Disclaimer: That deaf, dumb, and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball. But I don't own the setting or any of the characters featured in the books. I do own Matt, Lucy, and the gremlin on the wing of the plane. His name is Jub Jub.

Chapter 17: History Lessons

The train back to London was just as crowded as the train to school. No one was staying in the castle over Christmas. Harry was feeling better than he had in a while. He glanced over at Hermione, who was sitting in the seat across from him, and was momentarily startled when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. As soon as the surprise registered in his mind, he felt bad for being surprised. Matt is her cousin, after all. Blood is thicker than water and all that jazz.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked, causing her to jump. They were alone in the compartment. Luna was with Ginny, Lucy, and a couple other girls in the compartment across the hall, and Ron was with the other second year Gryffindor boys.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"I asked you if something was wrong," he answered.

"N-no," Hermione responded unconvincingly.

"Right...and I'm the Easter bunny."

She sighed. "It's just that after Matt...," she paused. "I mean one of us had to stay strong, and you weren't even trying," she accused him as she began to sob.

He got up and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders in what was meant to be a comforting manner and making soft shushing sounds like his mother used to when he was upset. "I'm sorry," he said softly, not sure if it would help or not, as she buried her face into his shoulder. His other arm wound its way around her almost automatically.

They stayed that way for almost half an hour, until the snack cart came by. When they sat back down Harry put his left arm around her shoulders.

Finally, they untangled themselves, just as they reached the farthest outskirts of London. "Sorry about that," she said. "It's just--"

"You don't have to apologize. As you said, one of us has to stay strong," he said. "Now it's my turn to be strong, and your turn to break down."

They both went to use the restroom one last time before they got to King's Cross. As they pulled into the station Harry realized when they returned to their compartment, they had once again sat next to each other, his arm around her shoulders. In the back of his mind Harry knew that their relationship had changed forever.

He just wished he knew if it was for the better or not.

------

James Potter stood on Platform 9 3/4, waiting for his son and the niece of one of his best friends. Mustn't forget Lucy, he told himself, remembering the girl that Sirius had decided to take in. He had in his left hand a sock monkey. Finally he heard the whistle, and moments later he could make out the crimson form of the Hogwarts Express.

Fifteen minutes later Harry, and Hermione exited the train with their trunks. Behind them was a pale girl with platinum blonde hair. But he didn't really notice that much about her as his eyes were drawn to the linked hands of Harry and Hermione. He grinned inwardly. They released each other's hands as they approached.

"Dad, this is Lucy," Harry said, motioning the blonde girl forward.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," she said timidly.

"Likewise," James responded as he waved his old wand, shrinking the three trunks. "We're traveling by portkey," he added, holding out the sock monkey. "You just need to touch it," he added to Hermione.

Harry groaned and pocketed his trunk. Hermione and Lucy did likewise--without the groaning--and touched the plush toy. "Do we have to?" he asked, voice filled with trepidation.

"No, you don't have to," James said. Harry relaxed. "If you don't want to take the portkey I can side-along you back to Hogsmeade and you can spend Christmas at Hogwarts," he suggested.

"I don't want to spend Christmas alone in the castle with just the staff," Harry whined.

"Then grab the portkey so we can get out of here," James ground out.

"You know how much I hate portkeys!" Harry exclaimed.

"Shut up and touch the monkey!" James snapped.

"Fine," Harry muttered, touching the gray and white stuffed animal with his finger. "But when I break my nose, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Such a drama queen," Hermione whispered to Lucy as James tapped the monkey with his wand and the train platform disappeared in a swirl of color.

When the group came to a stop, both Harry and Hermione landed flat on their backs. James heard Sirius give a bark of laughter from somewhere to his left.

"I think I'm with Harry on this one," Hermione said, looking a bit green--not to mention reluctant to stand. "That was horrible."

"It's an acquired taste," said a female voice from the direction of the kitchen. The voice had a strong twang; the owner of the voice was obviously from the southern United States.

