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bouwrites · 1 year

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Argo: Year 7

First, Previous.

Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Harry fidgets with his robes. A kind hand gently slaps his own away.

“Relax,” Remus says with a chuckle. “You’re going to be fine. It’s just a birthday party.”

It is that, and Harry has a whopping two of them under his belt now (The little celebration that Sirius throws him during his very first summer with him is very dear to Harry’s heart, but not what he’d call a ‘party’ like today is. At the time, Harry is adamantly against going so all out for it, which is the only reason it stays small.) so he’s not completely unaccustomed anymore. What’s more, Sirius and Remus are very strict about only people he approves being allowed to come, and thankfully that number includes enough aurors that adoring fans have a hard time invading the place, so it’s not like Harry is being forced into a networking thing, either.

It's just… Argo says he’ll come.

Argo doesn’t come to either of his past parties, since things are… strained between them at the time. Frankly, Harry doesn’t expect him to come this time, though he’s finally brave enough to invite him, because… it’s barely been more than a month since… Jason.

It’ll be the first time Harry sees Argo since Jason dies, since Argo leaves school early when it happens. He doesn’t even have the chance to say goodbye, much less his condolences.

He… doesn’t think condolences will be appreciated. But he hopes Argo will be okay. Harry remembers talking with him in the graveyard where their parents are, when Argo shares his perspective on death.

It’s just a change. The perpetuation of life in a different form. Not something to fear or to hate. Perhaps not something to celebrate, but undoubtedly something to be respected. Something with its own beauty.

Harry hopes that losing someone important to him doesn’t change that perspective.

And if that’s not awkward enough, Harry can’t bring himself to disinvite Ron, and he has word from Mr. Weasley that the whole family will be here, so Harry is both worried about spending time with Ron again, but also very worried about bringing Argo and Ron together in the same space.

There are so many ways for today to go wrong. All Harry wants is a nice, peaceful birthday. Part of him wants to beg Sirius to have a small thing like their first year together, but he knows it’s far too late for that now.

At least Cedric will be here. And the twins will run interference if Argo and Ron get too close, he’s sure. Harry is kind of sad that Shiloh won’t be able to come, given the number of students who’ll be here who absolutely won’t be let in on his secret, but Daphne and Susan can keep an eye on Argo throughout the night.

For however much of the evening he actually stays. He says in the letter that he accepts the invitation that he likely won’t stay long.

(It’s his birthday, too. Harry supposes he’s celebrating with his own family, since none of the Scamanders except Argo accept Harry’s invitation. Sirius says Rolf sends him a gift, though, which is nice of him.

…It could also be that they’re still mourning. Jason is family to more than just Argo.)

“Come on, Harry,” says Remus, a hand on Harry’s back gently pushing him towards the door. “Time to face the music.”

Harry, though his guts are all wound up (he feels like celebrating is disrespectful somehow, knowing what his brother is going through right now on his own birthday), allows himself to be pushed to the door.

They exit into the garden, where the celebrations are already underway. Cheers arise for him when his presence is noted, Harry sequesters himself away for a few minutes by hanging out with Neville who’s looking over some of the plants, and then he attaches himself to Hermione until his heart can sort itself out.

Which… might take all evening, honestly. Thank God Hermione is so understanding.

Across the crowd, somewhat removed from the bulk of the celebration, Charlie wonders why he’s here. He likes Harry, of course, but he’s not exactly friends with him. He’s just Ron’s big brother, and his understanding is that Harry and Ron aren’t even friends anymore, so he has to wonder whether his whole two meetings with Harry (one of which is really more just seeing him rather than meeting him) really justifies an invite at all.

Not that Charlie is going to turn down an opportunity to party, obviously. It’s still curious to him.

Charlie mostly sticks with Bill, who is similarly out of place, and the parents who don’t just let their kids (who are mostly seventeen now) come alone. He has a terrifying conversation with his great-great-aunt Muriel (Who… approves of his career? He thinks? That coming from family who isn’t Bill is a strange feeling.) and narrowly manages to avoid letting Bathilda Bagshot get him drunk (He recognizes what’s in that flask, and it does not belong at a student’s birthday party, seventeen or no. That stuff is roughly as strong as what they give to the dragonologists who get gored – to numb the pain.) then he’s bravely fleeing the ‘adult’ table in hopes that the kiddos are slightly saner.

Or, at least less scary.

This is coming from the man who works with dragons for a living.

He’s very disappointed. Susan Bones alone is enough to convince Charlie that the only thing stopping that Circle from taking over the world is that all four of them just don’t feel like doing it, yet.

Charlie exhales loudly as he ducks away from the pop-up canopy where most of the people are, only to run face first into large, firm pecs.

Charlie blinks dumbly. “Oh.” His eyes drift up, to Argo’s amused face. “Hi.”

He’s definitely paler than last Charlie sees him, but he’s not as bad as he might be. He has some color to him, like he’s getting it back, and the expression on his face is teasing, which is embarrassing for Charlie, but not visibly upset in any way, which is good.

“Hi,” says Argo. “Kiss a dragon, yet?”

He has, actually. He’s tending to one of the more docile Greens and it’s used to Charlie now, so it usually doesn’t even pay him much mind beyond the acknowledgement when he arrives and announces himself, and Charlie is right there and he just has to know if he’ll get away with it.

He very narrowly avoids getting flamed, but thankfully he chooses his dragon well and it mostly just laughs at him after he explains what in the world he’s doing.

And warns him against ever trying to put his mouth anywhere on it again. Which is fair and honestly much more generous than Charlie expects, from a dragon.

“…No.”

Argo guffaws. “You actually did? Merlin, are you suicidal?”

Charlie fidgets uncomfortably. “She thought it was funny. After I talked her down.”

A loud snort. “So,” Argo says, “does that mean you owe me a kiss? I promise I’m a better kisser than a dragon.”

And there it is. Charlie groans. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you? You know that’s a common saying, right? It’s not meant to be taken literally?”

Argo grins. “You didn’t say no.”

No, he did not say no. Charlie slaps a hand to his face. Alright, well, he’s a Gryffindor. The only way to put this to rest and disarm Argo of that particular weapon is clearly right in front of him.

Charlie kissed a dragon. A boy is hardly going to deter him. So, Charlie rolls his eyes, grabs Argo by his robes, pulls him in, and plants one right on the lips.

And Charlie is a Weasley. There’s not a one of them save Percy (most days) that doesn’t enjoy a good prank, and while maybe what he does next is not technically a prank, it’s absolutely getting the better of Argo, so Charlie counts it. When Argo freezes in surprise, Charlie uses the opportunity not just to linger for a moment, but to involve tongue as well.

Argo’s seventeen now. It’s fine. So long as Reynard or Charlie’s mum doesn’t see. Besides, the agreement is snogging, not some chaste baby kiss.

Smugly, Charlie separates from Argo just as Argo starts kissing back. “Happy birthday, by the way. Happy now?”

Argo blinks. “Uh. Woah. Okay. Okay. Uh… Give me a minute.”

Well. He sure knows how to boost a man’s ego. Charlie worries he won’t be a good kisser. It’s not that he doesn’t have any experience, but he’s always been a bit… single-minded, so romance never really pops up for him. He doesn’t have that many opportunities to practice.

Charlie snickers.

“Charlie Weasley!”

Charlie pales. “Uh oh. That’s Mum.”

And that, of course, puts Argo right back on top, the git. Now he’s the one snickering.

While Charlie’s mother forces her way through the crowd, Argo grabs Charlie’s arm to hold him there just a little longer. “That was a reward,” he giggles. “But you should know before you run for your life,” he digs in his pocket to pull out a scrap of paper that he slips into Charlie’s hand, “you haven’t won yet. Don’t forget your other promise.”

With a cheeky wink, Argo releases Charlie, who takes off at full speed to avoid his mother’s lecture.

When he stops, panting, on the opposite side of the party, certain he has, for the moment, lost his mother, he reads the paper Argo gives him.

It’s a spell formula for a defense matrix based on the ancient magic in dragonhide.

That utter bastard.

There’s a note at the end which reads, “Don’t spread it around. I’m going to publish it later. – Still working on bypassing it,” and signs off with the Circle of Khanna’s symbol.

“Well, if you figure anything out, let me know. Either of those options sounds like another lifesaver for my job,” he says. “You want me, you earn it,” he says. Charlie really needs to learn to watch his mouth. At this rate, his relationship with Argo will be based on exchanging sexual favors for dragon-handling tools.

…

No. No, Charlie is too old for a sugar daddy. Especially one younger than him. Absolutely not.

This defense enchantment is going to be so useful, though. As if Charlie isn’t popular enough on the reserve.

Fred, meanwhile, watches his mother storm through the party, and the guests catch one look at her and flee, and he sees Charlie running like a dragon is hot on his heels, and he turns to George and whispers, “Did Charlie just…”

George just stares, disbelieving, in the direction that Charlie disappears to.

“…You think Old Batty slipped him something?”

Still silence from his twin.

“George? Georgie? Talk to me.”

George startles. “Sorry. I didn’t expect… I mean, I guess it makes sense.”

Fred snorts. George frowns. Fred rolls his eyes. “Come on, mate, don’t tell me you think there’s something going on between them. Charlie?”

“Argo’s always said that Charlie is the coolest person alive…”

Fred groans. He grabs his twin by the wrist and starts tugging, bringing them both to where Argo still snickers. “Hello there, little argonaut.”

Argo’s eyes widen. “Fred, George…” His gaze falls. Awkwardness creeps in insidiously like a constrictor crushing the breath out of them all. They haven’t really spoken since Fred and George graduate Hogwarts. Really, not much after what Argo does to Ron. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” George says, not looking at Argo any more than Argo looks at him. “You, too.”

Merlin’s balls, Fred’s going to have to carry this conversation, isn’t he?

“So,” Fred says, leaning in teasingly. “You and our brother, huh?”

Argo snorts. “I promise I’ve no designs on your brother.” He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly and rubs his neck. “Though I’ll admit that was mostly my fault, but I didn’t expect he’d actually do it. And technically, it was his idea.”

“Mhm.”

“So…” George coughs. “You… aren’t interested in him?” George isn’t jealous of Niklas, but he’s not sure he can deal with his own brother dating Argo. That’s a very different situation.

Argo actually laughs. “I mean,” he says, “Charlie is the coolest person alive. But no. I’m not into him like I am Niklas or-” His eyes dart to George, then quickly turn to the floor. “Yeah,” he says. His voice doesn’t betray a shred of the awkwardness on his face. “No.”

Fred snickers. “Then what in the world was that about?”

Argo, watching the direction Charlie disappears to, smirks. “That… is a game of chicken. One that I’m going to win.” Under his breath, he mutters, “I need to figure out how to bypass that magical resistance before he makes his next move. When’s the next time I’m going to see him…?”

Okay, this is funny. Fred isn’t sure at first, mostly for George’s feelings’ sake, but this is funny. “So, you’re telling me,” Fred says slyly, “you’re just using my brother for his body?”

Argo blinks, then actually considers the question. “I guess you could say that,” he admits. “Or, he’s using me for my spellcrafting. But I wouldn’t say using. It should be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Yeah. Fred giggles. Definitely funny. He does wonder how that’ll turn out, though. While he’s admittedly not sure how far Argo is willing to go (Fred thinks Argo is, at least a little bit, into Charlie, so he’ll probably take it much further than he would with most.) but he’s absolutely convinced that Charlie would have sex for a dare. If he’s understanding the situation correctly and Argo is impressing him with spells and tools to better handle his dragons… they may need to worry that Charlie actually will fall in love.

“I’ve never seen you get competitive before,” Fred says.

Argo furrows his brow. “Eh. Mostly, I just want to keep helping out my dragonologist buddies and teasing Charlie is funny.”

“That it is, little argonaut.” Fred nods sagely. “That it is.”

“So, it’s not that you want to win the game,” George says, “but that you don’t want to lose material to tease Charlie with.”

“Pretty much.”

“You know Charlie won’t back down, right?”

Argo snickers. “Either way, I’m happy, aren’t I?”

Fair enough. If Argo wins, he gets to tease Charlie to eternity. If he loses, he gets Charlie’s affection. There is no bad outcome for him. Fred has the feeling they’ll both take it too far for both of them before they actually back off, though. He hopes it doesn’t make anything awkward between them. A third brother who can’t act normal with Argo is going to be a pain.

Not that he blames Ron or George at all.

He doesn’t expect a problem, though. Charlie and Argo are both way too chill to let something like that bother them for long.

Argo checks his watch. Fred never sees him with a watch before, so it surprises him a little when Argo lifts his sleeve to check the time. Argo doesn’t wear any sort of jewelry except that necklace in later years because it can catch on things when he’s working. Carrying a niffler everywhere cuts down on his options, too. He calls it inconvenient and prefers to just use a tempus charm if he has to check the time.

He must be dressed up for the party. It’s a fancy-looking watch. Gleaming silver. Not something Fred would associate with Argo, though maybe that’s because the only jewelry he’s ever seen Argo wear is dull bronze.

(He supposes… now that Jason’s gone, Argo has more opportunity to wear shiny things.)

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Fred says. “I’m glad you could come. I’m sure Harry’s glad, too.”

Argo hums. “Haven’t seen him, yet. I ran into Charlie just as I got here.”

Wow, really? That’s a heck of a welcome, then.

“And thanks. Er… good job on the joke shop.” After a moment of hesitation, and a glance at George, Argo puts a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “I’m still on your side. If you ever need a third pair of eyes on one of your products or… anything, really, I’ll find the time. Always, for you two.”

Oh. Fred gulps down the lump that forms in his throat. He can’t even imagine how George is feeling. Fred smiles, as happy to hear Argo declaration as he is pained that it needs to be said, and replies, “Yeah. Us, too. I… can’t forgive you, and I can’t understand until you actually explain everything, but I know you can’t, and I do still trust you that much, at least. But you’re still our little argonaut, so we’re still on your side.”

That pulls a smile from Argo.

Fred pauses, eyes George, then hugs Argo tightly. “I’m sorry about Jason.”

Argo doesn’t say anything to that, but his arms constrict Fred so tightly that he struggles to breathe.

Argo separates them, smiles weakly, then steps away. “I can’t stay long, so I should go find the birthday boy. It… really is good to see you two again.”

“You too.” Fred goes for one more hug, then nudges George into doing the same. “Go find Harry. We’ll amuse ourselves somehow.”

“And now I’m glad that I’m leaving early,” Argo chuckles. “Have fun.”

Argo leaves. George yelps when Fred pokes him in the side. “You could’ve said something, you know.”

George blushes and grumbles.

For Argo, Harry is easy to find. (For Argo, most people are easy to find.) But he pauses when he sees who Harry is with.

Argo checks his watch. He really doesn’t have time…

Remus Lupin smells his godson before he sees him. It takes him a moment to relax his stiffened muscles and breathe. He knows Argo is stopping by. This isn’t a surprise. He’s not here to talk to Lupin, anyway – he’s here for Harry.

Lupin gently directs Harry’s attention Argo’s way and slowly backs off with every intention of making himself scarce.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Sirius’ voice in his ear and firm grasp on him arm drag Lupin along with Harry to their guest. “Just treat him like any other of Harry’s friends and you’ll be fine. You should do better than me, even.”

Their advance is cut short, for a moment, when Argo checks his watch, frowning impatiently, and they all get a glimpse of the silver timepiece.

Sirius stops dead in his tracks. “He kept it…” he breathes.

Lupin follows his eyes. The watch. A Black family heirloom. They agree, a long time ago when Harry and Argo are born and they’re named the boys’ godfathers, to switch boys for the traditional gift on their seventeenth birthdays. Lupin has Harry’s safely in his pocket, to give to him later today after most of the guests clear out. But Sirius sends Argo his years ago, when he isn’t sure Argo will ever be willing to suffer speaking to him.

They both assume the watch is discarded. They don’t dare hope that Argo will actually accept the gift. Sirius only sends it to him in the first place out of a sense of duty, especially since Argo generally doesn’t wear jewelry on his wrists at all.

“Argo! You made it!” Harry grins as he gives his brother a hug. “Did I see Charlie kiss you?”

Who did what now? Lupin can’t help casting his darkening gaze towards Charlie, who earns some relief in Lupin’s mind only because he’s already pinned down under Mrs. Weasley’s tongue-lashing.

From what Lupin hears, Argo prefers older wizards, but Charlie coming onto a boy just barely turning seventeen… And besides that, Lupin thought something was going on between Argo and George.

George is a much more reasonable age gap than Charlie.

Argo snickers. “Yeah, I sort of dared him to. Sorry about that. And happy birthday.”

“You too! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Yeah.” Argo smiles, but he again distractedly checks his watch. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got my own plans for the day.” Teasingly, he adds, “It is my birthday, too, after all.”

Harry laughs. “Cuddling with Shiloh? Trust me, I wish I could just go in and cuddle with Cedric all day.”

Sirius pointedly clears his throat.

Argo snorts. “Oh, come off it, Mr. Black. We’re of age now, and it’s not like you weren’t fooling around when you were younger than us.”

Sirius sputters, mock grasping at his pearls. “Well, I never! I’ll have you know, young man, that I was the very picture of a gentleman!”

“Oh, so you couldn’t find a girl. Huh. I guess I’m not surprised. Still, that doesn’t mean Harry and I are so helpless.”

This time, Sirius’ sputtering is more real.

“Who is Shiloh?” Lupin asks. “You were just…” Snogging Charlie, flirting(?) with George, and Lupin knows about Niklas, though he doesn’t know much more than that he exists. What in the world is his boy getting up to?

Argo knows exactly what he’s doing, and Harry knows as well, when Argo gives Lupin a dry look and answers, “Shiloh is my cat.”

Oh. Lupin’s cheeks burn. Well. Perhaps he shouldn’t assume so much. The way Harry is snickering nags at the old Marauder part of Lupin, though, and he has the feeling Argo is taking the mickey out of him.

What the truth of the situation is, though, Lupin is fairly certain he won’t be finding out anytime soon. It’s probably best to just accept it.

It’s not like he’s in a position to tell Argo how to live his life, anyway.

“Also,” Argo leans in to stage-whisper to Harry. “They were both fourteen. Fifteen when they shagged the first time. Don’t let them tell you what to do with Cedric.”

Both Sirius and Remus turn cherry-red and start spluttering. Harry makes a face. “I did not need to know that, but… thanks?” He glances at his guardian and effective guardian. “They were being kind of overprotective.”

Argo grins cheekily, winking before he glances again at his watch. “My family is of the opinion that if I’m old enough to take notes on two nundus going at it, I’m old enough to understand what I’m getting myself into.”

Sirius immediately jumps in. “Have you really seen-?”

“Yes.”

When Argo obviously isn’t going to say any more, Sirius grumbles. “I suppose… he is of age. So long as he’s safe.”

“You did it in your dorm,” Argo says immediately.

“How in the world do you know that?”

“You forgot to put up silencing charms, so Harry’s dad and your other roommates had to listen to it.”

Lupin covers his face. “Merlin save us both.”

Argo smirks and raises his eyebrow at Sirius. “Professor Lupin had to teach you how protection works.”

“I knew the spells.”

“Which are contraceptive and do nothing to prevent disease, and thus useless to you at the time.”

“Ew! Stop! I don’t want to know about this!” Harry shivers.

“And then, since it was both of your first times anyway, you decided to do without.”

“Seriously! How do you know that?”

James complains about it once. Argo just shrugs smugly. “Haven’t you heard? I know everything.”

Sirius, though still bruised, smells a challenge. “I don’t believe you.”

Argo just smirks. “How about the time Lily caught you in the prefect’s bathroom with-”

“Okay, you know everything!” Sirius waves his arms as he shouts, desperately trying to get Argo to shut up. When Argo silently smirks at him, he hisses, “I’m trying to be a good example for Harry, you know!”

“I think that ship sailed when you went to jail.”

“I was innocent!”

Harry watches the back and forth with no small measure of concern. He carefully presses against Lupin to whisper, “Are they getting along?”

Lupin frowns at the scene for a moment. “I… think so?”

Harry makes a face, then his eyes go wide. “Wait- the first time?” Big eyes round on Sirius and Remus. “Is there something you two want to tell me?”

“We were young!” Sirius protests. “It’s perfectly healthy to explore-”

“Mr. Black tried to shag your dad.”

Sirius levels Argo with a look of the utmost, horrified betrayal. (The look Harry gives Sirius isn’t far off, either.)

“That was one time.”

Argo shrugs.

“I was drunk.”

The playful smirk on Argo’s lips betrays his true intentions here. “Mm. Yes. I hear he was very nice about turning you down.” To Harry, he adds. “He’d already started dating your mom, you see, else he’d probably have gone for it.”

“Wait, really?”

“Ugh! Gross! Please, stop sharing!”

“No, not really. James wasn’t into Mr. Black that way. He did fantasize about Professor Lupin a little, though. After a surprisingly long snogging session.”

Lupin just groans helplessly, not daring to lift his head from his hands as Sirius rounds a betrayed look at him.

“Please,” whines Harry. “I’m begging you. Please stop talking about my dads.”

Argo laughs, loudly and from the belly. “Point being, Harry, they’ve no leg to stand on. If you thought my love life is ridiculous, you haven’t heard the start of what they got up to. At least all the guys I flirt with know about each other.”

“Dad cheated?”

Argo snorts. “No, no, not like that. These were at different times. They were all just so embarrassed that it happened that they never mentioned it to each other. I’m pretty sure I broke your guardian, by the way. I guess he still never knew about James and Professor Lupin. Oops.”

His tone makes it perfectly clear that nothing about what he does here is an accident.

He checks his watch. “Oh, look at the time. My work here is done. I really have to be getting back soon. It was good to see you, brother. Happy birthday, again.”

Harry watches in disbelief as his brother winks and trots off.

Lupin sighs to himself. Argo really just comes here to cause trouble, doesn’t he? Well… Lupin can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He hasn’t the foggiest idea how Argo learns any of that, but while it’s definitely not the approach he expects, it’s still at its heart just Argo jabbing at Remus and Sirius.

It definitely does the job of stopping them from bringing up anything else, like what they are to Argo now that he’s officially calling Harry his brother, Argo inexplicably wearing the watch Sirius gives him, or anything about Jason. It’s only after Argo is out of sight that Lupin realizes that’s most likely his true goal with that behavior. It’s just to waste time so that he’s not trapped talking about anything substantial.

The thought carves a hollow void in Lupin’s chest. What a clever boy.

Harry frowns. “He seemed… better than I expected. I’m glad he’s doing okay.”

Yes. Lupin isn’t quite so sure about that.

Sirius grabs Harry’s shoulder. “Jason was very important to him, yes, but you should remember that he’s seen a lot of creatures die. He knows how to grieve and move on, I think. Probably better than most of us.”

Yes… Lupin isn’t quite so sure about that, either.

The party continues on for several more hours. They have a big lunch together, and some cake, and then a few games, and Harry is happy that Argo makes it, but sad that he doesn’t stay for any of the actual event.

Though by the end of the day, he’s glad that his brother isn’t around. Because just as they’re wrapping up a party game, and the party itself is winding down, they get some unexpected visitors.

Harry finds himself face to face quite suddenly with a group of wizards in plain black robes whose faces are covered by dog masks.

Everyone goes quiet at the intrusion. One hound, the largest, and the only one wearing no outer robe, but exposing the black hide armor he wears (Runed, of course. Who knows the enchantments lining that, both runic and not?) with only a startling snow-white cape and hood to obscure his hair, steps forward.

“You’re Laelaps’ Hound,” Sirius says, coming forward to greet him. His eyes dart suspiciously to the others behind him. “I didn’t realize he had a whole pack.” He hums. “No matter, I’m sorry to say after you’ve come all this way, but this is a private event. If Laelaps has business with Harry, I’m afraid he’ll have to contact him another time.”

The Hound in the front shakes his head. His voice, when he speaks, is altered with magic. “I understand perfectly, Mister Black.” He bows low. “I truly do apologize for the interruption. Unfortunately, this is not something that can be… postponed.”

“…I see.” Sirius narrows his eyes. “And what is your business here?”

That dog mask angles up so that it appears almost to smile. “I apologize for the confusion, but I am not a hound. I am Laelaps. I am here,” he says, “to announce a hunt.”

Whispers carry. Laelaps himself? No one has the honor of meeting the man personally until now, that anyone knows of. He announces himself in Diagon Alley, but at the time he dresses the same as his hounds. Why show himself today? Why stand out like this? What is his business? A hunt, he says? For what?

Laelaps lifts a nondescript wand, points it directly at Harry’s stunned figure, and without hesitation, in the space while everyone is still dumbfounded by the situation, says calmly, “Avada Kedavra.”

A bright flash of green. Harry sees it in his memory, sees his mother collapse, hears her scream, sees the spider Moody kills in class. It’s pure instinct and adrenaline that shouts in his mind to move. He dives sideways, his heart pounds in his ears, and the flash of poison-green misses him by just a hair.

Screaming in the air mingles with Harry’s breath in his ears. Hermione’s bushy hair blocks half his vision, but he only stares at that dog mask.

Why? Laelaps isn’t- Laelaps has always been- it doesn’t make any sense! Why does Laelaps, who should barely have anything to do with him at all, want to kill him?

“What are you playing at? Are you really Laelaps?” Sirius demands, snarling. He and Remus both are between Laelaps and Harry, wands trained on the now-confirmed dark wizard.

Harry sees something in the newspaper about Laelaps in Diagon Alley. It says he murders two of the escaped Death Eaters. Among other, less believable things. Why come after Harry?

Laelaps chuckles darkly, undeterred by the two wizards between him and his prey.

Prey. That’s all Harry is, all he’s ever been. For Voldemort, now for the hound fated to never lose his prey.

“So long as Mister Potter lives,” Laelaps says slowly, clearly, for everyone to hear, “so too, does Voldemort.”

And either must die at the other’s hand for neither can live while the other survives. Harry’s ragged breath catches in his throat.

“Explain yourself,” Remus growls. “What do you mean?”

That dog mask smiles again. It feels mocking. “Are you familiar, Mr. Lupin, with horcruxes?”

Lupin sucks in a breath. “That’s the darkest of magic. What do you-”

“Yes,” says Laelaps, cool as ice. “Harry Potter is the last remaining horcrux of Lord Voldemort.”

