the werewolf, Greyback, can tell you as well as I that young Malfoy was paralysed or confounded, or perhaps unwilling to execute his task. There was nothing for it, with the fools of the Phoenix arriving, but to despatch Dumbledore before a rescue could be staged. I did so.'

'Mazed as a brish, he was,' one of the other veterans of the Tower assented. 'Little ponce.'

Voldemort flicked his hand, negligently, in the direction of the interruption, and it ceased, to be replaced by a nasty, gurgling, choking sound. Voldemort did not care to have his minions speak out of turn, without so much as a by-your-leave-o-great-one. 'You did indeed dispose satisfactorily of that meddling old fool. And you will find yourself honoured as a result. But this is irrelevant: get to the point, my patience wears thin.'

'My lord, you have heard Madam Lestrange. She came to my house by night, with Narcissa Malfoy, questioned me as to my service and loyalty to you, and demanded that I take a vow that she and her sister worded. I was given to understand, and her position in your ranks, my lord, gave verisimilitude to the claim, that she was acting in your interest and on your orders, with your authority. Of course I acceded: I am your servant, my lord. It was in this same conversation - a one-sided one, I may say - that I was informed, nay, instructed, that the price of young Malfoy's failure was, and was known by him to be, death, his own as well as his parents's. When he had failed so signally, and when his subsequent sullenness whilst stopping at my house and evident disaffection to your cause, after, became apparent, I became alarmed. I reflected upon the events of the night in which I had been manoeuvred into taking a vow. I began to wonder if perhaps the House of Black were not playing a deep game of their own, especially as they had already lost themselves one heir. I did not know whether a message expressing these concerns would be allowed to reach you, my lord, if I could no longer trust my ... colleagues. And it was clearly dangerous to allow the Malfoy brat even the possibility of escape. He was marked already for death by your orders; operational necessity mandated that he be disposed of swiftly. If I erred in anticipating you, my lord, I accept your chastisement, of course, but my intentions were as always only to serve you.'

'Where is his body?'

'My lord, with Dumbledore's long overdue death, it is no longer possible for me to go to the headquarters of those who presume to defy you. Indeed, I am incapable of revealing it, even by indirection, even to you: such is the nature of these fundamental magics. But I can yet Banish an object to its vicinity, so long as it is not one that the wards there could see as a source of harm. I poisoned the cowardly little poltroon and Banished the corpse to, in effect, Potter's doorstep. Wormtail will, doubtless, attest to my actions.'

'NO!' Narcissa's eyes were wild. 'NOT MY SON! YOU SWORE TO PROTECT HIM, TO SAVE HIM!'

Snape smiled, in profound and exultant malice. 'No vow can possibly supersede my loyalties to our lord, madam, nor have any consequence contrary to his will for those whom he has graciously condescended to Mark. And you want to be more careful, you and your sister, in choosing your words: the Vow itself left me free after the completion of the task - even though your gormless, slack-twisted son was not the one to complete it.'

'Show me what you did, Severus.'

'Gladly, my lord.'

'No! He's lying, he's an accomplished Occlumens!'

'Control yourself, Madam Malfoy. I grow tired of the evident conviction amongst certain of the Black family that I am not competent, am easily deceived, and could somehow be defeated in Legilimency. Indeed, I grow tired of the Black family altogether. Bring Bellatrix back; I wish her to observe the consequences of her actions before I put her to the penalties of those errors. You see, my dear Narcissa, I am not going to use Legilimency on Severus, he's going to give me a practical demonstration, including the Banishment. You care so much for your son, after all, it is only fitting that you share his fate: your corpses can both adorn Potter's doorstep. Won't that be a lovely surprise for the little bastard. No, please, cease pleading, I always find this maternal drama poorly acted, unpersuasive, and tiresome. Anyway, your wretched spawn is dead already, pleading avails you nothing. Besides, you're not exactly Lily Evans Potter, now, are you?'

'Would you have let her live?'

'Of course not, but one says what one can to make things more convenient. Severus, you do have some of whatever poison you used upon Draco Malfoy, do you not?'

'Of course, my lord, I attempt to be prepared in your service at all times.'

'More than the Noble Cut-Above House of Black ever did for me. Ah, Bella, just in time. Severus, administer the poison to Narcissa.'

Her eyes locked with Severus's fathomless glare. He saw in her, firstly, defiance, then dawning acceptance.

'You will at least,' drawled Voldemort, 'have fulfilled those precious maternal instincts of which you were interminably bleating, madam. Chin-chin, my dear.'

---------------------------------

'I'm good enough to be a gate-guard, here, so long as Gred and Forge are within call, but not good enough to take a part in the war effort.'

'Ginny....'

'I spent an entire year of school, trying to remake myself.'

'But you didn't need to remake yourself -'

'Oh, no, of course not, because you certainly noticed me before that. Please, Harry, let's not lie to ourselves or each other, no matter who else we're forced to lie to.'

'Look, I - it's only that I care, I want you safe, I want you protected -'

'An entire year, trying to remake myself, and still that wasn't enough to be treated as an equal.'

Harry winced: largely because his sixth year at Hogwarts was one he wanted desperately to forget, and none of it now seemed altogether real, in retrospect. A time when he was in a sort of fugue state, blindly following Dumbledore on mad jaunts, still wrapped up in the numbness and near-apathy that had replaced his despairing rage over Sirius's death, and still suffering alone, no one bothering, now the shouting had died down, to wonder how he was coping. The only things that had managed to force him to be attentive were the Prince, Malfoy, the Horcrux quest, and his sudden, curious, and overpowering infatuation with the Whole New Ginny of whom Ginny had just wearily spoken, and which now seemed no more than a dream fled with the dawn. All this, against the backdrop of a castle stuffing with Polyjuice, Amortentia, spies, disguised assassins, impersonators, and, in the end, death. The only part of the year that seemed, looking back, to have been real was the losses. Those were all too real, and he couldn't shake them.

