Winds of Change

Winds of Change

Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Things are coming to an end in Harry Potter’s life. His job. His marriage. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t new things starting.
Word Count: 10,181
Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Pre-Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley. James Sirius Potter, Lily Luna Potter, Albus Severus Potter.
Rating: PG
Content/Warnings: AU of Cursed Child, Bad Ginny Weasley, Divorce, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Potions Used Against Someone’s Will.

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Evil Author Day – 2018

Howdy everyone and welcome to another year of Evil Author Day. As always, I make no guarantees that any of these will be completed and/or posted anytime in the near or far future, but these are some of the stories I have been working on.

This past year, I have started to plot a whole lot more than the pantsing that I have done over the last ten odd years, meaning there aren’t as many new projects I had to choose from to use for EAD this year. I can’t guarantee a whole lot in the future either for the same reason.

Hope you enjoy these, and thanks for reading!

This year’s offerings:

Title: A Third Side, pt 3

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~21,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape,

Rating: NC-17. This section, PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence; discussion of warfare; Ron Bashing; Weasley bashing in general; Ron is a lazy, no good, bad friend; Pagan elements in magic; Harry has rage issues.

Summary: Magic is dying, and the Pureblood Traditions aren’t helping. Perhaps it’s time to go back to an even older Tradition.

Beta: None. Casual spell check. No Bitching.

Author Note:  ignore the fact that technically speaking, Harry Potter took place in the 90’s. Timelines have been moved around for the Author’s own satisfaction.

AN: This is a continuation of the EAD offerings in 2016 and 2017. You should really read those first.

Part 1  |  Part 2


Title: Children of the Ancients

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~23,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Future Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: PG-13 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, discussion of abuse with the Dursleys

Summary: Following the events of the TriWizard Tournament, Harry is left angry and to his own devices for the summer. A chance discovery of the manipulations around him lead to a few changes in Harry’s life and a new plan for the future.

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.


Title: Thanks, Trump

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: ~4,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Rating: PG-13 so far

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, dealing with the End of the World

Summary: TEOTWAWKI – The End of the World As We Know It

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.

A/N: If you want to bitch about the mention of Trump in the title, or in any way want to bring politics into my comments section: Don’t. They will be laughed at, then deleted.

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EAD – 2018 – A Third Side – Pt 3


Title: A Third Side, pt 3

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~10,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape,

Rating: NC-17. This section, PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence; discussion of warfare; Ron Bashing; Weasley bashing in general; Ron is a lazy, no good, bad friend; Pagan elements in magic; Harry has rage issues.

Summary: Magic is dying, and the Pureblood Traditions aren’t helping. Perhaps it’s time to go back to an even older Tradition.

Beta: None. Casual spell check. No Bitching.

Author Note:  ignore the fact that technically speaking, Harry Potter took place in the 90’s. Timelines have been moved around for the Author’s own satisfaction.


AN: This is a continuation of the EAD offerings in 2016 and 2017. You should really read that first.

Part 1  |  Part 2

Part 3 Continue reading

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EAD 2018 – Children of the Ancients

Title: Children of the Ancients

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~23,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Future Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: PG-13 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, discussion of abuse with the Dursleys

Summary: Following the events of the TriWizard Tournament, Harry is left angry and to his own devices for the summer. A chance discovery of the manipulations around him led to a few changes in Harry’s life and a new plan for the future.

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.

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EAD 2018 – Thanks, Trump

Title: Thanks, Trump

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: ~4,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Rating: PG-13 so far

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, dealing with the End of the World

Summary: TEOTWAWKI – The End of the World As We Know It

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.

A/N: If you want to bitch about the mention of Trump in the title, or in any way want to bring politics into my comments section: Don’t. They will be laughed at, then deleted.

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Evil Author Day 2017

Welcome to this year’s Evil Author Day offerings. As always, Evil Author Day is where authors post snippets of work they have done, however, there is no guarantee they will be worked on again. This may be as complete as they may ever be. Or I could finish one next week.

Consider that your warning.

This year’s offerings:


Title: Marine!Stiles (temp file name)

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: ~10,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale/Christopher Argent

Rating: M 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language

Summary: Stiles returns to Beacon Hills, fresh from two tours in the Marines, ready to take up the mantle of Deputy in the Police Department. But what reception is he going to receive back in his hometown?

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.


Title: Life’s Tangents

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~4,900

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: M 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, dealing with life changing circumstances/injuries

Summary:  Harry is about to start his first year teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s his last resort. The rest of his life has gone to shit.


Title: A Third Side, pt 2

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~21,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape,

Rating: NC-17. This section, PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence; discussion of warfare; Ron Bashing; Weasley bashing in general; Ron is a lazy, no good, bad friend; Pagan elements in magic; Harry has rage issues.

Summary: Magic is dying, and the Pureblood Traditions aren’t helping. Perhaps it’s time to go back to an even older Tradition.

Beta: None. Casual spell check. No Bitching.

Author Note:  ignore the fact that technically speaking, Harry Potter took place in the 90’s. Timelines have been moved around for the Author’s own satisfaction.

AN: This is a continuation of the EAD’16 post. You should really read that first.


Happy Reading!!

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EAD 2017 – A Third Side, pt 2

Title: A Third Side, pt 2

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~21,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape,

Rating: NC-17. This section, PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence; discussion of warfare; Ron Bashing; Weasley bashing in general; Ron is a lazy, no good, bad friend; Pagan elements in magic; Harry has rage issues.

Summary: Magic is dying, and the Pureblood Traditions aren’t helping. Perhaps it’s time to go back to an even older Tradition.

Beta: None. Casual spell check. No Bitching.

Author Note:  ignore the fact that technically speaking, Harry Potter took place in the 90’s. Timelines have been moved around for the Author’s own satisfaction.


AN: This is a continuation of the EAD’16 post. You should really read that first.


Part 2

“So where have you been all day?” Pansy demanded the moment that Draco strolled into his private room in the Slytherin Dormitory.

“Busy,” Draco said dismissively, walking straight past her and to his desk.

“I imagine so, but with whom and doing what?”

“When have I ever given you the idea that what I do is any of your business?”

“The fact that you usually tell me everything, Draco,” Pansy sighed. “You’ve been distant and quiet since the holidays. Are you worried about your Father?”

“You know I am,” Draco snapped.

“He won’t get out of Azkaban, Draco. Thinking this way just gives energy to the nightmare becoming manifest.”

“So you’ve told me before,” Draco said sullenly.

“Then why do you persist in these thoughts? You don’t want it to happen, so imagine him quite firmly stuck behind bars, with no recourse, and growing old and dying in there.”

“But what if he doesn’t? That mutt Black managed to get out so it wouldn’t be long before my Father and the others find the same or a similar way out!”

“Draco, it’s not going to happen. It’s not that simple.”

“How would you know?” Draco demanded.

Pansy was silent a moment, pondering if she should reveal her source.

“Everything is suddenly going much faster than I had expected it all to be. My plans will be in tatters by Alban Estir, I’ll be marked, and you’ll probably be forced as well.”

“Not everything is contingent on just you, Draco. There are other forces at work here that you don’t know about, and they are working to the same goals you are.”

“How do you know?” Draco asked plaintively now, his face one of defeat.

“Lovegood.” Pansy finally admitted.

“Loony? I thought you knew better than to trust her. She’s got a few screws loose, I swear.” Draco said derisively.

“She’s not Loony, Draco,” Pansy said in all seriousness.

“You’ve had confirmation then?” Draco asked, eyebrows drawing down into a look of shrewdness.

“I have, and more. She’s gathering people, Draco. She’s already calling it a Conclave.”

“She’s calling it a what?” Draco asked, eyebrows shooting into his hairline in shock.

“She’s seen it, Draco. And magic restored to its former glory.”

“There’s hope then,” Draco said, sitting heavily on his bed.

“There always has been, but you’ve been blocked to it. Your fears are clouding your judgment.” Pansy reprimanded softly.

“There is just so much to worry about.” Draco moaned.

“You know that’s not how it works! Fate will work its own way. You have to focus on what you want for your life, don’t let the fears create it for you instead.”

“You’re right, like normal. And to think I’ve been lecturing someone else on practically the exact same thing.” Draco huffed.

“Oh, and who might you have been coaching?”


“Excuse me? You’ve been with Potter all afternoon?” Pansy said, equally astonished and derisive.

“Don’t give me that.”

“Well excuse me for thinking that you had had a spontaneous mental breakdown and said that you’d been willingly spending time with the Gryffindor Golden Boy Harry Potter.”

Draco sighed. “You’d be surprised to know that both he and Granger think a lot like us.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” Pansy snorted, shifting away from the wall and started towards the door.

“Come with me tomorrow. You’ll be surprised.”


Harry looked up in surprise when it wasn’t just Draco that joined their table that day, but Pansy Parkinson as well. He could see that Hermione was just as surprised by the turn of events, the both of them keeping their mouths shut lest they break whatever spell seemed to have come over all of them.

“Talkative lot, aren’t they Draco.” Pansy sneered, pulling out her homework from the morning class.

“Well, I’m sure they weren’t expecting you. You know Gryffindors take a little while to catch up with things. Their intelligence is sorely lacking sometimes.” Draco smirked, looking directly at Harry.

“Ha ha, Malfoy,” Hermione said primly, looking back to her own books.

Harry didn’t know what to say, however. And so he floundered around for a while, looking between them all and his books.

“Pansy Parkinson,” Pansy said, holding a hand out to Harry.

Harry blinked a moment, staring at the hand to the girl holding it out to him.

“Harry Potter,” Harry finally stuttered, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

“See, I don’t bite,” she said with a malicious grin, “Unless I’ve been asked.”

“That’s enough of your proclivities. I’m sure you’ll scar both of them emotionally.”

“Hardly,” Pansy said primly, “What have you been researching, is there anything I can help with?”

“What has Draco told you?” Hermione began.

“Nothing of anything, actually. The bastard has been keeping me in the dark for weeks.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“We think there is a possibility that Muggles, with their advances in technology and weapons, could have a negative impact on the Magical Realm, and at a worst case scenario, could destroy the realm before anyone knew what had even happened.”

Pansy frowned, “What has brought you to this conclusion?”

“There’s the potential for war on, right now in the Muggle World, though nothing of the sort has been published in the Magical Realm. There is also the general belief that Muggles are bumbling and useless in the Magical World, which quite frankly, couldn’t be further from the truth. We’re researching just how prepared the Magical World is, should the Muggles, a) discover the magical world and b) get it in their heads to destroy us.”

Pansy looked at Draco for confirmation, upon receiving a nod, she blew out a deep breath. “And what other conclusions have you come to so far?”

“Not much, unfortunately, as the fields we’ve discussed so far, none of us are particular well versed in, as it’s something that would probably be covered this year or the next. Malfoy has been bringing Harry up to speed on Arithmancy and Runes so that we can start looking at the Wards that are currently in place. I’ve been looking at the various forms of warfare and weapons that are available to the Muggles. At some point, we should be able to start drawing conclusions.”

“I’ve been researching some of the rituals that might be of use, should the worst happen,” Draco added.

Pansy read over the notes that had been collected so far, her face growing pale as she had read through Hermione’s.

“The situation is even more complex than Luna had implied to me,” Pansy whispered to Draco.

“I wonder what Luna has been doing then, and what she has planned then. I hope she chooses her Conclave carefully.”

“Luna?” Harry asked curiously, looking straight over Draco’s shoulder to the Ravenclaw that had walked up to their desk.

“Hello, Harry. The Babends seem to be favouring you a lot right now,” She advised as she sat down at the table.

“Luna,” Hermione acknowledged abruptly, only glancing up from her research quickly.

“Hermione,” Luna replied just as simply.

“Is that a good thing, Luna?” Harry asked awkwardly.

“It is a very good thing, considering the time of year,” Luna replied, not elaborating any further. “It is time that we started to discuss the Conclave.”

“The what?” Harry asked, feeling like he was continuously out of his depth.

“The Druidic Conclave, an organisation which had, until the seventeenth century, led the Magical Realm’s population here within the United Kingdom. This system was replaced with The Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamont.”

Both Harry and Hermione looked on in confusion, having never heard this history lesson from Professor Binns. Draco and Pansy were nodding along like they already knew.

“Magic is failing, both here and internationally. Should we wish to keep this gift, then the fates have given us a task. Draco knows of this task and has been planning it for several years, though I’m sure he never noticed Fate directing his hand. It is Harry’s challenge that he will face this symbolic battle, the outcome of this battle shall decide the fate of the Magical Realm as we know it.”

“What do you mean, a ‘symbolic battle’?” Harry asked, wondering cynically what else the Fates decided to throw his way in this lifetime.

“Not only will this battle be fought here in the physical plane, but also as a symbolic battle in a higher plane of existence. Voldemort is the side of selfishness, dark magic, chaos. Harry is the side of the selfless, neutral magic and cause and effect.”

“Simply put, the Wizarding Realm has become a little too trigger happy and no longer seems to hold life sacred. There is no satisfactory penalty, in magic’s eyes, for the senseless attacks that we perpetrate against others. The Fates are giving us an ultimatum: Stand up and own our actions, and be ready for the next story that fate will weave; or ignore everything before us and take no action, suffering this same story played out again.” Pansy summed up, though Harry got the gist that there was a lot more to it than what was said. What were ‘Plains of Existence’ anyway??

“My plans?” Draco asked, feeling partly embarrassed and partly overwhelmed.

“The plans and goals that you have made, and will make, are done so with Fate’s blessing. She will let you know should that ever not be the case.” Luna warned, her tone deceptively light.

“And what? The entire Wizarding Realm is supposed to just listen and accept Malfoy’s grand plans as gospel?” Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes.

“No, that is one of the many purposes The Druidic Conclave entails. Each of the members will bring different strengths, weaknesses, upbringings and opinions to the Circle. And the Conclave as a whole will decide the way forward.”

“And the members of this circle, how are they decided upon? Are they elected, or is there some mystical mojo that will conjure them up like the Triwizard Cup?” Hermione demanded.

“The members have already been decided and are currently in the process of being drawn together. The Time of the Phoenix is drawing to a close, and the Time of the Bard soon dawns.”

Luna left their table soon after, leaving them all in various moods of wonder, concern, and outrage.

“That was just sheer ridiculousness,” Hermione sniffed, “Who ever heard of a leadership council being chosen by some ridiculous deity, and not elected by the people. What right do they have to decide for the masses.”

“You do know that you’re ON that ridiculous council, right Granger?” Pansy jeered with a malicious grin back on her face.

“What?” Hermione practically screeched.

“That was probably the first unofficial meeting of the Conclave, Granger. Though, not all of us were here.” Pansy advised.

“Who else is there?” Harry asked, a frown coming to his face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be on some Grand Conclave Council Thing. He really wouldn’t have minded leading a simpler life in the time after Voldemort.

“There are eight of us,” Pansy said, bringing out her own small notebook just like Draco had. “Though I don’t know who the last three will be. They should be made known to us by early in the new year.”

“Why us?” Hermione finally asked, her voice small and insecure. They could all tell that what she had meant to ask was, why her?

“Luna said that we all bring something different to the group,” Harry suggested.

“We can all represent the various demographics in some manner or another,” Draco said, fingers tapping on his personal notebook irritably.

“So what do we do now then?”


“Hey mate! Where have you guys been? You missed Quidditch practice!” Ron said, though there was a grin on his face.

“I’m still banned, as far as I’m aware,” Harry said, plonking himself down on his bed.

“What? Nah with the Toad gone, surely you still wouldn’t be.” Ron said, indignant.

“Well, I don’t have a broom, Ron.” Harry sighed, thinking it was yet another tie to his godfather that he had lost.

“Have you asked McGonagall? Perhaps she’s been keeping it safe for you?” Ron urged.

The Deputy Headmistress had of course already seen Harry earlier in the term to advise him that his broom had yet to be found, so he knew that wasn’t the case.

“Well, you can just buy another one then. Now that you’re all rich right?”

“I might do later Ron, but I think I’m going to be too busy this year, alright.” Harry finally admitted.

“You can’t give up Quidditch, Harry! I’m the Captain now!” Ron said hotly.

“Congratulations Ron!” Harry said happily, moving to clap Ron on the shoulder, but his expression was dark.

“You have to be on the team, mate.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be,” Harry said, a frown coming over his face.

“How the hell am I supposed to win without you on the team,” Ron said angrily.

“You’ll do fine, Ron!! Besides, Ginny was a fairly decent Seeker last year. With a bit of training, I bet you’ll wonder why you ever needed me.” Harry said, forcing a grin on his face as he turned back to his bed.

“What was I thinking? Of course, we wouldn’t need you,” Ron sneered, turning to his own bed, pulling the curtains determinedly shut.

Harry let go of a deep breath that he had been holding, shaking his head in frustration. He didn’t know what it was about Ron that seemed to make him blow hot and cold at the most random of times.

“All right there, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Nev. How are you?”

“I’m good! Everything alright with Ron?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, settling on his bed more comfortably. “He’s been pretty grumpy this year. I don’t know what that’s all about.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”
“He’s not said anything more from the other day has he, about you being a Herbologist?”

“He’s not said anything more from the other day has he, about you being a Herbologist?”

“Nah, he’s been steering clear of me actually,” Neville said with half a grin.

“Good for you, Nev.” Harry returned the smile, glad that Neville was finally coming into a bit of his own.

“You know, I think it was Luna that gave me so much confidence. After we had spoken the other day, I felt so much better for it.”

“You spoke to Luna about it?” Harry asked curiously, his mind instantly thinking back to their earlier conversation about the conclave. Perhaps Neville would also be a member.

“Yeah, she found me in one of the greenhouses. She reminded me of a lot of reasons why I wanted to become a Herbologist to begin with. Made me realise that I could be useful.”

“Well, I’m glad she made you realise that. Though, I don’t think you should measure yourself by just how useful you might be. You’re a friend first to me, then a Herbologist.”

“Thanks, Harry. That means a lot.” Neville said with a blush.

“No, I don’t tell you often enough how much I’ve valued your friendship over the years. I’m sorry for that.” Harry admitted, thinking back to all the times that Neville had been a silent supporting presence.

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve had a pretty rough time of it here in the Magical Realm. I think it’s safe to say you’ve been a bit busy.”

“But not too busy for being friends, alright?” Harry said resolutely.

“I’m always here for you, Harry.”


Before long November was coming to an end, and Christmas was coming up around the corner.

Nothing more was said about the Conclave, though Neville had started attending their evening study sessions in the Library.

The DA started back up in the closing days of November, almost all of the original students eagerly coming back to the class as it became more evident that the Frenchman that Dumbledore had gotten to teach was almost as useful as Lockhart had been.

They met back in the Room of Requirement twice a week, Harry and Hermione teaching them offensive and defensive magic.

Ron was enthusiastic enough, though he spent a decent amount of time watching while Hermione and Harry instructed everyone else, lazing around on one of the lounges in the room. Harry couldn’t help but be irked by the whole scene of it.

He had started to take the time to think about his minds motivations and the source of his emotions. It was daunting work as he analysed just what it was that had caused his response, but he was having trouble working out how to resolve the issue. It irked him that Ron was so lazy and seemed to just have so much seemingly just handed to him. Nevermind the fact that Harry had always had to work for everything, and there was never a prospect of relaxing as time was at a minimum with Voldemort being able to attack him or the Wizarding Realm at any time.

From there, though, he wasn’t sure how to resolve that feeling of having no time and being unable to relax. He just wasn’t sure just what Draco had meant.

“Awesome class yesterday, Harry,” Neville beamed after classes in the library. “I think I’ve finally got the hang of it.”

“You’ve done a fantastic job, Nev.” Harry encouraged with a smile.

“You and Hermione just make it so easy to understand.”

“I just wish it was so easy to understand some of the other things in the Magical world. You don’t know how lucky you’ve had it at least growing up around magic,” Harry said with a frown.

Neville frowned as well, “What do you mean, Harry?”

“Well, it’s just that there is so much assumed knowledge in the magical world that it makes it hard to catch up having not grown up around it. I feel like I’ve been playing catch up since First year.”

“Playing catch up with what? Have you not been doing the homework I gave you?” Draco interrupted, not looking up from the book he was making notes from.

“No, I’ve been doing my homework,” Harry said with a smirk. “I meant about this world in general. I can’t even think of a proper example to explain it, but some of the times I’ve had to have Ron explain something to me, and he’s just looked at me like I’m an idiot…”

“I can understand your frustration. I would be horrified to realise that The Weasel was more knowledgeable on a subject than I was.”

Pansy snorted her amusement while Harry just rolled his eyes. Hermione just huffed her annoyance loudly but didn’t say anything. Harry knew that Hermione still had feelings for Ron, no matter how annoyed he seemed to make her. Harry, however, had started to think about what life would be like in a world without Ronald Weasley in it.

“It’s the simple things,” Harry continued. “Household spells, tailoring charms, how the Ministry and Wizengamont work. It’s stupid, seemingly inconsequential things that just seem to highlight the fact that I am an outsider to this world.”

“Granger?” Draco turned to Hermione, keen to get her understanding.

“You think the only reason I read so much is purely for my own amusement?” Hermione said dryly, eyebrow raised in disdain.

“Fair call,” Draco admitted with a nod. “What do you suggest?”

“Orienteering,” Hermione announced, looking up from her book. “I’m surprised there wasn’t something like that, actually, even for the Magicborn, this is a bloody big castle, and being the primary level of schooling in this world, I would imagine that many students would find the whole situation overwhelming.”

“Some of us are used to it,” Pansy sighed, though Harry noticed that it wasn’t meant to sound like posturing.

“There should be some classes at the very least, where the way things work in the Magic Realm is explained.”

“My parents were really worried when my letter first arrived, thinking that it was a practical joke. Even then, we were very much left to our own devices about obtaining everything that I would need, or even how to get to Diagon Alley.”

“At least I had Hagrid for that, though it was a last resort on Hogwarts behalf. My Uncle was quite resolute in my going to St Brutus’.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, “You mean St Brutus’ School for Incurably Criminal Boys?”

Everyone turned to Harry upon hearing that, and he felt himself blush from embarrassment.

“Yeah.” Harry refused to look at anyone, though he could still feel them staring at him. Eventually, it was too much. “I need to get a book.”

Rushing away from the table, Harry walked down a random aisle, just to be away.


“I packed up your bag for you,” Draco said quietly, standing just inside the alcove where Harry had holed himself away in the back of the Library.

