Two to Lead

Chapter 7: Concealed or Unconcealed

Come said the Muse,

Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,

Sing me the universal.

In this broad earth of ours,

Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,

Enclosed and safe within its central heart,

Nestles the seed perfection.

By every life a share or more or less,

None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.

-Walt Whitman, Song of the Universal, 1874

*******

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Fox was as shocked as the little red-haired girl when she fainted. There was something in the girl that Fox found unnerving. A taint of Voldemort. But how could such a thing be possible?

The brother stepped forward, looking worried. Fox immediately Ennervated the girl, who opened her eyes, sat up, and stared at Fox with her mouth open.

Fox apologized, stepping back to allow the boy to help his sister stand.

Luckily, the rest of the adults began filing in, having been notified by the ghosts that the battle was over.

"Well, that was embarrassing," the Dark Arts professor said with a smile. "We have to be told that the battle was over when we didn't even know it had started."

"The children defended the Great Hall very well," Fox said, hoping to smooth over the whole fainting episode. "If I had been anyone else, I would have been cursed into oblivion."

"Yeah," Ron said proudly. "I got her from behind the door and Ginny surprised her from underneath the table and we threw everything we had at her. It all bounced off, though. What kind of Shield was that, anyway?"

"Trade secret," Fox said evenly.

"They got in without even setting off an alarm, much less one the traps," Arthur Weasley commented, looking perturbed. "Exactly how good is this defense system you've set up?"

"Well, if we hadn't known where everything was and how to disarm it, we'd never have gotten in," Amina shrugged.

"You can't disarm a magic alert system," the werewolf argued, his eyebrows drawing together. "How did you do the Invisibility Spells without setting it off?"

Both Amina and Gautham looked to Fox. "I'm afraid that's classified information," she said seriously, sending her team members into simultaneous coughing fits, punctuated with the occasional 'bullshit.' Ignoring them, Fox continued. "Suffice it to say that we know how to, but the Death Eaters don't."

"But you could tell us how you did it," Molly Weasley needled. "It could come in quite handy."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Fox said, beginning to sound ridiculously like a character on Dragnet. "Any secrets we keep, we keep so that they don't fall into the wrong hands."

Mrs. Weasley looked taken aback. Amina and Gautham had to turn around to hide their giggling. Trying to shift the attention, Fox volleyed one their way.

"My colleagues surely have plenty of new observations for you to heighten security. We did run into a few soft spots on our way in, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," Amina answered, turning around with her lips very tight, "dearest...colleague."

"Well, we'd surely like to hear about them," McGonagall chimed in.

"A wonderful idea, Minerva," Dumbledore commented, ushering in a woozy-looking Firenze. "And there's nothing like entirely missing a battle to wake up one's thirst. Why don't we retire to the Three Broomsticks for some refreshment and discussion?"

It being a Saturday, nobody had anything better to do, so they were all in agreement, save the centaur. He didn't seem particularly social, in any case. He kept staring at Fox bemusedly, probably trying to figure out where she fit into the stars, or whatever centaurs thought about. Or maybe he was just pissed off about getting stunned from behind.

Well, it was his own fault. Magical beings had no excuse for not sensing somebody creeping up on them, especially when it was another magical being.

"So is the battle over or hasn't it begun yet?" asked a sneering voice from the doorway.

"It's over," Flitwick said cheerfully. "We lost."

"Surprising," Severus Snape said sarcastically, sweeping into the room like a bird of prey.

"It's a shame you had to miss it, Severus," McGonagall said. "It didn't end up being much work at all."

"Unfortunately I had urgent business to attend to," Snape answered, falling upon Dumbledore. "I just obtained some new potions ingredients from Diagon Alley, sir. I was hoping if you had a moment..."

"Of course, Severus," the Headmaster answered. "Why don't you all go on ahead and I'll meet you in a few minutes."

Would you mind staying back, Fox? Dumbledore's voice sounded in her head.

"We can floo from my office," Flitwick offered as everyone began exiting the Great Hall. "It's the closest."

"I'm just going to change," Fox told Gautham. "My sweatshirt's all dirty. I'll meet you there." He nodded.

Dumbledore and Snape had gone off into a sort of anteroom. Fox waited until everybody else had left before following. The professor did not look pleased to see her.

"Sir?" he asked uncertainly, glancing at the Headmaster.

"Fox's job is to help us in all matters pertaining to Voldemort," Dumbledore explained. "I thought it would be easier for her to hear the information firsthand from you, as opposed to secondhand from myself."

"Of course," Snape said, though Fox could tell he didn't like the idea. "It's about the children, sir. I spoke to Draco and the Castelar girl."

"And?"

"I would say the boy is at least having doubts about the bond at this point. Lucius is concerned about his attitude, and I'd like to keep him concerned. He seems to see Miss Castelar as a positive influence on him, someone to keep him in line."

"And the girl?"

The Potions Master paused. "I can use her influence on Draco to get her into Hogwarts, I believe."

"You're going to bring her to Hogwarts?" Fox asked, unsure she'd heard correctly. You're going to put a servant of Voldemort in easy contact with Harry Potter? she shot at Dumbledore.

"We'd like to get her out from under Lord Voldemort's control, if that's at all possible," Dumbledore said. She is his prisoner, not his servant, and she also happens to be a child, Dumbledore scolded her.

"It's not possible," Fox said flatly. In a war, there are no children. This girl is not our concern. We have bigger fish to fry.

"Well, Vivian's working on the spell, and I'm going to conduct my own research," Snape continued, oblivious to the ongoing mental discussion. "But I don't think we should bring her to the school until we know more about it. I realize now that the bond is how the Dark Lord was able to find her in the first place. Who knows what else it allows him to do?"

"Severus, I must ask you," Dumbledore said gravely. "If you could persuade them to send her to Hogwarts, could she manage it?" All children are my concern.

Fox snorted. Considering it was both rude and - as far as Professor Snape was concerned, at least - entirely out of context, both men looked at her strangely.

