CHAPTER TWO:

I've Come a Long Bloody Way.

Harry's P.O.V

Harriet stared hard at the strange bag in front of her. It had been a month since her devastating birthday. A month of uncertainty, resentment, sickness, and all things blue. Merlin knew how many mirrors she had broken in that time. In rage in the first few weeks, after she had groggily awoken in a quarantined room in St Mungo's, and Snape, of all people, had told her what had happened.

Blood magic. Lies. Decidedly not a Potter.

In those early days, Harry had spat, kicked, and thrown her fair share of punches. It was one of her biggest faults. Her anger. She couldn't help it. When confused, or hurt, she became angry, just like night turned to day. She tried, really she did, not to be that way. Most of the time, she succeeded now. Nevertheless, in the face of such unfortunate circumstances… She had lost it.

Poor Snape still had a black-eye.

It had been easy, you see, to think this all some horrible prank or ploy, and in turn, to get angry at those around her. Those she had been sure were lying to her. From underground Deatheater revival movements, to Draco Malfoy hexing her while she slept, all the way to Ron inadvertently poisoning her with Pixie blood, Harry had thought, and blamed, it all.

Then, two weeks after her first dreadful emergence from death's door… Again, Hermione had appeared in her room, wide-eyed with that sorrowful little smile she always had when she knew bad news was coming for Harry. The same one she had given Harry when Harry woke up after Sirius's death and thought it some nightmare. The same smile she had shot Harry at Dobby's funeral. Then, only then, in the face of her best friend and that terrible smile, Harry could no longer rest in comfortable denial.

Harry had broke that day. She had sobbed until she had no more tears, no more voice, hollow and weeping, and Hermione had stayed there, right there, at her side. That night, for the first time in her whole life, Harry had cursed her mother. Cursed her until she was blue in the face.

Ironically.

Of course, misery loved company, and as if finding out your father was not your father, that, by all signs of white fucking hair and blue fucking skin, and don't you dare forget about the bloody feelers on your forehead, you were likely not entirely human, this misery brought company too. In the following three weeks, Harry had nearly died a total of five fucking times.

The most worrying had been the fevers. Boiling, aching, delirious fevers that left Harry in constant seizures. Harry, it seemed, could not survive hot temperatures any longer. Hot being anything above 6 °C, exceedingly cold to those around Harry. Even then, 6 °C was barely tolerable to Harry. A few charms to keep her chill seemed to do the job, a cooling draught ever three hours helped, and the shower switched to freezing edged Harry's bets at survival, but Snape, in all his dreary wisdom, said it would not do for long term.

They needed answers.

And so, the stripping of Godric's Hollow, what remained of the ruins at least, began. They searched high and low for anything, anything at all, to give hint to Harry's parentage. In closets and cabinets, under floorboards and fridges, hidden in the corners of the attic. All turned up naught. Nothing. Zilch.

And then it came to her, as most things did, in a memory.

Harry remembered staring into the mirror of Erised, seeing her mother and father beaming back, her mother's hand on her shoulder, James Potter's glasses sitting wonky on the bridge of his nose, that awful twisting in her gut that this, her family, was all she ever wanted, and she, most prominently, remembered what had been in her mother's free hand.

A book.

Funnily, she recalled the title sprawled in cursive across the binding, having spent hours down in the bowels of Hogwarts staring at that damned mirror. Perhaps even more hilariously, or tragic if you were to look upon it from the other angle, it had been called All The Things I Never Told You.

Turns out, the bookcase in the bedroom, where that very bloody book was housed, was spelled to hide a cubbyhole. The only way to open the thing had been to pull that exact book free. A little blackened mouth in the home to stash away all those secrets. Inside there had only been a bag. The very bag, made from some sort of strange metallic material, Harry was currently staring at.

"Are you going to open it Harry?"

Harry jolted at Hermione's voice from the corner of the sickbed she was still bound to in St Mungo's. Yes. No. Maybe? Harry knew she had to. There was only so many more fevers she could take before, as Snape told her, permanent brain damage would begin to accumulate. She also couldn't eat anything here, not even an apple. As soon as it was down, it was back up in a spew of bile. There was only so many replenishing potions, in place of food, Harry could take.

Only so more… Only so more… Only so more… That was all she kept being told.

Yet, horrendously simultaneously, Harry thought there was only so much more she could take finding out was complete bullshit. What was in this bag? The truth? Nothing at all? Harry didn't know which one she would prefer. Neither. Both? Morgana… Taking on Voldemort had been easier than this. Easier than realizing your life had been one giant fucking lie.

"Can't you open it, professor?"

Harry asked Snape, who had been lurking in the corner of her medical room. If Snape opened it, then, Harry thought, it might be easier to swallow. She could, in a way, detach herself from it, be a viewer and not a participant. If Snape opened it, it would be out of her hands. Maybe, just maybe, she could pretend this, all this, was happening to someone else. Snape, for once, likely seeing those very thoughts playing in her emerald eyes, that she had thankfully kept, under the low light of St Mungo's, looked sympathetic to her plight. Perhaps even kind.

"It's spelled to only open to those of Lily's blood. I assume, as her daughter, yours too. I'm afraid only you can, Pott-… Harriet."