“Cheers,” Harry said, voice barely above a whisper.

“So, I’m beginning to understand that things are much worse than you would have everyone believe.”

Harry felt like laughing hysterically, but he managed to contain it somehow.

When there was no reply, Draco came further into the alcove and took a seat next to Harry on the sofa that was underneath the window. “I can guess why you wouldn’t want anyone to know.”

Harry turned his head further away, looking out the dark window.

“If people were to know just how bad it was, there would be pity. If there is one thing I can’t abide its pity,” Draco said with some vehemence, surprising Harry into looking at the blonde.

Draco, however, was now resolutely not looking at Harry. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. But it at least stops the thoughts, the wondering. The second guessing that invariably happens. The what ifs.”

“My letter was addressed to me as the Cupboard Under the Stairs,” Harry admitted something which he had held close to his chest the entire time he had been in the Magical World. “If they knew I lived in a cupboard, why did no one say anything? Why did no one check on me?”

“I don’t know Harry.”

“Is there no Child Welfare Services in this world?” Harry demanded, voice becoming louder as the emotions bubbled up.

“Children are sacred in this world, especially nowadays, when squib rates seem to be climbing.”

“I take that as a no then?” Harry sneered, looking back out the window. “No one not once checked on me. Even Mrs. Figg, she knew how they treated me. To find out that she was one of Dumbledore’s informants, I thought surely something would change now. It took me threatening them with Sirius, a convicted felon, for my relatives to lay off me.”

Draco had nothing to say, nothing that could placate the boy beside him.

“How is that even right?” Harry finally said in a broken voice.

“It’s not, Harry,” Draco said, reaching over and hesitantly wrapping an arm around the Gryffindor.

For a moment, Harry was frozen tense, not knowing how to react to the touch, but soon, he gave into it, deciding to show this weakness for once. He settled against Draco’s side, the blonde pulling him tight as they sat in silence.


Harry jolted awake, the feel of something else moving against him something entirely too foreign. Looking widely around, it took a moment for him to orient himself to where he was, and just whom he was still with. Draco was peacefully sleeping head at an awkward angle to the rest of his body, hand still tightened in Harry’s robe front.

Casting a quiet tempus, Harry swore as he realized it was past midnight.

“Draco?” Harry shook the Slytherin awake.

“Wha-shit,” Draco said groggily, pulling his arm back to rub at his neck.

“We have to go before we’re caught.”

“Says you. Prefect, remember?” Draco smirked, standing up to stretch like a cat.

“Typical!” Harry snorted, quickly standing and grabbing his book bag. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, still half asleep,

But Harry was already jogging for the Library doors, the coast was clear so he quickly started sprinting down the hallways that would lead him back to Gryffindor tower. He berated himself for not carrying his Invisibility Cloak with him, though he admitted that it had been some time since he had had a need for it. But it was too late now as one of the last corridors before the portrait of the Fat Lady was in view, he ran smack bang into a tall column of black robes.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape drawled, his tone almost gleeful.

“Sir,” Harry said, dread and resignation coloring his voice.

“So, I believe we should start with twenty points for being out after curfew.”

Harry only nodded, knowing that it was going to get worse.

“Not going to offer any excuses?” Snape prodded.

“I fell asleep in the Library.”

“What a wonderful use of our school’s resources. Were you hoping to obtain more brains through the process of osmosis?” Snape mocked, making Harry both cringe and inwardly fume.

“Anything’s worth a try, I suppose.” Harry shrugged, feeling a bout of hysteria come over him again.

Snape snorted, “Touché, Mr. Potter.” The professor was silent a moment longer, making Harry uncomfortable as he had yet to be dismissed. “Has there been any further news, in regards to the Muggle War?”

Harry blinked in shock. “Not to my knowledge, Sir. Hermione’s parents haven’t sent us any new clippings in the last few weeks.”

“Very well. I can assume that you were rushing back to your dormitory, then?”


“You had best be on your way, before that mad woman that guards your tower decides to traipse off.”

Harry ran, not willing to give the Potions Master any further opportunity for point deductions.


“I think we should invite the Slytherins,” Harry said quietly to Hermione, conscious that Ron was only a few meters away lazily lounging on the chair as they packed up.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Most of these students would riot if Slytherins started turning up.” Hermione said, shuddering at the thought. “Besides, just because Draco and Pansy have so far been honorable and pleasant, isn’t to say that they would all be that way.”

“But they take their direction from Draco,” Harry argued.

“And some will take their direction from their Death Eater parents,” Hermione argued back, struggling to keep her voice down. “I know you want to think the best of them, especially after Draco has been acting with us, but it is simply too dangerous, both for them and for us.”

“Don’t you think we should at least offer the olive branch? How else will peace start in this bloody world?”

“I know you mean well, Harry. But in the real world, it’s not always that simple.”

“This war will never end unless someone does something. And I don’t think knocking Voldemort off is quite going to do the trick.”

“What are you two arguing about?” Ron said, suddenly seeming all too interested in what they were saying.

Harry shook his head, “Hermione thinks I should rejoin the Quidditch team.”

“Of course you should, mate,” Ron said animatedly.

Hermione just sighed at him, turning back to packing up.


“So I’ve been thinking,” Draco began.

“Did it hurt?” Harry jeered, a smirk covering his face.

Draco just looked at Harry, one eyebrow raised in disdain, “A comedian, you are not, Potter. Don’t give up your day job.

“As I was saying, I’ve been thinking. And with Pansy’s help, we’ve begun to iron out some details for the first plan to be put in motion. Your Orientation Program, Granger.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, giving Draco her full attention.

“We would still need both your and Harry’s input into the class structure and material, but for now we were thinking evening classes during September of each year, except for the first year which would require October as well. Each year level’s Orientation would include further, more in depth, information about the Magical Realms customs, traditions, social and political expectations as well as the general magics that would have been evidenced in a typical magical home.”

“That would be a very good idea,” Hermione said. “Are there any decent texts that may be given to new Muggleborn students, perhaps before they arrive at Hogwarts?”

“That could be arranged,” Draco said, “Though I have further plans for the future in regards to that.”

When Draco didn’t continue, Harry understood that it was still a plan under construction and that he wasn’t yet ready to share. “So what do you need from us?”


As it turned out, between the group of them, they were able to easily flesh out a full syllabus, though it became difficult when they had to choose which year would be the best year to introduce them to.

“We also have the problem of getting approval from the Headmaster to conducting such a program. It could hardly be classified as just extra-curricular.” Pansy advised, just as they were all pulling back to pack up.

“That may not necessarily be as hard as you think,” Harry said with a grin.

“Yes, your ‘Dumbledore’s Army,’” Draco said with a mocking eyebrow raised.

“My what?” Harry said, trying to feign innocence, but knowing he was probably far off the mark.

“Your little army your training. Umbridge eventually cottoned on to what was happening in the Room of Requirement, but she nor we ever managed to gain access. I figure, however, that Dumbledore approved of that little club, which is why nothing was ever done about it.”

Harry sighed, thinking about it, “You’re probably right.”

“Who’s to say that Dumbledore would refuse this kind of class. Perhaps he might even make it an official class that needs to be attended.” Hermione added.

Harry watched as Draco visibly restrained himself from rolling his eyes.


“Lovegood,” Terry said by way of greeting, though he was wary of her coming up to him in their Common room.

“Boot,” Luna acknowledged as she sat across from him at one of the many desks in the Common room. “The pursuit of knowledge is admirable, but only for knowledge’s sake is a waste.”

“Rowena Ravenclaw said as much,” Terry acknowledged.

“Do you pursue Knowledge or the opportunity for change?”

“Both,” Terry replied, confused.

Luna seemed to nod for a moment, head tilted to the side as she seemed to listen to something else. “What change would you have affected?”

“This war for one,” Terry sighed. “There have been too many casualties.”

“But War is waged under many different variables. What variable would you change would have the most impact?”

“That’s impossible to tell,” Terry growled, patience wearing thin. “I don’t have time for your games Lovegood. Let me get back to my homework.”

“There are those who know the variables.”


“Next week is Alban Arthan, the Winter Solstice,” Draco advised out of the blue.

They were seated back on their couch in the hidden alcove of the Library, a sort of unofficial meeting place that they had gravitated back to over the last few weeks.

“You mean Yule, yeah? On the 22nd?” Harry prompted.

“Yeah, that’s the more Muggle word for it, once their Christianity began to steal our holy days.”

“Organized religion is good for that,” Harry agreed, “How is it that belief is something that is so flimsy and fragile a thing, and yet great wars will be raged because of it.”

“Freedom of speech is something which many strive for. Most religions will usually have some clause or ruling that says that nothing else may be believed and that all non-believers must be made to believe.”

“On pain of death, usually.” Harry mused. “You know, I truly do not understand war, what the act of killing someone else during a grand battle is actually meant to achieve. Is it supposed to be the most people left alive, their side wins and their belief is upheld?”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to make sense. But I know what you mean. It’s a senseless waste of life.”

“How does killing someone prove a point?”

“I know Harry.”

“Why does it have to be me that is the one that has to kill him?” Harry said, finally getting to the point.

“Some would say it is Fate.”

“There’s a prophecy you know, basically says that I have to kill him, or he’ll kill me.”

“Then which do you want more, do you want to live, or do you not want to kill him?”

“I want to live, of course, I do. But I’m not sure I can be the one who kills him. I’m not sure if I could live with myself having done that.”

“Quite the conundrum.” Draco agreed, not knowing the first place to begin to unravel that one.

“I’m sorry to be unloading this on you,” Harry said, burrowing his face into Draco’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it Harry. Should the time come for you to make a decision, hopefully, you’ll be better informed.”

“On my morals?” Harry snorted.

“Perhaps,” Draco said with an answering smirk. “I was thinking that we might be ready to begin some preliminary orientation classes after the holidays.”

“That would be great,” Harry said. “I’m glad I won’t be quite so much in the dark.”

“Would it still be alright if I joined you over the Christmas break?” Draco asked tentatively. The letters had begun in earnest now, as missive upon missive was sent to him.

“Of course,” Harry said, “I’ve been looking forward to it actually. My own private orientation into Lord-hood.”

“You’ve done pretty well so far, Harry.”

“Hardly! I’ve barely done a thing at all about it.” Harry groused, feeling guilty.

“And at which point were you expecting to get all of these imaginary tasks done? Hmm?”

“They’re not imaginary. I’ve been receiving summary reports ever since I claimed the title about all my holdings and investments.”

“And yet they have been managing just fine over the last fourteen odd years that you have been unable to attend to them. They will still be there for the holidays, or until after you finish Hogwarts. Either, or.”

“I don’t know, but it feels like I’m shirking a duty.”

“Well, it’s not like it isn’t for a good cause. Your gaining an education now will stand you in better stead than if you had claimed your ‘duties.’ Besides, I think I’d be rather bored right now if you weren’t around to annoy.”

“I’m glad I have been of use then,” Harry smirked again. “If you are still joining me, then I should think we might skip the Hogwarts’ Express back to London. I imagine your mother and some guests would be waiting for you at the station.”

“You probably won’t be able to Floo through until after you have brought some of the wards down, especially after they have been abandoned so long.”

“Actually, I believe the Goblins were taking care of that. Dobby has already let me know that he has met with the Head House Elf of the Potter estates, and has already started preparing for our arrival.”

“You still aren’t comfortable having servants, are you?” Draco mused, watching as Harry had stumbled over his words.

“Well, after unwittingly being one, it is an uncomfortable thought,” Harry said with a shiver. Memories flying through his mind of cooking and cleaning from such an early age that he couldn’t even properly reach the sink or stove properly. Harry shook his head to dispel the thoughts, catching Draco staring at him.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think rationally about Muggles. They are a savage bunch.”

“Not all of them are. Hermione’s parents are quite amiable.” Harry volunteered, though he wasn’t sure just why he was advocating or protecting Muggles, let alone the one’s that he grew up around.

“No, but a lot of them are.”

“I have a fair idea who might be the second to last member might be too.”


“Terry Boot. Luna’s been harassing him the last few days, much to his annoyance.”

“That’s just what we need. His pompous arse!”

“Like you can talk,” Harry said, poking Draco in the ribs.

“Yes, but I have the heritage to back it up. What does he have?” Draco sneered, though Harry could see the gleam of amusement in Draco’s eye. “That will leave us with one more position available if Pansy’s calculations are right. I have hope that it doesn’t turn out to be the Weasel, though it would be half my luck.”

“Hardly,” Harry laughed. “Ron is too lazy and too much of a self-absorbed prick. He still thinks we’re going to be Auror’s together.

“I assume you have yet to break him of this illusion?”

“Of course. I’m in no way prepared for that argument.”

“If I might offer an observation,” Draco started carefully, so Harry knew this was going to be either potentially rage-inducing or awkward. “Weasley doesn’t seem to treasure your friendship quite as much as you treasure his.”

“That’s because you’re right. He doesn’t.” Harry sighed, frowning down at his knees. “I’m not sure what I want to do about it,” Harry admitted.

“Do you need to do anything about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to have to tell him about the Auror thing, though, and soon.”

“It would be for the best.”

“I don’t know what it is this year, but he’s acting even more demanding than he ever has been. I don’t know what’s happened that’s changed it.”


The lead up to Christmas was an awkward affair when Harry announced that he would not be staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays.

Hermione was only vaguely surprised at the announcement, though she wished him a Merry Christmas and said would send her present by owl.

Ron, however, had almost had a full blown conniption, first because Harry would be spending it away at one of the Manor’s, and secondly because he was not invited. Ron had not taken that news very well and had yelled at Harry for several minutes before storming off in a huff. Harry couldn’t help but think that he was witnessing the end of his friendship.

Later again that night he started again, “I can’t believe that Harry could just ditch us like we meant nothing!” Ron growled, stalking through the empty common room. All the younger students had beaten a hasty retreat when they had seen the red head on the warpath.

“Harry needs time to sort himself out,” Hermione reasoned, never looking up from her book. “He can’t do that with us bothering him every other minute.” And by ‘us’ she meant Ron, she mused, glad Harry was still at the Library.

“What does he need to sort himself out for anyway? Voldemort isn’t attacking anything yet, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Like that’s the only thing he could possibly be thinking about,” Hermione snorted in derision. “There is more to life, more happening in Harry’s life than just Voldemort. We’re in our Sixth Year, Ron. He’s growing up and thinking about the future. Something you might think about doing.”

“I’ve already got it all worked out, ‘Mione,” Ron said with puffed up pride. “Harry’s already decided that we’ll be going into the Auror’s after Hogwarts, just like his Dad and Padfoot.”

“Has Harry told you that?” Hermione asked neutrally, as she was quite sure that Harry hadn’t said anything to indicate that he wanted to be an Auror. More like, Ron was putting words in the poor boy’s mouth.

“Of course he is! Why wouldn’t he?” Ron laughed loudly. “Hang on, is this about a girl?”

Hermione wanted to bash herself in the head with the very thick and heavy tome in her hands.

“I’m so smart!” Ron boasted. “You didn’t even need to tell me this time. He’s got a girlfriend. Who is she? Do you know?”

“He hasn’t told me he has a girlfriend, and I’ve not noticed any girls hanging around.”

“What’s the bet it’s Ginny? Then he really would be my brother. He can finally get the family that he wants. And Ginny would be really happy too. She’d finally have the money to afford things.”

Scratch that, Hermione wanted to bash Ron in the head with the very thick and heavy tome in her hands.

“Do you reckon that Harry will finally beat Voldemort this time? It’s really gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

“RONALD WEASLEY! How DARE you say that! You know Harry has absolutely no control over this war, nor how Voldemort works. He is a sixteen-year-old boy, just like you are. Just how is he supposed to get up and find Voldemort and kill him, because it’s inconveniencing you! Voldemort is a fully trained Wizard with over fifty years of magical experience. How could you even think that Harry has been postponing this Final Battle or something.” Hermione yelled, quickly gathering her things together, no longer in the mood to entertain the idiot.

“Then how has he survived the last five times, if not for skill?” Ron sneered, thinking he had won the argument.

“Sheer dumb luck,” Hermione said, repeating McGongall’s words from First year. She grabbed her things together, spelling the books to follow her as she stormed up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.

Ron growled to himself as he stalked around the room, shivering as a gray wisp of magic seemed to crackle and settle over his head once more.


However, it was when he was in the lineup at the Hogwarts’ Entrance Doors, ready to leave, that it became a real issue.

“Mr. Potter? Where are you going?” Professor McGonagall asked in confusion.

“Home for Christmas,” Harry returned.

“To your Muggle relatives? They did not forward their permission to me.”

“That’s because they wouldn’t have. I’m going to one of the Potter Manor’s.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but I can’t allow that. You are underage. We could not in good conscience allow you to leave us into no one’s guardianship.”

Harry sighed in frustration, “That law no longer applies to me.”

“I beg your pardon, but it does. I do hope that your moniker of The Boy Who Lived has not given you airs and graces. It is for your own protection. I cannot allow you to leave Hogwarts, Mr. Potter.” McGonagall said sternly.

“It’s Lord Potter, actually,” Harry said, trying to keep the growl from out of his voice.

“Excuse me?” McGonagall asked in astonishment.

“I accepted my Title in August, Professor. I can legally do magic outside of school, and can legally leave the premises if I want to.”

Before McGonagall could reply, Fawkes flashed in the air between them, dropping a note at the Professor’s feet.

Opening the note, McGonagall perused it for a few moments before looking back to Harry. “The Headmaster has requested to see you in his office.”

Harry said nothing, turning instead to walk back through the castle, his eye caught Draco’s further down the line, but was unable to say anything.

“Harry, dear boy, take a seat,” Dumbledore said with the air of a grandfather even more prominent than usual. “I understand you wanted to leave Hogwarts over the Christmas break. May I ask why?”

“Is it not enough that I want to?” Harry asked, cynicism coloring his voice.

“Of course, I understand that you might want to do something different, but with rules and the current political climate we find ourselves in, it would be safer you stay at Hogwarts.”

“You mean it would be safer that your weapon stays at Hogwarts where you can keep an eye on it, just in case Voldemort should hear.”

“Now Harry, there’s no need to be like that,” Dumbledore said, playing the disappointed grandfather now.

“And there’s no reason that you have to keep me here against my will. I am legally able to leave the school in this situation.”

“Please Harry, that is not what I mean at all. Were you any other student I would be only too happy to do as you wish. But please, consider your role in this War. Should something happen to you,” the Headmaster trailed off.

“So now you think me selfish, after you send me back to Privett Drive each year, where I can wander anywhere I like,” Harry snarled, cursing Draco for making him deal with his emotions lately, instead of cultivating the calm he had achieved over the summer holidays.

“I apologize to you, that this must be a consideration,” Dumbledore said consolingly, sounding as if he had won the argument. Harry had news for him.

“Do you think that it’s not something that I have already considered? I had no intention of catching the Express or appearing in public at any point. I am to Floo directly to one of my Manors. I haven’t even told anyone which one I’ll be going to. Most of them are under Fidelius. I’ve researched the situation quite thoroughly, Professor.”

“So you have,” Dumbledore frowned. “Then I at least request that you take a guardian with you, for an old man’s peace of mind.”

“Who would you suggest?” Harry inquired, already guessing who it might be.

“Professor Snape. He will guard you well, as well as stay out of your business.”

Harry hated being proved right. He could just imagine how the next few weeks would go.

“And if the Professor declines?” Harry prodded. He certainly didn’t want Professor McGonagall to accompany him. She would be entirely too unreasonable and insert herself even more in Harry’s business than if he had invited Mrs. Weasley. He certainly hoped that that would not be a suggestion from Dumbledore.

“I already know he has no plans, bar what Lord Voldemort might create.” Dumbledore nodded, considering the case closed.

“Very well,” Harry acquiesced, knowing no other way of getting around it.


“My apologies, Sir, for dragging you into this mess.” Harry started, he could already tell the Professor was working his way to a truly foul mood.

“And the reason for your quite sudden urge to gallivant around the country, I suppose, is of the utmost importance,” Snape sneered.

“I believe you will fully understand the situation soon, Professor.”

Professor Snape just huffed, glaring at Harry another moment while resuming to pack his potions kit.

“I’m surprised that Professor Dumbledore isn’t making us leave by his Floo,” Harry commented, as he was truly curious by that fact.

“My Floo is equally as serviceable.”

“Yes, but not as easily observed. I had imagined that he would want to know of our location.”

“You have not advised him?” Snape asked with a raised eyebrow. Harry shook his head. “Then it is a curious thing indeed.”

Shortly after the Potions Master had gathered his kit, they were on their way. After all was said and done, they finally arrived at Potter Manor in Poulnabrone, Ireland in the early evening.

The Entrance Hall they fell in Harry’s case or stepped out of in Snape’s case was a surprisingly opulent and open room with polished marble everywhere. Harry could only stare in surprise at the very obvious and physical reminder that he was incredibly rich, while Snape merely raised an eyebrow.

“If you think this is big, you should see Malfoy Manor,” Draco said, surprising both of them with his sudden presence.

“Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here?” Snape demanded, his wand already in his hand as he came to step in front of Harry.

“I could ask the same of you,” Draco drawled, his posture tense and dangerous.

“Draco, meet my chaperone for the Christmas holidays. Professor Snape, meet the reason why my ‘gallivanting across the countryside’ was so important.” Harry said, the air of hysteria threatening to overwhelm him again. “Seriously, how is this my life.”

The two Slytherins were left to gape after Harry’s muttered words, as the Gryffindor was already making his way to leave the room.

“Master Harry, Dobby welcomes him home to Potter Manor,” Dobby said popping into existence as Harry walked.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with so much evidence of his wealth, the goblins had done an exceedingly good job in past centuries.

“Dobby is sorry that Master Harry doesn’t feel comfortable. Perhaps one of the other Manor’s will be more comfortable.” Dobby said, wringing his hands.

“Thank you, Dobby. Though, should that not be the case, then I might just buy or build something more appropriate.” Harry mused, already trying to think what he could possibly do with a house this big, considering his Family Tree pretty much ended with him now.

“Can Dobby introduce to you the Potter Family Elves?”

“Of course,” Harry said, the question shocking him to his core, though he supposed the thought should not have surprised him, considering the wealth at his disposal, and the sheer amount of assets that would need to be cared for.

