Two to Lead

Chapter 16: Revelations

"This is ridiculous," Harry said to the air next to him where Hermione stood in his invisibility cloak. "I've faced Voldemort himself. Several times, in fact. What makes you think I can't handle a bloody student?"

"A student who's a Death Eater," she reminded him. "Fake or otherwise. It's just in case, Harry. And anyway, you promised."

"I know I did. That doesn't make it any less ridiculous."

"Do you remember the questions we went over?"

"Yes," Harry said impatiently.

"This is a Slytherin, Harry. You can't just walk up to her and expect her to spill everything. Nuance. Remember nuance."

"Nuance, sure," Harry muttered. "Just stay by the door, okay? I don't want to have to find an excuse to come back and let you out." He raised his hand and knocked on the door, which was shortly thereafter opened by Thera Castelar. Even though it was eight o'clock at night, she was wearing a nightgown.

A silky nightgown. A see-through, clingy silky nightgown.

Harry gulped and could hear a stifled intake of breath from Hermione, who he suddenly didn't want to be here to witness this.

"Hello, Harry," the girl purred, opening the door and turning to walk back inside. "Do come in," she offered over her shoulder.

Hermione moved against him, whispering in his ear, "Abort the mission! Abort the mission!"

Harry didn't consciously move into the room, and he certainly didn't consciously try to shut the door on Hermione, causing a minor and - from the point of view of an outside observer - entirely comical struggle. Harry's conscious mind was working, it was just simply caught up in the fact that Thera Castelar wasn't wearing anything underneath her nightgown, not even knickers. Either fortunately or unfortunately, Hermione managed to squeeze into the room, the door slamming shut in her wake.

Castelar sat down at her desk. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Erm, no thanks. I'm...uh...I'm fine."

"So, Harry," the girl said conversationally, leaning her elbows back on the desk in a way that stretched the nightgown across her breasts. They weren't much, but they were still breasts. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Talk?" Harry asked stupidly.

She smiled. "You came here to talk, didn't you, Harry?"

Invisible Hermione snuck up and kicked him in the shin, bringing Harry back to reality.

"Yes, to talk," he said in a slightly more intelligent tone of voice.

The girl chuckled. "Well, now that we've established that much, what would you like to talk about?"

"Errr..." Harry said, trying to recall the questions he'd gone over with Hermione. And attitude. He immediately straightened up. This was about attitude. Not breasts. And definitely not the way the gown pooled in Thera Castelar's lap in tantalizing ways. Definitely not about that.

"Are you always this eloquent?"

"No," Harry said quickly, to himself, to Hermione, who was about to kick him in the shin again, and to Thera Castelar all at once. Then her question registered. "I mean yes." Wait, that wasn't right, either. "I mean, what's going on with the Death Eaters and are they planning something and what is it and does it involve me and do you know anything else I might want to know?"

It took him a second to realize that those were the questions Hermione had coached him not to ask, at least not directly.

I'm really fucking this up royally, aren't I?

Thera stood and walked up to him. "You're just full of questions, aren't you?"

She smelled wonderful and even up close everything about her was perfect. Almost too perfect, as if she were a tiny porcelain doll brought to life. The closer she got to him, the eerier he felt, as if she weren't entirely real, as if she were something unnatural.

"I just want to know what's going on," Harry said hopelessly. "I want to know what I'm up against."

"Poor Hero Potter," she said. "You're so serious." She trailed a finger down his cheek. The weirded-out part of his brain expected it to be cold and impersonal, but it was warm, entirely human.

"I know what you are," Harry said. He didn't know where the words came from, or what they meant, and he certainly didn't have any words in his vocabulary to describe exactly what he thought she was.

She merely raised her eyebrows. "I don't think you have the slightest idea what I am."

"You spy for Dumbledore." That was right. She was on their side. She'd been with Snape, talking to Dumbledore. She wasn't a Death Eater. He remembered that now.

"I give Dumbledore information. But I don't work for Dumbledore."

"Who do you work for, then? Voldemort?" he asked, moving his lips slightly closer to hers while conversely trying to keep his mind focused on the situation at hand.

She smiled in the manner of a psychopath, her lips stretching without the smile quite reaching her eyes. Her eyes were what threw off the illusion, what made her unnatural, he realized. The rest of her was all innocent girl and seductive woman, but her eyes were flat, hard, dark discs that were beginning to creep him out a bit. She leaned forward just a little, and their lips came into contact. They stood still for a moment, as if testing each other. Then Harry raised one tentative hand to her curtain of black hair.

As her tongue swept his mouth, her hand slid up his thigh and cupped his privates. Harry heard a faint 'bloody hell' come from somewhere on his right. But Hermione never swears, he thought. Then his eyes flew open and he broke off the kiss, horrified.

So, so wrong. So wrong in so many ways.

Unfortunately, even his shock was not enough to stem his growing hardness. Thera Castelar continued to stroke him, a distracted sort of smile on her face.

"Do you like that, Harry?"

With more effort than it took to fight off an Imperius curse, Harry grabbed her shoulders and held her away from him.

"Stop," he choked out, feeling very disgusting for doing something like this in front of Hermione, who was probably equally disgusted at being forced to watch it.

"Oh dear," Thera said in an odd voice. "You've never done this before, have you?" She backed up farther, shaking her head. "Merlin save me from virginal schoolboys."

"I'm not a virgin," Harry protested.

"Sure you aren't." She gave a heavy sigh. "I'm going to have to walk you through it, aren't I? And you'll be all fumbly, and I'll probably have to draw you a map or something..."

"I'm not a..." Harry began before realizing that they weren't supposed to be talking about his sexual history. He took a deep breath and started over. "Can we just talk? Can I turn my back and can you change into something less...boudoir-like...and then can we have a conversation like two normal people?"

"Don't you mean three?" she asked, waving her wand and thankfully transfiguring her nightgown back into a normal set of school robes.

"Three?" Harry said, stepping back at her transformation. The sex goddess was difficult to reconcile with the utterly undistinguishable Hogwarts student in front of him right now.

"Yes, don't you think your friend's getting a bit warm underneath that cloak? Especially considering she just got a bit of her own live-action sex show?"

Harry tried to cover. He really did. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said defiantly.

Thera Castelar smiled and crossed her arms, looking slightly more Slytherin. "When she kicked you in the shin, the cloak rode up and I saw her shoes, and then somebody said 'bloody hell' plain as day when I was about to unzip your trousers. I would have done it with my teeth, too, and it would have been terribly impressive, but that's beside the point. I can see and I can hear and I know you own an invisibility cloak, so let's give me credit for my powers of deduction, shall we?"

"Ummmm..." Harry said.

Apparently deciding that the jig was up, Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak over her head, looking sheepish.

