Flowerpot

The world felt ephemeral and disjointed. His senses were expanded beyond human measure, but at the same time they were as limited as they could be. He felt like floating in a numinous darkness that was incandescent in its purity. Death was not a new concept for him. He had been here before in this land of juxtaposing ends, of contradicting truths. And then his eyes opened, and he could see the extremely sharp image of the punished restaurant he had been in minutes before.

Was he going to be denied the final rest again? Did his transgression against the natural order so many years ago damage something fundamental within him? Was the veil turned to stone in his presence?

No one was standing near him. A line of law enforcement members stood between his body and the rest of the dinners still capable of standing. He recognized Bonny's hair amongst them and he was glad at least his friend had managed to get here. He felt less alone in this final moments.

The clouds moved, and a lance of starlight speared down, glancing a shield of a silver purer than its own. His eyes were draw to it instinctively; they've always been drawn to metallic glints. First it was his quiddith honed reactions, seeking the wining gold, and then it had been the unalloyed silver of the strings that bound his heart.

Weak as he was -If he was honest, he'd say he was half petrified- it was a slog to turn to the magnetic sight, and as his eyes got closer it became even more difficult, but not because of tiredness, but because of fear.

Metallic ringlets shone as mountain ridges on a sea of blood.

A lone tear snuck down his face, no longer capable even of the creases that would denote his pain, for no expression would ever be sufficient to convey such.

Lids fell shut, the image before becoming too much. He only could hope the cruel reaper would not jilt him again; he had a promise to keep.

Harry Potter died the 31st of October of 2007 clinging to the hand of his wife where she laid next to him, and since that day he had seen nothing but silver. The world that was open to him now only held the faint colour the moon could give it, and the shades of red his insatiable longing for the heat of life brought. The world had changed immensely around him the last 300 years, but he stood still and unchangeable like a mountain, frozen in time. He had not moved a second past the agony of the moment his heart had stopped beating.

Devoid of life, he ambled through a world he no longer understood, clinging to the shadows that were as immutable as he was. He no longer had a people, for his creator was unknown, and he presumed him destroyed; the rest of his kin meant nothing to him, and so he avoided them. The humans meant even less, and he only neared small towns that would have rivalled the biggest cities from his time when he needed to feed.

The hole his soul left behind trembled at the thought. It had been longer than most times.

He neared the neon lit wall that surrounded the outer ring of the city, the unnatural light meshing with his aberrant substance, hiding him from the sight of those that were to him as fugacious as the leaves of autumn. Others of his kind loved the hunt, they felt a thrill that brought to life the dead parts of them that they could still remember, some revelled in the life that coursed momentarily through their accursed veins, some disguised themselves as the very prey they consumed, stealing shreds of faked humanity from their contrived interactions before they stole the humanity of them to feed the monster that laid beneath. The sons of the night were dangerous creatures. Thirsting desperately on anything that would make them feel a modicum of fire and blood. But all the parts of Harry Potter that could crave life had died for a second time moments before the night claimed him on the third failed try to extinguish his soul.

He moved through the heavily fortified door on the massive wall, creatures with flesh of metal and thunder for blood whirling around, lights and artificial sensors completely ignoring his cold, gliding corpse. He never put though to what he would consume, it was a mere mechanical process for him. He would bite on the first alive thing that crossed his path.

Well, he thought as a golden red cow ran from one side of the road to the other, the first human that crossed his path. Cows did not tend to be far away from a farm though, and so he turned to follow in the wake of the animal.

The farm was mostly automated, as they all were; the livestock prancing around the different levels of artificial pasture that were available to them. It was ironic now that cows lived better than most humans on the megalopolis did 300 years ago. If he had been one of those that enjoyed the blood for more than sustenance, he would have bemoaned that cows were not appropriate for a vampires’ diet. They would certainly have better quality than your average low-life.

There.

The magnetic pull of the vital essence of humanity called to him. He looked up towards one of the middling floors some 100 meters up, there was a human there.

Getting up there took him no time at all, and as he got close, he could hear her too; it was a woman. She wore the typical farm worker uniform, a sturdy overall and a cap. She stood next to a bovine that was twice as tall as her, a rosy hand roving over the forelegs of it with some tool as the animal feed on the almost fluorescent grass. Unnerved by the wicked miasma that clung to him the cow lifted its head, giant, round, brown eyes locked directly where he was, but not focusing on him.

It could, of course, not see him.

“Who are you? How did you get here?”

Immortal eyes moved towards the woman and froze. The cow had knocked the cap of her with its snout, and the radiance of a thousand suns sheered him. He felt like his veins throbbed, like his hear beat, like the air around him held his life and he was suffocating, not managing to get enough. He breathed in, his body near crumbling at the effort, and her essence was fire and life made substance.

It could not be.

“Did you hear me? I demand you answer. How did you get here,” She lifted her tool as if preparing to strike.

“You can see me.”

“Great,” She said, “Another psyco. Just great. I’m gonna kill Charlie, every single time I take his night shift this happens. Listen, mate, you can fuck right off or I can cave your head in with this hand scanner. Your choice.”

Harry did not move, as pertained the unnatural stillness that was usual for nightwalkers. But then he took a glance and his legs failed him, his knees hit the floor. Those eyes. What lay behind them, within them.

“It’s you,” he whispered, a lone tear falling down his petrified face, leaving a trace of red.

It was then that he remembered, his promised had not been one-sided, and Fleur Delacour always kept her promises. He felt then the rush of life he though was lost to him for eternity

What was death -or even undeath- on the face of his stubborn veela.

Post-Drabble-Script. I like to think this reincarnated Fleur is not a veela, but it is only by reason of his attachement to her soul that he sees her in such a ethereal way. She is the one thing that makes his dead body feel alive in undeath

Interestingly enough, the first visitor to his humble abode was Ginny. They’d had a bit of a falling out after the war: an overall disagreement on the direction their relationship was taking, and had broken up promptly.

He was pretty unclear on whether there were any bad feelings though (Or if he was capable of having any feelings at all).

Anyways, she came over for lunch. The atmosphere was pretty tense, but not the worst that he’d been in, and it got a lot better after the initial few minutes. Ginny was doing well for herself - she’d been scouted for a Quidditch Youth League and was in a pretty serious relationship with Dean Thomas.

Harry expected some kind of reaction from his side when she spoke about the last bit, but to his surprise, there was nothing but genuine happiness for her.

Still, that was another closed chapter in his life.

They wined and dined, and they talked for hours on end. She told him about how the Weasley’s were doing, and how they missed him immensely. Nothing had been the same since Fred’s passing, she lamented, but they were pulling through.

The day passed with the blink of an eye, and before he knew it she was getting up to leave. With her departure came false promises to keep in touch, and an empty request for him to visit The Burrow sometime soon.

She left and closed the door.

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind it all that much.

With a resigned glance, she groaned. “Fuck, you’re right. God I can’t believe my best friend is such an asshole to me!“

The wheelchair and sat right next to the couch where they both looked at each other and absolutely busted their guts laughing.

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Harry asked her, “Have you eaten?”

Fleur look to him incredulously, “Do I look like a woman who can eat when I’m planning my Best friend’s wedding?”

Harry put his hand to his chin thinking. “Nope, I’ll cook you up something nice, if you want, within reason, of course.”

“That would be lovely.” Fleur immediately grabbed the controller to turn on the TV and kick her feet up on the coffee table.

“So, how was work?” Harry asked from the kitchen.

“Great, for the most part, but I have this one particular customer that just won’t stop calling me and telling me how she wants things done, it’s really irritating.”

“Like what?“ Harry asked her, completely enthralled.

Fleur took a deep breath, and started speaking about her day, “I had to deal with her changing the color palette of the wedding seven times today, seven fucking times! She insisted that red and silver was to be the color scheme, and then black-and-white, and then gold and red, all I could do was beg God to kill me at that point, I was sick of that shit.”

She heard Harry’s wheelchair turn on one more time as he had placed her meal on his table before making his way to her.

“Yikes,” he responded, “Can you tell me her name? Maybe I can convince her to go easy on you, I may hate my fame but the least I can do is help you out of this situation.”

“Maybe, but it’s not her and worried about, it’s her fiancé. If he gets mad at me I don’t know what happens to my career.”

“Maybe even our friendship…” She whispered to her self.

"I've brought the intruder, madame," the young soldier announced to his superior. Harry, whose hands were clapped in irons, groaned silently at being dragged so forcefully. Still trying to adjust to the sudden dimness of the dark tent, his eyes gradually let the spots in his vision disappear and finally draw the picture of a well decorated officer's living quarters.

Before he could fully absorb the number of objects tastefully placed in the living space, he was addressed by a delicate, well articulate silky voice, albeit burdened by a francophone twang.

"I see you have finally awoken from your stupor," the voice to his left began. "I was afraid I'd beaten you too harshly and perhaps left you permanently disabled."

Finally turning his head to gaze at the individual speaking to him, he almost choked on his tongue. Fleur?!

She looked entirely different than he'd last seen her during the Triwizard Tournament. She didn't look much older than he remembered, but her eyes studied him with mature consternation. A look she had never pasted on her face before

Fleur was many things; arrogant, haughty and sometimes cold but now, now she looked at him with clear calculation. Sharp and yet, unconcerned.

"I know I strike many a man with my beauty but please do try to keep your decorum. Any droll on the floor will be for you to lick up again," she warned evenly. Clearly a well rehearsed short-hand developed from years of uncomfortable staring. Not everything has changed.

"My apologies for my staring. It is not everyday I come across a Veela," he tried carefully.

Her eyes widened suddenly. Her calm demeanour from before now unsettled by his admission. "How!?-"

"I have had to privilege of getting to know some of your kind," he explained slowly. "You carry some of the tell-tale signs of being one."

It was actually untrue. He didn't know of any telltale signs that would expose a Veela. If the allure was well-hidden, they'd appear as any other normal women - normal blindingly beautiful women, that is. Fleur hid hers perfectly.

"I see," she replied. Her face slacking again back to its original even demeanour but her eyes held on to their temperament. "Let me tell you, however, that I'm not like some of my kind."

"I would never presume, Miss-"

"Captain," she corrected. "Captain Delacour."

"Captain Delacour," he repeated. "I would never presume anything of somebody I hardly know."

"Bonne," she nodded appreciatively. "Yes, I'm Veela but nobody except my aide and some of my trusted NCOs know of this." The words came out sounding normal but her eyes told a different story. He felt as if invisible claws traced his throat, playing at his jugular.

"I understand. I won't say a word."

"That's reassuring, Mr.?"

"Pot-," he started but immediately reconsidered and went to the first thing he thought would salvage his first mistake. "Pottingham. Harrold Pottingham. Please, do call me Harry, though."

"Very well, Mr Harry Potting-h-ham," she repeated, the name's pronunciation giving her trouble. "Except for your distasteful display upon your arrival in my bathroom, you have shown nothing short of exemplary behaviour for a prisoner of war."

Reminded by his sudden appearance, he tried to remain calm. He'd been in this camp for a week now since his sudden appearance in this familiar, yet strange land. Before he'd appeared in mid air above this military encampment, he'd fought Voldemort in the Atrium. The last thing he remembered was a green light and then nothing before falling through Fleur's bathroom ceiling and landing in her tub. His cheek still felt tender.

Not noticing his distracted gaze, Fleur continued with her instructions. "I will allow you to walk the space of this camp, and should you wish to venture beyond the walls, an armed guard will accompany you. However," she suddenly warned. "Should you try to flee or do anything to harm the men and women under my command, rest assured. You will be dealt with."

Nodding quickly, he agreed to her offer of limited freedom. "Thank you, I will keep your words in mind."

"Good. Take off his restraints," she ordered the young soldier still holding on to Harry's arm.

Once the chains were off, Harry sighed in relief and massaged the aching wrists. "Thank you, Captain."

She nodded at him and eyed the soldier meaningfully, who gave her a nod of acknowledgement before pulling Harry by the arm toward the exit of the tent.

Encouraged by the sense of freedom, Harry couldn't stop himself from uttering the words that suddenly emerged.

"You may not be like some of your kind, Captain," he repeated, "but you do have soft hands."

Before he could even consider what he'd said to the woman, who held his life in her soft hands, he was pushed through the gap in the tent forcefully cutting his next faux-pas short.

In the tent, her hands in her lap, Fleur shook her head in mild-amusement. The English, always so sure of themselves. Looking at her hands, she traced her palm with the thumb. A smile crept up on her face, before her cheeks reddened. Noticing her reflection in her small mirror on her desk, she suddenly flattened her lips and shook her head again in embarrassment. Calling her aide loudly, she focused her mind on her tasks, trying to forget the boy's underhanded compliment.

Potter, the Legacy

Arianne never liked giving interviews.

She grew up in the public eye, but giving an interview was different, more focus on her. She did it, because she had to, but she tried to minimize her involvement in post game press conferences. They always wanted to talk about her, not the game, but her. She didn’t like that, because in recent years she didn’t have a lot to say.

She was not like her family in a lot of ways, Sebastian was probably the closest to her in terms of experience. They lived in their parent’s shadow’s in a way that Liliane had somehow managed to avoid. To be completely fair, the Potters had managed to raise three wildly different children, so it wasn’t like she was overly othered.

It was just…

Liliane had managed to capture that indefinable essence that made the Veela stand out so far beyond mere humans in grace and beauty. It went beyond simply a beautiful face, which Arianne and even Sebastian shared. Yet it was also not simply just allure, Liliane used her genetics and her determination like a weapon to climb high into the world of fashion. She followed in their aunt's footsteps, walked fashion weeks in New York, Milan, and Tokyo. Partied on billionaires yachts and dated celebrities and lived as the muse to designers and photographers alike.

It was a quality that Arianne had always admired in her mother, and never acquired herself, that something that elevated them beyond beautiful to stunning. The thing that stopped a room when they entered it, and had everyone present glancing from the corner of their eyes as long as they graced them with their presence.

Arianne was a Veela, she had her mother’s hair- her father’s eyes- and she was beautiful but she’d always been firmy in the realm of fit, athletic. Make no mistake, she was happy with that. She was not self conscious, definitely not bitter or jealous, it was just something that always distanced her a bit from the ethereal beauties in her family.

She was content with her broomsticks, and quidditch. Her journey might seem like foothills at the base of the insurmountable mountain that was her father’s legacy but she didn’t see it that way, not really.

She loved the sport, and she cherished the years she spent perfecting it, in her little fairy tale cottage in the south of France. Before she knew anything about the world, and quidditch was this grand game of flying chess her father taught her to manipulate. Most of all she loved flying, the true Potter legacy Harry Potter had managed to pass on to at least one of his children.

It wasn’t about snitches and quaffles, it was about flight, a chaser flew different from a seeker, and they all flew different from racers. It was mastery of flight, the interplay between magic and the laws of the natural world, at the heart of her passion.

That made it easier, in moments like this, when the uncertainty and doubt crept in. It grounded her to remember that the right move was whichever presented the best flight pattern.

The press conference had been going for several minutes.

She tried to find her father in the crowd, but the lights were too bright. She was seated back in her chair further than the rest of the team, most were preening under the attention. Well deserved attention, the World Cup only came around every four years, it was a big deal.

She really wished she could see her father.

She sat forward, because she was just stalling at this point, and Arianne was not one to dither. People had been trying to get her to answer questions regularly thus far, but the press knew how she handled them by now, so things had been moving along in her absence.

When she sat up it renewed their interest though, and a few called out to her, she picked one at random. He was young and handsome, and she was pretty sure she recognized him from her early years at Beauxbatons.

“Arianne, three years in the leagues and already a World Cup, that’s got to feel good.” He opened, not really needing an answer, but she leaned in to agree. “With a clean career to date, people are starting to talk about a new Potter record, what's the next season look like for you?”

She stopped looking for her father, and the oddest thing happened, her face split into an uncontrollable grin. She knew in that moment that what she wanted to do was right.

