Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Please keep in mind that this is AU – I'm only keeping those bits of HBP and DH which suit my purposes. And I apologize for the no-doubt magled French contained in this chapter. I can only retranslate so many times on the interwebz! Anyway, this one's a tad longer than usual, but I hope you like it anyway. Happy reading!

Shades of Gray

Chapter Fourteen: Lily Returns

Hermione's parents both had early appointments with patients this morning, and so she had slept in before taking her breakfast – fried eggs, an apple, and a glass of milk – and the paper out on the garden deck. Emilia had disappeared the evening before, claiming 'things to do'. Hermione had no idea what an hallucination might have to do, but she didn't let it bother her any. Emilia would return, of that she had no doubt. Until then, she'd intended to get caught up on the news from the wizarding world. Pure chance had her unfold the current day's paper first.

Head Auror Murdered in Home
Bones Residence Burned to Ash
Azkaban Falls to Death Eaters

The headlines took up half of the front page of The Daily Prophet. Hermione's hands shook while she read, making the paper rattle softly.

At ten o'clock last night, the head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic was slain through application of the killing curse. Rufus Scrimgeour, aged 46, was killed in his home in an affluent muggle area overlooking Hyde Park in London. His youngest child, Valerie Scrimgeour, aged 5, was also killed. His wife, Fiona Scrimgeour (nee Smith, muggleborn) witnessed the deaths.

At this point, DMLE spokeswizard Timothy Williamson is unwilling to comment on the speculation that this was a direct result of Scrimgeour having been named as a possible pro tem replacement for Minister Fudge (see Vote of No-Confidence Passes with Landslide Majority, p6). "What we do know at this point," he said early this morning, "is that Bellatrix Lestrange and another unknown female subdued Mrs. Scrimgeour with a petrificus before killing first the little girl, and then Auror Scrimgeour. The Dark Mark was still visible when the curse on Mrs. Scrimgeour faded enough to allow her to floo for help."

The first article went on to describe Scrimgeour's achievements, ending with a notice that funeral arrangements had yet to be determined, but Fiona had requested donations be made to St. Mungo's in lieu of sending flowers. The second article was shorter. Hermione felt that were the victim not a highly-placed Ministry worker, it likely wouldn't have been written at all. There was a ghastly photo of the still-smoking ruins, though, which probably made up for the lack of actual information. The last article was, by far, the longest.

Azkaban, located on an unplottable island in the North Sea, is known to the whole of Wizarding Britain as the most notorious prison we possess, used to house the worst of the criminal element of our grand society. This is true no longer.

During a raid late last night, Death Eaters managed to overcome both the dementors of the island fortress as well as their human counterparts. At any given time, Azkaban boasted a residency of seventeen aurors – twelve guards, three healers, the warden, and his assistant. As of the publication of this paper, only one had managed to escape.

Clive Porter, assistant to the warden, managed to portkey to safety moments after Warden Hobbs had been killed. Porter sustained multiple injuries and is currently recuperating in St. Mungo's. He was unavailable for comment. Spokeswizard Timothy Williamson of the DMLE said, "The aurors at Azkaban were taken completely by surprise. It appears as though the invading Death Eaters utilized polyjuice potion to look like the aurors who had been scheduled to relieve them. Granted, the changeovers typically take place during daylight hours, but it has happened in the past that shift-change has been brought forward or pushed back due to circumstances." All of the remaining personnel on the island are presumed dead.

As of yesterday afternoon, the prison contained fifty-two inmates, including such notables as Lucius Malfoy (apprehended during the attack on the Ministry a few short weeks ago), the Lestrange Brothers (also apprehended at the Ministry incident), and Robert Dyer (more commonly known as 'The Mad Obliviating Pervert'). Spokeswizard Williamson stated, "Before succumbing to sleeping potions, Mr. Porter indicated that the prisoners had been given the choice to either serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or die. We assume at this time that You-Know-Who's forces have been increased by the fifty-two individuals incarcerated in Azkaban."

Hermione found it odd that the article failed to mention the estimated total number of Death Eaters. "Fat lot of good knowing they've increased by fifty-two does if we don't know how many he started off with," she grumbled. "I mean, if he started off with ten, and now has sixty-two followers, that's not so bad. But if this means he's now got five hundred, then…" She sighed and sat the paper down. "Let's look at this logically, shall we? If we take Hogwarts as a random sample starting base, then how many people, percentage-wise, have Death Eater leanings?"