Harry winced at his slip. You're not a Potter. Never have been. Lies. Lies. Lies. Nevertheless, it gave her the spark of anger, anger at, once again, having everything she'd ever known, thought true, shaken and stripped from her reaching hands. Anger that helped her push through the absolute fear that had been haunting her since blearily blinking awake. Fear of the truth. Fear of… Fear that Harry wasn't all that Harry anymore.

There was nothing more crushing than realizing you might lose all that made you you.

Reaching out, she flipped open the clasp of the bag.

Shran's P.O.V

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, Shran concluded. The Andorian ship that had hailed them not even a standard hour ago had, in fact, attacked them. Nearly killed them. Shran had no choice. Under threat of death, carrying his injured crew, Shran had given Archer the coordinates for the Andorian shield generator. The hit had done nothing. It was impossible, ridiculous, yet, true. The shot had done nothing. The Andorian vessel had fired another five hits, all thankfully missing main systems, before it had dropped to warp, to space unknown.

In the wake of the attack, here Shran sat in a small room, around a glossy metal table, opposite the Tellarite ambassador, with Archer at the head. Unlike the Tellarite and himself, Archer chose to stand, hands on the back of his chair, spine stiff and unforgiving.

"Your government asked us to be a part of this conference, and now you're attacking us?"

The pig of a Tellarite, with his podgy, dirty hands folded in his lap, his pug nose curled smugly, huffed a scoff.

"This makes perfect sense, Captain. They sent out a distress call to lure you into a trap."

Shran tried, he really did, to keep a tight hold of his wrenching temper. Yet, as most Andorians were, he too was quick to lose grasp on his emotions. No other emotion was as slippery to restrain than anger to an Andorian. Shran wasn't a diplomat. Never had been, never would. Soft emotions and softer words were not in his DNA. Still, he tried, and that had to count for something with the Pink-skins, surely?

"We have no argument with Starfleet."

Shran implored Archer to see. The Tellarite gargled a snarled.

"Your people tried to destroy this ship!"

Shran refused to look over at the Tellarite, hoping with it out of his sight, he might just be able to hamper his Ilux'agrok. Instead, he focused on Archer, focused on his breathing, and, perhaps most importantly, focused on the truth.

"Captain, I assure you, what happened does not represent the will or intent of my government."

Anew, the Tellarite shoved himself into the conversation, snuffling over the table at him.

"Admit the truth! The Imperial guard never wanted this conference to take place. They've obviously taken matters into their own hands."

Shran's antennae reared back, ram straight, voice low, relentless, misleadingly relaxed, as he gradually turned to face that which was, as humans would say, skating on thin, thin ice.

"Are you implying the Imperial Guard has been disloyal?"

The Tellarite licked a fatty, purple tongue at his bottom tusks.

"I don't have to imply anything. The facts speak for themselves."

Smashing his fists unforgivingly into the table, so hard he dented the metal, Shran was up and out of his seat, scarcely in command of his own body. There was no graver insult, none ever thought or spoken to his people, than calling, directly or indirectly, an Andorian disloyal. It was the one line you never crossed with an Andorian. At his abrupt standing, the Tellarite was scuttling and heaving out of his own seat, trotters braced on the table edge as the two leaned in close.

"That may not have been an Andorian ship!"

Shran declared. Archer, who had been beckoning his guards over, likely in hopes to defuse the Tellarite and Shran before full out combat took place, frowned darkly. At least Shran thought the human was frowning. Humans and their faces… It was hard to tell sometimes.

"What?"

Shran, through clenched teeth, sliced the air with his hand, never, not once, letting his eyes trail away from the Tellarite still sneering at him.

"The shield matrixing had a completely different configuration!"

The Tellarite spluttered, spittle spraying into his bushy beard, across the table, splattering Shran's top.

"What is that supposed to prove?!"

So, not only were Tellarites liars, distrustful and greedy, they were dumb too?

"Some of our warships have been reported missing over the years! The Tellarites could have taken one of them! Enhanced its systems!"

The Tellarite had the gall to laugh at Shran. Right in his face, placing its greasy hands over its plump stomach, head flying back in a roar of craggy laughter. It took everything Shran had not to reach out and snap its bared neck.

"He's suffering from paranoia, Captain!"

Shran shook his head in disbelief. In fury. In affront.

"I am not paranoid! Your people are trying kill us! Just like you killed my Bondmate and child!"

The Tellarite flashed his tusked teeth at Shran callously.

"Two less Andorians in this galaxy is something we should all be thankful for! Be grateful it was an auxiliary explosion, swift and quick, and not a breach that sucked her out into space to die slowly!"

Shran was over the table. His arm was swinging backward. His fist hit the Ambassador's face with a sickening crunch as the Tellarite went flailing back, into the table, falling. Shran had him around the throat, fingers tight and bruising, his fist raising again, knuckles split, bleeding, as the Starfleet guards grabbed him and hauled him off, others, Archer included, yanking the Tellarite away, ushering them both to opposite ends of the room.

It mattered not.

