Two to Lead

Chapter 23: Lasting

Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest lasting,

Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them,

And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

-Walt Whitman, Here the Frailest Leaves of Me

*******

Spotting her prey, Fox stepped out of the shadows.

"Padma," she called, trying to sound friendly. Now that Gautham and his jail-bait girlfriend were out of the closet - or had been exposed in a closet, at least - he talked about Padma non-stop. Fox assured herself that she was doing the right thing by reminding the girl that a magically superior assassin was watching her every move.

In a friendly way, of course.

The girl turned around and saw her, looking apprehensive. "It's Fox, right?"

Fox nodded. "So how are you today? School going well? Keeping those grades up?"

"Listen, Gautham already warned me about you two, and Amina's already given me the 'if you hurt Gautham we'll kill you very slowly and torturously in a place where nobody can hear your screams and then we'll go to work on your family, your friends, your dog and every else who's ever met you' speech."

"Oh," Fox said, feeling her thunder being stolen. "Really?"

Padma nodded solemnly.

Considering the girl wasn't in the witness protection program yet, Fox decided she either really loved Gautham, or she didn't understand the threat.

"You do know that we work for The Cardinal, don't you?" Another nod. "And you know who The Cardinal is, right?" Yet another nod. Padma Patil didn't look stupid. She didn't really come across as stupid, either. Fox scratched her head.

"And you still want to stay with him?"

"Of course."

"And you've...talked to him, and everything. I mean, you've had a conversation?"

"Plenty of them."

"And you know that women are basically alien creatures to him? Well, either that, or he really wants to get it on with a hot female alien. We're not entirely sure. I don't think he's worked it all out in his head yet, and he reads too many comic books."

Padma grinned. "Yeah, I know. We read the same ones."

Fox goggled at her. Could it be possible that Gautham had managed to find a female version of himself, and that she wasn't a hideous beast? Do you believe in miracles? Al Michaels' voice commentated in her head.

"No," Fox said aloud.

"Really, we do," Padma answered.

"Do you know he has hair on his back?" There's a fine line between making sure your friend's girlfriend has honorable intentions towards him and telling her nasty personal details to see if she can be disgusted into dumping him. Fox had gone over it.

Padma Patil sighed. "Yes, I do. And I know about Baba, too."

Fox studied her as if she were bacteria in a petri dish. "And that's okay with you?"

The girl looked at her oddly. "Aren't you two supposed to be his friends? Why are you trying to convince me to dump him?"

"We've lived with him for eight years. We're not trying to talk you into dumping him. We're trying to understand why you'd want to be with him in the first place." Fox rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she felt a familiar presence lurking on her right.

"Because he's a wonderful person," Padma said defiantly. "And if the two of you can't see that, then I don't see how you can possibly be his friends." She stomped off.

"Don't forget the part about us killing you," Fox called to her back. "Does eavesdropping come naturally to you, Professor, or did you pick it up along the way?"

"It comes with the territory," Snape explained. "Do you give death threats to students regularly, or is this a new disciplinary measure I wholeheartedly support?"

"Special circumstances. The only student I regularly give death threats to is Harry, and that's only for the sake of realism."

"He's used to them," Snape said dryly. "I don't think they have much effect anymore."

"So were you seeking me out, or is this a chance meeting?"

"I was seeking you out. We need to discuss a few things."

"By all means, Professor," Fox said, leading him up to her rooms.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said flatly. Now that it had finally really sunk in that she was here for the long haul, Fox had remodeled a bit, adding a hot tub, an obstacle course complete with live, snapping alligators, and several other upgrades.

"If we're going to be here another year, I figure I might as well be comfortable."

"What is this, exactly?" he asked, strolling over to a corner that stretched out into a vast, flat sea of withering grass, broken only by the horizon in the distance.

"South Dakota." She'd added it on a whim. Fox had a sense that she would never get quite as caught up in herself as Grindelwald had, largely because she had grown up with that vast emptiness. In her younger years, beset by more exciting memories from former Guardians of more exciting places, she had detested it. But it had stayed with her, an essential addition to her role in the universe. She could understand her power better, because she understood what it felt like to not only be alone in a city filled with strangers, but to literally be the only living creature in sight, surrounded by grass and sky.

Most humans, magical or Muggle, or mortal or immortal, never experienced that.

"Do you have a particular affinity for South Dakota?"

"Sometimes it's healthy to remind ourselves that we don't control everything."

"Do you mean normal people, or Guardians?"

"Both. What did you need to talk to me about?"

He turned, Professor Snape firmly back in place. "I know Dumbledore's been talking with his contacts in Europe. Probably other places, too."

"And?"

"And nothing," he said offhandedly, in the way of a man well used to disappointment. "Either they don't want to get involved or they're not in a position to help."

"Well, Dumbledore isn't the British Ministry of Magic," Fox reminded him.

"I doubt even if the Ministry came to them at this point, they'd help."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fox asked, sensing the grudging question in his mind.

"Do you think The Cardinal might..."

"No," Fox said firmly. "The Cardinal is interested only in Harry Potter, in winning the war. He does not want to get mixed up in the politics of waging it."

Snape fixed her with a piercing gaze. "Not even if a certain person knew certain things about certain other people's belongings that might be of interest?"

Fox raised her eyebrows. "So you're going to become a triple-agent now?"

Snape seemed unfazed. "The richest families of Europe - not just Britain - support the Dark Lord. And they have many valuable pieces of merchandise that The Cardinal would surely be interested in obtaining."

"Professor, I think you have more than enough masters to serve at the moment."

"He doesn't need to get involved. His name doesn't even need to be brought into it. If he could only put some pressure on a few of our contacts, it would be worth it."

Fox blinked. She had seen Professor Snape in many varying shades of anger, disdain and general sarcasm. She had never, ever, seen him desperate. Fucking mortals.

"The Cardinal has sent my colleagues to make Hogwarts an impenetrable fortress, and it is. He has sent me to ensure that Harry Potter wins the war, and he will. That's all that really matters, Professor," Fox said, wandering over to study the plains in the corner.

"So Harry Potter will win the war. Will there be anything left to win?"

Fox shrugged. "Victory isn't victory unless there's a price."

"So he'll win," Snape insisted.

