General Issue Disclaimer-y thing: Harry Potter is not mine. I was heartbroken when my lawyer informed me of this, but dem's da breaks. Harry Potter's friends aren't mine, nor are Hogwarts, wands, magic, Diagon Alley, Hogsmead, Tom Marvolo Riddlet—known aliases include Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and I-Have-More-Hyphens-In-My-Name-Than-The-Bloody-Boy-Who-Will-Not-Die...

Author pauses to reflect. *Sigh*, I don't own anything recognizable from the books. I do own those things not in the books that are not to property of other persons, real, dead, or imagined, but I stand to make no profits on them. If I did stand to make a profit do you really think you would be reading them here?

The Cards have been dealt again, and new player sits at the table, but the game remains the same.

Incipit Liber Primus

Chapter 1: At the Zoo

Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo
-Paul Simon

Bob cracked an eye open and looked around. He'd just eaten the week before, a nice young buck rabbit, feisty, but tender, and if he no longer felt swollen from the meal he didn't feel hungry either. His yard, or so he thought of it, was all in its proper place. The plants were green, the branches sturdy, the stone floor was clean. He opened his other eye and checked his pool which was fed by a small trickling waterfall and drained by a little black device that tugged pleasingly on the scales when he chose to bathe. Yard check complete he shifted his bulk slightly so that the Great Light in his yard would warm a patch of scale that had been blocked a moment earlier. The back of his neck tickled slightly, but that was to be expected since he was about due for a shed.

He closed his eyes once more and went back to basking, ignoring the movement of the furless, pink-skinned, ape-like things outside in their oddly-colored coverings. Bob—all the exciting animals have names that are picked from write-in contests or chosen by Zoo directors because they are exciting or exotic; but no one cares about reptiles and amphibians except their caretakers who are an unimaginative lot, and 'Bob' is only one letter that is once removed from 'Boa', which explains why there are more boa constrictors named Bob in all the zoos of the world than there are lions named for Disney movie characters and tigers named for Rudyard Kipling characters and elephants named Dumbo (especially elephants named Dumbo) in those same zoos—wasn't certain the purpose of those coverings because there were a couple of Residents (which was how he thought of the Zoo's permanent collection of furless, pink-skinned, ape-like things as opposed to the migratory furless, pink-skinned, ape-like things) who never seemed to be able to keep them on once the migratory flocks had left.

Thud, Thud, Thud.

Bob sighed a snake-like sigh. The migrants weren't supposed to pound on his window, but that never seemed to stop them. Honestly, what did he ever do to them? Did he go pound on their windows when they were trying to nap? No. So why did they have to pound on his? He contemplated moving, but there weren't really enough plants to hide him and he didn't feel like climbing up to his branch, besides which, neither was as nice and warm as his rock and if he did move it'd likely only encourage the sschysss—it was the closest he could approximate of a word that the newest Resident of the reptile house had taught him; Bob wasn't certain what it meant, but it seemed to have something to do with excrement and in any case was much easier for him to pronounce than the other sound the Residents used to for excrement (though he did note that the Residents also seemed to use it for things other than excrement). Why someone would go to the bother of coming up with sounds to convey the meaning of excrement was beyond him (Bob was clever for a snake, but not particularly curious, and in any case cleverness only goes so far in snakes), but he was happy to admit that it had some uses.

THUD, THUD, THUD.

The boa constrictor tucked its head under a coil. 'Go away idiot man-child or I shall have Karait visit you one night' Bob hissed darkly. He wouldn't of course, Karait—the common krait was given a name by Kipling and is thus one of the exceptions to the dull names given by the reptile Residents—was as secure inside his home as Bob was in his. Besides, it was unlikely the migratory human—he had to think the sound since it wasn't one anything like he was capable of producing—understood what he was saying.

Idiot migrant-human suitably threatened, Bob turned to one of his favorite pastimes, dreaming of Brazil. He had never actually been to Brazil, he was what the Residents called 'Captive Bred' which meant, as near as he could tell, that he'd been born in London instead of Brazil. What Bob did have were tales hissed to him by his mother when he was still in the egg. She had been 'captive bred' as well, but one of the Residents that had cared for her had been fond of listening to other humans (not migrants, but not residents either) talk about far-off places, and when he wasn't listening to people talk about them he was reading about them, frequently out loud. It was through the stories this Resident had told his mother that Bob had learned about Sahara (delightfully hot if unpleasantly dry), India (a fun place to visit), Antarctica (proof that Hell exists, to a snake's way of thinking), and Brazil.

Hot, tropical Brazil. Where there were places to hide, a thousand and one new mammals and birds to sample, sunlight in abundance, things to rub against to sooth the maddening itch of shedding scales. And above all, no furless, pink-skinned, ape-like things pounding on the side of his home.

Heaven.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Bob was startled out of sunny skies and humid air of Brazil and found himself back on his rock. Most of the sshysssiss (which was how he did a plural) contented themselves with rapping lightly, but repeatedly. Very few actually reached the 'wham' stage. He could hear the sshysss complaining about something, but its complaints were growing quieter which meant the migratory-sshysss was finally moving on.

He poked his head up and opened an eye. A migratory human was standing a respectful distance from his window, not slamming on it, not even leaning and leaving paw-prints on it. It was wearing some type of device on its face (a sizeable number of the migratory furless, pink-skinned, ape-like humans did), and its strange coverings were less colorful than most wore and hung oddly.

After a while without the human saying or doing anything, Bob decided to try something new. He would try interacting with one of the migratory humans. He suspected it wasn't very smart, else it would be one of the Residents who seemed frightfully intelligent and could converse at length about places like Africa (of which the Sahara seemed to be part of, but included places that sounded almost as nice as Brazil) and others that he'd never heard of. Once the decision to interact with it had been made he was faced with a problem. How did one interact with a migratory human? The Residents seemed able to understand Bob and the other inhabitants somewhat, though none of the other snakes, or even the lizards, could report a Resident carrying on a meaningful conversation.

Giving a snake-like shrug (which involves more head and less shoulder) he turned to the migratory furless, pink-skinned, ape-like thing and winked.

It quite clearly started, sort of like the look the rabbit gave him in the moment between him dropping from the branch above it and the strike. Progress was clearly being made. Perhaps there was hope for these migratory humans after all. Bob looked at where the short fat human was waddling away with the tall fat human, looked back at the human standing in front of his yard, and then, in a decidedly over-the-top gesture, rolled his eyes before saying: 'I get that all the time.'

'I know,' the human said in a voice that was so quiet that Bob was scare sure that he had heard the human speak, which was when he did it again. 'It must be really annoying.'

Bob nodded in ecstatic agreement. He'd made contact with a migrant, and not just any migrant, one capable of actually conversing. Oh, the words weren't quite right, they were odd, stilted, with sibilants in odd places. Tex was sort of like that, he was a diamond-back rattlesnake from across the pond who disdained being called a yank—he tended to drawl his sibilants and had an accent that might as well be its own language. Only what this human used was rigid, rather than a relaxed drawl.

'Where do you come from, anyway?' the human asked.