Shran knew now. This Tellarite, this so-called ambassador, this… He had been there that day. He had been on the Tellarite vessel which had attacked the Kumari seventeen years ago. He had to be. The details of his Bondmates death, sweet Lily's death, his child's death, was not public. It was an Imperial secret, due to Lily's... Special-ness. The only way for this swine to know she had died in an explosion, not in the ventilation of space, would be if he had been there.

Possibly even gave the order.

Archer began to yell, red-faced and angry, Shran could tell by the tone and pitch of his voice. It mattered not. Nothing did. Not in light of this revelation.

"That is enough! You want to fight? I'll throw you both in the brig! You can tear each other to pieces there!"

Harry's P.O.V

That night, after Hermione and Snape had left her to slumber after pouring potion after potion down her sore throat, surrounded by the crumbs she had found in the bag, Harry came to a startling realization. Potter or not, pink skin or not, Harry was Harry, and no one, nothing could or would change that. In fact, in a so very strange way, she grew. Her last name may have been snatched from her viciously, but, in its wake, Harry had something entirely more precious.

Hope.

The bag did not contain much, not to those looking, as Snape and Hermione had, for medical clues to helping Harry keep down a bowl of chicken soup or how not to have her jumping in a frigid shower every hour, but, to Harry, it contained so much fucking more.

There had been, on top, a set of clothing. Bizarre, unusual clothing. A body suit of some kind, thin but strong, very bloody strong, made from some kind of linen that meshed in a flow of light blue, almost white. A sleeveless tunic too, darker blue, Harry thought, maybe, went over the tight body suit. This one was thicker than the body suit, high collard, falling to thigh, trimmed with fur, feeling like a hybrid between velvet and silk. A pair of gloves and fur boots matched it.

However, what was most interesting, Harry would say, was the sheer snow toned sash that came along with it. It seemed old, very old, lovingly cared for, and when folded, put on, Harry assumed it went across the body, from shoulder to hip, at breast were four symbols. Three were strange, blocky, alien, but the last in the diamond shape Harry knew. Initials.

L.E

Her mother. Underneath had been a necklace, once again comprised of those symbols, etched onto… Harry thought the pendent was crystal, but, under the light, it shimmered like ice. Beneath that had been a book. A little yellow book. A diary. Her mother's name was embossed on the front. Yet, it was the last in the pile, a little square piece of metal, that caught Harry's attention.

Harry had opened it by accident, in truth. Ran her thumb over the little ball on the front after Snape and Hermione had left, as she had gone to put it away, and the bloody thing had burst open. Rays of blinding light had shot out, Harry had ducked, thinking a nasty hex was on it's way, when she heard laughter. Low, soft, pleasant. She had blinked up from her huddle and everything had changed.

We love you!

It was like a wizarding photo in a way, but… 3d and with sound, hovering over the metal slate. Harry could walk around it in a wide arch, and still, the figures would follow her. Her mother's smiling face looked towards her from a bundle of blue people. They were all laughing, clustered warmly, smiling so fiercely at her that it almost hurt to look upon them.

One of the blue men, with sloping straight white hair that trailed to his shoulders, leant his head on her mother's shoulder, winking back. The other man had an arm slung over her mother's shoulders, blue hand resting over the cheek of the other man, his cropped white hair as curly as Harry's, grinning broadly, his free hand resting on Lily's stomach. A woman, just as blue and white as the other two, was at the back, tall and imposing. Her serious, sharp angled face only lightened by the dimpled grin she, too, was sporting, resting her chin on the crown of Lily's head, almost possessively, her arms spread around the three, pulling them all close, together. Their feelers wiggled their greetings at her.

A tangled heap of one.

She saw herself there, in the round stomach of her mother… And she had never seen a group of people look so happy before. They waved at her, laughing, wiggling, shouting out. We love you! The recording started all over again. Harry dared not stop it. She didn't think she could even if she wanted to.

One of these men… One of them… That was her father. Perhaps the other two, who were similarly ecstatic, were her aunt and uncle.

This was her family.

It all hit her then. Really, truly, irrevocably hit her. All the things she had not allowed herself to contemplate. Her father could still be alive. He could be out there, waiting for her, right… There. Harry had always wanted family, it had been one of the only things she had ever wanted, dreamed of, and she had thought… There had been no chance before, they were dead, buried, cold… But this…

She had a father.

That was a strange realization to come to at seventeen, she would admit, but it made her hungry. Ravenous. She wanted… She wanted this. This recording. The smiles and giggles and merriment. She wanted that with everything she ever had and so much more she didn't know she held. It burnt. It ached.

We love you!

The recording started again just as Harry went for the diary, flipping open the pages. She had not realised she was crying until a lone tear splashed on the ink, smudging her mother's handwriting.

Dear Harriet, if you are reading this, I could not get us home. I am so sorry, my love. I tried; I really did. I am hoping, as I asked him to, if me and James have perished, Sirius has found this book, learned my story, and is on his way to getting you to your parents. If, Merlin forbid, Sirius has been unable to, and you are reading this, I have failed you, as I have failed Shran, Thrass and Telas. Yet, if you are reading this, there is still hope. I can get you home, to where you are supposed to be, to those who will love you more than anything. Home… Where you will be safe.

