A/N: I hope everyone remains safe and well. Super long and jam-packed chapter for you this time. Enjoy 'The Auror and the Daily Prophet Reporter'!

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW, if you can!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Auror and the Daily Prophet Reporter

They settled into the dark, rather creepy house more smoothly than Remus had expected. To be sure, the place lacked all Shell Cottage's cosiness and beautiful views, but one could not argue that the house was uncomfortable. 'Comfort' merely lay hidden under many layers of dust, creatures and memory – and could not be approached without caution and hushed voices.

Albus and Sirius performed the Fidelius charm before the headmaster returned to the school Wednesday afternoon. Though both recognised the security in its casting, Remus could sense Sirius' revulsion as he grasped Albus' hand for the spell. He felt no small measure of it himself – with the shadows of their dead friends so fresh upon his shoulders.

Neither spoke a word in protest.

Albus departed, and the two of them spent most of the evening's remainder tackling their respective chambers. They uncovered a boggart in Remus' wardrobe, and another haunting the chest of drawers in Sirius' room. The bathrooms took until well after midnight – and even then, they only managed to clear one bathtub before Sirius announced he would rather stink up the place than pull out one more herbology text for reference.

They tackled the kitchen on Thursday morning, which by tacit agreement they preferred over the lavish dining room on the ground level. Surprisingly, dust seemed to be the only real enemy the kitchen had to offer. After luncheon, they decided to have another go at Mrs Black's portrait.

Or, rather, Sirius decided. Remus felt it prudent to supervise the attempt.

'FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR!' she wailed for the umpteenth time, as Sirius pulled vainly at the frame (having chucked his wand to the floor some ten minutes ago). 'DESPICABLE STAIN UPON THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS!'

'Haven't you got anything new?' Sirius growled between gritted teeth.

'You'll throw your back out if you keep it up,' said Remus, leant against the bannister and rubbing his forehead. 'Just shut the damn curtains, won't you? And let's make some tea. I'm likely to be sick if I have to hear it much longer.'

'If I… give up… I let… her… win,' Sirius panted, still trying in vain to create some crevice between frame and wall.

'WHERE'S THE ELF? HE'LL THROW YOU OUT – JUST YOU WAIT, NASTY INGRATE THAT YOU ARE! KREACHER! KREEEEEACHER!'

Sirius laughed manically. 'Dead, same as you! You miserable old –'

CRACK!

Remus spun, and Sirius' fingers slipped off the frame. He overbalanced and crashed to the floor in an undignified heap, nearly landing upon his discarded wand.

'YOU!' Sirius spat, staring in horror at the apparition before them.

Mrs Black started to shriek her grievances again. Remus swiped his own wand at her curtains. They pulled mercifully shut. He threw himself to hold them so, anticipating Sirius' renewed shouting.

A house-elf had appeared in the middle of the fraying carpet. The most wizened, old, miserable-looking elf that Remus had ever seen. His skin hung papery and loose, quivering at his jowls and off wasted arms ending in hands that were almost claws. His bare chest was mottled and thin, and a filthy rag had been tied round his middle like a loin cloth, on which Remus could just barely discern the Black family crest. His was nearly bald, though copious white hair sprouted from his oversized ears. And when he raised his bowed head just a fraction to observe the wizards, watery grey eyes glared malevolently above a bulbous nose.

'What is the nasty young one meaning, Kreacher wonders,' the elf muttered. 'Come back to the house? He stole away in the middle of the night like a common goblin…'

'You're still alive?' Sirius said dumbly, unrisen from the ground.

The elf did not seem to hear him. 'The shame! Good riddance says Kreacher, my poor Mistress. He never respected the family honour…'

'My family never had honour to respect, Kreacher,' Sirius snarled. He hauled himself to his feet, snatching his wand from the floor. 'What are you doing here?'

Kreacher stopped his muttering, and stared hatefully at Sirius. 'Kreacher lives to serve the noble and most ancient house of Black.'

Remus swallowed nervously. 'He must have been in the house all this time, Sirius. He's still bound to it. I wonder how we missed him out until now…'

The wizard laughed. 'My mother's been dead nearly ten years. Where's he been since then, eh? Not cleaning – that's obvious.'

The elf blinked. 'The young brat has not lost his temper,' he mumbled. 'Though not so young now, is he? Tall like his father, with none of the family grace. Oh, my dear mistress… how he gave you such offence…'

'SHUT UP!' Sirius roared.

Remus hastened to tighten his grip on the curtains, which tugged against his hold to open once more.

The elf fell silent as if struck dumb. His lips continued to move – more quickly in their muteness – and his eyes flashed in frustration and fear.

Sirius recoiled. 'Shite. Oh fuck, Moony…'

'Well, what did you expect?' said Remus with a wry smile. 'You are the last of the direct bloodline, Padfoot. The last in your family.'

'I don't want him!' Sirius said, turning his back on the little elf in disgust. 'He's just as bad as the rest of them – plotting and spewing his vile thoughts all over the place…'

He began to shuck his outer robe. And Remus chanced abandoning the curtains to grasp him by the hand.

'No!' he hissed. 'Sirius – you can't.'

Sirius shook against his hold. 'The hell I can't. He's an evil little –'

'He knows, you idiot,' said Remus, pulling the robes straight again with a rough yank. 'We can't let him leave the house now. He'll run straight off to the Ministry, or the Malfoys – Narcissa has Black blood, doesn't she? He's seen you; he's probably seen us all. We can't risk it.'

'What am I supposed to do then, just live with him?'

'Yes,' said Remus firmly. 'For the time being. At least until we can speak to Albus.'

Sirius gnashed his teeth furiously. 'I hate this house,' he grumbled. But he nodded, and Remus stepped back again.

'Kreacher,' he barked. 'You are never to repeat anything you hear within this house – no matter who it is you may hear speak – to anyone other than me. You are never to speak to anyone else of who comes and goes here, or what it is they are doing. You are never to harm any person under this roof. You are never to leave this house without my order.'

He glanced at Remus, who nodded.

'Is that understood?'

Kreacher gave a stiff, almost mechanical bow – as though some invisible hand were bending his back against his will.

'Verbally!' Sirius snapped.

Sound returned to the elf's lips. 'Kreacher understands… master,' he croaked, chewing the final word as though it were sour in his mouth.

Sirius nodded. 'Then go – find some room that needs cleaning and get started to it. Merlin knows there are enough to choose from.'

The elf vanished with another loud crack. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. 'I thought he'd died. Suppose I couldn't have been so lucky… lurking about like the sneaking little shit he's always been…'

'He can't help it,' said Remus fairly. 'He parrots the beliefs of the family, Sirius. He's never known anything but –'

'You don't know him,' said Sirius. 'He's a foul little thing with his head up my mother's skirts and always has been. No wonder her nasty face is the only thing that's been cleaned in this house…'

'Well, maybe he'll be able to help us clean the place up a bit,' Remus suggested with false brightness. 'It'd be good to have an extra set of –'

Sirius laughed darkly. 'Oh, he'll find some way to get back at me – you watch. I'll bet he hates having me here almost as much as the sight of him makes my skin crawl. He'll be furious I dared to inherit. You know once when I was about seven, he went and told my parents I'd been playing with a boy down the road? My father nearly broke his hand beating the Muggle-lover out of me that evening…' He kneaded one fist inside a palm. 'Perhaps I should just fulfil his wish now, and add his head to the collection.'

He gestured vaguely to the staircase, where several generations of stuffed house-elf heads hung on plaques along the wall.

Remus shuddered. 'You don't mean that,' he said quietly.

Sirius sighed and leant back against the peeling wallpaper. Some relative in a ruff two paintings along scratched his nose as he watched them.

'No,' said Sirius softly. 'I don't.'

They stood for a moment in silence. Then Sirius pushed off the wall and strode for the back stairs. 'Come on – I'm done tidying for the day. There's got to be a bottle of whisky somewhere in this place…'

They didn't make it to the second bathtub until Friday morning. Around mid-afternoon, just as they were wearily contemplating taking on one of the ground floor sitting rooms, a fist rapped three times upon the front door.

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances.

'Albus isn't supposed to bring Harry until tomorrow…' Remus muttered. 'Who –'

The knocking came again.

Sirius shrugged. 'Can't be anyone he hasn't let in on things,' he reasoned.

And he pulled the door ajar.

'Well, I see you've been keeping your usual state of disarray,' a gruff voice criticised.

Sirius laughed and stepped back, and Mad-Eye Moody clunked through the doorframe, a young witch Remus vaguely recognised at his heels.

Moody paused just inside as Sirius shut the door, looking him up and down. ''Might try a clean set of robes, boy. Though I'll admit you don't look half so rough as I was expecting.'

'Good to see you too, Mad-Eye,' said Sirius, grasping his hand briefly. 'I suppose Albus clued you up?'

Moody rolled his natural eye. 'See your deductive instincts survived the dementors too.'

Remus stepped forward. 'Alastor,' he greeted with a smile. 'And… I don't think we've met your companion?'

The young witch smiled, brushing a lock of bright pink hair from her heart-shaped face. She stepped forward with her hand extended, and promptly tripped over the edge of the worn carpet. Remus just managed to catch her by the shoulders before she could take her teeth out.

