“Are you getting cold feet about our project?” Anatoly asked anxiously.

Haley laughed. “No way! I’m excited!”

“Oh dear, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” groaned Anatoly. “Because, believe it or not, I was actually planning on surviving into adulthood, thanks very much.”

“Oh, Zabini won’t kill us,” Haley reassured him.

“Ah,” Anatoly said. “So he’ll just disembowel us and tie the ends of our guts to a tree and make us walk around until our intestines unwind.”

Haley threw a sugar quill at him, then looked as though she rather regretted this waste of sweets. “Come on, he might like our project.”

“Sure thing, and I’m a manticore’s uncle,” said Anatoly as Haley skipped off down the hall.

Inter-House Unity projects were due in just a few days, but Haley and Anatoly’s still needed some finishing touches, which was why the female half of the partnership was hoping for a favour from an unsuspecting pawn. She flung open the door to the Room of Requirement.

“Jorjy-Porjy!” she exclaimed, bounding into her brother’s favorite hideout.

She wasn’t surprised to see that her twin was lying flat on his back on a sofa, his eyes shut tightly and his lips moving as he muttered only his breath; Jordan had been so weird the past few months that weird was normal for him, and she was beginning to get used to it.

Jordan sat up. “Never,” he said, “call me Jorjy-Porjy.”

I guess some things never change, thought Haley, plopping down next to him. “So, what are you doing? Trying to find out if there’s life on other planets or something?”

“Well, actually, twenty-nine hundred and eight planets might support intelligent life, but only two near enough to ever make contact possible with us, even with our most advanced technology,” Jordan explained nonchalantly. “And even then, it’s highly unlikely because they think that we’re barbaric. Not that I disagree entirely.”

“That’s… nice,” Haley replied uncomfortably. Her stupid genius brother’s omniscience could be a tad off-putting sometimes. “Well, how’s the Inter-House Unity project?”

Jordan sighed. “Cecilia and I have come to an agreement,” he said, his voice flatter than a squirrel on a major highway. “We’re turning in our project as it is. There are no real boundaries for genealogy charts, so technically, we can stop wherever we want. It’s just… I was hoping to stop with Merlin and Gryffindor, for my own vanity.”

“My project’s pretty good,” Haley offered. “Anatoly’s actually a really nice guy, you know.”

“He has a strange aura,” Jordan said vaguely.

Haley didn’t even want to think about that, let alone ask. She just hoped that whatever her own aura looked like, it wasn’t giving away her intent�”after all, it would be a bit more difficult to pull the wool over Jordan’s eyes now. She segued into a new subject, keeping her voice light and friendly. “So, I was talking to Anatoly earlier, and we were kind of arguing about music, and he said that I can’t judge the Beatles until I’ve heard more of their music. So… can you play some for me?”

“Er…” Jordan stammered hesitantly.

“Why are you ‘er’ing at me?” exclaimed Haley. “Don’t be embarrassed! I’m your twin sister! I’ve heard you sing in the shower your whole life!”

“That was supposed to encourage me?” Jordan asked incredulously.

Haley rolled her eyes. “Oh, just go on and play. The first song’s called… uh… something ‘lane’. It starts off talking about a barber…”

Jordan tried not to look eager to demonstrate his musical prowess, but he didn’t succeed. He grabbed his bright red guitar from behind the sofa and strummed a few chords. “You mean ‘Penny Lane’?” he asked, and began to play and sing.

“Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head that he has had the pleasure to know
And the people come and go, stop and say hello…”

He continued with the song, and Haley sank back comfortably in her chair. She may have been the Potter twin who was wanted to make a living off of her voice, but she was always awed by Jordan’s singing when she got to hear it. His voice was so rich and warm and expressive, with just the perfect balance of polish and huskiness… nothing like the way he talked at all. When he was through with the song, Haley asked eagerly, “What about ‘Imagine’?”

And so they continued, through “Yellow Submarine”, “A Day In The Life”, “Hey Jude”, “All You Need Is Love”, “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” (Haley was totally gobsmacked by the fact that someone had written a catchy ditty about a boy who murdered people by whacking them upside the head with a hammer), “Yesterday”, “Across the Universe”, and finally, “Come Together.”

Haley must have spent the better part of an hour raptly listening to her brother. She’d never been an especially big fan of the Beatles�”showtunes and bubble-gum pop being more her style�”but she great talent when she heard it, and she couldn’t deny that Jordan had it, in so annoyingly many ways.

In fact, she was so transfixed that she almost forgot about her ulterior motives. At long last, she got to her feet and announced, “Well, uh, that was… freakishly amazing. Thanks for playing for me!”

And with that, she gave her twin an affectionate little smooch on the cheek (causing him to stiffen and grimace in discomfort) and zipped off down the corridor.

As soon as she stepped outside, she drew out her wand and murmured, “Finite Incantatem,” ending the recording spell. Her masterpiece was ready.

* * * * * *

Ted and his father stood outside Professor Zabini’s office, waiting for their monthly dose of Wolfsbane potion. As always, Zabini was taking his sweet time, and it was not unlike sitting in his classroom at the beginning of the period not knowing whether he’d burst out of his storeroom in two seconds or twenty minutes.

“Has your Wolfsbane been working lately?” Remus asked quietly.

The question caught Ted off guard. Normally, he would say yes, of course�”how could Wolfsbane not work? But now that he came to think of it, he wasn’t so sure. “I… I don’t really know,” he said. “I mean, it’s always worked before, but the last couple months have been…weird.”

He thought back to that one terrifying transformation when he’d actually considered escaping from the Shack and attacking students at the school. Although he knew his dad had been a werewolf since the age of four and had surely gone through his own violent spells, he couldn’t divulge all of the horrible things that had gone through his mind that night.

His father was always so proud of him, and he couldn’t just shatter that by letting him know that his son had turned into a homicidal freak. There was no way that Remus Lupin could have ever wanted to kill anyone. Then again, Ted would never want to kill anyone, either. He didn’t care to acknowledge whatever was warping his mind into such a twisted shape as ‘Ted’.

Remus peered closely at his son. “Do you ever feel almost like you’re not human?” he asked. “But your intelligence is the same?”

“Er, yeah, sort of,” Ted said slowly.

His father frowned. “I’ll tell Blaise to give you your potion every day, not just on full moon. You’ll want a stronger dosage, too.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve been through it all. It has to get worse before it gets better.”

Ted sighed uncertainly, looking like a confused little boy. “It’s kind of scary,” he admitted. “I mean, I could have hurt someone…”

Remus put a protective hand on his shoulder. “But you didn’t,” he said. “And it’s our choices that make us who we are, not our abilities.”

“Who said that?” his son asked curiously. “Other than you, I mean?”

“Well, Harry says he heard it from Dumbledore,” said Remus, “but I first heard it at the Final Battle against Voldemort.” His expression was faraway, transported into the past. “Do you remember how I told you that the eight of us weren’t the only ones fighting against Voldemort? That there were eight other people who we’d never seen before and never saw again?”

Ted’s brow furrowed. “Yeah,” he replied. “At detention. You said that one of them was a werewolf and helped you feel better about… werewolf stuff, right?”

Remus nodded. “It was all a little strange. He was a little strange, but you have no idea how it all changed my life.”

Ted gave him a crooked half-smile. “I kind of do. You helped do in Voldemort, then you married Mum, got your job back at the school, and had Christina and Nathanael and me.”

Remus laughed. “Well, that’s true.”

Just then, the door to Zabini’s office swung open, and the Potions master stood before them, tall, dark, and sinister as always and holding two foaming goblets. “Your potions,” he said, barely moving his lips.

Remus took them and passed one to his son. “Oh, and Blaise--”

“Yes, I assume your son’s graduated to an adult dose of Wolfsbane each full moon. I’ve prepared his accordingly,” Zabini responded coolly. It seemed very strange to Ted that Zabini had a first name; even stranger that his father could call him by it. He couldn’t imagine the Professor as a teenager with friends who called ‘Blaise.’ “I am not, contrary to popular belief, completely ignorant when it comes to werewolves.”

“Thank you,” said Remus, blinking slightly. He paused. “Now, Ted says…”

His son interrupted him. “I sometimes feel like a wolf even when I’m, you know, not one,” he explained, feeling that if anyone told Zabini, it should be him. “And my dad thinks I should probably take Wolfsbane every day, not just on full moons.” He was aware of how crazy he sounded, and wondered how drastically he had just changed Zabini’s perception of him.

But if Zabini was shocked by this statement, he didn’t show it. His expression didn’t change, and Ted was certain that he’d say something like ‘do you really think I have enough time in my busy schedule to make such a difficult potion every day?”

“I know you’re really busy and all, but it keeps happening, and I just want to make sure I don’t hurt any--”

Zabini’s eyes flashed. “There is no need to babble, Mr. Lupin. Clearly, you need the potion, and it’s my job as Potions master to make it for you.” He began to close the door to his office, plainly signifying that the conversation was over. “Pick it up in the Hospital Wing each morning with your insulin potion.”

And the door slammed shut with such force that the goblet in Ted’s hand almost spilled over.

“Well, that was nice of him,” Ted said brightly.

“Drink that, you need to have it in your system before lunchtime,” said Remus. He paused. “And stay positive.”

Ted smiled as his father walked off down the hallway and sat down in a cozy alcove, wedged between the wall and a suit of armour in a spot so narrow that virtually no one else in the school would have fit. He looked down at his potion, preparing himself for its gritty, bitter taste. But deep inside, something clawed and begged him not to drink it, for reasons completely unrelated to flavour. Wolfsbane truly was the bane of werewolves. Just as he constantly pushed to stay dominant over the wolf inside him, the wolf wanted control itself, and scrabbled to stay in charge.

Don’t bother drinking that, hissed a small voice in the back of his head. What good will it do?

Ted stared at the potion, steaming and foaming like the mouth of a rabid animal. “Well, for one, it’ll keep me from going mad and maiming the whole school,” he thought, making what he felt was a very sensible point.

The voice laughed, a harsh bark completely unlike his own slightly dorky-sounding chuckle. Don’t fool yourself. You know that every minute, part of you wants to do just that. The potion won’t help you now. Let go. Don’t worry about the human rules they try to force on you. They don’t apply to you… you’re not a human…well, not anymore.

Ted was beginning to think the voice was his conscience’s evil twin. How could he, the sweet one, the goody-goody, think such disgusting thoughts? “Dad said that I can control the wolf.”

You’ve slipped before, haven’t you? pointed out the voice. You’re acting like it’s not your fault, that it’s not you that attacked Charybdis Nott and thought about eating your classmates. That wolf inside you isn’t another animal sharing your body. It’s you. It’s Ted Lupin, just as much as the boy. More so, in fact. Accept it.

Ted’s head was beginning to ache. “No… I know what I’m like. I just need to learn how to take control and… be me again.”

If you have to try so hard to be ‘yourself,’ it’s not really yourself it’s being, though, is it?

“But I’ve never been like this before! Well, before this year.” Ted couldn’t believe how strange it was, arguing against his own body and mind and having them rebel against him. “I’m not violent,” he insisted to himself, more to reassure himself than the voice at the back of his head.

That’s what they all say, the voice told him darkly. People change.

The voice was cruel and unyielding and inhuman… and right. Ted had changed, whether he liked it or not.

He saw his face reflected in the shiny metal goblet, as wild-eyed as he’d been on the full moon. He looked deep into his own eyes, trying to glimpse the boyish twinkle that made them recognizable.

Nothing.

Ted grabbed the goblet and drained it in one gulp.

* * * * * *

THUD.

Zabini’s storeroom door slammed shut, and the Professor strode forth, his eyes gleaming coldly. “Your projects,” he announced, “are due immediately. I assume, of course, that each of you paid attention to my instructions. I expect a copy of the project from each student, as I’m sure your partners’ first-period teachers do.”

The class nodded mutely. They’d all learned long ago that failure to pay attention in Zabini’s class was greatly akin to suicide, and that all directions were mandatory.

“Good. I will call you up individually, and you will each hand in your projects, with the exception of Mr. Capshaw and Miss Potter, who are both in this class and must only turn in one copy. These make up a fifth of your grade for the term, and blahblahblahbblahblah…”

Well, he might as well have been saying “blahblahblah,” as far as Haley was concerned. It was nearly impossible to listen to Zabini’s constant monologuing, and she was feeling especially fidgety today

She scribbled on a scrap bit of parchment and passed it to Emma. “So, did you and Slugboy Blenkinsopp finally get your project together?”

Emma rolled her eyes and wrote back, “Sort of. We were up almost all last night, so that’s why I have bags big enough to keep goldfish in under my eyes.”

“What’s the project?”

“Eh, we wrote a play about the row Gryffindor and Slytherin had when Slytherin walked out.”

“Ooh, a play! Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Well, basically, we just yelled insults at each other and wrote them down and pretended it was a play. It’s very convincing, though. I’m expecting an O.”

Somehow, Haley doubted that a transcribed insult match was what the Professors had in mind when they assigned the project, Emma was infuriatingly right-- she always did quite well in school despite the fact that she didn’t put much effort into it. Her sharp wits could have easily been used to do homework, but instead, she used them to find clever ways to do as little work as possible.

Haley was beginning to really get nervous about the project, and she exchanged exaggerated nail-biting gestures with Anatoly across the room. Earlier, Haley had said she wasn’t worried about the project, but now that the time come, with Zabini in the flesh and everything, it was scary.

Everyone else had done a safe project. Emma and Nelson’s play, Jordan and Cecilia’s family tree, Ted and Roran O’ Reilly’s comic strip on Hogwarts history, Ivy and Tabitha’s biography of Rowena Ravenclaw. Why had she chosen to go controversial instead of picking a project that could be turned in without fuss?

But Haley being Haley, she knew she’d never be happy with the mundane. Her imagination was just as hyperactive as the rest of her, and she loved her project… just not enough to keep her legs from turning into jelly when Zabini called her name.

All other projects had been turned in without incident, and the time passed uncomfortably quickly. It seemed like only seconds went by before Zabini uttered, “Anatoly Capshaw and Harriet-Lily Potter.”

“Oh,” Haley squeaked, her voice echoing weirdly. “Yeah, um, I don’t have it.”

The entire class gasped, and Zabini swooped down on her like a giant bat. “What?” he hissed. His face was the mask of fury that he usually turned on students who failed to follow directions, but deep in his eyes there was a glimmer of pleasure, and the corner of his mouth twisted. His dreams that his two least-favourite students would fail to complete their project were all coming true.

“Oh, we did it,” Haley said quickly, “but we don’t have it right now.”

Zabini arched an eyebrow, causing Haley to shudder slightly with revulsion. “Excuse me?”

“Relax,” Anatoly chimed in merrily from the back of the room. “The best things come to those who wait.” The class looked as though Anatoly had just ridden in naked on a brontosaurus. Nobody ever gave suggestions as to what Zabini should do.

“You will receive a zero,” snarled Zabini, his lip curling in the way it did so frequently that it almost looked like a tic. “I expected a great deal more maturity and dedication from my N.E.W.T.s level class… even from you.”

Haley looked down nervously at her sparkly pink fingernails, drumming them on her desk. She’d done her work and finished her project, but she knew it would have to wait�”it was all part of the plan. But even so, hearing that she would receive a zero as a fifth of her Potions grade only made her nerves worse.

She remembered how freaked out Jordan had been about the zero on his essay test, until he finally revealed he was a Seer and McGonagall forced Zabini to let him retake the test. At the time, Haley thought it was hilarious how worked-up her Jordan got about his grades, but now she could see why.

Ivy seemed nearly as anxious as her sister, being a very talented and experienced worrier. “Haley,” she whispered, “Don’t tell me you didn’t finish your project! You’ve been working so hard for months!”

“No talking!” demanded Zabini, and Ivy broke off immediately, casting one more concerned glance at her cousin.

Haley looked over her shoulder at Anatoly, who gave her a reassuring wink. It was beginning. Their project would be visible, audible, and tangible to the whole school before the end of the day.

Dinner, to be exact.

At first, nothing seemed different at the Gryffindor table, although this might have had a lot to do with how preoccupied everyone was. Emma was extremely busy ignoring Tyrone, making sure to glance absolutely everywhere in the Great Hall except at him, while Tyrone constantly darted his eyes in her direction to make certain that this hadn’t changed.

Ivy and Ted were laughing about one of Ted’s interesting potion-making mistakes, and Jordan was, of course, staring into thin air with unsettling intensity. So no one really noticed how bizarrely quiet Haley was being.

“So, I was thinking that if I added a couple of extra porcupine quills, my potion would be more interesting,” Ted was saying, with exuberant hand gestures. “Well, I guess if by ‘interesting’, you mean ‘exploding in my face and giving me disgusting orange spots and leeks growing out of my nose’, I was right.” He made a face. “You should have seen the looks I was getting on the way down to the Hospital wing. I looked like… like a Chinese New Year dragon or something.” He gave Ivy a bashful grin. “There goes any respect I got from the first years.”

Ivy smiled. “Only you,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re so… what-you-see-is-what-you-get.”

Ted looked rather uncomfortable. “Erm, really? I… actually, I--” He was cut off by a loud FSHOOM and an explosion of colour on the far wall of the room.

“Whoa… what?!” A clear image of the school was projected on the wall, accompanied by soaring background music.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” boomed a boy’s familiar voice, disguised with a rather bad fake Australian accent. “A house divided against itself. Or rather, four houses divided against each other.”

The Great Hall was filled with confused mumblings and mutterings as everyone looked around for the source of the video, and at the staff table, Professor Zabini demanded, “What is the meaning of this?” His head darted this way and that, peering suspiciously around the Great Hall.

“And ever since the feud between Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, their houses have been particularly bitterly opposed to one another. But let’s see how the members of the Hogwarts houses really feel about one another.”

And the image of Hogwarts was replaced by a montage of Hogwarts students of every house who, unaware that they were being recorded, held doors open for one another, picked up spilled objects, gave directions, helped with homework assignments, returned lost objects, complimented each other on clothing, and every other possible indication of Inter-House Unity that could be spotted in the Hogwarts corridors. A series of Beatles songs played quietly in the background, so quietly that it was difficult to tell that it was neither Paul nor John singing… and it couldn’t be George or Ringo, either. That deep, husky voice was very familiar, but no one could quite put their finger on whose it was… except for one very red-faced Gryffindor.

A Hufflepuff girl with curly hair filled the screen. “You know,” she said dreamily, “There’s this one boy in Slytherin… his name is Carlos… he’s really, really cute. Not that he probably has any idea who I am or anything.”

Next, a shaky, grainy shot of the Slytherin boys’ dormitory revealed a dark-haired boy bent over a piece of parchment, scrawling, “Heather�”You’re beautiful. Love, Somebody.” He tied it to his owl’s leg, attached a box of chocolate frogs, and quickly climbed back into bed as a sleepy voice in the background muttered, “Carlos, what are you doing?”

Every girl in the Great Hall watching ‘awww’ed in unison, while most of the boys looked horrified. One curly-haired Hufflepuff let out a squeal and may have passed out, while a dark-haired boy at the Slytherin table suddenly blushed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Professor Longbottom’s face appeared on the screen next. “To me, it doesn’t really matter what house people come from. I’ve had brilliant students in all four houses… and students who can’t tell a violet from a venomous tentacula. I’ve never been able to stand biased teachers... and I’ve had a few.”

“When I was in school,” said Professor Granger-Weasley, “I never got along well with the Slytherins… well, Draco Malfoy and his friends, and that’s not the best representation of Slytherin house. I always assumed that that was what all Slytherins were like, but now that I teach here, the house that gives the most trouble is my own house.” She paused. “And often, my own family.”

Professor Lupin was next. “I think,” he said, “that I could have well been sorted into any of the four houses, and I’m sure the same could be said of most of the students here. We all have a little of each house in us in some way.”

The Hogwarts crest filled the screen, and the fake-Australian voice announced, “Inter-House Unity has already begun. And out of one hundred students surveyed, ninety-six said they’d like to get to know their fellow students better. Eighty-four said that members of other houses were friendlier to them, they’d be friendlier back. So what are you waiting for, Hogwarts? You’ve just finished your Inter-House Unity projects. This is ours�”a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, who’ve gotten to be great friends. Don’t you want to try and change something around here? Most of the school does.”

The picture suddenly changed to an extreme close-up of Professor Zabini, showing every pore and follicle. “Put down your wand,” he snapped. “What is the meaning of… that wand is recording! Put it down immediately! Get it away from me! Are you even listening to me? EXPELLIARMUS!”

There was a clatter and his face was abruptly replaced by a sea of grey and white squiggles before the Hogwarts crest returned.

“Again, most of the school. But what do you expect from a man who… well, we all know about him and the potato! Good evening!”

And with that, the video was over.

There was a long, hesitant silence, while at the staff table, Professor Zabini was turning a rather interesting shade of purple and muttering to himself. And then, as if the thought struck all of the student body at the exact same second, the Great Hall burst into applause.

“Haley!” whispered Ivy, “that was your project, wasn’t it? How did you do it?”

Haley grinned. “A magician never reveals her secrets,” she replied, and got to her feet, smoothing her hair.

“Where are you going?” asked Ivy.

Haley’s grin widened to Cheshire-cat proportions, her eyes sparking disconcertingly brightly. “You’ll see in a moment,” she chirped, shooting a discreet glance over to the Slytherin table.

Just as Haley was standing, so was another figure, this one tall and taut-faced with dark eyes, dark robes, and an expression darker than both put together. Professor Zabini scanned the student body, eyes narrowed. And when he spoke, his voice was just as carrying as that of the Australian-accented voiceover on the video. “The… spectacle that just occurred was not approved by the school,” he proclaimed, “and if and when its creators are found, they will receive punishment. Disrupting the�””

But if he said anything more, it was drowned out by a sudden loud burst of music. A recorded brass band blared out the opening fanfare of the Marseilles.

“What the….?!” Zabini murmured, fulfilling his surprise quota for the day.

Then, the trumpets were replaced by the soft strumming of a guitar and a high, clear voice from somewhere in the midst of the crowds in the Great Hall began to sing. “Love, love, love… love, love, love… love, love, love, love…”

“Whoever is singing, she�””

And with that, Harriet-Lily Potter mounted the Gryffindor table and stood straight and the closest thing to ‘tall’ that she could manage, singing.

“There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done
Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung…”

“Miss Potter, get down from there at once!” spat Zabini, and looked around at the staff table for support. The other teachers seemed to be unusually unhelpful, sitting with folded hands and expressions of mild interest, even the typically strict Professor Granger-Weasley. “Miss Potter, stop at once!”

Haley simply flashed him a dazzling smile and waved cheerfully, continuing to sing:

“Nothing you can say but you can learn to play the game
It’s easy.
There’s nothing you can make that can’t be made
No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy…”

She glanced around at the gape-mouthed students staring up at her (Jordan was a deep shade of red previously only found on cooked lobsters, recognizing the guitar accompaniment) and said, “If you really believe in what I’m singing, come up here with me and join in.”

“All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love…
Love is all you need.”

Haley took a deep breath, realizing that as fantastic as her plan seemed in theory, how cool it would be to stand on the house table and sing her heart out while the veins in Zabini’s temples bulged increasingly more and more ominously, maybe Hogwarts wasn’t ready for this. Maybe she’d just look like a complete idiot. Maybe no one would join in.

But when she opened her mouth to sing the refrain again, a slightly off-key male voice joined hers:

“All you need is love
All you need is love
All you need is love, love…
Love is all you need.”

Anatoly Capshaw strode smartly up to the Gryffindor table and took Haley’s hand, an expression of great dignity on his pimply face as he sang. Haley squeezed his hand, relieved that things were going according to plan. Hopefully, the rest of the school would follow suit once they saw that a Slytherin was the first to join in. She made a mental note to give Anatoly the biggest hug ever once this was over.

She sang her solo verse with renewed confidence.

“There’s nothing you can know that isn’t known
Nothing you can see that isn’t shown
Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.
It’s easy.”

Just then, as she prepared to begin the next chorus, a small blur streaked forth from the Ravenclaw table. Tiny little Tabitha Thomas stepped up onto the Gryffindor table and grabbed onto Anatoly’s free hand, her soft voice blending with the sixth years’.

“All you need is love.
All you need is love…”

Tyrone let out a whoop and jumped up onto the table with such enthusiasm that it shook, joining his little sister adding his deep, warm, and unnecessarily loud voice to the mix.

“All you need is love, love…
Love is all you need.”

Haley beamed. It was like being in a musical, where people randomly burst into song simultaneously. The Thomases had opened the floodgates. Three Hufflepuff girls and a tall Ravenclaw Prefect marched proudly to the table.

“No one else is to join in!” Zabini shouted uselessly.

“All you need is love…”

Ivy and Ted joined the group, hands already clasped together, along with a Slytherin first year and Roran O’Reilly. A dark-haired Slytherin boy ran over to Hufflepuff table and, without a word, kissed a curly-haired girl and led her up to the growing group of singers.

“All you need is love…”

The Head Boy and Head Girl joined the party proudly, followed by a gaggle of second year Ravenclaws and some nervous-looking Slytherins.

“All you need is love, love…”

A low, resonant voice rose beautifully from the crowd as Jordan climbed up to the table with something very much like brotherly pride gleaming in his eyes. And behind him came nearly all of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, followed by the Hufflepuff team.

“Love is all you need.”

By now, the chain had spilled from Gryffindor table onto onto the Ravenclaw table and the space of the floor connecting them, and was still growing rapidly. Almost no one was still sitting at Gryffindor table. Emma was among the last few, focusing resolutely on her dinner and pretending to be totally blind and deaf. But as she looked around at the empty chairs on either side of her and her smiling friends singing and swaying, she felt like a slightly but distinctly horrible person.

She had no desire to do anything as sappy as holding hands and singing about love, and she certainly didn’t trust the Slytherins, but she hated feeling like there was a wall between her and her friends. She could see Jordan, his normally solemn face relaxed and smiling, and Ivy and Ted leaning sickeningly on one another. Tyrone was there, his smug face alight as he and his little sister swung their joined hands back and forth. And of course, Haley in the centre of it all, looking radiantly proud and surprisingly grown-up. They’d all supported her and cheered her on when she’d been in the Triwizard Tournament; they deserved the same from her.

Emma stood up, flicking her hair over her shoulders, and strode up to join the chain. She may not have believed that love was all the world needed, but she did believe in friendship.

“All you need is love,
All you need is love…”

The chain now formed a near circle, stretching across all four house tables and still growing. And just when it looked like everyone who was going to join already had, the crowds parted to reveal a tall, blond figure.

