Two to Lead

Chapter 10: Fistfights and Sortings

The Burrow

Harry was very glad for his time at the Burrow. He'd always found the place homey, and it was nice to be partially back in the magical world without being surrounded by reminders of Sirius. He did feel a bit bad about leaving Remus alone at Grimmauld Place, but Mrs. Weasley had assured him - while blushing furiously, he noticed - that Remus wouldn't be alone.

"Well, you see, the Order will be coming in and out," she had lied, badly.

It was at that point that Ginny told them about Remus and Professor Lynes-or-maybe-Wellbourne.

"No wonder they hustled us out of there," Ron had said shrewdly. "If she's still married, and all..."

"Maybe she left her husband for Remus," Harry had suggested, though this didn't seem very plausible. Remus was a nice guy and all, but he didn't exactly fit the image of a homewrecker.

"But mum says she's at Hogwarts," Ginny had argued. "So it must be a completely different woman. Not that it isn't a juicy piece of gossip in it's own right."

"Wow," Ron had marveled. "I didn't realize he got around so much."

Harry had made out quite well on his birthday. Hermione had given him a copy of Don Quixote - abridged, thankfully - because she said Don Quixote reminded her of Harry. Harry couldn't decide whether that was a positive or a negative comment. True to form, Fred and George had given him a wide variety of Wizarding Wheezes, including their newest Pocket Hexes, little pearl-like balls that could be thrown at people without incriminating you for using magic in the hallways.

"You have no idea what we went through to make sure they didn't go off in your pocket," Fred had whispered, causing both he and George to instinctively wince and cover their privates.

Mr. And Mrs. Weasley had given him a practice snitch (to get back in the swing of things, according to Mr. Weasley), Hagrid had sent a home-baked cake that nobody seemed inclined to eat, and Bill had given him a Cursefinder, a sort of disk that told you whether or not something had been tampered with magically. Remus had given him the deed to Number Twelve and a Gringott's statement that made Harry's eyes bug out.

"That's only half, actually," Remus had admitted. "Some of it went to me, a good portion of it went to estate lawyers, and the rest of it...well..." Blushing, he had handed Molly Weasley a slip of parchment. She had promptly fainted.

The sum had been enough to pay the wizards and witches who had put up the new wards at the Burrow, buy Ron a new broom, Ginny a new set of dress robes, and to hire the magical car that right now was honking impatiently in front of the Burrow, waiting to take them to King's Cross.

The rest of the money had been put aside. "For our grandchildren," Mrs. Weasley had said, sending Bill a pointed look that he just as pointedly ignored.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all teamed up to get their trunks downstairs and wedge them into the magically expanded trunk before wedging themselves and their animals into the magically expanded interior.

The ride to the station was lighthearted, though it was beginning to dawn on Harry that with Ginny now being a Prefect, he was going to be sharing a compartment alone with Luna and Neville.

Well, at least this year, we have plenty to talk about, he thought, wondering if Dumbledore would let him continue with the D.A.

"I can't wait to see Malfoy," Ron said viciously. "Let's see him talk about not us having any money now." He stroked his new Nimbus lovingly.

"Er, Ron, you might not want to do that, considering Sirius is still considered a criminal."

"Oh, right, and the Malfoys got all their money in a completely honest fashion I'm sure," Ron scoffed.

Harry noticed that Ginny's cat was looking at Ron with a certain degree of loathing. She still wouldn't explain why she'd named the cat Vendetta; every time somebody asked, she just grinned and shook her head. The cat's tail was twitching as it watched Ron intently.

Ron, shifting the broom around in his lap to once more examine the handle, promptly poked himself in the eye with it.

"Ow! Bloody hell!"

"You know, I didn't think it was possible, but I think you've gotten clumsier this summer," Harry observed.

"Really?" Ginny asked absently, stroking the cat. "I hadn't noticed anything."

"You know, Harry, when we get to the station, I reckon we ought to sneak you in under the invisibility cloak, just in case the Muggle police are still looking for you," Ron said with great amusement.

"Shut up," Harry muttered. A few weeks ago, Remus had taken him to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies and sign some things at Gringott's for Sirius' estate. Much as he tried to ignore it, Harry's conscience had been bothering him about Lucy. What if her family still hadn't heard from her? What if something had happened to her? Part of the reason she'd run off to London in the first place was because he hadn't treated her very well, and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to shut up the nagging voice in the back of his head until he knew she was okay.

So he'd convinced a reluctant Remus to venture out into Muggle London and find a telephone booth. Harry had then spent a great deal of money trying to get the operator to find Lucy's sister's telephone number. Unfortunately, the only information he had to go on was her address and that he thought her first name was Emma or Emily or something.

He had eventually invented a cock-and-bull story involving a lost dog with a tag for that address and just asked for whatever phone number was listed.

The following conversation had been unpleasant, to say the least.

Lucy was apparently fine. Her sister wouldn't tell him where she was. She also went into a very long diatribe about his character, using some rather creative imagery. She then informed him that she had taken out a restraining order and that if he went within five hundred meters of her sister, he'd be arrested on the spot. Harry didn't know whether or not this was true, but he certainly didn't intend to find out.

Ron, of course, found the entire situation hilarious.