Bob flicked his tail at the sign that the migratory humans liked to read aloud.

'Boa Constrictor, lat. Boa Constrictor, Brazil,' the human read aloud. "Brazil," it made the sound humans used because they couldn't properly hiss Brazil. 'Was it nice there?'

Bob flipped his tail at the sign again.

'Oh, I see—so you've never been to Brazil?'

Bob shook his head and was about to say more when the skinny migratory human that looked sort of like a rat he'd eaten a couple of months before, started shouting. The short fat one waddled over and attacked the human he'd been talking to.

A moment later his entire window vanished. He'd seen them replaced before, and once one of the semi-residential humans that did work on the yard of the migratory humans, had accidentally broken the window of Tom', Dick', and Harry's (the chameleons) yard. But to simply vanish, one moment there and gone the next?

Bob gathered his coils together. He didn't know how or why (didn't really care for that matter) the glass had vanished. Only that it had. With no window he was free to explore the world for himself. Maybe not the Sahara and definitely not Antarctica, but there was still India and above all, Brazil.

Brazil. Home first, vacation later.

He darted between the two migratory humans with all the speed of a killing strike. He was well-rested, full of energy from his rock and the rabbit he'd had the week before, and wasn't weighed down by the digesting mass like he had been in the middle of the week.

'Brazil, here I come,' he called as he flowed out of his yard. It was dark and cool inside of the human's yard, but he quickly realized that their yard was actually a hide and that the yard itself was right through those open things at the far end of the room.

Harry Potter could only watch as the boa constrictor snapped playfully at Dudley's heels, and then went slithering towards the doors of the Reptile House. As it passed him it turned to him, and Harry distinctly heard it hiss: 'Thankss, amigo.'

Harry barely managed to stutter "you're welcome," before a hand fixed itself around his upper arm and pulled him to one side of the crowd that was forming as people pressed out of the way of the escaping constrictor. He had had a number of hands grab his arms since he had come to live at the Dursley's, from his Uncle Vernon's ham-like paws to his Aunt Petunia's thin, cold, spidery, fingers. This hand was different, smallish yet firm without being painful.

"What are you crazy?" a distinctly female voice hissed at in his ear. "You can't do that in plain sight! Are you trying to bring trouble down on yourself?"

\|/\|/\|/

In Scotland, perched on a cliff above a lake with broad sweeping grounds that abutted a grim and ancient forest all of which were hemmed by craggy mountains, was a castle. This was no ordinary castle, but a magical castle. Inside the highest room of the third tallest tower (the Astronomy Tower and the Headmaster's Tower being the first and second tallest respectively, though there were persistent rumors that one of the towers that had no entrances was perhaps taller than either and perhaps even taller than both) was the personal scrying room of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy's Divination Professor, one Sybill Trelawney.

On this particular day Sybill had her size 6 crystal ball in its silver holder placed at the center of her circular work table, which was itself placed in the center of her work room. Covering the table was a black silk cloth that was heavily embroidered with mystic runes and symbols. At a spot on the table where her left hand naturally came to rest was a tidy little stack of cards.

Sybill took up the cards. They weren't her favorite deck, nor the first deck she had received as a gift, or the first one she had bought, or the color-by-astrology-rune deck she had picked up years ago and had worked on-and-off on for the past fifteen years. It wasn't the deck of her great-great-grandmother which had been passed down to her, or the deck she used for her greatest foretellings, or the deck she used when discovering what ill fates awaited her students, or the deck she took with her on her rare forays to the Great Hall that were charmed to be easily washed and to resist food stains. It was, in fact, a brand new deck of cards. A deck of cards that had been, purportedly, heavily enchanted, enchanted to the point where they could practically predict the future on their own. She shuffled them once, cut twice, and then placed them on the spot she had taken them from.

Immediately the stack slid over so that each card had a portion of its back exposed as they lay in a straight line before her. After a moment a single card pushed its way out of the others. With a shaking hand she picked up the card and turned it over.

"The High Priestess, secret or arcane knowledge," she murmured, then replaced the card, swept up the deck, shuffled twice and cut once. This time, instead of replacing the deck, she swept the cards out into a single line as they had fallen before. As one they flipped over, revealing themselves, and then they began to move.

First one, then another, and then another, until with an increasing frenzy cards were sliding up or down, displaying figures right-side-up or inverted.

"Stop!" Sybill shrieked. The cards froze, then all returned to their tidy little line. She took a breath, half released it, and then breathed a word into the room. "Who."

The Fool and Death cards of the Major Arcana slid up, and then the King of Wands slid down, inverting itself.

"The Fool begins his quest, Death, change, he will grow," Sybill muttered to herself. "King of Wands inverted—the Dark Lord," she gasped. The King of Wands and the Fool both retracted, but Death stayed exposed until she voiced, "When."

Two cards slid out instantly as Death retracted, Wheel of Fortune and the Seventh of Cups.

"Seventh Cups," Sybill muttered, "confusion, unable to decide or make a choice. Future?"

Both cards slid down, replaced by the High Priestess.

"The guardian of knowledge again?" she asked in confusion. "What is going on?"

Death grinned back at her.

"A change? A change in what?"

The Wheel of Fortune emerged again.

Sybill glared at her cards as though they had betrayed her. "You want me, Sybill Trelawney, Divination Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to guess?" The card inverted itself. "No? What is the answer you all-encompassing piece of…" she stopped as the card slid back into place. "All-encompassing," she mused. "Everything has changed."

High Priestess, inverted.

"Knowledge that is guarded, that is being kep—no," she caught herself. "The future has changed." Sybill's eyes blazed behind her thick glasses. "Someone has disrupted the flows of Time itself!" she shrieked upstarting, her chair falling back behind her as she stood. "How am I to know what will happen tomorrow?" she demanded the empty room as she strode around it in a blind panic. "My students will be expecting—Worse, Minerva will be insufferable. How could this have happened? Who could have even done it? Certainly not some Ministry hack with a time-turner."

She turned back to glare balefully at her cards, but stopped when she saw that six had pushed themselves free. No, seven. The four queens, Death again, and curiously stuck together were the Magician and the Fool inverted.

Sybill contemplated that arrangement for a moment, then went and fixed her tea things, adding a particularly strong medicinal belt to her teacup. She considered the teacup for a moment, then added another belt and then another, and then… Deciding that would do for a start she added a little tea to the cup and contemplated the cards before her.

"Four women plus whoever the Fool—and so very aptly named that one—is, changed the timeline. They did it so totally that I can't tell who is going to die tomorrow," she said with a calm that comes with four medicinal belts. "For all I know tomorrow doesn't exist, and I can't say I want to know how they managed to do that. So instead please tell me why they thought this was a good idea."

Chariot inverted, Justice inverted, Tower, Fifth of Pentacles, Seven of Wands, World inverted.

"The Chariot could be any number of things," Sybill muttered. "Justice, a world out of balance. Tower, sudden knowledge a sudden change not for the better. Fifth of Pentacles, a low point, ill luck. Seven of Wands…the siege card?" She frowned. "A losing battle, one that put the entire world at risk?"