"Sorry. Something in my nose," Fox lied, rubbing it for effect.

"I think she could," Snape said carefully. "She's hardly your average giggling teenage girl. She also warned me when Lucius came upon us. There doesn't seem to be much love lost between them."

"Wait you're going to turn a teenage girl into a double agent? This is starting to sound like the plotline of a bad Disney movie," Fox observed.

Neither Professor Snape nor Dumbledore seemed to have the slightest idea what she was talking about.

"Never mind," she muttered, suddenly assaulted by visions of Mary Kate and Ashley Olson someday starring in this girl's biopic.

"See what you can find out, Severus," Dumbledore finally said. "In a few weeks, we'll have a conference with Vivian to narrow down our options." Who are Mary Kate and Ashley Olson? he asked, his mouth quirking.

Professor Snape nodded and left them.

Sir, Fox answered as they headed up to Dumbledore's office to floo to the Three Broomsticks, believe me when I say you're better off not knowing. Something happened with the Weasley girl downstairs.

Oh, really? What was that?

She fainted. Why exactly does the daughter of two people who are obviously on our side in this war have the stench of Voldemort about her?

I was afraid something like this would happen. Do you remember when I told you about the Chamber of Secrets?

Yes.

Ginny Weasley is the student who opened it.

I see. So considering Ginny Weasley fainted when I touched her and she was possessed by Voldemort, Harry Potter has had a connection with him since infancy, not to mention the fact that there are soon to be four children - or so we think - walking around this castle who also happen so have some unidentifiable bond with Voldemort, there are going to be a lot of fainting students around, aren't there?

I don't know actually. Ginny Weasley had a particularly invasive experience with him. The others might not react quite so violently.

You do realize that that's a pretty large percentage of the student population with direct ties to our enemy, don't you?

Fox, even as a student at this school, Lord Voldemort always had uncanny methods of infiltration. Dumbledore sent her a 'what can you do?' shrug and flooed to the Three Broomsticks.

The others had already secured two tables next to each other. The tavern wasn't very busy. Fox found herself amused by the drink choices of her companions. Flitwick's had a wide variety of umbrellas and plastic monkeys hanging off of it. McGonagall, looking slightly tense, seemed to be drinking bourbon. The Weasley parents were sharing a bottle of dragon wine while the children stuck to butterbeer. Amina was nursing her usual Rampaging Troll and Gautham was sucking back vodka and pumpkin juices at a frightening pace, eyeing the pretty young waitress.

"Drink up, Fox," Amina warned her as she ordered an oatmeal stout from Madame Rosmerta. "If my instincts are correct, Gautham's about to get us kicked out of our fifty-fourth consecutive bar."

"I'm not going to get us kicked out," Gautham assured her, leering at the waitress's backside and smoothing back his hair. "This one likes me. I can tell."

The waitress returned with Fox's stout and walked away without even glancing at him.

"Oh, she's got the hots for you, alright," Amina said wryly.

"She's just playing hard to get," Fox said, egging Gautham on.

He looked at her. "I thought you were going to change."

Fox shrugged. "Why bother? I'm still recovering from my last round of fantastic sex. I don't need to go looking for another one yet."

"I heard you made him fight you," Amina said with a knowing smile.

"I make them all fight me, I just let this one win," Fox replied, smiling back. "And then I got out my old horsewhip and...well, let's just say the rest is history."

"I've never been whipped," Gautham sighed, downing half his drink in one gulp.

"Omari sucked my toes for a half an hour," Amina said dreamily. "I want to keep him locked up in a trunk to take out and play with at my leisure."

"Why don't I ever meet girls as nasty as you two?" Gautham asked frustratedly.

"Girls like us would never fuck somebody like you," Amina said, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. He scowled at her.

"You'll find a decent girl, Gautham," Fox said confidently. "Someone who likes the same kinds of things you do."

"You know," Amina supplied helpfully, "geeky things."

"She'll get really excited over advancements in magical communications like you do..."

"And she'll know all the same Star Trek trivia..."

"And she'll agree to wear that Princess Leia bikini in bed..."

"Maybe you'll even meet her through the personal ads at the back of Magitech Weekly..."

"And she'll even put up with your smelly stuffed animal..."

"And she won't mind if you don't shave your back..."

"And she'll be butt-ugly!" Gautham interrupted, downing the rest of his drink and standing up. "I don't want a girl who loves me for my mind! I want a girl who's willing to screw me now because someday I might be rich!"

With that, he strode over to Madame Rosmerta, who was juggling a large tray of drinks for another table.

"And the slap will come in 10...9...8..." Amina whispered.

Gautham said something to the poor girl, who looked confused.

"...7...6...5...4..."

Gautham said something else, and Rosmerta's face reddened.

"...3...2...1...slap!"

Right on cue, the waitress slammed the tray down on the bar and slapped Gautham for all she was worth. Flummoxed, Gautham stared after her as she stomped off to serve the drinks before skulking back to them.

"I didn't mean it that way," he grumbled, scowling at the table.

*******

The Three Broomsticks

Ron was retelling the story of their adventures in greater detail, with an even greater amount of artistic license.

Ginny was only half paying attention as she surreptitiously watched Fox at the other table. She and the African woman seemed to be heckling the Indian man, who couldn't keep his eyes off of Madame Rosmerta.

Something was up with her, Ginny decided. Aside from the fact that all of the curses she and Ron sent at her merely bounced off, she remembered something even stranger. Fox hadn't used a wand when she'd bound them. She didn't even seem to have a wand.

Wandless magic was supposed to be really difficult to control, so who was this woman who could manage two simultaneous binding spells with it?

"You fainted?" Ginny heard her mother ask.

"What? No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Ron argued. "I was right there. I saw you."

"Oh, well, you know. Sending all those curses must have worn me out," Ginny said, trying to look very tired.

Her mother was peering at her skeptically. It was time to change the subject.