Technically speaking, it was Ophidias Malfoy. But it was not the Ophidias that Hogwarts knew. No longer the miserable, slouching ghost he’d been since his time in Azkaban, he looked almost like the old Ophidias�”head held high, expression defiant, movements decisive and eyes daring anyone to stop him. But the old Ophidias would never have joined hands with a small Gryffindor first year and closed the circle of students, singing alongside the rest of the chain.

Ivy smiled over at him, and he smiled back, his own expression as disbelieving as those surrounding him.

“All you need is love, love
Love is all you need.”

* * * * * *

After the big musical number, the general atmosphere in the Great Hall was an awkwardly optimistic one. Having just sung about love and unity, students who had never spoken before had no choice but to converse uncomfortably with one another.

Haley sat down, all flushed and excited and generally giddy. Everything had gone far, far better than she had ever expected. So many students had joined in… even Ophidias Malfoy. Whether through genuine caring or peer pressure or the desire to do something against Zabini’s orders, most of Hogwarts had supported her. And what was even better was that there were too many participants for Zabini to give them all detention! Even if he tried, the other teachers would never let him get away with it.

Haley was swamped by people who wanted to tell her what nerve she had, what an original idea it was, and more than anything, how beautiful her voice was�”and she loved every minute of it. She guessed this was what it might be like when she became a famous actress.

While she was busy, her friends were making their way out of the Great Hall, still talking about the stunt that Haley had staged.

“That was my guitar accompaniment!” Jordan was saying for the thousandth time. “She tricked me! I can’t believe she tricked me!”

“It was for a good cause,” Ivy told him sensibly. “You know you wouldn’t have played for her if she’d told you what she was up to.”

“I… don’t mind, actually,” he said slowly, looking amazed at what was coming from his mouth. “It was dishonest and conniving, and pulling a major trick like she did was horribly ill-conceived�”she could have gotten us both in massive trouble�”but I think it was the right thing to do.” He paused, letting his own statement sink in. It sometimes seemed to him that the Seer in him didn’t take care to run its opinions by his brain before expressing them.

He scratched the back of his neck. “What really is bothering me is the fact that she managed to fool me. I’ve known her my entire life, and I can usually tell if people are up to something… especially now… well, I can’t believe she managed to get something like that past me.”

Because there was a Quidditch game�”the final match of the year�”the next day, Jordan had been rather preoccupied lately, even for him. But that still didn’t explain how Haley had broken his shield of near-omniscience and gotten past him. He was so wrapped up in thought that he nearly tripped over a large lump on the ground. Ted actually did.

“Watch where you’re going!” shouted an oddly choked-up sounding voice from the ground. “Well, what are you staring at?” Charybdis Nott demanded, glaring up at the four Gryffindors with red-rimmed eyes. Her nose was just as red, and her cheeks were streaked with the stains of tears. “No, I didn’t help you out in your little love-fest. Just go away.”

“Not a bad idea,” muttered Emma, nudging Ivy uneasily in the ribs. Her uneasiness was clear, so clear that less brave friends would have made certain that she never came in contact with any Slytherins ever again, just to keep her from wearing That Look.

But none of them could help but stare. Charybdis was actually crying. The thought had never crossed their minds that she was capable of it, or that she was indeed a human being.

Only Ted did not look particularly surprised. His hearing, always sharper than average, was especially acute this close to full moons, and as he’d left the Great Hall earlier, he’d heard Charybdis’s mosquito-like little whine of a voice.

“Ophidias,” she’d said, “get back here! Don’t just walk away like that! What’s up with you lately? Why were you up there singing with all the Mudbloods and blood traitors and--”

“SHUT UP!” Ophidias had shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop following me around? I can’t stand you!”

Charybdis had gasped and made a strange little strangled stuttering noise in the back of her throat. And that, Ted presumed, was when they had walked by.

He paused, looking over at her, and after a moment, extended his hand and said, “Need help?”

Charybdis stared at him as though he’d offered her a kitten sandwich. “You want me to touch that?” she snapped, leaning away from Ted’s hand as though it carried a deadly disease. “Go back to the woods where you belong.”

There was a collective gasp at this, especially considering Ted’s ‘mood swings’ lately. Charybdis was quite stupid to tempt him to attack her yet again. But Ted just gave Charybdis a calm, friendly smile and said, “I don’t think I would belong in the woods. I mean, I’m toilet trained, I eat cooked food, I even walk around dressed like a normal guy… I’d be the laughingstock of the wolf pack. Or, you know, howlingstock.” He placed Charybdis’s spilled books back in her cauldron and smiled blandly once more at her.

Charybdis snatched her cauldron back, glaring at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but just go away. No one wants you here with all the regular people.”

“Luckily, that’s not true,” he replied, keeping his tone light, but he did follow her advice and go away, following his friends back to the Common Room.

Emma shook her head once they were safely out of earshot. “You’re bonkers for Bertie Botts,” she said. “I don’t believe you, Ted. You actually talked to Charybdis Nott? I thought she was going to kill you!”

Ted shrugged. “I’m just trying for a little Inter-House Unity. I mean, I don’t sing for just anything…”

“Good,” Emma interjected, and even Jordan snorted.

“And besides, I felt bad for her,” continued Ted, not bothering to acknowledge Emma’s comment with more than an embarrassed smile. “I heard Ophidias telling her that he couldn’t stand her. I’d be crying, too, if I was her… he said to stop following him around.”

“Hmm,” said a deep voice, and suddenly, Tyrone was standing there, his eyebrows raised and his arms folded. “Really. Wonder what that’s got to be like, being told something like that.”

And before anything else could be said, he stalked off into the boys’ dorm, shutting the door firmly behind him.

* * * * * *

Jordan was rather ashamed to admit it, but he just hadn’t been focusing as much on Quidditch lately as he had the previous year. He loved the game, and flying was one of his favourite things in the world, but he’d been so focused on his new talents�”and, of course, his Inter-House Unity project�”that he hadn’t been quite as… involved as before. Or maybe a better word was ‘obsessed.’

Still, he knew that he was the captain of a good team, and he was confident that they had what it took to beat Hufflepuff in the final match. They practiced constantly, they had great teamwork and a thorough knowledge of plays, and they were committed.

And best of all, he no longer had to worry about the welfare of two of his star players. Emma and Tyrone hadn’t entered the Forbidden Forest since before the Valentine’s Day ball. In fact, they’d barely spoken since then. But that didn’t matter, because they played two entirely different positions, and besides, Jordan had never liked Tyrone much. He’d always found him annoyingly loud, and his every move seemed to scream ‘look at me!’ It was rather relieving to not have to put up with Tyrone hanging around his friends anymore.

Speaking of Tyrone, he paced back and forth in the dressing room as the team prepared for their championship match. Everyone was silent from nerves, pulling on uniforms and stretching without a word.

Jordan, too, was nervous, and it coiled and pinched uncomfortably around the pit of his stomach as he sat there. He half-wished for a vision telling him whether they’d win, but he was terrified that he would discover they would lose. And besides, he reminded himself, the future can always be changed. Nothing is set in stone. It wouldn’t be any good in any case.

He checked his watch. The game was set to begin in three minutes… it was time to get ready. He cleared his throat and turned to the team to deliver his pep talk. “Well,” he said, “This is it. As almost all of you were on this team last year�”except for you, Trajan�”you can testify to how truly incredibly this team can be. I can’t promise another ten-second match�”that was a fluke�”but I am fairly certain that you will make me proud.”

He paused. “I suppose it’s best if I quit while I’m ahead. This is, after all, a Quidditch team, not Parliament. Just get ready to play Quidditch.” The team cheered, probably with relief that his speech hadn’t been as long-winded as they’d feared.

And just then, Haley’s magically amplified voice shouted from the stadium, “GOOD MORNING, HOGWARTS! We are Quidditching today! I’m Haley Potter, everyone’s favourite commentator and tabletop chanteuse�”means ‘singer’ according to my friend Lee, who knows these things�”and although I totally think Inter-House Unity is great, it’s always nice to have a little friendly competition, and, uh, brain-bashing with a giant club. But enough of that! Let’s hear it for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor!”

At that, Jordan hopped on his broom and flew out of the changing room and onto the pitch, leading the other six members of the team into the bright sunshine. The Hufflepuff team zoomed out of their changing room simultaneously, and the two teams met in the middle.

Jordan shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain (a huge seventh year Beater in whose massive hand Jordan’s looked like a doll’s) and turned to face the stands, his heart thumping.

“And… let the match begin!”

The game started well. Just two minutes in, Emma knocked the Quaffle out a Hufflepuff Chaser’s hands with the end of her broom, then grabbed it out of the air and punted it straight through the hoop, scoring the first goal of the game. In the stands, Haley’s amplified ‘squee’s ricocheted from every wall.

The action moved so quickly that even Haley’s motor-mouth could barely keep up. Hufflepuff was good, but even so, Gryffindor was in the lead by a few points.

Half an hour into the game, Haley was still going strong. “Dickinson passes to Mullroy, back to Dickinson, she’s headed for the hoop, ohhh, intercepted by Ophelia Wood of Gryffindor! She dodges a Bludger�”nice one, great reflexes�”and passes to Walters�”Trajan Walters, second year and already a great Chaser, he’s the Gryffindor Rookie of the year, kind of like Hufflepuff’s new Beater, Amir! And… wow, Walters puts it through the hoop! Ten points for Gryffindor… but the Hufflepuffs have the ball, and they’ve got their game faces on…”

Jordan made his way around the pitch in smooth, easy circles, scanning the air for the Snitch. This was always nerve-wracking, knowing that the Snitch could be right behind him at any minute. So much of the game depended on the Seeker�”Gryffindor may have been beating Hufflepuff by three goals, but if Hufflepuff caught the Snitch, they would still win.

Jordan glanced over at the Hufflepuff Seeker, a third year girl named Papadakis who looked more like a first year but flew like a seventh year. Like Haley, she may have looked small and cute, but that was part of what made her so dangerous.

“Hufflepuff Beaters are fantastic, they just keep parrying those Bludgers away,” announced Haley forty-five minutes into the game. “In fact, I don’t think anyone on the Hufflepuff team’s gotten hit since these guys joined the team. Oh… and wow, speaking of Hufflpeuff, Mullroy’s just distracted Gryffindor’s Keeper�”keep your eye on the Quaffle, Featherstone�”and…Dickinson’s made a goal! Watch out, Gryffs, the ‘Puffs are gaining on you, just two goals behind!”

Jordan smacked himself in the forehead. Just like Featherstone to be so easily distracted. He filed away a mental note to work with him on developing better focus when Quidditch season rolled around the next year. Now Gryffindor was only ahead by two goals, and he’d been flying for suspiciously long without seeing so much as a glimpse of the Snitch. He hoped Papadakis hadn’t seen it, either.

Find the Snitch… it was as though he’d keyed in a password in his brain and doors had swung open. A string of images flashed rapidly through his mind�”himself on his broom, plummeting within an inch of the ground; a Bludger tearing the wing off of the Snitch; the damaged Snitch falling neatly into his hand; himself hoisting the Quidditch Cup into the air…

Jordan did not think. His brain was on autopilot, blocking out any thoughts or doubts or reservations. A switch in his mind had flipped, and in an instant, he had spurred on his broom and was rocketing at a frightening speed toward the ground.

The crowd gasped as he dove, and Haley announced, “And Potter�”that’s my baby brother�”is making a, er, really, really big dive that’s kind of, um, freaking me out a lot. Is he after the Snitch, or is it a Wronski Feint, or is his broom busted or what? Papadakis is staying in the air, looking confused… and Potter’s still in the dive… this is scary.”

Her twin didn’t hear her. He’d blocked out everything but the smooth feel of his broom, the wind whistling around him and ruffling his hair and clothes, the stunning green of the pitch as it rose closer and closer toward him…

“And it looks like Papadakis sees the Snitch!” shouted Haley. “She’s going for it, she’s… awww, did you see that? Amir hit his Bludger the wrong way, and it knocked the wing off the Snitch! Papadakis reaches, but it’s falling fast…”

And as suddenly as he’d gone into the dive, Jordan stopped his broom with a jerk, floating centimeters above the ground. He had no idea how his father had managed to fly with glasses on�”his stop had practically caused his own organs to jettison themselves, and glasses would never have stood a chance.

But such things weren’t bothering him at the moment. He stretched out his hand and concentrated only on the twinkling gold ball tumbling down from the sky… closer now… closer now…

His fingers closed tightly around the ball, feeling its one good wing flutter uselessly against his fingers. Gracefully, he stepped down from his nearly grounded broomstick and onto the soft grass of the pitch, his fist held aloft.

Up in the stadium, a whistle sounded, wild cheers erupted, and Haley shrieked, “And… in a really weird kind of way, Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup for the second year in a row! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to scream like a loony. WOOOOHOOOOO!”

And before he knew what was happening, Jordan was buried in a mob of excitable well-wishers and buoyed up on the shoulders of the crowd. The shiny gold Quidditch Cup, remarkably similar in colour to the Snitch, was thrust into his hands, and some girl he’d never seen ran up to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. It wasn’t until the floods of people began to subside that reality began to sink in.

Jordan had not won the game.

Oh, according to all of the rules and records, he had. His team had been awarded the Quidditch Cup and the chance for a wild and Professor-terrifying afterparty. By all accounts, he had led his team to triumph.

But he knew better. He hadn’t won the game, his vision had.

He didn’t follow the rest of the Gryffindors up to the party in the Common Room. Instead, he took his time in the locker room, moving at a speed not dissimilar to that of a slow-motion snail.

There was only one other person in the locker room by now, and she glanced over at him with an expression somewhere between bemusement and suspicion. “What, no gloating?” said Emma.

She kept a safe distance away�”ever since he’d announced he was a Seer, she’d steered clear of him, and whenever he was near her, her aura spun wildly and the rosy pink around the edges all but disappeared. It was doing this now, like a crazy sort of Ferris Wheel, and it was difficult for Jordan to keep his eyes downcast as intended.

“Excuse me?” he said stiffly.

Emma gave a sharp little laugh. “You’ve just won the Quidditch Cup. It’s almost as good as that ten-second game last year. Why aren’t you back in the castle showing off like Tyrone Thomas?”

“Because I didn’t win,” Jordan shot back, each syllable as hard and fast as a machine gun firing. His own tone surprised even him. He was fourteen years old again, for Godric’s sake.

“Er, yeah. That makes no sense,” Emma pointed out helpfully. “Even from you.”

Jordan sighed and let his locker door slam shut. “It was lucky how I managed to catch that Snitch when I did, wasn’t it?” he said sharply. “What do you think the odds were of such good luck?” He grimaced. “Surely you can’t be stupid enough to think that really was all luck.”

“Still not following you,” Emma told him frankly.

“That’s because you’re interrupting me and not letting me finish.” He paused and listened to the dutiful silence like a grammar-school teacher. “Better. In any case, I had a vision�”that’s how I knew the Bludger would rip the wing off the Snitch. There’s nothing at all in Quidditch Through the Ages or any Quidditch rulebook about Seers on the field, but even if it’s not in any official materials, I can tell that winning with a vision is cheating.”

Emma jumped slightly at the ‘v’ word. “Yeah, well, whatever, as long as we won,” she shrugged. “There’s no way they’ll disqualify us.”

“It’s not about disqualification,” Jordan snapped, and suddenly, the taught, rigid anger that he’d been full of in his fourth year returned, like a bottle of soda fizzing menacingly beneath a tightly closed cap. His green-black eyes seemed darker and more intimidating than ever. “Frankly, I care about more than just a shiny fake-gold cup, Emma. Don’t you see what this is all about?”

“Erm… nooo…” Emma stuffed her things in her bag and began to edge out of the changing room, not eager to be caught in the midst of a rant.

Too late. The gales had already begun. “Can’t you see?” he demanded in a scary, booming voice. It was easy to forget that Jordan’s usual indifferent speaking voice, all low and flat and precise, could rise to such a fierce crescendo. “I can never play Quidditch again!”

“That’s a little overdramatic, I think,” Emma said carelessly. She studied her fingernails. “Might not be too challenging anymore, but then, everything’s bloody easy for you, isn’t it?” It was an interesting contrast to usual, a disinterested and cool Emma and an explosive Jordan. For the last two years, Emma had been the one to rant and rave while Jordan stared patronizingly and muttered unhelpfully.

Jordan seethed. “It’s a question of fairness. Don’t you remember how you couldn’t stand to let Skitesby and Schiffington rig the third Triwizard Task in your favour last year?” He sighed. “Try to understand this. Would you want to play Quidditch against someone who can see what’s meant to occur later in the game?”

Emma blinked. “No,” she admitted. “I can see where you’re going…”

“Exactly. I don’t forget anymore, Emma. I know it disturbs you, but I remember nearly everything, sometimes even things that didn’t happen to me and things that haven’t happened yet. Even you think I’m a freak, and you’re allegedly my friend. It would be illogical for someone like me to be part of a team.”

His voice had returned to its cool and calculated monotone, but it was perhaps a bit too brisk. He was attempting logic again, and it wasn’t working. Logically, he couldn’t play Quidditch. Emotionally, Quidditch was what was keeping him from losing it altogether. Sometimes, emotions tried to merit logic, and that was a fact to which he still hadn’t adjusted.

Jordan stared at his Quidditch robes for a moment, then his face contorted and he balled them up and tossed them brutally into a trash can. He stepped closer to Emma, who did not seem too happy with this arrangement. “Next year,” he said matter-of-factly, “you will be captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Practice.”

“But�”” Emma stammered, but Jordan did not grace her with a response. He squared his shoulders, lifted his head, strode forth from the changing room with hard, empty eyes… and tripped over a dustbin, really spoiling the dramatic effect of it all.

How much of his life would being a Seer take away from him? It had already cost him his grades, his reputation, and his relationships. But at least he’d still had the pleasure of resting his mind and simply working as a living extension of his broomstick. Flying was the last thing he’d had left that made him feel in any way normal and sane, especially rush of being the captain of his team, respected and depended upon and listened to. Now that was gone, thanks to his ‘gift,’ if you could call it that.

He sat down just outside the locker room, and leaned wearily against the wall. His mind felt stretched and flooded and too full of thoughts all screaming at once, and he wished he had a Pensieve to place them all in.

But that wouldn’t work, he remembered�”Merlin had said so himself. Pensieves were only good for a person’s own personal memories, not the memories of ages past preserved in a Seer’s brain. And Pensieves could do nothing for thoughts and emotions. The only way to free himself of those was with some sort of… well, his parents would say a ‘healthy outlet’ for his pent-up emotions.

He’d had one of those. It was called ‘Quidditch.’

Just a few months before, Jordan would have given anything to know nearly everything. He’d always been highly intelligent and had always known more than almost anyone else about almost anything, but he’d always been thirsty for more knowledge. Knowing everything had been his greatest aspiration.

And suddenly, he knew so much, and he would give anything to go back to before, when he’d known shockingly little but thought he knew it all.

“Azkaban?” bellowed Ron, his ears as red as traffic flares. “What do you mean, you want to send me to Azk--”

“Do control yourself, Mr. Weasley,” Uther Smith-Smythe, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, said evenly, folding his hands.

Hadrian Bellowes gave him a smile that was not at all encouraging, nor was it trying to be. “Yes, Weasley, do control yourself,” he added in his horrible nasal voice, looking for all the world like a hungry crocodile.

“Control myself?” shouted Ron. “You want to lock me up in a bleeding prison, and you’re telling me to--”

“Language!” his wife hissed into his ear, grabbing his arm as she had done in vain so many times before to her husband and daughter.

“We assure you that your stay in prison will be short,” Mr. Smith-Smythe told him. And besides, this is merely hypothetical. It’s simply a precaution. If the diaries aren’t returned in one week…”

“I told you, the diaries were stolen!”

“�”then you will have to serve a sentence in Azkaban.”

Ron’s eyes were desperate as he searched the faces in the room for one who could help him. They lit on his brother’s face… and not just his brother, but also the most powerful man in the wizarding world. “Percy,” he said, “you’re the Minister of Magic. Come on, tell him he can’t put me in jail!”

Percy looked extremely uncomfortable, and perspiration gleamed across his pale forehead. “I… I’m sorry, Ron,” he said, “but court orders are court orders, and if the diaries were stolen, you would need to have a piece of paper proving it. You never reported them missing until it was too late.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s the law, Ron. I can’t bend the law for you, even if I know you didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

“This is mad!” exclaimed Ron, slamming his fist against the table. He looked mad as well. “My job is to throw people in Azkaban, not get penned myself! I mean… I work for the Ministry; I’m not about to try and defy them. I’m an Auror!”

“So was Sirius Black,” pointed out Bellowes.

“And he was innocent!” Ron yelled.

Hermione sighed. “It does seem drastic to me,” she said. “This case is over twenty years old, and Snape is dead. The Ministry only took interest because of Mr. Bellowes’s article.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing we can do,” Smith-Smythe told her gravely. “Unless, of course, you can find the diaries in the next week.”

“We’re terribly sorry,” added Bellowes, not looking it at all.

Ron stood up. Being quite a tall man, this action came with considerable dramatic effect. “Right, then,” he said in a tight, strangled-sounding voice.

“Thank you. It’s very reassuring to know who’s running this country.” He gave the Ministry officials an extremely curt nod and placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

Hermione turned to look at the men as she and Ron left the room. “It’s odd,” she said. “What say does Mr. Bellowes have in what happens to my husband?” Her voice was like an icicle, brittle and shaking slightly, but sufficiently cold and sharp to make a point. “I was under the impression that he’s under Ron’s employ? Why is he present at this meeting at all?”

Bellowes smiled. “Ah. Well, if it, er, occurs that Mr. Weasley is still unwilling--” Ron opened his mouth in protest and Bellowes gave him a condescending nod, “Yes, or unable to locate the diaries in one week, I will, of course, replace him as Deputy Head auror. And as the most experienced auror in the department, I can easily give, shall we say, guidance to Mr. Smith-Smythe about Mr. Weasley’s behaviour as well.”

“Amazing,” replied Hermione stiffly, her voice making it clear that this was not intended as a compliment. “Well, we won’t keep you. Goodbye.” And with that, she swept out of the office, clutching Ron’s arm as he marched out beside her.

As soon as the door had closed, Ron exploded, “The idiots!” He was very white, but his eyes were fierce, and his resemblance to his daughter was suddenly striking.

“I just don’t understand!” Hermione exclaimed. “How can they want to put you in prison? It’s absolutely insane. What are we going to do?”

Ron’s face was serious. “Well, maybe the diaries will turn up after all,” he said. His wife was not the only one he was trying to convince. “And if I do get put in prison for withholding information from the Ministry or whatever, well, it’ll only be a short sentence. And I’ll get my own cell… I won’t have to share the soap with a bunch of thugs that Harry and I chucked in there in the first place. Plus, now that they’ve ditched the Dementors… I’ll be fine.”

Hermione looked up at him. “Yes, I know,” she replied, instinctively rubbing a smudge off her husband’s nose with her thumb. “But what about me?”

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron sighed, after a long pause, “this is completely mad. The kids are coming home for Easter holiday tomorrow and everything, and if we don’t know for sure that I’m going to jail, we shouldn’t upset them.”

She looked doubtful. “They’re hardly ‘kids’ anymore,” she pointed out. “And it’s very unlikely that we’ll be able to keep it from them. Emma and Haley get into everything, and Ivy will read anything she can reach, and Ted notices things, and Jordan… well, Jordan knows nearly everything. I think we’d do well to tell them, just in case.”

And as was nearly always the case, Hermione was right. The second her foot touched the carpet of the Potter house on the first day of Easter break, the first words out of Emma’s mouth were, “Dad, are you really going to jail?”

Ron blinked. “Where did you hear something like that?” he asked, looking carefully at his daughter.

“Charybdis Nott told us,” said Haley, supervising her twin as he disgruntledly set down her three suitcases. “Actually, she kind of more like laughed it in our faces.”

“Yeah, well, Charybdis Nott is a little berk,” muttered Ron, eager to change the subject.

“Ron!” his wife exclaimed, scandalized.

Harry smiled at her. “Look Hermione, we’ve both taught her. You have to admit that Charybdis is not a nice girl.” He paused thoughtfully. “Which is too bad, because I liked her parents a lot.”

This was a new one. Ivy blinked. “Isn’t she from one of the old pureblood Slytherin families? I thought I remembered someone named Nott who was a Death Eater.”

“You’re partly right,” her father said. “Her dad was a pureblooded Slytherin. His father was a Death Eater, and I guess he was supposed to be one, too, but he was never into that kind of thing. A bit like you, actually.”

“Oh yeah, he went to school with us,” supplied Ron. “We never talked to him, of course. He was kind of a loner, one of those kids who sits there glaring at people. And, I mean, he was in Slytherin, so making friends was out of the question.”

“And then he and his wife November�”she was Muggle-born, I think�”ended up joining the Order of the Phoenix,” Harry finished up. “They were actually pretty cool. Had kind of a strange sense of humour, but they were nice enough.”

“Were?” said Ted, ever-observant.

Hermione nodded gravely. “Yes, the Notts died when Draco Malfoy attacked St. Mungo’s. Mrs. Nott was going to have a baby delivered, but instead, she and her husband and their baby all died.” She sighed. “I sometimes feel sorry for Charybdis. I think she and her older sister were adopted by Muggles after that.”

“She doesn’t have a sister,” said Haley.

“Yes, she does,” said Hermione. “She’s a Squib. I think her name is Scylla.”

There was a silence. All that they had known about Charybdis before was that she was a nasty Slytherin Prefect who hated Muggles and part-humans and loved Ophidias Malfoy. They’d never dreamed that she, like Mr. Potter himself, was a half-blood orphan who had been raised by Muggles. And she had a sister who couldn’t do magic. It was a strange thing to think about.

It just didn’t match up. Why would she hate the people who had been kind enough to take her in, completely go against her parents’ memory, and weirdest of all, why would she constantly stalk the son of the man who had killed her parents? But then, Charybdis Nott was a strange, strange girl. That much, they already knew.

Besides, there were much more pressing matters on hand than Charybdis’s history, Emma realized. Her father had completely evaded her question about Azkaban, and had changed the subject to mean teenage girls. “But Dad, seriously, are you going to jail?”

Ron sighed, and he looked old and crumpled for a moment as he sat down. “If I don’t find the diaries in a week, I’m going to Azkaban,” he said in a voice flat enough to envy Jordan’s. “Not for too long, and I won’t have to share with anyone… my reputation’s pretty much sunk, though.”