"Granger, is it?" the Castelar girl asked, her mouth quirking. "I imagine you prefer that to 'Mudblood?'"

"Yes I do," Hermione said coolly, walking over to sit on the bed.

Thera Castelar looked at both of them for a second before sitting down at her desk again. "So why don't you tell me what you know, and then I'll tell you what I know?"

Harry started to answer, but was cut off by Hermione. "Do you really think we're going to fall for that?"

"Can't put anything past the two of you, can I?"

"We can do this fairly," Hermione said in a diplomatic tone of voice. "We ask a question, you ask a question."

"Okay, but I get to go first."

"Why?" Harry asked, his face still warm from the knowledge that Hermione had seen him get his crotch handled by a strange girl.

"Because I got denied my grand seduction, that's why. I came into this encounter thinking I'd be seeing how The-Boy-Who-Lived does things."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You mean, like a...groupie?"

She shrugged. "It's not so much because you're famous, as what you're famous for. I mean, if you managed to defeat the Dark Lord as a baby, what are you capable of now?" Her gaze swept down his body appraisingly.

"I'm...you're...stop looking at me like that!" he sputtered, feeling suddenly dirty.

"Oh, come on, Potter," she scoffed, sitting up. "Mysterious powers, tragedy and heroism all wrapped up in a pair of glasses, messy hair and an aw-shucks attitude? And on top of all of that, you're a Quidditch star. There isn't a witch on the planet who wouldn't give her right arm for a test-drive."

"What?!" Harry looked to Hermione for support, but she just looked pained.

"It's true, Harry. You should hear what the girls say about you in the hallway. They get pretty...descriptive."

"I'm not some piece of meat!" Harry yelled, feeling a surge of horror at the thought of women he didn't even know imagining what it was like to have sex with the cultural commodity known as Harry Potter.

"Of course you aren't," Hermione said comfortingly, patting him on the arm. "It's just that they don't necessarily know you, so they have a tendency to focus on your...well, let's just say they're not terribly interested in your personality."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he'd ever be able to walk around in a pair of jeans again without feeling as if every female eye in the vicinity was focused on his bum.

Thera Castelar rolled her eyes. "When you're finished martyring yourself on the cross of female sexual fantasies, why don't we get down to business?"

"So you've decided not to try and sleep with me anymore?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure.

"Potter, your girlfriend is present and she's not my type. No offense," she said quickly.

"Believe me, none taken," Hermione muttered.

"And anyway, I misjudged my quarry."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, ignoring the girlfriend comment.

"If I'd slept with you, you would have gotten all hung up on it or sent me flowers or felt the need to be sensitive, and it would have just been embarrassing for both of us."

Harry recoiled. "What makes you think that?"

"Because she just told you you're a sex god and instead of realizing you could have any girl in the school, you acted like a Victorian maiden telling off a grabby suitor, that's why," Hermione explained. The two girls shared an understanding look.

Harry held up a hand, still feeling exposed and self-conscious. Plus now they were ganging up on him. "Alright. Fine. Let it go. You don't want to sleep with me, you just want to talk?"

Thera Castelar closed her eyes briefly. "Yes, I just want to talk. Is that finally, at long last, established?"

Harry nodded uncertainly and saw Hermione cover a laugh with a coughing fit.

*******

Thera was glad that the discussion had finally started rolling, because she was beginning to feel like the victim of a robbery who has just told the guy ripping her off that all the really good jewelry was hidden behind the painting in the study.

She pondered her first question a moment before putting it on the table. Of all the holes that needed to be filled, she felt this was the largest.

"There's some prophecy about you and Voldemort..." she began, but Potter cut her off.

"We're not going to talk about the prophecy," he said, a bit of his Eastwood sneaking into his voice once more. Even Granger looked askance at him.

Thera started to argue, but stopped when she saw the change in Harry Potter. Regardless of Potter's prowess as a Seeker, for the most part he loped about like your average teenage boy. He slumped, he walked as if he hadn't quite grown into his feet yet, and he never seemed to know what to do with his hands when he talked to people. But in the blink of an eye, he developed a sharp edge, like a lion on a nature show that's just spotted a nice, fat antelope. He was completely still and yet seemed to hold the potential for deadly accurate movement. Had a Snitch unexpectedly flown past him just then, Thera had no doubt that he could have snatched it out of the air too fast for the human eye to see.

"Okay," Thera answered, as if backing away from a rabid dog. "Touchy subject. I understand. Why don't I ask a different question?"

Potter didn't relax exactly, but instead seemed to push whatever had just come over him to the back of his mind. He nodded.

"How much about what went on in the hallway did you already know about?" Thera asked.

"That's open-ended," Granger cut in. "You can't ask that."

"I'm sorry, was there a rule about open-ended questions? Because I don't remember one being made," Thera asked her smoothly. "And considering he refused to answer my last question, I think I deserve a little leeway."

Granger sent Potter a strange look, but didn't say anything.

"I knew Snape was a spy for Dumbledore," Potter said flatly. "I didn't know anything else."

Thera peered at him, her plan changing as the moments passed. Snape had told her to stay away from Potter, that his head was the Dark Lord's playground and she might be found out. She hadn't given it much thought at the time, because she couldn't imagine ever being anywhere near the kid. It was still a point to consider, but another point to consider was Potter's knowledge that Snape was - as Thera was beginning to suspect herself - wholly on Dumbledore's side. The Dark Lord certainly didn't know that.

She had been planning to get them to spill the beans and then Obliviate them, but she wondered if it might be more useful to leave their memories intact...

"We get a question now," Granger announced, her gaze on Potter.

"Go for it," Thera said, still caught up in her thoughts.

"You won't like the question," Potter said.

"If I don't like it, I won't answer it."

"Why did Voldemort go to all the trouble to bring you back here when it was far easier for him to kill you?"

"I don't know why. I only know the reasons they gave me, which are probably lies."

"Why do you think he brought you back?"

"That's another question. You have to answer one of mine first."

Granger stepped in. "He's not asking for information. He's asking for your opinion."

"Opinions are formed from impressions that are based upon the available information," Thera said academically.

"Fine, then. Ask a question," Harry said patiently.

"What were you doing snooping around Dumbledore's office in the middle of the night?"

Potter smiled a bit at that. "I couldn't sleep."

"That's it?"

Potter shook his head, his smile growing smug. "You have to answer my question first."

"Oh, alright." Thera took a moment to gather her thoughts. There wasn't a way in hell she was going to tell them about the bond, but there was a way to spin things that would bring them on her side. They seemed almost disturbingly willing to believe anything she told them. If Thera played this right, she'd have Harry Potter himself on her side.

It was a risk, but it could pay off big time if it worked for her.