"You're not even a full-fledged wizard yet and you've been in trouble with both the Magical and the Muggle governments!" he'd laughed when Harry had told him about the unfortunate phone conversation. "Fred and George are going to hang your picture on the Wall of Fame for this one..."

Harry found it slightly less amusing. It was one thing to mess things up with a girl, like he'd done with Cho Chang. It was quite another to have her slap a restraining order on you. Harry felt it wise to refrain from dating for a while.

When they got to the platform, Hermione was waiting for them. "Come on, come on," she ordered. "I've gotten us a compartment and we've got to go up front for the prefects' meeting."

They settled in with their belongings, joined shortly thereafter by Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Thankful that he wouldn't have to spend the train-ride talking to Luna Lovegood, Harry helped them arrange their stuff in the compartment. Ron was sending death glares at Dean Thomas, but when he opened his mouth to say something, Ginny clapped her hand over it.

"The picture, Ron. Don't forget about the picture," she said mysteriously, causing Ron's face to infuse with color. Before Harry could ask her what she meant, she had handed him Vendetta.

"Could you look after him for me while I'm at the meeting?" she asked him.

"Yeah, sure," Harry sighed. Harry Potter, the Babysitter of Other People's Pets While They Attend Prefects' Meetings.

"Don't look so glum, Harry. Someday you'll meet a nice girl who won't press charges," she said, smiling and patting him on the cheek. Then she and Ron and Hermione were gone, leaving Harry holding a kitten and staring at the shocked faces of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

*******

MacNair Woods Estate

As much as possible, the inner circle avoided having MacNair host meeting. For one thing, the entire house was decorated in the MacNair plaid. Not just as accents, either. Draperies, carpets, furniture coverings and wallpaper all reflected the MacNair family pride to a literally nauseating degree. The loo was especially heinous.

And yet the whole Dark Creature situation was getting out of hand and somebody had to sort it out. Lucius was quickly realizing that that somebody was going to be him.

"So how many of ours have the banshees killed?" he asked the room in general.

"Four," Avery supplied. "Decent blokes, too. Henderson's been with us since the first war."

"Yes, well remind me to send a nice note to his wife," Lucius said dismissively. "Isn't there anywhere else they can stay? Preferably away from our men?"

"We could have the women deal with them," Nott chimed in. "Banshees don't eat women."

"But they still kill them, Nott," LeStrange argued. "And if the women all get killed, there won't be any more wrestling matches." His wife Bellatrix was known for her prowess in the ring. A disturbing number of Death Eaters were pressuring him for a face-off with Narcissa, as if she'd ever agree.

Still, it was a nice image.

"Frankly, we may have to just let them go," Augustus Rookwood piped up. Though his head had finally been returned to it's normal size, shape and age, nobody could seem to figure out how to make his voice sound older than four or five. As if the level of dignity in the inner circle could drop any lower.

"That's true," MacNair agreed glumly. "There are only a handful anyway, and we haven't even figured out what to do with them."

Antonin Dolohov looked thoughtful. "Does anybody even remembering asking the banshees to join?"

There was silence. Lucius could feel the muscle at the corner of his eye start to twitch. He was going to have to do some hard-core fencing when he got home. Narcissa was always on him about finding healthy outlets for his rage, as if she was one to talk.

Taking a deep breath, Lucius tried to get things back on track. "Alright, so we let the banshees go. 'Thank you for your support, ladies. The best thing you can do for the cause is go home.' Now, let us address the larger issues regarding the vampires and the werewolves."

"Well, we've got them separated," MacNair assured them all. "The only problem is that the Dark Lord has to give every speech twice. On the other hand, it makes things a bit more personal. Like when he talks about vampires specifically as opposed to just Dark Creatures, I think it makes them..."

"Feel all warm and fuzzy inside?" Dolohov finished sarcastically.

MacNair glared at him. "It makes the message more effective."

"Is any of this really important?" Bellatrix LeStrange asked impatiently. Never one to merely sit, she appeared to have been poured into the violently plaid armchair in the corner.

"Of course it's important. These are powerful creatures, and they're on our side," Lucius said coldly.

"Not to mention the fact that there's a strong fear factor associated with Dark Creatures," Nott added. "Once we set them loose on the population, there's going to be anarchy."

"If we ever set them loose," Bellatrix corrected, her heavy-lidded eyes pinning Nott to the sofa. "It's all well and good to get the giants on our side, but what's the use? They're all the way over there and we're all the way over here and there's no way to bring them here without the Ministry noticing something."

"The point of having the giants on our side was to prevent them from being on Dumbledore's side," Lucius reminded her.

"Yes, it was a real geopolitical coup to stop Dumbledore from getting that vastly important foothold in the uninhabited mountains of Russia," Rodolphus LeStrange said disdainfully.

"That's not the point!" Lucius bit out.

"What is the point then, Lucius?" Bellatrix asked. "We're practically running the organization into the ground keeping up the blood supply and investing in pooper-scoopers, when little baby Potter's still thumbing his nose at us, safe and sound at Hogwarts."

The whole room groaned at this. "If you want to go after Potter again, you're doing it without me!" Rookwood cried in a shriller voice than usual.

Lucius ignored them, his eyes fixed on Bellatrix. "Do you honestly think that Potter has ceased to be a consideration?"