The Foyer he found himself in was still covered in just as much marble, though this room was of a lighter color, with more flecks of white in the tone. It made it a much more airy room as there were several large windows that allowed the last of the sunlight to stream in.

Lined up near the windows was a range of elves in what seemed various ages. There was easily a few dozen of them, all looking to Harry with eager eyes.

“Master Harry, meet Bibby, who is Head Elf of the Potter Elves.”

“It’s good to meet you, Bibby,” Harry said, and the Elf looked at him with wonder.

“Master Harry, it is so very good to see you again.”

In fact, all the elves looked a little misty-eyed as they looked to Harry.

“Then we has Mimsy, who is Head of the Kitchen Elves.”

“Master Harry,” Mimsy curtseyed, her formal little pillowcase was pressed sharply as she looked at him proudly. “Master Harry has grown so much. Though Master Harry needs to eat more. Mimsy will take care of that.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that, thinking that he had traded one matriarchal figure for another.

“And Nibin, who is Head of the Grounds Elves.”

Harry smiled as this elf looked to be the gruffest of the lot, his whole demeanor was firm, and his hands were grubby with soil.

“It’s great to meet all of you,” Harry said, looking over at the gathered elves, “And I look forward to getting to know all of you personally.”

They all seemed quite a twitter after that, all of them popping away as one back to their duties, except for Dobby, Bibby, and Mimsy.”

“Would Master Harry and his guest wish to have dinner soon? Mimsy is making Master Harry’s favorites. Dobby is telling Mimsy what Master Harry likes.” The house elf beamed, motherly pride already taking a firm hold, though, to Harry, he had only known her for mere minutes.

“That would be great. Say in an hour’s time?” Harry looked to his guests for confirmation, and both of them nodded.

When Harry turned back, Mimsy was already gone, and Bibby was stepping forward.

“Shall Bibby arrange for guest rooms to be prepared for Mr. Snape?”

“Yes please,” Bibby disappeared at that, just leaving Dobby.

“Dobby can show Master Harry around if he wants?”

Harry just nodded knowing for the next however long was going to be one long blur as they toured around sitting rooms, and lounge rooms, formal rooms, and ballrooms. It took entirely too long, in Harry’s opinion, for them to reach the bedrooms. They were first shown to Professor Snape’s guest rooms, where the man happily retreated, for the time being, allowing Harry and Draco to finally speak.

Dobby showed them Draco’s rooms, where the blonde had already started to unpack his trunk, before leading them to the Master Bedroom, which was almost a wing unto itself.

“So I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” Draco began as the peered around the sitting room and personal library.

“Dumbledore refuses to make anything easy.” Harry began, slumping into a seat in exhaustion. Draco also sat down at the settee, moments later a steaming tea set appearing before them.

Before either could speak, Dobby had already begun pouring for them, preparing both of their cups before popping out and leaving them alone.

“Well that is a given,” Draco said with some amusement.

“He refused to allow me to leave. And after I had convinced him that I had the matter taken care of, he insisted that I take a guardian with me for his ‘peace of mind’.”

“But are you sure you can trust Snape,” Draco quizzed him, and Harry could see that he was unsettled.

“I trust him with my life,” Harry breathed out, refusing to ignore the fact that it was almost painful to have said it out loud.

“Harry,” Draco said, leaning forward and speaking with urgency. “He’s a Death Eater!”

“I know,” Harry said lightly.

“Then surely you know that we are both in danger. Right now he is probably calling for the Death Eaters to storm the Manor and take off with the both of us.”

“I know for a fact that that wouldn’t be the case. Do you not trust me?” Harry said with a smile.

“Against my better judgment, yes I do seem to trust you.”

“Then trust me when I say that we are in no danger. You are not in danger.”

Draco just sighed, not being able to help but feel concerned.

Harry sat staring for a moment, not sure just how he was supposed to proceed. Either way, he went, he would be revealing secrets that weren’t his own to expose.

“I trust Professor Snape,” Harry said finally, not willing to go beyond that.

“The man is my Godfather; I think it’s safe to say that I might know him better than you would.” Draco hissed, looking away.

Harry knew not to take Draco’s words and emotions to heart. He didn’t have a clue what the blonde might be thinking or feeling. He definitely knew that a large part of it would be pure, undiluted fear.

“Dumbledore all but demanded that I take the Professor with me for my protection. As you can imagine, he was less than impressed. I’ve not said anything about why you are here, I haven’t actually told anyone you would be here at all. I’m taking your safety seriously.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Draco glared witheringly.

Harry just held his hands up in surrender. “All the same, I at least want to help. I think everything will be fine.”


“Everything alright with your lodgings, Sir?” Harry said from the doorway of Snape’s rooms.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” Snape said shortly.

Harry knew that the Professor would begin his own lecture soon. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Are you aware that you are keeping company with someone who would as soon as turn you over to the Dark Lord, as look at you.”

“Funny. He said the same thing as you, though not in as many words,” Harry said with a smirk.

“It does not make it any less true.”


“Severus,” Draco began when they all reconvened in the dining room.

Mimsy had gone all out and prepared a lavish feast for twenty people, let alone the three of them that were seated at the table.

“Draco,” Severus returned as equally abrupt.

Silence reigned for the next several minutes, neither of the two Slytherins willing to speak first.

“For Merlin’s sake, the both of you will not reveal the other to Voldemort.”

Both of them still remained silent, eyeing the other and Harry warily.

Harry just sighed, contenting himself with his meal.

They all three retired to a small sitting room where Mimsy and her troop served coffee and dessert.

Harry was excited to see a Christmas tree, decked with magical lights and decorations, had been set up in one corner of the room, the rest of the chairs and fireplace arranged around it. He felt the first stirrings of homeliness at seeing it, his first Christmas where he was as close to family as he had ever been, the home of his ancestors.

“Am I to understand you have led Potter to believe that you will be defecting from your Father’s path?” Snape sneered, finally breaking the silence.

“And am I to understand that you are a spy for Dumbledore?”

They both looked at the other critically, leading Harry to roll his eyes again at the tennis game in front of him.

Nothing was resolved that night between the two snakes, though not for Harry not helping.

The next morning Harry woke in the grand bedroom that was to be his now that he was the Patriarch. They were still opulent, but it was a more rustic and warm feel to it that was much more comfortable in Harry’s eyes. All the marble in the rest of the Manor seemed to leave a feeling of coldness to Harry.

It was still early in the morning, so Harry took tea in the small lounge area that was sectioned off from the large open plan living space. There was also another area over by the windows which held a large desk ready for his use.

“Master Harry,” Dobby asked, popping into the room beside him. “Professor Snape has requested to see you.”

Harry just sighed. He really wasn’t interested in rehashing all the conversations that he had already had. But Harry nodded, knowing that he would not be able to turn the Potions Master away.

“Mr. Potter, my apologies for drawing you from your bed so early this morning,” Snape began, noting Harry was still in his pajamas.

“I was already awake. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, it being enough to convey all that needed to be said.

“I have been meeting with Draco, and Hermione, in the library near on every day for the last two months.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“In recent times, we have been joined by Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, and some memorable occasions with Luna Lovegood.”

“A very odd group to be sure,” Snape snorted in amusement.

“Very. But we have been led to believe that it is for a reason. What do you know about a Druidic Conclave?”

This time, Snape was not able to hide his surprise quite so well.

“They are a group of eight witches and wizards, chosen by fate it is said, that ruled the magical society in ancient times. There hasn’t been such a circle for more than 500 years. What are you implying?”

“Such a circle has been prophesied.”

“By whom?”

“Luna Lovegood.”

“And you take her word for it, when she has no qualifications, nor is she a certified Seer.” Snape dismissed with a sneer.

“We are already six members from the eight. It is possible that this is the ‘Power the Dark Lord knows not.’ This could be how this war is ended.”

“So you aren’t taking Dumbledore’s word that is ‘Love’ which is your power?” There was an air of derision in Snape’s question that made Harry think that the Potions Professor thought just as little of that plan as he did.

“Everyone is capable of love, though there are certain people who I guess would find the concept harder to achieve than others. But it’s certainly not something that could necessarily be used as a Power against the idiot, not now that he has my blood in his veins. I don’t think my mother’s protection works as well anymore.”

“You have had evidence of this?” Snape asked mildly, his emotions carefully under wraps again.

“No. Not yet. But I’m not going to rely on it. This inheritance business has come at quite the convenient time so that I might never see my Muggle relatives again.”

“Not up to you palatial standards, Potter?”

“No, I was sick of the physical and mental abuse.” Harry returned sharply, cursing Draco again that he couldn’t keep his emotion at bay again.

“Abuse?” the Potions Master said sharply, his expression one that would normally scare Harry if he knew it was focused on him.

Harry just sighed again, looking away. He wasn’t sure how his mouth kept getting away from him, as he had never intended to reveal this dark secret.

“Mr. Potter, may I cast a diagnostic charm?” Snape said softly, but there was still a note of tension in his voice that Harry was not used to hearing.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the results would be from such a scan, nor what they might mean. He wanted to say no, that it was none of the Potion Master’s business. But then he was reminded of all the times that Draco had been lecturing him. Perhaps this was one way that he could recognize the abuse emotionally and start to heal from it. He was sick of keeping it a secret, of being ashamed of it.

Harry sighed again, giving the nod to Snape to go ahead.

Snape murmured a long Latin charm, Harry could feel the magic pass through him, moving swiftly from head to toe several times before withdrawing. There was a pop as the magic manifested into a roll of parchment. Harry wasn’t sure if it was meant to be so, but it looked a little bit think from his reckoning. It made him want to sigh all over again. Or just huddle under the blankets of his bed.

Nothing was said as Snape perused the document, though his face was for the most part neutral, he had noticed that the man’s face had grown very pale in the ensuing minutes.

“I believe your moniker of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ is quite accurate,” Snape finally said, rolling the scroll up again and putting it on the table before Harry. “The fact that you are still alive is nothing short of miraculous.”

He wasn’t sure, but Harry could have sworn that the Professor’s voice had almost broken on the last word.

Harry didn’t say anything, not knowing what he could possibly say in such a situation.

“My apologies, Mr. Potter. If you would excuse me a moment.”

Harry watched as the man rose from his seat. Harry kicked himself as his fears were realized. The man couldn’t stand to be around him after discovering just how damaged he was.

So he was surprised that instead of the door to the suite, Snape instead walked to the bathroom. The door banged shut and the sounds of someone throwing up ensued.


Breakfast was another tense affair as Harry and Draco ate their breakfast. Snape choosing to have tea and some bland toast.

Harry still wanted to apologize to the man. Though when he had eventually left the bathroom earlier, he had only glared at Harry, stopping the words in his mouth.

Draco had, of course, picked up on the tension between them and was watching with concern.

Like the night before, they, however, remained in silence until everyone had finished and they were sitting awkwardly at the dining table.

“Mr. Potter, is there somewhere that I might be allowed to work?”

“Bibby?” Harry called, pleased when the Elf appeared before he had even finished saying his name “Is there a Potions Lab where Professor Snape might work safely?”

“There is. Bibby be taking the Professor if he is ready.”

Snape strode from the room quickly as though there were hellhounds after him.

“So, what was all that about?” Draco demanded as soon as the doors were closed.

Harry said nothing as he pulled the parchment from his pocket and handed it to the blonde.

“What is this?”

“A diagnostic charm.”

Draco frowned at Harry as he opened it, his attention turning to the words printed.

After several minutes, he rolled it up again and handed it back.

“So, when you said it wasn’t pleasant with your relatives, you were in actual fact making the understatement of the millennia,” Draco said dryly, though he looked very pale, he was making no sudden moves to throw up.

Small mercies.

Harry took up the list himself and had another look. He could almost remember the instances where he had received all the broken bones, though he was surprised at the level of detail that was given on his body functions due to malnutrition. Having lived with his body the way it was, he had never thought that it might be deficient in some respect. This report said otherwise as a lot of his systems were still at a subpar state. He had no idea what it all meant, though, nor how or if it could be remedied. All he knew was that his magic had kept him alive somehow.

“So, what does this all mean to you?” Draco prodded Harry from his thoughts.

“Back to playing psychiatrist, again?”

“Back to avoiding the question, again?” Draco returned just as quick. Harry wanted to growl.

“I’ve been abused my whole life.” Harry snarled wanting to stand and stride out of the room just as Snape had done. Though, he knew that Draco would just follow where ever he went.

“You know that already, at least mentally.” Draco conceded. “But what does it mean to you?”

Harry fumed silently, his mind a tumult of thoughts of anger and revenge and a feeling of wanting to throw up himself. There were fear and hurt and a rage that Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to control.

“Harry!” The strange quaver in Draco’s voice had Harry opening his eyes, not realizing he had even closed them to begin with.

The room was filled with levitated items circling the room in increasingly faster winds. Mimsy and several other elves were trying to retrieve them, casting furtive glances at their Master.

With some horror, Harry reigned in his magic with a snap, everything falling to the ground, some things breaking as the elves had been unable to catch everything in time.

“That’s not dealing with it,” Draco chided softly.

“No, but at least no one is getting hurt.”

“But there is someone getting hurt.” Harry glanced at Draco in confusion. “You are getting hurt.”

Harry just rolled his eyes.

“So you think it’s acceptable that you be hurt, but no one else. Why are you exempt from that rule?”

“What do you mean?” Harry growled defensively. “So, I can’t protect other people?”

“Of course you can protect people. Protect away to your heart’s content. But why aren’t you allowed that same protection?”

Harry had nothing to say as he glared at Draco.

“Say something happened to Dobby, he was kidnapped and tortured by Voldemort. What would you do?”

“I’d tear the bastard to pieces!” Harry snarled, surprising himself with the vehemence.

“And if it was you that was kidnapped and tortured? Would you be so vicious in defense of yourself? Or would you merely do what needs to be done and kill Voldemort as everyone expects you to.”

Harry fumed, the thought of Dobby still reverberating in his head, images floating by, procured by his imagination of the imagined tortures that would be heaped upon the poor House Elf.

But he already knew the answer to Draco’s question, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Do what needs to be done,” Harry said quietly, looking away.

“So why don’t you deserve to be avenged? Why don’t you deserved to be saved and protected?”


Draco left him alone for the morning, leaving his thoughts for company.

Instead, Draco asked that he be taken to where Professor Snape was working by one of the House Elves who was only too keen to show Draco the way. He could see that all of the elves were beyond ecstatic to have a Master to serve again, and already they were looking healthier having the three wizards to care for.

“Sir,” Draco said, announcing his presence, standing in the doorway of the large Potions lab.

“Draco.” He acknowledged with a glance, returning to the root that he was in the process of preparing.

“Got to admit, this is an amazing Lab,” Draco said, attempting to break the ice.

“Indeed. Someone in the Potter family seemed to have some taste.” Snape agreed.

“So, Potter’s relatives need to be drawn and quartered.” Draco snarled, barely keeping his temper in check.

“He showed you then.”

“He did.”

“It reminds me of why I joined our Lord’s forces, to begin with,” Severus said, the snarl in his own voice quite evident.

“He’s not ‘Our’ Lord,’ Severus. I have no intention of being Marked.”

“Is that so.”

“And I think you must have defected at some point too. Potter is trusting, but he is not stupid. He must have a reason for believing you safe.”

“And what reason do you have? How have you convinced him of your own allegiances?”

“Through action. I only hope it is enough. We have not been entirely frank with each other on the topic.” Draco sighed, taking a seat at one of the benches out of his Godfather’s way.

Moments later he was handed a mortar and pestle, a pile of ingredients and the instructions for them to be powdered.

“Mr. Potter is an entirely too trusting Gryffindor.” Snape agreed. “I am not so easily fooled. So kindly explain to me just how you think that you could manage to avoid joining Lord Voldemort’s ranks.”

Draco just sighed. “My marking is supposed to be tonight. So far I’ve advised them that I will be unable to return home. Potter had agreed to hide me here so that my Mother, under Father’s instructions would not be able to draw me from the school. Here, I am protected from being found and made to be Marked.

“As for my reasons, as you would know, my Father has always acted, and therefore impressed upon me the ideal that we are a rank above everyone and everything else. Malfoy’s are Leaders, not followers. The idea that my Father bows before that maniac is abhorrent. I will admit to, for some time, dreaming of a world where instead, Lord Voldemort and I could instead work in partnership. It was a foolish and childish dream, but there you have it. I am aware of his goals and find myself in accord. But his methods leave something to be desired. My plans do not include ruling over a select few wizards and witches that will be left alive at the end, as surely that is the way he is heading. Doing away with all Muggleborns and mixed blood is a sure way to in fact see our species extinct.”

“I suppose that you believe Lovegood’s supposed Prophecy then?”

“Harry told you?” Draco asked in surprise, though he didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, the idea has merit, and already there have been clues that it may, in fact, be a possible future, though I still regard the situation with a healthy amount of skepticism. All Prophecies are open to interpretation, and as I’m sure you are aware she is an untested Seer.”


They were quiet for a time, both putting their attention to their tasks. It was only as Severus began brewing that he spoke.

“I defected, as you put it, over thirteen years ago, and been a spy for Dumbledore ever since.”

“Truly?” Draco said with shock. “And Father has no clue.”

“Indeed. It has been a challenge, one I would hardly wish on my enemy.”

Draco just shook his head, his mind a study of wonder at the man before him. He had never had evidence that the man was not, in fact, loyal to Lord Voldemort’s cause. His Father had always taken the man into his confidence.

“Hand me the belladonna you’ve been pounding away at,” Snape interrupted his thoughts.

Draco handed the mortar over, watching as the Potions Master measured out the required amount. He looked over the other ingredients quickly, mind mentally ticking off what Potion the man was making. It wasn’t one he knew, but going by the ingredients, he could only guess what it might be.

“You’re making some kind of healing potion for Potter.”

“A broad spectrum nutrient potion, yes,” Snape admitted quietly.


Harry fumed behind the desk in his room, sitting in the chair awkwardly, staring out the windows to the grounds below. He could see the gardening Elves, led by Nubbin, as they worked away, tending the various flowers and garden beds.

His mind was still a tumult of thoughts and emotions fighting for control. He wasn’t sure where he was at, nor where he was supposed to be. Draco had turned his unconscious beliefs and expectations arse up, and he had no idea where to begin to sort it all out again.

Intellectually, he understood that his self-preservation skills were good, but emotionally it seemed he was compromised. He still fumed at the thought of Dobby being taken or hurt, but he was confused that he didn’t seem to have that same kind of protection over himself. Draco implied that he should. But the concept was a foreign one. Self-sacrifice seemed to be a prevalent theme in his life, as his mother, father and even Sirius seemed to demonstrate. There were even the countless people who were in the Ministry or in the Order of the Phoenix, that would all sacrifice themselves to keep Harry safe so that he could perform his duty for the Magical World.

And wasn’t that a kicker. It wasn’t that these people were doing it for him, they were doing it to protect everyone else. It seemed as if everyone else had gotten the memo that Harry was the only one that could kill Voldemort, regardless of the fact that the Prophecy said as such. They kept him alive so that they protected themselves.

It was only fair that Harry tried to protect these people himself in return.

But he wasn’t sure where the idea Draco had given him would fit.

“Is Master Harry okay?” Dobby asked, a hand on Harry’s arm jerking his attention back to the room.

“I will be, one day,” Harry said, hoping that it would eventually be the case.

“Is there anything that Dobby can do?”

“No, you’ve been wonderful just as you are, Dobby,” Harry said with a smile, watching as the elf beamed up at him with love.

And wasn’t that a strange concept. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen love in his life. He supposed his parents had loved him, but he was much too young to have any memory of that time. Seeing it now, in the elf before him, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Master Harry?” Dobby said, worried now as he held out a tissue to his master.

Harry looked on in confusion until he felt the tears drop onto his arm. He took the tissue, not even realizing that he had been crying.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said with a watery smile.

“You is very welcome.”

The elf popped away a moment later, leaving Harry to his thoughts again, once again even more confused than he had been earlier.

He was seriously messed up.


Lunch time came all too quickly, and Draco and Severus were already seated when Harry finally arrived.

“I’ve discussed it with Mimsy, Mr. Potter that you will be going on a diet as of this moment to boost your various biological systems that are woefully under acceptable levels. I have begun brewing a series of Potions, with Mr. Malfoy’s help, that will aid in correcting these levels. There is to be no argument, and you will not skip a meal. Am I understood?”

Harry stared in shock, not sure how to answer, apart from the obvious acquiescence.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Do I really need to deign that question with an answer, Mr. Potter?”

“But you hate me!”

Snape stared at him a moment, making Harry feel awkward. “My apologies, Mr. Potter if that is what you think. I do not, in fact, hate you. Unfortunately, at Hogwarts, there is an image I must maintain, one that means that I would disparage both you and your House.”

“And everyone else in the school,” Draco added with a snort.

“Indeed,” Snape agreed with a nod. “I hope that in the future, you will see it for the act that it is, and not take what I need to say, to heart.”

“And would you offer such an apology to Neville, Professor?” Harry asked with a new harshness.

“Should the situation arise where I could without fear of being found out by Voldemort, then yes, I would.” Snape inclined his head. “There is much guilt that I carry, but I also understand the part that I must play both as a minion of Voldemort, but also as a tool of the fates, one that creates adversity for others to overcome. I have come to be at peace with my lot in life, though it has taken me many, many years, and I will do what needs to be done at the will of Fate.”

Harry wanted to say something derisive in return, but instead it rang entirely too close to the kind of the thing that Draco had been trying to explain to him over the last few weeks.

One of those things was the idea of playing the victim. Playing and owning such a title meant that he intended to be hurt by it, that he wanted to be hurt. What he should instead be doing is playing a different card, one that would mean that he would instead see the challenge presented to him and try to overcome it, all the while understanding that the Fate’s had planned it this way. That it was at Fate’s direction that Snape created the adversity, and in turn, Snape was given his own adversity to work with, to play the card of the persecutor, and to do so willingly at the Fate’s request. Harry understood that there must be an incredible amount of guilt that must be entailed upon such a request. To consciously be the one to ‘attack’ others was something that Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to do.

Harry had a whole new appreciation for the man in front of him now, as, under Draco tutelage, he was able to view the world in a whole new way that had more meaning and at the very least some hope.

“Thank you, Professor. For the Potions and your help. I do appreciate it.”

“You are welcome Mr. Potter.”

Draco smiled at the both of them, knowing that Harry had managed to come to some kind of epiphany about the world.