She headed up to her room and retrieved a small notebook and a pencil before returning to her half-eaten breakfast. "Okay, let's see here… We've got an average of forty students among all four houses per year. That's 280 total. How many have expressed the same pureblood superiority sentiments that the Death Eaters are known for?" She scribbled down a list of names, then counted them. "That's seventeen, almost eighteen percent. And it doesn't even take into account those who share the beliefs who've not said as much out loud." Hermione shook her head at her notes. "With certainty, it's one-in-five. Might be as many as three-in-ten."

"Three what?" Emilia's voice came from behind her.

"Death Eaters," Hermione replied.

Emilia looked over Hermione's shoulder. She laughed at Hermione's arithmetic. "It's flawed, you know."

"What is?"

"Your basic assumption that Hogwarts is an accurate sample-base from which to derive any meaningful data."

Hermione pushed the chair across from her out and gestured for her 'sister' to take a seat. "Why do you say that?"

Emilia plopped onto the white-painted wrought-iron deck chair. "What do you think I was doing last night? I was getting caught up on what you know. Because what you know, I know." Emilia helped herself to the remainder of Hermione's milk. She smiled a little. "It's weird, how freeing it is to know I'm not really here." She held up her hand in a stop motion when Hermione opened her mouth to object. "No, hear me out. Until the dingbat duo made you get rid of me, I didn't know what I really was. Now I do, and it's freeing. It means I can say anything, do anything, and as long as you keep quiet about it, no one will know." She slid Hermione's half-finished breakfast over and began nibbling on the now-cold eggs. "But going back to your number-crunching. Why do you think Hogwarts is a good sample-base? That encyclopedia you carry around in the back of your mind – our mind – says that, aside from the muggleborn students, the majority of the people who go there are all descended, in one way or another, from the original hundred families."

Hermione really didn't know what Emilia was talking about. "The what families?"

Emilia made a tsking noise. "Footnote from that research you did in your third year about that hippogriff. The original hundred families – the wizarding contingent of Wales, Scotland, and England, circa 1095. The families who banded together and withdrew from the muggle world, creating Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley. They created the basis of the Ministry, too." She finished up Hermione's breakfast and leaned back in her chair. "How is it that you read this information, yet didn't retain it?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe because History of Magic focuses on the rather bloody history we have with the goblin nation."

Emilia's eyebrows rose. "Ah, so if you're not getting graded on it, and it's not useful in helping that Harry-kid, it isn't worth knowing?"

Hermione did a fair impression of a goldfish. "That– You– It–"

Emilia chuckled. "You only get incoherent like this when I'm right." She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I am not going away again. If you really want to know how many Death Eaters there are, I'd suggest looking back at the trial records from the first time around. Take everyone they name, and add about two or three percent to your final number for the actual number. Then flash forward to now, add the children of those original Death Eaters, add an additional two or three percent. Then add however many of those from Azkaban who weren't already on either list. See? Doesn't that make a bit more sense than how you were trying to go about it?"

Hermione blinked. "Huh. I suppose so."

"In any case, wouldn't you rather we do something fun? It's a beautiful day."

Harry awoke to the incessant beeping noise that indicated his transdimensional communicator was receiving an incoming transmission. He fumbled about with the buttons on the watch for a moment before managing to accept the transmission. "Hello?" he said.

"Good morning, Harry," Lily's voice came through crystal clear. "Sorry it's been so long since I last spoke with you, but we had a string of technical issues to clear up. First, we had multi-dimensional interference and we had to wait three days for it to clear, then some moron trainee accidentally spilled a bowl of soup into the main communications array. Finally managed to get it up and running again yesterday, and I lost the coin-toss to Harvey."

Harry snickered. "Nice to see – erm, hear – that you guys have problems, too."

"Everyone has problems, Harry," Lily replied. "But, issues with interns aside, I figured it was about time to check in with you. How is your summer progressing?"

"So far, so good," he said, slipping his glasses into place. "I'm not too thrilled with my housemates, though. Yeah, I expected Snape to be a… challenge, but he's actually being less of a git than I expected."

"Oh? What were you expecting?"

"I dunno… More like something along the lines of not being allowed out of my room, maybe house elf duties like he's fond of assigning for detentions. But he's being surprisingly reasonable – maybe it's just that he spent almost all of yesterday away."

Lily laughed lightly. "No, I think it's probably more because he's not all that fond of children. It's doubtful that he was given any detailed instructions on how you were to spend your time, and so he has probably figured that if you're allowed to come and go as you please, you'll spend less time underfoot."

"Sounds about right," Harry allowed, "except for that bit about no directions. I wouldn't think that Dumbledore would permit me to have much in the way of free time."