Sirius and Remus both reel back in shock, as well as a few select members of the crowd who actually understand what that means. “No…” Sirius mumbles. “No. You’re lying!”

Laelaps holds his arms out, a sort of shrug. It means his wand is aimed away for the moment. “I’m not. Since I started my campaign, I have had only one goal. To kill Voldemort for good.”

Then they should be allies! Harry wants to scream, but nothing crosses his throat.

“In my hunt, I’ve found and destroyed five horcruxes. The sixth…” The dog’s muzzle turns down and away in shame. “The sixth, Voldemort is currently using to return to power.”

More gasps. More screams. Something might be on fire – Harry can’t see much beyond Laelaps. Are his hounds still behind him? Or are they attacking the guests?

“And the seventh, and last,” Laelaps concludes, “is here.” His wand drifts back to Harry. “In that scar.”

Harry can’t see beyond Laelaps’s mask, but his voice is startlingly kind. “I am sorry.”

“Listen!” Surprising everyone, Harry’s guardians most of all, Mr. Weasley steps in, without even drawing his wand, hands up, to stare down Laelaps and stand right between his wand and Harry. “If that’s true… If that’s true, then we’ll work to find a solution. If that’s the only reason you’re here, we’ll forgive this, forget it happened, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Laelaps’ shoulders drop. “Mr. Weasley…” he says. “I take full responsibility for my actions. It’s my own failure that allowed Voldemort to reclaim his sixth horcrux, and therefore, my own failure which disallows us the time to find another solution. Harry Potter must die so that Voldemort can. Voldemort at full power with a remaining horcrux preventing him from being killed again… is that what you want?”

“We’ll just have to work fast,” Mr. Weasley declares. “I’m sure if we call in help, work together, something can be found. But you are not killing Harry today.”

Laelaps hums sharply. His wand doesn’t twitch. Mr. Weasley suddenly transfigures into a dog. Sirius and Remus leap into action, but Laelaps’s hounds are faster and stall their wands.

“Move aside, Ms. Granger.” Laelaps’ low, cold voice never loses that hint of kindness, like he truly does regret what he’s doing.

His wand moves, sideways, to fix on Ron, who barges forward out of the crowd to Hermione’s side in front of Harry, shouting, “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too!”

Laelaps huffs, almost a bark. “If you insist. Confringo.”

Ron ducks under it, using an angled shield to deflect it slightly up over both his and Harry’s heads and counters with a curse of his own.

Hermione joins. Then Cedric, Daphne, Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, Fred and George, Neville… Harry nearly faints when he sees Elsie raise her wand in front of him, all fire and determination in her eyes.

Laelaps can’t beat this many opponents. His hounds distract the biggest threats, the aurors and the war veterans, but even if they’re mostly students, he can’t fight them all.

Laelaps doesn’t need to.

“Enough,” Laelaps announces. He sweeps his wand along the ground, flicks it, and a small circle of earth, all the ground beneath the feet of him and everyone between him and Harry, moves. It rotates, quickly, in a sharp circle, switching Laelaps and Harry’s friends’ positions, leaving Laelaps between them and Harry.

They can’t fire any curses for fear of striking Harry by accident, and Laelaps moves with blinding speed, anyway. He sweeps around, and just as his wand passes, a white cutting curse leaves the tip of it to slash across Harry’s neck.

“Harry!”

“Laelaps!” A distinctly feminine voice, one that is also disguised like Laelaps’ own is, roars over the crowd. There’s a sort of blink. In one moment, everyone is where Laelaps puts them, Harry is bleeding out in the grass, clutching at his throat, gasping for breath, the next Laelaps is separated from them, and Harry’s friends are standing around him.

Daphne drops to his side. She slits her own wrist with a gleaming knife, and her blood spills into Harry’s opened throat. She mutters unintelligibly under her breath, her wand fixed on him. She does not pay any attention to Laelaps behind the crowd of her friends, or the newcomer who gives her this opportunity.

Neville does the same. He falls to his knees and starts digging through his bag. He’s inspired some time ago by Argo’s pocket, which has seemingly anything he needs in it. And Neville is quite good with plants, and quite clumsy, and having some healing herbs on hand all the time comes in handy on a day to day basis. He never dreams he’ll need them for anything like this, though. Harry’s blood stains his hands and he trembles as he works, but he prepares his tinctures.

But the others see the new arrival. She wears duelist’s robes of dark blue, the color of the night, light protection but a lot of mobility, none of the long drapes that can get in the way or catch on things. In one hand, her wand, in the other, an open puzzle box in constant motion, folding in on itself and opening on seemingly new dimensions as it juts out and pulls in and solves itself. She’s hooded like Laelaps, hiding her hair, and covering her face is a canine mask of her own.

A fox.

“So,” Laelaps says. “We meet at last. You’re the Teumessian Fox.”

“You know bloody well who I am!” The Fox howls. “What are you thinking? This is not how this works!”

“Potter has to die,” says Laelaps. “It is the only way this ends.”

The Teumessian Fox’s grip on her wand and the puzzle box tightens. “…I see. So… what happened in Diagon Alley… it drove you to this.”

Laelaps’ muzzle dips.

“You’re the cleverest wizard alive today. There has to be another solution!”

“You know better than anyone that I wish there were.” Laelaps’ voice trembles. “I have to do this.”

The Teumessian Fox bows her head. “I can’t let you.”

There are cracks of apparition. Aurors arriving on the edge of the property, running into apprehend Laelaps.

Laelaps glares. Not aurors. The Order of the Phoenix.

Either way, time’s up.

Laelaps sees this and sighs. His gaze returns, pleadingly to the Fox. “Everything happens for a reason,” he says. “It’s almost time to begin.”

And then he disapparates away. His hounds follow.

They all escape before the Order gets close enough.

Hermione stares wide-eyed at the Teumessian Fox. “Wh- what did he mean by that?” she asks with a trembling voice. “Begin what?”

The Teumessian Fox eyes the approaching Order, looks at Hermione, and shakes her head. “The end,” she says.

And she vanishes, as well.

Dumbledore stares at the newspaper, specifically the picture within.

Laelaps in Diagon Alley. He holds his wand towards a translucent image of Bellatrix Lestrange, but appears more to be reaching out to her rather than aiming his wand. A sharp tug. Bellatrix collapses, her face contorted in pain.

Dumbledore looks away.

Seeing it… disturbs him greatly. Laelaps is the hound who will always catch his prey. The hound from whom there is no escape. Can it truly be that even Death itself cannot escape him, or is the answer much simpler than that?

Grindelwald, when he reaches out to mock Dumbledore, uses the symbol of the Deathly Hallows quite out of nowhere. That’s not a topic he’d write about in a letter that is surely screened by his guards, so that symbol is likely all he can share that anything regarding the Hallows comes up. But he puts the symbol on the letter largely regarding Laelaps.

Dumbledore finds the picture again, sees Bellatrix standing over her own corpse, and his throat goes dry.

Yes, there is no other reasonable explanation. Laelaps somehow has found the Resurrection Stone. And he is using it for this. Dumbledore shudders to think what else that man might be capable of using the stone for, but it does explain some of his inexplicable knowledge, if the dead share it with him.

Is that how he learns of the terrible burden he shares today?

Harry… a horcrux. And losing Jason… is it vengeance that drives the poor boy, or is this yet another calculation? To murder his own brother… there can be no doubt, can there? Everyone present witnesses him cast the killing curse, which requires intent to even cast. Thankfully it is only a cutting curse which actually lands, and Daphne Greengrass and Neville Longbottom are quick-thinking and capable enough to save his life, though Daphne’s method gives him pause, but that Laelaps can cast the killing curse at all is… deeply concerning.

(But should it be? After all, is it not on Dumbledore’s own orders that Professor Moody demonstrates the curse for him? Is that where he learns it?)

What does it all mean? Dumbledore feels older than he ever has before as he sits in his chair, watching that picture.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange are dead by Laelaps’ hand. Lestrange Manor is burnt to the ground in what can only be called vicious retribution. Laelaps possesses the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows, and it is not lost on Dumbledore that all three of the Hallows find their way to Hogwarts, with himself, Harry, and now Argo. Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox… Dumbledore assumes to this point that the Fox is an enemy, or neutral at best, aligned against Laelaps but otherwise not involved, but she appears to protect Harry and drive Laelaps off.

If she is neutral, and not an ally, or even if she is on their side, her abilities… Dumbledore cannot place just what manner of magic she employs. Everyone’s description of the event indicates that everyone – a small crowd of people around Harry – are simply in one place in one moment, and another the next. It’s almost like apparition, but completely silent, and concerningly, completely outside the control of the one being moved. Magic like that is far beyond what Dumbledore is comfortable saying is even possible. Simultaneous transportation of a dozen unwilling witches and wizards in nothing more than a blink of an eye. If the Teumessian Fox has no other tricks up her sleeve, which Dumbledore sincerely doubts, she is already terrifying for that power alone.

And Harry being just one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. Laelaps says he destroys five of them already. The sixth is returned to Riddle, and Dumbledore knows Laelaps is telling nothing but the truth when he says that Voldemort is using it to return to power. The only good thing about that ritual is that it will return the soul residing in the horcrux back to Riddle, and therefore leave him slightly more mortal than before. Which means Harry is the only horcrux left, then they merely have to kill Voldemort himself. At full power.

And Laelaps’ parting words… “Everything happens for a reason. It’s almost time to begin.” As if he has not already started, so he is not referring to the destroying of the horcruxes or even hunting Harry. And his reason…

(The Teumessian Fox growls as she paces. That damn mutt. What is he thinking? Attacking Harry in broad daylight? At his birthday party, no less?

But that’s a clue, isn’t it? Everything happens for a reason. The Teumessian Fox knows better than anyone that if Laelaps wants to kill Harry, it’ll be all too easy for him to get Harry alone. Perhaps he simply doesn’t want to risk doing it behind Hogwarts wards?

No, he uses this same strategy before. Using dangerous, lethal attacks not to actually kill anyone, but to threaten. He uses the killing curse, but he does it plainly for all to see, when everyone has more than enough time to see what’s coming and dodge. He never intends to hit anyone with it. The curse that does land, the cutting curse… Laelaps knows who’s present and what their capabilities are, and the Fox is sure that if he wants to, he can separate a head from its shoulders with that curse.

Even more easily for him, he can curse the wound so that Harry would bleed out before any healing stoppers it. He can kill Harry easily with that cutting curse. If he’s there at the party to kill Harry, then why doesn’t he?

The Teumessian Fox’s eyes widen as she gasps. What lands is a cutting curse. Knowing him, it’s probably the only spell Laelaps intends to find its target. He isn’t after Harry’s life, not today in that garden, anyway. He’s after Harry’s blood.

Does that mean that he plans on trying to save Harry with it – but if that’s the case, why not simply ask him for the blood? – or is this simply a convoluted means of killing him in the right moment? Laelaps is such a fan of proper timing.)

“First the Death Eaters return, and now Laelaps joins them? How could this have happened?” Mrs. Weasley putters. The rest of the Order of the Phoenix gathers around, looking expectantly to Dumbledore.

Except Moody. “Laelaps wouldn’t join the Death Eaters if his life depended on it,” he huffs. “No, he’s a dark lord in his own right. Between Diagon Alley and today…” Moody recalls a conversation he has with Argo once, where Argo tells him that everyone has the potential to turn dark, that it simply depends on what it takes to bring that potential out of them.

Moody sighs. So, this is that it takes for Argo, is it?

“I think it’s safe to say Laelaps was telling the truth,” Moody grunts. “His real goal is the Dark Lord, not Harry. He’s only after Harry because he’s a horcrux which needs to be dealt with before the man himself. Now that the Dark Lord has his power back, Laelaps won’t necessarily be able to control the time and place that they run into each other, so he’s determined to get rid of the last horcrux before that confrontation so that he can kill the Dark Lord for good.”

“You think he’s desperate?” Snape asks shrewdly.

“Yes,” says Moody. “I also think he can be reasoned with.”

“He tried to kill my godson!” Sirius roars.

“Better than fighting two dark lords at once, innit?” Moody snaps. “At least this one only wants to kill Harry by coincidence. I’d say Voldemort is the bigger threat, myself.”

“I spoke with Laelaps some time ago,” Dumbledore admits, drawing everyone’s looks. “I offered then an alliance with him.” Dumbledore slowly shakes his head. “He refused, and warned me that if we get in his way, he’d treat us as any other enemy.”

“Well, that settles it, then.” Sirius grits his teeth. “How are we going to deal with him?”

“That said,” Dumbledore continues, “I believe Alastor is correct. He refused to join us, but he expressed no desire to oppose us so long as we don’t interfere with his work. If we can find a reasonable alternative, some way to separate Harry from the piece of Riddle’s soul without killing him, I am quite sure that Laelaps would call off his hunt that we might see it through.”

Dumbledore hopes that Laelaps will be very happy to hear such an alternative exists. Whenever Dumbledore manages to find it.

Dumbledore’s voice is firm, but a part of him is trying to convince himself. “Laelaps is not a man who seeks violence. He does not wish Harry harm. He only sees Harry’s death as… necessary for the greater good.”

(Blood, once spilled, cannot return to its source. It’s a fundament of blood magic, though it’s difficult to say why; most simply agree that the act of spilling the blood has as much if not more magical significance than the blood itself. Magic likes its abstracts and symbolism, something anyone interested in Ancient Runes can confirm, and according to the extant writings of Ichorous the Intrepid, not all blood can be used for all purposes. Some must be taken, some given, some must be extracted from a major artery, and yet others require a distant vein. Like all magic, the complexity of the requirements often precludes particularly complex spellwork, though exceptions obviously must be made.

Argo’s notes on this subject and more lay bare on his desk as he sits on the edge of his bed and rolls the vial of blood between his fingers, frowning. The newspapers on the floor are all covering his attack on Harry’s party, Harry himself is recovering at St. Mungo’s with professional care. So far… everything is according to plan.)

“Even if that’s true,” Remus says carefully, “does that alternative exist? And how do we plan to protect Harry while we look for it?”

No one questions that they will look for it. After all, they want to defeat Voldemort as well, and if Harry really is a horcrux, that will need to be dealt with.

“Thanks to Laelaps’ tireless efforts,” Dumbledore says, “I find myself with much more free time than I had last year. I shall devote myself to investigating the issue of the horcrux. I am sure Alastor has more experience protecting people from dark wizards than I and will concede to arrange defenses for Harry until he returns to school.”

Moody grunts.

“And Severus…”

Snape raises his brow. “Yes?”

“Do you still wish to take the Defense post?”

Snape, who does wish to teach Defense over Potions, nonetheless hesitates. “I believe that is no longer your decision to make. And who would replace me?”

Dumbledore smiles. “I’m sure Minerva will be more than happy to have a competent Defense teacher. As for the Potions position, I think it’s time I paid a visit to Professor Slughorn.”

Daphne pulls a vial from the bandolier she hides in her robes. Swiftly uncorking it, she downs it in one go.

Blood-replenishing potions. Daphne is just paranoid enough to not ask the St. Mungo’s staff for one of theirs, preferring one that she brews herself, though that paranoia may be partly from the situation. After all, if word doesn’t reach these people yet that she uses blood magic (Which she does just… out in the open! Stupid! Though she knows the consequences when she chooses to save Harry’s life.) then she doesn’t want to make it obvious.

She sighs. The gossip is spreading. The newspapers thankfully don’t share unnecessary details (thanks largely, she suspects, to Lucius Malfoy and her own father’s pressure on them, and the recent elimination of particularly amoral employees like Rita Skeeter) but the fact of the matter is that Muriel Prewett and Bathilda Bagshot are both there to see it all firsthand.

There’s never any chance that rumors don’t fly.

To the average wizard, Laelaps solidifies his turn to the dark that is speculated on after what happens in Diagon Alley last month (he does only harm known Death Eaters and escapees from Azkaban, after all, so not everyone is against him despite his drastic measures – though everyone is terrified of his ability to seemingly call on and harm the dead) after attacking an innocent boy, and Daphne and Neville are largely credited with the first aid that saves Harry’s life, but no mention of her methods is made so she’s just seen as a quick-thinking and talented friend.

To those who have an ear to the rumor mill, as Daphne does, however… word of Harry being a horcrux is already spreading. Those who don’t know what a horcrux is at least get from the context that Voldemort can’t be defeated so long as Harry lives. And the daughter of the Supreme Mugwump is said to use dark magic.

Daphne chokes down her trepidation and fear. She clips the bitter claws in her chest. The sight of Harry prone and pale in his hospital bed is almost too much – she has to look away.

She owes Laelaps, too. Laelaps warns her father about the political upheaval last year. It’s largely by his advice that the Greengrass family comes out on top, and her father ends up as head of the Wizengamot.

The rumors… Even if it damages her father’s position, even if it ruins her family’s reputation… people can say what they like. Oh, Daphne will fight them with all she has to preserve her family’s place in this world, but in the end, what is most important? Her family’s standing? Or having her family to stand with? Total ruin is preferable to a day without Astoria.

Argo, Susan, and Harry. They relieve her family of a generational curse. They not only save her sister’s life, but possibly the lives of countless Greengrass daughters. Maybe even Daphne’s own, eventually. For what they do for her and her family, for her sister, Daphne will spill every drop of blood in her body.

In this brewing conflict – Daphne is not stupid enough to miss the signs that have been present since at least fourth year – no matter what Voldemort does, no matter what Dumbledore does, or Laelaps, she is on Argo, Susan, and Harry’s side and no one else’s.

They find a way to cure a malediction. Daphne is sure they’ll find a way to remove the bit of soul stuck in Harry.

Her eyes land on the bandage around his neck. It’s just stuck on, but it seems to wrap around like a noose.

He’ll be fine. He must.

Daphne’s teeth-grinding is interrupted, suddenly, by a soft, “Oh.”

Hardly does she expect to be Harry’s only visitor. In fact, she should leave quickly. Still, she cannot hide the contempt on her face when she locks eyes with Ronald Weasley. That Hermione is next to him does not do him any favors, nor does his jumping in to protect Harry at the party. Not to Daphne.

She remembers what he does to Argo in fourth year far too well, not to mention attacking and kidnapping Jason at the start of their fifth, and it is very rare to find a Slytherin who is forgiving. She might keep her distance, normally, from a conflict between a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw, but Argo is hers just as Harry is hers. His grudges are hers as well. That’s part of what being family is.

“Hi, Daphne.” Hermione whispers as if she might wake Harry by speaking too loudly. “How’s he doing?”

“He’ll be fine, though he probably won’t wake until tomorrow at least.” Daphne looks back to Harry’s too-pale face. “He lost a lot of blood. Even when he’s conscious again, he’ll be weak and anemic for a while. I’m not sure how long he’ll be stuck here. I’d guess about a week, though that’s mostly because they’ll want to be extra sure since he’s… him.”

“I see.” Hermione gulps painfully. “And… and you?”

Daphne doesn’t look away from Harry. “I’m fine.”

Silence reigns for a blissful moment before Ron opens his mouth. “What you did back there,” he says. “That was blood magic.”

Daphne bites her lip. Slowly, deliberately, she opens her outer robe to expose the bandolier of potions she wears now. “Replenishing the volume is the easy part,” she says quietly. “That comes quickly and is aided by potions. But that new blood will be anemic until the body has time to recover naturally, and the potions only stimulate that – it doesn’t just make everything normal.

“I didn’t lose nearly as much blood,” she says. “So, I’m fine. Just no more magic like that for a while until I’m fully recovered.”

“That’s-”

Hermione quickly cuts Ron off with a glare and a hasty, “Glad to hear it.”

Daphne eyes the pair of them standing stiffly as far away from her and Harry as polite. She sighs and shakes her head. “You’re uncomfortable with me.”

“That’s not-”

And now Ron interrupts her. “You’re a dark witch,” he says simply. Hermione elbows him hard, making him wince. “But… But you saved Harry’s life. So… sorry. I’ll try to get over it.”

Hermione plasters on an obviously fake smile and prances to the other side of Harry’s bed.

Oh, boy. Well, never let Gryffindors be accused of subtlety. The only way this can possibly get more awkward is if-

Argo walks in. Ron jumps practically out of his skin, and clearly likes his chances with Daphne better than with Argo because he’s on the other side of Hermione, near Harry’s head, in a flash. “Hello Daphne,” Argo says. Susan at his side nods to her. “Hermione.” His voice shifts, not significantly, but obviously colder when he says, “Weasley.”

Ron releases a girly sort of squeak.

“Argo,” Daphne says. “You’re still here?”

“Just for the moment,” he answers. He steps carefully around to Daphne’s side of Harry’s bed to drop off a card on Harry’s bedside table. “I only came to deliver my well-wishes.” He rubs his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t want him to think…”

Daphne smiles, but she sees how Susan’s eyes sharpen when no one else is looking. “He’ll be glad you made it,” she says quietly. “But I’m sure he would’ve understood. We all thought you were long gone.”

Argo hums. “We delayed the trip as soon as we found out. I’ll be leaving in a couple hours. Sorry I can’t stay longer.”

“Trip?” Hermione echoes. “What trip? You’re going somewhere? Now?”

Argo rubs his neck. “It’s why I didn’t stay long at Harry’s party. As a coming of age-slash-graduation present, my grandpa is taking me anywhere I want to go. A couple years ago when it was Rolf’s turn, we went to Caucasus then ran around Japan for a bit. I’ll be in Germany tomorrow, then we’ll be spending most of the rest of the summer break travelling around Indonesia.” He grins, sort of shy, but unquestionably excited. “I want to study island ecosystems, so I’m hoping we can visit other islands, as well. Hawaii, New Zealand… it just depends on time. We’ve already lost some.”

“Oh,” says Hermione. “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah. Should be.”

Ron gapes at him. “Are you serious?”

Argo’s annoyance is clear on his face when he snaps, “What?”

Ron’s face twists. “Your brother was attacked and is stuck in the hospital, and you’re going to go on vacation?”

“It’s a field expedition,” says Argo impassively, “but do go on about my moral failings.”

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you care about him at all?”

Hermione bristles. “Ronald!” But Susan just frowns, eyeing Argo carefully.

“It’s fine,” Argo says. “I do not intend to start a conflict at my injured brother’s bedside.” Watching Ron flush beet-red is perhaps the definition of finding the good in a bad situation. “As it’s clear that present company is not capable of controlling themselves,” Argo continues, with yet another jab that turns Ron’s face somehow even redder, “and I am on a tight schedule as is, I’ll simply take my leave. Daphne, Susan, Hermione… Do look out for him while I’m gone. He’ll need his friends.”

(Ron trembles fiercely, but has nothing to counter Argo’s words with. He’s not Harry’s friend. Not anymore.)

“As if you need to ask.” Susan’s voice has an odd tinge to it that is quickly brushed away. By the time she finishes her sentence, Daphne wonders if she imagines it. “Take care of yourself, too. You deserve some time away from everything.”

(Jason dies just a month ago, now Argo’s brother is nearly killed. Ron’s fury turns to shame as he realizes he doesn’t even for a moment consider how Argo must be feeling right now. Argo is so composed, so coldly calculating, in a way that strikes Ron as so Slytherin, that he forgets that Argo is probably just doing all he can to hold himself together.

Can Ron really blame him for wanting to get away for a while?)

Daphne frowns. She looks at Susan for a moment, then back to Harry, and sighs. “I should be leaving as well, actually. My father wants me back soon. I’ll see you all later. Argo, walk out with me?”

“Of course.”

And so, Daphne takes Argo’s arm and the two of them leave the others behind. She drags him off until they’re alone and quietly asks, “Is everything okay with Susan?”

Argo smiles ruefully. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s just a little concerned. We… had a talk before we came in.”

Daphne purses her lips. “About what?”

Argo rubs his arm. “Not being there.”

She blinks. Not being… at the party? “What, because you left?”

He nods shamefully. “I wasn’t there to protect him. Maybe there’s nothing I could’ve done, I mean, Susan was at least fighting the hounds even though she regrets not being directly in front of Harry, but not being there at all is… frustrating.”

Ah. Daphne supposes she can understand that. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“My head knows that,” Argo answers. “My heart…” He sighs.

Daphne grabs his hand, entwines their fingers, and squeezes tight. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “Harry’s the one we need to be worried about.”

“You know,” Daphne hums softly, “for such a baby, you spend a lot of time trying to stop people from worrying over you.”

That draws a strained laugh from him. “Yeah, well. I’m also a caretaker. I’m the one who’s supposed to be looking out for people. Having people who… who I feel should be mine to take care of, take care of me instead is… uncomfortable. It feels a bit as if I’m failing at my job.”

Daphne frowns. “We’re a Circle for a reason. No one over another, no one more important than another. We’re equals. Of course, we’re all going to look out for each other.”

Argo chuckles. “Yeah, I know. Again, the head knows that, but the heart… It’s a little more selfish, I guess.”

Percy Weasley is, to put it mildly, distressed. He paces outside Madam Bones’ door anxiously, uncharacteristically disheveled as he waits politely for admittance. The moment he hears her call for him to enter, he slams through the door in a near panic.

“Madam Bones!” In his stress, he shouts, then winces at his volume and tones it down. “I have urgent news!”

Madam Bones fixes him with a long-suffering glare, dismisses the auror already in her office, then once they’re gone gestures for Percy to sit.

He does, only out of propriety, because it’s his boss who asks him to. Still, he bounces his leg furiously.

“What is this about, Mr. Weasley?”

He practically explodes to tell her. “I know who Laelaps is!”

And Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, top auror in their department, Percy Weasley’s no-nonsense, by-the-book boss, pinches the bridge of her nose for a long, silent moment, and then reaches into a drawer on her desk to retrieve a fine bottle of scotch.

Percy’s jaw drops, disbelieving, as she casually tosses two glasses on the desk, fills them both to the brim, downs one like a shot, then refills it and shoves the other towards Percy.

“Drink, Weasley,” she says. “You’re too high-strung.”

“B-b-but- But Madam!”

The look on her face is as exhausted as it is frustrated. “Are you an auror or a legislator? Quit clutching your pearls and drink.” Scandalized, Percy continues to sputter uselessly. Madam Bones drags a hand down her face. “So, you know who Laelaps is.”