"I don't give odds on battles I'm not involved in," Fox said, turning back to face him.

"Merlin, we really are just a bunch of chess pieces to you, aren't we?"

"I don't move the chess pieces, Professor. I just make up the rules."

He glared at her, his hands fisted. "Are you telling me that it's really better for the human race if the Dark Lord wins? Is this your wise plan?"

Fox fought back the desire to kill him for questioning her position. She had a bit of a soft spot for Professor Snape. Such a genius in ways mortals weren't meant to be, and yet - possibly because he was such a genius - not very successful with his own kind.

In any case, it was a pointless debate to have with somebody who didn't understand the larger picture. Whether Harry won or Voldemort won didn't matter. They were merely two different paths to the same destination.

"If you want me to propose your idea to The Cardinal, I will," she said. "Okay?"

He seemed surprised by the acceptance of his idea, almost disappointed that he wouldn't get to use the rest of his philosophical arguments against her.

"That's all I ask," he said, sweeping his cloak dramatically as he turned to leave.

"Professor?" she called. He turned back. "Either way, you live."

Professor Snape's mouth dropped open. He stared at her for a long moment, then backed up slowly to the door, as if expecting her to hex him at any moment. After the door shut, Fox chuckled to herself. Silly mortals.

*******

The morning of the match against Hufflepuff, Hermione received a letter at breakfast. She didn't open it immediately. Instead, she looked at it for a very long time.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Ron asked, stuffing a wad of pancakes into his mouth.

"I'll open it later," Hermione said, putting it in her bag and pushing her scrambled eggs around her plate. Ron tried to send Harry a 'what's up with her now?' glance, but Harry kept his eyes focused firmly on his plate. He wasn't stupid enough to get drawn into anything between the two of them.

"Well, who's it from?" Ron persisted. Harry closed his eyes in anticipation of the fight that was brewing. There were a hundred things Ron could've said, and - as usual - he chose the worst possible one.

"That's none of your business," she answered primly.

"Oh, I see," Ron said, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Is it from Vickie?"

"I said it's none of your business," Hermione said warningly, gripping her fork in a manner that meant it would probably be a good idea for Ron to take a few steps away from the table if he wanted to keep both of his eyes intact. Ginny, who was sitting next to Ron, sized up the situation, downed her pumpkin juice and beat a hasty retreat.

"If it's not something worth hiding, then why are you hiding it?"

Hermione's face suffused with color and the prongs of her fork were now pointing in the direction of Ron's head. "So there's no such thing as private correspondence anymore? I can't even get a letter at breakfast without you jumping all over me about it?"

Ron's face was now equally pink. "If it wasn't important, you'd just open it. If it was important, you'd at least tell me and Harry about it!" Considering the volume of his voice, Hermione would be telling the entire Great Hall about it. Whatever it was.

"Don't drag me into this," Harry whispered pleadingly to Ron. Luckily, his presence was less physical and more for the sake of argument.

"Well, maybe there are actual portions of my life that don't involve either of you," Hermione said in a thick, angry voice, throwing down her fork and standing up. "Maybe I have an existence beyond being your girlfriend and being Harry's friend. Did you ever even think of that, Ron?" From the stunned look on Ron's face, it was obvious that he hadn't. Hermione gathered up her books and left the Great Hall.

Ron stared after her for a moment, then slumped. "She didn't wish me good luck."

"I'm sure she meant it," Harry said soothingly, not certain whether or not this was true.

This, unfortunately, wasn't nearly enough for Ron. His nervous energy before a match was standard. Silently staring off into space, Harry felt, could not be a good sign.

Harry tried to talk him out of his funk, but nothing seemed to be working. Ron was only really insecure about two things: his Quidditch ability and whether or not Hermione liked him as much as he liked her. The incident at breakfast with the mysterious letter, followed by Hermione not wishing him luck was simply more than Ron could handle.

Harry was about to send Ginny out to drag Hermione down to the locker rooms to just fucking wish Ron good luck when they were called onto the pitch to start the game.

The game itself went terribly. Ron couldn't seem to stop anything from going through the goalposts and the Gryffindor chasers were barely able to keep their team within range of a victory, but that wasn't the worst part. The beaters were the worst part.

Every member of the Gryffindor team managed to get hit by a bludger. Ron got one almost directly in the nose, which caused Katie to call a time-out as they judged whether or not he could continue on with the game. Ron's nose was obviously broken, and bleeding freely. Harry winced as he hit the ground when the time-out was called. Ron looked at if his entire face had been flattened.

"I'b fine," Ron said bravely, stuffing a piece of torn from Katie's uniform up his nostrils.

Harry knew he could catch the snitch first, if for no other reason than to keep anyone from being killed.

Katie, who had just gotten a glancing blow on the side of the head, yelled to Harry as she passed, "For the love of Merlin, get the snitch!"

"I'm trying!" Harry yelled back, just as a bludger knocked him in the shoulder from behind, spinning him around several times. Harry winced and felt around the impact point. Nothing seemed to be broken or dislocated, so he went back to scanning the pitch.

When he finally caught the snitch, it gave Gryffindor a victory over Hufflepuff by a mere twenty points, and the Gryffindor team looked very much the worse for wear. Those who weren't bleeding were grimacing and rubbing aching body parts, including the beaters.

Ron, Katie and Jack Sloper were sent directly to the hospital wing. The rest of the team moaned and groaned through sore muscles, bruises and newly-discovered pains as they removed their Quidditch robes, showered and got dressed.

There was little exaltation for their victory in the locker rooms, and the victory party was a largely subdued affair. The Weasley twins would have died from shame.

Harry spotted Hermione in a corner, reading a piece of parchment. He would bet anything it was the letter from that morning. As Ron was cooped up in the hospital wing, Harry decided it was probably his job to figure out what was going on here.

"Hermione?" he asked carefully, sitting down in the chair next to her.

"Yes, Harry?" she responded, quickly folding up the letter and putting it back in her bag.

"I'm not Ron, you know," Harry informed her, his eyes following the letter.

"I know that," Hermione said peevishly.

"So what was the letter about?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. "I just wanted to open it when I was alone. And now I know what it says, but I think I should wait to tell you both at the same time."

