Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In (Harry Potter)

Chapter 22:

Top of the "DNFW" List​

---

Every sense he had was screaming at him to run. But sense was in short supply for him in the heat of a real fight. His expanding magical field could feel every sharp edge of the kappa beneath the water. Tooth, claw and spine alike. That was despite the horrible stench or rot and sewage and adrenaline high breaking his concentration. Which didn't even get into the blinding rage slowly creeping through his veins.

That grenade had really pissed him off. Even more than the ruination of his brand new robes.
"Professor Morrigan." Said the brick house Indian guy. "We have orders to take you in alive or dead. We would prefer to avoid bloodshe..."

Harry interrupted his peace offering with a barrage of wandlessly, and motionlessly, transfigured blades of ice from the rancid pool between him and his foes. While they were distracted by the ice blades Harry reached into the water and grasped the first brave kappa to try and take a bite out of him. Holding it by the neck, he raised it up to serve as a body shield as he backed away into a side tunnel, ignoring the attempts it made to maul him. The return fire of 5.56 rounds were more than up to the task of shredding the struggling reptile, but not enough to penetrate and continue into Harry himself.
He threw the dead kappa back into the water where the rest of his school bared down upon him like a swarm of piranhas. It didn't need to be human blood to excite them into a swarm.

"Hollow points? Really? Did the discount munitions store sell you a box of Kolibri cartridge condoms to go with those?!" Harry taunted as he turned the corner, coating the entire tunnel with a flammable glisseo charm as he did so.

He heard the telltale sound of a magazine ejection and replacement and knew he could expect armor piercing rounds to come his way in the not-too-distant future. Good boy.

Harry slid down the suddenly slick tunnel floor, making sure to transfigure the ground behind him needle like blades behind him at an angle as he went.

As he turned yet another corner he felt, too late, the flapping of wings and the sharp pain of talons digging into his shoulder as a fresh barrage of bullets, and a killing curse, passed through the air he had just occupied. So one of them was holding back the kappa while the others focused on killing/capturing him. Unfortunately for Harry the eagle animagi transformed back into human form and went from ten pounds of feather and hollow bones to two hundred and fifty pounds of raw muscle. Which was a bit beyond the bench-press limit of a scrawny Quidditch player who hadn't trained in weeks.

Yeah, Harry lost that ten picosecond judo match and he lost it decisively. He also decided he didn't like the taste of the rot-crusted floor and so he summoned the recently reclaimed Elder wand to his hand and started with the cheating. He was a wizard after all. Why fight with fists and body weight when you can transfigure and animate stone into a much more efficient fist?

Even without a full charge the gamblers wand overpowered the rocky fist he carved out of the ceiling by quite a lot and the crunch of shattering bone made him regret not sticking to wandless magic. That was a bit too much force, and he hadn't wanted to kill anyone today. But with the transfiguration slot down he threw an animation charm at the inanimate fist while wandlessly reshaping it into a large anaconda of stone using his off hand.

"Guard." Harry ordered in parseltongue, not caring if his would-be assassins heard him and reported it to their master.

Speaking of, in slid the blonde American man. He must have lost his Ak-47 in his struggle with the kappa swarm, judging by the third of a kappa still latched onto his back. He took a second to regain his feet, having clearly not expected the hallway to be slicker than a particularly lustful mermaid at a Muggle body builder pageant, nor to be lined with thousands of sharp, thin needles. Jesus, was he messed up or what?

Harry had to give it to the man. He was a trooper. Or more accurately, a ranger, for he drew from his inner jacket a revolver with a barrel easily as long as Harry's forearm.

Compensating for something there cowboy?

Turns out, yes, he was compensating for something. And that something was the extreme recoil of firing a .600 Pfeifer-Zeliska round with enough force to penetrate both the stone serpent barrier as if it were butter and nearly take Harry's arm off at the bicep.

Oh, you better believe it hurt. And the pain wasn't helped at all by Harry's ability to feel every torn muscle fiber and sinew through his expanded senses.

Being left with his left hand Harry switched over the elder wand and with a single swish and sent toward his foe a single spark. Not a torrent of flame, not even an ember. No. Just a spark, for that was enough to ignite the entire hallway of flammable conjured grease and set the bloodied man aflame. The bright yellow heat and deafening sound made as it ignited caused the entire ceiling to cave in. The fact that Harry had taken so much material from it for his transfigurations probably had something to do with that.

Speaking of, that single bullet had done as much damage to the stone serpent as it had to Harry's arm, and so he wandlessly finished the job and transfigured it into two serpent's before turning the gamblers wand onto himself.

A quick emergency medical charm, one that filled wounds with a thick foam to stem bleeding, was all he had time to perform before the previously forgotten animagi put him in a chokehold from behind. It was a good chokehold too, one that didn't construct airflow but was most certainly cutting circulation. He had seconds to get out of it at most.

"Rip!" Harry ordered in parseltongue, not needing to work nearly as hard to enunciate in the language of snakes as in English. "Tear!"

The twin snakes obliged, and the next thing Harry knew the Indian man was torn in twain, his spine like putty to the might of his animated constructs. It wasn't as bloody of a sight as one would imagine. Injuries like that were more... meaty, than bloody. And organ-y.

Harry shook his disturbed state off and took the moment of respite to finish casting the three most important medical charms, a disinfectant and numbing spell complimenting the foam muscle charm. But before he had time to bandage it and conjure a sling a fist made full on contact with his good shoulder, the knuckle of his assailants thumb digging right into the brachial plexus and making his entire arm go numb and limp. An advanced a very deliberate martial arts technique.

Harry wasn't thoroughly educated on martial arts terminology, but he believed the word for somebody who had both arms disabled and bereft of weapons was "fucked."

Mouth, hip, mouth again, solar plexus and cheek bone. On and on came the punches, compliments of the angriest-looking Filipino man Harry ever did saw. And he just didn't stop. For nearly half a minute this man used Harry, or more accurate his jaw and chest, as a punching bag to practice his Jeet Kune Do as if he were hitting a speed bag. Short, circular movements, never bringing his fists back behind his elbows. Suffice to say, he was kicking Harry's ass.

Then came the tunnel vision. The edge of his peripherals went dark, and all that was left was deep crimson. Anger. Retribution. A deep, insatiable need for satisfaction.

He spat in the mans face. A thick mixture of blood, gums and broken teeth. He followed it up by bringing their foreheads together with enough force to nearly break Harry out of his rage. Nearly.
The air. It was full of magic. And magic was his. He was magic's master, it obeyed his will, but his will was no longer his to control for rage had taken him. He compressed it. Forced it upon his enemy. Suffocated him with it. Crushed him with it. And as it tightened, coiled, choked and oppressed Harry grabbed the man by the throat with his still numb hand and, aided by the aerosolized magic, slammed him into the ground. Then he slammed him into the wall. Then he slammed him into the wall again. And again. And again. And again.

He smashed the man's face into the wall so many times that he soon no longer had a face left to smash. And very little skull.

Throwing him aside he stretched his senses to find the Hispanic slag that had dared to throw that grenade at him and felt her approaching around a corner.

Reaching out his good arm he focused on where she would soon be and cast... not a spell. Not even magic, as such. What came from his fist was like a condensed, tangible incarnation of his current frame of mind. It was not a pretty thing, all coils and thorns. It shaped all it touched in the same way his episode in that forest had effected the rocks, trees and unfortunate animals caught in it.

Ghillie Dhu screeched down the hallway out and away from Harry, and when his final living assailant turned out just like the other living things in the forest of Dean those two nights ago. The gruesome display of flesh, bone and organs becoming one with the stone and filth around her was enough to bring an end to Harry's state of madness, only to enter a state of proper shock.

And that was when the Aurors finally showed up. Useful as always.

---

"And finally, incisor number two." The Auror field medic said as she set the seventh tooth back into Harry's jaw.

He was thankful for the painkillers inuring him to what would otherwise be the most painful dental procedure of Hary's life, but not so much for the sensation of the gums repairing and being molded that somehow got past the potion. It was... yeah, shudder-worthy is a good word to describe it.

"Broken nose and jaw. Shattered cheekbone. Five cracked ribs. A caved in sternum. Eight missing teeth and your tricep is minced meat. How in the world are you still conscious?!" The middle-aged woman demanded.

A few minutes ago Harry might have cried at the question, but now? Opium-based potions do wonders for emotional distress.

"If I had a knut for every time somebody asked me that I... well I wouldn't be a particularly rich man, but I sure would have a few more sickles to my name." He joked with a chuckle.

It hurt to laugh. Even with her excellent work on numbing the pain of his shredded and bruised torso. At least everything now was back in its places. And wrapped up. But even magic had its limit and it was going to be a loooong recovery. Especially so for the arm when she was done with it.

Very tricky healing magic there. Reconnecting muscles one fiber at a time. Or ten at a time. Or a hundred at a time depending on the type of damage and skill of the healer. Doubly impressive to have done it without Harry feeling a thing. Not even the process itself. Although that may have been due to the freezing charm she threw at the shredded mass before getting started.

"There. I've reconnected all of the tissue in your arm." She said. "With proper protein intake and regenerative potions you'll have use of your arm again within a week."

"And your happy me time need not know the interruption." Came a familiar growl.(AN-1)

In his doped up state Harry couldn't help but give the old grizzled Auror a goofy smile. God, but was it good to see him in the flesh again.

"I meet the younger Alastor at last." Harry said. "Chalk today up as failure to keep constant vigilance on my part."

That small moment of joy left him drained and he collapsed back into the stretcher he'd been placed in.

"Younger Alastor?" Moody asked.

"Alastor Marchbanks?" Harry offered.

"Ah. Him I know." Moody grumbled, before turning to the mediwizard. "Is he in good enough condition to be brought in?"

"Brought in?!" The mediwizard said, aghast on Harry's behalf. "This is the most clear-cut case of self-defense I've ever seen in my life!"

"Oh I have no doubt about that, but he still killed three of his assailants and needs to at least be debriefed and held overnight." Moody countered. "We need to at least finish the preliminary investigation to find out if his choice of force was justified. I have no doubts it will come back in his favor and we won't have to charge him."

The mediwizard grumbled and Harry felt gratitude towards the stranger. It was weird how people Harry barely knew tended to argue on his behalf just as vociferously as his age-old allies. He had that kind of effect on people.

"But yes." The mediwizard confirmed. "He's safe to transport."

And so that's how Harry wound up spending his Saturday night in the ministry holding cells. It wasn't so bad. Sure, his arm was in a sling and half his torso was bandaged up, but he was high as a kite on pain killers and had rather talkative company.

"Why did you go so easy on us at first?" Asked the mummy in the cell next to him.

Harry looked at Mr BigIron, as he'd taken to calling the one surviving would-be assassin, and realized the needles combined with the fiery grease spell might have been a little overboard.

"For the same reason I don't use blasting curses or fiendfyre on rowdy teenagers." Harry explained. "Without a hint of hubris I can honestly say that I am that much stronger and more experienced of a fighter than all four of you combined."

Mr BigIron turned his head, which must have taken no small amount of effort, and seemed to consider the boast. He eventually nodded.

"I believe it. If you hadn't lost your cool, and taken us a bit more seriously from the start, I'm sure we would have all made it out of there alive." He said.

That stung. But it was true. If he had taken off the kid gloves at the start he would have been better able to escalate the fight more appropriately. Incapacitated them with a more even hand.
"I'm sorry your friends died today." Harry sighed, sobering at an uncomfortable pace.

"Colleagues." The man corrected. "In our line of work we are very careful not to get too attached to one another. We go so far as to avoid even lunch or drinks during or after work."

Smart.

"And what exactly is your line of work?" Harry asked.

"We're everything." He admitted. "Mercenaries, assassin's, grave robbers. If you pay us, we're your bitch. And your Dark Lord paid us."

Harry nodded. The answer only confirmed the obvious suspicions.

"So were we a test?" Mr BigIron asked. "Are you, like, his prospective successor or something?"
Harry looked at him with confusion.

"You fight a lot like him. And you're a parseltongue, you even talk like him a little." He explained. "And we clearly weren't enough to take you out, but enough to push you."

An odd line of reasoning. It was plausible. But Voldemort would have had no way of knowing his status as a parseltongue, or his power as a wizard. Until now he would have merely expected him to be at or near the level of a Bellatrix Black, or Arianna Figg. Formidable. Worth recruiting. But not a threat. That just changed. They had both submitted memories of their battle to Alastor. Soon, his status as a parseltongue and one of the deadliest fighters in the country would reach everyone.

"No I think he expected you to take me out." Harry answered honestly. "I must have unwittingly stepped on his toes harder than I intended."

Mr BigIron snorted.

"Clearly he, and we, didn't do our diligent research on you." He said. "My solicitor has already sent a letter off to the league to update your status and put you at the top of the DNFW list."

"DNFW list?" Harry had to ask.

"Do Not Fuck With."

That got a laugh out of him. Harry quite liked that.