Clutching for something not so… against regulations, Percy shakily nods. Madam Bones hums. Percy chokes over his own words for a moment, then, screwing his eyes shut, grabs his glass and takes a miniscule sip of the scotch. “He’s-”

“Let me stop you right there,” says Madam Bones. “More importantly, what do you propose we do about him?”

What do they do about him? He kills someone in broad daylight in Diagon Alley! (A Death Eater, yes, but still.) He burns down the home of an old pureblood family with impunity! He attempts to kill Harry Potter in his own home at his own birthday party! He… everyone there sees it, he casts the killing curse!

The law cannot be clearer. There’s only one thing to be done.

And yet, Percy remembers the little boy who gives Penelope the bubotuber which may be what saves her life against that troll. He remembers the little boy who ventures into the Chamber of Secrets to remove the basilisk from Hogwarts and saves Percy’s little brothers and sister.

Mostly, Percy remembers the eager student who asks him for advice on what electives to take, who works with Penelope on understanding a transfiguration spell inside and out. He remembers the boy who falls asleep in the library, who he carries on his back all the way up to the Ravenclaw dorms, which inadvertently gives him excuses to see Penelope more often.

He remembers that little boy he goes to school with, who saves his family so often, who is so polite and eager and good, who goes to Percy for help for things Percy’s own family always mocks him for, who is largely responsible for Percy landing this job in the first place, and his throat seizes with the effort of answering aloud.

He knows very well what must be done. What must be done is… is that he should abstain from the case entirely. It’s improper for an auror to allow personal feelings to influence his work, and Percy feels incapable of ignoring his feelings in this case.

Slowly, he says, “It won’t be easy to catch him. If we don’t get him sometime this year, while he’s at Hogwarts, it may be near impossible.”

Argo is one of few wizards perfectly capable of surviving – thriving, even – completely off the map. All his field expeditions give him experience as a survivalist away from civilization that very few can claim. That’s not even starting on his mastery of tracking and identification spells and somewhat terrifying understanding of magic as a whole. If Argo decides he does not want to be found, Percy does not believe that the DMLE has the means to find him.

Madam Bones grunts, an acknowledgement. “Possibly,” she says. “That doesn’t mean catching him at Hogwarts is any easier if he’s determined to escape us. But you didn’t answer my question.” She fixes Percy with a piercing gaze. “I know what protocol says. What do you propose we do about him?”

The mere thought that what protocol says and what Percy decides might be two different things makes Percy’s palms slick with a nervous sweat. He tries to subtly wipe his hands on his robes before freezing suddenly. “Madam…” he says carefully. “Do you know who Laelaps is?”

“If I say yes,” says Madam Bones, “I’d be bound by protocol, wouldn’t I?”

Yes, she would. And yet she refuses to answer.

“I’ve worked with Laelaps in the past,” she says, ignoring the question of his identity. “We… were working together to prevent You-Know-Who from returning to power and protect Harry Potter from him.” Madam Bones’ eyes take on a dark cloud. “The man I know… I wish I could say I’m surprised by the events of Diagon Alley, but that’s in line with his character to my knowledge.” Percy, when he considers it more closely, and remembers the planning and execution of the plot that catches Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, realizes Argo can be quite ruthless and agrees. (Jason dies. Argo has likely never been more ruthless in his life than in that moment.)

Madam Bones continues. “But attacking Harry?” She shakes her head. “The man I know would never. Do you think he’s simply fooled me?”

Percy is terrified that Argo can fool anyone he likes. “No,” he answers. “I- It doesn’t make sense.”

“Then what was his real goal? Think on it, detective.”

Percy does think on it. He thinks, and thinks hard, and is left helpless and without breath. “I don’t know.”

Madam Bones hums. “Me neither,” she admits. “But perhaps this question will be easier. Where does your faith fall? Do you believe in him, despite his infuriating habit of hiding things – or because of it? Or do you believe he is another dark lord who needs to be stopped?”

Percy thinks of the gentle grin framed by his little brothers’ twin wicked ones. “But,” he says, “but how- What does it matter? We don’t have a choice, given what he’s done. Even if he has good intentions, there isn’t any arguing he’s innocent!”

“No, that’s true.” Madam Bones takes a long, slow drink. “But if he’s right, and I believe he is, and You-Know-Who is back to his full power. What’s more, given that and Harry Potter being his horcrux…” She shakes her head. “Do you believe we have any chance of defeating You-Know-Who without Laelaps?”

Percy ducks his head, unable to answer.

“We need him, Weasley. People can shout and whine all they like, but it’s true. I don’t know what he’s planning. He never tells anyone anything, it seems. But if there’s any hope of getting through this all without it progressing into a full-out war, I believe Laelaps is it.”

Percy swallows thickly. “So… so we ignore it? We do nothing?”

“Until You-Know-Who is taken care of… so long as he doesn’t get too crazy.”

Percy rather thinks attempting to murder Harry at his birthday party counts as too crazy, but it seems their shaken faith isn’t broken entirely just yet. Percy bites his lip, then asks, “And after?”

Madam Bones’ eyes fall to her drink. “After,” she says. “After, then he’ll have to face the consequences of what he’s done. I know he isn’t making these choices blindly. He knows… our hands will be tied.”

“We’ll have to arrest him.”

“Yes. At this point… yes.”

“Headmistress McGonagall,

It is with great pleasure that I find myself finally able to deliver these items to you. I only regret that the remaining artefacts could not be a part of the set. Gryffindor’s sword is still lost and to my understanding rightfully belongs to the goblins and would not be mine to donate even if I did find it, and Hufflepuff’s Cup has slipped through my fingers. It is unlikely that I will be able to recover it anytime soon.

That said, I hope that Hogwarts will benefit from finding two of its founder’s most recognizable artefacts. I trust you will handle them with the care and respect that they deserve.

You will notice that the enchantments on the both of them have been locked. For the diadem, this was done at the Ravenclaw family’s request, and they ask that you take measures that no one who studies the artefact attempts to bypass the lockdown.

For the locket, after studying it myself and finding no remaining family of Slytherin’s to consult, I have decided to likewise lock down the enchantments for safety. It’s clear by the requirement of parseltongue to open it that Salazar Slytherin intended to restrict use of the locket to his family alone, so I feel that locking down the enchantments is in line with his wishes for his artefact, and personally ask that similar measures to prevent bypass are taken for it.

I could not donate these artefacts to Hogwarts while Dumbledore was headmaster, because I could not believe he would respect these lockdowns. I trust that you will have better discernment. I doubt that I have to warn you that these enchantments, in improper hands, could be disastrous for the wizarding world.

So, if Dumbledore does get his grubby little paws on these, even just to study, you’ll find they may disappear.

I watch your time as headmistress eagerly and know you will do well.

The Teumessian Fox”

Professor McGonagall sits back in her chair, truly taken aback. Slytherin’s Locket and Ravenclaw’s lost Diadem simply handed to her, just like that!

She takes a fortifying breath, deciding immediately that the Fox is absolutely correct, and that while these artefacts are important parts of the school’s history, which should be appreciated and respected, they are far too dangerous to actually be used. Ravenclaw’s diadem alone… and who knows what manner of magic someone like Slytherin might have put into that locket?

Locking down the enchantments is probably for the best. And if Ravenclaw’s remaining family asks for the lockdown, then as headmistress of Ravenclaw’s school, she is obligated to respect that wish, at least.

It is curious that they apparently find Ravenclaw’s family, though. Slytherin’s line is much better documented, and while yes, she can see how any remaining lines (only those American squib lines, now, with the loss of the Gaunts, and Voldemort does not count) are lost, to her knowledge the Ravenclaw line disappears much earlier. There isn’t any real creditable information beyond Rowena Ravenclaw’s own daughter, actually, so it is believed the line dies there.

The letter is a little difficult to get through because the handwriting changes often, as if two or twelve people write it together switching off between words and sentences, but, that certainly explains how this package suddenly appears in her office when she comes back from dinner. When she asks, none of the paintings admit to seeing a thing. One moment the desk is empty, the next, the package and letter are there waiting for her.

Hm. McGonagall is inclined to believe the Teumessian Fox’s threat, and she’s given no reason to believe Dumbledore will be able to protect these artefacts from her any better than anyone else can.

Whatever the Teumessian Fox’s problem is with Dumbledore, McGonagall knows when she has no option available to her. And it is not that much of a task to simply forbid him from tampering with the artefacts.

He’ll try to convince her they can be used against Voldemort, but frankly? She will deny him regardless.

Putting priceless artefacts in danger is not a first resort, ever.

When Sirius decides to pursue adopting Harry, he knows what he gets himself into. He knows, better than anyone in the world, just what kind of danger Harry Potter is in, and he knows better than anyone just what Harry has already been through.

He can’t say he’s prepared to be a father. He can barely pretend he was all those years ago before his time in Azkaban. But after? Merlin, no. All the same, he’s prepared to support his best friend’s kid, by any means necessary. He’s prepared to let go of any grudges or feelings he has to if it’s in Harry’s best interest. He’s prepared to devote himself wholly to Harry, in whatever way Harry needs him. He hopes that’s good enough.

(It’s certainly better than the Dursleys, but the bar being set so low admittedly makes Sirius wonder sometimes if he really isn’t the best person for Harry. Maybe Harry is only happy with him by comparison, and if Sirius just… let him go, if he let the Weasleys, or someone else, take him then he’d be even happier. Sirius knows for a fact that Harry would be happier with a bigger family than his broken godfather and a ragged old werewolf.)

(There’s no possible way he can do this without Remus.)

The truth is that, even though Sirius is well prepared to raise Harry, he comes far too late to do much raising. He’s Harry’s guardian, fair enough, but Harry is old enough by the time that happens that Sirius never truly expects anything from him. Harry already survives Voldemort several times, he’s sure to be mature enough to make his own decisions.

And so he is prepared to be a guardian, he’s prepared to be a friend, and he’s prepared to be a home, but one thing he never manages to prepare for is to be a father.

(“Please,” whines Harry. “I’m begging you. Please stop talking about my dads.” For a moment, Sirius forgets to breathe. It’s not the first time that Harry calls him and Remus his dads, but Sirius still isn’t sure how he feels about it. There’s a sharp elation cut down in his chest by slashing, unexplainable pain. He thinks James would be happy about it, but he can’t remember, anymore. Somewhere along the way, he forgets how much Harry looks like James, and now, when he looks at old pictures, he thinks about how much James looks like Harry.)

He knows how dangerous Harry’s life is going to be. He knows that Harry will never truly be safe. When he decides to take Harry in, he agrees to protect Harry from all those myriad dangers of the world. He is prepared to protect his kid.

He is not prepared to see Harry clutching at his slit throat, gasping and choking on his own blood in the grass. He is not prepared to stand over Harry’s hospital bed wondering at how pale he is. How small. Who can ever be prepared for that?

“Cedric!” Harry perks up, but is still too weak to sound truly excited. “Can I go home, yet?”

Cedric chuckles as he approaches the pair of them. “Yeah, Chiara says you’re good to go. Just don’t forget your potions and come back if anything seems wrong. It’ll still be a while before you get your energy back, so take it easy until you go back to Hogwarts, alright?”

Harry just weakly grins. “Even if I don’t, you’ll make me.”

“Someone has to.”

Sirius only takes a little offense at the implication that he won’t.

“But seriously, Harry,” Cedric says sitting down at his boyfriend’s side. “Physical health aside, how are you holding up?”

Harry goes quiet for a moment. His eyes find only the stone floors and walls. Then, he shrugs. “It’s not the first time I’ve almost died. Not the first time someone’s tried to kill me. I’m alright.”

Cedric sighs. “I can’t believe we’re at this point, but honestly, that’s not what I meant. I meant that Laelaps told everyone.”

“About Voldemort sticking a bit of his soul inside of me?”

“By accident,” Sirius says mutedly. “So, Dumbledore thinks.”

“Accident or not,” Harry murmurs, “So long as I live, Voldemort can’t die.” He sighs defeatedly. “And neither can live while the other survives. I… I guess that means Voldemort’s won. Doesn’t it?”

“Harry-”

“Except-” Harry sucks in a ragged breath, then smiles. It’s obvious to everyone that he’s putting on a front, but he does manage to put it on. “Except I’ve got the power that Voldemort knows not, don’t I? I’ve got friends. People who care about me. …Extremely talented people who care about me. Someone will figure out something, I think. I believe that.”

And despite how hard it is to make his countenance show it, Harry does, truly, believe that.

Sirius hums. “Yeah. Dumbledore will help. He’s already-”

“Dumbledore? When has Dumbledore ever helped?” Harry asks, genuinely baffled by the trust Sirius has there. (Argo rubs off on all of them in that regard. Not that he tries to shake their opinions of the man, he simply calls Dumbledore out, and the more they’re with him, the more they’re around to see it.)

Sirius stops short. He doesn’t expect that from Harry. He knows Argo doesn’t like Dumbledore (or, most adults, really) much, and that Harry has been hanging out with Argo, but he doesn’t expect Harry to turn on Dumbledore like this.

But… when does Dumbledore ever help? Now that Sirius thinks about it, how often does Dumbledore actually manage to protect Harry from all the dangers he faces?

Harry shakes his head. “No, I can’t rely on Dumbledore. But Argo has always protected me, even when he wouldn’t talk to me. He will figure something out. Argo, Daphne and Susan. I don’t know anyone cleverer than those three together. If Hermione jumps in, too, which you know she will, we’ll probably have this resolved in a week.”

Cedric grins at him. “That’s some confidence.”

Harry, who cannot tell them – or anyone – about the Circle’s little foray into a magical tomb and subsequent curing of a generations-long blood malediction that until now has no cure, merely smiles back.

If anyone can remove this bit of soul stuck in him, it’s his friends. After all they’ve already done? “I’m exaggerating, of course,” Harry says. “I know it won’t be that simple. But we’ll figure it out. I’m safe while I’m at Hogwarts – or at least safer; we have the whole year to work on it.”

“That’s the spirit,” says Cedric. “I’ll ask my friends to think on it, too. Argo probably already has, but they’re all incredible witches and wizards. With so many brilliant people working on it, someone will find something.”

“What is wrong with you?” Reynard roars.

Argo reels back incredulously. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I held my tongue in Diagon Alley,” growls Reynard, “and at Lestrange Manor. Because even though I didn’t agree, I understood. But you’ve gone too far this time.”

Narrowing his eyes, Argo hisses, “What else was I meant to do? You know perfectly well that there is no other-”

“I don’t believe that! I don’t believe there’s no other solution! And I don’t believe that you honestly believe that, either! I don’t know why you’ve decided that killing Harry is the best solution here, but I don’t believe for a second that you can’t see any other way. Not when it comes from you.”

At once, the fight leaves Argo. He slumps where he stands, sadly shakes his head. “You have too much faith in me,” he says. “I swear to you, I don’t see any other path to take here. Harry has to die. It is the only way this ends.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” Argo cards his fingers roughly through his hair. “Do you honestly think I’d do this if I thought there was another way?”

Reynard sets his jaw firmly. “Honestly?” he says. “I’m not sure what you’d be willing to do. Every time I think there’s a line you won’t cross, you go and cross it anyway. I mean, the torture curse?”

“Like the transmogrifian torture curse is any better! And you agreed with that one!”

“On Voldemort! Not anyone else!”

“Bellatrix Lestrange is just as evil and twice as mad.”

“Which is why I didn’t say anything at the time! But even so, an unforgivable curse? You know what it takes to cast those!” Reynard grits his teeth. “And I get what happened in Diagon Alley, I do. I was willing to let it go because of the situation. I was even willing to let Lestrange Manor go, even though that chilled me to the bone, because that wasn’t in the heat of the moment – that was just cold. But you cast the killing curse at your own brother.”

“Harry never would’ve let himself be hit by something so obvious.”

“That’s not the point! That was the killing curse! You know as well as I do that to cast that curse at all, you had to mean it!”

“And I do!” Argo says firmly. “As I’ve been saying. The only way this ends, the only way we kill Riddle, is to kill Harry first. I don’t have to be happy about it, or close my heart to it, to mean it. Intention and desire are different things.”

Reynard shouts with frustration, throwing his hands in the air. After just a moment, he rounds back on Argo, demanding, “What is your real plan? Why won’t you tell us these things? Aren’t we supposed to be working together? Haven’t I always supported you? Why kill Harry? Why can’t we find some other solution?”

“There is no other solution!” Argo huffs. “And what do you care, anyway? You’ve never even met Harry!”

Reynard makes an odd noise of protest. “I don’t need a reason to care about a kid’s life, Argo! And I care because my Circle cares! Because Fred and George care, and because Cedric cares, and because you care! Just letting Harry die is not an option!”

“It’s the only option.”

“It’s not! And if you insist on this, then- then…”

Argo narrows his eyes. “Then what?”

Steeling his resolve, Reynard declares, “Then you lose the support of the Circle of Khanna. We will not be party to murder. I will not let you drag anyone into this fool’s endeavor.” Silence. “…Is that what you want? Are you willing to cut off-”

“I am willing,” says Argo darkly, “to do what is necessary.” Hazel eyes search Reynard’s face for a long moment, then turn away. “No matter the cost.”

What? Even though Reynard lays down the ultimatum, he doesn’t expect Argo to choose this. “But-” he protests, “you’re the cleverest wizard around today! If anyone can figure out how to get rid of the horcrux-”

“If you believe that, when why don’t you trust me when I say it’s hopeless?” Argo begs. “Harry has to die. Don’t you get it?”

“If we give up that hope, what else do we have?”

“That’s exactly my point! There is nothing there. There’s nothing to find! Harry Potter is a horcrux. He’s not a vessel for it, he’s not containing it. There’s no part separate from him to excise or destroy. He is the horcrux. I’ve known it’s been Harry for more than a year now. You think I haven’t explored these options?”

“Then why not just kill him at the party?” Reynard asks desperately. “Why telegraph the killing curse, or hold back on that cutting curse? You could have killed him. If you believe so ardently that there is no other option, why not just get it over with?”

Argo slowly shakes his head. “You have to understand, Reynard. How it happens is just as important as that it happens at all. Remember the prophecy. There are some things that have to be done in the proper moment, in the proper way.”

“I didn’t think you believed in prophecy.”

“Prophecy is nebulous and imprecise,” Argo says. “But I’m not stupid enough to ignore them entirely. What I do believe is that prophecies aren’t determined when they’re spoken. They’re defined by how they’re interpreted. Ultimately, the power to craft fate is still in our hands. So, I’ve chosen the best interpretation.”

“Where you kill Harry.”

“Where Harry dies, yes. That’s why it’s so important that this is done right. If we want Voldemort dead and everything to turn out the best way it can, everything has to be exactly in place.”

“How is killing Harry the best way this can end? There’s nothing good about that!”

“Don’t ask for a happy ending in war,” Argo mutters. “The chance of everyone leaving this like nothing’s happening died the moment Riddle rose to power the first time.”

Reynard bites his lip and turns away. Argo has a point. This is war. It hasn’t progressed to full-scale battle, thankfully, but only a fool would say the war hasn’t already started. Maybe he is being naïve. Maybe there really is no way to avoid a sacrifice.

But Reynard will not be party to it. Naïve or not, his heart will not concede to the cold numbers of war. He will not kill one to save many. He can only attempt to save them all. And if he fails… then on his head be it. But he cannot live with himself thinking only of the greater good, and not the individual.

Hah. The greater good. Reynard sighs. “You sound like Dumbledore.”

Argo flinches, but he doesn’t argue. He accepts this judgement silently, and soon enough steps away.

Draco Malfoy’s stomach churns as he marches, alone, down the Hogwarts Express. He’s able to distract himself, mostly, with his prefect duties, but as his turn to patrol the hall comes to an end, the nauseating dread in his gut bubbles up to make itself known.

Because he has his orders. Only, they make no sense.

Draco is so relieved when he learns his father abandons Voldemort in favor of Laelaps. When he realizes that Laelaps is none other than Argo Scamander, he’s somehow even more relieved, because by then, by the time he figures out why his father wants him to befriend the boy, he already knows Argo well enough to respect him and know just how different he is from the Dark Lord.

Draco isn’t stupid. He knows that, in another life, he’d be forced to be a Death Eater. He knows the kind of horrors that Voldemort would force him to commit even if he weren’t already angry with the Malfoy family because of the Chamber of Secrets incident losing them the diary. (Which is a horcrux, of all things? Merlin’s beard.)

And Argo is among the most gifted students at Hogwarts. Possibly, he’s one of the most gifted wizards in Britain. Maybe even the world. He’s a match for Dumbledore already at his age, at least in his understanding of magic. Draco scarcely understands it, but he supposes that needs must. Argo is always a driven student, always asking why and trying to understand the fundaments rather than focusing on just producing the effects of his spells. As things get more dangerous and he chooses to involve himself so deeply in them, he expands the depth of his knowledge to a point that Draco can hardly fathom.

He is a Ravenclaw, Draco has to give him that.

But all that means that Draco is actually quite content with his father changing allegiances, and the implication it has on his own allegiances. He’s perfectly happy to answer to Argo, though he does admit that Argo can terrify him a bit. It rankles a little that he knows Argo is a half-blood, but then, so is Voldemort, and at least Argo is raised a pure-blood, and thus he is more along the lines of one of the respectable, but muddled wizarding families. (In fact, the Goldsteins are one such family.) He’s no blood traitor for sure, and he’s certainly no mudblood. Given his power, the tradeoff is… acceptable.

That’s why Draco’s newest orders are so concerning.

His father takes him aside, where his mother can’t hear, and whispers hurriedly to him early on in the summer. There, his father tells him what he expects of him. If it is not done before they return to school together, he must kill Harry Potter.

Draco’s first thought when he’s told this is, understandably, that his father is plotting to betray Laelaps, and he has an uncomfortable moment of twisting realization all at once, like when he’s suddenly sure of the result he wants just before a coin flip lands, where he knows that he can’t simply follow his father’s orders. He’ll have to betray his father and report him.

(If he didn’t already think of Theo as a good bloke, his respect for the guy just shoots through the roof.)

But when his father tells him the order comes from Laelaps himself? When Laelaps attacks Harry’s birthday party just a short while later?

Argo has to be going mad. Losing that niffler has driven him barmy. It’s the only explanation. There’s no other reason Argo would go after his own brother like that.

And yet, for as little sense as it makes… Harry is a horcrux. Draco certainly can’t think of any other way to make sure Voldemort is dead than killing Harry along with him. And frankly, if Argo decides that’s the only way forward, Draco doesn’t have a hope of finding another solution. Loath as he is to admit it, Argo’s skill with and fundamental understanding of magic vastly eclipses Draco’s.

Draco gulps outside the compartment, then hesitantly slides the door open.

Ah. Silly him, Draco forgets that Argo will be surrounded by his friends. Including, Draco notes cautiously, Harry himself sitting just next to him. With the four of the Defense Circle, and Hermione Granger and Anthony Goldstein all present, the compartment is already full.

He still lets Argo know that he wants to talk, and when he does talk to him later, and is told in no uncertain terms that these things are delicate, and he is to make no attempt on Harry’s life, and that Argo will have to talk to Draco’s father about initiative sometime soon, so help him, and Draco lets out the tension he holds nearly all summer.

Maybe Argo is batty enough to kill his own brother, but at least Draco knows he doesn’t have any part to play in doing the deed. Orders from Laelaps himself not to do anything is surely good enough for his father, so Draco should be fine.

It doesn’t exactly make Draco feel good about any of this (and weirdly enough, he really hates the thought of Harry meeting his end), but it does assure him that he can maneuver himself safely on top, which may as well be the same thing.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Camille ushers Elsie inside the abandoned classroom quickly and, with just a glance in the hall to ensure she isn’t followed, shuts the door behind her. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Elsie says. She takes in the scene. It’s a small room, more a storage room than a classroom, really, but there are rough old chairs out for seating for all four of them. David has his feet against the wall, leaning back precariously on the two back feet of his chair, and Ross forgoes the chair entirely to just lay down on the dusty floor, testing out some spell idly, but there’s one for each of them, nonetheless.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Harry, yet,” Elsie admits. “Is the Circle already planning something for us?”

“Nope,” David says, letting his chair drop with a loud thud. “They’ve been preoccupied with Harry’s deal and only just remembered they have to get everything in order for the club this year. I think they’re going to have us start to take over the bulk of the meetings, if only so they have time to research Harry’s problem. But I’m pretty sure having us lead this year was Argo’s plan, anyway, so I’ve already gotten started on the sign-up sheets and notices, if you want to look those over.

“Anyway, apparently, this is all Cam.” His eyes turn to the Slytherin. “Will you tell us what this is about now?”

Camille closes her eyes and crosses her arms, standing tense with an odd expression. After a long moment of strained silence, she says, “Argo is Laelaps.”

It takes another long, long time for that to sink in.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Argo is Laelaps,” Camille says again, more firmly. She sighs and looks away. “My family doesn’t involve ourselves in that kind of thing, but we are deeply involved in the social sphere. Nott and Malfoy both are in his pocket – as their parents are.”

David blinks dumbly. “I’m sorry, what?”

Camille shakes her head. “I was glad, at first. Better him than the Dark Lord, but… yeah. Argo’s Laelaps. You all need to know.”

Unusually, Ross is standing straight at attention, entirely fixated on the conversation. He lifts his hands to sign – something that takes the other three all last year to learn to interpret but is well worth the effort. “Should we tell the others?”

“No,” says Camille firmly. “After what they did for her last year? I know for a fact that, if pushed, Daphne will back Argo. I don’t think she knows, at least not for sure, but it’ll be safer if she doesn’t.”

“What about Susan? She wouldn’t stand for it.” signs Ross.

“That’s why I don’t want to tell them. We’d split the Circle cleanly in half. It’ll be better overall to just keep an eye on things from the background. Argo won’t try anything in front of us. I don’t think.”

David violently waves his arms, shaking his head like he’s trying to dispel some persistent flies. “I’m sorry, what?! Elsie, are you hearing this?”

Elsie, who is unnaturally quiet this whole time, just stands there, brow furrowed, worrying her lip. She doesn’t appear to hear a word they’re saying.

“You guys are crazy,” David says. “There’s no way Argo would try to kill Harry. Not a chance.”