“I’m retiring.”

It starts all innocent with some people trading information on the incident with the Chamber of Secrets in the summer of 1993. With so little information available, many start to throw in theories and postulate on probabilities. When an older sibling hears the theories and is struck by inspiration, the first "friend-fic" is born. It quickly is spread by duplication charm and word of mouth. The final reveal that Voldemort was a time-traveler captured the minds of many. By the time Harry is on the train back to Hogwarts, "friend-fics" are pervasive and the "in" thing to discuss.

Meanwhile others have begun to use it to explore different interests and topics in a safe manner. "Ron" disliking being forced to capitulate "Hermione"'s desire for snogging on her schedule. "Harry" being forced to enjoy "quidditch" by "Ron". A slew of stories end up centered around having Harry, Ron, and Hermione be caricatures for short vignettes about controversial topics. Often these would be recommended among friends as to not rock the boat but bring attention to topics. While there is a bit of squick territory in the earliest of these fics, authors quickly pick up the technique of aging up the trio to appropriate ages.

Then the Hufflepuffs strike gold. At first their stories were more of the same until AbbottAddict (Susan's pseudonym) releases her debut fic, "The Boy-Who-Loved-Me". From there is an explosion of shipping fics. Many seeking to mimic AbbottAddict's style for the praise and adulation, but some seek to explore topics which they can't in real life. Many outside Hufflepuff desire to know the who the author is, but Hufflepuffs stick together (even if Susan is often pushed to pair up with Harry in Herbology).

With the new wave of shipping fics, new tropes begin to play out and it becomes simple to see where authors originate. (edited)

Gryffindor authors often have a flare for the dramatic and love a good noble protagonist often posing Harry as a princely knight saving a maiden. The romance is often pure and the reward for the protagonist. Any smut that comes from them is often circumstantial where Harry is foisted into situations where he must bed the maiden (not that either mind, but it's never Harry's own desire to).

Ravenclaws have a penchant for world building often to the detriment of their character development but their portrayals of Harry often have him hide his true talent and sneer at anything anti-intellectual. The smut that leaks from Ravenclaw is often held as the most sensual and spicy. Their expansive vocabulary and use of figurative language to illustrate sex often leaves the reader hot under the collar and on their bed with the curtains drawn.

Meanwhile, Hufflepuffs tend to fall into different camps with smut fiends having Harry be shared amongst a coven of sister-wives or those that call themselves TruePuffs having Harry save the world adventures through the 'power-of-friendship' and a Harry who will do anything for a friend. Most people don't begrudge them their wish fulfillment and escapism, but it is widely regarded as subpar.

Finally there is the mystery of Slytherins. The condescension towards other houses and their love of rigidly following Chekov's Wand easily gives them away, but they have surprising variety in their portrayals of Harry. A Harry who defies the "Light" for a pure, proper pureblooded heiresses because he can't control his love for her. A Harry who steps in and protects Slytherin and demonstrates that they are not all evil Death Eaters. A Harry who is forced to marry a downtrodden pureblood due to a long standing contract that became realized when he turned of age. A Harry who takes who he wants whenever he wants. Many male Slytherins are more upset by the amount of fics centered around them entering a tryst with Harry than the fact that Harry ends up stealing all their women in most fics. Even with the Slytherins being the most vocal of their dislike of being partnered with Harry, there always seems to see a lot more green when a new update is available for Harry/Slytherin fics.

For many Harry's social position and relative distance allows for authors to use him as a tabula rasa, an empty canvas, to fill with their own picture of Harry. Of course this leads to many relationships to enter rough waters when either partner happens to make an appearance. After all, where there is smoke there is fire right?

By the time Halloween rolls around, Harry finds out about the fics and is baffled. Some hit a bit too close to home, others have him in stitches, and some leave him needing a cold shower. He cannot understand the fascination that people have with him, but he becomes aware of a lot of little things about wizarding culture through the fics. Ultimately, he knows he has no say in this and tries to make due. The information he gleans from the stories lead to him purchasing new clothes, making new friends, and mending bridges long before they are irreparable. (edited)

Unfortunately, he finds a fic that is incomplete and hasn't been updated in a long time but he has to know the ending. So Harry enters the dark underbelly of Hogwarts "friend-fic" scene to hunt down the mysterious CandlelitWriterXoXo. And if anyone asks it's for research purposes!

Hermione: "Harry, just stop letting him in your mind"

Harry: "oh, of course! why didn't I think of something So. Fucking. Simple?"

Hermione: "Honestly Harry..... sometimes i wonder what you would do without me."

Harry: "Harry prepares to commit a hate crime."

Hermione: "Huh?"

A sharp green light flashes in the Gryffindor common room, followed by the thunk of a heavy object hitting the ground.

‘14 Veela kidnapped over the course of a year.’ Harry thought as he looked at the folders spread out in front of him.

‘If they were just after Veela why leave the seven year old from the third family, and why kill the 16 year old from the tenth.’ That’s when he noticed something.

‘13 not 14. 13 Veela all to turn 13 shortly after they were kidnapped. If that’s the case why take Gabrielle. She was already 14… but she hadn’t reached maturity yet and didn’t look any older.’

More anxiety began to build in Harry. The only thing he could think of for 13 Veela turning 13 over … 13 months was a very ambitious ritual. ‘If they figure out Gabby is too old they won’t have a use for her and kill her.’

Fleur looked at him, it was love at first sight He glanced at her, but the timing wasn't right So later Harry was moping, downed in sadness Fleur came and patched him up with love and kindness

Harry, now head auror, often thinks about his wife at work. With the amount of paperwork Harry has to read and sign, every stroke reminds him of the pain/love he remembers being forced to learn to write...

Harry's chicken scrawl was acceptable for Minerva Mcgonagall, accepted by Hermione Granger, but Fleur, Fleur Delacour refused. She would NEVER date a man who could not write properly.

And so 3 months into dating, Harry was sitting at a desk finishing up his summer work for his 7th year when Fleur with all the seduction a Veela is capable of, draped herself across Harry's lap.

The groan he made was one he would come to be very familiar with over the course of his marriage. Knowing his train of thought was entirely lost, he leaned up to kiss Fleur.

In an entirely too graceful movement, Fleur whilst gyrating her hips swirled her arms above her head, reached behind her and pulled one of her feathers in front of Harry.

The confusion was clear on Harry's face.

"You will write all of zis again until it eez neat." She paused, a surprisingly impassioned speech for such a menial topic.

"Or you will not share a bed with me again."

Fleur got off Harry's lap and walked off hips swaying.

Harry laughed again. Boy did he learn.

Time was ticking.

Fleur Delacour stared at all the miniature clocks she had around the room. She had collected a handful of clocks over the years that had passed. She did not want to miss the opportunity.

15 more minutes. She had looked at the date again, and again and again.

Today was the day that they would meet. That’s what she had seen anyways. The Veela, apart from beings of fire, were also beings of time. On the day of their magical maturity, they had the ability to look into the future and see the future meant for them. Some use this opportunity to see what kind of career they would have, some the number of children they would have. But to most of the Veela, being also creatures of love and romance, they used it to see who they would come to love.

But a word of warning always came to the Veela that use this ability to see an intertwined future. A future of love. The visions gave more questions than answers. It becomes less about seeing the future but more of seeing if you are prepared for what you might have in the future.

In the aftermath of the war, time has lost its meaning. With several wizards hoping to change the outcome of the war that Harry and his friends had won, time had begun to flow differently. Time had become non-linear.

She did not know where to begin their story. She just knew of a date, a time. Only those were precise.

Today was the day that they were supposed to meet and yet Harry Potter was upstairs, unable to wake.

Fleur looked at him, a man in big round glasses, the man she had already seen she would love all her life, locked in a seemingly eternal slumber.

She had been prepared for this moment. And if he did failed to wake, she had a solution. She had to find him. [1:34 AM] And so, she had spent the past weeks building a time machine. If he were not to wake by the time the clock strikes 4:30, she would take a one-way trip to look for him again and again.

She climbed to the 2nd floor of the house where Harry Potter slept. He did not age, and he did not dream. At least, that what she believed. He lay there at peace. And if it wasn’t for the full color on his face and the pulse that was steady on his hand, she would’ve been in tears for years.

How she wishes they could meet already, again or for the first time. It did not matter to her. It did not even matter if he were not to remember her or know her.

Time had already spoken for her.

Harry Meets Dragon

Their unit had been sent into the field after reports of monstrous activity had reached an alarming severity and frequency. Harry’s boys had carefully scouted the area and there had been multiple skirmishes, mostly with mindless critters, ghouls, devourers, corpse eaters. Nothing they couldn’t handle, though the fights had been exhausting.

He should have known it was a trap.

“Ron! Keep the frontline!”

“Aye, Captain!” His sergeant and best friend called back, hefting his billhook. “You heard it boys! Pikes front! Let’s give the buggers a proper welcome!”

Eyeing the teeming mass headed towards them, both minor demons and risen corpses, Harry turned to another sergeant. “Seamus, the flanks covered?”

“Heh, anyone tryin’ ta flank us will get a nasty surprise!” The leader of the sapper squad gave a savage grin. “Left behind some of our best.”

“Fire and steel!” Harry grinned in response.

“Sky high!”

“Captain, flyers!” Robins, the scout called out.

“The day’s just getting better, boys! Tonks!” He turned towards the armoured battlemage. “You see those?”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Well, I don’t want to!”

“You won’t, Captain!” The blood-red foci on her bracers gave off a dangerous glow as the battlemage eyed her targets. “I’ll rip ‘em outta the sky!”

Their briefing, however, got interrupted by a series of roars from the right flank, and his men paled at the sight there. A group of armoured ogres were charging their formation, ready to plough into their right flank, while the front was threatened by the undead.

Soon, however, Seamus “Bridgeburner” Finnegan proved that he made no empty boasts in the field. A series of explosions rocked everyone, tearing the ground apart, and taking at least four of the beasts down. That still left three, swinging their heavy clubs, and getting closer.

“Colin!” Harry bellowed. “Support Tonks!” He pointed at the incoming birds. Stormbirds from the shadowlands, larger than a man, their claws and beaks strong enough to tear through steel. But their greatest weapon was the lightning that could lash out from their wings. Already, ozone cold be felt in the air.

“But Captain!” Colin gestured towards the ogres.

“Cover Tonks! That’S an order!” Harry hefted his spear. “Leave the ogres to me!”

And then there was no more time to argue. Tonks was sending sizzling projectiles into the air, followed by the bolts of his boys’ heavy crossbows, and the demons led the undead charge into his frontline. He heard Ron bellow orders and encouragement as he cleaved a skull in twain with his “Old Dependable”.

He had his own task, however. None of the ogres would reach his boys! His legs took him out of the formation and into the sights of the ogres. Dumb beasts, usually, but their fighting instincts were often great. He knew he needed their attention.

“Oi!” His bellow, after years of practice, easily carried over the din of battle. The focusing gem on his right wrist lit up briefly, and his attack bounced off the chestplate of the front ogre, a simple magical projectile. “Ya hafta take me first!”

This attracted their attention indeed. A single man was an easier target than an armoured formation bristling with pikes. The closest ogre was running at him, roaring loudly as it prepared its heft club, but Harry’s spear gave him the chance to strike first, like a snake lashing out at a gap in the crude armour, eliciting a pained shriek from the beast.

The whole time, the focus on his left forearm glowed brilliant orange. This was a spell that Tonks had shown him a long time ago. In a way, he envied her. She was able to cast it without preparation and repeatedly, while he had to spend valuable seconds charging it up.

As he rounded the wounded ogre, he aimed his arm at the second one. A brilliant projectile went roaring away, burrowing itself into the second ogres eye, hissing as it charred flesh and evaporated water.

While the second ogre fell, never to rise again, he noticed Tonk assaulting the birds with a lash made out of crimson energy, truly ripping one of the winged giants apart.

Then the third ogre was coming at him, hitting him with a crushing blow to his side. A shield shimmered into existence, called forth from the defensive focus on his shoulder, before shattering, sending him to the ground. Achy, bruised, but alive.

His left attack focus was still too hot to use from his previous spell, an aftereffect of magic he was too weak to cast normally. But his right one was ready, sending an explosive attack at the ogre. It missed, though the shockwave sent to beast falling forward. Hastily, he braced his spear and then quickly jumped aside as the ogre impaled itself on his weapon.

“And then there was one,” Harry growled to himself, as he stumbled forward, drawing his sword. Though it was nothing special, the blade was keen and had served him well so far, the guard simple, but effective, though he was glad for his gauntlets. Without them, he would have had lost his hand a long time ago.

“Come on!” He urged the wounded beast, watching it prepare a wide swing of its club.

“Now!” His shout came as the club started its descent. It was a risky move, he knew, and the club briefly touched the shield he had hastily called on again, but in doing so, he managed to get behind the ogres back. Gritting his teeth, he put all his strength into hacking at the ogre’s unprotected right leg. The tendons were severed, and the beast dropped to one knee with another hate-filled shriek.

Dodging a wide swing of its arm, Harry moved to its front. “There!” His blade found a gap in the front armour, piercing the ogre’s loins, and finding an artery.

It wasn’t just the ogre who collapsed, however, as Harry too dropped to his knees, leaning on his sword. The hits he had received, if not for the shields, would have crushed him to paste. Even so, they hurt, and as he was panting from the exertion, watching his boys hold their own and push their enemy back with steel in hands, his various aches caught up with him. Surely, he could take a rest…

No. A roar unlike any that had sounded that day had interrupted the fighting, and a new shadow covered the battlefield. Shadow-like wings carry a sinuous body that lands on legs sporting claws long and sharp enough to eviscerate a man, covered in opaque black scales, hide thick enough to withstand most weapons, a dragon arrived on the field of battle. Horned head on a long neck surveyed the scene, fire burning in the yellow eyes.

Eyes that were looking directly into his.

‘Many I have met. All I have refused. But you, it would be a shame to lose you.’

The thoughts pierces his mind with a force unlike any mental attack he had experienced so far.

‘Know me then, I am Hildostra. And like you, I refuse to tolerate this filth!’

The dragon opened its, her, maw, and a torrent of flames, orange tinted with blue, spewed forth, covering the demons that had yet to reach his boys.

The fight was short and simple after that.

“Oi, Captain.” Seamus, covered in blood and grime, was making his way towards him. “You really pick up the best chicks!”

Tale 1

Captain Harry Potter, freshly elevated to rank of Dragon Rider due to the events in the recent battle near Sparrowhawk Mountains where his daring and chivalry impressed a notorious solitaire dragon enough that the dragon bonded with him, sighed and looked at the decorated dagger-like focus that symbolized the trouble he found himself in. Earlier today he took it from a pompous looking blonde lickspittle who was using it to threaten several patrons in a bar. And now, an older version of the lickspittle, was marching towards him, his eyes promising a painful demise.

“You ambushed my son and stole an artefact of House Malfoy,” the older ponce almost hissed.

Fortunately, Harry was not alone, being accompanied by one of his comrades from his previous service, Battlemage of the Third Order, Tonks. Her silhouette, clad in heavy armour, her combat focus glinting threateningly, gave his a sense of certainty.

“Your son must have misinformed you. He was drunk and threatening the owner of the bar.” Harry retorted, quickly going through the various shield types he could cast with the defence focus on his shoulder at a moment’s notice.

“Are you calling my son a liar?” Malfoy senior came even closer.

Harry knew, however, that even should the man close the distance to lunge at him with a hidden dagger, the armour beneath his robes would protect him.

“I am calling him a liar and a coward.” He stood his ground, looking Malfoy senior in the eyes.

“You robbed my son of his honour.” Malfoy was almost spitting.

“You cannot take away what some does not have.” Harry retorted firmly.

Malfoy bared his teeth. “That insult to House Malfoy cannot go unanswered. It must be washed away with blood. As my son’s champion, I will see you tomorrow in the duelling pit. I hope you at least own a proper duelling blade.”