James looked over to the woman. She was tall, lithely muscular, with dark eyes, dark hair, and a deep tan, her features somewhere between plain and striking. Cynthia Black was an imposing figure, as befitting a professional Quidditch player--one of less than one hundred female Beaters in the world; she played for the Missouri Leviathans, based in Imperial, Missouri.

"So this is the kid you've decided we're taking in," Cynthia said, giving Lucy an appraising look, from which the girl appeared to shrink.

"Don't scare the poor girl, Cyn," Sirius scoffed. "You know as well as I do you wanted to adopt her sight unseen." He shook his head. "Why I married such a mean shrew I'll never figure out," he muttered, the barest hint of a smile tracing his lips.

"In case you've forgotten, I wasn't always this way," she replied, smacking her husband upside the head. "I'm pretty sure it comes from trying to keep you two chuckleheads out of trouble. Though, of course, when you throw Theon into the mix, all you can do is give the National Guard the heads up."

"Hey!" came a familiar voice from the doorway. "I resemble that remark!" Theon Robertson exclaimed mock indignantly, throwing the room a grin--though it didn't reach his eyes. His wife didn't even try to smile. Hermione disengaged herself from her parents, who had arrived that morning, and gave her aunt and uncle each a hug.

James watched as his son walked over to his godmother and her husband. "I'm sorry about what happened to Matt," he said. "I should have stopped him, and--"

"Nonsense," Theon cut him off. "There was no way to know what was going to happen. In the words of a wise man, 'Always in motion, the future is,'" he finished, grinning weakly. "Your parents and Dumbledore both explained to us that he's in no danger to his life."

"I still don't understand why you can't just get some mandr-mandra-mandarins--or mandrivas, or whatever the hell their called--from a supplier of some sort," Jenny said, voice cracking.

"Their called mandrakes, Aunt Jenny," Hermione corrected. "And they have to be freshly...harvested...for the potion to work."

"Oh," was all she said. James caught Lily rolling her eyes. She'd tried explaining the very same principle to Jenny several times over the past month and a half, and gotten nowhere, and Hermione shows up, says the exact same thing, and she accepted the explanation immediately.

"Anyway, on to more cheerful news," Sirius said into the heavy silence.

"Oh, like what?" Hermione asked, turning to him and arching her eyebrow. James struggled to contain the laughter as remembered all the times Lily had done the exact same thing, tone of voice and all. Maybe Freud was right, he thought, remembering the way Harry and Hermione had been holding hands as they exited the train.

"Like the fact that Cyn has been selected as a member of team U.S.A. for the upcoming Quidditch world cup," Sirius beamed.

"Congratulations!" Harry exclaimed. "That makes you the first female Beater to play at the international level in at least a millennium!"

"Actually," Cynthia corrected, "I'll be the first ever. But that's only because of the top ten Beaters in the nation, five are banned from international play, and the other three turned down the offer, leaving just me and Jason Butkis, the bookends on that list."

"Still, you are on the team, even if you weren't the first choice," Sirius reminded her, for what was, according to James's count, the fifteenth time in the past three weeks--and he'd only seen them six times in those three weeks.

------

Two days later, Harry and James were puttering around in their small garage. Most of the floor space was currently occupied by the Potters' 1987 Ford Thunderbird, and a significant portion of the remaining area was covered in boxes of various sorts.

"So, Dad, I was wondering," Harry began, and then paused.

"Wondering what?" James asked absent-mindedly as he searched through his toolbox for a nine-sixteenths open/box wrench.

"You wouldn't by any chance have any idea what's behind the attacks at school, would you?"

"Son, if I did, I would have notified the Headmaster. Ah, here it is," James said, standing up, wrench in hand. "Excuse me," he said as he squeezed between the car and Harry.

Harry shuffled backwards, but was stopped suddenly by a second toolbox. Unfortunately, his upper body did not stop. "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he lost his balance. Time seemed to dilate, and instead of coming to a stop against the locker he had thought was behind him, he felt only empty air. As his head and shoulders landed on the cold, hard concrete of the floor, he realized he had fallen into the gap between the two lockers. As his feet came off the ground and his toes struck the wall, leaving him effectively upside down, he heard his dad ask, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm just peachy, Dad," Harry replied. "I just thought I might try to do a handstand...without using my hands," he added nonchalantly. "Just practicing, mind you. I didn't want my last words to be 'Hey y'all! Watch this!' I'd never live it down if they were," he finished dryly.