Harry quickly skulled the potion that he was presented with, face screwing up in distaste and he drank his juice in an effort to take away the taste.

“Merlin that was disgusting,” Harry exclaimed, still trying to not to gag.

“My apologies, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, most of the Potions on the course I have organized for you are one’s that are unable to be flavored.”

“Completely by chance, right?” Harry smirked, and he was glad when the Potions Master could see he was joking.

“But of course, Mr. Potter.”

“So you two seem in better spirits now. I take it you have talked?”

“We have,” Snape said shortly, beginning in on his lunch.

“I’m glad. When Draco said you were his Godfather, I was glad actually. He has a much better chance of staying unmarked.”

“Indeed, he has shared many reasons for why he has chosen a different path. I can only hope he will be sincere in those choices.” The man said sternly, a firm look in Draco’s direction.

“You know I will be,” Draco returned the look head on, holding the man’s gaze until Severus seemed to accept it.

“Good,” Harry said with a smile at the both of them. “So what are we going to do about Voldemort and Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore, Mr. Potter?” Snape said in confusion.

“Please, call me Harry, Sir.”

“Thank you, Harry. You may likewise call me Severus if you must.” Severus said, with a smirk and a roll of the eyes.

“It’s manners, Potter. Something which you were probably never made aware of, having been raised by jackals.” Draco explained at Harry’s stunned expression

“Getting back to my question, Harry, why do you suppose there is something that needs to be done in regards to the Headmaster?” Snape asked, turning serious once more.

“Mainly it’s a feeling I’m getting,” Harry started, and he could see both Slytherins readying for a simultaneous eye roll. “But I’m sure you’ve noticed that he doesn’t seem to be remembering things very well.”

Draco looked to Severus in surprise, having thought that Harry would mean Dumbledore’s manipulations, especially the circumstances that led to the Potions Master even being there with them.

Harry watched as Severus seemed to think on things a moment, giving neither acceptance nor dismissal of the accusation.

When he finally did speak, it was still with the air of neutrality. “Whilst I too have seen evidence of what you say, I don’t think it is something we need concern ourselves with just yet. Allow me to keep an eye on the situation, Harry.”

“Alright, but you’ll let us know, won’t you?” Harry frowned.

“I promise to keep you informed of my findings.”

“Voldemort then,” Draco said, frowning as well.

“As Harry may have already told you, we do not have much intelligence right now on just what Voldemort’s plans are. He is keeping things still close to his chest, though I have gleaned so far that he is searching for something. Something which he is not willing to entrust to his Death Eaters.”

“That’s a bit concerning. Do you think it could be a place, a person or an object?”

“Uncertain at this point, though employing some psychiatry, I would be more inclined to think he is looking for a place or an object. An object would be my best guess.”

“I suppose that narrows down the field,” Harry supplied with half a smile.


“Can I help you, Luna,” Susan Bones said abruptly, looking at the girl who was seating herself across the library table from her.

“I believe you can. There is something that I need help researching.”

“You’re the Ravenclaw, not me,” Susan said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, while that is true, I was wondering on a second opinion. I’ve been shown something, which you might find interesting. A new purpose you might say. I can guess that a new purpose is something you might need right now.”

Susan rolled her eyes this time, voice harsh, “I wonder what gave you that idea.”

“I am sorry for you loss, and to remind you of it.”

Susan remained silent, her emotions seemingly always close to the surface ever since the last of her family, her Aunt Amelia, had been killed at the Ministry. She was supposed to have claimed her title at Gringotts over these holidays, but Dumbledore had persuaded her to wait for the time being.

She wasn’t even sure what the man’s reasoning had been now, which made her furious. There seemed to be something very fishy going on right now, especially after she had seen Harry Potter walk out of the Headmaster’s office in a huff before her own meeting with the man. She too had been in the line up to leave Hogwarts.

“There is a prophecy, about a coming age that has been made known to me,” Susan scoffed, but Luna continued on unaffected, “It made mention of a Druid’s Conclave.”

Now this piqued her curiosity, as Old Magic’s and the Old traditions intrigued her, as did most things of a historical nature. She was, however, skeptical of the wishy-washy nature of Old Magic’s, especially the worshipping of deities. That, to her, seemed like a right load of crock.

“The Prophecy claimed that a new Conclave would be built soon, ushering in a new world and new path for Magic kind to walk.”

“The Conclave structure was abandoned several hundred years ago,” Susan frowned. “Why on earth would anyone see it reintroduced. The Ministry of Magic is a much fairer system.”

“And more open to corruption,” Luna warned. “The last Fated Conclave was closed in 1342. The supposed conclave’s after that were not fated, hence the decline and subsequent abolishment in 1636.”

“And what is the difference that a ‘Fated’ Conclave instead of a regular one make?” Susan wanted to scoff, but so far all of the information presented was ringing true.

“They are chosen by Fate to work together and with Magical Society. They would never dictate and already have the best intentions for our society as a whole. Magic prospers when there is a Conclave ‘in-groved’.”


Harry found Draco in the giant library after lunch, the blonde perusing the old and worn texts.

“Hey,” Harry said by way of greeting, still feeling a little bit awkward after their emotional talk at lunch.

“Hey,” Draco smiled back, still looking at the various books.

Harry wasn’t sure what else to say. His mind was still a little blown from the revelation that he had come to during lunch. If what he thought about the Fates was right, then it made everything else in the world that much more interesting, though also that much more complicated.

“Severus is an anomaly, isn’t he? That he can recognize the position he’s landed himself in, and still do the work required by the Fates.”

“He is,” Draco acknowledged. “How do you feel about that?”

“You really are turning into a psychologist aren’t you!”

“It’s something that’s crossed my mind, though I will disclaim that it is not your normal psychology. I’m much more interested in how things fit in with the Fates grand scheme of things.”

“It certainly sounds interesting. And something which I’m sure will be in high demand after the war is resolved.”

“I do seem to have a good timing for it, though I suppose it could also be argued that the Fates have placed me here, at this time with this interest and skill, purely for the fact that it will be needed in the aftermath.”

Harry nodded, “But not everyone is comfortable with the idea that their life is already decided for them. To some, it can render them powerless.”

“That is true, but there will always be those that find comfort in it as well. But what if I was to say to you that it was you who chose this life, and the events that would take place before you were ever conceived on this plane of existence.”

“What is a plane of existence? I’ve heard of it before, but I didn’t know what it meant then or now.”

Draco thought for a moment, “We are on the physical plane of existence. The third plane or dimension. There are planes above and below us that resonate with different parts of our soul. For example, the next plane above us is the mental plane, where the same rules of physics don’t apply, but a whole new set does with regards to the manipulation of energy.”

“Sounds pretty complicated,” Harry said, confused and in wonder.

“It is from that, and the planes above it, where time does not exist, that you decided, with others, to enter this plane of existence, and take up this job that needed to be done.”

“So there is still freedom of choice, then.” Harry nodded to himself, seemingly allayed for the time being.

“Of course there is. At any time you can choose to forgo the mission that you agreed to, or refuse to complete a certain goal that you had already organized. Though like any endeavor, I suppose, it will not always just impact you, though we would all forgive you for it.”

“It makes it a huge responsibility,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes, it can. But one that you believed could be achieved, and one which you don’t have to do alone. There are others here that will help you, just as you will help them.”

“The Conclave,” Harry said in understanding.

“I’m beginning to think so, though I haven’t gotten complete confirmation of that. There’s some searching that I need to do, as well as conferring with Luna.”

Harry sighed, for once not feeling quite so alone in his quest, now that he truly understood that he wasn’t alone in this war like it had been made to seem all his life.

“I think I need to change,” Harry admitted. “There are a lot of thought processes in my mind that really aren’t doing me or anyone else any favors. How do I change that?”

“You’ve already started,” Draco said with a proud smile. “The fact that you can recognize them is a massive leap. But understanding them and releasing them are a little harder. Sometimes it works better if there is intent behind the process, which is why the Wheel of the Year has been adhered to for so long.”

Harry frowned for a moment, considering the words that Draco had spoken.

“You’ve changed.” Harry frowned, though it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Somehow you’ve grown or changed. You even sound different than when we first started talking.”

“Yeah, I have,” Draco said, running his hand through his hair in nervousness. “Once I started to get into this way of thinking, a lot of doors have opened for me. Exploring that has been pretty life altering.”

“I suppose it would be needed, if you were going to be our architect,” Harry smiled.

“What did you call me?” Draco asked, suddenly quite intense.

“An Architect.” Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure why I said it.”

“I know why,” Draco said, intenseness falling away and a satisfied ghost of a smirk crossed his face. “This just might actually work.”

Draco seemed to shake himself then, looking back at Harry and back in the present. “So! Back to you. The Wheel of the Year is a good, symbolic way of honoring the various stages in one’s life. Winter Solstice, or Yule, or Christmas, was originally on December twenty-second and is known as a time of Death and Rebirth. Symbolically, it can be the death of the old Harry, and the Rebirth of the New Harry, one who is in control of himself and his emotions, and one who is open to acceptance, and protection, and love.” Draco smirked, poking him as he chided him with his last words.

“Yeah,” Harry blushed, “I need to accept that.”

“And you need to understand why you rejected it in the first place. Which does mean, unfortunately, bringing up the Dursley’s.”

“Yeah,” Harry acknowledged, his tone one of resignation now.

Draco dragged him over to one of the sofa’s tucked in front of one of the large windows that streamed light into the gigantic library. Draco dropped down onto the lounge, laying out and dragging Harry to sit between his open legs and pulled back against the blonde’s chest.

Harry held himself tense, bewildered and embarrassed. “Ehm… What are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” Draco replied, no apology offered but for a hand now running softly through Harry’s hair.

“Can I mention that I’m not comfortable?” Harry said, awkwardness still making him tense.

“Of course you can move, but you’re not getting up.”

“Why can’t I get up?” Harry demanded starting to feel a little claustrophobic, and boxed in.

“Because you are going to accept that there are going to be people in the world who will want to comfort you, and you are going to accept that you a) need to be comforted and b) that you are allowed to feel comforted. It falls under that whole love category. You need to accept that you are allowed to be loved, just as much as you are allowed to love. But you can only love something or someone as much as you love yourself first.”

During Draco’s monolog, Harry had seemed to get past the stirrings of panic and to start to relax. He was still painfully conscious of the fact that he was all but laying on Draco Malfoy of all people.

“So do you think you love yourself?” Draco prodded.

Harry snorted. “I really didn’t think you were into this new age bullshit so much.”

“Ahh. Derision. I’ll take that as a no, you don’t seem to love yourself.” Draco continued.

Harry could feel the rage building up inside himself, but there was no safe outlet for it right now, so he could only bottle it.

“I know what you’re doing, Harry. What are some of the recriminations that are flying through your head?”

Harry remained silent, fearful that once he started talking, then there would be no making it stop.

“Very well. Shall we start with, ‘Why do I need love’? Or ‘Why would someone love me?’ Perhaps ‘How could someone ever love me?’ Am I getting close?”

Still, Harry remained silent, but the tide was turning, and the rage from before was turning to something much more hurtful.

“How about ‘No one loves me?’” Draco continued now, tone much softer as he ran his fingers much more firmly through Harry’s hair, grounding him. “Or perhaps ‘No one will love me?’”

They were both silent for a moment, Harry fighting to keep the tears from flowing, unwilling to show weakness.

“You do know that you can cry, Harry. It doesn’t make you weak, or a wuss, or unmanly, or whatever is running through your head. Thinking that people judging are you is only the reflection of what you judge about yourself. If you can accept yourself, love yourself, then their words and judgments mean nothing. You can own your existence, and there, is a heady experience, and it is the way that you will succeed in this mission that you planned for yourself.”

Still, Harry fought the tears, knowing that it would be admitting defeat, admitting that he had been going about everything his whole life the wrong way. Before he knew it, the tears were streaming down his face, and he was hiccupping for breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay Harry. You didn’t know any better. But now you have a way of going forward, without these shackles holding you back.” Draco held onto the brunet even tighter, the hand not running through his hair wound over the boy’s chest and rubbing his arm, cocooning him in all the warmth, acceptance, and love that he could project at the broken boy.

They sat that way for more than an hour, Harry’s tears eventually tapering off, but the hiccups remaining as he fought to make his way through the end of the released emotions.

Dinner time that night was another quiet affair, though this time Harry was the quiet one, his eyes still red and puffy.

Severus had taken one look at the boy and seemed to have understood the situation.

“Your potions, Harry. This one last, it at least has a more pleasant flavor.”

Harry hiccupped a laugh, “Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all, Harry.”

Dobby spent the entirety of dinner and a good portion of the evening afterward nervously looking at Harry from a distance. Eventually, Draco called the Elf to where the two boys were once again cuddled together on one of the lounges in Harry’s rooms.

“Is Master Harry okay,” Dobby asked, wringing his hands together.

“He will be Dobby, this has been a long time in coming,” Draco said with a comforting smile.

“Dobby remembers. Dobby tried to help in summer holidays.” the elf said nervously.

“And you did a great job. I’m not sure he would have been able to deal with Hogwarts and his friends and the Order half so well, had it not been for you.”

“Dobby is glad he could helps Master Harry.” With a snap of the house elf’s fingers, he popped away to leave them in peace, two warm mugs of cocoa left in his place.

Draco prodded Harry up enough to take one of the mugs. Draco groaned his approval at the first sip.

“Potter your elves are amazing. This tastes bloody amazing.”

Harry smiled in return, nursing his own mug. “I feel exhausted.”

“It’s to be expected, with both the emotional shift and the energetic shift.”

“It doesn’t feel any different, in my head I mean,” Harry admitted, concerned.

“It won’t necessarily. Now it will take a conscious effort on your behalf to make sure that you stay on the right path.”

“This seems so bloody hard,” Harry complained, putting his mug back on the coffee table and lying back down against the blonde’s chest. The awkwardness was still there, but not so all consuming as it had first been.

“They say nothing good in life is ever easy.”

“That person was a lying liar who lies.” Harry groused, making Draco laugh.

“You’ll get there one day, Harry. We both will. You aren’t the only one working through a room full of issues.”

“Feels like my room is like the Room of Requirement, though.” Harry groused again, making Draco laugh again. It brought a smile to his face that he could make the blonde laugh at all.


The next day was the Winter Solstice, and the Elves had outdone themselves celebrating the season, as holiday wreaths decorated the house tastefully, and there was a grand Christmas tree in the Formal Lounge that was decorated with silver and glass ornaments. Harry felt that excitement bubbling in him, for some reason this Christmas feeling different for all the others he had experienced.

Unsurprisingly, Professor Snape spent the day in the potions lab. Harry felt a little guilty that the Potions Master was spending so much of his time making potions for him, but he was very grateful. He hoped it showed when the man opened the Christmas present that Harry had chosen for him on Christmas Day.

Harry spent a good portion of the day going over everything that he wanted to accomplish that night, as well as creating in his own mind how he envisioned his life to be for the future.

He wanted to make sure it was one where he wasn’t kept on a pedestal, and where he could gather a new family around himself, one that he could choose himself, and not necessarily one that blood would give him. He was already beginning to feel it with Draco, Hermione, Neville, and in some respects, even Pansy. But most of all he wanted to create a world where there was equality, peace, and justice.

When it came time for the ritual that night, he almost felt prepared.

At sunset they left the house and walked across the grounds to a grove of trees that spanned a large corner of the property. Harry felt a peacefulness descend on him as he entered the giant old forest, all the trees around him looked tall and strong. They walked a few minutes longer, led by Dobby who held a lantern, out into a large clearing. At the very center was a dugout fire pit that looked blackened and old with use over the centuries.

They fanned out around the fire pit, each of them taking a cardinal position marked on the ground. Dobby stepped forward and from the lantern he held, lit the fire pit.

Within moments the fire had stoked larger and larger until it was roaring merrily, safely contained in the fire pit.

“We call on the Sylphs of the North, Salamanders of the East, Gnomes of the South, and Undines of the West, that they might bless this sacred place and the ritual we are about to conduct. ” Draco intoned, the winds picking up from each direction as he called them, the distinctive smells of earth, and salt water, smoke, and a fresh spring breeze comingled around them.

Harry felt a tingle of magic pass over them, the air suddenly thicker for it.

“Tonight we honor the darkest point of the year, the darkest aspect of ourselves, and the darkest aspect of the Goddess. We celebrate the death that comes for all, and the rebirth that comes after. Tonight we offer the death of a part of ourselves, that it be reborn as something that will contribute to the life we wish to lead.”

“Tonight we sacrifice that which we do not need,” Severus said in the lull, drawing from his pocket a locket on a chain. He stepped forward, holding the chain out over the flames. For several moments he stood still, deep in thought, before he suddenly released the chain and it dropped into the flames.

The fire pit burned brighter for a moment, before their eyes, the locket disappeared from sight. Harry stared in amazement, as it had certainly not just melted in the flames.

With a nod to himself, Severus stepped back into his spot, and Draco stepped forward.

“Tonight we sacrifice that which we do not need,” Draco said, producing a rolled up piece of parchment. Draco concentrated on it a moment before he too flung it into the flames. Like the pendant before, it didn’t burn, the flames themselves never touched it, instead it seemed to disappear into nothing.

Draco stepped back into his earlier position, and it was finally Harry’s turn.

Cautiously, he stepped forward, feeling beyond awkward, he repeated the words that Draco had explained to him earlier in the day, “Tonight we sacrifice that which we do not need.”

Resolutely, he took his glasses off his face, feeling for a moment that he couldn’t see properly before he got used to it. To him, his glasses, given to him by the Dursley’s after his primary school had sent home a letter with him stating that he had to have them, represented so much of his life up to this date. Something that was given to him because there was no other choice; something forced on him. It also represented a lot of his insecurities, and being that they were so old, weren’t exactly allowing him to see all that clearly anymore anyway.

He chucked them into the fire pit, thinking that him throwing them to the fire meant that, as a brand new Harry, he was going to start living his life the way that he wanted to, the way that would achieve what he wanted to achieve, a life that he controlled. And as a part of that, he was going to own his emotions and work from a position of love and positive intention. The biggest thing that he had to remember was that he, himself, chose this life before he was ever born into it, and it was his choice that he would get through it as best he could, and achieving everything that he had planned for himself to do. He was resolute.

He stepped back into his spot, watching as the glasses were enfolded in a bubble, then they disappeared just like the other items had as well.

“Tonight we come to honor the Goddess, the Crone, the Death that awaits us all.”

At Draco’s words, the winds picked up again, spinning around the grove ever faster though their robes were hardly disturbed. It culminated as the winds circled the fire, creating a firestorm in the pit before it vanished altogether. Harry watched in awe, having never seen this kind of magic or ritual in his life. To him, this felt closer to what he had imagined what Magic would be when Hagrid had first come and explained that he was invited to Hogwarts.

“Tonight we partake of the rebirth, an opportunity granted by the Goddess that we might go forward, guided by her light.”

The air seemed even thicker than before as with Draco’s words, the smallest spark was suddenly there, dancing over the remains of the fire pit. Upon closer inspection, it was a salamander, the fire dancing along its skin as it crawled over the wood.

Dobby stepped forward at his time, opening the door to the lantern that he held so that the salamander of fire could jump in, the fire burning merrily inside once again.

“We thank you Sylphs of the North, we thank you Gnomes of the East, we thank you Undines of the South, and we thank you Salamanders of the West. We thank you for accepting our gifts and bid you go in peace.”


The walk back up to the house left Harry feeling like he was barely inhabiting his own body. The ritual had left a charged air around them, and it seemed to be following where he was going. Dobby once again led the way with Severus bringing up the rear. They were silent as they trudged up to the darkened manor.

When they reached the front foyer, each of the elves of the household held small candles, Mimsy handing the three wizards one each as well. They each approached Dobby in turn, as the House Elf proudly held the lantern aloft, allowing each one of them to light their candles from the lantern before moving off into the house so that they might relight the manor’s fires and light fixtures.

“That was amazing,” Harry said, watching the flame dance on the top of the candlestick. “Are all the Wheel of the Year Ritual’s like that?”

“There are common elements, but each of the eight times of the year celebrates a different aspect of life. From here on out, we will progressively celebrate the more positive aspects of life, as we make our way to Summer Solstice.” Severus explained. “Unfortunately, it has been a long day, however. I bid you gentlemen good night.”

Harry felt quite exhausted himself, barely smothering a yawn as Draco smiled at him in good humor.

They both made their way to the Master wing of the house.


Harry sighed as he was sat on the settee in his wing, the newly kindled fire roaring in the hearth. Draco was wrapping himself around Harry again, something for which the Gryffindor was eternally grateful for as he suddenly felt himself desperately needing the comfort.

It felt alien to him, having never had someone touch him, let alone someone holding him as tightly as Draco was doing right now. At the same time, however, there was a certain rightness to it as well, like this was where he was meant to be, that he had finally found that elusive ‘home.’ He was almost afraid to shift or move, should Draco take that as some kind of cue for him to stop, or worse, that it was Draco’s chance to escape.

No, Harry thought abruptly. He knew that Draco wanted to be there to comfort him, and more importantly, he knew that there were people that cared about him, about Harry. Draco was one of them, and he had vowed to Draco that he would believe what the blonde said about things like this. So no, he deserved love and comfort, and he was thankful that Draco was willing to give it right now.

He still didn’t want Draco to leave him right now.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” Draco said into his ear, somehow reading his mind.

So with a short huff, Harry quickly rearranged himself in the blonde’s arms, both of them laying out on the lounge, Harry now stretched out half over the Slytherin. All the while Draco kept his hands around Harry’s back, tightening his hold once again after Harry had settled down again.

“That’s better,” Draco said with a smile.

“How’d you know?”

“Your body tensed up,” Draco replied simply,

“You are way too observant,” Harry groused, rubbing his cheek along Draco’s chest.

Draco just hummed his approval, closing his eyes to bask.

“Thank you,” Harry began, “For tonight. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it.”

“Thank you for letting me cuddle and comfort you.”

“Who knew you were such a cuddler,” Harry smirked.

This time it was Draco’s turn to grouse, “Tell anyone and I will hex your bollocks off.”

“I had no idea what I’ve been missing all these years,” Harry admitted quietly, “It feels so good to be held.”

“It’s pretty good doing the holding, too,” Draco said, giving the boy in his arms another squeeze, planting a quick kiss on his forehead.


