Author's Note: To those of you who've been patient enough for the past eleven months, sorry we took so long to come up with this. For new readers, you'll have to read the mammoth Black Bond to make any sense of this.

Hope you all enjoy the part II of Black Bond as much as you did part I.

Happy reading :-)

oOo

(A short recap. Since we write such huge chapters, it's tough to cover everything that's happened in the last two chapters. But we've just given a very brief overview of the main events towards the end of Black Bond)

After escaping death at Greyback's hands in the Forbidden Forest, where Acquila possessed Harry and transformed his body into his lion Animagus form, things are not quite the same between them with her struggling with Greyback's traumatizing attempt at assaulting her. Sirius, meanwhile, investigate's Barty Crouch Senior's death and realizes that Barty Crouch Junior is still alive and aiding Lord Voldemort in his quest to regain a new body. With Trelawney's Prophecy about Voldemort's return and the fruitless search for Horcruxes weighing on his mind, Sirius decides that he needs to maintain his hold in the Ministry. Showing Cornelius Fudge memories of Harry fighting Quirrel and Kingsley Shacklebolt watching Voldemort's wraith fly away, Sirius convinces Minister Fudge about Voldemort's existence and the need to keep it silent even while building up a plan to contain his possible attempts at regaining power. The Werewolf Rights Bill finally gets passed, and Amos Diggory appoints Remus as Head of the Werewolf Liaison Office. After Dora accepts Remus' proposal of marriage, the two of them move out of Grimmauld Place into a flat of their own. Deciding that the kids need a change of place to cheer them up after the Greyback episode, Sirius takes them on a trip to France, where Harry and Acquila finally shed off the awkwardness and rekindle their friendship, and where they meet the Delacour family.

oOo

Chapter One: The Skull in the Sky

His hands felt awfully cold despite the relative heat of the summer. Yet, beads of sweat prickled at his brow as he read the words on the parchment. On slightly shaky feet, Lucius took long strides towards the fireplace, already casting spells to keep Cissa and Draco or the elves from entering the room. Another swish of his wand and the fireplace erupted into tall flames. With trembling fingers, he dropped the parchment into it, stoking the fire, his wand swishing and swishing until there was nothing left of the parchment but the ashes, which he vanished with another wave of his wand.

He stared at the empty hearth for a long moment, his forearm seeming to burn. Or perhaps it was only his fright at seeing Igor's letter that was making him doubly aware of the Dark Mark that lay branded on his skin – a testament to how he could never be free of his past or of the Dark Lord.

Igor, Lucius fumed. Igor, the idiot.

Why did the fool have to write to him now? For all he knew, Black was having Malfoy Manor monitored! What if the letter had passed through the hands of the Ministry before it reached Lucius?

Or, more worryingly, what if it hadn't been written by Igor at all, but planted by Black to have Lucius thrown into Azkaban?

Lucius almost snorted at the thought. He had had a little too much to drink tonight, it seemed – like most other nights. Black wouldn't want to put Lucius in Azkaban any time soon when he had proved so valuable for him with manipulating his Death Eater pals.

And Black wouldn't monitor Lucius… why would he need to, when he had Lucius' own wife sneaking his secrets to him?

Cissa, his dear Narcissa… She was all but lost to him now. Oh, they put on a good show for Draco, alright: the perfunctory kiss before breakfast, attending social gatherings together, spending their evenings with Draco like a proper family. But it was all an act, of course. The moment Draco was out of sight, she would push off Lucius' hand, behaving like even the littlest of contact with him was disgusting to her.

But why wouldn't she feel sick of him, Lucius mused, when even he felt disgusted with himself at times – every time he saw the scar on Draco's cheek, every time he saw his son turn pale and gaunt as the full moon approached, every time people stared and whispered about the half-breed at pureblood parties.

The Werewolf Rights Act was all well and good legislatively, but social mind-sets about lycanthropes would take decades to change. What better an example of that than Lucius himself? He couldn't help but shudder every mealtime that Draco asked the elf to make his steaks a little raw, couldn't help but feel disgust at the scars that marred his son's pale skin, couldn't help feel sickened that his own seed and blood, the last of the Malfoy line was a filthy half-breed, a werewolf.

And what was worse was Lucius was to blame for that! For maiming his son for life! For hiding the Dark Lord's threatening note from Black, for leading to the descent of House Malfoy into depths they could never rise from, a taint that would never be wiped off the Malfoy bloodline.

He stood up, the sudden motion making his head spin a little.

Yet again he wished he had Narcissa by his side. She had always given him good counsel before things went south between them. She would have told him what to do, helped him make up his mind on which side to choose, told him what Black was up to. But now, she never would.

This was a dangerous conundrum he was stuck in, Lucius knew, with Black on one side and the Dark Lord on the other.

He sat back onto the chair, fidgeting with his wand, before he grabbed the empty glass from the table and refilled it, swallowing the cold liquid in a single gulp before he refilled the glass again.

Perhaps others like Nott and Yaxley were already on the way to seeking the Dark Lord and getting into his good graces again – because they, like Lucius himself, knew that the Dark Lord wasn't dead. Maybe Lucius should have looked for the Dark Lord, too… he still had time to do that.

He had already got a taste of how far-reaching the Dark Lord's powers were; Draco getting bitten had proved that. He couldn't risk inviting the further ire of the darkest wizard of all times. He had to protect Draco and Cissa.

He could still redeem things; he could still seek the Dark Lord, plead for his forgiveness, beg to be taken back into his fold, offer his wealth and connections and whatever power he had left for a chance to keep Draco and Cissa away from the Dark Lord's wrath.

He stood up again, pacing around, staring at the remnants of the liquor in his glass. The liquid sloshed – burgundy and brown, and then gleaming gold when he walked below the bright chandelier.

But as he walked to a darker corner of the room, he felt a chill down his spine as the liquor seemed to turn a deep crimson – a shade not unlike the blood that had bathed Draco when Greyback dug his jaws into him.

With a cry of fury and revulsion, he threw the glass away, hearing it shatter against the wall, the liquor painting the wall a dull red.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't seek the Dark Lord, not when Black had bound him with the Vow he had sworn. It had been more than a year since the day Black had come storming into Malfoy Manor, screaming at Lucius for having planted the Dark Lord's Diary into Hogwarts, for almost having gotten his pesky children killed. But Lucius remembered what Black had made him swear as well as if he'd sworn them just the previous day.

Swear on your magic, on the magic and the blood of your very House that you shall neither do nor even seek to do anything that shall put Harry Potter and Acquila Black's lives at harm,Black had made him vow. Even now as he remembered the words – even though they'd been unspoken, only a deep magical resounding in Lucius' mind… he could still feel the force of the oath thrumming in his very veins, though it had been so long since he had sworn it.

Not many people put stock in the tales of the powerful and ancient magic of pureblood Houses. But Lucius knew all the tales were true. Black had had him swear a blood oath, an oath on the very magic that dwelled in Lucius and Draco's blood, the magic that they had inherited from innumerable Malfoy wizards and witches dating back to centuries.

He could not go back on his word to Black, not when he put the very existence of the House of Malfoy at risk. He could not do anything that could even remotely harm Harry Potter. Nothing at all.

Black had his hands well and truly tied, the Muggle-loving bastard.

But the Dark Lord was rising again, Lucius knew, as he rubbed the brand on his forearm. Even Igor, who resided miles away in Durmstrang, had felt the Dark Lord's power, felt the Mark burning, the Dark Lord calling out to his faithful followers.

Not responding to the command would mean certain death when the Dark Lord rose again. And responding would result in the complete decimation of whatever remained of the Malfoys.

He ceased pacing around now, his throat parched, his eyes glancing at the liquor cabinet again. It was the only thing that gave him blessed relief now – the alcohol. An escape from the sleepless nights, from his uncaring wife, from his lycanthropic son, from the fear of dying at Black's hands and of watching Cissa and Draco succumb at the Dark Lord's.

Lucius swore, summoning a new glass, reaching out blindly for the first bottle that he could find, when a sudden knock at the door startled him.

"Father! Why have you magicked the door shut?" It was Draco, of course.

Cursing under his breath, Lucius stumbled a little – a sign that he had already passed the threshold of soberness tonight. But despite his tipsiness, his spell worked decently as he unlocked the door with a wave of his wand.

"Father, I heard some noise—oh," said Draco, noticing the shattered glass and the splotches of liquor that marred the wall.

Damn. He should have cleared the mess before letting Draco in – yet another sign that he was more drunk than sober.

Draco stared at him, uneasy, uncertain.

He might not adore their son like Narcissa did, but Lucius knew his boy very well. He seemed to be struggling between requesting Lucius to curtail his drinking and avoiding rebuking his own father like any good Malfoy should.

Draco remained silent, though he seemed about to burst with his unspoken words. Finally, he spoke, not quite meeting Lucius' eyes. "Is there something wrong? Between Mother and you?"

"Of course not," Lucius lied smoothly.

It was, after all, the only thing that Cissa and he agreed on: that Draco should never know that his father was responsible for him getting bitten, that it was the reason why his parents were husband and wife only in name and nothing else, that Lucius had (with a lot of unintentional help from Sirius bloody Black) destroyed everything that he had ever loved and cherished about his family.

"You—you—well, you drink a lot nowadays," stuttered Draco, silver eyes finally meeting Lucius'. He had grown a lot taller now, Lucius' boy. In another couple of years, he would tower over both his parents. Perhaps, he had his Black genes to thank for his (though some would surely say it was the Rosier blood in him, given the rumours which once did the rounds about Narcissa's questionable parentage).

"You were never like this before," went on Draco. "Is it—is it because of what's happened to me? Are—are you ashamed of me? Because I'm a werewolf? Is this because of that?"

There was something in Draco's eyes that reminded Lucius of the little trusting child he had once been, always holding his arms out to his father, wanting to be carried around as they watched the albino peacocks frolic in the gardens, snuggling into his embrace when one of the curious peachicks came too close.

There was something so vulnerable and forlorn in his Draco's expression – so powerful a mixture of budding hope and devastating hurt – that Lucius' heart would have broken, if he even had one, that is.

"I'm not ashamed of you," whispered Lucius, knowing for once that this was the truth. He did despair about the taint that had irreversibly marred Draco, his newly-acquired wolfish habits did disgust him at times, but he could never be ashamed of his son. He loved his son, werewolf or not.

Draco was the sole bright spot in his life with Cissa lost to him.

Begetting Draco was, perhaps, the only good thing he had ever done.

Lucius shook his head, certain now that he had drunk far, far more than he should have to have allowed such sentimental thoughts to surface.

"I am not ashamed of you, son," he said, his voice sounding thick. "I can never be. You are a Malfoy, Draco. You shall be the Head of our House someday. You can never shame me."

Draco smiled – a smile so uncurbed and carefree, nothing like the polite, hollow smiles he had taken to grinning since he got bitten. Lucius found himself smiling too.

"Acquila told me," Draco said, grinning wider now, "She told me you couldn't hate me. She—well, she doesn't like you much, but she told me that you still love me, despite what I am…"

"I do," said Lucius quietly, already bristling at the mention of the Black girl, at the dreamy smile that Draco flashed at the mere thought of her.

Before Black had broken out of Azkaban, Cissa and he had told Draco to befriend the girl, hoping to bind the two children into marriage when they grew up, ensuring that Draco and Acquila's child would hold the Black and Gamp wealth and lordships someday. But his greed for the Black fortune had only pushed his son into Black's arms… Black's daughter's arms, rather.

But for all that Draco fancied the girl, she would never deign to marry his son, Lucius knew.

Draco would have his heart broken, sooner or later.

But he was just a boy. He would get over it soon enough. Malfoys weren't meant to brood over foolish blood-traitor girls, anyway. Especially over the daughter of Sirius Black…

Draco's closeness to the Acquila, his respect for Remus Lupin, and the fact that Sirius Black was the father of the girl Draco fancied, meant that the boy would never consider the Blacks his enemy.
That meant, Lucius mused for the umpteenth time in the past months, yearning for another drink, barely listening to what Draco was saying, that his half-breed son was already a blood-traitor for the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord had already had Draco attacked once; he wouldn't think twice before harming him again, just to piss off Black and his daughter, who were both so dear to the Potter boy.

The Dark Mark on Lucius' forearm burned suddenly, painfully, almost as if the Dark Lord was warning him on what was in store for the Malfoys.

He had to do something, Lucius knew.

He nodded absently to what Draco was saying, and grabbed the glass from the table again, uncaring of his son's barely-contained disgruntlement as he emptied the contents of the bottle into it.

He would need to act. Soon.

oOo

Sirius cast a glance around at the street that housed Grimmauld Place. There weren't any Muggles around at that late hour, but he preferred being cautious. He didn't want to add any more illegal Obliviation to the one he'd done during Caractacus Burke's interrogation.

He sighed tiredly as he entered the house, Mopsy hurrying to take his coat from him.

It had been a long day: the search for Crouch Junior was still fruitless; he'd had to chase a small-time Dark magic practitioner through a busy Muggle street (which resulted in having to drag a dozen Muggles to the Obliviaters by the time the crook was caught), and then he'd stopped by Irene's on the way home; though he decided he very well preferred being tired out by shagging Irene than chasing foolish wizards in the middle of a busy road.

"Should Mopsy set the table for Master?" asked Mopsy meekly.

"No, thank you," he replied, moving towards his room. He had been famished after the time he'd spent with Irene and grabbed a bite at her place.

He barely moved towards the staircase when he saw Acquila curled up in the armchair by the unlit fireplace, a book lying loosely in her hand as she slept.

"Acquila," he said, keeping his voice low, gently taking the book away from her. By now, he knew that he couldn't wake her up suddenly and give her a fright; it reminded her of that night with Greyback, making her withdraw into herself even as she tried to put on an unaffected air. He called out to her softly until her eyes blinked open, her gaze panicked at first until she realised it was him.

"Hey, Dad," she yawned sleepily.

"Why aren't you in bed yet? It's past midnight," he said.

She just shrugged, saying nothing until he raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"It was nice, spending time with you in France… I mean, you do spend time with us when we're home for the holidays, but not as much as you did in France," she said quietly, seeming a little embarrassed. "Since we've been back, you've hardly been around much. So I thought I'd wait up for you."

He felt his heart clenching with a surge of affection infused with guilt. Acquila had stayed up for him to come home, while he'd been busy having a romp with Irene.

"Come here, love," he said quietly, gathering her into a hug and pressing a kiss to her brow.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked her, wondering whether she'd like to see the dusty photographs of their Marauding days that he's stored in the attic. Harry could join them too… they could spend some time together before the kids left for Arthur Weasley's house prior to the Quidditch World Cup final. He had been a little reluctant to let them go, knowing it was a security concern. But Kingsley had assured him that the Burrowwould be made well-secured.

"Well, you could tell me more about Mum and you," Acquila said quietly, something wistful in her voice.

"I've already told you about us," he said, finding himself smiling. "About how we met at Hogwarts, and how I pursued her until she finally agreed to date me, and then asked her to marry me in the middle of a battle with Death Eaters—"

"But I want to know about both of you," she cut in, seeming pensive. "About how you were with each other—about how she was, and you were…" she trailed off vaguely, shrugging, making Sirius wonder what she was getting at.

Did this have something to do with her constant conflict about her relationship (or the lack of it) with Harry? After that episode at Black Manor when something had happened between them, making Acquila keep away from Harry, the two teenagers had finally reconciled with each other, the vacation in France bringing them back to their original, friendly selves. But it didn't seem like they had resumed being, well, romantic with each other, he thought, grimacing a little.

He remembered asking her to make up her mind on Harry once and for all. Perhaps, her curiosity about his relationship with Athena had something to do with that.

"Alright." He grinned.

"But don't you want to eat something first?" she asked him suddenly. "I had Mopsy make your favourite pudding for dessert."

"I already ate at work," he lied, feeling absurdly guilty again. "We could—" A loud crack made startled him, making his hand move swiftly to his wand.

But it was only Kreacher.

"What is it?" Sirius asked the aged elf.

"Master Phineas says that Headmaster Dumbledore is calling Kreacher's Master," Kreacher croaked, disappearing already, muttering unintelligible things under his breath.

Sirius sighed, the groan he was about to let out stifled by the realisation of why the old man could be asking for him at the late hour: Dumbledore had finally kept his word, it seemed.

"What does he want with you?" asked Acquila warily, before there was a sudden gleam in her eyes. "Is it about the Horcruxes, do you think? Can Harry and I come, too?"

"No, you can't," he replied swiftly, watching her scowl. "Putting Dumbledore and you in one room hasn't worked out well before, has it?" he quipped, remembering how her fury had sent Dumbledore's office shaking, his prized glass instruments shattering when Acquila had been just an eleven-year-old girl.

"I'll tell you what he says. Don't wait up for me," he added, knowing that was what she would want to do. "It could be nothing for all we know." He didn't want to get her hopes up; the children had spent quite some time fruitlessly poring over books and repeatedly watching Slughorn's memory in the search for Horcruxes. "Dumbledore might even have called me to say he found nothing on Hepzibah Smith. So don't get all excited. Go off to bed now. We'll talk in the morning. I'll take half the day off work, alright? We'll spend some time together… both of us."

"Okay," she gave in, looking a little grumpy. But she smiled when he kissed her brow again. "Bye, Dad."

He threw a pinch of floo-powder into the fireplace, hoping he wouldn't cross paths with Snape like he'd done on his last visit to the Castle of Hogwarts – a repeat of that was something he desperately wanted to avoid; their last argument had only left him feeling like a petulant loser.

"Ah, Sirius," said Dumbledore, when he finally made the journey up the spiral staircase and into the familiar office. Phineas watched on from the wall, his usual sneer overshadowed by the eagerness in his dark eyes.

"Have a seat, my boy," went on the Headmaster. "How have you been? Your attempt at rebuilding your alliances was a splendid success, I hear, as was the good your trip to France did to Harry, Acquila and you."

"I'm sure you didn't call me here to exchange pleasantries," muttered Sirius; hearing Harry's name from the older wizard made him bristle as he remembered what Dumbledore had done: ensured Voldemort regained his Yew and Phoenix feather wand.

The astute headmaster seemed to realise that mentioning Harry wasn't the wisest thing to do; so he only smiled, his good hand stroking his long beard while the cursed hand remained on the table, black and decayed, the harbinger of impending death.

"You got it, then? Information on Smith?" asked Sirius bluntly.

"More than I expected to gather," replied Dumbledore, the twinkle still present in those bright eyes that looked so wise and old, even older than the wrinkled features that were testament to his age.

With his steady good hand, Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve with a swish of his wand, the ancient vessel landing neatly on the table before them.

"Here," said Dumbledore, handing him a vial that contained swirling wisps of memories.

Sirius felt his heart thumping madly as he emptied the contents of the vial into the Pensieve. This was the closest he had come to discovering a Horcrux in almost a year. After months and months of failure, this was the one ray of hope, failing which he had no more clues to fall back on, nothing that even remotely pointed to what Voldemort's Horcruxes could be.

There's still the one that dwells in Harry, a voice reminded him, sounding eerily like James; and he found that familiar fear of losing his child taking over the eagerness that had been there mere moments ago.

"Sirius," Dumbledore shook him out of his thoughts. "Shall we?"

Sirius nodded – and then he was plunging into a sitting room that was crammed with cabinets and little lacquered boxes and gold-embossed books, with the immensely fat lady, the squeaking house-elf, the handsome, charming young man whose eyes flashed scarlet, the Locket, and the Cup! – the Cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, the Cup that Sirius wished he could prise right out of the memory and strike it with the Sword of Gryffindor, the Cup that gave him the hope he had been yearning for since months.

"What is it?" demanded Phineas, looking more animated than ever when they arose from the Pensieve, Sirius' heart soaring with relief and delight. "The old man wouldn't tell me! What is it, boy?"

"It's the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff!" Sirius exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile despite himself, watching Phineas' eyes widen. "I thought it was just a myth. Grandmother Melanie used to tell Reggie and me stories about it…"

"It exists, then?" said Phineas, a touch of incredulity to his voice. "There was always talk of it, but I thought it was long lost to time. Where is it, then? What did he do with it?"

"We don't know," said Sirius, a hint of defeat slipping in. "He stole it from Hepzibah Smith. We can find it, I'm sure – at least we knowwhat it is. A horcrux, finally," he whispered, more to himself.

"This is but a small step on the long path that lies before us, Sirius," put in Dumbledore. "But sometimes, it is the smallest of steps that mark the difference between defeat and victory."

Sirius nodded.

"Have you any thoughts on how we shall go about tracking down the Cup?" asked Dumbledore.

"Even if he did," cut in Phineas from his portrait, "he would be a fool to trust you with it."

The portraits of his fellow headmasters and headmistresses began tutting and shaking their heads at Phineas' lack of faith in Dumbledore. But Sirius knew his forefather was right. Dumbledore may have helped him get this memory, but he couldn't trust him, not after what he did, not when he would always put the good of the world before everything else including Harry's life.

"This isn't the time for squabbles, Phineas," said Armando Dippet from his portrait.

"Can you hazard a guess as to where the Cup could be hidden?" Dumbledore asked Sirius quietly, deaf to the portraits' loudening arguments, blue eyes bright, seeming to gaze into Sirius' very soul.

Sirius looked away, choosing to stare at a scowling Phineas instead, noting how Dumbledore's quiet voice had been enough to call an end to the warring headmasters and headmistresses. Despite them knowing what he had done with the Yew wand, Dumbledore's predecessors' faith in him was unshaken, it seemed.

"No," Sirius replied finally, "I don't know."

But the vivid mental picture that had haunted his thoughts over the past few days resurfaced in his mind's eye again, something he hadn't confided in anyone yet: of Riddle Manor burnt to the ground, the air devoid of any signs of magic, but something about the place making Sirius' skin prickle, making his hair stand on end, screaming out to him that something was amiss, something unseen and unknown, dark and sinister.

"I will believe you if you say so," said Dumbledore mildly, though Sirius could see mistrust in those wise eyes. "I shall look into the matter and see what I can find out about the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff. So shall you, I presume; and when either of us unearths something about it, I expect we shall confer upon it, Sirius."

Sirius said nothing, knowing he would think twice before choosing to trust Dumbledore with anything.

The Headmaster sighed again. "I know you think I have wronged you, my boy. But there is still a lot that you have to learn before you take my place as the leader of the Light. I hope you shall not let your dim view of my actions cease you from confiding in me, for Harry's sake, and for the wizarding world's sake at large."

Fighting a mad urge to roll his eyes, Sirius merely nodded brusquely, too excited about news of the Cup to even lock horns with the headmaster again. Taking leave of Dumbledore with a few polite words, he departed from the Castle, breathing in deeply as the breeze flew cold and fast across the lawns of the school. He had half a mind to take a run in the Forbidden Forest as Padfoot before he went home, just to gather his thoughts, to bask in the freedom that Padfoot gave him. But one glance at the dark trees of the Forest, and he remembered Acquila lying on the forest floor on that moonlit night, her blouse torn, McGonagall pale-faced as she stood over her, Harry lying bleeding in his Lion form—memories he wished he could erase from his mind forever, and from the children's minds too…

He ran a hand over his face, collecting his thoughts with quite some effort. He needed to keep calm now, think practically, use all his wits to decipher where the Cup of Hufflepuff could be. And for that, he needed to stop dwelling on that terrible night. It was strange, but nightmares about Greyback hurting Harry and Acquila plagued him worse that his nightmares of Azkaban had ever done.

"Good Godric," he swore under his breath.

He didn't want to go home now. He wanted to think, decide on the next course of action before he told the children about the Cup. For once, he wanted to be a step ahead of things, to inspire some confidence in the children, to believe in his own self after the happenings of the past few days. Crouch Junior was still at large, leaving them with absolutely no clue about his whereabouts… and that meant Voldemort was firmly in the lead in their battle for power. But the knowledge of the Cup of Hufflepuff got them some of the momentum back. And he needed to find it soon, gather leads on where it could be hidden… or with whom it could be hidden.

Minutes later, instead of going back to Grimmauld Place, he found himself disapparating to London, in a dark back-alley of a building that was now familiar to him.

He knocked on the door of the second-storeyed flat, and within moments, a bleary-eyed Remus opened the door, looking panicked on seeing Sirius before him.

"Padfoot!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter? Is it the kids? Did something happen?"

"Calm down, Moony. Everything's alright," said Sirius, only now realising that this perhaps wasn't the right time to come knocking on Remus' door. It was already way past midnight, and Remus had his own life now… with Nymphie, in his new house...

"Come on in," said Remus, leading him to the cosy little living room. "I take it something's happened. Why didn't you use the fireplace?"

"I didn't exactly want to knock on McGonagall's door this late at night, asking leave to use her floo network," said Sirius, settling into the chair.

"You're coming from Hogwarts!" said Remus eagerly, wide awake now. "Is it about the—"

"Where's Nymphie?" Sirius cut him off, looking around. He couldn't put Nymphie in danger by having her know of the existence of the Horcruxes. She already knew too much: from the Soul Bond to Harry's Animagus form.

"She's asleep. She had a long day today. It's Mad Eye's last week at the Auror training programme, and he's making the trainees work crazy hours," replied Remus.

Sirius smiled, remembering the days of old when James and he were Auror trainees, when Mad Eye would make them work their arses off for hours at a time. With Mad Eye set to leave the Auror trainer's post for good and join Hogwarts as the DADA professor, Sirius could imagine how hard he was making his charges slog before he bid them adieu.

"So, what did Dumbledore tell you?" asked Remus, uncharacteristically impatient.

Sirius swished his wand, cast a privacy charm in case Nymphie woke up, and then grinned at Remus. "He got hold of Hokey's memory – Hepzibah Smith's elf. You know the tale of the Cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff… that's one of Voldy's Horcruxes."

"The Cup of Hufflepuff? So it really exists then? Merlin!" whispered an awed Remus. "So Voldemort did choose objects that were related to the Founders of Hogwarts, then: the Locket, the Ring, the Cup of Hufflepuff now… that leaves Gryffindor and Ravenclaw—"

"We only know of Gryffindor's Sword, that's at Hogwarts, of course," put in Sirius.

"And Ravenclaw… well, there's the legendary Diadem. But there's been no information about it since centuries. At least Hufflepuff's Cup was always known to have existed. But the Diadem's always seemed more of a myth," said Remus thoughtfully.

Sirius nodded. "But that's not the point. We know of three Horcruxes already – the Ring, the Cup and Harry."

Remus sighed at the mention of Harry.

Sirius was glad Remus had forgiven him for keeping him in the dark about it, but in the past weeks, he had seen how much the knowledge of Harry being a Horcrux was worrying the werewolf.

"We can't do anything about the soul fragment in Harry," said Remus. "We have no clue about where the Ring is—"

"Bellatrix," cut in Sirius. "Voldy wouldn't have Obliviated her if she knew nothing of the Horcruxes."

"But you visited her place and you found nothing there," interjected Remus.

"Voldemort gave the Diary to Lucius, he gave something to Bellatrix. There's every possibility that he gave the Cup to one of his other followers," said Sirius. It was something he'd known for months now. But now that he knew what exactly Voldemort had chosen as a Horcrux – the Cup of Hufflepuff – he had a proper ground to zero in on who could possibly have the Horcrux.

"Like Nott?" asked Remus thoughtfully.

"Possibly," said Sirius. "They'd have to be people Voldemort trusted enough to give them something that shelters a part of his soul… Nott was pretty high up the Death Eater ranks."

"As was Evan Rosier," put in Remus. "But he died around the end of the War. You think Nathan Rosier could know something about it? You could ask him."

"Not so soon," said Sirius cautiously. It was only recently, during the party they'd thrown, that he'd impressed upon Nathan the necessity for him to choose a side soon. He would have to let Nathan make the choice on his own. If he agreed to join the Light, it would be easier to question him about whether he knew of a possible Horcrux. If he chose the Dark, then well… Sirius knew quite a few ways and means to prise the truth out of people – something he didn't yet want to use on Nathan Rosier who could be a valuable ally in the battle against Voldemort.

"Do you think he gave a Horcrux to… well, Pettigrew?" asked Remus slowly.

"No," muttered Sirius. Voldemort would never have thought Peter worthy enough of the honour of receiving a Horcrux for safekeeping.

"Yaxley, then? Macnair? Rowle?" went on Remus.

"I doubt it," said Sirius. "But I can find out…"

Remus sighed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Let me talk to him. You both will only end up bickering. And Severus will never reveal anything to you when he feels slighted by you. I can deal with him better—"

"No," said Sirius, remembering clasping Snape's forearm, the spells of magic streaming from Andromeda's wand binding his childhood nemesis in an Unbreakable Vow sworn to protect Harry. "I will talk to Snape. Soon."

oOo

The fire flared, the flames dancing wildly, the smoke seeming to unfurl up to the very skies.

Acquila watched the fire engines stationed on the street outside. Curious Muggles had gathered around, while the firemen urged them to move away from the fierce jets of water spraying on the flaming house at the end of the street.

Nobody was hurt; the owners had rushed out of the house. But mere news of the fire had been enough to get her Dad speeding home.

While Acquila had thought that having Grimmauld Place under the Fidelius was security enough, her Dad apparently didn't deem it so. Harry and she had got to know just today that there were magical wards all around, alerting Sirius and Remus to the slightest signs of something untoward happening anywhere in a kilometer-long radius of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius had arrived with Kingsley barely minutes after the Muggle fire alarm had blared. While Kingsley had gone off to the burning house, checking discreetly for any signs of magic, her Dad had paced around at home, re-casting the security wards, unreasonably unnerved for what was just a fire.

All of it: Sirius' creased brow, Kingsley's Auror demeanour, Harry worrying because Sirius was worrying… it had only unsettled Acquila, making her long to go back to France, devoid of the hustle and bustle of London, where there was no Voldemort to worry about, where the Soul Bond had been away from her thoughts. They had roamed around without the slightest Auror detail there, where nobody had even recognised them, and her Dad had seemed a completely different person with his infectious carefreeness and easy laughter.

Days ago, the moment she had let go of the international Portkey, steadied her feet and arrived at London, it had been akin to a rude awakening for Acquila. They had all stared at them – the officials who had cleared their re-entry into wizarding Britain; whispers of Potter and Black had been audible. But what had made her freeze was just one word: Greyback, printed boldly on one of the newspapers lying on the table at the reception.

It had all come back to her – that horrific night in the Forbidden Forest that she had succeeded in pushing to the back of her mind during their stay in France. But this was Britain, of course; Greyback's death was still finding its way into the news, especially after the Werewolf Rights Act was still being discussed widely.

"Acquila." Harry's voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Hey," she said, shifting to make place for him on the couch by the window, almost glad that he had interrupted her before her thoughts could take a darker turn.

"Here," he said, handing her a glass of chilled Butterbeer.

"Thanks," she said, finding herself smiling when Harry grinned at her.

He was looking rather nice today, she mused. The green t-shirt he had worn brought out the colour of his eyes. His hair had grown longer now, falling to his shoulders, messier than ever. She was sure it wouldn't last long, though. Aunt Andy would take one look at him and chop his hair off to a more decent length.

Acquila hesitated only a moment before she ruffled his hair, messing up his locks which were as inky black as her own.

"Hey!" Harry protested, batting her hand away and unsuccessfully trying to straighten up the mussed up strands. He pouted indignantly, before a smile slipped through.

"You've been rather quiet all noon," he said moments later, as she went back to staring out of the window.

"Just watching the Muggles… Dad and Kingsley could've just put out the fire, you know, with magic, and then Obliviated the Muggles or something… This is going to take hours," she said, pointing at the dense smoke that now blurred the sight of the firemen.