I know you must be confused right now. Perhaps even angry. I do not blame you. You have to know, though, that what I did, I did in thinking it was best for you. All I have ever done is for you, my love. You must have so many questions. I suppose I should really start at the beginning, yes? It all started when I was sent to work on the Veil…

Shran's P.O.V

An hour later, after being confined to his room, solitarily, Archer having been smart enough not to put him with his crew should Shran try to leave and find those damned Tellarites, under heavy guard, Archer had finally summoned him to the bridge of the Enterprise. Marching in, he was met with Archer in the lower stations at the back of the bridge, nestled with the Vulcan.

"T'Pol's found something you're going to want to see."

Archer called as he waved Shran over and down into the pit. Slowly, Shran came close, down the steps, his boots clinking heavy on the metal. Not as heavy as his spirit. With her hands primly clasped behind her back, T'Pol, standing tall near a lit statistics screen, regarded Shran with a shrewd eye.

"We found this in your ships data recorder."

She turned to tap away at the control panel, and Shran watched as the screen flicked to a reading of the schematics of a ship.

"This is the power signature of the vessel that destroyed the Kumari."

Shran strode over, eyeing the sweeping lines of the chart as, once again, T'Pol began to tap away. A new image popped up at the bottom, pushing the other to the top of the screen.

"This signature belongs to the Andorian ship that attacked Enterprise."

T'Pol met his eye then, pressing one final button as the two graphs morphed over the other, overlapping. Archer verbalized the incredulity they all saw.

"They're identical."

Shran's antennae flickered back and forth. Sweeping. He searched the graph. For the first time in an hour, his mind wasn't trapped on that Tellarite, on what he would do to him once he got a hold of him, and instead, lept into a churning mist of confusion.

"That can't be correct."

T'Pol's gaze flickered to her Captain before it was pinned to him again. If Shran didn't know better, he would say her voice held a tone of wounded, agitated pride.

"Examine the data yourself."

Shran peeled back.

"Your sensors are unsophisticated. There's been a mistake."

Where the humans trying to say that it was an Andorian ship masquerading as a Tellarite vessel that had attacked them? Their own people? That, perhaps, he had been lying? That all this was the Andorians? No. No! How could they, having spent such time together, get Andorians so wrong? No. Shran was sick of playing nicely. Archer, in turn, shook his head.

"We've confirmed the data."

Shran took a loping step forward, away from the screen, closer to Archer.

"What are you suggesting? That these two vessels are actually the same ship?"

Archer huffed, shoulder's hardening, a bite to his voice.

"I don't know what I'm suggesting. But we need to keep our minds open."

Shran's antennae pointed together, aiming dead at Archer, another step. And another. Closer. Closer.

"The Tellarites have violated every accord we've made with them. They can't be trusted. Your desire for a peaceful resolution is blinding you from the truth!"

Achingly, Shran thought he heard his Lily's voice in the back of his mind. Soft. Consoling. A lullaby long forgotten, but offering all the comfort a child needed in dire times. Your anger at my death is blinding you to the truth, Shran. Use that brain of yours, the one I know you have, and think. Don't do something reckless because of me.

Shran shook his head. No. She was… His Lily was gone. So was his child. Because of that Tellarite! He knew it. He knew it! And they had taken the Kumari too. Taken everything. How much more was he supposed to stand?

Archer did that strange thing with his mouth, one Shran had seen a few humans make, corners pulling down sharply. Shran felt, more than saw, T'Pol move behind him, edging closer. The Vulcan and the human were boxing him in, surrounding him, and if they knew anything about an Andorian, anything at all, they must have known how foolish it was to drive, both physically and metaphorically, one into a corner.

"Commander, If-"

Shran cut the Vulcan off Briskly. Swivelling around, before she could do much more than lift her booted foot to try and take a step backwards, he snatched the collar of her shirt, dragged her close, cursing her in the face.

"I've heard enough from you! Vulcans are expert liars. Perhaps your people are behind this!"

Archer's hand clamping onto his shoulder was merciless, harsh, tense. A warning.

"You are speaking to my first officer!"

Shran didn't care. He didn't care what these Pink-skins might or might not be implying. He didn't care if it was an Andorian ship, with an Andorian crew, which had attacked both the Kumari and Enterprise. He didn't care if the Vulcans were involved. He didn't even care what the Imperial Guard would do if he were to march right to the Tellarite chambers and slay every one of them despite his direct orders to keep low.

There was an anger in him in that moment, as he thought of that Tellarite sitting well and alive in a room while his Bondmate, his precious child, were gone. A cold black thing, slick and dark and hungry, and he needed to do something. Fight. Punch. Kick. He needed it gone. Out of him.

By the spirits, it hurt. It hurt so much.

It was like he was losing them all over again. Watching, helpless, frozen in time and space as his Lily, with those keen green eyes and soft smile, her hands on that swollen stomach, was snatched from him in a blaze of fire.

The computer beeped and everything snapped too with a startling clarity. Air filled Shran's lungs in a rush. His hand dropped from T'Pol's suit. Carelessly, Shran noticed Archer pull his hand from Shran's own shoulder.