Harry woke groggily, feeling warmer than he was used to. It took him several moments to peel his eyes open and take stock of his surroundings. It surprised him that he had not noticed the peculiar sensation earlier, but Draco was still wrapped around him on the lounge settee in Harry’s quarters, the both of them now laid out flatter but still cuddled together. There was also a warm cotton blanket that was tucked around them. Harry assumed that was Dobby’s doing, he smiled.

Harry fought to keep the tenseness from his body as his mind and body woke up for the new day, the previous night’s awkwardness making a comeback.

“Hrmmmm,” Harry smiled as Draco groaned softly as the blonde’s arms tightened around him.

Harry couldn’t help but appreciate just how much he enjoyed the sensation of being held by the other boy. It was yet another half an hour before Draco began to show signs of wakefulness, and Harry watched as eventually, the blonde opened his eyes.

“Hey. We fell asleep,” Draco said with a frown, stating the obvious which made Harry roll his eyes.

“What was your first clue,” Harry snorted.

“Well aren’t we in a good mood this morning,” Draco replied, awkwardly stretching against Harry. Harry tried in vain to ignore the entirely too pleasing sensations, ordering his body to remain calm.

“Yeah, I feel pretty good about everything, all things considering.”

“I’m glad,” Draco smiled back, making no move to leave the confines of their blanket.

“How are you doing?” Harry asked, realizing that he had yet to ask this very question in all the times that Draco had been working with him. It made him quite worried that he had never asked that question.

“Pretty amazing, actually. I didn’t realize you were going to sacrifice your glasses. How is your vision without them?”

“Not really all that good,” Harry admitted.

“Severus, I believe will have brewed a Potion for you for such a case. I will admit to wondering how you have survived Quidditch all these years, let alone how you think to survive the coming war.”

“I did think that I might ask him, actually. I’m not sure why I never thought of it earlier. I suppose because I’ve already seen other wizards with glasses. I’m not sure.”

“Magical glasses, normally.”

“What are we doing?”

Draco was quiet for a few moments, leaving Harry’s mind to run rampant and his body to start tensing up. “We’re cuddling.”

Draco’s arms tightened around him, and Harry forced himself to try and calm down again. “Is that all this is?”

“Is it all you want it to be?”

“No, you don’t get to play psychologist this time. I asked you a question,” Harry murmured, almost afraid of the answer.

“I find myself enjoying this much more than I had initially thought I would,” Draco admitted. “I find myself enjoying being around you much more than I ever thought I would.”

“Me too.”


“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, it pains me, but I must leave you both here unsupervised.”

They were cozied up on the library settee yet again, researching together with the Manor’s resources.

“Voldemort?” Harry asked, both boys quickly standing up looking concerned.

“Indeed, he has ‘Called’ us. Hopefully, it should be but a short meeting. I will not have time to advise the Headmaster. Stay here. Do not, for ANY reason leave this manor.”

“Be careful,” Draco said before the man strode from the room.


Severus did not return that night, nor did he return the next day of Christmas.

Harry and Draco exchanged gifts solemnly, reminded unfortunately of what a dangerous and precarious world they currently lived in. Severus’ absence was certainly marked both during meals and by the gifts that remained untouched under the Christmas Tree. Draco too received no gifts from his Parents, something which Harry could see affected the Slytherin more than he may have wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, now taking their customary position on Harry’s settee in his rooms.

“There’s no need. It’s not like it’s your fault. I hope you don’t think that anything of this is your fault?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just sorry that you have to go through this.”

“Well, it’s my parent’s fault. And Voldemort’s fault. It’s on them and the choices that they have made.”

“They’ve made their proverbial bed.” Harry agreed. “We can create our own family, one bound through friendship, and umm, love.”

“Yeah, I think we can do that. It already feels like it with some of the others, Pansy and Neville.”

“Who would have thought that you might consider Gryffindor’s like family,” Harry joked, poking the blonde in the side. “And Neville at that!”



“Yes, Grandmother?” Neville said with some trepidation.

“What on earth are you doing? You said you would be going over your school notes? This is not your homework.”

“Uh, no it’s some personal research I’ve been doing.”

“Well your ‘personal research’ can wait until you have a passing grade in Potions,” She said forcefully with a frown. “Seriously Neville, what is so hard about the subject? And I don’t want to hear your excuses about the Potions Master.”

“I don’t think my magic works,” Neville whispered, choking up.

“Neville,” Madame Longbottom said with a sigh, sitting down next to the teenager. “You know that you can do this. You were tested remember, at your insistence. There is nothing wrong with your magic.”

“So there must be something wrong with me, then.” Neville spat, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Neville. Maybe you just need to try harder. Would you like me to arrange some tutor’s for you?”

“I’m trying as hard as I can. I’m so careful with the ingredients and the instructions. My magic is doing something to the ingredients.”

“Would you like to see a different specialist perhaps?”

“Would it make a difference?” Neville said sullenly, slouching back in the chair.

“It can’t hurt to try.”

An hour later, Madame Longbottom came back into the study where Neville was working.

“Come, Neville, we are leaving now.”

“Where are we going?”

“The specialist I have spoken with said that he would see you today.”

Neville looked on in surprise, quickly scrambling from his chair. Within a few more minutes, he had his shoes and robes on ready to leave.

“Specialized Magics Office,” Neville’s grandmother said, throwing the Floo powder into the grate. Neville followed straight after, stepping out into an office decorated for the Yule time celebrations.

“Madame Longbottom, Mr. Longbottom, Welcome to our offices. My name is Michael Gambero.” A middle-aged man with an easy smile greeted them, dressed in plum business robes with the letters ‘SMO’ embroidered on the right side chest pocket.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Madame Longbottom said with a smile in return.

“I will admit the case did intrigue me, by what you have explained to me so far. Please, come take a seat in my office.”

The specialist led them into a relaxed office and to take a seat on one of the lounges that faced each other. The Doctor strode over to his desk and picked up a file before returning to take a seat opposite them. He opened the empty file and began.

“How are you today Mr. Longbottom.”

“Good, thank you, sir. Please, call me Neville.”

“Thank you, Neville. What can you tell me about yourself?”

Neville drew up short, confused. “Uh, I’m in my sixth year at Hogwarts.”

“And doing poorly in Potions and Transfiguration,” Madame Longbottom interrupted, a frown marring her face.

“Thank you, Madame Longbottom.” Doctor Gambero said, a tight smile and slight glare aimed her way. “What’s your favorite subject, Neville?”

“Herbology,” Neville said with a shy grin. “I’m doing really really well in Herbology. I would like to get a job in that field one day.”

“That’s wonderful,” Doctor Gambero said, almost sounding excited himself, he was so encouraging. “Perhaps you could help me.”

The doctor levitated a plant from the windowsill and over onto the coffee table that sat between the two lounges. It was a decidedly sad plant, with its pot filled with water and the edges of its leaves were turning brown.

Neville looked at the plant with concern, a frown on his face as he pulled it closer.

“Where am I going wrong? The nursery I bought it from said that it would be a perfect plant for an office, that I would be hard pressed to kill it. I think he underestimated me,” Doctor Gambero said with a laugh.

“No, I think you underestimated yourself. It’s obvious that you are trying to care for the plant very well.” Neville said with a smile. “Unfortunately, this plant thrives on neglect. The Nursery probably thought that, like any other office, you would abandon the plant and water it once every few weeks.”

“I will admit to being a little over zealous.” The doctor said with a chagrined shrug of the shoulders.

“Would you mind if I?” Neville motioned to the pot, withdrawing his wand from his pocket.

“Not at all! Thank you. Though, try doing it without your wand.”

Neville looked up at the man in confusion. “Without my wand?”

“Yes, of course. Most of the earth magics are done hands on. Have you never tried?”

“No,” Neville replied with a frown, awkwardly putting his wand down on the coffee table beside the pot. “How do I do it then?”

“With your hands, of course. Use them to channel the magic inside you.”

Feeling put on the spot, Neville took a deep breath and first thinking that he needed to draw away the excess water. He dipped his fingers into the pot, thinking to draw the water from the soil and into a cup. Not even thinking about it, he conjured a cup from a piece of parchment from his pocket and drew the water into the new cup.

After that he focused on the plant itself, wondering what it needed. He worked away for a few moments in concentration, smiling as the plant perked up, a stalk growing from the center mass and a beautiful orange flower bloomed.

Neville sat back with a pleased grin, proud of his work and with the plant looking healthy one more. He looked up to his grandmother and the doctor, both of which looked exceedingly surprised. His Grandmother had a hand over her mouth, looking quite pale as she looked between the plant and her grandson.

Doctor Gambero however just looked really excited as he beamed at Neville.

“You have no idea what you just did, did you?”

“Did I do something I wasn’t supposed to?” Neville asked, the proud smile slipping from his face.

“On the contrary, you did some extraordinary! I think I know why you’ve been having trouble in your classes now. One of those, I should think is that wand.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Madame Longbottom demanded, looking affronted. “It’s his Father’s wand.”

“As admirable as it might be, quite simply the wand and his magic do not suit each other. However, a wand may yet not be enough either, but I would suggest speaking with Mr. Ollivander in regards to that.”

The doctor looked down and wrote some notes for the next minute.

“So what’s wrong with him?” Madame Longbottom demanded again, voice tight with worry.

Doctor Gambero looked at her sharply. “Nothing is wrong with the boy, but perhaps his self-esteem.”

Neville shrunk down in his seat, he hated when there was fighting because of him.

“Mr. Longbottom is, however, an Earth Mage. The first I’ve ever seen, and the first in the United Kingdom in several hundred years. His magic, while not under control, will automatically seek to see things grow again, hence his supposed inability in Potions classes. Once he has been trained to control the wild magics that flow naturally through him, he will be fine to return to Potions Classes.”

“An Earth Mage?” Madame Longbottom snorted, “You mean like the pagan druids? I hardly think such nonsense will serve my Grandson right now.”

“Yes, an Earth Mage. And seeing him here today makes me think that there may even be the possibility of a Druid Circle in our near future.”

“Poppycock!” Madame Longbottom sneered, standing abruptly. “This is ridiculous. We will not stay here and listen to these delusions of yours. Come Neville.”

Without even looking, she strode from the room. Neville, however, sighed, both saddened and overwhelmed at the news, not to mention his Grandmother’s reaction.

“Hurry up Neville,” She called from the next room, but still Neville remained seated.

“For Merlin’s sake, Neville. Come!”


“Excuse me?” Madame Longbottom thundered, her voice taking on booming quality.

“No, I shan’t be leaving with you right now. I would like to continue my discussion with Doctor Gambero.”

Madame Longbottom glared at Neville for several moments, before she strode away once more. They heard the Floo activate and then they were alone.

“I must say, you held out quite well, under the circumstances.” The doctor said gently.

“I just hope she doesn’t block me from the Floo.” Neville moaned quietly, inwardly panicking about what he had just done.

“Surely, as the family Patriarch, she would not be able to do that to you,” the doctor frowned.

“I’ve not taken up the Patriarchy. She didn’t think I was ready or that I would be able to cope with it considering all the troubles I’ve been having lately.”

“Now THAT is poppycock!”

Neville could only shrug, not knowing what else to say.

“You are old enough now to take the roll, should you want to. The Magic that would settle on you would help you to balance the Earth Magic in you, giving you another well of magic to drawn upon. And I very much suggest you visit with Mr. Ollivander as soon as may be permitted, so that you can get used to the wand or staff before returning to Hogwarts.”

“Staff?” Neville asked in wonder. He remembered reading in legends when he was younger about the greatest of all wizards and witches who had staves and how they wielded them.

“Indeed, Mr. Longbottom. I have a funny feeling that a wand will not be enough to wield the wild magic that is at your disposal. That your Father’s wand has not been burnt out is a testament to the control that you have been trying to exercise.”

“So there really isn’t anything wrong with me?”

“No, in fact, you might be just quite the opposite.


Pansy stood in the entrance hall of Parkinson Manor waiting for her father to return. She knew that he would not be much longer. He had in fact been due to return half an hour previous. But there had been no clue or message to say that he would, in fact, be any later, so she knew it would be soon.

She worried that Draco had not been able to avoid the meeting to which she knew her Father had attended at Malfoy Manor. The Marking ceremony for Draco was to have been the previous night. Draco’s views on the subject of Voldemort were well known to her, yet she also knew what kind of reparations Voldemort could demand, should Draco not take the Mark. She had not received any responses to the letters she had been sending him all holiday. It was strange that he had not replied.


“My Lord,” Severus Snape entered the hall where Voldemort was holding court at present. It was yet another abandoned Muggle manor that the Dark Lord had appropriated.

“Severus, my Faithful. How goes your potions making?” Voldemort hissed.

“I am all but complete, My Lord. I only have need for your donation to the potion, so that it might be tied to your magical signature.”

“You please me greatly, my Faithful. You have always done as I have asked, never a question nor a balk.” Voldemort airily caressed the side of Snape’s face with the back his hand. “The same cannot be said for some others.”

Voldemort sneered as he viewed the figure that was adhered to the roof, blood dripping out of many cuts over the man’s body, all being collected by cups on the ground.

Severus kept his head bowed, refusing to look at the near dead body of Macnair. Severus knew it would not be long until the man was dead.

“It was such a simple thing that I asked of you. Instead, your incompetence shone through. Never mind. I shall acquire the information I seek myself, and then the journals will be in my possession. Then we shall deal with our mudblood infestation. Crucio.”


Harry woke with a start, hand flying to his forehead as though he could stem the headache through sheer force. There were no surprises when instead he was unsuccessful. His hand came away wet, and he didn’t need to put the light on to know that it was blood from the cursed scar.

“Master Harry,” Dobby whispered, a gentle snap of his fingers had a small candle lit in his hands. “Would Master Harry like anything?”

Harry took the damp, warm towel with a smile, gratefully washing his hands and forehead, applying a cool spot to the scar itself.

“Thank you, Dobby. This is fantastic.”

“Can Dobby get anything else for his Master Harry?”

“Some tea, actually. If you don’t mind, Dobby.” Harry said with a grateful smile as the House Elf popped away.

“You don’t get much of a fair go in life, do you,” Draco said from behind him, voice groggy.

“Not particularly, no. Sorry, I woke you.”

Draco waved it off, stretching awkwardly. “We really need to stop falling asleep. These lounges are killing my back.”

Harry just smiled to himself, secretly enjoying each and every time they fell asleep together. It was going to have to be something that they dealt with soon, as Harry’s feelings were certainly growing for the blonde Slytherin. He just hoped that Draco was feeling anywhere near the same.

Dobby popped back moments later, a steaming tea set for the two of them laid out next to the sole candle that lit the room.

“What happened?”

“Voldemort,” Harry breathed with trepidation. “I often get dreams from him. He used it against me last year, with what happened with the Ministry of Magic. I’m not sure he can control it, though, as I often get weird moments in his life, usually when there’s a lot of emotion involved. He was pretty angry at Macnair today. He was being tortured. Severus was there, he’s been stuck making a potion for Voldemort.”

“That’s something then. I was beginning to wonder if he was going to come back.” Draco admitted.

“Yeah me too. But it looks like he’s just busy, though it sounded like he was almost finished. Hopefully, he’ll be back today then.”

“Just in time to get back to Hogwarts then,” Draco said with a sigh.

They sipped their tea in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

“I don’t have the slightest clue how I’m going to defeat him, you know.” Harry began. “Dumbledore seems to think something to do with Love is the super secret power that will defeat him.”

“I’m not going to say anything about that, as I don’t think I could say anything polite about Dumbledore.”

Harry snorted in laughter.

“He’s entirely too manipulative. To have held Severus as a spy for all these years, keeping you at your nasty and inhuman relatives. I’m sorry to say that it all stinks of a premeditated plan.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to think it.”



Posted in Evil Author Day, Harry Potter | Tagged , , | 13 Comments

EAD 2017 – Life’s Tangents

Title: Life’s Tangents

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~4,900

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: M 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language, dealing with life changing circumstances/injuries

Summary:  Harry is about to start his first year teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s his last resort. The rest of his life has gone to shit.

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.


Life’s Tangents


The feeling of bone weary tiredness seemed to be a constant in Harry Potter’s life now that he had lost everything. Even the walk from Hogwarts Gates to the Castle seemed almost too much, the throb in his thigh making every step painful. The trunk that levitated behind him started to sag lower and lower to the gravel path as Harry gradually made his way to the big oak doors of the school.

Just as Harry reached the stairs, the doors opened to reveal the now ageing Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. The smile she bestowed on Harry had him internally gritting his teeth. Pity had no use in any situation.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr Potter,” McGonagall said warmly, holding the door open for him.

“Thanks, Professor, err… Headmistress,” Harry corrected himself, a blush covering his face; turns out the woman could still make him feel like a first year.

“Minerva, please,” she insisted, leading Harry into the castle and slowly to her office behind the Statue of a Griffin. She took his hand in hers as they walked, the pace slow for as much her benefit as his.

“How have you been?” Harry asked as he slowly lowered himself into the seat across from her desk, his trunk landing with a thunk behind him.

“Well, Mr Potter, or as much as old age allows,” she smirked as she poured tea for the both of them, “And you?”

“Much the same, as much as the ‘condition’ allows,” Harry replied, a sardonic smirk flashing quickly.

“I’m glad you’ve come back to Hogwarts, Mr Potter.”


“Harry,” McGonagall smiled again, the pity once more visible in her eyes.

“So,” Harry started, not wanting to dwell on the past, “You want me for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I bet you never thought you would ask me when I was still a student here.”

“Quite the opposite, I assure you, Harry. Albus and I were quite aware of your ‘Defence Association’, and we were quite proud of you for it. You did a marvellous job preparing the students. In fact, we’d not had such high scores that year in Defence for several years prior to that,” she smiled proudly at him, making him blush again.

“Oh, I suppose you would have known about it, then,” Harry looked aside, slightly embarrassed.

McGonagall laughed, “Harry, that is why I know you will do well. You have a marvellous ability to interact with your peers and help them understand not just how the spell is done, but the logic behind it, how it can be useful, where it might be used. Not to mention your experience with the Aurors, which will stand you in good stead.”

“But what about my condition? There will be days where I’ll be incapable of teaching,” Harry asked bluntly, this was a major issue, if they couldn’t organise something now, then there was no hope of Harry staying to teach at Hogwarts.

“Well, we already had some ideas. We currently have a student studying for his Potions Mastery. As a part of his studies, he will be teaching First through Third years for the next two years, he has already agreed to make the Potion for you. For time off, as you know, Madam Pomfrey is well experienced with those of your condition, and I think would hardly let you leave her Infirmary if you weren’t at least feeling ninety percent,” McGonagall explained.

Harry’s interest was piqued with the Potions student, not knowing how Masteries were earned or awarded. Perhaps one day he could get one in Defence.

“As for the days you will be absent, we had thought perhaps you could use an altered Time Turner to take you back a few days and continue teaching once you were feeling better. The days you were still ill, you would remain in the Infirmary, which means there should be no risk of bumping into yourself.”

McGonagall seemed to observe him for a moment, “Perhaps I should stipulate there ‘should’ be no risk. However, being who you are, Mr Potter, trouble does seem to find you.”

Harry blushed again, it’s not like he could help it, “Everything seems to be already sorted out, then.”

“I’ve tried my best, Harry. We want to take care of you, and this affords us the opportunity for our students to learn from the best,” McGonagall said passionately, the hope shining in her eyes clear.

“I think you’ve answered all my questions, except one,” Harry smiled, “When do I move in?”




Chapter 1

It was typical that the Sorting Feast be the day of the Full Moon, leaving Harry to stay in the Shrieking Shack. His acute canine senses meant he could hear the train arrive at the Hogsmeade Station and the constant babble of excited students. It was all over again half an hour later and the night quiet once more.

Getting stiffly to his paws, Harry slowly trotted upstairs to where Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had fixed up the main bedroom for him.

There were a new bed and linens against the wall, and the room had been repaired and repainted, though the outside of the house still looked ramshackle. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to stay in this room, though, there were just too many memories. Everywhere he looked there were the remnants of Moony’s stay back in Harry’s Third Year. The Piano was back in the other corner of the room, along with the memories of Remus and Sirius chasing Peter Pettigrew as a rat.

Harry wanted to think of all the ways that night could have gone, had it not been a Full Moon; had Peter not got away; had Snape not been there to save them. There were too many ‘what if’s’ associated with that night. But it was no use thinking about it because none of those scenarios had played out.

This was the way life now was.

Him being a werewolf was now a part of that, too.

Walking further into the new room, Harry grabbed the comforter from the bed gently in his teeth and dragged it downstairs and into the corner by the window. Curling up, Harry slept fitfully, the pain of his injuries from the attack exacerbated again by the transformation


When Harry next woke up, he was in bed in the Infirmary. The sun was shining in through the high windows, and he could hear Madame Pomfrey pottering around in her supply room. He blindly attempted to reach for his glasses on the bedside table, but he immediately pulled his arm back to clutch his side.

The involuntary groan had Madame Pomfrey at his bedside in seconds.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself very well lately, Mr Potter, have you? Or listening to your specialist.” The Mediwitch said, waving her wand over him to take observations.

“Sorry,” Harry croaked, this throat feeling raw.

“Don’t be saying sorry to me! You should be saying it to yourself!” she said disapprovingly, helping him to sit up and put his glasses on. As soon as he was settled, she was plying him with potions until he felt full of them. It was only when he felt his eyelids dropping that he realised the last of the Potions must have been a Dreamless Sleep. Just before he fell asleep entirely, he vaguely heard Pomfrey sigh, “Go to sleep, dear. You need the rest.”




Harry stayed four days in the Infirmary before Madame Pomfrey would even think about letting him out. Considering it was only the day before that he was able to walk any further than the bathroom and back, he didn’t argue too much. The Headmistress visited him twice in the last few days, sitting with him in the afternoon, keeping him occupied with the discussion of lesson plans. He was very grateful for that distraction, as it was in the days immediately following the Full Moon that depression set in again. It was during those days where he was laid up in bed that he had all the time in the world to think about and be reminded of all that he had lost.

On the fourth day, he was allowed parchment and a quill, so he set to work on a rough term plan for all the classes. When he was released from the Infirmary the next day, the Headmistress came down to meet him.

“It’s good to see you up and about, Harry,” she smiled warmly, the pity carefully hidden.

“It’s good to ‘be’ up,” Harry replied, stretching carefully.

While Madame Pomfrey conducted her final checks, McGonagall explained.

