• The site has now migrated to Xenforo 2. If you see any issues with the forum operation, please post them in the feedback thread.
  • Due to issues with external spam filters, QQ is currently unable to send any mail to Microsoft E-mail addresses. This includes any account at live.com, hotmail.com or msn.com. Signing up to the forum with one of these addresses will result in your verification E-mail never arriving. For best results, please use a different E-mail provider for your QQ address.
  • For prospective new members, a word of warning: don't use common names like Dennis, Simon, or Kenny if you decide to create an account. Spammers have used them all before you and gotten those names flagged in the anti-spam databases. Your account registration will be rejected because of it.
  • Since it has happened MULTIPLE times now, I want to be very clear about this. You do not get to abandon an account and create a new one. You do not get to pass an account to someone else and create a new one. If you do so anyway, you will be banned for creating sockpuppets.
  • Due to the actions of particularly persistent spammers and trolls, we will be banning disposable email addresses from today onward.
  • The rules regarding NSFW links have been updated. See here for details.

Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Your link also gives "usually mythic : having qualities suitable to myth : legendary <the twilight of a mythic professional career — Clayton Riley>" as a definition for 'mythical'.
The important part there is "Usually 'mythic'". Yes, you can substitute 'mythical', but it is an irregular and awkward use of the word.

And names 'fabled, fabulous, legendary' as synonyms.
For two words to be synonyms only requires that their definitions intersect. It does not mean that the two words are interchangeable in all circumstances.
'Hercules was a legendary hero' is correct. 'Hercules was a mythical hero' is correct. 'Micheal Jordan was a legendary basketball player' is correct. 'Micheal Jordan was a mythical basketball player' is incorrect.
 
I think "legendary" works. Anyway,

The sight of the pictures of Potter and his mudblood desperately but futilely trying to escape the encroaching flames helped his mood some.
Again, a very nice touch. Of course the moving pictures would try to escape being burned. That's the sort of setting element that few people would think of on their own, yet make perfect sense once proposed.
"OK".
but we all know how unreliable that newspaper is
Luna took a careful sip, then blinked. "Its good!" She smiled, then downed the whole glass. "Ah… quite refreshing!"
I'd think that it's the carbonation that would stand out the most to her. Other than that, it's just as sweet drink.
could work on furthering his plans with fewer less obstacles in his way
Obstacles can be counted.
they needed to be able to face aurors at some point, after all
Missing comma.
the risk danger of getting exposed was too high big
His new body still felt a bit off to him,. Bbut this appearance would serve him well, once he had defeated his enemies.
Works better as one sentence, I think.
were well-connected well-enough to hold their own in office politics
not as young nor as sober as he used to be had been
Moody had some informers knew some snitches, as did Kingsley
"Snitch" has a very strong negative connotation, but Dumbledore things of these "snitches" as good and helpful, so he wouldn't use that word.
There was one wizard who had the kind of contacts Albus needed, or so he assumed, but the wizard in question had hated him for almost a hundred years. Albus was not looking forward to talking to his brother.
That's one heck of a way to introduce Aberforth.
 
I liked Harry and Hermionie's interactions with Susan and the Luna scene was great, unfortunately while I can't argue that the nightmares and their discussion with Sirius was implausible, or unrealistic and they were well written finally having a story where it would be quite plausible to have Harry and Hermionie take combat if not in stride at least with only a very minor reaction have them have a pretty dramatic and severe reaction was annoying for me.

What is the message Susan might have gotten that Hermionie didn't intend?
 
I think "legendary" works. Anyway,

Changed it to 'legendary'. Thank you for the typos, corrected them.

Again, a very nice touch. Of course the moving pictures would try to escape being burned. That's the sort of setting element that few people would think of on their own, yet make perfect sense once proposed.

Thank you. I do try to emphasize just how magical wizard culture is, and how common Magic is in their lives. Unless they are Purists, of course.

I'd think that it's the carbonation that would stand out the most to her. Other than that, it's just as sweet drink.

I thought Butterbeer was carbonated as well. Never drank it though. But Cola's so sour (worse than vinegear), it's refreshing despite the sweetness.

Works better as one sentence, I think.

I shouldn't be a smooth flow. He is rubbing his head, feeling the hair, and going "Oh, still not used to this". And then, after a half a second or so, he tells himself "But it should be useful." He hasn't yet completely internalized that line of thinking.

"Snitch" has a very strong negative connotation, but Dumbledore things of these "snitches" as good and helpful, so he wouldn't use that word.

This Dumbledore thinks of them as "useful" more than helpful. Mundungus gets a pass for being a friend, and an Order member - brave enough to risk his life for a good cause. Snitches rat out their friends and acquaintances for money, or to get a pass for their own crimes. Actually good wizards and witches would not stay in positions where they can be snitches.

That's one heck of a way to introduce Aberforth.

I hope I can show an original Aberforth in the next chapter. (He doesn't think of 'snitches', or 'informers'. He thinks of them as 'friends', btw.)

I liked Harry and Hermionie's interactions with Susan and the Luna scene was great, unfortunately while I can't argue that the nightmares and their discussion with Sirius was implausible, or unrealistic and they were well written finally having a story where it would be quite plausible to have Harry and Hermionie take combat if not in stride at least with only a very minor reaction have them have a pretty dramatic and severe reaction was annoying for me.

The combat's taken in stride (apart from a flashback to the last task). It's the killing and dying that shook them up some. They are still/barely 15 years old, after all. I was more concerned of not showing a strong enough reaction - a week or two of nightmares, with the occasional flashback later seems no too dramatic.

What is the message Susan might have gotten that Hermionie didn't intend?

Hermione wanted to send "he's mine, back off!". She suspects Susan could have gotten "Ask me before you hit on Harry next time!"
 
This Dumbledore thinks of them as "useful" more than helpful. Mundungus gets a pass for being a friend, and an Order member - brave enough to risk his life for a good cause. Snitches rat out their friends and acquaintances for money, or to get a pass for their own crimes. Actually good wizards and witches would not stay in positions where they can be snitches.
Perhaps I should have phrased my argument better. It's not that Dumbledore particularly likes these people. It's that he likes that they are his "snitches". That means that he would not refer to the activity in question using a word with negative connotations. If you want to have him express personal distaste for these informers, then you could write something like "Moody knew some unsavory types who knew things, as did Kingsley." (This might not be the best possible sentence, but you get the idea: separate Dumbledore's dislike of these people from these people's roles in providing information that is useful to him.)
I shouldn't be a smooth flow. He is rubbing his head, feeling the hair, and going "Oh, still not used to this". And then, after a half a second or so, he tells himself "But it should be useful." He hasn't yet completely internalized that line of thinking.
Maybe put ellipsis there, then?
 
Perhaps I should have phrased my argument better. It's not that Dumbledore particularly likes these people. It's that he likes that they are his "snitches". That means that he would not refer to the activity in question using a word with negative connotations. If you want to have him express personal distaste for these informers, then you could write something like "Moody knew some unsavory types who knew things, as did Kingsley." (This might not be the best possible sentence, but you get the idea: separate Dumbledore's dislike of these people from These people's roles in providing information that is useful to him.)

I think it also, even mainly, depends on how Moody and Kingsley call them. Do cops talk of "snitches" or "informers"? Maybe have Moody talk of "snitches", and Kingsely speak of "informers", to show the differences in their mentalities/Age. Dumbledore doesn't even know those people. (Though the main point was that those people are not terribly useful for getting the information he needs, they are not even useful enough for the DMLE to crack down on Knockturn Alley. Of course, there's a lot of a difference between selling out fellow crooks, or bloodthirsty murderers, but Dumbledore might not be Aware of that difference, or not fully aware. On the other hand, Knockturn Alley has hags and other monsters and a lot of very, very bad things going on, so it's not a place full of poor misunderstood and disadvantaged petty criminals making a life the only way they can.)

Maybe put ellipsis there, then?

That's a possibility, though I usually use those to indicate a more "trails off" Moment, when a trail of thought is dropped while not being finished. "If he only had thought of this back then... but then, he would not be where he was now."
 