Thera called up her best 'My life's been so terrible, but look how brave I am about it' persona. It was sob story time.

"My parents were both Death Eaters. My father was killed by Aurors when I was only a few months old. My mother never wanted to be a Death Eater, but..." she took a deep, dramatic breath, "...she was a pureblood and it was an arranged marriage, and she had to do what her husband did." She sent a meaningful glance to Granger, who looked cautiously sympathetic.

"He was awful to her," Thera said, shaking her head and faking the holding back of tears. "I hate to speak ill of my own father, but the stories I've heard..." she shuddered.

She was hitting her stride now, staring up at the ceiling sadly. "I don't know how they found us. I came home one day, and there was blood everywhere..." Thera swallowed, forcing back real images of real blood-soaked mattresses and real blank-eyed corpses.

"They butchered my mother," she said, bringing her eyes down to level with theirs, in control once more. "They said they'd do the same thing to me if I didn't go along. Luckily Professor Dumbledore was able to bring me to Hogwarts." Her voice took on a well-calculated new fierceness. "But I want to bring them down, all of them. Especially the Dark Lord. I don't care what it takes."

Thera finished on a tearful note and put her head in her hands, peeking through her fingers to see their reactions. They both looked properly shocked. Then Granger's eyes narrowed.

"Wait a second. You didn't answer the question," Granger pointed out. Thera was beginning to understand why Draco hated her.

"I don't know why they didn't kill me," she said, exasperated. "I told my fucking life story. Call it the Dark Lord's whim."

"No," Granger said. The word was directed at Potter. "He doesn't do anything without a reason."

"Believe me, Granger, he does plenty of things without a reason."

"Oh? Like what?" Granger asked, raising an eyebrow. Even the Mudblood could do it. Thera had always thought Draco got way too worked up about Potter and his minions, but now she saw where he was coming from. These two could make Mother Theresa think 'Thou Shalt Not Kill' should have come with a list of exceptions.

"Go wait in the hallway," she ordered Granger.

The girl started. "What?"

"I want to talk to Potter alone," Thera said.

"I'm not..." Granger began. She was cut off by Potter.

"Hermione," he said, glancing at her. "I'll be out in a second, okay?"

Granger's mouth opened and closed, and again she looked at Potter strangely. Then she nodded and left. Both of them stared at the door for a moment before Thera spoke.

"You tried to double-cross me, Potter," she said in a low voice. It was a cliché dime-store novel line, but then her life had more or less become a cliché dime-store novel.

He shrugged. "You were going to seduce me and then screw me over."

Thera figured they were even. "If the Dark Lord finds out about me, I'm dead."

Potter sent her a hard glare. "He can't get into my head anymore. Don't worry."

Thera held up her hands. "Don't get offended at me for asking. It's a valid question."

He looked away for a moment, and when he looked back, some of the predator had returned.

"Was all of that true, what you said? Do you really want to bring him down?"

"Of course I do. I'm no fan of servitude. Or killing people."

He nodded, relaxing a little bit, turning back into the bumbling teenage boy. "Did you really want to...erm...you know..." He stared down at his hands and didn't seem inclined to continue.

Thera couldn't drum up any patience for Harry Potter's maidenly shyness. "Sure I did." It was strange to realize it was true, no matter how crass her motivations were. Had she slept with Potter, at least she could have been certain it was of her own volition. 'Her own volition' was a rare commodity these days.

"But why? I mean...I thought you were...I saw Malfoy kissing you after the Quidditch match and all, so I thought...you know, that you two were....something." He adjusted his glasses and shuffled his feet a little bit.

"A girl needs to keep up her cover."

Potter blinked. "Oh. So all that with Crabbe...?"

Thera nodded and Potter sent her a pitying look, the same sort of look that she would probably give to somebody who found that one of their duties in life was to sexually appease Crabbe. Icky to think that person was her. Not knowing what sexual mores ruled Potter's life, Thera wasn't certain whether or not this painted her in a positive light.

"Anything for the cause," was the only intelligent response she could drum up.

"There's a lot that goes on that I don't know about, isn't there?"

"Yes. Of course, there's a lot that goes on that I don't know about, either."

He agreed and then there was a long silence.

"She's waiting for you," Thera finally said, indicating the door and Granger standing outside of it. Harry walked over to it, then paused.

"I'll...uh, see you around then."

"My door's always open, Harry," she said coyly.

He opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head as if to clear it, then suddenly stepped forward and grabbed her in all of her Hogwarts student uniform frumpiness, kissing her rather urgently. One of his hands held her against him as the other tangled in her hair and he knocked his own glasses askew. He kissed with a surprising amount of acuity for a virginal Gryffindor.

Drawing back, he sent her a steaming hot look that was entirely the opposite of his stuttering, 'oh no, Mrs. Robinson' behavior up until this point and left.

Thera had a feeling she was going to regret not Obliviating them.

*******

This is not a date, Vivian reminded herself for the hundredth time as she gave her brand new set of dress robes another smoothing and fluffed her hair before walking into the restaurant. You needed a new set of robes anyway. Buying a new set of robes doesn't make this a date.

Balder had already arrived and was sitting at a table in the corner of Club 100. It had been founded by a group of one-hundred ultra-superior purebloods who - like any rich section of society - felt the need to show off for each other. After the first war, it had opened the dining room up to non-members and non-purebloods, but membership was only granted to the ancestors of the original founders, the rich being ingenious at sneaking around laws that made them rub elbows with the lower classes.

It was not the sort of place Vivian would have chosen to meet an old friend for dinner.

Her Hogwarts acquaintance looked disturbingly more attractive in person than he had in the Witch Weekly article. Somewhere in his features was the dork she'd known at school, and Vivian clung to it like a lifeline as he rose and kissed her on the cheek.

"You look wonderful," he complimented, waving off the simpering waiter so that he could pull out her chair himself. The waiter contented himself with pouring them both a healthy portion of wine.

"Hardly as wonderful as you do," she answered.

He grinned and shook his head. "I just grew out of my awkward stage, you've actually improved."

Not knowing how to take the compliment, Vivian changed the subject. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Ages."

"Do you still talk to anybody from school?"

"Just the people I work with. You?"

"Well, Severus Snape, of course..."

"Old Snape. How's he holding up these days? Showering regularly?"

"Merlin, no. I don't think he's washed his hair since graduation."

They shared a secretive smile before both looking away. The pause in the conversation allowed them to peruse the menu and choose their dinners, which appeared in front of them a few moments later.

Vivian cleared her throat as she picked up her fork. "So how's your mother?"

"Oh, flighty as ever. Her boyfriends are getting dangerously close to my own age. I don't suppose you remember Barry Lovegood?"

