Chapter 1: Rebel Against Authority

AN: Here it is! The new PD! A few notes:

This story is going to be a bit darker than its previous incarnation. Also, instead of diverting from the cannon at the end of book five like the old one, it starts about halfway through the fourth book, despite this story taking place between OotP and HBP. Back story will be explained when it pertains. I'm in the process of outlining a prequel. The past isn't pertinent to understanding this story but might resolve some curiosity. Back story will be explained in bits and pieces at the beginning of chapters as necessary, and there will be cuts between the worlds of FFVII and HP.

This chapter jumps a bit present to past and such, but I'm sure y'all are intelligent enough to figure out what's the past and what's the present.

Again, it was reviews that let me know I had royally screwed up the last PD, so they are much appreciated.

Edit: This story has been revised from the beginning to its most current chapter between December2014 and January2015.

A dinner party. How difficult was a simple formal gathering?

Apparently very.

Besides all the formal wear, twelve different eating utensils—Draco had kindly informed him that most were for show and the food they were going to eat tonight would only use six or eight of them—and the various social dances, an evening could be very complicated. The fact that he had been on edge all night didn't help any, and as the fourth course came in, Harry decided that a drink was in order. He hadn't been raised in this environment as most of the others in their group had. A few of the purebloods and halfbloods who had been raised in the different political and social dances were teaching the muggleborns.

Harry vaguely wished he was in that group.

He waited for the House Elves to pour this course's accompanying wine, before delicately handling the silver goblet. It looked like spun glass, and was indeed see-through in parts. Draco and Hermione had remarked on how they had gotten moon crystal that thin without breaking it, but Harry had just remarked that they'd been pretty. He'd received dark looks for his tact.

As the goblet touched his lips, Harry choked on what little wine he'd sipped as his scar exploded in pain and dark shapes materialized with sharp cracks while a familiar tugging grabbed him behind his navel and took him to Merlin knew where.

He stumbled in the grass and landed hard on a sharp rock when the portkey finally let him go, his body following through with the jerking motion that the magic of the portkey had paralyzed, and the goblet went flying.

Harry's breathing was coming in fast pants as he tried to get enough air hiding behind a deadfall. Life really just wasn't fair sometimes, but when Harry thought about it, when had Life ever been fair to him? She certainly saw that the Dursley's gave him barely enough to get by.

But he was digressing.

Currently in the middle of who knew where, though, by a cursory glance at a flower during the obligatory monologue, Voldemort had brought him somewhere in Wales. The sky was dark, the dark clouds that had been on the horizon were now overhead, and the wind had the distinct flavour of a storm.

"Are you ready Harry?"

Merlin, he hated this man.

"I don't really have a choice in the matter," Harry replied, phoenix feather wand already in his hand.

Voldemort laughed, lightning struck, and the duel was on.

The sky was overcast and the winds were howling, disturbing the already messy hair of The Boy Who Lived. Said child was bloody and bruised and quite alone. But, since he had inadvertently grabbed that portkey—and who would think their own goblet in a seemingly friendly environment meant him harm?—he didn't know if it would be possible to easily return. It also didn't help that he had thrown the cup hard in a random direction.

Charms, curses, and all manner of spells flew through the air in differing shades of coloured light. Each wizard was careful not to let their wands accidentally line up, remembering what had happened the last time that had happened.

Violent spell after violent spell hissed and crackled through the air as thunder roared in the sky. Harry dodged as many spells as he could, while shielding and taking the offensive where it was available. Yes, the prophecy said that he had to defeat the Dark Lord, but there was only so much a fifteen year-old could do. The heavy presence in the air wasn't helping, but he ignored it as he fired a brilliant sickly yellow curse.

His opponent's fluent cursing had a grim smile gracing Harry's face.

"There's nothing you can do to stop me, Harry," the hissed words of Voldemort taunted above the howling winds.

"I've done it before, Voldemort," Harry yelled back, throwing another nasty curse in the Dark Lord's direction. Cursing let Harry know it had at least grazed the man. Hitting him twice would just be pure luck, and he'd like to save some of that for as long as he could.

The wind howled furiously, and for a moment, Harry thought that Voldemort had something to do with it, but it was just the viciousness of the approaching storm. He heard the soft musical tink of the portkey somewhere, and he dearly wished it was with him, but Harry knew that the Dark Lord would hear an accio spell despite the wind and lightning and steal the goblet away from him.

"Harry! Where are you dear boy?"