Harry just shrugged. "Sirius seemed strange today. I mean, it's just a fire… no big deal…"

"He's getting too paranoid," Acquila muttered. "He'll put Mad Eye to shame, the way he's been going."

Harry nodded. "Sirius worries too much about us. And speaking of Mad Eye, you think he'll stop Auror training long enough for Dora to have lunch with us tomorrow? It's been ages since we've seen her."

"We could call them over," said Acquila, "For dinner tonight. Dora, Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted—and Remus, of course! I've missed Remus."

"Me too!" Harry grinned.

It was a little strange not having Remus around. Since the end of their first year at Hogwarts, Remus had always lived with them – first at Black Manor, and then at Grimmauld Place.

Though he had moved in with Dora into their Muggle flat at the beginning of the summer vacations, he'd been at Grimmauld Place most of the time before they left for France, helping them practice their spell-casting and the Patronus Charm. But now that he'd begun his work as the Head of the Werewolf Liaison Office, Remus didn't really have much time to spare for them. With Sirius at work all day, it left only Harry and her at home with the elves – not that she minded that much, though.

Before they left for France, things had been awkward between Harry and her. She still remembered kissing him in the stables, and then pushing him away as she had been reminded of Greyback. After that, it had all gone downhill. But their vacation had changed things, bringing them back to being the best of friends that they'd always been – chatting and laughing and pulling his legs about how he had mooned over Fleur Delacour.

"Hey, not Fleur again!" Harry groaned, taking her empty Butterbeer glass from her hands, his fingers brushing hers.

He didn't even seem to realise that he had latched onto her thoughts again.

Acquila, too, decided to let it slide.

She didn't want to think of it now, not when Harry and she had begun enjoying each other's company since their French vacation, when it was so pleasant talking to him like before, and entwining her fingers with his as they stared at the starlit skies at night, traipsing through the streets of Paris, having Harry help her choose from the dozens of dresses that she'd tried on at the Muggle stores, laughing in delight as they enjoyed the rides at Disneyland…

She watched Harry take their glasses to the sink. He'd wash them, dry them and put them back in their place, she knew. The elves would fret, of course. Mopsy would shriek about how little master shouldn't do Mopsy's work for her, and Kreacher would mutter under his breath. But Harry still stuck to the little habits that the years of living with the Dursleys had drilled into him.

She sometimes liked that about him. How he was still the boy she had known back in the Muggle world, despite all his Boy Who Lived fame… He always tidied his own room, even though Mopsy and Kreacher would have readily done all he asked them to. Sometimes, he even sent the elves off and made breakfast for them all, doing the dishes and sometimes helping Mopsy out with weeding in the gardens when they were at Black Manor.

"Hey," Harry roused her from her thoughts again. "You're quiet again."

She only smiled.

She had taken to thinking a lot lately – about Harry and her.

Oh, she was content with how normal they were now. But Sirius' words were always in her thoughts. Her Dad had told her to make up her mind; to stop taking Harry's patience for granted.

Don't hurt him, don't keep him hanging like this, Sirius had said.

But it was tough – making up her mind.

Oh, she loved Harry. She always would. And she liked him, that way.

But the Soul Bond made her nervous; what she had done in the Forbidden Forest – possessing Harry, willing his body to transform, dictating his every action – it was too much power to have over a person. What was more frightening was that Harry could have the same power over her if he chose to use it. He could possess her, too. He could already latch on to her thoughts without even trying to do so; it happened without even the slightest of effort now – delving into each other's minds.

Something had changed since that night in the Forbidden Forest, Acquila knew. And it was scaring her more than she could admit to anyone, even her Dad.

She could feel Harry's presence at the back of her mind, always. It was something latent, but it was there. If he put in some effort into it, she knew he could easily access even the deepest recesses of her mind.

It was the same for her. She had literally felt all his thoughts about Fleur. She had found herself fancying Fleur for a moment, admiring her willowy figure and her shiny hair and the deep blue of her eyes – all because Harry had been literally drooling over the girl.

And Acquila had hated it! Not just because she was envious of how the girl had Harry wrapped around her finger with her Veela charm, but because Harry's amorous sentiments about Fleur had been strong enough to spill over into Acquila's mind and override her own dislike of the girl! If Sirius hadn't snapped her out of it, Acquila wasn't sure she could have pushed Harry's emotions out of her mind on her own, which was worrying.

And there were other things too – one other thing to be precise. Something was wrong with her, with her magic.

They practiced their spells alone for most part of the day, just the two of them. They hadn't made much progress with the Patronus charm. Well, Acquila hadn't. Harry was doing pretty well at it. The wisps of the silvery spell were getting stronger every time he cast the Patronus charm. He was getting better at the Animagus transformation, too.

Since they'd been back from France, he could slip into his Lion form with far greater ease under Sirius' watchful eyes every evening after he came back from work. Unlike the time Harry had transformed for their friends, when Acquila had needed to prod his mind and body into the complete transformation again, now Harry didn't need her help at all. He could transform all by himself; and then transform back into his human form except for the one time Sirius had helped him.

Even when they duelled, Harry's spells now had a lot more power in them… more powerful than Acquila's own spells, if she was honest.

She didn't mind that. She didn't mind Harry being better at magic than her. But what irked her was that her magical graph was falling as much as Harry's was rising.

She hadn't progressed on the Patronus charm much. Even thinking of the happiest times she'd had in France didn't seem to help.

Despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to transform into her Eagle form too. Her Dad assured her that it was only because it was tougher to transform into birds than animals. But she knew that wasn't the reason.

Her spells were weaker now. Hell, she didn't think she could cast spells wandlessly now; even if she did, they'd be just feeble imitations of the once she used to cast when she was younger. Sometimes, she thought back to her younger days with a deep longing. It had been barely three years ago that her fury had fuelled her magic enough to make Dumbledore's very office tremble, sending the spindly glass instruments crashing to the floor and making the portraits sway perilously with the force of her anger. She remembered Lucius Malfoy bursting into flames in the Ministry, years ago, when the Malfoys had fought Aunt Andy for her guardianship. Then at the end of her first year, she had battled Quirrel-Voldemort even without her wand. And then, just last year, she had found her magic shooting off the tips of her very fingers when Ginny-Voldemort had disarmed her in the Chamber of Secrets.

Where had all that power gone now? Why couldn't she even cast simple spells with the power she used to channel into them? Why was her magic seeming to go completely downhill? She didn't know; but she thought it had something to do with the Soul Bond.

It was probably just her being foolish, but since that night in the secret passage, months ago, when she had first snogged Harry, the Bond had begun to strengthen, cording itself tighter and tighter around Harry and her, affecting their magic differently. That night when she had possessed Harry only seemed to have aggravated it all, weakening her magic as much as it strengthened Harry's.

"You seem upset," said Harry quietly, frowning now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, hoping he hadn't sensed what she was truly feeling. She didn't want to raise the matter of the Bond. Not now, when they had just shrugged off the awkwardness and rekindled their friendship.

Harry nodded, though he didn't seem convinced. He looked at her, a little closely. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, meeting his gaze. He was looking at her out of concern, but when she held his gaze a little longer, there was something in his expression, something in his eyes – that little gleam that told her how his tummy was flopping as much as hers was. For half a moment, she wanted to rush to him, put her arms around his neck and press her lips to his, threading her fingers through that messy mop of hair, and feel his hand at the small of her back, tugging her closer to him.

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding deeper. She knew he had caught on to her thoughts, his own colourful ones adding to them.

"Acquila," he said, the one word making her cheeks flame. She waited for him to say something, for him to do something.

But he seemed to hesitate – not the coy hesitation that was so like him, but something different, something nervous and scared. Within moments, she knew what he was worried about: that day in the stables, when she had been reminded of Greyback assaulting her, when she had pushed Harry away and fled away in tears.

Her face flamed again, but with embarrassment this time.

"Sorry!" Harry exclaimed, "I didn't mean to remind you of—I just—"

"It's okay," she said hurriedly, not wanting to worsen matters. She wasn't the trembling, cowering girl she had been in the immediate days after being attacked by Greyback, when the mere mention of his name would remind her of how he had groped her in the Forbidden Forest, when she was sure she would never escape his clutches in time. She was better now, stronger. "I'm fine—I'm okay—"

"I know!" said Harry quickly, "I know you are—I just—"

"It's alright," she said again.

He nodded. The eagerness she had felt mere moments ago was gone now, as were the butterflies in her belly.

"You want to duel again?" he asked her, running a hand through his hair.

"Later?" she said, eager to practice her spells and get back to being as proficient as she had been with magic, but deciding she just wanted some time with herself.

"Alright." Harry smiled as she walked up the staircase and to her room.

At times like these, she missed having a confidante, a true friend. Oh, she had friends, of course – Hermione, Ron, Neville… she even had Dora… but they all knew Harry; and she knew she couldn't get a neutral opinion from them, considering how they would always keep Harry's feelings and wishes in mind, too. There was Draco, of course, whom she trusted immensely now; but he couldn't help her with Harry when he still resented him so much.

She missed having someone she could have opened her heart and mind to… someone like Mrs Smith… someone like a mother, someone Acquila could never have. For half a moment, she remembered the clearing in the Gamp Forest, her mother's ghostly apparition floating out from the Locket Horcrux, terrible but beautiful, so close yet so far, filling Acquila's heart with a yearning for Athena that she'd never felt before.

Her fingers brushed absently over the cursed scar on her clavicle, where the Locket had burned into her skin, the cold chain trying to strangle her to death.

She shook her head to clear it of the macabre thoughts. It was just so sad how she couldn't think of her Mum without thinking of the fatal Locket. The memory of almost being killed by the Locket tarred everything she had ever imagined of her Mum, coloured every snippet she had ever collected about Athena – from Aunt Andy and her Dad and Remus – with the darkness and fear that the thought of Voldemort and his Horcruxes evoked in her.

She sped up the stairs towards her room, wondering if her Dad would allow them to go to Black Manor in the evening. She could go for a long ride on Calliope, let the feeling of flying unhindered clear her mind a bit.

"Oh!" she exclaimed when she opened the door to her room. Waiting for her were a pile of gifts at the foot of her bed.

She smiled widely. She was always delighted to receive gifts because she had got so few of them during her childhood at the Orphanage.

It seemed like it was her birthday all over again. They had been in France for her birthday, and all their mail arrived at Black Manor, where her Dad had the elves check all their post for anything suspicious. Mopsy had probably brought it all over to Grimmauld Place today.

"Harry!" she called out aloud, knowing Mopsy had already placed a similar pile of gifts in his room (they had been in France for Harry's birthday too). They could open their presents together.

"Coming!" she heard Harry call.

She grabbed at the biggest of the gift boxes, knowing from the elegant handwriting that it was a gift from Draco, when she saw a bouquet of flowers that Mopsy had kept on her table.

They were roses – yellow and white and the prettiest shade of pink.

Acquila wasn't really a girl who loved flowers, but she couldn't help sniff at the roses, inhaling their fragrance, wondering how they'd stayed fresh through the days since her birthday. They were probably charmed, she decided, before she spotted a note.

Dear Acquila,

Happy Birthday!

You're probably in France now. I hope you're enjoying! Did you visit any of the magical places we spoke about? You'll tell me all about your trip when we meet next, won't you?

See you at the World Cup finals! And have a great birthday!

Cedric.

That was all the note said, but Acquila couldn't help but smile that Cedric had remembered her birthday yet again, her earlier surliness fleeing rapidly.

oOo

"My Lord." Severus' weak voice sounded loud in the quiet of the house that was broken intermittently by the merrily crackling flames in the hearth, a stark contrast to the heavy cold that seemed to permeate through the very air he breathed in, despite the warmth of the summer.

The Dark Lord said nothing, while Severus kept his head bowed, concentrating on the sound of his own breathing – calm and steady, in and out, in and out.

His knees were aching due to prolonged contract with the hard floor, his entire body twitching suddenly – an after-effect of being subjected to the Crutiatus Curse.

One, two, three, four, Severus counted mentally. The second shudder, expectedly, came at the count of four. But despite having known it was coming, Severus found that he felt like he no control over himself at all, his limbs twitching, his knees aching worse than ever, before the shudder passed away as suddenly as it had come. It would return after a few minutes, Severus knew, and continue long after the pain from the Crutiatus had died down. He was well-versed with the agonising pain since the past few days that he had established contact with the Dark Lord, begged to be taken into his service, done all that he could to keep his promise to Dumbl—he dispelled the thought away before he could complete it.

Losing the iron grip he had over his mind could mean losing his very life, and those of others, too.

In and out, he thought, hearing the sound of his level breathing in the silence of the room. Calm and steady, in and out.

"My Lord," he repeated, while the fire in the hearth devoured the last remnants of the wooden logs, exuding warmth that Severus couldn't feel… not when the Dark Lord sat before him in his abhorrent form, casting an insurmountable shadow over everything that was bright and warm and good in Severus' thoughts.

He couldn't see him because of his bowed head, but he knew the Dark Lord's terrible red eyes were boring into him. "I beseech you to trust me, my Lord," Severus pleaded, his voice hoarse. "I am yours to command. I am—"

The pain rushed at him, suddenly, all-consuming, more intense than he had suffered in recent days.

They were burning him, scalding his flesh, his bones, his very soul – the white-hot knives that plunged into him, deeper and deeper until he lost his grip on himself and found himself falling to the floor in agony, barely swallowing the screams he wanted to unleash (he knew the Dark Lord wouldn't take kindly to weakness), his head feeling like it would burst into a thousand little pieces—but he couldn't! He couldn't think of the pain, not now, not when he knew what was coming, not when the Dark Lord was going to—and then it came, the force with which the Dark Lord bored into his mind, somehow, seeming more agonising than the torture inflicted by the Cruciatus Curse.

Severus held his fort against the mighty, ravaging storm that sought every memory that he even remotely valued. But his hold was only momentary. He let go of his resistance, partly to hide the true extent of his Occlumency abilities, and partly because he couldn't have held on any longer; the torture he had borne reducing him to a mere shell of the wizard he otherwise was.

Memories flew past him, the Dark Lord tugging at the ones he wished to inspect: of being jeered at by James Potter, at being hit by his father, of seeing Dumbledore's blackened hand and wishing that—and wishing the curse had taken the Headmaster's life instead of just his hand, but playing his expected part when Dumbledore asked him to do his best at healing him, doing everything that he ought to do to avoid arousing the tiniest of Dumbledore's suspicions… watching Potter plunging to the ground from his broomstick, waiting with bated breath for that meddling traitor to paint the ground crimson with his lifeblood, but fuming as that dratted old man saved Potter's life again… observing how Lucius' words in support of Black threatened the loyalties of his fellow Death Eaters including Nott, and then interjecting with words of his own that spoke volumes in favour of the Dark Lord and his certain return to power…

As suddenly as the painful intrusion in his mind had begun, it ceased, the Dark Lord withdrawing from its depths, leaving him with nothing but the pain that the Crutiatus left. It took Severus a moment to collect himself, to keep the false memories at the forefront of his mind and push the real ones deeper inside, where no one could ever find them, not even the Dark Lord with his mighty Legilimency powers.

"It seems you speak truly, Severus," said the Dark Lord, his voice thin, with nothing of the tenor it once possessed.

Severus sat up, every inch of his body screaming in agony as he knelt again. "I would never dream of lying to you, my Lord," he whispered, a sudden spasm of pain making him grit his teeth before the pain passed away. He was far older now than he was during the War; and more than a decade of living in relative peace seemed to have substantially lessened his resistance to pain. But he would build himself up again – physically and mentally. He would have to, Severus knew, if he were to fulfil the tasks he had been entrusted with.

"I know the fate that will await me if I am false to you," went on Severus. He had repeated the same words twice before, on the two occasions he met the Dark Lord, tried to convince him of his loyalty to him, his hatred of Dumbledore, his rancour for Harry Potter. But the Dark Lord was yet to trust him.

"This past decade of working at Hogwarts, gaining Dumbledore's trust – it was all a ruse, my Lord. My loyalties have always lain with you—" Severus almost started as he heard the sound of something heavy slithering towards him on the floor, his heart skipping a beat.

He knew what it was: the Dark Lord's beloved serpent. Nagini, she was called. Severus could not see her from where he knelt, but he knew the snake was sniffing him – for the slightest sign of lies and deception, however impossible that sounded for a reptile. The serpent, beautiful though she was, made Severus feel uneasy, her forked tongue and glittering eyes making a chill run down his spine the last time the snake had looked at him, invoking a sudden sense of fatal foreboding in him.

"I have always been faithful to you, my Lord," Severus continued swiftly, wishing he could keep half an eye on the slithering serpent. "Since the moment I was completely certain of your presence, I have been trying to reach out to you, my Lord. It is only now that I—"

"Severus," the Dark Lord interrupted him, while Severus could hear the serpent slithering past him and towards the fearsome wizard, wanting to heave a sigh of relief. "I need more than your words to assure me of your faithfulness. You, of all people, should know that."

Severus nodded, his head still bowed. Of course he knew mere words weren't enough. The Dark Lord had trusted him enough to let him into Riddle Manor protected by the Fidelius Charm which had hoodwinked even Black (as Barty Crouch Junior had told him, cackling with glee as he narrated how Black had stood within mere metres of Crouch, but still been unable to see or sense him because of the Fidelius). But that had only been because the Dark Lord needed someone to work for him, someone other than Crouch Junior who was being hunted by the entire Auror Department. Severus' arrival had meant the Dark Lord had another servant now; but that still didn't mean he trusted Severus completely.

"I am prepared to do whatever it takes to prove my loyalty to you, my Lord," he said.

"Arise," said the Dark Lord after a long moment of silence

Severus stood up, struggling a little, his limbs aching as he finally got to his unsteady feet,

"Arise, and await my command," ordered the fearsome wizard. "I shall call upon you soon. And if you fail me, you know what awaits you."

"I shall not fail you, my Lord," swore Severus, finally looking at the Dark Lord, at the terrible, terrible form that Potter had reduced him to, at the giant snake coiled around the frightening, loathsome remnants of the great Lord Voldemort. "I give you my word."

Severus bowed, respectfully, before he walked away at the Dark Lord's nod, acknowledging Barty Crouch Junior, who stood near the door, with a curt nod of his own. He stared momentarily at the burnt ruins that were visible from the window – an elaborate arrangement that had fooled even Black, leaving no trace of the massive manor that lay securely under the Fidelius Charm.

A moment later, Severus twisted into nothingness, the familiar feeling of disapparation taking over him before his feet touched solid ground again, sensing the relief that was now becoming commonplace for him with how his visits to the Dark Lord had increased in their frequency recently.

With a moment to collect himself after having emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grasses – another effect of the torture curse – Severus glanced at the mighty Castle of Hogwarts from where he stood before the large gates. He vanished all traces of the bile, and then walked through the gates which opened at the touch of his hand, the darkness further shrouding his black robes in a blanket of invisibility at the late hour.

From where he stood, the journey to the Castle seemed long and weary; but persevering was something Severus was well-acquainted with. Muttering a spell that would hide him from any unlikely spying eyes, he walked to the Castle and down to his quarters in the dungeons.

It was only when he reached his room and glanced at the time that he dwelt on what he hadn't dared think of in the presence of the Dark Lord: his meeting with Black tonight. The late hour told him that he had already kept Black waiting. The pesky dog had contacted him last week, telling him that he wanted to meet Severus at Black Manor if agreeable. Severus should have been there three quarters of an hour ago. But he had lost track of time under the Dark Lord's not-so-hospitable care.

Damn.

He glanced longingly at his bed, wanting to collapse onto it and spend the next couple of days sleeping his pain and tiredness off. But that couldn't be, of course.

Gritting his teeth, he watched his mirrored reflection staring at him instead: his eyes were rather blood-shot, his body twitching at sudden intervals, his face pale and gaunt. It wouldn't do to appear so before Black, he knew. With a weary sigh that was very unlike him, he drew his wand, swishing it in quick arcs, watching his eyes return to normal, a little colour creeping into his face, glamouring his features into their usual stern, intimidating form instead of the beaten man that he had looked minutes ago.

With a slightly quivering hand – courtesy another uncontrollable shudder – he uncorked the vial he had kept ready, swallowing the bitter potion in one big gulp, knowing it would keep some of the visible after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse at bay for the next hour, and then swallowed another one that numbed the pain almost immediately.

He straightened his robes, standing up straight to his full height. Casting one last glance at himself, convinced that this was the best he could look given the circumstances, he grabbed the little box that he had concealed in the magical false bottom of the drawer in his cupboard, containing the Portkey which Black had sent him. He opened the lid, snorting contemptuously when he saw what lay in it: a crumpled plastic bottle of a Muggle soft drink. But he couldn't help be grudgingly relieved that the Portkey spared him the draining effort of Disapparition.

With a murmured word to activate the Portkey, he held the bottle which turned almost blindingly blue, and found his room disappearing around him, an unfamiliar tug at his navel.

He landed roughly on his feet on the cobbled path that led to Black Manor. The chill in the air prickled at his face – unusual for a summer night. Or perhaps, the slight coolness of the night was only aggravating the chill of Riddle Manor that had embedded itself deep into Severus' very bones. He shoved the foolish thought away, blaming it on the long torture. Straightening himself again, he walked into the Manor, keeping an eye out for a pair of familiar green eyes (though he wouldn't admit it even to himself).

"Snape," said Black, thankfully saying nothing of his late arrival as the aged house-elf led Severus into Black's study. Severus remembered the two times he had visited the place before, memories of Lily surging up suddenly from how deeply he had supressed them in the Dark Lord's presence.

Rather than dwelling on her (thanks to James Potter's best friend sitting before him, tainting his memories of Lily with a strong tinge of guilt and envy and agonising loss), he cast a glance around at the study instead, at the staircase visible from the doorway that led to the rooms above.

He knew Potter Junior wasn't here, of course. Black would never have risked inviting him to Black Manor if his bratty daughter and godson were around. But despite himself, (perhaps the strange mood every torture-session put him into was fuelling his unusually sentimental frame of mind), he found himself wishing he could just get one look at Lily's son… just to make sure Black had kept him safe after failing to keep him completely unharmed half a dozen times in the past couple of years. The mere memory of the fright that had taken hold of him when he knew Potter was in Greyback's clutches – fear the likes of which he had never thought he could feel for someone other than Lily – made him want to strangle Black to death with his bare hands.

How could Black be so careless, so bloody naïve when it came to protecting the boy he claimed to love like his own son, or the girl whose life and soul he knew was linked irreversibly to Potter? He had half a mind to rant at Black again, to let him know just what a miserable excuse for a father and protector he was. But even his supressed fury wouldn't make him get down to juvenile tiffs with Black again. It would serve nothing – they would go on and on in circles blaming each other for their faults. From making Pettigrew the Secret Keeper to divulging the Prophecy to the Dark Lord, flinging the litany of their respective mistakes and deeds could go on for hours… precious hours that Severus had no intention on losing arguing with Black.

Months ago, he wouldn't have been so… so grown up about it all. But now, having seen the Dark Lord in person, with the ever-present danger leading his double life put him into, he knew the value of every breathing moment.

"Black," Severus acknowledged finally, the one word coming out far softer than the terseness he had meant to utter it with. Perhaps, his distaste of Black was won over by his newfound maturity, for the lack of a better word.

It was strange what being tortured did to him, he thought wryly: made him overtly sentimental about the boy he'd never spoken a kind word to, left his vocabulary with gaping holes, unable to find the words that could describe what he was feeling, made him lose the otherwise stern tenor of his voice.

Black, much like Severus, seemed unusually pensive as he met his gaze with his grey-eyed one. Leaning back surreptitiously, his back literally singing with relief as it rested against the comfort of the soft-backed chair, Severus wondered why Black was so uncharacteristically quiet.

"You look peaky," said Black shrewdly. "More than usual that is."

Severus stilled for a moment, wondering, a little uneasily, whether Black's Auror training was proficient to make him see through even the strongest of Severus' spells and potions.

"Since when have you begun to care for my wellbeing?" Severus questioned instead, his remark having the intended effect as Black rolled his eyes in a manner not unlike his daughter. Coming to think of it, it was eerie how Severus had begun noticing Acquila Black's gestures enough to recognise a similar one in her father. But he couldn't help it – protecting Potter meant protecting the girl, too, seeing how they were soul-mates… something Severus could have done very well without knowing, seeing what a spitting image of her dratted father the girl was, in looks and in arrogance as well…

"Considering the Vow you swore to protect Harry," said Black, "your wellbeing, unfortunately, becomes a matter of my concern, Snape."

"What an honour it is for me to have Lord Sirius Black care about my welfare," remarked Severus dryly, a little taken aback himself at his own feeble response when he should've verbally thrashed Black for daring to talk of Potter's safety after having neglected it himself time and again. It looked like he had truly turned a new leaf now, holding his tongue and his temper, letting bygones be bygones… or perhaps, the torture had made him tired enough to even ignore the unintentional baits Black threw his way.

"But I am sure you didn't call me here to comment on my health," Severus went on. "I have better things to do than sit up chatting with you."

"Alright," said Black, seeming as well-behaved as Severus himself.

Usually, Black would have followed Severus' remarks with barbs about how Snivellus spent his nights creeping around the Castle like a lonely, overgrown bat. But Black said nothing of that sort, choosing instead to rest his hand on the armrest of his huge chair with the Black crest prominent on the tall headrest, his fingers tapping on the cushioned wood.

"How close were you to Lestrange?" asked Black quietly, grey eyes boring into Severus' dark ones.

"Rudolphus?" asked Severus curiously.

"No, Bellatrix."

Severus stared at Black, a little taken aback. Why was Black asking questions about Bellatrix Lestrange of all people?

"I cannot claim to know her too well," he replied coolly, "She was the Dark Lord's right hand, while I was not high up in the Death Eater ranks until the very end of the War when—"

"—when you divulged the Prophecy to Voldemort, yes," said Black, though without his usual venom, making Severus wonder what was eating at Black enough to even make him forget that the man sitting before him was the very one who led to the beginning of his best friend's fatal end.

"So Bellatrix never trusted you with her secrets, then?" went on Black.

Severus had half a mind to chuckle at that. Bellatrix only ever trusted the Dark Lord, not even her husband or brother-in-law, let alone half-blood Severus Snape. "No," he replied shortly, "But surely you know Bellatrix far better than me, Black. After all, she was your beloved cousin before things went south for you Blacks."

Black watched him mutely before he spoke again. "So if Voldemort ever entrusted her with something, you wouldn't have been one to know of it?"

"Depends on what you mean by entrusted," replied Severus, a little bemused by the turn this conversation was taking. "Though Bellatrix was the closest to him, the Dark Lord, like your dear cousin, did not trust anyone."

"But he trusted Lucius Malfoy," pointed out Black.

Severus watched Black, his mind suddenly more alert, reverting back to how it had been before the Dark Lord's assault on it. "Trusted Lucius with that cursed diary, you mean? So you think there is something else like the diary? Something that can take over people like it did to the Weasley girl?"

"There could be." Black shrugged.

"You wouldn't have wanted to talk to me if you weren't sure of the existence of such an object," said Severus. "Which means you are certain something like this exists."

Black's expression remained unmoved, betraying nothing. Now that he thought of it, Black's grown-up behaviour today wasn't serving Severus well seeing how reigning in his temper made Black unusually placid when it came to his usually simmering emotions that sometimes made him let on far more than he intended to.

"It is mere conjecture on my part, Snape," said Black almost carelessly.

"It doesn't seem to be," said Severus. "Why would you waste your time over an object that might not even exist instead of trying to—to—track down the Dark Lord?"

Damn. He had almost been about to say 'track down Barty Crouch', before amending his words at the very last moment. He wasn't supposed to know of Barty Crouch's survival… only a few in the Ministry knew of it.

This was just the beginning, but this double-crossing was already getting to him. He would need to be very careful with Black from now on, just like Black was being extremely careful with Severus.

"As I said, it is mere conjecture on my part." Black sounded mulish now.

"You are lying," said Severus bluntly, watching Black's lips purse at the tone his voice had taken. "You called me here to speak to me when you detest taking my help. You are telling me of something you wouldn't have told me unless I was the very last resort left to you. You know that something cursed like the diary exists."

"Even on the off-chance that it does, it is none of your concern," said Black coldly.

"Anything that concerns the Dark Lord is my concern! You had me swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect Potter. If you do not tell me the things that matter, how do I even keep Potter safe?"

"Harry's safety is for me to take care of," said Black, a little of his short-temper showing now.

"Because you've done it so commendably well in the past, is it?" flung back Severus. So much for being mature adults, he thought.

Black fumed visibly, his eyes darkening with fury, before he seemed to control himself with much effort, his deep breathing audibly loud. "I am Harry's godfather. Lily trusted me to take care of him. We have had this argument half a dozen times now, Snape, and nothing is going to change your mind about me or vice versa. I suggest we put this behind us now, if we are to work together—"

"How are we to work together if you do not tell me matters in their entirety?" demanded Severus. "You cannot keep me in the dark about the truth and then expect me to work to your ends."

"To our ends," corrected Black coldly, "We both, as the vow you swore will remind you, are here only because we want to keep Lily's son safe. And since you want no secrets between us, why don't we start with you, Snape? I'm not an idiot. I know you've been attacked tonight – with a Dark curse, if I'm not wrong. You've used some charm on yourself, it seems. But I'd be a bloody bad Auror if I couldn't see through it. So tell me, who attacked you? And if it was Voldemort who did, why haven't you told me yet?"

Severus said nothing, keeping his breathing level despite how his heart seemed to thud. He couldn't let Black know he was already in talks with the Dark Lord, pleading for a chance to prove his loyalty – all on Dumbledore's bidding. He couldn't let Black know, not when he knew Black's ties with Dumbledore had plunged to hitherto unplumbed depths, not when the wordings of his Unbreakable Vow had had explicitly stated that he would put Potter's life above Dumbledore's views of what was right and wrong. And this – working his way into the Dark Lord's graces for Dumbledore – was certainly something Black would consider wrong.

"I was attacked," Severus lied, his voice low, "I think you already know by whom—"

"Barty Couch Junior," said Black, suddenly eager. "Did you see him? What does Voldemort want from you?"

"You can very well guess what he wants – to punish me for betraying him. Crouch attacked me, I did not expect to be waylaid by him, and I got injured, he Disapparated before I could retaliate – end of the matter. I do not wish to talk of it," said Severus brusquely.

Let Black think that he was ashamed of being beaten by the Dark Lord's underling – that was better than him knowing the truth that Severus had already betrayed to the Dark Lord information about Potter that Black had strived to keep under wraps.

"You know nothing of Crouch's old hideouts? Can you fathom a guess as to where he could be hiding?" Black pressed on.

"I was never friends with Barty Crouch like your brother and Rabastan Lestrange were," said Severus truthfully.

"But you must know something!" prodded Black.

"I do not know," lied Severus. "When you and your Auror force haven't been able to track him down, how would I know? He's not a fool to hide someplace that any former Death Eater could find when he knows that you have been working to get them on your side. The Dark Lord wouldn't risk that."

Black stared at him, seeming conflicted about wanting more information and letting the matter go. He finally nodded. "So we are at an agreement, then. There are things that I cannot tell you, and it is likewise for you… though I am warning you that I'll look into the attack on you."

Severus glared at him, knowing that was what was expected of him. Let Black investigate the matter all he wanted. He knew he would never have Severus questioned by the Aurors – he was too valuable an asset for Black to have his dark past raked up again by the Ministry.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, tell me, do you know anything of Voldemort entrusting something to Bellatrix?" asked Black again.