'Ginny, look -'

'I'm important and indispensable and you want me safe.'

'Right. Exactly.'

'Because that went over so well with you, when Mum and Dad and all your professors and Sirius were telling you that. Well, at least you have someone dispensable waiting downstairs, maybe you can take him Horcux-hunting, he's better trained than I am and you won't care as much if he's hexed. I hope.'

'Your Bat-Bogey Hex is nothing to sneeze at,' he assured her, solemnly.

The corner of her mouth twitched. 'Thank you for that. Harry.... It was fun while it lasted. No, shut up, you great pillock,' she grinned. 'When you came over all noble ... I realised something. I need someone who treats me as an equal, or better. You need someone who treats you as an equal but no more, not as a hero-prince. I'm not your mum, or mine, you're not your dad, or mine, and this whole thing stinks of a story in Teen Witch. This destiny business? Balls.'

'Ginny!'

'Oh, as if your language is chaste.' They were able to laugh together, at last. It was bittersweet, but it was healing. 'Look here, Harry, I'm not going to be the good soldier's wife, knitting at home whilst I await news from the front. I'm not going to be a camp-follower, either, the vivandiere of the DA. If we both make it through this - don't look at me that way, we have more knowledge of what Voldemort's mind is like than anyone else on our side does, and I'm the "one that got away", thanks to you, nearly as much as you are - if we both make it through the war, and we can be equals, and it's no longer about your wanting a family and my having a schoolgirl's crush, and it's no longer some script that has us as the new generation's James and Lily, and you are rather like Dad, you know, in all the best ways, and certainly like his namesake in this damn bloody myth people weave around us ... well, we'll see what happens. If you're the modern Arthur to my Guinevere, though, I won't betray you. But in the meantime, we're free, and if we find someone else, either of us, well, what's meant to be, will be. If you don't end by being my husband, you will always be my favourite brother. All right?'

'All right,' said he, kissing her on her forehead. And it was, at last, all right. They had said what wanted saying.

---------------------------------

Faintly, from another room, came the slightly tinny sound of the Home Service of the WWN.

Harry put down his book, with a smile: the Private Papers and Collected Letters of Minerva McGonagall, Volume 19: the War Years, Part One.

Albus aye said that, tae the well-organised mind, death was 'but the next great adventure'. Them that held in with Albus for any amount of time and had seen the state of his desk, were tae be excusit for doubting what the man knew o' having a well-organised mind. Albus also said, times he'd gang speirin' off on some daft undertaking, that adventure was a 'flighty temptress'. What Albus conceivit the afterlife to be may be deduced from those twa premisses. (MM to Aberforth Dumbledore, at pp 981-982)

---------------------------------

'Whatever happened to old Slughorn?'

'Retired, utterly and completely, or so he protests. Still sucks up to everyone in sight, of course. Living very quietly at Budleigh Babberton, where the, ah, mighty River Otter debouches into the sea. Every so often, Ron and the Twins go down to the river and pee in it, which they call "sending Sluggers their regards". I think Harry still corresponds with him?'

'Mmm. Extreme quietism isn't, quite, cowardice, and at least he wasn't actively on the wrong side. I can't see any harm in sending the cultivated old parasite the occasional dozen of Madeira.'

'I didn't think he cared for Madeira, he was always on about his discerning palate for port.'

'Precisely.'

'Naughty, naughty, Harry.'

'Actually, it rather backfired. Well, you know what Budleigh's like: a sort of antechamber to the afterlife, stuffed full with superannuated sybarites waiting to die. All the old women simply adore Darling Horry, and he lets them lap up the Madeira whilst he laps up the adulation. God help him, though, if ever he served them the rock cakes Hagrid sends him. I'm told he transfigures them into actual rocks, and they are scattered indistinguishably all over the pebble beach there.'

'Funny, really, to think of The Great Slug and all of the frightfully genteel aged, as eking out their declining days where Raleigh once played as a youth. Oh, well, I suppose it goes to show that martial echoes do fade, at the last.'

'Yes, well. Part of what we were fighting for, in its way: yes, even uninterrupted peace for the, ah, courage-deficient.'

---------------------------------

There is a traditional story handed down in the Finch-Fletchley line - soldiers to a man as they were - that the Finch-Fletchley who took the battery to Flanders in 1914 (ubique, indeed) had briefly known, before the man was killed, a Belgian liaison officer, who, well before the sack of the Library at Louvain, before the hysterical belief in francs-tireurs and the shipping of Belgians to forced labour in the Kaiser's Germany and the mass killings and all the German war crimes that left every village churchyard in Belgium crowded with gravestones in which the deaths of women, children, and old men, civilian non-combatants, were recorded: fusilee par les Allemands: before all the horror of the Boche, had said that the worst indignity and horror of all, was seeing the field-grey hordes marching inexorably past, through an innocent and neutral country, singing, incessantly and interminably singing.

Dearly though Justin loved Blaise, determined as he was to enjoy this Tyrolean and Continental jaunt for Blaise's sake, he found himself thinking of that spare, grim story from the past. Scrambling up mountain paths in bitter weather was all very well, but this damned singing had begun to wear. The more so as Blaise, unlike Justin, could not have carried a tune in a zinc pail.

Sighing quietly to himself, Justin followed his eager and excited husband, his breath frosting before his face, and thought longingly of the village whist drive in aid of the parish funds, back in England.

'Come on,' Blaise called, from up the slope. 'You're not in Norfolk any longer!'

'Cambridgeshire,' muttered Justin, as he hefted his rucksack and trudged ahead.

---------------------------------

As they made to leave, Harry turned to Hermione, frowning.