Harry grimaced. A person like Voldemort should never pitch their voice in that timbre ever. The pleading sing-song was more like the sound of an angry cat, and Harry realized that, as the prophecy said, Voldemort truly didn't understand Love.

The hair on his arms stood up, and the air suddenly became heavy. Throwing himself from his hiding place to behind another large rock and thus, slightly underground, Voldemort was the one closest to the tree was lightning struck; jumping from the bole to the man himself. Harry snickered through the booming thunder, his voice inordinately loud in his ears; his close proximity rendering him temporarily deaf.

Voldemort was rather crispy.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to stand under trees during storms?" Harry chided when the spots stopped dancing in his vision. His ears were ringing something aweawful. "My Aunt always told my cousin."

Voldemort screamed and shot various curses at him in quick succession. Harry valiantly deflected or countered most of them, though a sickly greenish purple one that grazed his hand—he felt the heat of its passing—broke it he was sure. He couldn't feel it anymore.

The tinkling was louder, and so was the roar of the oncoming storm; one of those rains where when the clouds opened up, you were instantly wet.

Ducking underneath shelter once more, Harry heard the tinkling and fervently looked for it as Voldemort looked for him.

"Can't fight me like a real wizard, Harry?" Voldemort taunted.

I'm fifteen, still a kid in the wizard and muggle worlds,Harry thought, and you want me to fight like an adult when you yourself act like a spoiled child denied his favourite toy?The tinkling sounded with another gust and green eyes darted about.

"Fine. If you won't come out, I'll make you come out."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. A guttural language, similar to Latin but ugly in its cadence and harsh in its consonants, lilted through the air making a sense of danger rise. This time, the hair on Harry's arms stood on end for a different reason. Yes, Voldemort was a dark wizard, but this was Dark. This was something forgotten on purpose; a summoning or a banishing of something that shouldn't have been in the first place.

And Voldemort was using it against him.

A flash of delicate silver caught his eye, and surging out of hiding, Harry made a mad dash for it. He ignored the aches and pains from bruises and spell damage, the strange feeling in his stomach going ignored. He ignored his numb hand and the burning in his forehead as Voldemort's emotions became stronger as he finished doing whatever he was doing. If Voldemort saw him, he was too caught up in his chant and more than half through which compelled him to finish.

Which happened to be as Harry's hand clutched the delicate silver wine goblet.

He disappeared in a shout of pain and a roar of thunder.

The transportation was nothing like regular travel by portkey. Instead of the gentle but firm tugging behind his navel, he felt as if a clawed hand had grabbed him by his spine between his ribs and his pelvis and dragged him through cold liquid that burned like fire. A roar of a great cat rang through his mind and he screamed as the fire burned him in ways that normal fire couldn't. He could never remember doing accidental magic other than fixing that horrid haircut his Aunt had given him, but Harry supposed this must be what it feels like.

Now it felt like his magic had a mind of its own.

Laughing and screaming, he felt his magic swirl through him and about him, doing whatever it pleased. Harry screamed again as it flexed and something in him changed to accommodate it.

That was when he choked on something that was cold as ice and burned like fire while being thicker than water. Wondering what the colours were that swirled around him, since portkey travel smeared the colours of the countryside together into—sometimes—a pretty swirl or a nauseating smear, Harry wanted to open his eyes. The need was so strong it felt like compulsion.

Don't open your eyes!

Why shouldn't he?

But Harry's eyes were already opened and looked into Green. It deserved the capital, the distinction of a noun from an adjective. It was alive; what had his magic singing and sighing and dancing. Harry first thought it was water, but water had pull and gravity to it that the Green didn't, so then it appeared as fire. But fire couldn't twist and dance and loop, so the Green then appeared as air. Bubbles and sparks and foam—all brilliant verdant hues—danced along with the current that was there one minute, different the next heartbeat, then gone in a breath.

Harry was suddenly aware of a pair of eyes that could have been his mother's; but the emotions in them were all wrong he thought. Everything about them was green—knowledge and power, sadness and grief, loss and love-love for everything those eyes—was the Green, and much too cold and burning at the same time that his body didn't know what to do. The scent of flowers enveloped him as the eyes turned soft. Harry had the distinct impression that they belonged to a girl.

Firefly was right about you.

What? The scent changed, and Harry felt content amidst the joy that was pain and agony.

That shouldn't be there.

Harry was confused when her eyes turned concerned and determined.

Close your eyes.