She laughed without a hint of a blush. 'Wotcher! Sorry there – I'm always catching things in these boots.' She lifted a four inch, very spiky heel from the floor.

'Nymphadora Tonks – Remus Lupin. And mass-murderer Sirius Black, of course.' Moody nodded to Lupin, who had released Nymphadora's shoulders. 'You'll find she could trip over her own feet. But she aims a hex faster than anyone I've ever taught.'

'Oi!' Sirius protested with feigned affront.

'Twice as fast as you,' Moody confirmed with a grunt. 'Now – point me to the main fireplace. Got the sixth years in an hour.'

'Er…'

Moody banged his walking stick on the floor. 'The floo, boy!' he said, cuffing Sirius lightly upside the ear. 'Albus wants the main fires connected to his office – all off book, of course.'

'Right,' said Sirius, shaking his head. 'There's a couple – the kitchen first, I suppose.'

He led the way down towards the back staircase, shooting a confused look over his shoulder. The heart-faced witch had begun poking her head into the various rooms off the side of the entrance hall, so Remus lagged behind.

'So…' he began awkwardly. 'I take it you're an Auror, then?'

'What's that?' she said, turning from one of the portraits. 'Oh – yeah. Joined up with the trainees just after Hogwarts. One of the last to go through Mad-Eye. What is it you do?'

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. 'Ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,' he said with a small smile.

She grinned at him, pulling open the door to the dusty dining room. 'Fairly large club, that.'

He laughed. 'I suppose.'

'And since?' she pressed.

He shrugged, gesturing about the grand house. 'This, mainly. Working with Sirius; with Albus.'

'Gearing up to fight You-Know-Who,' she finished with an appraising look. 'Well… I can think of worse ways to spend the day.'

She strolled into the dining room, looking about in mild interest. Remus leant against the back of one of the carved chairs and cocked his head at her.

'I recognised you,' he said softly, watching her inspect the clouded cupboards along the side wall.

She grinned over her shoulder. 'Yeah – I recognised you too. Hard to forget the werewolf brought up in front of half the Ministry. On charges that, I reckon now, were fairly accurate.'

'Fairly,' Remus agreed with a smile. 'But not what I meant. You were there that night – in the cave. And afterward. I saw you on the beach.'

She raised an eyebrow and nearly knocked a silver platter off its pedestal. Remus flicked his wand to steady it. 'Dumbledore told me about the cave…' she said, frowning. 'It was one of the first things I asked, when he filled me in this morning on who would be at headquarters; what you all were doing. But the beach…'

Remus twirled his wand with a sheepish smile. 'You lot nearly had me,' he admitted. 'I only just made it past the wards to the property where we were staying when a taskforce alighted. Kingsley was rather quick on the uptake – being the only one who could see me at the time.'

She winked at him. 'Kingsley's quick at everything.'

Remus cleared his throat. 'Well, I think I hear them on the stairs.'

He led the way back out of the room, where indeed Sirius and Mad-Eye were just emerging into the entrance hall.

'Which other?' Moody grunted. 'Sitting room?'

Sirius grimaced. 'We haven't really cleared that out yet. But sure. And the one on the first floor, I suppose. The bedrooms we can probably leave off for now.'

Remus trailed them into the ground floor sitting room, pointing his wand to open the doxy-infested curtains. Nymphadora muttered as several of the creatures flitted about angrily. He cast a hasty shield charm. Moody plopped to the floor at the fireside, murmuring an incantation at the darkened base. Remnant logs and ash lit up in an eerie blue.

Remus' eyes tracked the young Auror, who had meandered over to a far wall draped in an enormous tapestry. Sirius wandered up to join her, and Remus shadowed.

'You're here, I reckon, or would be,' Sirius told her, pointing to a singed hole three-quarters of the way down the tapestry just left of centre.

She raised her eyebrows. 'You know?'

Sirius laughed. 'Andromeda was my favourite cousin. Mother blasted her off too, naturally. Can't have a Muggle-born marriage marring the precious family tree.'

He pointed to another singed hole just above Nymphadora's name.

She fingered it with a smile. 'I've heard the story a thousand times. My parents', I mean. Not yours.'

'I expect whatever you've heard of mine has summed them up quite fairly,' said Sirius. 'But if you'd like to cross-check, my mother's portrait hangs in the hall and I'm sure would be happy to oblige.'

'So you're cousins?' asked Remus, studying the intricate tree.

'First cousins once removed,' Nymphadora clarified. 'Mum married outside the pure-bloods, you see. My father, Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born.'

'And a Hufflepuff,' added Sirius, scratching at the stubble that had begun to shadow his chin. 'Unless my memory fails me.'

She beamed. 'He and me both.'

'But… the two of you never met?' Remus asked, looking between their faces.

Sirius shrugged. 'How could we have done? Nobody from my family spoke to Andromeda again after she married Tonks that I know of – not even her own parents. And Nymphadora couldn't have been even Hogwarts age when I got hauled off to Azkaban…'

She grimaced. 'Just Tonks, please. I can't stand that name… And no. I was eight when the war ended.'

'If you lot have finished having a chin-wag,' said Moody, climbing awkwardly up from his crouch, 'Someone ought to show me that last room.'

They trudged up the stairs together, and Moody used his newly created Floo to make his escape back to Hogwarts. Tonks, as it turned out, was planning to stay the night.

'Why?' Sirius asked her, agape. 'The place is a dump.'

'Hmm… true,' Tonks agreed, tossing herself bravely onto one of the sofas. A soft cloud of dust erupted at her disturbance. 'But Dumbledore wants us to get to know one another. And as I've begged off sick from work, it's not as though I've got much else to do tonight.'

Tonks was not much help when it came to cleaning charms. But she was a dab hand at defensive magic – which, Remus supposed, was not much of a surprise for an Auror who Mad-Eye had trained – and she effectively managed the banishment of another boggart they discovered lurking in a cupboard at the corner of the sitting room, while Remus dealt with a set of books that seemed to exude a somnolent haze whenever anyone came too near their shelves. The doxy infestation in this room proved too numerous for charms alone, and after a quick tea they scrounged about for a cauldron – which Tonks unearthed at last in a hidden room off the pantry.

'Pewter or gold?' she asked, holding both options aloft.

Sirius thumbed each, frowning. 'Pewter, I think,' he decided at last, pulling the larger from her.

She watched him inquisitively as he set up a station in one of the side parlours off the third floor that had been curiously empty. Remus wondered whether it hadn't been a proper laboratory at one point in time.

'I could just nip out and buy Doxycide, you know,' she offered again, as Sirius prodded the flames beneath his makeshift station.

He shrugged. 'Might as well avoid any prying eyes. And besides, it's been a while since I've had the chance to brew, and Albus set us up with a whole host of ingredients. Doxycide isn't a difficult potion. Little chance I could blow us all up.'

She shrugged, perching her high heeled boots up on the end of a table Remus had pushed in from the neighbouring room. Sirius looked up and nodded at her. 'You can dice the dragon liver, if you want to be useful.'

'I'll do that,' Remus offered at once, taking up the knife.

Sirius frowned. 'No offence, Moony, but Potions was never your strong suit…'

He grinned. 'I think I can handle some chopping. I'll leave the more nuanced preparations to the two of you.'

'You sure you can handle it?' Tonks asked Sirius teasingly, taking up the titration of essence of hemlock instead. 'Thirteen years is a long time to gather rust.'

Sirius scoffed. 'In my sleep.'

'It's always amused me that you performed well in potions, when you're so atrocious at cooking,' Remus observed, pulling a slimy portion of green-tinged liver from a jar.

Sirius looked up with almost Snape-like scorn from the cauldron. He pointed his stirrer at Remus. 'That is exactly why you've always been hopeless with them,' he remonstrated. 'Potions is not cooking.'

Tonks snorted over the hemlock.

Some hours later, they left the first-floor study at last, curtains dripping wet but free of doxies. Sirius twirled the bottle in his left hand like a baton, smirking.

'Alright then – I think I'll have a shower. And then dinner, Moony?'

Remus rolled his eyes. 'Fine, fine. Have you a thought where Tonks can stay tonight?'

'Hmm… good point. I'll ready one of the other rooms while the two of you get dinner on. I suppose for now you can use one of our bathrooms,' he suggested, looking at her.

'Mine,' Remus offered at once. 'He takes an age in the shower.'

He let her go first, whiling the time perusing a couple of dangerous-looking books until she tagged him in. She was awaiting him in the kitchen when he descended, having a look through the expandable hamper Albus had sent.

'Pork chops?' she suggested, emerging with a package.

Remus nodded and took them from her, summoning a few spices from the hamper's depth. He scrounged a handful of potatoes and set them to wash themselves whilst he rubbed the meat. They peeled out of their skins and onto a wooden board that Tonks helpfully cleaned for him. And Remus began dicing – much more happily than he had chopped liver just hours before.

Tonks leant against the centre island, watching him work. 'So… are you with my cousin, then?'

Remus glanced up and frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Like… are you with him?' the young witch asked, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

Remus dropped the knife, hopping hastily back before it could take off his toe. He felt his cheeks burn.

'Whoopsies,' Tonks laughed, returning the knife to the countertop with a charm.

'Wha- I – no,' Remus stammered, still shocked out of his head.