"Oh by the way, since you're going away for a long time can I have that revolver of yours?" Harry asked.

Mr BigIron raised a non-existent eyebrow at him.

"Do you have twenty grand USD laying around?" He asked.

Harry did the math of calculating that in British pounds and converted it into galleons in his head and balked.

"I do, but it's proprietary money." Harry admitted. "And I don't think I can justify it as a business expenditure. Looks like you'll need to fund your legal defense by some other means."

A moment of silence followed his pronouncement.

"Drat." Said the American.

---

Dumbledore wished he could say this was the first time he'd ever wasted a Sunday morning getting one of his professors out of jail. Hell, it wasn't even the first time he spent a Sunday getting one of his professors out of jail who didn't deserve to be there. But he was happy to do it, particularly for this one.

"You're free to go Professor Morrigan." The guard leading him to Hadrian's cell said through the bars.
The sorry state of the man who stepped out surprised Albus. From the sling to the singed and filthy robes to the exhausted and defeated face. The appearance was unbecoming of him.

"Thank you Albus. Do I have any pressing Hogwarts related tasks to deal with or can I go be with those most worried about me?" Hadrian asked pitifully.

The usual cheer and mischievousness gone from his voice.

"You are free to go Professor Morrigan." Albus said. "I hope you manage to return to your usual self by your class tomorrow. Fortunately its a late one. Three pm."

Hadrian smiled through his bandages and limped past him to the door, led by the guards. He made to follow but was stopped by Alastor.

"We need to talk." He said, before leading him out of the holding cells area.

The tone he used told Albus that his old friend was not happy with him and that this would be a purely professional meeting. Down a hallway and into an evidence room they went. There, sat upon a desk between a host of magical measurement instruments, was the elder wand.

He felt a slight panic before realizing the same wand was still in his pocket.

"Chief Warlock." Greeted the forensic specialist behind the desk. "A suspect in an altercation earlier today submitted to authorities a wand registered in your name. As such, we have questions."
Albus retrieved his own wand from within his robes and cast a Lumos with it to confirm - more to himself than the Aurors itching to arrest and question him - that it was real.

"Not as many question as I have, I assure you." Albus countered.

"Would you be willing to bet on that?" Alastor Moody countered as he pulled out two vials filled with the telltale silver of memories.

Albus followed him to a pensive where the mystery of Hadrian Morrigan expanded to the size of Jupiter. He lost an entire galleon to the grizzled Auror that day. He really needed to crack down on the gambling problem amongst himself and his staff. It was getting expensive.

---

Bellatrix and her sisters, both of them, were there to greet him at the atrium and kept him company for the two hours of stalling the guard put him through before giving him back his personal items.

It was nice seeing the three black sisters together for the first time, and to meet Narcissa in person. Even if he couldn't shake her broken hand. She was rather obstinate about not telling them how she broke it. But he liked the self-satisfied look on her face.

But between yelling at the guard and doting on him Harry felt rather loved in that time as he sat at a branch between Bella and Dromeda, dozing off and on.

Soon enough Narcissa was excusing herself and her sisters were tentatively guiding him back to the Tonks household where Teddy was waiting with a full spread of food. He barely managed to eat anything at all, what with it being well past midday and the pain potions fast wearing off.

And so, he ended the bizarre rollercoaster of a weekend by eating his fill and going to sleep on Bella's lap. Spending a third night in a row on a couch instead of a bed.

---

"This way." Commanded the goblin liaison.

Albus followed him to the room of tranquility. A no man's land where enemies could meet on neutral ground.

Severus and Alastor walked on either side of him for protection. Soon they came upon a door in front of which stood two fully-cloaked and masked Death Eaters. Albus would have to ask Severus which they were based on the ornamentation later.

"Wand please." Commanded the goblin.

"I did not bring it." Albus told the goblin. "I brought them along for that."

"They may not enter with you." The goblin said.

"I am aware. Severus, Alastor, keep these two company." Albus instructed. "And please, be civil."
With his order given he was allowed into the room of tranquility where a table framed by two dozen fully armed goblin knights seated him. At the opposite end of the comically long table sat Tom Riddle himself.

He stood in greeting and gave the customary bow, which Albus returned.

"Albus. We have much to discuss." Voldemort greeted.

"Indeed." Albus confirmed, before taking in his foe's appearance. Was that a glamour over the left side of his face?

"Are you trying to hide a shiner there?" Albus asked with a chuckle, not able to help himself.
Tom let out a long-suffering sigh.

"You didn't seem to notice my attempts at covering up such markings when I was a student, hopefully you've learned to better spot abuse and bullying in your students since then." Tom said.

It was a fairly long-winded way of saying "fuck you", but Albus got the message.

They took their seats and were served spinach fettuccine and sparkling wine to start their first course.
"So, Albus. Who is this Morrigan fellow?" Voldemort started as he coiled his first bite around a fork using a spoon.

Albus took a sip of the sparkling wine before answering.

"I was hoping you could tell me." Albus retorted before starting on the food himself.

Tom finished chewing his bite before responding with yet another question.

"Why would I know anything at all about him? I only just returned to England and you've employed him." Tom said. "All I know of him is secondhand, and I sent that quartet to determine if he was a threat. Clearly he is."

Albus couldn't quite tell if the other man was being intentionally officious or was as confused as him. Perhaps it was best to not tiptoe around one another with the usual metaphorical dick-measuring contest? Cards on the table it was.

"Is he not your time-traveling son from the future?" Albus finally asked.

---

(AN-1)
- This joke shameless stolen from the excellent abridged of One Punch Man by STM Voicing. Abridged series are a beautiful thing people.

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Chapter 23:

Rank Speculation​

---

Here they sat, his most trustworthy and decorated generals. Ironic that they were also his most competent teachers. Save for one.

Severus Snape, Minerva McGonnagal, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, Alastor Moody, and Rebecca Pomfrey. All deep in thought. All disturbed by the pensieve memory he had just shared with them. A secondhand memory, a memory of a memory, his recollection of his time in Alastor's pensieve. It was sufficient.

"Do we know what happened after the second memory cut off?" Pamona asked.

Indeed, the memory Hadrian submitted under questioning had not been intact. High emotions and trauma can damage memories, permanently, and professor Morrigan's cut off around the time his fifth tooth got knocked out and they had been unable to see anything past that save a blur of violence. The sole surviving assassin's memory cut off around the time he got scorched by the explosion. Although impressively enough, he had clung onto consciousness, fading in and out, all through the rest of the fight and both memories showed Morrigan's impressive use of parselmagic.

"Yes. He seems to have blacked out, but he killed the remaining two assailants with brute force and desperate uncontrolled magic." Moody explained. "He was barely alive after the fact, and deeply regretted having to kill them."

They returned to their own thoughts. A dangerous place to dwell, as Albus knew from experience.
"I would like to hear your theories." He goaded them. "Mine are a bit outlandish and I'm hoping you might have some that are more down to earth."

Interestingly enough, Pomona took the lead.

"The last known wizard of the Morrigan line was Hephaestus back in 1818, right?" She asked.

"That is correct." Severus confirmed without a moment's hesitation.

"And his line ended when he married a young lady of the Gaunt line, and they famously sired a smooth dozen squibs, ending the lineage." She continued. "So him being their descendant of the squib line, a muggleborn born of their descendants, would explain the parseltongue."

Albus nodded, but didn't comment. The convenience of this family history smacked less of plausibility than it did a well-constructed and well-researched lie. Time to nip any uninformed guesses in the bud.

"You should know he is also a time traveler from the future." Albus said with all the joy of a child putting down his rabid dog.

Silence met his declaration as they digested this revelation. He didn't eve bother elaborating. Minerva eventually broke it.

"He does resemble Tom when he was younger, back when we were both at Hogwarts." She said. "If you squint while looking at him. He also has VERY similar mannerisms. And charm."

Albus appreciated her wisdom in not coming right out and saying the obvious conclusion her line of reasoning brought her to. He further appreciated that they all had such faith in him that they didn't need him to qualify his claim of time travel, which he would have happily done.

"I disagree." Said Rebecca, causing Albus to raise an eyebrow. "Either his mother was, or will be, a completely different phenotype AND our understanding of Tom's parentage is completely wrong, or else you're chasing a red herring here."

"Could you phrase that in a way us non-mediwitches can understand?" Alastor pressed.
She hesitated.

"I can't say much about what I found during my mandatory examination of him this morning, but what I can say is that green eyes are a recessive trait." She explained. "Tom Riddle had dark brown yes, as did both of his parents and grandparents. Even if Tom Riddle were to... marry?... a woman whom inherited genes for eye color only of green, due to inbreeding or some such, the child would still be brown-eyed. That is one example. Give me photos of a young Tom Riddle and Hadrian Morrigan and I can point out a host of other facial feature differences that are impossible."

Filius poked a hole right though that.

"And are you positive his facial features, including eye color, are all those he was born with?" The diminutive professor asked. "Did you detect any signs that his facial features, or eyes in particular, having been altered? Either through cosmetic or reconstructive surgery."

Rebecca made a hissing intake of breath, the kind that itself sufficed as an answer.

"I am incapable of answering that question, but I would point out that half his face had been reconstructed not 24 hour ago due to injuries." She explained. "And no mediwitch is perfect in putting everything back in its place."

Translation: This guy has seen so much battle, and had his body so thoroughly battered and rebuilt, that if he still had ANY resemblance to his natural parentage, it would be a miracle.

"And I think it's safe to say this isn't the first, or even the tenth, time Mister Morrigan has suffered such injuries and the following reconstruction." Moody added.

"How do you come to such a conclusion?" Pomona, ever the bleeding heart, demanded.

"Because of how he fights." Alastor told them. "He isn't a soldier, or even a warrior. He is a survivor. He fights with a hodgepodge of techniques he's picked up from enemies and allies alike. I've seen it before. The raw, undisciplined - but creative - tactics employed by desperate children trapped in war zones and growing up forced to do terrible things."

He continued.

"Simply put, he fights dirty as all hell, and it isn't the fighting style of a desperate caged animal, but the tactics of somebody who has faced these same tactics." Alastor finished. "Tactics that leave the body unrecognizable. He maimed those would-be assassins. Maimed them horribly. And that's how he fights people he DOESN'T wish to kill."

It was a frightening thought. If he turned out to be an enemy they would need to approach capturing or defeating him with great caution, or else overwhelming force. Hence this meeting.

"And his fights to the death seem to be twice a week at this rate." Severus said offhandedly.

The series of confused "whats?" and "huhs" the rest of the room threw his way only served to intimidate the ma. Albus did find it adorable how flustered Severus could still get from being the center of attention. Despite his status as the second most obnoxious drama queen in Hogwarts. A place Albus intended to keep him in until his dying day. He was the champion of overacting and flamboyancy, and the boy better not ever forget it!

"You mean... You didn't hear about the forest of Dean incident Friday night?" He asked, genuinely surprised at their lack of information.

Albus saw the telltale sign of something clicking in Alastor's head, a new piece fitting into the puzzle that was Hadrian Morrigan. Consider Albus' surprise when Severus summoned, of all things, the latest article of the Quibbler.

"Ghillie Dhu Resurrected?" Albus read aloud, but the photograph of a devastated mountainside was what captured his attention.

"This is exactly the type of magical damage which Professor Morrigan caused during his fight with the quartet in Diagon Alley." Alastor explained. "So now we know who tore up that serene wilderness."
Albus passed around the article and gave his colleagues time to incorporate the new information.

"So... what?" Minerva asked. "After his meeting with the Marauders and their spouses, Hadrian... went to meet somebody in the forest of Dean and it went south?"

That did seem to be the likely explanation.

"Was there a body left there?" Asked Rebecca. "In Dean, similar to the body of the poor woman Hadrian fought last?"

"I'm..." Alastor hesitated, straining against his oaths as an Auror. "Not at liberty to comment on an open case."

"So, 'no' then." Everybody in the room except for Alastor and Rebecca concluded aloud.

At the confused looks on Rebecca and Alastor's faces Severus explained.

"If whatever altercation Hadrian was involved in Friday night showed any sign of an injury or death to another, then Alastor would have marched out of here to arrest the young man instead of remaining here to discuss things further." He said.

Alastor ceased his standing and retreated to a chair to grumble away from them.

"He is powerful, we already knew that." Albus concluded, turning away from his staff to contemplate the landscapes through the window. "Potentially as powerful, in terms of raw magical potential, as Voldemort or myself. But untrained, and less well studied. If he is in fact the son of Voldemort, as I suspect, then we must ask ourselves a host of questions.

Albus stood and turned away from his generals. Peering out of the window behind his desk at the ground below.

"What form of time travel did he use? Is it deterministic? Are all of his actions to keep in line with the timeline he knows? Is it paradoxical, and are his actions causing untold damage to the timeline due to ignorance or malice? Or most concerning of all, is it branching or overwriting, and is he hoping to rewrite history?" Albus listed. "I prefer to work from the assumption that it is the last, and he is trying to change the past. Which leads to SO many more questions. Is he with his father or against him? It wouldn't be the first time in history a dark lord was thwarted by his heir. Nor would it be the first time one sought to usurp his predecessor and become far worse."