"Is it something bad?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"No, no," Hermione said quickly. "It's really, really good, actually." She blushed slightly, looking proud of herself. "It's just that I don't want Ron to get mad because I told you before I told him. And it's nothing urgent, anyway," she said dismissively.

"Okay," Harry agreed. Though it should have probably occurred to him sooner, Harry only now realized what Ron and Hermione's relationship really meant. Ron and Hermione had always had a bit of a relationship separate from him, but this was something different. Before, they had only had him in common, but now they also had each other in common, and Harry wasn't sure how he fit in anymore.

Harry couldn't help but feel left out, and a bit guilty for wanting to keep them both to himself. He couldn't help but wonder if their loyalty to each other was deeper than their loyalty to him, when his loyalty would always be - first and foremost and always - to the both of them, individually and equally.

It hurt. It hurt so badly that he had to turn away from her, because otherwise he was afraid he'd do something stupid like he'd done before, like kissing her, just to make himself believe what he used to believe without question about both of them: that he came first in their minds the same way they came first in his. But it wasn't true. He knew that, and he felt terrible and base and selfish for wanting it to continue to be true.

What right did he have to begrudge them whatever they found in each other?

But is it so awful to be jealous of something you're not allowed to have? the Slytherin voice in his head asked. You want that, don't you? So why won't you go after it?

Harry stood, knowing that he'd told Thera he'd visit her.

"I'm going to go up," he announced to Hermione. Engrossed in the letter again, she nodded distractedly. Harry felt slightly miffed at the inattention.

Or maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself.

He sat in his room for a long time, holding the Invisibility Cloak, waiting for the common room to clear out. Harry didn't like all of the ways he was deceiving his closest friends even as he realized the deception was inevitable. As children, they had teamed up against evil with a child's simplistic understanding of good and evil.

But it wasn't so simple for him anymore, and as he grew older, he felt the need to take more and more of the burden of his destiny - or whatever it should be called - on his own shoulders. Voldemort was a danger to everyone, in that he would be more than happy to kill anybody who came across his path. But only Harry was a danger to Voldemort. Not Ron or Hermione. He could trust them to fight beside him against Voldemort's followers, but as for Voldemort himself...well, that was a different story.

Voldemort's ass was his.

*******

Vivian hadn't known it was possible to literally burst out of a fireplace when flooing, but Tonks did just that. Of course, if anyone could speed up magical transportation, it would be Tonks. And there went the quiet Saturday morning breakfast at Number Twelve.

"We're pregnant!" she crowed, running a victory lap around the kitchen table.

Bill flooed in more sedately. "You were supposed to wait for me, Tonks."

"Then you shouldn't have taken so long," she scolded cheerfully, wrapping her arm around the waist of a very proud-looking Bill Weasley. Her hair - Vivian noticed it now that she was standing still - was changing colors with frightening rapidity.

"And you shouldn't be running around like that," Bill continued.

"Why not?" Tonks asked, puzzled.

Bill's face screwed up in a way that made it obvious to Vivian he was trying very hard to not say, 'Because you're Tonks and might fall over a chair and break your neck.'

"Because it might fall out," he said lamely.

Bill was saved from having to defend that statement by Remus shaking his hand, moving on to give Tonks a hug.

"Congratulations," he said, grinning. "I've already started an account at Gringott's."

"Ha!" Tonks said, elbowing Bill in the ribs. "And you wanted Charlie. D'you think he would've been that responsible?"

"Well, I can always step aside if you want somebody else..." Remus said innocently.

"No!" Tonks and Bill answered simultaneously.

It was possible that the morning could still have continued on as planned, had not the Weasley twins shown up.

"Is it true?" one of them asked, launching himself from the fireplace to grab Bill by the front of the robes. "Am I going to be Uncle Fred?"

"Charlie just can't keep his mouth shut, can he?" Bill said, scowling.

"Not about something as big as this," the twin who was apparently George said, grabbing Bill from behind so that the man was now part of a Weasley twin sandwich.

"Your boys can swim, Bill!"

"Well, of course they can, Fred," George said impatiently. "He's a Weasley. We're the most potent beings on the planet."

"We can impregnate a girl at fifty paces."

"Twenty, if she's really hot."

"Thank Merlin we practice strict celibacy, right, George?"

"Spot on, Fred. We'd have paternity suits coming out of our..."

"Listen," Bill interrupted, sounding annoyed. "It was nice of you to close up the shop and drop in to say congratulations, and all, but..."

Fred's eyes went wide. "Close up the shop?" he asked vaguely.

"I suppose we should have thought of that," George said slowly.

"Welcome to the family, Tonks," Fred gushed quickly. "Er...sort of, at least."

"Just remember that Weasley babies are kickers," George called out over his shoulder as the twins trotted over to the fireplace.

"Owl us if your back gets sore and we'll send you some Levitation Lozenges!"

"Don't forget to name it after us! Fredgeorge Weasley!

"Boy or girl! Works both ways!"

And with a swirl of smoke and flame, the Weasley twins were gone.

"We all thought they'd grow out of that," Bill apologized. "We were wrong."

"So when are you going to tell Molly?" Vivian asked carefully.

"Tomorrow night at dinner," Tonks announced.

"Tomorrow? Dinner?" Remus asked faintly. "You mean the dinner I now wouldn't attend if my life depended on it?"

"Mum will be fine, Remus. After the initial explosion, at least," Bill qualified. "I mean, she's been pressing me for grandchildren for years."

"Yes, but I think she had some notion of there being a wedding first," Remus explained.

"I'll fill her head with baby names and booties and she'll be fine."

Vivian was with Remus on this one, but she kept her mouth shut and sipped her coffee.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine," Bill said, escorting Tonks over to the fireplace. "See you tomorrow night, then!"

Remus' head snapped up. "I'm not..." They were gone. "...going," he sighed into his scrambled eggs. Vivian watched him covertly as he went at his breakfast with just a bit too much aggressiveness.

"Do you really support this, or did you get guilted into it?" she asked finally.

"I'm not sure. Tonks has her own brand of persuasiveness." He stuck four sausages into his mouth at once, chewing wolfishly even though the full moon was two weeks away.

"Are you okay with it?"

He swallowed and raised gray eyes to hers. "I said yes, didn't I?"