Vivian sat back. "You mean Scary Barry? The one who used to try to convince us all that there were earth dwarves conducting an entire society underneath the kitchen and that a basilisk snaking around the pipes that could leap out and bite you in the arse while you were in the loo?" Then the sat back up. "Funny, he was right about that last one, wasn't he?"

"Which brings his total score up to one," Balder pointed out. "Anyway, my mother's been palling around with him for a few months."

"Actually, aside from the age difference, I can see them doing very well together."

Balder made a disgusted face as he cut into his steak. "I can't stomach the thought of having a stepfather three years older than me and a stepsister who's young enough to be my daughter."

"Luna? Have you met her yet?" Balder shook his head and Vivian grinned into her wine glass, wishing she could be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

They passed the rest of the meal genuinely catching up: who was married to whom nowadays, who had peaked at Hogwarts and then never done anything with their lives, who had been an absolute freak and was now a millionaire.

They also had quite a few glasses of wine.

"So was I a freak in school?" Balder asked, picking up the dessert menu, frowning, then putting it back down.

"No," Vivian said thoughtfully, her head now resting on her hand and feeling rather heavy. "You were just quiet."

Balder picked up the dessert menu again and studied it with more attention than it deserved. "I had a crush on you, you know."

"Me? Really?" It seemed curious to her. Vivian would be the first to admit that she'd been a first class nerd in school. She'd worn whatever clothes weren't too wrinkled on the floor, she'd shoved all of her hair up into ponytails because she was too lazy to bother with styling it in any way, she'd never done a single spell to enhance her looks and having been raised by scholars and bred to be one herself, was entirely incapable of making small talk.

Who on earth went for the badly-dressed girl who couldn't get her nose out of her books and was only interested in talking to you if you wanted to have an in-depth discussion about Arithmancy?

"You just loved my brain," Vivian said, feeling herself blush. Or maybe it was the wine.

His mouth quirked. "I was a teenage boy. We're not that deep, believe me."

She peered at him. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"You had a boyfriend."

"Oh." Remus, of course. Remus, who she'd kissed right before running out of the room. Remus, who she hadn't spoken to since. Vivian didn't want to think about Remus right now. She stifled a yawn, remembering that she still had hours of translation ahead of her. Or attempted translation. Maybe High Argorathic actually made more sense when you were drunk.

"I should see you home," he muttered, noticing the yawn.

"Sorry, I just have a lot of work to do..."

"It's okay," he said, holding up a hand. "I just enjoyed seeing you." He walked her over to the floo hub, then seemed to become almost shy. "Do you want me to floo with you?" he asked tentatively.

Briefly, Vivian imagined dragging Balder into the fireplace with her by his perfect blonde hair and then wrapping her hands around his rippling biceps as he made wild passionate love to her. Then she remembered that her rooms were a mess and there were books and dirty clothes - underwear, too - thrown all over the place and the house elves wouldn't be by to clean it up for hours.

"No, that's probably not a good idea," she said, trying not to make it sound like she wasn't interested, because she was. Sort of.

He nodded, stepping back.

"I did have a good time, Balder. And it would be nice to go out again."

Just like it had when he was a teenager, his smile lit up his whole face. Vivian wondered if she knew what she was doing. Who am I kidding? Of course I don't.

"I'd like that," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Vivian flooed back to Hogwarts, where she promptly removed her new dress robes and changed into pajamas, only then noticing the piece of parchment on her bed. Picking it up, she saw that it was from Dumbledore.

Dearest Vivian,

I hope you enjoyed catching up with young Mr. Astragand. It's always nice to keep in touch with old acquaintances. You are - for the moment - relieved from translation duty. If you recall, the first child read the language in question at one point in time. Perhaps she can save us a great deal of valuable time.

I will contact you tomorrow to pursue this matter further.

Albus Dumbledore

Relieved as she was that they might be able to use Thera Castelar to translate the spell, Vivian also felt like a complete idiot. Because now she hadn't just turned down a night of dirty sex with a stunningly handsome man because she had something important to do; she'd turned it down a night of dirty sex with a stunningly handsome man so that she could lie in bed alone and think about how she'd much rather be having dirty sex with a stunningly handsome man.

Not to mention the fact that she shouldn't even be wasting time with recreational activities, because she still needed to find her ex-husband and kill him. Relieved to have a problem to mull over in place of self-castigation, Vivian got into bed, thinking about where Voldemort would be keep an army of dark creatures.

And when he might be planning to use them.

*******

Ginny was very glad that she'd drawn a two-on-two battle for the first Dueling Match of the year. She was less glad that she'd be teamed with Terry Boot against Pansy Parkinson and a fifth-year Slytherin Ginny vaguely knew named Lorelei Lendenheimer, who was very smart in Charms. This ought to be interesting.

Harry had drawn a one-on-one with Hannah Abbott, Ron had had the misfortune of drawing a two-on-one with Dean Thomas against Blaise Zabini, who was reputed to be the Slytherin-Hufflepuff team's best dueler. Hermione had drawn a one-on-one with Millicent Bulstrode and seemed very happy with it.

"I have a score to settle with Bulstrode," Hermione said, an uncharacteristically sinister smile on her face.

Harry's bout with Hannah lasted about ten seconds, even with Snape yelling directions to the girl from the sidelines. Bleachers that had been set up in the Great Hall, which were filled with Hogwarts students and protected by a powerful shielding charm courtesy of Professor Dumbledore to keep the spectators safe from stray curses. Ginny wondered if Hannah's apathy had something to do with Parvati Patil giving Ernie MacMillan a good-luck snogging session in full view of the crowd before the start of the match.

Ginny cheered on her team as Lavender Brown and Michael Corner handily took down Crabbe and Theodore Nott. Then Ron and Dean stepped forward.

Professor Flitwick, who was acting as referee, called the match to start.

Ron and Dean - having apparently worked out a strategy before the match - immediately dropped to the ground, allowing them to dodge Zabini's two Tarantallegras. Rolling away from each other, Dean sent a Petrificus Totalis that went wild, and Ron sent a Leg-Locker curse that Zabini had to dive in order to avoid.

Ron jumped to his feet and sent an Expelliarmus at Zabini, but the boy was too quick for it, and managed to not only dash out of the way, but to hit Dean with a Confundus that made him start throwing curses at Ron instead of the Slytherin.

Ron managed to relieve Dean with a Finite Incantato, but his concentration had strayed from Zabini, who got him with a binding hex. Dean seemed torn between helping Ron out and protecting himself from Zabini. He threw up a weak shield, but it didn't hold up against Zabini's Expelliarmus, and Zabini was declared the winner.