Albus paused then to let his words sink in, as he was want to do, for it inspired the imagination and creativity he so valued in his staff.

"Severus I can FEEL your condescending glare drilling into the back of my skull. What vital piece have you picked up on that I missed?" Albus said without turning around.

He could see in the reflection of his window that the potions master had the good shame to blush at the laughter of his colleagues.

"Am I the only person who sees in Professor Morrigan a startling resemblance to both James and Lily?" Severus asked rhetorically.

The observation brought Albus up short. His mind stalled for a few moments, as it tended to do when digesting a new piece of juicy information, but the resemblance was greater than Albus himself wanted to admit.

"But Lily is sterile, ever since her botched surrogacy ritual." Filius pointed out.

Yes. That had been unfortunate. It was a simple ritual amounting to turning the unborn fetus into a portkey and transporting them to the womb of another woman, followed by a blood inheritance ritual with the new mother and father. It had been a good plan, passing off their potential child of prophecy as the child of another couple, as the ritual would have rewritten their physical features and actual magic into that of the adopted parents. They lost Patricia Pettigrew to that botched ritual and, lo Peter forgave them, he doubted James and Lily would ever forgive themselves.

"A ritual she has spent the last 16 years deconstructing and reverse-engineering in the hopes of being able to conceive again." Severus countered.

The conjecture expanded.

"So you are proposing a counter theory that he is, the yet to be conceived, child of James and Lily Potter?" Minerva offered.

"Yes." Said Severus. "Of course, that doesn't explain the parseltongue, but for all we know both Lily and James carry the gene for it... It's funny, Lily actually has ancestry to a squib line of the Morrigan family..."

You had to give it to the man, he knew his blood history. It was actually a plausible explanation.

"In fact, if you weren't so sure he was a time traveler, I'd be tempted to suggest he either is the child of Voldemort born some twenty eight years ago during his travels, or he is that lost child of James and Lily and that Patricia survived, taking the boy into hiding and raising him as a weapon in secret. But has been artificially aged somehow." Pamona offered. "Of course, at this point we're just making up nonsense and I think we need to take a step back from this rank speculation."

She was absolutely right.

"We know too little about the man. But what we do know is terrifying." Said Albus. "He is a time traveler from the future. A future where child soldiers must learn to fight in the most horrific ways possible just to survive. Which tells us that this cold war is about to get very hot. What we don't know is his motivations. Is he trying to prevent this future, or personally benefit from it?"

"Indeed. I suggest more focused observation." Minerva said. "Retrace his steps since his arrival in our time. Try to glean motivations behind his actions. And by we, I mean you, Albus."

Albus chuckled at the turn of events.

"And yes, I will cover your workload as deputy headmistress for the week." Minerva finished, cutting off his next question. "But in conclusion, what DO we know for certain?"

Albus conjured a chalk board.

"He is a time traveler from the future. He either will one day slay me or slay the person who slayed me. No, I will not explain how I know that." Albus interrupted his own list. "Since his arrival he has seduced Garrick Ollivander..."

"Excuse me?" Pamona interrupted. "Don't tell me you put credence into the rumors about their relationship in Diagon alley at face value?"

"I meant seduced with promises of power. Not in a sexual way." Albus clarified, not wanting to explain the Elder Wand to them and how excellent of a bargaining chip it would make in winning over Garrick. He honestly wished he'd thought of it. "He has furthermore courted Alastor Marchbanks, a former unspeakable of the Time division and likely a person involved in his own time travel, as well as Bellatrix Black, one of the deadliest fighters in Britain. He has been the personal dinner guest of the Crabbe family, and Valentine is particularly fond of him, which means Hildebrand Goyle is as well. And is also working tirelessly to help the plight of werewolves everywhere."

Severus perked up, and if that weren't an obvious sign he had an epiphany, the snap of his fingers did.
"He's removing pieces from the board!" He exclaimed.

Albus immediately understood his meaning but didn't interrupt.

"Ollivander is the premiere wandmaker in all of Europe, and if he were to die or 'disappear' it would be a disaster for coming generations." Severus started. "And Hadrian spent the entire summer protecting him. In his future maybe Garrick went missing this past summer? It would explain the dirty tactics, as an entire generation with nothing but secondhand wands would be unable to cast higher level spells with any efficiency, so would have to resort to strategies like Hadrian has displayed."

Alastor nodded eagerly.

"And I would bet galleons to knuts that if we examined the wards around the wand shop, we will find that both Hadrian and the Goblins have added to them recently." Moody suggested.

Albus added it to his mental todo list for the week, before motioning for Severus to continue.

"Then there's Marchbanks. Who, a few days after meeting Hadrian, gets into an altercation with the dark lord after he tried to recruit the man." Severus continued.

"Perhaps in the original timeline he accepted Voldemort's offer? If our speculation is correct and he is the one who developed the means Hadrian used to travel back in time, then that would be an important thing to change."

"So you believe it is a non-deterministic form of time travel and he is actively changing the future?" Filius piped up.

"Yes, and the way I see things, for the better." Severus continued. "Because in addition to them and Bellatrix, who I don't think any of us have difficulty imaging is capable of causing severe damage in a hot war, he has also removed any chance of the werewolves joining in on the war and is making efforts to do the same with his sanctuary."

It did make sense. His choice of targets did indicate prior planning, but instead of pushing these targets to one side or the other he seems to have moved them into neutral ground. Removing them from the chessboard indeed.

"He is either trying to prevent the hot war altogether or mitigate the damage it could cause." Dumbledore concluded. "He is neither with nor against Voldemort nor myself, nor the Ministry or any other faction. He is merely trying to prevent as much loss of life as possible."

The motivations made sense. As did the tactics. He was a truly neutral member of this war, his own faction with the motivation of survival. Albus wasn't wed to this idea yet, but he would be a lair if he claimed he didn't want it to be true. But he would have to work from darker assumptions until he knew for sure. Call him a pessimist, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"You think he is good then?" Pamona asked.

"I never had any doubts about that." Severus answered. "He is clearly trying his hardest to do what he thinks is the right thing, but I don't think he will succeed."

Albus was genuinely surprised by the poor outlook.

"And why do you think that?"

"Because he is trying to do it alone, and while he is strong, he is not clever nor wise enough." Severus continued. "Honestly he's kind of an idiot, but not hopeless. Which begs the question of why he hasn't come to us for help? We would be the perfect allies, most likely to help in his mission if he told us."

That was hardly a mystery.

"Perhaps the young man doesn't find us trustworthy." Filius said, hitting the nail on the head.
"And once again by 'us' I suspect you mean me?" Albus said in both jest and honesty.

Filius shrugged but didn't meet Albus' eyes.

"You've never been the most trusting person yourself, Severus, are you telling me you trust this man you barely know?" Minerva asked the dark potions master.

Severus sighed, before making an observation that Albus was certain everyone in the room could relate to.

"I wouldn't say I trust him, but I can say I want to trust him." He said. "Damnit all, I hate to admit it, but I just like the young man!"

"He is quite polite." Pomona Observed.

"And charming." Minerva added. "In a way that a younger Tom Riddle tried to emulate, but with Hadrian it's without effort and is genuine."

"Inquisitive too. Haven't had a boring conversation with him yet." Finished Filius.

Rebecca and Alastor sat quietly. Albus already knew Alastor's opinion of the man. That opinion being if Hadrian had been a Harriet he would have offered himself in marriage after seeing the aftermath of his battle with the four assassins. But Albus?

Logically, Albus agreed with every word. He wanted to trust Hadrian. Truly, he did. He liked the boy too, for all of the reasons previously listed. There was just one problem.

Hadrian had hurt him. Mortally.

The lies weren't what did it. Faking skill in divination using his knowledge of the future was bad enough. Albus had taken great pride in seeing through charlatans of the past trying to gain access to his precious school. Hadrian's success in fooling him was certainly a blow to his honor, but what really stung was the manner in which he did it.

Albus had no illusions about who and, more importantly, what Hadrian was.

He was the master of death. The thing he himself was so very close to becoming but had decided to avoid at all costs at the advice of Hadrian himself. His warning about not uniting the hollows now smacked more of past experience than mere prediction. He himself had united them and was surely in possession of a copy of the stone from his timeline. That's how he was able to see the shades of Arianna and Gellert during their interview.

And this "battle precognition" nonsense? Hardly! He was obviously using the resurrection stone, stationing shades of loved ones to watch his blind spots and instruct him on when to dodge and how to counter. With a little practice Albus was certain he could reproduce the illusion of omnipotence Hadrian had displayed in past fights.

But even this wasn't why Albus felt so wounded from the young man.

His surprise at Albus not knowing where the cloak was and warning not to reunite them. It didn't just smack of personal experience, but from historical precedent.

Albus had united the hollows in this now lost timeline. And it had done something to him. Corrupted him. Perverted him. Made him into something monstrous. Why else would Hadrian have let him attain that mortal injury seeking out the Horcrux in the Gaunt shack instead of saving him? He had chosen to remove Albus from the board as well. Permanently. Fatally.

And that hurt. It hurt to know, to even think, that this young man saw him as some kind of monster deserving of death for the sake of a better future. To think that this sweet, kind, considerate and brilliant young man had, or would, someday kill him and take from him these artifacts of power and from these horrible experiences come to hate him. What monstrous deeds could he have committed? What horrors could have resulted from his and Voldemort's war and the magics unleashed thereby that Hadrian would prefer him dead than redeemed?

It hurt. It hurt so very, very much. And the rest of that week was filled with nightmares regarding such. Vision of potential futures, where he united the cloak with the stone and wand he already possessed and was destroyed thereby.

---

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Chapter 24:

Unspeakable Acquaintances​

---

Hermione counted her lucky stars that her Monday schedule listed her first class as being under her new favorite teacher. The mysterious, kind and - according to consensus among the other Gryffindor girls - handsome Divination teacher. Hermione, for her part, couldn't find it in her to disagree with the consensus. She wasn't a liar.

Imagine her shock when she ascended the stone staircase of the not-so-secret passage to the divination classroom only to be greeted by a mummy with two black eyes, one arm in a sling and a cotton-filled mouth.

Once again, her complete disengagement from the Hogwarts rumor mill had left her in the dark.

"Did professor Morrigan get into a car crash?" She asked Lavender when she took her seat next to the blonde and Fay.

Professor Morrigan was busy trying to shoo a particularly fat snowy owl that had taken roost on his desk where she glowered at everyone in the room who got close to her master. She wouldn't budge, so eventually he had to give up and begin his class.

"Good morning, everybody. As you all probably know already, I was attacked by a group of would-be assassins at Diagon alley Saturday evening." He explained.

Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only person unaware of these events for hers wasn't the only concerned gasp.

"Oh my god!" Hermione said.

"Aren't you scared?!" Asked Parvati asked.

"Course not. They're dead." Professor Morrigan said matter-of-factly, as if the question was absurd. "But I am in considerable pain at the moment due to my unwillingness to take my prescribed painkillers before a class. I am unwilling to teach while under the influence, you all deserve better. Speaking of, onto todays lesson."

He turned away from them and wrote the days lesson topic on the board while they were left with a significantly more frightening impression of the man than they had before.

Dream Interpretation​

The series of groans that echoed around the classroom only served to make Morrigan chuckle.
"I take it my predecessor already covered this topic then?" He asked knowingly.

"To exhaustion!" Said Weasley. "We spent years making up dream journals amounting to nightmares about how we might die."

"Made up, you say?" Morrigan asked with a sly grin.

The guilty silence that met his observation of Ron's choice of words was answer enough.

"Sounds to me like you all haven't done much actual dream interpretation at all." The professor went on. "I'd be surprised if any of you can describe what dream interpretation actually is?"

The questioning tone was a clear invitation to raise hands, and Hermione was never one to turn down such an invitation.

"Yes, miss Granger?" He said, calling on her.

She preened at the attention of those luscious green eyes.

"Dream interpretation is the art of deciphering meaning, usually psychological or spiritual but sometimes prophetic of the symbology in the dreams." She dutifully recited.

"That is incorrect." Morrigan said simply, without a hint of chastisement in his voice.

Her preening turned to wilting at the failure, even with his lack of malice or cruelty in correcting her.
"The answer I was looking for, is bullshit. Dream interpretation is bullshit." He explained to a round of uproarious laughter.

Well, that was Hermione's second guess and honest opinion of it, so she at least had the satisfaction of a professor confirming her own biases against his craft.

"Dreams are at best the chaotic processing of information. A hallucinogenic blending of your experiences of a day with all of your past experiences. Attempting to interpret it is like attempting to interpret "abstract" art, the kind that are low effort low skill random paintings created for the sole purpose of money laundering for the elites of society. But you didn't hear that from me." He went on. "So, the most you'll get from dream interpretation is an interesting conversation that may lead to you opening up about real psychological or spiritual problems, a self-therapy if you will. The same effect could be gained from joining a book club. So the question must be asked. Why in the world would it be part of the divination curriculum?"