'You actually let Ron and Gredanforge piss in the river?'

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

'Well, damn it, Hermione ... otters ... voles....'

Draco laughed. 'Harry, they're Wizards. Insulting Sluggers in this way is purely symbolic, it has no impact on riparian ecology, you soggy, wet, LibDem, tree-hugging wanker.'

'You've been in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry!' Hermione was exasperated. 'Do you really think that the Squid and the Merpeople would tolerate, or that that awful basilisk would have survived, mediaeval plumbing, if the metabolic processes of Witches and Wizards weren't different to those of Muggles? It's like the way in which we're free of arterial - um....'

Now Harry was frowning in more than concern. 'Hermione Jane Granger. Are you telling me that Wizards - that magical folk even shit differently to Muggles? And that this is part of a greater difference, such that, oh, I don't know, there's a reason Arthur can eat a full British breakfast every day and not suffer chest pains?'

'Well, honestly, Harry, if you'd finally read Hogwarts, a History -'

Harry was having none of it. 'So every time you've shoved your bloody, "healthful" muesli and porridge and sodding shavings at me when all I've wanted was a fry-up -'

'But, Harry -'

'Hermione, I love you, I owe you more than a thousand lifetimes can repay, but don't you ever again try that one on! You knew, you actually knew, that gammon and trout and devilled kidneys would do me no harm, and you deliberately pushed mush at me? HERMIONE, never come between a man and his Oxford sausage!'

Draco had to sit down, cackling lasciviously.

---------------------------------

'--To be graced, if that's the word, by the imminent presence of one Mme du Toit.'

'"Doo Twa"?'

'Her friends, if any, call her "Un",' said Fred.

'The rest of us, however, pronounce the final "T" at the end of her surname,' drawled Draco, who was sprawled at once elegantly and negligently in an armchair next the hearth. 'Appalling woman, even for a Frog. Mme Cunegonde du Toit, whose Christian name some of us call with a final "T" at the end of the first syllable, come to that. Oh, well: "wank begins at Calais", as they say. Horrid old cow, really.'

'She can't be that bad, surely.'

'Permanent Personal Assistant to the Frog Minister for Magic,' said George, 'a sort of Percy in drag.'

'Uglier, though,' said Fred.

'I understood that "Permanent Personal Assistant" in the French ministry actually meant, "maitresse en titre",' said Draco, frowning. 'And not even the French minister can be that hard up.'

'Oh, come now, you simply must be exaggerating -'

'Sorry, Harry, but he isn't. Woman makes Umbridge look like a Veela.'

'And has half or less of Umbridge's charm.'

'Good God.' Harry looked at the Twins in shock. 'Why in buggery are they sending someone that God-awful to see me?'

'Sounds like a declaration of war, actually.'

'Well, we're safe, then. Let off one box of the Deflagration Deluxe assortment and the Frogs'll surrender unconditionally.'

Draco snorted. 'They're probably going to be begging us for help, sub rosa, whilst on the surface barracking us for not dealing with all the Death Eaters ourselves, and letting some escape to the Continent. You know the French: always there when they need us.'

'But it isn't as if any of the European ministries offered us any assistance, in the War.'

'Harry, darling, do be reasonable. The Italians were at lunch throughout the entire period of both Voldemort wars, the French were waiting to see who won, and the Germans were hardly going to aid in a fight against genocide, now, were they? Of course, there would ordinarily have been the Yanks, but the War didn't last long enough for our own ministry to get desperate enough to admit that it wanted to bring them in, and still less did it last long enough for the Yanks to wait a few years, come in at the last minute to put the Allies over the top, and then take full credit for the entire victory.'

'Cynical bastard.'

'But you love me.'

---------------------------------

Blaise was at it yet again. He might as well, Justin mused, simply saunter into a room full of what passed, amongst Europeans, as Society, and trill, 'Hullo, I'm Julian, and this my friend, Sandy': in fact, when Blaise had thought there were those present who might get English humour, he had done. Mere flamboyance wasn't in it.

Sedulously avoiding his alarming mother-in-law - one could see, really, where Blaise had got it from - Justin made polite small talk against the backdrop of Habsburg tat and the background Babel of voices in many tongues, there in Trieste. His mind was elsewhere: chewing over the news from home, the Lode and the Drain and the ice on the Fens, and the rescheduling of the Hunt's Christmas panto.

'So. You are Blaise's husband, yes?'

Oh, Lor'. The wages of wool-gathering: he was trapped. He turned a mask of faultless politeness on the elderly Wizard who had accosted him, a stooping old epicure who, for all his thinness, was clearly cast in the Slughorn mould. 'Hullo, yes. Justin Finch-Fletchley. How d'y'do.' In keeping with English tradition, this last was not an enquiry, and was said as repressively as possible whilst keeping within the bounds of courtesy.

Not that it worked on the old bugger. 'Ah, I do very well, thank you. Permit? I am called Ambrosio Magris-Pfalzgraf. You find all well, yes?'

'Lovely, thank you. Such an, ah, interestin' town, Trieste.'

'And sehr historic, accosentite?'

'Er, yes. Quite.' Polyglot foreigners.

The old Wizard looked at him quite shrewdly. 'But you would of course prefer to be home in - Bed-ford-shire?'

'Cambridgeshire,' said Justin, hardly grinding his teeth at all. 'And of course I'm delighted to be here in this charming company, with Blaise, meeting all his people. And with Christmas coming, as well.'

'Naturlich. Sehr wahr. Sehr zutreffend. Naturalmente.'

Justin reined in a wince. I thought I should need a translation charm to talk to all of 'em; I bloody want one to talk to any of 'em.