Tonks grinned in a way that suggested she did not believe him. She shrugged. 'It's alright if you are,' she assured him. 'He's a handsome bloke, right enough. Mum always said his father was too, back in his day. That whole dark and dangerous vibe…'

'No,' Remus repeated, more firmly still. 'We've been best friends since childhood. He's like a brother to me. But I am not… er… I mean, I don't date, er…'

Tonks shrugged. 'Didn't ask that,' she pointed out, finishing his unspoken protest, though incorrectly. 'You might have been into both. Me – I don't pick sides. I like a bit of variety, myself. We love who we love.'

Remus was feeling more and more uncomfortable. He had rarely had such conversations with his friends – let alone with those who were next to strangers.

'Either way,' he said firmly, 'We are not lovers, and never have been.'

He suppressed a slight shudder at the thought. Tonks hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop. She shrugged again.

'Suit yourself,' she said. She picked up a tomato Remus had been about to slice up for the salad, and began to chomp on it like it were an apple. 'So, what are you into?' she asked curiously. 'Wizards, witches… something a bit more exotic? I had a night with a half-Veela once. Not near so much fun as you would expect. Half-goblin on the other hand, whole different story. The fingers, you know…'

She wriggled hers, a malicious glint in her eye.

Remus rubbed a hand uncomfortably at the back of his neck. 'I… er, I don't date much,' he said after a moment.

'Didn't ask that,' Tonks pointed out again. 'And everyone's got to get their fix somewhere, haven't they?' She looked him up and down, almost as if he were a horse being sized up to race. 'You must do well enough. You've got that whole slightly-needs-a-mum thing going.'

'I have a wh–'

'He's dabbled,' a new voice answered from the entryway. 'But he's equally rubbish with anyone.'

Remus spun, his face aflame. Sirius was leaning casually against the doorframe, openly laughing. He was sorely tempted to curse him on the spot.

'Why don't you show Nymphadora –'

'Tonks,' she corrected in a sigh.

'Tonks,' Remus obliged, 'Where she's staying tonight, Sirius? Or put the plates out, at least.'

Sirius was nearly choking. 'Oh, I don't know,' he protested. 'I think she'd rather help with the supper preparations. And you two are having such a lovely chat –'

Remus snapped, chucking a sodden rag at his best mate. Sirius caught it one-handed, still howling with laughter. Tonks looked between them in bemusement.

'You're sure you're not a thing?'

'Please lay the table!' Remus growled, flicking his wand so violently at the plate cupboard that several fell to the ground and shattered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Ridiculous,' Severus scoffed, shaking his head and leaving his tea untouched upon the table in the rare free period he shared with Minerva on Thursday mornings – the both of them having used today's opportunity to call upon the headmaster in his study. 'Six champions? The tournament is barely designed to keep the bodies of three intact.'

'Nevertheless, it seemed the most reasonable compromise,' said Albus, smoothing his beard with a weary hand. 'The goblet cannot make further selection… but there is no precedent for the current situation. It seemed harmless enough to allow Igor and Olympe a choice.'

'Famous last words,' muttered Severus. 'I'd be wary of Karkaroff's, at the very least.'

'You did not choose Harry,' Minerva pointed out.

'Certainly not,' Albus agreed. 'But that hardly matters now. I need an end to this incessant division. We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves.'

Severus shook his head. 'Because Hogwarts has been given an extra entry in the form of an underage, underqualified child, it justifies an additional chance to Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang?'

The headmaster raised an eyebrow over his tea. 'I can say with certainty that winning the tournament is the furthest thing from my consideration.'

Severus began crushing a scone bitterly between his fingers. He wondered whether he might spike the tea without Albus' notice… and then whether doing so would make the Hufflepuff first years in his next period more or less irritating. A songbird had taken residence outside one of the arched windows, trilling its happy chant against the panes. He glared at it.

'You gave him the message last night?' Albus asked Minerva.

She nodded. 'And what of the other headteachers then, Albus? Are they thus placated?'

The headmaster gave a short chuckle. 'I am not certain there is such a thing as placation when it comes to Igor. But they are satisfied enough, for the moment. Barty took the longest to convince. Not surprising, of course. You know how he detests such modifications, and so late in the day… it will require some hasty intervention with the various Ministry departments. Even Bagman protested to some degree. They were here until well past midnight before a final agreement could be reached. Even so, I expect serving on the panel with Barty might be a bit –'

Severus' head snapped back from the irksome bird. 'You can hardly be thinking to continue to act as judge, Albus,' he argued. 'Potter is your…'

'That is true,' Minerva put in, inadvertently covering his lapse as though there were nothing abnormal in it at all. 'Your impartiality will surely be questioned if Harry is to compete.'

She had lines of worry etched so deeply in her brow, Severus felt sure they would never fade. But, as ever, she spoke pragmatically and without tremble. Albus stroked his beard again.

'In a perfect world, of course, I should step aside,' he agreed. 'But I see no way to do so. Not without revealing that Harry has come under my guardianship on a more… permanent basis. I do not think it at all wise to do so – especially now.'

'Albus, you cannot be serious,' spat Severus. 'Half your own staff and several of the students are aware Potter has been at the castle over the summer. Even the other Heads –'

'Madame Maxime hosts many of her students over summer holidays,' Albus pointed out. 'And most of the Hogwarts staff are unaware of the specifics. Those that are, I trust to keep discretion. But I shall not risk Harry's safety further. There are many more dangerous than gossiping students who would be interested in that information.'

Minerva sighed. 'I suppose there is no choice, then. If you were to refuse to sit on the panel…'

'Even if I could refuse,' Albus added. 'There's no precedent in the history of the tournament. There may be complications even in that alone. And I do not think poor Barty could handle another strain.'

'And I'm sure your impartiality will not be tested by Potter's presence,' Severus scorned. 'After all, you have always treated Potter just like any other student.'

'Really, Severus?' asked Minera in exasperation. 'Now?'

But Albus smiled. 'I shall do my best, of course. I should like to think I can separate my personal feelings enough to fairly judge performance. I venture to guess I may even find it easier to put to one side my preconceptions than my fellow panellists will find themselves capable of divorcing theirs, where Harry is concerned.'

'You can bet Karkaroff will not,' Severus agreed savagely.

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. He dropped another sugar lump into his teacup.

One of the silver instruments to his right whistled shrilly, and the headmaster looked it over with a furrowed brow before flicking his wand to douse the sound. An owl appeared at the window nearest the desk and tapped against the glass with a foot. Albus sighed and rose.

Minerva set her own saucer down and glanced at the carriage clock above the hearth. 'We ought to go, Severus. It's just five minutes to the gong.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The week had not gone well. Harry had returned to Gryffindor Tower past ten o'clock on Monday evening, dead on his feet and with bits of rabbit entrail still congealed under his fingernails. Ron had already shut the curtains to his four-poster.

Tuesday seemed a bit better, as it had started with Transfiguration – where at least the Gryffindors were alone and nobody was flashing 'POTTER STINKS!' in his direction every time he raised his head. But Harry was too tired and too irritated to perform well, and the armadillo he was meant to be turning into an ashtray still flapped its metal legs in the air feebly as he handed it in. Minerva frowned in concern – for Harry had not failed to turn in a perfect assignment in Transfiguration for more than a year – but he hurried off in falsely bright conversation with Neville before she could call him back.

Things went quickly downhill. He slept through most of History of Magic, and was still too lethargic in Charms to properly summon with his wand – angering himself beyond belief and earning another look of concern from a disappointed Professor Flitwick. Even Astronomy after dinner that evening was fraught with tension. Though the Ravenclaws were a bit less apt to openly jeer at him the way Hufflepuff house seemed to be, he caught many sceptical whispers and stares as he attempted to map the orbit of Venus.

Wednesday proceeded much the same. Though a talk with Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures had lifted his spirits somewhat on Wednesday afternoon, another dismal Potions lesson followed – punctuated with many sarcastic remarks from the Potions master on his poor performance. Harry knew Snape's real ire came from his pathetic efforts in his wandless lesson the night before, which had seen him thrown from Snape's presence in disgust after twenty minutes without any visible progress.

And really, he could not bring himself to much care.

Minerva called him to her office on Wednesday after dinner in the Great Hall.

'The headmaster must cancel your Occlumency tonight, Harry,' she explained, her brow knit as she studied him. 'He is engaged in a meeting with the rest of the judges, and they are expected to be so for much of the evening.'

Harry merely nodded dully.

'Are you alright?'

He shrugged. 'Just… hasn't been an easy week.'

She touched his cheek briefly with a sympathetic smile. 'I know. And though I expect you'll tire of hearing it, it shall get easier, I promise.'

Harry gave a wry smile. 'Well, at least they don't think I attacked a whole bunch of other students this time. I suppose I'd rather the badges and a few snide comments than everyone running about in packs because they think I'm Slytherin's heir and going to attack them any moment.'

Minerva frowned. Harry, who could tell she was about to get into areas he didn't want to examine any closer just yet, scuffed the toe of his trainer against the ground.

'So… I suppose I can get a head start on Professor Flitwick's essay then, if Albus is cancelling tonight.'

The frown did not disappear. She reached into a pocket of her robes and withdrew a familiar phial of potion. 'Albus has asked that you practise Occlumency on your own tonight, and reminds you that it is more important now than ever,' she said. 'But take this too, Harry. And please use it – at least for a couple of days.'