This time even Hermione didn't raise her hand. She doubted she would get away with answering "because divination, too, is bullshit" so she bit her tongue.

"Because there is one type of premonition all people are capable of, and all people have achieved multiple times within their lifetimes. Dream Premonitions." He explained. "Visions of the future witnessed in your sleep. Many people, from a Misses Lincoln to Nostradamus, have had visions of the future while in bed and they came true. There's just one problem. Can anybody see it?"

Everyone raised their hand.

"Mister Longbottom?" Morrigan called on the shy child of prophecy.

"I don't usually remember my dreams?" He answered timidly.

"That is EXACTLY right! And that is the purpose of dream journals in the context of dream interpretation." He explained. "To train you to remember and contemplate your dreams, so that when a precognitive, or post cognitive, dream comes down home plate you can hit it out of the park! And if it also helps you develop the mental tools to recognize and tackle your psychological and spiritual hurdles? All the better."

He once again turned his back on the class and retrieved a familiar stack of dream journals. The kind Trelawney had assigned them in years past. Alongside these he had a case of glass vials.

"I will be assigning each of you two dream journals. One to be kept private, the other to be shared with me and or the class." He explained. "If you must withhold the contents of a dream, either because they are, shall we say, a little too spicy to be sharing with your peers or too inappropriate to share with a professor, then mark them as such in the non-private journal."

He went about handing out a pair of journals and glass vials to each student, and Hermione noticed that the snow-white owl glared at each student as the professor neared them. It was as if she was daring them to try and make a play at his life. Hermione studiously ignored the bird. It was slow progress, seeing as he had to limp around the room and tentatively hand out the objects with his one good hand.

"Professor, what are the vials for?" Asked Seamus.

"I'll get to that in a moment." Professor Morrigan answered as he made his way back up to the blackboard. "Now. Who here knows the alarm spell?"

Every hand went up int the air.

"Good. I'd be ashamed if any of you didn't. Or shocked how you managed to make it through your OWLs." Morrigan said. "And how many of you know how to extract a memory?"

Zero hands went into the air.

"I likewise would have been shocked if any of you had known that one." He said. "Allow me to demonstrate."

With his good hand he raised his long, smooth wand to his temple and - while holding a look of severe concentration - slowly pulled the wand away. At the tip of his wand and temple came a white string of light. Ethereal and liquid in appearance, it was some of the most simple and beautiful magic Hermione had ever seen. When it finally came loose from his skull it was like a lunar moth had been blended and the liquid produced was leaking from the tip of his wand.

"This is my memory of our class today." He explained unhelpfully. "It is like a video recording of everything I have experienced over the last few minutes. Sadly, without the use of a very powerful, and very expensive, magical artifact called a pensieve it is useless to anybody save myself. But I can reinsert this memory into my skull and doing so will allow me to better remember the events of said memory if it is fresh. It is akin to magical reiteration and recall to oneself for memorization."

He demonstrated reinserting the strand of memory back into his temple and adopted a look of supreme concentration on his face. For several moments all-encompassing silence filled the room as they watched him. Eventually he took a deep breath and returned to his lecture.

"And that's all there is to it." He explained. "Hold the tip of your wand to your temple and concentrate on the memory, recalling it from beginning to end in chronological order, and slowly draw it out. You can then place this memory in a container to share it with others - though sadly not without a pensieve, as a method for transferring memories between people has yet to be devised - and then when you reinsert it the memory goes straight into long term memory. As easy to recall as the multiplication table I would hope you've all memorized."

Hermione ogled the spell with something between disgust and anger. It was even simpler and easier to perform than the levitation charm. It was hardly even a spell, so why in the world did they not learn it, and things like it, in their first week of schooling? It sounded terribly useful.

"What I am about to assign you is not homework. I want to make that very clear." Morrigan continued. "Refusing to take part in the project I'm about to outline will not cost you any credits in this class, however doing so will earn you some extra. For extra credit anybody who wishes may keep a proper dream journal, of two dreams per night. And you shall accomplish this by use of the alarm spell combined with storing memories in the vials I have given you. Set an alarm for four hours after you go to sleep. Another alarm four hours after that, when you usually wake up. Each time you wake up try and recall the dream and, if you can, draw it from your brain as I demonstrated and store in the vial for the morning. Doing this you will usually be able to recall a good two dreams per night, hence the two vials. In the morning you put them back in and presto, they're there to stay."

Before they could reach for a piece of parchment to write down the assignment Professor Morrigan stopped them.

"This assignment is only available to those taking nine classes or fewer." He said. "So the seven standard classes and two electives. Anybody taking more than that needs every wink of sleep they can get, and I will not tolerate anybody in such a schedule risking their psychological health for a measly extra credit in my class."

He gave Hermione, who was taking the maximum of twelve(which was only possible through the use of a time turner) a scathing look and she glowered back at him.

"But there is one more reason behind this assignment than the psychological, spiritual, and divinatorial - yes that' a word - benefits to this assignment." He went on. "Every person on earth experiences a vision within their dreams roughly once per year. That's one in three hundred and sixty five. Pop quiz! How many students are there in Hogwarts?!"

"Four Hundred and Eighty-Three." Hermione answered before raising her hand, then gasped at the impertinence of forgetting to do so.

"One point to Gryffindor. Now sadly, only about eighty of those students have elected to take divination class. So, with these numbers in mind, if all of my students took part in this assignment how many true visions, of past, future or other events would we be able to collect within a single week?"

Hermione did the math in her head. Two dreams per night. Multiply it by eighty... Multiple that by seven... Divide that by three hundred and sixty five...

"Three." Ronald answered as quickly as Hermione was able to collect all of the factors and divisors in her head.

The entire class turned to look at the boy who had never stepped foot in arithmancy class, only to see a complete lack of quill or paper at his desk for mathematical computations. He had done that in his head?

"Correct! Ten points to Gryffindor Mister Weasley!" Morrigan rewarded. "Now it will more likely be one or two as a whole third of my students are disqualified from this project due to their status as overachievers, but if we are lucky then this time next week we will have a vision, produced by one of you or my other students, to consult. Some of you are still non-believers in divination, despite having taken it for years. I will make you a believer. If not next Monday, then definitely the following Monday. And so, I demand this of you... Go forth and dream!"

He paused for dramatic effect, and though for any other teacher Hermione would have rolled her eyes at the antics, his deep kindly voice kept her transfixed.

"For in dreams we enter worlds entirely our own. Go. Swim in the deepest oceans and glide over the highest cloud. And share these wondrous worlds in your head but know this. Just because something is in your head, doesn't make it less real. And if we are very fortunate, then one of you will have had a genuine premonition in one, of either the future or distant past, and we will gaze upon it together."

---

They left divination class with much more chatter and excitement than usual. And for once, Hermione chipped into the cacophony of voices. Discussing the wonders of the last hour. Usually, she would hang behind and wait for a clear moment to turn for her next class, but today she joined in on discussions of the topics and assignment. While she would studiously obey and only jot down dreams she remembered at her usual wake up times, both in the mornings and after her three-hour afternoon naps, she implored her fellow girls to tell her all about theirs for the next week.

And then the discussion turned down a corner she simply couldn't follow.

"Is it just me or is Professor Morrigan like a young, hot Dumbledore?" Lavender asks.

Aaaaand, that was her cue to take the back door out of the conversation. So, she silently took a side door halfway down the astronomy tower into a hallway which would, inevitably, lead to the hospital wing if followed, and there she hid behind a suit of armor and waited for her peers to shuffle down to the ground floor. When the telltale eerie silence of a school area without students finally purveyed her senses, she retrieved the time turner and reached out to turn the dial.

Only for a gloved hand to snatch it away from her.

She gasped and, in her attempt to back away from her assailant, collapsed on the floor. Her terror abated somewhat when she caught a glimpse of the supposed thief, and her eyes met the concealed, hooded figure she would recognize anywhere. Only one person she knew of wore such concealing grey robes or matching hood. Only one man embodied such endless possibilities and smelled of ageless tomes.

"Father Time!?" She gasped at the concealed man.

Seeing the fully cloaked and fully hooded head unspeakable in Hogwarts was certainly a surprise. This was the man who subjected her to her oaths to obey the laws of time before the start of her third year and debriefed her of her mischief at the end of every year. And then re-administered those oaths every year since then. This was the man who had seen in her the potential of a future unspeakable when McGonagall first introduced them those three years prior.

"Miss Granger. I wish I could have seen you again under better tidings." Father time said in place of a greeting.

He did not appear to be joking.

"As it stands, I will be taking this from you." He went on. "As you are in contact with somebody who seems to have broken my laws. OUR laws. And until my investigation is over you are under suspicion of breaking your oaths."

Hermione was no mother, but in that moment she felt what she thought a mother would feel in the event her newborn baby was snatched away from her and held at ransom. Before she could even register these feelings her tears welled up.

"What?! But... I followed EVERY rule! Even the rules that contradicted the other rules!" She nearly screamed, her voice a mixture of fear, rage and crying.

Before he could even respond and open up the possibility of convincing him out of his decision a new voice erupted from above, shaking the very walls around them.

"FATHER TIME!" The sonorus-enhanced voice of Professor Morrigan came down from his classroom five stories above them. "Granger had nothing to do with it! You come up here and harass ME not her!"

They both stared at the ceiling above them for several moments before Father Time addressed her again.

"I suppose there's no harm in leaving this with you for the rest of your school week, but know that you are under scrutiny at the moment, possibly for reasons which you had nothing to do with." He told her before tossing the necklace at her unceremoniously.

She snatched it from the air with reflexes so fast that they would make you think she was a Quidditch seeker. The way she clutched it to her bosom you'd think she was a keeper.

"Be warned, if you were planning any unapproved activities with the time turner over the next week, now would be a good time to cancel them." He told her before leaving. "Oh, and I recommend discretion in keeping any speculation you have over what is going on here to yourself."

With that he turned heel.

If Hermione were in a better state of mind, she would have scoffed at the idea that she would have shared such secrets or speculation about such secrets with anybody. As if she had anybody to share them with! The closest thing she had to a friend was Draco which, beyond being an incredibly sad thing to admit, was also more of an academic rivalry than anything approaching actual friendship. Susan was just a mediator within those terms. The only other person she could think of was that werewolf boy she had flings with during summers and the occasional Hogsmeade weekend, but the secrets of the department of mysteries hardly made for good pillow talk.

Perhaps she ought to make an effort to write Romulus with more than an invitation to her next Hogsmeade visit? Build something there.

Then Morrigan's magically enhanced voice returned.

"Oh! And if that perverted octopus is here with you tell him/her/it to keep their distance!"

"Actually, I'm right here." The perfectly synchronous voices of a man and woman was carried over through Morrigan's sonorus charm.

"OH FU..."

---

Harry barely had the frame of mind to cancel his sonorus before screaming a four-letter word loud enough for the entire school to hear him. That certainly would have been cause for a disciplinary hearing with old man Dumbledore.

The cause of his near heart-attack stood just a few feet behind him, and even as he gazed upon them his extrasensory abilities still registered nothing in his presence. Love, with a capital L. One of the twelve heads of the department of mysteries. They were the only person/persons in existence who didn't exist according to his magical senses. As such, she... er, he... well, it... it could sneak up on him. Which Harry didn't appreciate.

"You seem to know me well enough, despite having never met me. How much do you really know?" Asked the being in grey.

Harry glared at the space between the two hoods of their two faces. Then glanced down at the four arms and equal number legs beneath. Love must take up half of the tailoring costs of the department of mysteries.

But it was a good question. The answer was "Too much." Love had once been two people. A man and wife working within the department of mysteries. So right there you know they weren't of the soundest mind to begin with. Then they decided to merge in an attempt to recreate the Greek ideal of the hermaphroditic "first people". To become soul mates joined in flesh. It worked. And now they were something beyond human. Body, mind and soul united, virtues and vices of both man and woman made in perfect unity.

And then put in charge of the DOM section involved with magic about love potions, marriage, orgies and all things erotic. And there was power in these things beyond most people's comprehension. Power that was dangerous and destructive to humanity for eons before Aphrodite's invention of marriage to tame both men and women's desires and turn these things from the soul-devouring, destructive force that led entire civilizations down a rabbit hole - chasing the ever greater high until utter destruction in the form of apocalyptic blood orgies- into something constructive, beautiful and loving. Into marriage and family.

And this being before him had torn that contract of ancient gods in twain and unleashed the powers long lost to humanity in ways even the most disgusting reprobates like Crowley or John Money failed to do. But thankfully did it in secret and kept it behind closed doors instead of parading it down main street like a pride parade.

He also knew that neither were particularly devout to the other, and both found him particularly attractive and sought him as a replacement to their latest lover on more than one occasion.