---------------------------------

Dr Hermione Granger-Weasley, D. Mag., MMA (Domd), OM (2d), MPC, MW, late Minister of Magic, late Headmistress of Hogwarts School, Fellow of Paracelsus, Fellow of Merlin College and Regius Professor of History of Magic at the University of Domdaniel, and All That, sighed. The scrubbed, eager, proud faces of the parents, and the equally scrubbed, bored faces of the pupils, looked up at her. Whatever had possessed her to vary her round in the rota of Domdaniel-Hogwarts-the-Ministry with headship of one of Harry's precious new feeder schools for Hogwarts, for the under-elevens? Actually, she knew the answer: it was Harry's pet project, she believed in it thoroughly, and she couldn't not teach, even at a prepper. She would, however, be unutterably glad to get back to Hogwarts and then another round at Domdaniel, not that Wizarding youths and even Wizarding undergraduates weren't oft as sore a trial as these puling infants.

They'd managed to get this far in the Prize Day programme without incident, even when Muggle parents had first realised that Wizards had their own hymnal (Lord, behold us with thy blessing, Once more Apparated here). Now came the annoying part.

'... Members of the Wizengamot, members of the Board of Governors, parents, friends, and pupils of Atrum Old Place School. Welcome. As you will know, this is in truth as in name Prize Day, not Speech Day, and I shall not long detain you.' She glared at the innocently mistimed applause. 'The current Minister -' she had perforce to wait again upon the applause - 'and the current Headmaster of Hogwarts -' the applause was very nearly as great, to her surprise, as it had been for the Minister's being referred to - 'were very eager to speak here today and present the prizes. Unfortunately - please! Let me go on - most unfortunately, a sudden emergency on the Continent has taken them away.' She wondered if the disappointment would have been as audible had she had to cry off. 'We may be grateful, however, that, with the kind cooperation of Spellcast House and the WWN, they are able to say a few words to us from where they are - yes, yes, please, let me go on - and these two gentlemen are here to set up the apparatus - oh, good God.'

'And to give the speech after, in Harry's stead,' chuckled George, as his glamour faded, 'whilst Fred here hands out the prizes vice the Ferret. Surprise, sister-in-law!'

'I am,' said Hermione, forgetting that she had not reversed the Sonorus charm, 'going to throttle Harry and Draco for this.'

The assembly fell silent. Hermione shut her eyes and grimaced.

'Buck up,' said Fred, 'we'll make the ceremony lively.'

'That's what she's afraid of,' grinned George.

---------------------------------

The door slammed to behind him with a report like a Muggle artillery piece.

'Explain.'

Fred and George looked at him, blandly. 'Now, Harry....'

'Do not take that tack with me, God damn you both. What in buggery did you think you were playing at, selling that evil little Ferret, that Death Eater spawn, your damned Darkness Powder? It's thanks to you two anyone ever looked twice at that damned Vanishing Cabinet, much less that sodding Malfoy was able to effect an entrance to Hogwarts! IT'S THANKS TO YOU TWO MORONS THAT DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD!'

'Um, Harry, could you put the wand down? Or train it elsewhere? Your lack of faith wounds us.'

'WOUNDS YOU? If you don't give me a damn good reason in the next three minutes, I'll do more than wound you, I'll eviscerate you, Sectumsempra you, and finish with a nice comfy Avada!'

George swallowed, audibly. 'We were only following the Headmaster's orders, Harry.'

'WHAT?'

'Oh, the thing with Montague was a mistake, we admit, though the Headmaster turned that to his purposes. But do you really think we didn't send a list of the day's purchases to Albus every night?'

Harry's wand did not waver, but he was at least listening.

'Funnily enough--'

'--It was Finch-Fletchley who put it best--'

'--We overheard him talking to Macmillan in the shop yesterday--'

'--Hufflepuff's answer to Percy, that one--'

'--Who was complaining that Wizardkind's tradition of education-by-ordeal was getting a bit steep--'

'--Which is rubbish, really, it's always been that way, look at the Tri-Wizard Tournament and its history--'

'--And Justin pointed out that Old Dumbledore was rather in the position of someone trying to act as Headmaster of Eton and run the SAS training at the same time.'

Harry remained expressionless. 'Go on.'

'Harry, you and Albus have - had - a goodish deal in common. When you set us up, and then again over the U-No-Poo, you said, We all need a laugh. But why do think, really, he tolerated Peeves all that time? Or us?'

'Of course he knew at all times about the Map, f'r'instance.'

'Even before he gave us the charge--'

'--We were performing the same function for him, testing out all the defences. Just as Peeves does, in his way.'

'Reason why Peevesy was so polite to us, you know--'

'--Colleagues, we were. Look.... He knew he was dying, Harry.'

'Thanks to the ring, not us, ta ever so.'

'But he could control the circumstances of that death. Test the defences.'

'Make Old Serpentine show his hand, including revealing Greyback's alliances.'

'Make such a public spectacle of his death that not even the Ministry could deny the facts any longer. Make Snape's involvement obvious, maybe even save the Ferret, God knows why, but that was the sort of thing he did.'

'So if he's dead--'

A sudden surge of hope flared in Harry's chest, almost cutting off his breath. They cannot kill you if you're already dead. And he had never believed, never, that Albus had pled for his life, not from Snape, not from anyone, ever.

'--It's at his choice and orders, which we were bound to follow, just like that time when--'

'--Steady on, Gred--'

'--It's Harry, Forge, he has the right to know. Well, after all, we found our first secret passageway in Hogwarts yonks before we got our paws on the Map, who else do you think was running courier tasks for Albus, Map or no Map, whilst that cow, Umbridge, was lolling in his rightful office?'

'And don't imagine for a moment it was simple bureaucratic idiocy and the usual tin ear for public relations that led the bleeders at the Ministry to send Umbridge to the funeral, Harry.'

'So when Aberforth and Albus tell - told - us to jump, our only question was, Which charm to use?'