Camille sighs. “David…”

“No, you don’t spend as much time with him as I do,” David insists. “He’s not that kind of person.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to,” says Camille. “But with Harry being a horcrux-”

“No, that’s exactly what I mean. Argo wouldn’t. Not in a million years. There’s no such thing as only one option. There’s no way he’s resigned to Harry needing to die to stop Riddle. He’ll find another way. Isn’t he working on that with the others as we speak?”

“I know it’s hard to accept, David, but this isn’t a theory. I’ve known he’s Laelaps since first year.”

“Well, you’re wrong!”

Ross’ strong hand grabs David’s arm, dousing the sizzling in his chest. David meets his coal-colored eyes and gulps when Ross slowly signs, “Tracking charms.”

Tracking charms. Laelaps specializes in tracking charms. He names himself after that talent for goodness’ sake. And doesn’t Argo have the same skillset?

David’s heart sinks.

Elsie’s voice, cold as ice, cuts through his already wounded heart. “We have to stop him.”

“We don’t stand a chance in a confrontation,” signs Ross. “Even against Argo alone. With Daphne and his hounds…”

“Ross is right,” says Camille. “We can’t confront him. We have to be clever. Ideally, he won’t even know that we know. They’re planning on making us take over more duties, right? We can use that. Bother them often, especially him and Harry, make sure they’re never alone together. It won’t look suspicious if we’re just asking for help with how to arrange the club.”

David, still curled in on himself and frowning at the stone floor, murmurs, “It will if you don’t get creative. There’s only so long that excuse will cut it. Remember, Argo is extremely clever.”

“Just talk about quidditch,” signs Ross. “He’ll stop listening and just accept it.”

“Hate to say it, but that might actually work.” David groans. “Once or twice. Wouldn’t try more than that.”

Elsie growls. “That’s it? He’s trying to kill Harry, and all you can come up with is don’t let them be alone together?” She turns on her heel to frenetically pace back and forth. “We have to do something! We have to stop him!”

“And what are you going to do?” David asks. “If Argo so much as sniffs that we’re onto him, he could make us disappear with a snap of his fingers. I’m certainly not capable of stopping him. And frankly, I still trust him. I believe he knows what he’s doing, and I know he wouldn’t hurt Harry. I don’t know what he’s planning, but if you plan on hurting him, I’ll stop you.”

Elsie narrows her eyes. She stops her pacing, squaring up to face David head on. He rises from his chair to meet her halfway. Elsie hisses, “Try.”

“Guys! Enough!” Camille forces herself between the two, pushing them roughly away from each other. “I didn’t tell you so we could start fighting amongst ourselves!”

Both David and Elsie turn away with matching scoffs. “This is just like first year,” growls David. “I didn’t expect you guys to turn on him, too.”

Ross tilts his head curiously, so David explains. “At the beginning of our first year, everyone was convinced Argo was a dark wizard just because he wasn’t close to Harry.” He rolls his eyes. “They patched things up later on that year, so it wasn’t as bad last year. But now, he is, and you still invent reasons to hate him.”

“I think throwing a prefect off the Grand Staircase also had something to do with it,” huffs Camille. “And I’m not inventing anything. This is just how it is. Trust me, I wish it weren’t.”

“Even if he is Laelaps,” David protests, “you know Argo! You know how he works. There’s no way he’d ever actually let Harry die.”

“Then what was that at Harry’s birthday party?” roars Elsie. “You didn’t see him bleeding out from his throat, or fighting for his life in the hospital! It certainly looked like he tried to kill him!”

“Of course it looked like that! But do you really think that, if Argo wants Harry dead, Harry would be here right now? Argo must have a reason for what he did, but he’s not trying to kill Harry.”

Elsie throws up her arms. “You’re in denial.”

“He does know Argo better than us,” signs Ross.

“There’s nothing ambiguous about Harry bleeding to death at his birthday party! There’s nothing to doubt, here!”

“If you knew Argo,” says David, “you’d know how ridiculous, and Gryffindor that sounds. Not everything is as it seems.”

“Maybe you just need to get your head out of the clouds! How Ravenclaw to imagine a situation to the point that you can’t even see it!”

“And people say Gryffindor and Slytherin are opposites…” Camille sighs. “Both of you shut up for a minute and listen.” Both do, glaring at each other, but allowing Camille to say her piece. “Maybe there is more to the situation,” Camille admits. “With Argo involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. But even so, we have to be prepared for the worst. You two are the ones who will be able to spend the most time with them without arousing suspicion, so please, can’t we just agree to keep an eye on things? David? And not do anything rash, Elsie?”

David toes the floor, scowling. “Fine. I’ll spend a little more time with Argo than usual. Probably have a lot to work with him on, anyway, if I want to become an animagus.”

“You’re doing that this year?” asks Ross.

The question pulls a small smile from David. “I still need to convince Professor McGonagall, but I’m pretty sure Argo wants me to. I want to.”

Camille just fixes Elsie with her stern gaze. Elsie huffs. “Alright. I won’t do anything. But if I see any hint that Argo is going to try something…”

“Then you’ll let us know and we’ll handle it together,” says Camille. “Maybe we will have to get Susan involved, if that does happen, but confronting him on your own is beyond stupid.”

Elsie grumbles, but anyone with a brain knows that Camille is right. Argo is a seventh year, and an exceptionally skilled one, at that. Already notable for his finesse with magic even among adults, and even among the most powerful wizards of their time, like Dumbledore. And they’re a collection of third and second-years. They’re skilled, to be sure, especially for their age, but most of what they know is taught to them by Argo and the Circle, and their magic in sheer power hasn’t developed even to the point of matching Argo, much less Daphne, who Camille is sure will back him.

The only way Elsie has a chance of facing Argo is to outsmart him, which is a laughable endeavor considering who he is. She has no other recourse but to rely on her friends.

All finally in agreement, and a tentative plan made, they disperse back into the castle, each going their own way. Left behind in that dusty room, emerging from behind a stack of books, an unnoticed cream-colored cat tilts his head, lost in thought.

“While it is true that Mr. Hernandez is performing admirably in Transfigurations,” Professor McGonagall sighs, “and I have no doubt of his ability to complete the ritual, with you as his mentor, the fact remains that without his guardian’s permission, I cannot approve of him undergoing a ritual that might affect his growth and development. My hands are tied, you understand.”

David pouts openly. “But my parents are muggles!” he protests. “They barely understand magic. The think I’m being influenced by the devil! They’d never give permission!”

Professor McGonagall sighs. “Believe me, Mr. Hernandez, when I say that I understand your situation. Believe it or not, my father was a minister.”

David reels back, though Argo already knows that. It’s included in her biography that she contributes to the book on animagi that she gifts to him after he finishes his lessons in preparation for his ritual. “No way, really? So’s my dad! How did your family take it? Did they… ever get over it?”

McGonagall sighs carefully. “My younger brothers are both wizards in their own right, and my father always tried his best to support us, but… it was plain to see how living in secrecy, aware of what the parishioners might say if they found out, took its toll on him. I’m sorry to say that there is not always a happy ending when the magic and muggle worlds intersect. My parents struggled greatly, and made the most of what they had, and I could ask no more of them. You are, I trust, in no danger at home…?”

David balks. “Oh, no! No, no, no, my family would never hurt me! I mean, I’m not allowed to use magic at home, anyway, so most of the time it doesn’t really come up, but…” He hugs himself, rubs his arms.

“The trace only applies to active magic,” Argo says helpfully. “You know, spellcasting and accidental magic. Runic magic, potions, and the animagus transformation, once the ritual is complete, is all completely undetectable by the current charm in place to track that sort of thing.”

McGonagall presses a hand to her brow. “Please do not encourage the younger students to threaten the statute of secrecy, Mr. Scamander.”

Argo just shrugs. “There’s also a neat trick with chirality… but that might be a bit complicated for you at the moment. Hopefully by the end of the year I can show you how that bypass works. Just be careful with your family. I never had to use it, coming from the family I do, but you’ll have to be careful about the statute. I’ll show Ross too, if he’s interested, though Susan might do it herself.”

“Ross might need it more than I would,” David murmurs. “Anyway, please, Professor? You said yourself I’m ready, and I really want this!”

“I understand,” says McGonagall, “but as your teacher and headmistress, I have no choice in the matter. Without a parent or guardian’s permission, I cannot provide you a ritual of this nature. I am bound by law. I’m sorry Mr. Hernandez, but until I have signed permission from your parents, there’s nothing I can do.”

David groans. Argo just shakes his head. He puts a heavy hand in David’s curly hair to ruffle it, affectionately cheering him up as he leans in close to say, “That’s alright. I’ll convince my grandpa somehow and teach you myself. If we don’t go through a teacher bound by magical law, we don’t need your parents’ permission.”

While true, Professor McGonagall can’t help her resigned sigh at hearing him so casually declare it right in front of her. The law only applies to McGonagall because she’s a professor at Hogwarts. Any ministry employees would be bound by the same legal conditions. But independent actors like Argo are not technically legally prohibited in assisting with rituals of this kind, and even if they were, McGonagall wouldn’t sell him out.

(She doesn’t report Talbott Winger for being an unregistered animagus, or for helping Reynard Gage through his ritual, and she’s certainly not about to report Argo for helping David to become one, registered or not.)

McGonagall knows both of these students much too well to believe that they will not undergo the ritual right underneath her nose if they must.

Being an animagus is… a unique experience. It’s hard to describe exactly what makes them different from other witches and wizards, and most witches and wizards likely won’t understand why the ability is so important to them.

But it is important to them. It does not define who they are, and in most cases, all save those who undergo the ritual early in their development, it barely if at all changes who they are outside of when they are transformed, but nonetheless McGonagall does not know of a single animagus who does not consider the ability, and their animal form, to a be a fundament of themselves.

It is just a part of what they are, a part of being alive, like the double-heartbeat in her chest.

And so it comes as no surprise to Professor McGonagall that, so long as David shows interest in it, Argo is insistent that he complete the ritual. David is Argo’s student, after all. In some ways, he’s Argo’s legacy. Argo makes a joke about a requirement for there to be an animagus in the DA Circle, but McGonagall knows he’s just a smidge less joking about it than he sounds. There are things an animagus can understand that no one else can, because of their unique ability.

And David is already astonishingly gifted with Transfigurations in his first year, before McGonagall cedes the post to Dumbledore to take over as headmistress. In fact, David takes to the subject so quickly and with such ease that he easily surpasses where Argo was by the end of his own first year. It’s only after his extra lessons and all the hard work put into them during his second year that Argo pulls so far ahead of his peers. David is there on pure instinct and talent.

McGonagall herself pursues the ritual to expand her understanding of transfigurations. It seems almost natural, then, almost a foregone conclusion, that a student like David would end up becoming one as well.

(He’s a bit like James, actually, McGonagall reflects fondly.)

“While I’m legally prohibited from providing the ritual,” says McGonagall carefully, “I am not obligated to report any such ritual. There would be nothing illegal about… observing, or providing some advice, should you discover the process through another means.”

David breaks out into a brilliant grin. “Yes! Oh, thank you, Professor! Argo, when can we ask your grandpa for the ritual?”

Argo chuckles. “We can go write a letter right now, but you should know it will take some convincing. The reason I can’t tell you myself is that he made me promise not to share it. Although… I think he probably suspects you’re going to follow in my footsteps here, anyway, so maybe it won’t be too hard.”

Professor McGonagall understands that David spends last winter holiday with the Scamander family. If they see a fraction of what she does in those two, Newton is probably already planning for the letter asking about the process.

No, she has no doubts that David will be an animagus before Argo graduates.

The school is on a razor’s edge. Most don’t see it, but some do. And those that do, they feel that blade sink into their heels with every step.

(The apprentice Circle reviews their lesson plan with Argo and Susan. Everyone has their heads buried in books when Camille sees Shiloh sit up and look at her. He grins, and eerie too-human grin for his cat face, and his tail splits into two, waving idly in tandem.

A pressure builds in Camille’s lungs, a kind of dread with no explanation or obvious cause. She roughly elbows David to see if he’s seeing this, too, but when she returns her gaze to Shiloh, she sees only the same, normal cat lazing on the windowsill.

The mounting unease in her chest is the only indication that anything happens at all.)

Shiloh creeps through the halls slowly, taking in the perfectly ordinary day. His ears are pulled back and his tail stays low, nearly tucked beneath him. He pauses in the corridor, letting the next gaggle of students hurry past, and thinks.

He thinks, and he staggers through the halls, and his heart is pulled from him with a tender kiss he does not deserve.

He knows what he cannot protect Argo from. He knows the end of this story is already written. He dreams it. Long ago, he dreams it. Before he ever meets Argo, before the person he loves is any more than bits and pieces he isn’t even sure is real, he dreams it.

It is because he dreams it that he tries so hard. But though he becomes everything he dreams, he does not become what he wishes. The proud do not endure. Those that do not bend will break.

And he is standing on a razor’s edge, wondering when the break will come.

Shiloh learns a great deal since meeting Argo. About his gift, and about magic as a whole. And one thing he learns which he does not dare mention even to Argo, is that prophecy cannot be altered.

It is his great secret, the one thing he hides jealously from the person most important to him. The simple fact that he tries. But every time he thinks he changes something, it falls right back into place.

Prophecies do have a nasty habit of being self-fulfilling.

(“Have you made much progress on your Runes project?” asks Harry. “I’m having some trouble finding time with everything else we need to focus on.”

“I’m actually partway through peer review on my technique of using circular arguments and looping phrases to mimic muggle circuitry.” Argo shrugs. “Professor Babbling agreed to review my method, and told me she’ll count it as my project, so I’m pretty much done already.”

“Could you look this over for me later?”

“Sure. We’ll get together and have a little review.”

“Could I join?” Susan’s unexpected interjection leaves both boys a little taken aback. “I’ve been meaning to go through some transfigurations work with you guys, so we could turn it into a study session?”

Harry frowns, but Argo is more bemused. “The more the merrier,” he says. “Why not invite Elsie and the others, too?”)

It is not their choices which determine who they are, and what path they take. It is who they are which dictates their choices. There is no world in which Argo Scamander does not decide to undertake the animagus ritual. There is no world in which Harry Potter chooses Slytherin over Gryffindor. So long as Argo is still Argo, so long as Harry is still Harry, those are always the choices they will make.

They do not stray from their nature. No one does. It is quite impossible, since even contrariness is found in one’s nature.

That is why prophecy cannot be fought. Shiloh can do anything he likes contrary to or missing from his dreams, but he cannot act contrary to his own nature. He cannot hurl his fundaments aside like scrap parchment. However drastic a choice he makes, it is always the choice he will always make given the circumstances leading up to it.

Thus, the only way to change fate… is to die. Only in death, in the end and the change, does one’s very nature shift. It is only when Argo, or Harry, or Shiloh is gone that a fundamentally new person can take their place and whatever decisions they may have made will no longer be the necessary outcome.

The proud do not endure. Shiloh’s only choice, then, the path his nature allows him to take, is to stand by Argo’s side. To try to make him happy. To try to lessen his burden.

And ultimately, to fail.

(“That cat is following me,” Camille hisses.

“What, Shiloh?” David scoffs. “Of course, he is. He likes you. How long did you spend petting him instead of studying last year?”

Somewhat abashed, Camille groans. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, there’s something… off about him. Have you ever noticed anything… weird.”

David, who has “noticed” Shiloh turn into a furry and snog his pseudo-big brother, blatantly lies. “No. He’s just a cat. A pretty smart one. I’m fairly certain he’s half kneazle. But other than that, he’s just like any other cat.” When Camille only frowns more deeply at his reply, he asks, “Why? What’s up?”

Camille bites her lip. “…I don’t know. Maybe it’s stress. The whole thing with Argo and Harry is getting to me and I’m seeing things that aren’t there.”

Still, the air is cloyingly thick, and lingers in her throat as if to choke her.)

“You don’t have to do this, Shiloh,” Argo murmurs. “I… You know what’s going to happen. I don’t want you to-”

Shiloh purrs and nuzzles into Argo’s neck, drawing him close to press their bodies tight. “I’m choosing this. I love you.”

Argo’s return smile is too weak. “I love you too.” He leans down to touch their noses together. They rub back and forth. Then they stop. Argo asks, “Are you ready?”

Shiloh gulps. He nods.

Argo sits back and brandishes his wand. A second later, blood is drawn from each of them. It flows in swirling droplets together between them, dancing in time, then colliding and mixing together.

There are no words exchanged. There is no need for words at this point. But this is the best Shiloh can do. He can help Argo with his plans, and maybe, just maybe, Shiloh can use a loophole.

When the mixed blood settles and the ritual is complete, Shiloh grins. There’s a phantom touch on his skin, as if his fur isn’t there at all. There’s a pounding in his heart which might be his, or Argo’s, or something else entirely.

Shiloh dives in eagerly, driven by a stirring hunger, and claims Argo’s lips with his own. He pushes Argo back, climbs over him on their bed, and wishes.

He wishes that he can defy his dreams. That there are loopholes and alternates. That he can be more than he is.

But in the meantime, he just wants Argo to understand, intensely and intimately, that Shiloh will never abandon him. That though the destiny they both know awaits Argo will catch him, so long as Shiloh is still himself, so long as his fundamental nature defines his choices, Argo’s worst fear will never come to pass.

He is not an unwanted animal. He is not a pet. He will never be left abandoned, looked down on with scorn, by all who see his shame. He will not fail to earn the love bestowed on him, because he will not need to earn love in the first place. Shiloh will offer it freely so long as he is able.

He will never lose his home. Not because the Scamanders aren’t the kind of people who would do such a thing, even for the crimes he will commit, but because so long as Shiloh is still himself, Argo will always have a home in Shiloh.

Argo isn’t honest. Not completely. He doesn’t tell anyone the whole truth. Not even Shiloh. He prefers omission to actual lying, but he still hides and obscures and manipulates. Shiloh does not know how to convince Argo that there is nothing he can hide that will change the home he has here. He cannot convince Argo, because he cannot explain that he already knows everything that Argo tries to keep from him, that he has known for longer than they’ve known each other, or that Shiloh will go just as far – or further – for far worse reasons and feel far less guilt in doing so.

There is no world in which the fundaments which dictate Argo’s decisions draw him down a path that Shiloh is unwilling to tread.

And so, when the time comes for Harry to die, and Argo’s sins crash down upon his head, Shiloh will be there. Trying to be more than himself.

(His dreams show him much more much earlier than he shares with Argo, but it is then, just around when it all ends, that Shiloh’s prophecies mostly fade away. The uncertainty of what comes after is almost worse than knowing without a doubt that he’ll fail.)

It’s a late night in the Gryffindor Common Room. Well past curfew, most students are already in bed. The younger students, including Elsie, are forced to their dorms, but N.E.W.T. level students, as is often the case, though still not allowed to roam the halls with impunity, are given a bit more freedom.

Harry and Hermione take advantage of that freedom, and the quiet while all the younger students are asleep, to put the horcrux issue (which takes up most of their effort during the day) aside and focus on studying for their N.E.W.T.s.

They look up when they’re approached, both surprised by their visitor.

“…Hey,” says Ron, not quite looking either of them in the eyes.

“Hullo,” Harry says, but nothing more.

Hermione’s tone is curter, though she doesn’t reach hostile. “Ronald.”

Ron shuffles on his feet, stopping and starting what he wants to say. For a long while, as Harry and Hermione watch him, he just fidgets and mumbles. Until finally, he plucks up his courage to say, “Alright, Harry?”

“M’fine.” No one acknowledges the pale, raised scar across his throat.

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.”

Harry purses his lips for a moment, shares a look with Hermione. “Er… Thanks, Ron… for jumping in back then.”

(“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too,” Ron says. He acts without thinking. The truth is that it’s mostly bravado. He hears enough about Laelaps and about the situation as Laelaps lays it out for them that he doesn’t honestly expect Laelaps to be that… dark. He doesn’t expect Laelaps to basically just say “okay” and actually try to kill everyone in his way to get to Harry. But not expecting it doesn’t stop Ron from fighting for his– for both of their lives.)

Ron smiles a little, partly embarrassed but also partly proud. “What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just let him-” He gulps harshly, and his eyes fall once more.

Harry’s eyes follow his, investigating the floor. The thing about Ron, which Harry is reminded of and which he realizes Argo never really has a chance to see, is that even when he acts like a git, even when he’s perhaps not the best friend someone could ask for, he is always, always there when it counts.

They aren’t even friends anymore. Not really. But Ron still puts his life between a dark wizard and Harry without a second thought.

“I’m sorry,” Ron mumbles. “I know you don’t want me around. I don’t blame you. But I wanted to- I realized I hadn’t apologized, yet. So, I’m sorry.”

Harry blinks. Hermione beats him to the question, and her voice is far more cutting than Harry’s would be when she asks, “Sorry for what?”

Ron winces. “Scamander. I never gave him a chance, even when you guys practically begged me.” He sighs. “I had so much of the school at my back that I never thought for a second I might’ve been wrong. And- and yeah, I enjoyed being popular too much. Part of me didn’t care if Scamander was bad or not, because to the school, he made me good.” Ron lifts a hand to his face. “I deserved what I got.”

Harry can see, just barely from his angle since she turns her head away from Ron who can surely see nothing but her bushy hair and the tip of her upturned nose, how Hermione’s lip quivers. Still, her voice is prim and composed when she says, “At least you see it, now.”

Ron chuckles bitterly. “You know… I don’t blame him, anymore, but… I think I might’ve actually been right. Scamander is one scary, dangerous man.”

Harry hums. He thinks of the Murk, of Argo scared out of his pants but still facing down a wizard whom spells can’t touch. He remembers Argo discovering his magic doesn’t damage the warlock and unflinchingly turning into a bear to maul him instead.

He thinks of how Argo seems to always know… everything. How just by looking and feeling he avoids countless magical traps that have killed who knows how many people. He thinks of Argo in the dueling ring, training for real, like his life depends on it. “Well, that much, at least, I suppose is true.”

Even Dumbledore fears Argo’s ever-expanding depth of knowledge and immaculate skill with magic. Probably with good reason. Because Harry knows now… Argo is dangerous when he wants to be. He is certainly more open to darker magic than Harry is comfortable with, and Harry considers himself to be quite practical, willing to use pretty much anything that’ll keep him alive.

But Argo isn’t a dark wizard. He only studies that magic to keep himself and those he cares about safe. And academically, to further his understanding of magic as a whole. He would never cause harm to anyone or anything that does not threaten harm first. That’s just not who he is.

In fact, because he’s Argo, all that terrifying knowledge and skill takes on a different feeling. He’s a horror to his enemies, to be sure, and Harry knows he’s none to fond of Dumbledore, but to his allies…

He just feels safe. His apparent omniscience and quiet confidence makes Harry feel like he can do anything. Like he’s always watching, always keeping an eye on things. Not in a cloying way, but like a big brother watching him get into mischief, ready to swoop in if anything gets out of hand.

(Harry still has trouble believing that Argo is the younger twin.)

“But he’s on our side,” Harry says firmly. “And besides that… Even if he wasn’t… He hardly had anything to do with it.”

Ron furrows his brow. “What do you mean? I thought- I thought you had enough because I was getting between you.”

“You never got between them, Ron,” Hermione sighs. “Because Argo was always mature enough not to let you.” She shakes her head. “Goodness knows I wouldn’t have been so understanding. What really did it was your behavior. Don’t you get it? Harry and I… we were both bullied before we came to Hogwarts. How do you think we felt watching you bully Argo like that? How could we abide it?”

Ron swallows thickly. “Oh. I… I didn’t know.”

“You were trying to protect me,” Harry says quietly. “At first. I understood that. I disagreed that I needed to be protected from Argo, but I know you meant well. And yeah, I was angry because I thought you were getting between us, but I shouldn’t have been. That was my own… hot-headed stupidity. But then…”

“Then you let all the congratulations and praise for standing up to the ‘dark wizard’ turn you into a bully,” Hermione huffs. “And that’s what I can’t forgive.” She brushes the back of her hand along her eyes. “I know why you did it. I know you well enough, I think. But…”

“I should have been better.” Ron hangs his head. “I know. I’m sorry. You tried so many times to talk to me about it and I just…” He sighs. After a deep breath, he nods to himself. “Okay. Thank you for telling me about that. I- I hadn’t realized… all of it.” A thick gulp. “I’ll work on it.”

Seeing his face, Hermione finally smiles. A small one, but proud.

If killing one person means saving hundreds, is it worth it? If killing two people means saving hundreds, would that change the equation in any meaningful way?

What about three?

The Resurrection Stone turns in Argo’s hand. Once. Twice. Stop.

The Trolley Problem, as it is, is so clinical. Death is nothing but a tool with which to ascribe morality and describe philosophy.

And who is saved, anyway? Death will come for all.

It’s the wrong question. The real question is this: if one family’s mourning (Not those related by blood, of course. A family, in this case, means all who care for the deceased.) means a hundred more are spared that pain, is it worth it?

It’s about pain, not death. But the same philosophy applies, of course. How does one value the pain caused? Is it so broad as to simply take the mean – fewer families in grief mean less pain in the world and thus the optimal option? Or is there no excuse in the world for inflicting that kind of pain on someone, even if inaction leads to the possibility, or guarantee, of the same pain for others.

Is it simply a case of action versus inaction? By doing nothing, one is not responsible for the pain felt by the world. Or is it that inaction itself is a responsibility taken, and any pain one might prevent is on their head?

For Shiloh, the problem is not so difficult. He and Argo are of the same mind. If someone is a threat to his family, then they need to be eliminated. The broader picture is none their business or concern.

Still, unlike Shiloh, it is Argo’s inclination to consider things like that. What is right, what is good, what is easy.

What is truth, and what will be perceived?

There’s a phantom brush along Argo’s spine in time with his own hand drifting through Shiloh’s fur. He tucks the Resurrection Stone back into his shirt, and Shiloh feels a warmth in the center of his chest.

Will anyone understand, and will understanding matter?

What is truly unforgivable?

Argo frowns at a vial of blood, sighs, and sets it aside. Not yet.

(The Hound stalks through the dead of night. Silently, their wand twitches, just a small flick, and an almost-there, shimmery outline frames the wood of the wand.

Cedric stops at his door, rummages for his keys. The Hound lunges. A small gasp, a hand over the mouth, the wand, the sharpened blade summoned around it, pressed dangerously into the target’s chest, just over his heart.