"So who are those three, anyway?" Ginny asked.

"Which three do you mean?" her father asked innocently.

"The three people who set up all the defenses and who we just fought a battle against," she clarified.

"They're...consultants," her father said into his glass of wine.

"Arthur," her mother said, sounding as if she were speaking against her own better judgment, "it's going to get around. Dumbledore had to take it in front of the governors, and you know how gossipy that lot is. Plus, there's Harry..."

Arthur made a face. "They work for The Cardinal," he said in a low voice.

Ginny's jaw dropped open, as did Ron's.

"You mean they steal things and take out hits on people and stuff like that?" he asked, awed.

"The school governors let Professor Dumbledore bring in people who work for The Cardinal?" Ginny added.

Their parents looked uncomfortable.

"They know a lot about gaining entry into places..." Molly began.

"You mean breaking in," Ron interrupted.

"...so when The Cardinal offered to let them help defend Hogwarts, it just seemed like too good a deal to pass up. I mean, they're better at it then even the Death Eaters, so we thought it would be a good idea," her mother finished.

"What do they have to do with Harry?" Ron asked.

Their parents exchanged a glance. "They're going to train him," her father finally explained.

"Train him to do what?"

"To fight."

Ron's face broke out into a grin. "Cool. He's going to learn all sorts of dirty tricks. Can I train, too?"

"No," both parents said at the same time.

"Why not?"

"Because Harry needs it and you don't," Mrs. Weasley said with a note of finality. The lameness of the excuse led Ginny to believe that there was a lot more to the story.

*******

The Three Broomsticks

Farther down the table

McGonagall's bun was coming loose, which led Vivian to believe that two bourbons was her limit. Of course, Vivian alone had put back a few cocktails and was feeling delightful.

"So what have you been up to all these years, Vivian?" Flitwick asked her, heading off a new rant by Minerva about her sister.

"I've been out in California at the Institute."

"Oh, truly?" Flitwick clapped his hands together, nearly upending one of the umbrellas in his drink. "How exciting."

"Well, it was interesting," Vivian said, feeling a bit guilty. The past few days had been more exciting than the past fourteen years of her life. Some part of her was enjoying the hell out of this - being in the thick of things, having something important to do. It was the same part of her that used to come alive with anticipation every time she would go out on an assignment as an Auror back in the day.

Just when you think you're too old for this kind of shit...

Remus kicked her under the table and gestured to Dumbledore with his head. Vivian scowled at him. This wasn't exactly the time and place she would have chosen to discuss her ex-husband's mortal status with her former Headmaster and new boss. Unfortunately, Remus was going to keep glaring at her until she did the deed, so Vivian rose from the table, grabbing her drink. She was going to need it.

"Professor Dumbledore, could I speak to you for a moment?" she asked the Headmaster, ignoring the sudden impulse to stick her tongue out at Remus.

"Of course, Vivian," he answered, following her to a table in the corner. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Well, it's about David, actually." Vivian took a drink.

"Yes, it was quite the story when he didn't arrive with you," Dumbledore commented. She took another drink.

Having never been the sort of person to make the gossip rounds, Vivian wasn't sure how to respond to that statement.

"Sir, we're divorced," she finally confessed, taking yet another drink. She motioned to Rosmerta, who brought her over another of whatever she was drinking. Her mind was getting slightly fuzzy.

Dumbledore sent her a sympathetic look. "I see. Well, these things happen, don't they? I suppose this means that Molly was correct when she forbid all of us to speak his name in your presence," he continued with a small smile.

Vivian's gaze went to her lap. "That's not all, sir," she said in a pitifully small voice, taking a deep breath and another drink.

"Oh?"

"He's a vampire, sir. He became a vampire." Big, long, drink.

"A vampire? David became a vampire?" Dumbledore seemed shocked.

"Yes, sir. He did." Vivian drained the rest of her drink and motioned to Rosmerta once more.

"I never would have imagined that for him," Dumbledore murmured.

"Nor would I," Vivian said, receiving her new drink and knocking back a good portion of it.

"Are you still in contact with him?"

"No, sir. He doesn't know I'm here."

"I imagine he will soon enough." Dumbledore sounded grim. "Vampires have a way of..." he trailed off. "Well, we'll deal with any problems when and if they arise."

"Remus was worried about the students. Do you think that might be an issue, sir?" Merlin, had she already drank half of this one?

"It shouldn't be, but it's always hard to tell with vampires," Dumbledore answered.

Vivian nodded. "If you think it's going to be a danger, sir, then I'm perfectly willing to turn over the position..."

"No, no, I wouldn't ask that of you, Vivian. In all honesty, we have no other candidates for the position, and I believe the students would be in more danger...well, I suppose I shouldn't speak ill of the Ministry, should I?" he hedged, though his eyes twinkled. "Now that we're on the same side and all."

Drunkenness made Vivian snort in front of her own employer. "Should I check under the table for listening devices before I give you an honest response to that statement?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore answered, smiling slightly. "Sometimes I get the impression that the Ministry finds us less trustworthy than the Death Eaters."

Shrugging, Vivian finished off her drink. "Death Eaters are predictable. We aren't."

*******

Malfoy Manor

Thera glanced up from her reading as Draco entered the library.

"You can actually read?" he sneered, taking a large volume off of the shelf.

"I read as well as you play Quidditch, Malfoy," Thera answered. "You know, I can muddle my way through, but I'm not really good at it or anything."

"Too bad you didn't inherit your mum's looks, or her body," Draco said, looking pointedly at her chest - or lack thereof. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about being able to read. You could just whore your way through life like she did."

"Oh, I think I still could," Thera said thoughtfully. "After all, I've seen a picture of pug-face Parkinson. You boys have surprisingly low whore standards."

It was because of exchanges like this that the adults were buying Thera and Draco's dislike part and parcel. After their discussion in the bathroom, the two had found the perfect opportunity to stage a fight, thanks to Crabbe and Goyle.