"That's not an answer."

Remus stretched, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I guess so."

Vivian sat back and crossed her arms. "I have to get back for the Quidditch match soon. I don't have time to beat around the bush, Remus."

"I'm happy for them. I really am. And I'm proud that they chose me," he said lightly.

The next statement didn't need to be spoken, because they both knew it was there. 'I'm proud that they chose me when James and Lily didn't.' She remembered those days all too well, and she was sure he was remembering them, too. When his friends had believed he was the traitor. Vivian tried to tell herself that those had been paranoid times, that you never knew who to trust, or when one of your best friends would turn on you, but all the same, even after all this time, it was hard to forgive. Hard for her, at least.

Remus' friends had given him the greatest gift anyone could have given him by accepting his nature and becoming Animagi for him. And then, at the first hint of a traitor in their midst, they had all believed it was him. He would have given his life for any of them, and they had cut him out of their circle. He was a dark creature, after all, so he must be the traitor. The people who should have been the last ones to label him as such did it - in Vivian's mind, at least - without any reflection.

But Remus would tell Harry the fairy tale anyway, because he knew Harry's life was far too overburdened with harsh realities to dispel the myth that his parents and Sirius had been saintly, selfless individuals. Maybe he deserved to see them that way. Maybe they deserved to be seen that way. Perhaps it was petty to measure their actions as she was doing. Either way, it wasn't a story Harry needed to hear.

And either way, they were all thoughts that didn't belong at a leisurely breakfast.

"Merlin, Vivian, I'm not bitter about it. Not after all this time. Not after everything that's happened," Remus said, following her thoughts.

Vivian clenched her coffee cup very tightly. "I'm not bitter about it," she said coolly. "It's not my place to be. But any way you look at it, you're the one here taking care of Harry as much as anyone can at this point, whether he knows it or not."

"And you really think they wanted this for him?"

"No, of course not. I'd never say that."

"What are you saying, then?"

Vivian stood, knowing she had to get back to Hogwarts. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I don't know. I didn't mean anything by it."

His head drooped a little, hanging over his cold eggs. "I tried, you know," he said softly. "After Sirius got arrested. But Dumbledore said he was safer with Lily's family."

Vivian looked at him for a long time, wondering how someone so wonderful could be kicked in the teeth so many times by life and still stay wonderful. "I never knew that."

"Well, there was no reason to tell you, since it never happened."

Vivian fought off the urge to hug him. It was a gimmick that only worked once "I love you," she said, reaching across the table to stroke his hair.

"I love you, too," he answered, smiling winningly. "Want to come to Sunday dinner?"

Vivian snorted. "Not a chance."

"But I thought you loved me."

"Remus, that's really low."

"You know Molly's a good cook, and my parents would love to see you again."

"Merlin, you're really laying it on thick, aren't you?"

He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Please?"

"I know that look. My students give me that look when they want an extension."

"So you'll come?"

"Yes, I'll bloody come," she muttered, flooing back to her office.

Someone was knocking at the door. She knew who it was. Hermione Granger had spent just about every Saturday morning with her since the start of term, working on extra assignments, helping her - unknowingly, of course - with the work she'd been doing on the spell and soaking up knowledge and advice like a sponge. She was early this week.

Vivian opened the door to let in the student every professor dreamed of teaching. She believed that she saw a bit of herself in Hermione Granger. Plus, it was nice for the ego to have anyone, even a sixteen-year-old girl, hanging on her every word.

Hermione was bright pink with excitement, a parchment clutched in her fist.

"I got in!" she said, grinning and bouncing slightly.

Vivian could only grin back. "Where?"

"The Ancient Magical Languages Institute Summer Apprenticeship!" Hermione squealed.

"Really?!" Vivian squealed in return, feeling a surge of pride. She'd done the apprenticeship after her sixth year, too. It was like having a daughter she didn't have to actually raise. "You're going to have so much fun. The library is amazing, and it's one of the few apprenticeships where you get to do real fieldwork, and..." she sighed happily.

Hermione looked close to drooling. "And I'm going to get to go," she said, almost as if she were trying to convince herself again. "This summer!" she squealed.

"I know!" They indulged themselves in a good long bout of girlish excitement and both missed the beginning of the Quidditch match.

*******

"Harry, you have to act the part. It's not convincing if you don't." Thera hesitated to push him, because it had taken a lot of coaxing for him to even let her bring out the handcuffs, and he had preemptively nixed any other bedroom toys.

"I don't know how a bloody gladiator acts. It's not like I've ever met one."

"Merlin, haven't you ever seen Ben-Hur?"

"No."

Thera thought some more. "Conan the Barbarian?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah, I've seen that one."

"Well, that's really sad, but we'll deal with it later. Now, just be Conan." Thera wiggled against her handcuffs in anticipation of brutality.

"You don't want me to do the accent, do you? Because I can't do Schwartzenegger."

"No, this isn't intended to be a comedy sketch. Just do what Conan would do."

Harry grunted and made what he probably thought was an angry warrior face. Thera honestly tried not to laugh, but it just looked too ridiculous on him.

Harry drew away, frustrated. "Can't you just be like a normal girl?"

Oh, not this again. "Why on earth would I want to be like a normal girl?" Actually a normal girl probably wouldn't have to schedule Harry's playdates around Draco's recently renewed desire to hang out in her room doing homework while assuring his buddies they were shagging like rabbits. Nonetheless, it still wasn't worth it.

"I just...I don't understand why you have to take everything and make it..."

"Fun?" Thera suggested.

He shook his head. "Ugly. I just don't get it."

"No," she sighed. "I guess you wouldn't, would you?"

"Are you honestly telling me sex isn't fun for you unless somebody beats you with something?"

"Ideally, the beating should go both ways. Equality begins in the bedroom."

"And nothing else turns you on in any way whatsoever."

"No, not really."

"Why?"

"Because..." She didn't know why. Which is to say that she knew why but didn't feel it warranted analysis. Most people were extremely talented at lying to themselves and not very good at lying to other people. Unfortunately, Thera happened to be the opposite.

"It's a programmed response from watching too much television," Thera answered.

"So you can't even answer the question?" Harry asked mockingly.