And with his last piece said, Lord Malfoy spat on the ground and strode away.

“Well, captain,” Tonks addressed him, “you certainly know how to keep life interesting.”

“And potentially short.”

“Says the man that charged three ogres at once and took them down.” Tonks snorted. “Even that dragon thought you were so crazy that you needed a bond to keep you grounded. A damn black dragon!”

“What can I say? It needed doing, they needed killing.” Harry shrugged.

“Anyway, captain.” Tonks looked him straight in the eyes. “Since he chose himself as a champion for his son, you also can choose a champion.” Her smile was now unsettling. “So I have a question for you. Do you want that man crippled, or dead?”

Tale 2

The atmosphere in the room was one of anxious energy, at least to an outside observer. There were only two people, the somewhat notorious Battlemage going by Tonks, now out of her armour, only in a light shirt and tight pants. Her hair was bound in its usual long plait, now moving around as she took several practice swings with the curved duelling blade, getting a feeling for its balance and reach. It was a curious weapon, dedicated to duelling pits, curved blade, long handle, sparsely decorated crossguard. It was quite unlike what the soldiers wielded in the field.

“Are you really certain about this?” The other person in the room asked.

“No worries, captain.” Tonks’ grin show far too many teeth. “I got a feel for this pigsticker. Only a limited number of ways to swing it.” The red jewels on her wristguards, her combat foci, glinted in the sunlight.

“You are more used to those.” Harry pointed at her foci.

“No worries, captain, I can tear that ponce a new one, whether by blade, magic, or hands, for all I care.” And to illustrate her point, her left hand grew impressive claws. “I’ll be a proper champion for you.”

Harry snorted in derision. “Pox on that and any miserable bastard that complains. I’m worried about you.”

“Aww, captain, you’re so sweet.” Tonks cackled. “Don’t you worry, I’ll win that duel, preserve your honour and then you can fill my room with flowers and properly woo me. We’ll have five kids, all dragonriders.” She batted her now exaggerated eyelashes at him.

“Piss off.” Harry chuckled.

All the while they talked, he was keenly aware of the location of his new dragon. His dragon, it would take some getting used to. The rather cantankerous female lay curled in a warm spot that was prepared for her in the dragon quarters of the city, basking in sunlight and contentedly digesting her latest meal. He felt her satisfaction and the somewhat sluggish stream of thought and impressions from her mind. With each day, their connection grew in strength.

‘Do you not trust your flightmate?’ Came her exasperated query.

‘I certainly do.’ His reply came with a bit of effort, this mode of communication still unfamiliar to him.

‘Then stop worrying and support her.’

His new companion, Hildostra, known to many as The Black Solitaire of Sparrowhawk Mountains, was certainly opinionated. He sighed. Another one among many.

Tale 3

The duelling pit was cleaned properly, Tonks noticed. The marble floor of the circular arena gleamed white in the afternoon light. The stands were filled with spectators, common people, lesser noblemen and a few dragonriders. Many of those were barely able to hide their disdain at the group occupying the stands on her side of the arena. Loudly joking and laughing, Captain Potter’s Boys were as irrepressible as always. Their clothing was patchy, their hygiene left something to be desired, and their jokes were barely fit for polite company.

She wouldn’t want them any other way. “Old Dependable” Weasley, “Bridge-Burner” Finnegan, even little Creevey earned a nickname, “Deadeye” they called him, and rightfully so. The lad was now downright scary with a crossbow. But it wasn’t just them, the entire unit came to see her defend their Captain’s honour.

No, they came to see her kick ass, she corrected herself with a snort, her plait moving in agitation. Her captain stood with her in the arena, holding the sheathed duelling blade she would be using. She herself was currently unarmed. At least to the untrained eye. The combat foci on her forearms were ready to be used, should the need arise.

She wore a simple white tunic, a pair of pants and her favourite comfortable boots, looking quite unassuming. Many pairs of eyes watched her in suspicion, however, knowing of her reputation. It did not help matters that she now worked without a proper battlemage team, much like her notoriously infamous aunt Bellatrix, the “Walking Catastrophe”.

Pox on what those bastards thought! She was here to tear a new one to a pretentious git that tried to bully her Captain.

And said git was now entering the arena on the other side, accompanied by an unknown man carrying his duelling blade.

Both groups stood facing each other now as the officiator spoke from the stands, her voice resonating throughout the arena.

“We are here today to see to the settling of a dispute between House Malfoy and Dragonrider Potter. The head of House Malfoy called for this duel to restore the honour of House Malfoy. I need to ask you, is there no way to settle this without violence? Is there no way for you to resolve this dispute with words?”

Lucius sneered and shook his head while Tonks bared her teeth in a hideous smile.

“So be it. This duel shall be fought with blades until one side surrenders or is unable to continue. Champions, present your blades.”

Lucius drew the richly decorated blade from the scabbard his companion offered him and raised it in the air, looking like a victorious warrior posing in the moment of his triumph, his cape made him a striking figure, but Tonks mainly noticed the jewelled brooch keeping the cloak in place.

She drew the plain blade her Captain offered her and raised it lazily in the air. A few of the noblemen booed while she enjoyed the laughter coming from her side of the audience.

“Do you intend to make a mockery of this?” Lucius demanded.

“Oh, my intentions are quite different.” She eyed his jugular rather pointedly.

“So confident. Yet you could not even keep your team alive.”

“So self-assured, yet you could not even give my aunt a proper son, only that weakling.” She smirked.

“I will make you regret those words.” Lucius hissed, pointing the blade at her. “Before making you eat your own tongue.”

“Nice plan.” She chuckled. “I plan to open you head to crotch and see if I can find at least a speck of honour inside of you.”

Their exchange was interrupted by the officiator sending all other people out of the arena. It was time to fight.

Lucius assumed a proper guard stance, right out of a swordsmanship manual, his blade pointing forward and gently upward, aiming right at her face. She stood quite relaxed at raised her blade into a similar stance, yet many in the audience called her “sloppy”.

His blade knocked her aside and went straight at her, before changing direction, Lucius having started with a feint.

Tonks was undeterred by the feint and intercepted his incoming cut with her own blade, the contact making Lucius’ blade decorated with golden vines slide alongside hers. She also sidestepped to the left and immediately went on the attack with her left hand closed into a fist.

The crunch as her fist met his nose was most satisfying, the hit sending Lucius to the ground, clutching his face. She waited on him, quite enjoying his teary glare as he tried to stem the bleeding. She nodded at his blade lying on the ground, bidding him to pick it up.

Lucius was much more cautious in his approach now and they exchanged a few cuts and parries, with him probing her defences and her quickly lashing out of her blade. Their styles differed quite a bit, him having studied under a renowned instructor, her being experienced in fighting in the field. This made her attacks direct, blunt, but she was too quick for his ripostes.

His lack of progress seemed to anger Lucius, Tonks thought, judging by the tight frown he wore. But it seemed to sharpen his focus and gain speed. It had to come eventually, he scored a hit on her, cutting her left side. The pain, however, was nothing new to her, but when they next crossed blades, he feinted again and with a kick he sent her tumbling. She tasted blood, her tongue hurt. Lucius was coming at her, blade raised. She hit him right between the eye with a bloody spit, stopping him in his tracks.

Then she noticed the brooch of his cloak glowing. Her feet started sinking into the ground. She quickly jumped away and then the officiator and audience noticed how deformed the ground was.

“That was an unsanctioned use of magical energy!” The officiator exclaimed. “Battlemage Tonks, you have the right to claim victory in this duel.”

“Oh no.” Tonks wiped the blood from her chin. “Let’s continue. I don’t mind adding magic to the mix.”

Throwing all pretences aside, Lucius used his earth focus to its full potential, sending several spears of stone at her while simultaneously trying to catch her feet. She danced through his attempts and her own foci glowed, crimson, bloody red. She held her arms out and clenched her fists. Lucius stiffened, unable to move, only his eyes moving to her foci. Realisation dawned on him. Blood, her specialty was blood. The one he spilled, the one she spat into his face. And due to that close contact, control of his body was hers.

“I told you I would open you head to crotch, Lucius.” Her grin showed far too many teeth. She quickly jerked her hands apart. And Lucius’ body tried to follow the motion of both of her hands.

Blood stained the marble.

Tale 4

The past few days had been hell. This thought was a constant in his mind. And it wasn’t looking likely that it would change in the near future. First he got mugged by that vagrant when he was just asking for the proper respect he deserved, then he got scolded for losing the family casting focus which his great-grandfather had received from the king for his services.

And then it turned out that the vagrant was a dragonrider! Dressed in rags and surrounded by thugs, but a dragonrider. His father had gone to get the focus back, but failed. It should have been a simple affair!

He felt his dragon partner move restlessly, his own disquiet influencing even Aruldred. Not that the dragon was going to help him much in this situation.

And then it all escalated. Father tried to wash off the stain of dishonour that the dragonrider’s stubbornness caused his family, but that dragonrider had an access to a battlemage of all things. Even so, Father had been an excellent swordsman, he should have made mincemeat of that woman, but no… His stomach still turned when he recalled the scene, his father, slumped over, the battlemage’s feral grimace and then…

He paled, recalling the deluge of blood and gore. The battlemage tore his father in two. Without any regards for honour, or for prestige, for all that the family could have given somebody of her talents, she mercilessly slaughtered his father.

And now he stood there, in the same hall where he received the honours of a royal dragonrider from the king himself. Once again, he stood before the formidable man, surrounded by the heads or representatives of the noble houses of the kingdom, knights, dragonriders, battlemages, master enchanters.

But this time, the atmosphere was entirely different.

“Draco of House Malfoy,” the aging king intoned with his powerful voice, “You stand before us, having brought grave dishonour to House Malfoy, and by proxy, to your king.”

Draco gulped, noting the looks on his peers’ faces, ranging from indifferent to cold. People who used to drink and feast with his father now seemed to tower over him, looking down their nose at him, eyes resembling chips of ice. His own friends, Theo, with whom he spent many a night drinking, Blaise, his partner during amorous escapades, Pansy… Nobody showed even a shred of sympathy. His mother, ever a lady of impeccable manners, showed no emotion at all, her gaze drilling into his head.

He remembered the talk they had a day prior, her eyes almost glowing with feverish energy, her voice coming out in a hiss, reminding him of the family legacy.

“We cannot abide a dishonoured House in our service,” the king continued, his eyes hard. “Therefore, there are only two ways of resolving this situation.”

Draco knew, painfully aware of the traditions surrounding situations like his.

At the king’s gesture, a servant stepped forward, carrying a short, one edged blade.

“You can remove the stain of dishonour from House Malfoy.” The king nodded at him, no change in his expression. “Or you can accept discommendation for House Malfoy.”

Though none of the nobles moved a muscle, Draco heard the murmurs of the crowd watching the spectacle. The hissing, the expressions of incredulity. How quickly he fell from being admired, receiving random gifts from the people for his service!

Looking at his friends, none offered even a sign of compassion. He turned to look at his other, but she may have as well been carved of marble, just as cold and hard.

The ceremonial blade gleamed in the cold light, stinging Draco’s eyes. He gulped, and looked back at the king.

“What is your decision, Draco of House Malfoy?”

“I..” Sweat rolled down his forehead and gathered in his eyebrows. “I accept the discommendation.”

The level of noise in the background rose dramatically, more people were hissing and now also booing. The cold gazes of his former peers speared him, yet none was sharper than his mother’s.

Very well.” The king nodded, his voice sharp. “Let it be known then that House Malfoy is hearby stripped of all their holdings and titles. Within two days, you shall vacate the buildings that were once given to you. May you bring no more disgrace.”

As the king finished speaking, he laid his left fist on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, while his right fist was clenched above his heart. With ceremonial pomp, the king stomped and turned his back on him. This was a signal to all the gathered peers, who followed the king’s example, literally and figuratively turning their backs on Draco and the Malfoys.

Tale 5

A whole day had gone by since he had accepted the discommendation, and the atmosphere in what would soon cease to be his home was one he was unlikely to ever forget. His cousins and the few people who stayed loyal to his family were frantically packing what they could manage. His mother, however, had called him to a private room.

„I believe,“ she hissed at him, a half-empty goblet of fire in her hand, „that I tasked you with remembering this family’s legacy.“ She aggressively jabbed him in the chest. „For generations, the Malfoys have gathered titles, lands, and riches. And with the marriage to the Blacks, our power was consolidated.”

“Mother, I…” He tried to remind her that he was still her son, that the family could continue, that…

“Do not interrupt me when I am speaking!” She took a swig of her wine and put the empty goblet on a nearby table. “With your foolishness you have undone generations’ worth of work. You must have inherited that from your father.” She sniffed. “Escalating things to a duel, and against Bella’s niece at that. What possessed him?”

“But mother, father was…” He tried again.

“Silence! Your father could be a great man at times.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “No matter how great, no man is greater than the House. The House must come first.” She speared him with a frustrated look. “Always. And yet, argh, and yet here we are.”

“But, after father, I…” Once again, he tried to speak up.

“Oh, after your father, you inherited his position.” She waved her hand. “And after your death, it would have fallen to your uncle. He is still unmarried.” She shrugged. “And I am young still. We would have made it work. But now, we have lost our holdings, our positions. Do not look so surprised, nobody will want to keep a Malfoy in any position of prestige.”

They were interrupted by loud voices from outside, as people were moving valuables from nearby rooms.

“Now, we will have to scatter, you and your cousins will have to seek postings elsewhere.” She furrowed her brows further. “It will be nothing glamorous, but there are always some villages needing their dragonrider garrison strengthened. This way, we will recover at least a semblance of respect for the family. Hopefully, at least some trading partners will be willing to work with us.”

She looked at him again.

“What are you still doing here? Go to the bathhouse. You want to look respectable. You will be looking for work.”

He sighed. “Yes, mother.”

==(/)==

The news had spread like wildfire, of course, and many people were openly pointing at him, mocking him, jeering at him, even spitting at him. He growled, remembering their respectful bows he had enjoyed only a few days prior.

The public bathhouse was busy, as usual. It was a popular establishment. As soon as he entered, he was sought out by the proprietor, a matronly sort of woman.

“What services do you desire?” She asked him, casting a suspicious look at his money pouch.

“A barber, then a bath, and take care of my clothes.”

“Payment upfront.”

He growled, they expected him to be poor now, and took out the usual amount of coin.

“Very good, go this way, please, and relax. The barber will be with you shortly.”

Grumbling, he went to the indicated room. A chair was prepared for him, at least it looked comfortable. He washed his face in the prepared basin, and sat down with a weary sigh. It really was comfortable.

The barber, however, was taking their time. He was just getting ready to stand up and complain, when he felt it. Magic. Bindings crept along his skin. Before he could formulate a counterspell, he couldn’t move. Paralysis.

He heard the figure come up behind him, steps light, silent, trained. However much he tried, he couldn’t move a muscle, so he couldn’t even look at the person coming up from behind. However, he felt the come close, smell their perfume.

The person leaned close to his ear. “Your uncle sends his regards.”

The whisper came followed by the sound of a sharp blade being bared. He felt the chill of cold steel on his throat, the sting as it cut into his skin.

Pub Crawl

Author's Note: Here's a continuation of the Dragonrider AU. In this tale, Harry and his compatriots are away from the battlefield, heading into very familiar territory.

You are welcome to join the Harry/Fleur Discord, a lively and inspiring place: discord．gg/CpzggZbfyU

=======(/\)=======

The "Crowned Lion" sign squeaked as it moved in the wind while Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Colin passed it. Seamus held the pub's door open and the blaze of warmth and music felt like a welcoming embrace. The singing was already off-key while the fiddler was doing his best to compensate. The singers, however, tried to compensate for their lack of singing ability with sheer volume, no doubt emboldened by alcohol.