I think it also, even mainly, depends on how Moody and Kingsley call them. Do cops talk of "snitches" or "informers"? Maybe have Moody talk of "snitches", and Kingsely speak of "informers", to show the differences in their mentalities/Age.
I don't think cops speak of "snitches", unless they are referring to a fellow cop who informs on them to the Internal Affairs. I don't think "snitches" or "snitching" are ever used neutrally or positively.

That's a possibility, though I usually use those to indicate a more "trails off" Moment, when a trail of thought is dropped while not being finished. "If he only had thought of this back then... but then, he would not be where he was now."
How about a semicolon, then?
 
I don't think cops speak of "snitches", unless they are referring to a fellow cop who informs on them to the Internal Affairs. I don't think "snitches" or "snitching" are ever used neutrally or positively.

I don't see Moody talking about his informers positively or even neutrally. Although after some consideration I think I'll use "informer", since I realized that "snitch" is unlikely to be used in the muggle sense in Quidditch-mad Wizarding Britain.

How about a semicolon, then?

Reworded it: "The Dark Lord ran his hand over his head, through his thick hair. His new body still felt a bit off to him. He told himself that this would pass soon enough, he grew more comfortable with each day, while his new appearance would serve him well, once he had defeated his enemies. Some of the decisions he had made in the last war had left him looking rather… impressive and intimidating, but not as attractive as he had been. And no one would recognize him - not until he revealed himself."
 
I don't think cops speak of "snitches", unless they are referring to a fellow cop who informs on them to the Internal Affairs. I don't think "snitches" or "snitching" are ever used neutrally or positively.


How about a semicolon, then?
Cops tend to use the abbreviation CI (for "Confidential Informant").
 
Changed it to 'legendary'. Thank you for the typos, corrected them.
Regrettably, that doesn't really help. 'Legendary' has two relevant definitions: 'existing only in legend' ('the legendary King Arthur', and 'of great fame and stature; worthy of legend' ('the legendary Wayne Gretzky'). Since, again, Fawkes clearly exists, it suggests that he is personally famous. Which is an amusing idea - there are a number of fics which make Hedwig into a famous character of some sort, but I've never seen one for Fawkes - but probably not what you were going for.
Again, what you have is not strictly wrong, but I do not think it conveys what you want it to convey. I also think it contradicts your core themes here: to the Wizarding world, phoenixes and centaurs and unicorns are not 'legendary' or 'mythical'; they may be special and magical and rare, but they are as real and normal as cats and dogs.
Suggested alternatives:
  • Mythic
  • Fabled
  • Storied
  • Renowned
  • Illustrious
  • Wonderous


I don't think cops speak of "snitches", unless they are referring to a fellow cop who informs on them to the Internal Affairs.
Some do. You're right that the word choice does reveal the speaker's perspective, but a person's perspective isn't necessarily the same as their allegiance or actions. So some cops would use the term 'snitch' for informants - though not to their face - and those would be the cops who disapprove of snitching. They might well still use and encourage snitches, because it's necessary to get the job done, but it is a clue that, in their own private thoughts, they consider these people the worse for having betrayed their own side even if it was the wrong one, rather than better for having helped the Good Guys.
So, it comes down to what Dumbledore thinks privately of them. Does he consider them better than their criminal confederate for having chosen to help the Light at least somewhat, or worse for having added the moral crime of personal betrayal to their list of misdeeds?
 
Regrettably, that doesn't really help. 'Legendary' has two relevant definitions: 'existing only in legend' ('the legendary King Arthur', and 'of great fame and stature; worthy of legend' ('the legendary Wayne Gretzky'). Since, again, Fawkes clearly exists, it suggests that he is personally famous. Which is an amusing idea - there are a number of fics which make Hedwig into a famous character of some sort, but I've never seen one for Fawkes - but probably not what you were going for.
Again, what you have is not strictly wrong, but I do not think it conveys what you want it to convey. I also think it contradicts your core themes here: to the Wizarding world, phoenixes and centaurs and unicorns are not 'legendary' or 'mythical'; they may be special and magical and rare, but they are as real and normal as cats and dogs.
Suggested alternatives:
  • Mythic
  • Fabled
  • Storied
  • Renowned
  • Illustrious
  • Wonderous

What I want to convey is that a Phoenix is not some run of the mill "magical bird", but something even the wizards do not fully understand. A creature that is truly immortal, eternally reborn, with motivatiosn we cannot fully fathom. I do think legendary conveys this well.
 
What I want to convey is that a Phoenix is not some run of the mill "magical bird", but something even the wizards do not fully understand. A creature that is truly immortal, eternally reborn, with motivatiosn we cannot fully fathom. I do think legendary conveys this well.
'Wondrous' is the one you want, then.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Ack
Chapter 16: Past and Present Problems
Chapter 16: Past and Present Problems

The 'Hog's Head Inn' in Hogsmeade didn't look like much from the outside. Just another small, dark, wooden building with a shingled roof. A floating animated illusion of a hog's head served as the sign, addressing each customer approaching the door with a friendly grunt. Supposedly, it roared at children coming too close, but Albus Dumbledore had never seen it do that. Then again, the head had never grunted friendly for him, either. Not since his brother had taken over the inn, after the war with Grindelwald.

Albus entered the inn, and the buzzing noise of the guests talking ceased at once while everyone present looked at him, then cast privacy spells. Once again he asked himself if that happened to everyone, or just to him. The inn was as well-maintained as ever, Aberforth's spells had been perfected long ago, and the expansion charm more than doubled the available space for tables, and even a small stage. And yet it had a worn, old feeling. Albus wasn't sure if it was the guests, or something Aberforth did with his spells. He didn't dwell on it as he walked to the bar, passing half a dozen tables on the way.

As usual the inn had drawn a decent and very varied crowd. Albus recognized many of the guests as a former students of Hogwarts, and each of them made him feel as if he had failed them, somehow. He couldn't help but think that all the boisterous, almost defiant carousing he had observed just hid the melancholy, or even desperation of wizards and witches who had stumbled in life, fallen, and never gotten up again, never realized their potential. Like his brother.

Mathilda Miller, a talented student with a penchant for charms, was wearing robes far more suitable for a 6th year than a witch who should have children of her own at Hogwarts by now. Her Patron had been killed in the last war, and there had been rumors of problems with his heir, but if she had come to him for help, instead of this…

Mathilda was sitting in the lap of Bertram Kettlestock, ten years her senior. Bertram had been a prodigy at Defense against the Dark Arts, and had gone on to become a fine auror, but he had never recovered from losing his family in the war. Albus didn't know what he was doing to earn a living now, but his name had come up with quite the number of shady incidents. Never arrested, but whether that meant he was still law-abiding, or too good to be caught, or had friends in the right places, Albus did not know.

Felix Flitterdorn, impeccably dressed in the latest robes, raised his glass in a sort of greeting to Albus. His parents had been members of the resistance against Grindelwald, and Albus had seen to their move to Britain personally. Their son had been a delight to teach, but when his relationship with some French witch had fallen apart, so had he. According to rumor he was living with two muggleborn mistresses half his age, and wasting the family fortune on fire whiskey, Bavarian moonshine beer, and gambling.

He currently seemed to be losing gold to Lucrecia Browtuckle, who smirked at Albus while dropping Fire Cards in a skilled pattern, barely waiting for the cards to display their values before grabbing the pot. Contrary to many witches, she did not bother to hide her scars, but wore duelist robes with cut-outs that drew attention to them. She had been a fresh auror during the war against Grindelwald, eager and skilled, but had never managed to adjust to peace afterwards. When Voldemort had raised his wand openly against Britain's Ministry, she had returned as an experienced mercenary, to defend her home country, but the means she had employed to do so… Albus wondered if she was back in Britain to spend the gold she had earned abroad, or if she was looking for work. And if she was, which side she'd sign on with this time.

"Hello, Sir, and welcome to the Hog's Head Inn. What can I serve you?" As usual Aberforth greeted him as friendly and politely as he'd greet any stranger - to emphasize, no doubt, that he did not consider Albus family anymore.

Albus did not wince at the reception, having expected and experienced it before. "A butterbeer, and a private talk with you, please."