"There's no purpose in answering it if you can't comprehend the answer," Thera sneered. Didn't he know it was uncouth to handcuff a girl to a bed and then interview her?

"Yes, I've never seen anything dark, or bad, or evil, right?" Harry said stiffly.

Because her hands were cuffed above her head, Thera couldn't yank chunks of her hair out in frustration. "Seeing it isn't the same as being it, Harry."

"No, it isn't, I guess," he said, sounding tired. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "So is that your entire purpose? To corrupt Harry Potter?"

"Yes, I dragged pure, virginal Harry Potter down into my lair of sin, kicking and screaming," Thera said sarcastically. "You came here on your own, Harry. Now unlock me so I can give you a piece of my mind."

He got the keys out of the drawer, then looked at her. "Where did you learn it all?"

She glared at him. "From watching Disney movies. Where do you think I learned it all?"

"From your mum?" he asked, unlocking her.

Thera sat up, amused. "What, do you think her speech about the birds and the bees included a lecture on the proper method of whipping?" Actually, that wasn't too far off.

He looked taken aback. "I don't know. I just...I wondered how someone younger than me could know all these things, could have done all these things."

"Plenty of people think that about you, too."

He shrugged, blushing. "Yeah, maybe. But the things I did aren't like...you know."

"Well, you had a dire prophecy and a big bad dark wizard obsessed with killing you. I had far too much free time on my hands and little parental oversight. So there you are."

Harry nodded, looking pensive. It was odd to see, because he was naked, and much like bird watching, thinking was an activity that just went more smoothly when clothed.

"You know," he said quietly, "I've never been anywhere outside Britain."

"Really?"

"Never," he said with a sheepish smile. He glanced at her, as if to add 'and I probably never will.' It suddenly dawned on Thera that Harry Potter did not have what she would consider to be an intrinsically Gryffindor assurance of eventual victory.

Thera scrambled from the bed and poured herself a drink. The fucking savior of the fucking wizarding world, the only person capable of defeating the Dark Lord had doubts about whether or not he could do it?! "We're all screwed," she murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Harry asked from the bed.

"Nothing," she trilled. Taking more of a gulp than a sip, Thera turned to face him.

She wished she hadn't. She had been preparing a pep talk, but looking at him, it seemed pointless. She wasn't really in the pep-talk-giving business, and, it wasn't her job. It was his friends' job. It was Dumbledore's job. But it wasn't hers, and she had a feeling that for her to turn cheerleader on him would be a sort of betrayal.

If she were possessed of a conscience, it would be in crisis.

Or maybe she did have one, and it was. She certainly hoped not. She didn't need a conscience at this point in her life. If she got out of this shit, she could turn into the world's biggest Save the Whales protest-marching chunk of granola, but she didn't exactly have that luxury right now. Dolphin-safe tuna would just have to fucking wait.

Thera took another long drink, trying to fortify herself. Regardless of his mysterious powers and his stellar record against the Dark Lord, he was just a kid, and he wanted to hear pretty stories about places he might never go. So she would tell them.

Walking back over to the bed, she lay down and pulled the covers up. Harry stretched out next to her, drawing her up against him like she was a teddy bear.

Thera allowed it, grudgingly. She had already accepted the fact that defeating the Dark Lord was going to mean sacrificing a good portion of her dignity. Plus he smelled nice after a Quidditch match, like Harry and sweat and grass and the outdoors.

"What places do you want to hear about?" she asked.

"What place did you like the best?" he asked, his breath stirring her hair slightly.

She'd never really thought about it. "I don't know. Just pick somewhere."

"Have you ever been to Tokyo? What's that like?"

Thera thought for a moment. "It's like New York, only everything's in Japanese, there are less homeless people, and everybody's really polite to each other. They're very weird about the Americans, and you can buy girl's knickers in vending machines."

"Well...that's...convenient, I guess."

"Used knickers, Harry."

"Why would somebody want to...oh, nasty!"

"That's why they bow to each other, instead of shaking hands. Might be sticky."

"That's disgusting." Harry rose up on an elbow and studied her. "You made that up."

"My mind's not that dirty." He raised an eyebrow. "Fine," she conceded, "but that doesn't mean it isn't true." Harry smiled and shook his head at her, then lay back down.

"What about Paris?"

*******

Draco was pacing when Red finally got to the Room of Requirement.

"Did you even have try-outs for the empty beater spots?" he started in. "And if so, I'd certainly hate to see the people who didn't make the cut."

"Fine, thank you. And how are you today?" she said irritably, tossing something on the bed and flopping down. She looked tired and sore and in need of a long nap.

The thing she'd tossed on the bed was her kitten. Draco felt himself light up. "Oooh, you brought the cute kitty," he said excitedly. He stretched out beside her on the bed. Knowing that he was in good company, the cat curled up on his chest, purring as Draco stroked him under the chin. "So you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. At least I didn't fall off my broom when the stinking bludger hit."

He snickered. "Remember when Potter fell off his broom because of the Dementors?"

Red turned her head to glare at him. Draco cleared his throat.

"Well, perhaps it wasn't quite as funny from your perspective," he qualified.

Fed up with Draco dividing his attention, the kitten let out a meow.

"Have I been ignoring you, kitty?" The cat closed his eyes in bliss as Draco began scratching his ears. "What's his name, anyway?"

"Vendetta."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Vendetta? You bought a little kitten and named it Vendetta?" The cat looked up at him dolefully, as if to say 'See what my life is like with her?'

"Let's just say he earned the title," Red said, reaching over to join in the petting.

"Oh? How?" Draco geared himself up for a story about the cat - who was obviously a good sort - taking a crap on Weasley's favorite pair of shoes or something.

"If he's around and somebody's acting like a jerk to me, bad things happen."

"Bad things?"

"Nothing horrible. They'll trip over something that isn't there or something will fall on their head. Things like that."

Draco turned an awed gaze at Vendetta. "He's a Mumra."

"A what?"

"He's a magical creature. He serves you by punishing anyone who doesn't show you the proper respect. Mumras used to be highly prized by magical rulers, for obvious reasons."

"Really?"

"But that doesn't mean he's still not a cute little kitty. Aren't you?" Draco gushed.

"How did you become such a cat person, anyway?" Like all owners who found their felines preferred him to them, she sounded peeved.