"Tucker to the bridge."

Archer strolled to the comm system, flipping a switch.

"Go ahead."

This Tucker's voice warbled horrendously through the poor system.

"Warp engines will be online in ten minutes. We'll have hull plating back within the hour. However, I'm sending some ensigns up to deck three where the Tellarite delegation is stationed. There have been reports of energy fluctuations radiating out. One even said he saw… Well, what he called, little cracks of lightening in the… Air."

Shran, in all his brilliance, unfortunately, was long lost before the end of Tucker's speech. He had heard deck three, Tellarites, and his attention had waned. He knew where the Tellarites were now. No longer safe and hidden from his reach. He knew where that swine was.

Archer frowned and glanced to T'Pol. She leant over him, towards the comm system.

"Perhaps it is loose wiring, or a faulty system sparking out from the air ducts?"

Deck three was four decks bellow Shran's own. Just four. If he took to engineering channels, he could easily make it to deck three undetected. That is, firstly, he needed to figure out how to get out of his guarded room once Archer threw him back in. If he-

Tucker answered back.

"That's what I'm thinking. The ensigns should have it all found and fixed by the time the hull plating is finished, and then those damned Tellarites will stop accusing us of trying to electrocute them."

Archer nodded.

"Keep me updated."

He ordered before he switched the comm off.

"We've located the warp trail of the ship that's attacked us. We're going to follow it."

Archer said, bringing Shran back into the present. Shran flared indignantly.

"Some of my crew are in serious condition and they need attention from our physicians."

Archer gave a long-suffering sigh and Shran… Shran was done. What were they expecting of him? Did they think he would sit quietly in his locked cell, wait for the small amount of his surviving crew to die around him? They needed doctors! Their own doctors! The Denobulan was good, but he could not fix the more in-depth injuries some were suffering from. All the while, Archer would pander to the Tellarites? The very same that had taken so much from him? Side-lined and forgotten for a… For a warp trail?!

"It will take four days to get to Andoria. By then, that ship will be long gone. I'm sorry Shran, but this is more important."

Archer tried to reason, but Shran was no longer listening. This was Archer's ship and he would do as he pleased, even if Shran's own men died in the med-bay and the Tellarites could walk around freely.

To an extent, he understood it. They needed to find this ship to figure out what was going on, to discover how two very different ships could have the same signature, but that understanding could not sooth Shran's anger. Only Lily had been able to do that, Telas would always say, and she was gone.

If Archer was not going to do something, as Shran had given him the hour to do… Shran would.

"Can you bring me Telas? I wish to see my Bondmate."

Nodding, silent, Shran let Archer sequester him back to his rooms, under guard. Deck three…

Harry's P.O.V.

"James knew."

Hermione glanced up from her seat at Harry's bedside, nose stuck in another healing scroll. Harry had been up all night, flicking through the diary, page after page, story after story, transfixed.

"Jame's… He knew. He willingly gave his blood to Lily for the spell. They thought… They thought the Ministry, with its attitudes towards magical creatures, would take me. Use me. Hurt me. They… They did it all to protect me. Lily thought she could get us back and repair the spell before... Before my magic matured and I would nearly die."

Hermione slowly lowered the scroll, and Harry couldn't help but notice the way her eyes flashed to the door before they snapped back to Harry. She leant in close.

"Your mother had a point. This morning, on our way in, Snape noticed… Well, a unit of Aurors are patrolling your corridor. Looks like news has broke about your… Change, and the ministry's finally caught wind. We, well, I thought it might be for protection, you know? Who knows what insane witch or wizard, one with a grudge against you, will try with this for justification? But Snape… Snape didn't seem convinced. He seemed… Worried."

Harry swallowed deeply.

"I-… They're alive, Hermione. They-… I can't explain it all. It's… It's half insane. I-… My fathers, mother… Merlin, Hermione, what I am, they mate in fours. Fours! I have another three parents out there and-… The book, in the back, mum explained what happened. She was working on the Veil for her master of Charms dissertation. She got cocky, began trying out experimental spells for the extraction of souls lost to it, and one went wrong. It exploded. She got thrown through but she ended up-… Well, she wrote the spell down. It's all here, in this book."

Harry met Hermione's eyes.

"There's a way back… There's a way to find my parents."

Hermione's voice faltered, sticky and thick like honey. Harry's hearts both skipped a beat. She hated hearing Hermione upset.

"You're… You're leaving, aren't you?"

Harry licked at her dry lips.

"I think I have to Hermione. I-… My parents… It's all I've ever wanted and there's a way to find them and… I have to try. I need to do this."

Hermione nodded her head frantically, curls bouncing.

"Of course, Harry. I suppose it's for the best. If Snape is right, if these Auror's are waiting for down time to nab you and cart you off… Well, it's best if we get you out of here before they have the chance, right? And, I think, they, your parents, will now how to help you. Much better than I and It's for the best and-"

Hermione always rambled when she was on the verge of crying. Harry cut her off sharply, but her voice, too, had become rough with emotion.

"Hermione… I love you. You know that right? You're my best friend. I'll find a way back to visit. It's possible, after all. Mum came back and so will I. You can't get rid of me that easily. But… But I need to go. I need to find them. I need to try."