"No," replied Severus, jogging his memory. Even if the Dark Lord gave something to Bellatrix, they ensured word of it didn't trickle down the Death Eater ranks.

"If Voldemort did want to give something to his followers, whom would he trust apart from Bella?" asked Black.

"Most of them are dead, but from those who are alive, Theodore Nott," replied Severus.

"I thought as much," said Black, before he levelled a cold gaze at Severus. "And you?"

"No," Severus replied immediately. Pleading for Lily's life to be spared had ensured the Dark Lord never believed in his loyalty enough to entrust him with something like the Diary.

Black only stared at him, something flickering in his eyes. "And if you ever find out anything about it, you shall tell me of it immediately? I need your word."

There was something in Black's tone, something that told him just how crucial this matter was.

The snarky retort Severus wanted to utter died on his lips.

"I promise." Severus nodded, knowing that once he was back into the Dark Lord's good books, this was the very first thing he would need to wrangle out of his lord and master.

oOo

"That was brilliant, Harry!" said George, clapping Harry's back as they walked back to the Burrow.

Harry smiled, his stomach grumbling at the scent of Mrs Weasley's delicious cooking. They'd had breakfast just a couple of hours ago, but with all the Quidditch they played, Harry found himself getting hungry ever so often.

"Yeah," said Fred. "You'd have been a good Chaser, Harry. Like your Dad, huh? Sirius told us he played pretty well!"

Harry smiled at the mention of his father. He didn't remember James Potter at all, but he always got a warm feeling within whenever someone compared him favourably with his father, although it was always followed with a sense of loss.

Suddenly, he found himself missing Sirius, which was a little silly seeing they'd left Grimmauld Place mere days ago. But since the holidays began, they'd had Sirius around a lot, especially in France. So despite how full of people the Burrow was, Harry found himself longing a little for his godfather at times.

Sirius hadn't even been keen on sending them to the Burrow. But with Neville and Hermioe accepting Ron's invite to spend a few days before the World Cup Final with the Weasleys, Harry and Acquila had agreed to join them, too.

Oh, Sirius had been worried about their security, of course, despite Kingsley having personally secured the perimeter of the Burrow. Harry could understand Sirius' paranoia after what had happened with Greyback. If Sirius had his way, he'd have put an Auror guard on the Burrow. But with the on-going World Cup and the perceived security threat to it, many of the Aurors had been called on to help with the security details, so Sirius hadn't had someone assigned to guard them at the Burrow. That actually suited Harry and Acquila just fine. He was sure Mrs Weasley wouldn't have taken kindly to having someone look out for Acquila and him all the time, especially because she, like everyone else, thought that the danger was over with Greyback dead, having no knowledge of the survival of Voldemort and Barty Crouch Junior. And after the freedom they'd had in France, Harry didn't want to go back to having someone tailing them all the time.

"It's good you're a Seeker than a Chaser, Harry." Charlie's deep voice interrupted Harry's musing. "I've heard so much about your game. You'll give Krum a run for his money in a few years' time if the tales are to be believed, eh?"

Harry smiled shyly, always a little unsure whenever someone complimented him.

"Krum!" said Ron excitedly. "He might even win the Cup for Bulgaria!"

"Of course not!" put in Fred and George together.

"I know Ireland's got good Chasers and everything, but the Snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points! If Krum catches it early into the game, Bulgaria could even win!" Ron seemed torn between his admiration for Krum and his support for Ireland.

"No, no, Ronnie boy," said Fred, winking. "Krum's going to catch the Snitch, but Ireland's going to win. I'll bet all my money on it."

"You mean the money you think you'll earn from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" said Ron sarcastically, before his voice dropped lower. "How much do you reckon you'll make out of it? You could take me in, too, you know, as your business partner or something? I could help you—"

"No, no, no, little brother," put in George in a sing-song voice. "We don't need your help, unless of course, you'll let us test some of our products on you. There's this Boxing Telescope we're planning of making—"

"I'm not going to test any of your stuff," grumbled Ron, as they walked through the hallway of the Burrow. "I've heard all the explosions that keep happening in your room. And I haven't forgotten how long Percy's tongue got when you gave him that toffee!"

"That was so funny!" put in a chuckling Ginny, startling Harry.

Ginny hardly ever spoke in his presence, except when they were on the same team playing three-a-side Quidditch. She still turned a little red when Harry spoke directly to her, and kept glancing at him at mealtimes. But she'd at least stopped being visibly jealous of Acquila, like she'd been when she had gotten to know Harry and Acquila had begun sort of dating.

"You should've been there, Harry!" Ginny sniggered, her cheeks a little pink. "Even Bill was laughing at Percy!"

Harry laughed too. He hadn't been there to watch it, but the sight of Percy wrestling with his own elongated tongue had apparently been worth all the scolding Fred and George got from Mrs Weasley. Harry himself had heard Mrs Weasley screeching about Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, and all the time the twins wasted over it. But he thought their trick sweets and pranks were a rather cool idea – except when he'd almost eaten one of their toffees before a laughing Neville stopped him in the nick of time.

He liked it at the Burrow, Harry mused. The twins always kept everyone in splits. Charlie and Bill were great, too. Harry and Acquila had never met the oldest Weasley brothers before arriving at the Burrow. Charlie was a little short and stocky, and had blisters all over from the dragons he trained in Romania. Bill, though, was nothing like how Harry had imagined him. He was tall, thin and rather good-looking, as Harry had heard Hermione and Acquila giggle one evening. With his long, pony-tailed hair, a fang dangling from a ear, and clothes that wouldn't have been out of place at a rock concert, no one would ever believe he worked with the goblins at Gringotts. The best thing about Bill, though, was the tales he told them about his job as a Curse Breaker. If Harry hadn't wanted to be an Auror like Sirius, he thought he might choose curse-breaking as a profession.

Then there was Percy, who had turned even more stoic and stern now. He kept late hours at the DMLE, where he worked as an intern. He'd apparently wanted a job at the Department of International Magical Co-operation. But after the whole saga with Barty Crouch Senior and Greyback, the Ministry had become rather meticulous on the people they employed. The Weasleys' past record with the Flying Car, sheltering Wormtail and Ginny's episode with Tom Riddle's Diary, had made Helphius Urquhart, the new Department Head, refuse to employ Percy. After making the rounds of quite some Ministry departments, Amelia Bones' office had finally taken Percy on. Ron said Percy was rather miffed with how his family members' involvement with 'law-breaking' had scuttled his chances at the job he wanted. But he'd now begun rather too much pride in his job with the DMLE because it was one of the most important departments in the Ministry.

"Come on in, boys, Ginny!" Mrs Weasley greeted them when they entered the kitchen of the Burrow, bidding them to wash their hands and tuck into the food she had laid out.

It was only a while later that Harry found what he had been looking for: Acquila.

She sat in the room she shared with Hermione and Ginny, her hair free of the braid she usually tied it in, dark tresses tumbling down to her waist as she absently rolled them up, except a few escaped tendrils of hair that fluttered in the breeze coming in through the window.

"Hey." She smiled on seeing him – a genuine smile, something he treasured after the Greyback episode. "How was Quidditch?"

"Good," he replied. "We won. Fred, Charlie and I. How was your morning? How was—"

"We're sitting here, too, you know! At least say hi!" cut in Neville teasingly.

Harry grinned at Hermione and him, a little embarrassed at having ignored them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just—"

"—just staring at Acquila," quipped Ron, ambling in after Harry. "Yeah, we all saw that, mate."

There was a little flush in Acquila's cheeks, which Harry thought made her look adorable.

Harry smiled weakly at Ron. He still wasn't used to his friends pulling his legs about… well, about whatever it was Acquila and he had going on… though he wasn't sure whether it was even going on anymore. The last time they'd done something remotely romantic was when he had snogged her in the Black Manor stables, and then she'd pushed him away, troubled by the memories of Greyback it brought back.

He cast half a glance at Acquila, shoving away thoughts of Greyback before she could sense them and become melancholy again. He walked over to her and sat next to her, his hand absently reaching for hers, not even realising that he'd entwined his fingers with hers until he saw her smile softly at him. It felt nice – clasping her hand, being what they'd always been, without hesitance and awkwardness clouding all their interactions.

He wished he could have had more, though.

Pretty often nowadays, he wished she'd make up her mind soon enough about whatever they'd had going on between them before things went downhill… about what he wanted to have between them – going back to the time when he'd snog her in the secret passages in Hogwarts, her mouth warm and wet and inviting as he kissed her, her hands tangled in his hair and her breasts pressed against his chest as he pulled her closer.

He missed that.

He wanted that again.

He wanted to go the morning of the day of the Greyback episode, when he'd fallen from the broom and he'd been lying in the Hospital Wing with a worried Acquila fussing over him, when she'd promised him that they'd talkabout their relationship of sorts, that she'd make up her mind about being together… properly, like boyfriend and girlfriend, however sappy that sounded.

But after the trauma of whatever had happened in the Forbidden Forest, Harry couldn't very well bring up the topic again, not when Acquila hadn't even been able to kiss him without letting their intimacy be tarred by the horrific memories of the dead werewolf.

He knew… Harry knew how tough it had all been on her – her aversion to even being touched by someone other than Sirius and Aunt Andy in the very early days, the way Acquila's heart raced when someone inadvertently startled her, the nightmares that still plagued her, making her wake up with her brow damp and sweaty, her heart thudding a mile a minute with fear, bile rising in her throat… He knew what she had gone through. Even though she was almost recovered now, Harry knew she was still scarred by what Greyback had tried to do that night.

But he wanted to talk about it; he wanted to know what exactly had happened that night, how exactly she had taken over his mind and body, how she had made him transform, know what she felt about it all, just talk about it – because there was nobody else he could talk it with. Acquila had always been his best friend, his closest confidante, the one person he could tell everything to. His friends didn't know what had happened; and although Sirius was always there for him, Harry wanted to talk to Acquila about it, get a grip on what had happened that night, because she had been there, in the thick of whatever had happened when he had fought with Greyback in his Lion form.

Sometimes, it still felt like it had happened to someone else, Acquila possessing him, transforming him into his complete Animagus form. He felt… violated, for some reason. But he knew she had done it only because it was the only option left. He just wanted to talk to her about it, to get his head around it.

He just … damn, he just wanted to be with her, know what she thought about it all, know all her fears and worries and just—just everything about her, like he'd known since the time they'd been the best of friends at their Muggle school.

But instead, sometimes, he felt like he was losing her. Those amazing days he'd spent with her when they were together felt like a distant memory now. The fact that she didn't speak of them at all made things worse! Harry was a patient lad, but this was all making him rather frustrated now. He needed to know what she thought about him, whether she wanted him too, whether she still felt what she'd felt for him before.

He knew she did. He tried to stop himself from even inadvertently delving into her mind, but on the rare occasion when her emotions would spill over onto him, he could still feel her tummy fluttering at something he said, that swell of delight when he kissed her cheek when he bid her good night last week, that little prick of envy when Hermione and Ron pulled his leg about Fleur, (Acquila had told them a little too much about Harry falling for Fleur's Veela charm, much to his embarrassment. But that was beside the point.) He wanted to know what she thought about him, what she wanted to do about them. This indecision… he didn't think he could bear it much longer.

"So, what have you three been up to?" Ron's voice roused Harry from his thoughts. "I don't know why you don't join us for Quidditch, Acquila. If you play with us, Bill can join us too—and we can play four-a-side then!"

Hermione whispered something to Acquila, and the two girls giggled – something that was rather unusual for them. Harry watched Acquila from the corner of his eyes. She seemed happy now, smiling at something Hermione murmured to her, her eyes bright, a carefreeness to her that he hadn't seen since their return to England. For all the disgruntlement she still held for Mrs Weasley (Acquila could hold a grudge for a long, long time), Harry knew she was enjoying their time at the Burrow.

"What are you giggling about?" demanded Ron, watching the two girls suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Hermione quickly, though Harry had a rather good idea about the reason for all the giggling: the girls had taken quite a fancy to Bill, it seemed. Though Acquila's crush on Bill didn't make Harry as envious he'd been on seeing the stupid flowers Cedric Diggory had sent her (though that bothered him a little less now that Fred and George told him how there were rumours that Cedric was going out with Cho Chang), he still found Acquila fancying Bill a little weird because the man was Ron's older brother.

"Come on, he is handsome," said Acquila, grinning at Harry.

"Huh? What? Who's handsome?" asked a bewildered Ron. "What are you talking about?"

Harry said nothing, a little unsure of what to say. Acquila had responded to Harry's unspoken remark about Bill. So Ron and Neville were obviously perplexed about her random statement. Hermione, though, was watching them shrewdly.

"Uh, nothing!" Acquila shrugged. "I was just—speaking to Hermione—"

"No, you weren't," muttered Hermione unhelpfully. But Ron, thankfully, didn't seem to have heard her.

"Harry, Dad had called," said Acquila suddenly. "He wanted to talk to you. You can call him later. He'll be at work now, I guess. He said he's been called to help with the final tests for the Auror trainees…"

"So Dora will be an Auror soon, huh?" said Ron. "That's so cool! And she's a Metamorphmagus, too! That's so wicked! I wish I could so something like that… change my appearance at will or turn into an animal at will—"

"No, not again, Ron!" Hermione and Neville groaned together. Harry had half a mind to join in.

Since they'd come to the Burrow, Ron had been rather insistent about learning to be an Animagus himself.

Harry thought he rather understood where Ron's desire stemmed from: Bill was the oldest, and a Curse Breaker. Charlie dealt with dragons, which was a rather cool job. Percy would surely rise high in the Ministry; he'd been Head Boy and scored brilliantly on his NEWTs. Fred and George were… well, they were Fred and George. With their Quidditch skills and their pranks and their joke products now, they'd already carved a place for themselves. Ginny, of course, was their only sister and her parents' darling. That left Ron, with too much to do for something that would set him apart. So Harry could quite understand where his ardent wish to be an Animagus was coming from. It would make him as cool as his siblings… umm, apart from Percy, that is.

"Come on, you could teach me, Harry! I promise I won't mess it up!" pleaded Ron.

"Harry cannot teachyou to transform into your Animagus form," exclaimed Hermione. "You heard what Acquila said… first they drank the potion and everything to see the animal form they'd take. Without it, the transformation would've been even tougher. And we can't get the potion from a store without the Ministry's permission, Ron!"

"We could brew it ourselves!" interjected Ron eagerly, as Harry shared an amused glance with Acquila.

"We can't brew the potion ourselves," said Neville, seeming a little fed up, which wasn't strange considering they'd had this same discussion twice in the past three days. "Hermione said some of the ingredients required aren't even available in Potion stores, remember?"

"I know, but maybe Sirius could get it for us, Harry?" Ron put in eagerly, "Ask your Dad, Acquila! If he gets the potion for us, Neville, Hermione and I transform, too, then we'll be like the Marauders—just that we'll be five of us instead of four! And—and we even have the Map and everything! And I'll have something to gloat about to Fred and George, and maybe even Percy!"

"I'll talk to Sirius—" began Harry half-heartedly, with a glance at Acquila again. He was sure Sirius wouldn't really agree to procure the potion from Slughorn again, considering that would bring him into direct conflict Mrs Weasley's fierce motherly instincts of preventing her son from getting into anything illegal again. Mrs Weasley's wrath after the Flying Car incident was still fresh in Harry's mind, as was her initial cold war with Sirius mere days after his acquittal.

"Even if we get the potion, it won't necessarily be easy to transform, Ron," sighed Neville. "I mean it's brilliant and everything, but I'm not really good at Transfiguration. If Acquila still hasn't been able to transform, there's no chance in hell that I can…"

"Don't be so cynical, Neville," said Ron. "Let us at least try—"

Harry didn't quite hear the rest of what Ron said as he noticed Acquila's expression turn suddenly stoic. He was surprised for a moment, wondering what had caused her amusement to turn to irritation, when he realised that it was what Neville had said: that Acquila hadn't been able to transform yet.

"Hey," he said quietly, shifting closer to her, lightly squeezing her hand which was still clasped in his. "You know what Sirius said… it isn't the same for everyone… transforming. And—"

"—and birds are tougher to transform into than animals, yeah, yeah, I know," muttered Acquila, pre-empting what he was going to say. "But I—I just…" she trailed off, shrugging.

This was another thing she didn't like talking of, he'd noticed, her failure (as he'd heard her thinking often) at transforming into her Eagle form. She had kept practicing the transformation for hours on end back at Grimmauld Place. And she had improved, Harry knew she had. But she never got the complete transformation right, unlike how Harry could easily transform into a Lion now.

"We could practice," murmured Acquila, her good mood seeming to dissipate.

There was a storm brewing in those grey eyes, Harry noticed, something gloomy simmering underneath her controlled expression – it had been present since days after their arrival in England, since that terrible night in the Forbidden Forest.

"We haven't practiced the Patronus charm since we've come here—I haven't even cast a single spell!" Acquila muttered. "There's hardly any time left for school to begin. Let's practice tonight, when everyone's asleep—"

"You know we can't," said Harry quietly. "Mrs Weasley doesn't allow underage magic. She won't be pleased—"

"She won't even know!" exclaimed Acquila in an annoyed whisper. "Or I'll ask Fred and George to plan a diversion if she suspects something! You know how they're going on about testing some of their stuff—"

"No, no," cut in Harry. "Mrs Weasley won't like it. And come on, it's just a few days! After the World Cup, we'll be back home—"

"And then we'll be back to school in no time, and you know we can't practice as much at Hogwarts. Hermione keeps asking where we're going, and Filch is always poking his nose around," grumbled Acquila. "You don't understand!"

Harry watched her quietly, a little taken aback at that last statement.

She thought he didn't understand? Even without all the mind-sharing business, he could've understood what she was feeling! Did she think he didn't know that it irked her that she wasn't progressing at the Patronus Charm? While Harry was certain he'd achieve a corporeal Patronus in the coming months, Acquila's attempts at the charm hadn't been as good. Even when they duelled, he'd noticed that his spells were more powerful now, hitting the intended target unerringly eight times out of ten. Acquila hadn't been doing as well as he was—and he understood that! Though she didn't tell him, he knew she didn't like lagging behind at things! He knew the other things too—like how she was still worried about possessing him in the Forbidden Forest, and how they hadn't got any leads on Helga Hufflepuff's Cup—he did understand her! He was her soul mate for Merlin's sake!

"I'm—I'm sorry," whispered Acquila, grey eyes meeting Harry's. "I didn't mean to say you don't understand. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just—"

"I get it," Harry cut her off, his irritation suddenly fleeing. It was strange what a single word from her could to him, how a single smile could make all his worries seem like nothing. It was because of the Bond, he knew. Uncle Ted would've said it wasn't healthy. But Harry didn't mind. Not when Acquila was clasping his hand again now, waiting for him to say something.

"I know," Acquila began again. "I know I'm being—"

"Hey!" George's cheery voice startled them. He was standing at the door, Fred next to him. "Dad's just come, and you've got to hear this! Moody had some fight with the Muggle law enforcement blokes—what do you call them, Harry? Please-men or something?"

"The police?" asked Harry, suddenly curious. "What did Mad Eye do?"

"Something about exploding dustbins he'd magicked to warn him about intruders," chuckled Fred, "Sent a shower of garbage blasting right at the policemen's faces!"

"Dad's not going to be pleased," said Acquila, though she was grinning now.

Harry chuckled too, following her down the stairs to Mr Weasley.

oOo

It was one of the most pleasant mornings they'd had in a while – neither too hot, nor too sunny, a perfect day for Quidditch, and for a picnic.

The bright blue of the sky stretched as far as Ginny could see, only a lone white cloud floating above the hill on which the Lovegoods lived.

As they all walked towards their Quidditch spot, brooms in hand (except for Hermione and Neville, of course, who weren't going to be playing), Ginny smiled at a chattering Luna.

Ron, who was walking with them, looked bewildered as Luna spoke about Humdingers. Ginny only grinned. She was used to listening about many of the creatures Luna spoke of. Some of them certainly didn't exist, and it sometimes got annoying when Luna trailed off after some imaginary creature in the middle of when they were talking. But that was alright with Ginny.

Ron, though, didn't seem to have the kind of patience Ginny possessed.

Mental, he mouthed to Ginny when Luna wasn't looking, before he excused himself and walked ahead to join Neville and Hermione.

"Ron doesn't like the Humdingers, does he?" said Luna dreamily. "He'll find them fascinating when he sees them dancing on a new moon night."

Ginny smiled again. For all that Luna had her brothers stupefied with her many beliefs in magical creatures, Ginny was happy to have the girl with them. Luna was her friend, one of her only friends; and she could quite put up to listening to tales of Snorcacks and Heliopaths and Humdingers.

It wasn't often that Luna spent time with Ginny's brothers. Well, it wasn't often that her brothers spent time with Ginny to be honest, especially to play Quidditch. But Harry and Acquila's arrival, along with Bill and Charlie's long stay at home, had changed things to Ginny's advantage. Bill, who always indulged Ginny more than the rest of her brothers, had told the others to let her join them in Quidditch too! So the past few days had been some of the happiest of Ginny's life!

Earlier, her brothers always seemed to think less of her because she was younger than them. But Ginny had shown them that she could play as well as them! Even Charlie had said she played well! Maybe she could join the Gryffindor Quidditch team some day! Maybe after Angelina and Alicia and the others graduated? Ginny would get to be Chaser then! Play alongside Harry Potter! The mere thought of it made her feel warm and tingly.

"Harry is happy," remarked Luna suddenly, making Ginny watch him from the corner of her eye.

He did look happy today, happier than he usually did when they played Quidditch. With a soft sigh, Ginny looked away, the sight of Harry's hand clasped in Acquila's making her feel bitterly envious.

That was why Harry looked happy today, of course – because Acquila had accompanied them today.

Ginny watched Acquila despite the envy simmering in her belly. Acquila was looking pretty todayin the new Muggle sundress that her cousin Tonks had bought for her – something Ginny could never dream of possessing given how expensive she was sure it was. She was smiling at something Harry said, her cheeks pink.

Harry was smiling, too. Ever so often, he would look at Acquila, his grin widening when she smiled, their hands clasped, whispering words Ginny couldn't hear – they seemed to be in a world of their own.

Just like that, Ginny's good mood vanished.

Why did Acquila have to come with them?

Playing Quidditch with Harry all these days, Ginny thought she had finally shaken off her shyness around the Boy Who Lived. She spoke to Harry a little, especially when they were on the same team, unlike how she'd never been able to speak to him when she was younger. Harry was friendly with her, too. He seemed to have put all the trouble she gave him with Tom's Diary in the past – something she was very thankful for seeing how he'd almost died saving her life.

Oh, Ginny knew he didn't fancy her like she fancied him. She knew all about his date with Daphne over Christmas; she'd seen him snogging Acquila in the corridor near the History of Magic classrom, and she'd heard how he'd mooned for that French Veela girl. And Ginny didn't think she could compete with any of the three girls, given how they were older and prettier than her. But she had thought that Harry had at least been noticing her, speaking to her, being friendly with her…

But now that Acquila was here, Harry seemed to have forgotten all about Ginny… He was just pleased that Acquila had agreed to come to watch them play Quidditch. She'd even agreed to play a couple of games because the twins had coaxed her to.

"Are you upset, Ginny?" asked Luna suddenly.

Ginny flushed, not wanting anyone to know what she was upset about. "No, I'm not." She said, not meeting Luna's eyes, when suddenly, she spotted someone flying on a broomstick a distance away, right over the spot where they played Quidditch every day.

"Hey, look!" she called out to the others, pointing. This was their Quidditch spot – secluded, a place where no Muggles could spot them if they didn't fly too high; and Lord Black's Auror colleague had put wards on the place too, to keep away Muggles and Dark Magic, from what she had overheard Dad saying.

"Someone's already playing at our spot!" groaned Ron. "Let's go see!"

They all walked to the spot curiously – the twins leading them, Ron, Hermione and Neville following them, Luna and Ginny after them, and Harry and Acquila making up the tail.

It was a group of four boys, Ginny saw, all shouting and calling to the each other as the Quaffle passed quickly between them. They all looked rather familiar. It was only when a tall boy from the group noticed them and began descending to the ground that Ginny recognised the boys – they were from Hogwarts! And the tall boy walking towards them was Cedric Diggory, of course!

"Hey, Diggory," said Fred, not too politely.

Ginny was a little surprised at the hostility in his voice. The twins were never friends with Cedric despite how the Diggorys and the Lovegoods were the only magical families around the Burrow. That probably had something to do with the large family Ginny was part of. With them being seven siblings and Fred and George being twins, they had never felt the need for other friends to play with. So they'd never really been friends with Cedric Diggory though they were in the same school year and of the same ages. But that still didn't account for the hostility—ah, it was because of the match, of course! The Hufflepuff-Gryffindor match that they lost because Cedric caught the Snitch when Harry plummeted to the ground from his now-mangled Firebolt! Merlin, how had she forgotten that? It was probably the surprise at seeing Cedric and his friends playing at their Quidditch spot.

"Hello, Fred, George," said Cedric politely, his friends descending from the broomsticks and joining him. That was John Stewart, if Ginny wasn't wrong, the Ravenclaw Prefect. She didn't know the other two boys, but she remembered seeing them with Cedric at Hogwarts.

"Hey," said George, a little unpleasantly.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Cedric.

"We're here to play Quidditch," said Ron curtly. "This is our spot!"

Cedric shrugged, his gaze falling over Luna and Ginny. He smiled politely at them, making Ginny's tummy flutter. Merlin! Cedric was so good-looking!

"Ah, my friends came over today—and my Dad said this would be a good spot to play," said Cedric. "Away from Muggle eyes if we don't fly too high… anyway, this was our last game. We were just leaving—" Cedric paused abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise before he flashed a wide grin. "Acquila! Hey, Harry!"

"Hi," said Harry, walking up to all of them with Acquila. He didn't look all that happy any more, Ginny noticed, though he did smile a little too politely.

"Hi!" said Acquila, smiling a queer sort of half-smile. The two occasions Ginny had seen Acquila with Cedric, she had been all giggly and blushing. Now though, she seemed some sense of awkwardness there. Was it to do with the rumours of Cedric dating Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker? Although why Acquila would bother about Cedric when she had Harry wrapped around her finger was something Ginny couldn't understand.

Cedric, unlike Acquila, was his usual affable self. "I didn't expect to see you here, Acquila!" he exclaimed, smiling brightly, holding out his hand to her.

"I'm staying at Ron's until the World Cup final," said Acquila, pulling her hand back from Harry's and returning Cedric's handshake. "I didn't expect to see you here, too."

Acquila was smiling a little wider now, Ginny saw. Cedric's smile did seem to have that sort of an effect on girls, usually.

"You should've mentioned in your letter that you'd be coming to Ottery St. Catchpole," said Cedric. He was still smiling. "I live just around the hill there."

Acquila just smiled in response, though she seemed a little conflicted. "I wasn't sure we'd be coming to the Burrow," she said. "It took me a lot of time to convince Dad to let us come…"

"Oh, I understand," said Cedric. "Your father must be worried about both of you after the incident with Greyback."

Acquila wasn't smiling any more. She always got like that when someone mentioned Greyback.

It wasn't surprising. Ginny still shuddered whenever someone mentioned You Know Who or Tom Riddle, which wasn't even as often as people mentioned Greyback with how the dead werewolf had been in the news for weeks. But this – Acquila clamming up when the werewolf was mentioned was different, Ginny thought, because she knew Acquila was brave… she knew how brave she'd been in the Chamber of Secrets.

Everyone said Greyback had abducted Acquila, and then Harry and Malfoy had fought him off before Remus killed him. But Harry never seemed as frightened about Greyback as Acquila did. Ginny knew something had happened in the Forbidden Forest – something she thought Ron, Hermione and Neville knew about. She was curious about it, of course, but she could understand why Acquila would want to keep it secret, like Ginny wished she could keep everything that happened with Tom and his diary secret too.

"You're coming for the World Cup final, too, aren't you, Cedric?" asked Harry suddenly. He wasn't looking at Acquila, Ginny saw, they weren't even holding hands again. Harry just glanced at Acquila once – a comforting glance that seemed to return the colour back to Acquila's face, a glance that seemed to put a hundred words in it. It was so queer! Ginny wouldn't even have noticed it if she hadn't been watching the two of them for the past few days. But she had noticed these little things – how they'd complete each other's sentences, how they'd stare at each other like they were having wordless conversations, how they'd both sit in the garden in the evenings sometimes, watching the starry skies, their hands clasped, glancing suddenly at each other at the exact same moment – she'd noticed it all.

"Yes, I'm going for the World Cup final," said Cedric. He was still smiling. He didn't seem to have noticed Acquila's sudden uneasiness. "You're all coming too, Acquila told me. Well, I'll see you at the match, then."

"Sure." Harry smiled. "Bye, Cedric."

There was a chorus of byes.

"Come on, John, Alec," Cedric called to his friends. "Bye, Acquila. I'm still looking forward to your next letter… about all the places you visited in France."

"I'll write to you." Acquila smiled; she seemed back to normal now. "And thank you for the flowers again, Cedric. They are lovely."

"You're welcome." Cedric grinned that smile of his. "See you soon."

"Ah, finally!" said Ron, when the four boys were out of earshot. "I thought they'd never leave!"

"They were barely here for five minutes, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Harry! Ginny and you're in my team!" called Fred.

"That's not fair!" exclaimed George. "That leaves me with Ron and Acquila! I've never seen Acquila play, and Ron's broomstick is slower than those butterflies!"

"That's because Mum spent so much money on buying you both good brooms!" grumbled Ron, his ears red. "Ginny and I are left with Bill and Charlie's old brooms!"

"Oh, you don't really want to fly here, Ron," put in Luna dreamily. "Just look at the number of Diddlegums floating over the trees there! They might enter your ears and turn your vision all fuzzy."

Ron groaned, grumbling under his breath, but Ginny only looked at Acquila, who was smiling at something Hermione said.

Harry, though, was silently watching Acquila, his green eyes bearing a puzzle Ginny just couldn't unravel.

oOo

It was finally here – the day Harry had been waiting for weeks. The final match of the Quidditch World Cup!

Oh, he had watched a Quidditch professional match live (Sirius had taken them for a Puddlemere league match a couple of years ago). But the Quidditch World Cup was something else altogether.

Harry had closely followed the World Cup on the live radio commentary (and how he wished the Wizarding world had television for the live telecast of sports like the Muggle world did). For all that how exciting the commentators on the radio made the play sound, watching a match live was an entirely different, more thrilling thing.

Almost as much as the match as a whole, Harry was looking forward to watching one particular player: Victor Krum. To hear him on radio and from the moving photographs in the newspapers, Krum seemed like a magician with the broom, weaving his way through the best of Beaters, surpassing the most famous of Seekers in getting to the Snitch in every match he had played in the World Cup yet.

Harry wasn't as crazy about Krum as Ron was; the red-head was on a completely different level of being a fan when it came to Krum. But Harry was quite in awe of the Bulgarian. Krum was just eighteen, still studying at Durmstrang; but he was already on his country's national team! Although Harry was pretty certain about wanting to be an Auror when he was older, hearing about Krum's exploits made him half want to follow in the Bulgarian's footsteps (though the thought of that much fame sobered him down enough to give up the thought almost as soon as he dreamt of it).

"It's going to be brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, rousing Harry from a fantasy of winning the Quidditch cup for England, as Acquila came running towards him, bright-eyed and grinning widely as she pulled him closer for a kiss.

"Yes, it is," Harry agreed as they all walked out of the Weasley tent towards the stadium, joining the large crowd of people already on their way to the gigantic stadium.