The universe hated Harry, truly. Hopefully in this universe he could more effectively disincentive Their interest in him.

"Only that we do not get along and, though they are more dangerous and capable of destroying me, I would prefer to contend with Mind and Death than you." Harry spat the last word with as much vitriol as he could.

"I suppose that explains where you gained the power of time travel." Said Father Time as he entered through the stone passage door. "You will someday work with us?"

"With, yes. But not as one of your number." Harry answered honestly before he retreated to his desk and sat down with a pained groan. "So. Which mistake was it that finally alerted you guys to my status as a time traveler?"

Knowing that this conversation was going to be a long one, and that he had no further classes that day, he retrieved his prescribed pain relief potion and downed it.

"Your wand." Said Father Time. "You surrendered it after being arrested, and detectors indicated it belonged to one Albus Dumbledore, who confirmed he was in possession of a younger time twin to said wand."

It took all of Harry's self-control to not bang his head on his desk. Of all the cockamamie bullshit he couldn't foresee, Albus ACTUALLY registered the Elder Wand with the British Ministry of Magic?! Which meant that Albus now knew, or believed, he was displaced in time in some manner. Probably thought he was a time traveler from the future and was faking his divination skills... Which wasn't completely untrue.

"Do you know why we are here?" Father Time asked.

"To hopefully intimidate me into thinking you have any law enforcement powers or ability to coerce me into complying with you and revealing my true knowledge, abilities and origin." He answered with a chuckle.

The painstaking sighs they answered with told him they had already failed in their mission. They were not law enforcement and could not coerce, threaten or in other ways compel him to comply with anything they wanted. They were researchers. Scientists. Not some elite crew of black ops operatives eliminating those touched by powers beyond human imagination, let alone understanding. Which Harry was for the record, though not due to any fault of his own. But they liked to try and pretend, or hope to give people the impression, that they had such authority. Today, they had failed in that attempt.

"And you have no intention of sharing with us information pertinent to our roles in the Department of Mysteries? Particularly me?" Father Time asked.

Harry glanced at the ancient man. Considered the assumptions he must have been working under or questions plaguing his mind.

Did he think Harry had come back through his own actions or actions of his department? That he would one day pull the wool over his own eyes or steal from the time department in order to make the trip? It was wrong to leave the man with such painful assumptions and questions, Harry knew, but he also knew these were amoral assholes who didn't care if the universe was ripped apart and made as dust by their latest experiment except for an academic curiosity. It took a special type of sociopath to survive in the Department of Mysteries.

So, fuck em!

"You can let yourselves out the same way you got in." Harry dismissed them as he leaned back into his chair and felt the effects of the potion take hold.

He was ready for a long, drug-induced coma.

"Very well, Mister Potter. We will keep in touch." Love told him ominously.

They both made a grand show of fading out of reality - according to magic at least - and disappearing from Hogwarts in a form of teleportation few could imitate.

"I'M NOT IMPRESSED!" Harry yelled into the void. "I CAN DO THAT TOO!"

It was true. It was just so incredibly uncomfortable that after Death had brought him along in by side along that first time, he never wanted to do it again. And doing it improperly would lead to much worse than splinching. But for now, he breathed a sigh of relief as the full-body ache he had been ignoring for over an hour became lessened and sleep nearly took him. He would worry about this nonsense later. He already had a weeks' worth of meditating to do on recent going ons, what was one more catastrophic series of events to consider?

---

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Chapter 25:

Leadup to the Full Moon
​

---

The rest of Harry's week went similarly to his Monday, though with each day having increasingly less pain associated with it. Having two classes per day instead of the usual four had its benefits and having that class in the morning meant he only had to suffer a few hours without his painkillers before downing his prescription potions, and yet he abstained a bit more than that in favor of making himself busy. This was partly because he felt guilty for having such a light workload, made even lighter by his policy of not assigning homework for the sake of assigning homework.

Tuesday afternoon he visited each common room, using the faculty password that worked for all of them, and posted flyers asking for volunteers to work at his nonprofit. It had the obvious rules that any volunteers must be of age and that they would receive extra credit for it, though he left out which classes as he hadn't discussed the topic with his coworkers yet, and hands-on experience as a medi-witch/wizard caring for werewolves. That afternoon at lunch Snape beat him to the punch.

"I amended your flyer in the dungeons to include an extra credit in potions." He informed Harry. "Lily informed me that she would demonstrate the preparation, creation and administration of the wolfsbane potion to all volunteers."

Hm. He'd have to make sure to amend the other flyers with such when the opportunity arose.
"What's this about extra credit?" Remus asked.

"I'm inviting of-age students to volunteer on the full moon this Friday to get hands on training on how to care for werewolves." Harry explained. "And I'm bribing them with extra credit."

"Ah. Well, you can add defense against the dark arts to that. So that's two whole extra credits to sweeten the deal." Remus instructed.

Good man. And so, after lunch Harry again visited each common room and amended the flyers appropriately, before retreating to his office, putting up a sign declaring study hall canceled and downing his potion. He was hoping that if he timed it right the last dregs of the potion's effects would last until just before his Wednesday morning. Turned out, he had timed it perfectly!

His class with the fourth years started just as his pain started to return but with enough leftover dulling from the potion to keep him chipper and energetic for the whole thing. After class let out and it had completely worn off he was feeling significantly recovered. Enough so that he felt confident in his ability to reopen study hall that evening, only to then be invited to Remus's afternoon class.
Who was he to deny the man?

It turned out Remus had decided to focus his lessons that week on Werewolves, and not just on identifying or defending against them. He was giving lectures on life as a werewolf. Not so much the "woe is me, some people don't like me because of it" but more of the biological realities, how he mixed prescription medicine and potions, along with what precautions he took to protect others. The rest of the class was on the precautions any student of defense against the dak arts ought to take to protect themselves and avoid confrontations with werewolves. Most techniques amounted to sensory overload. An overpowered Lumos Solemn, or a handy stink bomb spell Remus demonstrated to the class and that Harry couldn't believe he hadn't learned before. Harry sat in on one expecting it to be an enlightening and heartfelt lecture. He came out feeling more like a teen who had just sat in on the std portion of sex ed class with how clinical Remus described every last detail of life as a werewolf.

Meanwhile the applications for asylum just kept flooding in now that Fred, George and Xenophilius were advertising it. He spent most of his afternoons for that week reading and responding to these letters. He didn't receive more requests than his facilities could handle, but he did receive more than he was eager to handle for the first trial one. As such, his response to each amounted to "Only come if you absolutely must, if you have exactly zero other options. There are limited beds, and we want to make sure those most in need get them."

Still, none of this was bad news. Hell, he even got around to asking Dumbledore if he could borrow the man's pensieve for his classes next week, and the man just said yes. No questions about why he needed it. The man didn't even meet his eyes. It was a strange encounter to be sure, and it wasn't until Harry got back to his classroom for his study hall that he realized why Albus was acting like a kicked puppy.

He knew about Harry's identity as a "Time Traveler" and, by extension, knew how Harry had slightly cheated in order to get this job. Although from the assumption going around that he was from their future the cheating Dumbledore suspected was far greater than what Harry actually committed, but he preferred to keep up the charade for now.

Still, he wished Albus would act angry, not so... disappointed. If the man was faking disappointment to twist the knife into Harry it was rather cruel, but it was effective.
​

---

The day of the full moon finally arrived, and he decided to start his Friday with a walk around the grounds.

He had finished the last of his prescription pain killer the night before and his arm had healed enough that he no longer needed a sling for it. Couldn't go getting into boxing matches with it anytime soon, and he was still favoring it, but as far as his appearance went, he was good as new!

Unfortunately his morning plans were put on the backburner when he encountered a strange pair on his way down the fourth floor.

"Sir Nicholas? Baron?" Harry said in surprise.

"Good morning to you as well, Professor Morrigan." The Bloody Baron greeted with a bow as Nearly Headless Nick tipped his head.

"I'm surprised to see you two together, considering the animosity between your houses." Harry barreled forward.

"Such animosity is a very new phenomena, especially to us." Said Nick. "Gryffindors and Slytherins have been on the best of terms since Hogwarts' founding until just a century ago, with a few periods of rivalry brought on by the politics of the wider world, but that is true for each house."

Harry nodded; the Sorting Hat's song still fresh in his mind.

"But on this morning we are companions in work. Off to teach a new generation together." The Bloody Baron explained. "Would you care to join us?"

His curiosity sufficiently piqued, Harry agreed readily and followed the two ghosts down to the entrance hall and through the front doors. They lead him all the way to an area of the forbidden forest near Hagrid's hut, where Harry had once learned about hippogriffs and Draco once learned what happens when you insult a hippogriff. A large area of woods with newer trees overgrowing stone walls and strategically placed boulders and just a few rocky stables long in disuse. Today it was filled to the brim with students dressed in house-colored armors like that worn for Quidditch. They were chatting amicably.

Spread out on bleachers and benches were training weapons. Spears, sabers, and even jousts, each with dulled points and edges.

"Oh hey! The cripple's got his arm back!" Ron called from where he sat loitering.

"All the better for smacking students around with practice claymores." Harry joked back. "But on a serious note, I'm not sure what's going on here."

It was then that a rather disheveled Madame Hooch arrived, or more likely returned, with a large basket of throwing axes and javelins.

"Oh great! You're here. Gaze upon this hellish landscape and see the fruit of your labors!" She said sardonically. "Now I have a good dozen new clubs to form and oversee. Fencing, knife and axe throwing, polearm, longsword, sword and shield, jousting, rowing, sailing, javelin, and... what am I forgetting?"

"Horseback riding and falconry?" Lavander Brown offered helpfully.

Harry did the math in his head and the sixty or so students weren't enough to form five-member groups for each club. Must be a whole lot of overlap of members. So far it looked like interhouse unity was well on its way.

"The headless hunt will be here shortly for the horseback riding and jousting." Sir Nicholas told Hooch. "I can teach longsword and the good Barron is an excellent fencer."

"Good. Now if only we could find people to help with the rest of these!"

"I'm guessing today is going to be a massive safety lesson and organizational meetup?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Indeed, it was. And Harry sat there diligently as Hooch and the ghosts drilled each and every student on safety protocols and forced them to individually demonstrate the proper technique they had themselves just demonstrated for them. Soon enough house-elves were delivering breakfast and informing them that it was time for them all to make their way to class, and so they all scrambled.

"Oh, and you can probably grab the ninja ghost for the knife and axe throwing club." Harry said.

"There's a ninja ghost?" Blaise asked. "I've never seen a ninja ghost."

"Just goes to show he's good at his job. Go find him, so he can help out." Harry ordered.

As the last of the children left Nick leaned to whisper to the leader of the headless hunt.

"Am I going crazy, is there actually a ninja ghost?" He asked.

"No." The Baron answered with an unamused look at Harry for his prank. "No there is not."

His Friday class went exactly the same as every other class that week and as soon as it let out he dismissed the students and put up a do not disturb sign, along with a notice that study hall was, once again, cancelled.

With that job out of the way and a few hours to burn before he had to make his way to the Shrieking Shack he decided to tackle an issue that had been on his mind all week. Himself.

With painkillers coursing through his veins and the mental impairment that brought he dared not meditate on recent going-ons until now. But now he had the time and the mental faculties to tackle the demon that had haunted him. The demon he had come to call Gillie Dhu. He had first reared his ugly head a week ago, after meeting his parents and the extended Marauder family, whole and happy. At the time he had thought it was his own confusion and unconquered feelings that lead to his uncontrollable burst of power that night. He knew better know.

Those four would-be assassins were nothing. He seriously could not comprehend how he let that situation get so out of control. Unless he wasn't in control of himself. And with hindsight he realized he wasn't. Their emotions, their magic, it filled the space around them and came to life, as it always does. And his extrasensory abilities? They picked up on them and filled his very being with the sum of their parts, compounding his own adrenaline high and creating a devastating feedback loop that turned his mind to mush and his body into a tool of the magic around him. All this time he thought this ability was giving him power and insight over the world around him, but was it possible that it came with drawbacks? Was it possible that he, a human of a measly 28 years, was not as knowledgeable, wise or willful as the ENTIRETY OF THE UNIVERSE!?

Yes. Yes it was. Not only was it likely, it was guaranteed. When stuck in a room with five individuals with confusion, and other emotions he couldn't quite place, as great or greater than is own it took all of his self-control to contain it and maintain a professional veneer until he could get away and release it unto the poor, unsuspecting wilderness.

He had been toying with powers he didn't understand, this ability he thought was merely an extrasensory ability was so much more. In his comfortability in using it he forgot the most fundamental principle behind it. Magic is alive. Magic is sentient. Magic is greater than he could ever hope to comprehend in ten million lifetimes. And he had presumed to be master over it for all these years?
How thick can you get?