"My kind of place!" Seamus's grin was missing a tooth, and managed to be equally lecherous and disturbing, while he ushered the others in.

Though they weren't wearing their uniforms, their bearing and visage identified them as soldiers to anyone paying the least bit attention, and most people in the pub noted the weapons sheathed at their waists. At least those still coherent, for a few patrons had already been sleeping under the tables.

Colin found them a free table while Ron and Harry were also assessing the pub, noting several armed groups in there.

"What can I get you, gents?" The waitress bowed towards them, giving them a nice view of cleavage.

"What else, luv?" Seamus winked. "The soldiers' special! Cheap wine and a bowl of whatever's cooking." He exaggerated his movements, sniffing in the direction of the kitchen, while also winking at the waitress.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, gents!" She winked at them and went to check on another table with a rather rowdy group of guests.

The singers had meanwhile switched to another song, belting out a mightily modified serenade to the Queen Mother, making Seamus grin and Colin plant his face in his hands.

"So," Ron made a dramatic pause, "a dragonrider now? Who would have thought?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Gonna mingle with the high and mighty now, eh?" He nudged Harry with an elbow.

"Oh, piss off!" Harry batted his hand away. "You know me. And you know a lot of those tossers wouldn't breathe the same air I do if they could help it."

Ron's answering laugh turned a few heads in the room. "Ah, but they can't help it now, can they?"

"Yes, a fact which will make them so much happier to see me." Harry rubbed his forehead with a grimace.

Colin turned to him. "Head giving you trouble, Captain?"

"Not gonna be your captain much longer, ya know?" Harry growled, angrily scowling. "If you haven't noticed, I got several tons of a spiky flying firebreather connected to my head. And she has quite the attitude."

"Told ya, Captain," Seamus was still grinning, "you pick up the best chicks."

"Laugh it up."

"Aye, Captain!" Seamus saluted and followed his captain's orders, followed by the others. Even Harry cracked a smile.

At that moment, the waitress was back with a pitcher of red wine and four goblets.

"Here ya go, gents!" She handed them each a goblet and poured the wine. "Just make sure you cause no trouble here."

"Don't worry," Harry spoke as he handed her a coin, "those may look like vagabonds. ("Oi!") Even smell like vagabonds, and speak even worse, but they're not that bad."

The waitress's "Uh-huh" suggested she didn't much believe those words, however.

"Anyway," Seamus spoke up after the waitress left, and after he took a sip of the wine, "you may not be our captain soon, but you will always be our Captain!"

"Hear, hear! Cheers to that!" Ron and Colin raised the goblets, and the four friends and comrades drank.

"If they put any weight in my recommendation," Harry said after a few moments in thought, "Ron will get command." He shrugged. "But it's just as likely they'll call in someone from another unit."

"Ah," Seamus waved his hand and almost spilled his wine, "we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Colin nodded, followed by Ron. "And burn it afterwards, yeah?" Colin smirked.

"Who do you take me for?" Seamus sounded outraged, again making heads turn. "Course we'll burn it!"

"Aye!" Ron toasted him. "Think the Boys would take some tosser at their lead? They'd rather resign their commission."

Harry refilled his goblet. "Let's not get hasty, don't throw all away."

"Really?" Colin snorted. "You? You're telling us that? Mister-I'm-gonna-charge-three-ogres-by-myself?"

"When did the small kid get so mouthy?" Harry mock lamented. "Besides, it worked, dinnit?"

"And who says our plan won't?" Ron shrugged. "Besides, who'd want our band of reprobates anyway? The way I see it, they'll disband us and send us to different units."

"But that," Seamus raised his goblet for another toast, "will come later. Now, we drink! To another successful deployment!"

"Aye!" The rest of the friends cheered as well. This was their third goblet each and the wine was going to their head.

"Here it is, gents!" The waitress was gliding towards them with four bowls. "The stew!"

"Aw, thank ye, darlin'!" Seamus cheered while enjoying the scent rising from his bowl.

Harry had to admit, this pub's perpetual stew was certainly savoury.

"Well," Ron spoke up, "they have a good cook here."

"People're not bad either." Seamus grinned. "Oi, fiddler! How 'bout a cheerful tune?"

The fiddler bowed with a wide smile, even wider after a coin Ron had thrown landed near him, and soon a well-known folk song celebrating the bounties of a farmer women's fruit garden was welcomed by loud cheers.

"Heh," Ron sipped his wine, "Seamus always had the ability to bring folks together."

"Yeah." Harry nodded, watching Seamus leading the patrons into a particularly off-key rendition of the stanza praising the ripe apples of the generous woman. "Especially when they chase after him and want to beat him to death."

Colin had to spit out the wine at that. "How many times has it been again?"

Harry shrugged. "Only the gods know."

"Well," Colin raised his goblet, "here's to it being at least one more!"

"Aye!" The goblets clinked against each other.

The friends' laughter was, however, interrupted by a sound that put them immediately on guard. A scream of fright and the sound of broken pottery. A huddle of men were standing around a blond who was now waving a dagger towards the waitress. A jewelled dagger.

"He's waving a bloody focus around," Ron muttered while the friends were standing up, in formation to guard each other's backs.

"Rider," Seamus noted, looking at the blond's clothes, their cut resembling the coats the infantry wore under armour.

"We don't know what the others'll do. Careful." Harry was in command mode. "Don't draw first."

They approached the group. The blond's companions looked uncomfortable, unsure what to do about the blond rider's behaviour. Seeing the friends approaching, noting their stance and weapons, they very visibly put their hands away from their belts, and stepped back.

"What do you mean you won't bring more?" The blond was ruddy in the face and unstable on his feet. "Money? Who do you think I am?" He turned around, waving the focus around the room. Think I'm some beggar? I'm a Malfoy, my word is worth more than your lives." He turned back to the waitress. "Now bring more wine!"

"Is that the behaviour of a noble dragon rider? A noble exemplar of honour?" Harry approached him, showing his empty hands. "Does a fellow dragonrider need to threaten a woman?"

The young Malfoy focused on him. "Fellow dragorider? You? You dress like a vagabond. Born in mud and trying to climb up." He aimed the dagger at Harry. "What did you do? Steal a dragon egg?"

Harry a felt a headache approaching as Hildostra growled in his head, incensed at the allegations. 'Steal a dragon egg? Show that pale worm his place!'

'Calm yourself before you split my head,' he sent back at her in exasperation. "That is not important." He approached, arms outstretched. Coiled as a spring, ready to act. "But you threatening the people here is. Put your weapon down."

"Some mudborn filth won't order me around!"

Harry knew the attack would come, and met the wild swing with a dodge to the side, before stepping into the blond's space, a hand grabbing the arm with the dagger, the other hitting the Malfoy's nose. He let go of the dagger and clutched the now bloody nose, sending a tearful glare at Harry.

"You'll pay for that!"

Harry tucked the dagger behind his belt, giving the young Malfoy a cold gaze that usually was enough to calm down hotheaded recruits.

"You'll calm down now, lickspittle, and go home." He patted the dagger. "I'll be keeping this. When you sober up, come pick it up."

"You've robbed me of my honour!" The blonde lunged at him, trying to get at the dagger, only to be sent to the floor by a strong backhand.

"You have none." Harry turned to Malfoy's companions. "Take that little lickspittle home, and make sure he doesn't bother anyone else."

The men, to their credit, did not protest, and took the young Malfoy between them, half guiding and half carrying him away.

"Well, Captain," Seamus patted his shoulder, "always interesting time with you."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "You really know how to make friends."

Daphne Appears!

It was just his luck, Harry supposed, to come across trouble even when looking for a quiet place to take a leak. What he thought would be a quiet corner in a backalley turned out to be quite crowded, with a group of young people, most likely a young family with a little child, cowering before several thugs. They were typical roughs, with bare arms to display impressive scarred biceps, and waving around clubs with rusty spikes at the ends.

“Are we not good people?” Spoke a squirrelly figure from between the roughs. “Are we not kind? Patient?” He nodded at one of the roughs, who cut off another route of escape for the family. “We lent you money when you asked, did we not?”

“Yes boss, we did.” The ugliest ruffian spoke, lisping somewhat, missing several teeth.

“And we only asked you to repay us.”

The toughs stepped closer to the family.

“But you refuse our reasonable request. What does that make you?”

“Filthy thieves.” Another tough spoke up.

“Aye.” The leader spoke up. “And we all know what happens to filthy thieves. You don’t want that to happen to you. Or to your little son. So how will we resolve this pickle, hm?”

The toughs leered at the young mother.

Harry was well aware of just how often young women had to repay their debts with their bodies. And how often they never managed to get out of it. But somebody else was watching the situation unfold, somebody with less patience.

“How about, —” another figure spoke up, covered in a long cloak, appearing out of the shadows, “— you all scram and forget about the family.”

The leader turned towards the figure who spoke, a young woman with a rough voice. “And what will you do if we refuse?”

The woman removed her hood, revealing a head of choppily cropped dirty brown hair, her dark eyes glinting dangerously, her smile resembled more a bloody gash. “Then I will break your arms and legs, and make you watch as I eat your liver. Raw.” She revealed her teeth, unnaturally sharp, and her eyes flashed crimson.

The woman was pale, Harry noticed, and various scars crisscrossed her face. She moved quickly, revealing that she held a hand crossbow and a wicked-looking sharp knife. Her appearance was enough to make the ruffians pale.

“Boss, we ain’t messing around with a damn demon stalker.”

The ruffians mumbled various things, expressing their assent, and even their leader just nodded.

“You’re lucky. Won’t be the next time.”

With that the ruffians scrambled away. But instead of giving thanks, the family stayed rooted to the spot, growing even paler.

“Here.” The woman shrugged, and threw them a pouch of coins. “To get you out of trouble.”

No thanks were said, the family choosing to run away instead.

“Oh, well, why say thank you?” The woman shrugged, turning to Harry. “Right?”

“Can’t say for certain.” He waved at her. “Could it have been the threat of cannibalism that frightened them so?”

“You think? It got those bastards to leave.” She sheathed the knife, and removed the bolt from her crossbow. “It’s almost a shame, they could have tried something. Raw human liver is not that bad, you know.”

“I guess I’ll trust you on that.”

“Mhm.” She measured him up. “So why aren’t you running off and screaming?”

“I’ve met enough of your compatriots.”

“Oh my. What a worldly fellow! Daphne’s the name.”

“My pleasure.” He shook her hand. “Give me a moment, and then I invite you for a round of drinks.”

“You’re paying? Then it’s a deal.”

Even though her smile was much friendlier now, her teeth were still sharp. A growl in the back of his mind almost startled him.

‘But not as sharp as yours,' he hastened to reassure his partner.

A Hug (of sorts)

“Ah, shit.” That was Harry’s eloquent commentary on his current situation. And indeed, he had just stepped into quite the pile of excrement. And why was he wandering the charming countryside? That was his newest assignment. After all the excitement in the capital, he and Hildostra had been sent to be the garrison of a smallish village near the southern coast. Whinging something?

As he had feared, his old unit was dissolved, but his Boys, the reprobated, had all turned in their royal shillings and resigned. And so, the Whatever Whinging village gained a multitude of new people, all suspiciously willing to serve in the militia that was meant to work in tandem with their dragonrider.

It turned out that there had been cases of missing people lately, and the higher-ups suspected foul play by monsters. His Boys followed him out of the village and spread out, forming a very loose formation in order to search the area, while Hildostra circled high in the air, looking for threats.

He lifted his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead, it was hot that day. Then he noticed a convenient patch of taller grass, and went to clean the sole of his boot of the smelly reminder of his blunder.

“Oh my,” a voice positively purred to his left. “What is a strapping young man like you doing all the way here?”

It was an innocent question, but the voice made it sound more sinful than even the most expensive courtesans in the capital’s public houses. Just listening to it felt like slender fingers ran down his spine.

“This is a fortunate meeting indeed, mhm.” By now the voice was almost dripping with filthy promise. [8:05 PM] His eyes sought out the origin of the voice and he had to swallow his saliva. Luxurious raven locks fell over bare delicate shoulders and a swan-like neck, then there was a hint of generous cleavage and a split skirt revealing a smooth leg. He wondered how it would feel to run his hand through that hair, to kiss the slender neck, to feel the muscled thighs wrapped around his waist.

“You won’t need that sword, handsome soldier.” Every step she took was seduction, filled with dirty promises. “I am interested in a different kind of sword.”

He noticed he had been gripping the hilt at his waist, and let it go. Why hold on to a weapon?

There was a load roar that felt like someone brought a pick top his temple, and his vision swam for a moment. As he recovered from the head-ache induced stagger, a large shadow roughly landed next to him. Hildostra.

‘Get a hold of yourself.’ Even her mental voice hissed. ‘You are MINE!’

‘And you!’ She bared her teeth at the strange woman. ‘You are DEAD!’

Was it a woman? Since when do women have horns? Tails? Wings?

The succubus’s until then lovely face twisted with a grimace and malice burned in her crimson eyes. “A dragonrider. I should have known. But that won’t help you!”

With a beat of her wings, the demon rose into the air, a sickly yellow bolt of energy appearing in her hand. She then immediately had to dodge a stream of fire, as Hildostra followed her into the air, roaring her rage for all to hear.

But they were not as alone as Harry had thought. From where the succubus had stood, three figures crested a foothill. All humans this time. And armed. [8:05 PM] “Just great,” he grumbled to himself. “Ho there, gentlemen!” He waved at them, while gripping the hilt of his sword with the other hand. “What brings you here?”

Judging by clothing, they were bandits at best, their trousers were torn and coats dirty, but their weapons, crude as they were, could still kill.

“Shut up, bastard!” It was the middle one, grasping a cheap sword like it was a hammer, that called to him in a rough voice. “You’re here for her!”

“Yeah!” The one on the left, armed with a long knife, stepped forward. “We won’t let you!”

“Slit your throat, we will!” And that was the third one, with a hatchet.

“Oh, gentlemen, three on one?” Harry drew his sword. “Hardly fair!”

“You’ll be able to complain about it in the afterlife!”

The three were not stupid, they moved away from each other, to be able to attack him from different directions.

“You really don’t want to do this.” Harry dropped into a ready stance, trying to keep all three of them in sight.

“Oh we do!” It was the middle one again. They were circling him, forcing him to keep turning, until he had sun in his eyes. Fortunately, the brim of his hat shielded him from being blinded.

And then, at a small twitch of the leader’s head, the three moved in to attack. Outnumbered three to one, Harry did the only thing he could. He feinted going left, but then turned right, moving towards the fellow with a long knife, who was already winding up for an overhead cut.

Harry closed in the distance, and guarded high, parrying the cut, smoothly letting the man run into a hard smash by the basket of Harry’s sword. It landed with a satisfying crunch, making the man howl in pain, let go of the knife drop to the ground, and clutch his broken nose. [8:06 PM] Going with the momentum, Harry dropped into a roll over the man, losing his hat in the process.

The other two hesitated, seeing that move, but since Harry stayed crouched on the ground, they grew bold enough to attack again.

They flinched as Harry exploded into motion, thrusting his free hand at them, and one of them howled, as he received a handful of heated soil into his eyes. The other one lunged at Harry with a sword, but missed, Harry having dodged to the left, crouching again.

“Bastard, face me!” The man turned toward him and again lunged at Harry’s chect. This time, Harry stood erect, and knocked the lunge aside, sidestepping now behind the enraged attacker. And then, Harry revealed what he had picked up while crouched, plunging the first attacker’s long knife into the swordsman’s neck.

“You’ll pay for that!” The man with the broken nose mumbled, but the hatchetman looked less sure, eyeing their now twitching leader busy bleeding to death on the ground.

The decision whether to attack Harry was taken from him though, by the heavy crossbow bolt now finding its way through his heart.

All the fight left the man with the broken nose at the sight, and he sank back to his knees, sobbing softly.

In the meantime, Harry sought out the figure walking towards them, a heavy crossbow in their hands.