Harry was quiet as they walked, watching the myriad of tents rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards the dark wood on the horizon.

He glanced at Acquila, smiling as she laughed at something Luna said. These last few days at the Burrow had been nice; playing Quidditch, fooling around with the ghoul in the Burrow's attic, trying some of the twins' trick toffees. There were those few aberrations: Acquila's grumpiness over being unable to practice spells, and that encounter with Cedric (which Harry was secretly smug about seeing how news of Cho Chang dating Cedric had Acquila behave a little coolly with the Hufflepuff unlike her usual charming self).

"Harry! Ron! Neville!" Harry's musings were interrupted again by a waving, cheerful Seamus Finnigan, dressed completely in green, Dean Thomas by his side

"I knew we'd see you all here," said Dean, smiling as he shook hands with Harry and clapped Neville on his back.

"The match is going to be so wicked!" grinned Ron, launching into a detailed discussion about Ireland's semi-final match with a talkative Seamus.

Harry, meanwhile, glanced at the vast expanse of the field again, a little stunned at seeing just how large the wizarding population was; he was sure he'd never seen so many magical people gathered at a single place.

Most of the camps were grouped by the team the witches and wizards were supporting. The Irish supporters were spread out over the blindingly green hill to Harry's right, covered in Irish decorations. While the hill besides it was full of the Bulgarians, the tents covered in Bulgarian colours and very prominent posters of Viktor Krum.

The girls found the Bulgarian Seeker very grumpy-looking; but Ron glanced at the surly-faced Krum with an adoration bordering on reverence.

Who cares what he looks like, Ron would say, whenever Krum came up in conversations (which was pretty often lately), he's unbelievable! He's a genius!

Just make sure you don't end up marrying him or something, Hermione would retort, making everyone chuckle and Ron fume.

They walked with the huge mass of people trudging towards the stadium; and although Harry was more excited than he remembered being in a long time, he was overtly conscious of the DMLE officers who were walking in front of and behind Acquila and him, alert for any signs of trouble-making. Sometimes, with how much fun he had had at the Burrow in recent days, Harry almost forgot that the shadow of Voldemort still loomed large over them, as did the still-missing Barty Crouch Junior. For Acquila, though, there was no such forgetting; Voldemort and Crouch and the Horcruxes kept playing on her mind all the time, whether she was awake or asleep. But at least her nightmares of Greyback had almost ceased, which was a relief for Harry seeing how often he found himself subconsciously creeping into her dreaming mind.

Here and there in the excited crowd, Harry spotted a lot of Hogwarts students and waved to them as he caught their eye. There was Oliver Wood who had just left Hogwarts. He was gushing as he told them he'd been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Harry beamed, happy for Wood who'd always wanted to play Quidditch professionally.

They also bumped into Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, who looked very displeased and annoyed at Ron boasting about occupying the best seats in the stadium (Sirius had managed to get them all brilliant seats in the top box, right next to the one that would host the dignitaries).

They met quite a few parents of his Hogwarts school mates, who came up to him to see The Boy Who Lived in person. Harry did feel a bit awkward in those interactions but he didn't mind them; he'd had worse from Colin Creevey.

Harry also saw Cho Chang the Ravenclaw Seeker from afar. Cedric Diggory wasn't with her, though. They came across him a little further, his father Amos with him. Cedric was his usual jovial self, quick to greet everyone, all grins and cheer. He did go on to ask Acquila if she would like to go for a walk with him after the match, saying he wanted to speak to her. Harry watched Acquila keenly, a little glad when she coolly told Cedric she'd be celebrating with the Weasleys post-match.

"I'll be right there in my tent, in case you change your mind," said Cedric, not one to give up, before he walked forward with his father, stopping to shake Harry's hand.

But even Cedric Diggory couldn't dampen Harry's spirits as they joined the long queue leading to the the stands, the stadium echoing with the cheering of thousands of spectators.

"Look at the queue, mate," Ron groaned, worried. "How will we ever reach in time? If the match begins, Krum will catch the Snitch in no time and we'll miss watching him!"

"Come on, Ron," said Neville, "There's still quite some time for the match to start."

"Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!" exclaimed Mr Weasley, making Harry turn towards the man who was striding towards them. Harry recognised him from the papers – Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Sports in the Ministry. Mr Weasly greeted Bagman, who, in his multi-coloured robes straining against his huge belly, coupled with how he strangely looked like an overgrown child, was the most noticeable person that Harry had ever seen, which was saying something considering the number of bedecked and extravagantly-dressed witches and wizards they'd seen yet.

Mr Wealsey introduced them all to him, and Bagman did a double take when Harry and Acquila were mentioned. He stared at Harry a bit longer just like everyone always did.

"I just met Lord Black!" exclaimed Bagman, shaking Harry's hand none too gently. "He was oh so pleased to see me. He was a big fan during my playing days, he tells me!" Bagman seemed to puff up with pride; although Harry couldn't quite remember Sirius ever mentioning Ludo Bagman's Quidditch days.

"Lord Black—er, Sirius is on Minister Fudge's security team today, eh? I daresay even a fly won't sting the Minister under Sirius' watch!" Bagman chortled and slapped Harry on the arm.

Harry just smiled in reply, as did Acquila.

Ludo Bagman went back to Mr Weasley. "Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he asked eagerly, jingling what seemed be a large amount of gold in his pockets. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

"Oh...go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well...any other takers?" Bagman winked at Harry, who didn't have the slightest interest on betting. The wizard looked to the Weasley twins, who were whispering furiously in the corner, rifling through their pockets.

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like—"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. Harry and the others snickered.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting...That's all your savings...Your mother—"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.

"Ludo! Where have you been?" exclaimed a woman, who came towards them suddenly.

Bagman nodded at her. "Good Evening, Bertha!" he said cheerfully. "Didn't I tell you go escort the Bulgarian cabinet members to the top box?"

"Oh—oh, oh yes, you did, Ludo," said Bertha Jonkins, seeming a little flustered as she rushed off.

When she was gone, Bagman whispered. "Poor old Bertha... She has a memory like the Leaky Cauldron and absolutely no sense of direction. You know once she—"

"Sorry to interrupt you, Ludo," cut in Mr Weasley, "but we better get into the queue or we will never enter the stadium."

"Of course... of course... we'll continue this story another time. It's pretty hilarious, I tell you, it'll have you in splits, Arthur!" Bagman chuckled aloud as he shook their hands again, and walked off eagerly – no doubt to take more bets.

As they waited in line, salesmen kept apparating all around them, selling goods and merchandise. They all bought green rosettes and omnioculars.

"I've been saving my pocket money all these days to buy this!" Ron exclaimed, as he bought a small figure of Viktor Krum that walked around on his palm and growled.

Suddenly, one of the DMLE officers with them walked forward and had a word with the guard watching over the queue. Much to Harry's surprise and Ron and the twins' joy, within no time they were all led up to the Top Box and shown their seats.

"Being famous and having Sirius for a godfather is cool, huh," muttered Ron, while Harry felt a little embarrassed about jumping the queue when so many others had to wait patiently in line.

"This is wicked!" exclaimed Fred and George together, as they all took their seats. Their box was the highest spot in the stadium and it was situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. The view was spectacular.

Slowly, the Top Box started filling up. Harry recognised quite a few of the witches and wizards – from Amelia Bones, who had come with Susan, to Nathan Rosier and his wife.

The Malfoys came too – Draco and Lucius. All the wizards and witches in the Top Box warily stared at Draco as if he would bite them even if they twitched. Harry noticed that Draco seemed almost uncaring of the stares and whispers.

Draco grinned on spotting Acquila, his smile only widening when she hugged him. He nodded curtly at Harry, and ignored the others (except for Luna, whom Draco gawked at because she was trying to grasp at some invisible magical creature in the air).

Lucius Malfoy only stared grimly at the Quidditch goal posts, saying nothing.

"Blaise isn't coming today. He's gone to Italy with his mother. The Greengrasses aren't coming too," said Draco to Acquila, casting an almost envious glance when he saw just what a large group they were – the seven Weasley siblings, Mr Weasley, Neville, Luna, and Acquila and Harry, of course. "Will you come visit me after the match? My tent's right in the middle of the hill—you'll notice it easily, it's got the Malfoy crest on top of it," he added a little haughtily.

Acquila smiled softly at her cousin. Harry could sense her thoughts – how she knew of Draco's loneliness without his friends who were still slow to accept him with the exception of Astoria and Zabini. "I'll come to meet you, I promise," she told him, before the father-son duo went their way.

"Look, it eez 'Arry!" A sweet, familiar voice startled Harry when he was in the middle of checking out the Krum figurine.

It was Fleur Delacour, with Gabrielle and their father. Harry belatedly remembered that Sirius had promised the Delacours he'd arrange tickets for them.

"H—hey," said Harry, blushing, a little embarrassed at how his voice cracked at the hey.

Fleur, dressed in flowing green robes, her blonde hair done up in a chignon, kissed Harry on both his cheeks, exclaiming about how handsome he looked and how the green shirt he'd worn brought out the colour of his eyes.

Harry could feel it again – that floaty feeling, like nothing and no one except Fleur mattered. But this time, he was able to master himself better, partly out of imagining just how much the Weasley brothers would chortle on seeing him drooling over the French part-Veela. Acquila had already told them a little too much about his behaviour with Fleur in France.

However, he needn't have worried about the Weasleys snickering at him, for most of them seemed as enchanted by Fleur as Harry had been. As Gabrielle too kissed Harry and Acquila on their cheeks, Harry spotted Ron gaping shamelessly at Fleur, his mouth open, his green rosette slipping out his hands as his eyes got unnaturally wide, until Hermione brusquely shut his jaw and grumbled about foolish boys, while Harry, Acquila and Neville tried and failed to contain their laughter. Fred and George, and even Percy were watching Fleur, unblinking. Even Bill didn't seem immune to Fleur's Veela charm, as he stared at her – not as obviously as Ron was, but a little subtly.

For all that he was happy to meet the Delacours, Harry couldn't deny being a little relieved when they left for their own seats. He doubted he could take any more of a star-struck Ron.

Cornelius Fudge and his security team (including Sirius) were the last to arrive in the box, just before the match started. They took their seats next to the Bulgarian Minister, a little away from where Harry was sitting.

Sirius didn't take any seat. He was part of Fudge's security detail and needed to be alert at all times. He was continuously walking in and out of the Box trying to keep everything and everyone in place throughout the match.

Percy, unusually excited, went over to greet Fudge, and bowed so low his glasses fell off and shattered. As he sat back embarrassed and repaired his glasses, Percy stared jealously at Harry and Acquila when Fudge greeted them like they were family.

At last, when Harry couldn't contain his excitement any more, after Ludo Bagman had bellowed aloud on the mic, the hundred thousand-strong crowd cheering wildly, after the Bulgarian mascots, the Veelas, had annoyed Acquila, Hermione and Ginny, and enchanted all the boys and men who didn't want the beautiful creatures to stop dancing, after the leprechauns had showered gold coins into all the stands, after the both the finalist teams were introduced, the crowd going crazy when Krum zoomed onto the stadium, after the referee whistled to signal the beginning of the game, the match finally commenced.

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before, not even in the Quidditch League match he had watched.

He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose.

The speed of the players was incredible – the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top; he watched the passes in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

As the match went on, the Irish Team scored twice as much as the Bulgarian Team. The Irish Chasers were so brilliant that Harry half wondered whether they could read each other's minds.

"Look!" said Acquila suddenly, clasping Harry's hand. The entire stadium gasped as one as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.

Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars again, squinting to see where the Snitch was, dimly aware that he was simultaneously watching the Seekers plummeting without using his Omniculars –that was Acquila, he realised suddenly! She was watching the match without her Omniculars, it was what she was seeing with her own eyes that was flitting in and out of his own vision.

He pulled his own Omniculars away, glancing quickly at her, stunned and strangely exhilarated at the same time. Is this how she had felt, when Harry had been flying on his Firebolt and she had almost tripped down the staircase as she felt herself flying and staring at the sun setting down the mountains that loomed in the distance?

But he saw now that Acquila hadn't even noticed what had happened; she was cheering aloud as she watched the two Seekers. "They're going to crash!" Acquila screamed suddenly, and Harry hurriedly looked back at the plummeting Seekers.

Acquila was right. They were going to crash. But astoundingly, at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck, "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

"They need to give him powdered Girtleneck droppings. He will be back to normal instantly," said Luna, looking unfazed.

The twins chuckled, Ron grimaced, but Luna only stared absently at the stadium, humming to herself.

Harry met Acquila's eyes, grinning at her, before he hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes to watch Krum's brilliant feint again. He had already learnt so much from this match.

Krum was now using the time out to look for the Snitch without any kind of obstruction. The game resumed as the Irish seeker got onto his feet again and the crowd cheered. After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

There was foul after foul as the game progressed. At one point an Irish Beater hit the Bludger towards Krum and he didn't duck away in time and it hit him square in the face. Krum's nose seemed broken and there was blood everywhere but the referee didn't notice him at all. Harry couldn't blame him either; he was distracted by the fire that had lit at the tail end of his broom after the Veelas started throwing fire at the leprechauns. The Veelas didn't look pretty when they were angry. There seemed to have been some teasing involved, which was started by the leprechauns.

Amidst this chaos, the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing.

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, cheering their Seeker on...but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again –

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Acquila.

"Oh! I can't watch!" Hermione said watching from the gap between her fingers.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

And he was right – for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!" shouted Harry.

And so it was. Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – Merlin, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess... But he was so brave."

"He was," agreed Harry, already imagining himself doing the Wronski Feint and grabbing the Snitch from right under Cedric Diggory's nose in the months to come.

"This was such a brilliant match!" exclaimed Acquila.

"It was," he agreed, grinning as she hugged him, cheering loudly for Ireland.

oOo

Sirius yawned softly as he walked towards the Weasleys' tent, already looking forward to the moment he'd collapse into his bed at Grimmauld Place and fall into a much-needed sleep. The last few days had been extremely hectic for him: hours of managing the security details of the World Cup with his fellow Aurors and the DMLE officers. Now that Fudge knew of Voldemort's existence, the man had been petrified about the Dark wizard attacking the World Cup matches. After quite some haggling with a reluctant Scrimgeour( who, not knowing of Voldemort, thought Fudge was being unnecessarily paranoid), Fudge had put his foot down, invoked his powers as a Minister, ranted about how the missing Crouch Junior was still a danger especially when an event like the World Cup was being hosted, and cajoled the Head Auror into having the Auror Department share charge of the security with the DMLE.

Thanks to Fudge, and to Scrimgeour (who'd assigned him to Fudge's personal security team), Sirius hadn't even been able to watch much of the match, adding to his grumpiness. He'd caught barely a handful of hours of sleep in the past week

Harry, though, Sirius noticed as he greeted everyone in the Weasley's tent, was in especially high spirits, his face flushed with laughter at something Fred said, while Charlie Weasley seemed high on more than just the joy of triumph. Acquila sat in a corner of the tent with Hermione, Ginny and the Lovegood girl, giggling over something, while Arthur and the older boys were gorging on Mopsy's scones at the table.

"Harry?" Sirius called to the boy, who looked a little disgruntled at being interrupted in his Exploding Snap game. Acquila raised an enquiring eyebrow, but said nothing as Sirius led Harry to their own tent a few metres away.

It was magnificent, the two-storeyed tent Mopsy and Kreacher had set up for Sirius and the children – with a vast kitchen and dining area where the whole group sans Sirius had earlier supped on Mospy's delicious cooking, three separate rooms for Harry, Acquila and him, and even a little study on the upper storey. The Black crest beamed proudly from the top of the tent, though Sirius wished he could just vanish it off seeing the constant attention it garnered even from drunk revellers passing by. It was a pity they'd barely use the tent tonight, though. Sirius would go back to doing his part in the security detail, Acquila would no doubt share the girls' tent with Hermione, the Lovegood girl and Ginny, while Harry would go celebrate with the Weasley boys.

Sirius half-wished he could have the children ensconced safely at Grimmauld Place. The match was over, and they didn't need to spend the night here. But the children wouldn't like that, he knew. They seemed to have enjoyed their time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. They wouldn't want to leave early while their friends celebrated together.

But it would put his mind at ease having them back home.

Oh, he knew they would be safe here. Kingsley had personally looked into warding the area where their tents were set up. But there was always that slight fear at the back of his mind whenever the kids were in a crowded place like this.

"So, why'd you bring me here?" asked Harry, grabbing at one of the scones Mopsy had kept for the children. "I was finally about to beat George at Exploding Snap—"

"If you'd rather play Snap than meet Victor Krum, you can go right back into the Weasley's tent," said Sirius with a grin.

"Wait, what!" exclaimed Harry, eyes wide. "Meet Victor Krum?"

"Yes." Sirius chuckled at the look of wonder on Harry's face.

It wasn't often that the boy got so genuinely excited for something. Harry took joy in the smallest of things, never demanding anything, never being a spoilt child like Sirius and his cousins had been when they were younger, when they'd had all of their whims and fancies attended to by the vast Black fortune. That only made Sirius smile wider at the awed look on Harry's face.

"I can meet Victor Krum? Really?" asked Harry, green eyes so very reminiscent of Lily's as they shone with eagerness.

"Yes, we're meeting Victor Krum," Sirius chuckled again. "There's this Bulgarian Quidditch official I know; I've arranged it all with him. I doubt you'll get too long to talk to Krum, but he's agreed to have you meet him—"

"Can we take Ron along, too?" asked Harry, making Sirius smile at how the boy always thought of his friends too. "He loves Krum, and he'll be mighty mad at me if I go and he can't."

"We can't take Ron, kiddo, I'm sorry." Sirius sighed. It had already been quite a task to arrange for Krum to meet Harry, that too because he'd pulled the Lord Black and the Boy Who Lived card.

Anyway, Ron and his siblings would all meet Krum soon. Sirius had heard on the Ministry grapevine that Victor Krum was going to be part of the Durmstrang group who would visit Hogwarts for a chance at being the Triwizard champion. So Ron would surely meet Krum at Hogwarts in a few months.

Also, (though it felt rather petty for a grown-up man to think so), Sirius wanted this to be something he had done for Harry alone, something between just the two of them.

He remembered Uncle Alphard and the dozens of matches he'd taken Sirius along to watch. Uncle Alphard, who owned some stake in a couple of the Quidditch league teams, often had Sirius meet some of the players after the games, especially the Beaters whom he'd looked up to, being Beater for Gryffindor himself. It was something Sirius cherished, something he'd always remember, something that had forged a bond between his favourite Uncle and him – something he wanted for Harry and himself, too.

Sirius had never been there for Harry's childhood, nor had he got time enough to take Harry to watch Quidditch league matches often. But this was something he could do – have Harry meet the Seeker he really admired.

There was a knock at the door of the tent, rousing Sirius from memories of Uncle Alphard.

"Come in," said Harry cheerfully.

It was Acquila, of course. "Krum! You're meeting Victor Krum!" she exclaimed, grinning at Harry, who beamed back at her.

She didn't even seem to have realised that she knew about Krum through the Soul Bond – or perhaps, she was deliberately ignoring that fact. Well, Sirius wasn't really in the mood to dwell on the Bond and the relationship between the children now – that was a headache better left for another day.

"Do you want to come too, sweetheart?" Sirius asked her, already knowing she'd say no.

"Not really. You know I'm not so much into Quidditch, Dad," she said.

Well, she was right. Sirius would quite have liked it if his daughter was a Beater like he'd been in his playing days. But he didn't mind her lack of passion for the game. Harry's love for Quidditch quite made up for it.

"—and if you take me along, then Ron will be mad at being left out, so will Fred and George and Ginny—and then you'll have to take all of us. And I don't think Victor Krum's going to like that much. He seems a surly sort of a fellow," finished Acquila.

"He's the best Seeker ever!" exclaimed Harry, as if that made up for Krum's surliness.

"He can tell you all about the Wronski Feint," agreed Acquila. "I know you didn't quite get it when Oliver tried to teach you last year."

Harry smiled, already giddy with excitement. "Are we going right now?" he asked Sirius.

"Yes, we are," Sirius told him. "Harry and I will be back soon, love," he said to Acquila. "You stay here with the Weasleys, alright?"

"Dad, can I go meet Draco?" Acquila asked him. "I promised I'll meet him after the match. None of his friends have come, and he must be all alone with only his father for company."

Sirius glanced at his watch; there wasn't really time enough for him to drop Acquila to the Malfoy camp, and then take Harry all the way to the Bulgarian team camp. The DMLE folk assigned to protect Acquila had already departed once she was safe within Kingsley's wards on the Weasley and Black tents. He didn't really want to contact them and tell them to tail Acquila while she spent time with Draco Malfoy; the DMLE was already busy with handling the group of drunk celebrators who had set a camp afire with their misfiring fireworks. Additionally, he didn't quite want Acquila to go anywhere near Lucius Malfoy, even for Draco's sake.

"No," he said shortly. "I'll be late for Krum if I drop you to the Malfoys, and I really don't want you there when Lucius is around. And I can't call the DMLE or an Auror to go with you at such a short notice. You can meet Draco tomorrow or something; I'll drop you to Malfoy Manor; Cissy will be there too."

"But I promised Draco!" persisted Acquila. "I told him I'll meet him. He must be waiting for me."

"Come on, love," he said. "It's not a big deal. Just send him a note saying you can't come."

"Dad—" she began, annoyed.

But Sirius glanced again at his watch, a little impatient. "I'll drop Harry back here back soon, alright? And I'll see you directly at home in the morning. I've to go back to securing Fudge once we're done with Krum. Bye, sweetheart." With a kiss on Acquila's frowning brow, Sirius set off with Harry, finding himself in the Bulgarian Seeker's tent three quarters of an hour later.

"Yes, the Wronski Feint!" Harry's excited voice carried over to the chair Sirius was sitting in, making the Animagus smile as he watched his godson. The boy eyes were shining with awe, a huge grin on his face, his hands waving animatedly as he said something to Victor Krum.

Krum, for his part, didn't seem as sullen as he'd looked in the stadium. His large, curved nose was now covered in a thick bandage thanks to the hit he'd taken during the match. Dark and sallow-skinned, bushy eye-browed, with distinctly rounded shoulders, it was a little tough to believe that this duck-footed eighteen year-old, who looked so uncoordinated up close, was the same player who had almost single-handedly carried Bulgaria into the finals.

Sirius leaned back into his chair, watching Harry chuckle delightedly at something. The boy looked overwhelmed and full of wonder at finding himself talking to Victor Krum – something that amused Sirius. Usually other people were awed whenever they were around the Boy Who Lived, while Harry shied away from the attention. Today, it was Harry who was behaving like an over-excited fan, while Krum was the celebrity.

The Bulgarian had seemed a little embarrassed and grumpy in the beginning. Now, though, Krum seemed to be getting along well with Harry, his deep, accented voice drifting towards Sirius almost as often as Harry's did.

Sirius leant further into his chair, wishing it was a more comfortable one. He had half an eye on the people in the Bulgarian camp. He'd caught sight of a couple of Bulgarian players when he entered in, and seen the swarm of raucous fans gathered outside for a glimpse of Krum. Compared to the loud group calling out loudly for Krum since Sirius had come in, no wonder the Bulgarian was getting on pretty well with Harry, who was quieter, better behaved, and knew a thing or two about how it felt to be badgered by star-struck fans.

Sirius watched Krum finally shake hands with Harry, who still looked awed, before the Bulgarian walked away; and Harry almost hopped towards Sirius, beaming widely.

"Look! He autographed the Snitch I bought earlier!" exclaimed Harry. "He said he only agreed to meet me because he'd heard about me—Boy Who Lived and everything… but then I asked him about the Wronski Feint, and he got all chatty!"

"That's great, kiddo." Sirius smiled. It was so rare seeing Harry so animated, so unbridled in his joy.

"I told him I was Seeker for Gryffindor!" gushed Harry, as they both walked out of the Bulgarian camp, the cool night wind further messing up Harry's hair, "And he told me about that move he used in the match against Australia—he said I could—"

"Wait—" Sirius cut Harry off, suddenly wary. Someone was shouting in the distance, a bit farther away from the Bulgarian team's camp.

"What's the matter—oh, did you hear that?" exclaimed Harry, bewildered.

It was unmistakable now – the panicked shouts of a horde of people, screams, and the tell-tale sign of the cause of it all: the shimmering green skull blazing in the night sky, a sign that sent shivers down the spine of the bravest of people back during the War – the Dark Mark.

Sirius stood stunned, his heart racing in sudden panic as he gaped at the Dark Mark. This couldn't be happening! The Dark Mark couldn't be—Merlin, someone was already dead, then! The place was under attack! There were so many important people around, foreign spectators, dignitaries, the Bulgarian ministers—fuck!

"Sirius—look!" gasped Harry suddenly, pointing at the sky. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and shock and fear. "It's the Dark Mark—"

"Come 'ere," Sirius cut the boy off, putting an arm around his shoulder and tugging him close to him, his wand out, ready to defend Harry if need be.

Damn! How had their defences been breached? This couldn't be happening! Everything was in place tonight, heightened security measures, heavy Auror presence. This bloody couldn't be happening!

But it had!

It had happened! Voldemort had attacked them!

The burning skull gazed at Sirius with its hollow eyes, the menacing serpent dangling from its mouth!

Damn. He needed to get Harry out of there.

But he needed to gather his thoughts, think calmly. Voldemort couldn't have got past their wards even in his wraith-like form; nor could Crouch Junior, who was on the most-wanted list of the Auror Department for months now. This was some smaller fish, then – some former Death Eater up to prove a point, killing someone for it. The Mark was never cast unless someone was killed! Damn it!

He couldn't risk Harry's safety, nor Acquila's. He needed to get them back to Grimmauld Place.

"Sirius! Who did this—how—what's happening—" stuttered Harry, his own wand ready for battle.

Suddenly, there was pandemonium all around; shouts and screams, a mini-stampede farther away from the noises he could hear. Harry couldn't be here. Sirius waved his wand lightly, only to groan. There were anti-Disapparition wards in place. The Bulgarian Ministry had insisted on securing their players' camp. The wards were no doubt put in to keep away over-eager fans.

"Run—come on, quickly!" growled Sirius, dragging Harry along with him, his spell already alerting Kingsley to their exact location. He looked around, whispering incantations under his breath, casting a Notice Me Not charm over the both of them, as the fleeing Bulgarian Quidditch coach almost ran into them. It looked like even the Bulgarians knew what the Dark Mark meant.

"We're getting out of the wards, and then I'm Disapparating you home!" he told Harry. "Come on! Faster!"

"I'm not going home! Acquila's with the Weasleys!" cried Harry, stumbling as he tried to keep pace with Sirius' longer strides. "We have to get to her—and Hermione, Ron and the others! You said the Dark Mark used to be put up only when someone was killed! Voldemort could have—"

"Shut up!" barked Sirius. "Don't take his name—don't say anything now—let's just get out of here!"

Harry looked stunned, then chastised at Sirius' unusual brusqueness, before he speeded up his pace, running alongside him, Sirius holding his suddenly cold hand firmly in his own.

Merlin, he was supposed to be with the Minister! Fudge had insisted Sirius be put in charge of his security—fuck! He had to do his bit for securing the safety of the people around, too. Thank Merlin Kingsley had insisted that there should be absolutely no Muggles around, not even Mr Roberts and his family, or the situation would have got worse.

"Wait—" Harry stopped suddenly, making Sirius come to an abrupt stop, too.

"Come on, Prongslet—I need to get you out of here—" growled Sirius.

"No—something's wrong—Acquila—she's—she's running away—I don't know—something's wrong—" said Harry.

A sudden bout of fear gripped Sirius' heart now. But he couldn't let that get to him now, he didn't dare dwell on Acquila being in danger yet again.

"Run, run, quickly!" Sirius half-dragged a protesting Harry with him, heaving a sigh of relief when he felt the Anti-Disapparition wards ceasing behind them.

"Hold on to me, quick!" Sirius grabbed Harry's shoulders, and with a deep intake of breath, they disappeared into the night sky, arriving almost immediately into the tent Mospy had set up for them.

"Stay close," Sirius told a disoriented Harry, his wand at the ready again.

"Harry!" came a voice from up the stairs, startling Sirius, while Harry had his wand pointed at the owner of the voice. He lowered it when they saw that it was Bill Weasley. "Where were you—is Acquila with you?"

"No, no, she's not," said Sirius, "She was here—she went back to your tent—"

"No, she's not here!" exclaimed Bill. "We've been looking for her. Hermione thinks she snuck out to meet Draco Malfoy. Dad's alerted Tonks… she said she's going to the Malfoy camp with a fellow trainee—"

"Fuck!" Sirius swore aloud. Acquila had to go and meet Malfoy, didn't she? Why couldn't she ever listen to him?

"I'll go tell the others you're here," said Bill, rushing away.

Sirius breathed in deeply for a moment, panicked. He knew Nott's tent was set up right next to Malfoy's, as was Yaxley's. He knew they wouldn't dare hurt Acquila, not when they knew it would get them into trouble with Sirius. But if Voldemort had contacted any of them… getting their hands on Sirius Black's daughter would be a glorious way to prove their loyalty to their master.

"Accio," he muttered, summoning an empty goblet towards him, and muttering a charm under his breath as the silver glowed blue. "Take this, it'll take you home." He thrust the goblet into Harry's hands. But the boy backed away.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Harry exclaimed stubbornly. "We need to find Acquila! I—I can't feel her!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, shutting his eyes, no doubt trying to reach Acquila. "She isn't—she isn't letting me in—or maybe I can't reach her—but what if, what if something happens, like last time? With Greyback and Voldemort and Crouch?" Harry's eyes were wide; for all that Harry was fourteen now, for all the times he'd been so brave in the face of danger, the boy suddenly looked afraid and vulnerable.

"Nothing's going to happen to her, alright?" Sirius told him, willing himself to be calm. "But I need you safe, back home, Harry. I can't have you here with the bloody Dark Mark shining in the sky—"

"No!" exclaimed Harry again. "I'm going nowhere till we find Acquila!"

Sirius stared at the boy, his fear making him want to yell at him. He couldn't handle this now, Harry's unusual mulishness. Acquila could be anywhere, in a fucking Death Eater's clutches, with the Dark Mark in the sky—and the bloody Auror emblem on his watch was burning hot against his wrist – Scrimgeour was calling for him! He had a duty – he was put in charge of protecting Fudge.

But Acquila—she was out there somewhere! She could be in danger! Alone, and afraid—even Harry wasn't with her this time. And the last time something like this had happened, things hadn't gone well for her, with Greyback and Crouch—damn!

"I can help! You know I can—I can try reaching out to her, you know I can! I'm not going home without her!" said Harry, green eyes beseeching now.

Sirius sighed deeply, unmoved. There was no way Harry could remain here. "Come on," he muttered, taking the boy with him.

There was chaos outside, far more than there had been in the Bulgarian camp.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, hair bushier than usual, rushing towards the boy and pulling him into a hug. "Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't know she'd go, or I'd have stopped her!"

Ron was pale-faced. "They're saying someone was killed—is it true? Is this to do with Death Eaters?"

Sirius didn't have the time to deal with that now. "Stay here with Bill, get into your tent and stay together. Bill, as soon as Arthur's back, tell him to have you all Portkeyed to the Burrow, even you Neville."

"What about Acquila?" began the Lovegood girl, strangely, still looking her usual dreamy self.

"Harry and I will look for her," said Sirius, impatient, as he led Harry away from the worried group, Bill ushering them all into the tent.

"Can you sense where she is, kiddo? Is she scared? Is she hurt?" Sirius asked Harry as they walked quickly in the direction of the Malfoy camps, realising he had gripped the boy's shoulder too hard only when Harry winced.