She paled abruptly. "No, not a battle, a war."

She finished her tea and reached for the sherry bottle. Some tea found its way into the cup next. "What nonsense," she muttered. "No war could go so badly that it'd make sense to nearly destroy everything. In fact, it did destroy everything just not yet."

The Ten of Swords peeked out at her which caused her to abruptly stop muttering. "So it's not as bad as I thought, it was worse."

Sybill snorted into her sherry. "What nonsense," she repeated. "Show me the Dursleys."

The inverted Empress, expected though not particularly welcome, would be the Aunt. She had never met the muggle sister of Lily Potter, had only ever met Lily once, actually, and her husband not at all, but Minerva's descriptions of the family the one day she had spent observing them were more than sufficient to explain the card, just like the Page of Wands (inverted) was her boy and the husband was reflected by alternating inverted Kings of Cups and Pentacles—this time the former. They really were a rather unfortunate lot, only rarely had she seen such grim cards. But there was no sign of Harry.

Sybill leaned forward in her chair. Seldom had she ever seen Harry absent from the Dursleys, and on those days the Dursleys often had much happier cards surrounding them which wasn't the case today. "Harry Potter."

The cards seemed to shake, stirred by an unseen wind, and then the Magician slowly pushed its way free.

Sybill dropped back in her chair. In all of her readings one Harry Potter had always been the hardest to pin a signifier on. It wasn't uncommon for a person to have several cards they closely aligned with. The elder Dursley, for example, appeared as two different kings and even the devil—which suggested excessive self-indulgence on his part-more than merely occasionally. Of course, having multiple signifiers, and especially more than two or three, was something more commonly seen among the very young. Most children were relatively unformed so some instability was to be expected. The Dursley boy was rather the exception to the rule in that regard.

But Harry didn't stop at three or four. He cycled through all of the Pages as well as the Fool from the high arcane with depressing frequency. In the last three years, instead of slowly stabilizing, the problem had grown worse as cards like the Hermit and the Hanged Man had been showing up in her readings, often with the High Priestess inexplicably appearing nearby.

The Magician, though, was a card she had never seen representing him. And as the High Priestess emerged once more from the line of cards, it was followed by Death.

She frowned, that card had been showing itself far too often for her taste. A little change was all well and good, but it made her job so much harder to do. On the other hand, the High Priestess confirmed the Magician which meant Harry Potter finally knew about magic.

Probably.

"Show me what has caused things to change."

All the cards retreated except for Death.

Sybill Trelawney swept up the other cards and placed them in a tidy little stack, then picked up the last card.

Nothing.

Sighing, she stood up, but as she did so one finger brushed against the crystal ball and her world convulsed.

/|\/|\/|\

She found herself standing on a platform guarded by wrought iron railings overlooking the unmistakable city of Paris. But this wasn't the modern Paris she knew, nor was it the city of her youth. This Paris was a fire-blasted shell of its former glory. Fires burned with the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh. Buildings were reduced to rubble through which people moved. Some of them were digging out other people, others searched the ruins for clothing and food and other things needed for survival. While this was going on there were more people fighting. Some of them were wizards—the flash of spell-fire unmistakable—while others wielded clumsy-looking muggle weapons, against which there were other wizards and things that shouldn't exist in the darkest of nightmares.

"You shouldn't be here."

The world stilled. Spells hung in the air below where she stood like colorful faerie lights. There was no sound, it, like the spells and the people below, had fallen still. Sybill turned to find a young woman, scarcely more than a teen, staring at her. Her skin was pale and sunken, her raven hair was limp and stringy. Her robes were little more than spun shadows that billowed around her so that the only part of her that seemed real was her face.

It took Sybill a moment to realize that the woman wasn't looking at her, wasn't addressing her, but was, in fact, looking at someone behind her. She started to look behind her, but Paris spun about her and was gone before she finished turning. She found herself sitting down to a pleasant-looking lunch at some kind of open-air restaurant that was perched on top of a building.

The sun was high overhead, and instead of the chill of Hogwarts she was immersed in a bone-deep warmth that seemed to penetrate to the core of her being. The sky was like crystal, marred only by fluffy white clouds. Below where she sat there was a beach, and beyond that an invitingly blue ocean. And somewhere there was music playing so softly that she was only barely able to make out the words.

Death comes in a blinding flash

Of hellish heat and leaves a smear of ash

The world twisted again, and when she was able to blink her eyes she found herself standing in muggle London. She wasn't sure where, it was a large paved plaza with a column in the center that ended in a jagged spike where it had been snapped off ten or twelve yards above the ground, while two nearby fountains (one looked mostly intact while the other was a shattered ruin) were both bone dry.

When nothing happened Sybill took a hesitant step. The world rippled. Weeds and grass burst from between the paving stones. The shattered fountain began to gush forth blood. Everywhere she looked there were bodies, not whole bodies, but the skeletons that were all that was left after soft tissue had decomposed. Some still had scraps of cloth or leather, all that remained of their clothes. Most of the skeletons weren't even whole, bones were scattered everywhere. Tiny slivers of brittle bone crunched under her feat.

People hadn't just died in the square, they had been ripped apart into very tiny pieces, and some of the bones looked like they had been gnawed on. The sky above her was dark with clouds that roiled and boiled, and lightning flashed angrily but there was no rain.

"What happened here?" she asked, caught in the vision and wondering just which question this was trying to answer.

The world shifted again. The same square, but the column was whole with some man in a muggle uniform perched on top, and the fountains flung water into the air. Everywhere people hurried. They wore dark clothing and didn't look at each other, reminding Sybil of the dark years when Voldemort lurked unchecked and terrible. It took her a moment to realize that they weren't passing through the square, but they were leaving it. Many up the steps of a large stone building on one side of the square, but others were hurrying down streets or into passages that lead somewhere underground.

"Do you remember Paris?"

Sybil turned. Standing in the midst of the panicked muggles were two figures who weren't moving. One was the woman she had seen on the Eiffel Tower. Her robes still swirled, but they were real, not conjured shadows, and she clasped a metal-shod staff capped with a gem that was larger than Sybill's fist. The man standing next to the woman was about the same age though it was hard to be certain. He wore war robes, had long, messy hair that was gathered into a tail by a piece of leather at the nape of his neck, and like his companion carried a staff, though unlike her he also wore a sword belted at his side.

"Of course I remember Paris," the woman said. She gave the man a look, "Why?"

The man smiled and eyes the color of the killing curse blazed behind a fringe of raven-colored hair.

"Harry James Potter," a wizard said, striding out of the crowd of panicked muggles. It had to be a wizard from the cut of the robes, but the voice that spoke was unnaturally high and a deep hood masked his face.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry said. He raised his staff and spoke a Word.

Sybill felt like someone was ripping out an intangible part of herself. For a brief moment ilence reigned supreme, unmarred by running feet or throats open in unheard screams. The world shuddered, and then a hole was ripped through, well, everything. One of the fountains was ruined and water turned to blood as it gushed past the hole in reality. A nothingness loomed through the hole, not a black void, not a white light, just…nothing. Then a great eye pressed itself against the hole, it was dozen of feet across and burned with reds and yellows and colors the human eye wasn't capable of seeing but that the mind interpreted of stark raving horror.