Lily sighed. "I know it seems that way, particularly after how he avoided you, yet micromanaged your time during the last school year, but the headmaster has very little free time of his own. From what we've been able to determine, the main reason he's so interested in you is simply because he believes you to be the one prophesized to defeat Voldemort."

"So?" Harry stretched and climbed out of bed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Dumbledore is a strict adherent of predestination," Lily explained. "Even though prophecy – and divination as a whole – is a rather fuzzy discipline, he firmly believes that to go against prophecy is to invite disaster. He fails to see that of all the thousands of prophecies made in any given era, only a handful actually come to pass, and of that handful, maybe one was correctly interpreted ahead of time. It all boils down to the Curse of Cassandra."

"The curse of who?"

"Cassandra. Apollo fell in love with her and granted her the ability to see the future. When she failed to return his love, he then cursed her so that none would ever believe her predictions. Basically, the reason prophecies must be interpreted is because the original seer was cursed to be unbelievable. All modern seers are descended of Cassandra and share in the curse."

Harry paused in pulling on a pair of jeans. "I suppose that explains why the prophecy didn't simply say 'Harry Potter will be able to defeat Voldemort, but it's not guaranteed'."

"Exactly. Now, from what you just said, am I right in assuming you know the prophecy Dumbledore is placing all his belief in?"

"Yeah. He showed me a pensieve memory of it."

"Would you share? We've not been able to get more than the first line of its text, though we do have the basic sense of it."

Harry finished pulling on his jeans. "Sure. Um… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

"Let me see if I have this right," Lily repeated it back to him.

"Yeah. That's it."

Lily let out a strange strangled noise. "Damn it, what the hell is that man thinking?"

Harry slipped a t-shirt on over his head. "Pardon?"

"If that's the entirety of the prophecy he's using to dictate his actions, then he's a bigger fool than I'd figured. There's nothing at all in it to say that it has anything to do with Voldemort!"

"But what about all the 'Dark Lord' mentions?"

"Please! Every megalomaniacal idiot with delusions of grandeur throughout history has been referred to as 'the Dark Lord'. All this prophecy says is that someone born at the end of 'the seventh month' will be able to defeat a dark lord. Nothing at all in it says that you are the supposed hero, or that Voldemort is the dark lord in question!" Lily sighed again. "However, this is what Dumbledore is using to guide his decisions with regards to you, so we need to approach it the same way he has."

"Well, that's easy. He explained that when he heard the prophecy, it could have applied to either me or Neville, but since Voldemort came after me – leaving me with the scar – it wound up being me that the prophecy was talking about. I admit I didn't want to hear about it at the time, but it seemed to make sense." Harry sat at his desk and stared out the window that overlooked the back garden.

"There are a million different ways to interpret that prophecy, Harry, beginning with ways to count the months. Though we use '07' to denote 'July' when writing dates numerically, how do we know the prophecy wasn't saying 'in the seventh month from now'? Was it given in the December before you were born?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Dumbledore didn't say when it was given, just that it was before Neville and I were born. It could have been December, but the memory didn't say either way."

"There you go," Lily said. "The prophecy itself is fundamentally flawed, but Dumbledore is convinced he's got the right of it, and so he's working to make sure it plays out as he's interpreted."

"So that means what, exactly?"

"Well, for starters, he's going to finagle it so that you and Voldemort come into direct opposition in a combative circumstance."

Harry let out a snort. "Been there already," he said. "But I don't think Dumbledore masterminded the thing at the Ministry, and I'm nearly positive he didn't cause the whole graveyard thing at the end of the tournament in my fourth year."

"He probably didn't in either case. He was, if we have this right, actually trying to keep you from facing Voldemort yet. You were supposed to learn occlumency, weren't you?"

Harry nodded, even though Lily couldn't see him. "Yeah, but Snape couldn't teach his way out of a wet paper bag. All he ever did was shout 'clear your mind' then go rampaging though my memories like a bull in a china shop."

Lily let out a burble of laughter. "Well, not to malign your impression of Severus Snape, but it really is that easy, you know. The biggest issue with the mind-magics is that everyone is always trying to make them harder than they really are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the foundation of occlumency is the ability to actively not think. To just let your mind go blank. A good way to start off is to identify those times when you naturally 'blank out'. It's how I learned – I figured out I tend to go 'blank' when I was sunbathing. Once I got the knack for realizing that was what I needed to aim for, the rest was almost shamefully easy."