Because her match was fast approaching, Ginny made her way through the crowd to commiserate with Terry. He was standing with Octavia Yellowfinger, who was holding his arm as if afraid he would flee at any moment.

"Terry, we need a plan," Ginny said as she approached.

"You take the other girl, I'll take Parkinson," he said. "What else do we need to strategize about?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, will you be serious?" Ginny huffed. "Professor Wellbourne's gone over this a million times in practice with two-on-two battles. Hit your primary, look to your secondary. Back each other up. Send an attack at your primary before helping your partner. Do you remember any of this?"

"Of course I do," he said boredly. "Hey, look, it's Malfoy and Goyle against Cho."

Ginny spun around in time to see Cho send a curse at Goyle, who was too slow to dodge it. Because she attacked Goyle first, Malfoy had been given time to conjure up a shielding spell, which meant Cho didn't have a chance in hell of taking him down.

Stupid, Ginny thought. Anybody in their right mind would have attacked Malfoy first.

Malfoy sent curse after curse from behind his shield. Cho did her best - Ginny had to give her that - but if the other person managed to get a shield up and you couldn't, it was only a matter of time.

Finally Malfoy caught her with a disorientation spell that allowed him to walk out with a sickening amount of grace and pluck the wand out of her hand, signaling the end of the match. Smirking, he bowed.

Merlin, he has a tight, beautiful ass, Ginny sighed. Then she heard her name called and snapped to attention. She walked out into the arena with Terry close behind. Parkinson and Lendenheimer arrived on the other side.

"Bow to each other," Flitwick chirped. They did. "And...Match On!"

Ginny immediately took the offensive. Lendenheimer seemed to have the same philosophy, because half of their curses met in the air and bounced off of each other. Ginny could see that Terry's battle was roughly following her own.

Diving to the ground, Ginny sent a quick Bat Bogey hex at Lendenheimer, because it was difficult to dodge and would buy her some time, then rolled and sent the same hex at Parkinson. Lendenheimer managed to avoid the hex entirely, but it caught Parkinson by surprise, distracting her enough for Terry to disarm her.

Lendenheimer came back with a Petrificus Totalis that Ginny only barely managed to scoot away from, but the loss of Parkinson allowed Terry time to erect a shield, behind which he could attack Lendenheimer in tandem with Ginny.

Ginny let out a sigh of relief and hauled herself off the ground, shooting everything she had at Lendenheimer as Terry did the same. In the end, it was a combination of hexes that brought the girl down, winning them the match.

Purely in the heightened emotion of winning, Ginny assured herself, Terry pulled her against him in a hug.

"Yeah!" he shouted.

"Yay!" Ginny joined in weakly, really wishing he hadn't done that.

They made their way out of the arena, only to be met by the last person Ginny wanted to see right now. Seamus. The look on his face told her he'd seen the hug.

Ginny knew that Seamus was a decent guy at heart. In their private moments, he was funny and sweet and everything a girl could want in a boy.

However, following the incident with Terry Boot in Hogsmeade, Seamus had shoved Colin Creevey for asking her for help on their Potions homework. Then he'd given Harry a 'talking-to' for sitting too close to her at lunch, and used the fact that Theodore Nott said the word "motherfucker" in the vicinity of her as an excuse to break the kid's nose.

Ginny had a feeling that things between them weren't going to last.

"So," Seamus said to Terry, grinning and blocking their way into the bleachers, "you thought you'd leave Ginny to clean things up, did you? No balls to cover her? And then you think you can hug her?"

"Step aside, Finnegan," Terry growled.

"Let it go, will you, Seamus?" Ginny asked as tolerantly as she could manage.

"Oh, don't worry," Seamus said pleasantly. "I'll happily move aside for the Ravenclaw wuss who touches other people's girlfriends."

"Seamus!" Ginny scolded him harshly. "Knock it off!"

"Knock what off?" he asked innocently.

"It's easy to see why you're not on the team, Finnegan," Terry said, drawing himself up.

Oh, dear, Ginny thought, here we go again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seamus asked, crossing his arms.

"I knew Lendenheimer was slower, and that Parkinson had a tendency to leave her flank open," Terry said, studying his nails. "I trusted Ginny to be able to hold of Lendenheimer and surprise-attack Parkinson. You see, actually being in the Dueling Club and all, I know what Ginny can do. I knew she could handle it, and I knew it would win us the battle."

Ginny blinked at him. Had he just complimented her?

"Now, obviously, from an ignorant observer," Terry continued brightly, "I'm sure it looks as though I left Ginny to handle the battle on her own, but I assure you that isn't the case."

Seamus threw a punch at Terry, which he dodged. Ginny vaguely heard Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode's battle being called as she sat down on the front bleacher, sighing as Seamus and Terry began scrabbling on the ground.

They were fighting about her. She should get involved, break it up. And yet she knew they were only really fighting about her on the surface of things. Seamus had proven that he had some sort of score to settle with just about every boy at Hogwarts. Terry, she imagined, was pumped from winning the match and wanted to settle the score.

These reasons made Ginny decide not to intervene. Screw Seamus for being funny and adorable one minute and then beating up some guy because he looked at her the next. Screw Terry for calling her a psycho and then hugging her and giving her compliments.

"Are they fighting over you?" a voice asked from her right.

And above all, screw Draco Malfoy.

"To some degree, yes," she answered.

"Shouldn't you be flattered?"

"Flattered that two idiots are using me as an excuse to roll around on the ground with each other?"

"Hmm. You do have a point there. So which one of them is your boyfriend and which is your ex-boyfriend? I can't keep them straight anymore."

Ginny waved a hand. "I'm not even sure anymore. Good match, by the way."

He smirked in response. "Enjoyed seeing Chang bite it, did you?"

Ginny hummed noncommittally, watching Millicent Bulstrode try to wave the tentacles she now sported out of the way so she could get Hermione. Instead of putting her opponent away, Hermione sent several other nasty curses at her before mercifully stunning the girl.

Proving once and for all that even Hermione had a dark side.

*******

Draco and Red had to lift their feet up as Boot and Finnegan's fight rolled against the bleachers. Granger and Bulstrode was the last match, and everybody stood. Professor Sprout finally noticed that there was a fight going on and bustled over to break it up.

And the entire time, Draco was trying to understand Red's motivations in all of this. Why had she approached him at the end of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match? Why was she parading about with losers like Terry 'personality of your average' Boot and 'Shame-on-all-of-us' Finnegan? What on earth did she see in those idiots?

Then it occurred to Draco that he had come over here to talk to her, and it might be time to analyze his own motivations. He had meant to smirk and run, so why was he still sitting here?