Harry gladly did so, as phoenix song sang him to a state like sleep. An explosion of pain that felt like claws of icy heat raked through his mind. The pain, worse than anything he had ever experience, robbed him even of his voice to release it. The claws came again and again, his magic screaming and his nerves melted out of existence, before a defeated wail made its way through the haze of pain in Harry's mind and a pressure he wasn't even aware of was gone. An apologetic and triumphant coo barely soothed his torn mind before the scent of flowers accompanied him into oblivion.

A motorcycle roared across the plains, speed unmatched by anything in the vicinity, although the vladkoros tried. Their hissing and harsh calling was drown out by a roll of thunder. Blue eyes glanced over a shoulder to see angry grey clouds, and that was why he was flying across terrain he'd usually bypass due to the monster population.

A storm had come out of nowhere. When Cloud had felt the air pressure subtly change, he'd gotten a call from Nanaki.

"Cloud." Nanaki's voice was calm as it always was, but there was an underlying tension in it.

"Nanaki." The exSoldier was curious. Almost nothing ruffled his companion's calm and amicable attitude.

"There's a storm headed your way," the guardian beast informed him. "It's quite violent. Even the likes of you and me would need shelter." That their enhancements came from experiments was left unsaid.

Cloud had just finished breakfast and was a fast ride and a few hours from any civilization of any kind, past or present.

"The radio out of Fort Condor predicted clear skies and sunshine with a high of 30 and a low of 26," Cloud said, somewhat amused.

Nanaki was quiet for a moment, before softly saying, "The Lifestream is…playing…for lack of a better word, and it's headed your way. Satellites have already confirmed a level 4 hurricane and a tropical storm off the coast of Junon and Mideel."

Cloud swore before throwing his gear together. He was a day out of Fort Condor, and too many from the Mines to shelter there—not to mention the monsters who'd also want to shelter there—and a few days out of Junon where the hurricane was supposedly going to hit.

"Thanks Red," Cloud replied before shutting his PHS and stowing his gear in Fenrir.

He had pushed through the night, pushing Fenrir as hard as he dared, and he was of the latitude of Junon, when he broke for breakfast again. The sky to the east was such a dark grey it was more black than anything. The green tinge to the clouds in places as lightning flashed did nothing to put anyone at ease.

Wolfing down the remnants of a rabbit, Cloud kicked the stand up on his bike and was about to start it when a gust of wind had all the hair standing up on his arms. Diving to the ground, lightning struck a nearby bush, illuminating the world an eerie green, the thunder incredible to his enhanced hearing.

His enhancements, however, picked up the slight edge of human to the wild roar of thunder.

Before he knew what he was doing, Cloud found himself standing over the struck bush, mind uncomprehending and ears ringing. Where there should have been nothing but a charred hole in the ground, some pieces of the bush remained among the charred mess and were, incredibly, in bloom; delicate white blossoms scenting the ozone laden air. A boy, rather beat up and scrawny, was lying among the wrecked foliage.

Cloud toed him with his boot, then felt utterly ridiculous. He smelled of mako, wild and living things, oddly enough, and something he couldn't quite place, but it felt familiar. He went to pick the boy up, and the clatter of a scabbard made him freeze. Eyeing the weapon carefully, he wrapped it in the boy's cloak before carrying them both back to Fenrir, something in him revolted at the thought of touching the blade. The storm was still coming and he needed shelter, now more so than before.

Carefully situating himself and his companion on his motorcycle, Cloud revved the beast to life and peeled out to the nearby mountains. There was no way he would find shelter before the storm hit, so he'd have to make one himself.

Death Eaters.

Draco snarled next to her, but Hermione thought it more due to lack of tact and the fact they weren't invited than that they were the enemy. The House Elves squeaked in fright and disappeared with vivid pops as their nice dinner erupted into a free for all. Spells—curses, charms and hexes—flew through the air, as did a few animals. Everyone knew everyone that was going to attend; safety precautions in case something like this happened. She politely ignored a Death Eater being eviscerated by a hyena like creature to fight another Death Eater.

The eerie laughter from the creature was a chilling counterpoint to the Death Eater's scream as Hermione beat her; bound and half transfigured her to the floor and a chair leg.

"Harry!" She called. "We got—"

Her gaze flitted about the dining hall, going from group to group seeing everyone: Draco, Millicent, Pansy, Zacharias, Ron, Luna, Neville and various others. Draco looked to be doing the same.

"Where's Harry?" he asked.

Hermione looked again, everywhere, just to be sure.

"His goblet is missing," Zacharias pointed out.

Ron swore and Draco muttered a spell. The results had them all frowning.