Bellatrix stared right back at him. "He stands in our way."

"And he'll be dealt with," Lucius said, smiling slightly. "Have no doubt about that, my dear."

This brought about another chorus of groans.

"Ooh, let me guess. This year we're going to impersonate Madame Rosmerta by kidnapping her and making a Polyjuice Potion, then when Potter goes into Hogsmeade, we'll serve him poisoned butterbeer," Nott said dully.

There was a beat of silence, then everybody broke into murmurs of approval.

"...good plan, that..."

"...not a bad idea, she lives alone, so it'll be easy to get to her..."

"...shouldn't we poison it and make it explode? You know, just to be safe..."

"Silence!" Lucius called above the din. "The Dark Lord has a plan. You will be told about the plan when the time is right. Now, we need to recruit more Dark Creatures to our cause. Are there any ideas?"

All over the room, hands shot into the air.

"Are there any ideas about recruiting Dark Creatures that have nothing to do with Harry Potter?" he clarified.

Guiltily, all of the hands slowly lowered. Lucius closed his eyes briefly.

Death Eaters.

*******

Prefects' Compartment

The Hogwarts Express

Ginny had never liked Cho Chang. Before she'd gotten past her Harry Potter hang-up, she had hated the girl simply because Harry liked her. After Cedric died, Ginny had felt really guilty for hating her, which for some reason made her hate the girl even more.

There were legitimate reasons for hating Cho Chang. Half the female population of Hogwarts hated Cho Chang. She had been the youngest female Seeker in Ravenclaw history, she was smart, she was beautiful and was the prime object of lust for the Hogwarts boys. When Cho Chang walked by, males in the vicinity gazed at her, often drooling.

And now there was another reason to hate Cho Chang: she was Head Girl.

Ginny noticed that all of the girls in the compartment, with the exception of Hermione and Luna Lovegood, were glaring at the top of her head as she went through a stack of parchments, handing them a list of duties.

"Sweet Merlin, another one?" came a drawling voice from the doorway. It was Draco Malfoy and he was eyeing her with disgust. "I know you haven't got the money to bribe yourselves into a prefect's badge, so I can only imagine what your mother must have had to do..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron hissed. Ginny put a hand on his arm and was putting together a retort when Cho Chang spoke up.

"Sit down and shut up, Malfoy," she said in a very un-Cho-like manner. "I don't give a boggart's arse what you do on your own time, but when you're on my time, you're going to act like a perfect bloody gentleman or else I'll have your badge."

Everybody else in the compartment - including the newly-arrived Pansy Parkinson - was staring at this new incarnation of Cho, but Malfoy just looked pleased.

"Kitty's grown some sharp claws, hasn't she?"

Cho shoved a piece of parchment at him. "Don't push me."

The door opened again, admitting Colin Creevey. Ginny groaned inwardly. Despite the fact that she had never strayed beyond the boundaries of cautious civility with him, Colin had a crush on her. He was always popping up at the strangest times and went out of his way to find reasons to touch her. At one point, Colin had followed Harry around like a puppy. Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to be in for the same treatment very soon.

"Hi, Ginny!" he said heartily, taking the unfortunately empty seat beside her. "So we're going to be prefects together, huh? How was your summer?"

"Boring."

"I'm sorry about that," he said, patting her hand. Ginny gritted her teeth.

"How was yours?" she ground out, crossing her arms to avoid further contact.

"Oh, spiffing. Dennis and I spent some time at my grandparents..." Colin kept talking, but Ginny wasn't listening. She was instead watching Draco Malfoy, who kept looking between Cho Chang and the chattering Colin Creevey as if sizing up how much trouble he'd get into if he turned the younger boy into a toad.

Being pro-turning-Colin-Creevey-into-a-toad, Ginny silently egged him on. Come on, what's she gonna do? And even if she does something, isn't it worth it?

Nobody ended up being turned into anything, because Lester Warburton, the Hufflepuff Head Boy, called the meeting to order.

*******

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London

When Tonks had arrived on his doorstep the previous week, Remus hadn't given much thought to letting her in.

"Murray's gone and tossed me out on my arse," she'd said brightly. "D'you mind if I kip here for a few days?"

He had felt bad for her, and a bit admiring of the fact that she could be dumped by her boyfriend, thrown out of his flat, and still manage to be chipper. If Tonks were to get both of her arms blown off, she'd probably comment on the fact that now she could experience the joys of eating with her feet. Tonks was just like that.

And in all honesty, he'd been glad for some company. Buckbeak was a decent fellow, but not exactly a sparkling conversationalist. And though members of the Order came and went frequently, there was something to be said for having a constant dinner companion.

Now, however, Remus wasn't sure companionship was worth the effort. A week ago, he'd thought Murray a fantastic bastard for treating Tonks so badly. But he was beginning to think that the man had simply been pushed beyond the limits of his endurance. Tonks was a great pal, a real stand-up girl.

But living with her was sheer hell.

Every time she walked into a room, she broke something. Remus was beginning to get the feeling that items actually jumped off shelves when she arrived, having come to the conclusion that ending it themselves was preferable to being destroyed by her. She was a slob in ways that defied common sense. The occasional sock, a bowl left out because you're in a hurry, papers lying around - he could deal with these things. But a sock fused to the gummy remains of a bowl of cereal stuck to the top of a pile of his papers in his office broke so many unwritten housemate rules that Remus felt any reaction on his part would be considered justifiable homicide.

