So yeah. Not the longest, but I'm still alive, and I really wanted to do these two scenes. I got Write or Die and went on kamikaze mode... I have never uttered so much profanity in my life.

Oh yeah, I'm update. Please but down your pitchforks. I'd love your thoughts on this. - WC 1377

. . .

The library was always quiet on a Saturday. Harry and Hermione sat huddled at a table that was partly secluded at the back. The dim lighting cast a shadow that shrouded them from Madam Pince, who seemed to believe that anybody visiting the library on a Saturday was definitely up to no good. Occasionally, Harry cast thoughtful glances towards the restricted section; it was dark, gloomy and oh so appealing to Harry. Sometimes it seemed true that his father's penchant for trouble-making and rule-breaking was in his blood, as his aunt sometimes told him.

"Harry," Hermione began, "How on Earth did this happen?" The pair were sat at a beat-up, almost dilapidated table that had certainly seen better days. She glanced around rapidly before her eyes settled back on Harry. "I mean, being a half blood; coming from a dark family!" She hissed the last two words, giving up on reading Nature's Nobility.

Harry sighed and laid down his quill; Hermione had asked this question at least half a dozen times now, he had lost count in the two days succeeding the meeting with the goblins. He looked around the bookcases surrounding them before casting a silencing charm. "I don't know if you were told - probably not, seeing as Professor McGonagall introduced you to magic - but it's not a case of light and dark."

"I guessed that, but every book I've read, every book here, is all about dark lords and their magic." Hermione argued. There was absolutely nothing about dark magic. "Only small side notes in this," she gestured to the book in front of her. "Barely even that, they just hint! Even your family, all the latest books describe the Potters as if they were the epitome of the light."

Harry rubbed a hand across his face. The more time he spent with his friend, the more it seemed that the written was almost law to Hermione. Idly, he entertained the thought that perhaps she would have been better-suited to Ravenclaw, but then he remembered the nerve she had when faced with the goblins. Certainly, no cowardly fool would dare speak to them as she had.

"The Potters, maybe, but look at my grandmother." He said, pushing the book back towards her. "Dorea Black. Even from the name you can see she was from a dark family, yet she was married to the head of the Auror department, and sometimes she herself aided them in the war against Voldemort."

"But she didn't actually use dark magic, did she?" Hermione asked, unsure of what to say to that. It was like a trashy romance novel with Harry's grandparents. Light and dark brought together in harmony.

"Oh she did," Harry chuckled. "I never met her, not that I remember, but what Tuney tells me, it was never to harm another - unless she was in battle." He thought back to the photographs of his grandparents. "Like I said, it's not a matter of light and dark, black and white - whatever you want to call it. Would you believe my aunt is a dark witch?"

"What?" Hermione gasped. Petunia Evans had been very composed, though at times she showed a darker edge. She hadn't witnessed any 'signs' that the woman had any malicious intent towards Hermione, believing at the time that she was a muggleborn. "I know you said she was a Slytherin - but look at them now! I mean, they hate muggleborns and most people say they're all dark!" She had been a bit surprised learning that Petunia was engaged to Professor Snape, that man had more than a dark edge to him. The man uttered poisonous insults to those around him, even the children he was teaching. She couldn't see the appeal to such a man.

"In the last hundred years or so, it's like history has been... edited." Harry paused. No, that wasn't the right word for it. "More like muted. Most wizarding families have their own 'histories' so to speak. I learned the Mayhew and Potter version - one of the constant principals of the House of Mayhew is 'Veritas vos liberabit'. The truth."

"Muted?" Hermione whispered, horrified. How could one mute or edit history. She knew how it had been done in the muggle world; at least her history lessons told her so. The spread of propaganda for one. Her moral compass wasn't rigid, but her conscience was, it was something she could not wrap her mind around. "What do you mean, muted?"

"At least, in the rise of the last dark lord, Voldemort. Maybe even before that, with the fall of Grindelwald. Before that it was believed by most that magic was just that - magic." Harry chewed his lip; even under the silencing charm he wasn't too comfortable discussing the topic in the library, or even in Hogwarts. "Other than a few families. Since Dumbledore defeated Grindlewald, a lot of spells and rituals were banned and labelled 'dark'. Even the most benign, like cleaning charms. Light magic is harmful too, don't you see?"

"How could light magic be harmful? I mean, Quirrell doesn't teach us how to attack - only to defend and counter curses." Still boggled, Hermione's mind was reeling, unsure whether to believe Harry or not.

"What could you do with Wingardium Leviosa - a charm - if you had enough power?" Harry responded as he began to gather his books and his essay, putting them into his schoolbag.

"It's a levitating charm? What harm could you possibly do with a levitating charm?" Hermione near-shrieked as Harry rose from his chair.

"Think on it." Harry said as he dispelled the silencing charm.

. . .

Minerva McGonagall pulled her robes tighter around her as she trawled the dungeons. She needed a word with the resident Potions Master and the chill of the hallway was helping her irritation none. She fancied the idea of taking a leaf of her friend's book and bursting into the office, but that would surely be childish and common. She chuckled to herself softly as she knocked on the door three times.

"Yes?" The surly drawl came from inside.

Minerva let herself into the office, grimacing at the various ingredients littered on the shelved. More like body parts, she shuddered. "Severus." She greeted him with an even tone.

"Ah, Minerva. What brings you down to the bat cave?" Severus smirked from behind his desk. He gestured his colleague to take a seat before moving his paperwork to the side. "Did I make another lion cry, or are you dressing me up like a doll again?"

"Neither." She answered, taking the seat in front of him. "It has become quite clear, young man, of a further rift between you and Mr Potter."

"You know, Minerva, you are rather like a broken record." Severus stopped himself from groaning, he'd rather avoid that subject.

"Indeed?" She quirked her brow.

"You never stop." Severus uttered before smirking. It was rather tiring of having people fight Potter's battles for him, so why not have some fun? "Oh you know, the mean old bat made Potter cry, sing along if you know the words."

"How can you be so... blasé about this?" Minerva sputtered. She knew Severus wasn't the most sensitive of men, but this was either a mask of his or new record for her disbelief in him. "To be so indifferent?"

"Indifferent? About what?" He asked, pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He was about to take a sip when he rethought that, and poured one for Minerva too. "Obviously," he sneered, "We are never going to get along. Potter made his feelings quite clear on that matter."

"So did you, Severus." Minerva chided. She took a sip and felt the familiar burn. "Yet you do not seek to make reparations?"

"Reparations? Perhaps it is Potter who should be doing that."

"For speaking his mind, or proving you were quite simply, wrong?" She set her glass down on the desk. "Enough of this. Meet me in my office on Monday evening. We will soon iron this out."

. . .

Dear Harry,

Please meet me in Minerva's office tomorrow evening at six. I think it's high time we had another talk.

Love,

Your Aunt Tuney.