Thera had initially been surprised to walk into the front parlor and find Draco palling around with two piles of stupidity who should be playing tackle for the Dallas Cowboys.

"Thera, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," Draco introduced them, forcing her to shake their ham-like hands.

"Enchanted," Thera said insincerely as they leered at her openly.

"Goyle, get me some pumpkin juice," Draco ordered, taking a seat.

Goyle immediately moved to do his bidding.

Make that the Detroit Lions, Thera corrected.

"I'd like some too, Goyle," she trilled, just to make trouble. She was as surprised as Draco when Goyle nodded and proceeded out of the room.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. Thera shrugged.

When Goyle returned with their drinks, Draco eyed her over the top of his. Putting it down, he cleared his throat.

"Goyle, I think we're in need of some entertainment. Why don't you dance for us?" Without stopping to question this command, Goyle started shaking his thing, humming what sounded suspiciously like Donna Summer. It was, to say the least, unpleasant to watch.

Under the right circumstances, watching a fat man dance is amusing. But what Goyle was doing fit only under the very broadest definition of 'dancing.' It was more like his robes were choking him and he was desperately trying to escape from them. Only with a lot more butt wagging.

"Goyle, stop," Thera said firmly.

He did.

"No, Goyle, I told you to dance," Draco said quickly.

He started up again.

"Goyle, out of respect for everybody on the planet with a sense of rhythm, stop now," Thera growled.

Almost on top of her words, Draco ordered, "Dance!"

"No, don't!"

"Dance!"

"Goyle, don't you dare!"

Throughout this entire exchange, Goyle kept dancing, stopping, and then dancing again, his face contorting as if he were in extreme pain, trying to follow both commands at once and physically unable to do so.

"Goyle, dance or I'll remove your limbs," Draco said coldly.

Crabbe, who had been watching this exchange with a rising fear, was suddenly drawn into the mix.

"Crabbe, is it?" Thera asked. He nodded. "Hold Goyle down and make sure he doesn't dance."

The lumpy boy stood up and restrained his friend, who struggled, still trying to fulfill Draco's orders.

As they wrestled, Thera suddenly found herself shoved down on one of the settees. "What do you think you're doing!" Draco yelled. Then he put a hand over her mouth and leaned close to her ear. "Funny how they obey us both, isn't it? Now yell at me."

"Get off me, Malfoy!" Thera said stridently, though she was trying to figure out what he meant by that statement. "I'm not giving you another sixty-second sexcapade in the parlor, especially not in front of those two primates."

"You think I want you?" Draco laughed mockingly. "I could get better than you for a sickle in Knockturn Alley."

"Malfoy, you wouldn't be worth the fifteen seconds required to earn that sickle." Thera finally worked one of her feet up and shoved it against his solar plexus, forcing him off of her.

Crabbe and Goyle were now wrestling on the floor. Goyle was losing, mostly because he was still trying to dance at the same time.

"If I didn't have such a vivid imagination, it would take me years to get my sickle's worth with you," Malfoy shot back.

Because she couldn't think of a decent comeback, Thera settled for punching him in the face. Draco dropped to the floor, then shot up to his feet again, looking to retaliate. As if jolted with a cattle prod, Crabbe and Goyle jumped up and restrained them.

"Why would you want to punch Draco?" Goyle asked her, holding her arms back, sounding genuinely confused and yet still trying to dance at the same time. Thera expected smoke to start coming out of his ears any second.

"I've wanted to punch him since the moment I met him," Thera said loudly, struggling to get her arms free.

A trickle of blood was coming out of Draco's nose. "You broke it!" he was shrieking. "You broke my nose!"

"I didn't break your nose, you big baby," Thera assured him. "When you break someone's nose, it sprays blood all over the place."

Draco looked woozy at the mere thought of this phenomenon.

"What on earth is going on in here?" asked a cold voice from the entrance. Lucius entered, looking irate. Even his hair looked irate.

"She punched me in the face!" Draco yelled at the same time Thera yelled, "He tried to assault me on that imitation sofa thingy!"

"Enough!" Lucius cut them off. "I will not have this sort of behavior in my house, especially when there are guests present. Vincent, Gregory, release them."

Thera honestly didn't know which one was Vincent and which one was Gregory, but it didn't seem to matter. Both boys released them at the same time.

"I won't live with her in this house," Draco said dramatically, taking his father's handkerchief and wiping his nose. "She's an utter barbarian."

"Oh, don't even get me started on you, you little..." Thera began.

"Quiet!" Lucius hissed. "Thera, go to your room. Draco, come with me to the study." With an emphatic hair flourish, Lucius strode out of the room, and the plan had been set in motion.

She hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Draco since it happened, though, and Thera was finding herself getting restless. What had he meant when he'd said, 'Funny how they obey us both?'

In the present, Draco had moved on to mocking her choice of reading material. "Wuthering Heights?" he observed disgustedly. "Can you sound out all of the words, or do you need me to get you a dictionary?"

"Actually, I could use a dictionary, if you don't mind," Thera said sweetly. "This book isn't nearly heavy enough to bash your head in."

"Keep it up, Castelar," Draco said softly, walking over to the couch and leaning over her. "I know where your room is, and I know how to get in. Maybe I'll put a pillow over your face and raise the classiness quotient in this house." A slip of parchment fell into her book. Thera looked down at it for a second before slamming the book shut.

"Do you still have your tonsils, Draco?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Would you like to keep them?" Thera asked, reaching for her wand.

Sending her a glare, Draco left her to her reading. Thera immediately opened the book and read his note.

Surely you have an inheritance. I'll bet Lucius knows something about it. Why

don't you ASK HIM about it.

Oh, yeah. The plan. Well, it was a good reason to converse with Cousin Lucius.

"House elf!" she cried out.

One appeared. It might have been the same one she'd dealt with before. It was hard to tell with these things.

"Yes, miss?"

"Where is Master Lucius?"

"In his study, miss."