He'd come very close to throwing her out before, but he'd always stopped himself. For one thing, Tonks wasn't doing any of this stuff on purpose. She meant well. Also, Molly Weasley was convinced the two of them were living in sin, and it amused him to make vaguely worded comments in her presence that supported this belief and then watch her face grow purple as she physically restrained herself from castigating them both.

Bill Weasley flooed in, looking worn, which meant that Tonks would be arriving shortly.

"Hey, there Remus," Bill said, striding over to the cupboard and making himself a sandwich.

"I'm going to kill her," he answered.

"Who, Tonks? What's she done now?"

Remus gestured to the evidence, which he'd brought down and placed on the table.

"Interesting," Bill commented thoughtfully. "I mean I understand the cereal bowl and the papers, but how did the sock come into play, I wonder?"

"That's what I'm planning to find out."

"Hmph," Bill answered, chowing down on his sandwich.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have a place of your own?"

"'Course I do, but there's no food there," Bill said, as if this should be patently obvious.

"Doesn't Fleur ever feed you?"

"Usually. I've been avoiding her lately, though. She wants me to meet her family, and bridal catalogues have suddenly started turning up in her bathroom. I think she's getting a bit too serious."

"That's what happens when you date girls her age," Remus said sagely. "You're probably her first real boyfriend. Maybe you should go a few years older."

"But I love eighteen-year-old girls," Bill smiled. "I keep getting older, they all stay the same."

Remus shook his head. "So are you anti-marriage in general, or just anti-marriage-to-Fleur?"

"I have nothing against the institution, but my girl Fleur...well, I don't know if you've noticed, but she's a little high maintenance. The accent loses its sex appeal when every time I hear it, she's asking me to buy her something."

Tonks chose that moment to floo in. "Bloody hell," she swore, dusting herself off. "What a shite day at work. Don't we have anything alcoholic in this place?" She began rummaging through the cupboards, utterly oblivious to the dead silence around her.

"Ugh. Cooking sherry. I'd feel too much like my mum if I drank that. C'mon, Remus, let's go out. Oh, hey there, Bill," she greeted him heartily, finally noticing his rather tall, bright red presence. "So what's up, boys?"

Bill concentrated his attention on his sandwich. Remus focused his glance on the offending bowl and sock combination on the table, but his heart wasn't really in it any longer. Against all justifiable reason, it was really hard to stay mad at Tonks.

"Oh, Remus, I'm so sorry about that. I was doing a bit of cleaning in my room and went up to your office to see if you had yesterday's Daily Prophet, because there was an article in there about the Castelar arrest and I thought my name might be mentioned, but of course right then the boss calls in and tells me to get my arse to the office because the two guys have been released..."

"Released? On what grounds?" Bill asked.

"Well, when we went in, all of our records indicated that the place was uninhabited and that the property had passed back to the Ministry, but apparently the day before we stormed it, somebody bought it back and lodged a deed."

Remus' curiosity was peaked. "Who bought it?"

Tonks shrugged. "Some corporation. They're trying to track down the name of the owner, but it's one of those situations where it's a corporation owned by another corporation and so on into bloody eternity."

"So this corporation bought the property and never bothered to look at it and notice that there happened to be a shack on it that was actively being used by Death Eaters for nefarious purposes?"

"Who knows? All I care about it that it's off my desk for the time being. Stinks, though. The first time I get to go in on a really exciting arrest, and the buggers get off."

"Sorry 'bout that Tonks," Bill said consolingly.

"Ah, well. That's the way it goes sometimes." Tonks studied the mess on the table. "Wow, that really is gross, isn't it? C'mon, Remus, I'll treat for dinner if it'll get me back into your good graces."

"Tonks, you'll be in my good graces so long as you promise to never again speak the three forbidden words."

"What words?"

" 'I'm sorry' and 'Reparo.'"

*******

The Hogwarts Express

Draco was in a pissy mood. He occasionally found Crabbe and Goyle annoying, but they were grating on his nerves something awful right now. He wasn't sure why, but he missed Thera.

Okay, he did know why. It was because unlike the genetic blunders sharing his compartment, she was capable of speaking in complete sentences. But even if Thera were on the train right now, he wouldn't be speaking to her.

Since she'd gotten back from her Shack and rodents experience, something had changed. Draco felt he had a reason for his coolness toward her, considering she was going to be reporting everything bloody word he said to the Death Eater leadership. But he couldn't figure out why she had a problem with him.

He'd almost come right out and asked her, but he'd stopped just in time. There wasn't any way in hell he was going to be the one to break the silence.

Sighing pitifully, he took in his two compatriots, neither of whom appreciated the extent of his wit like Thera did. They were currently grunting and remarking on the attributes of various Hogwarts girls. Again. Draco would have bet his entire fortune that Crabbe and Goyle had conducted this exact conversation, word-for-word, at least a hundred times.

It was like being friends with an elderly senile couple.

"Tits like melons," Crabbe slavered.

"Nice ass, too," Goyle added.

A particularly raunchy elderly senile couple.