His discussion with Thera had opened something in him, a curiosity he'd never had before. Sure, his life sucked. Red's had to suck much more, considering she was a Weasley and in Gryffindor and was probably going to spend the rest of her life trying to live down the Chamber of Secrets thing, not to mention the well-known crush she'd had on Potter. It made him feel slightly better. It made him want to know how she managed to get up every morning with all of that on her shoulders. If she could do it, he could.

As Professor Sprout enlisted the aid of Hagrid the oaf to pull the two boys apart and drag them away, Red sighed and stood. Draco stood, too.

"I'm going to go congratulate Hermione," she said, looking up at him, and there it was again. The weak mid-afternoon sunlight in the Great Hall filtered through her hair and lit up her face in just the right way and she was beautiful.

"Wait," he said, taking hold of her arm as she went to move past him. "Take a walk with me."

She looked down at his hand and then back up at him, confused. "Why?"

"Because I asked you to," Draco said patiently.

"Take a walk where?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "I don't care. Wherever you want."

Red looked around. "Good thing Seamus isn't here, or he'd be pounding you into the floor right now."

"Do you want to go or don't you?" Draco asked slowly.

Red studied him for a moment. "Okay," she said at last. "Let's go down by the greenhouses. I don't think either of us wants anybody to see this."

Draco nodded and they made their way outside in silence, circling the farthest greenhouse. He was trying to put together what he wanted to ask her when she suddenly looked at him.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Draco was taken by surprise and threw out the first thing that came to him. "Why are you talking to me again? I thought you were disappointed in me."

"I was," she said. "But then I guess I gained some perspective on the issue."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I guess it means that people are rarely what you expect them to be," she said pensively.

Had he not been looking for some wisdom from anybody he could come across, Draco would have shrugged it off. As it was, he thought about it. Red wasn't exactly as he had expected her to be, but that pretty much covered it. Everybody else he could think of had generally stayed within the boundaries of his expectations.

Her brother was an idiot, his father was a bastard, his friends were mindless goons, his mother was a self-centered trophy wife, Thera was a sociopath, Potter was an egomaniac with a hero complex, and so on and so forth.

In any case, Red wasn't exactly giving him any answers.

Draco sighed and decided not to let this drag on all night. "How do you get through it?"

"Get through what?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.

"Being poor and being a Weasley and being the girl who set a big snake on the Mudbloods on top of being the girl who made an ass out of herself for years over Potter," Draco explained. He was still walking, but Red had stopped. Turning around, he saw that she had an odd smile on her face.

"Merlin, you don't even realize when you're being offensive, do you?"

"Offensive?" Draco asked, puzzled. Everything he'd said was true. How was that offensive?

"You know, in some circles, the word 'Weasley' isn't an insult."

"Really?" Not in any circles he ran in. They must be Gryffindor circles.

Red took a step back. "You're honestly not getting this, are you?"

"Getting what?" Draco was utterly lost.

She took a deep breath. "Put it this way. In some circles, namely the ones I inhabit, the word 'Malfoy' is an insult."

He stepped back. "An insult? Why?"

"Because you're a rich, bigoted pack of Death Eaters who'd sell your own mother to get ahead."

"Well, yes," Draco admitted. "So?"

"So that's a bad thing."

"Oh, I see," Draco said sarcastically. "So the fact that the Malfoy family is responsible for Hogwarts having a library is a bad thing. And the fact that we created the Arithmancy department here is a bad thing. That must mean that financing half of St. Bloody Mungo's is a bad thing."

Red frowned. "I didn't know that."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Draco asked harshly, as it dawned on him that she was just as stupid as he had been, listening to everyone around him and believing what they said without even bothering to wonder whether or not it was true.

"And by the way, those Muggles you're so fond of?" he continued. "The ones you think need to be protected against the likes of us? Do you even know anything about them?"

Red laughed. "More than you do."

"Oh, so you know about their nuclear capabilities?" Draco asked loftily, from the newfound knowledge he'd gained by researching Thera's arguments in the library while trying to prove her wrong. And then finding out he couldn't. Except for the chocolate éclair part. "Not to mention their chemical and biological weapons, their satellite imaging, their infrared sensors, their suitcase bombs and their mass communication technologies that make owl post look like a bloody joke?"

"Uh," Red said, proving once and for all that Muggle Studies at Hogwarts was useless.

"Muggles could destroy us a hundred times over. Muggles don't need to be protected. We, on the other hand, need to be protected from them. Suffice it to say that there aren't only ideological reasons for becoming a Death Eater. There are quite a few logical ones as well."

Red shook her head. "No. We don't use the sorts of tactics the Death Eaters do. We don't kill innocent people. We aren't trying to do away with legitimate witches and wizards who happen to be Muggle-born. We don't use fear to keep people in line."

"Don't get me wrong," Draco said, holding up his hands. "The Dark Lord's after world domination. Everybody knows that. He's willing to do anything it takes to achieve it, and his followers are largely a bunch of situational sadists with rap sheets as long as my arm. But those of us from respectable families are really just covering our asses here."

Sure, it wasn't entirely true, but it was too strong an argument to pass up.

"You mean fighting for the side you like and then flipping over and kissing the ass of the side who wins?"

"Nobody knows who's going to win," Draco said, thinking about his bond and the other children. Whatever was going on with that had to be well worth it for the Dark Lord.

"Some of us do," Red said smugly.

"Really?" Draco scoffed, coming a few steps closer. Twilight was upon them now, the mental stimulation and physical atmosphere combining to make him want to see what she would do to him - in a sexual way, of course - if he kissed her right now.

"Of course."

Draco came even closer, remembering his father's advice to keep an eye on her. Where did the littlest Weasley fit into all of this, and why were the Death Eaters even remotely interested in her? They'd had their fun with her years ago.

"Well," Draco said, "at least one of us is sure of something." He pulled her against him and kissed her, breathing in the same scent he remembered from the Trophy Room, slightly saltier from her efforts at the Dueling Match.

Red was surprised, but quickly got into the swing of things, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. Without either of them opening their eyes, they were suddenly against the greenhouse. Draco felt a cold breeze against his chest. Red had ripped open his robes. Meow.

Returning the favor, he drew his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, digging her nails into his chest. Draco had to break off the kiss in order to get some air.

Red used the opportunity to nibble his earlobe, making Draco cringe slightly. His ears were ticklish.

Pulling it away from her, he sucked hard on her neck, sliding his hands underneath her shirt, running his fingers over soft skin, finally meeting even softer breasts. Red's hands wove through his hair, messing it up entirely. As they were halfway to sex, he forgave her.

Her bra was thin, and he edged the garment over her breasts, placing his palms over them and sighing. There really was nothing like bare breasts in one's hands.

In response, Red grabbed him by the ears and smashed her mouth against his. Draco smashed back, squeezing her wonderful soft breasts. Ah, breasts. Perky bouncy fantastic breasts.

