Mikasa is back at Hogwarts. After the whole incident with Ares, Voldemort, and Dolohov, she thinks she should feel more shaken. Something should be different. She's the Vessel of a god now. But she doesn't really feel . . . changed.

Mikasa's in transfiguration class, but she's already mastered today's lesson (mice into teacups). So, she has plenty of time for contemplation. What should she be doing? This mess with Ares and Voldemort is going to come back to bite her in the future (she can tell), and she has no real explanation for her prophetic dream about Dolohov's death. And who was the other person that Dia-

Poke. Mikasa is startled out of her thoughts by a finger digging into her side.

She raises an eyebrow; "Did you need something, Draco?"

"Mikkkkaaaaasssaaaaaaaaaaaaa," Draco whines, pinning her with an unnervingly effective pair of puppy dog eyes. "What happened last weekend?"

How does Draco know . . .? Mikasa's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

Draco gives her a sheepish look. "Well . . . Father said that the Dark Lord was really angry on Monday and he said the Lord Dolohov said you had something to do with it. B-but you wouldn't do anything to make the Dark Lord, umm, displeased. Right?"

"Not on purpose," Mikasa mutters, slightly put out that Dolohov discussed the incident with Lord Malfoy. It makes sense, she supposes. They are friends. But that doesn't take away her slight feeling of betrayal. Eren never would have said anything about her to anyone without her permission.

But that's just it, isn't it? Dolohov isn't Eren.

Mikasa knows it's probably unhealthy to transfer her fixation and need to protect from a younger brother/friend to her pseudo-guardian, but she can't help it.

"Not on purpose?" Draco echoes. "Mikasa, what did you do?"

Mikasa wishes Draco would just shut up for a second and let her think. Merlin. Well, if she slams him against the stone floor with enough force he'll pass out, and then she'll be able to resume thinking in peace and quiet.

"Mikkkkaassaaaaaaa," he whines again.

Mikasa reaches for the back of his neck, intending to grab his collar and slam his head into the desk and – wait a second. Is she really considering violence against an eleven year old boy? Enough to knock him out and possibly give him a concussion?

Is this something Ares did too make me more violent? Mikasa wonders. But she knows the answer already.

No.

Mikasa was fighting the titans so long she had forgotten but . . . she doesn't take to peace well. Even before the wall was broken. Even before her parents were murdered. Mikasa has always had an inclination towards violence. An unquenchable bloodlust.

She was genuinely considering violence against Draco. Not because she hates him. Not because he was annoying her. Because she wants to fight. She's tried to bury it for so long, but Mikasa adores battle. The adrenaline, the exertion, the blood, the knowledge that it's kill-or-be-killed.

Hogwarts, Mikasa realizes, is suffocating her. She wasn't built to sit in a classroom all day and study. She wasn't built to walk around leisurely with her friends and sometimes fly on a broom. Ares was right, in a way. Not that she will become the catalyst for wars, but that she belongs in battle. Hellhound, he called her. He was right.

Mikasa turns to Draco who is still looking at her with full force puppy dog eyes. "I'm sure the Dark Lord wouldn't appreciate me talking about it, Draco. So I suggest you drop it, or risk his displeasure."

Draco's face immediately goes white. "Oh. Um. O-okay."

Mikasa feels a bit bad about scaring him, but it's really better that he doesn't know all the details of her encounter with Voldemort. And at least now she'll finally get some merlin-damned silence.

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After her realization about her desire to fight, Mikasa decides that at the very least, she can begin quelling her restlessness with exercise. She starts with five laps around the lake every morning, waking up early enough that she can be back by breakfast, and no one notices her absence.

Quidditch tryouts for the Ravenclaw team are held, as well. Mikasa consider joining, but realizes that her love of flying is for the action not for the sport. Instead, she borrows a school broom and adds flying to her morning exercise routine in addition to running. She enjoys experimenting with the limits of the broom over the lake (so if she falls it will be into the water). So far, she's worked on jumping off of the broom and calling it back to her, before she hits the surface of the water, with a loud command of "Up!"