Now he was off to a place where not only the loved ones he had lost would be, the first people to reveal this massive hole in his understanding of the world, but several dozen fully transformed werewolves and volunteer students. He couldn't afford to let this power control him. He couldn't afford to allow any emotions, whether they belonged to him or others, to interfere with his judgement or worse cause harm to others.

He clamped down on his senses. The field of his own magic that radiated around him pulling all of the world into himself, making every brick, pebble or dust particle as unto his own flesh. Emotions, memories and the magic of spells long passed faded from his being, from his vicinity, and he became man again. Four limbs, a torso and a head that was at times far too empty for his own good. It felt wrong. Like losing sight, hearing and touch all at once and planning to function like normal. But he could do it. He would do it. Until he came to a better understanding of his, and possibly humanity's, relationship with the great magic that connected them all he couldn't afford to use it as he had been.

He had his limbs. He had his mind. He had his wand. For now, they would have to do.
​

---

Harry made a beeline for the front gates where a posse of 14 students stood waiting. All sixth and seventh years.

Hermione, Neville, Ron, Draco, Daphne, Susan, Crabbe and Goyle made up his former year mate volunteers. The five seventh-years were Kenneth Towler, then there was Marcus Belby, Eddie Carmichael and Cho Chang. Finally there was Miles Bletchley, whom Harry knew was held back one year and was technically an eighth year, but only because he hadn't quite scored high enough in charms and potions to get into medical school. The young man had taken the rare opportunity of having an eighth year to work on a couple extra NEWTS too while he was at it, including Harry's own class. A good mix of a group here. Mostly inquisitive people genuinely interested in the experience. He knew for Cho, Miles and Daphne in particular it was for a future in medicine. But for Crabbe, Goyle and Ron it really was just to get the three extra credits to round out their grades. That and moral support for their friends.

"Welcome everybody." Harry greeted. "Now if you will all follow me, I will lead you to Hogsmeade and from there to the recently renovated shrieking shack were my colleagues will be waiting for us.

The entire entourage signed up for that while they were here and led to the waiting room where the friends and family of their patients were waiting. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for everybody. But at least there would be no shortage of conversation to help it pass.
​

---

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Chapter 26:

A Successful Grand Opening Part 1
​

---

They crossed paths with Remus on the way towards the Shrieking Shack, who coincidentally bumped into their group at a cross in the side paths between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

There were many deer trails, paved paths and fenced areas leading to Hogsmeade from Hogwarts, and in the mountains around Hogwarts in general, with some brushing against the edge of the forbidden forest but considered safe woodlands all the same. Along these trails could be found many dilapidated ruins of chapels, lookout towers or foundations for long forgotten buildings lost even to the records in the library. If only weekends were five days long, then students could have a chance to properly explore these areas. Of all the sports clubs to spring up this last week, Harry couldn't understand how mountain or dirt biking didn't make the list. Oliver used to take the team jogging through these woods all the time when another team had the pitch reserved and, despite many of them being tough treks, it was always beautiful and rewarding.

But anyways, their group opted for the quickest footpath towards the Shrieking Shack after Harry recommended it as being faster than taking a carriage to the town. That course would then have them walk through the entirety of Hogsmeade to their destination. Remus must have had similar plans, but coming from the opposite end of the castle he must have taken a less used and more dangerous deer trail through the forbidden forest.

He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

"Watch out everyone, Maugrim is on that time of the month. Big bad wolf might turn on us." Crabbe cracked at Remus.

He took it in stride.

"Full moon shouldn't rise for a few more hours. We're safe. Also, why Maugrim? I think I'm better compared to Akela."

"Yeah, Akela was awesome." Goyle said.

"Exactly! Akela's cool. And Lupin... isn't." Draco smirked.

"Professor, Lupin." Hermione corrected.

"Right. Him." Said Draco in a manner as if the man wasn't standing right beside him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the antics before stomping off in the direction they'd been heading before the reunion. The rest followed.

"Will Severus be joining us to observe Lily's lesson?" Harry asked Remus in a hushed tone.

Hushed conversations were a reflexive habit of teachers when speaking to each other when near students, even when discussing perfectly non-nefarious things. It was amazing how a lot of the behavior of his own teachers, from Snape to fake-Moody, had seemed suspicious at the time were completely innocent in hindsight specifically because they were speaking in hushed tones. Needlessly. No lessons learned.

"Oh no. That man turns into mush around her, like a cat afraid of its own shadow. He'd rather not spend the night walking on eggshells in front of students. He knows that she knows what she's doing." Remus explained.

Seems there was a lot more history between the bat and his mother in this timeline. It made sense. They would have known each other for an additional... jeez, sixteen years! That was twice as long as his world's Snape had known his world's Lily. On top of the eight they had been close friends. There was so much he didn't know about this world. It still felt like he was just winging it, but his strategy of "treating the societal and spiritual damage of the war and play by ear from there" was bearing fruit, and tonight was a harvest.

"Oh wow! You can see all the way down to the ravine from here." Cho gasped when they reached the top of one particularly tall and rocky hill.

Indeed, you could see all the way down to the far side of Hogsmeade where the Hogwarts expressed passed through a ravine before docking. The tracks were built right along the floor and the sound of the engine and wheels echoing off the stone walls was the last warning call for student to change into their school robes. The shrieking shack, on the other hand, was right at the bottom of this hill. Every window bled white light onto the grassy lawns where jars of bluebell flames lit up the entire outside of the house against the rapidly darkening sky.

Harry looked at Hermione suspiciously, wondering if she had something to do with the choice of decorations. He distinctly recalled Sirius writing to request Arianna - who was apparently his girlfriend - be allowed to do that. Hermione noticed the look and blinked in apparent confusion at his staring, but Harry waved it off.

They trekked down the hill, past the clearing with the boulder he had wept on in his third year after hearing the conversation between Fudge, Rosmerta and Minerva, and out onto the road leading to Hogsmeade. They stopped at the freshly painted, and bluebell-lit, gate before ringing the little bronze bell placed there.

"This used to be one of my favorite spells." Hermione noted aloud as she finally got a good look at the jar.

The gate opened and they all walked up the small stone path to the front door and with a turn of the handle they reached their destination.

"Welcome to Professor Morrigan's Werewolf Sanctuary. We'll be with you in a moment." Arianna Figg greeted from behind the welcome desk.

They weren't the first in line. And the pair in front of them were a surprise, but a welcome one.

---

Draco tried not to boggle but boggle he did.

Holy crap! That's Viktor Krum! Former Quidditch star turned dueling champion. Was the man a werewolf? It seemed unlikely, and something he would surely prefer to keep a secret, so showing up to such a high-profile nonprofit seemed potentially counterproductive.

"My friend Poliakoff vishes to be interred for the evening." Viktor said to Professor Morrigan as he approached, indicating the thin man beside him.

Morrigan surveyed the older teen then nodded at the condition of his health.

"I believe he does need it. Please, come inside. Both of you. Mrs Potter will be teaching my class how to brew the wolfsbane potion shortly." Morrigan explained. "But before that, they will be shown how to administer the batch we already created for all of you. Come in. Come in!"

Professor Morrigan lead them inside past where Romulus was manning the counter with a mousy-haired woman. He was checking in a pair of middle-aged ladies. They looked to be identical twins, and were identically destitute in appearance, though one bore the telltale premature greying and scars of lycanism whereas the other did not.

"Oh, hey old man! Working hard or hardly working?" Romulus greeted professor Lupin.

As soon as his voice reached them Draco noted a straightening in Hermione's spine. It was adorable how she tried to hide her pleasure at her boyfriend being here. Almost as adorable as her delusion that he and Susan were unaware of her sneaking about the castle grounds during the full moons with the "safe" werewolf.

Krum suddenly took notice of the woman beside Romulus.

"Avianuh Feeg." He attempted to pronounce her name. "I have sat in on some of your duels in the English circuit. You fight vell."

She smiled and curtsied slightly in humility.

"I wish I could say the same, Mister Krum. But I haven't had the chance to go see the new sword-aided dueling circuits. It does sound fascinating!"

It suddenly occurred to Draco that Viktor Krum was a wealthy man and could easily provide for his own friends and family during the full moon. It further occurred to him that the man who, very publicly, ran this shindig was dating, not as publicly but famously, dating his spell-slinging demon of an aunt. So this was an information gathering outing for the athlete? It was amazing how he gave away his attempts at scouting his competitors so quickly. Then again, he had probably been unaware of Figg's presence here today.

"What about you Romulus?" Chang interrupted his thought. "Are we gonna have to babysit you tonight?"

"Nah! I have a weird mutation of lycanism. I barely transform and I'm not contagious. Keep most of my mind too." Romulus said.

"What little there is of it to keep." Weasley joked with his friend.

Throughout this banter Draco kept a close eye on Hermione, who he noted was ogling her dapperly dressed boyfriend. He leaned over to her so as not to be heard and whispered.

"You know. If you undress him much harder with your eyes, his clothes might actually spontaneously combust."

The sour lemon look of her face at that comment would make Professor McGonagall jealous.

"Quiet, you. Shoo! Shoo!" She waved him away with both hands dismissively.

He had to stifle a chuckle as the group was lead through a pair of doors to a large sitting room where twelve werewolves were already waiting. With Professor Lupin, his son and the twin they had fifteen werewolves in total.

Professor Morrigan had all of the guests sit down and organized the volunteers near a lidded cauldron that smelled strongly of coriander and petrichor. It was there that professor Lupin took over.

"While we wait for Professor Grey let me walk you through other measures of containing a transformed werewolf during the full moon. In particular the safe ones that do not harm the werewolf in question." His lecture began. "The most effective are silver collars and wristbands."

He produced the silver objects in question. They clinked together like the chains that would usually come attached with them.

"Usually, a werewolf would put these on and then shackle themselves to a wall or steak as an extra precaution, if wolfsbane isn't available." Lupin explained. "However, with just these and the wolfsbane most of us tonight will be incapable of getting up from our beds, not even to pee."

Daphne raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"I though silver was dangerous to werewolves? Are you sure these shackles are safe to put on bare skin?" She asked.

"No more than they would be to us. Chaffing is always a possibility, and a likelihood without wolfsbane, and can be pretty bad..." Lupin paused. " Actually, we really should add some rubber padding to the inside of these."

Professor Morrigan took the box of "bracelets" and "collars" - which were honestly just silver shackles minus the chains - and got to work windlessly conjuring corkwood padding along the interior of each. Such a showoff. No wonder auntie Bella adored him so.

Lupin continued to answer Daphne's question.

"Silver itself doesn't harm nor repel a werewolf. However, an injury obtained with a silvered weapon, or while wearing silvered shackles, will heal at a normal rate instead of the accelerated rate werewolves are known for." He explained. "Silvered jewelry also dampens our strength, senses and aggression significantly."

Gregory raised a hesitant hand.

"Yes, mister Goyle?"

"Is that why fire is recommended for defending yourself against a werewolf attack if silver is unavailable?" He asked. "Because it cauterizes any wounds it causes and can't heal?"

"That's exactly right! Five points to Slytherin."

Vincent gave him a high five down low and Draco added a thump on the shoulder for their friend. Gregs OWL report card had been a wakeup call to him this last summer. What his father's belt and his mother's nagging could never achieve in five years, the epiphany of wanting more out of life than sycophantism and disappointment in his own performance had achieved in seconds. Draco had been there when it happened, the moment a fire lit in his friend's chest. Since then his nose had been in the books as he reabsorbed every schoolbook they'd had up until this year, like a man possessed. An intensive years one through five refresher.

It was scary. And he did his best to keep news of it from Susan or, shudder, Hermione. Could you imagine how hideous the babies would be?

---

"Ah! If it isn't Professor Grey." Harry announced the arrival of the fossil.

Emma limped into the room on her cane and two jittery legs. Her ever-present smile, more likely just the way her wrinkles were set more than any deliberate expression, warmed the room.

"I apologize for the tardiness." She greeted. "I'm not the fastest walker and my osteopath insists floo travel is off-limits to me on account of my tendency to go sledding through living rooms like a skipping stone. Unless it's prepared ahead of time for a very soft landing, like my office floo has."

Now there was an issue Harry could relate to. Minus the post-menopausal bone-density issues. He wondered internally if she was a former prodigy on a broom too? Everybody he'd ever met who had trouble with floo or portkeys was a prodigy at either flying or apparition. Harry was the former, but anybody with an inborn talent for either gets it at the cost of being forever inconvenienced by all forms of faster-than-light travel.

Space, the Unspeakable heading the space room, had shown him the studies proving just that. He was a terrifying man who had so mastered teleportation that he could reappear in a different orientation - such as upside down, or feet to the wall - maintain momentum between jumps, and even apparate people he touched without joining them for the trip. He was also the inventor of that "little trick" Unspeakables use to exit reality and reappear in places as a substitute for apparition. Fortunately, in order to use it they needed to tap into Space's Omnikey, a portkey-like device contained and maintained within the DOM. Mind-boggling levels of genius there. But as a result, the one time he had flood to Grimmauld for Christmas had left the house half demolished.