Things pushed through the void. Roughly human-sized but bent and misshapen with a multitude of crustacean and insect-like limbs that had joints that swiveled instead of hinged, and double-jaws that hung from skull-like heads with dozens of eyes.

They tore through the living humans like a great white shark through chum, but they didn't cross into this world alone. There were tall, spindly things that coughed and spat acid. Hulking monstrosities that were taller than a double-decker bus and was covered in massive slabs of armor that reductor curses barely pitted. Long, centipede-like things with snake-like bodies, lobster-like claws, and a wide, jawless maws that were filled with hundreds of teeth.

Anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards snapped into place, and suddenly Lord Voldemort was trapped in the plaza with the creatures. And as Sybill watched, reality at the edge of the rift started to warp and buckle as it was sucked in. Monsters loosed into the world attacked indiscriminately. Muggle and wizard, vampire and werewolf, troll and giant. All were fair prize

Once more the world warped and once more Sybill found herself on the Eiffel Tower with the strange woman.

"I had to come."

Sybill turned to find once more the older version of Harry Potter standing behind her. He walked towards the woman, passing through the Divination Professor as though she didn't exist until he stood next to the woman and stared down at Paris.

"Did—"

"I got out what I could," Harry said in a dead-sounding voice as he watched the horror unfold below him. "Why?" he asked softly. "He won this time, why this?"

"Because he—" the woman said. Time jumped and her voice continued, "—spare them there is one last thing we can do for them."

"And what's that?" Harry asked bitterly. "Kill them first?"

"No, better," the woman smiled cruelly. "We can use them as bait." She began to explain.

As she spoke the scene shifted again, Paris was still in ruins with greater damage than before though the fires had mostly died out. Voldemort's minions, his army of trolls and giants, vampires and werewolves, the wizards and witches he could bribe, threaten, or seduce into his service squatted on the ruins of the once-gallant city. But in what were once the outskirts of the city, built centuries before to prevent what had happened with Cimetière des Saints-Innocents from happening again, were four great cemeteries, and in each of them bare earth began to tremble as gates of mausoleums creaked open and cover-stones shifted. Nor were these four alone affected. There were more than a dozen large cemeteries in Paris, including Les Invalides, the military cemetery, memorial, and museum. As the dark fell, silent figures once more fell into grim and ancient rank and files.

Beneath the streets, in a segment of the quarry that spanned less than two kilometers, disjointed skeletons began to reassemble themselves. They didn't take to the streets right away, but instead broke into the sections of the quarry that remained officially off-limits. Muggles that had fled into the ancient quarries to escape the terrors above, shrank away in fright, or took off running if there was space to do so, but the dead paid them no heed.

It was an army of the dead, but they weren't the sentient or semi-sentient dead. They didn't care about the living, but they didn't not care either. They were totally and utterly indifferent to anything except their orders, and while they didn't care any more about their orders anymore than they cared about the mundanes in the catacombs, they would complete them.

Sybill gasped as the dead rose and tore into the living. A giant's foot could destroy a dozen skeletons, a wizard with the proper fire spell could incinerate a hundred or more. When the Cimetière des Saints-Innocents had been excavated it was estimated that more than 6 million skeletons had been exhumed and moved into the catacomb, and it hadn't been the only cemetery whose contents had been moved. She could only watch in horror as Paris, the City of Lights, was inundated by a tidal wave of the dead.

"I don't understand," Sybill whispered as the world twisted around her one more and she found herself back at the roof-top restaurant. The woman, still wearing her robes of spun shadow but with her hair clean, sat across from her. Next to the woman was the wizard. Before each was a sword in a scabbard. The wizard, a cruciform sword with a gilded hilt set with rubies, the largest, larger than a hen's egg, was set in the pommel. The witch's was also a cruciform blade, but the guard was made from twisted iron thorns of black metal. The only color coming from a glowing dark-blue gem set at the center of the guard.

"Is this the future, or only a possible future?" Sybil heard her voice ask without the slightest regard for what she wanted to ask.

Wind teased the edge of the table cloth, causing it to dance. It caught the wizard's hair, and as it rippled she saw the painfully red, lightning-bolt shaped scar on the wizard's forehead, and his piercing green eyes.

"Harry Potter," she whispered.

A light like a light-charm cast by Merlin and magnified a thousand-fold stabbed into her eyes a moment before a blast of hellish heat slammed into her. She shrieked as her eyes boiled inside their sockets, bursting and running down her face and leaving behind the after-image of Death grinning at her from a Tarot card, and still music gently played in the background.

Now the sun has disappeared
All is darkness, anger, pain and fear

/|\/|\/|\

Albus Dumbledore watched as his enchanted quill signed his name with the expected flourish. Despite the fact that the quill was entirely propelled by magic his hand was twisted and cramped from the hours he'd already spent at his desk doing parchment work. Not for the first time he regretted ever agreeing to replace Armando Dippet. That was not to say that he didn't find his job rewarding. Of all of the posts he held Headmaster of Hogwarts was the one he cherished most. But if there was on regret that had come with the post is that there was far too much paperwork and far too little interaction with the students.

With a heavy sigh he folded the sheaf of parchment, slid it into the waiting envelope, and then reached for the stick of purple sealing wax. But barely had the wax been held over the flame of a candle than one of his many magical instruments began tooting like a hot tea kettle. Intrigued, he set aside the wax and stood, moving around his large desk to where the shelves of magical devices stood.

He checked the devices that monitored the blood wards on Number 4 Privet Drive and the tracking charms on Harry Potter first. All were normal. It was the magic detector that was monitoring Harry that had gone off first. He tapped it with his wand, and the result made him arch one eyebrow and rub his beard with a hand. So young Harry had encountered another wizard or a witch, a young one. The instruments that monitored the Ministry's Trace monitors remains silent so whoever had done the magic, had not yet received the year-end warning. Likely a muggleborn then, that had just produced his or her first accidental magic.

A double tap of his wand and a murmured incantation produced several tiny puffs of grey smoke. Yes, that was the likeliest explanation. A young mage that clearly wasn't of age yet and whose signature wasn't recorded in the Book in which the names (and magic signatures) of all Hogwarts students were inscribed. There was a slight possibility that Harry had produced the magic, but unlikely. Harry was nearly eleven. By now he should have the rudimentary grasp on his abilities that most wizards and witches were capable of before starting Hogwarts. His Aunt would have explained how he needed to keep his magic secret, possibly the other contents of the letter he had left her as well. That Harry would actually meet someone magical before he started Hogwarts was unplanned, but hardly unexpected. In fact this wasn't the first time that a combination of devices had alerted him—though it was this particular combination's first time-but in all of those cases the wizard of witch was known to him. Diggle had been the worst of the lot, no less than three warnings for him.