"Excellent. You may go." With a bow, the elf Disapparated. Thera proceeded down to Lucius' study and knocked on the door. There was some quick shuffling of papers from within before he called out for her to enter.

"Oh, it's you," he observed, flipping his hair back over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"You're my closest living relative, am I right?" Thera asked, sitting down without an invitation.

"Yes. Is that all?"

"No, actually. Now that I'm back in the country, I would imagine there's some sort of legacy..."

"Legacy?" he asked smiling frigidly. "You mean is there something your mother managed to squirrel away before the Ministry took it all?"

"My mother led me to believe that her family money remained untouched."

"It is entrusted until you're of age, my dear. To me. If you want to buy new robes, I'm sure Narcissa would agree to have you fitted and provided for."

"I don't care about new robes."

"Yes, I know," Lucius answered distastefully.

"I do, however, care about my father's castle."

Cousin Lucius pinned her with a penetrating look. "Shirag Castle?"

Thera nodded. "It's been ages since anybody's lived there. I'm sure it could use a good cleaning. Merlin knows what the house elves have been up to all this time."

"You want to go there," Lucius said slowly. "May I ask why?"

Thera gave him a wide-eyed look. "It's my ancestral home. If I'm going to restore the familial glory, what better place to start then Shirag Castle?" She thought about playing the 'I've never had a real home' card, but decided not to. Those things didn't work on Lucius.

"I'll allow it," he said finally, "but it will take some planning. You don't know how to Apparate, and the castle's certainly not connected to the floo network. If you take one of the carriages, it will take several hours to get there, and even then I don't know exactly where it is. Only you do."

"I don't actually know where it is," she admitted.

"You'll be able to find it. You're a witch and it's your home," he said simply. "You'll have to enter first. Those outside the bloodline cannot enter unless a family member is home."

Thera fought back a smirk. Well, that could come in handy, couldn't it? Unfortunately, she'd now achieved something that had absolutely nothing to do with her purpose in coming here.

"Thank you, Cousin Lucius," she said, trying to sound grateful and falling slightly short of the mark. "But how will I know if the Dark Lord needs me while I'm away? I don't have a mark, after all..."

"You don't need one," he interrupted impatiently. "If he calls you, you'll come."

"Oh," Thera said, processing this information. "How, exactly? I mean, I can't Apparate..."

"The bond acts as a sort of Portkey when needed."

"A Portkey. I see," Thera said, unconsciously clenching her left hand.

"Now, is that all?" Lucius said with a heavy sigh.

"When will the other children join me?" Thera asked quickly, before she could think about the various ramifications of pumping Lucius for information.

"When their time comes," he said tightly, rising from his chair. "Now if you don't mind..."

"Of course, Cousin Lucius. Thank you."

"And I want this foolish fight between you and Draco resolved. Are we understood?" he called after her.

Thera beat a hasty retreat, pretending she hadn't heard. Her head was spinning. It all made sense now. It all fit together. The spells she'd done that she hadn't even known, the words of the spell itself, Draco's comment: 'Funny how they obey us both, isn't it?'

Crabbe and Goyle obeyed them both, without thought. Without question. Mindlessly.

The same way she'd used those spells against the Muggle.

She and Draco weren't at the top of the chain of command. The Dark Lord was, and they were stupid not to realize it sooner. As easily as they controlled Crabbe and Goyle, the Dark Lord could control them. They weren't meant to just serve him, or to solidify his power. They were meant to be his slaves.

No wonder Cousin Lucius was so cagey about details.

There was no way to talk to Draco before dinner. Luckily, Lucius still made them sit next to each other. It was probably more to show them who was boss than out of any spirit of optimism that they'd make amends during the salad course, but it was still useful.

As soon as they sat down, Thera reached under the table and squeezed Draco's knee hard, sending him a glare at the same time. We need to talk, she tried to beam into his head.

A few minutes later, Draco dropped his fork. Crawling under the table for it, he grabbed her ankle.

"Malfoy, you horny little bastard!" Thera shouted. She quickly slid under the table, ostensibly to pry his fingers off of her.

"Go to the library at midnight," Draco whispered hurriedly.

Instead of answering, Thera grabbed him by the front of his robes and dragged him up to his seat. Considering he was several inches taller than her and outweighed her by a good margin, this was quite a task.

"Try that again and I'll slit your throat," she threatened, picking up her steak knife.

"Try what?! I was just going after my fork!"

"You were going after a lot more than your bloody fork!"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'd be afraid of catching something."

Both of them realized belatedly that they'd crossed the line several insults ago. Narcissa was gaping at them, a spear of asparagus paused halfway to her mouth. Lucius was white-faced with rage.

"This. Ends. Now," he gritted out. "The next one to insult the other will receive the most imaginative punishment I have the capability to inflict!" They all flinched, not because of his words or tone, but because the spittle was flying with abandon. "Do you understand me?!" he roared.

"Yes, sir," they both said meekly.

In an instant, Lucius was calm once more. "Draco, do you recall how moldy the dungeons are this time of year? Do you truly desire another visit?"

Gulping, Draco shook his head.

"Thera, tomorrow you will take the Malfoy family carriage and you will travel to Shirag Castle. Since I have far more important business to attend to, Draco will accompany you. When you return, I expect nothing but the utmost civility from you both."

Thera nodded, trying to look cowed, while inside she was thinking: Score!

Meeting Draco's eyes surreptitiously, they both silently agreed that there didn't need to be a meeting tonight. Not when Lucius had just handed them the perfect opportunity.

*******

Little Whinging, Surrey

Harry's heart was pounding as he stood out front of Lucy's sister's house. He had tried to memorize as much as he could from Fred and George's book, and he ran through all of the rules in his head once more.

Finally summoning up his courage, he knocked on the door. A few seconds later Lucy answered. Her hair was down and she was wearing jeans and a rather tight light blue t-shirt that matched her eyes perfectly. Harry wondered for a thrilling second whether she'd put on the clothes with this in mind, knowing he was coming over.