Draco shrugged. "Cats love me. Always have. I think it's because we both understand the importance of being beautiful and dignified and aloof."

Red rolled her eyes. "Did you ever have one of your own?"

"No. The parents weren't great fans of pets. I always wanted a dragon, but they refused to get me one. I mean, how can you name your kid Draco and not get him a pet dragon?" All that crap they'd fed him about being named after a very famous, very ruthless dictator, with no understanding of the fact that if he were to become very famous and very ruthless himself, he was bloody well going to need a dragon.

"Because they're dangerous and illegal?" Red suggested.

"Oh, yes, and we all know the Malfoys would never stand for having anything dangerous and illegal in the house." Merlin, under the seat cushions in the parlor alone...

"Well, why didn't they get you one, then?"

"I don't know," he said indignantly, "but it was the worst thing they ever did to me."

"The worst thing your parents ever did to you was not buy you a dragon?"

"Actually, the worst thing they ever did to me was forget to lock the bedroom door when Narcissa was feeling amorous and little Draco had a bad dream, but the dragon's certainly up there." Draco shuddered at the memory. Talk about scarred for life.

"Do you think your parents love each other?" she asked carefully.

At first Draco thought she was joking, considering the two individuals they were talking about. Then he realized she wasn't. He thought for a moment. "Well," he said slowly, "they love themselves, and if you squint really hard, they kind of look like each other. I think that's mainly what keeps them going. Beyond that, I really don't know."

"Oh," she said, sounding disappointed.

"I certainly hope yours do, considering their grand plan for repopulating the country," he observed. "Or perhaps they just wanted their own Quidditch team."

"Yeah, they do." She was silent for a long time, absentmindedly stroking Vendetta. Draco watched her, wondering if there was going to be sex anytime soon.

"What would you do?" she asked suddenly. "If the spell didn't exist, what would you have done?" Draco turned his attention to the kitty.

"Would I have become a Death Eater, you mean?" he asked lightly.

"Yes, I suppose."

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I certainly wouldn't have gotten a big, ugly tattoo on my arm, but I probably would have followed in the family footsteps in some way."

"So you would have done what your father told you to do, and what Voldemort told you to do, even if you didn't actually become a Death Eater," she concluded.

Apparently to her, it was the same fucking thing. Well, to him, it wasn't. "I would have had a choice in the matter," he said coldly. "You see, that's the big difference."

"Is that why were you so angry about it?" she asked.

"I wasn't angry."

"Yes, you were," she insisted. "That day by the lake, and even before then, you were."

"So I was angry," he snapped. "Wouldn't you be?"

"Of course I'd be angry," she said evenly. "I was angry enough when I found out about my role, and that's my own fault, at least."

Draco turned sharp eyes to her. "You think the diary was your fault?"

"Of course it was. All I had to do was tell somebody about it, but I didn't. Even after I threw it away, when I thought it was finished, I saw Harry with it, and instead of telling somebody about it, I stole it back. And then I was stupid enough to write in it again."

"You were eleven," Draco pointed out.

Red sighed. "I know. I just wish there was someone to blame besides myself."

"Well, you could blame my father, for giving you the diary with nefarious purposes. You could blame the Dark Lord for not just being satisfied with a Ministry job and a reasonable mortgage rate. You could blame your brothers for writing off that red gleam in your eye as a trick of the light..."

"Alright, I get it," Red said, smiling. "Thanks."

"When it comes to throwing blame around, there's no need to thank me. I do it for the pure enjoyment of passing the buck."

"Yes, you're quite talented at it for an only child."

"Well, it's bloody difficult to get away with things as an only child. The minute something broke, everybody knew who did it. Thankfully, I had house elves to draw into the mix. They couldn't call me a liar, and my father couldn't look like a chump for believing a house elf over his own son, so it was the perfect solution."

"For everybody but the house elf, that is."

Draco smirked. "What, are you the resident representative of 'spore'?"

"It's S.P.E.W., and no, I'm not."

Draco grimaced. "Yeah, that's when I started doubting Granger's intelligence. I mean, can't she see that that nobody would want to join something called 'spew?' And how could she turn down the utterly obvious 'Elf Liberation Front,' abbreviated E.L.F.?"

"Believe me, we tried. She didn't listen."

Draco turned his attention back to the kitty, sinking into his own thoughts. He'd let her go to the dance with Potter. He'd decided that he wouldn't fuck with her brother anymore. He'd decided that she needed to figure a few things out for herself, and one of them was whatever was up with her taking loads of shit without comment from the Holy Trinity. Vendetta must have a bloody field day when those three were around.

Another thought niggled at the back of his mind, one that had bothered him for a while. When Dumbledore had dumped the entire truth of the spell on her, Red hadn't spoken the entire time, except to ask him not to tell her parents. Had it been him, Draco would have shouted to the heavens or at least broken something, but she'd just sat there, and then made that one very strange request. She hadn't told her brother about the spell, either.

Her comments about the diary fit into that, and Draco saw the pattern. Red simply loved people too much. She loved them and they ostensibly loved her back, so she either hid things from them that she thought the might not like, or just let them walk all over her.

And it was entirely possible that she loved him, Draco realized. He didn't really know the signs, so he couldn't say for sure, but he felt it was worth throwing into the field of play. Unfortunately, this meant that his Slytherin nature and Project Save Red had just come into conflict. Slytherin Draco looked at the evidence and rubbed his hands in glee at the amount of power he could wield over her. Project Save Red Draco saw this as the one main problem she really needed to address before it dragged her under.

Thankfully, Red saved him from what might have been an identity crisis of mythic proportions by snuggling up next to him and pulling him into a kiss.

"What are you thinking about so hard, anyway?" she asked, drawing back.

"Potions."

She looked at him for a second, then gave him a knowing smile. It made Draco uncomfortable. Sometimes, he had a feeling, Red saw more than she should.

"So are we going to have sex or not?" he asked finally.

*******

Ginny stared at Draco blankly. Honestly, she didn't think she had enough energy left to have sex right now. Hell, she didn't think she had enough energy to make it back to her dormitory. A long, awful Quidditch match, a bludger to the stomach, O.W.L. revisions and too many extracurricular activities made her feel utterly drained.