It was unbelievable. It was one thing to imagine some rogue Auror arrested and thrown in prison, but to imagine Ron, who was so staunchly loyal and determined, who made wisecracks and innocently overprotected his daughter, who was addicted to caffeine and perplexed by Magic Eye puzzles… he would not do well in captivity.

As his words sunk in, everyone clustered around Ron, looking stunned and horrified and protesting the unfairness of it all.

Except for Jordan. He was sitting apart from the group in a chair on the other side of the room and staring off into space in a detached, distant sort of way. One of the more disconcerting things about him now that he was a Seer was his tendency to do this.

“Jordan, didn’t you hear about Uncle Ron?” Ivy asked her brother, white-faced.

He shrugged absently. “Not exactly, no,” he replied in his serious, precise voice. “But I already knew about it.”

Ivy blinked. She was still getting used to her brother’s gifts, and she was sure that the same was true for him as well, probably even more so. She didn’t want to think about how it must feel to know about horrible things before they happened, so rationally, she didn’t. She kept her mind focused on her uncle.

“That’s not fair at all,” she said, not quite able to find the right words.

“Tell me about it,” replied Ron, sagging. “Better yet, tell Uther Smith-Smythe about it.” He sighed again. “I just never thought Charybdis Nott would be the one to tell you. That’s the thing about Slytherins, they just love to go out of their way to make people miserable. They’re so busy hating everyone else that you just have to hate them back.”

A sharp intake of breath came from the other side of the table, and all eyes swiveled toward Haley. “That’s a really horrible thing to say, though, don’t you think?” she said.

Eight pairs of bewildered eyes stared back at her.

“I mean, come on, if you hate Slytherins because you think they’re all prejudiced, doesn’t that make you the prejudiced one?” She let out an impatient sort of giggle. “If you expect them to be jerks, that’s what they’re going to be. All you need is love, you know?”

Her uncle shook his head in amazement. “Haley, is that really you in there?”

Haley rolled her eyes. Really, you’d think people would get used to the fact that she wasn’t a total idiot, wouldn’t you? Jordan may have gotten the lions’ share of brains in the family, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t left any for her. She was allowed to talk about things besides shoes and boys when she wanted to, wasn’t she?

“I mean,” she continued, “when people think about Gryffindors, they think about people like you, charging after the bad guys and kicking dark side backside. But most Gryffindors aren’t like that… everyone just thinks of them like that ‘cause you people are the most famous. So Voldemort and Grindelwald and Malfoy and stuff were the most famous Slytherins, but that’s just, like, a tiny bit out of the whole house.” She shrugged. “The kids who show off the most get noticed the most. You know, like me. No one notices the quiet kids in the back. Like what you said about Theo Nott.”

There was a silence as what she’d just said settled in.

“That was… really profound,” said Hermione at last, looking impressed.

“Really? Cool!” exclaimed Haley. “Awesome, I’m profound! Whatever that means!” She bounced up and down on her seat happily, but her smile slid off her face a moment later as she rememebered the issue at hand. “Uncle Ron, it’s like I just said, people like you and Uncle Harry are everyone’s idea of the ultimate good guy. You can’t go to jail.”

Ted nodded. “Yeah,” he said staunchly. “You’re like a living legend. They can’t put you in Azkaban.”

Ron smiled grimly. “I guess we’ll have to see in a week,” he said, “won’t we?” And with that, he got to his feet and wandered off to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. No one said anything about his addiction, or suggested that he drink pumpkin juice instead. They all knew he needed it.

Emma stayed at the table, pale and shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “It’s all my fault,” she whimpered softly, her pretty face twisted with self-disgust.

“What do you mean?” Ted asked gently, sitting down next to her and gently giving her a hug. “I bet your dad’s going to be okay. He’s a tough guy. And even if he does have to go to jail, that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Emma snorted. “Shows how much you know.”

* * * * * *

The words ‘tidy’ and ‘orderly’ did not do Jordan Potter’s bedroom justice. ‘Sterile’ would perhaps be a better word. Every surface was free of clutter, his clothes neatly folded and sorted according to type and colour (although nearly every garment was black, navy blue, or dark green), and the multitudinous books on the bookshelf lined up in much the same way. The bed was made, the desk was Spartan, and the windows were clean. A Beatles poster and a bulletin board full of awards and test scores were the only clues as to the person to whom this space belonged.

Jordan had always thought of his room as his sanctuary where he could be free from the mess and chaos outside of it and simply focus. But now, it felt stifling to him, almost a cell. The mess and the chaos weren’t just outside anymore. They were inside his mind as well, making him care too much about things that had never bothered him before. Why couldn’t he stop worrying about people he’d never know, places he’d never see, times that had no relevance to him? And why couldn’t there just be one thing in his room that could distract him from everything that was going on in his brain?

He hadn’t been to his room since winter holiday, only four months back in terms of time, but seemingly an eternity ago. At that point, he’d known he was a Seer, but hadn’t yet fully become one. He hadn’t had to “experience the past, predict the present, and remember the future.” He hadn’t had the burning urge to discover Telemency, hadn’t seen auras around everyone, hadn’t had to give up Quidditch. It was astonishing how quickly things changed.

There was a knock at the door, and Jordan let out a grudging, “Come in.” The door creaked open, and his father stepped into the room, taking a seat on the bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hello,” Jordan replied, his voice tight. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so what could his father want?

Harry glanced around the dull bedroom. As it had nothing to spark interest in the way of interior decorating, the reason for these glances was probably just to avoid looking into his son’s eyes. They were such a dark, opaque green, and there was something unsettling about them, like bottomless pits.

“I just wanted to talk,” he said. “You wrote me letters about, er, being Merlin’s heir, and I haven’t seen you since before you turned seventeen. You can’t blame a dad for being curious about what you’re up to.” The person sitting next to him on the bed was his son. But lately, he was also a stranger, and that was an uncomfortable truth. Jordan and his father had never exactly been close, but things had been improving ever since Malfoy’s defeat… until now.

“I’ve gotten so weird, haven’t I?” Jordan said at last, turning to look at his father. “I know I have, because I can’t even tell the difference between what’s weird and what’s normal anymore.” He laughed humourlessly. “Ironic, isn’t it? I can remember places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, but the one thing I can’t remember is how normal people think.”

Harry had to smile at this. “Jordan, you were never exactly normal before,” he said. “Or anything close to it.” If his son thought being normal meant having a pathologically clean bedroom, next to no imagination, and a total lack of interest in anyone but himself, then he must have had a seriously skewed perception of the world. But since when had anyone in the family been normal? They were wizards, for crying out loud.

“What is it like, being a Seer?” he asked. “I mean, no offense, but I never believed any of that stuff before, so I never paid any attention to it.”

“Neither did I,” Jordan said dryly. “It seems so...”

“Haley-ish?” supplied Harry with a smile.

“Yes! But… when it’s me, and I can feel all the pieces falling into place in my mind, it feels so perfect and everything makes so much sense. Visions… they’re not like normal thoughts. You can feel them, and...” He paused. How could he describe what it was like to be a Seer? It was confusing to grasp even for him, and he was one.

“It’s like my brain is full of files on everything. It’s a library card catalog. I don’t automatically know everything in those files, but if the time is right, it’s like I’m opening the file and reading it. If I didn’t know how to row a canoe and I was about to go over a waterfall, all of a sudden if I was lucky, I’d suddenly know things about canoeing that I’d never learned and remember canoeing trips that happened to other people as if I was here. And then sometimes I have visions, which are like having a dream, but it’s real and I’m there and… I can’t describe this at all.”

Jordan was not one to carry on lengthy conversations, but even if he didn’t want to admit it, he’d hoped to explain how it felt to be him to someone else. Words didn’t come close. He was so used to keeping everything inside him, convinced that emotions got in the way of rational thought, but since he’d turned seventeen, rational thinking might as well have gone out the window.

“It must be terrific, being a Seer,” stated Harry, looking somewhat out of his depth. “Half the time, I feel like I barely know anything. You’re lucky.”

“Oh, yes, it’s fantastic,” snapped Jordan, his voice cold and emotionless. His fingernails dug into his palms. “Ted talks about Superman sometimes… being a Seer is the opposite.” His young face contorted into a hardened, bitter mask, and he stared off into the air at nothing. “I can see so much, but I can’t do anything about it.”

If possible, his voice went even flatter and more expressionless, although if Harry didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Jordan sounded like he was dangerously close to tears. “Just today, a man in Bangladesh was eaten by a tiger. A woman from Hungary accidentally drove her car over the edge of a bridge. People in Darfur are being slaughtered everyday. A little three-year-old boy in Iowa was bludgeoned to death by his mentally disturbed mother. And I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

His eyes bored into Harry’s with almost painful intensity. Harry almost though he could see flames behind those eyes, that his son was burning from within. But the ageless knowledge in those eyes contrasted sharply with the rest of his expression. Frightened and helpless, he looked like a confused little boy.

“I see horrible things every day,” he whispered, looking away from his father at last and staring down at his knees. “It’s wonderful being a Seer, isn’t it, hearing people scream for help until they die while I can’t do anything about it at all. Just lovely.” He sighed. “And I thought the Pensieve was bad.”

Harry was truly, absolutely shocked. Being a father meant protecting his children from the terrifying, gruesome parts of life, shielding them from harm. The thought had never even crossed his mind that being a Seer meant that his already dark-minded and pessimistic son saw violence and atrocities everyday. He’d been through enough unpleasant experiences to know that they never left you, not really.

His first instinct was to hug his son and tell him that it was all right, just as he had done when Jordan was small and stubbed his toe or dropped his ice cream cone or had a bad dream, but he knew that it wouldn’t help. Jordan hated being touched; if anything, it would make him feel even more ill at ease. And it would be ridiculous to tell him that everything would be all right. Jordan was older and wiser now�”wiser, as a matter of fact, than Harry in many ways�”and he’d seen enough of the world to know that it was not an ‘all right’ place.

One of the boy’s sentences had stuck with him, though, and he turned to him and asked, “What do you mean, you thought the Pensieve was bad?”

Jordan was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then at last, he said quietly, “You might as well know. You always told me never to go near the Pensieve you keep on your desk, but I was ten and hideously stupid, and I saw the final battle against Voldemort. Well, most of it, at least, right up until just after you defeated Voldemort.”

Harry gaped at his son. “You did this when you were ten?” he exclaimed, his voice breaking. “Of all the memories in there, you saw the Final Battle? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was the good one,” Jordan replied stiffly. “I didn’t break rules. If you found out I’d touched your Pensieve, you wouldn’t trust me anyore.”

“I told you not to go near the Pensieve because I didn’t want you to see anything that might disturb you. I… I can’t even talk about the Final Battle now, and it’s been over twenty years, not to mention I was already a fully grown wizard who had faced all kinds of awful situations by the time of the battle.” He shook his head in horrified awe. “You were just an innocent ten-year-old… I don’t even want to think about what something like that would do to you.”

He vaguely recollected the sudden change in his son in the year or so before he’d started at Hogwarts. One day, he was a bright and friendly, if rather socially inept, child, and the next, he was lashing out at everyone and hiding away in his room, talking in that flat monotone voice. At the time, he’d thought that his boy was suffering an early onset of adolescence, but now he knew better.

“Until then, I never actually realized what it meant when people called you a hero. I read to much for my own good, and I always imaged some kind of dramatic, strategic battle, not a… mad free-for-all.” He looked Harry in the eye again with that new intensity of his. “That was when I realized that I am never going to be like you. You’re the bravest person alive. I barely even made it into Gryffindor.”

Harry blinked. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I can see the Slytherin in you, too. You’re ambitious, and you do best alone. It’s not a crime.”

“How did you know I was almost put in Slytherin?” Jordan exclaimed, looking astonished and flustered. “I never said that!”

Harry laughed. There was something satisfying in catching Jordan off guard. “You might be the only Seer here, but I’m not completely dense. I’m your dad. I know you well enough to know that you’d do well in Slytherin.” He paused and added, “Of course, the hat wanted to put me there, too, you know.”

Jordan almost fell off of the bed, and it was a nice change to see the boy with all the answers so unnerved. “You? Slytherin?” he spluttered. “But you… how can… what?”

“The Sorting Hat saw that I had part of Voldemort in me,” he answered incredibly nonchalantly. Jordan felt quite certain that the name ‘Voldemort’ was never intended to be spoken so offhandedly. “But that wasn’t it. I do have Slytherin traits�”let’s just say I’ve been called crafty before, and Snape was right about me…I’ve always seen rules as something for other people to worry about, I’m sorry to say. You should have seen me in school, I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to wriggle out of deserved punishment as much as I did… but I think both of us do better as Gryffindors, though.”

His voice became layered with significance. “That does mean you, too. You don’t need to have a half-suicidal saving people complex like I do�”or like Ted does�”to be brave.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow, ducking by habit just in case Haley was lurking behind him. “Dad, I don’t even know what I wanted when I was younger. Now that I think back, it seems… paradoxical. I wanted to be like you, to be brave and famous and successful, and I wanted to be as unlike you as possible and forge all of my own trails. I was just confused.” He paused. “I’m not like that anymore. Now all I want is to be normal.”

He seemed to have a knack for knowing all about everything except for himself. It always amazed Harry to hear how Jordan thought of himself. “You want to be normal? You don’t want to be Quidditch captain and have perfect pitch and a flawless memory and be on top of every class?” Harry asked gently.

“Those things are normal,” Jordan replied stiffly.

“Normal is what you make it,” said his dad, standing up. “I used to think it was normal to live in a cupboard and get beaten up everyday. Then I thought it was normal to wave around a stick and do magic and have everyone stare at my forehead all the time. I thought it was normal to be the only one to have the power to defeat Voldemort, for Godric’s sake. Now I think it’s normal to command Aurors and fight dark wizards every day and come home every night to sing the Happy Hippogriff song for Holly and Jonathan, with gestures. Seeing is just another talent. You’ll adjust to it.”

And with that, he closed the door and made his way back down to the kitchen. He had just coaxed more words and emotions out of Jordan in one go than he probably had in the last seven years combined. Feeling very accomplished, he went to make himself some tea.

Jordan might be immeasurably intelligent, he thought, but he still had so much to learn.

Meanwhile, Jordan leaned back on his bed and let his eyes close. He could feel a dream coming on, ‘that’ kind of dream, as he thought of them, and he knew by now that these things weren’t worth fighting against.

The public square was dirty, disease-ridden, and incomprehensibly smelly, and the same could be said of the people lining it. But as miserable and disgusting as they seemed, they clapped and cheered with such joy on their faces that it almost didn’t matter.

And standing in the middle of the ragged peasants was a tall, strapping boy in his mid-teens, holding a sword and wearing a truly bewildered expression. He sported a shaggy halo of fair curls, the tanned and muscular look of someone used to working many hours in the hot sun, and fluffy peach fuzz on his face that would make Tyrone Thomas proud.

“All hail the king! All hail the king!” someone began chanting, and before long, the chant spread throughout the crowd, growing louder and louder and stronger and stronger. “All hail the king! All hail the king!” As the chanting continued and the boy holding the sword’s pale blue eyes grew wider and wider, a figure made its way through the crowd.

It was a smallish and slightly-built young man in his twenties, and even in a crowd as large as this one, he stood out. While everyone else was dressed in dirty and dull-coloured tunics and tights, this man looked clean and healthy, and his tanned olive-coloured skin was smooth and clear. He wore immaculate floor-length deep purple robes, and his long dark hair was shiny and well-cared for.

“Arthur,” he said in a soft, low voice, stepping into the center of the square.

“I don’t know what happened!” exclaimed the boy holding the sword. “I needed to fetch a sword, and I saw one sticking out of a stone, so I pulled it out, and now everyone’s calling me the king. Merlin, I just don’t understand.”

Merlin shook his head slowly. “It’s destiny,” he said quietly. “No one but the future king could pull that sword out of the stone. You’re Arthur Pendragon!” His face split into a wide smile. He really was good-looking, especially for someone of his time, but the effect was rather spoiled by his eyes. They were full of battles and ghosts and mysteries, and they seemed not just to belong to him, but to all of history and things to come.

“Wait… I’m supposed to be the king now?” Arthur looked as though he’d just been told he was the Queen of Sheba. “Me?”

“Come with me,” Merlin said kindly, eyeing the crowds as he pulled the boy after him. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “I’ve known for ages that I’m meant to mentor and advise the future king, the one who will bring together all of Britain into the perfect kingdom, the one who would be a household name for millennia after his death and have stories and plays and songs and art made all about him. I just didn’t know it would be you!” He paused. “And from the look of things, you didn’t, either.”

“Of course I didn’t!” exclaimed Arthur, looking really confused. “How would I? I mean, you always talk about how it’s your job to help out the king… but I don’t know how to be king. I don’t even know what kings do! I’d be a nightmare!”

He sat down, cross-legged on the ground, and Merlin joined him, though he elected to sit on a rock rather than a patch of muddy, manure-strewn earth.

“Arthur, listen to me. You will be a phenomenal king. You’re brave, you’re open-minded, you don’t just think about yourself, and most important, you’re a good listener. You’d be surprised by how rare that is among people in power. And if you don’t know what you’re doing, just remember that I can always help you out.”

The boy scuffed his foot on the ground, kicking up dust and coating his foot with mud simultaneously. “But I’m not even a knight or anything. I don’t even have a horse. What am I supposed to do, skip around bashing two rocks together making ‘clop clop’ noises like all the little kids pretending to be knights?”

Merlin chuckled at the image of a king skipping around miming horseback riding. “Very dignified, that,” he said. “But listen to me.” His eyes turned even more serious than before, and he said, “A wise man once said, some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”

“Who said that?” asked Arthur. “Other than you, I mean.”

“Someone from the future,” Merlin replied, shrugging. “But what it means is, you’ve got to adapt. And if you do well with what you’re given, you’ll be great.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to be king,” said Arthur, although his tone sounded more joking than sullen.

Merlin gave him a half-smile. “I haven’t always been a wizard, you know,” he told the boy. “Or a Seer. You can imagine my reaction when I found out I was.” His expression was reminiscent and faraway. “Everything we can do, we had to learn. Life’s about adapting. I haven’t always been able to walk or talk or read or milk goats or juggle five apples at once with my eyes closed.”

“You’re still kind of bad at that last one,” Arthur pointed out.

“Thank you for your support,” Merlin said dryly. “But listen, Arthur, you learn to get used to different things as you get older. Not everyone gets the chance to be great. You’ve just had greatness thrust upon you. I’m supposed to be your advisor and…” he grinned, “my advice is, go for it.”

Jordan’s eyes flew open, and the vision of Merlin melted away. But even if he could no longer see his face, he could still hear his quiet, encouraging voice ringing in his ears: Some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

Well, he reflected, there were worse things he could have thrust upon him.

As the psychedelically colourful pictures of ducks and bunnies that Haley had placed around the Potter house indicated, it was two days before Easter, and Ivy was preparing to leave for her weekend with the Malfoy family.

“I still can’t believe you have to do this,” Ted said softly, helping Ivy pack her things. He picked up a little stuffed wolf from her bedside table. “Oh, don’t forget Mini-Me!” he added, tossing the toy in the air and completely failing to catch it with his other hand.

Ivy smiled. “Oh yeah, I can’t forget about him.” She folded a blouse and placed it neatly in her suitcase. “I hope Jordan doesn’t decide he’s too old to go Easter Egg hunting this year. I mean, he’s said he was too old for the past five years, but he always ends up joining in anyway. But now that he’s of age and… everything…” She uttered the word ‘everything’ slightly more significantly than she meant to. ‘Everything’ that came with Jordan being of age certainly did complicate things.

“Speaking of being of age, your birthday’s two days after Easter, isn’t it?” Ted asked, and Ivy nodded. “Man, it’s really going to be weird when everyone’s of age except me. I hate being the baby.” He pouted, doing an uncanny impression of Haley.

“Save the best for last!” said Ivy, smiling brightly. She carefully lay three books, including her well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, on top of her clothes and shut her suitcase with a click. “That’s that, I guess… and then I’m leaving for Malfoy Manor in an hour.”

Ted sat down next to her, bouncing a little on the bed. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

Ivy opened her mouth to speak, then paused reflectively for a moment, staring off into space. Then at last, she said in a small but strong voice, “No.” She looked almost surprised at her own answer. “I’m not nervous,” she repeated. “I don’t know why… maybe because I already stayed with the Malfoys over Christmas holiday and I know what it’s like, so I don’t have anything to worry about. Plus, I know Ophidias is on my side now, so I won’t be as lonely as last time.”

It really was nice when Ivy wasn’t nervous and worried all the time, Ted thought, smiling. He played absentmindedly with Ivy’s long braid like a cat batting around a curtain cord as the two of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then, Ivy asked quietly, “Remember when I was at the Malfoys’ back in December, you went and tried to visit me, and mo… Mrs. Malfoy wouldn’t let you in. What did she say to you?”

Ted smiled faintly. “Eh, nothing much. She said I don’t deserve you and you only hang out with me because you’re just relieved that anyone wants anything to do with you, and that I’m an inhuman freak of nature. Nothing I haven’t heard before.” He shrugged. “I might be wrong, but something tells me that she’s not too keen on me.”

“That’s horrible!” gasped Ivy, “I know there are people who think that kind of thing, but who actually says it to people’s faces? Especially to kids?”

Ted squeezed her hand. “Ivy, that stuff doesn’t bother me. I mean, sure, it makes me sad that some people are so prejudiced, but it doesn’t really hurt me. I know who I am. You can put me in a room with a guy who calls me a purple unicorn everyday, and I still won’t get it into my head that I’m a purple unicorn, because that’s obviously not true.”

It was interesting, thought Ivy, how you could know someone for years and realize new, different things about them all the time. For example, she must have seen Ted smile thousands of times by now, but she’d never before realized that his canine teeth were subtly more pointed than most people’s. They were another unique thing about him, like the fact that when he smiled, only his left cheek dimpled, and that he could lick his nose.

“So, what did she say about me behind my back, then?” he asked curiously, giving her another one of those pointy-toothed, single-dimpled smile.

“All kinds of things,” Ivy replied sadly, “and none of them too nice.” She paused and added, “She thinks you look like a drug addict.”

Ted exploded in laughter. With a slightly sickening thump, he fell backward off the bed and lay on his back on the ground, cracking up hysterically. “Oh, yeah,” he managed to choke, “Yes, I am, er, very hardcore. Yes.”

“Are you all right?” laughed Ivy, peering down at him.

Ted crawled back onto the bed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Sorry,” he wheezed, “but I just wasn’t expecting that! A drug addict? Even I know I’m the biggest goody-goody in the school!” He flopped down on his back on the bed. “When you go back to visit, make sure you bring up that I can’t function without taking at least two kinds of drugs a day.” He paused. “Just don’t mention that they’re Wolfsbane and insulin potion.”

* * * * * *

This time around, Pansy Malfoy did not even bother feigning pleasure at Ivy’s arrival at Malfoy Manor. Instead, she simply looked Ivy up and down, clucking her tongue at her plain blouse and skirt, and said, “I understand you’re nearly of age. I do hope you’re ready to enter the magical world as an adult. Have you been practicing your piano?”

“I practice every day,” Ivy replied, used to the way Pansy often juxtaposed strange and unrelated statements. “Everyone in my family is musical.” Her voice was mild, but her tone still made it clear that she was not intimidated by Mrs. Malfoy. It was interesting how similar the colour of Mrs. Malfoy’s complexion was to that of raspberry vanilla ice cream.’ Apparently, she hadn’t expected Ivy to stand up for herself this early in the visit.

“And I hope I’m ready for the magical world, too,” Ivy continued calmly, sitting down at the piano and starting to play ‘Eine Kleine Nachmusik’ by ear. “I’m trying to get an internship in the Department of Experimental Charms with the Ministry after I graduate.”

Mrs. Malfoy looked scandalized in a very affected, old-fashioned sort of way. She was good at being affected and old-fashioned. “Working? Surely you don’t need to work? You will, after all, have quite a lot of money from the Malfoy future once you come of age, and I understand the Potter fortune is not exactly small, either. Why work like a common drudge, alongside Merlin-knows-what when you can get married and leave the working to your husband?”

Ivy didn’t respond, but she reflected as she played that Pansy was just like someone straight out of Pride and Prejudice. And Pride and Prejudice was her favourite book, but Pansy was certainly not among her favourite characters. It was the twenty-first century. Hadn’t Pansy ever heard of women’s lib?

“What exactly are you playing?” inquired Mrs. Malfoy as Ivy’s piano music filled the space of what would otherwise be a long and awkward silence.

“Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” said Ivy, “One of my favourite pieces. It’s by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

Mrs. Malfoy almost choked on the glass of wine that she was sipping. “What, you’re playing a piece by a Muggle? A nobody?”

“He was a genius,” Ivy replied quietly. “And he can’t have been a nobody if you already knew he was a Muggle when I said his name.”

“Well, I won’t have Muggle music played in my house,” she insisted. “There is perfectly good wizarding music available, and I see no reason why you must encourage the Muggle music…er… industry.” She patted her dark bob back into place.

“Dinner will be served in two hours in the dining room. Be sure to put on some suitable dress robes. In the meantime, feel free to have the manor to yourself.”

“That’s very kind of you,” replied Ivy, though she was thinking something more like ‘that’s very ostentatious of you.’ Did anyone actually refer to their manor as a manor unless they were trying to be assassinated?

She watched the woman who had been her mother walk up the grand staircase to her room. Ivy had always felt rather guilty about not loving her, but try as she might, she had never been able to. Ivy was a loving person by nature, and it hadn’t taken her long to love the Potters�”even before she had been adopted, she had loved Mr. and Mrs. Potter like her parents, and she loved Holly and Jonathan and Haley and even Jordan like brothers and sisters. She was growing to love Ophidias, and part of her still loved Draco Malfoy.

But she had never been able to feel any sort of familial affection toward Pansy. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she and Ophidias were by large raised by governesses and servants with the occasional exciting guest appearances by their real parents. But maybe, it was just because she had always known that the feeling was mutual.

Ivy had planned to retreat to her room as well, as she had on her Christmas holiday visit, but the weather was too beautiful to stay inside for long.

The sky was a clear and cloudless blue, extremely rare for England, and it was sunny and warm outside. The grounds of the manor, always inviting, were positively irresistible in such weather, and Ivy decided she’d have to be crazy not to take a book outside and sit in the sun.

She took her copy of Little Women from inside her suitcase and stepped outside and onto the wide expanse of the Malfoy lawn.