Harry had spent well over a half an hour trying on various combinations and looking roughly the same in all of them before settling for one of the few t-shirts he had that didn't reach his knees and a pair of black jeans. It would be nice to think that she spent more time getting dressed than he had.

"So you came," she said, smiling and leaning against the doorjamb. "I wondered if you would, after what happened yesterday."

Rule #1: Compliment her robes/her hair/her general appearance.

"As you can see, I did," Harry said coolly, subtly trying to locate a stance that seemed rebellious enough. He finally put his hands on his hips. "You look nice."

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "Well, come in then." She led him not to the back room, but into the den, which was dedicated to all shades of the color beige. In the corner, Harry heard movement. There was a playpen over there that apparently housed the baby.

Lucy sat on the beige leather sofa, but Harry wandered over to the corner, curious about the baby she found so loathsome. It was a little boy with brown hair that Harry supposed was about a year old, because at his approach the baby pulled itself to a standing position and said "Gee," as if he were quite proud of himself.

Rule #23: Get to know her family. Win them over. Be polite.

"Erm, what's his name?" Harry asked Lucy, having never heard the baby referred to as anything but 'the baby.'

"William," Lucy said distractedly, her eyes on the television.

Upon hearing his name, William smiled at Harry and attempted to hand him one of his drool-covered blocks.

"No thanks," Harry said uncomfortably, uncertain how to converse with infants.

"Ba!" William ordered. Harry glanced at Lucy, but she was still absorbed in the television, so Harry took the blocks.

"Uh, good job there, William. Block," Harry said idiotically, holding up the block in question.

William responded by offering him another one. "Ba!"

Harry could see that this game was going to continue until William ran out of blocks.

Rule #4: Get her alone, any way you can.

"So what time does he go to bed, usually?" he asked Lucy.

"Eight o'clock. It's nearly there now. I suppose I could take him up. It's not like he can tell time."

William apparently knew what was coming when Lucy came to lift him out of the playpen, however, because his face crumpled and he started wailing.

"Oh, now stop it," Lucy scolded as she carried him upstairs. "I'm putting you to bed, not stabbing you to death."

A few minutes later, Lucy came back downstairs, the baby still wailing.

"Don't worry, he'll stop soon," she assured Harry. They sat close together on the couch, ostensibly watching television, though both of them were very aware of the other's presence.

Neither of them wanted to do anything with the baby wailing in the background, though.

"So, what time is your sister supposed to get home?" Harry asked, fidgeting.

"She said eleven, but you just know they'll get pissed and roll in around one thirty."

"Ah," Harry said wisely. So there was plenty of time. No hurry. Shuffling his feet, he tried to concentrate on television and ignore the continued cries coming from upstairs.

"I'm not going up there," Lucy said in a hard voice. Then she turned her face to the ceiling and addressed it directly. "I'm not coming up there, do you hear that? You can cry until you're blue in the face, but I'm not going to be pushed around by a bloody toddler!"

William only wailed louder. Finally Lucy lost her patience. "Oh, forget it," she said, throwing down the remote control. "Let's get away from him. Come on."

Rule #3: Pretend to be interested in whatever she's interested in, even if you think it's really boring.

Harry followed her into the back den with a sense of dread. The last time he'd been here, he'd been forced to sit through several hours of Lucy and her guitar and her bottomless pit of teenage feminist angst. He simply couldn't bring himself to request a song.

This time, however, she left the lights off, shutting the door to block out the baby's cries, leaving them with only moonlight to see by.

"This is so much better," she proclaimed, throwing herself on the hard sofa.

Rule #9: Sit next to her. Sneak your arm around her and pull her close so that she can't hex you. Then kiss her.

"I'll say," Harry agreed, relieved that the guitar was apparently going to stay in its case. He sat next to her on the sofa, slowly putting his arm across her shoulders and even more slowly leaning in to kiss her.

Her lips were still soft, and she still smelled like flowers. They kissed for a little bit before Harry maneuvered until she was laying on her back underneath him. She wrapped her arms around him as he moved to kiss her neck. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he alternated between licking and sucking and that seemed to go over well.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, sliding her hands underneath his t-shirt. Harry jumped at the contact of her fingers with his back. She slid her hands about halfway up, then lightly ran her nails down. Harry shivered.

It fed into his sense of boldness, and Harry lifted up her shirt a few inches, exposing a tantalizing line of stomach. Sliding down, he placed kisses along it. Lucy sighed his name again and Harry felt like the biggest pimp this side of the Atlantic.

Rule #22: Breasts are not toys. Treat them with respect.

Sliding her shirt up a few more inches to expose the bottom of her bra, Harry moved up to kiss her, more to distract her from him sneaking his hands underneath her shirt than for any other reason.

Harry slid his thumbs along the bottom of her breasts, feeling them through the fabric of her bra. They were amazing. Soft and firm at the same time, something new that he wanted to explore further.

Working up his nerve, Harry slid her shirt up, following it with her bra. In boyish glee, he simply sat there and enjoyed the sight of real, live breasts for the first time in his life. Both he and Lucy were breathing raggedly, as if they were taking part in a marathon.

She looked a bit shy, which he found endearing. How could a girl be shy when she had something like this hiding under her bra? How did they go through the day without playing with them, or just sitting naked in front of a mirror and looking at them for hours on end?

Shyly, Harry bent down and kissed her sternum, right in between the two mounds that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life exploring. Finally Harry worked his way over to her right breast, kissing around the bottom and the outside before moving inward to kiss around her nipple, which contracted. When he finally went in for the kill, Lucy gasped.

Harry immediately pulled back. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine, Harry. I like it," she whispered back.

Harry directed his attention back to her nipple, kissing it and sucking on it a bit, feeling a growing hardness down below. He paid the same attention to her other breast, until Lucy was panting.