Harry eyed the phial distrustfully. He'd only stopped taking the potion a week or so ago.

Of course, he had also been woken by nightmares – or failed to fall asleep at all – each night since Sunday… and the first thing he'd done on return to the tower Monday afternoon was adjust the charm so he wouldn't wake Ron if he did.

'Are you going to make me?'

Minerva drew herself up, looking rather offended. 'I am not. As I am certain you are old enough to know it is best for you without my intervention.'

Harry crossed his arms. 'Have you got the house-elves watching me at night again?'

Her lips thinned. 'Not yet. But if you continue to turn up half-dead in lessons, missing magic that you ought to be capable of performing on your first attempt, I will not hesitate to do so. Do you wish to try me?'

Harry glowered, but was not fool enough to answer.

Minerva sighed in exasperation. 'Honestly, Harry…'

'Alright, alright,' he grumbled, swiping the phial from her hand.

He took it Wednesday night – mainly because he didn't trust that Dobby or Lara or one of the others wasn't watching him on her behalf. And also, because Occlumency seemed far too much effort.

On Thursday, the badges were gone. Harry knew it had to have been Minerva who saw to it. And – although he knew she'd meant well – he instantly wished she hadn't said anything; as it seemed every other house had come to the conclusion that he'd been throwing his weight around again. The dark mutterings and nasty rumours only grew.

And Ron – if it was at all possible – turned even colder.

Meanwhile, Harry could not help noticing, the other champions had become the darlings of the entire school overnight. Fleur pranced about like she owned the castle, constantly leaving a trail of slacked-jawed boys and envious girls in her wake. She was rarely seen without most of the French delegation about her – even Céleste and Jan, who had yet to speak to Harry since Hallowe'en. After Dumbledore's announcement on Thursday evening, Jan got a tittering mob of devotees all his own.

Krum, of course, had already been a celebrity. His flock of fervent admirers had only grown in the days since the goblet's announcement; though he – unlike Fleur – seemed oddly uncomfortable with the attention. Harry had seen him dodging round high bookcases in the library, where he and Hermione had taken to spending hours late into the evening, as Harry was so keen to avoid the Gryffindor common room. Natalia Petrov, a petite, hard-faced girl with a bun more rigid than Minerva's, strut proudly through the corridors without speaking to any of those who whispered at her side. Harry hadn't ever seen her smile – not even when her name was announced.

And then there was Cedric.

Perfect, kind, modest Cedric, who could not look more the part of champion if he had been cut from an Arthurian legend itself. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with lush dark hair and grey eyes, and the same giggling girls who had been so eager for Krum's autograph on Saturday now hovered at his elbow in the Great Hall and queued outside classrooms to spot a seat next to him.

Harry might not have cared, except that on Thursday afternoon he had the unfortunate luck to spot him walking just behind Cho Chang in the Charms corridor – devoid, for a change, of his usual posse.

As Hermione had gone off to enquire after something with Professor Sinistra, Harry was wandering the corridors alone, safe from prying eyes under the Invisibility Cloak. His heart skipped slightly in his chest as he spotted her. It was the first time he had seen Cho outside the Great Hall since the Hallowe'en feast.

He quickened his pace, thinking perhaps to catch her up, and had just worked up the nerve to whip off the cloak when Cedric stepped from Flitwick's classroom, nearly walking inadvertently into him.

Harry pulled up short. Cho, having heard the door open too, paused, turning halfway round in the corridor. The book she had been attempting to stow in her school bag slipped from her fingers to the floor.

'Here, let me,' Cedric offered, stepping forward in two long bounds. He stooped to reach for the text.

Their fingers brushed at its cover. Cho pulled hers quickly away. She tucked a lock of her long hair behind her ear, and gave Cedric her beautiful, very white smile.

'Thanks,' she said softly.

She straightened, and took the book he was holding out, her cheeks a faint pink. 'Sorry, you startled me.'

He laughed. And it was a deep, ringing, genuine sound. Harry hated it.

'Well, it was about time I got one over on you, Ms Chang. You've had me beat often enough.'

She laughed. And it was bells on the wind. Harry felt his stomach churn.

'Can I walk you to the Great Hall?' Cedric asked.

He brushed the palms of his hands against the sides of his robes. Almost as if he were nervous. Almost as if he thought she would say no. Almost as if he weren't the boy half the school hoped to receive such invitation from. When any idiot watching could see –

She considered him; her head cocked slightly. 'I think I can find it on my own… And besides, I don't reckon you'll make it down the staircase without a dozen demands on your attention.'

She laughed, again. She gave him that smile, again.

'But I'll see you around, Cedric.'

She swung her bag over her shoulder, nodded at him, and sashayed off down the corridor.

And both Harry and Cedric stared after her.

By Friday, Harry was almost ready to find some disused classroom, cover himself in the Invisibility Cloak, and lay there in the dark as long as he could manage it. It was a miserable chance of scheduling that the fourth form Gryffindors started and ended the week with Potions. Harry trudged into the room at the very last moment, much to Hermione's scandal. Only the prospect of escaping Hogwarts the following day – and Hermione's constant, rather hovering presence – kept him attending his lessons at all.

The thought that he'd rather be anywhere other than the castle, when it had always been his sanctuary, made him more thoroughly depressed than every scathing face combined.

'Just ignore them,' Hermione hissed for the umpteenth time, as Draco Malfoy started theorising loudly with Vincent Crabbe three work stations along about whether this year's death toll could surpass previous tournament records.

'You'd have thought they'd lay off a bit, now Dumbledore's made it even,' Harry muttered.

He glanced to the door, wishing – in perhaps the most bizarre twist of fate this week – that Snape would walk through. It was most unlike the Potions master to be tardy to his own lesson. And whatever Snape's preference for his own house, even Malfoy would not dare to cause trouble so openly within the dungeon classroom.

'Too bad you can't get your witty little girlfriend to give you a hand with the tasks, Potter,' Malfoy called in his direction. 'I dare say even she might stand a bit more chance with them…'

Pansy Parkinson laughed derisively. Harry felt his face heat. Hermione gripped his wand hand tightly.

'Just leave off, Harry,' she muttered. 'It's not worth it.'

'Then again,' Malfoy drawled, even more loudly, 'Who ever heard of a mudblood champion? I think the goblet would just gob that sort of filth right back –'

Harry roared, leaping to his feet so quickly that he set his stool crashing to the ground.

'Harry, no!' Hermione pled, tightening her grip on his wrist as he almost yanked her off her own stool.

He barely heard her through the rushing in his ears. But behind him, Ron had jumped to his feet too, his wand hand unencumbered.

'Funnunculus!' Ron cried.

'Densaugeo!' Malfoy screamed simultaneously, pointing for Harry.

The two spells collided in mid-air. Ron's veered off to slam into Gregory Goyle, while Malfoy's ricocheted in his direction. Harry dodged with a snarl. But he hadn't accounted for Hermione still hanging to his wrist, and unwittingly turning her right into its path.

She gave a cry that was almost a whimper as the spell stuck, her left hand coming up to cover her mouth. Her right stayed vicelike over his wand holster.

'Hermione!' both Harry and Ron shouted in concern.

Malfoy laughed as Ron reached them and tried to pull her hand away, succeeding only in prying two of her fingers before she shrugged him off, shaking her head, her eyes wide in panic. It was enough for both boys to see that her teeth had begun to elongate – growing quickly down towards her chin.

They swore in unison, both turning back to face Malfoy, who was detaching from a howling Goyle – whose face had erupted in painful boils. Ron sent another curse that Malfoy dodged. Others had scrambled to their feet now, shouting and remonstrating and egging them on in turn.

Harry seethed, his whole body shaking with rage.

He pulled sharply to detach Hermione again. She refused to let him go.

Malfoy continued to laugh, sending another hex their way that Dean Thomas blocked with a clever shield charm…

And something in Harry snapped, just as the classroom door crashed ajar.

'REDUCTO!' he shouted, swiping furiously with his hand and dragging Hermione along the dungeon floor.

'WHAT IS –'

The work table in front of Malfoy exploded in a thousand pieces, covering half the Slytherin side of the room in fine, glittering dust.

Students screamed and coughed.

Someone on the Slytherin side shot a stinging hex that caught him in the shoulder.

Seamus retaliated with a leg-locker that nobody could see. Someone yelped as it found a mark.

Then the loudest bang yet rent the air. And suddenly, every student in the classroom found themselves frozen in place, unable to move anything but their eyes.

'Evanesco!' a deadly voice hissed.

The cloud of glittering dust vanished from the air. And Snape was revealed from within, wand held out at the front of the classroom, black eyes glinting in fury. He stalked forward – slow, deliberate. He surveyed the scene of chaos, and every frozen face.

Thirty seconds ago, when he'd been bizarrely hoping for the professor's entry, Harry might have cared. Thirty seconds ago, he might have recognised that the very tick at one side of Snape's curled lip promised a slow, painful death. Thirty seconds ago, he might have stayed frozen and terrified, as the Potions master had spelt him.

But that had been before he'd broken. Before the unquenchable rage that rocked his bones.

Harry did not even realise he'd thrown the charm, until suddenly he staggered to hold his feet with the awkward attitude in which he'd been set.