"Huh." Oddly, it made sense to Harry. "I'll work on that, then. But getting back to our main topic – if Dumbledore is following the prophecy, then how come he wouldn't want me to face Voldemort yet?"

"Because the prophecy itself doesn't say who wins, Harry, and though the headmaster is orchestrating the final showdown, it doesn't mean that he wants Voldemort to win. Our best guess is that he's going to try to pull your strings so that you start focusing more and more of your time on learning how to fight. When he deems you ready – meaning when victory is assured – he'll then point you in Voldemort's direction."

"And I get no say in this."

"Of course not!" Lily exclaimed. "Dumbledore is following prophecy."

"The same prophecy that doesn't indicate who wins or loses."

"Yep."

"The same prophecy that you can't say with any certainty actually pertains to myself and Voldemort."

"Yep."

"Well, screw that!" Harry felt an odd sensation, almost as though an immeasurably heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I have absolutely no desire to be a martyr, and that's what would happen if I tried to face Voldemort again. I think he's learned his lesson from the graveyard after the third task and after the incident at the Ministry. If he and I come face-to-face again, I doubt he will hesitate in killing me."

"Though it pains me to say so, Harry, I don't think you've got much choice in the matter. Even without the prophecy and Dumbledore's interpretation of it, it didn't stop Voldemort from coming after you, did it?"

Harry sighed. "No, it didn't. So, at this point, I either die because Voldemort's come after me, or I die when Dumbledore points me his direction. I'd really like to see a third option here where I manage to live."

Lily chuckled. "That's what you've got me for. Remember, I told you that I'm helping you because, should Voldemort come out victorious, he's going to start in on other dimensions. I really do not want to see him come knocking on my door!"

"Enlightened self-interest." Harry smirked a little. "At least you're honest about it. Now, if Dumbledore's aims – even if he is working according to the prophecy – are to stop Voldemort, and your aims are to stop Voldemort, then why not go along with Dumbledore's plans?"

"Because MOTAP predicts that should you follow the old man's lead on this, there is a 98% certainty that you will fail."

"Magic Oriented Timeline Analysis and Projection – did I get that right?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely. MOTAP tells us that Dumbledore is going to have you focus exclusively on dueling. In and of itself, not a bad idea, but your wand and Voldemort's are paired, are they not?"

"Paired? Oh, you mean brothers. Yeah, they both have a core from the same phoenix."

"Paired wands can't duel each other, as you well know. Voldemort also knows this and MOTAP says there is a better-than-99% probability that he's been training on a secondary wand. Yet you still use the same one, don't you?"

Harry felt gooseflesh creep down his spine. "Yeah. I do."

"There you go. Evidence of the short-sightedness of Dumbledore in action. So, what are you going to do?"

"Buy a new wand?"

"Good idea, but I've a better one."

Harry frowned. "What's that, then?"

"In order for a wand to be paired, not only must they share a core, but they have to be crafted by the same person. So, one of the easiest ways to make sure a wand isn't paired is to make your own."

"Oh. So you want me to make my own new wand?"

"Precisely."

Harry shook his head and rubbed his temples lightly with his fingertips. "How do I do that? I mean, if it was so easy, then Ollivander wouldn't have a business that dates back for thousands of years."

"There's a book on how to craft wands in your computer. But Ollivander has his business simply because people are lazy. You can make cheese at home, but how many people go to all that trouble when they can simply go to the grocery store and buy some?"

"I guess I can see that," Harry allowed. An idea burst forth in his mind and he didn't hesitate to vocalize it. "If prophecies are so hard to interpret correctly, then how come you follow the advice of that MOTAP thingy?"

"The Curse of Cassandra is on people, not inanimate spell-programmed computers. Besides, MOTAP doesn't give us prophesies, all it does is calculate probabilities. When it first came online back in '74, it had an accuracy rating of about eighty percent. Nowadays, its accuracy is just a fraction under perfect."

"Oh," Harry replied, feeling as though he should have been able to figure it out on his own.

"Of course, the further away a particular probability is, the lower the accuracy becomes. Simply put, MOTAP can figure something happening tomorrow with almost-certainty, but ask it to figure something ten years from now and it has a high chance of being wrong."

"So how's it do on mid-range?" Harry asked. "Say, the next two months?"

"Averages run at 98% accuracy for any timeframe from three weeks up to ninety days. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious at how well it thinks my plans for this summer will turn out is all," Harry replied.

"What plans do you have in mind?" Lily asked, her voice more curious than a basketful of cats.