Hermione smiled through the tears cresting at her lash line. When Harry promised something, even if it was something as outlandish as visiting through the Veil, she would do it. By Merlin, she would do it. Hermione knew that. So, as she stood, stretching out her hand for Harry to take, to help get her weak friend out of bed, Hermione knew this wasn't a goodbye so much as a see you soon.

It didn't make it hurt any less.

"Well, no time like the present. We better get you to the Veil, then, shouldn't we?"

Harry's P.O.V

For the first time in a whole month of hell, Harry smiled at her reflection. Dressed in the clothes she had found in the strange metallic bag, Harry looked alien, foreign… And exactly as she should. Flicking the long white braid of her hair over her shoulder, she clasped the necklace around her neck, the pendant falling to her chest and with it, a smile lit up her face. That was it. This was her. Feelers, blue and all.

It was strange how natural it felt.

"Please, Harriet, there is no time for dawdling if I am to get you to the Veil room in the Ministry. We only have a short window of time to get in and out, and I will not risk going to Azkaban for you. Now, put the scarf and goggles on, and let us move already!"

Catching the scarf and goggles Snape had sent sailing across the air with a flick of his wand, Harry shirked them on hastily, spending a moment looking in the mirror to make sure all her skin was covered. The last thing they needed, while, yet again, breaking into a restricted area, was for Harry to get spotted because, let's face it, a blue face was easy to spot in a crowd. Still, with Harry as weakened as she was, still filled with cooling draughts, chill spells and lack of food, they couldn't risk a glamour without, as Snape snarled almost as if it was a threat, completely fracturing her magical core.

Scarf and goggles seemed a good muggle fix.

Once done, Harry joined Snape and Hermione by the door, slipping her arm through the crook of Severus's offered elbow.

"Ready?"

The girls nodded.

"Ready."

By the time the Auror's slipped into the healing chamber that night, wands raised with stunning spells on the tips of their tongue, it was too late.

Harry was gone.

Shran's P.O.V

The bang of the Tellarite delegation's chamber door being kicked open echoed out into the hallway. Gral, the Tellarite ambassador, jumped from his seat, huddled behind his aides, wheezing and panting.

"What is the meaning of this!?"

No help came from his shout. The Starfleet guards in the hallway were slumped together in an unholy pile of tangled limbs. Stunned. Talas, in all her six-foot, livid glory came thundering in, followed quickly by a darkly glaring Shran. Both were armed with phaser pistols. It had been easy to see Telas, to play on Archer's notions of romance, and to pass along all Shran had learned about the Tellarites in Andorian as if he was passing whispers of love.

Telas had lost it as soon as they were alone.

Like he, she wanted revenge. Honour. Justice. She wanted Gral under her boot. Especially when, in the safety of their room and away from prying eyes, she had told Shran she had learned, from whispers outside, the Ambassador had been a tactical officer in his prime. He had been the one to fire the shot. Shran had never been one to deny her anything, his strong, fierce Telas, and so, their great escape had gone underway. Really, it was the Pink-skins fault.

They needed better security.

Telas stormed across the room, butt of her phaser raised high, slicing through the air as she struck Gral in the face with it. Grum, Gral's main aide, made to move against Telas, but Shran was already in motion, snatching up his shirt, phaser pointed to the back of Grum's head. He met Gral's eyes from over Grum's shaking shoulders.

"I want to know why my ship was attacked, and then, you're going to answer for your crimes against my people."

In the face of Shran's demand, the swine said nothing. He looked to Grum, looked to Shran, looked to Grum again, and then his pug nose rose high into the air. Shran stunned Grum, kicked his falling body away, and took aim at Gral's head. His nose dropped, but no words came.

"We know your government is behind the disappearance of our freighters. We know you were on that Tellarite vessel seventeen years ago. I know you were tactical officer aboard that ship. I know you fired the shot that took my Bondmate and child. Now, talk!"

Telas thundered, her voice taut and sore, throbbing in a way Shran had not heard in many a year, almost deafening with mania as her hand shot out, constricting around Gral's neck. The Tellarite coughed savagely, snarling, dribbling.

"We had nothing to do with that!"

Telas cranked his head back as Shran shoved the phaser under his chin.

"You may have been able to convince Archer, but I am not so gullible. It was your vessel that attacked the Kumari seventeen years ago. It was your vessel that fired upon us without provocation. It was you who pressed the button. How else did you know we had complete auxiliary collapse? That my Bondmate and child died in an explosion? That record is protected by Imperial Command of the highest order! Only those aboard my ship and aboard the other would know what had passed in so much detail!"

There was a moment, just one, where Gral's bottom pointed lip quivered. Where Shran thought he might talk. Yet, nothing came but silence. Shran eased back.

"I don't know a lot about Starfleet weapons, but I believe this setting…"

Shran deliberately tossed the phaser over, flashing the nozzle on the side to the Tellarite as he pointedly cranked it over to the far right. Telas stepped back, away from the line of fire, to his shoulder as he pulled it up once more, levelling it between Gral's wide, panicked eyes.

"-Will bore right through that thick hide of yours."