---------------------------------

'Ah, Giustinino, there you are, carissimo.' Madam Zabini had swept over, her ball robes far louder than was the orchestra.

'Yes, well, er. Here I am. Tokay?'

'Oh, thank you, darling, I want it badly. Have you seen dear Viktor anywhere?'

'Krum? Ah ... no. Was he part of this rout?' Justin had not seen the Bulgarian in the crush of guests.

'But of course.' And his mother-in-law promptly winked at him.

Good Lord, thought Justin. There are man-eaters, and then, there are man-eaters. Her Animagus form ought by rights to be a tigress. Or a bloody Nundu. In mind and memory, he could clearly hear McGonagall's polished classroom tones, so far removed from the Scots claik she affected amongst her intimates: An Animagus form, ideally, reflects some balance between - or, rather, amongst - several purposes. Stealth, escape, and defensive power. Equally, it were the height of folly, even were it possible, to transform into a magical creature, the presence of which could not be explained amongst Muggles and which would instantly be noted by whatever Wizarding opponent you meant to deal with. Remove from your minds, at once, all these childish fantasies and romantic notions of becoming a phoenix or a unicorn: it cannot be done and it would be bootless if it could be. You'll get a good deal further as a chough, a water vole, or a spaniel. Elephants and Erumpents alike do not blend in well with the British background.

He resolved to warn Krum immediately. His mother-in-law was as bad as Narcissa. Now that, he reflected, smiling, would be a sight to see - so long as Andromeda's on hand to umpire. He could well imagine it: Charlie Weasley, say, being stalked by Madam Zabini and Narcissa both, and Andromeda giving one of them out, and the appeal, 'Howzat?' from one or the other widow. He stopped himself before he could quite make a dirty joke, even to himself, about lbw.

'Not like a house-party or a Hunt Ball in Suffolk, darling boy?'

'Cambridgeshire, actually,' said Justin, forcing himself to be polite to his mother-in-law. He just might regale himself with that dirty joke after all.

---------------------------------

Draco Malfoy, very much alive and quite un-poisoned, thank you, took his courage in both hands and pounded upon the shabby door. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found.... Ginny Weasley stood framed in the doorway: curious, that: he'd not heard the door open.... In an instant, he found himself withindoors, wandless, silenced, trussed like a Michaelmas goose, and with a wand trained on him. Wordlessly, he twitched his hand, and she tore the scrap of parchment from it.

The next thing he knew, Potty and the academic werewolf were standing over him.

Scarhead took the Silencio off of him long enough to hear him out.

'Um. Hullo,' said Draco. 'I've come to take you up on the Headmaster's offer.'

---------------------------------

Vienna for Christmas, Venice for Boxing Day, Vienna again for the New Year, and then the Alto Adige and Friuli and Bolzano and Trieste again and Cavalese and God knew what. Justin thought longingly of England-home-and-beauty, and sighed. At this rate, he'd miss the AGM of the village Cricket Club.

---------------------------------

Idly and inconsequently, Harry wondered - as he tried to make as unobtrusive exit as possible, having just been signalled to by a duty Auror - if other British Wizards found the name of the Salem Witches's Institute as privately amusing as did he. After all, in British Wizard-dom, a Witches's Institute, like its Muggle counterpart of the same initials, was best known for jam and jumbles, needlework and market stalls and relentless do-gooding. One thing was certain, the British Witches's Institutes had had a similar effect upon Wizarding life as had had the Muggle WIs on Muggle life. Even as he hastened for the way out, he could hear audible proof, proof that it was as impossible in Wizard-dom as in the Muggle world to have a public gathering without the musical legacy of the WI:

Bring me my wand! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my hippogriff of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
nor shall my wand sleep in my hand,
'til we have built Jerusalem
in Britain
's green and magic land.

---------------------------------

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore's portrait. 'You will now see, my dear boy, why it was I was content to keep Binns on for so long. Better irrelevant history, abysmally taught and mostly unheeded, than false history. Very well done, all of you.'

---------------------------------

Harry was trapped. It had been right, and at the time it had been easy, when everything was purely theoretical, to say to Remus and to Ron and Hermione, that he was bound by Albus's commitment, that he would redeem Albus's promise of sanctuary to Malfoy. But with Malfoy actually before him, trussed, Silencio-ed (again), seemingly on the run, resolutely not begging, but with a silent plea shining in his eyes - Sirius's eyes, set in Tonks's face - all Harry's old bitterness and contempt surged within him.

'DAMN IT.'

Remus just looked at him, steadily.

'If there were - if only there were a way to be sure, damn it.'

'Legilimency?'

'Remus, if rumours are at all true, the Ferret was taught Occlumency by Bellatrix the Bitch. Veritaserum?'

'Not foolproof.'

'No. God DAMN it all.'

'I'm afraid, Harry, you may be forced to trust your own judgement in this. Whatever you decide, you have my support - although you know I believe that Albus's promise was binding upon the Order as a whole. Still....'

'Trust my own judgement?' Harry laughed, harshly and disbelievingly. 'Oh, that's an excellent way to get us all killed. It would be so easy to toss him to the street and let him take his chances. Don't say it, Remus. Easy or right, I know, that's the conflict. But if we once admit him here and we are wrong, if this is one of Riddle's plots ... blast it, why is there no way I can make sure of him? Albus promised he would always be there to aid, and now -'

There was sudden flash and three liquid, heartening notes.

'Fawkes,' Harry breathed, his face lit from within by hope. 'Fawkes! You came back....'

The phoenix settled on his shoulder, a warm, comforting weight, and strength and hope and peace flowed from it almost palpably. Harry could hear a far-off echo in his mind: there will always be help....

'Well,' said Remus, practically. 'That solves several problems.'