Red softened slightly, pulling her mouth away with a sigh and trailing the tips of her fingers across the back of his neck in a way that made him shiver.

"That feels good," she whispered.

"That's the point," Draco said shortly, leaning forward to bury his face in her hair as he circled her nipples with his thumbs. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm went off. He shouldn't be doing this. Not with her. He had a whole big list of reasons, but he couldn't seem to remember what they were.

Draco licked just underneath her ear and decided that they must not be very good reasons.

Red ran her hands up his arms, laying them lightly over his highly active thumbs, then abruptly seized them as she stiffened.

"What is it?" Draco whispered, pressing his lips to her ear.

Red shuddered, but drew his hands out from underneath her blouse nonetheless. "We would be out here until morning if I listed all of the reasons this is a bad idea."

"You have that many brothers?" Draco asked, licking the spot at the base of her throat.

"No, I just..." Abruptly, she grabbed his left arm and pushed up the sleeve of his robes. She stared at the unmarked skin for a moment before letting his arm fall. "Just checking."

Draco had to admit he was amused. "Do you really think I'd go walking around Hogwarts with a big freaking mark on my arm so that I could advertise the fact that I'm a Death Eater?"

"So you are a Death Eater?"

He sighed. "You're so caught up with labels."

"Malfoy," Red growled.

"Drop it," he advised her.

Her eyes widened. "Drop it? Just like that? I don't deserve to know if the guy who's just crawled up my shirt is a Death Eater or not?"

Draco backed away a step, suddenly livid. Did she even have to ask? Did she really think that he had a fucking choice in the matter? Did she honestly believe that he could just tell his father and the self-proclaimed bloody Dark Lord 'thanks, but no thanks'?

"Don't look at me like that," she said, crossing her arms.

"Look at you how?" he asked silkily. "Look at you like you're an idiot? Because that's what you are."

Her eyes flashed, but aside from that, she didn't react. Red was a predictable girl. "I've changed my mind back," she said icily. "You are a disappointment."

Draco laughed shortly. "Why? Because - like yourself, I might point out - I'm just doing what's expected of me? At least I'm not a hypocrite about it."

"I see. So I'm a hypocrite, am I?"

"You all are!" Draco said, with more force than he'd intended. He took a breath, immersing himself in Lucius-brand coldness. "You think I'm a disappointment for doing what I'm told, but have you ever stopped to think that there's the slightest possibility that just maybe Dumbledore - who you probably have a shrine to in whatever shack your family lives in - isn't fucking infallible? That maybe his can't-we-all-just-get-along-and-share-a-group-hug crap might actually be crap?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Red snapped.

"I'm so sorry," Draco sneered. "My apologies to the sheltered, overprotected little princess who'll never ever have to make a decision on her own because her doltish brothers will always be there to protect her from diaries with questionable intentions. Forgive me for not giving her opinion the weight it deserves."

"No," she retorted, "instead let's all listen to the pampered little rich boy who thinks the sun shines out of Lucius Malfoy's arse, who'll never have to make a decision on his own because daddy will always be there to do it for him, because Merlin forbid he not do what daddy wants him to do..."

As her rant continued, Draco felt his rage leaking out of its container, roiling out of control. He wanted very much to punch her, to punch something, but he knew it would be in bad form. So instead he turned on his heel and walked away.

"Malfoy!" she yelled, chasing after him. In his mind, he willed her away. Far the fuck away. Didn't she know when to leave somebody alone?

He felt her hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off, picking up his pace. And then, suddenly, he hit the ground face first. It took him a second to realize that she'd tackled him. Both of them lay there for a moment in a heap of limbs, each breathing hard.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, rolling off of him.

Draco still didn't move. The fall seemed to have jolted him out of his rage. "You're a piece of work, Red."

"I'm not sorry for tackling you," she clarified. "I'm sorry for what I said."

It was quickly getting darker, Draco noticed as he rolled over onto his back and put his hands behind his head. They'd have to go inside soon. Vaguely he observed that it was probably the first apology he'd received that didn't come from a cringing first-year trying to avoid the dreaded Malfoy Underwear Shrinking Hex.

Guaranteed to make your voice an octave higher, Draco added in his head, smiling a little at the memories.

"Um...aren't you sorry for what you said, too?" Red asked.

"No." She was the one who'd started pulling up people's sleeves. What did she think was going to happen?

She glanced at him. "So you really think all that?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't."

She thought about that for a minute. "Why did you get so angry about what I said?"

"Because you're in no position to talk about my father," Draco answered. It wasn't entirely truthful, but then he had no reason to be honest with her.

"Well, he did almost kill me once," Red argued, lying down on her side in the grass next to him, pillowing her hands underneath her head. "Doesn't that give me some position for judgment?"

Draco made a non-committal sound, rapidly growing bored with the discussion.

"Would you do anything he told you to do?"

Draco turned his head to her, annoyed. "Would you do anything Dumbledore told you to do?"

She shivered a little bit. It was getting a lot colder as the sun sank behind the mountains. "Yes, I guess I would."

"Well, then there's your answer," Draco muttered, turning back to look up at the sky. He heard Red move, but was surprised when her head appeared above him. She looked at him for a second. It was too dark to read her expression as she leaned down and kissed him. It wasn't a typical Red kiss, either. There was no clawing and ripping of clothes. There weren't even any tongues involved.

It was something else, something he wouldn't know how to describe. He knew instantly that it wasn't a kiss that revolved around lust, and he wasn't entirely comfortable with it. Kissing for kissing's sake was hardly his thing.

Not that it wasn't enjoyable. It was just enjoyable in a way he wasn't familiar with.

They lay there for quite a long time, like two blind people making their way in the world with their hands. As their lips slid over each other, they explored each other's faces and hair.

Bar none, it was the weirdest experience of Draco's romantic life.

Red finally drew back, resting her forehead against his for a moment before rolling over to stand up. Draco didn't know what had just happened, but he realized it was over. They made their way back up to the school in silence, parting ways without even looking at each other. Draco's feet automatically took him to Thera's doorway, but he stopped and went up to his own room. He had a feeling that he was in an odd state right now, and he wanted to be safely ensconced behind his own bedcurtains.

*******

Even by her standards for Harry, he wasn't fighting very well. He hadn't managed to block her once. Pulling her sword back from his throat for the dozenth time, Fox leaned on it as Potter tried to look apologetic. Anger bubbled underneath the surface of him, coupled with frustration.

"Again," she said, taking a ready position. Potter brought his sword up to meet hers and then managed to stave her off for all of a second.

"Potter," she sighed.

"I'm sorry. My head isn't in it today."