Snape's eyes snapped to him. For the briefest of heartbeats, they stared at one another.

'Finite Incantatem,' the Potions Master hissed, waving his wand once about the room.

Everyone came to life again. But nobody – not even the Slytherins – dared to speak. Hermione's fingers at last freed Harry's wrist, joining her other hand to cup her once-again-elongating teeth. She gave a stifled sob.

Snape surveyed them all with cold fury. He pointed at last at Malfoy. 'Explain.'

'Potter attacked me, sir,' Malfoy whinged at once. 'He and Weasley both –'

'Malfoy started it,' Harry cut in.

'And Weasley cursed Goyle –'

'MALFOY cursed Hermione!' Ron spat.

'And then Potter tried to kill me!'

'Come off it!' Harry snarled. 'That spell doesn't even work on humans –'

'His aim's pathetic, or else –'

'I was aiming for the table, you utter –'

'ENOUGH!' Snape shouted.

He glared at the lot of them again. 'Ms Granger, Goyle, Nott – hospital wing.'

The three of them scrambled to obey. Nott passed by holding a cloth to a nasty gash on his arm that Harry guessed must have come from his own spellwork. He felt a pang of vague guilt… but not nearly so much as he felt watching Hermione try to stuff her book away and keep her face hidden at the same time.

Some of the heat in his chest subsided. 'Leave it,' he said, pulling the text from her. 'I'll take your things.'

She nodded tearfully and fled. Pansy Parkinson cackled.

'You hateful –' Harry began, turning for her, his anger returned to full force.

But a dark shadow blocked his view, as Snape stepped smoothly between them and bent over his work station, dark eyes boring into his own.

'Potter,' he said in his silkiest, deadliest whisper. 'Control your temper this instant.'

Harry breathed heavily, fisting his hands beneath the table top. But after a few moments, he gave Snape a curt nod.

The Potions master swept to the front of the room again. 'Every one of you will write me a twenty-two-foot essay, to be handed in on Monday morning, detailing with precision each way in which duelling in a laboratory filled with volatile potions ingredients evidences the utmost stupidity. I expect citations to examples from Hogwarts, A History. You shall find copies in the library.'

Not a one of the gathered students dared to protest. He glared at the room once more, and then at Ron, and then at Harry.

'Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.'

'Fif-' Ron tried, but he broke off nearly at once.

'Fifty,' Snape confirmed. 'And both you and Potter will serve detention with me for the next fortnight. On alternate evenings – I cannot stomach the pair of you together.'

Harry ground his teeth. Behind him, he could feel Ron's silent indignation.

Snape's eyes roved the room again. 'Now – all of you. Get out of my classroom.'

'But – sir?' Daphne Greengrass piped up nervously. 'It's a double-period, and we've only just –'

'Did I not speak plainly?' Snape demanded. 'Not one of you will be trusted near a cauldron today. We shall test your antidotes on Monday. Get. Out.'

They stood at once, hurrying to put away their things and duck from the room without meeting the professor's steely gaze again. Harry slung Hermione's abandoned bag quickly over his left shoulder, swallowing a hiss as it met the forgotten burn. He'd just grasped the handle of his own with his right hand when fingers again closed over the wrist – longer, colder and far more sallow than hers had been.

'Oh, not you, Potter,' Snape said with vicious relish. 'Your detentions start now.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In all his years of teaching – through every brilliant act of incompetency, every pig-headed moment of defiance, every instance of disrespect and every misguided act of cruelty – Severus Snape had never had to work quite so hard to keep from striking a student.

As it was, he kept hold on the foolish brat's wrist until the very last of his peers had slunk through the door, and spelled it shut behind them. Then he threw the child roughly from him, so that Potter stumbled before finding his balance on Granger's erstwhile stool.

'You imbecile!' he hissed, sweeping the remainder of items on the work table off their surface as he bore down upon him.

'I didn't start it!' Potter growled. 'It was Malfoy – as usual. You never –'

'I am not without eyes or ears, Potter,' Severus spat back. 'Nor am I interested in a recital of childish whinging. I could not care less whether Draco Malfoy hexed the very robes from your back. It does not excuse your use of wandless magic against a fellow student with impunity!'

Potter ground his teeth. 'I didn't mean –'

'You did,' Severus disagreed. 'I was there, Potter. That was no act of accidental magic. That was deliberate casting – of a spell we had not practised, I might add. In direct defiance not only of all rationality, but of my own instruction repeated only weeks ago.'

Potter ran a hand through his untidy hair. 'It was just the first thing that came to mind. I couldn't reach my wand, and I wasn't aiming for –'

'Were you aiming to injure Theodore Nott?' Severus retorted.

Potter paled slightly. 'No. I just wanted to blow up Malfoy's –'

'What you wanted is immaterial, you foolish child!' Severus shouted. 'And that is the point on which you seem so incapable of comprehension. You must control your temper! You must master your emotions! When you allow them to rule you, you lose dominion over their consequences. It matters not that you were aiming for the table. In its explosion you caused harm to an innocent all the same.'

'It was only a scratch…' Potter mumbled, though he squirmed on the stool.

Severus slammed a fist against the desk top. 'This time! Because today, you are a boy. Today, you are still a reckless child, and your magic is still in its relative youth. Tell me, boy, what do you imagine would happen if I were to so carelessly throw about this same hex? Or the headmaster? What would occur if he were to use his power with reckless abandon? Do you imagine only one would be grazed in its terrible strength? Do you believe he could not kill with half the effort you just poured forth?'

Potter recoiled. 'Albus would never –'

'Have you ever seen the headmaster in true rage, Potter?'

The boy swallowed hard, and Severus could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

He nodded darkly. 'Dumbledore has within him power that could flatten half this castle, boy. He exercises constant restraint; constant mastery – for that is the burden placed upon those with magical talent. This is not a party trick you are learning, Potter. Each step you take in your quest to control your magical core will expand your abilities – with both wanded and wandless spells. That you can wield great power gives you no licence to do so. It places upon you the responsibility to recognise the cost of your gift, and to use it wisely.'

Someone knocked on the door. Severus ignored it, focused on the pale face of the boy before him. A hand tried in vain to twist the knob.

'Furthermore, your study of wandless spellwork is not meant to be known at this time. Do you have any idea what could have happened, if your moronic friends were wise enough to realise how that spell was cast?'

'My friends already know,' Potter muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Severus' eyes flashed. 'Your enemies then,' he corrected in a low voice. 'Have you any idea what this information could do, Potter, if it were to fall into the wrong hands? Have you ever bothered –'

The knock came again, and continued without abatement.

'WHAT?!' Severus bellowed, slashing his wand at the door.

It burst ajar, and little Colin Creevey almost fell face-first to the floor. Severus glared down at him.

'Mr Creevey, your presence is most unwelcome.'

The boy flushed, bouncing awkwardly from foot to foot. 'Please, sir. Professor McGonagall sent me down. Harry's meant to be upstairs.'

Severus sneered. 'Potter is meant to be in Potions. And is currently serving detention in its stead.'

Creevey shot Harry a nervous glance. 'Er… I'm sorry, sir. But Mr Bagman wants him –'

'Bagman can wait until this detention is finished,' Severus growled. 'Get out.'

'I – I can't go without him, sir,' said Creevey in a brave squeak. 'Professor McGonagall sent me down. All the champions have got to go – some ceremony, I think, sir. He had a photographer with him…'

Severus felt the urge to vomit grow strong in his throat. He turned furiously to Potter.

'Leave your things here, Potter. You shall return when this latest opportunity to flaunt –'

'P-please, sir,' Creevey tried again. 'Professor McGonagall said it'll take till dinner, and he's to bring his things –'

'Fine!' Severus snapped. 'See me tonight at eight o'clock, Potter, when you've finished with your fawning fan club. Get out of my sight.'

Potter scrambled to obey, slinging his own and Granger's bags over his shoulder and hurrying out of the room after Creevey. Severus' chest heaved with unstifled wrath as he watched them dart from the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Thank you for coming, Garrick,' the headmaster greeted, stepping aside to allow the wandmaker through the door. He nodded to Filch, who gave a short bow and shuffled off down the staircase.

Albus gestured to the chairs at the fireside, and the wandmaker followed his lead, looking about the office with interest. His eyes lingered for a long moment on Fawkes in his corner perch, and Albus could see the gleam of longing flicker through his face. The phoenix blinked impassively back at him, ruffling his feathers.

'Tea? Coffee? Something a bit stronger?' Albus offered, twinkling as he took his usual chair.

Ollivander turned his silvery gaze from the phoenix at last. 'No thank you, Dumbledore,' he said in his wheezy voice. 'I ought to keep my faculties about me. It is a look time indeed since I have been asked to take part in such a ceremony.'

'We have not much occasion for the old traditions any longer,' Albus acknowledged with a nostalgic smile. 'Have you any questions before we head down?'

The wandmaker smiled. 'Crouch's letter was very thorough. I do not think there is much to discuss.'

The headmaster inclined his head. 'Perhaps not. But there was one matter on which I had hoped to speak, if you've no objection.'

Ollivander blinked slowly. He was very hard to read; almost as if his very being were ephemeral. So many secrets of wandlore and ancient magics… once upon a lifetime ago, Albus would have given his right hand for a glimpse within.

Now, he wished he had never come to know.