It really was a wonderfully kept place. Ivy felt certain that this was probably because slews of house elves had tended to the landscaping even during the Malfoys’ stay in prison.

She strolled through the orchard, which probably due to magic, always seemed to be full of fruit. Birds twittered and blossoms from the trees drifted through the air on lazy breezes, and Ivy settled down on the rickety old swing dangling from a pear tree, feeling as completely removed from the outside world as the Malfoys had always liked to be.

She couldn’t help but wonder why the Malfoys lived in such a wonderful place. It didn’t feel right to love being here as much as she did. All alone, she felt like Mary Lennox in the secret garden from the book of the same name--living in a house where the company was austere at best, but the gardens were her personal haven.

She opened her copy of Little Women and began to read, pumping at the swing to carry her into the air. How long she stayed on the swing, she couldn’t say, but she completely lost herself in her book, completely forgot where she was or what was going on, or indeed that she was not one of the March sisters.

As she pumped higher and higher, her braid flew out behind her and flower petals settled in it. She kicked off her shoes and socks and wiggled her toes in the warm air and began to hum quietly under her breath. As she swung back and forth, the humming morphed into full-out song, the rhythm matching the creaking of the swing perfectly. Ivy remembered how she had used to sing on the swing when she was small, her fath… Malfoy pushing her and singing along… well, singing and swinging went hand-in-hand, and she let the song flow freely.

It was a song from a musical that Haley was particularly fond of, a quiet, lilting tune. As a general rule, she didn’t sing, especially out of doors�”Haley and Jordan both had beautiful voices, and Ivy wasn’t very good, particularly when compared to them�”but no one was around to see her and she was totally free to sing what she wanted.

A pear from the tree above her dropped on Ivy’s head and she stopped abruptly. Fruit falling from trees was nothing unusual�”it happened all the time. What was unusual, though, was that this pear had been eaten down to the core.

Ivy’s head snapped back, and when she looked up into the tree, she nearly fell off of her swing. Ophidias was sitting nestled in the crook of two branches, so well-camouflaged by leaves that she hadn’t seen him at all. Ivy blushed even pinker than any article of clothing owned by Haley. She couldn’t believe he’d heard her singing like a stupid little girl.

Ophidias seemed to realize that he’d upset her and jumped down from the tree. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was sitting up here, and you came, and I thought you knew I here. I should have wondered why you were so… carefree.”

He was very good at blending into the background, Ivy had noticed, almost uncannily so. It was the second time he’d surprised her like this in as many visits to the Malfoys.

Ophidias gave her a fleeting half-smile. “You used to always sing on that swing when you were little. With…”

“With your dad,” Ivy finished quickly. “And one time he let you push me and you accidentally pushed too hard, and I fell off.”

Ophidias raised his eyebrows. “That wasn’t an accident,” he said, almost mischievously.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” Ivy said, smiling a little herself. Thinking back to when she was four years old, she would be surprised if Ophidias hadn’t wanted to push her off the swing. A little girl in a white frilly frock with a pink sash, shiny patent-leather shoes, and a massive pink bow in her hair, warbling off-key to herself on a swing above a muddy puddle was an irresistible target for a six-year-old boy. “We used to ride our horses together, too,” she said reminiscently.

“Oh, wow, I haven’t done that in ages,” Ophidias sighed, shaking his head.

Ivy paused. “Do you want to right now?” she asked.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Well, this is the last time I’m ever going to be here, and since you’re graduating at the end of this year, you probably won’t be here much longer, either. I don’t see why not.”

“Well… I just haven’t been in the mood to do something like that,” Ophidias muttered. Ivy looked at him, his hunched shoulders, his tired eyes, his hollowed expression. He was depressed�”understandable after spending a year in Azkaban and then getting thrust back into society and having to face all of his peers again. It was painful to see him like this.
“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but you can’t get out of that mood until you let yourself,” said Ivy, her voice soft. She brushed her fringe out of her eyes. “Please? Will you go horseback riding with me?”

Ophidias exhaled, silent for a moment. “You’re so annoying,” he said, and paused. “But I like you a lot better than I ever did before. You know what? Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go horseback riding, but only for a bit.”

“A bit is good enough for me,” said Ivy, smiling brightly. She tucked her book inside her purse and headed off for the paddock and stables behind the orchard. Her own horse, Galatea, was grazing at the fence, pure white all over and just as beautiful as she remembered. Galatea flapped her wings gently�”yes, of course she was a flying horse, this was the Malfoy family, after all�”and snorted, sensing the presence of her owner.

“Hi, girl,” whispered Ivy, holding out an apple from one of the trees in the orchard as a gift. “Remember me? I know, I’ve been gone a long time. I’ve missed you.” The horse crunched up the apple in two bites and nuzzled the Ivy’s head fondly.

“That’s right, it’s me,” she cooed, opening the gate and stepping inside the paddock. She took Galatea’s saddle and bridle down off of a peg and quickly fastened them on. “Have the house elves taken good care of you while I was gone?” Ivy whispered as she climbed onto the horse and slipped her feet into the stirrups. “Yes, that’s a girl. What a good girl.”

She looked over at Ophidias, who had already mounted his grey horse, Mercury, and was sitting up tall in the saddle. In those black hooded robes that he always wore, he looked like some sort of crusader or phantom messenger or something.

Ivy felt tall and powerful sitting up on her horse, and there was something comforting about the gentle swaying motion of Galatea walking slowly around the paddock. And then, without warning, Galatea flapped her powerful wings and Ivy felt the tug in her stomach that could mean only one thing.

The horse soared up into the air, treading on nothing. Ivy cheered and gripped the reigns tightly as a cool breeze blew her hair. Laughing as she plunged through the air, she glanced over at Ophidias. His face was relaxed, no longer stony and stiff, and there was a flicker of life once more behind his eyes.

Ivy flew over Ophidias’s head, laughing. She had never really been a fan of Quidditch�”in fact, she barely understood the game, but she knew so many people who were absolute nuts about flying on broomsticks. She wasn’t good at balancing on a piece of flying wood, and in any case, she found it unsettling at best, but she was a talented horsewoman, and riding Galatea made her realize what Jordan and Emma and Tyrone’s mania for flying was all about.

She made a mental note to someday do this with Ted. Ivy liked animals and was reasonably good with them, but Ted was like Snow White when it came to getting along with any kind of creature. Riding a flying horse would probably be the most thrilling event of his life.

“I forget how much fun this was!” she cried.

“Yeah,” replied Ophidias, pulling up next to her in midair. “So did I.”

They had left the paddock and were flying over the manor. They didn’t need to worry about being spotted by Muggles because there were none here in the neighborhood; if there were, Pansy would have insisted the family move years ago. But even if there were Muggles in the area, magical creatures tended to have highly unique protective charms cast on them. Any Muggles who happened to catch sight of Ivy and Ophidias would only see two young hang gliders�”unusual, but hardly magical.

“You know,” remarked Ivy, “I feel sorry for my sister, Haley. She really likes horses, especially winged ones�”Care of Magical Creatures is one of her favourite classes�”but she can’t ride. She’s terrified of heights.”

“Haley…” Ophidias squinted. “Is she the kind of shrimpy one with the black hair who started singing that song in the Great Hall?” Ivy nodded affirmatively. “Ah. It’s a good thing she’s so short then, or she’d always be scared.”

Ivy laughed. She’d never thought of it that way before. And that would be an excellent point to make the next time Haley was griping about being so tiny. It was funny to imagine if, say, Ted was afraid of heights. He’d have to crawl everywhere.

“Oh yeah, Haley Potter,” continued Ophidas, rolling his eyes. “Charybdis Nott just loves her.”

Ivy had rarely ever heard a voice so positively laced with sarcasm, and that was considering that she spent considerable time with Jordan and Emma. “I can’t say Haley’s especially fond of Charybdis, either,” she replied, then paused a moment, steering her horse higher into the air. “Is it really true that she was Muggle-raised?”

“Mostly. From the time she was little, anyway. There was this family, the Mariolinis, I think, who took care of her, but she never really talked about them. She hates them.” He sighed. “When she was new to Hogwarts, I felt sorry for her because she’d had to grow up with Muggles and she didn’t have a clue about magic, even though her dad was from one of the old pureblood families. So I decided to give her a hand. You know what that means.” Ophidias made a face.

Ivy knew exactly what he meant. He meant that he’d explained to her what it meant to be from an old family and how superior she was to the majority of the school, and far superior to the Mariolinis. It was easy for kids, especially young ones, to believe things like that, especially since Charybdis didn’t seem to like her guardians very much already.

Ivy couldn’t help but notice that Charybdis’s story sounded remarkably similar to her own adopted father’s, and she had to wonder what would have happened had he ended up in Slytherin. Probably, his story would have turned out a lot more like Anatoly’s than Charybdis’.
“I can’t believe I ever liked her,” Ophidias muttered darkly. “I even went out with her for a bit before Azkaban. Believe it or not, I thought she was ‘mature’ for her age.” He laughed humourlessly. “But then, I’m stupid. What can I say?”

Ivy turned around sharply on her horse. “You’re not stupid,” she exclaimed. “I was there when your OWLs came, and they were great. And you’re a Prefect and in loads of N.E.W.T.s classes. You’re a smart person who’s done some stupid things.”

Ophidias smirked. “Based on how many,” he said, “I’d say a stupid person who’s done some smart things.” He stroked his horse’s mane, looking almost peaceful. “But this is definitely one of them.”

* * * * * *

“Well, you two have certainly been quiet today,” remarked Mrs. Malfoy that evening at dinner.

Ivy, freshly washed and dressed in clean robes, swallowed her spoonful of soup. “We were riding,” she explained, wondering how Mrs. Malfoy could lose track of what they were doing, even in such a massive house. Her parents always knew what exactly everyone was up to back at Number Seven, as chaotic as things often got there.

“Oh, marvelous,” Pansy said carelessly. She seemed chatty, unusual for her. “Well, it’s quite nice to see that you two are getting to be close again.”

Again? Ivy and Ophidias exchanged glances�”this was the closest they’d ever been, unless she meant close to killing one another.

“Did you have a good time, then?”

“Er, yes,” replied Ivy, slightly disconcerted that, for the first time in her life, she was the talkative sibling at the dinner table�”not that she and Ophidias were technically siblings anymore, of course, she reminded herself.

“I thought you might.” Pansy’s tone grew more serious, though it was clear that she was still attempting to sound casual and friendly. “Ivy, it’s so obvious that this is where you belong. Feel free to visit whenever you like. You were born for a life like ours, not to spend your time with… with Mudbloods and blood-traitors and ghastly part-human creatures like werewolves and�””

“SHUT UP.”

But this time, it was not Ivy who had spoken. It was Ophidias, and his voice was unexpectedly sharp and powerful-sounding. He was standing up straight, his head high and his grey eyes simmering, and for the first time since Azkaban, it seemed like the old confident Ophidias was back.

Pansy stared at him in utter shock. Her fork fell out of her hand and onto the ground with a dainty ‘clang’.

“Shut up, mother,” her son growled in a low deadly voice, his face distorting in disgust. “Look, I’m just sick of you trying to hammer stupid stuff like that into our heads. Even I don’t believe you anymore, and if a moron like me doesn’t, then Ivy definitely won’t.”

Pansy laughed nervously. “Ophidias, I�””

“I thought I said to shut up!” He narrowed his eyes in the contemptuous, threatening expression that he’d once used on Gryffindors and Muggle-borns not too long before. “And there’s no use trying to get Ivy to give her money to you, either.”

Now Ivy turned to stare at him. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed bitterly, and Ivy realized that he reminded her a lot of Jordan sometimes. Maybe that was why she kept forgetting that he wasn’t her real brother anymore. “You’re going to be of age later this week, and guess what�”and I can’t believe you didn’t know this: Dad’s… my dad’s will said that if he dies or is otherwise incapable of running the household or something like that, you inherit all of the money, all the property, the house, the heirlooms, the house elves, everything. And mother�”my mother�”thought if we could get you to feel like part of the family again, you’d give us, meaning her, some of the inheritance.”

He smiled stonily. “Now, I personally plan on getting a job after school and making money on my own, though I don’t know who would hire me. But anyway, I don’t care about the fortune, and good for you. It’s just, Mother doesn’t feel like getting off her lazy pureblood bum and actually earning some gold for herself, so she’s trying to weasel it off you.”

Pansy sputtered incoherently as Ivy stared from her to Ophidias and back again.

She didn’t even know where to begin thinking about this. Draco Malfoy had left everything�”absolutely everything�”to her. Pansy would have her life snatched out from beneath her. And she had thought that trying to regain custody of Ivy would make Ivy realize that she wanted to be a Malfoy after all and give everything back to them…She could have laughed. Ivy was years beyond the age of brainwashing.

Ophidias sat down, looking somewhat exhausted after his outburst, and looked expectantly at Ivy, who shook her head in amazement.

“I don’t want this house,” she said slowly. “I don’t want the fortune. You could have just asked.”

It was true that she did not love Mrs. Malfoy, but the money was rightfully hers. She had married Draco Malfoy, helped run his estate, mothered his children (however poorly), helped him escape from prison, spent a year in Azkaban for him. It was ridiculous for her not to receive any of his inheritance.

“But you didn’t have to try to take me away from my family,” she continued. “It’s where I belong. I would have given you the money.” She looked at Mrs. Malfoy in amazement. “Don’t you even know me at all?”

No, she thought to herself. No, Mrs. Malfoy didn’t know her at all. She didn’t know anything about her.

The woman sputtering indignantly at the end of the table was a simple person who had gotten in too deep, Ivy realized. It was plain that all she ever wanted was to marry a wealthy pureblood and live a luxurious life in a beautiful mansion with the freedom to buy whatever she wanted. She obviously hadn’t wanted to be a mother, hadn’t wanted to try and impersonate her own mother passing on all of the pureblood traditions. She didn’t like children, didn’t know how to deal with them. And she really had not wanted to get in conflict with the law.

Against all odds, Ivy found herself feeling sorry for her. She almost smiled. Was she turning into Ted, or had she simply spent so much time with him that he was rubbing off on her?

“Don’t just give in and hand over everything to her!” exclaimed Ophidias feverishly. “Ivy, just stop for one second and think of everything she’s done to you. The last thing she needs is more stuff. Even dad obviously thought she was worthless.”

Ivy smiled serenely. “It’s my money and my house,” she said, her voice completely calm. “I can do what I like with them. And I think she should have them… and you, too, of course.”

“No, thanks,” snarled Ophidias. “I don’t want anything unless I’ve done something to deserve it.”

Pansy, still looking totally confused, gazed blankly at her son, who until just a few minutes before, had seemed a staunch supporter of the pureblood movement. She turned her eyes toward her former daughter, suddenly so confident and poised and as sure of herself as any good pureblood… yet willing to leave all of the Malfoy family inheritance so she could make her own way in the world like a worthless nobody.

It was hopeless to try and reason with either of them. She did anyway.

“But… but… I…” she stammered. “We’re a dying breed.”

“Yeah,” Ophidias said darkly. “Because we’re a breed that’s finally getting smarter and realizing we’re not the only breed out there.”

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe it,” she spat. “Blood traitors, the both of you. I feel like a horrible mother… why didn’t I set you right before it was too late?”

“You feel like a horrible mother… ha!” Ophidias began harshly. “You�””

“Don’t,” Ivy said, stopping him in mid-sentence. She turned to Mrs. Malfoy and said softly, “I’m sorry you don’t like how I’ve turned out… I really am.” She flicked her fringe out of her eyes. “But the thing is… I’m not sorry for being me.” She caught Ophidias’s eye and smiled slightly. “Do you get what I mean?”

Pansy’s eyes were still wide and completely uneasy. “No.”

“That’s okay,” said Ivy. She hadn’t expected her to.

* * * * * *

Ivy tiptoed into the darkened lawn, which suddenly looked sinister under the cover of night. The gentle creaking of the swing added to the weird, eerie mood.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said, and Ophidias looked up in alarm.

“How did you know I’d be out here?” he demanded, nearly falling off of the swing. “It’s near midnight.”

Ivy sighed. “I knew you’d be somewhere that would make you hard to find,” she explained. She looked at that familiar, angry face. “You know,” she said, “You don’t always have to hate someone. Just because you stopped hating someone doesn’t mean you need to switch to someone else.”

Ophidias’ forehead creased even more. “Ivy, you make no sense sometimes,” he told her. “And the worst part is, I think it’s because you make too much sense.” He snorted. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I should get over myself. And you know what I think would annoy mother the most?”

“What?”

“If I was actually happy for a change.” He smiled, a lot less bitterly than usual. “It’s worth a try, at least. I’ve yelled enough.”

Ivy smiled back. “I say go for it,” she said. “She won’t know what hit her.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stared wordlessly at one another over their kitchen table, a small and unassuming roll of parchment lying between them and the raspberry jam. Neither of them were able to find in them the words to communicate their anger and horror, even with Hermione’s vast vocabulary and Ron’s proficient grasp of obscenities.

“Well,” said Ron at long last, looking drawn and ill and distressingly weak, “That’s it, then… it looks like I’m going to Azkaban.”

“I don’t believe it,” Hermione said quietly, her voice almost a squeak. Her knuckles were white, and her hands shook as she clutched her tea cup. “How can they… it’s… well, everyone knows you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” growled Ron, snatching the piece of parchment and crumpling it up. “Never stopped that idiot Bellowes, though, has it? I reckon the only reason he became an Auror was so he could get all the people he hates in trouble.”

Hermione blinked her stinging eyes. “Oh, Ron, I can’t believe this… aren’t you scared?”

“No,” he replied staunchly, with a defiant tilt of his chin. “Of course not.” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he lost control, great shuddering sobs wracking his body. “I’m bloody terrified,” he croaked, burying his head in his wife’s shoulder.

Hermione did not try to offer words of comfort to her husband, who considered fighting off dark wizards and coming within an inch of death part of his daily routine. She knew him too well. Instead, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, and whispered, “Me, too.”

* * * * * *

Emma kicked angrily at the sofa in the Common Room before throwing herself onto it and curling up like a cat. Her toes throbbed horribly after whacking them so hard against the side of the sofa, but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, probably still lurking around the same mysterious place it had been all week, since her father had been sent to Azkaban.

All year long, she’d known her dad was in trouble, known Hadrian Bellowes wanted to ship him off to prison, but somehow, she’d never expected it to actually happen. She’d always assumed that he’d get out at the last minute though some lucky coincidence, like so many of his other close scrapes.

Not this time.

He had already been sent off to Azkaban by the time she’d gotten her letter, and there as nothing that she could do about it. She imagined her father, huddled shivering in a dank cell, dressed in threadbare prison robes, kept company by screaming madmen and crazed dark wizards shouting and cackling maniacally in their sleep… and her eyes began to prickle and burn.

Oh no, she thought furiously. I do not cry. I am brave. I am in total control…

“Emma?”

She whirled around to face Tyrone Thomas, his expression hopefully earnest.

“What?” she said, in a voice that sounded weirdly choked and muffled. Ugh. She’d been hoping for more of a snarl.

“I heard about your dad,” Tyrone said uncomfortably. “Er… I got you these.” He handed her two packages, both full of frogs�”one box of chocolate frogs, another of cheap green rubber ones. Emma had no idea why Tyrone would give her rubber frogs, but then again, his mind was a bizarre place.

“The toy frogs are for chucking against the wall,” Tyrone explained, as if reading her mind. “They kind of… splat well. And I thought you might need some chocolate.” He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual dazzling, cocky grin. It was more of a sad, sympathetic smile. “I kinda know how you feel,” he admitted quietly. “When my mum died, I… well, all I wanted was to chuck frogs like this all day… don’t tell Fido I said that.”

Emma opened her mouth, with the intention of demanding that he go away and leave her alone, but amazingly, something very different escaped her mouth. “Thanks,” she muttered, determinedly not meeting his eyes. Godric, why did she sound like a shy three-year-old with a bad cold?

“Hey, you’re welcome,” Tyrone replied, looking somewhat startled at the softness of her voice. “Well, uh, I know you want me to leave you alone now, so I’ll just go and�””

“No,” Emma said suddenly, and blinked, seemingly surprised by her own words. She patted the spot next to her on the sofa. “Look… sit down, have some chocolate… you spent your money on it, after all. I could do with a bit of company.”

Tyrone flashed her his classic grin. “Aw, cool!” he exclaimed, and jumped over the back of the sofa to plop down beside her. She almost smiled in spite of herself.

“Nice shirt,” she said dryly.

He looked down at his torso, checking to see what he had chosen to wear in the haze of early morning, and grinned yet again. His t-shirt proclaimed in bold, red letters, “PRIZE INSIDE.”

“Well, honesty has always been one of my best qualities,” he said importantly, his mouth crammed full of chocolate frog.

“This coming from the boy who has a sign hanging from his broom that says ‘My Other Ride Is A Unicorn,’” Emma shot back.

Tyrone looked affronted. “Hey, it worked on my ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh? Why’s she your ex-girlfriend, then?”

He smiled bashfully. “She found out it wasn’t true.”

Emma threw one of the rubber frogs at his face, where it splatted against his nose and stuck there with a very satisfactory SCCCHLORP. Both of them laughed madly.

“Hey, I’m not complaining!” laughed Emma. “It beats that shirt of yours that says ‘WARNING: CONTENTS MAY BE HOT!’” The insane laughter began again and lasted a little longer than necessary.

Emma was quiet for a moment, then said at long last, her voice hushed, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked brightly. “Be so gorgeous? Well, every morning, I�””

“I feel so much better,” she said slowly. “It’s incredible.” If she hadn’t known him better, she would have sworn Tyrone was blushing.

“Er… I’m magic?” he said after a moment, twirling his wand theatrically. He shrugged. “Listen, Em, your dad’s gonna be fine. He’s a tough guy. And it’s just a little while in Azkaban.”

Emma gave him a small smile. “Thanks,” she said again.

It was an odd kind of reconciliation after two months without speaking. There were no apologies, no mentions of the past, no pleas for forgiveness.

But in those few moments, some secret, unspoken understanding had come between them, and as Emma had said, suddenly they both felt much better.

Tyrone was right, she thought. It had to be magic. What else could it be?

* * * * * *

Jordan felt very daring and rebellious sitting in Professor Zabini’s classroom the next day. The professor was droning on and on, relating everything the class would need for their exams the next month, but he wasn’t taking notes, or even paying the slightest bit of attention.

True, his eyes were fixed on Zabini’s, and he looked every inch the raptly attentive student. But he wasn’t thinking about strengthening solutions or the draught of the living dead. He was trying for the umpteenth time to perform Telemency.

He knew he wasn’t the only one not listening. Haley seemed to be having a humorous conversation with Lee, her diary, as she practically had to stuff her hand in her mouth to mask her giggles, and across the room, Anatoly Capshaw was playing Solitaire without even the slightest attempt to conceal what he was doing. Two Ravenclaw girls were bewitching origami cranes to flutter around their desks, and a Hufflepuff boy was doodling what looked like smiling unicorns and flowers all over the back of the Transfiguration homework that he would have to turn in later that day.

And Emma… she had been fuming with anger since her father had been sent to Azkaban. But now, she looked dramatically cheerier as she and Tyrone alternated muttering the word ‘potato,’ interjecting it into the professor’s speech in increasingly louder and louder voices in a competition to see who would be caught first.

Tyrone? Since when were he and Emma friends again? They hadn’t spoken since February! Jordan groaned inwardly�”now that they were friends again, there was always the chance that they’d meet a horrible demise in the forest. He’d thought he was through worrying about that vision.

“…and of course, the chief ingredient of Veritaserum is a large…”

“Potato.”

“Which, if used properly, will produce a potion with no discernable colour, taste, or…”

“Potato.”

Jordan did not smile at their antics. He was concentrating, staring deeply and unblinkingly, into the pupils of Zabini’s cold black eyes until he felt his mind slip into the professor’s. It was amazing, really, how few people used Occlumency, he reflected, as a string of images poured into his mind.

Zabini, turning red with rage as Haley sang ‘All You Need Is Love’ atop the Gryffindor table. Zabini, forcing a small boy to sample his own clearly badly-made potion. Zabini, as a child himself, putting on the Sorting Hat. A young Zabini staring up in awe at Professor Snape in his first-ever Potions class. Zabini in his early twenties, kissing a girl under a tree. Zabini in his late teens, shouting angrily at a pale blonde boy who could only be Draco Malfoy. A young Zabini watching Malfoy with a smirk as… was that really…?

Jordan almost blinked. Malfoy was dueling a tiny, scrawny boy who could only be a much younger version of his own father, while a vapid-looking blond man looked on. It was beyond weird seeing his dad, so young and terrified-looking, and even weirder to see Draco Malfoy besting the famous Harry Potter in a fight.
He brought his attention back to Zabini’s mind, where he saw a room full of serious-looking men and women in what looked like lab coats brewing massive vats of potion, while an adult Zabini looked on.

And then… Jordan could hardly believe his eyes at the next one, certain that his mind was playing tricks on him. The next image was that of the shadowy forms of Emma and Tyrone running through the forest, talking and laughing and holding hands… pale moonbeams puncturing the almost complete darkness… four middle-aged men holding… what were they holding?... and a shattering ‘bang’ accompanied by a horrible inhuman howl of pain, and an anguished male voice crying, “Me! Me! Get back here, if you’re going to shoot her, why don’t you come after me as well?”?”

He broke the connection at once and closed his eyes, watching the images dance around inside his own head.

How was it possible for Zabini to have that same string of images in his mind? Could it be possible that Jordan himself had been thinking it at the time and mistakenly thought he had seen it inside the professor’s head? But no, he knew perfectly well what Legilimency felt like, after practicing for a year.

Could he have actually performed Telemency, transferring his own thoughts into the professor’s mind? But, no, that didn’t make sense. The memory he’d pushed to the forefront of his mind for experimentation with Telemency was a particularly bloody moment in the French Revolution that he’d witnessed in a dream a few nights before. It had to be Zabini’s own memory. Could Zabini be a Seer, too?

If nothing else, it might explain why he always seemed to have a sixth sense. Or even more terrifying, what if he, too was a Legilimens, and had seen the vision in Jordan’s head? But no, that wasn’t possible, either. Jordan was careful to use Occlumency at all times.

He didn’t want to think about it any longer. It just didn’t make sense, and it didn’t do to give himself a migraine headache. He looked for another victim on whom to experiment.

Hmmm… he didn’t want it to be anyone he knew or liked; he wouldn’t wish the disturbing scene of the French Revolution on any of his friends or aquaintances.