“Colin!” He waved. “Found your way here, hm?”

“Bah, you were making such a commotion, captain, that you must have alerted at least three different garrisons.” Colin was grinning and lowered his crossbow. When he came closer, they exchanged one armed hugs. [8:07 PM] “Any trouble?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, captain.” The young man’s grin suggested there had indeed been some trouble of the bloody kind. “And you? Besides the obvious?”

They were interrupted by the impact of a charred half of succubus torso on the ground near them, followed by a very irate black dragon.

‘The strumpet thought she could match me.’

Harry sheathed his sword and moved towards his dragon companion. “Not many could match you, my dear.”

‘Hmph.’ She turned towards him, and her yellow eyes bore into his, glowing like embers. ‘And what was that? Nearly falling for her trap?’ She lowered her head so she was at his eye level. ‘And bantering with those thugs? What were you thinking.’ Her tail moved as if of its own accord, snaking around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer towards the heat emanating dragoness.

He laid his hand on her snout and looked into her eyes. “It helps me focus, my dear. You know I would never leave you.”

‘And yet you almost did. You need to be more careful.’ Her tail tightened around him, bringing him all the way to her head.

“I know, my dear, I know.” He sighed, and spread his arms, doing his best to encompass her neck.

“Harry Potter”, Voldemort’s voice was high and cold as he raised his wand, eyes narrowing as the pair circled each other, “I thought you would have the courtesy to stay dead.”

“Well, I’ve always been lucky”, Harry said, a slight smirk on his lips, his form tense as he mirrored his opponent’s steps, “Why not this time.”

The dark lord’s face contorted into a snarl, “Well… We’ll just have to see how lucky you can get.” Both fighters shifted, wand tips lighting up as around them, Death eaters and defenders alike watching, breath bated.

The tension in the air was palpable, as both fighters exploded into motion - Only to stutter to a stop as a cheery voice, laden with a french accent, rang out over the courtyard.

“Harry! Harry! He’s my man! If he can’t win, No one can!”

Harry’s head whipped around, his jaw dropping at the sight of his girlfriend, striking a pose, having somehow conjured a pair of pom-poms from… somewhere. “Fleur..”, He began, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of the interruption, “Wha -”

“Shh!”, Fleur interrupted, glaring, “I’m not done yet!”

His jaw snapped shut.

Nodding in satisfaction, Fleur cocked her hip again, “Ahem… Harlots! Whores! Stay away! If you don't want an early grave!”

Voldemort gaped at the sight of the pom-pom wielding, cheering part-veela, along with the entirety of the crowd.

As such, he never saw the Bombarda that took his life.

Along with most of his torso.

For the rest of his life, Ronald Weasley would be known as The Finisher, the man who had struck the killing blow on one of the most feared Dark Lords of recent times, the partner of the Chosen One, Harry Potter.

They would go on to become the best pair of Aurors the ICU had seen, working in deadly concert to take down targets, with Ron often landing powerful, decisive finishers after Harry had ground the enemy out in a battle of attrition, their exploits used as examples in Auror training for decades to come.

Fleur Potter would always deny her now infamous “Legendary Cheer”, muttering something about stupid sisters getting her drunk whenever pressed. Denial or not, the DMLE Cheer Squad would become an integral part of British Police success in years to come.

The Chamber was damp and dark, but Harry could clearly see a few meters ahead of him while also feel the monster there, the Basilisk, as it exited the statue’s mouth, much to Tom Riddle’s glee.

Harry didn’t know what made him do it, probably that part of him he feared and loved, that prideful, fiery part of him that made him do things that often surprised him.

And now it made him look the Basilisk in the eyes, much to the surprise of all there. Slit pupils met slit pupils and Harry felt the red scales on his face tingle.

The beast’s eyes widened for a moment, and Harry felt its power.

Nothing happened.

Harry looked at the shocked shade of Tom Riddle, and then back to the Basilisk, who he somehow knew was just as surprised as them both.

But then its eyes narrowed, and its large tongue tasted the air, its eyes widening momentarily again.

“H-How…how are you not…” The Shade of Tom Riddle was interrupted by the beast it had summoned as it looked at him, a clear membrane now covering its eyes.

$Liar$ it hissed, deeply and powerfully, displeasure and even some hesitation clear in its voice.

$What!?$ Riddle’s shade returned, still looking utterly confused.

$You said the child was a human with Dragon blood, not that he was a Dragon wearing a human’s face, even as a young one, my Gaze is useless against one such as him.$ It hissed loudly in displeasure then, no word,s just a sound showing how agitated it was.

But Harry wasn’t paying attention, the shock was too great.

He was not human…he wasn’t like the Weasleys, or even Draco, no, he was more like Cho, a magical being who could take human form, but…how, how had no one ever told him, did Dumbledore know?

$What does it matter? He is not in his true form, end him another way!$

Harry was a Dragon, not just someone with their blood, but a real Dragon, and a Red one at that.

It was true, then, the whispers about him, he was a monster, a Red Dragon.

The evilest, most cruel-

‘Remember Harry, the color of your scales does not dictate who you are, your choices do. No matter what others say about your nature, or your ancestors’, you are capable of making your own decisions’ Dumbledore’s calm but firm voice came to the forefront of his mind, followed by others.

‘Don’t listen to that git Malfoy, Harry! You’re a good person, I know it! Fred and George know it! And even Percy does! Because you want to be!’

Ron and his siblings were always there for him, with their easy smiles and copper scales in place of freckles.

‘You are who you choose to be, Harry!’ Hermione’s stubborn voice told him, after he had read a particularly nasty chapter in a book about Dragons.

But who did he want to be?

He remembered the stories, of the heroic Metallic dragons and the evil Chromatic ones, and yet, as he accepted what he was, he knew he had a choice it wouldn’t be easy, he knew, as he grew up, the temptations would increase with his power, and yet…

He was willing to do it, because people believed in him, trusted him, and besides, he was Harry Potter, a Dragon, and no one told him what to do, not even his own nature!

Harry breathed out, and the torches flickered, even the water pools on the sides of the chamber had a small wave centered on him disturb them.

$What are you waiting for?$

Harry looked up at the Basilisk again, ignoring Riddle as he shouted at it.

The giant serpent was looking at him oddly, if he didn’t know any better, it seemed even, pleased.

$You have accepted your true nature, young one. Good. We shall have a proper fight then…$

It reared back, opening its massive jaws.

Harry had no wand, he had no idea how to assume his ‘true form’, his fire breath, as it was now, would maybe tickle it and he was pretty sure he couldn’t defeat the Basilisk with his bare hands, no matter how much stronger he was compared to a-a human his own size.

He remembered Luna’s airy words and soft smile ‘Sometimes wit is greater than fire, Harry’

$Why?$ His parseltongue sounded different now, more like the Basilisk’s than like Riddle’s, and even then, it had more of a growling quality than a sibilant one.

The Basilisk stopped in its movement, mouth closing and tongue tasting the air, it was as if it was realizing something.

Riddle was shocked into silence again, so Harry continued.

$Why do you obey this…human? You are larger than him, more powerful, far older and I would say smarter. Why follow his orders?$

If there was one thing he could count on for those similar to him was that flattery got you everywhere.

The serpent scoffed, $Would you rather I follow yours, little dragon?$

$No.$

Harry shook his head, but didn’t avert his gaze,$Follow your own orders, be your own…serpent, you have no need of him.$

Before Riddle could protest, the Basilisk did, its large head getting closer to Harry, who stood his ground.

$I am bound to obey Salazar’s blood, and this human is of a purer line than yours.$

Harry would keep that information for later, as for the rest…well, you didn’t stay around the Wesleys for long without learning how to play with words.

$But he doesn’t have any blood. He’s not even here, I would say. A mere shade, a memory of the human you once knew, bound by magic to an old diary.$

The Basilisk’s eyes narrowed, before it turned to look at Riddle’s shade, who seemed torn between pointing Harry’s wand either at him or at the giant serpent scrutinizing him.

$Salazar despised such sorcery, found it unrefined and unworthy of his line, you dishonor him, boy!$

Harry wished he could take a picture of Riddle’s face as he heard that.

Harry decided to press his advantage, $He also dishonors Salazar’s memory in other ways, I doubt Salazar wanted you to go around and murder students,$

That seemed to agitate the serpent, $I am to be a guardian, to protect the school from the mundane’s armies, and safeguard it from traitors who would betray it to them$

Riddle went to speak, but Harry’s voice was louder $The only traitor here is him! Those students had no design to betray the castle, they were innocent children, learning magic!”$

The Basilisk considered him and Riddle and then hissed, and when it spoke, it was with a cadence that seemed to belong to someone else $No innocent child of magical blood shall be harmed, their protection is our priority, they are the future of our kind.$

Riddle had had enough it seemed, $Stupid beast! You obey me! Not him! You can’t question me!$

Now he had done it, even Harry bristled at that.

The Basilisk roared $I am no slave!$

Riddle then did something Harry thought him too smart to do, he played his hand, and underestimated his opponent at that.

A familiar green spell left the wand he held, but the Basilisk dodged to the side with such speed its head blurred, the spell hitting the ceiling instead. The great serpent's cunning was shown as it hit Riddle from the back with the tip of its tail, and Harry now realized it had been slowly positioning it as it berated Riddle.

Riddle, however, was still incorporeal, but Harry’s wand wasn’t. The tail blurred past him but it slapped Harry’s wand away, and Harry dived after it, grasping it just in time to hear the Basilisk’s hiss of frustration, and Riddle’s shout of anger.

$You will pay for that!$

Harry flicked his wand, magic coming at him much easier than before, though with far less control, instead of coming to him, the diary was launched upwards.

$He is in the diary!$

The Basilisk lunged, as quick as its much smaller ‘cousins’ were said to be, and bit the diary, for Riddle screamed and began glowing, his form melting as if hit by the Twin’s breath.

It soon vanished in a cloud of sparks, and the Basilisk spit the now almost ripped in half diary.

The Basilisk huffed $So much for another who declared himself the heir of my friend’s house.$

Harry ran to Ginny, immediately feeling relieved as color returned to her, the scales on her cheeks regaining their shine.

He almost cried in relief.

$It is done, little dragon, now no one can challenge your claim. A clever ploy to avoid fighting me. Without your true form, I would have won.$

Harry turned to the serpent, who was gazing at him intently, it was harder than he imagined but he bowed his head minutely $That’s true, and thank you, great serpent, for your help.$

Another snort, $A Red Dragon thanking me, in a thousand years I never thought to see it.$ Harry chuckled, before looking at the magical being towering over him, $What will you do now, er…?$

$Sela, was the name I used with Salazar, you may use it also, little dragon.$ the serpent looked at the side, it seemed pleased, and Harry wondered if Tom Riddle ever asked it’s name, $As for what I will do…, you are the last one to carry Salazar’s blood that I know of, and a Dragon on top of that, my oath to him, binds me to you.$

Harry shook his head, thinking carefully about what he would say, he knew well that even unintentionally those similar to his kind could take offense.

$You honor me, Sela, but I have no desire for that, I wish for you to be free, to make your own choices.$ Sela seemed to consider him for a moment.

$And if I desire to remain here, in my lair? Won’t your current Headmaster take issue? Their authority doesn’t reach here, but you seem to value his opinion, surely you will bring him and others here, I have no wish to fight Hogwart’s staff, but I will defend myself.$

Harry smiled, $They have no reason to come here, I have…defeated you, and sealed the Chamber, there is no more threat.$

Harry thought it was his Dragon nature that allowed him to perceive that Sela was smirking, $I see your kind remains cunning, so be it, there will be no more attacks, though…I wouldn’t be opposed to your company, ‘cousin.$

Harry nodded, wondering what would people think of his new friend, or maybe, his ‘cousin’?

Just as he turned back to Ginny looking at the small copper scales on her cheeks, a question came to him.

$Sela, you have known those of my kind, in the past.$

$Yes, though most were far more aggressive, especially the ones that share the color of your scales, Salazar asked me to avoid them.$

Harry sighed, but he had to try, $Do you think that, I could escape my nature? It’s said that Red Dragons, are evil, cruel, greedy, and selfish, but…I do not want to be that way.$

It was weird, he admitted, asking such a thing to a Basilisk, but it was the closest he could find to another Dragon right now.

The Basilisk released a series of short hisses and noises, and Harry took some time to realize she was laughing.

$Such a human thing, to teach me a lesson you haven’t learned yourself.$

Harry looked back at Sela in confusion, belatedly noticing Ginny was back to full health, and was just sleeping now.

The Basilisk snorted as she looked at his face, $Good or Evil. To Protect or Destroy. Dragons do what they want, such is their true nature. Yes, the color of their scales may give them urges and desires, but to follow them or not is their choice alone. Do not be like some of your kind and blame their actions on nature, young one, though, do try and have some fun, the only Gold Dragon I met was so dreadfully boring and a prude on top of that.$

At that, the serpent turned and entered back into Salazar’s statue, a soft command made it’s mouth close.

Fawkes arrived shortly after in a ball of fire, carrying the Sorting Hat of all things, he looked around, and Harry would swear he seemed disappointed the fight was already over.

Thankfully he just shrugged as Harry asked him to carry them out of the Chamber, Harry had a feeling Fawkes trusted him to have solved things.

Phoenixes were awesome, but he hoped to one day be able to fly on his own wings.

Fleur Delacour confidently strode up to the goblet and let her name be eaten by the flames. She turned around and started to head out of the hall. She made it to the door when the sudden silence of the hall caught her attention, and she turned around once again.

All eyes were on the corner of the room where the stands were set up. There was a group that almost seemed separated from the rest. From their position they would have had the perfect position to look at the rest of the hall. Most of the students she did not know except for the Hufflepuff that many thought would be the Hogwarts champion. The weird thing was that he was not the center of the group. At the center, standing tall was a teen. He appeared to be 15 maybe 16 with jet black hair and green eyes that radiated confidence. The Hufflepuff was directly to his right still seated, and off to his left was a female Slytherin about the teens age. She was beautiful with golden hair and eyes that were almost purple. She had an air of indifference that was unsettling.

The teen marched forward, people making room for him to get to the front of the stands. He made his way towards the goblet, everyone holding their breath as they waited to see what would happen. The teen stopped right before the age line, his eyes roving over the expanse. Purposefully he raised his hand up to the barrier. His hand was stopped by the barrier, proving he was under the age of 17. Almost lazily he walked around the goblet, trailing his hand along the barrier, till he came to a stop about 75% of the way around.

[11:15 PM] Slowly the hand touching the barrier turned green as magic started to pour out of it, forming a solid green bar connecting the hand to the floor. A select few shivered as the green was eerily close to the green of the killing curse. The teen’s body tensed as the green magic started to change to the same blue as the age line. Once the two colors matched, the teen stepped forward with his arm outstretched the age line bending around the bar until the former circular barrier gained a shape more akin to a crescent moon as the teen reached the goblet.

With a flourish the teen pulled out a slip of paper and deposited it into the goblet. The fire flared red as it accepted the name but the teen wasn’t looking at the goblet as he stared at Viktor Krum and nodded his head before he locked eyes with Fleur and gave her a nod as well.

Accomplishing what he wished, the teen stepped away from the goblet allowing the age line to return to its natural state. Calmly he walked back to his spot and sat down as if he hadn’t shown precise magic control along with a shocking amount of power for someone whose magic has yet to reach its final maturity. The hall was silent for several moments afterward before the students began to talk about what they had just witnessed.

Fleur finally left the hall, confident of who her most challenging opponent would be.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. This was perfect for the kind of plotting that was occurring in various locations all across the British isles. Though these weren’t dark plots, they were defined by a class of expedience which would have a hardened killer furrowing their eyebrows in concern, and at best they could have been called sufficiently moral.

Dark and rainy weather, while shallowly appropriate, would not have provided the obligatory ironic twist.

Take for example the Malfoy family, well known for their dark proclivities.