A sharp crack.

All that remains is a piece of thick parchment fallen to the ground which shakes itself off, leaps back into the air and hurls itself through Cedric’s mail slot.

The building, and the rest of the night, is quiet.)

(The Teumessian Fox stands at the scene of the crime, slowly taking it in. The apartment is trashed, the door blasted open. It’s like a hurricane passes through, but there are no marks of spellfire. It looks like there’s a struggle, with the place trashed as it is, but it looks like a physical struggle. Where’s the magic?

Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix gets here before she does. The bumbling oafs probably disturb half the place. They definitely contaminate the place with their magic. She huffs. She’s not anywhere close to being as adept at this as Laelaps is, but… the Order, and in fact, even the Aurors, wouldn’t think to try it.

Laelaps would. It’s one of his very favorite spells.

She waves her wand, muttering, “Appare Vestigium.”)

The Order of the Phoenix gathers at a long table, all on edge about the topic of today’s meeting.

“It appears,” Dumbledore says slowly once he has everyone’s attention, “that Cedric Diggory was attacked in his home last night.”

“Where is he?” Sirius demands through the uproar from the members who didn’t already know. “Is he alright?”

Dumbledore bows his head. “He is missing. It seems that he has been taken.”

Sirius lets out a low growl. “By who? Was it You-Know-Who, or…?”

“Laelaps,” confirms Dumbledore.

(The Fox sees the Order stamping around in the gold-dust imagery. Dumbledore himself, who at the very least doesn’t touch anything. But the others… The Teumessian Fox narrows her eyes. That’s Shacklebolt. And the other… It can’t be Tonks- she’s part of the Circle of Khanna. The Fox understands Tonks looking into Cedric’s disappearance, but why would she join Dumbledore?

The Fox clicks her tongue sharply. Madam Bones will want to hear about this. There is no legal precedent to punish them – wizarding law is quite free with allowing people to solve their own problems, and by extension get involved in other people’s problems. Vigilantism isn’t illegal by any means. All the same, Madam Bones won’t be happy to hear that two of her aurors are in Dumbledore’s pocket.

But that matter aside, the Teumessian Fox purses her lips at what she sees. She does not have Laelaps’ skill, so she is well aware that she can be deceived with this spell. She cannot accurately identify whose magic it shows, and she knows that Laelaps knows that.

Even so, there is no spellfire within this apartment, which there should be if Cedric fights against being taken. And she knows the mask she’s looking at. That’s not one of the Hound masks. That’s a Death Eater mask. If a Hound was here, they either disguised themselves as a Death Eater, or never stepped foot inside. Curiously, the traces of Cedric are far older. There is no Cedric to be found at the time the Death Eater is inside the apartment. The blasted door and the wreck, then…)

“How do we know?” asks Remus.

Dumbledore produces a slightly-crumbled sheet of parchment. “This was found in the entryway.”

It passes down the table to Remus and Sirius, who share a tense look as they read:

“Harry Potter,

Mr. Diggory is safe for now, though I fear you may never see him again. Perhaps, if you come willingly, I will let you say goodbye.

If you need more incentive, I will be happy to provide. You know what must be done.

Laelaps”

Sirius slams his hand on the table. “That bastard!”

Heavy, thunking footsteps come up behind the steaming man. “Can I see that?” Sirius, still fuming, passes the note off like he just doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Moody’s magical eye roams the page as his expression twists. Laelaps basically says he’ll keep coming for the ones Harry loves.

Moody isn’t surprised by it, but he has to hand it to Laelaps. He knows what’s going to get to Harry.

(The Teumessian Fox pads to the entryway and, still finding no hint of where Cedric is taken, passes the threshold to just outside the door. It’s only then that she finds Cedric’s last known location, and the Hound that grabs him from behind.

She gasps, because clutched tight in the hand of the Hound, the gold-dust of her spell gathers on a long object. A dagger.

No… She gets closer to investigate. It’s not an enchanted dagger, but a blade made itself of magic. The core of the blade, the handle, is the Hound’s wand. And in the magic surrounding it… are those runes? There’s no way the spell does that normally, concentrating the magic that makes up the blade into runes. The magical control it must take to do that… Laelaps leaves this here. For her.

The Teumessian Fox reads the runes. She grits her teeth, then turns back to the crime scene as a whole.

The Hound and Cedric are slightly older traces than the Death Eater inside. Assuming she can trust what she sees, and she is only mostly sure about that since Laelaps is involved, the Hound kidnaps Cedric before the Death Eater ever arrives at the home.

So, what does that mean? Does Laelaps hear that Voldemort will attack Cedric, and kidnap him for his own protection? Is it simply a coincidence? Or is it only what Laelaps wants her to see?)

“Should we tell Harry?” Molly Weasley asks. “I don’t want to worry him.”

“He writes Cedric constantly,” Remus sighs. “If we don’t tell him, he’ll find out soon, anyway.”

“I will speak with him,” says Dumbledore.

“What can we do to find him?” Sirius asks. “We can’t just leave him at Laelaps’ mercy.”

There’s a tense quiet that fills the room.

“Obviously, we’ll look for him,” Moody huffs eventually, when it’s clear no one else will speak. “Wouldn’t get your hopes up, though. Given Laelaps’ known skills, if he wants to hide something I doubt there’s much even Dumbledore could do to find it.”

“That’s not acceptable!”

“Good news is the boy won’t be hurt.”

Sirius fumes. “How can you be sure?”

“It’s not Laelaps’ style. Taking him was to send a message. He doesn’t need to hurt him. Diggory was never Laelaps’ target in the first place. He’s no reason to harm him.”

“Then what’s this ‘incentive’ about, huh?” Sirius growls. “That’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one.”

“He means he’ll take more that Potter cares about. At a guess… either you or Lupin next”

“I hope he’ll try-”

“Sirius,” warns Remus. “If Moody is right, we’ll both have to be careful. Laelaps took Cedric for a reason. It’s to devastate Harry. Even if Harry had confirmation that Cedric was okay, just isolating him alone is a targeted attack. We can’t let Harry end up on his own in this.”

Sirius takes a long, deep breath, then lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. If he feels alone… poor kid would probably give himself up. He’d think it’s the right thing to do.”

“Most likely,” says Dumbledore, “that is precisely what Laelaps is counting on.”

Undoubtedly. But the real question is why. Why does Laelaps need to go through such roundabout methods? Moody and Dumbledore, though none of the others, know perfectly well that Laelaps is at Hogwarts with Harry this very moment. Dumbledore thinks some of their friends have caught on and are playing interference, but Argo is Harry’s brother. He has Harry’s trust. Entirely. One word from him is all it would take if he really wanted to get Harry on his own. Harry probably won’t even question it if Argo asks him to meet alone in the Forbidden Forest, or somewhere else away from the wards of the castle.

So why doesn’t he? If he’s so determined that Harry has to die, then what is he waiting for? Why manipulate Harry by attacking his boyfriend?

The clues are there. Moody, who understands Argo better, but understands the magic at play less, and Dumbledore, who can imagine a hundred reasons why these actions may be necessary, but cannot figure out Argo’s motivations to determine what is likely, both leave unsatisfied.

Harry feels sick.

Dumbledore calls him into his office to tell him about Cedric and he doesn’t think. He has no thought to spare. He just reacts. But he doesn’t scream or cry or rage. His reaction is barely even an emotional one, at first. It’s visceral.

It’s a punch to the gut and a spit in the face.

How could he? How dare he? Cedric has nothing to do with this!

Until those words leave Dumbledore’s lips, Harry doesn’t truly think of Laelaps as an enemy. A threat, certainly, but Laelaps doesn’t have it out for Harry like Voldemort does. Harry’s death, to Laelaps, is just a necessary evil on the way to eliminating Voldemort and that… Harry understands that. He has a hard time hating Laelaps for wanting to stop Voldemort at any cost.

So, when Laelaps attacks him, even when Laelaps injures him, leaves him with this ugly scar on his neck and weeks of exhaustion and pain of recovery, Harry never thinks of Laelaps as a truly bad guy.

But going after Cedric? What gives him the right? If he hurts one hair on Cedric’s head, so help him, Harry will make him regret it. Harry has no idea how he’ll do it, but if he’s going to somehow take down Voldemort he’ll figure out a way to take down Laelaps, too.

Honestly, why not, at this point? What’s one more dark lord?

And yet… at the same time that indignant fire chars his insides, icy dread douses him like a dip in the Black Lake. The truth is that Laelaps terrifies Harry far more than Voldemort ever has. Because Harry looks both of these dark wizards in the eyes, and they are nothing alike.

Harry hears rumors about Tom Riddle, about a charismatic, ambitious man who gathered followers and power to make a change. When he looks into Voldemort’s eyes, he does not see that man. He sees nothing but fear and rage. He sees a man ruled by his emotions, little more than a tempest of his own madness and paranoia. And Voldemort’s danger, the threat he poses, Harry likens very much to that of a cornered, wild animal.

Laelaps, however… even when he seems genuine when he says he wishes he does not have to kill Harry, his eyes are so cold. There is something calculating about them that chills Harry to the bone. In fact, Harry suspects that Laelaps is a seer, who knows how everything will play out before it even happens. He feels, even now when he’s safe in Hogwarts’ walls, like Laelaps can see him. His skin crawls with the feeling of being watched, but being unable to see who is watching him.

The more he thinks about it, the more sure Harry is that Laelaps is involved in ruining Dumbledore’s reputation last year. And probably with the whole upheaval of the Wizengamot and the discrediting of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. None of that affects Harry personally very much, so he doesn’t think much about it, but… that means Laelaps might possibly have control of the Ministry.

And more than that… Voldemort is proud. He’s arrogant, and cares a lot about appearances. He’s underhanded and vicious, yes, but he’s also proud – he has to prove, to demonstrate, his power. Laelaps is not. No one even sees Laelaps in person until Diagon Alley. Everything he does is from the shadows.

Can Harry really hope to resist Laelaps? If Laelaps is targeting the people he loves…

And why should he resist? Argo is trying, but even he doesn’t seem optimistic about finding a way to get rid of the horcrux, and Harry thinks a lot of their research is going over Susan and Daphne’s heads almost as much as it is his. Hermione’s practically pulling her hair out over it, running into dead end after dead end. It’s easy to be optimistic at the beginning, but with months of zero progress…

Maybe dying really is the only way to kill Voldemort.

“Harry?”

Harry blinks, stumbles back. “Excuse me, Professor Slughorn.”

Professor Slughorn blinks dumbfounded at him for a second, until Harry attempts to brush past him. “Harry, are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

Harry grips his arms tight. He tries to hold it in, but can’t resist the small sniffle that escapes him. “I…” He shakes his head. “I just got some bad news, Professor. That’s all. I’ll be alright.”

Professor Slughorn frowns. “You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to, of course, but… perhaps some tea would do you good? We don’t even have to talk about whatever’s troubling you. Merlin knows I can talk enough for the both of us but… er… you know. Perhaps you’ll feel better.”

Harry gulps. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is Slughorn trying to “collect” him like a trophy, but… honestly… he could use someone to talk to. Part of him wants to talk about it, and he knows what everyone will say, he knows everyone will tell him not to be stupid and to hold onto hope and that they’ll figure something out, somehow.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know Slughorn as well, but for some reason it’s not as hard as he suspects to consider just coming out with it. So he purses his lips, eyes the floor, and nods only somewhat reluctantly, willing to follow Slughorn to his office to see where this goes.

Maybe Slughorn’s many connections (he must have many connections, considering knowing important people seems to be essentially his whole personality) will have insight that Harry and his friends don’t. Maybe he’ll be willing to help.

Slughorn sits Harry down in his office and quickly prepares some tea, eagerly clutching onto the opportunity in front of him. But before he can find a topic to introduce, and eventually lead into offering Harry a place in the Slug Club, Harry sucks in a sharp breath and, looking at an hourglass with sand that doesn’t fall, says, “I think I have to die.”

Slughorn’s train of thought summarily derails in spectacular fashion. “I beg your pardon?”

Harry closes his eyes. His breath comes heavy and fights with him. He shakes his head sharply. “Sorry,” he says. Thinking about it, this is actually a good opportunity. “What do you know about Laelaps, Professor?”

Slughorn can’t fight his lips curling downward. He doesn’t mishear Harry. He knows well enough what happens between Harry and Laelaps over the summer. So, this must be about that. Slughorn hates to consider it, but… from what little he knows about Horcruxes, he’s terrified that Harry may be right.

But Laelaps. Swallowing down everything he knows better than to say, Slughorn eventually offers, “I’ve never dealt with him personally, but I know a great number of people who have worked with him. Until what happened, I thought of him as a respectable, talented, and ambitious person of status. Everyone who knows anything about him always raved about his talent with magic and his keen mind. People were saying he’s the next Dumbledore. Even the next Merlin.”

Slughorn sighs. “In the short time he made himself known in the wizarding world, he initiated countless projects to improve the lives of everyday wizards. Primarily through research and investments, but also with the occasional personal touch, offering his Hound to perform feats of magic most can scarcely imagine. Things previously thought impossible.”

“From what you’ve heard of him,” says Harry through the lump in his throat, “exactly how skilled is he? Would he know much about… about horcruxes?”

Slughorn’s teacup shakes. He forces himself to set it down in fear of spilling it, and hides his hands in his robes. “From what I’ve heard of him,” he says carefully, “there is very little that he does not know. He’s reportedly aware of everything from personal secrets to the most complex magical rituals.”

Harry chuckles bitterly. “Yeah,” he says. “Argo’s a lot like that. Always seems to know everything.” Harry drops his head into his hands for a moment, just breathing.

A sudden meow startles him upright. He blinks, looking around with Slughorn, equally surprised. Then Shiloh appears, leaps onto Harry’s lap, curls up, and starts purring.

The weak laughter that escapes Harry then is… not quite so bitter. “Speak of the devil, huh?” Well, when a cat settles into his lap, what is he to do but pet it?

It steadies him, a little. Harry solidifies that, deep in his chest, then exhales, letting it go. He knows Shiloh might report back to Argo, but… Slughorn might report to Dumbledore. It’s not like anything he says is really in confidence, anyway. Frankly, he trusts Argo more than Dumbledore, at this point.

“Argo can’t figure out a way to destroy the horcrux without killing me,” Harry admits. “I don’t even know where to start. Everything I’ve heard about Laelaps sounds like he’s the kind of person who would know if there’s a way, and I don’t think he wants to kill me, so… I think it might really be the only option. I think I have to die.”

Slughorn twitches, fiddling with anything, trying to keep his hands busy, but also still. He wishes he can deny Harry’s claim, but without lying, he does not know how.

He is not a good man, but he is not a bad man, either. Slughorn does not want anyone, not the least of which one of his students, to die, but he is terrified of Lord Voldemort. He knows how the first war goes. He will not suffer through another.

And another is exactly what will come if nothing to stop Voldemort is done.

And Slughorn knows Argo, as well. Argo isn’t in his class, since he isn’t taking Potions anymore, but Reynard Gage is part of the Slug Club, so Slughorn knows all about the brilliant apprentice he and that Circle take on. Everyone who knows anything about Argo say that his understanding of magic rivals even Dumbledore’s. Reynard himself insists Dumbledore knows nothing compared to Argo. (And he’s only partially bragging.)

If both Argo and Laelaps believe that Harry’s death is the only way… Slughorn certainly cannot see anything they can’t.

So, he fumbles and twitches and stammers, until finally he can ask, “If there is no other way… what shall you do?”

Harry ducks his head. His voice trembles but comes out clear. “I guess… I’ve got to find Laelaps. Give myself up.” Maybe give him a swift kick to the butt for going after Cedric, but nonetheless… Harry would rather Laelaps do it than Voldemort.

At the very least, it’ll deny Riddle the satisfaction of doing it himself. That might be the only victory Harry can get.

Harry,

I’ve intercepted your owl. I will not allow you to make such a foolish decision.

People all around Britain and beyond are working tirelessly to ensure your survival. There are already whispers of ancient writings that may offer a way out of this for you. I’m investigating now. In the meantime, do not throw your life away.

If it’s about Cedric, don’t worry. Laelaps won’t harm him. I’m working on finding him, too. When I do, breaking him free will be child’s play. You only need to be patient.

Please, be sensible. Rely on your friends.

The Teumessian Fox

Lucius Malfoy is not predisposed to being trusting. He knows the situation doesn’t add up. Laelaps is a cold, calculating individual, that’s true, but he’s also a caretaker first, which Lucius sees many times first hand. There’s no way in the world he will ever consent to killing his own brother.

The situation is obviously fishy at best, but if his goal is not to kill Harry, when what is it? Is he plotting against Malfoy and the other former Death Eaters? Malfoy does not think Laelaps will do that, either. Oh, Laelaps certainly has backup plans and insurances to ensure that they all fall and stay in line, but he will not simply turn on his own allies simply because they outlive their usefulness.

If they are enemies that he’s simply using, like that Skeeter woman…

Malfoy’s scowl deepens. Every time he tries to explain away how Laelaps would never… it turns out that he would. Tricking them all into working for him but never truly considering them allies is exactly the kind of ploy Laelaps would use. How many times does he use it on others?

Merlin, even that Circle of Khanna… Malfoy knows Laelaps well enough to know that if someone is under his care, there is nothing Laelaps will not do for them. The problem, therefore, becomes the simple fact that with so much obfuscation and so grand his plots, it is increasingly, and perhaps impossible, to tell exactly who falls under what category to him.

Malfoy never does manage to understand how Laelaps thinks any better than anyone else.

Which brings Malfoy to the current target of his consternation.

After Laelaps makes known his intent to kill Harry, the Circle of Khanna, that is, all those “good” and “light” wizards that would ordinarily fall into Dumbledore’s camp that were their allies abandon ship in a heartbeat. Malfoy understands something goes down between the leader of that Circle and Laelaps, but the Circle pulls their active support at the very least, as Malfoy does not see a single one of them around afterwards.

Except for this one. Niklas Vogel. He’s not technically a part of the Circle of Khanna, and Malfoy supposes that Laelaps has other agents about that simply don’t come to headquarters – probably because they’re stationed primarily abroad – but Niklas sticks around despite all appearances saying he should be leaving with the Circle.

He is, while versed in the Dark Arts, undoubtedly on the traditionally “light” side of things. He’s not like the rest of them, and that makes Malfoy nervous.

Why is it that Niklas stays when all the others of his ilk leave?

Malfoy’s fear pushes down on his lungs, but he straightens his back and turns to face Niklas. This mission… if Niklas is going to betray him, this would be a good time to do it. Maybe the best time. Malfoy doesn’t believe Niklas will simply refuse to carry this out, given Cedric is probably a more morally objectionable target, but Malfoy still doesn’t trust him not to pull anything. Not without knowing why he’s here when he should have left.

So, Malfoy approaches Niklas, to a casually raised brow in acknowledgement. “Ready to go?” asks Niklas, pulling on his dueling gloves.

Malfoy purses his lips. “Before we leave… I would like to speak with you, if you don’t mind.”

Niklas eyes him, but his posture stays open and easy. Relaxed. “Not at all,” he says. “About the mission, or something else?”

“About…” Malfoy considers for a moment. “Your relationship with Laelaps.”

Niklas nods his head slowly. “Okay. What about it?”

“I wonder if you are… truly so unconcerned.” Malfoy frowns. “To be quite frank, I find even myself wondering whether the Laelaps we follow now is the same one we agreed to follow at the beginning. You understand, we saw a similar change in the Dark Lord during the war.”

“You’re worried about Laelaps?” Niklas hums, not quite looking at Malfoy. “Or about me, because many of the others of us who weren’t Death Eaters have decided he’s gone too far.”

“Simply put, yes,” says Malfoy. “The rest of your Circle has fled. And yet here you are, as if nothing at all has changed. I find it curious.”

Niklas smiles, a small, bitter thing. It takes him a while of searching to find an answer, but eventually what comes is, “I trust Laelaps. I love him. But mostly, I trust him.” Niklas heaves then with a great sigh, louder even than his words. “I was never a member of that circle, you know. Sure, I’m more like them in ideology than I am like you, but I was never a member. And I’m not the only one of Laelaps’ Hounds who don’t fall into either that circle or yours.

“I understand Reynard’s decision. I don’t fault him for it. But it’s not mine.”

“Oh? You would stand by a man who would kill his own brother?”

“I would stand by a man who would sacrifice anything for peace.”

Malfoy hums, allowing that statement to settle into his mind. “Peace?” he asks.

Niklas looks at him, really looks at him, and Malfoy feels a lot like he does under Laelaps’ gaze. Like he’s being dissected, taken apart, and analyzed. “I know you do work in the Ministry,” Niklas says. “Does Laelaps ever have you take on foreign affairs?”

“He relies on my expertise in… local politics.”

Niklas’s lips twitch upwards for just a moment. “You know I’m from Berlin,” he says, then. “In the last century, Germany has suffered through no less than three wars, magical and non-magical. And we were not on the periphery – my home was the battlefield. You’ve had your own war. You know what I’m talking about.”

Malfoy does. Even if he is on the instigating side, the devastation that war brings is not something easily forgotten.

“After Grindelwald and Hitler, there isn’t a German wizard alive who doesn’t feel the shame of their actions. Their campaigns have left deep, lasting effects on our culture and customs. And even with that, even though we are so careful about what we do and the associations we have with those monsters simply because of where we were born, how do you foreign wizards think of us?

“Germany feeds into Durmstrang. Durmstrang teaches the Dark Arts. Thus, every German wizard is therefore a dark wizard.” Niklas scoffs. “And maybe I am. But I’m not like Grindelwald. Or your Riddle.”

Malfoy gulps. He doesn’t honestly lend much thought to foreign wizards. He’s occupied enough with Britain. Still, “I’m afraid I don’t see what this has to do with Laelaps,” he admits. “Is Laelaps going to try to change the perception of German wizards?”

“No, it’s far too rooted at this point to do anything about it. The reason that’s all important to why I’m here, is because if Riddle is truly immortal then sooner or later, he will succeed. If he wins Britain, he will not contain his war here. That is why I will do whatever is necessary to stop him. After the great war, Germany is demilitarized. We cannot take yet another war. Laelaps, I believe, is the best chance we have of preventing that war from starting.”

Niklas slowly shakes his head. “So, you’re right. I am… I like to think of myself as a generally morally upright person. But sometimes… sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Laelaps understands that, as do I.”

He sighs. “Laelaps is not acting out of anger or madness. Killing Harry is as calculated a move as it comes. More than you or I can imagine, I suspect. But I believe Laelaps is acting to prevent war, and I will support him even if I must push the boundaries of what I am comfortable with. Not only because I love him, but because this is bigger than any one of us. It will be felt far beyond Britain.

“I don’t want to hurt Harry. Of course, I don’t. But it’s either this, or allow Riddle to run roughshod over your home and mine. My choice is clear.”

Ah. How… complex. Malfoy can’t begin to fathom how this man in front of him must feel about everything, but his resolve is clear.

“Acceptable?” Niklas asks with a coy smirk.

“Yes,” answers Malfoy. “I believe I understand.”

Niklas snorts, but doesn’t comment. What he says next instead is, “Well, your turn, then. You said yourself that you’re concerned about Laelaps’… turn. You abandoned your last leader who took such a turn in his methods. Why are you sticking around?”

“As if Laelaps does not already know?”

That earns him a chuckle. “If you think Laelaps shares more with me than he does anyone else, you’re sorely mistaken.” Niklas personally isn’t even convinced that the actual seer who lives with Laelaps knows everything he’s planning.

“Hm.” Malfoy considers fabricating a story, but he knows Niklas too well at this point to believe he’ll get away with it. Most likely, he already knows. He just wants Malfoy to say it. So, Malfoy tells the honest truth. “Because Laelaps terrifies me far more than the Dark Lord ever did.”

“Fear?” Niklas hums. “As good a reason as any, I suppose.”

It’s more than just fear. It’s pure terror. Laelaps is, by far, the most insidious individual Malfoy knows. There is no doubt in Malfoy’s mind that Riddle will torture and kill him and his family, and laugh while doing so, but when Malfoy faces Laelaps, he’s forced to confront the thought that that’s all Riddle will do.

Laelaps can certainly torture and kill as well, but he’s smarter, humbler, and far, far more patient. Even simply by working with the Hounds… it’s frustrating, because quite often Malfoy cannot see what their goal is or how their missions help them achieve it, but at the end of the day, the Hounds are a well-oiled machine. Laelaps’ followers, even with the discord between groups of opposing ideals and the more bloodthirsty of them showing their own impatience, run a far more efficient and effective ship than the Death Eaters ever did.

For better and for worse, Laelaps has an intimate understanding of every one of his hounds’ secrets and abilities. And he’s good at showing only what truths are necessary to inspire his team to function effectively. Riddle will torture the Death Eaters if they fail a task. Malfoy does not know a single task that Laelaps gives them that anyone has failed. (Except for Diagon Alley. Malfoy shudders. He still has no idea what Laelaps does to Bellatrix, but the memory chills him to the core.) He doesn’t give them work beyond their abilities, and thus has no need to punish them, even if he were that kind of person.

The pure efficiency – or rather, making an enemy of someone who is so adept at assigning just the right person to the right task – is far more frightening than a simple punishment for failure. The longer Malfoy stays with Laelaps, the more he sees Riddle as just so… simple. Powerful and dangerous, yes, but simple in a way that Laelaps is excruciatingly complex.

It’s like Laelaps himself tells Malfoy, back in that cave where they find the horcrux. It’s not death or darkness that people fear. It’s the unknown. The myriad ways that Laelaps can grind Malfoy and his family to ashes and dust, to utterly ruin them and leave them stewing in the pit they dig for themselves… the simple fact that Malfoy knows without a doubt that Laelaps has those ways, but not what they are or how many… that is terror. It is horrific, bone-numbing terror, knowing only enough to know that Laelaps can and will destroy him in ways he cannot imagine.

And that he will not even know it is happening until he is crushed entirely.

Malfoy stays out of desperation. Desperation to be useful enough, trustworthy enough, that he becomes invaluable enough to Laelaps that such a reckoning might not fall down upon his head.

But Niklas, if he does not already know that, does not need to be told. Malfoy straightens, slips his mask over his head, pulls up his hood, and says, “Shall we?”