"I'm working the bar. Why don't you talk with some of your friends?" Aberforth sounded as politely distant as before, though Albus heard the edge in his voice, and the mocking - the Headmaster had no friends in this inn, and both knew it.

"It is important." Albus ignored the stares of the other guests in the bar, probably expecting or hoping there would be a repeat of that evening in 1960, the last time Albus had pushed his brother. The Headmaster had paid for the repairs, but a year later, the exact amount of money had been returned to him by a rented owl, without a word.

Aberforth stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Cornelia, take over for me." he bellowed towards a corner table, where a witch half his age and wearing low-cut robes that had been in fashion two years ago had already left her seat. Again, the room had fallen silent, most were openly staring as the two old wizards took over the freshly vacated corner table. Some kept staring even after Albus and Aberforth both had cast privacy spells, maybe vainly hoping that they'd not have guarded against lip reading as well.

Aberforth summoned a butterbeer for Albus, and a fire whiskey for himself. Neither of them touched their drinks, though.

"Things must be worse than one would think, for you to ask me for help."

"Yes. I expect Wizarding Britain to be at war in the near future." Albus didn't like to spell it out, but his brother wouldn't be moved by mere crimes. Not anymore.

Aberforth scoffed. "War? Grindelwald is safely locked away, and probably crippled by now from your wards." When Albus flinched at the reminder of his greatest mistake, and shame, his brother smiled viciously. He had never forgiven him for Gellert or Ariana. "And the Boy-Who-Lived vaporised Voldemort. So who would wage war? On Britain, that is, since you do not care much about the rest of the world."

Albus ignored that barb and took a sip from his butterbeer, waiting. His brother was not getting any younger either, but if his mind was still sharp, and not dulled from the amount of liquor that must be drunk each evening in this inn, by Aberforth and patrons alike…

His brother stiffened, then narrowed his eyes. "One of them is back then. It is not Grindelwald. They would have noticed his escape, and he would have to build up forces again, on the continent, from nothing. That means Voldemort has returned. He has still followers left, scum some idiot foolishly left alive to prosper after their leader was killed. So he would have an easier time to prepare for war."

Albus nodded - at the reasoning, not at the accusations. His brother's mind had not suffered from his chosen lifestyle. In hindsight, he was correct. The Ministry should have prosecuted all of the Death Eaters, but at the time, after so much blood had been spilled, Albus had been too tired to make sure a purge would not degenerate into a general settling of accounts and feuds, so he had not intervened when the Ministry had shown a rather lenient hand - and one open to receive bribes. A mistake he had come to regret dearly since.

"Is that it? No speech about the the virtue of forgiving, and the dangers of revenge?" Aberforth's tone had some mocking, but also some hurt in it. He too had lost a lot of friends in the last war.

"No. In hindsight, it is rather clear that I was wrong." Albus was not quite sure the kind of revenge his brother had wanted would not have left their society a hollow shell, tainted with with blood and hatred, but to start a debate now would only antagonize Aberforth, and he needed his help. And he quite liked the look of surprise on his brother's face upon hearing his admission of a mistake.

"Things must be even worse than I thought, for you to admit you were wrong, and to me to boot." Aberforth did recover quickly, of course - he had had decades to hone his anger at Albus.

"Indeed. Tom is craftier than I expected. More careful too. His defeat at the hands of a toddler must have cured him of some of his arrogance, at least."

"And what are you expecting me to do?" Aberforth asked.

Albus was sure his brother already knew what the Headmaster wanted, but wanted him to say it. A petty, but expected gesture. One he would oblige easily, given what was at stake. "He will be recruiting among the seedier elements of Wizarding Britain. Neither the Ministry, if they were not ignorant, nor myself have sufficient contacts in those circles."

Aberforth snarled, the bitterness in his voice so thick, Albus could almost taste it: "But I, the black sheep of your family, have them? I am, after all, mingling with criminals and whores, instead of making something of my life. So, I should use the result of my failures for the Greater Good?"

The barb about the foolish plans Albus and Gellert had had, in their youth, hurt Albus as much now as it had when he and his brother had parted ways at Nuremberg. He would have liked to deny it, but Aberforth was not entirely wrong. "He already tried to kill children, multiple times. Tried, and succeeded, even."

"Those are my friends, Albus. My family. You want me to send them into harm's way, to risk their lives for the pampered brats at your school and their parents, who sneer at them whenever they dare to show their face in public!" Aberforth was getting louder, angrier.

"Are they your followers, to be ordered around by you as if pieces on a chessboard, or your friends, to decide for themselves what risk they will take?" Albus's question made his brother hiss for a second.

"Don't talk to me about pieces on a chessboard! Will they be discarded, their deeds and dead forgotten, like before? Or sacrificed when it would be politically inconvenient to save them?" Aberforth's fist struck the table hard enough to make the bottle and glass on it tremble.

"Starting a war over one person is not merely 'politically inconvenient'. Or would you want your country, your friends, to risk their lives in a war to save you?" Albus grit his teeth. His brother still could not see that sometimes, the price to do what was right was so high, it was not the right thing to do anymore.

"She was my responsibility, and you abandoned her! And then she died, just like Ariana!"

Albus did not remember standing up, nor seeing Aberforth stand up, but he found himself facing his brother, wands so close their tips were almost touching each other. For a long moment, neither moved nor said a word, then Aberforth sat down again, followed by Albus himself.

His brother downed his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table as smoke and fire poured out his mouth and ears. Albus took another sip of his beer. He wondered what their spells would have showed to the rest of the inn - some animated discussion, or merely two old men staring at each other? It was hard to tell, when two parties cast privacy spells on the same spot.

A minute passed in silence as tempers cooled.

"If my friends help in your war I want your word they will not be betrayed. Protected, like your pet thief. Rewarded in the end." Aberforth had never liked Mundungus. Not since he had found out what the thief had done in his youth, before returning to Britain. And his brother had never forgiven Albus for protecting the wizard from his wrath.

"You have my word that I shall do what I can for them. Provided they do not abuse that. There are things I will not cover up."

"If you can afford to protect your thief without losing sleep over it, then supporting my friends will not weigh on your conscience at all. They do not dabble in the kind of things men should be executed for." He summoned a bottle and refilled his glass. "Manipulative old goat."

Albus nodded. He had what he had come for. And at the expected cost. He wouldn't have to mention that the secret about Tom's return would have to be kept from Aberforth's friends - for all his bluster and obvious care about his 'family', his brother too understood the needs for secrecy. Albus could not resist to answer that last barb though. "It wasn't my experiment." His brother had never forgiven him for covering up that particular mishap either. He had not been able to do anything right in the eyes of Aberforth, not since Ariana's death. Even helping his brother just had aggravated him further.

Aberforth downed the glass again, then stood up, grinning. "We'll need to make a show of it, of course, to make everyone believe you came here to make amends, and failed again, spectacularly. Purely to keep up appearances, of course."

Albus sighed. He saw the need, but it would cost him quite a bit since his brother would not let him repair anything personally, instead insisting on hiring professionals. Something Aberforth was counting on, and enjoying. On the other hand, taking his brother down a peg would feel somewhat cathartic too. He raised his wand, ready to dispel the privacy spells. "Of course."

They took it outside, and still managed to do enough damage to the inn for Albus's vault to feel it.

*****​

No matter how the world changed, the Hogwarts Express didn't seem to change at all. From the color of the engine to the number and composition of the carriages, it looked exactly the same as it had when Harry had first laid eyes on it, four years ago. Contrary to last year, his whole family was arriving at the same time - Harry and Hermione were escorted by Sirius and Remus. Nymphadora had wanted to come as well, but her mother had put her foot down and threatened to use a sticking charm if the metamorphmagus tried to 'return to duty' before she had been given a clean bill of health.

Harry and Hermione boarded the train, nodding at and greeting the students who had arrived early enough to secure a compartment comfortably close to the exits. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys were expected to arrive at the last minute, as usual, with Luna and Neville sometime in between. The Patils… Harry actually didn't know when they would be arriving, usually, or if Padma would join them in their compartment. He doubted Hermione knew either, and asking if Ron and Padma were still a couple sounded a bit… inappropriate anyway.