"No, no, I can't. She's not hurt… I don't think so—but, but I can't sense her," said Harry.

"We'll find her," said Sirius, determined. Surreptitiously, he took off the ring he wore on his finger, the one with the Black crest on it. Wordlessly tapping it with his wand, he called to Harry.

"Catch this," he said.

Harry, with the quick reflexes of a Seeker, instinctively caught the ring, frowning when he noticed the Sticking Charm ensured it got stuck to his palm.

One, two, three, chanted Sirius mentally.

"What—" exclaimed Harry in surprise, followed by a flash of bewilderment, as the ring turned blue and the boy disappeared safely towards Grimmauld Place, while Sirius set out to find his daughter.

oOo

Startled, stunned, furious – Harry didn't quite know what he felt when he his feet landed harshly on the rug in Sirius' study in Grimmauld Place, his knees buckling under the force as he stumbled. He stood up on shaky feet.

He muttered a spell under his breath, watching Sirius' ring unstick from his palm, and then tossed it onto the table, unusually furious with his godfather.

He needed to be there, at the Quidditch stadium! He needed to find Acquila! He needed to see her safe, with him, never letting her go!

He needed to get out of Grimmauld Place, back to Sirius, back to Acquila.

He was panicking, he knew, his breaths uneven, his palms clammy as he clutched his wand tighter. He didn't know how long he stood there, panicking, his mind blank, until finally he gathered his thoughts.

He needed to get out of here, immediately. But how? Sirius hadn't taught him Disapparition yet. And he didn't know how to create a Portkey. He wanted Acquila, he needed Acquila! He could still visualise the Dark Mark, a shimmering green in the dark sky, the skull staring down at him through empty eyes.

"Ouch!" Harry winced, clapping his hand to his forehead, where his scar seemed to burn for a fleeting moment.

But that didn't matter now. What mattered was finding Acquila.

He shut his eyes, trying to calm his racing heartbeats, trying to even his breathing, trying to reach out to her. But he could sense nothing, his own panic and fear so overpowering that even if he were feeling Acquila's emotions, he doubted he could have distinguished them from his own. But she couldn't be in serious danger, could she? Or he would have known, like he'd always done.

He looked around in desperation now, half wondering if maybe he could take some Muggle transport to go to the stadium—damn, he bloody didn't even know where it exactly was. He needed something magical… like a bloody Portkey or… or something like—oh, yes!

"Mopsy!" he called loudly.

The female elf appeared before him immediately, with a soft crack that shattered the hitherto silence of the night.

"Mopsy, take me to the Black tent," he ordered her. She couldn't deny following his orders, could she? Kreacher probably would have; he sometimes still took pleasure in undermining Harry. But Mopsy was a loyal elf, always ready to do whatever her little master asked her to.

Her big eyes grew bigger when Mopsy heard him. But she only bowed low, long ears sweeping the floor. "Mopsy will do as little master says," she said, holding out her little hand to him.

"Wait here—I'll be back," he said to her, and then fled up the stairs to his room. He was back within a minute, the Invisibility Cloak in his arms. He flung it over himself, ensuring it covered every bit of him. Holding his wand securely in his right hand, he clasped Mopsy's waiting hand with his left one.

"Come on. Take me there, and you come back here to Grimmauld Place," he told Mopsy, who went still for a moment, eyes widening again.

But she snapped her fingers, and Harry felt himself hurtling into nothingness, until his feet touched a rug-covered floor harshly for the second time that night.

"Thank you, Mopsy—" he began, but the elf's hand already slipped from his grasp. Mopsy, obedient as ever, disapparated back to Grimmauld Place as he had told her to.

The elf had brought him to his own room in the huge tent, he realised as he looked around, making sure there was no one in the tent. Walking out to the entrance of the tent and then past it, Cloak still around him, Harry held his wand securely, ready to cast any spell if need be.

There seemed to be no one outside; there was silence around him, though he could still hear sounds of chaos in the distance. The Weasleys were all probably still in their own tent, with Neville and Luna and Hermione, or perhaps Arthur had already managed to take them all to the Burrow. Harry wasn't going to go there to check. He knew that if Hermione, Ron and Neville knew he was going to follow Sirius into the Malfoy camp, they would all want to come with him. And he couldn't risk putting them in danger; not when someone had already been killed at Voldemort's bidding tonight, without which the Dark Mark wouldn't have been cast.

Trying not to look at the Weasley's tent (for he half-wished he had his friends with him), he walked in the direction of the Malfoy tents.

Glancing around, he saw no one except some solitary wizards running around in the distance. Things seemed to have calmed down a little, at least in this part of the vast grounds; the DMLE and Auror teams had probably already put the evacuation plan into action – Harry had overheard Sirius discussing it one time when Irene in the fireplace.

He picked up pace, almost running now, hoping his feet weren't exposed as the Cloak flapped around them. Belatedly noticing the sound his running was making, Harry muttered a charm under his breath, knowing his Underage Magic wouldn't really register with how full of magical humans the area was, glad that Sirius and Remus had taught him their nifty Marauder spell that would supress the sound of his feet.

The closer he got to the Death Eater camp, the more people he saw now. As he got even closer, he saw a handful of DMLE officials and Auror Proudfoot collecting a group of panicked witches and wizards – Nathan Rosier among them – into an orderly queue, probably towards an evacuation point. He spotted Richard Brown, hurrying away with his wife and mother, Lavender with them.

He spotted Auror Riley Blishwick, too, herding a bunch of Bulgarian-looking drunken witches away. But he couldn't see either of the Malfoys anywhere in the queue. Nor could he see Sirius.

Worried again, he spotted the Malfoy tent, standing high among the others. He walked closer to it, Cloak clutched tighter around him, alert for the slightest of danger and for the slightest sign of Acquila too.

Why couldn't he reach out to her? Why wasn't she pressing the Locator Charm Sirius had placed on her bracelet to alert them to her location? Was she in danger again? Unconscious like the last time, petrified, unable to move under the effect of yet another Dark spell, alone and helpless and powerless to do anything to protect herself? For half a moment, he could see Greyback's frightening eyes glaring down at himself, a silent scream straining and failing to escape her throat—but it was only Acquila's memory, from one her dreams that he been in. Shaking his head to clear it of the dreary thoughts, he continued walking, overtly aware of the Aurors and DMLE officers in the near distance, and the Death Eaters.

Walking carefully now, making sure no part of him was exposed, he went closer towards the Malfoy tent, only to suddenly spot a lone solitary figure running towards the woody area that lay behind the camps.

It was Sirius! Harry was sure it was his godfather from the tall height and the Auror robes billowing around the man.

He changed his path as swiftly as he could, weaving past what seemed like Yaxley's tent and between two sobbing witches, the Dark Mark still gleaming in the sky. Had they found the dead body yet, he wondered, shuddering as he worried over whom Voldemort could have targeted this time. As long as it isn't Acquila, he thought, heart racing again as he sped up, certain that there was nobody about him now, slowly catching up with Sirius.

His godfather seemed certain about where he was heading. Had Sirius figured out where Acquila was, then? Had she beckoned to him with the Locator Charm?

But why did she have to leave their camp in the first place? Why did she have to be so stubborn and go out alone when Sirius had expressly told her not to? Why did she have to get them all so worried, especially Sirius, when she knew what had happened last time?

Oh, Harry knew how much she cared for Draco Malfoy… but meeting him could have waited, surely, when she knew they weren't in a secure area, when she knew there was no protector with her, when she knew Harry wasn't there with her!

So intent was he on his thoughts, that Harry noticed a moment too late the red jet of light speeding towards him. His wand moved, his body instinctively made to move out of the way of the spell, but he wasn't quick enough. The spell hit him, right in his chest, sending him falling to the ground, darkness quickly taking over his mind and his vision, unable to even try to move.

When he regained his senses and his mobility, Sirius stood over him, his sharp features looking sharper in the moonlight, fury writ large in his stormy eyes and the stern set of his face.

"What were you thinking?" Sirius growled, pulling Harry harshly to his feet. "I sent you home to bloody keep you safe! Why—how the hell did you get here?"

"I couldn't sit back home when Acquila's missing!" exclaimed Harry, almost shrinking back from Sirius' fury, but not betraying how he had used Mopsy.

He had seen his godfather angry with him before, but never like this. "Do you realise what danger you could've put yourself in?" Sirius barked, eyes more black then grey as they bored into Harry's. "You think you're invincible beneath that Cloak and that stupid spell we taught you, but there are smarter wizards than you, Harry. I bloody knew someone was following me—and when I knew, anyone else could have known too! Nott or Yaxley or whoever Voldemort has got in his fucking pocket! Do you realise what could happen if Voldemort gets hold of you, for Merlin's sake!"

"I—I'm—" Harry began, making to apologise, but something made him hold back. "I'm not sorry," he said finally, honestly, "I'd do this again. You know I can't… I—I have to know where she is, I need to know she's safe," he admitted quietly.

Sirius only stared at him for a long moment, and squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Come on now, and don't you dare stray away. Stay close to me. And remain under the bloody Cloak."

"Do you know where she is?" asked Harry, pulling the Cloak over himself again. He knew Sirius was still angry with him. If he wasn't, he'd have ruffled his hair and called him Prongslet, which he hadn't.

"Keep quiet," Sirius hissed in reply. Not wanting to annoy him further, Harry wisely obeyed his godfather.

They walked – more like ran – on and on into the woods, over dry leaves and jagged stones, through a thicket of tall trees that reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest. The woods were silent – even Sirius seemed to have cast some sort of a spell to mute the sound of him trudging over the dried foliage – but for the chirping of insects and the occasional hoot of an owl who wasn't Hedwig.

Where was Acquila? What was she doing so deep into the woods? Had she gone on a walk with Draco, perhaps? But why would she come so far away from the camps, unless someone forced her to… unless someone whisked her away, against her will, like Greyback had done on that terrible night. The images hit his mind again, harder than they had before – Greyback, with his sharp teeth and those hungry eyes, pushing his knee between her thighs as he groped at her chest, promising that Sirius Black would never find his daughter whole and hearty ever again.

The sudden light streaming from the tip of Sirius' wand shook Harry out of his thoughts, the forest suddenly alight around them, startling a bird that shrieked loudly, fluttering its wings wildly as it flew away.

"Why—" Harry began, wondering why Sirius had suddenly decided to give away their presence – well, only his own presence rather seeing how Harry was under the Invisibility Cloak. But he got his answer in the form of something moving in the distance, just near the clump of oaks… not something, someone.

It wasn't an enemy, Harry knew from the way Sirius wasn't tensed. Was it someone from the Auror Force or DMLE, perhaps? Maybe they had alerted Sirius already.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered, now certain that it was three people that he could see in the distance, not one.

"She found her," Sirius whispered, rushing towards the figures. "Come on!"

Harry followed the older wizard, a sense of relief and eagerness mingling with the earlier panic and worry. He could sense her now, before he could even see her clearly, her emotions washing over him like an unstoppable flood – she was fine, unharmed, unhurt… she wasn't even frightened or panicked, because she was with Irene, and – Harry knew who the third figure was before he even came into clear view – Cedric Diggory.

oOo

Earlier

Acquila frowned as she watched Harry and her Dad walk past the entrance of their tent and into the celebrating crowds in the distance.

She sat back onto the nearest couch, frowning.

She knew Sirius was just being protective not allowing her to go see Draco without a guard, and rightly so. After the many dangers that had befallen them since they'd started at Hogwarts, any parent would've been extra careful with their security. But that didn't help assuage the uneasiness that arose at the thought of keeping Draco waiting for her in vain.

She had promised him she'd visit him. She could imagine him now – pacing around his tent, glancing at the time every other minute, his eyes glued to the door to see her enter. It didn't seem right, going back to celebrate with the Weasleys while Draco brooded in his tent all alone.

Maybe she could—no, she couldn't. Her Dad would be mad at her, wouldn't he, if she sneaked out to meet Draco? Oh, he'd be furious.

But she could go meet Draco and return before Sirius and Harry did, couldn't she? The Bulgarian camp was so far away; it would take quite some to for them to reach there, Krum would probably keep them waiting a little like many celebrities did; then they'd have to walk back to the Weasley camp – all of which would take more than an hour and a half at least. She could easily go meet Draco, spend some time with him and come back, with Sirius none the wiser.

Her mind made up, Acquila walked out of the tent, wishing Harry had brought his Invisibility Cloak along. Along with protecting her, it would also keep her away from the gaze of some Auror or DMLE official who would surely tell her Dad she had sneaked out. She wasn't some helpless girl like they all thought she was after the incident in the Forbidden Forest; she didn't need to be followed around everywhere by some armed witch or wizard ready to defend her against the slightest of danger. It felt suffocating to her – having someone follow her in public all the time, Ron and Neville's wary and slightly awed looks whenever an Auror tailed Harry and her, people around them getting even more of a reason to stare at her, knowing she was someone who needed added protection to even go to Diagon Alley to buy dress robes.

Oh, she understood why. She knew why her Dad was so paranoid about keeping Harry and her safe; she knew the acute danger Voldemort posed. But that didn't mean she was alright having someone on her tail every bloody time they went out.

Frowning, she slipped out of the tent. Making sure there was nobody watching her, she ran to the back of her tent, slipping past the Weasley's camp where she could hear the twins laughing loudly at something.

She felt another slight pang of guilt. Should she have told Hermione, perhaps? What if the Weasleys noticed she hadn't come back and presumed she was missing or something?

She paused in her steps momentarily, thinking. But one glance at her watch, and she decided she didn't quite want to waste time convincing Hermione, who would surely be aghast that Acquila was leaving despite Sirius' express orders. And anyway, Harry would know where she was; he always did. She would be back before anyone even noticed she was missing.

Reassuring herself, gripping her wand in her hand, she passed quickly in between the many tents, watching drunken celebrations, a brawl or two starting here and there, children flying around on their toy broomsticks and fireworks bursting loud and bright.

She spotted a cap with Irish colours lying on in a bush on the way and pulled it on, pulling the brim down so it covered a little of her face. It would help keep her identity under wraps a little, what with almost everyone in magical Britain knowing how she looked.

Thankfully, there weren't many Aurors around; she spotted a couple of DMLE officers who were too occupied with trying to diffuse a massive, scary-looking firecracker which would surely attract the attention of Muggles miles away. They didn't even notice her walk past them, the sudden sparks emitting from the tail of the cracker securing all their attention.

Nevertheless, she was still alert, keen to remain unspotted by any of her Dad's colleagues. For all that she'd grown friendly with most of them now, she knew they'd rat her out if they knew she was roaming around unguarded.

She had barely crossed the loudly singing group of witches, ducking behind a tall wizard passing by because she spotted Irene Summerby a little distance away, when she heard someone speak from right behind her: "Whom are you hiding from?"

Her heart suddenly racing, she turned around swiftly, wand drawn, a spell at the tip of her tongue when she recognised who it was: with brown hair and those familiar blue-grey eyes gazing down at her, that handsome face – Cedric Diggory.

"Hey!" she blurted out, drawing her wand back quickly. Fortunately, Cedric didn't seem to have noticed that, or he'd surely wonder why she'd been about to break the law against Underage Magic.

"Hello," he said, a little curiously, though there was that gorgeous smile playing at his lips. "Whom are you hiding from? I saw you sneaking around…"

As Cedric grinned at her, Acquila felt very stupid – she was still wearing that Ireland cap and her hair was a mess, there was that little stain on her shirt where she'd dropped some Butterbeer earlier. But that didn't really matter now, did it? She didn't need to be so self-conscious around Cedric… not when he's with Cho Chang… and when I have Harry…

"I'm trying to hide from Irene—I mean, Auror Summerby," she muttered.

"Why are you hiding from her? Did you get into trouble or something?" He chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," she began. Would he think she was still a little girl or something, if she told him her Dad hadn't permitted her to leave the camp alone? She sighed, not wanting to lie. Anyway, Cedric had probably already seen the DMLE guys who'd escorted her to the Top Box earlier. He already knew she needed someone to secure her always. "I'm not supposed to leave the camp. Dad told me not to… but I promised Draco I would meet him after the match. And I'm not really one to break promises…"

"So you're sort of rebelling against your Dad, huh? That's pretty brave of you. I hear your Dad isn't someone to be messed with or lied to," quipped Cedric.

"Well, I'm not that brave seeing I'm hiding from his colleagues who'll rat me out to him," she replied, grinning. "I just don't want to disappoint Draco."

"Draco Malfoy, huh?" said Cedric, looking thoughtful.

"Yes," said Acquila warily. She knew Cedric didn't view Draco with disgust because of his lycanthropy. He'd already told her that once before. But someone mentioning Draco always kept her on the edge because of how people usually treated him with revulsion and disdain.

"I've seen you with him," said Cedric quietly. "You've been a good friend to him since he got bitten, haven't you? Helped him get out of his shell and cheered him up always… My Dad and Andromeda Tonks were talking about you that day at the party at your manor… how you've been really brilliant with him…"

Acquila felt her face turning warm. "Draco's my cousin," she said, waving off his words, "He's family. And the lycanthropy didn't matter to me because we've known Remus so well for years now. It's nothing, really—"

"And you're modest too," said Cedric, grinning. "Silly me for thinking you were a typical haughty pureblood when I saw you at your party that evening. You did look beautiful, by the way."

"You told me that already," she said, blushing faintly again.

Why was she feeling so coy like one of those silly girls who fawned over Cedric? Why did he and his words always make her feel so—so—damn, she didn't even have a word for it! It was nothing like what she felt for Harry, of course. But this felt nice – not knowing what Cedric was going to say, not being able to preempt his words like she could Harry's, not knowing what he was thinking like she always knew what Harry was… the Hufflepuff seemed like a mystery to her.

It seemed… almost refreshing, talking to someone who knew nothing of Horcuxes and Voldemort and Greyback and whatnot, someone who didn't know that she had to put Silencing Charms on her room to suppress her screams when her nightmares kept her awake… someone who didn't know of the cursed scar on her clavicle – a permanent mark of the Slytherin Locket and her mother's ghostly apparition that had arisen from it… someone who didn't know how feeble a wisp her wand emitted when she cast the Patronus Charm and how her wandless magic had failed her when she fell into Greyback's clutches…

She curbed her thoughts, only now realizing that Cedric had fallen into step with her and they were walking towards the Malfoy camp.

She stopped abruptly. "What way were you headed?"

"Back to my own tent. I was celebrating with a couple of my friends … the ones I was playing Quidditch with that day, remember? But, never mind that," he replied, "I'll accompany you till Draco Malfoy's tent… give you a safe escort."

She felt an irrational annoyance at his words. "You think I can't take care of myself, then?"

"Of course you can," he said, grinning. "But I'm pretty tall, you can hide behind me when an Auror walks by. And I needed an excuse to walk with you."

"You've used that line before, you know? The excuse one," she quipped, remembering their walk through Hogwarts on the night she'd sneaked out under Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"I remember that," he said, "But being around you leaves me tongue-tied and at a loss for words, sometimes."

Acquila rolled her eyes at that, though she knew she was blushing a little again. "Really? Is that the best you can come up with?" she chuckled.

"I wasn't lying when I said you have me at a loss for words," said Cedric. He smiled and looked at her in an endearing sort of way, which made her look away from him for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

Cedric seemed to sense her confusion, for her cleared his throat and changed the topic. "Speaking of Professor Lupin, my Dad says he's working really well at the Werewolf Liaison Office. Do you know he managed to unite four of the children they found in the forest packs with their families?"

"Yes," said Acquila. She remembered how Dora had told them about it when they'd all met for dinner. How proud they'd all been of Remus and his work with the werewolves!

"That property your father donated – Professor Lupin has set it all in order, my Dad says… He had the werewolves rehabilitated there and everything. Even Minister Fudge is very happy with Remus' work," went on Cedric.

Acquila smiled, knowing the Minister would've probably praised Remus even if he'd been bad at his job because he was Lord Sirius Black's best friend. "Remus loves his job," she told Cedric happily. "He's always liked helping out people."

"I know," said Cedric. "I remember he always tried to help out John and Wilson—they're my friends, during our DADA lessons. And he—" He paused abruptly, grasping Acquila's hand and pulling her back.

She looked at him, bewildered. Then she spotted Auror Proudfoot ahead, his tall, thin figure easily recognisable despite how dark it was here without the lanterns that had lit up the areas they'd earlier walked by.

They waited behind one of the tents for Proudfoot to leave.

"I can't believe I'm helping you hide from Aurors," Cedric whispered, slowly letting go of her hand.

"Don't worry," she said, smirking, "If my Dad finds out, I'll make sure he doesn't know you helped from his colleagues."

"I wouldn't mind facing your Dad's wrath, you know," he quipped, grinning that lop-sided smile of his that made her insides wriggle, "If it means I get to spend time with you."

Acquila only smiled a little politely, not quite knowing what to say. It was strange how she usually didn't know how to respond to Cedric's flirting. Nobody ever said such things to her. It felt almost… nice… because Cedric, although he was flirting, seemed to mean what he said, unlike blokes like Marcus Flint who only ever sought to flatter her because they eyed the Black wealth.

"Now that I am an accomplice in helping you evade the Aurors, I might as well do it properly, eh?" said Cedric, when he realised she wasn't going to reply to his earlier remark. "Let's walk behind the tents. No one will notice you, and there'll be lesser people to avoid."

Acquila agreed, and they left the main path once Proudfoot was out of sight. They walked from behind the line of tents, where there were lesser lights, lesser people and lesser noise.

"This was a good idea," she began, only to realise that other people had had the same idea as them – the couples they now spotted there, each pair involved in what seemed like some heavy snogging.

"You spoke too soon, huh?" said Cedric, as Acquila averted her eyes from them, feeling suddenly weird again.

Damn, this was a little awkward – Cedric and her weaving their way through the gamut of couples… one pair even seemed in a rather indecent state of undress.

On unspoken agreement, not even meeting Cedric's eyes, they both went a little towards the wooded area that Arthur Weasley had pointed out to them all earlier.

It was a better option even though it was a longer route and would make Draco wait a little longer for her, she decided, looking around warily at the tall trees that they walked beneath.

Everything's fine, she told herself, trying not to notice how the tress blocked the moonlight that had shone over them mere minutes ago, everything around her shrouded in a darkness that felt eerier with the faint chirping of insects, the occasional hoot of an owl – all of it reminded her of that night in the Forbidden Forest with Greyback, making her feel uneasy and unsettled, bringing back memories she had thought she had successfully banished to the very back of her mind.

I thought I had got over my fear, she mused to herself, feeling her palms turning a little clammy, something unpleasant churning in her belly. But she didn't dare say anything. She couldn't, not in front of Cedric who knew nothing of that ghastly night and the never-erasing trauma it had birthed in her mind. She didn't want Cedric to know she was a scared little girl, some damsel in distress who always needed to be rescued by her Dad and Harry and even Remus and Draco last time—damn, she thought she had forgotten these feelings of powerlessness, of inferiority.

If Harry was here, he would've known I'm not feeling comfortable here, she thought vaguely, wondering if he could sense her even now, when he was far off in the Bulgarian camp. But when she reached out to him, she was almost taken aback by the sense of joy he felt at the thought of meeting Victor Krum, of eagerness and excitement that overtook her uneasiness in a trice, making her feel suddenly nice and cheerful.

This isn't normal, she thought, my mood swinging from one extreme to another because of what Harry's feeling. But she didn't want to dwell on that now, when she was feeling much better than she'd been feeling moments ago, with an oblivious Cedric by her side.

She only now realised that the Hufflepuff was saying something, that she hadn't even noticed he'd been speaking to her.

"—our DADA teacher this year?" he was saying, "I'm sure you have some kind of an idea. Ted Tonks is on the Board of Governors, isn't he?"

"I don't know," she replied, the mystery of their new DADA professor taking her thoughts away from the earlier dreary ones. "Harry and I asked Uncle Ted, but he said he'll keep it a surprise for us."

"Well, whoever it is, I hope it's someone who's as good as Professor Lupin was," Cedric said.

Acquila nodded.

Cedric went on, then, speaking about school, about how this would be his last year at Hogwarts, about the upcoming Quidditch season and emulating some of Krum's moves he'd watched today. She chimed in too occasionally, telling him about the places Harry and she visited in France. Cedric seemed very interested with all she told him of the Muggle world… it was nice talking to him, like a breath of fresh air…

Something made her glance at her watch, though. Damn, it had already been almost half an hour since she left the tent. Draco was waiting for her; and Harry and her Dad would be back soon. She risked a little glance into Harry's mind… but she didn't even need to delve in too deep to know he was waiting for Krum to come out and meet him now.

She looked at Cedric to tell him they'd better walk faster. But she found looking at her with a twinkle in his eye, a look that made her heart skip a beat.

"What is it?" she asked him, blushing.

"You," he said finally, "are such fascinating girl."

"Really?" she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she even realised she had thought them. "I hear you found Cho Chang very fascinating too."

Cedric seemed a bit surprised by that. "Yes… but well, we ended things a few days ago. It wasn't anything serious, really."

Acquila nodded. She didn't really know how she felt about that – a teeny bit happy, she realised, though she should have perhaps been indifferent to it.

"How—oh, the Weasley twins told you, did they?" wondered Cedric. "They know everything that goes on in the school, those two."

Acquila shrugged.

"You seem pretty perturbed by it, eh?" he asked her, grinning a little slyly now. "Cho Chang and me…"

"No," she replied, shrugging again. "I just asked you… for no particular reason as such…"

"I did quite like Cho, but… well, I realised it wasn't her I wanted to be with… there's someone I think I fancy a lot more," said Cedric slowly, slowing down now, so that Acquila had to come to a stop too.

There was that look on his face again, that look of hope and a bit of smugness, a little hesitance. He was a bloke who wore his heart on his sleeve. She had seen that look once before – when he'd been about to ask her out, at Hogsmeade, a few hours before Greyback and his pack had murdered Mrs Smith.

Right on cue, Cedric continued, looking rather adorable as he grinned at her. "Remember that day at Hogsmeade? And in the library after that?"

She nodded, feeling suddenly nervous, her tummy feeling like there were dozens of Snitches fluttering within. The thought of Snitches suddenly reminded her of Harry taking a Snitch with him for Krum to autograph… Harry—she couldn't do this to Harry, not like this. Oh, she was charmed by Cedric, but Harry was a different matter altogether… he was a part of her, he was hers and she couldn't—no, she didn't want to think about any of it now, not like this, with Cedric about to ask her out, and with what she knew Harry felt for her, what she still felt for him…

"You said I could ask you," Cedric went on, "sometime later. And I want to—"

"Ow!" exclaimed Acquila, deliberately tripping over one of the tree roots scattered over the forest floor.

"Are you hurt?" exclaimed Cedric, quick enough to stop her fall before she could tumble face first to the ground, his hand clasping her arm.

"I'm fine—I'm fine," she said, steadying herself. Oh how her shin hurt, but this was diversion enough from the topic Cedric sought to speak of.

"Wait, let me light up the way. Now that I'm seventeen, I can do magic outside of Hogwarts. I keep forgetting that," he said, only to gasp suddenly. "Where's my wand gone?"

"You can't find your wand?" exclaimed Acquila, "Did you have it with you when you were with your friends?"

"Yes, I did," said Cedric. She could see his suddenly tense features in the moonlight that filtered in from the foliage above. "It was right here," he said, sounding panicked now, touching his back pocket, "I remember it was here when we walked behind the tents."

Never put your wand in your back pocket, she remembered Mad Eye Moody saying to her once. But this wasn't quite the time to tell Cedric that.

"Maybe it fell down when we were walking," she said, "Let's look for it—retrace our steps. We'll find it, don't worry."

She took her own wand and muttered Lumos, watching it light the path ahead.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Cedric exclaimed, "The statute of Underage Wizardry—"

"It's fine," said Acquila, thinking vaguely that Harry would never bothered about the statute. But he did say that in the Burrow, she reminded herself, he didn't let me practice Magic for days on end because he didn't want to upset Molly Weasley. Or I'd have been better at my Patronus charm now.

The thought seemed petulant to her own ears. And it wasn't really important now. What mattered was finding Cedric's wand.

They walked back the way they'd come, Acquila's land lighting up the leaf-laden ground. However, they couldn't spot the wand at all. They were in a forested area which had thousands of twigs and fallen branches that looked like wands at the first glance; and she didn't even know what Cedric's wand looked like.

"It's made of ash," said Cedric, sounding less panicked and more in control now. "Ash and Unicorn tail feather."

"Okay," said Acquila, looking around more keenly now. But something seemed to be wrong. Had they even walked this way earlier? She didn't remember walking past this clump of oak trees.

"Are we on the right way?" she asked Cedric.

"I think we are," he replied quietly, staring around them, his brow a little creased.

"Okay," she said, but she wasn't sure they were on the right path. Suddenly, everything seemed to look the same – the same towering trees, the same uneven path, the same clump of little bushes here and there.

"Look there—someone's there! Let's ask him if he's found a wand somewhere," said Cedric, pointing at a figure in the distance standing with his back to them.

"Wait," said Acquila; something didn't seem right. What was this man doing here in the woods? Why did he seem familiar? It took her only a moment more to realise who it was. She'd have recognised that shade of platinum blond anywhere; after all, Draco's hair was the same shade.

But Cedric was already approaching the man, no doubt worried about his wand.

She hesitated for a moment, then rushed after Cedric. She had nothing to fear from Lucius Malfoy. She had set him afire when she was barely eleven. For all that her magic had weakened now, she knew she could take on Malfoy if he tried something funny. Plus she knew the man was too scared of her Dad to try to harm her. And what was he doing here anyway, leaving Draco alone?

Damn, Draco was waiting for her, and she was still here…

"Malfoy!" she called out to him before Cedric could speak.

Lucius Malfoy turned to them. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled unlike how impeccably combed it usually was, a strong stench of liquor clinging to him, growing stronger the closer they got. He blinked, instinctively shielding his eyes as the light from Acquila's wand fell over him.

"Mr Malfoy," said Cedric politely, sounding extremely cautious now. "Have you found a wand lying around? I dropped mine."

Lucius Malfoy did not reply. He merely stared at Acquila, with a glare that seemed to contain unfathomable rancor.

"Weren't you to—to meet Draco?" Malfoy asked her, slurring.

Cedric looked highly confused.

Acquila remained mute, wondering how much Lucius Malfoy had drunk. What was he doing here in the woods anyway?

"He's waiting," Malfoy muttered, his words tripping over one another, "D—Draco—waiting for you—Acquila's coming to visit me, Father! I'm so happy!" he added in a sudden singsong voice. "And you're here—out with your half-blood lover boy, you 'lil bitch—"

"Don't call her that!" exclaimed Cedric, bristling. "We're leaving now. Acquila, come on."

Acquila glared at Malfoy, furious. But she knew Cedric was right. They had his wand to find, she had to visit Draco and get back to the tent before Sirius came. There was no sense in wasting time with a drunk Malfoy.

She nodded grimly, making to walk away, noticing how Cedric seemed to want to shield her from Lucius Malfoy. That was very sweet of him, she supposed, but also stupid because she was the one with the wand.

"Wait—wait, you blood traitor brats—" called out Lucius Malfoy, "weren't you lookin' for this?"

There, in Malfoy's hand was a wand that didn't look like it belonged to the Malfoy patriarch.

Cedric's eyes went wide. "That's my wand!" he exclaimed. He held his hand out to take it from him.

But Lucius Malfoy didn't hand the wand over. He just grinned, and there was a sudden maniacal glint in his silvery eyes.