She manages to keep these experiments with flying unnoticed for weeks, but, eventually, she's caught in the act.

Mikasa is about to try backflipping off of the broom and then calling it to her with enough precision to land on her feet, when she notices a figure standing at the edge of the lake. She sighs heavily and flies closer.

A boy who looks a bit older than Fred and George is staring up at her with an expression of complete and utter shock on his face. He looks familiar. Mikasa tries to remember who he is- She's got it! It's Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team and all around quidditch fanatic.

"How in the name of all that's bloody holy are you not on the Ravenclaw quidditch team?" Oliver demands as soon as Mikasa's feet are back on the ground.

"I like to fly," Mikasa responds, "I don't like quidditch."

Wood makes a pained, keening noise. "You- that's – can't- Don't like – How can you – Arrrgghhhhh!"

Mikasa stands patiently, waiting for him to finish his tantrum. Finally, he quiets, staring at Mikasa with an unsettling glint in his eye. "Help me train the Gryffindor team."

"That would be betraying my own house," Mikasa points out, slightly amused.

"I saw you first," Wood insists stubbornly, "If they wanted your quidditch skills they should have noticed them."

Mikasa raises an eyebrow, "Why should I? What's in this for me?"

Oliver rubs his chin, deep in thought. "Hmmm. I guess I could allow you to date Fred and George, when you come of age."

"We're just friends," Mikasa snorts, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "But nice try." She catalogues the thought at the back of her mind to consider later, though. She may be eleven in body, but . . . less so in mind. Could she have a relationship now? Does she even want to?

Wood gives Mikasa the 16-year-old-boy equivalent of a pout. "Well what do you want, then?"

Mikasa thinks it over. What will make this worth it? Especially if Dolohov finds out she's helping train the Gryffindors. Although she knows he would have dealt with whatever house she ended up in, somehow she suspects that Dolohov wants her to have as little contact with the House of Lions as possible.

Mikasa has a somewhat startling thought. With Voldemort planning the downfall of the Wizarding Britain and with members of the Light like Dumbledore staunchly on the opposing side, there's bound to be violent conflict. If she could teach the students to defend themselves, even just a few . . . hmm.

She knows that she can't teach any of the upper years anything about magic that they don't already know, but what about hand-to-hand combat? Physicality, Mikasa has noticed, is something wizards ignore and tend not to respect, which also means they aren't prepared for it. And even the smallest advantage could mean the difference between life and death for these children when the war inevitably hits.

"I'll help you train your team, Wood." Mikasa tells him. "But you have to let me train them in physical fitness and on-the-ground-combat as well. It should help with their flying." She wisely keeps quiet about her other reasons for training the team in fighting. "And I get to train anyone who wants in, not just members of the quidditch team and not just Gryffindors."

Wood purses his lips. "Fine." He holds out a hand to shake. Mikasa takes it and the deal is set. "I'll expect to see you at five in the morning next Monday," Wood tells her. He grins evilly, "I'm sure my team won't mind waking up a little bit early."

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Fred and George are surprised to hear that Mikasa will be training them, as are a number of the other players. As the seeker of the team puts it (a subpar fourth year), "What's a little firstie got to teach us about quidditch?"

He's promptly silenced when Mikasa has him flat on his back with nothing more than a well-placed tug to shift his balance and a sweeping motion that quickly pulls his legs out from under him.

"That." She says calmly.

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As the Gryffindor team begins winning more and more of their games, the other students start to take notice. It's only a matter of time until Mikasa has all of the quidditch teams except Slytherin and many other students coming to her combat training sessions.

It's . . . satisfying to see them progress, but Mikasa still feels a restless, bloodthirsty ache in her chest. She hasn't fought someone (or something) truly on her level in months at least. Idly, Mikasa wonders at the possibility of provoking Voldemort into a fight with her. Hmm. Probably not a good idea.