"Well, hang on a moment – I have a list." Harry rummaged around in his desk and came up with his 'to-do' list. "Okay, first on the list is to learn how to manage my inheritances. I talked with Neville yesterday, and he said he was going to ask his uncle to give me a hand in learning all about estate management and how to head a family."

A series of beeps and boops sounded over the connection, reminding Harry of the noises made by touchtone telephones. "It's not a priority, is it?" Lily asked, overlapping the noise in the background.

"Not really, but I will need to know this stuff if I manage to survive Voldemort."

"Good. MOTAP projections show a nine percent probability that you'll succeed in learning all you'll need to know on that in the next ninety days. It's higher if you focus on one area or the other, but the best projections are still only 14%. That's if you focus exclusively on money management, ignoring all else, including schoolwork."

Harry let out a helpless little chuckle. "Kinda figured this was a long-term goal sort of situation. Nice to be proven right."

Lily laughed her agreement. "What else are you planning on?"

"I'm going to hire some tutors. I'd like to finish up my homework early this summer, that way I can focus on trying to learn something that just might help me survive."

More beeping from MOTAP echoed in the background. "This one's better, depending on how advanced you were thinking of going and in what subjects," Lily replied. "Which topics did you want to focus on and to what level?"

"Well, I'd like to get about a year ahead in my Hogwarts classes. I'm hoping to qualify for the auror program after I finish my NEWTs, so I want to continue on in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Potions."

Lily made a weird hissing noise through her teeth. "You had the normal 'what are you planning to do with your life' interviews during the school year, right?"

"Yeah… So?"

"Who did you do your career planning with? Trelawney?"

"No, McGonagall. Why?"

"Damn it, she should have known better." Lily took a deep breath and let it out slowly, almost as though she were trying not to hex someone. "Okay, I'll simply chalk it up to Dumbledore's influence."

"What? Why?"

"Harry," Lily replied, "you won't be accepted into the auror program. Nobody is who has a criminal record, and you have two black marks against you – the incident with the dementors, which can be contested, since you acted to save your life and that of your cousin, and the hovering charm from before your second year."

"That one wasn't me!" Harry protested. "A house elf named Dobby did it, and I got blamed!"

"Unfortunately, even if the house elf were to admit to doing the charm, elf testimony is not allowable in court, and so there is no legal way to show you didn't cast the spell. But that's not all, Harry."

"What else?" Harry's voice was flat.

"They don't just look at OWL and NEWT scores, the board also examines your school record. You need to obtain a minimum of Es in all your classes prior to the OWLs, and all NEWT-level classes must be passed with Os. In addition to this, they don't accept anyone with an overall class standing of less than fifth, unless there are ties for positions – for example, if the first three spots were tied by two people each and you came in at spot four, your rank would be seventh. Your current rank is nineteen, just ahead of Seamus Finnegan and just behind Hannah Abbott. They also check detentions given."

Harry sighed with more force than was strictly necessary. "Say no more. So, you're saying I've got about as much chance of talking Voldemort into joining a monastery as I do of getting into the aurors."

Lily giggled. "I could run the numbers if you want me to, but I don't think you'd like the result."

"No, I don't think I would," Harry replied. "In that case, I have no bloody idea what I'll do after Voldemort."

"Who says you have to do anything at all? I think you'll find that heading a family, let alone two of them, is going to be a full-time job all on its own. It's not like you actually have to work, you know."

"There is that, I suppose. So… What would you suggest? I mean, I've already sent letters out to the tutors I wanted."

"Who?"

"A fellow named Pete Smith for transfiguration, charms, and potions; Augustine Dunbarton for mind-magics, arithmancy, runes, and wards and set-spells; and Cora Pyria for healing, defense, and mind-magics. They were recommended by Amelia Bones."

More noise from MOTAP punctuated a short wait before Lily replied. "Well, they're all available. I can't really speak as to their competency, but MOTAP is saying that you've good odds for achieving some pretty decent levels in those areas."

"What's it look like?"

"Let's see… For arithmancy, your odds of reaching a passable OWL level are 95%. Runes shows a 98% chance of reaching the end of fourth-year level, and it drops to 56% if you're aiming for OWLs. Wards and set-spells don't have an OWL or NEWT, but MOTAP is giving you 60% odds on reaching journeyman status in the Mastery division. For transfiguration, you've got 92% odds on NEWT level, and 85% odds on reaching an animagus transformation by the end of summer. Charms shows similar odds, at 91% for a passable NEWT. Healing is like wards and has no OWL or NEWT, but you can reach apprentice-journeyman level in the Mastery division with an 88% probability. Mind-magics again have no OWL or NEWT, but like I mentioned before, once you figure out the 'blanks', it's really rather easy, so your chances are at 97% to attain passive mastery and 89% for active mastery. Potions is on the low side of the scale, 78% odds to reach the end of sixth-year level, 45% if you aim for a passable NEWT. Conversely, you stand to attain a Mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts with 94% odds."