Hermione picked a free compartment, and checked it out before Harry entered, acting as a proper retainer was expected to. As soon as the door closed though she sighed. "Did you see them? They already know. Gossip truly travels faster than light, even outside Hogwarts."

"It was to be expected. At least Luna's father didn't write an article about us."

"Yet." Hermione stored their trunks overhead with a quick spell and released Crookshanks from his carrier. The orange menace promptly tried to shred Harry's robe or maul his leg, but not even a half-kneazle's claws were a match for Hermione's protection charms. His love, of course, thought the cat was just trying to be friendly and fed it a treat as a reward.

"Yes, yet." Harry pulled his leg back and glared at Crookshanks. "Anyway, its not as if I want to hide our relationship." He looked at Hermione. She was wearing her school robes, tailored and customized of course, with her own spells, but he imagined her in quite another garment. A camisole, and some lacy… His thoughts were interrupted when his friend plopped herself down in his lap. "Ooof."

Hermione patted his cheek. "You didn't complain yesterday. Or any day." The pats became caresses, and her other hand started to move behind his head, sinking into his hair.

His own arms held her, and he dipped her just a bit, before their lips touched. His first kiss would always be something special, but they had improved on those first attempts, with lots of practise over the summer. When they broke up, both teenagers were flushed, and breathing heavily. For a moment Harry was tempted to go further. The door was sealed, no one would disturb them… he shook the thoughts off. "So, you think you'll be able to show us a movie at Hogwarts?"

Hermione smiled widely. "Oh, yes. Preliminary testing showed the calculators worked at Grimmauld Place, but I have not been able to see if the deteriorate with prolonged use. But either way, I should be able to have a VCR and a TV last at least long enough for a decent movie night."

"Should I order a replacement from Sirius already?"

"Prat!" Hermione pouted. "I'll have to create one for Nymphadora anyway, as soon as it is proven to work. I promised."

Harry nodded. "It'll save your parents' house."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. The worst thing is that after hearing about Bulgaria, my parents now feel guilty about throwing her out of the house that one evening. If I don't get this thing working, I'll find my room taken over and filled with all the compact discs and video tapes Sirus can buy for his cousin once we return for Chirstmas."

"Don't forget the comics and books." Harry added, helpfully.

"Hmph. Those she can use at her home, at least. I still say she's been milking this for far more than it's worth."

"She almost died for us."

"I know. And I am grateful. But she's obviously feeling much better now, and someone had a van's worth of records and tapes delivered to my parents while a cousin of us was visiting. They blamed it on me. Now my whole family - well, that side of it - thinks that I've broken under pressure and have become a punk girl, hoarding trash movies and music, and that my parents are enabling me!"

"That's Sirius's fault. He went and bought 'one of everything you have' in that store."

"And you let him!"

Harry grinned ruefully. It had been amusing, and he had used the opportunity to grab a few nice records for himself. "You're just jealous you didn't think of using the opportunity to expand your library when you were buying books for Nymphadora."

Hermione blinked. "That's a great idea! We can take one of the unused rooms, and turn it into a muggle library! A few expansion charms, and we can have a decent collection there!"

"And you complain about being mistaken for a manic collector!"

Hermione glared at him. "Books are not the same thing! A woman's worth can be measured by the size of her library!"

"I am pretty sure you just made that up."

"That doesn't mean it's not true!" Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, giggling, talking took a backseat to further training in kissing and more, until the spell on their door signalled that someone wanted to enter.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson should have been happy to return to Hogwarts. This year's summer vacation hadn't been as much fun as the ones before. Her father had been curt, even annoyed most of the time. Fortunately, her mother had taken up the slack and not only arranged a three weeks long visit to the summer house at the coast, but also bought her the latest robes for school. Granger would eat her dinky robes with those pitiful self-cast comfort spells overlaid on all the protection charms she needed just to survive at school once the mudblood realized what comfort and options her new robe offered. With a grin, she had her robe change looks again, switching from a school robe - with a Slytherin crest, of course, and her shiny new prefect badge - to a much racier, much more revealing robe in a shimmering, semi-opaque dark green. That would be perfect to show off in the Slytherin common room, where one was not required to wear school robes.

She would be happy, if not for Draco Malfoy. If she had thought her vacation had been a bit less than perfect, Draco's must have been… something else. He seemed to be wanting to bitch and boast about it at the same time, and yet never did either, interrupting himself after a few words, or trailing off. And the smile she saw, sometimes, when he was looking at nothing in particular… she didn't like to admit it, but it scared her. Maybe she should ditch the boy sooner than planned?

"Do you know where Potter's compartment is? I'd like to see how having to be saved by true purebloods affected that stain on our school's honor. And congratulate Potter for having at least the sense to shag his mudblood so she learns what awaits her in 6th year and won't embarrass him." Draco stated, with both arrogance and condescension.

"I do not. But we have the meeting of the prefects to attend to in a few minutes, so I don't think you should visit his compartment right now." Besides, they'd soon meet Potter at the prefect meeting in the train. It wasn't as if there was an alternative to Potter for his year's Gryffindor prefect position.

"That is true. And I have a duty as a prefect too. Someone has to uphold the standards of our school, after all. Uphold and improve."

"Of course, Draco. Who else would know better about standards than yourself?" Pansy cooed, then let him offer her his arm for the walk to the prefect's compartment. Then she saw that evil smile on his face again, and shivered. She was almost hoping Draco would provoke an incident in the meeting, and end up in the infirmary as a result.

*****​

No true muggleborn was at the sorting this year either. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of that - it was not yet statistically significant, but she felt a bit more alone, despite her friends surrounding her and Harry. The sacrifice of wine to the gods - Janus, Hecate and Apollo - made her forget about that though, since it left her, as it did every year, breathless and with her skin tingling and her hair almost floating. Once again she wondered why she and a few others, including Harry, seemed to be more affected than most of the students. And once again she shied away from thinking about, much less researching the matter. She told herself she had more important things to worry about - Voldemort, her runic experiments, and her relationship to Harry. But on some level she didn't want to know.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was easy for her to be distracted from such thoughts anyway, since her and Harry were the talk of the school. While the two had spent most of the train trip but for Harry's patrol as prefect in their compartment, with just their close friends, there was no privacy to be had in the Great Hall, not without advanced spells, which she had not yet learned. It felt as if everyone was staring at them, staff included. And whispering about them. Speculating or gossiping, no doubt. Or spreading nasty rumors about them, Hermione added mentally, when she saw Parkinson look at her. She met the Slytherin's eyes, smirking, and received a sneer in return. Malfoy, seated next to the other witch and glaring at Harry, must be rubbing off on Parkinson. If looks could kill, then Harry would have died from Draco's, or Snape's, alone. The Potion master seemed to be in a really bad mood, even for him.

Ginny, Neville and even Ron were doing their part to avoid mentioning what everyone else was talking about by talking about unrelated topics. Mostly Quidditch, of course. Even Neville seemed to prefer to talk about that bloody game rather than about the upcoming lessons and their O.W.L.s.

When the meal ended Hermione followed Harry, who was gathering the new first years from their House. She felt slightly nostalgic - had she looked as awed as those children, four years ago? She'd like to think so, but she had probably been lecturing her year mates about 'Hogwarts: A History' instead of staring in wonder at the marvels of a magical school.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Parvati sounded both curious - she was an incurable gossip - and annoyed. 'You're not a prefect, I am!' remained unsaid, but was clearly implied by the way she rubbed her shiny new badge.

"As custom dictates, I am simply standing ready to serve my Patron, should he require my assistance in carrying out his duties." Hermione answered, smiling politely. Of course the duties a patron would have help from their retainer with usually were those of a more important position than those of a prefect at Hogwarts.

To her credit, Parvati did not challenge Hermione's statement, but her pout made it clear that she didn't like it. Hermione almost shook her head - had the other witch really expected that she could use the patrols and other duties shared with Harry to somehow win his heart?

Harry had gathered all of the first years in the meantime, and was leading them towards the Gryffindor tower, explaining the route on the way, and answering question after question. He was good with children, Hermione realized, and smiled wistfully for a moment while she and Parvati brought up the rear of the small group.

"Will you join us on patrols too?" Parvati kept her voice neutral, but Hermione imagined she had to make an effort.