'You wish to ask after Mr Potter,' the old man guessed. 'Most curious of coincidences, that particular wand's choice…'

His gaze wandered to the phoenix again. As if aware he was the subject of discussion, Fawkes took flight in a rustle of gold and scarlet, fluttering down to sit upon the arm of Albus' chair. Ollivander halfway lifted a hand, but then seemed to think better of the notion. The headmaster ran one long finger across the bird's wing.

'Most unexpected,' he agreed, not entirely honestly. 'And a one-time offer, I'm afraid. I cannot ask it of Fawkes again. It is quite heavy a burden to place upon any phoenix. And the consequences of this one have been monumental indeed.'

'Unusual beings, phoenixes,' murmured the wandmaker, watching Albus stroke the bird. 'Emotions much deeper and more complex than we mere mortals can comprehend.'

'Quite,' said Albus. He looked up again. 'But I take it, my old friend, that you have not forgotten my request?'

Ollivander shook his head. 'I have not. And I have never spoken of the twin core connection to another living soul since that day, Albus. On that you may rely.'

'I do,' said Albus gently. 'And I must ask that you keep the information to yourself today, Garrick. I do not think Harry needs additional attention focused on his participation in this tournament… and I should not wish rumour to surge.'

'Of course,' the wandmaker murmured.

Albus smiled. He released the phoenix, and Fawkes took flight and vanished in a flash of flame.

'Well… I suppose we ought to head downstairs, then. Filius has prepared a classroom for today's events. And afterwards, I have asked Hagrid to appeal to our resident unicorn herd. I cannot offer Fawkes to you – but perhaps you need not leave the school empty-handed today.'

'I'm much obliged, headmaster,' said Ollivander, taking his feet gracefully.

The headmaster led the way out of the study and through the castle to the disused classroom that would serve as the day's ceremonial tent. Excited buzz met them as he pushed open the door, the room already crowded with people. Three desks had been pushed together at the centre of the room and covered with a length of deep purple velvet. Five chairs behind sat ready for the judges – though only the chair in which Ludo Bagman reposed was currently occupied. The rest of the furniture – save for the chairs aligned for the champions to the right of the door – had been pushed out of the way along the far wall.

Olympe stood in a corner with her champions, fussing with a piece of Fleur's hair whilst the three of them chattered in rapid French. Karkaroff was similarly sequestered – though only with Krum, who he appeared to be lecturing in some fashion. His selectee stood some ways off in a corner, picking a hangnail with the tip of her wand next to Cedric, who seemed to be attempting to engage her in conversation. Barty Crouch stood stiff at the far window, gazing out into the grounds. A paunchy photographer fussed with an enormous black camera at the corner of the makeshift table.

'Where is Mr Potter?' asked Albus, looking around the room with a slight frown.

'Ah,' said Bagman, grinning broadly and standing. 'Ollivander, excellent, excellent! Just here, if you would.'

He began ushering the wandmaker towards the centre of the table.

'Harry?' Albus asked again with a raised brow. 'We cannot begin our ceremony with one champion missing, Ludo.'

'Oh, ah,' said Bagman, bouncing a bit on his feet. He darted a glance at Crouch, who had returned from the window to shuffle through some papers at his place with a sniff. 'I do believe Ms Skeeter wanted a word. Got carried away with the time, I expect. They shouldn't be far.'

'She should not have been permitted to take him from the room,' said Albus, with just a hint of testiness and a sideways glance at Crouch.

Barty cleared his throat. 'Don't look at me, Dumbledore!' he protested with a nasty look to Bagman. 'I'd stepped out when the boy arrived. This is the first I've heard of it. Ludo should have been aware of protocol concerning underage wizard interviews –'

'Oh protocol,' Bagman scoffed with a dismissive wave. 'It's a sporting event, Barty. A bit of publicity! She's not interrogating the poor boy…'

'I shall fetch them both,' Albus cut in with a sigh. And with a quick word to Cedric and a nod to the other two headteachers, he strode out of the room once more.

He was about halfway down the corridor when an odd, muffled sound echoed from one of the little side doors. Albus paused, glancing curiously at the knob.

'Surely not…' he muttered to himself.

But all the same, he tugged the broom cupboard door ajar.

Surely so.

Harry blinked in the sudden light, crouched awkwardly on the lid of a sagging cardboard box. Rita Skeeter – perched on an upturned wash bucket – grinned winningly at him, snapping a crocodile skin handbag shut with two-inch crimson talons.

'Dumbledore!' she greeted, as though his appearance were a lovely surprise. 'How are you?'

She stood, smoothed the front of her magenta robes and offered a thick-fingered hand. Albus took it with half a smirk.

'I do hope you saw my piece this summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?'

He gave Harry a wink. 'Indeed, Rita. Enchantingly nasty. It has been many years since last I saw such witty criticism. I particularly enjoyed your description of me as… what was it? An 'obsolete dingbat'?'

'Ah, well,' said the reporter, straightening her jewelled spectacles. 'I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a tad outdated, Dumbledore. I'm sure you realise how the common wizard might perceive –'

Albus doffed his hat. 'Though I do not doubt there is well-researched reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita, I'm afraid a full discussion on the matter shall have to wait. Ollivander is keen to start the ceremony and it cannot begin whilst our youngest champion is hidden in a broom cupboard. Harry?'

He held out a hand, and pulled Harry from his crouch. The boy muttered thanks and began to brush bits of dirt from the seat of his robes.

'I'd appreciate the opportunity to finish up with Mr Potter here,' said Rita boldly as they began their walk back down the corridor. 'We were just getting to the most interesting portion of our interview.'

'Alas,' said Albus with a deep sigh. 'As much as I'm certain Harry would love to grant you a lengthy interview, Rita, I must decline. He is underage, you understand. Any request for a one-on-one conversation must be approved by his guardian; or in the interim by myself or his head of house, as term is in session.'

'And you are not so inclined as to grant my request?' she needled sweetly, patting her rigid blonde curls.

Albus twinkled at her. 'Even were I so inclined, Rita, I fear Minerva was quite incensed to learn you had taken her pupil from his peers without her consent. I would not advise pressing the point at this moment.'

He opened the door to the makeshift ceremonial room, bowing Harry and the reporter in ahead of himself. The other champions – including their new additions – now sat upon a row of chairs near the door, leaving a spot next to Cedric for Harry. The boy took it with flushed cheeks and without meeting anyone's eye.

The rest of the judges had gathered at the velvet-covered table. Rita Skeeter slipped past to take her own chair in a shadowed corner, but Albus did not miss the acid green quill she surreptitiously set to parchment behind her handbag.

'Mr Garrick Ollivander,' he said, pointedly ignoring the reporter as he claimed his own central place at the judges' table. 'May be known to some of you. He shall be conducting the ceremony traditionally referred to as the Weighing of the Wands.'

Several of the champions exchanged nervous glances. Albus smiled. 'A rather grave title,' he agreed. 'But the concept is quite simple. Mr Ollivander shall be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament. They will, of course, be your most important tool in the competition. Garrick?'

The old wizard stepped forward from his place by the window, and called forth Fleur Delacour to begin the ceremony. The process crept by without much fanfare. Albus smiled at each contestant politely as they had their wand examined. But from the corner of his eye, he kept a close watch on Harry. The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still red-faced and blatantly irritated. As Cedric took his wand back from the wandmaker, Harry gathered up a fistful of his robes and began trying to furtively clean his own. Several gold sparks shot from the end. Fleur huffed from her place two seats along. Harry looked up, flushing more furiously. Albus caught his eye and winked.

He had the longest to wait. Ludo Bagman's stomach had begun to rumble audibly from Albus' right when at last Harry was called to Ollivander's side. He shuffled forward without looking at the judges, and handed over his wand hesitantly.

'Aaaah,' said the wandmaker, pale eyes gleaming as he took the holly and phoenix feather wand. 'Yes, yes, yes. How well I do remember… one of my finest creations. And one of the most curious, of course.'

Madame Maxime muttered something to Karkaroff too low for Albus to hear. Harry's head snapped up at last, and he gave the headmaster a fleeting, desperate look.

But Albus merely smiled with just the ghost of a nod. And Garrick pored over the wand with considerable scrutiny, but said nothing. A fountain of wine shot out the end to furious applause from Ludo Bagman – who conjured himself a glass – and Harry's wand was returned to him.

'Well, thank you all,' said Albus, rising and opening his arms to the champions. 'That concludes the Weighing of the Wands. As dinner is about to start –'

'Photographs, Dumbledore!' said Ludo, bouncing excitedly as he went over to take the paunchy photographer by the elbow. 'Can't send our champions off without a proper memorialisation now, can we?'

'Ah – of course,' said Albus with a very forced smile. 'Quite.'

'Judges and champions then, Rita?'

'Er- first, perhaps,' said the reporter, slipping her quill away and eyeing Harry as though he were a particularly scrumptious treacle tart. 'And then some individual shots, I think.'

It was a particularly trying hour and a half. But though Barty, Karkaroff and Olympe ducked out of the classroom as soon as Skeeter's talons released them, Albus hung back with Ludo Bagman – ostensibly to opine on the best lighting for her vanity shots of the champions.

'Harry, Cedric,' he called, summoning the pair to his side and away from Rita Skeeter's clutches as at last she finished with the photographs. 'I'd like a word. Thank you both,' he added, nodding politely at the photographer and reporter whilst the foreign champions made their exit.

'Dumbledore – just a few words with –'

But Albus held up a hand with a smile he rather hoped would chill. 'I have already given my opinion on the matter, Rita. Ludo will walk you out.'

Bagman bounced forward, slightly red-faced. But – perhaps making up for his earlier lapse of sense – he made no objection to the headmaster's request. Albus watched them through the door before turning to the teenagers.

He took each by the shoulder. 'Not the most interesting way to spend an afternoon,' he acknowledged, smiling at the fatigue in both faces. 'But you both did well today.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Cedric.

'Yes, thanks,' said Harry, though far more quietly.

Albus clapped each shoulder once and released them. 'Very good. Pace yourselves – that is key. You must be well-rested and cool-headed for the first task. A test of daring in the face of the unknown… I expect you both will find it quite within your wheelhouse.'

'We'll do our best, headmaster,' said Cedric, grinning at Harry.

'Yes, sir.'

'I'm certain you shall. Now – off to dinner. I suspect it will be another night of celebration… and you'll want an early morning to start the week-end.'

Cedric gave him a slightly puzzled smile with his nod. But Harry's eyes widened, and he gave his first true grin of the evening.

Albus nodded again. 'Very well. Congratulations again to you both. And run along – lest all the good portions be claimed.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus was a bit later to rise Saturday morning than usual. He chose to blame this unbecoming lethargy on the Potter boy – who had not arrived for his continued detention until well past nine o'clock, and who Severus had proceeded to lecture for the better part of ninety minutes before forcing him to scrub out every cauldron in the dungeon.

'And no magic, boy! Unless you would like to demonstrate the wandless casting you were so incapable of earlier in the week, yet managed to find in time to destroy half my classroom.'

Potter had not attempted a wandless spell. This was, perhaps, wise for them both – for Potter had already turned up drained and worn from his afternoon spurt of temper and subsequent meeting of his fan club; and Severus had little desire for either more instruction or another need for Invigoration Draught.

Instead, the boy scrubbed until quarter to midnight. And only then desisted because even Severus had begun to fear Minerva's wrath more than he relished the boy's well-earned punishment.

He let him use the Floo again. For similar reasons.

In his own simmering fury, sleep eluded him for hours. He lay on the bed in silence, but in the dark he could see flickers of ghosts real and imagined; hear the quickening of his own breath; feel the prickling upon his arm…

He lit a candle. But that did naught except ensure his eyes could find peace no easier than his mind. Night dragged into early morning, and crept cruelly toward dawn. And he wished he had thought to take a sleeping draught; wished it were not too late now – for he would never awaken before noon if he did…

When he finally drifted off, he could not be sure. But he needed no enchanted window to know the sun was well up when at last he dragged himself from the bedroom.

'Coffee, please. And dry toast,' he requested roughly of a summoned house-elf.

The little creature bowed and disappeared with a crack. When Severus re-emerged from the loo with slightly better-kempt hair and a fresh set of robes, the elf was back, shuffling its feet in apparent excitement.

'Thank you,' said Severus gratefully, pulling the coffee off the tea tray the elf had set on the table and sinking onto the sofa. He scrubbed at his face, and noticed he had forgotten to don his watch. 'What time is it?'

'Just after eight o'clock, sir,' the elf squeaked eagerly.

Severus brought his hand down, slightly surprised. 'Earlier than I expected,' he mumbled to himself. 'But still far too late.'

The elf – who for some reason remained – merely nodded his domed head several times, peering at him with unnerving keenness.

The professor frowned. 'What is it? Has Dumbledore sent a message?'

He was an odd one, Severus noticed. Not least because he appeared to be wearing a pair of children's football shorts and mismatched socks. He remembered Minerva's vague reference to the headmaster's hiring of a free elf just before the start of school. The conversation felt a lifetime ago.

The elf shook his head. 'No, sir. Dobby is bringing your newspaper sir – the others is telling Dobby that the owls won't come below, sir. And you is not in the Great Hall today.'

He gestured to a rolled copy of The Daily Prophet on the corner of the tray with a quivering hand. Severus sighed. 'Very well…'

The elf gave a toothy grin. 'Dobby saw it already, sir – the elves is getting a copy. Master Harry Potter is in the newspaper, sir!'

The coffee burned acidic in his throat. Severus grimaced and set the cup aside. 'Oh, what a joy.'

The little elf frowned. 'You is not liking Master Harry Potter,' he observed, in a tone that curiously melded disbelief and chastisement. 'Master Harry Potter is a great wizard, sir. He is so kind, so noble, so selfless –'

'Yes, yes, so I keep hearing,' Severus growled impatiently. 'Another convert, I see. This tournament is a gift that keeps on giving. Rather like Dragon Pox.'

The elf continued to frown at him. 'The newspaper is not being on the Triwizard Cup. It is about Master Harry Potter, sir! The whole front page, sir. And Dobby thought, if anyone would know of his great deed yesterday –'

But Severus did not hear the rest of the little elf's prattle. With a sickening lurch, he dropped the half-eaten toast to the floor and snapped up the newspaper, unrolling it with such haste that the coffee cup tumbled over. Dobby squeaked and hurried to right the mess.

And Severus stared down at a massive moving picture of a black-haired boy, emerald eyes gone charcoal in newsprint, blinking rather gormlessly from the centrefold.

He was at the Floo before the elf could finish the enchanted mopping.

'ALBUS!' he shouted, erupting from the fireplace in a swirl of ash and smoke. He espied the tip of a pointed hat just visible above the headmaster's desk, and beelined for it.

'ALBUS, CEASE THIS MADNESS AND –'

'Merlin, Severus, don't shout so,' chastised a harried, female voice.

The hat straightened and emerged. Minerva came with it, a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a peacock quill in the other.

'Where is he?' Severus demanded.

She riffled through another set of papers on the headmaster's desk. 'The whole of the third form in Ravenclaw down with Levitation Sickness – what do you expect trying out such charms at that age, foolish children – and of course it would happen whilst Filius is taking the week-end with his grandson, and Albus is away, Bathsheda can't cover of course, as she's in hospital, and I've had to ask Charity to leave off her usual week-end away in order –'

'What's wrong with Bathsheda?' Severus cut in, momentarily distracted.

Minever paused to look him up and down as though he were dense. 'She's at St Mungo's. Started labour yesterday evening, from what I understand.' She began sifting through the top drawer. 'And now I can't find the blasted –'

'Where IS he?' Severus demanded again.

Minerva straightened, adjusting her glasses with a stern look. 'Gone to Grimmauld Place first thing, with Harry,' she said shortly. 'They were off before breakfast – he wanted him away from the castle before the others were about for the day. As you well knew –' she added with a steely glare – 'When you kept him to midnight in the dungeons…'

'I should have done much more than that,' Severus seethed. 'He has nerve to come crying to you…'

'Harry did no such thing,' Minerva defended. 'Ms Granger sent for me when he hadn't turned up in the common room. He arrived just as I did. For a schoolboy rift, Severus, really?'

'A schoolboy– Minerva, have you seen the Prophet? Has Albus?!'

'The – no, it was late this morning,' she said, putting down the various parchment at last with a frown. 'An owl dropped it by about twenty minutes ago.'

She nodded towards the tea table, but Severus slapped his own copy impatiently down upon the polished wood between them.

Minerva took one look at the headline and clapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

'Severus… my god –'

'You are certain Albus has not seen?'

She shook her head fretfully. 'No… no he was gone before it had arrived. I don't know whether Remus and –'

'Tell me he left it with you,' Severus interrupted. 'Tell me he hasn't fled the school without –'

She felt deftly in the pocket of her robes, emerging with a little slip of paper on which familiar, slanted writing shone in green ink. Severus snatched it with a nod.

'They'll be enough to handle here,' he said, reading the dilemma on her face as he snatched up the newspaper again. 'You stay. I'll deal with Albus and the boy.'

And he returned to the fireplace, swirling off in a rush of green flame.

The floo dumped him out into a large, dimly lit sitting room with fine ornate sofas, mahogany side tables and several stately portraits along the walls. Deep green curtains hung across a wall of windows to his left, under which a pile of petrified doxies had been swept into a magical cage. In a far corner of the room, an ancient and stooped house-elf turned from a bookcase with a filthy cloth in hand.

'More of them come, my poor Mistress… besmirching the house…'

Severus straightened and shook out the hem of his robe. 'Where are they?'

The old elf blinked. 'The dark one speaks to Kreacher. What can he be wanting, Kreacher wonders? Plotting like the others, no doubt. Mud-blood lovers and ingrates all –'

'Where are they?'

But the elf gave a contemptuous sniff. 'Kreacher will not say, oh no, my mistress… what is it wanting in our house? If she could see what they do in her proud halls…'

Severus swore and abandoned the futile effort, striding across the room and pulling the heavy door ajar. To his relief, he could hear faint voices echoing up the cavernous staircase from below. He tore down the steps, through a vast entrance hall, spied a back staircase through an open door, and swept quickly after the sound.