"Disappointing about the potions, but not unexpected," Harry replied. "And a Mastery in defense? Really?"

"Yep. You haven't gotten your OWL scores yet, have you?"

"Not yet. I think they're due out sometime next week."

"In that case, I'm not going to spoil the surprise for you. But altogether, you've got pretty decent chances of succeeding in your summer tutelage."

"Finally, something that will go according to plan," Harry joked. "But could I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Could you explain what you meant when you mentioned the journeyman things?"

"Oh, well, if you apprentice in a particular subject, there are levels. Essentially, if you were to apprentice in, say, charms, the levels are: Pre-OWL, OWL, Pre-NEWT, NEWT, Apprentice, Journeyman, and Master. Hogwarts covers everything through NEWT for most subjects. Others like healing and such draw on existing curricula to that level, then are divided into apprentice, journeyman, and master levels, though healing uses 'trainee,' 'mediwitch' or 'mediwizard', and 'healer' for those distinctions. When I said you had an 88% chance of attaining apprentice-journeyman in healing, what that means is that you'd know most of what trainee healers know and a little of what mediwizards know, but wouldn't be able to pass the mastery test."

"Is that the same for mind-magics?"

"No, in the case of occlumency and legilimency, there isn't an actual mastery like there is for charms or potions. In that case, what I was indicating was your personal mastery of the spells themselves. So, 97% odds to master occlumency and 89% to master legilimency."

"From that alone, I feel safe in assuming that legilimency is harder than occlumency."

"True, but not by much. Was there anything else you wanted me to query MOTAP on?"

"I don't know – any suggestions?"

Lily laughed again. "Oh, I've loads of suggestions, but I suppose most will have to wait until you think of them yourself. I do have one bit I can come right out with, though."

"And what's that?"

"Don't get too comfy. You're only going to be at your current location for about another three days, plus-or-minus six hours."

"Oh? Where will I be going?"

"That I can't say. Equal odds on nearly a dozen places. But, if I were you, I'd start looking though my properties for a place big enough for all of you for the rest of the summer."

"I'll take it under advisement," Harry said, doing his best to impersonate Percy Weasley.

"Getting back around to the topic at hand, though," Lily's voice returned to being mostly-serious. "Did you get a chance to check Snape's marks like I told you to?"

"Uh, no," Harry replied. "The last time we spoke, static made that last bit almost un-hearable. What's his Dark Mark got to do with anything?"

"No, not the Dark Mark, Harry," Lily sounded a little impatient. "The other marks he wears. They're small, located behind either ear. We're pretty sure they have something to do with a spell Dumbledore uses to control his puppets, but we're not certain. I'd appreciate it if you could manage to get a clear look at them. If possible, ideally, we'd like to see you send photos of them to Luna Lovegood."

"Why Luna?"

"You don't honestly think you're the only one in your dimension with whom we have contact?"

Harry shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "But… Luna?"

"Neona Lovegood, nee Aldwinckle, also worked as a technomage for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Interdimensional Threats. She volunteered to test out an early version of the transference station we used to send you the computer and backpack. She wound up stranded in your dimension in May of '76. She was working on creating another transference station to try to come home when she fell in love with Xenophilius Lovegood. She opted to remain in your world, even after completing her transference station. Since it was running smoothly, there were no complaints from our bosses. Neona was killed in an accident – she was working out the kinks in sending living matter through the transference portal – in November of 1990. So, unless you know of someone else in your world who has a transference station in their possession…?"

"Um, no," Harry grinned. This explains so much about Luna.

"So, if you get the chance, send her photos of the marks on Snape. Once we have copies, then finding out whether or not they have anything to do with Dumbledore will be relatively easy."

"How come you don't know already?"

"We're not gods, Harry," Lily chided. "We can see quite a bit through our wonderful little gadgets, but the angle is fixed, rather like a muggle security camera. We've tried to see the marks ourselves, but that man is more paranoid than is healthy – he puts up anti-scrying spells anywhere we have a chance of getting a good view without his hair in the way. We did come close at the end of the Weasley twins' second year, but he was just out-of-frame."

"What happened at the end of Fred'n'George's second year?"