He drew back, the ultimate sex god. Lucy sat up slightly to pull her shirt over her head and unhook her bra. Harry put one foot on the floor to help her undo her jeans and take them off, adding his own shirt and jeans in the process.

Gazing down at her, wearing just a pair of either pink or red silk knickers (it was hard to tell with the lights off) Harry felt an almost overwhelming urge to just locate the correct orifice and get off without the aid of his own hand for the first time in his life.

Bending to place kisses down her belly, Harry slowly worked off Lucy's knickers, revealing a section of dark hair. Awkwardly lifting her up and sliding the silk panties down her legs, Harry also took a deep breath and slid off his underpants, taking his position on top of Lucy before she could look at anything or judge it to be unfit.

Realizing that the condoms were in the pocket of his jeans, Harry reached down and fumbled around for several long seconds in order to retrieve one of the packages. Lucy seemed to be having a problem with this inattention.

"Harry?"

"Just a minute," he said quickly, holding the packet up to a shaft of moonlight, trying to figure out how to get it open.

"No, I mean, it's not that, it's...umm...well, I mean my sister's really anal about this sofa and all..."

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked distractedly, still trying to open the blasted packet, rapidly losing his hard-on as blood was redirected in order to help out with hand-eye coordination.

"I just don't want to leave a mess, you know."

Harry looked down at her. "A mess?"

"You know, a mess. On the sofa. My sister will go nuts."

It suddenly occurred to him what she was talking about. "Oh, yeah. Here," he said, locating his shirt. Lucy slid her hips up so that he could slide it underneath her.

With a vicious tear, Harry finally managed to outsmart the condom packet. His hands were shaking with the promise of sex - real sex - right here in a few seconds. Remembering his orders, he pinched the tip and stuck it on his member, rolling it down.

It was really tight and uncomfortable, but Harry was well beyond caring.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, entwining her arms around his neck.

Rule #25: Don't just go sticking it wherever you can. Mark your spot with a finger first.

Blindly fumbling to find the right spot, Harry finally located what seemed like an opening and slid one finger in carefully. It seemed wet and very warm and the walls were surprisingly textured.

"Harry," she gasped. He slowly slid his finger out, then in once more, hoping to mark his place. Finally he withdrew the finger and tried to guide his member to the same location.

Suffice it to say, it was a lot easier to get a finger up there than his penis. He moved forward an inch and Lucy winced. They waited a few seconds, he moved forward again and so on and so forth.

It was a lot more like war than sex, as far as Harry was concerned.

Finally, at long last, he was completely imbedded within her. Burying his face in her hair, Harry breathed in Lucy's scent as he marveled at how much better it felt when it was a real girl. It was like his whole penis was being hugged very tightly.

Lucy's fingernails were digging into his back. "Just give me a second," she whispered, taking deep breaths as if trying to calm down.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked worriedly, sitting up on his elbows to study her.

"No, it's just tight," she answered, her face screwed up in concentration.

Harry was quickly learning that sex was a lot more work than it was made out to be.

It was odd to feel her relax around him. She was still very tight, yet softer somehow, more welcoming.

"Okay," she said suddenly.

Carefully, Harry slid outward, his eyes rolling back in his head at how nice it felt. When he reached the edge, he slid slowly back in, feeling her stretch to accommodate him. He did this a few more times, and it slowly got easier. Harry sped things up a bit and Lucy urged him on with the occasional girlish grunt that told him he was on the right track.

Harry had a feeling his mouth was hanging open and he was breathing like a pervert during a dirty prank call, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It just felt too good.

Slowly but steadily, an Imperius-like voice started up in the back of his head, telling him to come. Harry fought it back, wanting this to last, not wanting Lucy to think that he didn't know what he was doing.

But as he gazed at her breasts bouncing with every thrust and heard her moaning his name, the voice became a lot harder to fight. His body was tensing up, having decided that the Imperius voice had the right idea. Harry kept it back as long as possible, but eventually everything spun out of control and suddenly everything in the world narrowed down to what he was doing and how good it felt. And then the world exploded.

Or, to be more precise, he exploded.

Nothing he had ever done with some dirty thoughts and Uncle Vernon's old sock could even begin to compare to this. This was heaven. This was too wonderful to be described. Harry knew that right now he could produce a Patronus that could put all of his others to shame.

Rule #28: Cuddle afterwards. Girls like that.

With his last happy thought, Harry collapsed on top of Lucy, the scent of flowers and sex making him smile. Her breasts were crushed underneath him, surprisingly comforting. Leaning up on his elbows, he kissed her nose and her forehead as he slid out of her.

"That was amazing," he said, laying back down on top of her.

"Yeah," she said vaguely.

"Did you like it?" he asked, a tendril of uncertainty entering into his blissful haze.

"'Course I liked it."

"I really do like you, Lucy," Harry without thinking. Okay, his mind stepped in, first of all, you didn't really mean that; you're just trying to make yourself feel better for sleeping with her. Second of all, Harry the Criminal would never, ever say that to a girl.

"I know you do, Harry," she sighed.

"I mean," he said, trying to rectify the situation. "It's just that I've never been with a girl who's nice and all and..." Harry coughed, trying to nail down a train of thought and stick with it. "...I mean they've all been...you know..."

"It's okay, Harry. I understand," she said simply. "Considering your life so far, I'm sure you've only been with girls for sex, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course."

"You don't expect to be treated with respect because you never have been. I mean, everybody knows about your aunt and uncle."

"They do?" Harry asked, not liking at all the way the conversation seemed to be going.

"This is a small town, Harry. I haven't even been here that long and I know what's what with the Dursleys. I mean, did they honestly think that nobody would notice that they treated you like rubbish and wouldn't even buy you clothes that fit? It's scandalous the way they treated you."

"Oh, is it?" This was straying uncomfortably close to psychoanalysis, and Harry truly did not want to be psychoanalyzed.

"I mean, it's no wonder you acted out," Lucy continued. "Anyone looking at your home life could have predicted that you'd end up on the outs with society."