His eyes rested on Charybdis Nott, who was sitting at an angle from him that would make it very simple for him to plunge into her mind. Of course, there might be the awkward question of why he was staring at her… but then, he was a Seer, and therefore practically expected to do mad and slightly disturbing things without question. There was something freeing about it, he realized, being a lunatic. Was this how Anatoly felt all the time?

Charybdis’s mind proved even simpler than Zabini’s to break into, and before long, he was tunneling through her memories. There was Charybdis giggling as she set up the trap for Anatoly earlier in the year, there was a younger Charybdis holding hands with a happy and confident Ophidias as they sauntered through the hallways, there was Charybdis examining herself in the mirror decked out in ball finery, there she was entering the Triwizard Tournament, mocking Ivy with Ophidias on the Hogwarts Express in second year, entering Hogwarts… sitting in a corner sobbing…

Jordan realized that he was beginning to get into some pretty personal stuff, but there was something oddly fascinating about seeing into Charybdis’s head. He dredged up a memory at random.

The screen door of a lovely country home banged open, and a man and woman with dark hair and open, friendly faces stepped inside, carrying suitcases. “I do hope you like it here,” said the woman. “This is going to be your new home.”

Two little girls who looked to be about four and six followed them, looking around the house with expressions of mixed mild interest and confusion.

“It’s pretty,” said the smaller one, a tiny birdlike creature with two long plaits of straight copper-coloured hair. She was dressed in a little turquoise dress with puffed sleeves and a full skirt. “But do Mummy and Daddy know we’re here?”

The couple exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Mummy and Daddy are gone, Chary, remember?” the taller one said with a solemn, patient air. She had a round, sad-eyed face and mousy brown hair that fell into her eyes, and her pink dress was exactly the wrong shade for her pallid complexion.

“Oh,” said the tiny Charybdis dreamily. “As long as they come back soon.” She stepped over to the mantelpiece and squinted. “Your house is funny,” she proclaimed. “The clock’s only got two hands and the pictures don’t move.”

Her older sister shifted uneasily and hissed, “They’re Muggles. The nice man with the lollies said so. Mummy and Daddy told us about Muggles.”

Charybdis giggled. “Their pictures are silly.” She poked a photograph of the dark-haired couple on a boat and clapped her hands together. “Scylla! Scylla, come see! Look, they don’t even blink or anything!”

The dark-haired couple smiled fondly at the little girl. “Your sister is so cute, Scylla” said the woman. “She has such an active imagination.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mariolini,” said the older sister, Scylla, politely, giving the distinct impression that she was tiring of receiving so many compliments about how cute her sister was and none about her.

Charybdis marched right up to Mr. Mariolini and prodded him in the stomach with a little finger. “Can you really not do magic?” she asked matter-of-factly.

Mr. Mariolini looked down at her, chortling. “What an imagination indeed,” he said.

Suddenly, the memory dissolved, and was quickly replaced with a fresh one. It was the same country house, but less tidy, clearly the home of two young girls. Mr. Marioli was reading the newspaper, Mrs. Mariolini was in the kitchen chopping vegetables and listening to the radio, and a plain teenage girl with limp, mousy hair was sitting on the sofa, demurely reading a book. Charybdis was nowhere to be seen.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and the teenager who had to be Scylla jumped up to answer it, smoothing the skirt of a rumpled sundress that did not suit her at all. She opened the door to reveal a face that Jordan recognized at once.

“Hello,” the man at the door said pleasantly. “My name is Professor Remus Lupin, and I’m here to see Charybdis.”

“Are you another one of her teachers?” Scylla asked in a long-suffering sort of way. “Only Charybdis is always having weird things happen to her, and I know she makes a lot of trouble, but�””

“Er, not exactly,” said Professor Lupin delicately.

“Well, come inside,” Scylla offered. “The sitting room’s over there, and my foster parents will be happy to talk to you. I’ll go see if I can find my sister anywhere.” She bustled off with the air of a girl playing the mother in a game of house.

Mrs. Mariolini set down the carrot she was peeling and hurried into the sitting room, wiping her hands on her apron to shake Lupin’s hand. “Hello, I’m Miriam Mariolini, Charybdis’s… er… guardian. I’ve been her foster mother for the last seven years. This is my husband, Jason.” Mr. Mariolini inclined his head.

“So, are you from Charybdis’s school? I know that the, er, incident with the lemurs last week was�”” her voice trailed off when she saw the confused look on the professor’s face and she sat down, leaning forward slightly.

“Mrs. Mariolini, what I’m about to tell you might sound insane, but please listen to me,” Lupin said in that low, calm voice that automatically made everything he said sound both sensible and wise. “Charybdis has been accepted into a very, er, selective boarding school in Scotland called Hogwarts. It is a school for children with unusual gifts.”

Mr. Mariolini narrowed his eyes. “What unusual gifts?”

“Well, for example, what you were saying about the lemurs… I’m assuming things like that happen to her all the time,” he explained, smiling slightly. “It’s not just a coincidence. It’s magic.”

Mr. Mariolini let out an odd sort of choking cough as Lupin continued on to describe Hogwarts, talked about the nature of magic, explained that Charybdis’s own perents had attended it, and even demonstrated a few spells.

Several moments later, the Mariolinis were sitting white-faced and shell-shocked looking, still blinking in a dazed and disbelieving sort of way. It was then that Charybdis came thundering down the stairs, her face alight.

“YES!” she shouted, racing into the sitting room. “I knew it! I told you all along! I’m not crazy! I knew I wasn’t a Squib like Scylla!”

She stopped dead in the centre of the sitting room and pointed an accusing finger at the Mariolinis, her expression curiously dark and dangerous for a girl her age. “You’ve been acting like I’m crazy for years. You were too stupid to believe me when I said magic was real. You told me to stop it because I was getting in trouble and you made me go to a stupid shrink! But I’m not mad! I can get away from you stupid Muggles and go somewhere where people will believe me!”

Lupin looked unsettled, peering with disbelief at the little girl. She was small and pretty in a delicate, china-doll way, but her yellow-amber eyes were as hard and angry as those of the most worldly and jaded witch. “I’m going to show you,” she hissed. “I’m going to be a real, live famous witch one day.” She pointed at Scylla. “And you’ll be stuck living like a Muggle your whole life�”serves you right! You remember Mum and Dad, but you still acted like you thought I was mad. I thought--”

But Jordan never found out what she thought, because while he was watching scenes from Charybdis’s life, he heard something most unusual.

Professor Zabini was still lecturing, Emma and Tyrone still potato-ing, and all seemed normal… until it wasn’t.

“Of course, these ingredients can only be found in the…”

“Potato.”

“… but the advantage is that even if drunk by a…”

“Potato.”

“…it will still be an efficient cure for…”

“Potato.”

The Professor paused, and Tyrone shrank back in his seat, clearly having uttered his last ‘potato’ a bit too loudly.

“Thomas,” Zabini said in a dangerously soft voice. “You have…” his voice cut off, and his face froze, and he suddenly exclaimed, “EUREKA!”

Jordan’s head whipped around at the sound of the word, wondering what could have possibly happened and inadvertently found his way into Zabini’s mind. It was a strange jumble, a soup of shapes and sounds in the Professor’s excitement as he gathered up the ingredients in front of him, and it clashed strangely with the images of Charybdis’s mind as they played against each other. He couldn’t tell where one mind began and the other ended. It was like he was seeing into one big brain.

Wait a minute… it slowly dawned on Jordan that this was not normal. He was seeing inside Charybdis’s and Zabini’s minds… at the same time. He couldn’t believe it. Performing Legilimency on two people at once?

And just then, he realized something. He could combine two minds by looking into both of them at once. If he focused on his own mind, not singling out one memory as he had before…In fact… yes, he was quiet sure. If he could perform Legilimency on himself and someone else at the same time… Legilimency was all about eye-contact. What if he just… made contact with his inner eye?

He barely even noticed as Zabini ran off into the storeroom, shouting ‘class is dismissed!’ over his shoulder in a weirdly giddy voice. He barely even noticed as the rest of the class gathered their books and got to their feet, murmuring about why Zabini could have possibly just dismissed the class and (in the case of two particular students) still exclaiming “potato!”

Jordan didn’t know or care what epiphany Zabini had just had… because he was having one of his own.

* * * * * *

Cyril ab Llewellyn was a small and unremarkable third year boy whose most distinguishing feature was his tendency to stare into space with his mouth slightly open.

Perfect, thought Jordan, sitting across the Common Room from him later that day. It wasn’t a matter of going into someone’s mind and planting a thought there. He’d always thought of it as a click and drag option, but it wasn’t. But if he concentrated hard enough on the contents of two minds, they would be bound together into a kind of stew of thoughts… and it he did the job properly, then he would leave his own memories imprinted on Cyril’s brain and guide him into thinking the thoughts he wanted to convey once their minds were fused into one. It was like something he’d once seen in some old Muggle science fiction show.

Keeping his own mind open and awake, he stared hawk-like and unblinking into Cyril’s eyes. He imagined his own eyes were twin drills boring neatly into the pupils of the younger boys’, making tunnels through which he could enter.

He had gotten good at this. He’d done it before on Tancred Apple, of course, but now, aided by the memories of centuries of Legilimenses thanks to his gifts, he knew where to find everything, what had to be tweaked. Brain science, like so many other Muggle creations, deserved far more credit than it got from the magical community.

Cyril’s memories were none too fascinating, and Jordan managed to nudge them aside and make his way toward what really mattered.

His mind, Cyril’s mind, his mind, Cyril’s mind… it was as if their brains were in a blender. Was he Jordan or was he Cryril? He could scarcely tell anymore�”it was like they shared a single brain between the two of them. Had he ever tripped over her dog, or was that Cyril? Did he even own a dog? His memory told him, clear as day, that he had. But why could he remember four different parents, two with the last name Potter and two with the last name ab Llewellyn?

After one extraordinarily confusing moment�”or it could have been an hour or a day or a month�”he managed to gather his mind together and pull it out, becoming himself once more. Exhausted and sweating, he leaned back in his armchair, his eyes closed. It had been one of the strangest moments of his life… and he had no idea if it had worked.

But just then, he saw Cyril, clutching his head and moaning, “Whoa… that was so weird… my mind just, like, jumbled up for a second, and then it was like I was watching all this stuff that I never saw… Man, I think I’m sick.”And he staggered off to the dormitory to lie down.

It had worked! IT HAD WORKED! He had cracked the mystery of Telemacy, the one thing that even Merlin could not accomplish in his lifetime. It was nothing, it was so simple and obvious, but he was the first, and he had done it!

Not caring who saw or what they thought, Jordan leaped out of his armchair and let out a bizarre sound, somewhere between a whoop of victory and maniacal laughter. “YES! HAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAH!” He punched the air with his fist, feeling absolutely weightless and completely un-Jordanlike.

It was then that the door of the Common Room opened, and Haley, Ted, Ivy, Tyrone, and Emma stepped inside, talking animatedly with one another. They froze in their tracks when they saw Jordan, his arms spread and his head thrown back as he laughed like a madman. His face shone with the odd, radiant beauty that it had the night of his seventeenth birthday, and there was no tension or stiffness anywhere in his body. He looked… graceful.

“What the…” said Emma.

“Yeah, I’m inclined to agree with her,” said Haley, staring.

Jordan ran up to them, beaming. “I did it!” he exclaimed, his voice hushed with rabid excitement. “I’ve figured out Telemency�”passing on thoughts from one person to the next! I tried it on Zabini and Charybdis Nott, and just now I did it… I gave Cyril ab Llewellyn my memories, and�””

“Wait, is this that thing you were talking about that’s supposed to be impossible?” asked Ivy.

Her brother nodded frantically. “Yes! Only now I get it… and it’s so simple, I can’t believe I didn’t earlier. I can’t believe nobody else got it earlier, either!” Jordan never used exclamation marks at the end of his sentences. It had to be serious.

“Er… well done!” said Ted, obviously confused but managing to grasp that this was a vast achievement more than worthy of congratulation.

Emma, however, did not look so happy. On the contrary… well, had she not been Emma, it would have almost looked as though she was terrified. “You did that thing? Where you break into people’s minds? Without even asking if you could try it on them?”

“Well, no, of course I didn’t ask if…”

“You moron!” Now the only word to describe her expression was ‘furious.’ “Why would you do a thing like that? That’s seriously creepy.”

“What do you mean?”

Emma’s hands were balled into fists at her sides. “Listen, you don’t… use people like lab rats! I mean, just because they’re not as smart as you? That’s sick!”

Jordan wasn’t sure why she had this aversion to his experimentation. It wasn’t as though she even liked Zabini, Charybdis, or Cyril, anyway�”and she hadn’t been too keen on it when he’d first told her about it months ago, either. In fact, she’d called him a freak…

Well, he didn’t particularly care what Emma thought. She was no concern of his.

Just as he was thinking that, a memory surfaced in his brain… his first-ever vision, way back over the summer… the dream in which he’d been a pathetic hobo and Haley had begged him for help. He’d thought of that dream often, and how the glamorous, older Haley had told him that he was responsible for Emma’s death. It had kept him awake at night. But it had been a long time since he’d really remembered the dream Haley’s exact words.

I know you’re too afraid to face anyone from the wizarding world after what you did in your sixth year, and I don’t blame you. Of course, you’re Bellowes’s hero now, especially since Ron died. And, yeah, everyone pretty much hates you, especially for what happened to Emma Weasley, but you can redeem yourself.

Or he wouldn’t have to. There would be no need for him to redeem himself again in ten years, no need for Ron to die in prison, no need for anything horrible to happen to Emma. There was a reason why Emma was so worried about Telemency, why she’d been even more touchy than usual lately, and Jordan was sure it had to do with Ron. Maybe if Ron had never been in trouble with Bellowes, none of this would have happened.

And there was something Jordan could do. Something that had a million ways to go wrong, that other people had failed at in so many ways. But Jordan wasn’t other people.

“What’s up?” asked Tyrone anxiously. “You looked kind of weird just then.”

“So what else is new,” muttered Haley.

Ivy peered anxiously at her brother. “Was it a vision?” she asked.

Jordan, not keen to tell the whole truth, lowered himself into his armchair again and faced the group. “Yes,” he said seriously. “I had a vision that Uncle Ron’s going to die in Azkaban.”

The result was instantaneous, and it didn’t take a Seer to predict what it would be. Haley let out a little squeak of horror, Ivy gasped and grabbed Ted’s hand, Tyrone went greenish-lilac, and Emma made a strangled sort of choking noise, and her hands shook so badly that she dropped her schoolbag.

“We have to save him,” Jordan stated, looking thoroughly solemn.

“How?” snarled Emma, her face very white. “If he’s going to die, there’s no use.”

It was sometimes shocking how little most people knew, thought Jordan. “Visions aren’t a guarantee of what’s going to happen,” he explained simply. “They’re what’s going to happen unless something’s done to change them. The future can always be altered.”

Haley squinted. “Wait, so you’re saying we just skip out of school and bust him out of Azkaban? I’m thinking that’s not one of your more brilliant plans, Jor-jums.”

“That’s because it’s not my plan,” he replied with a mysterious half smile. “And never, ever call me Jor-jums again, or your future will be grim.” He sighed. “What we need is evidence that will convince the Ministry he’s innocent.”

“But the diaries are missing, and they’re the only proof,” Ted said sadly.

Jordan shook his head, still smiling that infuriatingly mysterious smile, and plunged his hand into the front of his robes, pulling out something on a long gold chain. “What about the Final Battle?” he said.

Haley blinked. “I am really confused,” she stated plainly, looking around for support. “Anyone else not following this, like, at all?”

“This is a time turner,” her twin informed her smoothly, holding up the object on the end of the long chain around his neck. “If I use it to go back to the Final Battle, I can hide and watch until Uncle Ron kills Snape. Then I can come back, go to the Ministry, and use Telemency to show them that Uncle Ron didn’t do anything wrong, because there’s really no chance that he did. Don’t you see?” And then, he uttered the wisest and least Jordan-y phrase that had ever escaped his mouth. “But I should bring some support. In case something doesn’t go as planned.”

“Good, because I’m coming,” Emma said immediately, stepping forward.

Tyrone looked at her sideways. “If she’s coming, I am, too. Knowing her, she’ll finish off Voldemort herself and wreck history, and someone has to at least try and stop her.”

“I’ll come,” Ivy volunteered.

“Me, too,” said Ted. “Hey, it’s not even due to be a full moon for another week. This is my first chance to help save the day in human form.”

Haley nodded solemnly. “And of course I’m coming.”

Jordan stood, his posture erect and his face full of authority and purpose. His eyes were dark and hard and his face might have been marble, and if his hand was only inside his jacket, he might have been channeling Napoleon. He at least had the ‘short’ part covered.

He’d looked like this many times before, and it was a look he’d inherited from his father. But now, at age seventeen, a fully grown Seer, and still dangerously confident from the rush of discovering Telemency, he was more formidable than ever. “Follow me,” he said, “we have to pick up one more person.”

“Why do I feel like I’m having a serious case of déjà vu?” muttered Tyrone as the group strode briskly down the corridor.

“Okay, so where exactly are we going?” asked Emma, feeling uncomfortably like a lemming headed straight off a cliff. “And who are you getting?”

But Jordan pretended not to hear her question and simply walked silently until he reached the portrait hole to the Ravenclaw Common Room.

“It’s password protected like ours,” Ivy told him helpfully. “They said so at the Prefect orientation last year. I don’t think there’s any way to talk to someone who’s in there if you don’t know the pass�””

“Mooncalf.”

“�”word,” Ivy finished in a soft voice as the portrait hole swung wide open.

Jordan gave her a little smile. “Seer, remember,” he said jauntily, and stepped through the portrait hole into the Common Room, motioning to the others to stay back. He was far too sure of himself, far too happy. Even Tyrone thought he was acting disturbingly Tyronish since discovering Telemency. But maybe a little excess confidence was good in such a crazy endeavour as time traveling. Maybe sheer confidence was all that would keep it from being a total disaster.

Jordan made his way through the portrait hole, fully aware of how he was acting even more so of the astonished faces of the Ravenclaws sitting around the Common Room. But one thing that could be said about Ravenclaws was that they were a bright bunch, and no one called out anything like “What are you doing here? You’re not in this house!”

Savouring his freedom to be as strange as he wanted now that his reputation was established, he walked through the Common Room and leaned against a chair. “No need to look so upset; I’m not here to predict anyone’s deaths,” he assured the Ravenclaws, reminding himself irresistibly of Merlin. “I just need Cecilia Longbottom.”

Cecilia looked up wide-eyed from her homework. Everyone around her was whispering and staring, wondering why this sixth year Gryffindor, not even a Prefect, needed to speak to a third year so desperately that he would barge into their Common Room. Wisely, she decided to steer Jordan off to the corner, where it would be difficult for the rest of the room to watch them.

“All right, what’s all this about?” she asked immediately.

Jordan smiled. “Right to the point. Well, for complicated reasons that I really don’t have time enough to explain, several of my friends and I are traveling back to the last battle against Voldemort, and I thought you might want to come.”

Cecilia stared at him and blinked, as if doing so would make what he had just said make any semblance of sense. “What?”

“Your parents were both in the battle. You must wonder what happened and what it was like�”trust me, I can honestly say that I’ve been there.”

Cecilia blinked yet again. “Well, yeah, of course, but I’d never want to actually go there. It’s dangerous. And besides, it’d just be embarrassing. My parents only got injured�”I’m not surprised, they’re not really the hero type.”

Jordan couldn’t believe his ears. “They got injured? Cecilia, it’s a major accomplishment that they even survived! You wouldn’t say that my dad was rubbish up against Voldemort because he got a cut on his forehead.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! My dad’s your Herbology teacher. You have to admit he can be pretty spacey, always buttoning his shirt wrong and forgetting what the homework he assigned was. And my mum’s even worse. It’s like I’m the mum and they’re the clueless kids. I have to tell them everything. There’s no way they pulled their own weight against Voldemort.”

“Oh, really?” Jordan’s voice was eerily soft, and his eyes intensified even more. “Because I’ve seen the battle.”

Cecilia was silent for a moment, looking up at the older boy. After a moment, she said in a small voice, “You really believe this Seeing stuff, don’t you?”

Jordan’s expression was faraway and thoughtful, and when he spoke, it was slowly, as if his words were being transmitted to him from somewhere far away. “It’s more… knowing than believing. If it was anyone other than me, even Haley… especially Haley… I’m quite positive I wouldn’t believe a word of it, but when I can see it for myself, it’s impossible not to.” He paused. “But I didn’t see the battle like that. It was in a… different way.” His manner changed, becoming brisk and businesslike once more. “So, are you coming? I do have several of my friends waiting outside your Common Room.”

Cecilia raised her eyebrows. “Jordan, I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. I don’t go running off into danger, or whatever it is that you and your friends like to do.”

“But that’s why I thought you should come!” said Jordan. “Every mission like this needs someone who is practical and logical to keep everything from turning into chaos.”

“What about you?” the younger girl shot back.

Jordan laughed humourlessly. “Me? Not anymore. I’ve lost any sense I might have ever had… though at least I’m sane enough to have realized that much.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Of course, I don’t think I was ever very sensible, not really. I just tried to convince myself that I was.” He seemed to realize that he was talking to himself and quickly changed the subject back to Cecilia and the mission at hand. “We won’t actually be going into combat,” he assured her, “We’ll just watch from the sidelines, and if anything does happen, I’ve always got my time turner with me. You’ll be in good hands.”

As soon as the words ‘good hands’ left his mouth, he couldn’t help but immediately think of Trelawney ranting and raving about how unique and amazing his palms were. He tried to shake the image from his mind.

Cecilia stared off into space, apparently weighting the pros and cons of the situation, then at last said decisively, “I say we do it. What have we got to lose?”

“Honestly?” He hadn’t been expecting this. Although he knew he’d recruit Cecilia in the long run�”he always ended up accomplishing what he set out to do�”he’d never predicted, Seer that he was, that it would be so easy. “Well, that’s fantastic. We should go now�”and if anyone asks any questions, just say something about how strange I am and how nothing I do makes any sense. That should satisfy them.” He was not joking.

The small third year girl followed him out through the portrait hole into the corridor, where she immediately saw Ted, Ivy, Haley, Emma, and Tyrone loitering around the hallway and playing Exploding Snap.

“Hi!” Ted said cheerfully. “You’re Cecilia Longbottom, right?” She nodded a bit shyly. “Cool, I hear you’re really smart,” he told her. He’d also heard some less complimentary things, too, but there was no way he was going to mention that.

“I’m Ted Lupin,” he introduced himself brightly, as if she didn’t already know. In addition to being a member of the famous Potter’s Pentagon, his status as a Prefect, his height, and the fascinating fact that he was a werewolf made him a fairly well-known figure among younger students. “And this is Ivy Potter, and the girl drawing smiley faces on her shoes is her sister Haley, and that’s Emma Weasley, and the boy with the toad is Tyrone Thomas.”

“Are we really going through with this, going back in time?” Cecilia asked incredulously.

“Wow, you really must not know Jordan,” Emma said with a wry smile. “He’s a psycho. If he wants something to happen, it happens even if it’s totally impossible. I mean, when you’re a loony, I guess that kind of stuff doesn’t matter.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “I’m standing right here, you know,” he told her flatly. “But yes, we are going back in time, so let’s go.”

“What, just like right now?” asked Tyrone, looking astonished.

“No, we’re going to the Room of Requirement, then taking the Floo network to my house. Then we’re going back in time.” His voice was so matter-of-fact as to be unnerving.

“Déjà vu again,” Tyrone muttered under his breath as Jordan set off down the corridor, the others following confusedly. “And are we picking up his Muggle girlfriend again or something?”

Jordan whirled around to face him, and the much taller, bigger boy actually shrank back with a look of intimidation. “Giorgi is my friend,” he said, his voice flatter than a pancake. “And if you really think that it would be a good idea to let a Muggle witness the final battle against Voldemort, then you obviously have no idea what you’re getting onto.”

On this encouraging note, the other six looked at once another uncomfortably before heading down toward the Room of Requirement.

“Then why are we going to Godric’s Hollow?” asked Ted.

Jordan’s voice was quiet but strangely deep. “Because,” he said, “That’s where the final battle happened.”

“How did you…” began Tyrone, but this time, it was Ivy who answered.

“He’s seen it,” she replied simply. She was the first person her brother had entrusted with the secret of his exploits in the Pensieve back when that had been the most angst-inspiring event in his life, and it wasn’t the sort of thing that was readily forgotten.

No one asked Ivy to elaborate.

But before they could reach the Room of Requirement, their progress was stopped by an unexpected person. “Well, bonjour,” said Anatoly Capshaw, leaning lazily up against the wall near the Room of Requirement. “You all seem to look very purposeful and epic-heroic. I’m guessing something out of my depth is about to happen?”

Haley looked around at the faces of her friends, unsure of what to say to Anatoly. On one hand, she didn’t want to lie to him; on the other, she also didn’t want her brother to incur his wrath upon her. “Ummm… well, we’re going… somewhere… to do… something,” she said eloquently.

“Ahhh,” replied Anatoly, nodding sagely. “It’s like that time you people charged into the woods to save Ivy from the Acromantulas in first year, or like that time you charged into the woods and defeated Draco Malfoy in fourth year, or like that time charged into the woods and stopped Tancred Apple from giving the secret of magic to the Muggles last year. So, you’ve found yourselves a new bit of woods, have you?” He leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows mysteriously.

When he put it that way, it sounded like they were always racing into the midst of some arboreal catastrophe to save the day. But they weren’t, not really. Much. Well, it was a family trait.

“We’re actually going back in time to the last battle against Voldemort to see what’s up with Snape,” Haley blurted in one breath.

Anatoly’s limber eyebrows skyrocketed to his hairline. “You,” he proclaimed, “are kidding. That is stark, staring, screamingly loopy, even for you people.”

“Yep,” said Haley brightly. “Want to come?”

“Well, let me check my schedule and see how many world-saving missions I have scheduled for today. And I’ll go find the special shoes I’ve reserved specifically for charging into the woods.”

Jordan glowered, not liking Anatoly’s flippant attitude one bit. “Haley, he�””

“Is coming? Funny, that’s exactly what I was about to say,” said Anatoly, flashing a smile.

Jordan did not look particularly pleased with this development, to say the least. “Why would you even want to come?” he demanded. “Do you think this is some kind of… of game or something?” He didn’t know Anatoly Capshaw particularly well, but one thing that he knew about him was that Haley seemed to like him, and he generally did not trust his twin’s judgment.