Still, a friend who shared the mysterious abilities known as 'magic' would probably do Harry well. That had always been the downside of placing Harry with the Dursleys. More than one muggleborn student had had numerous problems after being so radically separated from pre-Hogwarts friends, and one or two had displayed a remarked reluctance of ever forming any social connections to the rest of the student body afterwards.

Still, the location was the middle of the London Zoo. Most accidental magic that occurred in later years was due to stress such as some form of danger or perceived danger. Not that that was the case here, of course, if Harry had been in any danger at all no less than four different alarms would have sounded to alert him to that fact. But it begged the question of what, exactly, the burst of accidental magic had done.

Worry assuaged, Albus Dumbledore turned away from the magical instruments and started to return to his desk when the wards trembled around Hogwarts, and then an alert began hammering inside his head. It wasn't an attack alarm, but one that signaled a very serious magical accident in the highest room of the North Tower.

He turned to his right as Fawkes awoke with an irritated squawk, but still flung himself from his perch. Albus caught the phoenix's tail as it swept past, and then both disappeared in a flash of flame.

\|/\|/\|/

Ronan looked up abruptly and stared at the sky as Hagrid talked about one of the students that had recently visited his cabin, and his own meeting with Harry Potter outside of Gringotts. The centaur tuned out his friend—as much as any two-legs could be considered a friend—as he rapidly searched the day-lit sky. It was harder, the sun was so bright it washed out detail, the stars viewed in daylight were always so much less precise than those at night. Despite that he looked with all the ability his species was renown for, and all he found distressed him. Nothing was in its proper place. Something had changed. Something profound that upset the paths and motions of the intricate Dance of the Sphere.

No mere wizard or witch would see it, he knew. Muggles, with their sensitive telescopes so many more times powerful than the greatest instrument of glass and brass that the wizards could develop, and devices capable of seeing so much more than mere light, might be able to detect the changes. No doubt they would pass off the changes as a mistake, as so many of their kind did, and even if they did not it they were too rational. They could see the Truth—or at least that was the way the centaurs saw it—but their rational minds weren't capable of reading it. The wizards produced some people capable of Reading the stars, but they cloaked it with so much claptrap that when they did get the right reading it was invariably for the wrong reasons, and ability or no they didn't have their muggle counterparts' sensitive instruments or the Centaurs' own innate ability to keep track of all the heavenly bodies.

Now he Looked to the skies, and deep in the double human and equine hearts of his complex circulatory system, Ronan was afraid.

\|/\|/\|/

Harry frowned as he looked at the person addressing him. A girl perhaps a year or two older than him glared down at him. Eyes the color of bright, primary-colored blue, shone out from black locks and pale skin; an old shirt advertising a Black Sabbath concert was mostly hidden by a fraying denim jacket, and equally frayed jeans were tucked into battered black boots. "Who are you?" he asked finally. "What are you talking about?"

"That!" she gestured angrily at the snake that was slithering rapidly towards the doors. "Do you think exhibit-glass just disappears on its own? The mundanes certainly won't! You can't just go doing that type of thing without drawing attention to yourself."

"I didn't do anything!" Harry protested, pulling away from the strange girl who had grabbed him. Or that was his plan. He didn't accomplish much.

"Of course you didn't," she snorted. "Listen here, little wizard, you can't just go throwing magic around in the mundane world without visiting a whole lot of trouble on a lot of people even if the stupid Ministry doesn't get involved."

"Magic? The Ministry? What are you talking about?" Harry asked as she dragged him into a dark corner of the reptile and amphibian house. "Let me go!"

"What am I—" She shook her head. "A newbie, great. First, call me Allie." She grimaced. "Better than my real name anyway. Who are you?"

"Harry, Harry Potter," Harry said.

"Are you?" she asked, tilting her head to one side as her demeanor shifted from concerned to curious. "Are you really?"

"No, I'm Prince Harry, who else would I be?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No need to be rude," she huffed, her other hand snaking forward to lift up the fringe of his hair.

"Hey!" Harry protested, jerking his head back. "Nothing to see, just a stupid scar, okay?"

"You're Harry Potter, and you came with them?" she nodded towards the Dursleys where Vernon was yelling and Dudley was squealing.

"Unfortunately," Harry muttered. "My aunt, uncle, and cousin—the skinny one is his friend, Piers Polkiss."

"Delightful," she said dryly and glanced at her watch before scanning the reptile house again. "Why are you with them of all people…and why are you dressed like that?"

Harry frowned, "It's not like I have much of a choice now, is it?" he shot back. It wasn't his fault that Aunt Petunia always made him wear Dudley's too-large cast-offs.

"There is always a choice, Harry," she said, giving him an odd look. "It's just a matter of recognizing them."

"So what, I could go with you?" Harry asked sarcastically.

She gave him a considering look before shrugging, "If you wanted."

"And your parents won't mind?" Harry snorted.

"My Mum's dead," she said bluntly. "Father-dearest is in prison—long may he rot there."

"Oh," Harry said. "I'm sorry, my—"

"Don't be sorry, nothing you could have done about it," she cut him off with a shake of her head. "And I know about your parents."

"You do?" Harry asked. "How?"

"Long story, and not one that we have time for right now." She looked at the Dursleys again. "I just know I'm going to end up regretting this," she said. "We don't have much time, yes or no?"

"Yes or no, what?" Harry asked.

"Are you coming with me or not?" she asked impatiently.

"Oh," Harry glanced at the Dursleys. "With you," he decided.

"Good, let's motor," she said, moving her grip to his hand and pulling him through the crowd. "The first thing we have to do is get out of here, then we have to get you cleaned and—"

"I had a shower last night," Harry protested.

"Not that kind of clean," she said as they exited the reptile house. She glanced around, then took off down the walk. "Walk quickly but don't run; act like you know what you're doing and where you're going."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry muttered, "or where I'm going."

"Right now you're walking with your sister towards the front entrance where we're going to meet up with our parents," she whispered urgently after glancing around at the others walking by. "Keep that idea in your head and act like it!"

Harry nodded carefully. Clearly the girl was half-mad. He thought for a moment before deciding that half-mad was preferable to the Dursleys.

Apparently she had figured out what he was thinking because she gave an irritated little sigh. "I am not mad. Well, at least not all mad. People notice if you look lost or uncertain. If you know what you're doing, they're less likely notice you."

"What if you don't know what you're doing?" Harry asked.

"It doesn't matter, just so long as you don't let it show." She nodded towards a sign pointing giving directions to various parts of the zoo. "If you stop and look at it, someone will stop and ask if you're lost or need help. But a glance will tell us that the entrance is this way," she waved ahead of them, "and will also let those around us know, or at least think, that we know where we're going."

"And where is that?" Harry asked.

"My flat, for tonight at least," Allie said. "It's not much, but it's a roof, and it's warm," she said. "More importantly, we can talk there. Before we go there, however, we have to—"

"Get me clean first," Harry said.

Allie nodded.

"Why?" he asked, stopping abruptly. "If you're one of those weirdos who—"

"I'd hardly admit it, now would I?" she asked, cutting him off.

Harry hesitated. "I, er…"

She grinned broadly.