"I'm off to bug Potter. You two coming?" he asked suddenly, getting up and bracing himself. Even if Potter's entourage cursed him into oblivion like they had before, Draco felt that would be an improvement over his current circumstances.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded, getting up and cracking their knuckles in anticipation.

Draco halted them shortly before Potter's compartment. The door was open and he could hear the conversation inside. Not only was this a useful method of gathering dirt, it also helped him time their entrance.

"When are you supposed to meet with McGonagall?" the Mudblood Granger was asking.

"First thing tomorrow morning. I never in all of my days thought that I would begging someone to let me take Potions," Scarhead mused.

Aha! My perfect moment has arrived!

"Flunked the Potions O.W.L., Potter?" he drawled, stepping into the doorway. "Well, no surprise there." On cue, Crabbe and Goyle laughed and flanked him.

Potter eyed him warily. "How many times to we have to hex you before you just learn to stay in your own compartment, Malfoy?"

"That only happens when I'm outnumbered. Afraid to go anywhere without an entourage, Potty? Afraid the big bad Dark Lord's going to jump out from behind a corner?"

"Funny to hear you talking about entourages, Malfoy," Potter said softly, standing up and crossing his arms. "Or are you afraid to face me on your own?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I have faced you on my own, you idiot. We dueled, there was a snake, you talked it into going after Finch-Fletchley and it's the only interesting thing you've ever done. There's a new Dueling Club this year, if you'd like a rematch."

Potter smiled. "Think you have a better chance against me with a wand than you do with a broom, do you?"

Draco's hands clenched. One fucking thing. One fucking thing he could never seem to beat Potter in, and it ate at him like a disease.

"Maybe you need some practice with that wand, Potter," Draco sneered. "You're going to need it soon."

"Yes, yes, the Death Eaters are coming for me," Potter said in a bored tone of voice. "Considering their success rate so far, I'm not too worried."

Draco leaned against the doorjamb casually. "Sometimes I wonder how many of your friends they'll manage to take out before they finally get to you, Pot..." That was as far as he got before Potter punched him in the face.

Grabbing Scarhead by his robes and throwing him to the ground, Draco felt exhilarated. It felt good to be hit, good to hit something back. It felt good to take the anger he'd been bottling up against Potter and his idiot friends, and Thera and even his own father and pound it into somebody's face.

Especially when that face belonged to Dumbledore's favorite pet.

Weasley tried to tackle him, but didn't manage to knock him off Potter. The redheaded prat was just coming back for another try when Crabbe picked him up by the back of the robes. Momentarily distracted by the amusing picture of Weasley with his feet dangling, Draco let Potter get in a decent punch to the jaw.

Draco fell backward, seeing stars. In the corner, he could see Seamus Finnegan hanging on one of Goyle's arms while the other pummeled Dean Thomas. He could hear Granger shrieking curses, people falling. Potter jumped on top of him, nose bloodied, and Draco grinned at him, not making any move to defend himself from the blows he knew were coming.

Come on, paragon of virtue, punch me. Let's see Saint Potter punch a guy who won't fight back.

The Weaslette jumped onto Crabbe's back. Grabbing hold of one of her arms, the boy managed to toss her off onto one of the seats only to be attacked by someone's cat. And all the time Potter was glaring at him, hatred radiating from him in waves.

If you hate me so much, punch me. Prove that you're human just like the rest of us.

As if a light had gone on in Potter's head, his entire demeanor suddenly changed. He lowered his fist and sat back. In that moment, Draco hated Harry Potter more than he ever had before.

And then Harry was yanked off of him - by Granger, no less - and there was scolding about being prefects and getting in trouble, but Draco wasn't paying any attention to it. He didn't even bother to see if Crabbe and Goyle followed him. He just picked himself off the floor and left.

*******

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Umm...Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Miss Castelar?"

"Do you think it would be at all possible for me to go first? You know, just to get it out of the way?" You know, to not have to stand there a head taller and four years older than the other kids and look like a big fucking moron?

McGonagall peered at her. "The sorting is done alphabetically by last name," she said firmly. Thera shut her eyes, trying to steel herself for the humiliation she knew was coming. "But you'll be one of the first called forward alphabetically in any case," the old woman added cheerfully.

"I can't wait," Thera murmured dully.

She had arrived at Hogwarts the day before to meet with her professors and Dumbledore, in order to strategize her academic future, or lack thereof. She was rock bottom in Potions and Herbology. McGonagall had been impressed by her ability in Transfiguration, but claimed she had no knowledge of the theory behind it. Having never realized that there was a theory behind it before, Thera hadn't argued. Charms had gone more or less the same way. In fact the only subject she was actually going to study with her own classmates was - fittingly enough - Defense Against the Dark Arts, though Professor Wellbourne was going to make her do extra reading and write weekly essays on Dark creatures.

Having never written an essay in her life, Thera wondered how such a thing was actually going to happen. Dumbledore had been amused by her decision to take Muggle Studies, but Thera figured she needed a break. And then she'd asked him about maybe getting the hat out and sorting her. He had informed her that sortings only took place in front of the entire school. And then he'd sent her down here with McGonagall.