In one smooth motion, Niklas dons his own mask and hood. Their eyes meet. Niklas nods. “Let’s go.”

Two sharp cracks signal their departure.

“He took my dads?” Harry gasps.

“I am sorry, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall sighs. “As you are of age, and do not need a guardian, you may still return home if you wish, but… given Misters Black and Lupin were abducted in your home, I would highly encourage you to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays.”

What reason does he have to go home, if Sirius and Remus – and Cedric – aren’t there?

Harry can’t even find the anger, this time. He just crumples. Who will be next if he doesn’t end this? There aren’t that many other people that Harry cares about. Fred and George, maybe? Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? Or will Laelaps start going after Hogwarts? Get Hermione, or Susan, or Argo?

He has to end it. And Harry knows there is only one way this ends.

Despite everyone berating him, pleading for him to stay safe on Hogwarts grounds, Harry elects not to change his plans. He’s going home for the holidays. Hopefully, without so many people watching guard over him, he might find a way to contact Laelaps and finish this.

While Harry is in his meeting with McGonagall, Argo is away from the castle. He wears his black runed armor and his white, hooded cape – designed to stand out among his Hounds. The time for hiding and obscurement is over, so though he keeps the mask, he ensures everyone knows how to pick Laelaps out from his Hounds.

That… is important. In the end, they will not just get away with everything they’re doing, and making himself obvious is the best way to ensure that the punishment falls on him rather than his Hounds.

Besides. Today, he wants himself to be known.

Laelaps descends a ladder into a small room. Facing the only door, he takes one sharp, steadying breath, and grasps the handle.

He steps through.

“There you are, you rat bas-!”

“Silencio.”

Sirius Black, struggling against his bindings, roars helplessly, but no sound escapes his lips.

A low growl reverberates through the room. Laelaps just looks at Remus Lupin, unimpressed, and asks, “Will I have to silence both of you, or shall we talk?”

The glare Remus fixes him with might frighten a lesser man. Laelaps, however, knows he has all the power in this situation.

But Remus stops short. Not because he is cowed by Laelaps’ threat to silence him or lack of reaction. He stops short because unlike every other time he investigates the man in front of him, even the one time he actually meets him, Laelaps is not using a scent-masking charm.

Remus can smell him. And he knows that scent.

The muzzle of Laelaps’ hound mask dips as he bows his head. After just a moment, Laelaps lifts a hand to push back his hood.

Sirius goes silent for real, not even trying to say anything. He just stares, gobsmacked, at that red hair. Lily’s hair.

“No,” Remus murmurs. “It can’t be.”

Laelaps calmly removes his mask, and Argo’s startlingly sharp hazel eyes find Remus’. “Hello, Professor,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“Argo,” Remus chokes. It’s as good as a kick to the face, seeing Argo under that mask. Even worse, all the warmth – or at least tolerance – he has at Harry’s birthday party is long gone. The only thing in those frigid eyes is open contempt. It takes everything Remus has just to ask, “Why?”

The stoic disgust in Argo’s rugged bearing makes Remus shiver. Argo answers, “Because if I don’t, then no one will.” He shakes his head. “Magical Britain’s utter lack of competence is, perhaps, it’s most abhorrent feature. Which is saying a lot.”

“You won’t get away with it. Dumbledore will never allow you to-”

Argo snorts loudly. “Dumbledore has never registered as a threat. His pure magical power and penchant for meddling makes him an annoyance, to be sure, but he never was and never will be in any position to stop me.” With a smug smirk, Argo leans close. “The only real threat to my plan… is one I made myself. And I’ve currently got them ready to set the endgame in motion. Which, I suppose, only proves my point. You idiots can’t even get in my way without my help.”

Remus freezes. Sirius, still silenced, does as well, clearly understanding the implication. “You mean to say,” Remus whispers, “you planted someone in the Order?”

Argo chuckles. “You vastly overestimate how much Dumbledore’s pathetic little circle matters. But of course, I’ve been spying on you. There isn’t a thing you know that I haven’t fed you. Because don’t you know, Professor? The thing about Dumbledore and Voldemort… they’ve got the wrong end of the stick. They use their sheer overwhelming magical power to gather support. One through fear, the other through inspiration, but the root of it is their magical power all the same. Which is effective, I’ll grant that. People flock to power. But there’s more than one kind of power. You know the saying…”

“Knowledge is power.” Remus grits his teeth. “You are a Ravenclaw.”

Argo flashes a grin. “I am, thank you for noticing.”

“We knew you were controlling information, but… to this extent?”

Another shrug. “It’s pretty easy, once you learn where to press. The trick is that you don’t need a totality.” He chuckles. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually omniscient, despite the rumors. So long as you keep control of the right information, that’s all that’s really necessary.”

Remus ducks his head. To think, Argo plays them all this whole time. How he must laugh watching the adults struggle fruitlessly in the game he rigs from the start.

Part of Remus wants to be proud. Argo is so remarkably capable. But whatever flicker of that lies within him is crushed flat by the despairing claws trying to burst from his chest. “Please,” Remus begs. “There’s still time to undo this. If anyone can find a way to help Harry-”

“You know… I’m really getting tired of people saying that to my face and still not listening to me when I tell them that Harry has to die. How many times do I have tell you all that that is the only way this can end?”

“Why won’t you try?”

Argo sighs. “I have. I understand that you have less time to come to terms with it, but wishful thinking and fanciful hoping won’t change the facts. One way or another, Harry has to die.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“Shutting your eyes to the dark doesn’t stop the horrors within from watching you.” Argo rolls his eyes, turning away. “But I wouldn’t expect you to face reality. You’ve always been a coward.”

Remus bristles, then deflates. Maybe… maybe he has always been a coward. After all, who but the greatest of cowards abandons their best friend’s children like he does? Years he misses of their lives. Harry is kind enough to allow Remus back into his. Argo, understandably, is not.

That is Remus’ greatest regret. That he allows himself to be blinded by his grief, to believe that he loses everything when Harry still needs him, to give up hope of finding Thomas.

He cannot blame Argo for holding him in such contempt. Not because Argo was the one abandoned, but because regardless of any personal involvement, he is a detestable kind of person. He hates himself, too. In fact, he can only wonder how Harry doesn’t.

Argo’s eyes leave Remus crumbling onto himself, to drift over to Sirius. “At least this one tries to do things, even if they’re routinely the dumbest choice he can make at the time.” Argo squats in front of Sirius, getting to his level. “Like screaming insults at the man who has him at his mercy.”

Argo flicks his wand. Sirius’ jaw is so tight he might break his teeth. After a moment, unsure if he’s really given his voice back, Sirius grinds out, “Are you only here to gloat?”

Argo snorts. “Do you really think I’d waste my time with something like that? No. But since you mentioned it, I’ll get to business, shall I? I need something from you.”

“Never,” Sirius hisses. “I’ll never help you kill Harry.”

Argo just chuckles, completely calm. “Oh, you will. No one ever said you have a choice.”

Argo’s wand flashes, a wicked dagger of magic sheathes it – conjured? – and it descends upon Sirius’ struggling body.

One careful, merciless cut, deep into Sirius’ arm, bleeds him. The blood flies almost directly from the cut into a vial that Argo produces.

Another flick of Argo’s wand mends the cut, and he turns away without another word.

“Don’t you leave!” Sirius shouts. “What are you going to do with that? Don’t you dare-”

“Frankly, Mr. Black,” says Argo, glancing back over his shoulder, “you couldn’t stop me if I told you. But don’t worry.” He flicks his wand once more, and the bindings around Sirius and Remus’ wrists and legs vanish. Sirius immediately lunges for Argo and the door.

Argo doesn’t flinch. He just says, “You’ll be freed when it’s over.”

The door clicks shut a second before Sirius slams helplessly into it, screaming himself hoarse.

Argo, on the other side of the door, sighs heavily. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, and then he lifts his chin and climbs back up the ladder. His Hounds await him, as he asks. He looks to Malfoy. “Is everything prepared?”

Malfoy nods, almost more of a bow. “It is ready to go as soon as you give the word.”

“Do it.”

(Alone in Ravenclaw’s laboratory, Argo lays out two vials of blood, then turns his wand to his own arm to fill a third.

It’s time.)

The Teumessian Fox would give anything to be as skilled at tracking and identification as Laelaps. If she were, she’d find Cedric in a day, Sirius and Remus would already be returned, and she would definitely already have her hands on this damn rumor she’s chasing.

But, she thinks, this time for sure. She thinks she finally finds it. It takes a whole lot of digging and more than a little creative persuasion (which may or may not be strictly legal), but she finally has something solid.

Something on soul magic, the kind that can create horcruxes and otherwise manipulate the soul. If they can learn how, they can separate the bit of Riddle from Harry like a surgical operation. She hopes.

Books on the topic of soul magic are, understandably, difficult to find. What little there is is exceptionally unhelpful in any practical application. All the Teumessian Fox really manages to learn about it is that tampering with the soul – in any way – breaks the deepest laws of magic.

What that means is anyone’s guess.

But the Teumessian Fox finally has a location. The problem is that she’s not the only one. It’s a Death Eater correspondence that she learns the location from. She steals it, of course, but it’s only a matter of time until Riddle is aware that they have a way to destroy his last horcrux.

He’ll be going after it. And the Teumessian Fox, for all her skill, can’t go in there alone. If Riddle catches her in a fight, she’s dead.

So, who else can she contact but Dumbledore? He’s the only one who can match Riddle, and she thinks he’s unlikely to try to catch her and turn her in. She sends a message immediately.

“Professor Dumbledore,

I have reason to believe that a book containing information that may save Harry’s life may lie in a charmed space accessed somewhere in the east of the North Ford Bog. I would retrieve it alone, but Voldemort is already aware of its existence.

Meet me outside of the Forbidden Forest tonight, that we may begin our search. Bring no one you do not trust.

The Teumessian Fox”

While Dumbledore ponders this note left for him, considers its content and its sender, Harry pets the cat in his lap. He takes comfort in the creature and cries, clutching tightly the parchment in his hands, signed from Laelaps.

And so it is that that very night, in the bog northeast of the Forbidden Forest, everyone silently gathers.

Harry steals through the gloom under his invisibility cloak. Even Laelaps will not find him until he decides to reveal himself. On the outskirts of the forest, a former headmaster meets a masked woman, and the two agree with what few members of the Order of the Phoenix that Dumbledore can gather, to spread out and sweep the area thoroughly, though Dumbledore, long familiar with all the lands surrounding Hogwarts, personally has an idea of just where he’s searching for.

And on the other side of the bog, Tom Riddle gathers the few Death Eaters he has left, preparing for his own sweep of the place, determined that if he should lose his final horcrux, the child destined to defeat him will die with it. After all, in light of the prophecy, what does his final horcrux truly matter? So long as Dumbledore does not learn how to preserve Harry’s life, there is no one left to defeat him, so Voldemort wins regardless.

None of these searchers are aware of the pack of dogs on the prowl, disillusioned, positioned carefully, and waiting.

Splitting up to cover more ground is the downfall of both groups. As Voldemort and Dumbledore both watch their allies venture into the foggy moor, neither witness Order members and Death Eaters alike drop like flies.

It is quick, efficient, and brutal. The only one from either side who sees their enemy coming is Mad-Eye Moody, and even then it is only for a fraction of a second before a magic he is unfamiliar with engulfs and blinds him. Something strikes him in the side, fast as an arrow, and he dashes his head on a stone.

(The Hound who takes him down checks first to ensure he will survive, then scratches a somewhat muddy six-legged mountain lion behind the ear.)

Dumbledore and Voldemort, seeing none of their allies fall, quietly make their way directly to the arena.

The Teumessian Fox, however, sensing a presence she should have expected, shifts course to intercept.

She steps through some trees, onto a somewhat raised, drier, patch of land, protected and held intact by the dense trees’ thick roots, and sees a dog mask and a white hood.

“Laelaps.”

Laelaps’ mask tips up as he moves his head, and it appears almost as if that mask is smiling. “The Teumessian Fox. Nice of you to drop in.”

And that’s all it takes. In that moment, hearing the confidence, the insufferable calm in his voice… and the Fox knows she’s been tricked. She gulps thickly, over the quickly forming lump in her throat. “There is no book, is there?”

That mask keeps smiling at her. “Of course, there isn’t,” he says.

This is fine. The Teumessian Fox forces herself to breathe. “Dumbledore is here. Riddle won’t get to Harry.”

Laelaps merely tilts his head.

The Fox’s heart sinks. “You wanted him here. All three of them.” She grits her teeth. “I did exactly what you wanted me to.”

“You did exactly as I expected you to,” Laelaps says gently.

Ha. Just so. Either way, in the end, she’s just another pawn. “I thought…” She shakes her head. It doesn’t matter anymore. Her eyes blaze as she meets his. “This is just like you. But I won’t let you get to them. Dumbledore will protect Harry, and you won’t be able to interfere.”

“If you can stop me here… you may very well be right.” He lifts his wand. The Fox eyes it – it’s his wand. His real one. His match. That intricately carved redwood wand that can’t possibly be mistaken for anyone else’s. “I know you, Susan. That’s why I knew what you would do. And why I knew from the start that it would come to this.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are. That’s why I decided to face you like this. Shall we?”

Susan Bones, head still bowed, draws her wand and, with blinding speed, a puzzle box. It starts moving in the air above her hand, manipulating itself, opening with her magic, but Argo already has his wand aimed at it, and she does not manage to use it before he stops it.

“Did you really think I would just give you a weapon like that without a way to counter it?”

No, she would never be that naïve. Even when she believes they’re on the same side, she knows that Argo already has a countermeasure before he dares let the box out of his hands.

It doesn’t matter. Resolute fury boils in Susan’s lungs, and spells start flying.

Deeper into the bog, Harry pants from beneath his cloak. He’s looking, but he doesn’t leave the castle very much in his years at Hogwarts. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to find the meeting place.

With little else to guide him, he wanders from landmark to landmark, hoping to find the ruins Laelaps describes in his letter. Currently, he’s marching towards a congregation of small dancing lights – fireflies.

Before he knows it, he’s around a bend facing down an enormous skeleton. Harry’s breath catches in his throat, then he recognizes the skull, and the distinctive horns. A Hebridean Black. They’re native around here. They don’t get too close to the castle, and almost never even bother getting near any of the hamlets in the area, from what he hears, but they are known to occasionally steal some cattle.

But beneath the half-submerged skeleton, wandering about the clearing or resting in a nest cradled within the ribcage, thestrals roam.

Harry watches them silently for a while, thinking that no one can fault him for making his last moments peaceful. After a while, he takes off the cloak. All the thestrals nearby immediately stiffen and look him over carefully, but he breathes a sigh of relief when they apparently decide he’s safe enough and continue as they were, ignoring him.

He finds a dry enough rock and sits down, watching them as before, but now occasionally putting up with one of them getting curious and nuzzling him.

Just for a few minutes, he promises himself. The thestrals, despite their reputation, really are gentle creatures. He’s glad he has this chance.

Daphne Greengrass is roughly shaken awake by her apprentice. Groaning, she valiantly resists the urge to curse the little girl for waking her in what must be the dead of night.

“Daphne, get up.” But Camille’s voice immediately sobers her. She sits up, wide-awake, already grabbing a robe to cover her nightclothes. “We have to go now.”

“What? What is it?” Daphne asks, fastening her robe. She double-checks for her wand, allowing Camille to drag her out of her dorm even as she tries to take stock of the situation. “What’s going on?”

Camille storms intently through the common room and pulls her right out into the dungeons.

(Daphne transfigures her nightclothes and robe into something more appropriate, if they’re going out. There is no chance on earth that she’ll be caught in her nighties, thank you very much.)

“I don’t know exactly,” Camille says, “but Professor Dumbledore, Argo, Susan, and Harry all left the castle.” She freezes for a moment, eyeing Daphne carefully. “We think Laelaps is going to try to kill Harry tonight.”

If Daphne isn’t awake before, she is now. She doesn’t bother asking why her apprentice is apparently keeping tabs on everyone leaving the castle, but she does ask, “Where did they go?”

“David’s working on it,” Camille says. “Ross is sending a letter to Susan’s aunt, but there’s no way the aurors will get there in time.”

“And how do you know Laelaps is on the move tonight?”

“Because I do!” Camille hisses. “Don’t pretend you don’t! You’re not that ignorant.”

Daphne swallows down her retort when Elsie crashes into them.

But if Camille is looking panicked, Elsie is downright paralyzed. “It’s not just Laelaps!” Elsie says, recovering quickly and grabbing the both of them to drag them towards the entrance of the castle. “You-Know-Who is there, too!”

“What?” Daphne and Camille both blanch.

“Did you find where they went?”

“The North Ford Bog,” says Elsie. “Past the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore had a letter from the Teumessian Fox telling him to meet her there.”

The Teumessian Fox, too? The leaden weight in Daphne’s gut only grows.

They run into David and Ross in the Bell Tower Courtyard, where the boys already have brooms for each of them ready to go and David stands fiddling with something in his hands. “Aha! Got it!” he shouts as they approach. “Good, you’re here. Let’s go!”

Everything moves so fast, Daphne doesn’t have any time to figure out what’s happening. The rest of her Circle goes off into the highlands to… do something? She gets the impression that they aren’t together, so her annoyance at being left out is somewhat alleviated, because she thinks they’re all doing their own things that just happen to be intersecting? Maybe?

The kids don’t have that much information to share with her, although they do have a little bit of time to scream over the wind at each other as they fly north.

Laelaps is making another move tonight – the kids won’t tell her how they’re so sure about that – but Daphne notices David is reluctant for a different reason than the others. Not that she knows what either reason is.

The Teumessian Fox and Dumbledore are looking for something that might save Harry. That’s good enough reason for Daphne to come out and look around. But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being around, as well…

Mostly, they follow David, who proudly shows off a compass that he only just finishes enchanting but which should lead him directly to Argo.

So, that’s good. Until it isn’t.

They hear the battle before they see it, and they see the flashing spellfire before they make out the duelists.

Two canine masks, two armored duelists. Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox. Daphne is about to turn their little train of broomsticks around right then and there when she realizes that David’s compass, which he says should lead to Argo, leads them straight to Laelaps.

There are scorch marks on the ground, several trees are felled, even the earth itself is split in two. This battle is not a friendly one. Daphne can tell just from the destruction in their wake that they are seriously trying to kill each other.

And she leads a field trip of second and third years out into this! Merlin.

Still, the itch in her gut that she tries to ignore through this whole frantic rush – no… that she tries to ignore all year moves her wand before she can think. “Accio mask!”

Both Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox stop short at the new arrival. The Fox even lets out a startled, “Daphne?” and so neither of them prevent their masks from being ripped from their faces.

And Daphne, and the apprentice Circle, find themselves facing down Argo and Susan.

The only sound is their ragged breaths, and the chirping of insects in the bog.

“Accio!” It’s broken by David, pointing his wand at Susan. The ordinary-looking puzzle box in her hand flies quickly to him, and he maneuvers himself without hesitation to Argo’s side.

“David…” Argo murmurs, wide-eyed.

“What are you doing?” growls Elsie. “That’s the man who’s trying to kill Harry!”

“That’s my big brother!” David growls back. His brow furrows suddenly and he grits his teeth, sucking in a difficult breath. “I-I don’t know what he’s planning, but- But I trust him! You said yourself that You-Know-Who is out here. Argo can stop him. Tonight. But you- all of you- you’re too chicken to let him!”

“Harry’s our friend!” Camille roars. “He’s our teacher! How can you side against him?”

“I’m not!” David shouts. “I’m siding with Argo! I don’t know the whole situation, but I trust Argo to know what’s necessary, and I know he’d never hurt Harry if there was any other way! If he says this is what needs to happen… then I’m with him.”

Elsie slowly stalks to Susan’s side, her wand trained on David the whole time. (David’s raised wand trembles fiercely. Elsie’s does not.) “You’ve made your choice, then. Confringo!”

Everyone gasps. David recoils in shock. It’s only Argo’s quick reflexes that shield him and send the blasting curse into a nearby tree instead of David’s face.

“I don’t want to fight you, Elsie,” Argo says, “but don’t think I won’t put you down if you hurt my little brother. We taught you better than to use a curse like that.”

“Says you?” Elsie scoffs. “The Blasting Curse is nothing compared to the Killing Curse. Hypocrite.”

“I’m not twelve, for one.”

“Enough!” shouts Camille. Her wand finds Argo. “Stupefy!”

The streaking spell is harmlessly batted away, but the curse from Susan that follows just behind knocks him back a few feet. David quickly freezes the wet earth beneath their feet, but Elsie sends a gout of flame at him with Incendio.

And Daphne stands rooted to the spot as her Circle crumbles around her. A hand on her arm barely registers, watching her friends and apprentices duel with such grisly intent, but she somehow manages to give her attention to the last apprentice, likewise not participating. Ross.

Funny. An apprentice of Susan’s is the first Daphne would think will jump in on something like this.

But he looks at her, and she looks back, and she knows, and he knows, that if they take a side, if they fling spell or word at either side of this conflict, then their fractured Circle will break completely.

And Ross, the Hufflepuff, is quite loyal, and Daphne is clever and there is an understanding between them in that moment.

It’s not only Argo, or only Susan, who saves Daphne’s family from the malediction. It is not only Susan, despite being his primary mentor, who teaches and guides Ross. Earlier this very year, Argo is the one who teaches Ross how to bypass the trace enforcing the restriction of the use of underage magic.

They’re a Circle for a reason. No one over another, no one more important than another. They’re equals. They’re supposed to look out for each other. How is Daphne supposed to turn her wand on any of them?

The truth is… she thinks she agrees with Argo. But she has to put an end to the fighting before they can even think about anything else. If she can trust him, put her faith in him, then…

Her eyes zero in on the puzzle box clutched tight in David’s hand.

She doesn’t think he knows what it is, but he probably knows it’s what the Teumessian Fox uses to pull off her feats. He can’t use it, but he can keep it away from her.

But Daphne remembers Harry’s birthday party. She remembers that box twisting upon itself, and herself being in one place one moment and another the next.

Daphne shares one more look with Ross, and she disillusions the both of them.

David conjures bats that swarm Susan. Camille levitates a log, which Elsie launches at him with Depulso. Argo drops a localized blizzard atop his opponents, and only barely avoids getting tangled up in the ropes Susan conjures to restrain him.

Daphne steals through the chaos carefully, keeping an eye on both sides of the battlefield.

Her opportunity comes when David pulls something from his pocket. In an instant, the whole clearing is flush with pitch-dark smoke. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?

The moment her view is obscured, Daphne rushes the last place she sees David. He’s close enough that, not seeing her coming, he doesn’t move. She bowls him over, pushing him, hard, right over Ross, crouched down behind David’s legs, and then she and Ross remove themselves from the fight and she feels something square pressed into her hand.

It takes Daphne a minute longer to figure the thing out. There’s no way she’ll get it open all on her own. Probably only Susan and Argo know the puzzle needed to open it.

But Daphne is clever and she doesn’t spend so many years with Argo learning nothing. Obviously, she just has to cheat.

There are a lot of spells that, in theory, reverse the state of an object. Reparo being one – reversing the state of the object to when it was complete. But where the repairing charm fixes things in a much more linear fashion, there are some spells, especially some darker ones, that lean a little closer to time magic, and actually set a thing to rewind in a much more literal sense.

Opening a box is simply closing it in reverse.

Of course, the box has protections against such charms. Blood magic is difficult to defend against, though. Daphne slices her hand, lets her blood onto the box, and casts the spell again, using her own blood and a chirality bypass (thanks again, Argo) to get through enough of the defenses for her spell to take effect.

It’s a brute force method, certainly nothing as elegant as Susan can do, but it works. The box begins to move, morphing and twisting in on itself and jutting outwards.

Camille is thrown back against a tree. Daphne nearly screams when she doesn’t get back up. A severing charm gouges deep into David’s leg. Elsie’s wand arm hangs limply at her side as she duels on with her non-dominant hand.

These are children. And yes, Daphne is the one who brings them here, but this fight should never happen in the first place.

The box in her hand opens. A pale glow pours out from it.

In an instant, the only people in the clearing are her and Argo.

Argo gulps, eyeing her and the puzzle box in her hand, approaching with his wand held out sideways, away from her. “Daphne,” he says cautiously.

“Don’t take another step.” She narrows her eyes. The box in her hand twirls a little, levitating there over her palm. It’s only a childhood of etiquette training that keeps her composure in check as she asks. “Are they-”

“Inside the box, yes,” Argo confirms. “That was your intention, wasn’t it? Can I ask why you didn’t capture me, too?”

Daphne barely hears him. She stares at the still moving puzzle box. “What is this thing? I- I had an idea, but…” Susan, Camille, Elsie, David, and Ross all just… gone. Like that. Disappeared into the thing in an instant. Daphne can barely comprehend the power she’s holding in her hand right now.

“Simply put,” says Argo, “it’s a container. It can take in… in theory… anything. Then you can release it whenever and wherever you wish.”

“Anything,” Daphne repeats.

Argo inclines his head. “The Teumessian Fox… Susan… she used it mostly to contain wards and other protections. It won’t set off alarms… if you take in the alarm spells, too. They’re not triggered, you see, because they’re preserved as they are. And then once she’s past them she can simply replace them and they will never know anything odd has happened. The Room of Requirement uses a similar principle for displacing and storing objects, but I primarily based the design of the enchantment on Slytherin’s Locket.”

This is what Slytherin’s Locket is capable of? Cold shudders down her spine.

“Daphne,” Argo repeats. He speaks to her like she’s fragile. She might take offense, if she doesn’t feel so fragile at the moment. “You just wanted to stop the fighting, didn’t you?”

Of course, she did.

“Why leave me out, then?”

Daphne tries to breathe. It’s all she can do to keep her face steady.

“Daphne,” Argo says, daring one more step towards her. With his open hand, he reaches out, palm up. “Do you trust me?”

Even though all the evidence says not to, even though everything about the situation is screaming not to – he tries to kill Harry, he fights with serious intent to hurt the rest of their Circle – she does.

Because he also saves Astoria, and because she knows him. If she’s wrong, she may be breaking the Circle herself, but… she trusts him.

(Curse her for even considering it, but… Voldemort will kill much more of her family than Harry. If one death means saving everyone else… But there’s more to this. There must be. There always is, with Argo.)