He was not invited to future Christmas parties. Great guy all around though. A rarity amongst Unspeakables. He loved peanut brittle. And that covered everything Harry knew of the man.

"Now before we give the wolfsbane potion to our patients it is vital that they eat a high calorie, high carbohydrate meal." Emma began her lecture. "The transformation is energy intensive, and alone is the reason why you've never seen a werewolf without a six pack despite their otherwise feebleness. No body fat to speak of."

She had unpacked a whole host of whole grain confectionaries, loaded with nuts and seeds. Whole wheat croissants, and good old-fashioned oatmeal that had more almond butter in it than oats. Everyone dug in.

"Madame Grey. I do believe information about my physique gleaned during our yearly examinations is covered by our patient-carer confidentiality." Remus chortled between bites.

"Pish posh, let's ask our new quests." She jabbed before turning to the dozen or so werewolves seeking shelter for that night. "Who among you has even a single percentage body fat on you?"
A series of shaking heads, some of them saddened - hey, some people don't like being bone thin, which yet again, Harry could relate to - but they were all too busy enjoying the pastries to answer aloud. Soon enough everybody had their fill and Emma removed the lid to her cauldron. The smell of coriander and freshly fallen rain wafted into the room and James took that as his cue to bring in a tray of silver goblets. Necessary for the potion.

"The potion only works to allow the imbiber to retain their mind by itself, and to make it so their bite is not infectious, but when drunken from a silver goblet also tempers the wild impulses and instincts of the beast." Emma explained. "A werewolf without wolfsbane is like unto a rampaging bear with rabies. With wolfsbane is like a tamed bear who is caught up on all of his shots, and able to fight its nature. Though is still a bear and should be treated with similar caution to a wild one. When drunken from a silver goblet their transformation is more akin to an addict in drug withdrawal. Nearly catatonic and completely safe. But safety measures should still be observed all the same."

It was a good comparison. Even with the potion it is a battle to maintain control, but at least you are able to fight for it. Administered properly and with the bracelets or collars and it's like restraining a tranquilized bear. Nobody here will be a danger to others, but for the patients it will be a night of staring at their darker halves terrified that they could wake up at any moment and tear them to shreds. Sometimes reality liked to remind Harry that he didn't have it that bad, despite all of his troubles.

"Using a measuring cup, fill the goblets to exactly... one cup." Emma instructed, passing the glass measuring implement to each student in turn as they filled a goblet apiece and stood apart. "With that done, you instruct the patient to drink the goblet in its entirety."

She then demonstrated, bringing forth a young man with unhealthily dark bags under his bloodshot eyes - the possibility of murdering your loved ones against your will in a few nights isn't great for sound sleep - and had him drink the goblet.

"Once they have, you refill the goblet with water and have them drink it to make sure they get every last drop of the potion." She explained, before having the young man do exactly that. "You do this twice and offer a cup of mouthwash."

Her patient drank two refills of water and declined the mouthwash. Many people believed, wrongly, that rinsing the mouth after consuming wolfsbane would counteract the impotency of their bite that it provided, and also it was a rather tasty potion with a pleasant aftertaste. From there each student took their turn repeating this process with a patient apiece. Emma made certain to keep the female patients with the female students and male patients with the male students and it all worked out fairly well. With that done Emma demonstrated how to properly escort their patients to a bed and teach them a few sign language motions to ask for water, the toilet or to indicate pain. In case they need help during their night of being transformed. With everybody put to bed and the full moon less than thirty minutes away Emma led the group into the large entrance hall.

There Lily sat, cross-legged, in front of a churning cauldron and a dozen cushions surrounding it.
"Come in everyone. It's time to earn your extra credit in potions." She instructed.

"Are we to call you professor again?" Draco asked. "As much as I enjoy my godfather's classes, it really isn't the same without you ma'am."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the blonde, but Lily answered with a genuine smile.

"Thank you, Draco. Ma'am will do for the evening. Please, sit. Sit!" She patted one of the cushions closest to her.

Harry joined James in the corner as the students took their places in a circle around the cauldron, trying his hardest not to stare at him or his mother. Draco and Hermione took to Lily's left and right spots, with the older students like Daphne, Miles and Cho, in the closest circle of cushions to the cauldron. For a few minutes they watched silently as Lily prepared the ingredients, narrating what the ingredients were and what she was doing to prepare them. When Harry was certain the class was fully engrossed in the lesson he spoke to James.

"Hey, old man, where are Padfoot and Wormtail?" Harry asked, repeating Romulus' familiar term for Remus earlier.

"Patrolling." He whispered back. "Padfoot and Arianna are doing laps outside and Wormtail is hiding in the quarters, eavesdropping." He explained. "We have to make sure none of our guests are planning any raucous."

It made a good deal of sense. There were many people who had reasons to interfere with the days' going ons.

"I'll go checkup on them. Can you also do a sweep of the rest of the rooms while I'm out?" Harry asked.

"Of course, son." James smiled at him before clasping him on the shoulder. "And I'll make sure to escort our non-werewolf guests to the waiting room."

Harry nodded and nervously made for the front door. Keeping a tight hold on both his occlumency, facial muscles and refusal to tap into the ambient magic to feel what James felt just then. He exited the house and let go as soon as the door closed. A sensation that enveloped him could best be compared to lowering yourself into a hot tub after a long day of hard labor.

He'd spoken to his dad. And he had called him son. That little gesture, that hand on the shoulder, would fuel his patronus charm for months to come. It probably didn't mean much, if anything, to James. But it meant the world to Harry. He'd have to rewatch that moment in Dumbledore's pensieve before classes start next week. Take in every feature of his dad's expression. Every millimeter of his crow's feet and greying hairs. By the end of the night, he'd also have to commit the man's smell to memory, just as he had done with Pandora so his Luna could experience it best in a pensieve when... if, he ever returned to his own timeline.

He was becoming increasingly comfortable with the notion that he may never return. In many ways this timeline was preferable, but it wasn't his home. If it were to become his home he would have to open up and share his true secret with everyone, or at least everyone who mattered. But it wasn't safe to do so yet. Until then he would continue with this half-life. It wasn't a particularly bad life.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a potential one-on-one chat with Sirius, and later his mother, and began a route around the shrieking shack. It didn't take long to find the couple. The two were checking the ward stones near the front gate to make certain it hadn't been tampered with. At least they weren't sneaking away to play paddycake. This was Sirius Black and a woman who could apparently tolerate him, after all. Any expectations of professionalism were optimistic at best.

"Everything copacetic out here?" Harry asked as he approached, so as not to startle them.

"No signs of tampering and we already did a lap." Arianna answered. "Also now isn't the best time, but when are you free for a rematch? This time without the... tactic I promised to keep secret."

Harry smiled at the curious glance Sirius gave his woman from where he was kneeling.

"I expect to be exceptionally busy for the foreseeable future." Harry said honestly. "But if you ever want to arrange a dueling lesson for the students with Albus I can be your opponent. Wands only, and tournament rules. Are you more of a heap rules girl, a snowball rules girl or a classical rules girl?"

"Oh, I'm pants at conjuration and transfiguration." She admitted. "Classical rules please."

Classical rules meant jinxes, curses and charms only, and was what most people imagined when thinking of dueling. It required exceptional aim, athletics, reflecting, dodging and focus. Snowball rules allowed unlimited conjuration and transfiguration in addition to the above. Where the catwalk gets filled up over time and the material with which to transfigure grows, snowballing into larger and larger feats of magic. It required immense creativity, strategy and power. Heap rules is the same, but all material outside of the opponent's dueling circle is out of play and thrown aside into "the heap." It's the best of both worlds, requiring all of the skills of classical and snowball rules.

"If it's during the school week I'm yours, just not on weekends or Friday evenings." Harry accepted. "And Padfoot, did you smell anything suspicious during your route?"

"Haven't gotten to sniffing around yet." Sirius told him before standing up and stretching. "Was gonna do that next. Not much wind tonight to carry any scents but it's always best to use all senses available."

Harry nodded.

"Once you've finished with that, I need you and Prongs in the barracks with our patients. You two and Wormtail are in charge of watching over and restraining them if necessary." Harry instructed.

The reason animagi are so compatible with werewolves isn't just because werewolves are less likely to attack them. But because they are immune to the bite. So long as they are bitten while transformed. The disease only effects humans. It's just best to clean the wound thoroughly before transforming back.

Harry left the couple and did a round along the perimeter as well. He slacked his grip on his connection the forc... er, magical ambience as he did so. Only enough to feel for a dozen meters beyond the perimeter. Finding nothing but the flora and wildlife one would expect, Harry returned to the shrieking shack in time to see Lily finish her lesson.

"The next full moon will be Saturday, October 26th." Lily informed her class. "And a Hogsmeade weekend. If you would like to avail yourselves of the opportunity, you may come Saturday afternoon to brew a wolfsbane potion of your own."

The entire entourage signed up for that while they were here and led to the waiting room where the friends and family of their patients were waiting. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for everybody. But at least there would be no shortage of conversation to help it pass.

---

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Chapter 27:

A Successful Grand Opening Part 2​

---

The next morning arrived as a cloudless day and brought with it an entire Shrieking Shack full of sleeping or half-unconscious students.

One by one they had dropped like flies throughout the night, the fascinating conversations interrupted by the occasional care of their guests failing to provide the mental fortitude to keep them awake. This was exacerbated by the fact that, for insurance reasons, they couldn't allow the students to actually enter the room where the werewolves were sheltered. Instead, they had to crowd around the doorway and watch as either Grey or Lily tended to their patients while the other narrated what they were doing.

The only interesting thing to have happened overnight was when Romulus, fully transformed, walked around the house to get a glass of water or a snack from the kitchen. It was eerie seeing a werewolf talk in full sentences, made even stranger by the fact his appearance more resembles 1941s Wolf Man than an actual werewolf. It almost looked like intentionally bad makeup.

What kind of mutation was that? And did it involve a Jumanji board?

"We really ought to wake them." Lily interrupted their silent watching of the students.

Harry checked his watch and, indeed, it was the scheduled time to return them to the castle for a weekend of homework and rest.

"Is there really a point? They're just going to crash in their dormitories as soon as they get back." Sirius argued.

"Which will be better for them." Harry decided. "Let's get them out quietly so as not to wake the patients. They need all the rest and recouperation they can get."

They each lightly shook a student awake, or as close to it as they could get in their current state and walked them to the fireplace. Harry had to manually start it - the connection was severed during working hours for obvious security reasons - but once the connection was made Grey went through to her personal quarters to receive them. Not trusting the students to be particularly eloquent Harry threw fistfuls of floo powder in after each of them and enunciated "Hogwarts, Profeessor Grey Quarters" so they wouldn't have to.

With Hermione being the last to leave Harry was left with the company of his volunteers and quests, the quiet snoozing of un-transformed werewolves in the next room competing with the birds for most irksome sounds after pulling an all-nighter.

"Does anybody want some coffee?" Arianna Figg offered, entering the room with a fresh pot.

"Do I look like a flag waving American to you? No, I do not want coffee. I want tea. Strong tea, and a lot of it." Harry answered.

He got a few eye rolls from that, but aside from Lily and Arianna everyone agreed to tea. Bit of a sex war going on there on the coffee vs tea preference, hopefully it remained a cold war for the time being. When wars are fought over tea British soldiers tend to get humiliated, and Harry had too much natural pride to see that happen in his lifetime. As much as Draco... his original Draco would enjoy seeing it.
"So, how long until the day shift arrives?" Asked Sirius as Harry handed him a hot mug.

"Or do you expect us to pull a 48-hour shift?" Peter asked. "We are only volunteers, after all, so you shouldn't work us too hard."

Harry smiled at the good humor.

"They should be arriving by floo soon, then I have a meeting with Schmickleook the fourth to discuss Gringotts' satisfaction with the grand opening." Harry explained. "If they are, I can go looking for plots to start my farm."

"Farm? What does farming have to do with this nonprofit of yours?" James asked.

"Aconite, moonwort and myrrh." Harry explained simply.

"Aaaaaaah." They all exclaimed in understanding.

They settled into the quiet morning. All of them were far too sleepy to continue on with small talk, so they enjoyed their breakfast beverages and watched the world outside of the windows and doors of the Shack.

Speak of the devil! Schmicklehook the second youngest was approaching the gate from Hogsmeade now. Harry waved his hand and deactivated the ward on the gate to allow him in and he stomped up the path towards the open doorway like a soldier on a mission.

"Good day, Mister Morrigan." Schmicklehook the 4th greeted.

"Good day. Would you like some breakfast before we begin?" Harry offered.

Schmicklehook waved him off.

"No, let us get onto business so I can get home sooner and have a REAL breakfast." He said.

"Would you two like us to give you some privacy?" Peter offered.

"Actually, I'm here to interview the rest of you. He is more biased, and you all have stellar reputations amongst goblinfolk." Schmicklehook said. "Except for you, Mr Black. Your credit score could use improving."