“We aren’t really dark, dear,” a very attractive Mrs. Malfoy was telling her son Draco. At this point we must, as is traditional, interrupt the dear woman to describe just how attractive she was in irrelevant and uncomfortable detail. Her hair is near the platinum blonde of a Veela, but not quite as sexy because there must be some room for escalation. Her face is some degree of immaculate. Any artist would weep in attempting to do her luscious, nay even curvy, curves justice, undiminished as they are by her age...

The above paragraph will now be cut short for the convenience of the reader, as it is also tradition to skip such authorial fantasizing as soon as it has been identified. “We aren’t really dark,” Mrs. Malfoy was saying to Draco, “but these kinds of expectations must be met. Do you remember the plan?”

Draco, an eleven year old, nodded his head with well practiced gravitas. “I will gather the scions of the dark families under me, so that our glorious family name might rise in power beyond all others. To this end I shall ingratiate myself with them by means of words, gifts and favors,” he began, “as well as identifying and befriending key figures and magical prodigees,” he continued, speaking of his also eleven-year-old classmates, “which I will subtly guide into alignment with the interests of house Malfoy, these being -”

As their son recited, Mrs. Malfoy shared a proud look with her husband, and when the speech was over she lovingly patted her son’s cheek. “Perfect, dear. Now I won’t ask you to recite the names of every family, their members and political leanings, and their recent political movements again. We know you’ve memorized them by now, and we’re very proud of you.”

Draco was completely unaffected by their show of love because he was an independent young man who’d been disillusioned by the reality of his world at an early age. He knew that his parents only wanted to use him to their own ends. They’d be so surprised, he smiled to himself, when he’d built his empire and they thanked him only for him to throw off the yoke of their vile oppression and seize the fruits of his labor for himself.

Yes, Draco thought, the future was his to mould as he pleased.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the luminosity scale, the Weasley family was holding a conference of their own...

I had some short dialogues or trialogues written up as kind of flavor text for various characters. Please don't judge me too much for the smart ass comments, I kinda got too into it. It was fun, and I was young. Also it seems to be the nature of these things that anyone writing it ends up very far up their own butt. First line is always the character in question talking.(edited)

• Daphne Greengrass: why me? Because we need a token attractive witch. We’re not even adults! Not adults yet. Don’t be a creep, Draco. That’s what you think is creepy about this whole situation?

• Blaise Zabini: I see you’ve recognized the power of the dark – No no, we just need someone with a cool name. A cool name? I think that’s why, I’m not entirely sure myself.

• Harry Potter: (the only one who isn’t darkindy and wins hearts by this) Hey draco my friend. :D :D There’s no way he’s that oblivious, right? Right?? Impossible, I must tutor him and bring him up to speed! He’s so cute though look at his EmErALd oRbS eeee- Shut up, Daphne!

• Hermione Granger: behold the power of muggle science! That is a… mechanical pen? How do you know what this is? They don’t work for us you fool, ink is too processed to conduct magic. That is an agenda pushed by the purebloods! This again?

• Luna Lovegood: Nice underwear, I like red. What? How? Why? Oh, I know everything about everything, don’t you know? I just act airheaded and ignore it all. I don’t know what to say to that. That’s the plan. I’ve been blessed by the goddess frumpdinggery to cause maximum confusion you know. Also, you’ve got digglets in your nose or something.

• Edgar Monroe Hi. Who the hell are you? Edgar Monroe. Never heard of you, why are you important? Do you know how statistically improbable it is that every important person is a known character? That’s because we reinterpret canon characters rather than making up bullshit OC! There’s a truckload of unused characters, why do you feel the need to show up? You raise a good point. Usually because I’d increase the number of females available for a harem, but everyone else was busy so you got me. (Daphne from the off:) We’re not even adults! (Draco:) Not adults yet, Daphne! (Edgar:) Am I supposed to be uncomfortable about this? I’m not comfortable with this. (Draco:) Shut up mudblood.

I kinda regret putting this here, feels rather exposing.

The Conversations

I was quite happy that no one knew we hung out.

See, Hermione and I led highly different lives and had done so for the entirety of our Hogwarts careers. It wasn’t as if there was a point of divergence that would allow for an easy explanation as to why one of Neville Longbottom’s best friends, and thereby one of the most respected figures in the school, chose to spend some of her free time with me. It wasn’t as if I was originally part of the cool kids club, then suffered a blow to the head and turned into the loser I was now.

I mean it wasn’t as if I was some degenerate lunatic. I hadn’t killed anyone or anything. I just didn’t stand out. People like Neville had that hero thing where they always managed to be in the right place at the right time. People like Ron Weasley made you laugh. And, people like Hermione were just brilliant.

It really began in our fourth year, though we had been passing acquaintances for our entire time at school together, which was a rarity in itself for me. It was during the time between Neville’s fall into exile for being in the Triwizard Tournament and his rise back to the top of the social mountain after he outflew a dragon. Ron and Neville had fallen out, as Hermione had told me, and she didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

She came across me in my usual place, hiding behind the greenhouses, smoking. I wasn’t sure what the Hogwarts rules about smoking were, I still don’t to be honest. I mean, Gandalf smoked a pipe, so they can’t be too against the concept, could they?

“That’s bad for your lungs, you know,” said Hermione, though her voice wasn’t quite as bossy as I’d grown accustomed to hearing inside our lessons over the past three years.

“Well, I think that’s entirely my choice, but okay. I think I’m far more likely to die in either a ball of nuclear light or at the hands of an insane wizard than my body falling apart. I think the fact that cancer can literally be vanished our bodies would indicate that this isn’t something I should be all that worried about.”

I still got rid of my cigarette. It’s just rude to smoke in front of people that don’t want you to.

“Still, you shouldn’t do it. There’s no point in causing unnecessary damage to yourself. It’s daft.”

“But where’s the fun in life if you’re not under mild threat at all times?” I asked. “Your friend Longbottom would seem to agree with me.”

“I don’t want to talk about him or about any aspect of my social life currently. I’d quite like to just avoid all of that for a little while.”

“So you’re running from your problems?” I asked.

“No! I’m simply avoiding a potential calamity, something you clearly have no idea about.”

“Hey, that’s not true. I’m very good at damage limitation. I don’t go to Snape’s lessons for that very reason.”

“Professor,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know you liked roleplay, Granger. Though I rather enjoy you showing me such respect.” I replied, sending Hermione’s skin into a red hue.

“Just shut up, would you? It’s bad enough I have to deal with Ron and Neville’s bickering, I don’t need the advances of a pervert added to my list of issues.”

“So what do you want, then?” I ran a hand through my hair. “Because if I can’t be morally dubious then what else have I got?”

“I don’t know, just think of something. Distract me for a while.”

“Well, I know of one way we could use our time,” I said, winking at her.

“I thought I told you to stop with that?” she replied, huffing.

“Okay fine, we’ll talk. It’s not every day I’m talking with the brightest mind of our generation, so let’s put that brain to good use.” I said, attempting to be droll. “People really need to stop calling you that, by the way. It’s disingenuous. There’s like a billion people in China. You surely can’t be smarter than all of them.”

She attempted to look offended. “If I wanted to be poorly insulted I’d go and sit with the Slytherins at lunch.”

I smiled at that. She gave up trying to be offended and smiled back, her warm, brown eyes lit up as she did so.

“You ever wonder how the universe chooses whom to bestow magical ability to?”

“A little bit. I mean, it’s such a big part of my life, isn’t it? It’s not like I have a magic gene like purebloods probably do. Nature just decided to give magic to me, a person of entirely mundane ancestry. Had that not happened, I’d be at some comprehensive school, no doubt being accosted by some bully. Now I’m at some boarding school, no doubt about to be accosted by Malfoy.”

I laughed. Hermione was witty when she wanted to be. “I have a theory, though you’ll hate it,” I said. I could see she wanted to scold me for my language but didn’t. “I think muggleborns are all subject to prophecy, that’s why they get magic. Fate needs another character for its play of life and just throws magic at someone. I mean, look at you. You’re clearly destined for great things. It can’t just be chance that causes that.”

“That is single-handedly the most half-baked theory I’ve ever heard. You think the tides of fate draw muggle-born people in?” She asked, the wheels of her indignation beginning to turn. “Prophecy, and divination for that matter, are subjects of guesswork and evangelicalism and just outright lying. I refuse to believe that my entire life is any small part linked to anything quite so insubstantial.”

“Okay, so what’s your theory?” I asked, quite annoyed.

“I, erm, don’t actually know,” she replied, her hands playing with her sleeve nervously. “I suppose at some point one of my ancestors will have to have been magical, it’s statistically impossible for them not to have been. Magical ability could just be a latent gene that once in a while activates. I’m unsure.”

“I do abhor your need for science. I like to imagine that there’s some magic involved in your abilities,” I said, in attempted rebuttal, but deep down I knew she was probably, annoyingly, right. “You’ve gotta have some awe and mysticism involved or it all becomes too mundane. The most powerful magic a lot of people do is accidental magic when they don’t know anything about magic. Look at Dumbledore. The bloke’s the most powerful wizard ever and he’s mad. You really think with that guy being the best of all of us that real success comes from breaking down everything into scientific theory?”

She glanced skyward for a moment. “Well, Headmaster Dumbledore actually was responsible for most of the breakthroughs in research in the last century. He’s actually rather rigorous in his work you kn-”

I cut her off. “-Well that might be the case, but you can’t tell me you can look at someone like that and see Albert fucking Einstein, can you?”

She gave me a quizzical look, but didn’t ask. “It’s just not probable that magic was given to me because someone like Trelawney proclaimed so. Apart from all else, it’d make it hard for me to sleep at night knowing I owe all of my proudest accomplishments to someone like that.”

I laughed once again, then looked into her eyes. “Why did you come and talk to me of all people?”

“Well to tell you the truth I wasn’t looking for you,” she replied. “You just happened to be here.”

“Well, that was a clear and thoughtful answer that really helped to clear up any confusion.”

She looked at the ground bashfully. “Well, if you must know, I truly intended upon going on a walk around the grounds to gather my thoughts after talking with Neville.”

“And what did this conversation with Neville entail if it caused you to meander into my den of hedonism?”

Her eyes remained firmly planted upon the ground, though something quite strange appeared within them. “It’s what it didn’t entail was the issue.”

All of a sudden, it clicked. “You like him, don’t you?” I asked somewhat rhetorically given she continued to stare at the floor, but she nodded jerkily nonetheless. “And I take it he doesn’t quite share your feelings?”

Again, she nodded.

“It’s...It’s just that he was the first person to be nice to me, is all,” she said after a brief silence, a catch in her throat. “It’s just a harmless fantasy. A schoolgirl crush.”

“Still hurts though, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she responded, tears then falling from her eyes. I averted my eyes.

“Longbottom’s a moron then, isn’t he?” I said. “He’s probably going to end up marrying the youngest Weasley or Abbot from Hufflepuff. People like them are ten-a-penny. You’re fucking Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age. He’s not gonna find another one of you.”

She sniffled. “I t-thought y-you s-said that was di-disingenuous?” asked Hermione, her watery eyes brightening as she looked up toward me.

“It might be disingenuous, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I barely turn up to half of our lessons and I still know that,” I said, though I felt rather awkward just watching her cry. I had no idea what to do and given that this was the first proper conversation we’d had, I don’t think she’d really appreciate my haphazard attempts at consolation.

“T-thank you, Harry,” said Hermione.

.........................

“Why do you dress like that?” asked Hermione, rather out of the blue. We hadn’t spoken for a month or so, and since then Longbottom had become the King of Gryffindor once more, so Hermione was again back atop the social mountain. Why on Earth she’d come to find me at the back of greenhouses I have no idea.

I looked down at the huge flannel shirt that the Dursleys had given me after Dudley had grown out of it. I could hardly tell her the truth. She’s Hermione Granger, she’d probably start a charity to buy me adequate attire. “I’m really into Grunge.”

“Grunge?”

“Grunge. Like Nirvana and stuff. It’s the style.” I said, which was probably on the list of the top ten worst excuses ever. Who the fuck liked Nirvana?

“I know what Grunge is. I’m a bookworm, not deaf,” she said, turning up her nose. “You’re still smoking, I see.”

“It keeps the Dementors away. They think the smoke’s a Patronus,” I said, stubbing out the cigarette. “Is that what you came here for? To berate me for my choices?”

“No actually, I came here to inform you of the fact that McGonagall wants to see you tomorrow evening,” she said, looking rather smug about it. That was annoying.

“And how did I manage to earn that particular distinction?”

“Well, today there was a mandatory meeting for the whole of Gryffindor from fourth year and up. You’d know that if you actually attended lessons, by the way.”

I shrugged. “Huh, that’s interesting,” I said, leaning against the greenhouse wall. “I mean, I’m not gonna go and see her, but that is certainly interesting.”

“Oh Harry, you really ought to. Now that I think about it, you should care more about your education. You spend all of your time here behind the greenhouses, not going to lessons and wasting your life away. What are you going to do when you finish Hogwarts with no qualifications? What then?” Asked Hermione, her voice irate.

“I don’t really know, but I doubt it matters. I don’t want to worry about the future because anything could happen at any time. Nothing is certain and it’d be daft if I frittered away my youth worrying, only to go to sleep one evening and not wake up because I’ve had a heart attack.” I said.

“Ah yes, because the life you’re living right now is so much more fulfilling,” she said, uncharacteristically snide.

“I’ll have you know I happen to enjoy spending my days with only the solace of my own company,” I said. “I’m not so sure why it matters to you, though.”

“I don’t like to see potential wasted. You’re actually rather intelligent and I’m sure quite talented at magic when you turn up to lessons,” she said, a quizzical look overtaking her face. “Aren’t you bored? What do you do?”

“I entertain myself. Look, I’ve never been an academic and Hogwarts certainly hasn’t helped that. I just hate going into every lesson and seeing the disappointed look teachers give me because I’m not my parents, or in Snape’s case, because I’m apparently my father reincarnate. I still read the books and practice and stuff, it’s just that I don’t need that expectation.”

“Look, you don’t owe me anything and we barely know one another, but I think you should start attending more lessons,” she said. “It’d give me peace of mind, is all.”

“I’ll think about it,” I responded. “What did this meeting entail, anyway?”

“There’s going to be a Ball at Christmas and we were taught how to formally dance,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “It was all dreadfully dull.”

“Sounds horrendous.”

“Oh, it was. I don’t know how to dance, but all the purebloods did, and it was just awful,” she explained, her nose scrunching in discomfort as she did. “I’ll probably not end up going.”

“Join the club, Hermione.”

She laughed for all of a moment before her eyes grew focused upon me. “I’m curious, Harry. What would there have to be in order for you to go to this Ball?”

I pondered for a moment, taping my chin, adopting a pose like the Thinker. “I don’t think there is anything in the world that could convince me to go to this ball and spend several hours in front of everyone else.”

Hermione hummed. “For once, Harry, I agree with you.”

I could feel my eyebrows push together. “See, that surprises me. This strikes me as the sort of thing that The Golden Trio, as Malfoy so aptly coined, would love. All that coming together and happiness and unity. I thought you’d be lapping it up.”

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, her cheeks pinkening. “Condescending though that may be, you are essentially correct,” she said. She paused for a moment. “Really I’m just worried that no one will ask me, and I’ll have to go alone.”

I looked at Hermione then. She was smaller than I had thought she was, nearly a head and a half shorter than me and I wasn’t the tallest in our year. I really didn’t understand why she was quite so worried that no one would ask her to the Ball. She certainly had that bookworm, cute-girl-across-you-look-at-across-the-library-at-and-wonder aesthetic and I’m sure some lucky sod would see that and make her day. Even though it was not during lesson time, she still wore her uniform. She was also somehow 50% hair. It was almost ridiculous how big her hair was.