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Before she knows it, it's Christmas break, and Dolohov wants her home. He sends her a letter detailing where in the train station to meet him. He also includes a warning, of sorts. Apparently, the Dark Lord has decided to use Dolohov's home as his base of operations this winter. There are a large number of new recruits joining his forces, and the Dark Lord has no desire to house them all at his manor. Dolohov doesn't outright tell her to be careful, but Mikasa knows him well enough that she can read the subtext.

Maybe, Mikasa thinks with a desperate hope, she'll get a real fight. Her fear of Voldemort wars with her near-painful desire to punch someone as hard as she can without worrying about breaking them.

Probably not, though.

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Mikasa sees Dolohov in the crowd of excited families as the Hogwarts train pulls into King's Cross Station. She grabs her bags and pushes through the throngs of embracing parents and children to where he is standing, near a bench.

"Are you ready to return?" he asks when he sees her, wasting no time with pleasantries. Mikasa knows, though, that he's really asking if she's ready to face an enormous crowd of Death Eaters, and possibly the Dark Lord himself. Mikasa nods and Dolohov puts a hand on her shoulder, apparating them back to the manor.

When they arrive back at the manor with a pop, Mikasa has to stifle a gasp, there are so many people walking around, and she genuinely didn't realize that the Dark Lord's supporters were this numerous. It's equally aweing and worrying.

A youngish girl, seventeen at most, walks up to Dolohov almost immediately. "The Dark Lord requests your presence in the study." Mikasa frowns slightly. The Dark Lord is recruiting people young. Maybe too young.

"Very well," Dolohov inclines his head. "Mikasa go to your room."

The young woman clears her throat. "He requested the presence of the girl as well."

If there was a time Mikasa wished to have her 3D-Maneuver Gear, it would be now.

She walks behind Dolohov, mirroring his steps as they enter his study, where Voldemort has taken over the comfortable arm chair by the fireplace. The flickering of the fire casts an eerie glow over his face, and Mikasa thinks he looks more fey than man at that moment. The kind of fey that kidnap children and murder people who disagree with them.

"Do come in, Antonin," Voldemort orders with his typical dangerous smile. He ignores Mikasa's presence. That could bode well. Or not.

There are a number of young men and women in Dolohov's large study, some even younger than the seventeen-year-old girl who approached Dolohov before.

Voldemort waves a hand at the group of teenagers standing attentively before him. "These are some of our newest recruits. From Durmstrang. Since they'll be staying here during the holiday, I thought it would be ideal if you were introduced."

One by one, the Durmstrang students introduce themselves. Mikasa looks around the room (anywhere but the recruits), unhappy with the fact that these mere children will probably find themselves dying young for Voldemort's cause. As the last steps forward to shake hands with Dolohov and give his name, Mikasa finally glances up with resignation.

The boy about to shake hands with her guardian has black hair and dark, narrow eyes. And his face is so familiar, but oddly young . . .

Her mouth drops open in shock. "Levi-Heicho?"

The fifteen (she would guess) year old boy turns his head toward her with wide eyes that quickly narrow. "Mikasa Ackerman?"

Merlin. Mikasa doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "It's Mikasa Dolohov now," she tells him, trying to push back the hysteria she can feel bubbling up.

Dolohov raises an eyebrow. "Do you two know one another?"

Voldemort watches silently in the background, red eyes glinting.

Mikasa opens her mouth and then stops short. She has no idea what to say.

"We knew one another as children," Levi says smoothly. "I was surprised. I didn't know she'd ended up in Britain."

"Who were her parents?" Dolohov demands, desperate to finally get some information on Mikasa.

"I don't know," Levi responds blankly. "We're both orphans. I was adopted by the Krum family. Mikasa disappeared from the orphanage at about the same time. I'd wondered what had happened to her."

Mikasa had forgotten how brilliant of a manipulator Levi-Heicho can be when he puts his mind to it.