Against his better judgment, Harry was beginning to find this all really funny. "Yes, an outcast. That's what I am," he said unsteadily.

"Shh, now, it's okay to get upset about it. It's okay to cry..." She patted his back comfortingly.

Harry had to actually bite into his finger to keep from laughing.

"Your life has been full of hardship, and that school of yours certainly isn't helping matters, with all of the violence and the terrible behavior they let slide."

"Yeah, it's awful alright," Harry managed to get out.

"But it's not your fault, Harry. You see that, don't you?"

"It's not my fault," he parroted.

"See? That's the idea," Lucy said bracingly.

Raising his head, Harry looked at her. "Do you want to have sex again?"

"Sure. It's perfectly normal for someone like you to express his inner uncertainties by acting out sexually, you know," she assured him.

"Oh. Well, I'll...uh...keep that in mind, then," Harry said, fumbling around in the pocket of his jeans for another condom. Peeling off the used one and depositing it carefully on the coffee table so that it wouldn't make a mess, Harry put the new one on.

The second orgasm wasn't as good as the first one, but it was still a great deal better than anything he could achieve on his own.

Afterwards, Lucy arranged them so that they were side by side on the sofa. Harry was more or less nerveless by this point, and they were both halfway asleep. Or else they must have actually fallen asleep. He didn't know. He just suddenly heard footsteps.

Instantly awake, Harry shook Lucy.

"Wha...?" she asked groggily.

"I think your sister's home," he said urgently.

She looked at him in horror for a split second, then they both dove simultaneously for the pile of clothes on the floor, clothes they couldn't entirely identify with the limited light.

"Those are mine," Lucy hissed, snatching her knickers out of his hands.

"Oh, sorry," Harry whispered. "Where's my shirt?"

"I'm sitting on it."

The footsteps were coming closer and their movements became more frantic as they tried to get dressed in the dark. Someone started calling Lucy's name, and she grabbed his arm.

"You need to get out of here."

"How?"

"Window?" she said uncertainly. The only other way out was the door leading to the main part of the house.

Footsteps were approaching that door now and there was going to be a very uncomfortable scene very soon if he didn't get out of there immediately. Snatching the condom packets and the condoms themselves, Harry tiptoed as quickly as he could to one of the windows on the far wall. He unlocked it, but it still wouldn't budge.

"I think it's painted shut!" he whispered loudly to Lucy.

"Shit!" She came over to help him try to pull them up. The footsteps were seconds away from discovering them and still the window hadn't moved.

Throwing his shoulder into it, Harry was surprised for a moment when the window finally lifted.

To reveal a built-in screen.

"Fuck," he whispered wholeheartedly.

"Lucy?" a man's voice called out from right outside the door. The knob started turning and Harry closed his eyes.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, don't let us get discovered like this, he prayed, panicking.

The knob turned some more and then stopped. Some weight was thrown against it, and yet it still didn't open.

"Lucy, are you in there? What did you do to the door?" the man's voice asked, sounding worried.

"That door doesn't lock," Lucy muttered, puzzled.

Still panicked, Harry grabbed her arm. "Help me get the screen out!"

They pushed at the screen and the man - Lucy's brother-in-law, supposedly - kept trying to get through the stubborn door.

A rage built up in Harry, born of frustration. He didn't want his first sexual experience to end like this. Couldn't one goddamn thing in his life go right? Suddenly, as if of its own volition, the screen just popped out of the window. Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of Lucy's shocked face before he climbed through it.

"Shut the window," he whispered to her, and she did, just as the door flew open.

"Lucy? What are you doing in here? Why wouldn't the door open?" Harry heard a man's voice ask as he ducked his head under the window.

"I don't know," Lucy said unsteadily. "I was...erm...sleeping..."

"Were you trying to open the window?" the man asked. Harry could only hear him faintly through the glass. "We've got the air conditioning on, you know."

"No, I just thought I heard something. I was half-asleep and didn't even realize it was you at the door."

"The door. Funny how it stuck like that, isn't it?"

"Yes," Lucy said, yawning loudly. "Well, I'm utterly bushed. The baby went to bed like an angel and I must have conked out right after him. See you in the morning."

Smiling to himself, Harry crept around the corner of the house and then headed back to Privet Drive. Along the way, he couldn't help making a few triumphant jumps, pumping his fist in the air.

Harry Potter is no longer a virgin, he thought with glee.

Quietly inserting his key into the lock at number four, Harry saw on the microwave clock that it was past midnight. He walked carefully up the stairs, making sure he skipped the step with the creaking board. Once he reached his room, he noticed that Errol was once again looking fit, or as fit as Errol ever looked.

There was also a strange tawny owl that Hedwig didn't seem to care for overmuch. Flapping its wings importantly, the owl stretched out a leg for Harry to take the attached letter.

It was from Remus.

Harry,

I hope you're doing well and enjoying your summer. I happened to be at Hogwarts today and decided to send you a letter.

I have several things I need to talk to you about. I was hoping there was somewhere in the area you'd feel comfortable meeting me for lunch (my treat) and a chat. Let me know the place and time, and I'll be there.

All the best,

Remus

Harry read the letter through a few times, then put it down. He fed the strange owl some treats and sent it back to Hogwarts. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet with Remus, or to hear what he had to say. It probably had to do with Sirius, and Harry didn't really want to think about Sirius in any other way than in the abstract right now.

Finally, Harry shoved the letter in a drawer and took out a new piece of parchment, on which he wrote exactly seven words:

Ron,

I just had sex. Twice.

Harry

Rolling up the parchment, Harry tied it to Errol's leg and sent him on his journey. Then he turned out the light and got in bed, though he didn't put on his pajamas or take off his glasses.

Instead, he stared, smiling, through the window at the stars until they started to lighten with the coming dawn. He didn't think about the past, or what might happen in the future. He just lay there marveling at how simple happiness could be in the quiet hours of the night when the rest of the world was asleep.