"I expect so, yes."

"Why? You are not a prefect, you don't have to do that."

Hermione glanced over at her yearmate. "With the events of last year, and this summer, I feel it would be best to remain cautious. Three wands are better than two wands, should someone attempt to ambush a patrol."

"Oh." That set Parvati thinking. "But they caught the assassin!"

"He could have hired someone to attack at Hogwarts before he died, like he hired those bandits to attack in Bulgaria." Hermione didn't sound too condescending, or so she hoped. To her surprise, Parvati shut up after that. But only until they were back in the girls' dorms - there she and all the other girls from Hermione's year wanted to know all about her relationship with Harry. Hermione was quite proud of her self-control when she did restrain herself from hexing the lot of them.

*****​

"Should we cast a shield?" Ron sounded worried.

"If it doesn't work it'll sizzle and burn, it won't explode. Calculators are not bombs." Harry tried to assure his friend. Not even calculators that had been taken apart, had runes engraved on every surface, inlaid in silver, and then cobbled together again, would explode like a bomb. He hoped so at least.

"And what about Hermione?"

"She won't explode either. I think." Hermione had been a bit stressed lately, Harry knew. It wasn't just the rumors about what she might have done to "snare" Harry. Or what they were doing now. Or Snape making them brew contraception potions 'since some students seem intent on abusing their power over others'. Granted, it had been Hermione who had held Harry back from doing something he'd not regret at all in response to that insinuation, but the witch had been incensed as well. Fortunately, the Headmaster had sorted that out and set the Potion master straight. The man had not taken that well though, and was now all but abusing his students with constant acidic remarks and point deductions at the slightest mistakes. Even the Slytherins, which had shocked them.

"It's not that time of the month then?"

Harry didn't deign that with an answer. "Shh. She's finishing her preparations now."

All three were in the room they had taken over during the Triwizard Tournament. So far, no one had reclaimed it, so there was no reason not to continue using it. It wasn't as if space was at a premium in Hogwarts, anyway, with expansion charms available.

Hermione sent them a glare, then took a deep breath, reached out, and pressed a button on the calculator. Harry could see her flinch, even though nothing happened. She tapped a few buttons, and a smile blossomed on her face. "It works!" She turned to them, beaming. "It works! The calculator works!" She jumped into Harry's arms with a jubilant yell.

"You did it!" Harry smiled and turned around with her in his arms, then set her down and looked at the calculator. Right then they heard a crackling sound and saw a small cloud of smoke rise from the calculator.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Ron asked, looking at them.

Harry had to struggle to keep his girlfriend from hexing their best friend, who maintained that he had done nothing wrong.

Hermione calmed down, and then took the ruined calculator apart again, to find out what had gone wrong, this time, muttering arithmantic equations and tidbits of runework Harry recognized.

"Probably a question of power. The wards at Hogwarts are far stronger than at Grimmauld Place." He was no slouch at Arithmancy or Runes either, if not as much of a prodigy as Hermione.

"I accounted for the power differences." Hermione sounded exasperated. "I'll have to double the scheme, and maybe try to tie it into the wards to power the array."

"You'd need the Headmaster's permission for that. Only he can affect the wards." Harry pointed out. Then he saw his girlfriend's eyes widen.

"That's it! I am trying to counter-ward the calculator without permission! The wards would be fighting that!" Hermione hugged him, hard, then kissed him. "I know what to do now!"

And with that, Harry's best friend was happily lost to the world, and to him, scribbling furiously in her notebook and muttering about involving the Headmaster. It was a sight that warmed his heart, after all they had gone through.

Ron summoned a can of cola for Harry and a butterbeer for himself. "I still don't get why she was not sorted into Ravenclaw. She's far worse than Padma when she gets like that."

Harry opened the can, took a sip, and then answered. "That's because she's even braver than she is smart." He was rewarded with a beaming smile from his love, not as lost in her work as he had thought then, before Hermione focused on her work again.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick was bored before he and his partner, Bertha Limmington, even had reached the door of their suspect. "Why are we doing this? It's just graft, which everyone at the Ministry does once they are in a position to do so. We should be investigating the latest assaults in Knockturn Alley." Or anything else that actually mattered.

"We've got a warrant for questioning, and we'll serve it." His partner, as always, was a stick in the mud.

"It won't stick anyway. Those kind of charges never do. Too many friends in high places." Last he heard, Berty Pickwick was close enough to Albus Dumbledore to call a favor in. Pointless to bother the man.

"Orders are orders."

With another sigh, Kenneth tapped his wand against the door of Pickwick's house. He didn't order him to open, it was just a warrant for questioning.

The door opened, revealing an old wizard with pinch-nez glasses that had gone out of style decades ago.

"Mister Pickwick?"

"Yes?"

"I am auror Fenbrick, this is auror Limmington. We're here to ask you a few questions about a recent discrepancy in your department's budget." Judging by how much the eyes of the man widened, he was as surprised of the reason for their presence as Kenneth had been when he had gotten the warrant to serve. The wizard probably had misjudged the amount of graft that would be tolerated. Or he had made the wrong kind of enemy in the office.

And of course, Kenneth thought, ten minutes later, he was claiming to be innocent. They always did.

*****​

In Viktor Krum's opinion, Nymphadora Black-Tonks had fully recovered from the wounds she had taken in defense of his home. She certainly was as energetic, or even more so, as she had been upon arriving in Bulgaria. Quite enthusiastic too. If not for his extensive training as a soon to be professional Quidditch Player, he was sure his arm would be hurting by now, from the way she was using it to pull him this way and that each time she spotted something else she wanted to show him in muggle London.

So far they had visited 'the tube', a sort of train buried beneath the earth, probably with the help of goblins, and a tailor shop with rather bland, if not drab clothes in it. He thought they were some kind of uniforms, since there were dozens of copies of each articles, but Nymphadora had assured him that everyone could wear them, provided they had the right figure. Which he apparently did, even though both shirt and pants felt a tad tight. He did look good in them though, and he fit in with the British muggles. And that was important, since they would be visiting a muggle restaurant, a muggle cinema - whatever that was - and a muggle club, and Viktor was not keen on drawing attention, not when he could finally walk the streets without getting swarmed by fans. Not that they did not draw attention anyway, since Nymphadora was wearing equally tight, but also ripped clothes, which had to be quite daring for muggle fashion.

"Come on! There's the restaurant!" The witch was again pulling him off the sidewalk, straight towards a muggle restaurant. It did look inviting, with cheerful, bright colors, and a big yellow 'M' sign. And while there were no animated menus showing the food it offered, the muggles made do with big pictures of the sandwiches. Contrary to his expectations, they did not have to wait for their food either, but got it right after ordering. Almost like in a wizard pub. Viktor didn't see any dishes or cutlery though - was he supposed to eat with his hands? A few glances confirmed that yes, he was supposed to. That must be a British Muggle thing. And the pictures didn't quite match the food either - Viktor was sure his 'burger' was not supposed to look that squished together.

"You're the first wizard I am on a date with who has not yet asked me to demonstrate my talents."

Viktor looked up from his half-eaten 'Big Mac'. Nymphadora was staring at him, sucking on the straw stuck in her "milkshake". The sight briefly distracted him. "You are the second witch I met who has not asked me about Quidditch yet."

The young auror smiled, and Viktor nodded, before taking another, careful bite from his 'burger'. It was exotic, no doubt. Not inedible, though it had to be an acquired taste.

"The first was Hermione, right?"

Viktor nodded again.

"She doesn't like Quidditch."

"But you do."

"Yes, I do. Like every normal witch."

Viktor nodded again while finishing his meal. Both of them understood what they were saying. In that, at least. "What is this 'movie' you want to show me?"

Nymphadora started to explain what a cinema did, straying into other areas of muggle culture ever so often, and even mentioned that Hermione was trying to make a cinema for wizards. Viktor listened, but his attention was more on the witch than her words. He liked what he saw. He had known she was brave, and skilled. Anyone seeing her fight would have known that. But she was more. Passionate as well as mischievous. Vulnerable, or at least sensitive about her special talent, even he had noticed that. Certainly neither meek nor boring. And not impressed by his fame. In short, interesting. He hoped she found him interesting too. At least both of them had one thing in common - they knew what it meant to be reduced to one thing in the eyes of the rest of the world, no matter what other achievements they had earned.