"Battles don't happen when it's convenient for you. If your head isn't in it, someone will be more than happy to take it off," she said, drawing back to give him a breather.

"Death Eaters don't fight with swords anyway," he muttered, swinging his weapon halfheartedly.

"It's not about the sword fighting, Priscilla, you know that," Fox said, swinging abruptly to knock his weapon out of his hand. "It's the fact that my mouth isn't moving and yet you can't summon up the desire to keep my annoying, insulting voice out of your head."

"Do you think I'm not trying to?! Do you think I enjoy being insulted?!" He was getting worked up now, waving the sword around in a manner.

Fox pulled back, waiting for him to finish. It didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon.

"We've been sword-fighting for months now! Is this Dumbledore's grand scheme to help me defeat Voldemort?! And don't start talking about how the sword-fighting's just to distract me while you try to get into my head," he warned. "Because I already know."

"Actually, that's been helping," he admitted, fair to the core. "But what now? I mean, I'm all for keeping him out of my head, but what about the larger problem of killing him?! Where is that on our list of priorities?! Shouldn't that be the bloody point, considering it's going to decide the bloody fate of the bloody world?!"

He turned and threw his sword to the ground, stomping away. Fox waved her hand and the door locked. Potter pulled on the door, kicked it, punched it, and yelled words he could only have learned from Muggle gangsta-rap, making Fox wonder about the wisdom of this whole globalization thing.

Finally he went still. "Let me out," he said in a low voice.

"Come here, Potter."

"Why?"

"Because you can either walk over here on your own two feet or I can drag you." He clenched his fists for a moment, then turned around and walked back over to her. "Are you finished with your temper tantrum now?" she asked.

"Yes," he muttered. He walked over to pick up his sword.

"Leave it," Fox said, conjuring up a couple of comfortable chairs, a coffee table and some pumpkin juice.

"Shit," Potter cried in surprise. One of the chairs had appeared right behind him and he fell back into it.

"And stop fucking swearing, would you?" Fox asked mildly, sitting down in the other chair.

"Sorry," Potter said uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

He most certainly had, but Fox cut him some slack. "I don't care about swearing in general. It's just that a skinny white kid in a boarding school uniform with a snooty British accent yelling 'cocksucking ho-bag motherfucker' is a parody in and of itself."

Potter nodded and smiled sheepishly. "So what is this?"

"This is us having a chat."

"About what?"

Fox shrugged. "Whatever you want. We can start with what's distracting you so much." Fox remembered joking about listening to Potter's girl problems. She had a feeling it hadn't been a joke after all. Potter needed to be coddled. He needed someone to talk to that he didn't feel responsible for. He needed a shrink. He was getting her.

"Just the usual stuff," he said, looking away. "You know, school and things." Fox didn't need to be a Guardian to see through that.

"Harry," she said as gently as she could, "I'm not going to tell anybody what you tell me, and considering I can yank it out of your head if I really want to, there's really no reason for you not to just come out and say it."

"You're like Dumbledore, aren't you? I mean, I get the feeling he could yank something out of my head, too, if he wanted to. He doesn't, though."

"I would."

"I know. But you can do wandless magic and everything, too," he said, imitating her waving her hand.

Fox smiled and turned his school robes into a pink, frilly dress. Harry looked down at it in horror, then up at her. "I only wave my hand for effect," she explained, changing his robes back.

"How do you do it?"

"I think you've deferred the question long enough," Fox said.

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's personal."

"Yes, I pretty much figured that out."

Potter was - to say the least - not the sort of person who just opened up and talked about his problems. For the next few hours, Fox had to wrestle just about every nugget of information out of him that he was willing to part with. And the entire time, Fox felt incredibly stupid, forced to impersonate Barbara Walters. 'Then what happened?' and 'How did that make you feel?'

Fox couldn't say she was entirely understanding about Potter's problems. She always found it difficult to listen to mortals prattle on about their mundane hang-ups. As the instigator of the war on a local and occasionally global scale, girl problems and homework stress didn't spark much sympathy.

So she tried to keep the conversation in the general vicinity of Voldemort.

"Everyone seems so convinced that I can beat him, but I don't see how. I've only ever gotten away with him because of luck or someone coming along and helping me."

"You can beat him. You will beat him," Fox assured him.

His face tightened. He didn't believe her. "Sure, whatever."

"Don't you remember the prophecy? 'A power the Dark Lord knows not.' That's how you'll do it."

"You mean what Dumbledore said about love and whatnot? If that's my grand mysterious power, then what's the point of all this training?"

Fox rubbed her eyes and wondered if she should tell him, if he could even understand, and - most especially - if she could explain it to him without it sounding like a bunch of cosmic mumbo-jumbo.

"Harry," she said finally. "The training is helping you hone your power, and it does sort of revolve around love, but that's hardly the whole picture."

"Then what is the whole picture?"

"When you're in danger, and especially when you're near Voldemort, you make things happen. You save yourself. You don't even know you've done it; that's why you haven't been able to control the power very well yet. But every time you've escaped, every time you've been saved by somebody, it's been you doing it."

He blinked at her. "I've been doing it? That doesn't make any sense. I can't just make things happen, and I certainly can't just make other people do what I want."

"It's not making them do what you want, it's urging them to do what you need them to do. To play their part in the whole matter."

He was smiling at her. "That's not possible."

"It normally isn't, at least not for a mortal. But...you know how they always say that the truth is stranger than fiction?"

He nodded.

"Well, just keep that statement in mind, because what I'm about to tell you is only strange enough to be the truth."

"Okay."

Fox took a deep breath. "Once upon a time there was a wizard named Grindelwald..." Harry didn't move once as she told him the whole overly complicated story. She wasn't even sure if he blinked.

"...so because you have Guardian power, it's turning the world to shit. On the other hand, it means you make events happen, in your own sort of way."

"Everything always happens to me," Harry murmured.

"Yes, it probably seems that way sometimes."

"I can make people do things?" he asked uncertainly, looking at his hands as if they belonged to somebody else.

"Not really. You affect your environment, and the people in it. There's a certain way that all of the different components of the environment need to work together in their different roles in order to bring about an event. The power you have is to sense that way and persuade all of the elements in the environment to behave correctly."

"So I can make people do things."

Fox rolled her eyes. "Well, if you want to be crass about it, yes."

"But where does love fit into all of that?"

Fox grimaced. "I think that's enough for now, Harry." Yes, she was chickening out. She, who had scoffed privately at Dumbledore's inability to break the news of the prophecy to Harry, was doing the same damn thing.

But this is different, she told herself as she walked him to the door. He needed to know about the prophecy. No good can come of him knowing how his power works. He'd just feel guilty.

Fox truly hoped that Harry never wondered why so many people were so ready to love him, and ready to die for him.