James looked around the hood of the car and ducked back behind it, raising a grease-caked hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. He wasn't very successful.

"It's not funny, Dad," he protested, trying to get back up. The only problem was that the lockers were so close together he couldn't get his arms in a position to push or pull himself up.

"You're right, Harry," he managed to choke out through the laughter, "it's not funny--it's hilarious!" He then let loose another gale of laughter.

"When you're done yukking it up, old man," Harry said, "I could use some help over here."

"Just for that 'old man' comment, I think I'll leave you there while I finish tightening up this belt," James said, giving the wrench one last turn before making his way over to his toolbox and returning the wrench to the proper drawer. He then walked back to where Harry was trapped and held out his hand, which Harry gladly accepted.

As Harry stood up, he felt the blood drain back to his extremities. "One more question, Dad," Harry said, groaning from the sensation of light-headedness. "Have you ever heard of a wraith panther?"

"Yes, I've heard of them," James said, "and no, there is not one hiding in your closet or under your bed."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"What?" asked James.

"What was that about wraith panthers in my closet?"

"Wasn't that what you were going to ask me about?" James asked, confusion written on his face.

"No," Harry answered, "what gave you that idea?"

"Well..." his dad began, "Never mind that. What did you want to know about them?"

"Mainly I wanted to know if it's possible that my animagus form is a wraith panther."

"It's possible, but it's rare for an animagus to take on the form of a magical creature," James said. "But it's not unheard of, if that's what you were asking. As far as we've been able to figure out, Sirius's form really is a Grim, but he has no magical qualities as far as we can tell, not that we've explored his forms abilities and special properties too much, mind you."

"So why did you immediately assume that I was going to ask if there was a wraith panther in my closet?" Harry asked.

"Erm...funny story, really. Sirius once convinced me that I had a wraith panther living in my closet," James said. "He even set up an illusion so that every time I opened it I would see glowing green eyes and the rest of the closet was filled with shadow. I refused to go anywhere near my room for almost a month, and then I only went in to pack for Hogwarts."

"So that's it?" Harry asked, not sure whether he believed that Sirius would stop a joke there or not.

"Er, no. When we got to school, Sirius applied another illusion to the space under my bed, only this one growled whenever anyone came near the bed. When I would go to get the Care of Magical Creatures Professor to take care of it, Sirius would remove the illusion before the professor entered the room, and reapply it after he left. This went on for over a week, until one day I managed to find Professor Kettleburn and barely managed to convince him to take one last look. He figured out it was an illusion almost immediately," James said. "The entire sixth year boys' dorm served detention for a month after that."

"So how'dja get back at him?" Harry asked.

"I'm offended that you think so low of me as to assume that I would commit an act of vengeance on my best mate!" James half-shouted in mock indignation. Harry just stared at him expectantly.

James leaned in conspiratorially. "The five of us hit him with laxative charms--both normal ones and gaseous ones--every time he tried to chat up a girl. I even got him with a flattus maximus in Arithmancy when he had to get up in front of the whole class and solve an equation on the blackboard. Remind me to show you and Matt the memory this summer."

Harry was laughing so hard he forgot to be sad about his friend's misfortune.

------

Meanwhile one hundred thirty miles away, in St. Louis, Lucilla Porcia Black--formerly Malfoy--was lying in bed, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Two days previously she had been shown to her new bedroom. Sirius had made some joke about having to give up his 'naked room' to accommodate her, but she had barely registered it. The moment she entered the room, it had hit her. She was no longer a Malfoy. Sure, she had disliked most of her family--but they had been her family, nonetheless.

The first day Sirius and Cynthia had tried to get her to leave her room and join in on some family activities. Lucy vaguely remembered having done so, though only half-heartedly. Yesterday, she had stayed in her room all day, even when they had tried to get her to come out. Today they hadn't even tried.