Harry flushed, as she chuckled, and then realized she wasn't laughing at him. Not the cruel laugh Dudley used when hunting him, at least, but a light, amused sound at his reaction to her. After a moment he let out a careful chuckle, and when she didn't react except to laugh harder he joined in.

Allie dragged him out of the way of the people that were walking around them. They collapse in the grass next to a building.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm Allie. I'm sort of notorious, you see," she said conspiratorially. "It's nice to be with just someone who knows me as Allie. I'm sure you understand."

"Um, no, actually," Harry said.

Allie looked at him puzzled. "I'd have thought with all the attention you get you'd be happy to be just Harry."

"Attention I get?" Harry asked. "From the Dursleys?"

"Not them," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Do you mean to say they didn't tell you anything?"

"Why should they?" Harry asked. "They have their precious Dinky Duddydums. Why would they waste their attention on me?" Allie stared at him for long seconds until he flinched and looked away. "Sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to upset you, maybe I should go back—"

"No," Allie said firmly. She reached over and grabbed his hand with her own. "You didn't upset me, Harry."

"But you—"

"Let me finish, please?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

"You didn't upset me, Harry, you surprised me," she said.

"Surprised you," he repeated flatly. "How is their ignoring me, when I'm lucky, surprising? You saw what they were like!"

"You'd be surprised," she said with a wane smile. She glanced around, "Do you think they'll notify security about you being missing?"

"They probably won't notice until Uncle Vernon wants to yell at me for something," Harry said. "And after that snake…"

"Yeah," she agreed.

He stood, "So…main entrance?"

She nodded and they resumed walking towards the entrance. "I, er, hope you don't think I'm rude, but…" he hesitated.

"Go ahead and ask, Harry," she said.

"Okay, but…if your Mum's dead, who do you live with?"

"Myself, mainly," Allie said. "There were some family friends I lived with after she died, but right now I'm in…uh, in a program of individual study…sort of like a really old-fashioned apprenticeship. I suppose that might sound a little weird if you didn't know about…" she shrugged.

"No, actually it sounds brilliant," Harry said. "I'm supposed to go to the local comprehensive this September. Dudley is going to be going to Smeltings."

Allie nodded politely.

"But if I'm going with you…" Harry hesitated.

Allie shook her head, "I'm afraid not."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked.

Allie smiled, "Do you like surprises?"

"Not most of the ones I've gotten, no," Harry said.

"You'll like this one, at least until reality rears its ugly head," Allie said. "Trust me."

"You're sure?" Harry asked.

Allie nodded as they neared the entrance. "Who doesn't want to be a hero?" she asked.

"A hero?"

"Uh-huh."

Harry hesitated, "maybe this isn't such a good idea." He pulled away from her. They were at a point where paths that led to different parts of the zoo met, and he looked at the guide signs.

"What if I can convince you that you're special?" she asked

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Look," she said, fishing a penny out of a pocket. "Normal, right?"

Harry nodded warily.

She made a fist and closed her eyes, her brow furling in concentration. After a moment she opened her eyes again and motioned Harry over to her.

Harry hesitated, but when he finally walked over to her she was offering him a cupped hand. Sitting in it was the penny, only now it was gently glowing. He looked at her for permission, and at her nod he picked it up. It was definitely producing its own light, though it was wan and feeble in the bright afternoon and as he watched it first dimmed...and then went out.

"How?" he asked.

She grinned. "Magic."

"And I can do that?" he asked in a soft, almost reverant, voice.

"That and more," she replied.

Harry nodded slowly. "And you'll show me?"

"A little at least." She gestured towards the entrance of the zoo as he handed the coin back to her. "Here's where it gets tricky. Pick a family that's leaving and follow them closely enough to look like you're with them, but not so close that they start asking questions. I'll go first, watch me, then do the same thing."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because two kids leaving together without an adult are more noticeable than two families leaving, each with an extra kid," she explained before lengthening her stride.

Harry watched as she walked purposely towards the entrance, changing her stride to a stroll as she drew close to a family of five, the mother pushing a stroller ahead of her while her husband adjusted a camera bag. She strode past them through the gate, took five steps, then spun and looked archly at them. Or rather, she looked past them at Harry.

Harry shook his head and continued walking, looking around for a family to follow through. He spotted a family of three and managed to take two steps towards them before he accidentally bumped into someone.

He turned and froze as a tall, thin, woman that for a moment reminded him Petunia, stumbled. He leapt backwards just as it seemed as though she was going to trip over him when her husband caught her.

"Sorry, sorry ma'am," he blurted. "I didn't see you and—"

"Easy, easy," she smiled. "No harm done, young man."

Harry hesitated, then ran to the door and pulled it open for her. "Really," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry, and—"

"It's okay," she laughed. "Where are your parents?"

Harry hesitated. "Dead," he said softly.

She froze, "I'm so sor—"

"It's okay," Harry shrugged. "You didn't know." He glanced at the underground entrance, "I have to go, my Aunt and Uncle—"

She nodded, "Go. I hope you enjoyed the zoo."

"Oh I did, it was lovely, Ma'am," he blurted, then turned and raced for the underground.

"Such a polite young boy…" he heard the woman say to her husband.

"You realize that she'll remember you, don't you?" Allie hissed, grabbing his arm as she led him down the steps into the underground station.

Harry looked at her.

"The more people recognize you the harder it is to disappear," she told him. "If your Aunt and Uncle report you missing, and she hears about it, she might remember you well enough to call it in."

"Oh, sorry."

She shook her head, "You have got to stop apologizing for everything that you don't know."

"I'm sor—"

Allie turned and glared at him and Harry looked down at the ground.

"Hey now," she said, "none of that."

Harry looked up hesitantly, "Sorry?" he asked, and relaxed into a grin of his own when she grinned back at him.

"Ready?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

She led him over to an automated kiosk and bought a pair of tickets, then went to a bank of vending machines for a pair of sodas and candy bars.

"Nobody's ever…" he stopped abruptly as Allie led him towards the platform.

"I refuse to talk on an empty stomach, and we're not going to get a chance to eat for a while," she tossed back at him.

"Until I get clean?" he asked.

"Until we both get clean," she said.

"I don't understand," he said.

"I'm not too worried about the—" she waved her hand around "—mundanes, it's the wizards I'm worried about."

Harry looked at her blankly.

"Look, Harry, there is…" she grimaced in frustration. "Magic exists, okay?"

"Magic," Harry repeated tonelessly. Sure the girl had gotten him a soda, and she seemed nice, and best of all, she'd gotten him away from the Dursleys; but that didn't mean she wasn't crazy, did it? Even if she had said that she wasn't all mad. Maybe it could come and go.

"Did anything strange ever happen to you?" she asked. "Something that you couldn't explain?"

"Besides glass disappearing from a snake exhibit?" Harry asked without thinking.

"Does there need to be something else?" She asked as she led him onto a train. "Sounds pretty strange, doesn't it?"

"I don't know how I did it," Harry said softly.

Allie nodded.