Harry looked at him, mutely questioning.

'We didn't call the Order what we did call it, simply for the sake of a dramatic name, Harry. You are now in fact as in practise the leader of the Order.' He ignored Harry's gobsmacked look, and went on. 'And we can set Mr Malfoy here to the question with assurance. Fawkes? What say you? Shall Mr Malfoy be given sanctuary by the Order and admitted to Headquarters here?'

The phoenix launched into the air and swooped gently down upon Malfoy's chest, there where he was held yet bound and supine. Fawkes looked long into Malfoy's eyes, which slowly filled with tears and shame, then chirruped softly. In answer to Malfoy's belated penitence, Fawkes let fall a single responding tear on Malfoy's pale brow, and sang softly, a song of regret, repentance, and redemption, strengthening with each note, ringing clear at the last, a paean of hope, heartening, uplifting, inspiriting. Hearing it all through the house, the others came down, and stood silent, awed, hardly breathing even after Fawkes had finished. It fell to Harry to break the reverent silence, as Fawkes flew again to rest upon Harry's shoulder.

'Well, then. Right. Finite. Up you come, Malfoy. You're home and dry.'

'Th- thank you,' choked Malfoy. 'And please, if you could ... call me Ferret, even, if you like, but not by that damned surname. Please.'

'Then,' said Remus, with a wry smile, 'welcome, Draco, to Grimmauld Place, and the protection of the Order of the Phoenix.'

'Harry?' Hermione's voice was very small. The Twins were silent, watchful; Ginny, pale; and Ron unable to speak, but eminently and imminently likely to explode so soon as he could manage to uncork his stoppered wrath, surprise, and alarm.

Before Harry could answer, there was a thud, as of a body thrown against a door. All of them, save Draco, who realised immediately it would be unwise of him, levelled their wands towards the door as Harry threw it open.

Draco's anguished cry rent the sudden shock. 'MUMMY!'

'Quickly,' cried Remus, and he and Harry Mobilicorpus-ed her body withindoors, Harry slamming the door behind her.

'Fawkes,' said Harry, urgently. 'Do something.'

The phoenix made several passes over her still, white form, its chirps sounding almost like a chuckle. Draco, mouth open and tears pouring unheeded down his face, couldn't understand.

Then Narcissa's eyes fluttered open. Fawkes trilled, lifting all hearts, and she sat up, with a wry smile, as Draco skidded to his knees to hold and support her.

'Thank you, darling. My apologies for my appearance -'

'Don't try to talk, Narcissa. You stay right there, I'll get Poppy -'

'Hardly necessary,' said she, the colour already coming back to her finely-modelled face. 'I must say, it's interesting to find myself here in the grim old familial pile (calm yourself, darling, I'm quite all right, do stop fussing). We shall have to cease calling Severus "Snivellus" now, and call him, "Cleverus", it was only at the very last moment I realised he had improved the Draught of Living Death out of all recognition. Certainly that Half-Blood Lunatic with the pet adder won't notice.'

'Harry?' Ron's voice was strangled. 'Why are there Malfoys here?'

'There ... aren't,' said Harry, slowly, as enlightenment washed over him. 'There aren't, are there. Only.... Only Narcissa, your cousin through the Blacks, in her family's house once more, and her son, your cousin, Draco.'

'Oh, thank you, Mr Potter.' Narcissa smiled at him. 'You do understand. And I am very glad to see you and to be able to introduce myself properly, without being forced to pretend. I want you to know how terribly sad and how sorry I am about Sirius....'

There were several gasps from those gathered: this was not a subject commonly broached with Harry, least of all in Sirius's very house.

'Are you, Narcissa?' Remus's voice was cool.

'Ah. Yes, I had forgotten, I owe the same to you as well. You don't imagine, surely, that Kreacher failed to assure himself that I was not alone when he came to betray Sirius. The disloyal little scum very nearly did for me, as well. Well, Harry - I'm sorry: Mr Potter -'

'I have,' said Harry, in measured and neutral tones, 'little choice but to call you, "Narcissa", I certainly don't intend to use your married name in this house, or at all if I can help it; you may as well call me by my Christian name, everyone else in the Wizarding world does, including perfect strangers.'

'Thank you. Harry. You know what House-Elves determined on a course are like: if you won't listen, they'll make such a scene that others ... will. I regret immeasurably that I had no way to warn Sirius without putting still others - children and non-combatants - at risk.'

'Coventry,' said Remus.

'"Sending one to Coventry" is a Muggle metaphor for penance, is it not? Certainly I will do such penance as you exact -'

'I was thinking of the Muggles's war that coincided with the Grindelwald crisis. The Muggle PM, Churchill, had intelligence that the Germans intended to level Coventry from the air. To have warned the populace or to have intercepted the bombers would have revealed that we had broken the enemy's code. In the end, he made the agonising choice to let Coventry be bombed rather than to compromise his intelligence.'

'Yes,' said Narcissa, quietly. 'It must have been ... agonising.' She patted Draco's shoulder, absently, staring into the middle distance for a moment. She shook off her abstraction and looked up at Harry. 'You have had experience of the sort of thing I mean.'

'Yes. And, yes. But how did you know? I mean, about dealing with a mad House-Elf determined to make a scene to get his way?'

She smiled. 'Odd little soul, Dobby, and always has been. But until you freed him, he was after all bound, and with the best will in the world, well....' She shrugged, delicately.

'You sent him to warn me.'

'I managed to grant him permission without it's being obvious - precisely what Sirius so fatally did, inadvertently, with Kreacher. But I did so knowingly. After all, Draco had not the right, even had he then had the inclination, to do so, and you can't think Lucius was warning you against himself.'

'No,' said Harry, dryly. 'Though had he done, I'm certain it should have been as cryptic as all the other warnings I've received from members of your family.'