"Give Cedric his wand back," said Acquila, holding her wand at her side, not wanting to seem confrontational yet. The light that had been shining out of her wand-tip was gone now, and they were thrust into a sudden darkness, Acquila blinking rapidly to make out Lucius'muttering figure until her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight.

"Mr Malfoy, please—" began Cedric.

"Acquila Black," drawled Lucius, twirling Cedric's wand. He didn't even seem to care or remember Cedric's presence now. He only glared at Acquila. "You th—think you can always get what you want, don't you? Like your oh so mighty blood traitor of a father? Sh—S—Sirius fucking Black!" He was tripping over the s's now, lisping, muttering under his breath one moment and aloud the next.

"Poking your bloody noses into my f—family, my wife, my s—son! Your bloody father and you, thinking you own the f—fucking world!" said Lucius harshly, still twirling the wand in his hands, pointing it at Acquila now.

"Look," said Acquila, alert now, "We just want the wand back!"

She could sense Cedric tensing next to her, suddenly panicked. For all that he was older than her, Acquila knew he'd probably never been in a situation like this. Although she knew Malfoy wouldn't dare harm her, Cedric probably only saw him as a dangerous former Death Eater against a wandless boy and a fourteen year old girl who wasn't even supposed to be doing magic.

"You can't—youbloody can't have everything you want, Black!" snarled Malfoy.

Acquila knew there was no reasoning with Malfoy when he was so tipsy. There was no use wasting time over this. She doubted she even had time enough to meet Draco now. She had to get back to her own tent before her Dad and Harry got back. She had to get Cedric away from this man.

In a swift motion, she raised her own wand, and pointed it at Lucius.

"Acquila, no!" exclaimed Cedric.

Before Acquila knew what was happening, Cedric lunged at Malfoy, no doubt wanting to wrest the wand out of his hand before he could hurt either of them. But Lucius Malfoy was quicker. One swish of the wand, and the blond wizard sent the Hufflepuff flying away. Acquila winced as she heard the dull thud of Cedric hitting the ground.

"Stop that!" she cried, furious at Malfoy. She made certain that Cedric – who was getting to his feet swiftly – was fine, before she glared at Malfoy, who made no further move against them.

"Accio wand!" she exclaimed.

But Lucius Malfoy, it seemed, wasn't as drunk as she thought. He dodged her spell easily, stumbling at the sudden motion, but steadying himself almost immediately, his eyes wide and blazing furiously now.

"You dare!" he exclaimed angrily. "You dare cast a s—spell on me, you blood traitor!"

"I told you!" she shot back. "Leave Cedric alone! Give me back the wand, and we'll go. Don't make me call my Dad and the Aurors—"

"Heh!" Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly. "Hiding behind daddy now, are we? Not so f—fucking conf—fident now, you little pup?"

He pointed Cedric's wand at her again. And Acquila tightened her grip on her own wand, a sudden spurt of adrenaline seeming to rush through her.

"Cedric, stay back!" she called, confident she could take on the Malfoy bastard.

"Mr Malfoy, please!" Cedric turned to Lucius Malfoy now, swiftly coming in between them both, facing the wizard, his back to Acquila. "We can sort this out—"

"Cedric, move away!" she exclaimed. Malfoy wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't promise he would think twice before harming a half-blood Cedric in his inebriated state.

"Expelliarmus!" she exclaimed, quickly pushing Cedric away and sending the spell at Lucius Malfoy.

But Malfoy, surprisingly, was quick. He flicked her spell away with a twirl of Cedric's wand. Repeated torture at Voldemort's hands during his Death Eater days had probably made him adept with a wand even when he wasn't completely in his senses.

Malfoy laughed, a loud, evil-sounding laugh that made her bristle.

"You have s—some of her in you, girl," Malfoy spat, "Marlene McKinnon, your blood traitor of an aunt. Oh how feisty she was—casting sp—spells and curses—"

Cedric was saying something to her. But she didn't even register what it was. All she could hear was Lucius Malfoy's laugher, ringing in her ears. Marlene McKinnon, her Mum's sister, the aunt she didn't even remember…

"—b—but your grandfather—that Edward, he died begging, you know—begging for the lives of his wife and daughter—your blood traitor parents could do nothing—your bloody father didn't even come in time to save them—to watch me kill Edward—watch the light die in his eyes—"

"STUPEFY!" she cried, but Malfoy's Shield Charm was quicker than she was. He still stumbled at the force of her spell, though.

She stared at Malfoy now, Cedric still saying something.

They stood watching each other – the man and the girl, for a second, for a minute, for an hour, Acquila didn't know how long it was. All she knew was that she felt alive.

This was what she'd been waiting for since months; the anger seemed to surge within her, her ire at Malfoy's words about her mother's family now snowballing into a red hot mass, the fury and frustration that had plagued her for weeks now mingling with it, her insecurity at how her magic was weakening, the chance to prove herself now, to use all she had against the man aiming Cedric's wand at them, a chance to let go, to feel the magic racing through her body, from her belly to the tips of her toes, from her head to the tips of her fingers, flowing from her very soul, channeling itself through her wand onto this man she had once sworn to kill, this man who had played a part in torturing her Aunt Marlene, who had killed her Grandfather Edward, who had rejoiced at her Mum's death and her Dad's incarceration in Azkaban, this man who had caused Draco to be bitten, the man she had once set on fire in the courtroom in the Ministry of Magic with a mere glare at him.

Malfoy stared at her, waiting and watching. He seemed suddenly unsure now.

And she knew – she knew Malfoy knew what she was trying to do. He stared at her, his hand shaking slightly, but his eyes widening, as if to focus clearly on her.

Malfoy knew what she was trying to do, but why wasn't he attacking her yet? What was holding him back? Why was his wand held in a defensive stance instead of an attacking one?

And why—why wasn't the magic flowing through her like it had when she dueled Quirrel, when she dueled Ginny-Voldemort wandlessly, when she shook Dumbledore's very office? Why couldn't she feel it thrumming in her, rising within her, burning bright and hot, making her fingers tingle as she felt the magic working its way through her body? Why couldn't she feel it? Why did she suddenly feel so powerless? Where had all her power gone?

"What's this?" Malfoy laughed now, breaking the tense silence; though he still had Cedric's wand pointed at her. "No wandless magic, girl? No f—fire?"

"Shut up!" she yelled back. But her palms were sweaty now, her heart racing with fear rather than adrenaline. Why couldn't she summon her magic? Why could she feel nothing, just weak little wisps simmering within her instead of the volcano her magic earlier felt like?

"Kneazle got your tongue now, girl? Where's your courage? Gryf—findor, aren't you?" laughed Lucius Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy, let us go! See sense here—" began Cedric, making to move towards Lucius, a determined glint in his eyes that told Acquila he was about to do something very brave and very stupid yet again.

But before he could, Malfoy raised Cedric's wand to the sky.

"Morsmorde!" he shouted, and the jet of glimmering ghastly green shot from the tip of the wand right into the night sky, setting the velvety black alight with the Dark Mark.

With that, Malfoy laughed aloud, and threw Cedric's wand to the ground.

Acquila stared at him, speechless and stunned.

What was going on—the Dark Mark! The Dark Mark! What had Malfoy done that for?

"You—you bloody—"

Malfoy was still laughing, no signs of getting to the fallen wand.

But Cedric had grabbed her arm. "Come on!" he said. "We need to get out of here before he grabs the wand again! Come on!"

Malfoy didn't even seem to notice or care that Cedric wanted her away from there.

"B—but the Mark! Your wand!" she sputtered.

"COME ON!" said Cedric, literally dragging her away. "My wand doesn't matter! The Dark Mark symbolises death and I don't mean to get either of us killed!"

For once, she didn't respond. Still stunned and feeling strangely hollow within, she let the Hufflepuff take her hand and lead her swiftly through the woods, as far away, the camps arose in a frightened uproar.

oOo

Now

Harry's wand-light illuminated the three figures: Irene, Acquila and Cedric Diggory.

"Acquila!" exclaimed Sirius. He didn't seem surprised at all about Cedric's presence, nothing of the astonishment Harry felt.

"I found her!" called Irene, as Sirius rushed to them, Harry following, wand clutched tightly in his hand, speechless with relief and something else he didn't want to acknowledge – something dark and hollow that was taking over him.

He looked up at the Dark Mark once, and then back at Acquila again.

"Dad, Harry!" said Acquila, red-faced and panting, but safe.

"Are you hurt? Are you alright?" Sirius exclaimed as he gathered her in his arms.

"We're fine, Dad!" she said, hugging Sirius back.

Harry watched them, half wishing he could hug Acquila too, make certain she was fine and unhurt, hold her close to him and hear her heart beating against his, and rest his face in the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse beating against his cheek. But there was something holding him back, something that made him look away from her and at Irene, who ruffled his hair, at the Dark Mark glimmering overhead, look anywhere but at her and Cedric Diggory.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius whispered, holding Acquila tight. "I was so worried when we couldn't find you."

"I'm fine," said Acquila, as Sirius let go of her. "Harry," she said, turning to him.

Harry met her gaze, grey and bright in the moonlight; but he only managed a weak smile and looked to Sirius again.

Harry knew what was coming, of course. Now that Sirius had made sure Acquila was alright, his rage was going to return doubly fierce. It helped thinking of Sirius' fury than dwelling on his own – the churning in his mind and his heart, something dark and bitter and sinister that only seemed to increase when he gazed at the skull in the sky.

"What were you thinking?" Sirius demanded, glaring at Acquila now. "Why did you go out? I told you to remain in the bloody tent!"

Acquila looked taken aback. "I didn't think this would—"

"Do you know what a scare you gave us? Everyone's looking for you! Arthur and his boys, the Aurors, the bloody DMLE!" Sirius growled at her.

Another time Harry would perhaps have intervened, tried to calm his godfather down.

But why should I now? he found himself thinking. Why did Acquila always have to get into something like this? Why did she bloody have to sneak out, without even telling Hermione or the others? Why was she with Cedric Diggory when she had told him—lied that she wanted to meet Draco? Why was she here, in the bloody forest, alone with the Hufflepuff, sneaking out, without telling Harry at all?

Perhaps that was why Harry hadn't been able to sense her thoughts all this while – because she didn't want him to, because she was with Diggory.

"I've told you time and again – don't move around alone without someone with you," said Sirius, fuming, "I told you not to leave the tent, but still you had to go and—"

"Mr Black—" began Cedric Diggory.

"Dad!" Acquila spoke over Cedric, now annoyed at being yelled at. "We didn't even know we'd—"

"There's the Dark Mark in the sky!" Sirius spoke over her. "Do you even realise how dangerous this is? You know what he can do, you bloody know what he's capable of! Why can't you stay out of trouble—"

"Sirius, stop it," cut in Irene, her hazel eyes bright as she stared at Sirius, "At listen to what—"

"You keep out of this!" Sirius snapped at Irene, making Harry surprised at the tone of his voice. "You have no right to get into this. This is none of your business! She's my daughter, let me deal with her."

Irene glared back at Sirius, her jaw clenching. A moment passed, and Harry thought he saw something unspoken pass between the two Aurors, something in Irene's fierce glare and Sirius' equally harsh one, until Sirius looked away.

"She may be your daughter, but she's a witness to Lucius Malfoy casting the Dark Mark," said Irene, her voice steely now, eyes narrowed. "Until I take her statement, she remains with me, as does Mr Diggory here—"

"Wait—Malfoy? What do you mean Lucius Malfoy?" exclaimed Sirius.

Acquila said nothing, glaring at him like Irene was.

It was Cedric Diggory who spoke. "It was Lucius Malfoy, Mr Black. He was drunk—he argued with Acquila, and then cast the D—Dark Mark."

"Fuck!" swore Sirius, running a furious hand through his hair.

oOo

Half an hour later, Sirius was as frazzled as he had been in the woods, the Dark Mark still shone in the sky, and Harry was still in a foul mood, his grip on his wand as strong as it had been earlier. His heart seemed to race. Or perhaps, it was Acquila's heart that was racing. Or perhaps it was his own heart, thudding because of the fury that seemed to simmer within him, raging against his hold on it.

It seemed alien to him, the anger, the fury – belonging to him, but not belonging to him, too. Was it Acquila's anger rubbing off on him (because Acquila was furiously arguing with Sirius in the distance)? Or were these Voldemort's emotions? Perhaps they were. But this wasn't the time to tell Sirius about it.

Perhaps it was his own rage, Harry decided again, as he watched Acquila exchanging angry words with Sirius, Cedric Diggory by her side. She didn't want to go back home. She wanted to remain here because she was the only eye-witness who could confirm that though the Dark Mark had been cast with Cedric's wand, the Hufflepuff hadn't been the one to cast it. She wanted to remain with Cedric; she wanted to see Lucius Malfoy dragged off to Azkaban; she wanted to have her way, like she always did, uncaring of how it would affect others around her, how it would affect Harry.

He shut his eyes, opening them again, trying and failing not to look up at the Dark Mark, his scar pricking again.

Lucius Malfoy, he thought grimly, surreptitiously touching his forehead, his fingers seeming to burn as they brushed the scarred skin on his brow. Lucius Malfoy. This was all because of him.

Oh, the Aurors had found and arrested Malfoy, alright. The moment he spotted Malfoy, Sirius had lunged at the blond wizard, landing a fist straight on Lucius Malfoy's face twice, roaring how dare you point a wand at my daughter, you bastard! It had taken two Aurors to pull Sirius off Malfoy.

In pain and bleeding, the former Death Eater had confessed to casting the Mark, his eyes red and dazed, his feet unsteady, a bruise blooming on his jaw, the stench of alcohol emanating from him as he muttered about the drink making him lose his senses, claiming he never meant to cast the Mark at all.

Sirius' jaw had clenched tighter with each word that Lucius Malfoy uttered. Apart from Lucius daring to attack Acquila, Harry knew Sirius was furious because of all the trouble that the Ministry would now have to deal with – news of the Mark was all over the wizarding world thanks to the heavy presence of the world media to cover the Quidditch Final; the ensuing chaos and stampede had injured a few people, Madam Bones had been badgered by reporters with questions about You Know Who and about Fudge's incapability as Minister of Magic. Sirius would surely have a tough time with a paranoid Minister Fudge now.

But there was also the matter of Lucius Malfoy working for Sirius' cause with his former Death Eater buddies. Sirius could not let him go to Azkaban. His godfather was a muddle of frustration and indecision now, barking at his fellow Aurors while Scrimgeour fumed, reasoning with a furious Madam Bones, trying to assure a just-arrived Narcissa Malfoy that he was doing his best to handle the matter (Draco was nowhere to be seen), dealing with Amos Diggory who was frightened that his son would be implicated in the matter because it was his wand that had cast the Mark.

"Dad, I don't want to go home now! The Aurors haven't even taken my statement!" Harry heard Acquila heatedly telling Sirius. Her needlessly arguing with him now was only serving to make Sirius – and Harry – further angry.

Harry turned away from her, looking up at the sky again.

It still remained there, the Dark Mark, hollow-eyed and menacing, though it was a mere shadow of the bright green it had been earlier, bright enough to reflect in his godfather's wide, frantic eyes as he had grabbed at Harry protectively, urging him on through the throngs of people towards their own tents. He curled his fingers into a fist as he remembered the fear on Sirius' face when they saw Acquila was missing, the numbness in his own limbs when he realised Acquila was gone, with chaos all around, with the Dark Mark in the sky, reminding him frighteningly of that night with Greyback in the Forbidden Forest, where he had been unable to find her in Hogwarts and then rushed to the Forest, finding her at the werewolf's mercy.

It made him bristle, merely watching the skull. The Dark Mark shouldn't have been there. None of this should have happened.

"Dad! Please, I need to be here!" Acquila's voice made Harry look at her again. Her hair was a mess, her boots scruffy, her face red from all the talking she was doing. "Harry, back me up!" she told Harry now, grey eyes imploring.

But Harry said nothing. Looking at her was only making him irritated for some reason.

This shouldn't have happened. Sirius shouldn't have had to be so panicked and frazzled; Harry shouldn't have had to spend those long, frightening minutes searching for Acquila, imagining all the scary things that could've happened to her. The Dark Mark shouldn't have been in the sky.

Acquila glared at Harry when he said nothing, her anger only infuriating him more. She turned back to Sirius. "Dad—"

"That's enough!" roared Sirius aloud, startling Harry. "I have enough to take care of here without you biting my head off with your stubbornness!"

"But Dad—" Acquila made to interject angrily, bristling at being scolded in front of Sirius' fellow Aurors and the DMLE officials and Cedric.

"Come here," said Sirius, tugging Acquila a little roughly into a corner, away from anyone's earshot.

"Let me handle this," Sirius told her quietly. It took Harry a moment to realise that he was hearing Sirius because Acquila was. "I need to get Lucius out of this, do you understand? I need him to work for me. I cannot let him get sent to Azkaban."

"Dad, he could have attacked me and Cedric! He was bragging about killing Grandfather Edward!" protested Acquila. "He used Cedric's wand to—"

"Let me handle this!" Sirius cut in harshly, glaring at Acquila angrily now – a look that Harry had never seen his godfather direct at his daughter before. "You're going home, right now! Your being here is going to make things worse! I don't want anyone questioning you before I set things right. Harry, come here!" Sirius looked at Harry, who walked quickly towards the two Blacks.

Sirius pulled out the Snitch – the one that Victor Krum had autographed for Harry – from his pocket, and whispered a spell, pointing his wand at it. "Take this, and go home. Both of you. Stay there until I come back."

Harry nodded, taking the Snitch.

"But, Dad! I told you—"

"Come on!" It was Harry who cut Acquila off now, taking her hand more roughly than he had intended to, and leading her a little away from Sirius as the Snitch glowed a bright blue. Harry placed the Snitch between their clasped hands. But unlike how he always found a sense of warmth and affection whenever he touched Acquila's hand and entwined their fingers together, the contact with her only seemed to irritate him now.

"Acquila!" Sirius called to her. "Don't you dare step out of home again. Stay there until I come," he repeated.

She huffed, and then looked at Cedric. "Bye, Cedric. I'll see you—"

But the Snitch glowed brighter before she could finish, and everything around them disappeared in a trice.

Harry's feet touched the ground harshly for the third time that night, that familiar tug in his navel. He almost stumbled, trying to tighten his hold on Acquila's hand to help her get properly on her feet. But she was already steadying herself.

"What was that?" she demanded, tugging her hand out of his. "Why didn't you back me up? I need to be there! I'm the only witness that Cedric's innocent!"

"Sirius can handle it," Harry told her, his fury seeming to deflate suddenly in the face of hers. "He knows what needs to be done—and he told you that we can't have Malfoy sent to Azkaban."

"Malfoy should have gone to Azkaban years ago!" she snarled. "He killed my Grandfather! He told me about it—how he murdered him and tortured Aunt Marlene! He cast a spell at Cedric and raised his wand at me today, and now Dad's just going to let him go?"

Harry squirmed. Acquila was right. Lucius Malfoy did deserve to rot in Azkaban. But Sirius had said he needed Malfoy for the fight against Voldemort. And Harry trusted his godfather implicitly.

"Look, I know you're mad about whatever Malfoy said. But he didn't do any harm today—"

"Because he was drunk! He cast a spell at Cedric! Cedric isn't even involved in the matter—this is between Dad and me and Malfoy, but Cedric could've been hurt!" exclaimed Acquila heatedly.

Harry watched her, that anger simmering in him again. But it was a different anger, this – the Dark Mark wasn't in the sky anymore and his scar wasn't pricking at him. This was a different sort of rage, one that seemed unfamiliar to him (because he had never been this mad at her before) but one that was familiar too (because it was his own rage, born out of his own hurt and that other feeling he didn't want to name – betrayal).

Oh he knew that she was genuinely worried about Cedric. He knew that she didn't want anyone innocent to get caught in the crosshairs. She didn't want any more lives lost because of her; Mrs Smith and the orphanage children killed by Greyback and his pack still weighed heavily on her mind.

But Harry didn't quite want to think about that now. He was still mad, at Acquila, at the Dark Mark, and how everything had suddenly gone downhill, at how Sirius was worried and how Acquila had gone out with wouldn't have happened! None of this would've happened if Acquila hadn't been with Cedric! If she stayed put in their tent like Sirius told her to, none of this would've happened, the Dark Mark wouldn't have been glimmering in the sky now. He shut his eyes again, his rage seeming to take on a darker hue before his very eyes, his mind a jumble of emotions he couldn't quite separate, belonging to more than just him.

"Are you blaming me?" Acquila demanded suddenly, making Harry's eyes fly open.

"No, I'm not," he said, meeting her narrowed eyes, and he did mean it. "But you could've stayed in the tent like Sirius told you to. You could've listened to him for once."

"What do you mean by that?" she said. "Why are you behaving as if I'm responsible for this? I was just walking with Cedric. I didn't ask Malfoy to cast the bloody Dark Mark! I don't ask to get into trouble, alright? Don't sound like Dad now!"

"I'm not saying you deliberately get into trouble, Acquila. Come on, I know you can handle yourself," he said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers now.

His rage was receding yet increasing. What was happening to him?

But she glared harder at him. "Do you? Do you really think I can handle myself?"

"Of course I do," he said, frowning.

"Then why the hell were you thinking of that night with Greyback?" she demanded. "I felt you—I could sense you thinking of what happened in the Forbidden Forest, and your fear was affecting me too! I was frightened when I had no need to be—because you were frightened! Because you thought I couldn't handle myself!"

Harry stared at her. "I was frightened!" he exclaimed. "You were missing, the Dark Mark was in the sky—someone has been killed—of course I was afraid! You know what Voldemort is capable of! I couldn't find you—I couldn't sense you because you were blocking me—because you were off gallivanting with Cedric Diggory!"

Acquila stared at him now, speechless. "Is this what it is about? Cedric? Is that why you're mad at me?"

Harry held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away, rubbing his hand over his face. He didn't want to have this talk with her, not now. Nothing good would come out of it when both their tempers were so frayed.

"Don't walk away from this—tell me," she said.

He stared at her, letting out a strained chuckle. "I'm walking away? You're the one who never wants to talk about anything! You're the one who lied to me and went off with Cedric, holding his hand and refusing to leave him and come home—"

"I didn't lie to you!" she exclaimed incredulously. "I did go to meet Draco, I just met Cedric on the way, and he said he'd walk me to the Malfoy tent—"

"The Malfoy tent was right in the middle of the woods, was it?" The brusqueness of his own tone surprised Harry. Never had he spoken to Acquila this way, never had he been so furious with her, not even during the one and only fight they'd had in their first year of school.

His heart was racing again now, his breaths erratic; all he could see was red. All he could remember was all the times over the past few months that she'd been with Cedric Diggory.

"Harry—" she made to intervene.

But he went on. "So you just met Cedric coincidentally, huh? Like you did the night you sneaked out under my Invisibility Cloak to meet Malfoy in the Hospital Wing and met Cedric on the way back? Like the time you met him in Hogsmeade and he wanted to ask you out?"

"You're bringing up the Hogsmeade thing when you took Daphne Greengrass to Hogsmeade on a date?" Her pitch was a notch higher now.

"I did take her, but I didn't want to!" said Harry. "Astoria manipulated me into asking Daphne out! You know that—I even tried to explain, I said sorry to you—and you and I made up after that! We snogged, and we were sort of going out together, and after that I never once flirted with Daphne like you keep doing with Cedric!"

"I don't!" shot back Acquila, though there was something in the tone of her voice that gave her away.

"You can't lie to me, Acquila," Harry sighed. "You know that. I know your thoughts as well as I know mine—"

"And that's the bloody problem!" Acquila exclaimed, her voice louder than it had been yet, something dark, something that was hitherto hidden rising unbidden in the depths of her eyes, in her voice, in her very heart – something that was foreign to Harry, something he never even knew she felt.

"I don't want to talk about this," she whispered, running a hand through her hair much like Sirius had done in the woods. "I don't want to talk about this," she repeated, making to leave, no doubt to go to her room and lock him out.

"Wait!" he said, grabbing her arm and holding her back. "You can't do this every time! You can't run away from this every damn time, Acquila!"

"Let go of me," she said harshly, pulling her arm from his grasp. "I told you I don't want to talk about this, not now—"

"When then?" demanded Harry, suddenly more furious than he had ever been with her. "How long can you keep dragging this? How long will you keep me waiting and hoping?"

Something glittered in her eyes again, a memory floating in her mind, a sudden surge of guilt suffusing into it – Sirius, sitting beside her, his voice gentle as he said don't keep Harry hanging like this, love… and then Acquila nodding, knowing he was right, but her thoughts going to the Soul Bond, a sense of irritation and sorrow seeping in now, the feeling of being helpless, being chained, feeling smaller and powerless—emotions he had never yet felt this strongly from her, the tiny link of a long chain of thought he had never once glimpsed in all the times he had found himself in her mind… and he grabbed on to it, his curiosity and the hurt he felt at her keeping these thoughts from him overpowering the niggling feeling that told him he was wrong, that he had no right to delve into her mind when she didn't want him to.

"Harry!" she cried, furious, knowing what he was doing, pushing him away from her mind.

But he wouldn't stop, he didn't want to stop; and with a burst of strength he didn't know he had, he pushed back, grabbing on to that chain of thought, grasping on to every dark and bitter link that led to another – how suffocated she felt when she felt his presence at the back of her mind, how afraid yet exhilarated she felt over the power she held over him, power enough to make his body transform, power enough to cast spells using his magic through his wand… how frightened she was that he could hold the same power over her if he wished to, that his emotions could overpower hers, leaving her powerless to fight them, like it had happened when she had been gushing over Fleur Delacour because Harry was… that feeling of awe when she saw him perform spells easily, more potent than his magic had ever been, that feeling of loss and insecurity when she saw her own magic paling when compared to his, that feeble stream of magic when she cast the Patronus charm in stark contrast to the strong spell Harry could cast, her inability to transform completely into her Eagle form when Harry had mastered his own transformation, feeling numb at the loss of magic within her when she faced Lucius Malfoy, her power a mere pale shadow of the magnificent force it had always been… unlike how Harry was getting more powerful by the day… the feeling that Harry was profiting from the Soul Bond at her expense, holding that invincible sort of power over her, his magic seeming to strengthen as much as hers was weakening, pulling on to her, dragging her down, clutching her so tight that she felt she couldn't breathe, couldn't escape its clutches, do anything to get away from it, from the Bond, from Harry—

"Stop it!" Acquila screamed, and before he knew it, Harry found himself flying away, hitting the floor harshly, his spectacles sliding off his nose, his knees buckling as he found himself sprawled on the floor.

Acquila stood where she was, shaken but still standing, her wand trembling in her hand.

She stared at Harry as he got to his feet, as wordless as he was. His mind was a conundrum – guilt and surprise and anger and pain—terrible, terrible pain.

"Why?" she asked him hoarsely. "Why, Harry?"

He knew what she was asking him of course – why did you do that? Why did you force yourself into my mind? – the questions were writ dark in her glimmering eyes, in the hurt and the fury in her features.

Sorry, he meant to say, but he couldn't say the words, he couldn't as much as look at her.

When he got to his feet shakily, silent, he found that he couldn't reach out to her mind anymore, not that he wanted to; he didn't want a glimpse of her thoughts again, not after what he had seen, not after what she had kept from him – the bitterness, the utter distaste she felt for him.

"Why?" he said instead of replying to her. Why did you never tell me you felt this way? Why did you keep this hidden from me for so long? He wondered mutely.

"Don't you see?" she said now, making him meet her gaze. "Don't you see why, Harry?" The question was a strangled chuckle.

"I didn't mean to pry—I didn't want to invade your mind like that—I just couldn't stop," he said, a dull ache within him that was increasing by the moment.

She doesn't want me, he thought, his extremities numb as what he had sensed in her thoughts finally sunk in… she would do anything to get away from the Bond, from Harry himself…

"You never told me," he said, his words a mere whisper. There was a lump in his throat now, one that was burgeoning by the moment. "You never told me that you felt this—this revulsion for me—"

"I don't!" she exclaimed, a glimmer of guilt and regret seeping into her fury now. "I love you, Harry, you know that!"

Another time she would have said this, and Harry's face would've broken into a smile; she would have come to him and kissed his cheek affectionately, entwining his fingers with hers.

But she didn't do that now. She stood where she was, a tear finally escaping her eye. She brushed it away, not before he felt the lump in his throat enlarging further.

"You don't," he whispered instead, "You don't want the Bond, you don't want me—"

"I do want you, Harry!" she protested, her voice trembling now. "What you saw—in my thoughts… that was just—I didn't—" she stuttered, struggling for words.

When did we get to this, he wondered mutely, since when do you need words to tell me what you think? Since when did I need to force myself into your mind to know what you feel? When did we get to this point, Acquila?

"Tell me," he said earnestly, the dull ache inside him gathering steam now, his voice trembling as much as hers was. But he knew he had to say the words; he knew it was time.

"Tell me what you want from me," he said, wondering where he found the strength to get the words out, "we've kept this going on and on long enough, and it's time we decide."

"What do you mean?" she said, suddenly uneasy, though Harry knew she knew what he meant.

"I can't do this anymore, Acquila. Keep waiting for you, while you keep being conflicted about this. I love you, you know that." He repeated her words from earlier. "I have always loved you, since the time we became friends in school. I've—I've wanted you since long before we kissed in the secret passage—you know that, Acquila… you've always known what I felt… you know I've always wanted to be with you, I still want that, more than anything—but I can't keep doing this forever, hoping and waiting for you, while you go off with Cedric Diggory—"

"That was nothing," she told him, stepping forward to clasp his hands in hers. "It—it's just that you're always around—around me, in my mind, at home and in school—Cedric just, he makes me feel different, he doesn't know about the Bond or about the G—Greyback thing, and I can just be myself—but that doesn't mean that I like him like I like you—" she faltered, "I love you, Harry."

"Be with me, then," he told her, "I want to be with you, like we were before all the Greyback thing happened. Let us be together, properly—"

"No," she said, his hands slipping from hers now. "Don't force me. I don't want to think of this now—I don't want this now—you bloody pried into my mind when I told you not to, and you think we should—"

"I won't do that again! I am sorry for that—"

"Then don't make me decide now—"

"The Bond is going to remain!" Harry cut her off harshly. "Forever and ever! Until we die! No matter how much you want it to break, that's not going to happen! Even Sirius and Dumbledore know that! You're my soul mate, and I'm yours—the Soul Bond is going to be there always. And I don't mind that! I don't mind sharing my mind with you, or sharing my emotions with you. I don't have anything to hide from you, and I want you with all your—your stubbornness and your laughter and the times you get mad at silly things, and hum when you think no one's listening—"

"But I don't!" she exclaimed loudly, cutting him off. "I don't want you in my mind—I don't want to feel what you feel for Fleur and bloody Daphne Greengrass—I don't want you invading my mind against my will—I don't want to trip down staircases because I enter your mind and feel like I'm on the Firebolt you're riding! I don't want to feel you thinking about what Greyback did to me—I don't want to sense the power that thrums through you when you cast the Patronus Charm when I can't feel any in my magic! I don't want this, Harry! I don't want the bloody Bond! I don't want—" she stopped abruptly.

"Me," he finished for her, his voice shaky, his heart feeling like it had curled in on itself out of deep, infinite grief. "You don't want me."

"I didn't say that!" she protested, and he saw her blink back the sudden surge of tears. "I didn't say that, Harry—you know I could never not want you—"

"Then tell me you do," he said, his voice trembling again, the lump in his throat seeming to swallow his very voice as it expanded almost painfully. "Tell me what you want. Now. I can't take this anymore—"

"I can't!" she cried. "I can't choose! Don't make me! Please, Harry—you know what you mean to me—"

"I don't mean enough for you to want me," he said in a whisper, "I see that now."

"Harry—" she protested, coming closer to him again.

But he backed away.

He knew what he had to do. She would never be able to decide, he knew that now, he knew that as well as he knew his own heart. He wanted her. He would do anything for her. But what she felt about the Soul Bond, about him, would always make her hesitate… it would always mar what she felt for him.

"Harry, listen to me—" she said, the tears slipping freely now. She knew what he was going to do. She knew what he was going to say. She still knew him well enough to know that despite not being in his mind.

He looked at her, trying and failing to utter the words that would end it all, his hopes, his wait for one person he loved more than life itself.

His mouth opened, but the words wouldn't escape him.

He met her gaze and held it for a long time, her eyes teary, carrying an unfathomable sadness, and then slowly, her gaze hardening as she knew what his wordless silence meant.

She turned away from him.

He watched her for a long moment.

Why does my heart ache so? He wondered. Why do I feel like nothing will be right again?

He couldn't stay here, he knew. He wanted get away, anywhere, just away from her.

"Mopsy!" he called, his voice breaking.

The elf appeared immediately, her eyes huge as she saw them both.

He watched Acquila for a long moment, her back towards him, her hair fluttering gently in the soft breeze blowing in from the window.

Stop me, he thought, tell me to stop and I will.

He didn't know whether she heard his thought; though he wished with all his heart that she did.

But she said nothing.

"Take me to Remus and Dora's house," he told the elf.

It was only when he caught a last glimpse of Acquila, still turned away from him, and felt the floor disappearing from under his feet, that he let the long held-back tears escape his grip on them.

oOo

Her gaze roamed over the letters, the alphabets blurred one moment and clear the next as she blinked her eyes.

"Of the Horcrux wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction —" She read, words that she had read a dozen times since they had all begun their search for information on Horcruxes months ago. But the words made no sense to her.

There was a pounding in her head – the sort that came when you tried to hold in your tears too long, the sort that came when you agonised over something for hours on end, the one that came when you supressed a deep-rooted rage that made you feel like there was a flame-spewing dragon within you wanting to be let out.

He's gone, she thought, suddenly as sorrowed as she had been furious mere moments ago, tears pricking at her eyes again, Harry is gone. I should have stopped him. I should have said something. I should have— She shook her head fiercely, blinking. It wasn't her fault. Harry had chosen to end whatever they had. Harry had chosen to disbelieve her, to force her to make a decision when she didn't want to decide. Harry had forced himself into her mind against her wish.

She could still remember it – the force with which he burst into her mind, picking the very thoughts she wanted to hide, the memories she wanted no one to know, the part of her mind that was hers and hers alone. But he had forced his way in, leaving her powerless to stop him, her magic weakening as his strength grew stronger, grasping and grasping at every new thread of thought until, with an effort that had seemed impossible to her, she had finally thrown him out of her mind.

She could feel the anger within her now, boiling and bubbling, waiting for an outlet, furious at what Harry had done, furious at her own impotence at stopping him, furious that he had gone…

She flung the book away in a fit of rage, watching it hit Grandfather Phineas right on his nose.

"You foolish girl!" Phineas roared from his portrait. "Where's your sense of respect for your forefather! You hit me—"

"You're not even alive!" she exclaimed, only to regret it the very next moment. She glanced at the portrait apologetically.

It wasn't fair to let her anger at Grandfather Phineas, even though the old man had annoyed her for the past few hours since—well, since Harry left, she thought with a pang, remembering Harry's face, so pale and sorrowed as he struggled for words.

Phineas had gone on and on, tutting and snorting, clucking in disapproval at her visible grief.

You are a daughter of the House of Black, you foolish girl! He had told her, frowning in contempt. How dare you cry over a puny half blood! And how dare you let him walk away from you! You should have done the walking away! Oh, the shame of it all!

He had railed at the stupid boy who dared turn his back on the heiress to House Black and the ungrateful boy who didn't even deserve the respect and affection Sirius showers on him.

She had had half a mind in the beginning to agree with Phineas, join him in complaining about Harry, to tell him what Harry had done.

But she couldn't. She would never admit how Harry had overpowered her. She would never admit how he had walked out on her, the words he had thought but not said, the way he had broken up whatever they had, without even listening to her side of it, without even giving her a chance to decide.

But to be honest, there was nothing to complain about Harry, was there? Harry was nothing of the villain Grandfather Phineas was painting him. Harry had been nothing but sweet to her always… kind and patient, understanding and the best friend anyone could ever have.

But she didn't want to think of that now. It only made her feel the loss more acutely, that hollow feeling within her, where perhaps Harry had dwelt all these years…

I won't think of that! She decided fiercely. Anger was better. She would prefer being angry any day than being sad and sorry for herself. She would rather rant at Harry that acknowledge that agony, that ache in her heart that made her feel like she'd been torn apart, never to be whole again…

"Come on now! Stop brooding!" Phineas barked at her. "You are a Black, for Salazar's sake—"

"I know, I know," she muttered hoarsely, "You've told me that like a dozen times."

Phineas only snorted, stroking his beard, and watching her carefully as if worried she'd burst into flames or something any moment.

She looked away from him, his gaze unnerving her. She stood up and retrieved the radio from the table, fiddling with the knobs until she found what she was looking for.

"—sparking terror at the Final of the Quidditch World Cup! Eyewitnesses say Lucius Malfoy was arrested under the orders from Head Auror Scrimgeour. The Ministry has released an official statement saying there was no loss of life, questions still remain about the Dark Mark—"

She listened to the reedy voice of the radio presenter go on and on. But there was no mention of Cedric or his wand, nor of her Dad who hadn't come back home yet even though it had been hours since the incident.

Cedric, she thought bitterly. If only she hadn't agreed to let him accompany him to Draco's tent—and Draco! She hadn't even got to talk to him. Just when he was coming to terms with lycanthropy, he would now have to deal with his father being arrested… everything was a mess now… every bloody thing.

But yet, she found she couldn't dwell much on Cedric or on Draco. How could she, when Harry was gone?

He broke up with me, she thought, still pained at the words he had never uttered but ones she had heard anyway.

I love him, I told him I love him, she remembered, that dull ache descending on to her swiftly again.

If only she had been able to stop him from delving into her mind… if only he had decided to let her alone and not pry. They'd still have been together, then. Together as friends, as whatever they had been during since the Christmas Eve when they'd kissed.

How could he? She wondered brokenly. How could he erase everything we had like this? How could he walk away when he knows what I feel for him?

For one wild moment, she wanted to shut her eyes and reach out to him, to his mind, know what he was doing, know how he felt, know whether he was as upset with this as she was, know if there was a hollow space within him somewhere like there was one within her now, no doubt because of the Soul Bond.

But she didn't dare try to reach him. She didn't want to know whether that tangible link that existed between their minds had broken now? It surely felt so since the moment she threw him out of her mind, had him almost flung off his feet with the force that she had pushed him out. She couldn't feel his presence anywhere in her mind now, unlike how he'd always been there since the time she had possessed him in the Forbidden Forest.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

I should be happy, she told herself, I don't want the Bond, I didn't want Harry in my mind all the time, I didn't want to hear his thoughts and feel what he felt and feel so suffocated all the time. But now that Harry had left… she didn't want to complete that thought. It made her head pound harder, and it made her feel like her heart was constricting painfully in her chest… it made her want to let out the tears she had been holding in since Harry had gone.

"Sweet Salazar, you're just like your fool of a father, aren't you?" remarked Phineas snidely from the wall, "Brood and brood and brood all day over trivial matters."

"Harry isn't a trivial matter, alright?" she shot back, annoyed. "Harry's my best friend! He's my soul mate—you bloody know that!"

"But you didn't want the Soul Bond," pointed out Phineas. "I heard you screaming that out to him loud enough for me to hear it here."

"Yeah, more like you sent Kreacher to eavesdrop on our argument and give you minute-by-minute updates," she muttered, surprised to watch Phineas look away.

"You did! You sent Kreacher to spy on us!" she said.

"So what if I did, eh?" questioned Phineas, trying to sound his imperious self again. "You're the last of my House. The future of my bloodline lies with you, because your nincompoop of a father refuses to marry again and sire a son. Of course I wanted to know what was going on with you and the Potter brat—"

"I don't want to talk about it now," she muttered, feeling all at sea. One moment she wanted to scream and throw things around, the other moment she just wanted to fall onto her bed and cry her heart out.

"Erm, Acquila," said Phineas delicately, "You aren't going to cry or something, are you?" He looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if he preferred going to his hated portrait in Dumbledore's office than remain here and try to console a sobbing girl.

"I'm not," Acquila replied thickly, "I'm a Black and everything, like you keep telling me."

She had half a mind to cry, just to unnerve the old man. But she didn't… she wouldn't shed tears over Harry. It was his fault. It was all Harry's fault! He was the one who didn't want to be with her, but he had made it sound as if she didn't love him enough! He had made her the bad guy, behaving as if she had deliberately gone out with Cedric, as if she had deliberately sought to hurt him, as if—but there was something pricking at her, that nagging feeling that it wasn't all Harry's fault, that she should have decided upon this months ago… her Dad had told her that she wasn't being fair to Harry, that she was sort of taking advantage of the fact that he fancied her, that she shouldn't have kept him hanging like that, refusing to give him an answer but still expecting him to be with her…

Perhaps, she shouldn't have kept everything inside her. Perhaps, she should have admitted to Harry all that he saw in her mind – the darkness, the powerlessness, the insecurity, the slight sense of envy, just how deep her hatred of the Bond ran. If she had spoken to him about this, perhaps it wouldn't have all come spilling out like it had… perhaps they could have spoken about it properly, without it turning into an argument, without it leading to a break up—and suddenly, without warning, it all descended on her with the force of a terrifying, unstoppable avalanche, what she had been trying her best to avoid acknowledging since Harry had left the house: that she and Harry were over… that things would never be the same between them again… that she would never feel his arms wrapped around her again without the act being tarred by hesitance and awkwardness, that she would never feel the sense of togetherness and joy he had always given her without the words they had exchanged today putting huge, unbreakable barriers between them… that she would perhaps never have one of those silent wordless conversations that made them both smile, that she would never clasp his hand with the same sense of ease, that she would never muss up his hair with unbridled affection again, he would never kiss her cheek spontaneously when he thought she was being adorable—and she would never feel Harry's lips against hers again, gently and hesitantly at first, and then sending that thrill shooting her when he deepened the kiss, his breaths quick and fast, his hands dropping lower and lower from the small of her back…

She stood up in a daze, that hollow feeling seeming to spread throughout her as she imagined how it would be to never feel his heartbeats quickening as she kissed him, never to feel him thinking of her that way, never to feel his hand in hers and that glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her, never to speak to him easily, be carefree and uninhibited around him…

And then, she was crying, those silent wracking sobs that had her breath hitching, feeling like she was struggling to breathe, feeling like all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry her eyes out… like nothing would ever be right again…

She could hear Phineas saying something from his portrait on the wall, Kreacher exclaiming something loudly in his croaky voice, and then, after what felt like ages, she felt warm arms around her, someone brushing her hair off her brow.

For one mad moment, she wished it was Harry. But it wasn't. It was her Dad.

"Acquila!" he said. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Dad," she cried hoarsely, wiping off her tears, as Sirius cupped her face in his rough hands.

"What happened, love?" Her Dad sounded panicked, shaken even. "Why are you crying?"

She only shook her head, her breaths still hitching, struggling for words to tell him what had happened.

"Is it because I yelled at you, sweetheart?" asked her Dad, "You know I was mad at everything that happened. I didn't mean to—"

"It—it's Harry, Dad!" she sobbed, feeling so foolish crying like this. But her Dad's arms around, the soothing words he was muttering made her feel it was quite alright to sob in front of him.

"What happened with Harry, love? Where is he?" Her Dad sounded concerned, and for more than just her now. She knew he had realised that Harry wasn't home if Acquila was here alone crying.

"He's gone, Dad," she whispered hoarsely. "He—he broke up with me—and went to Remus' place—it's all over, Dad. He doesn't want me—I—I did this, Dad—he left me—"

"Oh, sweetheart," her Dad sighed softly, gathering her into his arms again; and as he held her tighter, she knew that perhaps, if there was one person who could set things right again, it was him.

oOo

"I can't believe Acquila chose Diggory over you." Ron was red with fury. "You're her best friend—you're a Gryffindor! Just because Diggory's older and has pretty boy looks—how could she leave you for that Hufflepuff!"

"Ron," said Harry quietly, "She didn't leave me for anyone. "We just fought, and broke up. Both of us just need some space, I think. She's not dating anyone else."

"You always see the best side of people, Harry." Ron shook his head in a very knowledgeable sort of way. "I'm telling you, Cedric stole her from you. That's why she broke up with you. This is his plan to extract all our Quidditch strategies from her! He knows he can't beat you at Seeking—"

"Where did Quidditch come from?" exclaimed Neville. "Not everything's connected to Quidditch, Ron."

"And Acquila didn't break up with me," Harry clarified, still finding it hard to even utter her name without that hollow feeling in his gut intensifying. "I did."

He still found that hard to believe, even now, three days after the break up. What wouldn't he give to go back to that night? To never utter those dratted words? To stop himself from walking away from her? To make her stop him, tell him she wanted to be with him too.

"But you broke up with her because of her little excursion with Diggory, right?" went on Ron. "It is Diggory and her fault."

"Ron," cut in Neville, thankfully saving Harry from having to reply. "Blaming Cedric will not make Harry feel any better. Let's talk about something else, alright?"

Ron nodded, looking a little sheepish now, while Neville clapped Harry on his back.

"I'm sorry, mate," said Ron, the tips of his ears red. "I got a bit carried away—"

"It's alright." Harry managed a smile.

Ron was better friends with Harry than with Acquila. Harry had quite expected him to blame Acquila and Diggory for the break up. Ron wasn't going to let this go so easily. But he knew Ron was only trying to cheer up Harry in his own way. Maybe Neville blamed Acquila too; but he would never voice it. Neville was more of a listener, the quiet and supportive friend who made things a little better just by lending a patient ear.

If only he could tell them about the Soul Bond… But that would mean potentially putting their lives at risk in future. He couldn't do that to his friends.

"Mmmm, these are delicious!" exclaimed Ron, stuffing a scone in his mouth.

"I'll have Mopsy make some more and send them to you with Hedwig," said Harry, glad for the change in topic.

"That'll be brilliant!" said Ron happily.

Hours later, Harry sat quietly at Remus and Dora's little window, watching the buses and cars whizz past on the street below. He'd thought he'd feel better after meeting Ron and Neville. But turned out that was only temporary. Now that his friends had gone, he felt lonely again.

If only he could turn back time and go back to that day… take back all he had said, tell Acquila that he didn't mean any of it and would gladly wait for her forever.

But that was foolish, he knew. What was done was done. What I did was right, for both of us. She would never have come to a decision. This would have gone on and on…

But would that have been so bad, he wondered. Would it have been so bad to still be whatever Acquila and he had been? He could have gone on like that. That was better than what he was feeling now – sad and regretful and missing her… missing her more than he had ever done.

They'd never really stayed apart from each other, and it was hurting him like hell, like some sort of a constant physical pain. But I can't face her, he thought, not now, not yet.

It had been the best thing to do – coming to Remus and Dora's place, staying away from Acquila for a while until he… well, until they both got their heads around what had happened, until what he had done finally sunk in, until—damn, why was he still feeling so terrible about it all?

Whatever you did was right, Harry, Dora had told him that night, ruffling his hair affectionately.

But why was he in pain if it he had done the right thing?

Relationships can be hard as it is, Dora had said, and this Bond business was only making things complicated for both of you. But now you've both got some breathing space, eh? That's what Acquila needs even though she won't admit you did the right thing. And that's what you need too, Harry. You've got an entire life ahead of you to get back with Acquila. For now, just be your age, have fun, go out with other girls… If Acquila was confused about you, you can't force her into something, can you? When she realizes she really likes you too, she'll come back to you, I'm sure. Until then, don't beat yourself up about it.

It had all made sense when Dora had spoken to him that day, mere hours after the break up.

But now, it seemed a feeble sort of reasoning that Dora had told him only to placate him because he'd been so upset that time. Why else would he feel so wretched about it all? He couldn't imagine not being with Acquila… what if she didn't want to be friends with him again? What if she was still mad at what he'd done – delving into her mind like that. He hadn't meant to! He didn't mean to do that… but it had been so terrible – watching those strands of thought, so tantalisingly within his reach… he knew he shouldn't have, but it had been so tough to stop himself from—Merlin! He felt wretched even thinking about it.

What if Acquila never forgave him for that? What if they never went back to being what they were?

But she didn't tell me, told a bitter voice in his mind, she never told me what she felt about me… that she doesn't want me… Oh it hurt so much, the mere thought of her not wanting him.

Don't you see, Acquila? He thought, don't you see that the Soul Bond didn't make me love you. I always loved you, long before the Bond. The Bond only heightened what I've felt for you, or why would it hurt so bad?

But it was no use thinking of any of that now. It wasn't like she would hear him. He didn't know whether he wanted her to hear his thoughts… he didn't know if she even could. He was scared to reach out to her, frightened that it would only remind her of the way he had ripped through her mind that night…

But it had been so stunning and overwhelming – seeing what she thought, that she was almost envious of Harry's improved spell-casting, of his Animagus form, his Patronus spells, his strengthening magic.

She blames the Bond, he remembered, she thinks it's all because of the Soul Bond that her magic is weakening while mine is growing powerful. But that didn't make sense. It was Acquila who had set Lucius Malfoy on fire in the Ministry, it was she who helped save him from Voldemort in their first and second year with some of the most powerful displays of magic he had seen.

Then why couldn't she attack Lucius Malfoy in the woods that night? He wondered. He had sensed her thoughts, seen glimpses of her memories of trying and failing to attack Lucius Malfoy, felt the anger swirling within her but unable to whip up the power that she always could.

Maybe all she needed was a bit of confidence; that's what Sirius had once told him. It's all in the mind. Maybe Acquila couldn't do powerful magic because she had lost faith in herself… maybe that was all she needed. It wasn't because of the Bond. He refused to even consider that it could be because of the Soul Bond.

He rubbed his hand over his face, keeping his glasses aside.

He was doing it again, having flashbacks of all the wonderful times he'd had with her, and then of the fight that night. He had kept doing that since he had come to Remus and Dora's place - replaying the whole argument in his mind, imagining how it would have gone differently if they hadn't both said certain things.

It was the right thing to do, he told himself. He was tired of his fluctuating hopes, trying to draw a line between being her friend and her unofficial sort of boyfriend, of waiting and waiting for her to want them together, waiting for her to be his, to snog her, to take her out to Hogsmeade on a proper date.

I'll never do any of that now, he thought gloomily.

But at least you won't keep waiting in vain for it, pointed out the curt voice in his mind.

If only he hadn't lost his head on seeing Acquila with Diggory, if only Lucius Malfoy hadn't cast the Dark Mark, if only Harry's own head hadn't been pounding because of the prickling of his scar…

The scar! His burning scar!

He stood up swiftly, stunned. How had he forgotten that? His scar had been burning that night… he hadn't told Sirius about it. Rushing to the spare bedroom, Harry retrieved the Two Way Mirror that Sirius had given him last evening.

Half an hour later, Sirius stood in front of Harry, seeming worried. "Your scar burnt that night? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I forgot all about it… I remembered right now, so I called you," said Harry.

"Good you did, kiddo." Sirius ruffled his hair, but he seemed unsettled.

"Do you think Voldemort was somewhere around us? Why else would my scar prickle? It only happens when he's around… like when he was in Quirrel and Ginny," mused Harry.

"I don't know," muttered Sirius, seeming deep in thought. "I'll look into it. But the next time it happens, tell Remus or me right away, alright?"

"I will," said Harry.

"How are you?" asked Sirius. Harry thought he still seemed worried, but he was trying to put on a smile. "I was going to come visit you after work. Remus and Dora are taking you out for dinner tonight."

That would be nice. He quite liked spending time with Remus and Dora when they came back home from the Ministry. Remus wasn't great at consoling him; but he took his mind off Acquila by teaching him nifty little spells from their Marauder days. Harry couldn't wait to get back to Grimmauld Place and try them with Acquila, until he remembered that she maybe wouldn't even want to do that anymore. It was fun being around Dora; she always knew exactly what to say without making the situation awkward or upsetting. She was pretty good at advice, and made Harry laugh at mealtimes with all the funny faces she made.

Going out for dinner with them both would be great, especially because Dora was terrible in the kitchen but always insisted on doing the cooking rather than let Mopsy or Remus do it.

"Will you come too? For dinner?" Harry asked Sirius. Will Acquila come too, was his unspoken question. He didn't know whether he wanted her to come or not. He wanted to see her; he didn't want to see her to.

"I don't think we'll be coming, kiddo," said Sirius quietly. "But you have a good time, okay?"

Harry nodded, a little gloomy again.

"Oh, Prongslet," said Sirius softly, pulling Harry into a hug. He was too old for hugs, Harry knew, but he found that he didn't quite mind his godfather's embrace; it felt like a much-needed gesture.

"It'll all be alright, I promise you," said Sirius softly, when he finally let go of Harry.

"Is she—is she mad at me?" Harry asked him.

"Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't. But she misses you."

Harry could've smiled at that. She did miss him, then, just like he was missing her.

"You did the right thing, kiddo," said Sirius. "Don't think too much about it, alright? When school begins, you'll be the best of friends again, I promise you that."

Harry nodded, relieved.

Somehow, speaking to Sirius always made him feel better. Granted Sirius didn't really talk much, and he seemed quite unused to handling such a situation. But his godfather was nothing but supportive, putting to rest Harry's fears that he'd be mad at him for upsetting Acquila and breaking up with her like that. It gladdened him that no matter what happened between Acquila and him, his dynamic with Sirius would never change and his godfather would always love him.

oOo

"It's a funny little house," said Acquila, "And for lunch, Luna's dad served us some strange sort of roots!"

"Roots, huh? Did they taste good?" asked Sirius, glad that Acquila hadn't retreated into one of her sad, pensive spells. Though he had been surprised that she had asked to visit Luna Lovegood today, the visit to the strange little girl and her stranger father seemed to have taken Acquila's mind off Harry for the time being.

"It was alright," said Acquila, making a face, "Luna even made some weird sort of juice of Merlin knows what. I had it just because I didn't want her to feel bad or something. I mean, she has only a few friends. Everyone thinks she's weird… which she is," Acquila admitted. "But it was… nice, I guess, spending time with Luna. Her Dad publishes the Quibbler, you know?"

"I know," said Sirius, grinning. They often had a laugh over the Quibbler's many unintentionally hilarious articles during lunch time at the Auror office.

"Luna's dad wrote some funny article about Minister Fudge cooking goblins in large cauldrons," said Acquila, chuckling. For a moment, she didn't seem like the brooding girl she had been since the… well, the break up with Harry, for lack of a better term. "I saw the printing press too. It runs completely on magic, Dad! I tried to work out the spells that run it, but then Luna put on some weird music and started dancing and collided with the printing press, and these little fumes started coming out of it, and then Mr Lovegood ushered us both out of the room."

Sirius grinned again. He had heard quite a lot about the eccentric Xenophilius Lovegood from his colleagues at the Ministry.

"So, you had a good day, then," he said.

"Yes," replied Acquila. "I'm glad I went over to Luna's place. I mean… I have Hermione, of course, but she's… you know…" She trailed off, shrugging, her good mood suddenly gone.

"I know," he said quietly.

With most of her friends being as close to Harry as they were to her, Acquila was finding it a little difficult around them, Sirius knew. Hermione was her best friend after Harry, but the bushy-haired girl's close friendship with Harry no doubt made things a little awkward. Ron Weasley had already put himself into Harry's camp, as had Neville probably. Dora and Remus hadn't come over since Harry had gone to their place that day. So Sirius was glad Acquila had Luna Lovegood as a friend to count on. He still found it a little weird; he couldn't imagine Acquila having anything in common with Lovegood. But Acquila was like that – always making friends with the children others tended to leave out, whether it was Neville or Luna or even Draco Malfoy.

"How was your day?" asked Acquila, trying to put on a bright face. "Is Scrimgeour still mad at you?"

"He is." Sirius sighed.

Punching Lucius Malfoy in front of a dozen Aurors and DMLE officers hadn't been the wisest thing to do. But once Sirius spotted the man who dared seek to harm Acquila, he hadn't been able to control his rage. That Malfoy had taunted Acquila about Edward and Marlene had only added to his fury, making him put all his strength into the fist he had rammed straight into Malfoy's jaw. That he had repeated the action a second time and made Malfoy's lip bleed had only added to Scrimgeour's outrage.

Keep your professional and personal life separate, Auror Black! Scrimgeour had shouted at him, half his colleagues watching. When you are working for me, you are Auror Black, not Lord Black and whatnot. If you aren't capable of performing your duty without assaulting our suspects, you might as well tender your resignation this very moment.

"Scrimgeour isn't going to forget it anytime soon," Sirius told Acquila. "He's put me on some trivial case, with Robards of all people. We don't really get along…"

"I know," said Acquila. "Irene told me Robards thinks you've risen too high too soon in the Auror. He thinks your friendship with Minister Fudge is helping you get ahead in the Auror Force only though you joined it barely a year ago…"

"Rejoined it," corrected Sirius. He got along well with most of his colleagues. But there was the odd Auror who was disgruntled with his rise in the Force. They seem to forget I was an Auror during the War, he thought grimly, I was dueling Voldemort when these kids were still in their diapers.

"Irene told you, huh?" he remarked to Acquila. He hadn't really spoken to Irene since he had shouted at her on the night of the Quidditch World Cup. It had been even longer since they'd had a romp in the sack. He couldn't deny he was missing that.

"Yeah, she did," said Acquila, sensing nothing amiss. "Anyway, you were telling me about your day…"

"I met Narcissa in the evening," Sirius told her.

"You went to Malfoy Manor? Did you meet Draco too? How is he? I have yet to send him my letter. Hedwig's gone…" Acquila trailed off, trying not to admit how much Hedwig flying off to be with Harry had saddened her.

Like their human friends, the children's magical pets, and even the house elves had taken sides after the break-up, it seemed. Nyx had taken to being with Acquila all the time, while Hedwig had decided to be with Harry. Sirius was sure Thunder and Calliope, the children's Winged Horses, too would take the side of their respective witch and wizard… just like Kreacher had taken to badmouthing Harry, while Mopsy had so easily agreed to stay with Harry at Remus' place instead of returning to Grimmauld Place (although that was after the elf had shed copious tears when Sirius had berated her about bringing Harry to the Quidditch stadium that night… even though, admittedly, it wasn't Mopsy's fault since Sirius himself had told her that Harry was her master as much as Sirius and Acquila were).

"Why don't you give your letter to Kreacher?" Sirius told Acquila, following her lead and acting like there was nothing wrong about Hedwig leaving Grimmauld Place without as much as a goodbye hoot to Acquila. "Kreacher will have it owled to Draco. Better yet, why don't I take you along with me when I go to meet Cissa next? I'm sure Draco wants to see you too, now that he's almost recovered from his transformation."

Acquila smiled, no doubt eager to meet Draco. "How's Aunt Narcissa?" She asked him a moment later.

"She's… well, she's not doing too well." Sirius sighed. "She's never had to be alone, you know. She lived a very sheltered life before her marriage. Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus brought her up in the typical pureblood manner… very conservatively. Cissa had none of Bellatrix's rebellious spirit, not Andy's independent streak. Even Lucius never involved her in anything, really. He took care of everything. Now that she knows Lucius might not be around for a long time, she's understandably worried. Not that she told me any of it, mind you. She just asked me whether I would try to get a reduced sentence for Lucius…"

It had been pathetic to watch – high and mighty Narcissa swallowing her pride and asking Sirius to help her husband. His cousin's entreaties had moved him; but there was nothing he could do.

It had taken him a day and a half to decide that Lucius was of no value to him after the stunt he'd pulled at the World Cup.

The Dark Mark had sent all of wizarding Britain into tizzy. The scale of the event during which Lucius had lost his bloody wits had ensured that news of the Dark Mark had spread world over within a couple of hours. The magical population had panicked, the Ministry had been severely criticized for its lapse in security for such a big event. The only solution had been to let go of Lucius, let him pay for his crime.

Admitting that Lucius had cast the Mark after a drunken altercation had been far better than letting the wizarding public at large and Fudge's political opponents spin yarns about Dark magic and the return of Voldemort and Death Eaters on the prowl again. It had been necessary to contain the damage caused to everyone – the Auror Force, the DMLE, the Ministry, the Minister himself. So Sirius, with a heavy heart at losing the one man whom he had repeatedly used to manipulate the former Death Eaters, had been forced to let Lucius get arrested, Cedric Diggory give his statement, and let the law – which was extremely strict on dealing with Dark Magic after the post-War amendments – take its course on the criminal in question.

Oh, it had made things tough for Sirius already. He had no clue what Lucius' Death Eater pals were thinking about his arrest for casting the Mark. He had no one working for him now, no one bringing him information, no one with the kind of influence that Lucius had on his friends. Perhaps, he could ask Snape – the very thought made him frown. But Snape wasn't really a part of pureblood society. All in all, Lucius' mad stunt had set back Sirius considerably in the quest to turn Voldemort's erstwhile adherents to his side – and that was giving him sleepless nights as he wondered how he could continue getting information on what the former Death Eaters were up to, especially if Voldemort or Barty Crouch Junior tried contacting any one of them.

"What did you tell Aunt Narcissa?" asked Acquila.

"That I can do nothing for Lucius," replied Sirius. "The matter's out of my hands now. I don't want to fight for a losing cause, especially when Lucius remaining out of prison will have bigger political repercussions. He's of no use to me now. And Azkaban is what he deserves—he should've been in there years ago…"

"So you're sure he will get sentenced to Azkaban? I mean, he didn't hurt anyone," said Acquila, though the mere mention of Lucius seemed to enrage her.

"He didn't harm anyone, but he used Dark Magic—the bloody Dark Mark at that. Nobody in the Wizengamot will let that slide. They'll make an example out of Lucius… have him serve as a deterrent for potential mischief mongers. Andy thinks he shall get three years at a minimum."

Acquila nodded, looking rather satisfied at that, before she looked at Sirius again, a little oddly now. "What else did you do today?"

"That's it," said Sirius, shrugging, "Asked a few questions around in Yorkshire… that case we're working on… met Cissa… oh, I had a talk with Fudge too… but I won't bore you with the details. The chap is paranoid about all the bad press he's been getting. And he's a little miffed that I wasn't around when the Dark Mark came up. I was supposed to be guarding him, but—"

"Dad!" Acquila cut in, with a mixture of vulnerability and indignance. "You know what I'm asking you… Did you meet him today?"

"Who?" asked Sirius innocently.

Acquila huffed. "Harry, of course!"

"I did," said Sirius, trying not to smile. He knew this was what Acquila wanted to ask since the time she went on about how was your day, Dad?

For all that she seemed to be miffed with Harry, Sirius knew she was missing him, that she knew she was as much to blame for what had happened. But she wouldn't admit it, he knew.

"So, you did meet him, then," she said quietly. "What is he—well, how is he?"

"He's okay," said Sirius.

Well, Harry wasn't really okay. When Sirius met him in the morning, the boy had seemed much better than he did when Sirius paid him a visit the day after the break up or even on the day when he told him about his burning scar (which was something that frightened Sirius and gave him sleepless nights). But that didn't mean Harry was okay. But Sirius wasn't going to tell Acquila that. What Harry told him was between him and his godson alone.

"Is he—well, is he going to come back here?" asked Acquila, fiddling with the Snitch Victor Krum had signed for Harry.

"Do you miss him?" asked Sirius bluntly.

"No, I don't," muttered Acquila instantly. But when Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, she sighed. "I do. I do miss him, Dad."

"Come here, love," said Sirius gently, hugging the girl when she put her arms around him. He kissed her brow, yet again missing Athena acutely. She would have known what to do. Athena had always been good at this… helping sort out Lily and James' rare but volatile spats, being all understanding and sympathetic and practical, whatever such emotional situations demanded. While he had had break ups of his own, usually ones of his own violation, he'd never been attached to the girls yet alone have a Soul Bond with them like Harry and Acquila did.

"Look," he told Acquila finally.

"If you're going to say I told you so, I don't want to hear it," muttered Acquila.

"I wasn't going to say that," replied Sirius. "But you know I was right. I'd told you to decide about Harry, to not keep him hoping and waiting. You didn't… so he decided instead—"

"But—"

"No buts, love. Just listen to what I have to say," said Sirius. "I don't know what happened and what you spoke that day… neither of you have told me everything yet. But look, you always said you wanted to get rid of the Bond. You always thought Harry and you fancied each other because the Bond made you feel so…"

Acquila frowned, looking sad yet defiant again. Then she nodded mutely.

"Now that both of you are not together anymore… you might as well try to live your life normally, like you would have if there was no Bond. I know it'll be tough… I know you'll still hear Harry in your mind and know how he's feeling. But you're so young, darling. You're just fourteen. Go out, do everything that teenagers do, be young and foolish and everything. Look, Harry's still going to be your friend—"

"But it won't be the same, Dad. It'll never be the same. He doesn't even want to talk to me. He doesn't even want to come back home," she said in a small voice that belied the firm face she had been putting on recently.

"Just give him some time. You both need some time. You hurt him—he's hurt you too," he added hastily at the mutinous yet guilty look on her face. "It will all be fine, I promise."

She nodded mutely again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked her quietly, knowing already that she wouldn't.

Why is our daughter so much like me, Athena? Sirius wondered. Why couldn't she be like you?

But there was no denying he loved Acquila for it, for all her mulishness and her silences and her refusal to admit her faults sometimes. That was how he had been too, probably still was.

"Do you want me to beat up Harry?" he asked her. "I think I'm supposed to, seeing he made my little girl cry."

"You love Harry too much to even think of beating him up," said Acquila, though she was smiling now, like he had wanted her to.

"I would've totally punched him if it was another guy, though," said Sirius, as Acquila chuckled lightly.

He kissed her cheek. "Do you want to go out for a movie or something? Or we could go out for ice cream… that Muggle place you like…"

But Acquila shook her head. "No… I think I'll just go to bed. I've to give my statement at Malfoy's trial too tomorrow. I'll sleep early tonight."

"You sure?" asked Sirius. He knew she wouldn't sleep. She'd probably lie in bed tossing and turning, thinking and brooding, blaming Harry one minute and herself the next.

"Yes. Good night, Dad," she told him, climbing up the staircase to her room.

Sirius watched her until she disappeared from his sight.

This was all very tough on her, she knew. Harry had been her best friend, always. He knew she was afraid things between her and Harry would never be the same again. They would go back to the being the awkward, hesitant pair they'd been a few months ago.

Why did everything have to go wrong? With Crouch still at large, that eerie feeling he'd got at the burnt-down Riddle Manor, the missing Morfin Gaunt, the Dark Mark, Harry's scar hurting that night, having to sacrifice Lucius to contain the political fallout, the lack of leads about the remaining Hocruxes… now the kids breaking up and Harry leaving Grimmauld Place. What wouldn't he give for a few hours of peace?

He would go meet Harry tomorrow; talk to him about returning back to Grimmauld Place. The kids would need to talk, patch up with each other before they went back to Hogwarts. Maybe once they came face to face and sat down and talked, things would be better between them again. He doubted they would be together romantically any time soon. But they needed to be friends again. After all, they were the only two people who knew what the other felt. They had always confided in each other, the Bond had only added to their closeness. They would need each other, now and in future, always. While it was easier for them to stay apart and avoid the elephant in the room for now, the more they avoided the imminent conversation, the tougher it would get to talk about it when they finally did meet. He would meet Harry soon, and bring him back home. Plus he really missed the boy. He wanted to spend time with both the children before the school year began… he wanted to see them grinning and laughing like they did during the trip to France.

If only we could have stayed back in France, he thought, knowing it was a childish thought, but sighing when he remembered the time the three of them had spent there.

He stood up, summoning a glass and a bottle of Firewhiskey from the nearby cupboard. He needed a drink… just to take his mind off everything.

But something held him back… perhaps it was the memory of a drunken Lucius slurring when the Aurors arrested him.

He knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. And it wasn't the Firewhiskey.

He put the bottle away again, and went to Acquila's room.

Expectedly, she was awake, stroking Nyx's fur as the Kneazle mewed softly.

"I'm going to—" he paused abruptly. Acquila would definitely think there was something amiss if he told her he was going to visit Irene at this time of the night when he could just as easily meet her at the Auror Office or anytime during the day. He had to lie to Acquila again. He didn't want her knowing about him and Irene when there was nothing serious to it.

"Something's come up at the Ministry," he told Acquila instead. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, alright? Don't wait up for me."

"Okay, Dad," said Acquila, smiling softly. "Be careful out there."

Sirius felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off by the time he was out of the main door and in the warm night outside.

Minutes later, he was on Irene's front porch, knocking at the door.

He was nervous this time, but he didn't quite know why. Irene and he hadn't argued as such, but he knew she was miffed that he had told her to stay out of how he should deal with Acquila. Agreed he still didn't want Irene interfering in his personal life (what they had was a no strings attached physical relationship), he felt he perhaps shouldn't have shouted at her with the children and Cedric Diggory looking on. Merlin, she couldn't still be mad about that, could she?

Moments later, Irene opened the door. She was wearing a loose shirt and faded pajamas, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. But he decided she looked rather hot, especially when she folded her arms against her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. Great Godric, how long had it been since he had shagged her? For a moment, he wanted nothing better than to pull the door shut behind him, drag her to that fluffy bed of hers and have her until she was calling out his name, sharp nails digging into his back as he nipped at her lips.

"You randy git!" she exclaimed suddenly, her lips twitching, "You know I know what you're thinking, right?"

Sirius only chuckled, glad that she wasn't mad at him or something. It was so tough to tell; he wasn't really used to getting so close to a witch who wasn't family.

"Won't you invite me in?" he asked her.

She glared at him, then huffed, then opened the door wider for him.

"So, what brings Lord Black here?" she asked him, her tone a little sharp, throwing a bottle of Muggle beer at him.

"Come on. Are you mad at me for that night?" Sirius frowned. "Because I was worried and panicked, and I—"

"Aww, are you apologising to me, Sirius?" Irene asked him, smirking.

"'Course I'm not," he huffed, downing half the beer in one gulp. "Why should I, huh? My daughter is none of your concern, really," he pointed out, a little nervously.

Merlin, she wouldn't be offended or something by that, would she? After all, Acquila was a friend to Irene. But then how he dealt with daughter was really none of Irene's business. Irene and he were just friends who shagged sometimes; they weren't dating or something. And they'd decided this was a purely physical thing…

"Look at you," said Irene, chuckling now, "Being all uncertain and adorable."

"Nobody's ever called me adorable." Sirius grimaced, feeling suddenly lighter at her teasing tone. "Hot, yes. Sexy, yes. But never adorable."

"Well, there's always a first, isn't there?" Irene smirked. "Anyway, I know I have no business telling you how to handle your children. Even if I did advise you, I'd probably mess it up. I've never really dealt with kids, even grown up ones like Acquila and Harry. Plus they always keep getting into too much trouble, eh? I don't really envy the kind of mess you have on your hands."

"Oh, they're not so bad," he pointed out, smiling. "And as Harry keeps saying, they don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds them. It's not their fault, really…"

Irene grinned at him. "Anyway, how are they both? Dora told me about the… well, the situation."

"Godric! That girl just can't keep her mouth shut, can she? Don't tell me Harry breaking up with Acquila's is the hottest topic for gossip during lunchtimes."

"Dora only told me, and I didn't blab about it, or I'm sure Riley would've come around asking for all the updates," said Irene. "Despite all the trouble your kids have got the Force into, we're all rather fond of them."

"I know," said Sirius, smiling again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Irene. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"I asked Acquila the very same question earlier, you know?" he said quietly.

"And like you, she said no, did she?" said Irene.

"Yes." Sirius sighed. "I don't really know how to deal with this."

"You know you can talk to me, right? I was your friend long before we started this…" Irene made some sort of a hand gesture for whatever they had going on between them.

"I know." He smiled. Irene was his friend… one of the closest ones, to be honest. "I don't know," he bit out. "I mean, I got home after that big spat with Scrimgeour and that long talk with Fudge that day, and Acquila was just… sitting in the study, sobbing. Harry wasn't home—I don't know…" He trailed off, unused to talking openly about what worried him.

"They'll be fine," said Irene, squeezing his hand. "We've all gone through similar things in our teenage years, haven't we? Break ups and heartbreaks. Eventually, it all falls into place."

Sirius smiled tightly. Talking to Irene wasn't really helping because she knew nothing about the Soul Bond. Nobody knew why this break up thing was all so complicated.

If only you'd been here, Athena, he found himself thinking again. It was strange how nowadays he missed Athena for the wonderful mother he knew she would've been to Acquila than the wonderful wife she had been to him. Sometimes, he'd even caught himself imagining how Athena would've have dealt with certain situations. But lately, he had been forgetting how Athena's voice sounded, how her favorite perfume smelt on her warm skin, how her eyes would light up when he came back home from a long day at work.

"You're quiet again," Irene told him. She leant forward, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?" He asked her, grinning now.

"You're a good man, Sirius Black," said Irene. "Annoying and a pain in the arse at times, but you're a good man."

"So I take it you've forgiven me, eh?" He asked her, smirking. "Since you thought I had some apologising to do and everything…"

"Well, you were rude to me. I'm your colleague… you can't yell at me like that in front of people, even if you're stressed or something."

"I know," he sighed. "I am sorry for that. You know how I get when I'm mad about something."

"Yeah, we all saw what you did to Lucius Malfoy," laughed Irene. "Even though he deserved it. Remind me never to piss you off."

"I can't be mad at you for long. Nor can you be mad at me, eh?" He winked. "Here I came expecting you to be all miffed with me, but you're planting kisses on my cheek."

"Well, you did notice I didn't kiss you elsewhere, huh?" said Irene, her eyes twinkling. "You're going to have quite some work to do for that. I've not yet forgiven you completely."

"Quite some work, is it?" said Sirius, grinning at her mischievously, wondering how long it would take to get her out of her clothes and on top of him. "Come here."

He clasped her hand and pulled her towards him, grinning like a fool when she straddled him.

"You're such a dog, Sirius Black!" she exclaimed, slapping his arm, though he could see the glint of desire in her eyes and feel her grinding against him. "You're not getting any tonight."

"About the dog part you're right," said Sirius, his fingers already slipping under her shirt to caress the warm skin underneath. "As for not getting any tonight, you're about to realise just how wrong you are about that, Summerby."

"Oh, we'll see," she said challengingly, her voice husky now, but she her hands were already at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

oOo

The manor was quiet, eerily so.

Oh, it had never been a loud place like say, Grimmauld Place or Black Manor where Narcissa and her sisters and her two cousins had played together what seemed like a hundred years ago. Malfoy Manor had never been filled with the sound of laughing children and a screaming Aunt Walburga and a muttering Kreacher. It had always been a quiet place, with only the occasional calls of the peacocks and Dobby tinkering around in the kitchen, the wind whooshing in through the tall open windows, and Draco's voice occasionally floating in from his room when his friends came over. Yet, Malfoy Manor had never seemed as silent as it did now, nor as empty.

Quieter than the manor itself was the boy sitting by her side, her son, seeming suddenly older than his fourteen years. She watched him go through the letters lying on the desk, his brow creased, his shoulders hunched, his eyes never resting on the words long enough to read them.

She watched him for a long, long moment, before she called out to him softly.

"Draco."

He looked up at her, startled out of his thoughts, sitting up suddenly straighter now. There were dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks a little sunken; the scars Greyback had given him a little darker on his pale skin.

"Theodore Nott and his wife want to meet you, Mother," he said before Narcissa could speak, folding a letter with the Nott seal neatly. "I shall write to them that we are not receiving any visitors as yet."

Draco sounded grown up now, composed and in command, like Lucius would have been in his place, Narcissa thought. Her son seemed to have grown up overnight since Amelia Bones pronounced Lucius' Azkaban sentence in that cold, stony courtroom in the Ministry.

You will be the Head of our House someday, Lucius had told Draco before he was taken away in chains, do not let me down. Take care of your Mother, and remember that the future of our House, our bloodlines, our heritage, it all lies with you.

Her son seemed to have taken his father's words to heart. She had seen him going over some of the Gringotts documents that lay in Lucius' study, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the legal terms and the many galleons that lay in various investments. She had watched him spend hours at night talking to some of the portraits of his Malfoy forefathers, no doubt trying to be capable of the role he had been suddenly thrust into. But for all that Draco was trying to be the man of the house, Narcissa could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the uncertainty in his fidgeting hands.

"I will write to them, darling. You don't need to worry," she said, thinking of all the letters that needed replying.

With Lucius in Azkaban, there had been a steady stream of owls coming to Malfoy Manor from his erstwhile Death Eater friends. Oh, Nott and the rest were never direct in their letters; they were perhaps worried that the Ministry was keeping tabs on the correspondence that came into Lucius Malfoy's house. But the letters implied subtly what the writers sought to know: how was Narcissa, how was Draco dealing with it all, how was Lucius, had she met him after his incarceration, was he in good health, could they perhaps come over to be of support to their dear friend's beleaguered wife and son. She knew they couldn't bother less about what happened to Draco and her; they only wanted to know why Lucius had done what he did, what prompted him to cast the Dark Mark in an area secured by every damn Auror there was… was he in contact with the Dark Lord? Did Lucius do that on the Dark Lord's bidding? Was the Dark Lord really alive? How could the usually level-headed Lucius Malfoy, who had managed to stay out of Azkaban after the War, do something so foolhardy that had landed him five years with the Dementors, unless there was some firm, underlying motive for what he did?

Let them worry, Narcissa thought viciously, let them keep wondering and waiting for my replies. I shall tell them nothing…not that she knew anything, mind you. Lucius had been tight-lipped about it all even when she had lost her cool, uncharacteristically railing at him for having plunged them all, for the second time, deeper into the abyss from which there was no return. Lucius had remained silent, eyes downcast and full of mute pleading before they rose them to meet her furious gaze. He had told her nothing in the few minutes that she'd got alone with him – a small mercy granted to her because of her all-powerful cousin.

"Mother?" Draco's voice roused her from her memories, his face pale and joyless.

Salazar, what a pair they were, her son and her – both spending their nights sleepless, their days quiet and brooding, in this huge manor that seemed as lonely as them… all because of Lucius' foolishness, his utter stupidity… Or was it my fault, she wondered silently. The signs had all been there – Lucius' excessive drinking, his unusual silences, the way he had slipped into a shell from which she had never even tried to pull him out.

No, she told herself sternly. It wasn't my fault. What Lucius did was his own fault. I will not blame myself for his sins.

A loud knock at the door downstairs made her shake off her morbidity. She felt a warmth thrumming through her; the wards protecting Malfoy Manor were linked to her magic now, with Lucius in prison. She knew the visitors weren't dangerous… they were friends… family.

"It must be Acquila, Mother!" said Draco. He was smiling widely now, very different from how sorrowed he had been moments ago.

"Go on, dear," Narcissa told him, feeling glad yet strangely bitter at how the girl merely knocking at the door could pull her son out of his misery. "Go on, I shall come shortly. I have some work to take care off."

"Alright," said Draco, keeping the letters away as he almost skipped out of the room, eager to see the girl Narcissa had once dreamt of getting him wedded to.

Thisis my fault, she admitted, I put thoughts of Acquila Black into Draco's mind, I made him think of her as the girl he would spend his life with.

While Narcissa had sown the seed, Acquila's caring nature and her affection for Draco had only made it sprout and blossom into something that would only die a withering death when her son realised that Acquila didn't quite feel for him what he did for her. It will break his heart, she thought, it will kill whatever joy there's left in him.

Lucius would have sneered at her thoughts. He is a Malfoy. He isn't meant to pine over a daughter of blood traitors, he would've said. But Lucius was gone now. And she could admit to herself that for all that Draco was young and had years left in which he could find other girls to wed, no one would quite take Acquila's place in her heart. Her son was, perhaps, like Sirius in that sense – he loved only a very few people, but he loved them loyally, fiercely, irreversibly.

But that was a heartbreak that would hopefully have many years to go before it descended on her son. Until then, she wouldn't begrudge Draco any joy that he found in her cousin's daughter.

She looked around the room again, a heavy weariness creeping over her, hearing Draco's happy voice from the room downstairs. But she found that she couldn't quite find similar happiness in the study, surrounded by Lucius' memories. She could imagine him sitting at this very desk, long fingers sifting deftly through the many parchments that lay scattered there.

Salazar! How quiet and empty the manor felt despite how she could hear Draco and Acquila's voices breaking the erstwhile silence.

It was strange how the manor that had been her home for more than two decades didn't feel like home anymore. It was stranger how she felt so despite how things between Lucius and her had steadily gone south in the past couple of years. And it was even stranger how she now found herself in charge of everything that had belonged to her husband until last week.

Narcissa allowed herself a tired sigh as she picked up the topmost letter from the haphazard stack, her eyes falling on the newspaper lying next to the letters.

DRUNKEN MISTAKE OR MINISTRY COVER-UP?

Now that Lucius Malfoy has been sentenced to five years in Azkaban for casting the Dark Mark on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, in what he claims was an act committed in an inebriated state, murmurs are rising in Ministry circles about what exactly happened that night. Rita Skeeter delves deeper into the mystery of the infamous incident that sent a bolt of terror down the spine of everyone who survived the War.

A former Ministry employee, who was one of Minister Fudge's close associates until she stepped down recently, claims that there is more to the Dark Mark than meets the eye.

"The Dark Mark always stood for death. For the Ministry to claim that there was no casualty and loss of life that night seems preposterous to me given the history of the Dark Mark since the time of You Know Who's rise to power."

On further prodding, the former Ministry employee goes on to say, "Some of my former colleagues suggest that Lord Sirius Black was involved in quite pulling of strings behind the scenes. It is known in Ministry circles that Minister Fudge is Minister only in name, and it is Lord Black who truly wields power. Given his well-known animosity with Lucius Malfoy, it isn't too farfetched to see Lord Black's hand in Malfoy's conviction and the harsh sentence handed out to him."

Narcissa put the newspaper away, sighing. She wouldn't usually have read the Wizarding Times, but with Lucius in Azkaban for the next three years, she knew it was she who would have to keep abreast with everything that went on in the wizarding world, even if it included the nonsense peddled by Rita Skeeter.

It was obviously Dolores Umbridge who was giving out newsbytes to the Skeeter woman. Given that Umbridge's fall from grace that had been single-handedly engineered by Sirius, Narcissa wasn't surprised at the bile the woman was pouring out against her cousin.

Perhaps she should have been glad that Umbridge's remarks were casting some doubt on Lucius' guilt in the Dark Mark matter. But that didn't really make much of a difference to her now. Lucius was guilty; he had admitted to his crime. Nothing could help him now. He had sealed his own fate with his carelessness. For all that a part of her ached thinking of him in Azkaban and what the prison and the Dementors would do to him, she knew she had Draco to think of.

Breathing deeply, she unlocked a little drawer beneath Lucius' table with a flick of her wand. She took the parchment that lay within, her hand trembling slightly, and laid them out on the table, her eyes moving over every word that granted her power over everything that belonged to House Malfoy.

Her glance rested for a long moment on Lucius' signature that lay etched on the end of the parchment. Was the Lucius Abraxas Malfoy a little less elegant than usual, or was it just because she knew he had signed the document moments before he was led away to Azkaban? She rubbed a tired hand over her face.

I trust you with everything, Cissa, he had told her outside the courtroom, as the DMLE officers waited to clasp him in chains. I trust you with our son, the House of Malfoy, with everything that my forefathers earned and gained over centuries. Keep it all safe until I am back, Cissa, he had told her; and if she shut her eyes, she could still see him – pale-faced, with unkempt hair, his face stoic, but those eyes conveying all he would never betray in front of the waiting DMLE wizards, his hand clammy and trembling as he clasped hers.

She shut her eyes for a long moment.

For all that they had been estranged over the past few months, Lucius was still the father of her child, her husband, the one man she loved with all her heart. It wasn't easy thinking of him rotting in Azkaban… the powerful Malfoy patriarch that he had been, now surrounded by Dementors in that frightening prison, a giant of a man who had fallen from grace, never to rise again…

I trust you with everything I have, Cissa, his words rang out loud in her ears again, as she remembered his lips brushing against hers one last time before the DMLE whisked him away, his profile tall and unbent, but his eyes containing a desperate fear that only his wife could see.

But that is done with now, she thought, finally opening her eyes.

It wouldn't do to dwell on Lucius or on what he wanted for their House. The only thing that mattered to her was Draco's life.

Opening another drawer – this one she'd locked more securely – she retrieved a bunch of parchments from it. She had read through them a dozen times already, gone over every single word, spent sleepless nights dwelling on the prudence of what she meant to do.

It was difficult, this... taking such decisions all on her own, especially one with such far-reaching consequences. There was still the niggling doubt in her mind; Lucius would rather have died than agree for this. Draco, too, would never see the desperation that had made her choose this course. He would never agree with her; he would rail and rant and argue that she shouldn't do this, she couldn't do this.

But that didn't matter now, what her husband and son thought. She was all alone now, with Lucius and his secure presence lost to her perhaps forever. Only Sirius had ever escaped Azkaban with his wits substantially intact. She didn't think her husband had the strength of mind for that. And that only meant she had complete charge of House Malfoy for the next five years until Draco came of age. She had to make the most of it, do all she could do to protect her only child.

Keeping the parchments on her desk, she stood up, smoothing the creases in her robes and drawing herself to her full height.

He was waiting downstairs for her, she knew… her dear cousin, who always came to drop Acquila to the manor.

She descended the steps, putting on a soft smile as she came into Sirius' and the two children's view.

She looked at Acquila first. There was something different about the girl since the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, Narcissa had noticed… something that made her look older, grown up, with a sense of sadness always lingering around her despite the smiles and laughter she showered Draco with. She had seen it even in the courtroom during Lucius' trial. The girl looked more gloomy than furious or triumphant at Lucius' conviction.

"Hello, Aunt Narcissa," said Acquila softly.

There was none of the warmth in her voice that the girl showed to Andromeda. Narcissa could quite understand that. If she was in the girl's place, she doubted she could ever have had any sort of fondness for the wife of the man who murdered her grandfather, tortured her aunt, tried to kill her best friend, and gloated about killing her mother's family as he cast the Dark Mark in the sky. That the girl didn't let her hatred for Lucius extend to Draco was in itself a commendable thing.

"Hello, Acquila," Narcissa replied, smiling politely at the girl before she turned to Sirius.

Unlike his daughter, there was no such lack of emotion in Sirius' greeting for her. Her tall cousin kissed her on her cheek affectionately, clasping her hand.

"How have you been, Cissy?" Sirius asked her, his voice deep as always with a tint of genuine concern to it.

"I am as good as someone in my place could be, I suppose," she replied, watching Sirius' frown a little.

Giving in to self-pity was utterly unlike her; but Narcissa knew that was what she needed to portray to convince her cousin to accept what she sought to entrust him with. He was a good man when it came to his family, this cousin of hers.

"Cissy," Sirius said softly; and Narcissa didn't miss how Draco's eyes flitted between the two of them.

"I want to talk to you, Sirius," Narcissa told him quietly, watching Draco frown.

"Of course, Cissy," Sirius replied, taking her arm as she led him to the study. She could feel Draco's eyes on them until they walked all the way up the stairs.

Oh Draco, she thought, knowing how her son would resent what she was going to do. But I am doing this all for you, my son. I will do anything to keep you safe.

"You seem troubled, Cissy," said Sirius when he sat down before her. Her cousin seemed uncomfortable in the study with the Malfoy crest on the tall chairs and the tapestries on the walls, with the many things that made it evident the room belonged to Lucius Malfoy.

"I am troubled," she said, wondering whether she should have chosen another place for this discussion, something that would give Sirius a sense of being in power than the other way around. But there was nothing to be done about that now.

"What's wrong, Narcissa?" asked Sirius. He looked genuinely concerned, her dark-haired cousin. He had been just as concerned when she had pleaded with him for Lucius. But that was a memory she didn't like dwelling on, how powerless she had been, how she had resorted to literally begging to her cousin for her husband's life…

She breathed in deeply, suddenly deciding to change her mind about how to go about telling Sirius about what she wanted from him.

She took another deep breath, and then laid the parchments before him.

"What is this?" he asked her, looking bewildered and then wary.

"Read it," she told him quietly.

She watched him, a look of puzzlement flitting across his features, then suspicion and something else that she didn't get time to figure out with how quickly he schooled his expression into a blank one. Oh, he was getting better at this, this man who nobody ever thought would take up the mantle of Lord Black as well as he had.

Finally, he kept the parchments aside, watching her quietly.

She waited for him to say something, but he was silent.

Unsettled, it was Narcissa who spoke now. "I want for you to be the Protector of House Malfoy, all our wealth and our estates, everything that we have."

"I read that," said Sirius quietly; there was none of that earlier sense of affection now, but more of shrewdness, thoughtfulness. She could literally see the wheels turning in his mind.

"Lucius gave me charge of everything until Draco come of age. But I want you to take charge of it. I trust you, Sirius," she told him.

Sirius watched her silently for a long while, making her want to fidget like Draco had been doing earlier.

What was going on in that mind of his? If it was Andromeda, she would have seen right through Narcissa and known the reason why she was doing. But with Sirius, she wasn't sure the man was that shrewd enough to know her real motives.

"You do realise that if I accept this, I make all the decisions regarding all of the wealth, the properties, everything that will belong to Draco three years down the line?" asked Sirius finally, still watching her with that gaze that made her think twice before she decided what to say.

"I do," she told him. "I drafted the deed myself—"

"With some help from Nathan Rosier?" asked Sirius shrewdly.

A little startled at how he had realised that, Narcissa nodded. "I went to him for advice," she admitted. "He is a first cousin to both Lucius and me, and he has studied a lot of pureblood laws, as you no doubt know. Who else could I turn to?"

Sirius sighed, a flicker of hurt flitting across his sharp features now. He seemed to hesitate, then reached over to clasp her hand. "You could have spoken to me. You could have told me the real reason for this instead of going through all this. Despite all that has gone on between our families, Cissy, you know I care for you. You are like a sister to me, like Andy is. I shall always protect you, Cissy. Draco and you both."

"You couldn't protect Draco, though," she told him, aghast at how her voice was trembling now. "You couldn't protect him, nobody could once the Dark Lord decided to make him a target to get back at Lucius. Nobody can keep Draco safe if the Dark Lord decides to harm him again—"

"Cissy—" Sirius made to intervene, pained and annoyed at the same time, though he seemed at a loss of words. For all that he claimed to be nothing like his family, Sirius was quite like Grandfather Arcturus and Uncle Orion – always at sea when it came to dealing with upset women.

Narcissa went on. "With Lucius in Azkaban—and he will probably lose his wits by the time he is out of prison, Draco will be the owner of everything that belongs to House Malfoy… all the wealth, all the power, no matter how we have fallen from grace, the name Malfoy still commands a lot of respect and power in pureblood circles. And the Dark Lord—he will want that, Sirius. He will want Draco to atone for Lucius' mistakes, he will want Draco to join him, to bring all that we have along with him—and if Draco refuses…" she trailed off, not needing any effort to let the tears gather in her eyes now. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to, someone to admit all her fears for her son's life, someone to confide in.

Lucius' first mistake had led to the Dark Lord having him bitten by Fenrir Greyback, turning him into a werewolf. She couldn't let the wizard harm her son again. She couldn't lose Draco… the boy was all that mattered to her with Lucius lost. Draco was her life, her entire world, and she would do anything for him, even surrendering the legacy of her House to a man many still considered a blood traitor.

"Draco is just a boy," she went on, Sirius watching her with an inscrutable expression. "But you… you are Lord Black, Sirius. You hold so much power—you are close to Minister Fudge, you have Andromeda in the Wizengamot, you are an Auror yourself… if you agree to become the Protector for House Malfoy—"

"—Voldemort will not target Draco," Sirius finished for her, making her shudder at the utterance of the Dark Lord's name. "Voldemort will gain nothing by trying to force or lure Draco to his side when I have charge of House Malfoy. He will have to pass through me before getting to Draco and the Malfou assets. Your son will be safe, at least for the next five years," Sirius stated tonelessly.

"Yes," she agreed, watching him hopefully.

It was a win-win situation for Sirius, really. Being Lord Black and the Protector for House Malfoy would only add to his influence, his power, his awe-inspiring image in public and even in the corridors of power. He was already on the Dark Lord's hit list; he had already been targeted by the Dark Lord a handful of times. The returns he would get from this would be greater than the risks.

Perhaps she could tell him that, convince him further of the merits of accepting this? But something held her back. "If you want to discuss this with Andromeda, if you need more time to consider this—" she began.

"Do you realise what this means, Narcissa?" Sirius interrupted her. She noticed how he wasn't calling her Cissy anymore. "You will lose a handful of your pureblood friends, you will make it known to Voldemort that you are not on his side, Draco will never agree to this, and when Lucius comes to know of this—"

"Lucius did what he had to," she cut him off, voice trembling with fury this time. "He put me into this situation. Now I shall salvage it as I deem it best. I shall do what Lucius should have done. I shall protect my son."

Sirius watched her mutely again, his gaze calculating now, until he took the parchments again. He took the casket of wax from the table, and dipping the ancestral ring which he wore on his finger – the one that was worn by the Head of the House of Black – into it, he pressed the Black crest beneath his name.

With a slightly trembling hand, Narcissa followed suit with the ring Lucius had kept safe for when Draco came of age.

With a quick wave of his wand, Sirius slashed his thumb, letting the droplets of his blood fall onto the desk. Dipping a quill into it, he signed his name right above the Black seal.

"May I?" Sirius asked her quietly.

Narcissa said nothing for a long moment, before she nodded, barely even feeling the pain of the cut Sirius slashed on her palm. Letting her blood drip onto the desk, she dipped the quill into the dark, glistening liquid.

Narcissa Cassiopeia Malfoy, she signed her name, watching the words until they dried on the parchment. She could feel it now – the magic thrumming in her veins, warm and cold at the same time, signalling the pact she had sealed.

"Cissy," Sirius said softly, healing her palm with a swish of his wand.

"Sirius," she said quietly. "Lord Protector. I trust you with everything I have, with my son's life."

"And I shall not let you down," he promised, something in his tone telling her he meant to keep his word.

oOoOoOoO

A/N: Hope this was a decent read. Not our best work, I'll admit. But we're so excited to write year four, so I promise there's a fun ride in the upcoming chapters. Thanks again for reading.

Btw, I'm going to be changing my author name. I'd taken CentaurPrincess from my Pottermore ID back when I was a teen. Feels like it's time I change it. So you'll get the alert for the next chapter under a new author's name :)