"Strange…and I can't explain it," he repeated. "Once, Dudley and his gang were chasing me and I ended up on top of the school kitchens, though I didn't remember going up any stairs or ladders. And there was this time when Aunt Petunia wasn't happy with my haircut so she took some sheers and nearly made me bald; when I woke up the next day all my hair was back…do those count too?"

She nodded.

"And making a horrible jumper shrink so that I couldn't be made to wear it?"

Another nod.

"And that was…caused by magic?" he ventured.

She nodded again, only this time it was accompanied by a broad smile. "Exactly."

"But how come everyone says magic isn't real then?" Harry asked.

"Because most people don't know that it is," Allie said.

"Why not? I mean, how would you hide it?" Harry demanded.

"Because magic hides itself," Allie said.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "Why would magic hide itself?"

"It doesn't, really," Allie said. "It's the people who use magic who hide it. A couple of hundred years ago a lot of people got scared of magic users and tried to kill them. So the magic users got together and decided to hide. Nowadays magic-folk keep to themselves. Since the mundanes don't interact with magic, it stopped being 'real' to them."

"So only some people know about magic?" Harry asked.

She ran a hand through her long black hair. "Most magic users tend to keep to themselves. They have their own government, their own schools, their own shops…and they have rules about using magic—namely don't—in front of people who don't know. They don't interact much with those who don't use magic."

"And you're a magic user?" Harry asked.

"So are you," Allie pointed. "I've no doubt that you will prove to be a very fine wizard once you've had some training."

"Wow," Harry said. "Am I going to have to get an apprenticeship like you, or am I going to be able to go to magic school?"

Allie paused and an expression that Harry couldn't identify, but didn't look happy, passed across her face. It was gone in an eye-blink, but when she spoke it was in a painfully neutral voice. "I don't see why you couldn't go to Hogwarts, that's the name of the most prominent school in the UK."

"That'll be so neat. I can't wait to show Dud—" he stopped abruptly. "If people who can do magic don't mingle with those who can't…"

"It's not that they don't, it's just that most don't want to," Allie said. "And there are people born into non-magical families who have the gift, it isn't confined only to magical families."

"But if I can do magic, why can't the Dursleys?" Harry asked. "In fact, why do they say magic doesn't even exist?"

Allie shrugged, "I don't know why they told you that magic doesn't exist, Harry. It could be they don't even know that it exists, or it could be that they're just narrow-minded…but I don't think so, at least about the first part."

"Maybe I'm one of those people born into normal families and they don't know?"

Allie didn't say anything for a while, but when she did she left behind the subject of the Dursleys. "So, there is the non-magical world, and then there is the magical world. There are also a fair number of people who don't really belong to either. Most of them aren't exactly welcome in the magical world; the parents of magical people born into non-magic families, for example.

"The Ministry of Magic likes to think it keeps all signs of magic undercover—but there are a fair number of people who know that magic exists, even if they don't know about the magical world. Also, most people from the magic world have a hard time blending in. Their taste in clothing tends towards…exotic, miss-matched clothes and colors that clash terribly. And then there are vampires, werewolves, and various other so-called 'dark creatures' that aren't welcomed by the magical world."

"So I'm some type of magician?"

"No, you're a wizard," she stressed. "Male magic users are wizards, females are witches—at least on the inside of the magic world."

"Was that how you knew me?" Harry asked. "Because of magic?"

"Sorta," she glanced around the car to see if anyone was paying attention to them, and then leaned in close. "I thought that you were either some magic user who thought he was playing a bit of a prank, it'd be about normal for most wizards' sense of humor. When you acted like you didn't know what I was talking about I thought you were one of those magic users from a non-magic family."

"You mean I'm not?"

Allie shook her head and her expression grew serious. "In the magic world you're famous."

"Famous?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, like household-name-famous; everyone knows of you," she said, "At least those inside of Britain do. And that scar of yours is almost as famous. Nobody in the magic world has seen or heard of you in years, that's what has me worried. There's probably some warlock with some sort of monitoring spells on the Dursleys. Some way of tracking you using magic, and—"

"Wait, someone knew?" Harry demanded harshly. "Knew what they did to me?"

"I don't know, maybe," she said.

"And they didn't do anything?" Harry asked.

She put a hand on his arm, "Did they ever beat you?"

Harry took a deep breath, then shook his head. "No, not as such. I mean, Uncle Vernon would punish me, but mostly it was sticking me in the closet under the stairs without supper. Making me do chores, housework and stuff. For the most part they ignored me otherwise."

"Abuse is still abuse," she muttered darkly, then looked away abruptly. "C'mon."

Harry followed her as she dragged him from the car at the stop. "Where are we going?"

"Just trust me, will you?" she asked, stopping in front of a bank of lockers as she fished a key out of her pocket. She opened one locker and pulled out a large, bulging book-bag.

"What's in there?"

"Supplies," she said, leading him towards the exit. "You said your relatives would most likely ignore you, would they notice you missing when they left the zoo?"

"Probably not unless Uncle Vernon is looking for me to yell at like I said," Harry replied. "Otherwise they probably won't notice that I'm not around until they want me to cook dinner for them. Or breakfast, if they decide to eat out."

She looked at him as they waited on the escalator to leave the tube station.

He shrugged slightly, "I, uh, do a lot of the cooking and all of the cleaning."

She nodded.

Harry shook his head, it was all very confusing. First there was the issue of magic. And then he was supposedly famous, thought he could never remember any indication that he was at all well-known. And then there was the issue of someone supposedly watching him grow up without every doing anything to stop the Dursleys.

It was like some dream, or perhaps nightmare…except that the exhibit glass really had disappeared. And he had talked to the snake. And then there were those other incidents. Certainly it was nice to think that magic really existed, that he really could escape from the Dursleys. But…

"C'mon," Allie said, jerking his arm.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Hotel," she gestured across a street.

It wasn't anything he had ever though a hotel would be like. There was a sign proclaiming it was, of course, but it was a low, grimy, ugly building. There were cars, and none too clean at that, parked haphazardly in the lot in front of it; and to one side a dumpster with its lid ajar over the trash inside was parked just in front of a rather scary-looking alley.

"Meet me on the first floor, okay?" she asked as they crossed the street. "I'll get our key."

"We're going there?" he asked skeptically.

"Just to get rid of any tracking magic," she said.

"And how do we do that?" Harry asked.

"I thought you'd never ask," she said with a smile.

\|/\|/\|/

"You want me to do what?" Harry asked blankly, certain he hadn't heard her correctly

Allie had dumped the contents of the bag, mostly clothes, onto one bed and snatched a large canister of salt from the resultant pile. She had already poured down a heavy line in front of the windows, and was now pouring more in a half-circle that had the door as its base.

"Strip," she repeated. "Stick your clothes in the toilet and pour about a quarter of that," she gestured towards a second canister of salt, "in after it. Then draw a bath and pour the rest of the salt in."

"Okay," Harry said, crossing his arms. "Perhaps I should have asked why?"