“As a matter of fact, no,” said Anatoly, and in its unsettling way, his face shifted abruptly from open friendliness to icy defensiveness. “I wanted to help a friend, actually. Is this suddenly a crime or something? Or are only cool people and experienced heroes allowed to do it?”

Emma looked around at her friends. “We can’t trust him!” she whispered. “He’s a Slytherin!”

She hadn’t whispered quietly enough, because Anatoly looked straight at her, his expression just as dark and defiant as hers. “And you’re rude,” he shot back. “Believe me, I have just as much respect for you as you have trust for me.” He folded his arms. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember that there were eight people on the bright and shiny side of the battle when your uncle defeated Voldemort? Shouldn’t you bring me along for good luck? I am part Irish, if that makes a difference.”

No one said anything for a moment. Then, finally, Ted spoke up. “I’m thinking we need all the help we can get,” he said.

“So long as you know what you’re getting into,” Jordan said seriously as the door to the Room of Requirement popped into existence.

The seven of them stepped inside. And Anatoly followed.

* * * * * *

“I can’t believe Dad would want to build a house and everything right where he killed Voldemort,” Haley said, shivering slightly as she stepped out of the fireplace into her deserted house. “I mean, he doesn’t even like to talk about it. Wouldn’t living here make him think about it like all the time?”

Ted came out of the fireplace behind her, the last of the group, and flicked ashes thoughtfully out of his hair. “No, I think it’s kind of the opposite,” he replied slowly. “If I were him, I’d want to live here so I could have a bunch of good memories about this place. It beats having to think about the battle all the time. And I bet he feels at home here, knowing that this was the first place he was ever happy, even though he was too young to remember it.”

“You know, I think you’re right,” mused Ivy, looking impressed. “Knowing how Dad’s mind works, that’s probably the case.” She reflected that all the places where horrible things had happened to her father�”Godric’s Hollow, Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic�”were all places that were now important in his life, places he’d lived and worked. He’d even donated money to have a Quidditch stadium built in Little Hangleton where the Riddle house and its graveyard had once stood, and had the cave where he had once fought Inferi transformed into a special emergency headquarters for Aurors. The one exception to this rule was Privet Drive, but maybe some wounds were just too deep.

“Well,” said her brother, briskly pulling his Time Turner up over his head and succeeding in making his hair look even more horrible than usual. He flicked his wand and made the gold chain from which it was suspended long enough so that all eight of them could fit in. “Make sure that none of you talk to anyone�”especially not to disclose your identities�”and don’t get involved with the battle. Horrible things have happened to people who meddled with time.”

Privately, he realized he sounded an awful lot like some ancient white-bearded wizard who plodded around with a staff and a lot of wise warnings from one of Giorgi’s Muggle fantasy novels, but he shook off the thought.

He looped the chain around the necks of all eight of the people who were rather amusingly packed together, elbows seemingly protruding from ears, and noses crammed into armpits. “I’m going to take us back now,” he announced, his voice steady. “The time turner has got lots of knobs�”one for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years decades, centuries, and millennia�”so it’ll just be a few turns. You’re going to feel a bit like you’re Apparating, so be prepared, and do not let go.”

He twisted the decade knob twice, the year knob three times, and added a few more twists of the smaller knobs to get the timing exactly perfect.

And then it happened.

Months of using the time turner for Divination classes had caused him to become so used to time travel as to be almost bored with it, but he’d never gone more than a few hours back, and never with company.

In a strangely palpable sort of way, time whizzed past them, while their feet remained rooted to the ground (with the exception of Haley, who seemed to be doing a nervous little step dance of anticipation). The other seven shrieked and gasped as though riding an especially ferocious roller coaster and grabbed each other’s arms and (in the confused jumble) necks.

At last, the maelstrom cleared. And when it did, the house wasn’t there anymore.

* * * * * *

The eight of them were standing in the midst of a small heap of rubble, the sort of crumbled rock and plaster that was partly covered with dirt and weeds and had been lying untouched for years.

Apparently, no one had thought to clean up what was left of the Potters’ house after it had been destroyed, or were too afraid to come near, even sixteen years later, or perhaps they had decided to leave it untouched as a monument. But in any case, the effect was at once disconcerting and sad.

“It’s like the opposite of The Wizard of Oz,” remarked Tyrone, up on his Muggle films as always. “We’re in the same place, but we left the house behind.”

Everyone looked around hesitantly and uncomfortably, chills making their way up their spines. The street was deserted and abandoned, sitting in various states of gross disrepair. “I don’t like this,” Emma said definitively.

“Really, because I absolutely love it here,” Anatoly replied, sarcasm oozing from his words. In the silent street, his voice echoed larger than life. “Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed. Hardly any woods to charge into at all.”

Cecilia rubbed her forearms nervously. “It’s too quiet.”

It was. The eight teenagers stood wordlessly amid the rubble, feeling awkward and anxious and letting the silence swirl around them. Suddenly, Haley let out a gasp and clutched Emma’s arm.

“What?” said Jordan, his head whipping around as though he expected to see slimy green monsters devouring his sister. It would be a fine kettle of fish if they were spotted by Death Eaters just a few minutes into their time traveling trip.

“I just realized,” said Haley, “I really, really hate the name Jeremy.”

Jordan gritted his teeth and used all of his willpower to keep from smacking himself in the face. It was sometimes so hard to believe that he and his sister shared DNA, let alone the same species. “Right,” he said. “Quite obviously, no one else is here yet, so it would be the opportune moment for us to go hide behind one of those houses to watch before the battle starts. Remember, don’t scream, and don’t try to help out, even if it seems grave. If you meddle with the past, you can�””

But he didn’t get to list the horrifying side effects of mucking about with time… nor did the group get the chance to hide. Because just then, they heard the explosive sound of several people Apparating at once, just out of the range of vision behind a row of houses.

“Seriously, this place still gives me the creeps every time,” insisted a deepish voice with the mumbling ineloquence of a teenager. “I know it makes you feel better and everything, but why come back now? It’s the third time this year.”

“Yes, we are on a tight schedule,” added an anxious-sounding, slightly shrill female voice.

“Oh, I think it’s quite pretty,” another girl’s voice replied, this one as distant and faraway as if uttered while in the midst of a dream.

“People died here,” a boy’s voice whispered solemnly.

There was a slight pause, then a man’s hoarse voice said quietly, “It certainly does bring back memories.”

Eight figures came from behind a nearby house, and the time travelers froze where they were. They were standing out in the open, in the middle of a pile of rubble. How much more conspicuous could they be? Before any of them could even begin to think of a possible way to hide, the newcomers came into the light, and the friends suddenly realized that these people were both familiar and unfamiliar.

“Who are you?” demanded the tallest of the group, whipping out his wand immediately.

Emma stared. The boy with the wand in his hand was a gawky, gangly boy with vivid red hair cut into a stupid-looking style that must have been fashionable back in the 1990’s. His pale skin was dotted with freckles, and his eyes were blazing like blue hearts of flame. Emma recognized that expression. She wore it more often than her favorite pair of shoes.

This boy was her father, at age seventeen. Her age. The idea was too weird to fully comprehend.

“Well?” Ron demanded aggressively, still holding out his wand.

At last, Ivy spoke up, her voice soft but clear. “We’re on your side.”

There was a brief moment of silence as the two groups looked at one another, sizing each other up. Emma surveyed the faces of the eight people before her, people she knew but who didn’t yet know her.

There was Mr. Potter, looking spindly and awkward in his hugely baggy Muggle clothing. He looked weary and strained, but his face was glowing with purpose in the same way that Jordan’s did when a mission was afoot. There was the future Mrs. Potter, slim and very young-looking for a girl of sixteen, her resemblance to Haley suddenly shockingly noticeable despite their different colouring. There was… blimey, Emma’s own mother hadn’t changed at all. She suspected that even when her mum had been a child, she’d been the exact same lovingly neurotic and nagging Hermione.

Behind her stood Professor Longbottom, an amazing sight on its own. Emma had never been able to imagine Professor Longbottom without his wheelchair, never thought of him standing on his own two legs, yet there he was, a plump-faced and floppy-haired boy. Next to him was Luna, her eyes impossibly huge and misty grey, rather than the blind white that they would become. Her fashion sense seemed not to have changed, though�”apparently, blindness hadn’t altered her innate ability to choose outfits that really did not match.

On the other side was Ted’s mother, and Emma had to smile just looking at her. She knew Professor Lupin often talked about his wife’s Dora’s punk stage when she dressed in grungy clothes, wore her hair in pink spikes, and demanded to be addressed by her surname, but it was so funny to see Mrs. Lupin looking so rebellious and… unmotherly. It was especially funny to see the contrast between her and her reserved future husband, with whom she was holding hands.

Emma’s gaze lingered on Professor Lupin. He looked awful. Despite the fact that this man was over twenty years younger than the Defence professor she knew, he seemed older. Although this Lupin’s grey hair was still streaked with brown and his face was less lined, he was shockingly gaunt and ill-looking, shabbily and poorly dressed, and unshaven. His expression was one of mild-mannered misery.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Ron sharply, lifting his future daughter from her reverie. He was apparently feeling in a pugnacious mood, although he didn’t cut a very impressive figure.

“We live in… um… America,” Haley said quickly, keeping her wits together quite well. Talented actress that she was, she was able to pull off a surprisingly convincing American accent. “We were on holiday… that is, vacation, in the country, and we wanted to see the place where Harry Potter killed You-Know-Who. We’re big fans of his.”

Wow. Jordan was impressed. It took a true genius to feign dimness so well, though she had rather lacked subtlety. “Haley,” he hissed, playing along, “I think that is Harry Potter.”

Haley looked up at Harry slowly, blinking, then her face split into a massive grin. “You rock!” she squealed, hugging him and feeling thoroughly odd about embracing a father who did not know who she was. “And you do look kind of like Jordan! Everyone tells us we look like we could be related to you!”

She knew her twin brother would never direct attention to the resemblance between the two generations of Potters�”he was still too logical, even though he constantly insisted that he wasn’t anymore. Logically, if you don’t want someone to realize you’re his son from the future, you don’t point out the resemblance between the two of you. But Haley knew more about people�”and she knew that black hair and green eyes were an unusual combination. The safest bet was to draw attention to it, and allow everyone to realize it and then drop it completely a few minutes later.

Harry gave the group a bashful half-smile, apparently not used to being randomly hugged by excitable girls. Up close, he looked pale and haggard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “It’s nice to know I’ve got support, I guess,” he said.

“So,” said Cecilia casually, “Er, what are you doing in Godric’s Hollow, then?”

“Well,” said the perky-looking Mrs. Lupin, who was apparently not yet “Mrs.” anything. “Harry just likes to hang out here, makes him feel calm… and Remus and Neville and Luna and Ginny and I just joined today to help him�””

“Tonks!” exclaimed Ginny quickly.

“�”out…”

Ginny smiled apologetically. “Sorry, you never know who’s a Death Eater.”

Tyrone gave the group his most winning smile, which was saying something. All of his smiles were pretty wining. “Oh, that I understand. But trust me, we’re not Death Eaters,” he laughed.

“Ahhh,” came a drawling voice out of nowhere, “but we are.”

And suddenly, they were surrounded. Black-cloaked figures formed a ring around the group, masked faces leering and wands extended. It was a trap.

Jordan turned white, his freckles standing out across his nose like chocolate chips on an underbaked cookie. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The plan was to wait safely behind one of the dilapidated houses, not to get involved with the fight or tamper with the past, even to the slightest degree. But they had no choice. They had to fight… or there was no alternative but death...

And across from him, the boy who would become Jordan’s father looked just as petrified as he did. “If Voldemort comes, we’re dead,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth to Hermione. “We still never found the last Horc… you know.” The Death Eaters had moved closer now, their wands drawn out, closing in around the sixteen frightened people.

Just then, there was a red bang of light, a nonverbal incantation, and a Death Eaters fell to the ground. Hastily, Neville tucked his wand back into his pocket, barely shifting a muscle.

The silence was palpable, weighing on them all for one terrible moment as the Death Eaters stared at one another and at the sixteen in turn. Then the Death Eaters sprang to life, flinging curses, lunging forward, pairing off to duel.

“Everyone fight for defence! Follow the plan!” shouted Harry. He tilted his head and his mouth moved slightly, forming the phrase, ‘no plan�”fake it.’

As the battle began, not with the measured niceties of a civil wizards’ duel but a frantic many-sided free-for-all, Haley yanked her brother aside, pulled her Invisibility Cloak out of her purse, and shook it out.

“Put this on,” she whispered, thrusting it at her twin. “You can’t let anyone even try to attack you. You’re the brains behind all of this, we can’t afford to lose you.”

Jordan blinked. “No, I�””

“Look, don’t try to pull the ‘brave and noble Gryffindor’ card on me. I’ve known you forever, and I know you’re not Dad. When it comes to battle, you’re more of a Slytherin.” Coming from her, unlike nearly anyone else, this was neither a compliment nor an insult. It was a simple fact.

“But you�””

“Whatever!” exclaimed Haley, tossing it over Jordan’s head. “If you die out there, don’t come running to me. Let’s face it, your life’s more important than mine is. You have to realize you’re one-of-a-kind… I mean, the future needs someone like you a lot more than they need one more actress. And if anything happens to you, you know the rest of us won’t stand a chance.” She pulled her brother into a tight hug that left his arms dangling awkwardly, trapped beneath her viselike grip. “Listen, Jor-jums. I might not get another chance to tell you this, but you’re a cooler guy than I gave you credit for. I’m proud of you, baby brother.”

Jordan felt his vision blurring slightly, and was glad that his face was concealed beneath the cloak so that Haley couldn’t see his expression. “I still think it’s stupid to give the cloak to me,” he said. “Your defensive skills aren’t as strong as mine. But… you’re a lot braver than I am. I should’ve realized that ages ago.”

There was a loud ‘bang’ behind Haley, as Jordan pulled the cloak up and vanished completely.

“Oh, I have to duel now!” she squealed. “See you around! Or… not see you around, Invisi-Boy!” She winked and skipped off, wand clutched in hand.

* * * * * *

Remus Lupin’s wand had been knocked from his hand, and the hulking figure of Travers the Death Eaters was moving ever closer toward him, his steps seeming curiously slow and dreamlike. Remus could feel his heart beating in his ears, and his knees protested loudly as he scooted back further in search of his wand.

But Travers’s wand was pointing directly in his face, and he could see every enlarged pore on the man’s red nose as he came closer. “Accio wand,” he hissed, and caught Remus’s wand neatly in his hand as it came zooming toward him.

“Looks like you’re out of luck,” he jeered. “Die, werewolf scum!” He slashed his wand and began to utter the dreaded incantation. “Avada�””

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”

Travers fell frozen to the ground, his eyes still darting back and forth, and an extremely tall and skinny boy stood where Travers had a second before, prying Remus’s wand from the Death Eater’s stiff fingers. “Hi, I’m werewolf scum, too!” he greeted the fallen Death Eater brightly. “Except for the scum part.” He held out a hand to Remus. “You all right?”

Remus took the hand gratefully and got up. Standing, he came to the boy’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, and dusted off his robes. He paused and squinted at the boy for a moment, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. “You’re really a werewolf?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m Ted, by the way. Ted…” his eyes flickered around the square that had become a battlefield. “Ted… Window…toad…spoon.”

“Ted Windowtoadspoon,” Remus repeated flatly. He was sure the boy was lying about his surname, and he had no idea why, but he decided not to question it.

The boy, Ted Windowtoadspoon or whoever he was, nodded. “Yeah. That.” He bobbed his head awkwardly, then his friendly face darkened and his wide blue eyes turned sad. “People like that Death Eater make me so mad,” he sighed. “Anyone who calls people scum… my girlfriend’s, um, her mother doesn’t like me, either, though I guess that’s fair, because I can’t say I’m all that fond of her, either.”

“You let people know you’re a werewolf?” asked Remus. It was hardly a secret that he was one, but it hadn’t been his decision to reveal it to the wizarding world. Snape had made that decision for him. “And you have a girlfriend?”

Ted smiled. “You sound so surprised!” he said. “Am I really that bad-looking?” He laughed. “Yeah, everyone at my school knows I’m a werewolf, it’s not really a big deal. It’s easier than trying to keep secrets from everyone.” As casual as he was speaking, something about the tone of his voice made it sound as though he had said this many, many times before.

Remus was torn between being really impressed and being cynical. The boy seemed so confident and optimistic… and he couldn’t be any younger than sixteen. Surely he was dealing with the violent spells and wolfish moments that all werewolves approaching adulthood had to face.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Ted asked. “That woman with the pink hair over there?”

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat. For some reason, he felt nervous. “Er, in a way,” he said, feeling himself blushing like a teenager again. “But it’s hardly a long-term relationship. It’s not as though we plan on getting married or anything.”

“Does she know that?” asked Ted, who seemed uncomfortably interested in the details of a total stranger’s personal life.

“Well, no, but I think it would be fairly obvious,” Remus said rather bitterly. “Who’s ever heard of a werewolf getting married? And we don’t breed.”

“My dad’s a werewolf,” offered Ted, “and he’s been one since way before he got married. And I know what you’re thinking�”he didn’t bite me. It was a freak accident. But anyway, he says he doesn’t care what werewolves are and aren’t supposed to do as long as mum’s fine with everything.” He smiled. There was something about his voice�”it certainly wasn’t very deep, and his tone was always soft and off-hand, but something in that voice made it impossible not to listen.

“Actually, you know what my dad says?” continued the boy. “He says it’s our choices that make us who we are, not our abilities.”

Remus rolled the words over in his brain. There was depth there, and there was depth behind the boy’s friendly light blue eyes, even if he made everything seem so obvious and clear and simple. “Your father definitely sounds like someone worth listening to,” was all he said.

“Oh, yeah.” Ted nodded. “He’s probably the smartest guy I know.” He hesitated, as if about to say something else, but apparently thought better and instead simply gave a quick wave and said, “Well, I really have to help my friends out in this battle thing. I’ll see you.” And with that, he jogged around the corner.

Remus didn’t know what had just hit him. That boy�”the werewolf�”had been unquestionably strange, but you couldn’t say that he didn’t have confidence. It was that quiet, plain sort of confidence, and Ted was definitely more gawky than cocky, but unlike any other werewolf Remus had ever known, he seemed more like a normal, easygoing kid than anything else.

Even more remarkably, Ted had made Remus feel ashamed for never having been one himself.

Ted had been brought up well. His father sounded like a remarkably grounded man�”not to mention married and the father of perfectly well-adjusted offspring. “It is our choices that make us who we are, not our abilities…” He thought about this for a moment. Fenrir Greyback was, in essence, the same thing as him, but he’d chosen to use being a werewolf against the world. As for Remus… he’d chosen to use it against himself.

Our choices, not our abilities…

Remus would always be a werewolf, and he knew that wasn’t going to change. But he could decide for himself whether he wanted to be werewolf scum.

* * * * * *

Jordan felt like a coward, standing on the sidelines of the battle under the Invisibility Cloak and watching everything that was going on around him. But he realized he wasn’t there to fight. He was there to observe, to see what exactly Snape did and what his Uncle Ron did, and that was it.

They’d been there for about half an hour. Ted’s mother had already killed the elderly Death Eater called Nott--Charybdis’s grandfather, Jordan realized�”and Emma, being resourceful, had taken his wand off of his dead body. Now armed with two weapons, she was dueling Amycus and Alecto Carrow at once.

Nearby, Tyrone was parrying spells against the massive Thorfinn Rowle, though he was making himself a bit vulnerable by constantly checking to see how Emma was faring in her fight. Jordan was in a mind to shake him and tell him to watch out, but he didn’t have to�”Emma called across to him while deflecting a particularly nasty jinx of Amycus’s, “Tyrone, it’s great that you’re worried about me and all, but you’re making me worry about you. Pay attention, already!”

Tyrone opened his mouth to protest as Emma ducked a Stunning spell. Jordan almost smiled at his cousin, being as close to tender as she knew how. But Emma and Tyrone weren’t the only ones busy. Jordan’s parents, his Aunt Hermione, and Cecilia’s father were back to back fighting off Death Eaters from all directions, as Cecilia’s mother nonverbally summoned and snapped as many Death Eaters’ wands as she could.

Speaking of Cecilia, she raced past him, covering her head in her hands as if shielding herself from flying debris in a tornado. Her cheeks were pink and she was quite out of breath, her face grubby with dirt and her lip bleeding slightly.

As Jordan looked at her, a spell hit the girl squarely in the chest. He gasped. A full body bind… not a Death Curse… he felt himself let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Cecilia collapsed to the floor, her body stiff and rigid as a board. Only her eyes could move, and they were wide and fearful. Jordan felt a pang of regret as he knelt down next to her, still invisible. Why had be brought her? She may have been bright, but she was only a third year, nowhere near ready to fight fully grown dark wizards. Of course, that had never been in the original plans, but at least everyone else he had brought with him was of age with the exception of Ted, who would be in less than a month.

He had promised, he realized, that Cecilia would be in the best of hands. He’d told her she wouldn’t be hurt. But here she was, lying on the ground, and he hadn’t done anything to protect her.

“Cecilia,” he whispered as quietly as possible into the girl’s ear. Her eyes darted even more frantically, searching for the source of the mysterious voice that had spoken to her out of nowhere.

“This is Jordan, under Haley’s Invisibility Cloak. I want you to play dead. I could lift the spell on you right now, but I think you’d be safer if you pretended you were already dead. I’m sorry you got attacked.” She didn’t say anything which made sense as her mouth was frozen, but Jordan knew she would listen to him. She was, after all, a very practical person.

Jordan straightened up, just in time to see a curse from Walden Macnair hit his Uncle Ron in the face. An angry gash ripped down his cheekbone, spattering blood everywhere. Ron let out a roar of pain and whipped around, stunning Macnair in retaliation… but to Jordan’s horror, he realized that in turning to face Macnair, Ron had turned his back on Antonin Dolohov, who was slowly creeping up behind him.

It happened in slow motion as Jordan tried to move quickly enough beneath the cloak to stop the Death Eater. Dolohov’s long, twisted face stretched into a wicked smirk as he drew out his wand and directed it at Ron. He opened his mouth and hissed “Ava�””

Just then, a blur streaked past. Silly-looking blond ringlets flying behind him as his limbs raced erratically, Anatoly Capshaw knocked the wand out of the Death Eaters’ hand, paused for a thoughtful second, and punched the man in the nose.

Only once Dolohov was down did he Stun him.

Anatoly straightened his wire rim glasses and nonchalantly wiped the blood off of his fist. “Slytherin on Slytherin combat!” he announced to no one in particular. “Novel idea, don’t you th�”” He broke off suddenly and crashed to the ground as a Stunning Spell hit him in the face.

Jordan stared out at the scene. Already, Cecilia and Anatoly were down on the ground�”thankfully, both alive�”and the girl who would be his mother seemed to be nursing a broken wrist. Neville Longbottom was limping, bruises blooming across his face, Ron was gushing blood from the cut on his face, and Ted’s nose looked to be bleeding. But on the whole, he reflected, it could be much, much worse, and he fervently hoped that the status quo wouldn’t change.

There were at least twice as many Death Eaters as there were of the… well, Jordan couldn’t help but think of them as the “Bright and Shiny Side,” as Anatoly had called them earlier. But there were also far more Death Eater casualties.

Death Eaters, he realized, would never do what Anatoly had dared and put themselves in danger to save another member of their side. They would never team up and fight together, would never try to save each other. They fought for glory, to receive recognition by their master, not to protect their ‘friends.’ That was their weakness. The edge that Jordan’s side had over the Death Eaters was that they worked together, and it made them stronger.

It was strange that Jordan, the one who enjoyed solitude more than anything else, the one who was standing apart from the battle under an Invisibility Cloak, was realizing the value of teamwork. But he hoped it didn’t give out. The good guys had won when he’d seen the battle in the Pensieve, but strange things happened when people meddled with time. He couldn’t be so sure anymore.

* * * * * *

On the far side of the battlefield, Haley was sitting on the ground, her lip trembling and her wide green eyes welling up with tears. Huddled in a ball with her jacket drawn around herself, she looked no more than twelve years old, and the sight of a miserable little girl was enough to make almost anyone stop in their tracks. In fact, someone did, although not exactly with the friendliest of intentions.

“Well, what’s this, then?” said a man’s harsh voice from behind her.

Haley looked up slowly to see a tall, muscular Death Eater, his eyes suspicious slits behind his mask. “Are you good, mister?” she asked in a soft whisper of a voice, quivering slightly.

“Uh… yeah… sure, kid.” The Death Eater shifted uneasily. “What are you doin’ here?”

Haley hiccupped, hugging her knees. “Well, my big brother was going with his friends to Godrics’ Hollow, ‘cos they wanted to see Harry Potter’s old house, only Mummy said I had to come along, too, because I have a Girl Guides meeting at seven, and we got here, and then the bad men got here, and then my big brother disappeared and I have to go to Girl Guides, and I can’t find him!” She wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her jacket as fat tears splashed down her face. “What if he’s dead?” she whimpered.

The Death Eater looked even more uncomfortable. “Look, who are you, kid?” he asked. It was the second time he’d called her ‘kid’ in about as many minutes. Haley was keeping score.

“I’m Haley, and I’m eleven and three whole quarters.” She beamed up at the man through her tears.

The man, who seemed to be a new recruit to the Death Eaters, scratched the back of his neck and muttered, “Er, I’m Jeremy Corking, and er�””

“You know what?” said Haley, her tone suddenly weirdly bright as she got to her feet. She looked Jeremy Corking straight in the eye, and there was much more than innocence shining in those eerily yellow-green eyes of hers. “I really, really hate the name Jeremy.”

And without warning, she kicked the man hard in the shins, sending him sprawling back onto the ground and freezing him with the Immobilus spell.

She curtseyed to the Death Eaters’ prone form. “Thanks,” she said. “That was a really great acting exercise you helped me with there. Oh, by the way�”I’m seventeen. And just because I’m little and adorable doesn’t mean you should let your guard down, Jeremy, not that I’m complaining or anything. Toodles!” And she ran back into the square to find a new victim.

Jordan blinked under his Invisibility Cloak. It was not often that he got to see Haley in combat, but he’d cottoned onto the fact that he was surprised far too often by her skill. What was it about her that made her so easy to underestimate? At least she knew how to use that quality to her advantage.