'Other warnings, dear?'

Harry nodded towards Draco. 'Oh, yes. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." And, "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter", and, "Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff in the secret chamber under the drawing-room floor", and, "Granger, they're after Muggles, and they're moving this way", and, "Keep that big bushy head down, Granger", and, "My father associates with old Cornelius Fudge", and, "You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! Your friends are targeted, now the Dark Lord's back" - that, mind you, when no one was admitting it save the Order, and Voldemort - oh, give over, it's just a name, and a false one at that - Voldemort wanted it kept silent; and then there was, "I'll be dogging your footsteps", and, "Father was talking to the Minister" as well as, "Umbridge knows my father really well". And then -'

'Do you mind, Potter?' Draco had buried his face in his hands, but if it was as red as the visible portions of his ears, he was very embarrassed indeed.

Remus smirked.

'Oi, mate,' said Ron. 'You. You there, Cousin Ferret.'

'Yes - Cousin Weasel?'

'Now you're here, can the warnings be more specific and less insulting?'

'Er. Yes?'

'Right, then. Time you Black black sheep met the rest of the family.'

'One moment, please. Harry - I take it you are in charge here - are we to stay, then? May we?'

'Of course, Narcissa. That was Albus Dumbledore's pledge. Fawkes has approved you. The matter is settled.'

'I must raise an unpleasant topic. Lucius -'

'If ... Dumbledore included him in the offer. If I must break him out of Azkaban, I shall.'

'HARRY! How in the world -'

Harry smiled at Hermione and tipped his head towards Fawkes.

'Of course,' Hermione gasped.

'I'll wager that's what Dumbledore meant when he told Fudge, that time, that if Fudge tried to put him in Azkaban, the place wouldn't hold him -'

'Fudge attempted to imprison Albus Dumbledore?' Narcissa was shocked. 'And I had thought Lucius had at least been required to show some cleverness in dealing with the man. Evidently not, it's not needed, surely, the man's a fool. After this is over, Harry, you and your friends are going to have your work cut out for you.'

'After -. Mrs M- - Narcissa - what ... I mean, what -'

'Cleaning up, of course. But that can wait. You have quite enough to do to be going on with. And Lucius is a part of that. I would tell you that Lucius will not come over, no matter what, but my judgement is biased: I have a long overdue reckoning to make with that man, who, with the madman he follows, was willing to see destroyed in turn each of the heirs of my House.'

'So was Bellatrix, and she is a Black.'

'And the Dark Lord is not at all happy with the House of Black at the moment. More of Severus's cleverness. I expect,' said Narcissa, with cool satisfaction, 'that she is at this moment being so tortured at his hand that she is praying for death. I hope it comes slowly.'

Remus started to say something, then thought better of it; Hermione, however, was shocked, and said so.

'Miss Granger, I think?' Narcissa's voice was steady. 'My son told me you were intelligent. He did not mention that you were pretty as well.' That shut Hermione up. 'My first loyalty - a lesson Bellatrix forgot - was and is to the House of Black. I have never forgotten who I am, and whose daughter, cousin, mother, and sister I am: I have never once forgotten that I am Narcissa Livia Electra Nigella Junilla Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'

'Maybe she can fix the sodding portrait,' Ginny muttered, not quite quietly enough.

Narcissa stood, gracefully, supported by Harry and Draco - and that was a portent, as was the fact that they had all of them forgot that she had been conducting this whole, mad conversation whilst on the floor - and smiled. 'I know you must be Molly's daughter, you're as pretty as she ... in fact,' said Narcissa, thoughtfully, 'you both rather favour Lily Evans, God rest her, I wonder if the Prewetts - well, another time, dear. Have you been having trouble with Auntie Maim's portrait? We'll soon sort her out.' She slipped her hand into Ginny's confidingly, and they all walked towards the lurking menace of Old Mrs Black's portrait. Narcissa coolly threw back the curtains, and the old hag came immediately awake.

'Cissy! At last! And can this be little Draco? Have Purebloods once again taken back the long-suffering House of Black?'

'Aunt.' Narcissa's tones were clipped. 'Permit me to introduce Sirius's heir, Harry James Potter -'

'FILTHY HALF-BLOOD! NEVER SHALL I -'

'One more word from you, Aunt, and I shall place two drops of Black blood from my own veins into a pint of turps, and introduce you to permanent oblivion.'

'C- C- Cissy? Niece? You wouldn't ... would you?' Old Mrs Black's voice was cracked and desperately quiet, and she looked utterly terrified, to the point that even Hermione felt some sympathy for her.

'Auntie.... Regulus is dead. Sirius is gone. Bella is marked for death, having herself lost us the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House. And your tutelage, Aunt, is largely responsible.'

'No....'

'I'm sorry.' It was difficult not to be: the old woman was devastated. 'All that Pureblood bilge ... all that it led to, was Regulus's and Bella's falling under the sway of a madman who espoused the cause but is in fact a half-breed mongrel himself.'

'A half-bl- -. Oh, dear God, what have we done....'

'Well, Aunt, he is Slytherin's heir. But a half-blood, for all that. Harry, dear, step forward. Aunt, this is Sirius's godson, and heir. By law, he is now heir to and head of the House.'

'James's boy. Dorea's -gr- -' The old lady seemed suddenly to comprehend.

'Yes. You recall his grandparents?'

Old Mrs Black looked away, almost fearfully.

Narcissa went on. 'This is James's and Sirius's great friend, Remus Lupin. He is walking out, I hear, with Andy's daughter, Dora.'

'Christ,' muttered Remus, 'even the Death Eaters hear the gossip.'

'And these, of course, are our Weasley cousins, and the youngest young man's fiancee. And then, of course, you will recognise at least by reputation Fawkes, the phoenix.'