"I don't think so. Tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

"During the day is fine."

Ginny grimaced. "I can't. I have to get my homework done and visit Ron."

"Yeah, that bludger hit him right in the face. Who knows? It might do some good," Draco said shakily. He at least had the grace to restrain himself from outright laughter.

As she generally did, Ginny let it slide. "Why can't you meet tomorrow night?"

"I'm hanging out with Thera," he said evenly.

"Ah. Thera." Ginny was not jealous of his friendship with Thera. He had explained the situation, and she understood his reasons. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You have that look on your face. You get it every time she comes up. How many times do I have to tell you that nothing happens?"

"You don't have to tell me. I trust you," Ginny said, lying through her teeth.

"Then why do you still have that look on your face?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I need a mirror," Draco said to the room, holding out his hand. One immediately appeared, and he shoved it in front of her face. "That look."

Suddenly confronted with her own face, Ginny had to admit she looked suspicious.

"Fine, then," she said, pushing the mirror away. "I don't trust you."

"Then come along," he said, tossing the mirror aside.

"What?"

"Potter's got an invisibility cloak. Borrow it and you can see for yourself."

Ginny looked at him, taken aback. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm bloody well sick of the bloody look, that's why," he said tightly.

That statement bothered Ginny all the way back to the common room. Did he want her to come along because he wanted her to trust him? Should she be the bigger person and just trust him without making him prove it to her? Was she overanalyzing the situation?

"Ginny?" She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound, spinning around. The hallway was deserted. Then Harry suddenly appeared from underneath his invisibility cloak.

"Harry," she breathed, relieved. "You scared me."

"Sorry. Where were you?"

"Studying," she said quickly.

Harry looked at her for a second. "Ginny, you don't have any books with you."

"Oh. Yes. Well, that's because..." Ginny racked her brain for a reason.

"I see," Harry said, smiling. "Who is it now?"

Realizing she was caught, Ginny hung her head. "Just don't tell Ron, okay?"

"Ginny," he said heavily, "I'm really not trying to add to the list of things I'm not telling Ron. And who is this guy, that he has you sneaking around the castle at night?"

"I don't need another brother, Harry," she said, annoyed at the petulance in her voice.

He looked frustrated. "I'm not trying to be one. But he's obviously not a Gryffindor, or else he'd be here with you, and all of the Ravenclaw boys are frightened of you..."

"Really?" Ginny asked. Merlin, had she really messed up Terry that badly?

Harry, however, was staring at a point just above her left shoulder, his mouth open. Thinking it was Filch, Ginny turned around. There was nothing there.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"Tell me it's not Malfoy," Harry said in a very low, very hoarse voice.

"Of course it isn't," Ginny said, trying to sneak over to the portrait hole.

Harry watched her, horror etched into his features. "It is, isn't it?"

"I already said it isn't," Ginny snapped, giving the Fat Lady the password and crawling through the portrait hole. Harry followed behind her, then put a hand on her arm.

"Ginny, I passed him on my way up here. If it's not him, who was it?"

"It's none of your business, Harry. What were you doing in the dungeons?"

"Walking around," he said, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.

"Walking around?" Ginny asked lamely. "This is how you spend your time?"

"This isn't about me."

"It's about you nosing around in my business, isn't it?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Tell me who it is, or I'll tell Ron."

Ginny went still. Blackmail simply didn't sit well on Harry. She knew his loyalty was to Ron, but she'd still thought that maybe they'd had an understanding, after the spell...

Apparently not. "Which means if I tell you who it is, you won't tell Ron."

His eyes widened. He obviously hadn't thought it through quite that far. It wasn't very nice to make Harry an accomplice in her love life, but Ginny couldn't hold back a smirk.

"Shit," he said viciously. "It is Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Ginny said. "Have you learned to stay out of other people's business now?"

As Harry was still standing silently in the middle of the common room with his jaw clenched, Ginny felt it was a good time to escape to her dormitory.

*******

"How on earth did I let you talk me into this?" Vivian asked, wincing as the sound of breaking porcelain came from the Weasley kitchen.

"I didn't," Remus answered. "I manipulated you into it."

"Seizing the day?!" Molly Weasley's voice rang out. "Come over here and I'll show you what seizing's all about, young man!"

"She's very good at this," Remus' mother commented.

"She's had lots of practice," his father reminded her.

"At least they waited until after the main course," Vivian offered.

"I wish they'd waited until after dessert," his father sighed. "That apple cobbler looked delicious."

More porcelain broke. "I think that was the apple cobbler," his mother said sadly.

"This is going to take a while," Remus said to Vivian. "You should go."

She looked at him guiltily. "I'm sorry. It's just that I still have things to do..."

Remus held up a hand, wishing more than anything he could go with her, but he couldn't take his parents to Number Twelve, and he wasn't about to leave them here with a battle going on in the kitchen when it was his fault in the first place that they were here, and how is it that every thought he had seemed to lead back to the same place?

Ushering her into the living room, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "Have a nice week."

"I'll stop by if I get a chance."

He smoothed her hair down, feeling her physical closeness like an electrical current. "I always like to see you. You need a break every now and then."

"And you need a wolfie treat every now and then," she said, kissing him through a smile.

She flooed back to Hogwarts and Remus shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the same tugging disappointment he felt every time she left. Everything felt cooler, more impersonal when she wasn't around. And the guilt set in, because he was lying to her.

They had always been very good at ignoring the outside world. Remus knew this, probably much better than even Vivian did. She didn't give the outside world much credit in the first place. It was easy for her to shrug off their judgments or belittle their opinions, because in her mind they would always be silly, easily manipulated fools.

But he did know that even more than the first time they'd been in love, they didn't really stand a chance right now. He'd been suspected before, but he'd at least been suspected outside of the larger Ministry intelligence apparatus, only among his friends. And though Vivian didn't know it, she had been suspected, too, because of her Ministry affiliations.

Not that he would ever tell her that. She painted their youth in golden tones and remembered it happily, and he simply couldn't bring himself to take that away from her. But things hadn't been perfect, and Remus couldn't summon up the same fondness.