“This is the Time Turner you’ll be using,” the Headmistress said, presenting Harry with the little hour glass suspended inside a circle on a long chain. Where Hermione’s had been silver, this one was gold with a strange luminescent light inside instead of sand like the Muggle hourglass.

“Each 360-degree turn of the hour glass represents a twenty-four hour period. For example, you’ll be needing to go back four days, so you will need to turn it in an anti-clockwise manner four times, end to end. But you had best to it in your rooms otherwise you might meet yourself in the Infirmary,” the Headmistress smiled, handing the Time Turner into Harry’s hands.

Harry turned it over in his hands, surprised at how delicate it was. But he could feel the magic in it, like an aura around it.

“So, I guess there’s nothing else then?” Harry asked, looking to Madame Pomfrey to double check.

“Only stick to the plan that I’ve made for you, Mr Potter. If anything feels wrong of if you’re in pain, fire call me, and I’ll come to see you as soon as I can. I don’t want you running into yourself here in the Infirmary.”

“Will do, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry smiled mischievously, making the nurse finally smile at him.

“Oh, off with you,” she shooed him out with half a laugh.

“You don’t mind if I see you off, do you Harry?” The Headmistress asked as she walked with him out the doors.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll probably have some questions by the time we get to my rooms you could answer.” Harry said, walking slowly. His leg seemed to have stiffened up a little after lying in bed for the last four days.

They walked in silence the two floors that separated Harry’s rooms from the Infirmary, the castle quiet in the early morning light.

Once in his room, Harry took a well-needed seat at the desk chair by the door.

“Are you sure you wish to go back now? You could take some time to sleep if you need it. It would only be a slight adjustment with the Time Turner to go back the appropriate time,” McGonagall said, her tone worried.

“No, it will be fine. Besides, the 2nd was a Saturday, so I’ll still have some time to recover,” Harry said resolutely. He felt like he had wasted enough time as it was.

“Very well, then,” McGonagall sighed, “when you’re ready.”

“So, it’s just one turn for each day?” Harry asked, and the Headmistress nodded.

“What about parts of days?”

“Unfortunately, this kind of Time Turner isn’t as refined as the one that Miss Granger used in her Third year. That one was specialised for use over hours. This one is specifically used for days. I suppose that it could be used for hours, but you would need to be very careful when moving it in increments.”

Harry nodded his understanding, he probably wouldn’t use it for partial days, but it was good to know.

“Alright then,” Harry stood, getting up from the chair and stood in the middle of the room. “Here goes.”

“Good luck, Harry.” The Headmistress smiled.

“Knowing me, I’ll need it.”

Harry took up the little hourglass and placed the chain around his neck. Holding it out in front of him and trying to be as precise as possible, he turned the little knob on the side and turned the Time Turner four times. When he had finished the fourth revolution, he pushed the little knob back in and the Hourglass started spinning. Everything seemed to speed up in reverse. He watched as he and McGonagall walked out of the room a lot faster than they had walked in. The sunlight from the window suddenly disappeared before coming back again. He watched as the House Elves came in each morning to tidy and air the room, even though it hadn’t necessarily needed it.

Time seemed to stop very quickly once the Time Turner stopped spinning in his hands, Time itself returning to normal. Looking around, nothing seemed different or out of place. Casting a charm to check the time, Harry found that it was just before breakfast on September 2nd, the exact time it had been when he left the future. This year the school started on a weekend, so Harry was lucky that he still had two days to finish his lesson plans and make an appearance in the Great Hall. Already he could imagine the students’ confusion and subsequent theories on his absence from the Feast.

Deciding he might as well make a start, Harry left his rooms to gradually make his way to the Great Hall.

The few staircases that were between Harry’s rooms and the Hall were generous today as they all changed to allow him the shortest route and stay put until he had gotten off again. He was met by the Fat Friar from Hufflepuff along the way who cheerfully welcomed him back to the School before disappearing through the wall.

Even though it was still early in the morning on the weekend, there was still a fair amount of eager students in the Great Hall with loaded plates before them, happily chatting about their holidays. When Harry walked in, there was a slight lull in conversation as students noticed who had walked in and how he was leaning on his cane. Harry tried not to be too obvious about his dependence on it, but it couldn’t be helped. Especially not after half a week lying in the Hospital Wing.

Talk quickly resumed as Harry made his way up to the Head Table where Madame Pomfrey, Professor Vector and Headmistress McGonagall were already sitting. Taking a seat next to the Headmistress, Harry couldn’t help sighing in relief as he stretched his sore leg out in front of him.

“Good morning, Harry,” Minerva said as she took a sip of her tea.

“Morning, Professor,” Harry replied, flashing a quick smile.

“Are you feeling any better this morning, Harry?” Madame Pomfrey asked from Minerva’s other side.

“Little stiff, mainly tired, though,” he said, reaching for the toast.

“Well, you let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, Mr Potter. I still remember your time here as a student! There’s no need to soldier on through the pain. You come to me!” the matron said firmly, making Harry blush.

“Yes, Mam.”

“Good! Now eat up, you need the energy.”

McGonagall just smirked at him as she watched, casually sipping her tea.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” a sarcastic drawl interrupted them, the voice Harry immediately recognising.

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy. You remember Mr Potter?” McGonagall said pleasantly, her tone enforcing civility between the two wizards.

“I’m sure the entire wizarding world remembers the Boy Who Lived,” Malfoy said dismissively, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

“Good to see you, too, Malfoy,” Harry couldn’t help snarking back.

McGonagall sent a reproving glare at Harry, “Mr Malfoy is the Potions student who will be making your potion, Harry.”

Judging by Harry’s expression, McGonagall thought she should explain.

“Mr Malfoy will be making it, yes, but he will be overseen by our Potions Master. There is nothing to worry about,” she smiled encouragingly.

Harry wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help the uneasy feeling.


After breakfast, Harry returned to his rooms and continued to work on his lesson plans. The window was open next to his desk, bringing a warm breeze in. He barely noticed the time pass before the breeze had turned cool and there was an uneaten sandwich at his elbow.

Glancing at the time, Harry packed up the paperwork and got up to take a quick walk to work out the stiff muscles in his back and legs. In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have lost track of time.

He grimaced as he stood, hand white on the head of the cane as he breathed through the pain. He forced himself to move about the room, the stiffness disappearing down to normal levels and he finally caught his breath.

Out in the corridors, he took a slightly longer route to the Great Hall. There were lots of students milling about in the courtyards and walking the corridors. He ended up passing the library which was empty and dark.

Harry made to continue on until a flickering light caught his attention. He took a few steps inside when the light suddenly came a lot closer.

“Can I help you, Potter?” Malfoy suddenly appeared, holding a bag overflowing with books and parchment, a candle held in his other hand being the source of light.

“Just curious to who was in the library, seeing as it seems closed,” Harry said defensively, trying to back out of the way.

“Drawn by bright lights, are you? Is that why you didn’t get out of the way of that werewolf? Moon too bright?” Draco said, a nasty sneer on his face, enjoying Harry’s pain.

“Not quite, Malfoy,” Harry shot back stonily, turning to walk away.

“Not scared of the dark?” Malfoy called to Harry’s retreating back.

“Hardly,” Harry said as he walked out of the library, “Just tired.”


Chapter 2

“Good morning class and welcome to Third Year Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’m Professor Potter.”

Harry looked out at his first class as a Professor, third year Gryffindor/Slytherin.

“Who can tell me what you’ve studied so far?”

A sea of hands went up, so Harry chose at random.

“What did you cover first year?” Harry prompted, the young girl blushed.

“We studied *****************************************,”

“Very good, Miss?”

“Alicia Thorntail.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Thorntail,” Harry smiled, “What did you cover last year?”

This time Harry pointed at a Slytherin boy.

“Martin Goyle, and we covered ****************************************************.”

“Very good, thank you, Mr Goyle. Ten points to Slytherin,” Harry said, mind faintly reminiscing on the other Goyle he had known.

Taking a seat on the front of his desk, Harry began his first lesson.

By the end of the class, both houses were up thirty points, which had left the students happy, yet confused. It was a well-known fact that Harry was a Gryffindor, and yet there was no favouritism. In fact, he’d been very careful to show none at all.

As much respect Harry now belatedly had for Professor Snape, he didn’t want to be likened to him because of favouritism. Like Dumbledore had said, it is our choices which define us. Slytherins were no more evil than any other house. And if he helped house unity while he was here at Hogwarts, then all the better.

Harry spent the day revising with each class what they had previously studied and what the most important details were about each. He had lunch with the rest of the school in the Great Hall. Midway through the afternoon, though, the ache in his thigh came back with force. He barely made it through the last lesson before fire calling after the last student had left.

“Mr Potter, what can I do for you?” Madame Pomfrey asked as soon as the connection was made.

“I was wondering if I could get something for the pain,” Harry asked meekly.

“Of course you can!” the Mediwitch said, her tone practically a reprimand, “How long has it been hurting?”

“Just after lunch,” Harry admitted.

Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue at that but knew there was nothing she could do.

“Next time, you will take the two minutes between classes to call me,” She glared at Harry before she disappeared from the flames. Only a few moments had passed before the fire flared again allowing the Mediwitch to step out.

“Scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?” she asked as she drew a goblet out of thin air with her wand.

“Seven, I guess,” Harry sighed, perching back on the nearest desk.

Madame Pomfrey only clucked her tongue again, her disproval clear again that he hadn’t come to her sooner. He was just so worried about becoming addicted to the pain potions, even though he understood being in pain tensed the muscles and slowed the healing process.

“Drink this, though you should probably go back to your rooms for dinner. This will make you pretty drowsy.” The matron advised kindly, gently urging him to his feet.

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said genuinely, his gratitude showing now that the potion was taking over his body.

“Poppy,” she said, leading Harry out the classroom, his arm wrapped in hers as they slowly walked down the crowded corridors to his room.

“Thanks, Poppy,” Harry smiled. He couldn’t believe how fast the potion had taken effect as he could already feel his eyes drooping and his feet dragging. Before he knew it, they were back in his quarters and Poppy was pulling the sheets back on the bed.

Harry only had time to take off his robes and shoes before he was tumbling into bed, out like a light.


“Where’s Potter?” Malfoy asked, trying to hide his snide tone. He was the only Professor missing from the Head Table.

“Unwell, Mr Malfoy,” Madame Pomfrey said shortly, “He will return to his classes in the morning.”

The Headmistress looked up, surprised at not having heard earlier.


“He will be fine, Minerva. He finished his classes and retired to his rooms for dinner. That boy really should be resting that leg more,” the Matron reassured the woman quietly. Malfoy had just snorted and resumed his dinner.

“I wish there was something more we could do for him,” Minerva said sadly, laying her utensils aside.

“Me too, but there are no Potions catering to the werewolf market. And Hellebore is such a rare allergy in the general populace that there has never really been a cause for it,” Madame Pomfrey explained.

“Perhaps I could speak with Professor Hemmindale. He might spare some time to research,” McGonagall mused out loud.

“Perhaps there is someone else we could ask, though ask may be the wrong word to use. It would be good to see them get along,” Madame Pomfrey said quietly, taking a glance at the youngest member of staff at the Table.

“It would be good. Especially for the students. Their bickering could be seen as acceptance of that kind of behaviour,” McGonagall reasoned, a mischievous smile forming.


Harry eventually developed a rhythm at Hogwarts after that first month. He was learning the names of his students, and they were learning quickly the topics he taught them. There were a couple of times he’d had to call Madame Pomfrey, but as long as he took it easy and didn’t strain for anything, then those visits were purely check-ups.

He was starting to feel a little better when he started to feel the pull grow again.

According to his specialist at St. Mungo’s, he would eventually heal, but instead of about 12 weeks to heal without magic, it would take more than 8 months for Harry because the Transformation undid most of the healing that had occurred that month. He had come to dread the coming of the full moon for that simple fact. It felt like he was going back to square one like he had been straight after he had been bitten.

He could feel the day coming up, though, as it pulled at him late at night, the moon rising a little earlier each day. He didn’t have to look at the calendar to know that the full moon was the following night. His senses were already starting to heighten, which is why he heard the fire splutter before Ginny’s head appeared in the fire.

“Hey Harry,” she greeted kindly, a sad smile on her face.

Unfortunately, it was Ginny’s pity more than anyone else’s that annoyed him the most.

“Hey Gin,” Harry replied, setting his quill and marking aside.

“How are you doing?”

“Pretty much the same,” Harry said shortly, the werewolf instincts becoming more prevalent as the full moon drew closer.

“Oh,” Ginny said awkwardly, “Well, at least you’re not getting any worse,” She quipped back, not realising what she’d said until too late.

Harry remained silent.

“Well, um, I actually had a reason I was calling. Um, I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, her cheeks turning redder in the flames.

“Congratulations,” Harry said, trying to be happy for her, “How did Dean take it?”

“Good. He’s very excited,” Ginny said, but Harry could tell there was more to it than that. He just nodded and waited her out.

“We, um… we got a Paternity Potion, just to be sure, and um… It’s yours,” Ginny wouldn’t meet his eyes after that, glancing at him through her fringe.

Harry was struck speechless. He and Ginny had talked about having kids when they were still together. But after he’d been bitten, everything seemed to fall apart. He never thought he would have a chance to be a father now.

“So,” Harry started, but he didn’t know how to continue.

The silence stretched on for another minute before Ginny couldn’t handle anymore.

“I’d better go. Um, it was, ah, good to see you again, Harry,” She said quickly, starting to disappear.

“Wait! Um, what were you going to, um, do?” Harry stuttered, suddenly quite earnest.

“We’re not sure yet. Dean and I are still talking. We’ll keep it, but we haven’t really decided anything beyond that. I’ll speak to Dean about catching up with you,” Ginny sounded hurried, the awkwardness overpowering Harry’s senses even through the flames.

“Alright. Well, take care then, Gin,” Harry replied, wanting Ginny to leave just as much as she obviously wanted to escape.

“You too, Harry.”

Then she was gone.

The sound of broken glass followed in Ginny’s wake, the water that had been inside it soaking into the carpet on the other side of the room.

The werewolf hearing picked up the near silent pop that signalled a house elf arriving to clean up.

Harry never noticed his accelerating breathing or his hand clenched tightly in a fist. All that was running through his mind was the unfairness of it all. This should have been a happy time.

Keyword there being, ‘should’.

Ever since his days spent in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry had dreamed of finally having a family of his own. And he thought he’d had had that with Ginny.

Until the werewolf attack.

There was no way he could sleep tonight


The next day did nothing to promote werewolf rights or their reputation. Harry spent most of the day snapping at those around him and limping the corridors in a barely concealed rage.

Even the students were keeping a wide berth of him, sitting silently in class and taking copious notes.

McGonagall had tried cornering him at lunch time, but Harry did what all wild animals do when pushed into a corner. Harry was just thankful that she had seen him the previous month before the transformation, and therefore knew that this wasn’t his usual behaviour.

He just hoped he wasn’t fired because of it.

When he could, he avoided people at all costs, but he just knew the world was out to get him right now.

“What’s up your arse, Potter? You’ve been in a foul mood all day. You’r- OI!!”

Harry limped straight past Malfoy, not daring to stop or even glance at the Slytherin.

“So the Great Potter is too busy to even acknowledge the mere mortals around him, then?” Malfoy goaded, choosing to trail after Harry.

Harry just tried to limp away faster, but he knew it was a losing battle.

“Nothing to say to defend yourself, then? It’s always been said that you hated the limelight. Perhaps that’s wrong then. Maybe you do like the attention,” Malfoy bated.

Harry could only try to restrain his anger and ignore the blonde. Before he ripped his head off.

“It’s been a while since you defeated Voldemort, hey Potter. Is that why you went for a round with a werewolf?”

The speed with which Harry turned and was in his face surprised Draco, but it was the hard, glinting canine eyes devoid of the famous green that had him stepping back.

“Leave off it, Malfoy,” Harry growled, the sound rolling from deep in his chest. Harry kept the glare focused on the blonde, waiting for his submission. It took a few minutes, but eventually, Malfoy snorted and walked away.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to release the tension and rage building in his shoulders.

He tried not to notice the blood he had drawn on the palms of his hands.




Posted in Evil Author Day, Harry Potter | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

EAD 2017 – Marine!Stiles (temp name)

Title: Marine!Stiles (temp file name)

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: ~10,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale/Christopher Argent

Rating: M 

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, language

Summary: Stiles returns to Beacon Hills, fresh from two tours in the Marines, ready to take up the mantle of Deputy in the Police Department. But what reception is he going to receive back in his hometown?

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.


There wasn’t anyone there to meet him at the airport. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming home. The Sheriff knew it was soon, but Stiles had never elaborated beyond that. He picked up his duffle and made his way to hire a car for the week. The two-hour drive out to Beacon Hills served to show some things don’t change. In the town itself, there were a few more difference, new coffee shop here, new twenty-four-hour gym there that he made a mental note to investigate later.

The hotel was at least newly renovated and had free Wi-Fi. The bed was ridiculously soft, and more than once through the night he contemplated camping out on the floor. The next morning found him out on the street at five in the morning for his run. Eight years of habit wasn’t going to break anytime soon.

An hour later he was back with a pamphlet and application form for the 24-hour gym. He dropped the completed form off on the way to his favourite Diner for breakfast. He wasn’t the least bit surprised by who he found there.

“I see that whole special heart healthy diet thing is working well then,” Stiles commented, sitting on the other side of the booth. In front of the Sheriff was a full continental breakfast.

“And I’ve been good all week. You can check with Melissa.” The Sheriff pointedly took another mouthful of real bacon.

“You know I will.” Stiles snorted. “And with Maeve too.”

The sheriff winced.

Stiles smirked in triumph. “Maybe you should join me for a run in the mornings?”

“I spend enough time on the treadmill as it is, thank you.” The Sheriff took another mouthful, chewed, and swallowed. “Are you home now?”

“Yeah, dad. I’m home now.” He leant back in the booth with a smile.

The Sheriff’s face transformed into a grin as he hastily stood up. “Come ‘ere.”

Stiles stood eagerly for the first bone crushing hug he had had from his father in years.

“Welcome back, son.” He sniffed back the tears only just.

“I missed you so much,” Stiles wasn’t faring much better.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tightened the hug one last time before moving to step back. “Have you submitted your application yet?”

“No. I was going to drop it off this morning after breakfast.”

“Stiles, is that you?” The elderly waitress, Maeve asked as she approached the table to take his order.

“Yeah, it’s me!” Stiles grinned.

“Didn’t you grow up in all the right places. You must be fending off all the girls and boys. Where have you been all this time?”

“Marines. Just finished my eight years. Thought it was time I came home and helped dad out.”

“Beacon Hills will be lucky to have you as one of her Deputies. Now, what can I get for you?”

“Your amazing waffles, please.”

“Extra strawberries and a chocolate shake?” Maeve finished from memory. “Coming right up.”

A few moments later the thick shake was delivered, and the two men sat in companionable silence. Stiles was halfway through his breakfast as the Sheriff pushed back his plate.

“Have you checked in with the pack yet?” The Sheriff asked between sips of coffee.

Stiles tried not to tense up at the question. Judging by his father’s expression, he had failed. “Not yet.”

“What about Scott?”

“A few months back.”

“Does he know you’re coming home?”

“Not yet.”

“When do you plan on telling them? Or are you going to wait for it to blow up in your face?”

Stiles sighed heavily and stared out the window, remaining silent.

“You never did tell me what it was that made you leave.” The Sheriff took a sip of his coffee.

“I know.” Stiles pushed away his half-eaten plate.

“I’m still here when you’re ready to tell me. Where are you staying?”

“Hotel out by Main.”

The Sheriff nodded. “You know you can-“

“Yeah. I know dad.”

“Any time Stiles. You’re my son. You’ll always be welcome.” He reached across and grasped Stiles shoulder in support. “Well, I’d better get going. I have a meeting to prepare for a new Deputy.”

“Yeah. I’ll be there soon.” Stiles smiled, but the earlier ease was gone. In its place was the Marine John hadn’t met before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Stiles was left to contemplate just what he was going to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do – organise his human life and ignore the supernatural one for as long as possible. The fact that the two were intertwined was hampering that effort. The whole reason he was back in Beacon Hills was to help his dad and the Sheriff’s Station with the supernatural.

He just wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the pack. Things had been so weird Post-Nogitsune and then after the Dread Doctors that he had just bugged out. He wasn’t exactly proud of how he left, but he just hadn’t been able to do it anymore.

Not deal with betrayal, working with enemies turned allies. Not dealing with suddenly being useless. Not being trusted.

At least that second to last one was fixed now.


“Stiles, is that you?”

Stiles beamed as he was enveloped in the motherly hug from the woman who had run the Sheriff Station front desk for as long as Stiles could remember.

“It’s good to see you, Barb.”

“It’s good to have you back. And these papers are for you, I believe.” She smirked.

“Yeah, I’m joining up.”

“Beacon Hills will be lucky to have you, just so long as that trouble that always follows you doesn’t end up here.” Her serious demand was botched by the mischievous glint in her eye and the smirk that threatened.

“Me? I’m a paragon of innocence,” he mock-gasped.

“Hah! Maybe before you started walking. I know better. I’ve certainly known you long enough.”

Stiles took the offered clipboard and pen, quickly filled in the information, and handed it back with a copy of his discharge papers and his last scores on the firing range.

“All done? Just head on through to the Sheriff’s office then. I’m glad you’re back, love.” This time, it was a genuine smile that felt like a stab to the heart with guilt.

It was the right thing to do, he reminded himself.

Taking a deep breath, he smiled and pushed the guilt down. With a nod, he headed into the bowels of the station. Nothing much had changed here either, but it looked like they at least had newer computers.

The door was already open to the Sheriff’s office, so Stiles strode straight through and closed the door – ready for his interview.

“All done with the paperwork then?” The Sheriff asked with an easy smile.

“Yep. And I’ve got the other paperwork like you asked.”

“Great.” The Sheriff took the stack, leafed through it briefly and put it together with some more paperwork he had on his desk. “Ok, just need you to sign the contract and these forms for the gun and badge.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at the gun and badge that were placed on the desk.

“What happened to the interview? And I thought it took a few weeks for processing.” Stiles asked, confusion evident on his face.