Lily giggled. "Oh, they managed to put a hex on the teacher's table in the Great Hall – it made everyone bald for a full ten minutes."

Harry laughed. "Wish I'd seen it."

"Get a pensieve and have one of them copy you the memory," Lily suggested.

Harry added it to his 'to-do' list.

"No, not quite right. Try it again. Huh-ello." Nicole paused long enough to finish scrubbing her teeth while Gabrielle tried to master the English 'h' sound once more.

"Allo."

"Nope. Huh. Huh-ello. You really want to get the H right, it's the first letter of Harry, after all." Nicole demonstrated the sound again, though the rest of her words were in their native French. "Just relax your jaw, drop your mouth open a tiny bit, and then engage your vocal chords with just the littlest bit more force at the start of the word than at the end."

"Hello."

Nicole applauded, causing her toothbrush to spray foam on the mirror in their bathroom. "You got it!"

Gabrielle grinned and looked in the mirror. "Hello, my name eez –"

"It's 'eh' not 'ee'. Ehz. Try again."

"Hello," Gabrielle repeated. "My name is Gabrielle Delacour."

"Fantastic!" Nicole rinsed off her toothbrush and followed it up by swishing mouthwash for a moment. After spitting, she and Gabrielle returned to their bedroom. "Next sentence, 'I am a veela'."

"I am a veela," Gabrielle dutifully repeated. "That one was easy," she commented in French.

Nicole nodded, "But can you say 'that was easy' in English?"

Gabrielle giggled, "Maybe, but only if there aren't any of those damn impossible letters!"

Flopping on her still-unmade bed, Nicole shook her head. "Nope. It's just, 'that was easy'."

Gabrielle mimicked her to another round of applause. They continued with basic English for another couple of hours before hunger intruded. The pair then called a halt to lessons and traveled to the kitchen. As had been the case the day before, the room was empty. "It is like nous vivons ici tout seul," Gabrielle said. (…we live here all alone.)

Nicole provided the appropriate translation before nodding in agreement. "If I had known it would be like this," she said, first in French, then in English, "I wouldn't have agreed to come."

Gabrielle shrugged and set to ransacking the cupboards for something edible. "Nous avons seulement été un jour ici." (We have only been here one day.) She held up a jar of pickled beets and wrinkled her nose. "There is no food here!" She was pretty sure she'd managed to get her meaning across in English.

"I agree," Nicole replied. "Je souhaite que nous avions apporté un elfe de maison avec nous." (I wish we had brought a house elf with us.)

Gabrielle reached to put the jar back in its place in the cupboard, but it slipped out of her grip and crashed on the floor, spewing red juice everywhere. She let out a string of cussing that would have made hardened criminals stop and stare in awe.

Nicole just laughed at her, at least, she laughed until Harry appeared in the doorway, his wand drawn. It took him a moment to assess the situation and return his wand to his back pocket. He strode over the juice-and-glass covered floor, meaning to maneuver the blonde into sitting while he cleaned up the mess, but noticed she was barefoot as he came around the table. "Tell her not to move," he told the brunette.

Nicole shivered a little at his cold tone, but translated. Tacked on to her translation, she added, "I think we made him angry."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "You think? Why's he so ticked anyway? It's not like I dropped it on purpose!"

While French flew over his head, Harry grabbed a broom and dust pan from the cubby between the icebox and stove and the tea towel from next to the sink. "Pigs," he muttered. "I'm stuck living with a pair of giggling pigs."

Nicole managed to catch his mumbling and scowled at him. For Gabby's benefit, she translated. Gabrielle wasn't great at controlling her temper in the best of circumstances. This was far from the best of circumstances. She shoved Harry hard enough that he landed on his ass, luckily away from the glass shards, and shouted, "Je t'encule!" (Fuck you!) She then lightly leapt onto the table, bypassing the rest of the mess she'd caused. "Va te faire foutre, toi fils de pute!" (Go fuck yourself, you son of a bitch!) She continued shouting, even as she jumped off the table and headed for the archway.

Even though Gabby obviously expected her to follow, Nicole remained sitting at the table. It wasn't entirely her fault, she couldn't breathe from laughing so hard. Harry was staring at the ceiling, mentally cursing the fates for making him live with the giggling duo. Eventually, his own temper was wrestled into control, and he managed to get the mess cleaned up. While disposing of the glass and linty beets in the rubbish bin under the sink, Nicole finally quit laughing. "She didn't do it on purpose, you know."

"Maybe not," Harry said through clenched teeth. "But the mess you two left yesterday was. If it's escaped your attention, we don't have any house elves here, so CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES! Is that really too much to ask?"