"Interesting," Voldemort murmurs from where he's sitting, and everyone in the room freezes instantly. "How . . . fortuitous that two interesting, talented young orphans just happen to be childhood friends."

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"We'll have to explore this fascinating coincidence more in the future," Voldemort nearly hisses (Mikasa registers the implied threat), "But at the moment, Mikasa, why don't you tell me about the special lessons you've been teaching at Hogwarts."

Mikasa stops breathing momentarily. Right. Snape and Draco spy for the Dark Lord. There's no way those lessons were going to stay a secret.

"It's just physical training, my Lord," she says with what she hopes is a steady voice. "I like to fly, and some of the quidditch teams were woefully out of shape."

"Just physical training, hmm? I'd heard it was more along the lines of . . . muggle combat."

"There is some of that as well, my Lord," Mikasa agrees, swallowing heavily.

The Dark Lord smiles widely and malevolently. Mikasa fights the urge to run from the room screaming. She's faced down titans, she can face down a dark lord who's likely plotting her demise. Probably. Maybe.

"Well, Mikasa, my sources at Hogwarts have informed me that you have some talent in this . . . " his lips curl up in disdain " . . . muggle sport. And I decided that it would be remiss of me not to request a demonstration." His heavy, crimson gaze makes it clear that this is anything but a request.

"A demonstration, my Lord?"

"Yes. You'll be showing the results of this truly interesting 'physical training' of yours against some of the newer recruits in a friendly spar." Mikasa can almost hear the quotation marks around "friendly". "Oh, and because we want to see just the results of your physical rather than magical training . . . " The Dark Lord smiles malevolently, ". . . you won't be allowed a wand."

Mikasa's first instinct is fear or anger. But as she considers it . . . this fight may be exactly what she's been hoping for. No wand? Fine. She doesn't need one.

She holds back a smile; "Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Antonin, stay. The rest of you are dismissed."

As the Durmstrang students begin to file out of the room, Mikasa grabs Levi-heicho's hand, and drags him towards her room. "We need to talk."

"We do," he agrees.

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Dolohov stands in front of Voldemort after everyone else has left the room. Merlin damn it. When this meeting is over, he is going to hunt down Mikasa and that Krum boy and finally find out something about his mysterious ward. Whatever it takes.

He saves the thought for later. He needs to have his wits fully about him for a meeting with the Dark Lord.

"Antonin," Voldemort starts, gazing pensively into the fire, "What do you think of this muggle fighting business with your ward?"

Dolohov steels himself. He knows he shouldn't ask. He knows it won't do anything. He knows he's being bloody stupid, but . . . well. He has to try. "Is it . . . " he swallows, but shows no other signs of his nervousness. "Is it really necessary for her to fight the recruits without her wand, my Lord."

Voldemort's eyes narrow. "She is using the tactics of filthy muggles, and worse, polluting British students with her ideas. If she wants the right to practice muggle combat, then she needs to prove it's worth beyond question."

The Dark Lord is expecting Mikasa to fail, Dolohov realizes. This is her punishment for refusing to talk about her past. For having the protection of a goddess.

He sighs inwardly. "I understand, my Lord."

"Good. And Antonin, do keep a close eye on young Mikasa and Levi. I'd be most interested in what they discuss when they believe they are alone."

The Dark Lord wants him to use the wards of the house to spy, then. "Yes, my Lord."

"You're dismissed, Antonin."

Dolohov walks out of his own study, feeling slightly disgruntled at the takeover of his home, and, worse, unhappy with the idea of spying on Mikasa. He dismisses the feeling. Mikasa is his ward, not his child by blood. There's no need to feel this sentimentality. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

A/N: So I know it's been an eternity since I last updated. That's why I tried to make this chapter a bit longer. Sorry. I write when inspiration strikes. This chapter was for you though Sakuya-onee-sama. Thanks for the message. It was inspiring. If there are any questions about what went down in this chapter or what will go down in the future, feel free to let me know through either reviews or PMs. Thanks for reading!