Shakily, she nods. “I trust you. Do what you have to.”

The breath that escapes Argo is ragged, the only hint of his tension. “Thank you. Return to the castle. Please. It’s not safe for them if you keep the box here. Let the others out when you get back. By the time you do… it will hopefully be over.”

“…Okay.” Daphne clutches the puzzle box that traps most of her closest friends tightly to her breast. She nods. “Okay. Okay. You probably planned for all of this, but you should know – Riddle is here. Please be safe.”

“I know,” Argo whispers. He sighs, turning to pick up his mask and replace it on his head. “I brought him here. When I said it’ll be over… I mean all of it.”

“I should help-”

“The kids won’t be safe until they’re back in the castle. I need you to get them there.” Sincere hazel eyes gleam behind that mask, and Daphne sees once again the caretaker Argo has always been. “I have everything planned out, but if anything happens to them…”

Daphne nods jerkily. “I understand. I’ll… see you back at the castle?”

Argo smiles. “I’ll see you later.”

Daphne sniffs once, then turns away to hurry back to her broom. Argo likewise turns his back, but he just gazes further into the bog for a moment and then disapparates with a sharp crack.

Well, Harry thinks, there’s only so long he can put it off.

He stands, gently pushing the thestral nosing at him away, and wraps his cloak once more around himself.

He’s ready.

So, he pads softly through the moor, searching once more for the ruins Laelaps describes to him. A large square arena of crumbling brick. There should be a statue of a wizard holding his arms, and his wand, outstretched. That’s how he’ll know it’s the right place.

It doesn’t take long, but no sooner does Harry spot the statue than he sees who else is there. Not Laelaps, but Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Harry secretly hopes this isn’t part of Laelaps’ plan. He really doesn’t want to give Voldemort the satisfaction of being the one to do it. For that reason, and because he still doesn’t see Laelaps anywhere, Harry remains under his cloak, just creeping along the outside edge, watching the two most powerful wizards of their age.

Voldemort looks young, Harry notes. An adult for sure, not like the memory in the Chamber of Secrets, but young. He looks good. Healthy. Harry wonders dully how much is simply appearance, or if he is really doing so well.

“Well?” Tom Riddle demands. “What is he trying to pull here? What is he planning?”

Dumbledore smiles enigmatically. In an almost cheerful voice, he says, “I assure you, Tom, I am just as clueless as you. Laelaps, it seems, has outmaneuvered me at every turn. I have absolutely no idea what he is thinking.”

“You lie,” Riddle hisses. “He’s one of yours. I know he is. He has hounded my every move. No matter where I go or what I do, he always knows. Only you could do such a thing.”

Dumbledore laughs. “If there is one thing I have learned in my time as a professor, it’s that one should never underestimate the young. They are cleverer, wiser, braver, and far, far more just than we in our age are typically inclined to believe.”

Riddle scoffs. Even with such a gesture, he somehow manages to make it look aristocratic. “Fine, then,” he says. “I suppose I’ll just have to content myself with killing the great Albus Dumbledore.”

Riddle raises his wand, then-

Crack!

“Hello, gentlemen. I apologize for being late. I was… held up.”

Harry hugs himself tight. There he is. Laelaps. Harry can’t forget him if he tries. The runed armor Harry can’t even begin to decipher the protections on, the white hood, that mask…

“Avada Kedavra!”

The flash of startling green shoots straight for Laelaps, who sidesteps and vanishes. “My, my,” Laelaps’ amused voice comes from one corner of the arena, then bounces around to another like an echo, “I did apologize.”

“Show yourself!” Riddle shouts.

Laelaps’s echoing laughter sends a shiver through Harry’s bones. “Why in the world would I want to do that? No, I appreciate you two waiting for me, but go ahead and get started, why don’t you? Don’t mind me. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Riddle paces, lashing as he searches in vain for Laelaps, but Dumbledore just chuckles. “Very well, I suppose I shall do just that.”

Finally, Dumbledore lifts his wand. The force of the spell that emanates from it makes Harry’s hair stand on end, even at the distance he has between them. Voldemort conjures a shining silver shield to deflect it, but the spell, whatever it is, causes no visible damage. It strikes the shield, and a deep, gonglike note reverberates from it. A chilling sound.

“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” calls Voldemort, his eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?”

“We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” says Dumbledore calmly, stepping towards Voldemort with not a lick of fear. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit-”

Riddle snarls, “There is nothing worse than Death, Dumbledore.”

Laelaps’ echoing laughter sounds loud and clear. “Well said, the both of you. You wear your weaknesses on your sleeves. It’s almost pitiful.”

Another flash of green light comes from behind the silver shield. Without knowing where to target to hit Laelaps, Voldemort simply aims his fury at Dumbledore. An old, cracked vase lying about the ruin flies to intercept and shatters. Before the fragments even hit the floor, Dumbledore lashes his wand as if brandishing a whip and a thin stream of flame erupts from the tip, encircling Riddle, shield and all.

Then the fiery rope turns into a serpent, relinquishing its hold on Riddle and turning, hissing, to Dumbledore.

“Pride,” Laelaps’ voice mocks, “arrogance… how many ways are there to destroy a man? And what would satisfy you, Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore falters – only for the briefest moment, but Harry sees something inexplicable cross that calm expression, and at once the fiery snake strikes.

An instant before the snake sinks its fangs into him, water surrounds Dumbledore, encapsulating him like a cocoon of liquid glass. There’s impact, obscuring steam, and a tidal wave that floods the arena.

“Nothing,” says Laelaps everywhere and nowhere at once. “Nothing at all. You will never be satisfied. You will live the brief time you have remaining the same way you have lived until now. Empty and alone. You were given the world, but still it wasn’t enough. Because you just can’t help yourself.”

Now, Dumbledore’s expression finally morphs into a frown. The water comes together once more, crashing around Voldemort, locking him into a swirling vortex.

For a moment, Voldemort struggles, and it seems as if Dumbledore has won, and then he vanishes.

“And you, Tom Riddle,” says Laelaps. His laugh resonates once more. “You’re truly just pathetic. You’re a scared little boy, lashing out at the world because you don’t have the power to do any more than snarl and growl and cry when you don’t get your way.”

Voldemort, atop one of the walls now, roars as he sends another killing curse at Dumbledore. With agility defying his appearance, Dumbledore leaps aside, countering with a spell of his own that forces Voldemort back to the ground.

“Everything you have ever done is based on fear,” Laelaps says. “Yet you claim to be strong?” A scoff. “No, Tom. You’re the weakest of us.”

“You hide behind words and shadow!” roars Voldemort. “Show yourself. Face me like a man! Then you can speak of cowardice!”

Laelaps laughs again. “True,” he says. And at once, all light leaves them. Harry cannot see Dumbledore or Voldemort anymore. He cannot even see his own hand in front of him. The blackness is pure and absolute. “But there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom.”

A growl, deep and resonant, and clearly inhuman lifts from the darkness. Harry swears he feels something brush his leg and jumps, but can’t sense anything there.

“Call me coward for it, but I find your method… brutish. Such crass methods, for such a pretty face. Shall I make this body of yours match your old one? I rather think the last one suits you better.”

Voldemort’s scream drowns out the animalistic growling. A dim light just barely pierces the dark. And in the light, the shadow ripples.

Harry’s breath catches, because he sees this before. Only once. In the Murk. A lethifold. And it occurs to Harry that Voldemort cannot cast the patronus charm. What can he do to defend himself from it?

It would be almost certain death, even for him.

Voldemort apparently realizes this as well, as he suddenly goes quiet and that light is snuffed out.

“Illusion!” Voldemort roars suddenly. “You think to scare me with party tricks?”

“Oh, but you are scared, Tom. You can’t deny it. The Hound can smell it. Can’t you, dear heart?”

Deep barks from a horde of massive somethings echo around Harry, closing in. The beasts in the dark are encircling him, he can tell. His heart hammers in his chest as he clutches tight to his invisibility cloak.

“Are you scared of the dark, Tom? Do you need a night light?” The condescending voice is accompanied by a small wisp of light in the dark. Harry can make out Voldemort’s face in it, just barely. “Or does it frighten you even more knowing that they can see you, but you can’t see them?”

The chorus of barks sounds again, just on the edge of the light, beyond view. Voldemort turns frantically, trying to make out something, anything, in the dark.

“It’s not real!” Voldemort shouts. “You cannot deceive me!”

“Oh… you silly, silly man. I have deceived you a thousand times over. The only reason you know this is illusory is because I have decided that you should. I know everything. All of your deepest secrets, your most ardent desires… Every plan you make, every feeble scrap of information you find. I’m the one that feeds it all to you. Haven’t you realized? You have done nothing that I have not wanted you to.”

Seeing his opportunity, Voldemort strikes. “Is that so? So you wished for your little niffler to die?”

There is quiet for a moment, and Harry has a sinking in his gut that feels a lot like regret for Voldemort. And he thinks – niffler? Laelaps has one?

“…You know,” Laelaps says calmly, “I just realized. You never did realize that your horcruxes were being destroyed. I meant originally to save them all and do it at once so that you would not sense it, but you were already dead to them, anyway, weren’t you?”

The smug expression on Voldemort’s face falls away.

“They are precious to you, after all, just like he was to me. I think you deserve to see for yourself how easily I have destroyed every last fragment of you.”

There in the gloam, Harry sees an enormous beast move. It takes him a moment, and for it to get closer to the light, for Harry to recognize it. The basilisk. She strikes into the light – Riddle flinches back. The diary falls from her maw with a useless, dull thud on the floor.

As the basilisk turns and slithers back into the blackness, a faceless wizard conjures a blade. A vial of something floats up to coat the wicked edge, and with a whip of his wand, the blade flies towards Voldemort.

Voldemort conjures a shield, but the blade just vanishes, leaving Voldemort pale, but unharmed. The faceless wizard sinks back into the dark, and an enormous dead snake appears at Voldemort’s feet.

The next is almost clinical. No drama, just a drop. A pale liquid, not quite clear but otherwise indecipherable in such dim light, falls atop Voldemort’s head. He shouts, waves his arms as if to batter the drops away, but they only increase, falling heavier and heavier until it floods him just like Dumbledore’s spell earlier.

And then it’s gone. Dry, like nothing was ever there, but a ring with a cracked stone sits alongside the diary and dead snake.

There’s another figure in the dark, muttering to itself, which Harry can barely hear over the dogs occasionally barking or snapping just to make sure no one forgets about them. As it comes to the light, Laelaps chuckles. “Can you believe an elf did this one? I was frustrated at the time – I had my own pride, you know – but now I think it’s poetic.”

The shadowy elf roars and leaps at Voldemort, who throws a killing curse at it, but the curse passes harmlessly through the shadow, and the elf throws something directly into Voldemort’s eyes, forcing him to cry out, stumbling back away from the light.

On the ground, in the light, a locket joins the rest, open and cracked.

“And my favorite of all,” says Laelaps.

Harry gulps, something slides down his back. There are eyes in the dark and they can see him. Something scrubs at him, caustic on his skin, like an overpowered cleaning charm stripping him bare. If Harry thought the tidal wave was clinical at first, this is scientific. He feels like a specimen under a bubble. Trapped, observed, helpless, poked and prodded, until finally that caustic scrub washes the last of him away.

In the dead pile at Voldemort’s feet, a tiara appears, gleaming bright and shiny.

“You struggle in vain because you are frightened,” says Laelaps. “But nothing you have done matters.”

Three figures linger just at the edge of the light. Harry’s eyes strain to see it, but one holds a wand – knobbly like Dumbledore’s. The middle one holds up a stone like the one in the ring. The last wears a cloak, and Harry can only see the figure’s head, but somehow he knows the cloak is there.

Behind them, barely emerging, another figure, vague, with a face like a skeleton, and sheer terror seizes Harry at once.

Something moves behind Voldemort. Harry gasps when he sees the statue from the center of the arena grab him in a bear hug from behind, a spell from nowhere disarms Riddle, leaving him struggling against his binds, glancing fretfully at the four figures just outside his night light.

A pale green curse slips beneath the statue’s arms, hitting Riddle squarely. Harry narrows his eyes, sure he recognizes it, but nothing appears to happen to Riddle immediately.

The middle figure, holding the stone, is disturbed when Laelaps’s distinctive mask appears through it, approaching his bound enemy.

The light then grows, or the darkness recedes, and Dumbledore comes into view again as well, looking unsettled but holding his wand close to his chest, not at the ready. He steps forward, eyes the shadowy, indistinct figures still there even in the light, and with some reverence, steps into the place of the one with the wand.

Voldemort’s eyes go wide with terror. “No…”

“Come join us, Harry,” says Laelaps. “We wouldn’t be complete without you.”

And suddenly Harry knows where he’s supposed to be. He swallows hard, then carefully creeps forward. Only once he disrupts the third shadowy form does he remove his cloak.

A pale green curse strikes him in the chest. Harry blinks down at it, not feeling a thing.

And then he remembers. The Murk. The warlock down there uses that curse to link Argo and Daphne, so that any injury one receives is mirrored in the other.

But… he never hears of that spell anywhere else. The only one who knows it is the one who takes that warlock’s spellbook…

Harry gasps, his eyes meet Laelaps’ and he sees, behind the mask, familiar hazel eyes.

So. It’s Argo. It’s Argo who plans his demise. Harry ducks his head. Part of him does feel betrayed, but another part believes he’s foolish for ever believing he could have something like a family.

And yet still… Harry understands why Argo is doing this. Even now, he understands that it doesn’t come from hatred.

But it doesn’t come from love. He’s still willing and able to kill Harry in a heartbeat. And that hurts. It savages Harry’s chest like a dragon in his heart.

The three holders of the Deathly Hallows stand over Voldemort silently. Finally, Argo breaks the quiet. “Go on, Harry. You know what must be done.”

Right. The linking curse. Argo hits Voldemort and Harry with it, so if Harry kills Voldemort now…

Argo steps back, giving Harry space. But beyond Harry’s view, he slips behind Dumbledore, who feels the tip of a wand press to his back.

Whispered in Dumbledore’s ear is a choice. Dumbledore, slowly, then all at once, finally understands Argo’s plan. He smiles, nods, and feels the splash of magic against his spine.

(Maybe this- this will finally be enough. Maybe he can be satisfied with this.)

Harry’s breath comes shaky, but he doesn’t want Voldemort to see his fear. He wants Voldemort to die knowing that Harry witnesses his fears, and without the satisfaction of the inverse. He wants Voldemort to see Harry face the same fate as he with more strength, with more grace, than Voldemort can ever muster.

So, he keeps a stiff upper lip, he straightens his back, and he aims his wand. And he is ready. He means it when he says, “Avada Kedavra.”

Three bodies drop at once.

(In a small room, Sirius and Remus wait. Both men startle when they hear the soft click of a door being unlocked. They do not leave the room. Instead, they grab onto each other and cry.)

Harry lies on his back. The damp smell of the bog fills his nostrils. He can feel the cold, hard ground beneath him, and the warmth of the lap his head rests in.

Every inch of him aches. His stomach, exactly the spot that Harry’s Killing Curse strikes Riddle, feels like the bruise of an iron-clad punch.

He stirs.

“Oh, thank fuck!” He’s crushed by something massive, enormous arms wrapping him up in tender care. “It worked! Ha! I was right; it worked!”

Only one person Harry knows has a mouth like that. Which in hindsight is surprising, given they’re all teenagers.

It works. Argo is right, and Harry is alive. This is his plan? Harry slowly blinks his eyes open. He can’t begin to decipher just what Argo does or how anything up until this point plays into it, but one thing is clear.

It’s Argo’s plan all along to ensure Harry comes out of this with life still in him.

Harry uses the fleeting remnants of strength that remain in him to fling his arms around Argo in turn and hold his brother tight.

“It’s over, then?”

Both boys jump, turning to the voice. There, approaching, is Madam Bones, eyeing carefully the scene. Percy Weasley stands at her side, joy and nerve and regret showing on his face in equal measure.

Argo peels himself away from Harry. Harry tries to hold on, to keep him close, to protect him from what looks like a serious confrontation, but he does not have the strength to stop Argo from pulling his arms away and standing, turning to face the aurors.

Argo nods. “It’s over.”

Then, and only then, Harry takes in the scene for himself. Voldemort lies dead, an empty husk, but what he doesn’t expect is that just beside him… there is Dumbledore, laid peacefully, as if asleep.

Amelia Bones sighs. She looks at Riddle’s body, at Dumbledore’s, then at Harry, struggling to sit up. “How…?”

Argo’s head dips, the muzzle of his mask falls nearly to his chest. “You must have questions.” Somehow, Harry knows the statement is directed at him. “I no longer have anything to hide.”

Amelia swallows thickly. She sees the firm acceptance of one of her niece’s best friends, of a remarkable boy she holds great respect and fondness for. And she says, “Laelaps… you are under arrest.”

“What?” Harry gasps. “But- but he wasn’t really trying to kill me! He saved me!”

Amelia closes her eyes. “Unfortunately, Mister Potter, that is not the only crime he must face punishment for.”

“No, he was only trying to help! You can’t-”

“Calm, brother,” Argo says. His own voice is… painfully calm. “Good intentions don’t free someone from the law. I accept the full consequences of my actions.”

Amelia nods firmly. “Mister Weasley, please take Mister Potter to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Laelaps… come with me.”

“A moment, if I may?” says Laelaps. Amelia keeps a close eye on him, but gives him the go-ahead.

He turns back to Harry, kneels down at his side, then reaches into his neckline. On a delicate bronze chain, which he removes from his neck, there is a ring with a river stone set into it. The same ring that appeared in the illusion as one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, though the stone is whole and not cracked, and in the hand of the middle shadowy figure that scared Voldemort so. Argo takes it into his hand, turns it over once. Twice. Stop. Then he takes Harry’s hand and drops the ring and chain into it.

“I won’t be needing this, anymore,” he says. Then, slowly so as not to alarm the aurors, he places his wand in Harry’s hand as well.

Harry can’t see Argo’s expression behind his mask, but he can see Argo wink. “Use it well.”

Through Harry’s protests, and with a long, significant look to that mask over Argo’s face, Percy does as he’s told. He grabs onto Harry and disapparates them away. Daphne Greengrass awaits him at the castle, and helps him drag Harry through the wards and up to the Hospital Wing, where the DA Circle are all kept under Madam Pomfrey’s strict watch.

Meanwhile, Argo takes Amelia’s offered arm and is apparated directly into a spartan room. It’s rare to apparate into a building, so Argo figures this must be a ministry holding cell. For low-risk prisoners, apparently, as though the furnishing is simple and threadbare, but there are no heavy-duty wards to prevent him from using his magic. He notes with some interest that the only things preventing his escape, which will really do next to nothing if he does decide to leave, is a mechanically locked door and the fact that he no longer has his wand.

Well, his main wand. When Amelia asks him kindly to hand over his other wand, he chuckles and drops two into her hand. One is the wand of that warlock from the Murk, another is simply a backup wand that works for him and is plain enough not to be easily recognized. He makes all the Hounds get one early on, and he himself is no exception.

Amelia asks for his mask, and he does not hesitate to remove it. For the first time, she sees his face.

He’s calm, unbothered, she might dare say even proud. Amelia cannot name how many people she witnesses break down in this room. Seeing him so relaxed… “Are you okay?” she asks.

Argo smiles, scratches idly at his beard, hums, “I’m okay.” He closes his eyes and sighs, dropping heavily onto the thin mattress. “I can finally rest.”

Amelia doesn’t know what to say to that. “I’ll be back in a few hours, probably. Stay here, and I can promise you that no harm will come to you.”

Argo lays down, tosses and arm over his face, blocking his eyes, but he nods.

Amelia hesitates just a moment longer because when he relaxes so in front of her, she cannot help but see just how… young he is. She sighs, bitterly regretful that he has to solve everything for her and now must face punishment for it.

It’s her job to do what he does, but she never would have been able to. It had to be him. And now, it’s her job to punish him for doing what she can’t. She ducks her head, and then she leaves the room. She locks the door behind her.

Argo chuckles when he feels the anti-apparition wards snap into place. It’s still not nearly enough to stop him if he wants to escape, but at least it’s something.

Then he sniffs, scrubs that arm across his eyes, and laughs, even as the wetness forms there. It’s over. Finally, he can let down his wand.

It’s only when he stands down that he ever allows his wand to tremble. Watery laughter bubbles up inside him, and morphs into sobs.

Finally, it’s over.

(Harry does not show anyone, not even Daphne or Susan or Elsie, Argo’s wand or the ring he drops in Harry’s hand. He keeps them safe, and close to his chest, like something precious and secret.

Later, when he is declared healthy enough and released from the hospital wing, and he manages to finally escape all of his friends, he swallows thickly down the lump in his throat just outside the door of the Room of Requirement.

He steadies his nerve, pulls open the door, to a bedroom. One wall is painted with a mural of a forest. There is a strange-looking teapot on a table by the fireplace. The drapes on the bed are a dusty green, not Slytherin green, but a nice, earthy one that feels comforting with the other browns and warm colors of the room.

A cream-colored cat sits on the bed, staring intently at Harry. He joins Shiloh there, lets Shiloh jump into his lap, and pets him carefully. He would say something, but he knows without asking that Shiloh knows far more than he does. Shiloh curls up tight, just a little ball of fur, and he doesn’t look at Harry anymore, but he’s prepared for what’s happening.

There, Harry sets down Argo’s wand on the bedside table and takes up the ring in his hand. He glances at the back of Shiloh’s head, at those ears pinned back and the paw covering his face, then turns the ring over to examine it, thinking of his family, and wondering what is so significant about it that Argo might decide to give this to him.

Once. Twice. Thrice.)

Argo, still in his distinctive armor and white cape, but with his hood down and mask removed, is led into a large, dark stone room dimly lit with torches. Empty benches rise on either side of him, but ahead in the highest benches of all, many shadowy figures murmur amongst themselves.

Then the heavy door slams behind him, and the figures fall silent.

Argo resists the urge to scoff. Without prompting, he approaches the chair, covered in chains, in the center of the room and takes his seat. He does not react, not even a flinch, when the chains spring to life to bind him there. They snake around his arms, tying them to the arms of the chair. Around his body, to the back, and even his legs, but Argo does nothing but stare impassively at the fifty witches and wizards in plum robes who watch him.

Harry watches from one of those high benches, sandwiched with Cedric between Sirius and Remus, just behind the rest of the DA Circle and, though Harry can’t meet his eye, Rolf Scamander, who crosses his arms as he watches the proceedings with an utterly incomprehensible look on his face.

Daphne and Susan sit apart, separated by the apprentices. Harry doesn’t get the full story out of them just yet, but he knows something happens. It’s David who clings to Daphne, and who she clings to, both grasping so tightly that Harry worries they might hurt each other. Susan folds her hands in her lap, but she gnaws on her lip as her eyes dart furtively between Daphne, Argo, and the plum-robed wizards at the head of the room.

“Argo Scamander,” says Mr. Greengrass, Daphne’s father, who looks pale but sounds steady. “You have been brought before the Wizengamot to answer charges relating to the activities of the dark wizard known as Laelaps.” He pauses. “You stand accused of… blackmail, slander and libel, bribery of Ministry officials, obstruction of Ministry proceedings, destruction of private and Ministry property, assault, kidnapping, arson, the use of unforgivable spells, attempted murder, murder, the use of blood magic without consent…”

“Grand larceny,” adds Argo, as if speaking of the weather. “Breaking and entering, and impersonation of Ministry officials. Go ahead and add those.”

The room is silent. “…I’m sorry?”

Argo smiles. “You’ll find out. But that comes later. It’s better to start at the beginning, don’t you think?”

Mr. Greengrass coughs uncomfortably. “And how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

“If I may, Supreme Mugwump?” Lucius Malfoy stands, eyeing Mr. Greengrass carefully.

“Minister,” says Mr. Greengrass. “Please.”

Malfoy takes a breath to collect himself and focus on the Wizengamot at large. “Several of Mister Scamander’s victims have come forward asking the Ministry to not charge him with any crimes. In light of his activities leading directly to the confirmed death of Lord Voldemort, it is my belief, and the belief of Wizarding Britain, that his… intentions should be considered when deciding a punishment. His most famous crime, for example, the attempted murder of Harry Potter, is one such case in which both the victim himself wishes not to press charges and, in fact, it turns out in the end that Mister Scamander’s machinations have actually saved Mister Potter’s life.”

“So, what is your proposal, then, Minister?” one of the Wizengamot asks.

“There is much about Laelaps’ activities that remains unexplained,” says Lucius. “Put him under oath, while we have him here on trial. Learn the whole story. There is precedent for… lighter sentencing for those whose crimes are committed in the effort to stop wizards like Voldemort.”

The Wizengamot murmurs, but Harry has the sense that this is always the plan. If only out of pure curiosity, they want to know what happened. Argo pleading guilty so easily can just send him straight to Azkaban for life without the need for further investigation, but luckily someone steps in to give them the excuse to hear more.

Harry never thinks he’ll be grateful for Lucius Malfoy – and especially not for him having the power of the Minister for Magic, but he is. Malfoy may not say the word exoneration, but it’s clear what he’s fishing for.

“Mister Scamander,” says Mr. Greengrass. “Do you swear before this august body that you will speak only the truth?”

Argo laughs, and Harry knows why. As if Argo needs to resort to outright lies to manipulate the narrative as he pleases. “I have nothing to hide,” Argo says. “I’m done. So, sure, I swear it.”

Mr. Greengrass nods, and Harry swears he glances towards them, towards Daphne, but he takes a breath, and says, “This list of crimes… you understand how severe this is, boy?”

Argo’s eyes flash oddly. Probably a trick of the low light, or the distance. He calmly gazes up at the Wizengamot. “I accept the consequences of my actions. No choice I made was made in ignorance.”

“Very well. Then I would like to know… why. Why Laelaps? Why pretend to want Mister Potter dead? Why kill Dumbledore?”

Argo closes his eyes, breathes. The chains binding him clink with the rise and fall of his broad chest.

“I didn’t originally plan on becoming a dark lord,” Argo admits suddenly. “It started all rather slowly, you see. People had learned that I was Harry’s brother by blood, and my disinterest in that bond… bothered people.