She caught me staring, her big eyes peering up at me. They were really quite arresting. “I don’t think you should worry too much about that. Aren’t we supposed to be repulsed by our family? Well, with how prevalent inbreeding is among wizards, you’re guaranteed a date.”

“Thank you Harry for the thinnest silver lining I have ever heard.”

....................

“Stop smoking, Harry,” said Hermione, by way of greeting. I would rebuke what she said, but as I looked up from the muddy ground I could see that she was practically steaming with rage and thought better of it.

“Hello to you too.”

“Shut up and let me vent,” she said, leaving me rather shocked. “So, it was Neville and Ron and I sat together and the subject of a date for the ball came up. Ron asked Neville if he had anyone to go with and I was sure Neville was about to ask me but Ron just had to stick his nose in and say that’d I’d be going alone and that I should go with him. Well, I couldn’t very well let him win so I said I have a date and now I have no idea what to do. Why do these things keep happening to me? It’s just not fair!”

This was yet another example of why I don’t talk to people. This situation seemed like rather a lot of hassle and to be quite honest, much ado about nothing.

“You could always just ask Neville out yourself.” I said though it was as much to occupy the silence rather than give a solution. She’d never do that. You could tell she’d read far too much Jane Austen to have anything but an entirely romanticised view of how things like this should occur. “Aren’t you all supposed to be inseparable? I’m sure if you just explained your point of view they’ll understand.”

“But then I’d just be proving Ron right. He was incredibly rude and he shouldn’t get that satisfaction just because he might actually be correct this time.”.

“So you want the moral high ground, but you also want a date to this Ball. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Granger. Pick one.” I said. She huffed, not unlike a child.

“You’re probably right. By now Ron’s probably told everyone that I’ve got a date and so no one will even ask me.” She said, pouting. “You’re definitely still against going, aren’t you?”

“Attractive though you are, it’d be a cold day in hell before I went to that fucking affair,” I said. She blushed at that, weirdly.

“You know, it occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about you, Harry. You’re quite the enigma,” said Hermione. “Even now I hardly know the first thing about you.”

“That’s by design rather than accident, Granger. Can’t let people know shit or they’ll use it against you. Look at your beau. People find out he speaks Parseltongue, and all of a sudden he’s public enemy number one. Don’t give people fuel. They’ll burn your house down.”

“That definitely wasn’t sad or paranoid in any way.” Said Hermione sarcastically. “Well, you’re gonna start now. We’re playing the question game.”

“The question game, Granger?”

“It’s that world-renowned game where I ask you questions and you answer them without complaint.”

“You see, I call that interrogation.”

“Eh, Semantics.” Said Hermione. “So, let us begin. what’s your favourite colour?”

Brown. “The black that is the void that shall one day consume us all.”

“Favourite book?”

Great Expectations. “How to lose friends and alienate people.”

“For goodness sake, Harry! Please answer these properly.” Said Hermione, her arms thrown up in irritation. “I’m trying to be your friend here and you’re making it very difficult.”

“Funnily enough, Granger, that was sort of the point,” I said. Okay, so maybe I did want her to be my friend but she wasn’t allowed to know that. If I actually acquiesced I’d be brought into the fold with the Weasleys and I’d be part of It - capital I - and that’s the last thing I want. It was something I had readily avoided. I rather liked the arrangement we had and I’d rather it stayed this way.

Apparently, that wasn’t what she was after, so she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out petulantly. “Could you just do it? For me, please?”

As it would turn out, saying no to Hermione was quite difficult.

“Fine,” I said. “But I get to ask you questions too. It’s only fair.”

She grinned up at me, her big eyes shining in such a way that made me quite strange. “Great!” she said. “So, what is your family like?”

Wonderful. She picked the last thing I wanted. “Well, 100% of my family is dead, so, dead. I live with my relatives who exist,” I said, purposefully vague. I cut her off before she could further question me. “My turn. Why do you like Longbottom so much?”

She took a while before answering, her forehead scrunching in thought, the strange feeling inside me still there. “I’m not entirely sure. There’s the obvious fact that he’s brave and kind and handsome. But I think it’s because he was my first friend. He was the first person to ever care about me and that’s always meant something to me.”

“Well, bravery and kindness get you killed. Looks fade, and novel experiences only matter for as long as they remain novel.” I said, more bitterly than I had hoped.

“Thank you, oh wise master of relationships, for sharing your knowledge. That’s what everyone’s always saying. ‘There goes that famous Don Juan, Harry Potter.’ Truly your reputation precedes you.”

“Really?”

“No, Harry. They don’t say anything about you because you’ve never given them a reason to.” Said Hermione. “It’s almost weird how little people care about you. You’ve somehow managed to remain anonymous in a year group of 40 people. Extraordinary, really.”

“Excellent.”

“So, next question. It’s really to satisfy my curiosity more than anything,” Hermione said. “How good are you at magic? Because you never really go to lessons but you seem smart enough.”

At this, I got my wand from my pocket. I let my mind go to the only thing it could go to in these circumstances, and then I whispered, “Expecto Patronum” and a brilliant Stag appeared, as it always did.

I heard Hermione gasp. “Beautiful,” she whispered. The stag ran to her through the air, floating around her and nuzzling at her neck. I’d never seen my Patronus act in such a way.

I watched the sight for a while. Hermione’s face was alight with an innocent wonder as she allowed the protective spell to cuddle into her. The sight felt...special.

“I didn’t know that anyone our age other than Neville could perform that Patronus Charm,” she said, breaking the silence. She was still smiling. It only belatedly occurred to me that so was I.

“Well, now you know. I hope that answers your question. My turn,” I said. I thought of asking her more about her and Ron and Neville, but I didn’t want to take away the smile from her face. “What makes you happy?”

Hermione replied almost instantly. “Reading. Growing up I didn’t have many friends and I was bullied quite a lot but it didn’t really matter because I could always go to my room and immerse myself in these other worlds.” She looked around at the grounds that surrounded us, the Forbidden Forest in the distance. “I just wish the person I was then could know that the real world is even more amazing than anything in the books she read.”

I looked across to Hermione who was lost in her thoughts. I too stared out looking into the distance. Winter had recently begun, with snow tipping the trees, making Hogwarts look somehow even more magical.

I thought back to when I was younger. The years I was bullied by Dudley. For a long time, I didn’t even think I was a real person. Everyone else had their parents that loved them and my life just wasn’t the same as theirs. Even now, I couldn’t really empathise with anyone else at Hogwarts. They were all living these happy little lives. They had no idea of the life I had led and quite frankly I’d never want them to.

I felt Hermione’s eyes look at me, pulling me from my thoughts. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

“Are we friends, Harry?”

“I do suppose we are.”

......................................................................................

The next time Hermione and I spent any time together, November had been and gone, and the castle had been transformed into a child’s Christmas fantasy. Snow covered the fields and hills that surrounded Hogwarts and it looked incredible. Even my cynic’s heart could not contest that; it almost made you feel sorry for muggles, really, that they never got to see this.

So yeah, it was a wonderland, but it was a fucking cold wonderland this time of year, especially given the part of Scotland where the castle was. Made smoking a pain in the arse - I could barely feel my fingers, let alone use my lighter.

“I would’ve thought that the fact that the world is literally telling you that you can’t smoke would’ve been a big enough sign for you,” said Hermione from behind me. “But here you are, being an idiot, as usual.”

“Nice to see you too, Granger,” I said. I would’ve used my wand to light up, but it didn’t feel right to me, though I know that doesn’t make any sense. “It really brightens my day to hear you moan to me.”

Granger blushed. I threw away any hope of actually getting to smoke today, both literally and figuratively, as I set the whole fag alight with my wand. “You still don’t come to lessons, Harry.”

“I didn’t take you for a person that needed to be told things twice, Granger,” I said, leaning against the greenhouse behind us. “I do not want to be there and I sure as fuck am not wanted there.”

Hermione’s brow creased, but she did not chide me. “But how would you know? You don’t go to lessons enough to even tell,” she said. “I just don’t understand. How does Headmaster Dumbledore allow you to continue to miss classes?”

“Dumbledore and I have a special accord, really,” I said.

“But why, Harry?” asked Granger, her voice dripping with concern. Misplaced concern. “The Headmaster shouldn’t just allow his students to miss out on their education.”

“Yeah, well the Headmaster shouldn’t allow former terrorists to teach Potions, or frauds to teach Defence and that hasn’t fucking stopped him doing it, now has it?” I exclaimed. I really needed Granger to leave me be. “He lets me do what I want, end of story.”

Granger bristled once more, she wanted to chastise - to nurture was her nature, even to those who so clearly did not want it - but to my everloving relief she did not. Even more mercifully, she dropped the subject - I liked to imagine that it was with me she learned the art of tact.

And it wasn’t as if I could tell her the truth; that the Headmaster, with all his experience, was still terrified of orphan boys left unattended and so chose to give me a long leash that I was, probably by her opinion, doing a fairly good job of strangling myself with. The truth would break her obedient little heart.

And I couldn’t tell her the other, more significant truth; that he left me to rot with my relatives for eleven years without a care, and I doubted that he’d all of a sudden start to care now. It’d be out of character, after all.

Neither of us spoke for a while, allowing the silence to bleed the air of tension. I stole glances at her as her chest heaved in the cold, highland air. It was strange; half a year ago, the sight of Granger would’ve brought nothing forward. Yet now, I could tell in the rhythms of her breath and the stillness of her posture more than I could of nearly anyone else in the world.

Satisfied that I wasn’t about to bite her head off, Hermione turned to me, her huge brown eyes peering up at me. The sight was as baffling as ever. “So,” she began anew, a nervous laugh below her breath. “I have a date for the Yule Ball.”

“Really?” I asked, feigning disinterest. I shouldn’t care for the nonsense that filled her mind; like the ball and Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, but I did, and it irked me. I think it irked me because it irked her, even though it shouldn’t. She was far too brilliant to have been caught in the mires of teenage dating, yet here she was. Caught. “And who’s the lucky man - no wait - has Longbottom finally grown a pair?”

She shook her head, sending her curls this way and that, her entire head nearly moving under the weight of her hair. “Unfortunately, not,” she said, though a shy smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “It was Viktor Krum!”

Wow.

Now that was not the name I expected to hear, and I suspect my face showed it. “Congratulations, I suppose,” I replied after a moment, once more careful to show I didn’t care, though it was very difficult. It was one of those moments where the reality of being friends with a near-celebrity caught up with me. “How did he do it? Write your name in the sky with his broom? Draw a picture of the pair of you together on his cave wall? Grunt at you until you said yes? Truly, I’m all ears.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, actually. He reached out to me in the library, and he learned English for me,” she said. “It was all very romantic.”

“Sounds it,” I said, more so because I was more irritated than anything else. “What did Longbottom say? Was he jealous?”

Hermione’s eyes fell to the floor. “I haven’t exactly told him yet,” she told me. “I just don’t want him to think I’m rubbing it in his face or anything, especially considering he hasn’t got a date yet.”

“But you are rubbing it in his face, aren’t you?” I asked of her. “Isn’t that the whole point of the ‘date someone else to make the other jealous’ gambit?”

“Well of course it is!” exclaimed Hermione. “But I can’t very well do it, now can I? I’d look a fool.”

“You already look a fool as it is, worrying so much over a dance of all things. In for a penny…” I said, rubbing my hands together to get the circulation going. “And what do you mean Longbottom hasn’t gotten a date?”

“Longbottom hasn’t got a date,” Hermione repeated. “I didn’t take you for the sort of person that needed to be told twice.”

“But how?” I asked, incredulous. “Have you seen how famous he is? He does realise they could make palm leaves out of the girl’s knickers he made wet and line the path for him, doesn’t he?”

“Well, that’s the worst use of the Bible I’ve ever heard,” said Hermione. “And no, I suspect he doesn’t. He’s never been any good at talking to girls, and he’s quite shy really.”

“It’s not as if he has to talk to them anyway. I’m fairly sure a curt nod would get Lavender Brown’s underwear off,” I said. I imagine I sounded jealous.

“Quite,” said Hermione, demurely. “Are you going, Harry?”

I laughed in her face. “No, Granger, no I’m not,” I told her. “Life’s already shit enough without having to see my peers grope one another.”

“Jealous that you’re not the one doing the groping?” Asked Hermione, all too innocently, her big brown eyes batting themselves at me.

I spluttered. “N-no!” I told her. I took a moment to get over hearing a rare demonstration of Hermione’s sense of humour. “There’s no one here worth groping.”

“No one?” Asked Hermione. If it were anyone else, it’d sound like they were fishing for a compliment, but not her. “Not even Fleur Delacour?”

“The Veela? Oh God no,” I said. “Any person that needs an allure to attract people is something you avoid at all costs. There’s a reason you polish turds, and not diamonds.”

“I’m not sure where to start with that. I think I’m just going to leave it alone,” said Hermione. “So what’s your type then? You seem to spout virtues left, right and centre. I’m curious to know where you lay.”

“I don’t have a type, Granger,” I said, which was a lie in truth. My type was girls smarter than me. A short list. “As you have already said, my reputation as a lady killer is not noteworthy.”

“So on what grounds do you tell other people what they should do?”

“You don’t have to be a chef to tell if something tastes bad,” I said. “And, similarly, you don’t have to be a socially acceptable person to know which tree is the wrong one to bark up. Viktor Krum is the wrong tree, by the way.”

“You’re unbelievable,” said Hermione. I’d have preferred to hear her say that in a different tone. “And why is that the case?”

“Because think about it,” I said. “What would you talk about? Last time I checked you weren’t Oliver fucking Wood, and he wasn’t Lord George Byron. What are you going to talk about? Where are your common interests?”

“Well he asked,” said Hermione with a huff, turning her back and preparing to leave.

“Hermione! Wait!” I said, and I’ve no idea why. By rights, the solitude her absence would’ve given me should have been appreciated. I could finally smoke, for one. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

Hermione turned around, but I could see in her eyes, and the angle of her face, that she was still annoyed.

“Look, Hermione,” I said, attempting to be placating. It seemed there was a first time for everything. “Just because someone asked doesn’t mean you have to say yes. It’s better to say no to the wrong guy and miss out on this shitty teenage experience than say yes and get yourself hurt.”

“But I don’t think he’s going to be the wrong person,” said Hermione, indignant. “He was kind and courteous, and he seemed to really want to go with me.”

“But Hermione, you and him have nothing in common,” I said. “And he’s 18, and you’re 15. I know you’ve been told you’re mature for your age, but what on earth is a grown man doing asking out a child?”

Hermione stopped in her tracks there; I had clearly posed a question that she hadn’t thought of.

“You’re right,” she said, a hint of defeat in her voice. “Maybe if I told him I want to go as friends?”

“Or, better yet,” I said. “You don’t go at all.”

“But I want to,” said Hermione, and she was all of a sudden rendered the petulant teenager she really was. “I’ve bought a dress and I can finally waltz.”

“Then ask someone else,” I told her. “Or, more specifically, ask Longbottom; seems that’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“I can’t just ask him. It’s not right,” Hermione told me. Seems she cared a little too much about what’s right and proper. Though, the fact that she wasn’t going to ask him made me happier than it probably should’ve.

“Aren’t you a forward-thinking woman?” I asked her, to which she nodded. “Isn’t it about time you buck societal norms and do what you want?”

“What I want is for him to ask me, and that’s not happening,” she told me.

“Well, seems to me you’re fucked.”

“If it were you I fancied, it’d be far easier,” she bemoaned, offering him a half-smile as she did. “I’d buy you a pack of Marlborough Red and you’d buy me obscure books and we’d all be very happy. But it isn’t you, is it? It’s Neville, and he’s being a pain.”

In my mind’s eye, I could briefly see the future that she had painted. It was far nicer than it had any right to be.

“Just fucking ask Longbottom,” I told her. “You’ll be far happier when you do it. And leave me be; I wanna smoke, and you need to leave for that.”