Just then, a great deal of shuffling and general noise arose from below. A few moments later, a slew of munchkins made their way fearfully up the stairs. They were whispering among themselves, but thankfully most of them weren't much shorter than she was. All of them were looking at her and McGonagall with big, round eyes.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall stated clearly. "In a few moments, we will all proceed into the Great Hall and you will be sorted into your houses. There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin..."

Thera tuned her out as she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Should she keep standing up here next to the old bag with a whole host of first years goggling at her and trying to figure out if she was some sort of assistant, or should she edge out of the way and try to blend in with the other kids? Yeah, good luck with that whole blending in thing.

Abruptly, McGonagall finished her speech and walked away. She more or less left Thera standing up there with a bunch of eleven-year-olds watching her expectantly, obviously waiting for her to say her piece. Thera fixed her gaze well above their heads and stood there. For a really long time.

Just when Thera was tossing around the idea of putting on a tap dance routine or maybe telling a few salty jokes to fill the heavy, dead silence, McGonagall reappeared. "Follow me, please," she called out, and Thera was able to let a few kids past before taking a deep breath and trying to hide somewhere in the middle as they entered the Great Hall.

Whether people were staring and whispering about her, Thera didn't know, because she kept her eyes directed straight ahead of her as she walked down the ridiculously long room. When they - at long last - reached the platform at the front of the Great Hall, Thera shuffled off to the side, trying to ignore the sensation of a thousand eyes boring into the back of her head. She had to fight back the urge to crouch down so that she might be at the same height as everyone else.

Thera glared at Dumbledore, but he wasn't looking in her direction. He was telling everybody to stay out of the Forbidden Forest and that they shouldn't do magic outside of class, etcetera. Thera started to tune him out, but was interrupted by a loud explosion of groans and arguments from the student body.

Oops. Perhaps she should actually be paying attention.

Dumbledore was holding up a hand and looking pained. "I am merely telling you that Hogsmeade visits may be canceled, not that they necessarily will be canceled. I should also remind you that your safety is of the utmost importance to all of us, no matter how badly your supply of Honeydukes chocolate is suffering." He smiled at the students before turning the show over to McGonagall, who stepped forward with a businesslike air and sent "Ackerman, Leslie" off to Hufflepuff, allowing Thera to resume seething at Dumbledore.

"Fucking asshole," she muttered under her breath.

Oops. Apparently not under her breath enough, because the dark-haired boy beside her looked up with wide, frightened eyes.

"Not you," she growled at the kid, feeling petulant. He sidled away, still watching her warily.

Thera sighed. It was going to be a long year. As she brooded, she nearly missed McGonagall calling her name. Thera blinked up at the woman for a second before she realized that it was her turn. Then she made herself walk sedately up to sit on the stool. It was made for children, so when she sat down, Thera had the uncomfortable feeling that the entire room full of students could see up her robes.

McGonagall put the old, ratty hat on her head and Thera heard a voice.

"Dear me. A bit old to be sitting here, aren't you?"

Just put me in a house, will you? Thera pleaded.

"I see it all, here in your head," the hat continued, having apparently decided to ignore her. "Not a great deal of loyalty, is there?"

Sort me, goddammit!

"Not a big fan of hard work..." the hat plodded on. "A certain tiny bit of bravery, but it's entirely situational and largely based on things you saw in movies..."

Oh, just put me in Slytherin, already. I know you want to, so stop fucking around.

"...a natural gift for manipulation and the mouth of a sailor..."

Sorry, bub. There's no politeness filter inside my head. If it bothers you so much, how about you get it the fuck over with!

"...but I'm not sure Slytherin would be very good for you. You desire power because you hate feeling powerless, but you don't really have much ambition, do you?"

Hat, let's be honest here. Where else are you going to put me? I'd be the dumbest kid in Ravenclaw, the most cowardly of all of the Gryffindors, and the Hufflepuffs wouldn't even stand a chance. Send me to the green team and get your rocks off with somebody else, okay?

"I'm not in a hurry, you know. We can sit here all night."

Are you going for a new record? Is that it? The kids are hungry out there, you know. Have a little pity for them, at least.

"Fine. Have it your way. SLYTHERIN!!" The hat shouted out. Thera stood quickly, nearly throwing the hat on the floor. Everyone else who had been sorted received a round of applause from their new house, maybe even a pat or two on the back as they joined the house table. Not her.

Oh, there was a smattering of polite applause, but it died out quickly. For a long and exquisitely painful period of time, Thera's trudging footsteps were the only sound in the Great Hall. Finally, she found a spot at the table, and McGonagall called the next name on the list. Half of the people turned back to watching the sorting, but the other half watched her, showing various degrees of interest, distaste and outright dislike.

It was going to be a really, really long year.

*******

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The first years shuffled in to be sorted. Hermione finally broke off her lecture - well into its third hour now - on mature behavior and getting in fights with Draco Malfoy, and poked Harry in the side.

"What?" he asked, a bit irritably.

"Look, it's that girl from the paper, the one they rescued from the Death Eaters." Harry looked and indeed, in the middle of the line walked a petite dark-haired girl who was most certainly not a first year.

"Bit humiliating, isn't it, being sorted with a bunch of little kids?" Ron chimed in.

"All sortings take place in front of the entire school," Hermione said with the air of an expert. "It's tradition. I read it in..."

"Hogwarts, A History," Harry and Ron finished for her.