Leisurely sinking it lower, he pressed the phaser into the fat of the Tellarites bulbous belly, pressing in harshly. The last aide standing, who had been shocked into silence at the sudden threat, flustered and howled before Telas shot a warning glare that shut the blubbering mess up.

"The truth! Now!"

Telas barked. The ambassador broke in a torrent of spit, clucking tusk, and musky sweat.

"Yes! That was my ship that attacked yours those years ago! And yes, I was tactical officer! I fired that shot! But I had my orders as you've had yours! We knew you were going to fly to the colony as support and it was our job to cut you off before you could join ranks and stop us! Before we could reclaim the colony you stole from us! I am sorry you lost your Bondmate and child in the process, that was never my intention, but it was war!"

Bravely, Gral pushed himself into the phaser, head aloft with courage.

"How many Tellarite ships have you destroyed, Commander Shran? How many Tellarite orphans have you made? If I must answer for my part, you must answer to yours too, Andorian!"

Green eyes. Terrified. Rounded stomach. Flames. Hot, white flames. Screaming. His own screams. Shran could see it all again, and again, and again. Replaying in his mind's eye. Shran was not a good man. Perhaps he never had been. Being in the Imperial Guard, as high as he, did not allow for morals or virtues. So, yes. Perhaps he too had made orphans. Perhaps, he too, had ripped families asunder. Perhaps, Gral was right, war was war… But-… His Lily, his child… Telas shook his shoulder.

"You heard him! It was his ship that took Lily from us! Our child! Kill him!"

A good man would understand Gral's predicament. A good man would lower his phaser and walk away. A good man would help Archer in his search for the trail, instead of seeking cold justice. Nevertheless, Shran was not a good man. He had not been since that fateful day.

Shran's finger tightened on the trigger of the phaser, seconds from firing, before, from the bent, broken door, Captain Archer of all people came tumbling around, chest heaving from a run, swiftly followed by his Maco's.

"Stay out of this Pink-skin!"

Shran growled. Archer, in turn, pulled out his own phaser, took target at Shran's head. His guards followed suit, aiming at Telas, who, to keep the aide from running, had knocked him to his knees, phaser pressed to crooked neck.

"Shran, listen to me. The ship that attacked you wasn't Tellarite."

Shran barked back.

"I was there!"

Archer, sensing the tight-rope he was walking, tried valiantly to keep his voice steady. There was no point. Andorian hearing was better than that of a human. Shran could hear the chirruping of fear edging at the corners of his voice.

"I can prove it."

In a sign of trust, one Shran would never have done himself, especially in a moment such as this, Archer pulled his phaser up and slowly put it away in the holster of his belt.

"You're both being set up. Your ship was attacked because someone didn't want this conference to go forward."

Shran shook his head.

"Who?"

Archer, gently, moved towards him, hands raised, palms out.

"I am asking you, one Captain to another, look at the evidence before you do something you are going to regret."

Shran stared at Gral. Dryly, sombrely, perhaps sounding more like a shattered sob than anything else, Shran chuckled.

"It doesn't matter. They may not have attacked us this time, but he was the one to attack us last. He admitted it. He was the one who slaughtered my Bondmate and child! You expect me to let that go, Pink-skin!?"

Archer's gaze shot to the Tellarite, and upon seeing the contrite face, when no denial came rushing forward, Archer, for the first time Shran had heard of him, swore. Bitterly, Archer scrubbed at his eyes with tired hands, his Adam's apple bobbed once, twice and then, in a rapid turn of the tables, it was he who was entreating Shran to see through his eyes.

"I would never ask for you to let that go, Shran. However, there's a bigger picture happening here. I am asking for you to put it away… For now. Someone wants this conference to fail. Someone wants you two at each other's throats. Don't give that to them. The Ambassador will face justice… But not this way. You were the one to give our names to Imperial Command to be mediators of this meeting. All I'm asking is for you to give me that trust again. Time. That's all I'm asking for here. Time."

Shran hesitated. Then, his finger slid from the trigger, his phaser dropped… CRACK.

Vivid, brilliant white light erupted in the room. When the flash lessened, Shran saw, as the humans struggled for vision, in the close corner, a swirling mist, like a flap of a Kelthreh sash that all children wore, was flapping in invisible wind, like a veil had ripped in the very air and-…

Shran had seen this before. Shran had wished to see this a thousand times again. Shran thought he might be dreaming again. Telas, from his side, whispered one, lone word, her voice taking on the reverent, longing rhythm of a chant laid bare at the Spirits temple.

"Lily…"

Tucker's buzzing voice resonated in his head, words he had not paid attention to. Reports of lightening. Fluctuating energy… Just like his own ship all those years ago. Shran had been so blinded by the thought of justice, revenge, he had not connected the events. CRACK. Another flash burst.

A body came leaping out the veil, tumbling to the floor in a mass of splayed limbs on their back, just as the lightening zapping around the room ceased and the shift of air swirling seemingly ate itself out of existence. Their head was covered with some strange scarf, draped around skull and face, and the square of flesh this often left open, normally, was covered by a pair of dense, heavy black goggles. They were dressed… Well, they were dressed in traditional Andorian clothing, donning his Clan's colours, pale blue and white. There, around their torso, was the kelthreh sash, his, Telas's, Thrass's… Lily's names all staring back from silver thread at breast bone.

Shran's heart halted.

Sluggishly, the person came to a pottering stand, shaky on their legs. They were tall, so tall, just like Telas, six-foot at least, but lithe in place of Telas's robust hardness, as Thrass was. Shran couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and yet, he could move, Shran discovered. Mindlessly, he stepped forward, empty hand raising, reaching, searching, begging, fingers spread open, name on the tip of his tongue-

The Tellarite ambassador's aide used this atmosphere of astonished wonderment for a distraction, noting Telas's lowered phaser, and stole it from her. Jumping up, he took aim, Telas shouted, and fired. Shran fired at the back of the aide, watched as he sank to the floor, dead, but Shran had been too late.

Yet, the outsider wasn't.

There was a snap in the air, the tall stranger disappeared in a puff, only to reappear at Telas's side, and with a tug and a yank, grabbed Telas out of the way of the shot. The wall smoked black behind them.

Starfleet too, it seemed, came back to life. Archer, again, was armed, as was his Maco's, all targeting the stranger by Telas's side. In turn, the person raised their hands, stepped away, backed up, right into the corner, a place their back was protected. Their glove's cuff had rolled up in the struggle, flashing a slither of blue skin. Shran's stomach plummeted.

It wasn't his Lily. His sweet Bondmate. He had thought, seeing the sash he had given her before she was meant to depart with Thrass for Andoria, that it was-

She was dead. Lily was dead.

Of course this wasn't her. Lily had been short, plumper. Then how did this person get the sash? And there, shining from their chest, the clan necklace meant for their child?

"Who are you? How the hell did you get onto my ship?"

At Archer's frosty, stinging command, the person, girl, she had soft curves to her hips, went to answer, but the scarf muffled her voice horribly. She held one hand higher, slowly, so slowly, using the other to go for her headscarf, unraveling it unhurriedly as she pulled it, and the goggles, off in one fell swoop. She looked up to them, grinning, scarf and goggle dangling limply between her clutched fist.

The world beneath Shran's feet ceased to exist.

He saw Lily's sweeping nose, slightly upturned, plush lips and eyes so green, a green Shran never thought he would see again. He saw Telas's prominent dimples, the high arch to her eyebrows shining back from this girls face. He saw Thrass's thin neck and slightly pointed chin, melting into his own sharp cheekbones and large eyes, and though her forehead was smaller, closer to Lily's, she cocked her brow just as Shran did… By the Spirits, she had his curls!

His phaser fell to the floor with a clack. Or it was Telas's knees hitting the floor, or his too… He wasn't sure what was happening around him, with him, outside that hauntingly, achingly familiar face.

The girl's gaze fixed to Archer, smile still hot and warm, white teeth flashing against blue skin, and Shran was lost.

"Don't shoot! I don't mean any harm! I swear! My name… My name's Harry. I'm… I'm looking for the ship, Kumari? Is this it? I was told my parents were on it. Shran? Thrass? Telas? Do you know them by any chance? I've come a long bloody way."

DICTIONARY:

Ilux'agrok- "Icy rage," having more or less the same connotations as "cold fury" in English. In Andorian belief, "hot" anger is healthier – a natural emotion that arises in response to understandable circumstances, and can be calmed far more easily. The ice-rage is at best a temporary madness that can be controlled to devastating effect against enemies, and at worst the insanity that nearly doomed their world. It was the ilux'agrok that the code of Lor'Vela, the ushaan in particular, was created to protect Andoria against.

Thoughts?

A.N: Well, hello dear readers! Long time no see! I know, I know, I'm bloody awful. I will be the first to admit that. I really did mean to update this as soon as possible, but things got away from me… Yet, here we are! For all your patience, I've got this whopping 8k chapter, and I really hope it, at least halfway, makes up for the atrocious wait I made you all go through. Hopefully, I can get back on track with this fic, and my other ones, so hopefully, the next update won't take so long.

NOTES: This chapter takes place in the episode Telas dies. I knew, from beginning, that, one; I didn't want Telas to die, and two; I wanted Harry to appear right in that moment. I think it was kind of poetic, in this fic, for it to happen that way. Lily disappeared, thought died, by yanking Telas out of the way of death. I wanted Harry to become a sort of juxtaposition of that, by pulling Telas from death and appearing. It creates a neat little circle for mother and daughter.

I also wanted to underline Harry and Shran's similarities by having them both fighting their anger. I think this helps create a bind between father and daughter, and also, as in Canon, stays true to both their characters. Shran is always getting dramatically angry, sometimes for rightful reasons, as is Harry in canon. Yet, as with Canon, both are almost transfixed and would do anything for family, and I hope this comes through and I haven't completely botched it lol.

THANK YOU, NO, REALLY, THANK YOU to all the follows and favourites and, of course, reviews! They all mean so much, and are the life-blood of this fic. I hope, in some way, be it one line or one paragraph, you liked this chapter. If you could, drop a review! They keep the muses from going on strike lol. And, hopefully, I will see you all soon!