As she raced over to duel with another Death Eater, her brother reflected that Haley really was in her element here. Her boundless energy made her quick and impossible to catch. Even her ADHD was an aide on the battlefield; she was unpredictable, never settling into a routine.

But it wasn’t just that she was skilled at fighting. Emma was a better dueler, and Ivy had a much broader grasp of magic. Jordan was infinitely smarter, Ted was better at observing and anticipating his opponents’ dueling style, and Tyrone was more graceful and indefatigable. But Haley had… it was bravery, Jordan had to admit. Incredible bravery that was all too easy to overlook in everyday life.

His thoughts were interrupted as he aimlessly reached up to scratch his nose and suddenly realized that he could see his hand perfectly well. But… how… why wasn’t the Invisibility Cloak…

“Would you look at this,” said a quiet, sneering voice from behind him.

Jordan whipped around and stared up into the pale, pockmarked face of Augustus Rookwood, who was pointing a wand directly into Jordan’s face and clutching the wadded up Invisibility Cloak in the other hand.

“I saw your hair and I almost thought you were Potter from behind… but he’d never be cowardly enough to hide under an Invisibility Cloak during battle,” said Rookwood, baring his yellowed teeth in a crude imitation of a smile.

Jordan said nothing. He didn’t have time to, because Rookwood hissed, “Cruc--”

“Expelliarmus.”

Rookwood’s head snapped around to see a small girl walking nonchalantly toward him, light glinting off of the sparkles and rhinestones decorating her denim jacket. She was… smiling as she twirled the wand between her fingers, and it wasn’t an unpleasant smile, either. She looked friendly and perky, which had to be a bad sign.

“Sorry, it’s just such a pretty wand, and I had to take it,” chirped Haley. She stopped in her tracks and looked up into the astonished face of Rookwood with her big, childish yes. “Hi, Mr. Pizza Face! Nice day, isn’t it?”

Rookwood snarled and lurched toward her, not as blinded by the cuteness as Jeremy Corking had been. This was probably because Haley hadn’t had the bright idea of insulting Corking’s complexion.

Haley did an odd sort of curtsey, and without warning, began skipping toward the ruined house that would belong to Giorgi Anderson’s family in twenty years. What on earth was she doing, trying to get a Death Eater mad? And what would she do once she got to the house?

Jordan blinked, not believing his own eyes, as the answer became apparent. An ancient, rusty ladder leaned against the side of the building, leading up to a flat roof. Without even a moment of hesitation, Haley grabbed the ladder with both fists and began to scamper up to the roof.

It was completely insane. Everyone knew, as plainly as the fact that Haley couldn’t stand it when people raised one eyebrow, that she was terrified to death of heights. Unlike the rest of her Quidditch-loving family, she couldn’t even bear to fly a broomstick more than a few feet off the ground, and even then, she had to squish her eyes tight shut�”so the resulting crashes made her even less fond of flying.

But now, she was over halfway up that rickety old ladder, her sights determinedly fixed upon the roof. Did she think this was a surefire way of escaping from Rookwood? Because if she did, it wasn’t working. After tracing her trajectory for a moment, the Death Eater seized the sides of the ladder and started up it after her.

Jordan stared in horror. All around the battlefield, people on both sides were stopping to watch Rookwood chase Haley up onto the roof of the house. But what would happen once they were both on the roof? How would Haley get down? He couldn’t be the only one wondering this, because all around him, people were pointing and shouting, though Jordan only heard a dull mumble that roared incomprehensibly through his ears.

Haley and Rookwood were both standing on the roof now, facing one another. It was impossible to read Haley’s face from so far away as she began edging backward across the roof, Rookwood still pursuing her.

Jordan’s jaw was clenched and his face had gone greenish-white. Before his very eyes, he saw Haley backed up against the edge of the roof, dangerously close to toppling off.

She was trapped.

His grin visible from the ground, Rookwood reached out one hand lazily and snatched back his wand, pointing it straight at Haley’s throat. There was nothing she could do.

But she did something anyway. Despite the fact that there was nothing behind her but thin air, Haley took one more step backward, off the edge of the roof.

She screamed wildly, clawing the air… and then, with a terrible ‘crunch,’ she was silent.

Haley plummeted toward the ground like a penguin attempting flight. Disoriented by this sudden move, Rookwood too lunged forward and plunged from the roof. He hurtled to the ground, screaming and scrabbling at thin air, until he landed with a horrible crunch amid the overgrown bushes.

But Haley didn’t.

Jordan gaped as she came abruptly to a halt in midair, bobbing gently up and down as though suspended from the sky. She beamed, looking outrageously calm and confident. “Bungee beans!” she shouted, brandishing a box of the brightly-coloured confections, “From Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” She swallowed and drifted gently to the ground, landing as light as a feather. “Jump from distances of up to a hundred feet with no ill effects,” she said with a smile. “For the ridiculously brave only.”

She bent over the bushes where Rookwood’s motionless body lay spread-eagled, and came back with his wand and her own Invisibility Cloak. “Take better care of my stuff, will you?” she said, stuffing the cloak back into her twin’s hands. “If Pizza Face got away with that, I’d go spare. Anyway, I checked on him, and he’s unconscious�”probably got a concussion or something�”but he’s alive, ‘cos those those bushes broke his fall. Probably his arm, too. It looks like somebody French-braided his bones.”

Jordan was speechless, but that was okay, because his sister was talking enough for the both of them. At last, he managed, “Weren’t you scared?”

Haley raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Are you kidding? I was totally freaked out. I hate heights. What do you think?”

“What did you do that for, then?” asked Jordan, still looking quite shell-shocked.

Haley grinned. “Because you’re my baby brother, duh!” she chirped and gave him a little kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of the hair before pulling the Invisibility Cloak over his head again. “But don’t get caught and make me do that again, okay?” she called behind her. “I don’t think anyone will fall for that trick a second time.”

As she turned to go, Jordan blurted, “Er… Haley?”

Haley whirled around. “What is it now, you goofball?”

Jordan sighed deeply. “Listen, er, Haley… if you hadn’t had those Bungee Beans with you… would you have still, erm, gone through with that? Off the roof, that is?”

Haley screwed up her face in thought, staring at a point faraway in mid air. At last, she said quietly, “Yes.”

Jordan felt his insides tie themselves in complicated knots. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could embarrass himself by saying something horribly awkward, Haley skipped away, twirling her own wand and singing to herself as she stuck Rookwood’s inside one of the many compartments of her Pockety Jacket.

For the ridiculously brave only… Jordan shook his head. For once in his life, he didn’t feel like the more talented twin.

* * * * * *

Ivy had been fighting with Lucius Malfoy since nearly the beginning of the battle. It seemed like their duel had been going on since forever, but she still couldn’t get over the strangeness of the situation.

The year was 1998. She would be born in six years, and the man she was now fighting would be one of the first to proudly hold his tiny baby granddaughter. He would love her and send her expensive gifts. She even vaguely remembered him, though he had died when she was three years old. She had called him Granddaddy.

“Stupe�””

“Protego!”

Ivy always fought defensively. She rarely tried to actively attack anyone unless she had to, focusing instead on protecting herself. But she was extremely good at it, and it was infinitely more effective than haphazardly firing curses everywhere.

But even as he attacked her, Malfoy’s eyes traveled across her face, his brows knitting together in confusion. Ivy was sure he could see himself in her�”after all, the resemblance was too great for Lucius to miss. The sleek white blonde hair, the pale complexion, the light grey eyes, the pointed features and angular physiques… the two of them were uncannily similar… at least, physically.

“I’m your granddaughter,” Ivy said quietly, then realizing that Lucius’s only child was her own age back in 1998, she added, “From twenty-three years in the future.”

“You are speaking nonsense,” snorted Lucius, not missing a beat and sending another spell her way, which she promptly deflected.

“You like runny eggs and burnt toast like your old house elf used to make when you were small, but you never admit it outside the family,” said Ivy calmly, blocking yet another spell. “You’ve been terrified of Hippogriffs ever since you went to see the circus when you were four, and you can’t stand the sight of them. You love to dance, and you hate clutter. And if Draco has a daughter someday, she’s going to inherit your great-grandmother Aethonia’s diamond necklace and Narcissa’s mother’s silver tiara.”

Lucius stared at her. “How do you know that?” he hissed.

Ivy’s face was calm. “I’m your granddaughter,” she repeated.

“That’s ridiculous!” Lucius had forgotten to keep fighting now. He was simply standing there looking rather stupid, with his wand arm limp by his side and his mouth slightly agape. “If you were, you’d have no reason to fight against me!”

“But, I do,” Ivy told him in a small, hard voice. Anyone who knew Ivy knew that that voice was bad news�”it was the voice she used when she had no intention of backing down anytime soon. “I’m in Gryffindor. Harry Potter adopted me. My boyfriend is a werewolf. I�””

“Do not mock my family!” spat Lucius, his eyes narrowing. “And Harry Potter will certainly never adopt anyone, because he’s going to die today.”

“Really?” Ivy said politely. “I came back in time to see him defeat Voldemort.”

“You dare�””

“I’m sorry I told you I’m your granddaughter,” said Ivy. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. My brother won’t be happy.” Pink blotches were appearing on Lucius’s cheeks, remarkably like those so often seen on Ivy’s own.

“Is this some sort of joke?” he demanded.

“No,” said Ivy, “But I wish it was.”

“What do you mean?” snarled Lucius. “The Malfoys have all dedicated their lives to preserving the old wizarding traditions! All of these years, not a single blood traitor�””

“Except for me,” Ivy cut him off, and her voice was so low, it was barely audible, but it was harder than granite.

Lucius Malfoy seemed to have realized all of a sudden that people were battling all around him, because he suddenly jolted back to life. But his face was no longer contorted with anger as it had been only moments before. Instead, he looked horribly, hideously cool and collected. He raised his wand. “Crucio,” he said in a flat, detached voice.

Ivy didn’t block this spell. Before she could react, it hit her, knocking her flat onto her back. She felt the white-hot pain beyond imagining surge through every inch of her, curling through her insides, searing her skin, coursing through her veins, and bending her bones. She scarcely recognized the screams that filled the air as her own.

As before, her pain-distorted brain cried out, only one thought remaining in her mind, playing over and over and over again like a soundtrack to her torture. But this time, the thought wasn’t she wanted this to end. She’d endured the Cruciatus Curse before, and she knew there was nothing she could do to guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. No, her one thought was that this was the second time she’d been tortured by a member of her biological family for standing up for herself. She had learned years before that standing up for herself and pain didn’t have to go hand-in-hand. Now she was a full-grown witch, and she knew that the Cruciatus Curse couldn’t break her spirit this time. There was no way she was going to turn back into the shy little shell of a person she’d been after her first exposure to the horrible curse.

But then, that was taking for granted that she would survive this round of torture. It didn’t matter how secure she was in herself�”that wouldn’t stop every fibre of her body from feeling like she was tearing apart. She felt herself trashing and writhing uncontrollably on the ground like a possessed woman, everything blurry through a haze of pain.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and Lucius Malfoy was standing over her, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide with fear, and Ivy knew that he was already regretting what he had done. He was a Malfoy, and obsessed with tradition and blood purity… but all of these were just accessories to his tremendous family pride. He cared for his family more than anything else, would unquestionably and unconditionally love the granddaughter placed in his arms in six years. But this seventeen-year-old girl who claimed to be his granddaughter from the future… he’d had no proof. If she wasn’t a Malfoy, there was nothing at all wrong with putting a Muggle-lover in her place the way he saw it. But if she really had been speaking the truth…

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” whispered Ivy. “You know I’m part of someone’s family.” A dull ache spread through her right leg, which was bent at a strange angle, and she realized that it had to be broken.

Lucius said nothing, but his face was whiter than Ivy’s, and he fled without a single glance back. Apparently, thinking about what he had done was too much for his brain.

Ivy lay back on the ground, feeling exhausted and weak. But, she realized as she listened to her heart pounding in her ears, that she felt much stronger than she had in awhile.

“IVY! IVY!”

It took her a moment to realize that these shouts had blended in with her own cries of pain, had continued since the beginning of her torture. A very familiar shape was running toward her, like a scarecrow impersonating a windmill.

She smiled. She knew that ungainly run, that long and narrow silhouette, and as he drew nearer, she knew that earnest, tired-looking face and those big light blue eyes. But the most familiar thing, the thing she’d recognized before she’d seen him at all was his concerned voice.

Ted squatted down next to her. “Ivy?” he said softly, and his breath was warm on her face.

“I’m…okay,” she replied. “Tired. And my leg has to be broken. But I’ll manage.”

Up close, Ted’s hair was damp and sweaty, clinging to his forehead. She could see the mauled and shredded mess of his right temple through it, the disfiguring souvenir of that werewolf attack over two years before. His nose was bleeding, his t-shirt was torn, he was missing a sneaker, and the palms of his hands were scraped and raw. She wondered how many Death Eaters he’d fought on the way toward her.

“Don’t stand up,” Ted instructed. “Here, I’ll carry you behind that house over there.”

Ivy didn’t protest as he scooped her up, making sure not to touch her injured leg. It wasn’t like the fairy tales where strong, handsome Prince Charming effortlessly carried the beautiful princess away from danger. Ted may have been many wonderful things, but ‘athletic’ was not one of them, and Ivy could tell that she wasn’t easy for him to manage. He nearly dropped her at least four times.

But he was so warm, and it was comforting to hear the steady beat of his heart as she lay against his bony chest. Although he smelled sweaty, he smelled like Ted, reassuring and safe.

“Sorry I’m so heavy,” she said apologetically.

Ted gave her his sheepish, lopsided grin. “You are definitely not heavy,” he assured her. “I’m just so out of shape, I can’t carry anything much bigger than a sandwich, and that’s without the lettuce and tomato.” He set her down behind the house and flopped down next to her. “Not that I ever was in shape, unless you count spaghetti-noodle shaped.”

He brushed Ivy’s fringe out of her face. “I owed it to you, though. Remember last year, you carried me and Arden up and down that ladder at the zoo when we were both wolves and couldn’t climb it? I could tell that wasn’t fun for you.”

Ivy squeezed his hand. “Well, thank you. I feel a lot better now.”

Ted’s friendly face looked disturbed. “Ivy,” he said, and his tone was as serious as she’d ever heard it, “You know I hate it so much when you’re not happy. But, I mean, this was the Cruciatus Curse… I couldn’t stop it, and… it was sick. I’m… really sorry.” He looked sick as he said this, and Ivy knew that not being able to help must have been almost as much torture for him as it had been for her. Ted seemed to have Ivy’s father’s Saving People Disorder�”this was the boy who would willingly jump in front of the worst of attackers just to keep those he cared about out of harm’s way.

“Now you know how it was for me to watch when you got bitten,” Ivy said softly. She looked up into Ted’s face, and she found herself blurting out something she’d never planned to reveal to anyone. “That wasn’t the first time I had to deal with the Cruciatus Curse, though.”

Ted looked as though she’d just told him that she regularly ate chimpanzee sandwiches. “What?” he squawked, sounding fourteen years old again. Ivy almost smiled at the memories, then remembered the much darker ones she was discussing.

“When I was nine, my mo�”Pansy Malfoy, I mean�”she did it because I said it was stupid to hate Muggles,” she said, her voice so quiet that it hardly sounded like a voice at all. “She made me promise I’d never say anything like that again, or I’d get the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ted said nothing. There was nothing he could say to something as shocking and horrific as what Ivy had just told him. So instead, he hugged Ivy, letting her absorb his warmth in the hope that they’d both stop shivering, even though it had nothing to do with the cold at all.

After several quiet moments, Ted broke the silence. “But Ivy, there’s a law and stuff that says using an Unforgiveable Curse on another person gets you life in Azkaban. Why don’t you report her?”

Ivy didn’t answer straight away. At last, she said, “I guess… I’m not her daughter anymore, I know that. But she was still my mother, at least once, and I feel like I can’t turn her in for something she did such a long time ago. I probably won’t ever see her again anyway. I’m past all that now.”

Ted opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say, Ivy never got to hear. Because just then from behind them, a man’s voice said slowly, “Well, well, what have we here?”

* * * * * *

Emma was a force to be reckoned with, fighting double-wanded and fending off both Carrow siblings at once. She was fast, and she was furious, and most importantly, she was ambidextrous.

She was, however, slightly distracted from her duel when she saw a young man in Death Eater robes peer cautiously from behind a nearby house, his pointed face porcelain pale and his white-blond hair disheveled. She recognized the young Draco Malfoy in a heartbeat. But that didn’t concern her. She’d faced an adult Malfoy at the age of fifteen and had come off the better. What concerned her was the dark blur streaking past her like a rogue tornado.

“You!” shouted Tyrone, whipping out his wand and pointing it straight at Draco Malfoy. He moved slowly and menacingly toward him, a vein standing out in his forehead.

Emma was still fighting, but her concentration was no longer in it. Earlier, she’d told Tyrone to pay attention to his own fight, not to her, and now she’d forgotten her own advice.

Tyrone, though, didn’t even glance in her direction. He was facing Malfoy, his face twisted with hate. It was strange how different he looked from the lazy, playfully cocky boy Emma was used to. This Tyrone didn’t look like someone who would wear t-shirts that said things like “DO YOU HAVE THE MIRROR OF ERISED IN YOUR POCKET, BECAUSE I CAN SEE MY HEART’S DESIRE IN YOUR PANTS,” or someone who would charm his skimpy mustache electric blue, or someone who would do crazy tricks on a broomstick after midnight. For the first time, Emma realized how very big he was, how formidable he could look when he wanted to.

“Hello,” he said quietly, and his deep voice was not silky-smooth as usual. It was harsh and dangerous. “My name is Tyrone Thomas. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.”

Emma did not laugh. She watched young Draco blink confusedly, clearly having never killed anyone in his life. Tyrone’s favourite movie was The Princess Bride, and he took it seriously. Other people would have thought Inigo Montoya’s vow to avenge his father’s death at the hand of a six-fingered man was funny. Tyrone saw it as inspiration.

He was drawing his wand, his lips were moving, his eyes harder and colder than Emma had ever seen them.

“You don’t have three arms,” said a low voice from behind her.

Emma’s head whipped around to see a tall woman with long black hair and a cruel, hollowed-looking face. Her heavy-lidded eyes gleamed with vindictive pleasure, anger, and something very much like insanity.

“Even you can’t duel three people at once,” said Bellatrix Lestrange.

Alecto Carrow looked up angrily. “She’s mine, Bellatrix.”

“Oh yes,” replied Bellatrix, laughing, “Because you have clearly done such a wonderful job of killing her already.” Even Emma had to admit that this was a fairly snappy retort. “Why don’t we take a leaf out of the book of these blood traitors’ book and work together.”

Emma wanted desperately to curse her, but infuriating as it was, Bellatrix was right. She didn’t have three arms. If she tried to hex Bellatrix, she’d be leaving herself vulnerable attack from one of the other two sides.

She wished… no, she didn’t wish she had help, she told herself quickly with a glance over toward Tyrone, still locked in combat against a thoroughly terrified-looking Draco Malfoy. It always made her sick when some Noble Prince came to the rescue when the Damsel In Distress was totally capable of saving herself.

She’d seen Ted carrying Ivy across the battlefield, probably trying to be Chivalrous and Gallant, but just looking completely stupid and practically dropping Ivy on her head. She hoped they knew just how idiotic they’d looked.

No, what Emma wished was that she had three arms, plain and simple, but she didn’t. All she could do was try her best and fight harder.

Bellatrix laughed wildly. “Two wands at once,” she said softly. “You are exactly like her.”

“Who?” Emma grunted, dodging two spells at once. It was rather like playing Twister. Thank you Ted and your stupid Christmas present, she thought.

And speaking of Twister, Bellatrix’s thin lips spread into a twisted smile. “Someone I destroyed.”

“Yeah, I figured it was probably something like that,” Emma said, wishing a dragon would swoop down out of the sky and incinerate Bellatrix. She was making it very difficult to concentrate. Sweat was pouring down her face, and her clothes were sticking uncomfortably to her skin, but she couldn’t let her guard down, not for one second.

Unfortunately, Bellatrix still seemed to be in a chatty mood. “Such a pretty girl,” she continued in a dangerously sweet voice. “Brimming with confidence, trying to impress her boyfriend…”

“I am not trying to impress anyone!” snapped Emma.

Bellatrix laughed again, this time maniacally. “Oh, does she have a secwet fancy?” she asked in a horrible high-pitched baby voice. “How sweet.”

Emma gritted her teeth and gripped her wand tighter than ever. If Bellatrix were someone at school, Emma would have already received at least five detentions for doing various horrible things to her, but as long as she was just talking, the important thing was to defend herself from the Carrows.

“You are just like Alice Longbottom,” Bellatrix crowed, dropping the baby voice. “Let’s see how the pretty girl likes this!”

Emma heard a bang and felt a beam of light hit her from behind and braced herself for the impact of the ground. But it never came. Bellatrix cackled hysterically, as Emma squinted in confusion. She felt fine… but something was wrong. She turned her head back and forth… something was definitely wrong. But what was it?”

Suddenly, it dawned on her. She reached slowly up to her head andvfelt it, and in a blaze of terrible shock, she knew what it was.

Her hair, her beautiful long, wavy, auburn hair was gone. All of it. She felt a strange choked noise escape from her mouth as she back of her throat constricting. What kind of a dumb spell was that, anyway? What kind of loony would leave victims totally intact except for their hair?

She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’d always been immensely proud of her hair, and though she knew it sounded vain, she’d taken compliments for granted, always known that most people considered her to be very pretty. She didn’t even want to know what she looked like without her hair, but she was sure that however she looked, it was certainly a far cry from ‘pretty.’

She hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, so distracted was she by the incomprehensible, awful notion that she no longer had any hair. Before she could even register what was happening, curses hit her from all three sides.

Emma yelled something very rude as she hurtled through the air and slammed against a wall twenty feet away with enough force to make her teeth rattle. She slid down the wall and onto the ground, aching all over, but especially on her left side. It tingled in a strange, numb sort of way, and she knew her leg had to be at least as broken as Ivy’s after that impact�”and most likely her arm, as well. But before she had a chance to examine her own injuries, something quite astonishing happened.

Bellatrix, still laughing, was holding two wands as Emma had, and she was slowly approaching Neville and Luna, who had just successfully Stunned a Death Eater. Emma felt a thrill of horror run up her numb arm. Bellatrix had broken her and discarded her like a little girl’s toy and was moving onto something fresh and exciting. It was sick.

Bellatrix was giggling the chirpy little giggle of one who was hopelessly criminally insane. “Back in battle, Longbottom?” she said in her low, cool voice. “Like the Cruciatus Curse and come back for a taste of more? They say ignorance is bliss. Do you want to live happily ever after at St. Mungo’s with your mummy and daddy?”

You’re making fun of insane people? Emma thought furiously. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You’re as nutty as they come.

She looked at the young, round face of the boy who would one day become Professor Longbottom and saw that his eyebrows were contracted and his lips pressed in determination. His face was bright red, and he looked as though he’d like nothing better than to punch Bellatrix in the mouth, but there was not a trace of fear in his expression.

“Oh, that’s a really awful thing to say,” said Luna, her vague expression coming as close to anger as it probably ever had. She was another person who couldn’t exactly talk about madness without speaking from experience, but she wore an expression of serene defiance as she took Neville’s chubby hand in her small, pale one.

Bellatrix cackled again. “Oh, the little girlfriend. Well, isn’t this familiar? The boy and girl always fight together before I destroy them. It doesn’t do any good. Your parents still don’t recognize each other.”

“Shut up,” said Neville quietly.

“What, aren’t you proud of your parents? Don’t you want to be told when you’re lying in St. Mungo’s that you drool like your daddy and you have your mummy’s vacant stare?”

“I will kill you,” said Neville in the same quiet voice.

Emma couldn’t stop staring at the boy. She knew Professor Longbottom as a cheerful, slightly dorky man who wheeled around calmly in his wheelchair, often forgetting little details like the day of the week or once (according to Emma’s not-entirely-reliable cousin Edwin) his trousers. Professor Longbottom would never say anything like that.

But a boy facing the evil woman who had taken his parents away and left him with two empty shells could.

“That is adorable,” said Bellatrix, “But I believe you have it backwards.”

It all happened in a flash. A green flash. She drew both wands, carelessly pointed them somewhere in the vicinity of where Neville and Luna were standing, and shrieked, “Avada Kedavra!”

And somehow, in the split second before the spell made its impact, Neville and Luna jumped in front of one another, ending up exactly where they had been before.

ZAMMM.

The spell illuminated the sky and ricocheted off its targets, hitting Bellatrix squarely in the chest. She fell to the ground in a lifeless, crumpled heap, a gleefully deranged smile still on her lips.

Neville and Luna lay on the ground beside her, their chests rising and falling with shock.

“I’m alive!” gasped Neville.

“Am I?” asked Luna. She didn’t sound like she was joking.

“You, er, look alive to me,” Neville replied cautiously.

“Oh.” Luna nodded. “You see, I couldn’t tell. Everything’s gone black.”

Neville’s head snapped around and he stared at her. Her previously round, silvery eyes were milky white, like twin full moons. “Luna!” he cried. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t even budge and inch. “My legs… why won’t they work?”

Luna did not look particularly shocked. “I expect the Killing Curse bounced off your legs and my eyes and hit Bellatrix Lestrange. Something like that once happened to Harry, you know, only it was his forehead.” She paused. “I’m going to really miss colours.”

“But… but why can’t I stand up?”

“I think the Killing Curse just killed the part it hit,” replied Luna. “But you don’t think it’s nice that we saved each other?”

Neville gave her a nervous smile. “Er… yeah, but, er, Luna…”

Emma stopped listening to the conversation, feeling like an indecent intruder. So this was how it had happened. She couldn’t believe it. Neville and Luna had sacrificed themselves for each other and both lived to tell the tale? Only they never did tell the tale. They kept it completely to themselves.

It was bizarre. Such a thing had only happened once before, when Lily Potter sacrificed herself for her son, and everyone knew about that. Why wasn’t Neville and Luna’s amazing escape from death not just as well-publicized? Everyone knew that Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort in the final battle, and that Neville been paralyzed and Luna blinded. But nobody but those who had been there knew just how it had happened, or who had defeated Voldemort’s chief lieutenant, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Realizing that the Carrows would probably come back to finish her off before long, Emma tried to climb to her feet and test her weight on her injured leg. But for some reason, it wasn’t working at all. She tried again, with still no result. Having just seen Neville do something very similar, she felt dread curling in her stomach.

She tried to raise her arm to feel her leg, but her arm wouldn’t cooperate.