"Portkey," Blaise, who had finally returned to his human form replied. "How deviant."

Panic was trying to edge its way through her speeding rational thoughts. "I suppose we should call in the Aurors."

"What do we tell them about Harry?" Ron panicked.

"Nothing." Everyone looked at the blond pureblood scion. Hermione's first thought was that it was a stupid idea and they should have everyone out now looking for Harry, but wheels started turning in her head. Draco raised a delicate eyebrow, as if he were better then everyone in the room or maybe he could read her thoughts. No one did know what the abilities of the Malfoy line. "If Harry's alive and well, he'll return to us. Otherwise, we'll just have to have faith that he'll get in touch with us if he can't."

"I put the call to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Neville replied.

"How thoughtful of you," was Luna's dreamy reply. "The stones say the fireplace was impressed with your thoughtfulness with its use."

Everyone was used to Luna by now, seeming to believe the girl spoke in a kind of metaphor.

"Thank you, Luna."

Hermione and Draco eyed everyone in the room. "Remember, Harry wasn't here. If what we started dies now, everything will be a waste."

Mumbled assurances came from everyone, and a few of the Gryffindors vehemently swore they would betray nothing.

"Good thing we weren't using Aten ar-Heq-t," Parvati replied as she made a random Death Eater start to laugh uncontrollably. "The wards would either have been ruined or they would have made such a mess that we'd have to explain…"

Murmurs of agreement ran about the room as various others settled down to either play exploding snap or likewise torture Death Eaters.

All of them were disgusted when hours later Tonks and various other Aurors arrived on the scene to see kids in various dress robes, broken dinner ware and furniture, and various Death Eaters in various states of health. The youths had long gotten tired of jinxing and charming their captives.

"Some law enforcement you are," Ron blurted before he could help it.

Hermione shot him a look and sharply elbowed him.

That seemed to put life back into the Aurors. Some Aurors asked if anyone needed to go to St. Mungo's or the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Apparently, a handful of inter-House students at dinner couldn't stand up to a few Death Eaters. The Aurors retrieved the ones that they had managed to capture, transfiguring them back to fully human if it was needed or taking bits of the wall if they couldn't, while taking note of those that were dead and their affiliations.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione groused to Draco.

"I agree."

The teens didn't give away their startlement as Tonks plopped down beside them. Her orange hair and hazel eyes would do a Weasley proud. Hermione noted that she didn't just look tired—those of them that had been at dinner were tired—Tonks looked exhausted. "Had reports of someone practicing the Forgotten—" Hermione took note of Draco stilling "—so we had to see to that before anything. Ended up being a bunch of Inner Circle Death Eaters protecting who we think was You Know Who doing the magic." She eyed Draco. "You'll have to have a good alibi, Malfoy, as I know my superiors won't care that you're minor-ish. You're sixteen and close enough for them since your father was seen there."

"He's been here all night," Hermione said. "Anyone here can vouch for him."

Tonks only nodded. "That's good."

The Aurors were there for only a short time after that before they took all the Death Eaters, dead and alive, and apparated out. Everything was quiet, most present probably wondering what they were going to do, and the House Elves were probably just getting over their fright. Someone sighed, and that seemed to be the key they needed to go on.

"To the Bat Cave!"

The muggleborns and halfbloods snickered, the purebloods still didn't get the joke, but that got everyone moving. The younger ones took off chasing each other through the halls to their designated passages while the rest walked. Oh, if the adults could see them now…

Harry had wanted to be more involved in the war effort.

They had told him he was too young.

He had retorted with him being the one to defeat Voldemort.

They had flinched at the name, but they has shushed him and told him to go find his friends.

Harry had left the room, hearing someone wistfully say they wished Dumbledore would talk some sense into him. Harry thought darkly, I wish Dumbledore would just talk to me.

His comments and stances on various topics had, over the years, finally broken through to more people than just students in his House. Some of the Slytherins realized that theycouldchoose their own destiny and not join the Death Eaters. Draco had headed that small delegation. It had helped that they had been getting along for the last half a school year as well. When a Death Eater disguised as your teacher transfigures you into a ferret and practically beats you…it changes your outlook on your chosen—or not so chosen—profession after school.

Hufflepuff had come, headed by Zacharias Smith. Ravenclaw had come headed by Luna and Padma Patil. Harry and his group of Gryffindors decided that they couldn't meet in deserted classrooms anymore, and through various means and grapevines, spread the word that the Room of Requirement was where they'd meet until they found a suitable place. Hermione had gotten to work on more coins like they had used in the DA and passed them out to everyone by the second meeting. This way, meeting up would be easier and less would be suspected from Houses speaking with each other that ususally didn't during meal times in the Great Hall.