I wonder if proximity to Matt had somehow put off the depression, had prevented the facts from sinking in, she thought for what seemed like the hundredth time that day--though in reality it was only the third. The occasional thought of Matt would inspire her to get up out of bed in search of food, but that was the only reaction she had to those thoughts. Ever since she found out that he was her soul mate she had expected thoughts of Matt to inspire feelings of...of...she wasn't sure what, but she would know it when it happened.

She was shaken from this train of thought by a knock on her bedroom door. "We're going to a Blues' game," Cynthia Black called through the door. "We've got a third ticket if you want to come along," she continued. "If you don't want to go, we'll drop you off at the Potter's. Lily said she'd watch you for us."

Lucy considered it for a few seconds. Though she had no idea what sport the Blues' played, Cynthia had made it sound as if it was something interesting. Lucy wasn't really a fan of sport, and fervently hoped it wasn't this "football" Matt had gone on and on about. On the other hand, Lucy thought, it might just cheer me up for a little while.

"Okay," Lucy said. "When are we leaving?"

Cynthia looked at her watch. "It's half past two now, and the game is at seven, so we'll be leaving in two hours."

"Why so soon?" Lucy asked.

"Well, first we're stopping for supper at White Castle, then we're taking the Metrolink from Forest Park to the Kiel Center."

"Why can't we apparate there, instead?"

"Because, by law, every sports arena has to have a magic suppression ward that prevents active use of magicks within a mile radius," Cynthia explained. "Which is beside the fact that Apparation in a downtown area is misdemeanor offense punishable by thirty days in prison. If you're seen by a nichtmagisch it becomes a felony, and is punishable by up to six months in prison and three years of trace."

"What's a nichtma--"

"Nichtmagisch is the common term over here for nonmagical people."

"Oh, you mean Muggles."

"Yeah, something like that, except that the term nichtmagisch is not a derogatory term. The word 'Muggle' is considered a swear word in the U.S., and as such is never used in polite company--that's your only warning, by the way."

Lucy gulped. "So what is this 'trace' you mentioned?"

"It's a punishment similar to probation, where the one being punished is required to wear a pair of disillusioned thumb rings--one on each hand--that measure the wearer's magical activity and track their movements. At the first sign of wrongdoing the rings will portkey the individual wearing them to the nearest magical law enforcement post. Any unauthorized attempt to remove them results in a nasty shock."

"That's certainly different from Britain's Trace," Lucy commented.

"Not even in the same category, Lucy," responded Cynthia. "The Trace is both more complicated and much simpler than that. For one, it is really a network of wards that detect magic usage of any kind," Cynthia explained. "The Trace, in theory, was designed to differentiate between mature and immature magical signatures. Works well on paper. Unfortunately, magical signatures have been known reach maturity anywhere between the ages 12 and 35."

Lucy's eyes bugged out. "But then tha--"

Cynthia cut her off. "You see the conundrum there. When the Trace was first implemented in the late 1600s, there were several instances of well-respected adult members of the community being brought up on charges of underage magic. This--combined with the occasional instance where a mediocre witch or wizard from a nonmagical family would come back to school and suddenly be outshining the scions of several prominent pureblood families--was deemed unacceptable.

"So, twenty seven years after it was implemented, the Trace was deactivated and modified so that it did not differentiate between mature and immature magical signatures. In the four months that the Trace was down, a census taken of all established magical households, as well as a census of all students at Hogwarts born of nonmagical parents. The ability to differentiate accidental magic from intentional magic was an afterthought, added at the last minute.

"When the Trace was reactivated, it merely pinpointed magic use and the location of a magical signature. The information was then fed into a magically updating book noting the spell or effect produced and the precise coordinates. Those were then cross-referenced with the census of magical households. If the coordinates were not within a certain radius of a magical household, a second cross reference was made, this time against a list of nonmagical households with at least one child attending Hogwarts or another school of magic. If the source was found on in the second list, it was then referenced against yet another list to see if there were any prior offenses, and action was taken accordingly, depending on what was found in this list. The whole process was streamlined considerably when the Ministry of Magic came to power in 1879. One of the first things they did was design a book that did all of the steps all on its own."