She finished the ring and stood up. "Salt is good at neutralizing magic. Not all magic, not even most, really. But it will stop most monitoring and tracking spells. Since those charms are easily placed on clothes, we have to salt the clothes. Since they can also be placed on a person, or the residue of such spells can rub off of clothing or residing at a place with them long enough, we also have to clean your skin, hence the salt water bath. Salting the entrances will serve to disrupt any tracking spells, hopefully long enough for us to get clean and leave."

She pushed past him into the bathroom. "Good, no window."

Harry heard the bath start, and then her head popped out, "You still haven't started?"

"I, uh," Harry felt his face heat.

"Oh for—" she cut herself off and stepped out of the bathroom. "Go ahead, just hurry. Some spells can be transferred by contact. I touched you, so I have to clean myself as well. Don't bother rinsing the salt off, you can do that at my place."

"What about clothes?" he asked.

"Wrap a towel around yourself and come out when you're done," she shot back. "I packed enough stuff so that I could mix and match. There should be enough that we won't look too terrible, but not if we have to wash tracking spells off of them because one of us touched them."

She paused, "On second thought, stuff your clothes in this," she shoved the bag at him.

Harry gave her a searching look.

"I'll explain later," she said reassuringly as she held up a small, grayish bar of what looked like grainy soap.

Harry took it, and was surprised to find that it was a heavy stone.

"Lodestone," Allie said. "Magnitite, if you want the common name; very disruptive of magical fields. I want you to scrub down with it."

"Isn't that what the salt is for?" Harry asked. "Disrupting, er, magical fields?"

Allie smiled, "Yep, but lodestone disrupts magic in a different way than salt. Go on."

Harry nodded and ducked into the bathroom. He set the lock, then double checked it to make sure that it was locked, and sprinkled some salt in front of the door in a half-circle. He wasn't certain it would actually do anything, but, he decided, it couldn't hurt. The bath was filling nicely, and he dumped most of his canister, along with what remained of the first canister, into the water before stripping out of his clothes.

He stuffed the shoes in the bag first, followed by Dudley's too-big trousers and sweater, and Vernon's old socks. Harry hesitated before adding his skivvies. This was definitely turning into and odd day and his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten for a while.

He unlocked the door and opened it just enough to squeeze the bag out without disturbing the salt, then hurriedly slammed it closed and relocked it

"Remember to get everything soaked and rubbed down with the stone," Allie called through the door. "I'm going to step out for a minute to get these taken care of."

Harry heard the outer door open and then close, leaving him alone in the hotel room. "A salt water bath to get rid of tracking charms, I'm famous, and the girl is clearly insane," he shook his head, unsure if he should be running away or breaking out in hysterics. He glanced at the line of salt in front of the bathroom door. "Probably not saying great things about my sanity," he muttered, and shook his head.

"Why can't my life be normal?" he asked. "Is it too much to ask for? A mother, a father, maybe a brother or sister…" He paused, "And a dog, definitely a dog—a big black one with a wet nose and a long tail that can't stay still."

He looked down at the full bathtub, "Salt water bath…what am I then? Pasta?" Probably not, he decided. But anything beat having to spend a night at the Dursleys. No doubt the bobbies would find him eventually and he'd have to go back, but it might be fun for a few days.

He slid carefully into the bath, relishing the first bath that he could remember with actually hot water, and not the tepid, lukewarm water he was left with after everyone else had had their baths or showers. Even the annoying salty smell issuing from the bath didn't make it less enjoyable…

"Harry?" someone thumped on the door. "You still alive in there?"

"Wha—?" Harry started up in the bath, eyes flashing as he hurriedly scanned the room. It wasn't the bathroom at Number 4.

"Harry!"

"Just a minute!" he called, ducking under the water and scrubbing at his hair. "Just, uh, getting the salt worked in," he sputtered.

"Just hurry up," Allie called through the door.

Harry grabbed the stone, and for once living with the Dursleys proved useful. Years of having to take quick, thorough baths, had made scrubbing down and getting out very nearly instinctive. The lodestone was like no soap he had ever used; lightly abrasive, but without any suds, and oddly comfortable.

Harry jumped out of the bath and grabbed one of the thick, white, courtesy towels (wonderfully dry and warm), wishing he could take more time to enjoy being the first person to use a bath-towel for once, as he wiped salt water from his body. "Uh, done," he said, folding the towel around himself and reaching for the door knob.

"Good," Allie said, as he opened the door. He moved into the room, but Allie calling his name made him turn back. She gestured towards the line of salt on the floor, not crossing it, and looked inquiringly at Harry.

He felt his face heat, "I thought, uh…" he looked down.

"It was a good idea," she said. "Not sure if it did anything to help, but it certainly didn't hurt. Nice accurate line too, it allows the door to open without disturbing it. First time?"

Harry nodded.

"Very good job then," she decided. "Go grab some clothes and get changed."

Harry nodded again.

There was no underwear in the pile on the bed. Or at least none for guys, and he certainly wasn't going to wear what there was. He grabbed a black and red t-shirt advertising some kind of band and pulled it over his head. The smaller of the two pairs of jeans, he was pleasantly surprised to discover, actually fit quite well compared to what he usually had to work with. He had to roll up the legs, and if it was a little loose in the waist it certainly didn't compare to how Dudley's currently nine inches-too-big-in-the-waist jeans fit him. The socks he had to choose from were on the large side, and he had to tighten the laces in the shoes almost as much as it was possible, but on the whole he couldn't remember a time when he wore clothes that fit better.

Allie exited the bathroom with one towel wrapped around herself and another around her hair. She eyed him critically, "We're going to have to get you some things that fit you better."

Better? Harry's eyes went wide, "But these…I mean, these are very nice," he said politely.

She snorted, "No they aren't. They are," she stressed, "a drastic improvement upon what you were wearing. Where did they shop? Thrift stores?"

"Dudley's cast-offs," Harry said.

"The fat one?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

"Well shit," she shook her head and reached for the remaining clothes. "Turn around, will you?"

Once more Harry felt his face heat as he did as she asked.

"Done"

Already? From what he knew from Aunt Petunia it should have taken—

"Harry!"

"What?" he asked quickly, turning back to face the room. Allie was once more dressed in black, but this time she was holding a small bag out to him.

"What is this?" Harry asked, taking it as she pulled on gloves of a similar material.

"Silk stops a lot of magic," Allie said, taking a plastic bag and disappearing into the bathroom as her lecture continued. "Not the…call it 'active magic' for want of a better term, but the more subtle things. It'll stop emitted magical auras and fields, and will allow a person wearing it to slip past a lot of the low-level wards. It'll also block magical transmissions, communication spells…"

"Tracking spells," Harry said.

"Those that broadcast an 'I am here' signal," Allie said. "Even if that signal can only be picked up by an enchanted compact-mirror a hundred miles away," she reappeared with the bag held carefully in one gloved hand. "Wanted to make sure I got everything."

"What about the salt?" Harry asked.

"We'll leave that for house keeping," she said, tossing the key on one bed before leading Harry out the door.

A/N: The music Trelawney heard was 'The Sun is Burning' by Paul Simon, and is not owned by me.