All the time he'd known her, Vivian had lived to please her parents. It had taken him years to see that any ambition she had came entirely from their expectations of her. When they died, Vivian had almost unknowingly transferred those expectations onto him, needing someone to answer to, somebody to direct her. It had been a burden he had been unwilling to shoulder. Whatever else he was to her, he certainly couldn't be that.

Now she seemed gung-ho about protecting him. Her arrest had been a wake-up call. Remus wasn't trying to be noble, but he'd meant it when he'd said. He wouldn't let the Ministry come after Harry. There was precious little he could do for the kid, but he could at least give him that. And he could at least spare Vivian the possible consequences of protecting him just a bit too much. If he found his parents somewhere to live and the Ministry still hadn't backed off, he'd turn himself in. It's not as if he was doing anything useful for the Order. Postmortem, Remus found himself cutting Sirius a lot more slack.

There was nothing worse than being useless.

He liked to think that the Ministry would forget about him, and put their effort into the war. And if they had a brain among them, they would. But if they didn't, he might be staring down an extended stay in Azkaban. But Azkaban wasn't the same old Azkaban anymore, and there weren't any dementors to suck out all of his happy memories. So if he wanted picked up a few more in the next couple of weeks, was that so awful?

Remus shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. It was awful, and he knew it. If he turned himself in and ever managed to get released, Vivian was going to kill him. It was one thing to regret doing something legitimately cruel to somebody you loved; it was quite another to be in the process of consciously doing it, staring regret in the face.

A blubbering sound came from the hallway to the kitchen. Puzzled, Remus went to rejoin his parents, and found Molly Weasley crushing his mother in an embrace, sobbing into her shoulder. Hearing his footsteps, Molly looked up, flying over to hug him.

"Remus," she said, gasping between sobs. "I'm...going...to...be...a...grandmother!" She laughed and sobbed at the same time, soaking his shirt as he patted her awkwardly.

"That's wonderful, Molly."

Bill and Tonks came out of the kitchen, looking as if they'd just taken on an army of Death Eaters. Arthur followed soon thereafter, a dazed, almost manic grin on his face. Molly moved over to suffocate Tonks, who looked uncertain around her not-quite-mother-in-law. Realizing he was likely to be next in line, Bill sidled over to Remus.

"I think it went well," the young man said, sighing. Remus noticed that his ear was bright pink, probably from being dragged around the kitchen by it.

"Famously," Remus said, hiding a smile.

*******

"A chocolate fountain?!" Lucius railed, looking over the caterer's proposal.

"It's the new thing. We'd look out of touch if we didn't have one," Narcissa answered.

"I see," Lucius said, trying to hold his temper as he read the menu. "So just in case the six different hors d'oeuvres, the watercress, gryffin cheese, carmelized walnut and endive salad with pear dressing, the bouillabaisse, the jerk pork loin, the roast beef, the garlic mashed potatoes, the steamed seasonal vegetables, the clam linguine and the truffle ice-cream atop white cake with truffle icing aren't enough, we need a chocolate fountain?"

"Yes," Narcissa said, nodding. "They're all the rage."

Lucius made to run a frustrated hand through his hair, then caught himself at the last moment. Maintaining the proper volume in springtime meant backcombing, and it was very easily flattened. Instead he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Two hundred guests, Narcissa. This is for two hundred guests."

"Yes, Lucius. I know that. But we only have one son, and he's only going to be initiated into the dark side once in his life. Are you going to deny him a chocolate fountain?"

Lucius always seemed to lose this argument. He remembered when they'd only had one son, and he really wanted to get on the Quidditch team, and could Lucius really deny his only son a spot on the team in exchange for buying a couple of racing brooms? But no matter what Narcissa said, he wasn't getting the bloody kid a bloody dragon.

A dragon. Honestly. They shat everywhere.

"I'll allow the chocolate fountain only if there's a cash bar," he said decisively.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose. "A cash bar? That's so cheap."

"A cash bar will keep me from having to eviscerate half of the Death Eaters for defiling the rose garden, darling," Lucius answered sweetly.

"Fine, then," she pouted. "Merlin knows how I'll explain it to my friends, though."

"The roses, shnookums. Don't forget the roses."

"Honestly, Lucius, don't you have enough control over those clods to keep them out of my roses!!!???" Narcissa stood quickly, upending her chair. Oh, dear. It was time to calm down the veela.

"Darling," he said soothingly, "I do my best. I threaten them with disembowelment and having their skin ripped off and draped over Wormtail to improve his appearance, but you know how foolish they are. Sometimes they simply don't listen."

"Luuuuciussss!" she cried shrilly, forcing him to plug his ears. Bloody unearthly veela screams. Why on earth had he married for looks?

"Why don't we go upstairs and take some of our happy potion," Lucius suggested in the half condescending, half soothing voice he felt best quelled Narcissa's snits. His fingers still in his ears, he nudged her with an elbow. She plodded forward as if she were a child he was ordering to bed. Halfway upstairs, he felt it was safe to uncover his ears.

Finally settling Narcissa down and putting her to bed, Lucius Apparated to the location he'd visited at least weekly in the past few months. At the moment, Nott was in charge of the proceedings. As usual, numerous burned and headless corpses decorated the roadside. Nobody bothered to clean them up because nobody had been ordered to.

Lucius put a handkerchief over his nose and inquired as to the progress of their mission.

"We're still about three gates away," Nott said, his eyes moving to the ruins in the distance. "But we hope to get this one down within the week."

Lucius glared at Nott. "Then you're going to have to work faster. He wants Draco's initiation here, and it's less than a month away. And we still have to clean the place up."

"We're going as fast as we can," Nott said impatiently.

"Don't justify it to me, Nott. Justify it to the Dark Lord. We both know how well he accepts excuses."

"Let me have some dark creatures, then," Nott practically begged, the seriousness of his responsibility becoming disturbingly clear to him. "They can sense the wards and the curses better than we can. It'll go faster."

"I can give you a few," Lucius said, the corners of his mouth tightening. He disliked seeing desperation among members of the inner circle. "But only a few."

"Not more?"

"No, no, no," Lucius said, his mouth curving into a smile behind his handkerchief. "The Dark Lord has plans for the rest of them."

"At this point, I'll take whatever I can get."

"And it will be provided," Lucius assured him. "The Dark Lord always provides."