*****​

"Is this seat taken?"

"Susan?" Hermione looked up from the 'Treatise of Wards, Vol. 2' she had been studying while Harry was training with the rest of the Quidditch Team. The stands at the pitch were not the best place to read, but a few spells made it comfortable enough. And her presence should both support Harry, and keep him from doing something spectacularly stupid during training. She wasn't the only one in the stands either, a number of Gryffindors were present and actually watching the game. She was surprised Susan showed up though - usually, members of the other houses didn't show up during trainings, or they might be suspected of spying for their team. The Hufflepuffs had a reputation of valuing fair play, unlike the Slytherins, but some of the fans of the stupid game were quite fanatical. "Of course not, please have a seat."

Susan sat down next to her, her robe's spells automatically smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. A basic spell, and one one got far too quickly used to, as Hermione's muggle dresses could attest to. The muggleborn witch also noted how the robe clung to the redhead's body and outlined her curves, and made notes to adjust her own spells accordingly. She had to keep up, after all. From the grin on Susan's face, the other witch had noticed, so Hermione grinned back. There was no shame in copying professional spells as a student.

Susan watched Harry do a few loops and rolls, chasing a practise snitch. "He's quite the sight on his broom."

"That he is." Hermione agreed. She would have agreed more enthusiastically if Harry had not been doing the rolls and loops far too close to the empty stands on the other side of the pitch. But she'd not criticize Harry in front of others, especially not Susan. Even if she wanted to.

"Mh." Susan had the bright and slightly vacant smile of a Quidditch fan as she watched. Or, Hermione realized with a chilling feeling, the kind of smile a girl lusting after the Boy-Who-Lived would wear. She must have misunderstood the message Hermione had been sending when the redhead had visited Grimmauld Place. So much for thinking Susan was a safe date for Harry!

Susan's hand on her knee interrupted her thoughts. The Hufflepuff prefect was beaming at her. "Don't worry, Hermione, I understand."

Hermione realized her thoughts and fears must have shown on her face. But if Susan understood… she felt a pang of pity for the other girl. To be in love with Harry, but holding herself back from acting on it, that was not a good place to be in. She knew that from experience.

The muggleborn witch nodded, still thinking of something appropriately understanding to say, when Susan squeezed her knee. "You make a beautiful couple. Both of you are very attractive. It would be a shame to neglect either of you for the other in sixth year."

With that the Hufflepuff stood up and left the pitch while Hermione realized that the other witch definitely had misunderstood her message.

"Hermione?" She hadn't noticed Harry flying over on his broom, summoning a bottle of water from her bag. "You look distracted."

She turned to him right when he was opening the bottle and starting to drink and blurted out: "I've just gotten a proposal for a threesome."

It was a testament to Harry's skill as a flyer that he was never in danger of falling off his broom during the minute he spent coughing up all the water he had accidentally gotten down his windpipe upon hearing that.

*****​

Felix Flitterdorn thought the "pub" he was currently gambling in could only be improved with a bombarda or two, or some fiendfyre. He wasn't exactly a paragon of moral fortitude, but as low as his standards were, he still had some, contrary to most of the people around him. Monsters in human form, the lot of them. If Melissa and Mary were aware of where he was "gone for a drink", they'd hex him for sure, even if he could explain to them why he was wasting gold in such a place.

But Aberforth had asked him to keep an eye and ear out for a possible rabble-rouser recruiting wands in Knockturn Alley, and he owed the old wizard too much not to help - without him, neither of his two loves would be still alive, he was certain of that. And he wouldn't have met them either. Felix didn't know what kind of plot he was supposed to uncover, but he knew it was important. Otherwise, Aberforth would not be helping his brother, the mighty Albus Dumbledore.

Oh, their performance might have fooled outsiders, but anyone who knew both of them well - such as Felix - had seen through the act right away. Some of his friends might balk at helping Albus Dumbledore, but Felix was not among them. His family owed the Headmaster too. And while Felix was many things - a scoundrel, a rake, a gambler and a drinker - he was not one to shirk from paying back his debts, in gold or deed.

He laid down his latest hand and while everyone was waiting for the cards to settle on their values he looked around, acting as if he was checking out the girls and boys available. He was looking for wands for hire. He didn't recognize any from the time he had been active in the Mediterranean, but then, that had been 30 years ago, and not many wizards or witches grew old if they stayed in that kind of business. He did recognize the type of low-lives someone looking to rouse rabble would hire: overconfident, stupid, and not good enough to become an auror, hit-wizard or professional duelist. Just like him, before he had met Joelle.

Even after 25 years, he felt the pain of her loss, still saw her getting hit with that curse, off the Croatian coast. Neither Melissa nor Mary ever asked about her, not even when he woke up shouting her name. Fortunately, his hand turned out to be so awful, his pained expression was not out of place.

By the time he had lost two more hands and had won a third, he had spotted a familiar wizard in the pub, mingling with the hopeful wands for hire. Walden Macnair, the executioner of the Ministry. He could be looking for some help with a particularly nasty beast, of course - he was sometimes hired to deal with creatures outside of the Ministry's jurisdiction, and not many of the experienced creature hunters were fond of the man. Felix would mention it to Aberforth anyway.

The wizard seated across from him chuckled at seeing his next hand and grabbed the gold he had just won before waving at a witch who looked young enough to be still at Hogwarts. She either wasn't, or she was an immigrant - the Headmaster was quite protective of his students - but either way, Felix once again felt a few curses would greatly improve the ambience. He'd have to settle for emptying the wizard's purse though, if he did not want to sabotage his task.

With a nasty grin of his own, Felix started to play seriously.

*****​

"What did you say?" Remus's question was loud enough to qualify as a shout, in Sirius's opinion.

Sirius Black frowned. His best - and only - friend was far too loud. Especially after a night of heavy drinking. "I said that a few of Fleur's cousins are coming for a visit: Chantal, Eugénie, Laure and whatshername, Valérie."

"Merlin's Balls! What did you do in France?" Remus shook his head in what Sirius thought was a jealous daze.

"Well, as you know, I am quite limber, and I've got an exceptional…"

"That was a rhetorical question, Sirius." Remus growled, rudely cutting him off. Yes, definitely jealous.

"Ah, OK. Anyway, I wanted to tell you and Harry and Hermione, so you're not surprised when you visit."

"It's quite surprising that you're thinking ahead. I'd have expected you to inform us right when we interrupt an orgy."

"Well, it would have been amusing if you stumbled on that, but with the on-going troubles, I'd rather not have a guest hexed by mistake." Hospitality was to be taken seriously, after all. It would have been a good prank though, Sirius thought, to have the kids arrive in the middle of something. Harry and his girl were still far too uptight, far too serious, and not Sirius enough.
All Remus's bad influence, of course. Well, someone had to be responsible for it, and it wasn't Sirius, nor Kreacher, and not Nymphadora either. And not the Grangers. Everyone knew muggles were prudes, so they were prudes, but as teenagers, neither Harry nor Hermione would be listening to them. So it had to be Remus. Who should know as well that life was far too short to waste time when one could be shagging instead. James and Lily had died far too young, and they had taken too long to get together as well.

"Isn't Krum still a guest as well?" Remus asked. Everyone else called him "Viktor", but Remus kept calling him "Krum", and in a tone similar to how he spoke of Snape. Sirius hadn't asked why Remus didn't like the Quidditch Player, probably something about the Bulgarian's attitudes towards werewolves, which were about as appreciated or tolerated as visits from the Ottoman Empire.

"Yes. I told him he can stay as long as he likes, and he likes it in London, probably will be staying until his new team's season starts." Sirius liked Viktor. He was too serious too, but he could drink, could fly, and made his cousin smile.

"A Quidditch star, and four veelas."

"Sounds scandalous, yes? But I am sure Nymphadora can handle them, should they make moves on her wizard." And it would be funny too. Judging by how Remus frowned, he didn't think it would be amusing. "Anyway, I am off to inform Harry. And Hermione."

A big black dog ran from Remus's quarters towards the Gryffindor dorms. It was easier to travel like this, Padfoot knew, since the memories it brought would be happier, simpler, than if Sirius had walked. Exploring the Forbidden Forest, running away from Filch, tackling a werewolf, chasing a rat…

The sight of his godson, and his wide-eyed surprise at being tackled and licked by Padfoot, drove the darker thoughts away.

*****​

Ron Weasley sighed and rubbed his temples. The last occlumency lesson Remus - Professor Lupin at Hogwarts - had given them had left him with a headache. He hadn't wanted to bother Matron Pomfrey for a remedy, it was an hour until curfew already, and he didn't trust the small white muggle drugs Hermione had offered - who knew what they would do to him, he had read the warnings about drugs in the magazines Hermione had brought with her - so he had to suffer some. He knew it'd pass soon enough anyway.

"Are you OK?" Padma, seated next to him on the bench in the Great Hall, looked at him, concerned. He had thought she was focusing on her book and was pleased she had noticed.

"Just a bit of a headache. Too much studying." He grinned. It was true, in a way, even though she'd assume he was joking.

Padma snorted at his comment, as expected, and returned her attention to her book. She kept leaning on him though. Ron liked those moments. Close contact, comfortable silence, and no need to talk about anything. It wasn't that he disliked talking, but he didn't like talking all the time. One ended up saying the wrong thing, sooner or later, that way.

Unlike her sister, Padma was content reading a book while being with him. Not always, of course, but often enough for Ron to enjoy the opportunity to let his thoughts wander. Did Harry feel the same when Hermione was lost in one of her books? Probably. He loved the muggleborn witch - not like that though - but she could talk as much as Parvati and Lavender together, if she wanted to. And she was stubborn too.

Like today, before the occlumency lesson. Hermione had told him and Harry that the French veela used magical tattoos to track each other in case they were kidnapped. She had thought that would be a good idea for them and their friends too. Merlin! She had not even noticed how close that was to the dark marks on the arms of the Death Eaters, or to the slave marks the Ottomans used, until he had pointed it out. Even then she had argued it would be different - meaning, 'improved' - until Harry had put his foot down. And Ron was quite certain Hermione had not given up, but was doing more research. He shuddered - he was quite sure mum would flay him if he got a tattoo. They had gotten remarkably unpopular in Britain after the last war. Not even Bill the rebel had dared to get one in Egypt.

He looked at Padma, who was twisting a long strand of her black hair around a finger while she was reading. It was adorable, but sometimes he asked himself if he was lo... liking Padma because she was similar to Hermione in many aspects.

He didn't know the answer. But he hadn't known if Padma was just with him because it would irk her sister either, and now, after months at Hogwarts and after the separation during their summer vacation, he was pretty sure she liked him. And even so - he was young, he'd enjoy that he was with the pretty witch and would not let worry about such things poison what he had with her.

*****​

Lord Voldemort was studying the wizards Macnair had pointed out to him. His Death Eater was looking for wands for hire in Knockturn Alley, thugs willing to cast and kill for gold, no questions asked. Useful curse fodder, but some of them might have potential for more. Might become faithful followers. But they had to be tested.

A number of them were being hired to deal with competition for businesses in Knockturn Alley. Competition by mudbloods and their Patrons, who had invested in their shops. The ruffians would think they were hired by someone working for those businesses, and he'd build a reputation as a broker. Or rather, Finnegan Greenbrand, the wizard whose form he was wearing thanks to Polyjuice would gain that reputation. The wizard was in the cellar of his safe house, under the effect of Draught of Living Death, and would provide all the hairs Voldemort would ever need to impersonate him. Barty Crouch Jr., his most loyal and best follower had been very apt at hiding his tracks, and Voldemort was following his example. Not only would no one connect those ruffians to his actual face, but anyone, Macnair or even Lucius, could use Polyjuice and appear as Greenbrand as needed. And if the thugs messed up and aurors got involved… well, Greenbrand would serve as a scapegoat, and no one would connect him to Voldemort. And those who distinguished themselves he would recruit into his cadre.

It would take a lot to make him bring Lucius in on this though, the wizard's touch for politics was too useful to be wasted on recruiting curse fodder. The way he had cultivated Umbridge showed that. That witch, stuck in a dead-end job in the Ministry, despite her infatuation with Fudge - or maybe because of it - was a distinctively unpleasant individual even if she had the right attitude towards mudbloods. But her detailed knowledge of the inner workings of the bureaucracy, and of prominent employes, had already proven to be very useful. Knowing how to manipulate paperwork and records was a weapon more powerful than curses, if used correctly. Dumbledore would have to either save his friends and allies from scandal and even prison, and lose influence with others by doing it, or cut them loose and save his reputation, but lose the loyalty of others who would have reasons to fear sharing such a fate.

Lucius's work in undermining Dumbledore's influence at the Ministry was so promising, Voldemort was almost willing to forgive him his cowardice after his defeat. Almost, but not quite. Everyone who had offended him would be paying for it, one way or the other.

The Dark Lord glanced at the Daily Prophet. Another article about Lockhart. Apparently the author was about to receive the compensation for the basilisk corpse the Ministry had confiscated years ago. Voldemort sneered. Discovering the basilisk had been the most important moment of his time at Hogwarts. It had been the key to his immortality, the proof of his heritage and destiny. The oldest link to his ancestor. And the fools were rewarding its murderer? Its murderers, actually - Potter and his blood traitor friend would be receiving their share of the blood money as well. It was an insult to his family that could not be allowed to stand.

He rubbed his chin, calming down. Maybe he had a better target to test promising recruits than a few mudblood store owners. Lockhart had made enemies, as anyone who stood out from the rabble was fated to do. On the other hand, Lockhart, who had killed his basilisk, should be killed in a way that everyone realized why he had died.

His revenge could wait, he decided. He had more important tasks to focus on. His most loyal followers, especially his dear Bellatrix, were still languishing in Azkaban, tortured by the dementors. He couldn't do anything about that though, not yet, other than giving them hope of deliverance through the marks that bound them to him. And there remained that prophecy, which had spelled doom for him once already. It would be moot, of course, once Potter was dead.

He told himself again that he couldn't have the boy killed right then, or it would upset his plans. But the same was true for an attempt to learn the full prophecy - if it was discovered, it might alert his old foe about his return.

He pushed thoughts of revenge away. He had other plans to make.


Chapter 17: Movie Night at Hogwarts
 
Last edited:
More developments, whee.
 
I could add "He told himself again that he couldn't have the boy killed right then, or it would upset his plans. But the same was true for an attempt to learn the full prophecy - if it was discovered, it might alert his old foe about his return."
That's... not quite what I mean? I'm sorry, its is a fuzzy concept, and I'm not entirely sure how to state it. But scenes in general, and especially one at the end of a chapter, need to end on something dynamic - an action, or a resolution, or at least an ominous trail-off. Ending with enclosed musings like that makes the thing feel unfinished - like it just drifted off, rather than coming to a definite end. So something like:
[...] It would be moot, should Potter die, of course.

He signed, and waved for another drink, frowning at the stack of candidates yet to review. He had a long day ahead of him.
Or:
[...] It would be moot, should Potter die, of course.

Well. That could be arranged.
Or:
[...] It would be moot, should Potter die, of course.

He told himself again that he couldn't have the boy killed right then, or it would upset his plans. Still, he thought to himself, fingering one of MacNair's dossiers, there were... other avenues against the boy...
Or even just:
[...] It would be moot, of course.

Once Potter was dead.
 
The plot thickens...

Supposedly, it roared at children coming too close, but Albus Dumbledore had never seen it do that. Then, again, the head had never grunted friendly for him, either. Not since his brother had taken over the Inn over, after the war with Grindelwald.

usual the inn had drawn a decent crowd of various wizards and witches
Unnecessary. At least delete "various".

moonshine beer, and gambling.

Hello, Sir, and welcome to the Hog's

As usual, Aberforth greeted him as friendly amicably and politely as he'd greet any stranger - to emphasize, no doubt, that he did not consider Albus family anymore.
"friendly" is an adjective, and you need an adverb.