Sirius threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"You miss ONE credit card payment, and they treat you like a convicted mass murderer."

Harry snorted into his tea. Fortunately, his companions all took this as him relating to Sirius' situation, and not the irony of his statement that only knowledge of his home universe' Sirius made sensible.
Schmicklehook ignored their shenanigans as he took a seat and withdrew a clipboard from his sack. Clicking his pen to the "on" position he began his interrgation.

"Were any reporters present at any time over the night?" He asked. "Or tried to be."

They all shared confused glances at the odd question.

"No sir. Nobody approached the facilities through the evening at all." Said Arianne Figg. "Isn't that right dear?"

Sirius nodded and Schmicklhook made a note.

"And was there any period of time where Hadrian Morrigan was not within ear and eye shot of at least one of you?" He continued.

They all had to think on that one.

"He was with us in the guest sitting room for most of the night." Emma Grey said.

"And when he wasn't he was either accompanying me or Arianna on patrols." Sirius added. "Was never more than two meters away from me."

Arianna and Lily both nodded to confirm this.

"So yeah, no reporters. I even made sure to put up beetle detection and repellant wards." Harry quipped.

They all look at him strangely. He supposed he deserved his reputation as an oddball at times.
"Sorry. Inside joke that only I understand. I do that pretty often, actually." Harry apologized. "You'll probably get it later. My being a seer and all, these jokes don't tend to make sense until the subject matter actually happens."

"I actually knew a woman who had ironic foresight." Said Schmicklehook. "Everything she said in jest, tended to come true."

Harry nodded.

"I know for a fact one of my students has such an ability. I have yet to inform him and will avoid doing so until my last day as his teacher." Hary said with a smirk.

Boy was his world's Ron unhappy when Prophecy from the D.O.M informed him of that latent ability. But honestly, when you make offhanded, farfetched jokes like "Maybe that guy who got awards for services to the school murdered moaning Myrtle." and that little joke about "Voldemort hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blots" it was kind of obvious in hindsight. Shame Trelawney didn't notice it during their time at Hogwarts. After a certain age it's impossible to develop the talent to its full potential, so Ron's divinatory talent withered and died. Thankfully, that cutoff age is 17, so he can secretly assign this world's Ron tasks to "accidentally" bring such humorous predictions out.

Or he just tell him... Nah! Opportunities to pick on your best friend like this don't come every day. Gotta take advantage of it, you know? He hoped this Ron would lie and make up stuff for his dream journal, because Harry would pay VERY close attention to whatever he wrote down.

"And what did Hadrian contribute all night?" Schmicklehook continued.

"Mainly comforted our non-werewolf guests and added his two cents for the lessons to the students." Emma supplied. "He left the medicine and most of the teaching to those of us more knowledgeable on the subject of caring for were-wolves. But do not underplay the value of his keeping our now sleeping guests in the next room entertained and happy."

Lily nodded to confirm these claims.

"What can I say? I'm a people person." Harry explained. "And I recruited these people because I have the utmost faith in their abilities.

Schmicklehook made some more marks on his clipboard and Harry resisted the temptation to reach out and try to read it with his extra senses. Had he really been that reliant on them for so long? An extrasensory ability that was like a combination of sight, hearing and touch was such a useful ability that it made sense he became addicted, but this is ridiculous.

"That covers everything for now. With your permission I would like to remain on the premises for the whole of the day until you discharge everyone this evening." He requested.

Harry shrugged.

"You absolutely may, but I would like to know why."

"To make sure nothing untowards happens, observe how you conduct the place and to make sure no press comes for you to pull a Jimmy Carter." Schmicklehook advised.

Lily finally perked up and added her two cents.

"What did Jimmy Carter do?" She asked.

"Publicity stunting." Harry explained. "Volunteers for charities, particularly habitat for humanity, every year only when there was publicity to it. Made sure to always do it in front of cameras on the ONE week per year he volunteered instead of spending his millions actually doing good for humanity."

"Yes, I was passive aggressively sharing our suspicions that this was all a publicity stunt for future politicking or other social games on Hadrian's part. Would you like a further crash course on the intricacies of goblinoid barbing and other conversational techniques or may Mister Morrigan and I get on with our business?" Schmicklehook demanded.

Harry hid his smile up until the barbing comment, then he couldn't hold it.

"I would have mentioned all that, but I don't want to seem like the most pessimistic person in a room containing two aurors, a potions professor, a Doctor with seventy years of treating horrific medical conditions, a professional fighter and a goblin banker." Harry joked.

The nervous chuckling that filled the room at that told him they definitely had every excuse to be pessimistic people because of the lives they lived and understood his actual meaning.

The fireplace ignited with bright green flames and out came a gentleman so covered in scars from third degree burns that his only describable features were his neon blue eyes. Sirius took one look at the revolver strapped to his hip and whistled Marty Robbins.

"Hah! Big iron is right." Jacob said as soon as he entered.

Already friends with my attempted murderer, are you Sirius?

"Jacob, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Jacob. He's in charge of the day shift as condition for his community service and house arrest." Harry explained.

"Community service? House arrest?" Lily asked with a suspicious glare up and down Jacob's person.

"Yeah. Hadrian talked to the judge on my behalf and she decided him immolating my ass and killing my colleagues was almost justice enough for my trying to kill him." Jacob confessed. "But not trusting me, they put me on house arrest and assigned me community service. The latter to be supervised by the man who decided to take responsibility for me."

Harry nodded along with every word.

"Wait... you're one of that quartet that Voldemort hired to assassinate him?" Lily asked, seemingly not believing her ears.

"That's right." Jacob affirmed, almost cheerfully. "It wasn't anything personal, just a job. Now this is my job. And I appreciate the chance to restart my life in his service."

"Say it." Harry instructed.

"What? Say what?" Jacob asked in confusion.

"Tell them what you are." Harry demanded.

Jacob deflated. Taking a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh, he told them the simple version of events.

"I am Hadrian's bitch. There. Are you happy?" Ge ground out.

"Emminently." Harry said with a shit-eating grin. "And yes, I approved him to carry his firearm, which he is already certified to open carry, although I would prefer it if he kept sidearm concealed."
Jacob looked at him like he was an idiot.

"I don't even keep it loaded right now. It's just for show. It's hard to find a silver 600 nitro express bullets. But when I do, and expect to work during the full moon, I'll load it." He said.

Well, that was ONE way to kill a werewolf. And he was hired to patrol the grounds as a deadly disincentive for anybody with plans to harm his patients while they're recovering and weak from the transformation. Whether they're people intent on murdering werewolves in general, or one of those present specifically, if they come to his facility with evil in their heart they have a bonafied murderer to contend with.

He'd make sure to pull Jacob aside and instruct him to load his gun, as he clearly didn't understand his job.

"And... you are sure you can manage this man, Ha, Hadrian?" James asked, stumbling over his name.
Harry nodded.

"I'll be here all day, and he won't leave my sight or the sight of those who will be coming through that fireplace right... now!" Harry said, snapping his fingers on both hands and pointing to the fireplace.
One second passed. Then another. Then...

WOOSH!

"Heeeeeeey! I nailed it!" Harry joked.

"Psychic powers at work?" Quipped James.

"You know it."

The humor in the room died as the day shift stepped through the threshold. As the second person passed through, every single Marauder present drew their wands. Lily, Emma and Arianna had the good sense to back away.

Before the stunning and binding spells left James, Peter and Sirius' wands Harry released his hold on Ghillie Dhu, if only slightly. The stone floor and wooden walls turned into vines, reaching for and growing towards each other with such speed that the tendrils of stone and fiber crashed into each other with a loud symphony of cracks. The stunner, incarcerous and shield breaker (Really Sirius? Really?!) smashed against the barrier and broke it apart as quickly as it had taken Harry to construct it.

In the amount of time this all took to unfold Jacob and Schmicklehook turned on the three aggressors. Sirius found the barrel of a revolver an inch from his nose while Jacobs other hand held his wand pointed at James' heart. Schmicklehook had withdrawn a dagger from his sleeve and was holding it, tip first, against Peter's inner thigh. Right on the femoral artery.

"I thought you said it wasn't loaded?" Sirius broke the silence.

"I lied." Jacob snarled, drawing the hammer back with his thumb but keeping his finger off the trigger.
Harry kept his focus on the barrier, regrowing it in case the Carrows decided to retaliate.

"You guys okay over there?!" He called through the wall.

"Yeah, just taking cover behind the fireplace." Amycus called back.

"Keep your wands holstered. We have things under control over here." Harry called back, turning his full attention on his father, Peter and Sirius. "I will give you exactly ten seconds to explain. Get started."

And they did. Talking all at once, as he should have expected.

"They're Death Eaters!"

"They butchered an entire family!"

Peter remained silent. A knife against your thigh, and dangerously close to your testicles, will do that to a man.

A small, muffled voice came from the other side of the barrier.

"First of all, I'm not a Death Eater, my husband is." Said Alecto. "And we were exonerated last week in a court of law."

"Thank you, ma'am! Please let me handle this!" Harry called back, before turning on James and Sirius.
They lowered their wands.

"You dare bring your idiotic war into my establishment? A place of peace and healing?" Harry said. "I don't care what ideology, political affiliation, or career they or you hold. Your war ends at that doorstep!"

He paused for effect.

"Actually, no, it ends at that property line." He corrected himself, pointing towards the gate with the bluebell fire jars. "Not that it's any of your business, but Alecto lost her first husband to lycanthropy. His anemia couldn't handle the internal bleeding from the transformation. She has as much of a right to help others afflicted and has just as much of a beautiful motivation as you do with your relationship to Remus. And you would have me deny them that because of your ideological differences?"

A crowd had gathered in the doorway to the living room where they had left the friends and families of the patients, with Viktor at the front.

Harry sighed and undid the barrier, revealing Alecto and Amycus with their hands raised to chest level in a sign of peace. A gesture that Sirius, Peter and James had also adopted before the barrier came down, although that likely had more to do with them being held at gun/wand point.

"Listen, you..."

He was interrupted by the fireplace igniting again, depositing the last two volunteers for the day into the foyer.

"Oh! Are we interrupted something?" Narcissa greeted, surprised by the violent situation she found herself in.

Andromeda came in through the floo behind her, dressed in her mediwitch clothes. She arrived with a cheery demeanor that immediately deflated into one of annoyance and boredom at the scene. For some reason her gaze zeroed right in on her male cousin as if she knew he was solely to blame. It was a wrong assumption, but not an unfair one.

"Ladies." Harry greeted the Black sisters, before turning on the night shift to address Lily, Emma and Arianna "Ladies. Please escort these gentleman home, or at least away from here."

He turned to said gentleman next.

"As for you three, if you are still interested in being a part of this, then we can discuss your ability to do so at a later date. For now, I need you to vacate my property, cool off, and think on what is important here." Harry dismissed them.

They looked stricken and for a moment seemed ready to argue, but a look at the expression on Lily's face silenced all three of them. Lily took the lead in ushering them through the front door and along the path to Hogsmeade. Jacob kept his weapon drawn, though pointed at the ground, as he watched them, only returning it to the holster when they apparated away.

The world paused to catch its breath, but once it did, Harry turned to the new arrivals.

"Narcissa, Andromeda. I'm so glad to see you again." He said with a genuine smile.

They both approached him in turn to give him a hug or chaste kiss on the cheek and the entire entourage was all smiles from there. Harry introduced Narcissa, Andromeda, Alecto and Amycus to Schmicklehook and Jacob in turn.

"Isn't this the man who tried to murder you last Saturday?" Narcissa pointed out.

"And vaporized most of your arm?" Andromeda added.

Harry waved their concerns away.

"Please! If I restricted my social interactions to people who haven't tried to kill me, I'd be a very lonely person. Now let's get to work." AHrry suggested.

He led them to the living room and repeated the process with all of the guests. Jacob excused himself outside to patrol and Harry directed Amycus to accompany him.

"They are welcome to stay and even sleep here until this evening when our lycanthropic friends in the room next door are ready for discharge." Harry explained. "We have actual bedding and a common room upstairs, though most just slept on whatever piece of furniture they were on where they dropped."

It did greatly resemble a hospital sitting room, but more comfortable. It was certainly filled with the same amount of worry as the ER.

"May I see the patients?" Andromeda asked.

Harry motioned to the door to the barracks and nodded at Alecto to join her. Always in pairs. Everybody must always be in a pair.

"May I watch them?" Asked Schmicklehook.

"Yes, but only from the doorway. Insurance, medical licensing, all that good stuff." Harry explained.
"But of course!" Schmicklehook said as if aghast Harry would think he didn't already know that.

Before turning back to the crowd of non-werewolf guests Harry checked his watch. He had 14 hours left until bed. Joy.

---

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$25 per 500 words for original fiction/nonfiction or anything else that is not fanfiction. I am still looking for my first nonfiction gig so I can move into ghostwriting professionally, so if you have a novel you really want written contact me.

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