Nicole winced at his shouting. "Oh… Sorry. We didn't realize."

"Obviously." Harry punctuated the reply by tossing the purple-stained towel in the sink.

Nicole ignored the sarcasm. "Somehow, I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Can we start again?"

Harry's shoulders slumped and he ran some cold water on the stained towel. "I suppose so."

"I'm Nicole Morel. The blonde with the temper problem is Gabrielle Delacour. Gabby doesn't know much English, but we hope to fix that with our little visit. I have an aunt that lives in Atlanta, Georgia, and I spent a large amount of time there as a child, so I know enough to get by, but please be patient with me if you say something I'm not familiar with."

Harry nodded and turned to face her after turning off the tap. "I'm Harry Potter – but I'm sure you already knew that." He returned his attention to the towel, wringing it out and spreading it on the edge of the sink to dry.

"I did. It was something of a surprise to find you here."

Thinking she meant that neither of the girls had figured on meeting a 'celebrity', Harry snorted. "I'll bet."

Nicole smirked. "Not that way. May I call you Harry?"

He nodded. "In what way, then?"

"You're who we came to find."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, but no. You and Miss Delacour can just march yourselves back to Beauxbatons. I have no need for groupies."

Nicole both winced and let out a little nervous laugh. "Not exactly what we were going for, but not completely inaccurate, either."

"What?"

Nicole shrugged. "I mean… Well…" She chewed on her bottom lip for a minute, then tried again. "Okay, I'm going to start at the beginning."

"Always a good place to start."

She ignored the comment. "What do you know of veela?"

"Not much. The Bulgarians had them at the World Cup a couple of years ago."

Nicole grimaced. She was going to have to start with the absolute basics. "Before I get into it in detail, do you know how to cook?"

Harry repressed a grin at her pathetically pleading expression. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because I can't and I'm starving. I'll do the dishes if you make us something for lunch."

"Deal," Harry replied. He then set to seeing what was available. While he worked, Nicole explained about veela, Gabrielle, and just why they'd come to the UK to begin with.

When lunch was little more than dirty plates and crumbs, Nicole gathered the dishes while Harry sat digesting both food and information. "So… If I decide not to be with Gabby," he used the form of her name which Nicole had tended to use, "she turns into a harpy, permanently?"

Nicole sat the plates and glasses in the sink and started the hot water. "Yes. She hasn't any choice in the matter – it's entirely up to you."

Why does this crap always fall on me? Harry thought it but didn't dare say so out loud. "I'm not saying 'no'," he said and Nicole spun around with a sunny smile on her face. "But," he stressed, "I'm not saying 'yes' either. I simply don't know her well enough yet to make any life-changing decisions. All I really know about her as a person right now is that she's got a temper, doesn't clean up after herself, and doesn't speak the only language I know. Is there a time-limit before she becomes a harpy?"

Nicole nodded. "Since she knew who the magic wanted before her sixteenth birthday, she has exactly one year to convince you. So, to answer your next question, you've got until June nineteenth to make up your mind."

In that case, I'm not going to worry about it too much. If I wind up liking her, even as just a friend, I'll probably say okay, but right now, that seems like an awfully big if. Harry didn't mention what his thoughts were saying. "You two are going to stick around that long?"

"If we need to, we can transfer to Hogwarts, but personally, I'd rather not. I'm not sure where Gabby is on her schooling, but I'm advanced enough in Wandless Theory and Practice to be able to test for my Mastery in it." She blinked and reconsidered. "Well, I think so, but I could be wrong, of course. Alternatively, we could defer our next year of school. There are a couple of others who started in our class that have needed to defer a year. Marie-Zéphyrine Vallet went a step too far with her boyfriend and they both deferred their sixth years."

Harry smirked. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

Nicole nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. We're a year ahead of you in school."

Harry's brain twitched, or at least it felt like it did. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not what I meant."

Nicole giggled. "I know what you meant. You're too easy to fool. You'll need to work on that if you spend any time around me and Gabby."

Great, instead of the French versions of Lavender and Parvati, I've got French female versions of Fred and George! Harry rotated his head to stare up at the ceiling. Whatever I did to piss You off, God, could You please let me know what it was? That way I won't ever do it again!

A/N2: Again, I apologize for the unintentional mangling of the French bits contained herein. I hope someone out there who actually knows the language either okays it or provides me with a better translation than Google! Thanks in advance.

Digital baked goods to everyone who's reading this whacked-out storyline, and extras for those who take the time to review!