Also, it's an opportunity for a nice turn of phrase, I think. Something like "As usual, Aberforth greeted him as amicably and politely as he'd greet any stranger - to emphasize, no doubt, that he considered Albus one."

Generally, contractions in the narrative (as opposed to speech or writing) aren't a good idea.


fashion two years ago, had already left her seat.

Again, the room had fallen silent,

Neither of them touched their drinks, though.

"Things must be worse than I thought, for you to ask me for help."

"Yes. I expect war to break out in the near future."
Too wordy. Perhaps "Yes. Another war is coming."

Albus was not quite sure the kind of revenge

He will be recruiting among the more seedier elements of Wizarding Britain

Neither the Ministry, if they knew, nor myself have sufficient contacts in those circles.

Draco stated, with both arrogance and condescension.
Unnecessary. We can infer his tone and attitude from his words. Alternatively, use a visual cue (e.g., "with a sneer").

so I don't think you should not visit his compartment right now."


patron would have help from their retainer with

So far, no one had reclaimed it

was to be taken seriously, after all.

And not the Grangers.

He shuddered - he was quite sure mum would flay him if he got a tattoo.
Hermione: So, if, purely hypothetically, of course, someone --- certainly not me --- would want to put tracking and communication tattoos on their minions, she should make them as inconspicuous as possible?

 
The plot thickens...

It should. Aberforth is meant to play a larger role, and show more of the "not so posh" part of Wizarding Britain.

Thanks for the typos, corrcted most of them - but for some mentioned here:

I thought "then again" was a fixed expression, without a comma between the words. At least according to my dictionary.

Also reworded the line as "As usual the inn had drawn a decent crowd. Wizards and witches with wildly varying clothes and backgrounds occupied the tables." so it would fit in with the next sentence referring to "them", and to emphasize that this inn caters to a very diverse crowd, which yet share some similar traits.

Also, it's an opportunity for a nice turn of phrase, I think. Something like "As usual, Aberforth greeted him as amicably and politely as he'd greet any stranger - to emphasize, no doubt, that he considered Albus one."

I want to emphasize that Albus is not considered family anymore. He is not, however, a stranger - they both know each other far too well for that.

"Things must be worse than I thought, for you to ask me for help."

Aberforth wants to say it's worse than people think, implying he doesn't share that opinion. Later he adds "it's even worse than I thought."

"Neither the Ministry, if they knew, nor myself have sufficient contacts in those circles."

I changed that to "Neither the Ministry, if they were not ignorant, nor myself have sufficient contacts in those circles."

"Ignorant" has some subtle negative context that "if they knew" lacks; Albus has not a too high opinion of the Ministry as a whole.

Too wordy. Perhaps "Yes. Another war is coming."

Albus is supposed to be the wordier of the two.

Unnecessary. We can infer his tone and attitude from his words. Alternatively, use a visual cue (e.g., "with a sneer").

I wanted to show that even Pansy considers this arrogant and condescensing - for some purebloods, especially Slytherins, Draco's words would simply be stating the obvious. Maybe "arrogance and condescension dripping from his lips"?

Hermione: So, if, purely hypothetically, of course, someone --- certainly not me --- would want to put tracking and communication tattoos on their minions, she should make them as inconspicuous as possible?

She will likely focus on items for that now, after understanding just how such tattoos would be seen as.
 
Hmm. Given that the only other work of yours that I've read was the Marriage War Revolution (I think that was the title), which I didn't enjoy very much, I didn't come in with high hopes, but upon reading the first two chapters, I'm pleasantly surprised by their quality. Your writing blathers, but you've gotten rid of a lot of the SDT that your prior work had, and the characters act in a manner that seems reasonable for their situations. The only major complaint I have is: Holy exposition, Batman! Aside from that, from what I can see in the first two chapters, this is an okay AU. Nice work.

What's SDT?

With regards to the exposition, I wanted to start in 4th year, instead of time-skipping through the earlier years and wasting entire chapters instead of flashbacks on showing what got the characters where they are.
 
Last edited:
Also reworded the line as "As usual the inn had drawn a decent crowd. Wizards and witches with wildly varying clothes and backgrounds occupied the tables." so it would fit in with the next sentence referring to "them", and to emphasize that this inn caters to a very diverse crowd, which yet share some similar traits.
Well, you go through some individual wizards and their backgrounds. That should convey that well enough.

Aberforth wants to say it's worse than people think, implying he doesn't share that opinion. Later he adds "it's even worse than I thought."
In that case, perhaps "worse than most would think"? "One" is too abstract and general.

I changed that to "Neither the Ministry, if they were not ignorant, nor myself have sufficient contacts in those circles."
"Ignorant" has some subtle negative context that "if they knew" lacks; Albus has not a too high opinion of the Ministry as a whole.
Y'know, if you didn't know that Voldemort was back, the "lone gunman" theory is by far the most plausible one. And, it was Dumbledore who chose to not inform the Ministry (albeit with good reason).

Albus is supposed to be the wordier of the two.
Perhaps, but I recall the sentence being generally awkward as well. I suggest taking another look and possibly rewording.

I wanted to show that even Pansy considers this arrogant and condescensing - for some purebloods, especially Slytherins, Draco's words would simply be stating the obvious. Maybe "arrogance and condescension dripping from his lips"?
Maybe. The important thing is to make sure that it's clear that it's Pansy's impression, and not the writer editorializing.

She will likely focus on items for that now, after understanding just how such tattoos would be seen as.
I know. Just another Dark Lady Granger joke.
 
Well, you go through some individual wizards and their backgrounds. That should convey that well enough.

I am not sure. Those were just a few examples he passed. The entire room is supposed to be full of different people.

In that case, perhaps "worse than most would think"? "One" is too abstract and general.

But I was looking for a general expression. An equivalent for the German "Man würde denken".

Y'know, if you didn't know that Voldemort was back, the "lone gunman" theory is by far the most plausible one. And, it was Dumbledore who chose to not inform the Ministry (albeit with good reason).

Indeed. But I do think that, no matter if it's about Voldemort or not, that Dumbledore thinks of the Ministry as at least somewhat ignorant. Justified or not - this Dumbledore suffers from a more or less large dose of "Knowing better". He is looking down on the Ministry at least a bit.

Perhaps, but I recall the sentence being generally awkward as well. I suggest taking another look and possibly rewording.

Maybe "I expect that Wizarding Britain will be fighting a war in the near future."? I am really not sure how to word it differently. It needs to be a bit pompous, and yet very precise. Carefully worded - Aberforth is a tad touchy, after his experiences with Albus, about incorrect information, and Dumbledore would rather err on the side of caution. "War is coming" for example is out - Dumbledore expects it, but it's not 100% sure that it'll happen.

Maybe. The important thing is to make sure that it's clear that it's Pansy's impression, and not the writer editorializing.

Every scene I write, in every story (so far) is written from the POV of one specific character. If people will see editorializing, there's nothing I can do about it.

I know. Just another Dark Lady Granger joke.

Ah.


Ah.
 
Y'know, if you didn't know that Voldemort was back, the "lone gunman" theory is by far the most plausible one. And, it was Dumbledore who chose to not inform the Ministry (albeit with good reason).
I think you've got the cause and effect switched: he doesn't think they're incompetent because they don't know about Voldemort, he decided not to warn them about Voldemort because he already believed they were incompetent.
 
I think you've got the cause and effect switched: he doesn't think they're incompetent because they don't know about Voldemort, he decided not to warn them about Voldemort because he already believed they were incompetent.

Not incompetent... but not as competent as they could or should be.
 
I am not sure. Those were just a few examples he passed. The entire room is supposed to be full of different people.

How about "As usual the inn had drawn a decent crowd, many of them quite indecent."? :p

More seriously, how about "As usual, the inn had drawn a decent --- and varied --- crowd.", and just get rid of the sentence that follows?

But I was looking for a general expression. An equivalent for the German "Man würde denken".
The question is, who is this "one" who is less well informed than Aberforth? An average British wizard? An average Hog's Head patron? An average Ministry employee?

Maybe "I expect that Wizarding Britain will be fighting a war in the near future."?
That implies that the whole WB will be fighting against an external threat, but the threat is internal. I think "at war" instead of "fighting a war" would work better.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top