Old Mrs Black sketched a rising from her chair and a half-curtsey. 'I have of course heard of the phoenix of Merlin, of Cliodna, of Godric the Founder, and late of Albus Dumbledore. Where, then, is Dumbledore?'

A lump rose in Harry's throat. 'He -'

'It's my fault,' Draco said, trying very hard not to cry. 'I led Death Eaters into Hogwarts and -'

'--And allowed an already dying Albus Dumbledore,' said Fred, as Old Mrs Black gasped, 'so to control and orchestrate his death, cunning old b- - old fellow, as to save Narcissa and Draco from the so-called Dark Lord, who now thinks them safely dead, and to -'

'Enough, Fred,' said Harry, warningly.

'Child,' said Old Mrs Black, wonderingly, 'has Fawkes, then, chosen you?'

'Er. I suppose so. Ma'am.'

Fawkes chirruped, affirmatively, and preened a lock of Harry's unruly hair.

'Then - you are the leader of the fight against this madman who has attacked my family.'

'Well, yes, I suppose so. More or less.'

Old Mrs Black was having nothing of this diffidence. 'I believe that Sirius once told you, standing just here, that all of the old families are related. The Weasleys and the Prewetts and the Blacks. Well, my fine young gentleman, the Potters are kin to the Blacks, and you have no small measure of our blood in your veins. Swear to me that you will destroy this heir of Slytherin's, that you will avenge our kin, Sirius, Regulus, even Bellatrix -'

'Bellatrix killed Sirius herself!'

'--At whose behest? I don't ask that you forgive her or save her, I don't ask even that you stay your hand against her, but avenge her as well upon this monster! Show yourself Sirius's heir, then, and be the Head and Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!'

'But what about Draco? He's Narcissa's son, your own great-nephew -'

'Give him kin-right, then! But Sirius had the right to choose his heir from any male who shared his blood, and he was your godfather, as well. I see now his choice was right, for a similar choice has been made by Fawkes, and you must see what that means!'

'Look, Sirius left me what he left me, but I'm not going to stand here and let Draco be rewarded for leaving the Dark by being disinherited by a portrait!'

'You must think highly of the lad!'

'Balls! We've loathed each other for six years, since we met. But fair's fair, damn it!'

'And that is why a phoenix - that phoenix, at that - has chosen you, and why you are fit to be the Head of the House of Black, young man. Phineas! Come here at once!'

Phineas Nigellus slammed in to the portrait, clearly angry. 'I'll be damned if I'm at the beck and call of my own distant offspring, damn you, what do you want that's so bloody important?'

'Behold the Head and Heir of the House.'

'Which of 'em? They're all equally my distant great-grandsons of one sort or another.'

'The one with the parrot, you old fool, do you think that phoenix would choose anyone lesser?'

'Good God. To this are we reduced. The Boy Who Lived to Annoy. The Name is died out, and these are the ashes.'

'I remind you that the Potters -'

'Are the eldest of all Wizards, the first to have a craft and mystery, old in the land even before the Mason and the Smith, I know. I've heard it before.' He grimaced. 'Repeatedly,' he added, with marked distaste. 'So be it. I shall pass on all the reports I receive, including those from the portraits in the out-married households. It is his right, as Head.'

'And I,' said Old Mrs Black, rising amidst a crackle of stiff bombazine, 'shall go and -'

'Wait. Please. I'm sorry, I don't know how to call you -'

'"Aunt" would be lovely, dear.' Ron rolled his eyes. He'd never seen a portrait with a split personality before. 'I await the command of the Head of the House.'

'Er. Yes, well. Um. Could you pretend, just for now, to still hate me? I mean, with other portraits and so on. And to hate "blood traitors" and, well, all that? I suspect that not everyone speaks freely to Phineas Nigellus.'

'Aha!' The old witch cackled, grinning. 'A spy-master, also! Well, you'll want to be, to win! Your command is my duty, young sir!'

'Please, it's just "Harry".'

'You and Henry Plantagenet,' snorted Phineas Nigellus. 'A little touch of Harry in the night. Lovely. "O now, who will behold / The royal captain of this ruin'd band / Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, / Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'", I suppose - and this day hath gentled thy condition, I see. Oh, very well. I'm off. In the meantime, you could do worse than to study well the Black pedigree - all of it.'

---------------------------------

Vienna at Christmas. Well and good, Justin supposed, and, what was more (he smiled to himself, indulgently), it made Blaise happy. But they could have their feasting and their popish mass and their stollen and what not. What mattered was that he was able to listen, over the WWN Overseas Service, to the broadcast of Lessons and Carols from the Blaise College Chapel at Domdaniel: every blessed minute of it, from the first note of Once, in royal Merlin's city to the last chord of Hark, the herald Wizards sing.

---------------------------------

'What is it?'

'An emergency -'

'That much was obvious, thank you -'

'We're needed in Italy, now. Thank God that the hols aren't over yet and Hilary Term hasn't begun, we'll want Hermione, Christ, we want the lot -'

'Draco, please. Obviously this is far graver than when we missed Prize Day and Hermione wouldn't speak to us for weeks. Peaceful weeks, those were.... So do calm yourself. What is the crisis?'

'Justin. Blaise. The. Oh, God, Harry. Someone tried to kill Blaise's mum.'

'Sod packing, then, we'll buy anything we need once we're there. What happened?' Harry was changing robes, swiftly, and making certain he had money and weapons.

'Muggles. A whole village of them. They ... they were going to burn her, Harry. For a witch. Oh, Harry.... The Burning Times are beginning again.'

---------------------------------

END

---------------------------------


In our next chapter, we see the fine Italian hand of certain villains. As ever, thanks are due the members of the wemyssgatefic Y!Group, who are, by now, all but co-authors. All remaining errors and infelicities are of course my own damned fault.