“I’ve had these sitting on my desk waiting for when you got home. I pulled your Psych Eval. from the Core to get things through earlier. You can start today if you like.” The Sheriff sat back with a satisfied grin. It wasn’t often he could pull one over his son, he was going to savour this.

“Wow. So.. shit.”

“I know you did some time with the MP’s in the Core, but you’ll still need to do a probationary period for six months, and there will be some tests to prove competency. It’ll be good to get you back in the swing of a civilian population. Now, I don’t want to any arguments. I know what I’m doing. Your training officer is going to –“


Stiles was up and going for the service piece that was currently absent from his right hip, ready to defend from the man that had crashed through the door.

“Officer Hale. Good timing.” The sheriff’s tone was flat in annoyance.

The room was silent a moment as Stiles and Derek looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

“Take a seat, Derek. You might as well stay. As I was saying, Stiles. Your training officer will be Derek. He’s trained all my officers exceptionally over the last five years. I was going to have you meet after lunch, I guess we can move that up now. Parrish can cover your morning patrol, Derek.

“Spend the morning getting caught up and get the OHS new employee pack out of the way. I need you two to be able to work together. In the future, I’d like the both of you paired together as our lead supernatural officers with Parish and someone else as your secondary. We’ll look into it. Now scram you two. Stiles get that paperwork to Barb ASAP. Take the badge and gun with you. Uniform is in your locker. Number seventeen. I’ll talk to both of you later about this side project.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff,” Derek said in the ensuing silence.

“Forget about it, Derek. I think this time was an extenuating circumstance.” The Sheriff gave a wry smile. “Welcome to the team, Stiles.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Stiles mock saluted, gathering his paperwork up with this new Police badge and gun, and trooped out after Derek.

The werewolf led him over to an empty desk that faced another full yet tidy desk.

“You’ll… ah. You’ll be working across from me. So, you can leave the paperwork there for now. The top draw is a locked draw for your badge and gun.”

Stiles nodded, immediately stowing the gun and badge there for now before being led to the locker rooms. The key from the desk’s lock draw matched the locker, so he opened it to check out his new uniform.

“Change rooms are through there if you want to go put it on.” Derek leant against the door frame with a weird little frown Stiles hadn’t ever seen.

He shrugged it off and took the uniform to the next room. Derek followed to lean just inside the door. Once Stiles was safely inside the cubicle, Derek started talking.

“So. How long have you been back?”

“Flew in yesterday.”

“Oh. The Sheriff and Scott didn’t mention you were coming back.”

“They didn’t know.”


The silence was awkward as Stiles finished dressing. A few minutes later he left the cubicle with his bundled civvies under his arm.

“It suits you,” Derek said with a cough.

“Thanks,” Stiles smirked at himself in the mirror, it really did suit him.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a cop.”

Stiles looked at Derek in time to watch his face do a weird grimace. “It’s always been the intention.” Stiles continued into the locker room again. “Was going to go the college route. Might still do some night classes anyway.”

“So why the marines then?” Derek pushed, but by the look on Stiles’ face, it was one question too far.

“Thought I’d look good in the fatigues.” The harsh, sarcastic grin had Derek looking away.

“So where are you sta-“

“So that paperwork. We should get that done, yeah?” Stiles didn’t give the werewolf a chance to say anything further, leaving the locker room for the bullpen.


He ploughed through the paperwork in under an hour, all the online courses and OHS completed, so the Sheriff gave them the go ahead to do Stiles’ first patrol.

The afternoon was quiet as Derek drove, travelling the streets of the upper suburbs, catching a speeder being the only highlight of the day.

By the time they were making their way back on the outskirts of the reserve, it was almost nightfall, and they were due to clock out in an hour. Derek suddenly putting the brakes on the thankfully deserted road had Stiles rolling his eyes at the thought of overtime on the first day.

“What is it?”

“Not too sure. Something big enough to roar, though.” Derek frowned, cocking his head to listen better.

In days gone by it would have been a fantastic opportunity for a dog joke.

“I knew I should have brought my utility belt,” Stiles grumbled. “I should have asked, has there been much recently?”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed, moving the car to pull over onto the shoulder. “It’s getting worse.”

“Worse enough for Dad to allocate four officers out of ten to the supernatural squad.” Stiles nodded to himself. “Bad enough. All right. We’re checking it out?”

“Yeah, Parrish doesn’t have a partner yet. And that definitely wasn’t Scott,” Derek undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the patrol car.

Stiles joined him, checking his weapon and the two spare clips in his belt, making a mental note to upgrade the baton to an iron core.

They entered the forest silently, keeping an ear out for any further clues to what it was and where it might be. They had walked for over fifteen minutes before Derek signalled in a particular direction. Stiles nodded his acknowledgement, raising and arming his gun just in case.

Another ten minutes and Derek had led them downwind of a quadrupedal beast that Stiles wasn’t sure would be in his Bestiary. Thanking any deity listening that he’d picked up an iPhone, he flicked it to silent and opened the camera app. He took a few quick photos hoping they might catch something in the gloom, or that some creative computer work might.

Derek wasn’t much help as his expression didn’t change from the focused intent as he watched the beast.

Heaving a silent sigh, Stiles started mentally cataloguing as much as he could. Blinking, he turned on his mage sight and viewed the scene again, trying to make as clear a mental picture as possible. Blinking again he returned his sight to normal, and he was ready to back off and do some research.

They were on the outskirts of the county, and the preserve itself stretched for miles before it hit another township. They should hopefully be safe for now.

Until a branch fell from a tree twenty feet behind them.

‘Just my fucking luck,’ Stiles groused internally.

Nobody moved as the beast stared them down, nostrils flaring as it tried to scent them. It was a tense few minutes before the beast spun on the spot, disappearing in a burst of flames.

The sounds of the forest gradually returned as Stiles and Derek relaxed. By silent agreement, they stepped forward into the clearing.

“Did that thing really just disappear into nothing?”

Derek grunted, squatting down to look at the scorch marks where it had been.


“Looks like a busy night, then.”

They made their way back to the car and back to the station, the sun fully set and the dusk waning to full night.

They passed Parrish on the way to the lockers and filled him in quickly. Stiles emailed the photos he had currently and cc’d the Sheriff in as well.

Derek was waiting in the locker room for him, Stiles raised an eyebrow in question at the werewolf’s presence.

“I was wondering where you were staying? I know you just got back into town. Are you at your dad’s?” Derek kept talking the longer Stiles didn’t say anything.


“I just figured if anything happened if I needed to come pick you up or something.”

“And let the pack know?” Stiles turned away to open his locker and retrieve his satchel.

“I wasn’t going to. It’s none of my business. I figured you’d want to talk to Scott yourself, anyway.”

Stiles snorted in derision. “Won’t he smell me on you?”

“I don’t know how he would, I’ve no plans on seeing him this week.” Derek defended.

Stiles hmphed to himself, filing the information away for thinking on later.

“I’m at the motel on Main for now, until I find somewhere.” Stiles finally answered.

“Not with your dad?” Derek frowned.

“No.” Stiles didn’t expand on it. “Here’s my number if you need to find me.”

Another minute later he had a text from Derek to give him his number. He saved it as SourWolf for old time’s sake.

“All right. Well. See you in the morning.” Stiles hitched his satchel over his shoulder and made his way ‘home’.


*what’s this about trouble on your first shift*

Stiles read the text and rolled his eyes.

*emailed the prelim report to you*

*going to see argent & his bestiary*
*he still @ same place?*

Back in the motel room, he gathered up his supply belt and hunter’s pack he had made while in the core. He strapped it around his leg and stuffed everything else in his satchel. Not having as many pockets were really going to mess with his organisation.

*same house last I heard. want me to come with*

*I’m good*

He drove the rental car to the other side of town, mentally making a note to look at buying a new car. After he hooked up his laptop. After buying a new laptop. Stiles sighed.

Chris Argent still lived in the same apartment he had moved to after Victoria died. Stiles was surprised, considering the memories of Allison that must remain.

Or maybe he was just thinking about his own memories. Nightmares. They weren’t often, but they still popped up every now and then.

“Stiles?” Chris’ shock was evident as he opened the door and invited him in without question. “I didn’t realise you were back in town.”

“Only as of yesterday,” Stiles gave a cursory look to the sparse walls of the hallway, only three pictures were hung, and only one of them was a picture of Chris with Allison.

“And already a member of the Sheriff’s department?” Chris led him into the kitchen and motioned to a chair at the breakfast bar.

“Turns out dad’s pretty organised.” Stiles grinned, accepting the coffee mug he was handed.

“That he is. What can I help you with?”

“Some local suppliers to keep my kit up to date, but more immediately, I was wondering if I could check out your bestiary for something.”

“Interest or threat?” Chris left the room, walking back with his laptop from another room.

“Hopefully not a threat?” Stiles replied, shrugging at the other man’s raised eyebrow. “Derek and I saw something at the end of our patrol tonight. It’s not in the bestiary I have, but that is mostly middle eastern. Derek had no idea either, though I don’t suppose he would know anyway. I don’t see him as much of a lore keeper type.”

“Have you seen Deaton yet?”

“No. I don’t particularly want to either.” Stiles put in all the details he could and hit search. He was disappointed though not necessarily surprised when it didn’t return any results.

“Looks like a trip to Deaton’s may be in store then,” Chris frowned, it wasn’t often that his bestiary failed him.

“I’d prefer not to. It’s not like he would give us anything even if he did know anything.” Stiles managed to keep the growl from his voice through sheer force of will. Chris saw his expression anyway.

“Everything all right between the two of you?”

“Not really. The man’s a dickwad, too caught up in his True Alpha schtick he’s peddling to Scott to see the damage he’s doing to the Territory.”

“Finally, someone who takes my view of things.” The droll voice from the doorway could only belong to one man, and it made him want to roll his eyes.

“Peter. Nice to see you’re still a CreeperWolf.”

“Always, darling. Now, I know I have reason to have beef with our beloved vet, but yours sounds entirely too personal to be just concern for the Territory.” The wolf sashayed into the room, taking a seat next to him at the breakfast bar and helping himself to Stiles’ coffee.

“You knew I had the spark, didn’t you? That night you kidnapped me.” Stiles stared him down, hoping to finally get an answer.

“Of course, but you knew that. Ah. And Deaton should have known that.” Peter sneered, his fangs showing for a moment.

“And he got confirmation when I used the Mountain Ash, made it go further than it was supposed to. And then?”

“He did nothing,” Chris said grimly.

“Oh no, he encouraged Scott, Allison and me to sacrifice ourselves for the Nemeton.” Stiles spat. Both Chris and Peter’s frown’s deepened.

“And after that he still did nothing. He practically invited the Nogitsune in.” Chris growled.

“Bingo. You’ll be happy to hear the Marines have a dedicated supernatural branch that put me in contact with a teacher in the Middle East while I was over there. I’m much more prepared now.”

“Yes, it’s what woke me from my nap. I could smell the presence you have now. How it’s changed. I said you would be amazing.” Peter leered, a light in his eye.

“Keep me out of your scheming. I don’t want to get caught up in your shenanigans. I need to figure out what this is.” He pulled up the photo of the creature to show them.

Both men frowned again as they looked at the photo. Chris took the phone a moment, the tell-tale ding on the computer meant he had emailed to himself. Taking the phone back, he emailed the rest too as Chris fiddled on the computer.

In the meantime, Peter finished Stiles coffee and was now working on Chris’.

Eventually, Chris sat back, the image much cleaner now. “I have no idea what it is. I don’t think I’ve even heard of anything like this.”

“It appears we have homework tonight, Christopher.” Peter studied the picture.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you guys out or mess with your plans.” Stiles rubbed the back of his head.

“Nonsense, Stiles. You’re always welcome in Christopher and I’s plans, right Christopher?”

“We’re happy to help, Stiles.” Chris frowned at Peter, but there was also the barest hint of a blush too. Peter grinned unrepentantly.

“Have you eaten yet, Stiles?” Peter stood, casually brushing past both Stiles and Chris as he walked the long way around the breakfast bar into the kitchen.

“No, I was going to grab something after here on my way to see you if I had no luck with Chris.” Stiles shifted in his seat.

“How convenient that I was here then. You’ll stay for dinner.” Peter turned and began getting pots and pans out. “Christopher, would you mind getting my laptop so Stiles may start going through my bestiary?”

A minute later Stiles was ensconced on the lounge as he booted up Peter’s computer, making a concerted effort not to think about the fact that it seemed Chris and Peter were fucking if they weren’t actually in a relationship. He most definitely didn’t want to think about them together in case Peter smelt his body’s reaction to how very okay he was with that thought.

He would never live it down.

Where Chris’ computer had a massive database, most probably maintained over the years by the large Argent Clan, Peter’s was a giant index.

It was disheartening to see how many of the index entries led to books that were destroyed. He could only imagine what the Hale library must have looked like before the fire.

“I’ve recently reacquired that one if you wanted to have a look.”

Stiles jumped in his seat, barely saving the laptop from crashing on the ground.

“In came today, in fact.” Peter returned a minute later with a crate in hand, setting it down on the coffee table. He popped his claws a moment, cracking the lid off the crate before wandering back to the kitchen.

Chris watched him warily as he went before joining Stiles on the lounge.

Digging through the packing foam, inside a zip lock bag, they found the ancient looking tome. Opening the baggie, they could smell the mustiness that came with all aged books.

Stiles carefully opened the book and paged through to the indexed page. And there it was, in an artist’s replication, the strange beast with fire at its feet. Stiles quickly read through the details, eager for all information. In the end, he could only sit back in suspicion.

“It’s a summoned creature, not normally found on the earth plane. But is not a particularly dangerous one, just like any other wild animal.”

“Dinner’s ready.” Peter already had the table set and was just plating it all when Stiles fixed him with a glare.

“Did you summon it?” Stiles growled.

“Although I would have many reasons to summon such a creature for a variety of end results, no I did not. But I did see it in the Preserve over a week ago and so moved up my timetable on procuring that particular book.”

“Many reasons, huh. I can get that, actually. You don’t have much of a pack bond with Scott’s pack, do you?” Stiles sat down at the table.

“And neither does Derek,” Peter said shortly, cutting into his steak.

“That would mean Scott having to call on the both of you like a pack to help him deal with it as most of the pack are still scattered.” Chris deduced.

“But it wasn’t me. So, who else would want to get the pack back together?” Peter led on.

“And potentially before I get back into town. I got back a month earlier than I thought I might. Dad wasn’t expecting me for a bit. And Scott wouldn’t know otherwise either.” Stiles put his fork down in disgust.

“Dr Deaton.” Chris took a sip from his glass.

“Is the man insane? Wasn’t he supposed to be Talia’s Emissary? Has he always been like this?” Stiles groused, picking up his cutlery again, the food smelt and tasted amazing. ‘Damn you, Peter,’ Stiles thought.

“Deaton had been a very much hands-off Emissary in Talia’s reign. When our previous Emissary died unexpectedly, he left no apprentice to pick up the reigns. Talia found Deaton some weeks after the fact, and he agreed to move here and take up the role. However, bar myself, Talia and her husband, most were completely unaware we had an Emissary.”

“So did he actually ‘do’ anything for the pack?” Chris was getting deeply disturbed. If his thoughts were correct…

“I’m uncertain. I became aware of him during the talks with Deucalion and the other packs. I tried interrogating Talia then, but she either didn’t want to say or actually didn’t know much.”

“Okay, so what’s his end game? So far he’s got Scott eating from the palm of his hand. He’s purposefully been obtuse or just plain ignored both you and Derek. Even when the both of you were Alphas.”

“Control. Control of the Alpha and of a pack. Control of a territory. Control of the Nemeton.” Chris put his cutlery down.

“Please tell me you actually have information on the Nemeton,” Stiles pleaded, rubbing his face.

“Our family was considered the experts on such things, as rare as they are,” Peter smirked at Stiles relief.

“Thank the gods for that.”

“And they’re safely in storage at the moment, safe from the fire. They’re heirlooms at this point. I will collect some tonight so we can have the pleasure of your company for tomorrow night’s dinner.” Peter grinned when both Chris and Stiles rolled their eyes.

“And if I had plans?” Stiles challenged, kind of annoyed at the presumption, kind of not too, which he was not going to think about.

“Don’t be contrary. I know you don’t. So, we’ll see you at seven.”

Stiles didn’t fight it. The food really was that good. It’s been a long time since he’d had decent food, let alone food like this.

After dinner, he packed up his satchel again. Peter was standing at the breakfast bar, directly in his path to the door. Stiles went to walk around him, but a hand on his bicep stopped him.

“I’m very glad you’ve returned to us safe and sound from the Marines. I can see your time with them has done wonders. Welcome home, Stiles.” Peter said, the most heartfelt he had ever seen the werewolf be. And then he was leaning in to kiss Stiles on the temple before smirking again and sashaying back to the bowels of the apartment.

Chris chuckled as he waited for Stiles at the door, amused at the dumbstruck look on the younger man’s face.

“Was there anything you needed for your kit now?”

“What?” Confusion covered Stiles’ face.

“Your kit. What you use for your spark.” Chris leant back against the door.

“Ah, no. Just don’t want to be left without a supplier. And I didn’t want to rely on Deaton.” Stiles readjusted the strap on his satchel over his shoulder.

“Well, write a list for tomorrow, and I’ll make sure you don’t run out. And what Peter said, you’re welcome here anytime. I’m happy to see you home again too.” Chris smiled. Smiled a smile that had confused Stiles in his teenage years, and seemed to only reinforce those confusing feelings now.

“It’s ah, it’s good to be home.” Stiles smiled in return, hitching the satchel strap again. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Stiles. And remember, any time.”

The man finally moved off the door and let Stiles out into the night.


“How long have you been waiting?” Stiles asked, sliding into the passenger seat of the patrol car that was parked outside his hotel room.

“Not long,” Derek lied, putting the car in gear and leaving the car park.

“So only about forty-five minutes then?” That was when he had gotten back from the gym, and the werewolf hadn’t been there yet.

Derek just grunted, steering the way towards the station. Stiles just shook his head in amusement.

“Did you find anything out about that creature last night?” Stiles took his phone out to fiddle with as they drove.

“Peter wasn’t home, so I couldn’t ask him. His laptop wasn’t there either.”

“So, you just broke into his house and what? Checked anyway?” Stiles raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“He would do the exact same to you or me.” Derek defended, glancing at Stiles quickly for the first time that day.

“Right. I forgot I’ve been living in the real world for all those years, I forgot what was and wasn’t normal or socially acceptable in Beacon Hills. Never mind you’re a cop.” Stiles snorted, pulling up a Google search.

Derek ignored that statement, “What about you? Did your contacts find anything?”

“My contacts probably should have been your contacts, but whatever. Chris and Peter had a bit of trouble, but Peter found a reference and it looks like we have a match. But it’s going to be a bit more complicated than we thought.”

“It’s dangerous?”

“Surprisingly enough, not really. Not normally at any rate. We should be able to send it back to wherever it came from relatively easy.” Stiles was glad for that, at least. It was something that he should be able to do on the weekend with only a few necessary implements.

“So, what’s the problem then?”

“Who summoned it. I’m not sure if you’ll follow my logic.” Stiles sighed as they pulled into the Station’s car park. “Nor think he’s as dangerous as I think he is.”

“So, it’s someone we know, someone male.” Derek deduced with a frown, putting the car in park and turning the engine off. “What makes you think its Deaton?”

“Wow, no need to worry why you’re a cop,” Stiles said, actually impressed that it had only taken the former alpha a minute or so to work it out.

Inside the Station, they briefly met up with Parrish who was on his way out after a ‘long and quiet night’. At their adjoining desks was another small pile of HR forms that needed to be completed, which wasn’t entirely all that surprising.

After that, he turned to his satchel and the cleaning kit he had brought from his own kit and started to clean his service piece for the day.

He was just holstering it again when the Sheriff arrived.

“Stilinski! My office,” his dad called, the smile on his face meant it was more social than anything else.

“Morning Sheriff,” Stiles stood at attention inside the office.

“Hey, kid. Good night? Everything alright with Argent?” the Sheriff slumped in his seat, taking out his tablet and setting it up on the desk to charge.

“Yeah, fine. Got a lead on what the creature is. Only problem now is we need to find out who summoned it. We’ve got leads on that as well.” Stiles reported.

“Damnit, Stiles. At ease. Permanently. Sit down.” The sheriff grumbled noticing the formal stance he remembered from his own days in the Forces. He reached for his coffee.

Stiles just smirked, sitting down.

“So, you’re going to be getting a visitor this morning.” The sheriff sighed after taking his first sip of coffee. When Stiles said nothing, he continued. “Scott was over last night, asking for a favour. He smelt it on me.”

Stiles’ face was blank but internally he was a mess of emotions. Anger being the most predominant.

“All right.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. He can come here if he wants.”

Even though the sheriff couldn’t see it, he knew this had to be hurting his son. “Want me to put you on patrol for the morning?”

“Only if we were rostered to. Don’t change things for me. Don’t want to be accused of nepotism on my second day.” Stiles smirked.

John could see it was forced but had no idea what he could do for his son.

“Alright. I’m here if you need me.”

Back at his desk, Stiles checked his email again. He was just finishing up when a coffee was placed beside him.

Derek said nothing, placing his own coffee down on his desk before turning his computer and starting his own paperwork.

“So, Peter worked out what it might have been last week apparently, and ordered in the book that his index indicated.”

Derek glowered at his coffee.

“And before you ask, no. I don’t think he had anything to do with it. I’ve emailed you the photos I took of the book. Let me know what you think.” Stiles leant back as Derek logged into the email. Ten minutes later Derek sat back from the terminal and fixed him with a look.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Peter? It seems like a very strange coincidence for it not to be him.”

“No, I’m inclined to believe him for now. He said he saw it early last week and in his own search had to reorder the book that arrived yesterday.” Stiles swung shortly from side to side in his chair, as much as his crossed legs on the corner of the desk allowed.

“Well,” Derek said, playing devil’s advocate, “We need to look for who summoned it then. You think it’s Dr Deaton.”

Stiles picked at the seam of the nearly empty cardboard cup. “Well, we worked it out that whoever summoned it had to have done it for a reason. It doesn’t actually pose much more of a threat than any other wild animal would. Either we’re dealing with someone who,” Stiles ticked off on his fingers, “was just seeing if they could summon it; someone who is testing the pack to see what they would do before escalating; or someone who has summoned it to draw the very much separated pack back together again before something or someone enters the Territory again.”