Hermione left, but I didn’t smoke. No, instead I had to worry myself with thoughts of Hermione; like the fact that someone else taking her to the ball made me quite so agitated. I also had to confront the realisation that what I had said before wasn’t true. There was one reason I’d go to the Yule Ball, and it was a tiny bookworm that was a perpetual pain in my arse.

...............................................................................................................

“Harry, if you’re going to smoke, at least smoke cigarettes,” said Hermione, acknowledging the pipe I was smoking. “Smoking a pipe is a bit too middle earth for you.”

“Would you prefer if I smoked a cigar like an oil tycoon?” I asked, putting the pipe away.

“I’d actually prefer if you never smoked again, but cigars are definitely worse,” Hermione told me. “Smoking a cigar would make you look like you’re trying to get your father’s approval.”

“Whereas clearly the reason I smoke is to complete the lonely orphan vibe I’ve got,” I told her. “I’m going for Bender from The Breakfast Club. Am I close?”

“No, he had parents who hated him, you have parents who loved you,” Hermione told me. I would’ve corrected her, but she was right; they had. “Why do you actually smoke?”

“Something to do with my hands,” I told her, and she rolled her eyes. “That and it makes me feel calm.”

“Being a good person calms me down, have you tried that?”

“When the fags stop working, it’ll be the first thing on my list,” I told her. “So, why’re you here Granger?”

“I wanted your input on something,” Hermione said, looking up at me through her lashes.

“Well I want to input you with something, so at least there’s an equality to it,” I teased her, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “What is it?”

“I want to get Neville a present and I can’t decide what,” Hermione told me. Oddly, the mention of Neville irritated me. “What would you want?”

“Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division,” I told her.

“That’s not much use, considering Neville’s a Pureblood. I imagine he’d be very confused as to why someone would want to divide joy,” said Hermione, smirking at her own joke. Nerd.

“What do you usually get him?” I asked.

“A book on Quidditch,” she admitted. “But this year’s different.”

“Because you want to ride his broomstick?”

“No!” she argued, her cheeks reddening. “I want him to like me, and this is important.”

Inwardly, I realised I was irritated that she cared about him quite so much, that she wanted a second opinion about a Christmas present of all things.

“Why does it matter anyway?” I asked her. “Aren’t Christmas presents supposed to be a little shit anyway?”

“Erm, no?” She questioned. “I don’t know what your Christmases are like, but mine are usually wonderful. My mum would always bake, and my Dad would take me Ice-skating. It was amazing.”

“That explains it then,” I told her, realising. “See, Christmas for me was all about watching my cousin get those sorts of things. Tends to put a dampener on things.”

“So, you never even got presents?” Asked Hermione, and she was so fucking concerned it was incredible. Sometimes I forgot how good she was, but then I was reminded.

“Eh, it’s alright,” I told her, waving it away. “Dudley was too distracted to beat me up, so it’s not all bad. A happy time, really.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, closing the distance and giving me a hug. It was odd; I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that. I even forgot to reciprocate, letting my arms hang by my sides awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I told her, a little gruffly. It was hardly comfortable talking about the Dursleys, was it?

“No, Harry, it isn’t,” Hermione said, swiping at her eyes. “No wonder you’re so…you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No wonder you’re like this,” she said, gesturing to my whole body. “Your relatives were arseholes.”

“Hey, I take full responsibility for the end product that is me. My relatives had nothing to do with it,” I told her. “And honestly, it’s not all bad. I grew up quick, and I’m glad for it.”

“Yeah, but you never even got to enjoy Christmas,” said Hermione, very offended on my behalf. “Did you at least go carolling?”

“Oh God no, they wouldn’t be seen with me like that,” I told her. It was actually quite nice to tell someone, though I imagine it was only nice because it was Hermione.

“So have you ever gotten a Christmas present?” Hermione asked me.

“Erm, no,” I told her. “Oh wait! One year - first year of Hogwarts, actually - they gave me a pack of matches and a piece of wood. You know, because I was a witch?”

“Your relatives are arseholes, Harry,” repeated Hermione. I was oddly touched; if this raised such language from Hermione, she meant business.

“It’s water under the bridge now,” I told her. “I’m over it.”

A spark of an idea formed in Hermione, right before my eyes. It was incredible to witness; it was as obvious as a lightbulb above a cartoon character’s head.

“So,” I said, changing the topic. “What were your ideas for Neville?”

“I was thinking I could make him a sweater with his family crest; he’s very proud of his heritage,” Hermione told me.

“Isn’t that a bit worrying for you?” I asked her. “I mean, Malfoy’s ‘proud of his heritage’.”

“Oh, no!” Hermione insisted. “The Longbottoms have been pro-Muggle-borns for as long as their name was recorded.”

“If you’re sure, that sounds perfect,” I told her. “Aren’t you worried that you’re putting a little too much effort in though? Do you think Neville is going to do the same?”

“I’m sure he will,” said Hermione. “Well, this would be the first year he’s gotten me anything, but that’s okay! Because in our first year we weren’t that close, in the second year he had enough on his plate, and in the third year, we were arguing at this time of year. It’s okay, really!”

“Are you sure you’re not just making excuses for him?”

“No, I’m sure he’ll do the same for me,” Hermione told me. And, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the concern I felt for her. Which shouldn’t be happening: one, because I shouldn’t worry about her in the first place and two, because what I was really thinking was I want her to care about me like that.

.................................................................................................................

“Harry Potter, you enormous prick,” said Hermione, by way of greeting. She didn’t even admonish me for smoking.

“No, it’s Harry Potter, you have an enormous prick. Subtle difference, I’m sure you understand,” I said.

“I’m not in the mood for it today,” said Hermione. “You’ve ruined my life.”

“And how did I manage that from all the way over here?” I said, gesturing to my little home.

“I did what you said, and I told Viktor that I wouldn’t go with him,” Hermione said.

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. “Seems to me you’ve saved yourself from a boring night.”

“That wasn’t the end of it,” Hermione said, bristling. “I asked Longbottom to the ball.”

“Brilliant,” I said, but I didn’t think it. It was very not brilliant.

“No, not brilliant. Very not brilliant,” said Hermione. Funny that. “He said yes, and now we’re going as friends. Apparently, he had wanted to ask out Hannah, but he was too shy, and by the time he did, Finch-Finley had already asked her. So now he still thinks of me as a friend, and the ball’s going to be thoroughly terrible for me. So, thank you so very much.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault Longbottom has horrid taste in women,” I said. “Aren’t you better off now anyway? I mean, now you know how he feels, you don’t have to waste your time with someone who doesn’t reciprocate how you feel.”

“Well I suppose, but it still feels horrible to be told he has no interest,” said Hermione, quite jerkily. “And what now? He’s going to spend the entire time pining for Hannah, and I’ll have a terrible time. I was supposed to enjoy this.”

“You could probably change his mind, you know,” I said, and I had no idea why. And then, for some reason, I continued. “He probably doesn’t know anything about her other than how she looks, and you have her beat there. You’ve just gotta make him see that.”

“No I don’t,” said Hermione, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Hermione, when have you ever known me to be nice?” I asked her.

“Almost never,” said Hermione, not yet getting it.

I looked at her then. Truly looked at her. Her massive hair, and her immaculate uniform that she was wearing on a Saturday. Her slightly-too-big teeth, but the way she grinned so huge sometimes. The way her enormous brown eyes looked up at you; was so clear, and so very mesmerising that it reminded you that there were just some things that you would never know.

“Hermione, you’re beautiful,” I told her. “That is the truth of it. Hannah might show her beauty more brightly, but yours is all the deeper. You just have to show Neville that.”

Hermione looked up at me then; an odd look that she’d never given me before. Inquisitive and ponderous.

“Then how do I do that?” she asked me, her voice soft.

“Simple,” I told her. “You show yourself in a new light. You show him in a position that he’s never seen you in.” Hermione tilted her head, curious. “If you’re so set on him, you need to show yourself in a way that he’s going to recognise. If he likes girls dolled up, then we’re making you a Matryoshka.”

Privately, I thought that my advice was terrible. If Neville required such a thing, he neither deserved Hermione nor was Hermione right for him. But if Hermione wanted Neville to notice her, that was probably the way to go. Even if I didn’t like the thought of it.

We were friends, and if Neville made her happy, then she’d get Neville.

“Okay,” she said, beginning to smile. It was a lovely sight to see, even if the cause of it wasn’t quite so nice. “Let’s do it.”

“Then I suggest you start making friends with your roommates, because if it’s a material world you want to live in, those are your material girls.”

“Madonna?” Hermione asked, incredulously. “You like Madonna?”

“That song is an incredible attack on late-stage capitalism, and I’ll not hear a word against it.”

Hermione laughed at me then. “Are you saying that when you hear my voice, it’s like an angel sighing? And that it makes you feel like flying?”

I actually thought that when I hear her call my name, it makes me feel like home.

“No, I’m saying that I want you to be like a virgin, touched for the very first time,” I teased. “Though, in your case, it won’t be like a virgin, will it?”

Hermione blushed bright red, and it looked so impossibly adorable that I feared I might ruin everything by kissing her then.

“S-shut up!” She told me. “Let’s re-focus our efforts now, rather than you being crass.”

“I thought it was my crassness you came here for?”

“Well, it’s actually for the sparkling conversation, but you’re ruining that.”

“If it wasn’t for me, there wouldn’t be sparkling conversation,” I told her. “I bring my wit, and you bring the credibility.”

Hermione smiled at me - I liked when she did that. “Anyway,” I said. “So, what? When he sees me, all dolled up, he’s going to fall head over heels?”

“That’s your goal,” I told her. “Failing that, you looking like that and dancing with another bloke would certainly help.”

“But who though?” asked Hermione, her index finger tapping her chin. “Who?”

“Ron?”

“Oh God no.”

“Viktor?”

“My rejection burned that bridge,” Hermione told me, ducking her head in embarrassment.

“How? What did you say?”

“It wasn’t complimentary,” said Hermione. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh, now I need to know,” I said, leaning into her a little. “How bad was it?”

“I’m not proud of it,” Hermione told me. “But I basically said that he was far too dull and that I wouldn’t enjoy his company.”

I laughed, almost proudly.

“That’s my girl,” I told her. “So, who else? Surely your list of friends extends beyond three people. You’re you.”

“Part of being me is that I stick by Neville when others don’t, and that makes a great many people undesirable,” Hermione lectured. “Plus, I’m just Neville’s nerdy friend. Not that many people noticed me.”

“Well you never can credit Wizards with logic,” I told her, and she smiled. “But that leaves us at a quandary. An impasse. A conundrum. A crossroads.”

“Yes, all of those,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at my antics. “There is one solution, though.”

“And what would that be then?” I asked her.

“I could dance with you.”

“Oh no,” I told her. “Absolutely not. Do you not see me? Have I taught you nothing? This is a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s not!” Hermione insisted. “It won’t be that bad! All you have to do is dance with me for a few songs, then you can leave and go back to dwelling around here for the rest of your days.”

“I don’t even own dress robes!”

“Just transfigure yourself a suit or something,” she told me. “You’re always talking a big game, you should be able to do that.”

“And I can’t dance!”

“And I don’t care!” Hermione exclaimed. “No one will notice. If your idea works, and it should, then all eyes will be on me. Problem solved.”

“Alright, fine,” I said. “But if I do this, what’s in this for me?”

“Well, if I get Neville to like me, then I’ll be out of your life,” she said, and that was hardly a bonus.

“What else?”

“You’ll be making me happy?”

That was enough for me to do it, but Hermione didn’t need to know that. “I already do that every time you come and visit me,” I said, smiling winningly, and she grinned despite it. “I need something substantial.”

“I’ll do all of the research on your end of year potions coursework.”

“Deal,” I told her.

That was the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.

And all of a sudden, I realised I was going to the Yule Ball.

“Fuck,” I let out, realisation dawning on me.

Hermione laughed at me. “I’ll make a real boy out of you yet.”

His birthday had rarely been a nice day for Harry Potter, and frequently it was a rather rotten one. The first few times, once he was old enough to understand what he was being denied, he cried. Not that Aunt Petunia showed much sympathy with her shrill rebukes. Eventually the sting of not celebrating his birthday eased to a milder sadness. But then last year was different. A giant of a man broke down the door to the shack they'd run to, told Harry he was a wizard, and opened up a whole new world for him. Harry hadn't minded the squashed cake Hagrid, the giant, had made; it had already become the best birthday he ever had. The year that had followed was almost like a mad dream. He started at a new, magical school with strange new subjects, made friends that his cousin Dudley couldn't drive off, and gotten mixed up in adventures involving a cerberus, a dragon, a unicorn, and the only-mostly-dead killer of his parents whom Harry had defeated, again, to keep a powerful magical artifact safe.

It had been so crazy that after weeks of no contact with his new friends he worried that he had in fact gone barmy, only for his snowy owl, Hedwig, to remind him otherwise by her presence. So he held out hope that come his birthday he would finally make contact with the wizarding world again.

He had, but not in a good way. A strange house elf had shown up, and it all went downhill from there to this moment, as he watched Aunt Petunia's pudding come crashing down in the middle of their dinner party.

It splattered, covering the table and the people who were left spluttering from the sugary mess.

“Maman!” A little girl yelled as she raced across the garden to her mother.

“Hello little bird.” The mother said, scooping up the child in her arms before setting her back down. “Finally decided to come out and join me hmm?” The child squealed happily as her mother kissed her forehead before wiggling out of her hold.

The child looked at her mother in awe as she quickly and effectively trimmed and weeded the many different flower beds. “Why do you like to garden Maman?”

“You can blame your Papa for that little one. He was the one that originally liked gardening.”

This naturally caused the child to ask, “And why did Papa like to garden?”

The mother chuckled at her daughter before she replied, “He found it calming and he could take pride in his work. Did you know when your Papa started to court me, he gave me a different kind of flower every morning. He spent hours in the library at school learning how to conjure them.” A fond smile spread on her face as she turned to her child. “Your father said I was too unique to be named after a single flower and that is why my name was simply Fleur.

“Of course he wanted to give me real flowers, but he was limited while we were at school. Now, what kind of flowers shall we give him today?” The mother asked her child.

An intense look of concentration spread across the child’s face as she tried to remember the names of different flowers in the garden. “How about a l-lily.” The young girl said, still struggling with the ‘l’ sound.

A smile spread across the face of the mother, before she bent down to better look her child in her green eyes. “I think your father would love that.”

The pair walked up a hill on their property. Under a tree rests a small grave. The child ran up to it and set the flowers down before immediately launching into an adorable mix of French and English detailing what she had done and seen since her last visit.

(A little early for sad summer but this was has been on my mind for a while)

Titans of myth and legend were often pictured as giants, beings of vast size and strength. Yet, staring out of the transparisteel bridge windows of his flagship was a titan, one who stood a little over six feet tall, his simple cowled black robe hiding him to those behind him. Before him, an endless sea of starts streamed past, streaks of light in the endless night of space. He simply watched the old chronometer – a strange thing that he had always had, even the Jedi who found him remembered the chronometer.

His eyes rested on the two images on the inside, the head of some great predatory cat, and the head of some sort of antlered beast. It had provided all the answers it could in the years gone by, yet he had never set it aside. It was a key component of what made him him. He snapped the sprung lid shut, revealing that it had one sentence engraved on the outside. Harry, the son of James and Lily, born of the Potter family, is my bearer.

“Statement: the mechanical time-keeping device was made by meatbags. It is therefore inherently inferior to my-” began his nearest companion.

“And have you forgotten who made you, HK?” he chuckled.

“Indignation: without a full memory wipe, my circuits would not allow me to forget, Master Revan.”

The second time she noticed him was the very next day, right as he walked into the hall. The reason? He was hoisting a banner that read:

Celebrating 13 years of being an orphan, gaining bullshit fame, and killing a faker!

Approach for free admonishments, and sarcasm aplenty!

...And seemed to be completely satisfied with himself.