Harry set up younger students with older students, people good at offence with those good at defense, those good with plants and animals, the lists went on. Hermione headed a group where those who were halfblood or muggleborn integrated magic and muggle technology as best they could. Library books were checked out and thoroughly used. Those talented in potions brewed in the lab the Room provided them, and Harry absently wondered if it pulled its ingredients stores from Snape's own stores or from elsewhere.

Everyone knew that war was coming and they'd have to participate in it, but they'd be dammed if they weren't ready when it came.

Eventually, however, Easter break was coming, and most students didn't want to quit their training, and though Harry knew that the Chamber of Secrets could be used to house them—he had explored it and found other rooms than the main chamber that looked habitable one that sported a hot spring. Although it was rather cozy, especially since the House Elves started cleaning it and furnishing it since he roamed it regularly, he didn't think the majority of his group would appreciate living here. Although it would be nice to stick one on Dumbledore since he was the only one who could open and close the Chamber.

Harry eventually turned to Sirius. The man was more bitter than carefree and smiles, wanted nothing more than to run the streets of London chasing Death Eaters or just peeing on trees in his animagus form and looking up girl's skirts. Harry just told him he and his friends needed a place to stay, and he didn't think Grimmauld Place would work since Dumbledore was using it.

He hadn't expected Sirius to buy him a house with the strictest blood wards in the middle of the foothills of the Southern Uplands in the Dumfries and Galloway Region of Southern Scotland. He even had everyone on the list Harry had given him added to the wards and portkeys. When the spring hols came around, everyone in what they called The Resistance—a few of the Muggleborns had wanted to call it the Rebellion, but the halfbloods told them that too many pop culture references was a bad thing for the purebloods—Sirius showed up at Hogwarts with portkeys and apparition points for those that knew how, and they all disappeared.

"Welcome to Aten ar-Heq-t," Sirius proclaimed.

"Egyptian?" someone inquired. Another whistled in appreciation.

"It's rare that there are any houses like this left in Britain," Hermione effervescently proclaimed. "Most of the Goblins demanded them for their Curse Breakers."

"…I might have talked to someone who knew someone and had a cousin that did something for them," Sirius said without saying anything. "That and I used Harry's name."

Harry shot his godfather a dark look, but Draco just patted his cousin on the back and told him he did well before heading towards the front door.

As the rest of the Resistance followed, Harry hung back with Sirius. "You're welcome here anytime you want, Sirius. Don't let Dumbledore cage you like he does me every summer for the Greater Good and blood wards."

Relieved and thankful grey eyes looked into green before the two followed the rest to explore the house.

Cloud glanced sharply at the youth as he cried out in his sleep. Swearing, Cloud threw his sword and cleaning cloth aside and hurried to the youth. His dark hair was matted to his face with sweat as he thrashed in a fever amidst the blankets. This was the third time he had seized like this, and Cloud desperately hoped this wasn't a case of Mako poisoning. He took extra care to restrain the kid's left hand. He had already set it and splinted it, but with all the violent movement, Cloud didn't want him to upset the set and break the splint. He wished the materia had fixed it, but when he had tried to Heal it, the magic surrounded the injury before sloughing off and puddling on the ground where it soaked into the dirt floor. Surprised, Cloud had stared at the spot a moment before figuring if his hand had been like that, the rest of him probably had injuries as well. Removing filthy mako—although it wasn't the processed kind he was used to—and blood stained clothes, Cloud found other bruises and injuries and treated them as they required.

Cloud sighed as he was pulled from his thoughts by his PHS ringing, the flinty pop song identifying it as Tifa. Figuring he had nothing better to do, he dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open. Besides, he'd ignored Tifa's last call and with the weather, she'd surely keep calling him until he answered.

That and her ringtone annoyed the fuck out of him.

"Yeah?"

"Cloud!" Tifa's voice proclaimed. "You're in shelter right? I know you."

She did.

"I'm in the middle of nowhere—" and that's as far as he got before Tifa started barraging him with questions. That was unlike her, because she did know him, and she knew that he wasn't that daft or stupid as to weather the infrequent hurricanes out in the open.

"Is everything all right there?" Cloud broke into her tirade.

"I can't find Jayden," the barmaid said. "Denzel looked for him for a bit, but then the wind got too bad and he had to come in."