Derek was busy taking notes, eventually dividing the paper into four sections. In the third he still placed Peter’s name.

“You know this would be right up Peter’s alley, right?” Derek looked back at Stiles again.

“To draw the pack together, meaning you and him having to team up with Scott and whoever he can muster, giving whatever small tether of a pack-bond you have a boost, something to keep you both going for a bit longer,” Stiles said with an air of challenge.

“No, just for the shits and giggles,” Derek deadpanned.

“Wow, werewolf has jokes. I haven’t ruled him out, but I do think it’s unlikely. He didn’t protest hard enough.”

“Alright. So, Deaton. Convince me.” Derek challenged back

“When did you think I was coming back?”

“Not for another month or so,” Derek frowned in confusion.

“And you got that from dad, or Scott, right?”

“Well yeah,” Derek reached to throw his coffee cup away.

“So, Deaton would be under the same impression, right? Now, what do you know about Sparks?”

“Nothing. Apparently you’re one?”

“I am. They’re natural magic users. Normally they only appear when they’re needed. Normally they end up Emissaries to local supernatural packs and such. Deaton knew what I was, tested me even. And then left me hanging. After months of asking and demanding for help or information – nada.”

“So you think this is about you?” the sceptical face was back.

“I know it sounds narcissistic, but he epically dropped the ball. Like screw up the territory bad. It’s a lucky thing I left to join the Marines. Got the training and practice I needed to not be a danger or a trouble magnet.”

“So this is about the Emissary thing?”

“In the long term, I think.”

“Stiles!” The loud call came across the bullpen.

Scott made a grand entrance to the room, getting everyone’s attention when he shouted from the doorway. And then the Alpha was across the room and enveloping Stiles in a bearhug. “Dude, you look awesome!”

“Great to see you too, buddy,” Stiles said half-heartedly, awkwardly clapping Scott on the back.

“Dude! You got buff in the army,” Scott released him with a beaming grin.

“Marines.” Stiles corrected.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were back so early? I was gonna organise a party. We’ll just have one this weekend. I’ll get the pack together. It’ll be awesome.” Scott grinned. Grinned like he didn’t have a care in the world, but Stiles knew better. He was barely keeping the pack together. The alpha strength he should have been displaying was dramatically muted.

“That’s great buddy. Cheers. But I should probably get back to work,” Stiles gestured over his shoulder back to his desk.

“I’m sure the Sheriff would let you off for a bit. Come grab a shake with me. There’s so much we need to catch up,” Scott clapped a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to lead him out of the station.

“The Sheriff would mind very much, Mr McCall.” John stood in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over his chest. “He has a job to do. You’ve got two minutes before he needs to get back to it.”

“Of course, Sheriff.” Scott looked marginally chastised. He looked back to Stiles, “Come by tonight, we’ll order pizza and we can catch up then.”

“I can’t. I’ve got plans.”

“What? Already? Break ’em. We haven’t seen each other in years! I’m calling the Best Bro Clause.” Scott pushed.

“I’m sorry, dude. Maybe tomorrow night. But I’ve got something really important tonight. I can’t back out of it.”

“More important than your best friend that you’ve not seen in literal years?” Scott frowned, the kicked puppy look didn’t seem to be working though.

“I’ll be there tomorrow, dude. Promise. Your mum would kill me if she knew, you know that.”

“She still might anyway, for not telling us you were back,” Scott smirked and Stiles grimaced.

“I’ll be there, dude.”

“Time’s up, Mr McCall.” The Sheriff re-entered the bullpen and came to stand right in front of the Alpha.

“Of course, Sheriff, I was just leaving.” Scott barely kept from stuttering.

The Sheriff said nothing, raising his eyebrow when the werewolf continued to stand there.

“Right, um, see you later,” Scott called to the room in general as he turned and made his way out.

“That wasn’t awkward at all,” Derek commented from his desk.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, sitting down at his own desk again.

“Did he always used to railroad you into things like that?” Derek tapped his pen on his notebook steadily.

“No, it was usually me doing the railroading.” Stiles cleared his throat, “Anyway.”

“Yeah, you were failing to explain how Dr Deaton was behind all this.” Derek prompted.

“Yeah, well, I think he was trying to reform the pack and restrengthen ties as much as he could so that when I returned it would be to a happy pack that wouldn’t want or need me, ensuring that the Territory and the Nemeton remained in his control.”

“You’re right. It is narcissistic of you.”

Stiles deflated a bit, disheartened at Derek’s dismissal.

“But we should go check it out anyway,” Derek stood up from hi desk, retrieving his gun from the drawer.

“Oh,” Stiles scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding landing on the floor. “Okay, awesome. Yeah, let’s do that.” Stiles eagerly got his own weapon out and bounded after the werewolf as he smirked his way out of the station.


“You didn’t really think that we would get anything from him, did you?” Stiles slid into the passenger seat.

“Not exactly, but that doesn’t prove or disprove anything.” Derek climbed into the driver’s side and started the patrol car. “Besides, what was with you two anyway?”

Stiles huffed, “Regardless of this creature thing, he doesn’t want me in the territory. Not and potentially become Scott’s emissary. Of that, I’m pretty sure. There was no way he could know what I was and not do anything if he had been a responsible emissary.”

Derek didn’t say anything. It was an uncomfortable thought to have that the vet was possibly that… callous?

“I’m sorry to harp on this, but I’m so sure that is what’s happening. I know it in my gut.” Stiles tapped idly on his leg as they drove back to the Station again.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Derek said with a frown.

“It’s that I don’t have any proof either,” Stiles nodded to himself, looking out the passenger window.

“No, it’s not that.” Derek continued to frown, “It just means I have to examine things that are better left forgotten.”

“You mean the fire and everything that happened after that.” Stiles tried to say it gently, but there really was no way to lessen the blow.

Derek grunted his acknowledgement.

“I won’t bring it up again, but I will say this: couldn’t he have tried to teach us to work together, or to find our own answers, or just be generally unhelpful when it wasn’t a life and death matter?”


“A pleasure to see you this evening,” Peter held the door open for Stiles to enter. “Christopher, Stiles has arrived.” He called back through the house.

In the kitchen, Chris was at the breakfast bar with his laptop open to what looked like work-related spreadsheets. Peter followed behind him, a casual brush of shoulders as he returned to the kitchen and the meal he was preparing.

“Good day at work, Stiles?” Chris asked as he closed the laptop lid.

“Not bad,” Stiles dropped his bag off by the lounge and took a seat next to Chris. “Deaton knew nothing of course and said he would look into it.”

“You saw him today and didn’t take us with you?” Peter pouted from the stove.

Stiles laughed, “No sorry, I took Derek.”

“And how is my nephew?”

“You could see him yourself, you know. You’ve been reasonably sane for a few years now.” Stiles said pointedly.

“For what counts as reasonably sane,” Chris murmured.

“Derek hasn’t made any indication that that is something he would want,” Peter said with a snooty air.

“And you can’t make that first step?” Stiles argued.

“I’ll not go where I’m not welcome.”

Both Stiles and Chris snorted at that.

“Since when?” Chris stood up and made to set the table.

“It’s been a few years now, don’t you think it’s time you guys made up?” Stiles said softly.

“Have you seen Scott yet?” Peter said pointedly in return, still facing away from him. It was a low blow.

Chris looked at the two men with a frown, “What’s wrong with Scott?”

“Yes Stiles, what’s wrong with Scott?” Peter still hadn’t turned around.

Stiles should’ve known that Peter would retaliate. He sighed, “We’ve not had the best relationship since the Nogitsune and Theo.”

Chris flashed a glare at Peter, understanding.

“He came to the station today, acting like we were still teenagers and nothing was wrong.” Stiles kicked at the chair rungs with a frown.

“I hope you like pasta,” Peter said firmly, carrying a large pot over to the sink.

“Love pasta,” Stiles said with a grin.


“So what did Deaton have to say?” Chris picked up Stiles’ plate and his own, taking them over to the sink.

“He was useless, just as I thought. He’s going to look into it, apparently.” Stiles sat back, rubbing his stomach. “That was damn good. But he was surprised to see me.”

“Lends credence to our theory,” Peter leant back from the table to stretch.

“And what were Derek’s thoughts?” Chris came back, removing Peter’s plate and the last of their dishes to the kitchen.

“Reluctantly humouring me so far,  though he’s moving to reluctant acceptance pretty quickly.”

“Reluctantly?” Chris sat back down again with a bottle of red wine and three glasses.

“Reluctantly, my nephew is coming to the realisation just how much he and the whole Hale Pack have been fucked over.” Peter sneered reaching for the bottle and opening it.

“Pretty much,” Stiles sighed, accepting the glass that was placed before him. “I can’t imagine it will be a good night for him.”

“It’s about damn time, though,” Peter took a sip of the wine.

“We can’t argue with that,” Chris said, playing with the stem of his wine glass. “He has a terrible habit of burying his head in the sand.”

“To be fair, he has dealt with a ridiculous amount of shit in his relatively short life,” Stiles defended the former Alpha.

“So have you,” Peter murmured, sending them all silent.

“It’s safe to say we’ve all led pretty fucked up lives,” Stiles finally took a sip of the wine. Or a gulp. Either way, it didn’t sit well going down.

“And we’ve all become fucked up in our own ways because of it,” Chris spread out in his chair, sending Stiles mind in a completely different direction.

Peter instantly perked up at the change in pheromones that were now filling the room, grin turning lascivious.

“But that would not have led the three of us here, enjoying a pleasant evening together.”

“That’s true,” Stiles huffed in amusement. “This really wasn’t where I thought I would be ten years ago, let alone fifteen.”

“Yes, your ten-year plan for Miss Martin. Look at you now, charming two older men,” Peter grinned at him, smirking when Stiles all but choked on the sip of wine he had just taken.

Chris just laughed, fetching a napkin for the young man.

“I hate you,” Stiles glared, moping himself up.

“No, you don’t darling,” Peter smirked, slouching back in the seat, smirk growing when Stiles blushed and looked away.

“Stop teasing him,” Chris admonished with a laugh.

“But it’s too much fun. And entirely too easy,” Peter affected a pout.

Stiles could only shake his head. “Derek’s slowly coming around, and Dad is already on board with our theory,” Stiles sat up straight, ignoring both men who were slouching in their seats on either side of him. There was nowhere safe to look.

“So what is our next course fo action?” Chris grinned at Stiles’ response to them. It was entirely too much fun.

“Dealing with the immediate issue of that creature. Preferably without Deaton or Scott’s knowledge. Planning for the long term solution of getting rid of Deaton out of the territory.” Stiles stood up and retrieved his satchel, pulling a notebook and pencil case and bringing them back to the table.

“And what do we plan to do with Scott in the long term?” Peter threw his head back and drained the glass of wine in such a way that he knew would affect Stiles.

Judging by Chris’ grin, it worked.

“That’s something we’re going to have to discuss,” Stiles eventually said, clearing his throat. “He never wanted to be a werewolf. I’m sure he still holds a grudge against you,” Stiles chanced a look at the werewolf and regretted it. “I’m not too sure what he’s done or achieved since becoming the fabled True Alpha.”

“Not a whole lot we’ve seen,” Chris commented.

“And Dad said he hasn’t done much either. It’s half the reason I’m back and partnered with Derek as a supernatural team. He still wants to get someone partnered with Parrish, and maybe one more team after that, so that there is always someone on duty in the know.”

“It’s not a bad idea to have actually.” Peter poured himself another glass, topping Stiles and Chris’ off as well.

“So Scott is useless unless there’s a fight which means there is little to no leadership in the pack. Who of the pack is still here in Beacon Hills anyway?” Stiles started writing notes in his notebook.

“Issac is still in France, he has no intention of returning to the U.S., same for Jackson in London.” Chris started listing off.

“Miss Martin I believe was waiting to see where you would land first, before making her decision,” Peter added.

“Liam, Hayden, Mason and Corey are finishing up University, but the rumours I’ve heard say that they aren’t interested in returning, and have been making inquiries to other packs across the country. Kira is also still finishing University, but I think she should be back this year.” Chris sipped his wine as he watched Stiles scribbled it all down.

“Ethan has been on the fringes here in Beacon Hills, he opened his own mechanic’s shop, but I’ve not seen or heard much from him. I don’t know if Scott does or not.”

Peter shrugged, not knowing either.

Stiles continued his notes. “Malia has a good thing going on in California at the moment, I’m not sure if she’s every going to come back either.” Stiles frowned, sitting up straight again and looking over the notes. “So really, here in the territory, it’s only you Derek and Scott that are werewolves with Ethan hanging on the fringes.”

“Not much of a pack at the moment,” Chris frowned at the list.

“Would Cora come back do you think, ever?” Stiles tapped his pen on the notebook as he thought.

“No, my niece made it clear she had no intentions of setting foot here again. She’s happy down in Mexico anyway.” Peter swirled the wine around in his glass.

“So there really isn’t much of a pack,” Stiles sighed. “What was Deaton planning to have happen then? There are way too many volatile personalities in this quasi-pack that nothing would ever be achieved, no matter the motivation.”

“It’s something Peter and I discussed after you left last night. It’s the only thing we can think of that we cannot account for and works against our leading theory.”

They continued to argue the point for the hour or so before Stiles looked at his watch and softly cursed. “I should really get going.”

He started packing up his scattered notes and notebook and pens, only now noticing there were three bottles on the table that were now empty. He stood up and was a little wobbly, but not too much. Thankfully it seemed to be Peter that had been putting the wine away, though the werewolf had topped off his glass several times throughout the night.

Once his satchel was packed he rifled through his kit bag at his thigh and pulled out a phial of something he had gotten the recipe for back in the Middle East. It had saved his arse several times when he had been a little too inebriated to be fit for active duty. It didn’t clear his system completely but gave it enough of a boost that he should be able to drive home safely.

He was sure he imagined it when Peter looked a little disappointed that he could drive.

“Thank you again for a great night.” Stiles eventually said, bags packed, ready to go.

Neither of the men had moved and seemed to just be watching him.

“You’re more than welcome, Stiles. Though it is a shame you must go.” Peter pouted from his reclining position.

“Well, I still have work in the morning. And I’m sure you guys want to go to bed or something,” Stiles blushed, hitching the strap of his satchel on his shoulder.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Peter stood up directly into his space. “We would be more than happy to have you there.”

Stiles coughed, taking a step back. Right into Chris. “Right. I’m sure.”

“Will you be joining us tomorrow night? We still have much to plan in regards to Scott,” Chris added, making Stiles frown in annoyance that they were ganging up on him.

“Sorry, I promised I would catch up with Scott tomorrow.”

“Then we can expect you Thursday night,” Peter said with finality. Once again, the werewolf leant in and kissed him on the temple. “Drive home safely and sleep well.”

He disappeared into another room leaving Chris to show Stiles out.

“You honestly don’t have to go,” Chris said as he followed Stiles to the front door.

“Yeah, I do.” Stiles sighed heavily, biting at his lip.

“You’re welcome here, any time.”

“Yeah, see, I’m hearing those words but I think you mean them differently than what normal people understand.”

Chris laughed, “Yeah, maybe we do.”

“And that’s why I’m going.” Stiles shrugged, frowning.

“We never wanted to make you uncomfortable, Stiles. I’ll tell Peter to tone it down.” Chris smiled bemusedly, but that only confused and irritated Stiles even more.

Stiles reached the door first this time, quickly opening it, and taking a step into the cool night air. Chris joined him outside, the door held open a crack.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles felt like he had made things awkward, but he still didn’t know what was supposed to be going on.

“Don’t be, Stiles. You have nothing to apologise for. We like having you in our space, that’s all. We’re both glad you’ve finally returned that we don’t want to miss any time you might want to spend with us.” The hunter nudged his shoulder as they both looked at the stars.

“But I don’t get why? Why now? I don’t get it.” Stiles growled, some of his irritation showing.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Chris nudged his shoulder one more time before stepping back inside and closing the door.


Stiles woke up tired the next morning, not used to such late nights (especially when there was wine involved) when he started his day at five in the morning. He yawned his way through his stretches before heading out on his run. An hour later and he was arriving back at the motel to hydrate and pick up his bag for the gym.

“Oi!” Stiles turned around sharply, not expecting the irate voice this early in the morning. It was lucky he did as he barely missed the fist that would have connected with his head.

“What the fuck?” Stiles dropped his bag and ducked away.

“Your kind. They’re not welcome here. When this territory is mine, you’ll be shot or clawed the moment you set foot here!” The werewolf growled. The claws and sideburns gave it away.

“Your Territory? This is Hale and McCall Pack Territory. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re neither a Hale nor a member of the McCall pack. Especially to be staying here at this shit hole.” Stiles took the time talking to take a few steps further back and to take stock of what he had.

“Yeah, my territory. Two omegas and a weak as piss Alpha aren’t much competition. It’ll be mine come nightfall.” The alpha flashed his eyes and took a step closer to Stiles.

Stiles sighed. “I really can’t let you do that. This territory really doesn’t need some power-hungry dickhead like you messing things up.”

“I really don’t care what you think hunter. You’ll be dead soon anyway.”

“Not a hunter, but I’d love to see you try.”

And then it was on. It took all of Stiles training to keep up with the werewolf and keep him from landing any hits. He cursed himself for the timing as while his blood was already pumping from the run, so was exhaustion starting to set in.

It was a wonder none of the other tenants heard the noise as Stiles’ spark flung the alpha into the tree again in an attempt to get his satchel, his supplies, and mount a proper offensive. He saw an opening and took it, sending the alpha flying again as he dove for his bag. But the alpha was back quicker than he’d guessed, claws sliding down his back before he silently screamed his pain when teeth tore into his bicep.

Stiles didn’t think. Instead of the Rowan bat in his bag, he grabbed the handle of his knife and lashed out at the surprised wolf’s throat. The body landed with a thud and Stiles could see he was dead, the wound sluggishly seeping blood. Stiles sighed, not realizing he’d grabbed the enchanted blade with wolfsbane.

And then it hit him, a wave of energy that crackled up his spine, flared in his heart and the center where he had always drawn his spark from. He wouldn’t be able to touch that spark energy again after this.



“I know I said anytime, Stiles, but does it have to be this early in the morning?” Peter whined as he wiped his face tiredly. And then he took a breath. His eyes snapped open, and any trace of sleep disappeared as he took Stiles in.

“Christopher!” Peter called back inside the apartment as he drew Stiles in with a gentle hand at his elbow.

“What happened?” Peter asked quietly as he came back with a warm, damp cloth to clean Stiles up.

Chris entered then, fully clothed, and ready for battle with various weapons strapped to his waist and legs.

“Stiles, are you all right?””

“Not really, no.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up from nowhere as he wondered what he was panicked about more. “I’m going to need help with clean-up and body disposal.”

“Of course, where?”

“The motel I was staying at, outside near the front area. There’s a lot of blood. The body’s in the rental car out front.” Stiles quietly shook for a few moments before he looked back up at the two men.

“What happened?” Peter asked again.

“Alpha, might have been staying at the motel too. Called this territory his. Called me a hunter then attacked. He bit me.” Stiles ended on a whisper.

Chris heaved a heavy sigh before patting Stiles on the shoulder and left the room, phone already to his ear.

“I can feel myself already turning. My spark is gone,” Stiles all but whimpered.

“I said you’d make an amazing spark. But I knew you’d make an exceptional werewolf. I just wished it was something you had chosen, not something forced on you.”

“It’s not just that,” Stiles shivered. “I can feel the energy already. Alpha energy.”

“Well, that might complicate things a little,” Peter murmured mildly, still busy cleaning Stiles’ arms and hands of blood.

“Things are tenuous at best with me back here, I really didn’t need this as well,” he huffed, watching Peter walk away with the dirty cloth to rinse it out.

“But it is done now. So, we must make of it what we can.” The wolf returned with another clean cloth and a dish towel.

Stiles took them this time, wiping his hands and arms again of the last traces. And then he saw his shirt and huffed in defeat. He looked back to Peter to find the other wolf before him again, clean shirt outstretched.

“Thank you,” Stiles managed a weak smile as he pulled the shirt off and bundled it up. “Actually, do you mind if I grab a shower first?”

“Of course, there’s a towel in there already for you, and some pants, if you want to change those too.” The wolf turned away again and entered the kitchen, opening the fridge door, and peering inside. “Omelette okay?”

“Yeah, that would be awesome. Thanks.”

Stiles wandered to the hallway and set about finding the bathroom. He found what looked like a spare room, a study, and the master bedroom before finding the moderately sized bathroom. As Peter had said, the towel and pants were sitting on the edge of the bath.

Instead of stripping off and stepping into the shower, he could only sit on the edge of the bath and try to keep the panic attack at bay.



Posted in Evil Author Day, Teen Wolf | Tagged , , | 13 Comments

Evil Author Day – 2016

My offerings for Evil Author Day this year. This is the first time I’ve contributed to EAD, and in fact, the first time I’ve posted any of my work publicly in around 10 years.



Title: SciFi Writer (temp file name)

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate: SG1

Word Count: ~4600

Primary Pairings/Characters: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay

Rating: PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence, dealing with life changing injuries

Summary: After a helicopter crash ends John Sheppard’s Air Force career, he decides to take up writing as a way to pass the time between surgeries. His favourite writing cafe just so happens to cater to the local base, Cheyenne Mountain.

Beta: None. Just a casual spell check. No bitching.




Title: Lost in the Wild

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Word Count: ~2900

Primary Pairings/Characters: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Rating: PG-13, it may change later on.

Content/Warnings:  Canon level violence, thoughts of being stranded

Summary: Derek’s gone missing. Isaac and Stiles seems to be the only ones worried about that.

Beta: None. Causal spell check. No bitching.




Title: A Third Side

Author: Anthea Davis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Word Count: ~21,000

Primary Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape,

Rating: NC-17. This section, PG-13

Content/Warnings: Canon level violence; discussion of warfare; Ron Bashing; Weasley bashing in general; Ron is a lazy, no good, bad friend; Pagan elements in magic; Harry has rage issues.

Summary: Magic is dying, and the Pureblood Traditions aren’t helping. Perhaps it’s time to go back to an even older Tradition.

Beta: None. Casual spell check. No Bitching.

Author Note:  ignore the fact that technically speaking, Harry Potter took place in the 90’s. Timelines have been moved around for the Author’s own satisfaction.

Posted in Harry Potter, Stargate: Atlantis, Teen Wolf | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments