Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 6: Harry Potter and the Supreme Art of War

19 July 1993

Harry Potter opened his eyes and surveyed the Prince's Lair like a potentate studying his court. He was sitting comfortably on the Hydra Throne, and while the nine heads of the Hydra were silent at the moment, that was to be expected. The mahogany table was polished to perfection, and the brass adders atop the six chairs surrounding the table gleamed in the light. Harry turned his head to the right and saw that the silver placards identifying all of the prior Princes were in their proper place. Turning to the left, he saw that the great fireplace was cold, and with but a thought, he lit it up into a roaring blaze that further brightened the room.

Satisfied, the boy turned his attention to the nearest bookshelf and studied the titles. Harry's Charms Studies, vol. 1-2. Harry's Collected Transfiguration Insights, vol. 1-2. Harry's Potions Studies, vol. 1-2. He read each of the titles that represented his accumulated academic knowledge in turn. Then, he moved on to the more personal volumes. Harry's Favorite Recipes and Harry's Guide to the Perfect Garden were right where he expected. But then, he frowned at the next few titles. Harry's Worst Nights in the Cupboard. That Time Vernon Broke Harry's Arm. Harry Hunting. And a slim but ominous volume simply titled SUPPERTIME!

Despite his best efforts, Harry found it hard to focus on the titles to those volumes, so he turned his attention back to the academic section, only to frown ever harder when those titles began to change. Harry's Crahms Sutdies. Harry's Cloletced Trisnfagarutoin Insihgst. The remaining academic volumes were completely unintelligible.

"No," Harry said firmly, as if willing the words to unscramble themselves. Then, his attention was diverted by movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face the front only to realize that the great table and the six chairs surrounding it had disappeared, leaving the Prince's Lair nearly empty.

"No!" Harry said more urgently and with mounting frustration. Then, the Hydra Throne abruptly disappeared out from under him.

"NOO-oof!" Harry yelled out in surprise as he was suddenly and rudely deposited onto the bare floor of the now bare chamber, banging his head on the floor as he fell backwards. He hissed out an angry sigh and then closed his eyes.

Harry Potter opened his eyes and saw overhead the familiar ceiling of his room in Longbottom Manor. The first light of dawn was only just creeping in through the windows, and he reached up to rub his temples in hopes of forestalling the headache that was probably coming. Two weeks of practice, and he was still no closer to a stable memory palace. It was ... annoying.

Harry closed his eyes once more in frustration and thought back to his last conversation with Mr. X on the topic. Well, that topic among others.

8 July 1993
Room 13 at the Leaky Cauldron
(11 days earlier)

"I warned you, Mr. Potter, that this would be a difficult and challenging time in your Occlumency training," Mr. X said. "To progress beyond this point, you must have a stable memory palace to use as a basis for further developments of your psychic architecture. There are no short cuts."

Harry nodded but was still clearly frustrated. In the abstract, he understood what Mr. X was saying, but applying the knowledge to the inside of his own head was proving daunting.

"So explain it again, please, Mr. X. I'm trying to understand, but so far, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it."

"That is not surprising, Mr. Potter. Constructing a memory palace is one of the most difficult aspects of Occlumency training. In fact, it is the reason why most Occlumens never advance beyond level three. Had you not shown remarkable dedication so far, I would not even consider asking you to pursue this level of development at such a young age. So, to review: Your memory palace is based on a real-world location where you feel safe and in control of your surroundings. It should also be a place which is, for lack of a better word, somewhat cluttered. A library or storage area, for example. A place where you can imagine yourself leaving things behind to be picked up again later. Once you have this psychic safe house fully developed, you can store your most sensitive memories there in a partitioned area of your mind, one where you don't simply hide your memories away but actively protect them with psychic traps capable of actually harming those who push too far into your mind. Ultimately, your memory palace can even be a place where you store false memories and even false personalities that you can drape over your true self to deceive an intruding Legilimens. Instead of putting up a wall against Legilimency and thereby let your enemy know that you have secrets worth protecting, you can allow the Legilimens to see what you want, and thus he will be more likely to accept your false memories as truth without digging any further."

Harry nodded. "And you've got a memory palace like that?"

"I do, though I don't anticipate you seeing it anytime soon. Or at all. However, my memory palace is important to your future training. Since you seem bent on exploring Legilimency as well as Occlumency – and against my recommendations, as I've said – I have used my own memory palace to create a set of false memories. As you practice your Legilimency against me, we will see if you can penetrate my shields to discover the false information I have left for you. Frankly, you're not paying me enough to risk letting you see my true memories. My false persona, however, will be realistic enough to replicate the process of Legilimency thought-reading."

Harry nodded, but then, Mr. X paused.

"Not to beat a dead hippogriff, but you do realize that it is illegal for someone not properly registered by the Ministry to read the thoughts of another without either permission or a judicial order signed by the Chief Warlock, do you not?"

Harry stiffened slightly. He knew all this already, but it still made him nervous to edge as close to illegal conduct as he was now contemplating. He wondered how Snape got away with it for so long. Dumbledore's influence, he supposed. "I understand all that, Mr. X."

The man sighed. "I am contracted to teach what you want to learn, Mr. Potter. But I feel compelled to say it once more. You don't have to develop your Legilimency powers just because some school teacher tells you to, no matter how much regard for him you have. There are risks, both psychological and legal, to pursuing this path."

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. X. But I have this power. And I am afraid that I might be a danger to myself and others if I don't figure out how it works and learn to use it safely."

Mr. X grimaced and shook his head. "On your own head be it then. Alright, let's start talking about Legilimency exercises."

And after a brief and rather confusing introduction, Harry spent the next hour growing increasingly frustrated at how difficult it was to read someone else's mind with Legilimency, even when the intended target was actively trying to help you do so. By the end of his first Legilimency lesson, all Harry had to show for himself was a splitting headache and a vague feeling that Mr X (or rather the secondary persona whose false memories Mr. X had encouraged him to read) liked the Tutshill Tornados Quidditch Club, dark chocolate, and possibly a large orange tabby. Actual memories were still beyond the boy.

At the end of the lesson, Harry looked at the clock and saw that he still had a few more minutes before Artie and Mr. Y came in to oversee the Memory Lock Charm and ensure that Mr. X remembered nothing he might have learned from his psychic lessons with Harry. The boy thought for a moment and decided that there was no time like the present.

"Mr. X, before we break for the day, I have a question for you. Or more accurately ... an offer. I happen to know someone who is looking for a high level Legilimens for a job."

The other man, whose features Harry couldn't truly see due to special Notice Me Not Charms, studied the boy quizzically. "A ... job. I find it interesting how much portent you can impose on a one-syllable word like 'job,' Mr. Potter. If I didn't know you better, I'd be certain that this job was something of which the Ministry might disapprove."

Harry bit his lip. For one of the few times since entering Hogwarts, he was unsure of how to proceed in a conversation with someone else. He assumed it was because the other man was a far better Occlumens and Legilimens than he would likely ever be. Finally, he decided to bite the bullet, since the man was not expected to remember anything Harry told him in just a few minutes.

"Well, to be honest, it's not entirely legal." Harry swallowed. "Actually, in all honestly, it's pretty wildly illegal. But I can promise that it will pay a lot. And I am fairly comfortable in saying there's no way you'll get caught. My ... friend has ... some minds he needs read. And while I admit it's technically a criminal enterprise, I can promise you that it's for a good cause."

Mr. X smirked. "And what sort of good cause can come from something so nefarious that you are this evasive about what is entailed, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked away for a second. Then, he realized what he needed to say. "When we first met, you were afraid for your family in the event that Voldemort returned. My friend wants to make sure that never happens, but he needs a good Legilimens to ensure it."

Mr. X was silent for a good long moment. "You need a Legilimens ... to forestall the return of You-Know-Who? I would say that I must think on this, but that will be a problem since my memories of this conversation will soon be erased."

"We'll use a different password to lock your memories of today, and I'll send an owl unlocking them tomorrow. Naturally, we won't tell you everything until you've sworn some pretty tough oaths, and I'll make sure you have the right to back out if you decide you won't want to be a part of it once you know all the details."

Mr. X nodded. "And how much is a lot of money?"

Harry told him, and had Mr. X not been a master Occlumens, the figure quoted might well have given him a coughing fit.

19 July 1993
Longbottom Manor
5:45 a.m.

As the memories of his last Occlumency lesson ran their course, Harry sat up in his bed with some frustration. He'd never really broken himself of the Dursley-instilled habit of waking early, and he'd thought the pre-dawn hours might be a good time for meditation. But so far, his progress had been less than he'd hoped, in part because maintaining any sort of inner peace despite the enormous stresses of his summer break taxed his Occlumency to the utmost. Theo. Neville. Lessons with Mr. X and Alastor Moody. Regulus Black's crazy schemes. Against all that, the degree of serenity needed to advance in his Occlumency training seemed impossible.

"I need something distracting," he thought to himself. His first thought was gardening which was his go-to activity for mental distraction, but it was too early for that. Besides, Neville would have a fit if he ever learned that Harry had dared to touch anything in the Longbottom family garden. And since Harry's relationship with Neville had become alarmingly strained in the past few weeks, he didn't want to do anything else to put pressure on it.

The boy grimaced in anger and once again cursed the name of Tiberius Nott. What the ex-Death Eater had done to Theo was bad enough, but now it was affecting another of Harry's best friends as well. According to Lady Augusta, the problem was that Neville was wearing his Heir's Ring which keyed him in magically to the oaths that bound House Longbottom to the Wizengamot and therefore, indirectly, to House Nott. In fact, it was worse for Neville than for most Wizengamot heirs because his parents were completely incapacitated at the moment. Consequently, Neville was being affected as if he himself were an actual Lord, even though he wouldn't be able to formally take that role for several years to come. And yet, when Harry had asked if Neville couldn't simply take off the Heir's Ring for a while, Augusta had looked so horrified by the idea that he'd never brought it up again.

"And worst of all," Harry thought ruefully, "Neville really loves his parents." Perhaps the cruelest aspect of the Ultimate Sanction effect, Neville's deep devotion to his near-comatose parents gave him a strong personal desire to live up to their memories by being the best Lord Longbottom he could be. And the Ultimate Sanction had apparently twisted that admirable impulse to render the boy even less able to resist the compulsion to hate Theo and, increasingly, anyone else who dared to support Theo.

His thoughts churning, Harry found it impossible to either return to his memory palace or to sleep. But then, he remembered one of the books on the shelf of his Memory Palace and found inspiration. The boy jumped out of bed, pulled on his robe, and made his way to the Longbottom kitchens.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was halfway through the prep-work for a Quiche Amandine (and feeling considerably more relaxed) when he was surprised by a soft cough from behind him. It was Hoskins, the senior of the Longbottoms' two house elves, regarding him with a mixture of surprise and concern.

The elf seemed almost embarrassed, but he persevered. "Apologies, Master Harry but ... surely Master Harry knows that if he desires an early breakfast, he need only call out for a house elf." Then, Hoskins' goggle eyes narrowed angrily. "Has the Dobby elf refused a summons?" the elf said, his voice rising slightly in what passed for fury among his kind.

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "I haven't called on Dobby or anyone else, Hoskins." Suddenly, the boy blushed slightly as he realized how silly getting up to cook breakfast would seem to a house elf, let alone to another wizard. "Honestly, I'm not actually hungry. I'm just ... frustrated by some things and couldn't sleep. I thought cooking might relax me."

As expected, Hoskins gave Harry a look that suggested (respectfully) that he thought the boy might be mad. "Master Harry," the elf said delicately, "cooking ... is servants' work."

Harry shrugged. "I know. When I learned how to cook, I was still a servant."

That response seemed to leave the creature even more flummoxed. "Master Harry ... was a servant? For another wizard?"

"No," Harry blushed slightly. "... Muggles."

Hoskins said nothing, but his eyes widened in surprise. Then, he shook his head, as if realizing he'd gotten off track. "That may be so, Master Harry. But ... and Hoskins says this with the utmost respect, sir ... it is the job of us house elves to see that those who dwell in the House of Longbottom are properly..."

"Fed and watered?" Harry finished with a smile. Hoskins nodded. Harry looked back at his prep-work longingly. To his surprise, cooking – for pleasure, not out of servitude – really was relaxing and enjoyable to him. He turned back to the elf. "What if nobody here eats it?" he asked.

Hoskins blinked twice. "Master Harry wishes to cook ... not to eat ... but solely for pleasure?" Harry nodded. The elf considered that for a moment, and then his face suddenly brightened. "Can Hoskins assist?" he said cheerfully. Harry laughed and directed the house elf to begin chopping up some arugula.

18 July 1993
Excerpt from a letter

So all that happened. Near death experience from attempted Sicilian revenge, and all leading up to an exciting finish in an old Italian church. It was like something from a wizarding Francis Ford Coppola. Wait, never mind. You've never actually watched any good movies.

Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up. Hermione has a bee in her bonnet about forming some sort of "support group" for Theo. Which, well, I'm certainly happy to support the third member of the "Silver Trio" (I still want T-shirts!), but I can't imagine how the ham-fisted Mugglish approach she has in mind will do anything except make things worse for Theo and us. Try to make her see reason, please! But don't tell her I said anything!

Cheers, BZ

19 July 1993
1:08 p.m.
"The Training Room"
Hogsmeade

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry winced at the bellowing voice of his tutor ... and also from the pain from his backside upon which he had just landed. He'd started his summer lessons with the retired auror just a week after getting back from Hogwarts. Initially, he'd been hoping for an emphasis in dueling, and Moody seemed to be amenable. So every lesson began with a dueling match between Moody and his charges (initially Neville had accompanied Harry to these lessons), and as soon as he'd disarmed his pupils, Moody would offer a brief critique before moving on to less invigorating topics like Potions, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, the latter two being classes Harry would study as electives beginning in his Third Year. Moody also required a full three feet of parchment before the next session in which Harry was to outline every single spell cast during the previous duel and how to counteract or otherwise overcome it. Neville, who had never been particularly interested in dueling, was exempt from that assignment, and since Moody rarely used the same spell twice, Harry's essays were becoming quite expansive.

Alastor Moody, true to his reputation, was a lot harder to duel than even the five Hogwarts upperclassmen Harry had taken down simultaneously the previous June. Since summer lessons had started, his longest time to last against Moody had been around two minutes, but he was usually disarmed, flat on his back, or both within thirty seconds. Thus far, he had never successfully disarmed Moody even once. Even dilating didn't seem to help at all since the man almost always cast silently and his wand movements were incredibly fast even at Harry's maximum dilation. Worse, he regularly switched wand hands in the middle of the duel (which Harry didn't even know was possible until the first time Moody did it), and Harry was completely unable to recognize wand patterns cast left-handed rather than right-handed when under the time pressure of a duel.

Today's lesson had been particularly embarrassing. The boy had thought he was doing exceptionally well for a change, lasting for over two minutes and eventually hitting Moody with an Expelliarmus for the very first time. But to his surprise, the Moody he hit simply popped out of existence, and Harry was immediately struck from behind by the real Moody's Disarming Charm and knocked down.

"The Doppelganger Defense Charm!" Moody exclaimed as his true form shimmered into view. "It creates an illusory duplicate of yourself to distract your enemies. With enough concentration, you can make it talk and walk around however you want. Cast it along with the Disillusionment Charm, and you can just sit back and watch while your enemy wastes his time and energy boxing with shadows. It's almost relaxing."

Harry, who was still laying on the floor, considered that. Then, his eyebrows furrowed. "Wait a second! You must have had that spell active since before we got here! We carried on a conversation!"

"Yep," Moody said, his lip curling up on one side. "A four-minute-long conversation followed by a two-minute duel with a nonexistent person. And you noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Even though the doppelganger casts no shadow, doesn't generate the sounds of footsteps when moving – and that alone should have been a dead giveaway what with my leg and all – and was a helluva lot more agile in combat than me, you never once considered the possibility that you were fighting a mere distraction the whole time until I got bored and took you out from behind. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry sighed and climbed to his feet. To add to all his other disadvantages, dueling with Moody had become even tougher now that it was one-on-one. Not that Neville Longbottom was a spectacular duelist, but he at least provided an occasional distraction. However, just two days earlier, Lady Augusta, on the supposed grounds that she was getting tired of her grandson's "moodiness," had sent Neville off on a tour of the family's African holdings along with Cousin Reginald. Neville would be gone for six weeks, returning just a few days before the start of term. Harry would miss his friend, but for the time being, Neville's absence was necessary. Indeed, as far as Lady Augusta was concerned, it was a requirement.

"Isn't this a bit unfair?" Harry inquired of his tutor. "I mean, in addition to every other advantage that 'The Greatest Auror in History' has, you also get a whole week to set up some impossibly devious strategy for kicking my teeth in!"

Moody let loose with a strange gargling sound that Harry had learned was how he laughed, and the corner of his mouth crinkled up in another malformed sneer. "Never thought I'd live to see a Slytherin whining about someone else being 'impossibly devious.' My job is (a) to make sure you do well in your classes and (b) to prepare you to deal with the unexpected. That's why you're paying me the big bucks out of that Gringotts account your old man doesn't know about."

Harry froze, and after a few seconds, Moody let loose with another gargling laugh. "Come on, kid. Give me a little credit. And stop worrying. I know you've got an account James Potter doesn't know about. I assume it's from an inheritance that he also doesn't know about. But once I was satisfied that my pay was on the up-and-up and not from some dark wizard who wanted to get the drop on me, I stopped giving a crap about what mysterious family you and your mother are descended from. I've got enough things to be paranoid about as it is without getting drawn into your tedious domestic drama."

"You were actually worried that I hired you for my tutor as part of an assassination plot?!"

"Lad, if you had hired me for your tutor as part of an assassination plot, it would only be the fourth most byzantine and overcomplicated assassination plot I've had to dodge in my lifetime."

Harry shook his head. "Well, now that we're provisionally agreed that I'm not an assassin, what's next for today?"

The ex-auror studied Harry for a few seconds, and then his lip crinkled up once more. "Well, first of all, I'm giving you a quick rematch. You just complained that I had illusion spells already running when you came in. Which was obviously unfair of me since no one who tries to kill you in the future would ever engage in advance preparation or anything silly like that. So to make it up to you, we'll duel again. And this time, I'll let you go first."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Moody popped his wand back out of his holster but then held it pointing straight off to the side. "You try to disarm me. I promise I won't cast any spells until after you've cast your first one."

Harry stared at his tutor for a good three seconds. He even dilated slightly to spend more time trying to figure out the catch. Then, when he couldn't think of one, he fired off the fastest Disarming Spell he could. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

But to Harry's amazement, as soon as he'd released the spell, Moody simply relaxed his fingers and let his own wand clatter to the floor. The Expelliarmus washed over Moody to no effect, and as soon as the wave of magic had passed ineffectually, Moody twitched his fingers slightly and his wand shot back up into his hand. Instantly, he whipped out a silent Expelliarmus of his own, and Harry was disarmed before he could wipe the shocked look off of his face.

"Hmph. That was less than two seconds, Potter. You were more impressive when you were fighting my doppelganger."

"That ... what ..." Harry paused, closed his eyes, and focused himself. "Okay, what just happened?"

"Theory is as important as practice, Potter. Always know what the spells you cast actually do! Expelliarmus – what is it?"

The boy blinked in confusion at the seemingly obvious question. "It's the Disarming Charm."

"And what does that mean?"

"Um, it ... disarms people?"

"Right. So what happens when you use it on an unarmed opponent?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again as his eyes lit up in understanding. "Nothing, obviously. If it can't disarm someone, then it has no other effect to perform."

"Correct, as you just saw in an object lesson. That's a neat trick that can get you out of a jam if you're in a one-on-one fight with somebody who gets the drop on you and goes for the disarm."

Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Hang on a minute. Expelliarmus doesn't just disarm. I've seen it knock people across the room."

"I've no doubt. A high-powered Expelliarmus can strike with considerable force. Nevertheless, those people were armed in some fashion at the time. Or at least holding something in their hands, which satisfies the spell's definition of 'armed.' Otherwise, they wouldn't have been affected, just as I wasn't just now. It's a simple trick. Just toss your wand aside and then summon it back wandlessly. You have to time it just right so you're unarmed when the spell hits but still have time to summon the wand back and cast with it before your opponent can get off a second, more dangerous spell. You also have to let the wand fall far enough from your hand that the spell doesn't consider your armed even though it's no longer on your person. Generally, at least two to three feet from your wand hand."

"A simple trick?" Harry said in disbelief. "It requires wandless magic!"

"Yep. Which is why that's on the menu for today and the rest of this summer."

The boy paused in surprise, and then his face lit up excitedly. "You're teaching me wandless magic?! But it's the middle of July! Do you really think I can learn wandless magic before school starts?"

Moody scoffed. "Merlin, no! I think maybe if you push yourself, you can learn one or two wandless spells by the end of your Fifth Year, which will be worth a boatload of points on your Charms and DADA OWLS. You're talented for your age, boy, I'll give you that. But wandless magic is a time-intensive process, and at your age, you simply haven't used any of the spells you know often enough to develop the sense-memory you need to cast them wandlessly. Right now, you'll be doing good just to learn to cast spells silently and that just requires you to think extra hard. Today, I'm just explaining the basics of wandless magic and giving you a few exercises to try at home."

"At home?" Harry asked in surprise. "But what about the Trace?"

The man gave him a withering look. "Potter, what is the Trace on?"

"My wand ... oh! So wandless magic doesn't count as underage magic?"

"Of course it does! It's just a kind of underage magic that can't be detected unless you're dumb enough to do it in front of a Ministry official. I'm assuming you're not nearly that dumb, are you?"

Harry sighed at the implied rebuke. "No sir. I'll be very careful."

"Good. Now what spell do you think you should start with?"

Harry thought for a moment. His first instinct was Serpensortia, but he doubted that was an acceptable answer. "Um, Protego?"

"DUMB!" Moody barked. "Spell power requirements increase by a factor of three to five when casting without a wand, and no wizard alive except Dumbledore or Voldie could possibly cast a wandless Protego for more than a few seconds without fainting. We start with Accio. Specifically, Accio Wand. Since, should you be so foolish as to get caught without your wand, you number one priority should be to get it back!"

Harry flushed, as Moody summoned a nearby chair for him to sit in and take notes before drawing burning figures in the air with the Pyrologos Charm.

"Now then, here is wandless casting in a nutshell. This," he said while drawing a large flaming circle, "is your magical core. And this..." He drew a second large circle and filled it with tiny dots of fire. "... is your brain, or what passes for one in your case. Each dot represents a single spell with which you are exceptionally proficient. Learning to cast a spell wandlessly requires you to link one of these spells directly to your core with a psychic strand that represents the sum total of your experience with casting that particular spell."

He flicked his wand, and a thin trail of fire stretched from one of the dots in the "mind circle" over to the larger "core circle."

"Create a link like that, and you bypass the requirement of using a wand that the Merlinian system imposes on you by virtue of your being a British wizard and a Hogwarts student. Of course, there's not any literal strand, psychic or otherwise. That's just a metaphor to help you understand the concept." Moody paused. "Actually, to be honest, your 'magical core' is also basically a metaphor. Lots of people talk about it, especially the Big Brains in the Unspeakables and your upper-end Healers. But the truth is, if somebody dissected you down to your individual cells and sifted through them for a year, they'd never find anything tangible that might be described as a magical core."

"Well, what is a magical core, then?" Harry asked. He'd heard the term used several times but never gotten an explanation of it.

Moody shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Some say it's something inside you that generates the power that fuels your magic, whether something immaterial that's part of your aura or some part of your body that's below the level of a cell and too small to detect. Others say its more like a imperceptible portal that lets you draw energy from, well, somewhere else. Some people say it's your soul, but I'm not about to wade into thatmetaphysical thicket today. My point is, nobody knows for sure. What is known is that while the core cannot be directly perceived or measured, you can estimate someone's core strength by various magical tests. The Lubinsky-Chang test is the most accurate, but it was invented by foreigners, so here in Britain, we stubbornly cling to the Belby-Cadwallader test for measuring core size. Under that standard, your core would be rated Theta-Green, which is rather impressive for someone not yet thirteen. Naturally, core size, in this case, doesn't mean physically big or small but rather refers to magical output. Someone with a larger core can cast more spells before tiring; can cast more physically demanding spells like shields, Patronuses, and Unforgivables; and can master more wandless spells than someone with a weaker core. That last bit is most important to our current discussion because you only have a finite number of these hypothetical metaphorical psychic strands and that number is limited according to your core size. In other words, there's a strict limit on the total number of spells you can possibly learn to cast without a wand. Most wizards don't even bother to learn more than four or five. For the typical experienced auror, it's probably twenty or thirty. I personally know sixty-two wandless spells. For someone like Dumbledore or Voldie, it's probably a hundred or more."

Then, he grimaced in annoyance. "And as much as it pains me to say it, blood purity plays a role. Usually. Wizards and witches whose blood purity goes back for several generations generally have larger cores than Muggleborns, which is part of the reason for historical discrimination against Muggleborns. But some Muggleborns have unusually large cores, bigger than the typical Pureblood even, for reasons no one understands. And you will be pleased to know that the offspring of Muggleborns and Purebloods like yourself almost always have strong cores and frequently develop very strong cores. I happen to know that Albus Dumbledore's mother was a Muggle-born, and while the Dumbledores are not an old family it is considered a Pureblood one."

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted in disbelief. "You mean, there's actually something to Pureblood idealogy?!"

"What I mean, Potter, is that there are tangible ways in which most Muggleborns are at a disadvantage relative to Purebloods in terms of magical potential, although those disadvantages are offset by little things like being less likely to go nuts at some point because you're the product of six generations of intermarried cousins. That said, there are a lot of so-called reasons offered in favor of blood supremacy, most of which are bollocks but some of which have a grain of legitimacy. And if the Purebloods had any damned sense, they'd actively try to intermarry with the more powerful Muggleborns since, as I just said, the resulting Halfblood offspring usually have stronger cores than other Purebloods from their peer group."

"So why don't they? Marry Muggleborns, I mean."

By that point, Moody was growing annoyed at how his lesson plan was being diverted by politics. "Short answer? The old families don't want to marry Muggleborns because they don't provide the political and financial benefits of marrying into other old families. And most everybody else dislikes Muggleborns because of propaganda spread by the old families to discourage lesser Pureblood families from intermarrying with them and thereby producing stronger Halfblood offspring that might someday overturn the Wizengamot apple cart." He sighed grumpily. "Honestly, Potter, you are a Slytherin, aren't you? Ask around! I'm sure you'll find no shortage of reasons, some plausible, some absurd, for why you should look down on Muggleborns."

"Were you a Slytherin?" Harry asked innocently.

Moody snorted. "Hufflepuff, if you must know. Class of 1951." Then, Moody noticed the surprised expression on Harry's face. "Does that surprise you, boy? That someone with my background could have been a Hufflepuff?"

"No sir," Harry said sincerely. "I have great respect for Hufflepuffs. It's just ... you're the first Hufflepuff I've ever met who, well, never smiled."

The man gave his rasping laugh again, and the left side of his mouth crept upwards once more. "Nerve damage! From the same curse that cost me my eye! The right side of my face is permanently incapable of smiling properly. In fact, Potter, I'll have you know that when I graduated top of my class from the Auror Academy, Witch Weekly picked me for their Most Charming Smile Award."

At that, Harry looked even more shocked.

"What, Potter?" the man said irritably. "Did you think Gilderoy Lockhart invented the damned thing?"

Five Hours Later ...

Carefully, Harry climbed up the ladder that led out of Moody's steamer trunk and hauled himself over the side. The trunk itself was in a room in the Three Broomsticks Inn in Hogsmeade where the ex-auror had rented a room for the summer even though he never slept in the bed he'd paid for. Harry knew about Expansion Charms and even had a trunk of his own containing a small room to sleep in, but he was amazed at the advanced Charm work that went into Moody's portable castle and fortress. He counted fifteen rooms, including a fully-stocked potions lab, a small greenhouse lit by an artificial sun, and "the Training Room," which was a full-sized perfect reproduction of a similar room at the Auror Academy.

"Your trunk is beyond impressive, Mr. Moody," Harry said. "But what will you do if somebody simply steals it while you're inside of it."

Moody snorted contemptuously. "If anyone manages to even touch this trunk without my permission, Potter, they deserve to catch me."

Harry smiled at that, shook the man's hand, and made his way downstairs to the Floo. Along the way, he noticed a couple sitting in a dim corner snogging rather madly. The man was an off-duty auror who Harry recognized as Michael Proudfoot. The woman, a rather busty Scandinavian-looking blonde, had been introduced to him once before as "Maria Gambrelli." Harry shook his head, passed over to the Floo, and made his way back to Longbottom Manor.

That night, he spent almost thirty minutes gesturing furiously at the wand on his nightstand while thinking "ACCIO WAND" as loudly as he could. But the wand never moved.

20 July 1993
Excerpts from three letters

Harry, I know that your friendship with Theo No-Name has always been important to you. But the Potter-Longbottom-Greengrass alliance is still relatively young. And while my family is extremely grateful for the role you played in our elevation to Ancient and Noble status, we simply cannot threaten our status and integrity by continuing to associate with the outcast. My father has been very clear on this, and while I sympathize with the outcast's condition, I must stand with my family. I hope you will allow Slytherin wisdom to guide you in these matters instead of Hufflepuffian sentimentality or, worse, Gryffindorish defiance of cultural standards.

Your friend and house-mate,

Daphne Greengrass

Heiress Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass

To be honest, Harry, I'm kind of between a rock and a hard place. You know what that means, right? I mean, you're Muggle-raised. I said that to Daphne the other day, and she'd honestly never heard the expression before. Anyway, I don't have any negative feelings about Theo, and I certainly don't want to do anything to hurt him anymore than he already has been by his awful excuse for a father. But ... I'm sorry, Harry, but the simple fact is that I owe way too much to the Greengrass family for everything they've done for me and for my mother. I don't think I can ever truly pay them back, but at a minimum I just can't publicly go against them on something as important in high society as this Ultimate Sanction rubbish appears to be. Of course, you being you, I'm sure you'll find a way around it, and if I can help with that without it getting back to Daphne or her family, I'll do my best.

Hope you enjoy the rest of your summer,

Tracey Davis

All I know, Harry, is that Missy says that "we owe Harry Potter big time," and Bulstrodes pay their debts. If you want me to cut Theo Whatever-His-Name-Is-Now out completely, I'm fine with that. And if you want me to knock the block off of anyone who messes with him, I'm fine with that too. Daddy always said he wants his little girls to know how to throw a punch as well as any boy can.

Millicent Bulstrode

P.S. – Any news on whether there might be an opening for Beater?

21 July 1993
1:00 p.m.
Longbottom Manor

As Marcus Flint stepped out of the fireplace in the Longbottom parlor, he looked around nervously and took in the opulent scene. He was wearing his best robes, along with his lucky tie, the one made of acromantula silk that he'd use to save Rufus Scrimgeour's life the previous summer. Nevertheless, once at Longbottom Manor, he suddenly felt like a peasant summoned to meet with a prince of the realm. Harry was on hand to welcome him and help brush the floo powder off his robes, and behind him was the lady of the house, the notorious and terrifying Augusta Longbottom.

"Welcome to Longbottom Manor, young man," she said imperiously. "Harry has told me much about you."

"All good, I hope," Marcus replied, but her expression said nothing about whether Harry's report had been good or not. He smiled nervously at the formidable woman and then stopped after he realized how ridiculous fake smiles felt on his face. For her part, Lady Augusta ignored his small joke completely.

"As I'm sure Harry has told you, I and some associates wish to hire your services for the summer, for which you will be reimbursed with enough galleons to pay for your Eighth Year Hogwarts tuition and living expenses. However, these matters are quite sensitive, and you will be required to swear an Unbreakable Vow never to discuss what you hear today regardless of whether you accept our job offer or not."

Marcus swallowed with some difficulty at the thought of an Unbreakable Vow. Then, he looked over at Harry who responded with an encouraging nod. Marcus took a deep breath. This was the path to the future, and an Unbreakable Vow would be a small price to pay if it led to the Auror Academy. "What sort of vow, Lady Augusta?"

Augusta handed Marcus a small card upon which the proposed vow was written. Marcus found nothing immediately objectionable in it, and so, at the witch's direction, he clasped arms with Harry and repeated the vow as she directed.

"I, Marcus Flint, do swear on my life and magic that I will never reveal any confidential matters that I learn today as part of the offer of employment I am here to receive, nor will I reveal any information about the tasks I am to perform should I choose to accept the offer."

Satisfied, Augusta turned and led the two boys down a corridor while Marcus chatted amiably but still nervously about what sort of job might be in the offing for this level of secrecy. For his part, Harry was politely evasive in answering his concerns. Then, Marcus froze in shock as Augusta threw open the doors to a conference room and strode in to take a seat next to her other two guests already seated around a circular oaken conference table. One was an Asian man who Marcus didn't recognize. The other was a man he knew all too well. For a few seconds, Marcus looked over at Harry in shock and something close to betrayal before turning back to the others in the room.

"I think I need to know what the job is now," he said quietly as he walked slowly forward. Harry moved past him to take a seat alongside Augusta and the other two men as the doors to the chamber slowly closed on their own.

"A fair question, Mr. Flint," said Lucius Malfoy in a languid tone. "To greatly oversimplify things, we require your assistance in an act of High Treason."

Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley (a brief interlude) ...

The two witches made their way casually down Diagon Alley peering in windows and occasionally ducking into dress shops to see what new fashions were on display. One was chattering animatedly in her excitement to be outside shopping on a beautiful summer day. The other had a long-suffering air, as if shopping were a necessary evil. The pair stopped in front Twilfitt and Tattings as the first witch became excited over a three piece witch's ensemble in a vivid pink. Her companion was less than enthused.

"Oooh, Dolores! Look at this one! Isn't it just adorable!" Violetta Edgecombe practically squealed with delight. Next to her, Dolores Umbridge sighed patiently.

"Vi, dear," Umbridge replied, "you've persuaded me against my better judgment that since I'm getting a promotion to work directly for the Minister, I need to improve my wardrobe. I had assumed the goal was to look more professional, not ... adorable. And yet everything you've had me look at today has been gaudy things that look less like what a professional witch should be wearing and more like ... like something one might wear to catch a beau!"

"Oh pish-posh, Dolores! That's absurd!" Violetta said diffidently. Dolores simply stared her until she finally broke. "Oh alright! Yes, I thought it might be a good idea for you to wear things that might catch Cornelius Fudge's eye. I mean, you're a single woman and he's a single man ..."

"Vi, he's single because his wife passed away only three years ago! Yes, he's a handsome, unattached man in a powerful position. But I'm not going to just ... fling myself at him like some scarlet woman. It's unbecoming. Honestly, I'm still embarrassed over how I giggled in his office like a school girl when he offered me the job! And anyway, if he were that sort of man, he'd have just hired some pretty young thing who's fresh out of Hogwarts and was working in the secretarial pool instead of a dowdy old frump like me."

"You're not old, Dolores, not by today's standards. And if you're a dowdy frump, it's because you've chosen to be." Violetta sighed in exasperation. "Dolores, we've been best friends since our school days. I only say this because I care about you. It's been fifteen years since Jack died..." Umbridge stiffened slightly. "... and just a few weeks before what should have been your wedding day! Now, I know he was a wonderful man and you loved him dearly. And I also know his death was a horrible tragic affair that has affected you deeply. But fifteen years is too long to wear widow's weeds for a man you never actually married!"

Dolores Umbridge started to respond but couldn't. Instead, she looked away for a moment to compose herself. Then, she turned back to her closest friend. "I ... understand what you're saying, Violetta. And perhaps you're right. Honestly, I think I just didn't want to be hurt again. Nor did I want the distraction of dating while I was struggling to build a career despite the mistakes I made when I was young."

At that, perhaps a tiny hint of bitterness crept into Umbridge's voice. Once, she'd had dreams of being a teacher, and she'd been one of the rare few to pursue a Mastery in Magical History in the hopes that if her credentials were good enough, she might be able to present herself as an alternative candidate to the ghostly Cuthbert Binns despite the institutional bias against Halfbloods like her. Then, when she was barely halfway through her Mastery, she finally learned how Binns got the Professor of Magical History job in the first place, why he was still in the job despite the handicap of being dead, and why he would most likely continue to hold the job until long after she was dead herself. At that point, she abandoned her Mastery uncompleted and settled for a job as an archivist for the Department of Magical Education, a dead end position that provided a decent living for her and her small assortment of cats but little in the way of personal satisfaction.

"I suppose now that I've won a decent promotion, perhaps I should consider dating again. But I'm not going to throw myself at the Minister of Magic! It's just ... improper!"

Dolores turned back to the dummy in the window and shuddered. "And I'm definitely not wearing anything pink!"

22 July 1993
2:00 p.m.
The Three Broomsticks Inn
Hogsmeade

Marcus Flint appeared in front of the Three Broomsticks in a flash of apparation, his battered trunk in one hand and his broomstick in the other. Tired and sore from the morning he'd had and the decisions he'd made, he entered the inn and shuffled up to the bar. Behind it stood the owner, Madame Rosmerta, who regarded the young Slytherin with some small amount of suspicion. Unlike the Hogs Head Inn where drunken brawls seemed a nightly occurrence, Rosmerta ran the Three Broomsticks as a reputable place, and the Slytherin in front of her looked like he'd just been in a fight himself, as his rapidly swelling black eye could attest.

Undaunted, Flint slapped ten galleons onto the bar. "I'd like a room please. Here's a down payment for the rest of the summer." He paused. "And I'd also like a bottle of firewhiskey sent up to my room as well."

Rosmerta sniffed. "Are you old enough to handle firewhiskey, boy?"

Flint snorted and then winced from the pain in his eye. "I'm of age. There's no Trace on me. And I just told my da' to go to Hell and left his house forever. If that doesn't make me old enough for firewhiskey, what does?"

Rosmerta studied Marcus carefully before sweeping the galleons off the counter into her hand. "Jamie!" she called out to the barman, "show this man up to Room 4. And get him a bottle of firewhiskey and an ice pack."

22 July 1993
10 p.m.
Harry's room at Longbottom Manor

"It's not that I don't want to tell my Dad about you lot," Harry lied through his teeth. "But this is my one chance to find out what he and his friends were like back when they were my age. No offense, Prongs, but now that he's Chief Auror, Dad's a bit of a stick in the mud. I'm sure if I actually told him I had the Map, he'd confiscate it for fear I'd use it for pranks or anything else that might reflect badly on him."

Mr. Prongs is aghast at the suggestion that he would ever become so stodgy!

Mr. Moony reminds Mr. Prongs that everyone grows up eventually, even Marauders.

Mr. Padfoot reluctantly suggests that this may well be the influence of the
Hell-Flower and reminds Mr. Prongs that he warned Mr Prongs repeatedly of
the dangers of getting "whipped."

Mr. Moony and Mr. Wormtail gasp in shock and step slowly away.

Mr. Prongs snarls angrily and recommends that Mr. Padfoot
shut his gob before we all find out whether it's actually possible
to get into a fistfight in here!

"Whoa, guys!" Harry said, as he also had no desire to see if the Marauders' Map was capable of tearing itself apart. "Calm down! And Padfoot? I think you should apologize to Prongs for calling his future wife and my mother 'the Hell-Flower.'"

"Hmph! Very well, Mr. Padfoot apologizes for his intemperate remarks.
Although he would remind all present that it was Mr. Prongs who
came up with the nickname Hell-Flower after the witch in question used
a Switching Spell during Fourth Year Transfiguration to sympathetically
link his underpants with a bottle of deep-heating ointment!"

"Mr. Prongs blushes with embarrassment but accepts the apology gracefully."

"Mr. Moony and Mr. Wormtail snicker softly."

Despite himself, Harry chuckled at the anecdote as well and wondered once again how on earth his parents ever got together.

"Mr. Prongs sighs discontentedly and tries to get the conversation back on track,
though it should seem apparent to all, including Mr. Son-of-Prongs, that this Map,
as ingenious as it is, is a poor medium for learning about what teen-aged James Potter
was like. Mr. Prongs is, after all, at best an imperfect copy of the original dashing lad."

"Well, actually," Harry said aloud. "I've been thinking about that. I had a conversation with my ... well, with a friend who told me he had an encounter with a diary once that was based on enchantments very similar to those used to make the Marauders' Map. And this diary could actually draw readers inside of itself to show them actual memories. Do you think it might be possible for you guys to do that?"

The Map did not respond immediately, and for a moment, Harry feared he'd broken it somehow. He honestly wasn't sure why he was so interested in finding out more about young James Potter. Maybe he hoped to find out why the older version had held such disdain towards him for so long. Or maybe he was just looking for blackmail material. Finally, more words appeared on the Map.

"Harry, it's Mr. Moony here. What you propose is ... interesting, and also, I think,
within the design parameters of the Map. I, er, I mean Mr. Moony, was the actual
designer of the spells used, so I think I'm the most qualified to know.

I mean Mr. Moony was.

Dammit.

Mr. Moony utterly hates this third-person speech gag that Mr. Padfoot
insisted on for some silly reason.

Anyway, let us think about this for a few days and check back, okay?"

"Will do," Harry replied, intrigued at these new developments. "Mischief managed."

23 July 1993
An undisclosed location

"Michael Proudfoot" stood as still as he could and gasped for air as the bitterly cold liquid poured over him. After a good thirty seconds, the deluge stopped, and Lucius Malfoy pulled out a gold pocket watch and began timing.

"How long to I have to stand here and shiver," the drenched man said through chattering teeth.

"Until our little experiment is completed. That's what your being paid for, my good man. And frankly, your fees are far less than what I've spent this week on all the gallons of Thief's Downfall that are now splattering at your feet."

"Proudfoot" shook his head irritably and rubbed his hands over his soaking and chilled arms while the seconds ticked on into minutes.

24 July 1993
Room 13 of the Leaky Cauldron

"Mr. X?" Harry asked tentatively. "I know it's not on our schedule for this week. But could I ask you a few questions about using Occlumency for parallel thought processing?"

25 July 1993
Excerpt from an invitation

I didn't know whether you'd gotten an invitation to Ron's Homecoming Party or not, nor whether you were interested in coming or not. Honestly, your relationship with Jim is so back-and-forth that I didn't want to assume. And also, you've made little secret of your feelings about Ron. However , I did want to inform you of some details you might not be aware of. It turns out that the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts falls under the jurisdiction of the DMLE. There was a memo that went around the other day clarifying that Daddy is not affected by that Ultimate Sanction nonsense. Which also means that none of the rest of us Weasleys are affected either!

With that in mind, I asked if we could invite Theo to the party, and Mum and Dad said okay, so if you come, you can actually spend time with Theo before school starts without it causing some big kerfluffle. Luna and Hermione will also be coming too! I hope you join us. It would be nice to see you and Jim hang out together since your actual birthday party is going to be a boring social affair. Well, unless someone goes on a killing spree again. Mum almost said we couldn't go to Jim's official party on the 31 st after last year, but Percy, of all people, persuaded her that the security would surely be better this year, and besides, what are the odds of some hideous disaster happening two years in a row? But I'd still like to see you at a party for just friends instead of Ministry bootlickers.

Hope to see you on the 30 th .

Ginny

P.S. – What's all this hippogriff dung I hear about how Slytherin girls aren't allowed to try out for Quidditch?! You know perfectly well that I can fly rings around Cassius Warrington!

26 July 1993
1:17 p.m.
"The Training Room"

Harry dodged and parried as best he could, but he felt his time running short. If he was going to pull off the stunt he'd been planning since his previous training session, it was now or never. He threw himself to one side, summoning a nearby chair as he did. As soon as it was in range, he tapped it with his wand and transfigured it into a small stationary iron barricade that would give him a few seconds of relief before the transfiguration collapsed. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and cast the Doppleganger Defense Charm.

Moody had been mildly impressed when the Potter boy had actually summoned a chair and transfigured it so quickly. He could have destroyed the barrier at once, but he was curious as to what the boy would do next. Then, to his surprise and delight, two Harry Potters rolled out from behind the shield in opposite directions, each of which appeared to fire a Disarming Charm at one of his shoulders. If he guessed wrong as to which was the illusion, he would step right into the true spell. So he did neither. Instead, the grizzled auror took two quick steps forward to put himself into position before the twin spells got too close. Then, he simply turned to one side and exhaled as much as possible. Both beams passed on either side of him with just a few inches to spare.

And then, before Harry could reorient and fire again, Moody swept his arm in a wide arc and cried out: "VENTUS MAXIMUS!" A powerful blast of air sprayed out from his wand. The Harry on the right was unaffected, but the one on the left (the real Harry) was picked up off the ground by the gale-force wind and slammed against the rear wall. Instantly, the fake Harry winked out of existence. Moody ambled over to the stunned boy and cast a Renervate before summoning a healing potion.

"Congratulation, Potter. I'm actually very slightly impressed." Moody snickered softly as he handed off the potion.

Harry sat up slowly and took the potion gratefully. He had actually hit the wall very hard and felt rather sore. "I don't know why. It didn't work any better than anything else I've tried so far."

"Nonsense!" Moody exclaimed. "Combat transfiguration!? Followed by a clever use of the Doppelganger Defense?! Also, I've been politely ignoring the fact that you're an Occlumens so that I can plead ignorance if it ever comes up in a court case or something, but for you to cast an Expelliarmus yourself while directing your doppelganger to mimic your motions? Parallel thought tracks at your age? Not too shabby!"

"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, as he had not won much in the way of praise from the older man. "That thing you did – stepping in between two spells to give yourself more room to dodge. Is that a common tactic or something you thought of on the fly?"

"Bit of both," Moody replied as he offered a hand to help the boy up. It was the first time he had ever bothered to do so, a fact Harry noticed and appreciated. "It's a common dueling tactic to favor spell sequences that force your opponent into moving in the direction you want as a prelude to some attack. Usually, if your opponent is offering you the choice of two options, like move where I tell you to or get hit with a spell, your best bet is to look for a third alternative. Remember that, lad. There's almost always a third way if you look hard enough."

Harry was silent for a moment, and Moody noticed. "Something on your mind, Potter?"

"I'm improving. I know it. But ... at this rate, how long do you think it will be before I stand a chance against you?"

Moody's remaining eyebrow rose in surprise. "And why, Potter, do you think you might need to actually fight me for real? Or for that matter, anyone close to my level?"

Harry looked away thoughtfully before turning back to meet his tutor's gaze. "In the last two years, I've faced Voldemort twice."

Moody was silent for a moment. Then, he gave a look that was strangely satisfied. "So he does still live. I knew it." Then, he considered the boy more seriously. "Congratulations, Potter. You're in rarified company to have faced Voldie even once and survived, let alone twice."

"He's only at a fraction of his power. Basically a jumped-up ghost. And to be honest, the first time he wasn't interested in killing me and the second time he wasn't in a position to. But ... I'm the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and I don't have his weird magical Voldemort killing powers. If this is going to keep happening ... I need to be better."

By now, the chair Harry transfigured earlier had returned to its true shape. Moody sat down in it while summoning another chair for the boy.

"Better probably won't be good enough, kid. I know of exactly ten people who went wand-to-wand with Voldemort during the last war and who managed to last more than three seconds. Of those, four managed to escape within eight seconds, and three continued fighting for more than ten seconds before dying horribly. The eighth was Albus Dumbledore, the only man to ever force Voldemort to withdraw. The ninth was your dad who lasted twelve whole seconds but was about to die horribly when Albus showed up to save him in the proverbial nick. And the last one was me, and I ... well, I was a special case."

For a brief instant, Moody's face looked visibly haunted, so much so that Harry didn't ask for any details. Then, the man shook off his melancholy.

"I know those exact figures because I have memories of all those encounters, most of which I played for auror recruits so they knew what they'd be getting into. And before you ask, no, I'm not playing them for you!"

"But Moody..."

"Don't whine, Potter! It's unbecoming of a Slytherin!" That remark actually shocked Harry into silence. Then, he thought about the matter for a few seconds before Moody interrupted him. "And stop trying to figure out how to manipulate me with Legilimency!"

Harry's mouth opened, but only a brief choking sound came out. Moody rolled his one good eye, causing the fake one to whirl madly.

"Surely you didn't think I'd accept James Potter's mysterious Muggle-raised Slytherin son as a student without a thorough background check! Anyway, don't worry about it. It's another of your secrets that I'm happy to keep."

The boy looked frustrated and overwhelmed, and Moody's face softened. "Harry, I won't teach you to duel Voldemort because I've taught too many good wizards and witches how to die in the attempt. But I will teach you how to fight him which is not the same thing. Fighting Voldemort means lasting long enough to escape or, failing that, to sacrifice yourself in exchange for something you value more than your own life."

Moody held out his hand as if he expected something to come flying into it. And sure enough, something did: a small well-worn paperback book that flew through one of the doors in response to his wandless summoning. He caught it easily and handed it off to Harry.

It was The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

"This is a Muggle book!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"No, this is THE Muggle book. The single best thing that Muggle civilization has ever produced ... with the possible exception of Raquel Welch, but maybe that's just me. Anyway, take that home. Read it. Commit it to memory. But if you absorb nothing else, remember this: "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."

Harry nodded at the cryptic yet seemingly profound quotation and put the book away with his things. Moody watched him thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you what, though," he said with a touch of smugness. "Here's a little motivation for your continued studies. If you can disarm me at any point in the next year, I will let you see all those memories of Voldie. All except for my own personal ones."

"At any point?" Harry said suspiciously.

"Yep," Moody replied with his crinkled leering half-smile. "Now then, enough dueling for today. Time for Potions." He turned his back on Harry and headed towards the door to the potions lab, stashing his wand as he went. Harry hesitated for a second and then aimed his wand at the man's back in a flurry of motion.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

A bolt of red shot towards Moody's back, but before he could strike, the man casually raised his right hand up into the air and wiggled his fingers without even bothering to turn around. The Disarming Charm struck an invisible shield and dissipated without effect.

"OH COME ON!" Harry shouted in frustration. "Are you just immune to Disarming Charms?! And what's with all this ..." he waved his hand in the air in imitation of what Moody had done "... finger-wavy bullshit."

"Language, Potter!" Moody chastised as he looked back over his shoulder to his pupil. "And I simply made use of the Anti-Disarming Counter-Jinx."

"The ... What?!"

"The Anti-Disarming Counter-Jinx," he repeated slowly as if talking to a child.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. "And why have I never before heard of such a spell?"

"Because practically no one has heard of such a spell. The incantation takes longer to say than Expelliarmus, and the wand movement is more complicated than that of the Disarming Spell. Consequently, it's nearly impossible to actually use it for its intended purpose, so most wizards never even bother with it."

"Then how do you use it to block Disarming Charms?"

"Easy. I learned it, practiced it for the better part of a year with a friend who would cast really slow Disarming Charms at me until I could use it reliably, and then spent another two years mastering it as a wordless, wandless spell. And then, voila, I can counter an Expelliarmus with just a wave of my hand."

"In other words, it's impossible for me to disarm you!" Harry said indignantly.

"Nundu Pucky! I've never used it in a duel with you so far, and I never will. It's only for when you try to get sneaky outside of duels like just now." Moody thought for a second. "Or possibly if you get sneaky during a duel. Or if the mood just strikes me."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the ex-auror. "How is it possible you weren't a Slytherin?!"

29 July 1993
The Longbottom Kitchen
6:00 a.m.

The boy stared with disapproval at the plate of confectionaries he and his sous-elf had produced. The petit fours looked okay, but there was a distinct lack of shine to the macarons. He turned to Hoskins.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

"Master Harry should do something about the Dobby elf," Hoskins replied easily.

"No, I mean about the macarons ... wait, what? What's wrong with Dobby?"

"The Dobby elf remains traumatized and damaged by his recent experiences. He serves Master Harry ... adequately. But as Master Harry is but a guest here – though an honored one to be sure – the Dobby elf lacks sufficient work to fully satisfy him. Also, Hoskins suspects that one or more of the Dobby elf's prior owners made sport of his suffering, and so he has trained himself to suffer in order to please those with power over him. This explains the Dobby elf's tendency to constantly bang his head on things when he thinks others are unhappy with him and also his habit of bursting into tears at little to no provocation. Histrionic, Hoskins would describe it as."

Harry actually frowned at that. "Why do you call him 'the Dobby elf' instead of just 'Dobby?'"

"Because respectfully, Master Harry, he is not Dobby. He is just an elf who answers to the name of Dobby. At present, he does not understand your needs nor does he understand the nature of the master-servant relationship you desire. Accordingly, he has no sense of self. No sense of ... Dobby-ness."

The boy nodded slowly at that. Privately, he thought he would never understand house elves if he lived to be 100. "And what would you recommend I do to help him?"

Hoskins shrugged. "Hoskins is a Longbottom elf, sir, and Hoskins suspects that Master Harry would not wish for the Dobby elf to serve you as Hoskins and Lumpen serve the Longbottoms. The traditions of the Longbottom family elves are ... particular."

"Uh-huh. Are there other ... traditions that you think might suit me better?"

The diminutive creature stopped to think for a few seconds. "Hoskins knows that the wizards in some lands treat their elves like true family members – respected and doting second parents. Little Father or Little Motherthey are called in whatever local language is spoken. Hoskins would be profoundly embarrassed to be addressed in such a fashion, but perhaps the Dobby elf would respond better. Hoskins also knows that some house elves hide themselves completely, performing their tasks with the utmost discretion and manifesting bodily only when called to account by their masters for some misstep or summoned for some specific and unusual instruction. The Hogwarts house elves act as such and outside of the kitchens are seldom seen by others unless summoned by a teacher."

"How do you know so much about the Hogwarts elves, Hoskins?" Harry asked in surprise.

"All house elves know what they need to know about other house elves, though we cannot speak of secret things. As you would not wish the Dobby elf to reveal your secrets, so are we all forbidden to speak too freely of what we learn from our brethren." Hoskins stopped to think for a moment, and then his face brightened. "If Master Harry wishes to know more of the Hogwarts elves, he should consult with Tweak!"

"... Tweak? Who is ... Tweak?"

"Tweak is being the Hogwarts house elf who oversees the needs of the Slytherin dungeons, Master Harry. While Tweak seldom appears before students, Hoskins is sure he would speak to a Slytherin of sufficient stature and cunning such as your esteemed self!"

Harry absorbed that. "Okay, I guess. I'll look into that. Any other suggestions?"

Hoskins rubbed his chin. "Perhaps Master Harry might speak to his friends who are Pureblooded and who have house elves of their own. Perhaps there are some whose house elves serve their masters in ways you might find pleasing?"

Harry frowned again. Honestly, he couldn't think of any way that house elf service could be pleasing to him. Privately, he thought his own upbringing had been far too close to that of an "abused house elf" for him to ever be fully comfortable with having servants of his own. But he had bought Dobby fair and square, and when he'd told the story to Blaise Zabini, the boy had responded with an old Chinese proverb: "When you save someone's life, you are responsible for them forever."

"Hey, maybe I should write to Blaise," Harry thought to himself. "I'm sure he'll have some ideas about 'proper house elf training.' Granted, they might be horrible ideas, but they'll give me a starting place, I bet." Then, he turned his attention back to the elf standing before him.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hoskins. I will definitely attend to ... the Dobby elf as soon as I can."

"Hoskins is being most gratified, Master Harry."

Harry turned his attention back to the plate. "And the macarons?"

"Hoskins thinks we should be sifting the almond flour more finely and perhaps leave them to set longer before baking."

The boy nodded at that sage advice. "Okay, let's start again."

30 July 1993
The Weasley Burrow
11:00 a.m.

On the morning of Ron and Jim's welcoming party, Harry stepped through the Weasley Floo to find the party was still a work in progress. The other guests were supposed to arrive around noon, and yet Mrs. Weasley was still setting things up and was currently busy levitating a "WELCOME HOME, RON & JIM" banner into position. As soon as she noticed Harry, however, she left the banner partially attached and came over to give him a hug.

Harry forced himself to relax. He would probably never be a "hugger" or even someone who enjoyed any form of close physical contact, but he and Molly Weasley did seem to have a mutual affection. Besides, as far as Harry had been able to discern in the last two years, it was generally considered somewhat ... unnatural to stiffen when someone hugged you, to physically recoil from the simplest forms of human affection and kindness. To most people, it suggested that there might be something wrong about one's upbringing. And so Harry had taken that part of himself – the part that flinched at someone's touch because hugs were for Dudley and all Harry got were slaps – and filed it away in a book that sat on a dusty shelf in the Prince's Lair that only existed in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said with a warm smile so convincing that it fooled even Harry himself. "And I have something for you!"

From the bag he'd brought, Harry produced a small box containing a dozen multi-colored (and shiny!) macarons. After considerable negotiations, Harry had persuaded Hoskins that it was no slight to the Longbottom house elves for Harry to personally cook foodstuffs that would be given as gifts to others so long as the recipients did not live at Longbottom manor. Preparing food in such a way made it a "gift from the heart" which was an idea that for some reason appealed to the house elves.

"Oh you shouldn't have!" Molly said, though her expression indicated no reluctance about accepting the gift. According to Ginny, Molly Weasley had a weakness for macarons.

Moments later, the rest of the Weasley family came to welcome Harry as well. He made a point of congratulating George on becoming a Fifth Year prefect which made Molly and Arthur beam with pride, Percy smirk (with what Harry intuited was a rather odd sense of satisfaction), and Fred actually glare for several seconds before he got hold of himself.

"Oh joy," Harry thought sourly. "More Weasley family drama this year, I'll bet. Oh well, just so long as Fred avoids any cursed diaries, it's not my problem."

Harry also got to meet the two older brothers he'd heard so much about. Bill Weasley practically looked like a film star, with rugged but dashing good looks, long hair in a ponytail that actually made Harry jealous despite its vivid ginger color, and an earring fashioned from some creature's fang. Charlie Weasley was short, stocky, and easily the most well-muscled of his whole family. And apparently, he was also jealous of Bill's long hair – he'd overheard the boy complaining that he'd agreed to let Molly give him "a light trim" that somehow turned into a near buzz cut. Privately, Harry agreed with Molly, as he thought Charlie's facial structure was totally wrong for long hair. He needed something short and spiky, perhaps with a neat goatee. Besides, the man spent most of his time around fire-breathing dragons, and surely long hair would be a safety hazard. Harry resolved to look into hair-care products that were non-flammable as possible future gift ideas.

Over the course of the next half-hour, the rest of the guests arrived: Seamus, Dean, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Luna Lovegood. Hermione. Theo. A few others that Harry didn't know.

And James Potter.

As everyone else made small talk while waiting for Jim and Ron's arrival back from the Far East, Harry's (still somewhat estranged) father moved towards him with what the man probably thought was "casualness." Harry had known that an encounter with James was very likely, and while it wasn't something he was looking forward to, it was a necessary evil. And so Harry steeled himself and then donned his "Great to see you!" smile. He'd been practicing it lately and had gotten quite good with it. It helped that they were on neutral territory and so Harry could talk to James amiably without any risk of undermining his legal position.

Or revealing anything of his plans.

"Hello, Harry. How has your summer been?"

"Oh, pretty good. Nearly have all my homework done." "Actually, I'm still on target to take some of my OWLS next spring," he thought to himself. "How have you been?"

"Good, good," James said with a nod. "Listen, I've had a lot of time to think about how things ended between us last month. When you came to speak with me about your friend, Theo."

"Oh?" Harry said without a hint of coldness.

James looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive to your concerns and to your friend's plight. Since then, I have looked into matters and, well, I don't see any legal way to overturn the Ultimate Sanction or to interfere with ... that business between Tiberius Nott and the Wilkes girl. But I promise I'll keep trying on both fronts. I have been able to use my position to expand the number of law enforcement positions that are immune to the Sanction. That's why Arthur and his family aren't affected. And ... if you and Jim want to maintain a friendship with Theo, I'm fine with it. It may cause some problems at work, but I can handle it. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I will ... Dad. I promise."

The conversation lasted for several more minutes, during which Harry intimated that he'd spent most of the summer lounging around the Longbottom pool rather than pursuing Occlumency, Legilimency, and dueling lessons with Mad-Eye Moody. "After all," thought Harry. "It's not like it's any of your business."

Then, Harry checked himself internally and was surprised at how much anger and bitterness towards James was still bubbling away in his subconscious. If he weren't an Occlumens, he'd probably be throwing sarcastic insults by now. After a few seconds analyzing how his emotional reactions to his father were affecting his reasoning abilities, Harry sighed loudly (again, internally). Sometime soon, he needed to sit down and sort out his internal feelings about his father. Did he really want revenge for James's abandonment of him? Or would he be satisfied if he attained a position of personal security sufficient to ensure that James (and Lily and everyone else who'd played a role in the Privet Drive disaster) would never be able to hurt him again? After all, another of Blaise's Chinese proverbs was: "If you seek revenge, dig two graves. One for yourself." Then again, if he didn't really want revenge against James Potter, why did he go along with Regulus's current scheme?

All of those thoughts twisted and turned in the secondary layers of Harry's thought processes, but none of them showed on the surface level as Harry and James moved on to a perfectly civil conversation about Slytherin House's prospects in the coming Quidditch season. Harry conceded that it was a rebuilding year for Slytherin. They had lost Drake and Marcus (James actually did a double-take at the name "Drake"), and there was speculation that Derrick and Bole might not return to the team. After their near expulsion the previous term followed by poor end-of-term grades and even worse OWLS, their respective parents had been furious and were considering forcing them to drop all extracurricular activities. It was entirely possible that Harry, Pucey, and Bletchley would be the only returning members, whereas the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs both would have their entire teams returning intact.

"Oh," James said suddenly. "That reminds me. Since we're doing family gifts today instead of at Jim's official party tomorrow, this is for you." He produced a small untitled book and handed it over to Harry. The boy opened it up and was surprised to see that it was an entire book of hand-drawn Quidditch Chaser plays. It also came with a sizeable gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"The gift certificate is for whatever you need, but I also wanted to give you something more personal. That's my old playbook from when I was a Gryffindor Chaser. I thought you might find some use for it."

Harry studied the book for a few seconds. "This isn't a magical copy. It's the original." He looked up at James. "Your not giving Jim a copy of this?"

James shrugged. "He's a Seeker. It wouldn't be of much value to him. And the Gryffindor Chasers use a Holyhead-style zone offense. I was always more a fan of the lateral transfer offense that Puddlemere and Portreeve use. Which, ironically, is what you and the other Slytherin Chasers used last year."

The man seemed almost embarrassed to admit that the Slytherin Chasers under Marcus and Harry's influence had become closer to his ideal of what Chasing should be than his own House. This was news to Harry since he hadn't known anything about James's feelings on the matter and, for that matter, didn't actually know enough about formal Quidditch play-making to realize that he was basically reinventing a well-established approach. At the time, he'd just assumed he was applying Slytherin cunning to the rules of the game.

Harry found himself genuinely surprised and slightly touched by the gift. The previous year, James and Lily had given Harry and Jim identical gifts – absurdly overpriced Firebolts that showed the Potters had money to burn but no sense of personal connection to their sons. This, however, was actually thoughtful. Instinctively, Harry plastered a smile of genuine gratitude onto his face while brutally suppressing his actual feelings down into the lower levels of his mind until he could meditate and decide how he really felt. To his surprise, he now suspected a touch of guilt might be a part of the mixture.

Happily, before Harry had to contemplate that possibility any further, there was a whoosh of flame from the fireplace, and the guests of honor stepped through – Jim, Ron, and Lily had arrived, and both boys were suitably delighted by the surprise party. James excused himself and made his way over to the Floo, where he gave a hug to Jim and tussled the boy's hair before giving his embarrassed wife a kiss. That is, she seemed embarrassed to be kissed like that in front of a crowd, but she obviously didn't mind getting kissed by her husband at all, and Harry remembered that they had been apart for a full month. The boy idly wondered whether they were still sleeping in separate rooms at Potter Manor.

Jim gave Harry a big affectionate hug, oblivious to the psychic hoops his older brother had to go through in order accept it.

"How was the trip home?" Harry inquired. "You said the trip over made you sick for two days."

"I'm fine. They taught Ron and me a meditation kata that we could practice before taking the portkey from Shamballa to London that would help with portkey sickness."

Harry laughed. "You and your meditation."

"You should try it," Jim said with a smile. "You might learn a thing or two. Anyway, here, I got you something." He produced a wrapped package from the bag he brought through the Floo. "Though you probably will want to open it at home."

"Likewise," Harry replied with a smile as he handed his twin a slightly larger and more skillfully-wrapped package. "Though probably for different reasons."

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ron. "George is a prefect?! How did that happen?!"

"No idea," Fred said coolly. "But I guess me and Lee might have an opening for the position of partner in crime if you're interested."

"Um," Ron replied somewhat nervously.

"Luna?" Hermione said with some concern. "Are you feeling alright? You look like you haven't been sleeping well."

Luna looked up at her friend and house-mate in surprise. "Really? Funny you should say that. Because ... I have been having some odd dreams lately."

"Oh? Tell me more."

"As near as I can tell," Harry said to Ginny, "there's no formal or even informal rule in Slytherin against female Quidditch players. Girls just don't try out. It's not even a sexist exclusionary thing on the part of the guys. Marcus told me once he'd encouraged some of the girls who were good fliers to try out, but they wouldn't. I think it actually has more to do with the more influential Pureblooded girls thinking that it's ... unSlytherin or something for girls to try to intrude on what is perceived as a guy-thing."

"Whatever, Harry. You know I don't care about impressing the Purebloods. So can I try out for Seeker this year?"

"I don't see why not. Just be ready for more than the usual sniping from the upper-years about you being unladylike or what-have-you."

Ginny snorted. "Please. I'm the Slytherin Weasley! How much worse could that get!"

"Theo, right?" said Jim Potter as if he and Theo had not been Sorted the same year and had spoken on several occasions. Then again, Theo thought this might possibly be the very first time that he and Jim had spoken one-on-one without Harry as intermediary.

"Yep, that's me. And you're Jim, right?" Theo replied smoothly, as if he weren't talking to the most famous thirteen-year-old in the wizarding world.

"Um, yeah." Jim paused as if uncertain how to proceed. "So how are you holding up? I know you had ... some bad stuff happen to you."

Theo almost laughed out loud at Jim's gift for understatement, but he suppressed the impulse. The Boy-Who-Lived was, for some baffling reason, trying to be nice. Theo thought it would be churlish to mock the other boy's efforts.

"You could say that. I'm Theo No-Name now. Which is better in some ways than being called Theo Nott, but I know it will cause problems when we get back to school. Whatever comes, I'll handle it as best I can."

Jim looked around conspiratorially and then moved closer. "Are you worried about getting bullied in Slytherin House?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" Theo said suspiciously.

Jim pursed his lips for a second. "I've been thinking of starting a student-run self-defense group, mainly for Muggleborns and Muggle-raised students who get picked on by older Purebloods. I'd like for you to join us. It's all people who won't be affected by the curse you're under, so you'd be safe with us."

Theo crooked an eyebrow. "Does this have something to do with Hermione's SPAM thing?"

Jim blinked twice. "Her what?!"

"I know you pride yourself on Slytherin subtlety, Harry," said Hermione firmly, "but Theo is my friend too, and I insist on supporting him. What's more, I think it's appalling in general that our entire society can be so casually influenced by a single dark wizard's malicious curse, and I want to start a group to raise public awareness against it."

"This is that SPAM thing that Blaise wrote me about, isn't it?" Harry asked with some amusement.

"We are not calling it SPAM!" she hissed before looking around in embarrassment to see if anyone heard her outburst. Then, she continued more quietly. "I was thinking about calling it the Society for the Prevention of Abusive Magic, but I realized at once what a silly acronym that would make. I haven't decided on a new name yet. I suppose we'll just wait until the first meeting and ask for suggestions."

"If Blaise is involved, don't be surprised if SPAM is one of them."

She sighed almost dejectedly. "Don't worry. I won't be."

"I'm glad your back, Lily-flower" James said affectionately. "I've missed you a lot."

"I sent you an owl-post every other day," Lily said with a smile.

"It's not the same," he said with a sulk before taking a sip of Molly's lemonade.

"No, I suppose it's not. For starters, there are some things we should probably to talk about that you wouldn't want to see written down..." she leaned in to whisper "... Prongs."

It took several seconds for James to clear his throat after almost choking on his lemonade.

"Wait a minute!" Bill exclaimed in excitement. "You figured out how to convert explosive runes into a ward breaker?!"

"Well, I think so," George replied. "It's not like I could test it out, but I'm pretty sure it would work."

Then, George actually got a bit nervous at the look his eldest brother was giving him. He was used to either the Amused Twinkling Eyes or the Grimace of Disappointment. Bill's current look was something new, something ... calculating.

"Tell me, George. Have you ever considered a career in curse-breaking?"

Longbottom Manor
5:30 p.m.

An hour after the party had broken up, Harry was back in his room where he opened Jim's gift. It was an autographed copy of Gupta Baskar's book The Serpent's Tongue about the known history, theorized origins, and suspected advanced properties of Parseltongue. There was a note inside.

"Harry – You told me repeatedly that you're not a Parselmouth, and I accept that. But if nothing else, I think the information in this book would be good for an enterprising Slytherin like you to know. Who knows. Maybe you'll try to learn Parseltongue the hard way. And it is a very hard way, apparently, but if anyone I know could do it, it would be you. Happy Birthday!

PS – I promise I'll do whatever I can to help your friend Theo."

Harry found himself strangely touched by his brother's sincerity, and he now wished he'd put more thought into the gifts he'd gotten Jim. He hoped his brother appreciated them and the spirit in which they'd been given.

Meanwhile at Potter Manor...

Once back at Potter Manor and in his own room at last, Jim Potter opened Harry's gift box. There were three items within – an expensive leather wand holster, a book, and what appeared to be a Muggle T-shirt – along with a note.

"Jim – I have no idea why you've resisted using a wand holster up until now. I have recently been advised that it's actually dangerous to carry your wand around in a back pocket as I've seen you do on occasion. Apparently, it's a good way to blow one of your buttocks off! The book is Seeker Tips and Tricks by Benjy Williams. I know you're a fan of Puddlemere and said once he was your favorite Seeker, so I thought it might give you some inspiration. Finally, the shirt's just something to keep you humble. Merlin knows we Potters need as much of that as we can get. Happy Birthday, Little Brother!"

Intrigued, Jim set the wand holster and book aside before pulling out the T-shirt. He held it up so that he could get a good look at it. Six months earlier he'd have probably ripped it to shreds in a fury, but now he just laughed in delight. The shirt was in Gryffindor crimson with letters of Gryffindor gold that proudly identified the wearer as ...

SUPREME GIT OF THE UNIVERSE

Jim laid back on his bed still smiling. He suspected that this might become his new favorite shirt.

11:00 p.m.
Thurso, Scotland

The township of Thurso had the distinction of being the northernmost town in the British Isles. And among wizards, it also held the distinction as the only Muggle town so far north that it was slightly outside the network of ley lines, wards, and detection spells used by the Ministry of Magic to guard the nation against magical invasion. A small town, its population was listed at 7,598 as of this morning. By noon, the population had risen by eight. By that evening, it had dropped by more than twenty. And now, with a pop of apparation, it had risen by one more.

"And what's all this then?" Peter Pettigrew said irritably as he took in the carnage. He was expected at Jim's party early the next morning and was quite put out at the prospect of being up all night cleaning up after a pack of werewolves. "What part of discreet insertion did I fail to make clear?"

Seven of the eight blood-soaked werewolves standing before him growled menacingly in response to Pettigrew's sarcasm, but the eighth was more familiar with the wizard's humor. Not to mention how dangerous he could be if crossed.

"It was a long trip, Pettigrew. My pack was hungry, so we fed. It matters not. I'm a wizard as well as a werewolf, as are two of my pack. I can conceal our ... indiscretions."

"Conceal? Almost two-dozen violently mutilated and partially-eaten Muggle corpses are indiscretions for you to conceal?"

"Houses burn, Pettigrew, whether from gasoline or an Incendio. What Muggle would know the difference? What wizard would care?"

Peter shook his head. "Walk with me, Greyback." And the animagus turned and stalked out into the nearby woods with the pack alpha following behind.

A moment later, Peter finally spoke. "There's been a change of plans."

"A change? Bit late to introduce changes, isn't it?"

"You and I are both agents of change, Bob. You'll adapt."

"Don't call me Bob," the werewolf snapped. "I am Fenrir Greyback."

"You're Bob Greyson, the Muggleborn son of a reputable though now-deceased Muggle bank officer from Leeds. And a Ravenclaw to boot!"

"That was before," Fenrir replied. "Bob Greyson was my human name."

Peter sniffed almost disdainfully at the werewolf's pretensions. "Whatever. Anyway, we're putting the Potter operation on hold. Something else has taken priority."

"What?"

"Rescuing a damsel in distress."

Fenrir stopped suddenly and then Peter turned to face him.

"You're joking," Fenrir said dubiously. "Who?"

"The Toymaker's Daughter. And perhaps the future mother of the Toymaker's Heir. As a female, she cannot inherit the Wilkes lordship, but it will pass to any wizarding offspring she births, along with everything else that the Toymaker hid away for a rainy day. Which is why that wretched old bore Tiberius Nott has wiggled his way into a marriage contract with a witch fifty years his junior."

"Uh-huh. And we're rescuing her from that dastardly fate?"

"Of course. We have plans in place for the Dark Lord's resurrection. I'll be damned if I let Tiberius Nott just show up at the last minute with a fortune in galleons and dark artifacts and weasel himself back into our master's good graces."

"Right. And you want to, what, marry the child yourself?"

"Certainly not!" Pettigrew said as if genuinely offended. "I plan to extract her still beating heart with an enchanted dagger and incorporate it into a potion that, once consumed, will cause the Wilkes biomagical wards to recognize me as the new Lord Wilkes for a period of 48 hours. More than enough time to transfer the contents of the Wilkes vaults to my own."

Fenrir stared at Pettigrew for several seconds before shrugging. "Still better than what Nott has planned, I suppose."

"Indeed. Now here's what we're going to do."

31 July 1993
Potter Manor
The Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday Gala

Peter covered his mouth with his hand to conceal a deep yawn and then shook his head. Next to him, James Potter noticed.

"Late night?" James said with some concern.

Peter nodded. "I had some unexpected work travel on behalf of one of my other clients. Didn't get back to the apartment until after two."

"The night before Jim's birthday?" James exclaimed.

"Like I said ... unexpected."

James smiled and shook his head. "Well, was it at least profitable?"

Peter grinned at his oldest friend. "That's yet to be seen, but I'm quite bullish on my prospects."

James laughed and clapped his closest friend on the shoulder as the two surveyed the Potter grounds together. There was a noticeable increase in the number of aurors present at the gala this year, as well as improvements to the wards and security measures, and James seemed confident that there would be no repeat of last year's carnage. Peter agreed and said he expected the gala to be as boring as it normally was.

Nevertheless, both James and Peter kept a careful eye on the Potter Twins, though for different reasons. For James, it was purely out of parental interest tinged with regret for past mistakes. For Peter, it was with a godfather's pride in Jim combined with a barely concealed disdain for Harry. Disdain and suspicion.

"Ten years in a boot cupboard," Peter thought. "By rights, the little brat should be an emotional cripple if not a borderline psychotic. And yet there he is hobnobbing with Dumbledore and Fudge like he was a born politician. What is your secret, Harry Potter?"

And indeed, the object of the two Marauders' attentions was at that moment speaking conversationally to several prominent politicians with the poise and charm of someone many years his senior.

"Ah, Harry, m'boy," Fudge said. "I want you to meet someone. Allow me to introduce Pius Thicknesse. He's a highly-decorated auror who works with your father. It hasn't been made official yet, but I'll be appointing him to Senior status to fill the hole left by James' promotion in just a few days."

Harry smiled at Thicknesse and made a note to look into his background later. "Congratulations, Auror Thicknesse."

The man gave a polite nod but otherwise revealed nothing of his response to the Minister's announcement. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I look forward to continuing my work alongside your father. He's a fine man."

Harry gave a nod of acknowledgment himself while mentally docking Thicknesse several points for having a positive opinion of James. Then, he turned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Gentlemen, I hope you will excuse me, but if you don't mind, I would like to borrow the Headmaster for a few minutes. Some minor school-related matters."

Fudge and Thicknesse both chuckled jovially and headed back towards the refreshments table, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone.

"And what might I do for you, Harry?"

"I was hoping to talk about Theo No-Name, sir."

"Ah, yes. Most regrettable circumstances that."

"I've been told that the Hogwarts professors are not affected by the Sanction. Is that true?"

"It is indeed, Harry. The faculty are not directly affected, and I have already sent out memos to all of the faculty to be especially vigilant for abuse targeted towards the young man. Alas, those students most likely to be particularly affected by the Sanction are also most likely to be in your house. Your Seventh Year prefects will not be directly affected, but the Sixth and Fifth Year prefects will be to some extent due to their family connections. And even those Slytherins not directly affected will be subject to significant peer pressure, I fear."

Harry nodded. "Any advice?"

"Well, my usual recommendation for any situation is 'do what is right, not what is easy,' but I have noticed that most Slytherins find that an unhelpful suggestion. Though I was a Gryffindor myself, I am well aware of what a social minefield your House has always been and that it is even moreso since the end of the last war. You have made remarkable strides in bending Slytherin House away from its traditional associations with blood purism and support for Voldemort in particular. I can only encourage you to persevere in your endeavors even though I fear I can offer little practical assistance."

The boy absorbed that. It was less than he was hoping for, but then perhaps it had been naive of him to think that Dumbledore could solve a problem as intractable as this. Then again ...

"What about your position as Chief Warlock, sir? Surely there is some way to legislatively undo the Ultimate Sanction."

"Alas, Harry, the wheels of government turn slowly and with imprecision. The Inheritance Act was passed by the Wizengamot with an 80% affirmative vote. Only a 75% affirmative vote is needed to pass laws which can magically affect Wizengamot members and those bound to them by oath or blood, and it would require an equal percentage or greater to repeal any part of that law. Since Lord Nott's faction presently commands at least 30% of the outstanding votes, I cannot see how a three-quarters voting bloc can be obtained. Indeed, as bad as things are for young Theo, they could have been far worse."

"How so?"

"Well, as I said, the Inheritance Act was passed by a margin of 80% to 20%. Had it been unanimous, the law's provisions, including the Ultimate Sanction, would have held force over every wizard or witch in Britain automatically upon selecting a wand."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Has that ever happened?"

"Not since the founding of the Wizengamot itself since, naturally, the passage of the Wizengamot Charter in any form would have required unanimity. The requirement of wand usage rather than other foci as a mark of citizenship has been part of Magical Britain since its foundation. As for the Inheritance Act, it was the product of a time of extreme panic, since the nation had only just narrowly evaded conquest by a hostile foreign power that would likely have initiated a bloody purge against any British wizards or witches judged a threat to the conquering regime. It is, sadly, not uncommon for governments to pass foolish laws in response to crises. Much more recently, we saw similar shortsighted legislation during the last Wizarding War with the passage of the Death Eater Laws. Of course, those laws did not command anything close to a 75% majority, and so they were not backed by force of magic. But they did significantly infringe upon the rights guaranteed to all wizards and witches under the ICW Charter. Had the Death Eater Laws not been designed to sunset automatically thirty days after the confirmed destruction of Voldemort, Magical Britain's ICW status would have been jeopardized with potentially disastrous results for the nation and the world."

Harry looked around to make certain they were not being overheard. "Is that why the government's position has always been that You-Know-Who is really dead even we know better?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore nodded and then spoke just as quietly. "There was enough physical evidence left at Godric's Hollow to confirm that Voldemort's physical form was destroyed. Had the government attempted to keep the Death Eater Laws in place merely upon unconfirmed suspicion that Voldemort lingered as a spirit, the ICW would have almost certainly declared Magical Britain as being in violation of Charter provisions, which would have led to international sanctions or worse at a time when we were desperate to rebuild."

Harry considered that. "A thirty-day window to handle every Death Eater-related legal matter. Suddenly it's less surprising that animals like Nott slipped through the cracks."

"Augusta might be someone to talk to about that," Dumbledore continued. "She took a rather strong interest in the Death Eater Laws after what happened to her son and daughter-in-law at the hands of the Lestranges." He looked around. "Are she and Neville here today? I had wanted to say hello to them both."

"Unfortunately," Harry replied smoothly. "Neville is abroad. Lady Augusta was going to come, but she was feeling a bit under the weather and decided to stay home."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, just a summer cold." And as casually as possible, Harry avoided eye contact with his Headmaster.

Longbottom Manor
6:45 p.m.

Hours later, an exhausted Harry stepped through the Floo into the Longbottom parlor. He dusted off his clothes as much as possible and then handed his jacket off to Dobby for cleaning. Then, the boy made his way through the house to the meeting room on the far side of the manor. Lady Augusta, who did not look the least bit sick, was sitting at the table playing solitaire.

"Any news?" Harry asked.

"No," she replied without looking up. "But it's quite early yet."

Harry glanced over at the clock on the wall. It didn't feel "early" after the day he'd had.

"By the way, Dumbledore sends his regards."

"Mmm," she replied, still without looking up.

The two waited together in silence.

Potter Manor
11:55 p.m.

James Potter had just changed for bed after an exhausting day when one of the Potter house elves came for him saying that there was an urgent Floo call from the Auror's Office. Grumbling, he threw on his robe and jammed his wand into his pocket before heading swiftly to the main fireplace. On the other end was Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as grim as James had ever seen him.

"Shack, what's going on?" he asked.

"Permission to come through the Floo, sir?" the auror replied while ignoring his boss's question.

"Granted," James said. Then, he stepped back in surprise when Shacklebolt came through accompanied by three other aurors. All of them had their wands out.

"What is this?" James asked again and with a hint of anger.

"Chief Auror Potter," Shacklebolt began, his face a mask of professionalism, "I must respectfully ask that you turn over your wand at once for examination."

"You ... what?" James said in shock.

"Sir ... James ... please. Hand over your wand."

James pulled his anger back under control. Kingsley was one of his best aurors and also one of the few he considered a friend rather than a coworker. He pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and handed it over butt first. "There better be a damned good explanation for this, Auror Shacklebolt."

The other man did not respond. Instead, he took the wand and handed it over to another auror who performed the Priori Incantatem Charm on it. Other than a few minor Transfigurations and Scourgify Charms, James had not used his wand all day.

"Well," he asked impatiently.

Shacklebolt ignored him. "We'll need to check the wands of Lily and Jim, just to be certain. And also perform a magical search of the manor house to confirm that there are no other wands on the premises."

"The hell you will!" James roared. "You will not intrude upon my wife, my son, my home, or my person one tiny bit more until somebody tells me what the hell is going on!"

Kingsley took a deep breath. "Approximately six hours ago, Chief Auror, three individuals penetrated the security at Azkaban Prison and staged a successful jailbreak that liberated Sirius Black, all three of the Lestranges, and Augustus Rookwood."

James stared at his subordinate nearly slack-jawed. "That's ... that's impossible," he said weakly.

"Six hours ago, I would have said the same. And yet, it has happened."

"Do we have any idea who's responsible?" James asked in a shaky voice, as he struggled to come to grips with the magnitude of the night's disaster.

Kingsley hesitated and then took a second deep breath. "According to all available evidence, the three intruders were Michael Proudfoot, Cornelius Fudge ... and you."

And for only the second time in his entire life, James Potter was rendered completely speechless.