"The storm has landed here, and has been going for a few hours," Cloud informed her. "The Radio out of Junon thinks they're almost at the eye of the storm, so it should be hitting Edge soon."

"But you're all right?" Tifa asked.

"I made a cave for myself and my bike." Cloud didn't feel like telling her about the kid until he was sure he was going to live or not.

"Don't' push it," Tifa advised him. "Come back when it's safe to do so. I'll tell the kids you're holed up somewhere and fine."

"Fine." And he hung up.

The kid gave one final jerk before stilling and letting out a long moan.

Cloud watched his face. The kids eyes were fluttering madly as he fought for consciousness. When they finally did open, the exSoldier was surprised. The kid's eyes were one of the purest shades of green he had ever seen, and his memories remembered them in a face framed with brown hair tied back with a pink bow.

"Where am I?" the kid asked with a strange accent.

"A cave between Junon and the Mythril Mines," Cloud replied. No need to tell the kid he'd made it. He wanted the kid to see him as normal for as long as possible; not too many saw him that way anymore.

"Oh." He was quiet a moment. "Why do I have a headache?"

"You have a fever," Cloud replied. "I don't know if you're just sick or if you have Mako poisoning."

"Potion will fix it," the kid said. "Magic'll care for everything."

Because that made perfect sense.

Cloud shrugged and against his better judgment and the Zack voice that still occasionally pointed inane crap out in his head, Cloud fetched a potion and gave it to the kid. He uncapped it and downed it with the ease of one used to downing potions and elixirs, which made Cloud frown. He had to be, what, thirteen or fourteen?

"What's your name?" Cloud finally got around to asking.

"Harry Potter," the green eyed kid replied. "Yours?"

"Cloud Strife."

"Strife," Harry replied. The way he said it, with his accent, made Cloud think that once upon a time, his family had had a reason to be called Strife. "Wonder what Dumbledore or Voldemort would think with a last name like that."

Then he giggled.

Shit.

"My eyes hurt."

Cloud dug through a bag wondering if he had an elixir or something to slow what he was sure was magic exhaustion or poisoning of some kind. He ignored the scratches and the rustle of fabric as he found one of the delicate silver bottles. He turned back around and didn't expect the large black…something…that hissed at him with Harry's brilliant green eyes.

Cloud's eyes narrowed, glowing softly blue as they were and illuminating the cave enough to see by—he hadn't been able to get any wood before it started to rain—carefully watched the creature. It was feline, that much he could tell, but was as dark as Rufus' old Guard Hound. He watched as it melted into a smaller, lighter cat with large squarish spots, before it morphed into Harry once more.

Green eyes blinked. "Ow," was all Harry said before he slumped back into his nest of blankets and unconsciousness.

"Miss Hermy-ninny?"

Hermione flinched and Draco choked on his drink. Ron was out delegating with various others else wise he'd have probably nicked Colin's camera to cherish Draco's expression for life.

Before Harry stole it back that is.

"Hermy-ninny, ma'am?"

Why did it have to be Shiloh-Faley?

"You better answer the elf," Draco said, amusement dripping in his tone.

"Yes?"

"Miss Hermy-ninny!" the elf began. "Shiloh-Faley was washing the dishes on the table from the white faced black cloaks interrupted dinner time. I gotstead to Mister Great Harry Potter's place, but his plate wouldn't clean!"

Wouldn't clean?

"What do you mean, Shiloh-Faley?"

The House Elf produced a seemingly white plate, but when she tipped it so it faced up, ready to hold food, there was indeed something on it. Hermione gently took it from the elf's hands and examined the delicate purple design. A design that ended up being script.

"Thank you, Shiloh-Faley," Hermione told the elf. "I'll take care of this."

"You is most gracious, Miss Hermy-ninny!" And the elf disappeared with a soft pop.

"Hermy-ninny?" Draco inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Harry introduced the elf to us when we were having a party, and Seamus introduced the lot of us, except he had been drinking something stronger than the pumpkin beer and spirits we were, and my name came out like that," Hermione explained. "You should hear what she calls Neville and Luna."

"I'm glad I wasn't there for that," Draco replied as he sipped his tea. The two of them had been going over plans for a study session to make sure their homework was getting done around their training and private studying.

"We need everyone back to Aten ar-Heq-t now."

Draco looked up at Hermione from the parchment he'd been examining. She tipped the plate so he could read it.

"Well damn."

posted 17June2010; edit 13September2010; edit 20December2014