"How do you know all this?" Lucy marveled.

"When I got my Master's Degree in Magical Law I wrote my thesis on methods of detecting underage magic. Magical Britain is one of the most behind-the-times magical cultures in the world. Of course, many nations say that the U.S. magical population is too open. The ICW nearly blew a collective gasket when the Department of Magical Concerns was established by Roosevelt."

"What's a gasket and why would it blow?" Lucy asked.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot for a second that you Brits don't have any regard for nichtmagisch advances," Cynthia apologized. "A gasket is a flexible strip of material that allows metal surfaces to seal against one another. They are used extensively in automobile engines, and when one blows, it is never a good thing."

"Why did the ICW react that way?" asked Lucy, setting aside the confusing metaphor for the moment. "Doesn't the Department of Magical Concerns serve the same purpose as the Ministry of Magic?"

"The British Ministry is an independent agency that is known only to the British Prime Minister and the Royal Family. The USDMC is under the direct control of the President, and the Secretary of Magical Concerns sits on the Cabinet. Just like any other member of the Cabinet, the Secretary of Magical Concerns requires Senate approval. Those factors combined increase the chance of the world at large discovering the existence of magic--and all that use it--by several orders of magnitude."

"So why did they do it?" Lucy asked. "Why did they create a process that could lead to the Mug--I mean, ni--nonmagical people finding out about us?"

"First, they didn't create the process. The process of appointing cabinet members was already there. They only added another position to fill," Cynthia began. "Second, it was Roosevelt--not the wizards of the day--that created this position. It was a move to consolidate power near the end of the World War Two. He dissolved the Council of Continental Magical Concerns--the longest reigning Wizarding government at the time--and replaced it with the USDMC," Cynthia glanced at her watch. "My how time flies when your having fun boring someone out their mind. You have an hour to get ready before we need to leave."

She started to leave the room but paused when she reached the door and turned back. "Do you have any normal clothes? As in something that's not robes?"

"No," Lucy replied. Her family had never gone into the Mug--nichtmagisch world. The closest thing she had to mundane clothing was a set of formal robes that vaguely resembled a dress that was in fashion during the reign of Queen Victoria.

"Well, I'll transfigure something for tonight, and before you head back to Hogwarts the two of us will go clothes shopping," Cynthia said, a peculiar glint in her eye. "You look like you could use new everything, from the look of it," she added cryptically, a touch of humor in her voice.

I think I'm going to like it here, Lucy thought as she gathered her things and began to get ready for a night out. She was surprised when she realized she meant it.

At least it'll be closer to Matt when he recovers, she thought, not even noticing the faint spark of emotion the thought triggered.

------

A/N: To start, I feel hatred oncoming about saying that the "Council of Continental Magical Concerns" was, at the time of its dissolution, the longest reigning magical government. The name is meant to imply that it was spawned sometime around, say, August 1776. This would put its inception during the Age of Enlightenment. Consider that the U.S. Constitution was officially ratified in 1791 and, despite a certain recent president and vice president using it as toilet paper, has endured better than most. I do not intend to insinuate the U.S. is better than any other country.

As for FDR making a move to consolidate power, I believe he would have been very capable of making that move. This is the president that wanted to appoint six extra justices to the Supreme Court, we're talking about.

Much of Lucy's internal monologue is in response to a couple of reviews I receive complaining about how Matt and Lucy didn't seem all that close. That's because the whole soul bond thing WAS A FLUKE. They've barely known each other for three and a half months. Being soul mates does not automatically mean love.

I dunno. Maybe I'm just being cynical.

Bonus, behind the scenes factoid: the phrase Flattus Maximus first entered my consciousness when I looked up the band GWAR on the Internet. Flattus Maximus is, I believe, the name the character that plays bass in GWAR.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll get back to you. Or maybe I might not. Heck, maybe I'm not even posting this on the Internet in real life, but instead in an intricately crafted fantasy world where I am butt of the joke that is life. *shrugs* Stranger things have been known to happen.