Hermione froze and paled.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked.

"I did it again. Dear Merlin, I'm the most boring person alive, aren't I?" she whispered, still pale.

"You're far more interesting than Professor Binns," Ron said comfortingly.

"Professor Binns isn't alive!" Hermione cried, burying her face in her hands.

Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled glances over her head. Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry, prompting him to say something. Harry shook his head furiously. Ron indicated Hermione with a tilt of his head and glared back.

"Hermione, you're not boring," Harry finally said, realizing that he was not going to win the silent argument with Ron. Dumbledore started talking, but the three friends ignored him.

"Yes, I am. I know I am. I can't help it; it's like a disease or something..."

"Chronic Know-it-all-ism?" Ron supplied, his mouth quirking.

Hermione moaned into her hands and Harry reached across her to flick Ron's ear. "I'm going to die alone under a stack of books, aren't I?"

"Stop it, Hermione," Harry said gently. "Where is all of this coming from, anyway?"

She raised her head and fixed him with a penetrating gaze. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Harry came quite close to falling off the bench. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and felt a blush creeping up his neck. "Uhhh..." He sent a pleading glance at Ron, but the other boy had suddenly become utterly engrossed by Dumbledore's welcome speech.

"Of course you are, Hermione," Harry said, praying that this was the right answer.

"Really? Because I don't think I'm horribly ugly, I just think it's impossible for anyone to actually see me behind all of the boring things that come out of my mouth."

Harry was saved from formulating a response by a loud groan from all of the students. "Huh? What happened?"

"Dumbledore said Hogsmeade weekends might be canceled because of the war," Ginny explained, eyeing him in an amused sort of way that told Harry she'd heard the entire conversation with Hermione.

"Oh," Harry said absently, not particularly caring.

Ginny cleared her throat and leaned across the table toward him. "Harry, do you want me to save you a load of trouble with her?" she muttered conspiratorially, moving her eyes to indicate Hermione.

"Sure," he said thankfully.

"Then get Ron to pay her some bloody attention."

"Ron?" He said it a bit too loudly, and as Ginny glared at him, he saw another red head turn toward him out of the corner of his eye.

"What, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry glanced across the table at Ginny once more, but she was watching McGonagall set up the sorting hat with a great deal of false interest.

"Nothing. Never mind."

There was mildly bored silence among them as they watched the first years get sorted, broken by the occasional round of applause for the new Gryffindors. Then Thera Castelar's name was called. She seemed surprised by McGonagall's voice, as if she'd been thinking about something else.

"Ten galleons says she goes to Slytherin," Ron said, turning to him.

"I'm not betting you," Harry replied, watching the dark haired girl sit down on the stool awkwardly, looking too tall for it. "I know you don't even have ten galleons on you because you spent it all on the food cart."

"But you have ten galleons, if I'm right," Ron shot back, grinning.

"Ron, if you want ten galleons, I'll give it to you, but I'm not going to bet you if you can't cover your end of it."

His friend seemed offended at that. "I'm not going to just take your money. I've got a bit more pride than that."

"Because what you're doing right now isn't degrading in the slightest."

"She's taking a long time up there," Hermione commented, indicating the wager subject.

"Fifty galleons the hat doesn't even make a decision!" Ron said gleefully.

Harry remembered having the same fear when he'd been sorted. He had to wonder what Thera Castelar was thinking right now. She certainly didn't look happy.

"The hat always makes a decision. I read it in..." Hermione corrected him, before clapping both hands over her mouth. Harry heard Ginny snickering on the other side of the table.

Ron was shaking his head. "You can't stop it, Hermione. It's too powerful. Your willpower is no match for your overwhelming need to correct people."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Ron to shut up, but was interrupted by the Sorting Hat finally yelling out, "SLYTHERIN!"

"You owe me ten galleons," Ron said proudly.

*******

The windows were open to the warm breeze, but Fox was still sweating like a pig, attacking and defending with her silver rapier against an invisible enemy. She knew she was letting the frustration get to her, but it was difficult. There was something here now, and something was coming.

If she had her full powers, she would know what it was. Dumbledore felt her trepidation, but he didn't have any more answers than she did, which meant that whatever was coming didn't involve him. She wasn't happy that he had made an agreement with the Castelar girl.

Even all the way across the Great Hall, Fox could feel Voldemort in her. Much more than in the Weasley girl, because Castelar belonged to him. She was his tool, a chess piece to move around the board when it suited him. The pale blonde boy and his two oafish friends were in on it, too, but she noticed during the feast that they kept their distance from the girl. The three boys still belonged to each other more than Voldemort, but the girl had already been taken.

No wonder they kept their distance.

None of them wanted what was coming.

And the Potter boy. He interfered with the voice the most. She had kept her distance from him because she didn't know what his reaction would be, but his presence in the school was like constant white noise, taunting her with the power just out of her grasp.

But she knew her place. She could be patient. Let the boy destroy the Dark Lord, help him do it. Only when she was in the same room with the boy had she truly understood the full scope of Dumbledore's plan.

The boy was a fighter; that much was obvious. But he was no warrior. He never could be. His heart ruled over his head, and mortals like that were unchangeable, immutable. His nature would always rule him more than any training she could provide.

But the training would focus him. It would allow him to keep Voldemort out of his head. More importantly, the training would show the boy the true nature of his power.

A power the Dark Lord knows not...

Beginning yet another attack on her invisible opponent, Fox smiled. The Dark Lord didn't know, but she certainly did.

*******

The Sorting Feast was an entirely different experience as a Professor. For one thing, all of the students had the opportunity to watch you eat, something Vivian could never understand. The whole idea of a high table was probably intended to induce respect, but didn't it erode the prestige of being a professor when your students got to witness you dribbling gravy all over yourself?

Plus there was the minor humiliation of being introduced to the students. Luckily Dumbledore didn't go on too long, but what should one do when he's finished introducing? Stand up? Give a beauty contestant wave? Vivian chose to smile and nod. It seemed like the least pretentious thing to do.

The whole dinner was a rather tense experience for her. Vivian hated introductions, especially being introduced to large groups of people who really just want the person doing the introducing to shut up and let the bloody feast begin already. She was longing for a glass of wine and the newest issue of Spell Creation Quarterly, but unfortunately, she'd promised to meet with Severus first.

Because there's no more enjoyable way to end the evening than a nightcap with Severus Snape.

Vivian had insisted on meeting in her office because she really couldn't stomach the idea of having an in-depth conversation on their respective lack of success at learning anything about Voldemort's spell while slimy dead things stared at her from jars. Severus was waiting when she arrived.

She made them both some tea and they sat down. Vivian believed wholeheartedly in comfortable offices, which was a pleasant way of saying that the place looked as if an explosion had just occurred.

Sniffing at the messy stacks of papers partially obscuring his view of her, Snape asked after her progress.

"Nothing," she sighed. "The only chance I've got is if one of my dad's colleagues comes through with this book I need..."

"Which book would that be?"

"The Sanguinitio. It's a compendium of..."

"I know what it is," he said shortly. "Who is this that you asked?"

"Yuri Dashkin. He's a slimeball, but he's non-affiliated."

"It's a rare book. Do you think he'll actually agree to send it to you?"

"I certainly hope so. The stupid thing is that I know my father owned a copy and I can't find it anywhere."

Snape eyed her suspiciously. "Really? That's odd."

"Not so much as you might think. He probably lost it or lent it to one of his students or something."

"Your father was a specialist in ancient rituals?"

"Ancient magical linguistics. He owned the book because a lot of the ancient languages had ceremonial counterparts. An everyday magical language and another higher one, perceived to be more powerful."

"Interesting," Snape said in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

"So I suppose you could say I'm in limbo," Vivian concluded. "How has your progress been?"

"There's nothing. I went through the Magical-Muggle Informational Archive to find an actual birth certificate for the Dark Lord, and I did manage to find one, but it hasn't done me much good. I've compared his birth date with those of each of the children and can find no connection. I've compared his birth date and Thera Castelar's birth date with her initiation date, but I can't make any sense of it until one of the other children is initiated."

"And if we think there was an initial ceremony when they were infants, that may pose yet another problem," Vivian said heavily. "The meaning could be in the child's birth date and his or her two initiation dates, or...well, you get the picture."

Snape nodded, frowning. "There are only two patterns that I've noticed. One is that each of the four children was born in a different season."

"Solstices and equinoxes?" Vivian asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not." Snape reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of parchment with spider-like writing on it. "Malfoy was born on January 4, Goyle on April 19, Crabbe on August 15 and Castelar on November 3."

"Damn. It's got to mean something, but those specific dates don't mean anything to me."

"Which brings us to the second pattern, for what it's worth," Snape said. "Do you have a blank piece of parchment in here...somewhere?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, of course." Her mind still working, Vivian reached into a drawer and gave him a sheet of parchment. As he scribbled, she went through different scenarios in her head. Holidays, major events, even Christian Saint Days. Nothing seemed to fit.

Snape finished writing and slid the parchment over to her. It read:

Malfoy - January 4 = 1/4 = 1 + 4 = 5

Goyle - April 19 = 4/19 = 4 + 1 + 9 = 14 = 1 + 4 = 5

Crabbe - August 15 = 8/15 = 8 + 1 + 5 = 14 = 1 + 4 = 5

Castelar - November 3 = 11/3 = 1 + 1 + 3 = 5

Looking at it, Vivian laughed. "Basic numerology."

"Yes, it seems simplistic, but it's the only thing linking all of these children, aside from being the children of Death Eaters."

"Five," Vivian said pensively. "Why five? I mean, it means different things in different magical cultures, so there could be some meaning, but why five and not a more powerful magical number, like three, or seven?"

"Or a perfect number, like six? I haven't the slightest idea. This doesn't mesh with any magical ceremony that I'm aware of."

"Nor I. And why have five be a central number and use four children?"

"Maybe the Dark Lord's the fifth part."

"Maybe," Vivian said slowly, but it didn't fit. The caster of the spell was rarely considered an element. He or she was just a catalyst. "I need to think about it some more, Severus, and I won't be able to give you any real answers until I get that book."

"Ah, yes, the book," he sneered.

Vivian raised her eyebrows. "Do you have a problem with the book?"

"Not at all. I was just reflecting on the fact that your father was in possession of a book that also happens to reside in Lucius Malfoy's library."