He emerged in a spacious, rather old-fashioned kitchen. In sharp contrast to the harried chaos of the headmaster's office and the drab solitude of his own quarters, this room rang with soft laughter and smelt invitingly of bacon and sausages. Five heads turned curiously to the door as he stepped through, and the laughter died nearly at once. He caught the boy's gaze first and watched a smile slip from the pale face as he lowered a forkful of eggs.

Black rose to his feet, scowling predictably and swallowing a massive bite of food to properly glare. 'What are you doing here?'

But Severus lasered in on the pink-haired young witch to his Lupin's right. 'Ms Tonks,' he acknowledged with a pointed look to Albus. 'I was unaware you were in residence here.'

'Just passing through, professor,' she quipped, grinning at him.

'On fairly regular occasion, I should expect,' Albus added, giving a nod to Severus.

Severus hesitated despite the assurance, and fingered the newspaper in his pocket.

'We have a problem, Dumbledore,' he said at last.

'I'd say,' Black muttered. 'What are you doing here?'

Severus sneered. 'I am here, you imbecile, because whilst you gorge yourself on a lazy breakfast and sit here in idleness, it would seem I am the only one with the forethought to pick up a newspaper.'

Black scoffed, but Lupin frowned. 'We hadn't set up for the owls to deliver here yet,' he acknowledged, clutching a cup of tea. 'They can't get through the charms without –'

'What's in the paper?' Tonks put in.

'Who cares?' the boy grumbled, pushing his half-eaten breakfast away. 'More nonsense about this tournament, I reckon. Like we need The Prophet to talk it up any more than they already have…'

'Why so modest, Potter?' Severus said silkily, the urge to throttle itching at his fingers again. 'After all – you've made the front page.'

And he slammed The Daily Prophet down under Albus' nose.

Harry Potter – The Boy with Merlin's Gift?

Harry Potter – the child who defeated the most terrible dark wizard that Britain has ever known before he'd left the nursery. A boy with a most mystifying past, and oft-speculated future.

What is it, dear readers, about the Boy Who Lived? What is it that predestines Harry Potter for greatness?

For years the Wizarding World awaited news of their youngest hero with bated breath. And now, this Daily Prophet reporter can at last deliver.

Harry Potter, as most of our readers will remember from Monday's edition of this publication, was chosen by the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Triwizard Tournament – to be played this year at Hogwarts for the first time in over two centuries. Friday afternoon was to mark the first official ceremony since the opening of the tournament: The Weighing of the Wands.

But in an explosive piece of investigative reporting, your Daily Prophet correspondent to Hogwarts witnessed an extraordinary event only hours before Mr Potter's wand was Weighed.

Harry Potter is, of course, but fourteen years of age. His mysterious selection for this most exclusive tournament has caused delicious scandal both within and without the Hogwarts community. While Potter enjoys great popularity amongst his classmates, he has also had to contend with unfortunate bouts of cruelty from jealous fellow students.

One such confrontation occurred at the start of Mr Potter's Potions lesson on Friday. As your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed, Potter was caught in the midst of a vicious duel involving several Hogwarts students, which saw one of his close friends (and rumoured girlfriend, for more information, await an exclusive exposé coming next week!) horrifically injured.

Potter, ever the gentleman, rushed to the defence of the poor girl and his own honour, causing the desk of the offending student to explode in a cloud of dust and single-handedly bringing an end to the schoolboy brawl.

WITHOUT use of his wand.

Wandless magic is not usually taught at Hogwarts, and very few wizards are born with such natural skill, let alone capable of deliberate telekinetic feats at such a young age. The most prolific practitioner in British history was, of course, Merlin – nearly one-thousand years dead.

How Mr Potter came by such advanced and extraordinary skill is a mystery, dear readers.

Or... is it?

'He's very close with Dumbledore, of course,' Colin Creevey, close friend of Harry Potter's at school, remarked. 'Harry is much too modest to say, but everyone knows they've spent quite a bit of time together.'

Albus Dumbledore, as any wizard who hasn't been raised in a fairy field will remember, has been headmaster of Hogwarts for decades. He is also a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class; and serves as head of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and in advisory or editorial posts for various notable academic publications. On countless occasions in an illustrious career, Professor Dumbledore has been controversially compared to the great Merlin himself, both magically and ideologically.

But Albus Dumbledore is most famous for his defeat of the infamous Gellert Grindelwald; just as Mr Potter's fame arises from his own defeat of the most dangerous dark wizard in modern history, You-Know-Who.

Dumbledore's triumph over Grindelwald in 1945 is the subject of much legend and speculation – for those few who were present and lived to tell the tale have been notoriously close-lipped on their final confrontation. But there have been rumours for nearly fifty years that Dumbledore's unmatchable prowess without his wand proved the tipping point.

Professor Dumbledore's mastery of wandless spellwork has been prodigious since his own school days. Is it possible that the Boy Who Lived has been blessed with this same magical gift? And, like his mentor, is it possible that this talent is what allowed a mere child to defeat the darkest of wizards?

Is this the answer – my fellow witches and wizards – to the question that has haunted wizarding society since that fateful Hallowe'en night?

For an analysis on whether Albus Dumbledore is fit to judge a tournament in which his protégé competes, see Page 12.

For an exclusive interview with Harry Potter on the trials of a champion and the yearning for lost family, see Page 17.

For the report on Hogwarts' Weighing of the Wands ceremony, see insert at Page 21.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Review Responses, Chapter 37

OneDocToHealThemAll: Thank you again for reading and for the review! Happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter, and that things are going well. Sirius – yes, he's definitely in protective mode. Harry gets to see him in this next chapter (which I originally tried to reach in Chapter 37, but it just became far too long… and even now the bulk of the visit has had to be moved to Chapter 39) – so that should be exciting. The situation with Ron also gets some attention in this next instalment, though more next time. I'm looking forward to reaching the tasks! My unofficial Beta is already reading what I have half-written for the first two, and I'm very excited to share them.

I wish you the best of luck with uni – and I'm glad to hear you'll be able to continue studies even in this time of madness! It's quite an exciting and important career path, and I'm sure you'll be excellent. Quite understandable to have a break from fanfiction… it is definitely distracting. Love from both James and I (and the little ones) to you and your family, and stay safe!

Freelook: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. In terms of the international students – there are twelve from each Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang. They have some lessons in their carriage/ship, and some at the castle – the French students hinted at this with Harry a couple of chapters ago (in the conversation on Alchemy, where they revealed Albus would be teaching them whilst they are at Hogwarts in that particular subject). They haven't brought any additional teachers from their respective schools – except of course their headteachers; and that will come into play quite soon. I hope you enjoy the next instalment, and stay safe and healthy!

Anyeshabaner: Thank you for reading and for the review! Glad you're liking the story. I hope that the quick update will be nice for you! Keep safe and healthy, and enjoy the newest instalment!

Estel Ashlee Snape: Thanks for reading and for the review! Glad you liked the chapter. As to Mrs Black – well, that will re-emerge in coming chapters, and there's an interesting twist on precisely why the portrait is so difficult to remove. As to Ron… ah, that situation makes me sad. But they'll be some development coming up on that as well. I hope you like the next instalment, and I hope you're staying safe and healthy!

Boothbonesrule: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you're still enjoying the story so much. I hope this next chapter came quickly enough for you! The first task will be fun once we get there – though I must warn, we won't see it until Chapter 40 or possibly 41. Albus and Minerva's reactions will certainly be among the areas explored once it comes about. Hope you enjoy the next instalment, and stay safe and healthy!

KrazeyForever: Thanks for reading and for reviewing! It's wonderful to hear you liked the chapter and that you are enjoying the flashbacks, even when that era hasn't been your thing before. I don't know if I'll do a full prequel series, but scenes from the past will definitely continue in the COH series, and I hope you'll keep liking the characterisations! You are most welcome for the updates – I too am sat at home waiting for the world to right itself; and though I know it's exceedingly tense (and boring) for everyone, it's nice to have just a bit of a reprieve in writing and reading. I'll keep trying to post as often as I can manage it.

On the tournament – yes, Harry's COH support system will definitely factor into how he copes with the challenges of being a champion. I hope you'll like how that plays out in the story. Enjoy Chapter 38, and stay safe and healthy!

Ruk: Thank you for reading and for the review! I'm glad you liked the James-centric scene with little Harry. Lol – the polyjuice into a woman thing was a late addition to this chapter, but it came to me in a random brainwave and was just too tempting not to pursue. As to Harry's detention… that particular one isn't the one to be worried about – there is something in Chapter 38 much more concerning.

I didn't realise you are also a doctor – thank you, most sincerely, for everything you have been doing. Watching the situation here and what James and our friends in the health care world have been going through, I know it can't have been easy. I'm glad to hear that for Aus things look to be turning the corner, and I hope it will continue as such! Stay well and safe, and enjoy the new instalment!

HMRoberts: Thank you for reading and for the review! It's great to hear from you – and we very much appreciate the prayers. We will keep you and your family in our thoughts and prayers as well. I hope you're keeping safe and healthy.

Ah – yes… we get some massive insight into Albus' character in this chapter, both from his own perspective and through Remus/James. Albus must balance his understanding of love and his understanding of the pain that comes with it; a hero's journey and a child's innocence; a father's protection and a general's cool head. Not an easy place to be… and his struggle with it is far from over. I'm glad you're enjoying the exploration so far, and that you are enjoying the series over all. Stay well and safe, and enjoy the new instalment!