She couldn’t move.

Across the field, Draco Malfoy crashed to the ground, but Tyrone didn’t react. He thundered across the battlefield, looking for all the world like a madman freshly escaped from St. Mungo’s. He vaulted over Rookwood’s motionless form and kicked Bellatrix’s body out of the way without even looking down. It would have been almost funny had the situation been any less serious.

Speaking of serious, it was strange how the usually lazy, laid-back Tyrone could be so intense. His face was frozen and set, but his eyes were blazing with just as much ferocity as Emma’s ever had.

It suddenly struck Emma that he wasn’t stampeding like a manic rhinoceros just for fun. He was rapidly making his way straight toward her. She tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, but only the right side of her body could move at all. Bellatrix’s curse had evidently done more than just smash her up against the wall. She couldn’t eve feel her left side.

She couldn’t be seen like this, weak and defeated and utterly terrified and, most importantly, bald. She couldn’t stand the idea of Tyrone looking at her with pity and revulsion, trying to be polite but unable to hide his disgust. It would be awkward and embarrassing, and it would make everything she was feeling ten times worse.

Because she knew Tyrone, and she knew that he was a flatterer and a hopeless romantic, two traits that were hard enough to stomach even when nothing was wrong. He would try to fool her�”and probably himself�”into thinking that he still liked her, even in her state.

“EMMA!” he yelled, and swore incredibly loudly. “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” he yelled, shoving Harry Potter into a wall in his quest to reach Emma. Emma almost smiled. He was always so loud and dramatic. “What happened to you?” Tyrone said softly, kneeling down on the ground and touching Emma’s face. “Your hair…”

“Leave me alone.”

Tyrone’s expression didn’t change. “If you think I’m really going to leave you alone like this, you’re crazy,” he said. He stared at her without taking his eyes away. Like someone looking at a train wreck, thought Emma.

“What, do you think I can’t take care of myself?” snapped Emma.

“Er, honestly, yeah I do,” said Tyrone. There were tears in his eyes, and it was creepy. “You can’t walk, Emma.”

Emma couldn’t look back at him. It was like looking into the sun. Except looking into the sun made Emma sneeze, and that was one of the few unpleasant sensations she didn’t feel at the moment. “Yeah, I noticed that part, actually,” she said weakly.

But Tyrone sat behind her, encircling her with his arms and supporting her. It was hard not to notice how comfortable it was, even if he smelled revolting and he clearly had no idea where to put his hands.

This was all wrong. There was something horrible about being touched by Tyrone Thomas when she looked so disgusting and pathetic. Emma wanted to escape, but she couldn’t manage it with only one side of her stupid body working.

“Tyrone,” she said, her voice sounding as strange as she felt. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I… it’s not that I’m mad at you. I’m not. It’s just, I can deal with this myself. Stop looking at me. Please.” She tried to get up again, but nothing happened. She gritted her teeth, hating her body’s stubborn wish to embarrass her. “Soon as we get back to the right time, I’ll go to St. Mungo’s and they’ll reverse the spell, no problem. This isn’t a big deal.”

“Too bad,” Tyrone told her matter-of-factly. “I’m sticking around, Em. I’ll help you walk, and if you get too tired, I can carry you.”

Emma snorted. “Oh, please. Did you see Ted do that, trying to be all chivalrous? Guys love to feel like girls need them. Ted looked like an idiot, and Ivy’s way smaller than me.”

Tyrone looked affronted. “Yeah, but that’s Ted. Come on, you know I’m a lot stronger than him. I’d never drop you.” He flexed his biceps in that trying-to-look-subtle way that he was so famous for failing at. But the expression in his eyes was disconcertingly serious, and he was still holding onto Emma’s shoulders. His hands were strong and broad, the undersides a surprising light pink. They reminded her of starfish clinging to a rock.

“Look, why are you even bothering?” blurted Emma. “You don’t need to pretend like I’m the same old Emma. I know as well as you do how I look. I’m just trying to make this easier for you.”

“It’s kind of vain to think people would like you just ‘cos of how you look, isn’t it?” said Tyrone. Emma didn’t say anything, mainly because she was so shocked that Tyrone of all people was talking about vanity. He spent as much time watching himself in the mirror as some people did watching television.

“Come on, Em, you know me. And besides, it’s not that bad. I mean, my dad’s bald, so chances are I will be, too�”and there’s no way I’m letting that get me down. Don’t you think I’d look just as gorgeous without my hair?”

He was babbling now, but Emma didn’t mind. “Yeah… especially the hair over your lip,” she managed. Why did Tyrone always make her feel so comfortable and so awkward all at once?

“Hey, that’s just cold. I’m trying to be mature here. But anyway, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back soon enough.”

“Not mine,” said Emma gloomily, feeling tears begin to prickle ominously in her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was getting all worked up over something as trivial as hair, especially when that particular problem was eclipsed by the much bigger ones of partial paralysis and homicidal Death Eaters. “It was cursed off. It’s gone for good.”

“Oh.” Tyrone was silent for a moment, then prattled on. “Then… well, at least you’ll never have to worry about, you know, bad hair days or anything. Besides, girls are weird. You’re all so crazy about getting rid of all hair�”and in your case, my hair�”except for the bits on their heads and their eyelashes. It’s a time saver this way, right?”

Emma peered closely at him. “You are so acting like Ted,” she said. “Don’t tell me he gave you tips on how to get a girl? Look at you, you might as well be Mr. Sunny-Side-Up Optimist himself.”

“But stronger,” Tyrone made certain to add. “And cuter. Well, except for on full moons, I have to admit Ted wins then.” He looked at Emma with such intensity that it made her eyeballs ache. “For the record, I still think you’re the third best-looking girl I’ve ever seen.”

“What, only third?” Emma said sarcastically, feeling the corners of her mouth twitching.

“After my mum and Robin Wright Penn in The Princess Bride,” explained Tyrone. “Anyway, nothing’s gonna change… well, as long as you’ve still got…” he gestured vaguely toward the region of her chest. Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother smacking Tyrone in the face as she normally would. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t serious… well, not entirely serious, anyway.

He ran a hand across Emma’s head, and the feel of his smooth skin against her bare scalp was strange and embarrassing and sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not gonna lie, Emma, this is going to take a lot of getting used to. It’s still kind of creeping me out. But I’ll get used to it. And it could be worse.”

“How?” exploded Emma.

“Well, for starters, you could be dead!” shouted Tyrone. It was such an abrupt shift in mood that Emma almost jumped.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Not really,” Tyrone said roughly. “In case you forgot, Malfoy murdered my mum. It’s not fun when people you care about die, get it? If you died, I’d kill you!”

“Your logic seems slightly flawed there,” Emma told him, trying to ignore the emotion in his voice. “Anyway, I get what you’re saying, my looks aren’t important, blah blah blah. But last year, you said you liked me because I was all strong and unstoppable, right? Well, guess what? I’m weak. And it looks an awful lot like Bellatrix Lestrange stopped me.” She looked down at the ground, playing with a pebble. “And… what if… what if I’m wrong? What if they can’t fix my arm and my leg with magic and I’m stuck like this forever? Personally, I’d rather she did me in than make me spend the rest of my life being a useless, pathetic cripple.”

“What, like Professor Longbottom?” shot back Tyrone.

Emma gaped. “No, of course I didn’t�””

“Just ‘cause you can’t stand up doesn’t mean you’re weak,” said Tyrone. “Look at Westley from ‘The Princess Bride.’ He couldn’t walk, but he still stormed the castle, and�””

“‘The Princess Bride’ isn’t the Bible,” spat Emma.

Tyrone looked genuinely hurt, his face flushing an odd greenish-lilac. “I never said it was,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re getting the fact that it’s all made up. This is real life. And if they can’t fix me, then I… I can’t do basically anything. I mean, all the stuff you used to like to do with me… I can’t dance with you. I can’t sneak around after curfew. And forget Quidditch�”I was supposed to be captain next year, too. Now I can never play again!”

She remembered how she’d laughed at Jordan’s dramatic I-can-never-play-Quidditch again speech. Now she knew how he felt, and there was nothing funny about it.

“It’s like I said before,” Tyrone told her calmly. “You’d just have to get used to it. Quidditch is all sitting. Once you work out balancing right, you’ll be okay. And I already know you can fly one-handed, remember?”

Emma certainly remembered. How could she forget that first time they’d ridden brooms at midnight, held hands as a ‘teamwork test.’ It had been extremely fun, and even more amusingly, Jordan had gone bonkers the next day when he’d heard about it. Anything that annoyed Jordan was automatically twice as funny.

Tyrone shook his head. “St. Mungo’s is good. They’ll get you back to normal. My aunt deals with this kind of thing all the time. But… if something goes wrong… you know I’m still sticking with you, right?”

She looked up at Tyrone, so ridiculously good-looking and well-built. There was no way she was going to be the fragile, helpless damsel in distress who needed to be rescued by the strong, handsome knight in shining armour.

Tyrone believed in life according to ‘The Princess Bride,’ where the dashing hero saved the lovely but helpless princess and they lived happily ever after. But that wasn’t how the world worked. True love had brought Westley back from the dead. Hadn’t Tyrone realized after his mother died that no amount of love could bring her back, that ‘The Princess Bride,’ was just a story? Didn’t he realize romance was a fairy-tale concept?

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better,” Emma said quietly. “I think you helped, really. But… I think you should go now. I have enough to deal with as it is.”

Tyrone’s face crumpled. “Yeah, great,” he said, and his voice sounded bitter. “I get it. I thought I’d make you feel better, but all I do is annoy you, huh?”

“That’s not what I�””

“You’d think I’d have caught on by now, that you only ever hang out with me because you feel sorry for the poor little boy who’s lost his mummy. That’s why you started talking to me in the first place.” He folded his arms and glared, and once again, he looked very intimidating. Emma’s shoulders were cold where he’d released them. “Typical for big, dumb, conceited Tyrone Thomas, huh? Too stupid and selfish to realize you were just trying to be nice?”

Emma stared at him. He was calling himself stupid and self-centred? Only she was allowed to call him that! “Tyrone, since when have I ever done anything to be nice? Ever?” she exclaimed.

“Of course, you could’ve told me these last three years that you don’t give a Knut about me, but that would wreck your fun, wouldn’t it? You just like to play around with me, right? Because it’s funny to flirt around with someone and get his hopes up and then laugh about it.”

He was getting worked up, and it was making Emma uncomfortable to hear Tyrone talking about getting his hopes up.

“I’ve never flirted with anyone in my life!” she shouted.

“Oh yeah? What do you call holding hands, flying together at midnight, watching movies, hiding out after dark, slow dancing, saying ‘not yet’ when I ask you out? And don’t say you call that pity!”

“That’s… that’s different! And besides, it’s you who’s pitying me because I’m messed-up and useless and everything and you want to be the big hero.”

Tyrone glared at her, and his look was harder than than any that Emma had ever received in her life, which was saying something, seeing as she’d grown up with Jordan. “I’m not here out of pity,” he said. “I’m here because I saw you get hurt and I was scared… I’m still scared. See, at least I’m man enough to admit it. And unlike some people, I’m brave enough to come right out and admit that I…like you. A lot.”

Emma was speechless, but it didn’t matter because Tyrone still had plenty to say. “And you can really be a git, and you’re always making me feel horrible, but I can’t get it into my thick head to stop liking you, even if you can’t stand the sight of me.”

Emma couldn’t stand it anymore. Before she knew what she was doing, she exploded. “What are you, stupid? I’m bloody crazy about you!”

And without thinking, without realizing what she was doing, without even worrying about the consequences, she grabbed Tyrone by the face with her good hand and kissed him. It wasn’t like the perfect kiss at the end of ‘The Princess Bride.’ It was clumsy and awkward and desperate and absolutely amazing.

And Emma didn’t care for a long, suspended moment that she was bald, that she couldn’t move her left side, that not far off, people were still shooting curses back and forth, that she’d let herself give in at last . She should have felt awful in every possible way, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.

When they broke apart, they stared at one another. They weren’t gazing deeply and passionately into each other’s eyes like in the stories… it was more like suddenly realizing, “What the heck did we just do?”

After what seemed like a ludicrously long amount of time, Emma breathed, “Your mustache tickles.”

Tyrone blinked, for the first time in quite awhile. “Emma…” he said softly. “I thought you said you denied the existence of my mustache…”

“I think I denied the existence of lots of stuff,” Emma replied, and suddenly burst into tears.

Tyrone looked very taken aback, clearly astonished by Emma doing several incredibly un-Emmalike things in a very short span of time. “Are, uh, your eyes really, really sweaty?” he asked gently.

“No, I’m crying, you idiot!” Emma exclaimed gleefully, now laughing and crying at the same time. She’d thought that being strong meant never showing signs of weakness, but maybe that wasn’t always the case. Maybe she’d been unbelievably stupid for the last several years. Maybe being a strong person meant being brave enough to admit she’d been wrong. And… maybe Tyrone really did have a mustache.

Tyrone cupped her chin in his hands. “You really scare me sometimes,” he whispered softly.

“And you really annoy me sometimes,” Emma replied tenderly. “Want to snog some more?”

“You have to ask?”


* * * * * *

Ted looked up into the face�”if you could call it that�”of a massive Death Eater wearing a terrible grin. From where he was sitting, the man looked impossibly huge. His robes were torn and stained, his graying black hair and beard matted, his fingernails were curved talons, and his teeth were yellow and pointed and, in the case of several of them, missing altogether.

But it was his face that was the most terrifying. It was slashed and shredded and hopelessly mutilated, such a cruel parody of a face that it made Bill Weasley look as perfect as Tyrone Thomas by comparison. One eye was missing and sealed shut with crusted blood, a spider web of scars criss-crossing over it. His nose was smashed over to one side of his face, his ears tattered, and huge chunks of his lips and cheeks were entirely missing, exposing swollen red gums beneath. He moved in a strange way, half bent over and with tentative steps as though unused to walking on two legs. His one eye was yellowed and bloodshot, the blue iris cloudy and scummed over, but distinctly wild-looking nonetheless.

He sniffed the air, his distorted nostrils inflating, and stopped uncomfortably close to Ted, looking him up and down with his single eye. Ted could smell the blood on the man, and he could feel his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam’s apple. He grabbed Ivy’s hand tightly. He knew exactly what this man was.

“This is the last place I expected to find you,” the man said. “I’ve been following your scent across the battlefield, and I find you enjoying private time with a female companion. How quaint.”

His voice was a strange surprise, rather high-pitched and fussy-sounding. Ted had been expecting more of a growl, and words of greeting more along he lines of “Oi’m gonna eatcha!” This man reminded Ted of Anatoly Capshaw gone bad.

“So you’re the young werewolf. Nearly seventeen, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not,” said Ted very cautiously, exchanging frightened, confused glances with Ivy�”though his were rather less frightened and confused. At least he understood why his age mattered.

“Please don’t hurt him,” said Ivy quietly.

The man stared at her for a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You are clearly very confused. I would certainly never hurt this boy. I merely find it intriguing to converse with my own kind.”

“You’re a werewolf, too?” asked Ivy.

Ted was quite surprised that she couldn’t tell from the start. The man was the most wolfish person Ted had ever met, and he had a certain smell about him beneath the stench of blood that Ted recognized all too well. He’d smelled it on his father, and he was beginning to smell it on himself, and this man’s smell was hundreds of times stronger. Ted’s nose was getting keener the closer he got to his birthday.

“I am, in fact,” said the man, “although I personally would find it a bit obvious. My name, incidentally, is Cassius Balthazar, and I’m sure the others in my pack will find a good place for a nice young lad like yourself.”

“Thanks, but I think normal, er, wizard society’s good enough for me,” Ted said uneasily.

Balthazar laughed, but not particularly unpleasantly. “That is adorably optimistic,” he said. “But trying to live like a human only causes unnecessary pain. We don’t have anything as petty and trifling as laws. Killing is not frowned upon. We don’t have to wear clothes. And we go hunting everyday, even when it’s not a full moon. I bet you’ve never been hunting in your life, you poor puppy.”

Ted had never been addressed as a puppy before, and he sincerely hoped he never would be again. “That just doesn’t sound like my kind of place,” he said politely. “I mean, I’m like the biggest goody-goody in the school. I really don’t think I have the body for running around without anything on. And… I definitely don’t eat people. Honestly, the idea grosses me out.”

“That, my friend, is your human side talking,” sighed the other werewolf. “In a few weeks, your wolf side will be in control, and then you’ll see things quite differently. In fact, I can tell, your wolf side is so strong already. I’m surprised you haven’t snapped, as they say. I’ll save a place for you should your mind change… literally…”

Ivy looked unflinchingly into Balthazar’s ruined face. Ted wondered how she could gaze so steadily at such a mess when she could barely even bring herself to glimpse his mangled forehead. “Ted has never felt like anything but a human before,” she said stiffly. “No matter what he looks like. Even when he’s a wolf. Isn’t that right, Ted?”

Ted remained silent, looking down at his hands with embarrassment.

“Ted?” Ivy repeated quietly.

“Werewolves turn violent when we come of age,” Ted blurted. “We start changing the year before we turn seventeen. He’s right, sometimes I forget I’m a person�”I jumped at Charybdis Nott that one time. I have some weird moments sometimes. But dad says I can learn to control myself, just like my first transformation, and he’s fine. He says I’ll get used to it.”

He expected Ivy to nod in silent understanding, or for her to hug him and say that it didn’t matter, that he would always just be Ted to her. But she didn’t, and her eyes were hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, and her voice was as close to confrontational as Ivy could get. “I thought something was wrong, but I trusted you to tell me.”

“I didn’t want you to worry!” exclaimed Ted. “You worry so much anyway. I wanted to get this under control, before I went and told you about it.”

“But you worry about me,” said Ivy. “I’m always honest with you about what’s bothering me. I can handle things, Ted, and you know it. You were scared I wouldn’t like you anymore if I knew.”

“That’s not true!”

Balthazar smiled his disgusting smile, watching this little scene play out. Ivy was using her dangerously small, hard voice, and Ted’s light blue eyes were wide with bewilderment.

“People you tell will be frightened of you. People you don’t tell will feel betrayed,” he sighed in a mock-tragic sort of way. “It’s a terrible predicament. I personally don’t understand it. After all, we’re lucky. I myself am much happier living as I do. Only werewolves have the freedom to live like wolves, with wolfish senses and intuition but retain the intelligence of human beings. Humans are only frightened of us because they’re intimidated. They’re so used to being the top of the food chain that they get dreadfully peevish when you eat just one or two of them.”

He giggled, a weirdly shrill sound. “I can think like a wolf and express it and understand it like a man. It’s not being a werewolf that’s taken everything away from you. It’s being a werewolf in a human world.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Ted.

Balthazar giggled again. “Did you know that I’m only thirty-one? I was bitten just a few weeks after I graduated from Hogwarts. I enjoyed a stint as Prefect, and naturally, always got top marks. I was on the Quidditch team. I was also incredibly good-looking. Me.” He gestured toward his devastated face. “You were bitten on the forehead. You can cover it up. It’s not quite as simple when it’s one’s entire face that’s been turned into a pound of mincemeat.” He looked at Ted thoughtfully. “You probably weren’t such an unfortunate-looking young chap when you were bitten, were you? Even without the scars, no one can go through transformation every month and still look good. People care about looks. Werewolves don’t.”

“Hey, I am not unfortunate-looking,” said Ted, who almost felt like laughing. He knew he wasn’t gorgeous by anyone’s standards, but he wasn’t exactly a gargoyle, either.

Balthazar shook his hideous head. “You really think you’ll go on living like a normal teenager after you turn seventeen. As much as I have to admire your attitude, and as much as I hate raining on your Werewolf Pride parade, you’ll be much happier as a wolf. I tried to deny it as well, and all I got was a divorce, internal conflict, a pink slip, and the screams of frightened children. I don’t want to see another wolf go through what I did.”

“You’re in league with Voldemort,” pointed out Ivy.

“Of course I am! Of course we all are! He’s the only one who will give us jobs. Quite ironic, isn’t it, how the ‘good side,’ the side that supposedly is not obsessed with blood purity, won’t look at us twice, when the Dark Lord employs us? He understands we can’t survive without eating people and uses it to his advantage.”

Ivy and Ted exchanged glances. Balthazar seemed so convinced that he was talking sense, and the tone of his voice made him sound like an intelligent, well-informed gentleman. But he talked about killing and eating people as though it couldn’t be avoided. Ted knew it was possible to be a werewolf without eating anyone, and he wasn’t at all impressed.

“You’ve never killed anyone, have you?” Balthazar asked in his matter-of-fact voice. “Come close, undoubtedly, but you’ve never actually killed?”

He didn’t wait for Ted to answer. Ted almost felt offended until he came to his senses and realized that this was a good thing.

“You will,” said Balthazar reassuringly. It was laughable and maddening at the same time that he would be reassuring about something like that. “If you’re living with your equals, it’ll be a stranger. There won’t be any consequences, except perhaps the satisfaction of a good square meal. At Hogwarts? At home? There’s a very good chance it’ll be someone you care about. And no one else will be quite as understanding as me.”

“My dad’s a werewolf. He can control himself�”he’s never killed anyone, ever,” Ted said staunchly, feeling like a broken record. He couldn’t believe that practically all he was doing in this battle was talking about being a werewolf. He hadn’t expected it here, of all places.

Balthazar snorted disbelievingly, but it was a polite snort. “Your father taught you to hold it in. It’s rather like plugging up a hose with one finger. When you let your guard down and explode, I’ll assure you it’s much worse than it would be otherwise.”

It was then that Ted realized how many dead bodies on the battlefield hadn’t been destroyed by a painless killing curse. All too many were gnawed and bloodied, their flesh ripped away. Ted was sure that Balthazar had calmly eaten at them as one would a slice of pizza. And there wasn’t any anger or aggression involved�” this was standard behaviour for Balthazar.

Ted shuddered. He couldn’t begin to imagine himself doing anything like that. He had parents and older siblings and teachers and friends and Ivy, who all knew him so well, had known him since before he’d become a werewolf. The worst part of the concept of joining Balthazar was imagining the horrified and grief-stricken expressions on their faces when they learned what their little Teddy had done. It would never happen, not in a million years.

“You are a monster,” said Balthazar, jolting Ted from his reverie. He didn’t say this like it was a bad thing.

“Covering it up doesn’t make you any less of one. The sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be. I’ve met puppies like yourself before, and their endings are never pretty. Better to accept that you’re not human anymore and you’ll never be human again, and there’s no reason why you should try to dress up and play pretend like you’re one. One day, it will all catch up with you. Everyone has a breaking point.”

Suddenly, he grabbed Ivy by the waist and dragged her toward him. She screamed, but Balthazar looked unfazed. He was used to ignoring screams of terror. “How would you like it, girl, if your boyfriend attacked you?”

“My name is Ivy.”

Balthazar laughed. “Well, then, Ivy. Suppose you two lovebirds were alone together when Ted got a little… over-excited in the heat of the moment and accidentally tore you limb for limb? No one would hear you scream, would they? It seems a bit foolish to me.”

Ted couldn’t remember ever feeling so small before, despite the fact that face to face, he was actually at least half a head taller than Balthazar. He was shaking. “Let go of her,” he said, but his voice sounded weak. How could Balthazar say something like that? He could never hurt Ivy. He only hoped she realized that.

Ted had always thought that Malfoy had been the evilest person he’d ever met, though Charybdis Nott and Pansy Parkinson were not too far behind. But now he had to reconsider.

Cassius Balthazar, for all of his affected mannerisms, was eviler than Ted could have imagined any human being becoming. And what made him so evil was that he didn’t think of himself as such. He had no morals, no qualms, and no idea that anything he was doing was wrong.

“It will happen,” continued Balthazar. He had moved one of his hands around Ivy’s throat, the other still wrapped around her waist. He was too strong for her to get away, but she didn’t look scared. She looked angry and offended, and most importantly, she looked Ted full in the eye.

“Best not to sugarcoat things. One day very soon, you will snap. You won’t be able to push it back anymore. And without even thinking, without remembering that you were ever human, you will kill someone with your teeth and your claws and anything else you can use.” Balthazar’s voice was rising and falling in an eerie, hypnotizing cadence.

“You never thought to tell Ivy that there was more to being a werewolf than transformations? Not even a fair warning? She wouldn’t know to get away before you could hurt her. Was that your plan all along, to lure her into your trap? or are you really that stupid and idealistic? In either case, it’s best to cure both of you of any delusions. There has been so much bloodshed already today, I can’t say I’ll be very surprised if you kill for the first time today.”

And Balthazar was right. Because just then, he whispered, “Poor, poor, Ivy. Let’s just put her out of her misery already, shall we?” and went straight for her throat.

Ted felt as though his brain had burst like a balloon, splattered uselessly across the inside of his skull. The anger and hatred that had been building in him since Balthazar had begun to speak coursed through his veins like poison.

He screamed… but his scream was more of a roar, and his roar more of a growl. He was blind and he was deaf, and there was nothing but the filthy teeth so close to Ivy’s neck…

Ted threw himself at Balthazar, catching him off guard, and knocked him to the ground. He may not have been strong, but he was angry and afraid, and that more than made up for muscles. He felt his fingernails rip through the man’s robes and into his chest, and everything was distorted by red clouds of hate…

Ted was splayed across Balthazar’s broad torso, the massive werewolf flat on his back on the ground. Ivy was crouched nearby, and Ted could see that she was crying silently. Her neck was red, but the skin wasn’t broken at all�”Ted had stopped Balthazar in time. Gradually, Ted’s breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed, and the pulsating redness behind his eyes dissipated.

He couldn’t believe he’d thrown himself at such a big, powerful man�”a full-grown werewolf, no less�”and lived to tell the tale, much less managed to tackle him to the ground. But he had tried to hurt Ivy… and he had suggested that Ted would do even worse to her… and that Ted didn’t really care about her. Balthazar had located all of Ted’s buttons and pushed them in succession.

“Erm… sorry…” said Ted lamely, getting up. He was horrified, shaking from head to foot. Balthazar would not take kindly to Ted’s little display, and he knew he could expect to be chased and, if caught, eaten on the spot.

But Balthazar didn’t stir.

Ted looked down and immediately felt every hair on his body stand on end and every drop of his blood freeze in his veins. Balthazar’s head had struck a sharp, pointed rock. The ground around him was splattered with blood and brains in a thick pink ooze, like a strawberry milkshake, and it was spilling fast. The sickly-sweet stink of death permeated the air.

Cassius Balthazar was dead…and Ted had killed him.