“Some thought I was wicked. Some thought I was actually on Tom Riddle’s side… but then Harry was entered into the Triwizard Tournament against his will, and I learned that the Ministry had lied to the champions about taking measures to ensure safety in the tasks.”

The Triwizard Tournament is an old wound for the Ministry, at this point. There is some discontent, but no protest. It is, mostly, already addressed and the right people punished for it.

“At the time, Harry wasn’t my friend, but he was still someone innocent who I knew the adults wouldn’t help. I began investigating who may have entered him and that’s… where it all started.

“I knew from the start, of course, that there was a good chance that Riddle was involved. It was a plot on Harry’s life, after all. What I didn’t expect to find was that following those leads would uncover Riddle’s plot to resurrect himself. And that’s when the decision was really made.”

Someone interrupts. “You-Know-Who attempted to come back… the year of the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Oh, yes,” says Argo. He shrugs. “I stopped him, and destroyed another horcrux for good measure.”

“Another horcrux?”

“Oh, the first one wasn’t me,” Argo says. “It was actually somewhat of a coincidence. No one knew, at the time, what it was we’d destroyed, but the first horcrux was actually a diary that allowed a memory of Riddle to possess a student at Hogwarts. They opened the Chamber of Secrets. The basilisk inside destroyed it herself. I only learned what it was years later. The year of the tournament, in fact.”

“And at the resurrection?”

“Voldemort’s snake, Nagini. I and my allies killed her when she attempted to stop us from preventing the ritual.”

“Two horcruxes down, just like that,” someone murmurs.

Unfazed, Argo continues. “I knew that if I wanted to stop Riddle from coming back to power, resurrection or not, what I really needed to do was cut off his support. I’d seen it, after all. How Hogwarts and the wizarding world turned on me after they found out I’m Harry’s brother. How easily Rita Skeeter used the press to influence public opinion. How sensationalized everything about the tournament was. And most importantly, I knew that if I left it to the proper authorities, they would lie to us and fail at every turn like they had every other time I tried.

“So, I took Riddle’s Death Eaters. I convinced them I was the more powerful dark lord. I humiliated Riddle at his own resurrection and took from him everything he hoped to regain.

“Of course… then I had to deal with a gaggle of former Death Eaters, who, despite everything, did still subscribe to Riddle’s overall ideals.” He sighs, like a tired parent fondly talking about their child’s newest mishap. “So, I… pushed things. Made certain shows of power to keep them on my side and convince them I’m dark enough to respect, while funneling their money into things even they could agree with, but which would help the wizarding world as a whole rather than solely the elite. Mostly research. I’ve always been fond of learning new things, and keeping a finger on the pulse of all the newest developments in spellcrafting, medicine, and the rest was useful in staying ahead of the times.” A wry smirk. “And on top of my classes.

“Sometimes I made investments for… other purposes, though. To ingratiate myself to the goblins, which rather turned out to be a waste of money, since I didn’t need to work through Gringotts, in the end, to get access to the horcruxes. To ensure punishment for the disaster that was the Triwizard Tournament – yes, I’m behind Ludo Bagman’s heel turn. Nothing illegal in that specific instance. I bought him from the goblins. He was massively in debt. Unethical, perhaps, to work within the bounds of his indentured servitude, but legal all the same.

“I’d tell you all my secrets, but then we’d be here all day. Suffice it to say, my movements at that time were under one of four broad categories. I was either trying to make face, for my followers or for the public, or both, progressing my plans to find Riddle’s other horcruxes and set up possible avenues to retrieve them, furthering research for my own betterment and the betterment of wizardkind – also to put me on a more even playing field with someone as masterful with magic as Riddle, or simply to make more money so that I wouldn’t run my followers dry and turn them all against me.

“It was a lot to juggle, I admit, but I like to think I got quite good at it.”

“And who, exactly, are these followers of yours?” someone asks.

Argo snorts. Suddenly, his casual voice is icy. “None of your thrice-damned business, is who they are. I’m the one who planned it all. I’m the one responsible. You don’t touch them.”

(Harry purposefully looks Lucius Malfoy’s way, noting the brief, startled shock that crosses the man’s face. Harry himself is not so surprised. Maybe they are former Death Eaters, but they’re his allies. It’s that protective side of Argo that Harry loves about him.)

Mr. Greengrass clears his throat. “Moving on,” he says. “Your activities were quite stable for about a year in the manner you described. Until the appearance of the Teumessian Fox.”

(Susan’s nails dig into Camille’s hand.)

“Oh, yeah,” Argo says. “That’s me.”

…What?

Ignoring the murmurs, Argo continues, “I mentioned that the former Death Eaters on occasion got difficult to control. There was only so far I was willing to go just to keep face with them, after all, and they did like to push my limits. So, I created an enemy – an uncontroversial enemy – that they could rally against. Something to direct their darker tendencies towards and to bind them all together so that they would finally, truly consider me on their side. Something that would force them to rely on me, that we could all struggle together against. I decided on the Teumessian Fox. Of course, I couldn’t just bother my own followers, so I made a set of ethical bounds and motivations and stuck to them whenever I used that mask. But the true aim was to bring my Hounds together into a true pack. And it worked.”

“You’re saying you are also the Teumessian Fox?” someone asks.

It’s Amelia Bones who says, “The Teumessian Fox was seen protecting Harry Potter from you at his birthday party, the day you attempted to kill him.”

“Obviously that was a stand-in. They just used my artefact, and carried out my orders. They were just a Hound in a different mask playing a part. The one actually carrying out all the thefts was me.”

(Susan can’t breathe. After everything, after she turns on him and fights him – and she really fights him, she would have hurt him, if that’s what it took – in the bog… he still lies, takes crimes he doesn’t actually commit onto himself, to protect her. The Teumessian Fox isn’t even wholly his idea. Susan proposes playing the part of the enemy, because she doesn’t want Argo to lose himself trying to appease those goons. She’s as guilty as he is, in those crimes. But he pretends that he does it all on his own.)

“Grand larceny,” Amelia Bones repeats, “breaking and entering, and impersonation of a Ministry official.”

“Multiple,” Argo chirps “I said Ministry officials. Mostly just to gather information. Actually influencing anything that way was too likely to tip someone off that I had the ability.”

“So,” says Amelia, “all of these crimes you say you committed in the search for Tom Riddle’s horcruxes, and to keep former Death Eaters from harming anyone, like at the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Yes,” says Argo. “None of my other goals required me to commit any crimes to achieve them, so as far as your august body is concerned, it was all done in the interest of subduing Riddle and the Death Eaters.”

Murmurs rise through the hall. “And what of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore?” one of the Wizengamot asks. “If you really were trying to save Harry Potter from the start, I cannot fathom your methods for doing so.”

Argo hums softly. “When I discovered that Harry was a horcrux,” he says, “I, naturally, started researching everything I could to safely separate Riddle’s soul from him. But… that’s not how horcruxes, or souls, work. Harry was the horcrux. There was nothing separate to be removed from him. It was in him, in his blood, in his soul, as surely as his mother’s protection was. It’s him, not a part of him. That’s where I got stuck.

“Of course, I was never going to want Harry dead. Even if we hadn’t started getting along by then, I wouldn’t just heartlessly kill one person and call it for the greater good.” Argo pauses for a moment, looks down and licks his lips. “That said, sometimes death is necessary for life to continue. Prey animals sustain predators, predators’ natural death sustains the decomposers, and the plants by extension.

“So, yeah. I realized Harry had to die. There was no other way.” An impish grin. “That didn’t mean he couldn’t survive. Changed, but not gone.”

Oh. Harry’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Argo dies the day the Potters lose him, but he never really, physically, dies. Shiloh dies and is reborn as something new. Shiloh even tells Harry once that Harry dies when that Killing Curse hits him as a toddler, and Harry agrees with him, seeing what he means, even though Harry obviously survives it.

Harry is ready to die in that bog. He casts the Killing Curse himself. Nothing would have happened had he not meant to die.

And that, he thinks, makes all the difference. Because Harry does die, then. He’s no longer the Boy-Who-Lived, whose life is inextricably tied with Voldemort’s. Now he’s just Harry, really, honestly, truly, just Harry.

It’s a new start. A chance to become whoever he wants to be, to fit in places he didn’t before. Now that Harry sees that… he hopes he can make the most of it. He’s not the orphan fighting his parents’ murderer anymore. He’s the boy with two dads and a weird brother who kind of scares him sometimes but who loves him so much that he’ll move heaven and earth for him.

“Did you know,” says Argo, “there are creatures who use death as a metamorphosis? They’re only really born after they die. Some things about death are firm. Inescapable. That’s true. It comes for everyone. It’s an end. But there are also things that can be nebulous, if the right circumstances are met. It’s an end, but it doesn’t have to be the end. Ghosts exist. Creatures like I mentioned exist. I figured there had to be a way.

“And you found it,” says Mr. Greengrass. Of course, he does. He finds it just like he finds a way to cure the malediction that plagues Mr. Greengrass’ family.

“And I found it,” Argo agrees. He goes quiet for a moment. “I freely admit, I am not entirely certain what, exactly, did it, or if all the backup plans and redundancies I’d made were truly necessary. But something, or some combination of things, worked.”

“Which were?”

Argo takes a deep breath. “First, I studied Lily Potter’s sacrifice. It’s ancient, esoteric magic, but not undocumented. When Lily made the choice to sacrifice herself for Harry, she invoked that magic and cast a powerful protection on him. It’s why Riddle’s spell backfired that first time. Why he couldn’t kill Harry.

“I learned that it’s blood magic. Blood magic works, at its most basic principles, on sacrificing something of value to achieve a result. Blood is very valuable, which is why it works. An entire life… that’s power. Lily’s protection is still on Harry, you know. It’s targeted to Riddle, so it won’t do much anymore with him gone, but it’s still there. I thought I could use it. That’s why I needed Harry’s blood.”

Eyes widen. “The birthday party…” Sirius whispers. Someone in the Wizengamot echoes him, and Argo nods.

“The thing about blood magic – about all magic, really – is that the more complicated the spell or ritual, the more the details tend to matter. Harry trusted me at that point. But that was a problem, because for what I had planned, I needed blood taken, and I needed it to be significant. From a major artery, for instance, that when opened, would typically result in death. I had to go as Laelaps, because Harry trusted me as Argo. And I knew that people would be present there at the birthday party who would be able to save his life after I’d taken what I needed.”

“And casting the Killing Curse,” says Mr. Greengrass. “That was to ensure Harry believed you an enemy when you took his blood?”

“Yes.”

Amelia Bones scowls. “But to cast an unforgivable curse requires intent. He had to have intended to kill Harry to cast it successfully.”

“Yes,” says Argo. “I had every intention of killing Harry. As I said, I knew it was necessary. I just arranged things so that it wouldn’t… stick. That doesn’t mean I didn’t intend for him to die at all. I did murder Harry Potter. Just because he’s walking around today doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. After all… didn’t Riddle die a few times, himself? I just planned around that.”

Someone, Harry thinks it’s David, murmurs, “Terrifying. He’s so cool.”

“I used the blood I took from Harry to perform a ritual that tied him to me. So long as I survive, he should be… more difficult to kill. I also took some blood from Sirius Black when I kidnapped him and used a similar ritual, using the love he has for Harry to create a sort of facsimile of Lily’s sacrifice. Nowhere near on the same level, but based on the same principle, and it’s more protection, nonetheless. Sirius’ desperation to save Harry, and the circumstances under which Harry’s blood was spilled, made his blood particularly useful for that.”

“That’s why he goaded us! Why he didn’t just tell us what he was planning when he had us out of the way, anyway!” Sirius whimpers. “But why only me?”

Remus shakes his head. “The werewolf would change things. The ritual would need to be different, if he could get it to work at all. Your blood must’ve just been easier to work with. That you’re also Harry’s legal guardian might also strengthen it, which wouldn’t apply to me.”

“But the most important part of it all,” says Argo, “is that Harry had to do it. And I couldn’t tell him – he couldn’t believe he could survive. He had to mean it. He had to mean to die, to protect everyone from Riddle.”

Amelia gasps. “Another sacrifice.”

Argo nods. “I had set Lily’s protection on me as well, by using Harry’s blood and our relatedness. I tied us together using that as a base, the love a mother had for her children, and kept that protection alive through myself. I made Harry do it because I had to make sure he meant it, but the moment he did, I used that protection to tether him here. Much like how a horcrux works. In theory… while that enchantment survives, so does Harry. At least, from Riddle. That’s why I had to invest so heavily into the other options, like Harry’s own sacrifice. I couldn’t count on Lily’s protection alone saving him from a death he chooses for himself, which was equally necessary.”

Harry can tell the Wizengamot are straining to comprehend what exactly Argo does, and he must admit he doesn’t fully understand, either, but Argo has always been far cleverer than him.

“I’m not entirely certain what he might have experienced,” Argo says, “but I believe it would have given him… a choice. Perhaps not a conscious one, but it would allow him to come back. Only if his own sacrifice is true.”

After a long moment, Malfoy asks, “And what is Dumbledore’s role in all this?”

Argo looks up at Malfoy, then away. “That’s the part that I meant when I mentioned… redundancies. When Harry stepped up to Riddle, I secretly gave Dumbledore a choice. He made it, so I linked him to Harry and Riddle. Another sacrifice, made with hopes that Harry could survive. I honestly can’t tell you if it was necessary, but I used it as well as I could.

“I don’t like Dumbledore,” Argo admits quietly. “I don’t even respect him. But his last choice… he did what he thought was right. He wanted to protect Harry and stop Riddle. …I hope he knows it was enough. And I hope he can be satisfied with that.”

(“You will never be satisfied.” Argo’s joyous mockery still rings in Harry’s ears. And he hopes that Dumbledore can be satisfied, in the end, too.)

“To clarify,” Amelia Bones says, “you never plotted to kill Dumbledore; he told you to kill him?”

“I offered him the choice,” Argo says. “It wasn’t his idea, but it was his decision. It had to be for it to matter.”

“I see. So, you have never seriously tried to kill anyone who was not in agreement with you?”

Argo shrugs. “I killed Bellatrix Lestrange. The bitch deserved worse.” His eyes roam for a second and he adds. “I killed Rodolphus Lestrange. And I stand by it.”

Harry shudders. There truly is no remorse in Argo’s voice or in his face. He says he stands by it and he does. Not a shred of guilt for those deaths.

Not that Harry judges him for it. He certainly doesn’t feel guilty for killing Riddle. The Lestranges… He thinks of Neville, and privately thinks that they deserve what they get.

“Anyone who was not a loyal follower of Tom Riddle,” Amelia clarifies.

“Oh, well, then no. Just Harry.”

Malfoy speaks again. “I believe we all finally understand Laelaps’ true intentions, and the breadth of his crimes. Shall we proceed, Supreme Mugwump?”

Mr. Greengrass still looks somewhat like he swallows something foul, but he nods. “Yes. It is my personal belief that, in light of the conflict with Tom Riddle, saving of Harry Potter, and the refusal to press charges by the victims of the kidnappings, all kidnapping, murder, and attempted murder charges should be dropped.”

“I will personally investigate whether he is telling the truth about Dumbledore’s death,” says Amelia Bones, “but pending that investigation, the DMLE is willing to drop the rest of the named charges, if the Wizengamot agrees.”

“Put it to vote,” says Mr. Greengrass.

They do, and when hands start raising for or against, the thing that stands out most to Harry is actually how many abstain from voting. No more than half the Wizengamot vote in either direction. Even Mr. Greengrass and Lucius Malfoy abstain, as does Madam Bones.

But it passes. The most severe crimes are dropped. Harry sags in his seat. Only Cedric holding onto him keeps him upright.

“I also propose,” says Mr. Greengrass, “as a separate vote, to drop the charges related to the casting of unforgivable curses.”

Harry grabs Cedric’s arm, tense at the edge of his seat. He doesn’t know much about wizarding law, but he knows that’s the only other charge likely to put Argo in Azkaban for life. Anything else will give him the chance of getting out, eventually.

“There is precedent for the use of dark curses by aurors in extreme self-defense situations, and those rules are always relaxed in wartime, with a threat like Tom Riddle on the loose,” says Amelia. “I propose dropping all charges related to the incident in Diagon Alley, except property damage, as the victims were known terrorists and he can, therefore, fall under the vigilante laws. As Harry Potter himself insists on not pressing charges for the attempted murder at his birthday party last July, I believe the casting of the Killing Curse in that instance should also be absolved.”

That means it’s not just the unforgivables, but a few other charges, like the arson, that are up for vote. Either way it means it won’t be a life sentence, at least, but Madam Bones’ proposal is a little better for Argo.

“Vote on the proposal of Madam Bones…”

Harry barely dares to look. Again, the majority of the Wizengamot abstains. This vote is closer, though. Argo is absolved by just a couple votes.

Malfoy stands. “For services to wizarding Britain,” he says, “namely in the defeat of the Dark Lord Tom Riddle, the Ministry is prepared to forgive all charges related to crimes against the Ministry itself.”

There are a few murmurs at that, but with the Minister for Magic being the one saying it, the vote to drop the charges is really just a formality. Still, nearly half of the room abstains, but it’s a far more decisive vote than the last. Strangely, Malfoy himself continues to abstain.

What does that mean, Harry wonders, that he doesn’t vote on his own proposal? Mr. Greengrass and Madam Bones do the same thing.

“Is anyone keeping a tally?” asks Sirius.

Daphne leans back to address him without tearing her eyes from her father. “That just leaves grand larceny, breaking and entering, blackmail, slander and libel, destruction of private property… I think use of blood magic without consent was forgiven with the kidnapping charges? And then maybe assault. I don’t know exactly who raised the charges in the first place, so I can’t say. It seems like there are multiple counts.”

Sirius gives a low whistle. “Oh, just that, is it? He’ll be out on Friday.”

David whirls around and strikes Sirius in the shin. Hard.

Sirius at first chokes down a yelp, grabs his leg, then flushes and glances to Harry. “Sorry.”

He’s right, though. Even with all the crimes the Wizengamot decides to forgive, Argo still has an impressive list before him.

“Madam Bones?” Mr. Greengrass asks. “As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, what punishment do you propose matches the remaining crimes?”

“Traditionally,” Amelia Bones answers immediately, without feeling, or having to think or review her notes, as if she considers this long before today’s trial. “Between five and ten years in Azkaban Prison and a hefty fine. Given the circumstances and existing precedent, I would propose five years flat. No fine.”

None of them really expect Argo to get away scot-free, and realistically he is getting off lightly, but even so… five years. Harry won’t see his brother for five years. Sirius is deathly pale, remembering his own time in that awful place.

“Very well,” says Mr. Greengrass, when it is clear no other members of the Wizengamot intend to speak up. “The accused is hereby sentenced to five years in Azkaban Prison.” His head falls, barely managing to get out, “Dismissed,” before he sets it in his hands, shaking it slowly.

(It’s cold in his cell. Argo shivers, wrapping the thin outfit they provide around him tight, but it does nothing to ward off the chill. It’s cold, and lonely, and dark, but Argo fully accepts the consequences of his actions, and he knows from the start that this is where he will end up.

He plans for it. Not to fight his fate, but to survive it. He knows from Sirius that dementors aren’t interested in animagi in their animal forms, and the simpler nature of their minds can help prolong their sanity. He also has the advantage of not fearing the dementors in any way.

Unlike Sirius, Argo is a known animagus. That won’t prevent him from shifting within his cell, but it does mean that he can’t escape that way. Not that he plans to. It also means he doesn’t need to worry about guards or visitors spotting him in the wrong form.

He settles in, still shivering, and turns into a massive bear. He barely fits in the cell, like this, but it is still, marginally, warmer, and that depressive effect from the dementors is still, marginally, lessened.

He rests his head on his paws and closes his eyes and practices, for habit, for keeping his head on straight, for something to do, his occlumency.

And soon, he drifts off to sleep.)

Daphne corners Susan in the corridor. Guilty and resigned, Susan doesn’t fight as she’s dragged to the Room of Requirement. And Daphne says, “We need to talk.”

Susan closes her eyes, nods her head. Her nails dig into her palms and she says, “Yeah. We do.”

As soon as they sit down in the comfortable space created by the Room, a cat leaps onto Daphne’s lap and shoves his head into her stomach, curling up and purring there, pressed hard against her.

She can feel the poor thing trembling.

So, she pets Shiloh, holds him close, lets him take what comfort he can from her, but she still needs to talk to Susan. She is here for Shiloh, but she is also here for a reason, and she can’t lose her nerve or things might stay awkward forever. Now is the time to mend things.

Daphne looks at her friend and says, “You’re the Teumessian Fox.”

Susan grimaces, bites her lip, and nods.

Trying her best to keep her voice casual, Daphne asks, “How’d that happen?”

Susan wrings her hands. “My Aunt actually knew Argo was Laelaps from the very beginning. I didn’t, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I saw what happened with Ron, and I thought… well, he admitted it. He was putting on a show for his Death Eater followers, so he could keep control of them.”

Daphne nods silently. If Susan knows from the beginning, this much makes sense.

“It was my idea,” Susan admits. “Not to become a thief, exactly, but to make an enemy that Laelaps and his Hounds could focus on, to unite them. They couldn’t rally against Riddle, since most of them followed the guy, even if they were willing to turn on him. I didn’t want to see Argo… He went too far with Ron. I didn’t want to see him go any further. I thought keeping his Hounds under control would mean he could step back from that kind of thing, make it easier to stay away from the dark, so… I offered to help.”

“That was kind of you.”

Susan screws her eyes shut. Her hands ball up her skirt with a white-knuckled grip. “Grand larceny and breaking and entering contributed the most to Argo’s jail time. Without those, he would have had a year, max, with a significant fine, but one that I know he could afford. He’s in Azkaban because of me.”

…Oh. Daphne’s voice dies in her throat.

“He’s there for you.” The boyish voice takes both girls off guard. Shiloh is still curled tight, still little more than a lump of fur, but his ears are up, attentive, instead of pinned back, and he still murmurs, “He’s not there because of you.” A gentle purr fills the room. “And he’s there for himself, too. He… he thinks he deserves it. He knows he did bad things, so he feels like he needs it.”

“He doesn’t deserve that,” Susan whispers. “Especially not for me.”

“He loves you.”

“I turned on him. I didn’t believe in him. I tried to…” Susan’s composure finally breaks, clasping a hand to her mouth to cover her sob. “I turned my wand against him, and he went to Azkaban to protect me,” she growls. “I’m the worst friend. How am I supposed to make that up to him?”

“Maybe you feel like you need to,” Shiloh says softly. “But he doesn’t. He told you, didn’t he? You did exactly what he expected you to do. Right down to facing him in that bog.”

“That’s not an excuse. Daphne didn’t turn her back on him. David didn’t. Even- even Harry didn’t.”

Shiloh’s ear twitches. He still doesn’t open his eyes. He still purrs insistently into Daphne’s belly. “No,” he says. “It’s not an excuse. But why do you think he fought you there in that bog? He knew you were there. He could have avoided you. He went out of his way to make sure you could find him, so you could face each other. Why?”

“I- I don’t-”

“Because he needed to make sure he was doing the right thing.”

Slowly, Daphne returns her hand to Shiloh’s back, stroking along his spine. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Argo respects you, Susan. More, maybe, than anyone. He thought a lot, during his time as Laelaps, about what’s right and wrong, how far is too far, what he should be willing to do and what he oughtn’t. What he did to Ron bothered him, too. It especially hurt that he lost George because of it. He wondered if he was losing sight of what’s okay and what isn’t.

“Someone asked him, once, to trust Mad-Eye Moody to help him find his limits. What he’s comfortable with, what’s unacceptable… He didn’t end up trusting Moody like that, but… instead he decided to trust you.”

“Me?” Susan chokes. “He thinks of me as…”

“He thinks you’re just, and moral, and right, and good, and just the right amount of willing to do what’s necessary even if it means being a little bad. He thinks you’re willing to do what’s right, even when it’s not easy. He thought you’d be able to tell him if he took a step too far. He was counting on it, because he didn’t fully trust himself to recognize it without you.”

Tears stream down Susan’s face.

“That’s why he wanted to see you in the bog, before he met with Harry and Dumbledore and Riddle. He didn’t tell you what he was really planning, because he knew that anyone at all knowing makes it more likely Harry would pick up that something was off, and he knew that if Harry knew his plan, and had any hope of surviving because of it, he wouldn’t be able to. But he still had to see you, because he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing.”

Susan can’t speak. She just covers her face and cries. So, Daphne carefully asks, “…and?”

“And he saw how far you were willing to go to save Harry, and he knew he had to go through with it. It was worth the risk. He knew that, even if it felt horrible, even if wasn’t a good thing to do… it was the right thing to do. Because he thought, if you’re willing to fight him like you did… it’s what you’d do, if you had all the information.

“He didn’t agree to make you an ‘enemy’ just to keep his Hounds in check, you know. He agreed because he knew you’d keep him in check. That’s what he trusted you to do. And isn’t that why you offered in the first place? So, don’t… don’t feel bad about fighting him. That’s why he loves you.”

Susan shakily gets to her feet, crossing the short distance to Daphne. She reaches out, then waits for Shiloh’s nod before she picks him up and cradles him in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiloh says, still trembling, still curled up tight and covering his face. “Argo was never very good at saying the important things. You should have known this a long time ago.”

A watery laugh escapes her. “Yeah,” Susan says. “He’s a big idiot.”

“You can say that again,” Daphne sighs. “We’re alright?”

Suddenly, Daphne finds herself pulled into a one-armed hug, squishing Shiloh in Susan’s other arm between them. “Of course, we’re alright,” Susan says. “I thought… I thought you’d be mad at me. I didn’t trust-”

“No, of course, not. He didn’t exactly make it easy to trust him, you know.”

“I still should have. I know him. I should have had faith in him. Like you did.”

Daphne gently lifts her hand and baps the back of Susan’s head. “Weren’t you listening to Shiloh?” she asks. “Besides, you tried to stop him because you care about him. Him and Harry. You never betrayed him.”

Susan sniffs, chuckles, but murmurs, “It still feels like it.”

(“Why do you stalk Camille, anyway?” Argo asks. “Did she do something?”

Shiloh hums. “She told the others that you’re Laelaps, and of course, we don’t want to hurt her, but even so I can’t just let her get away with that. Besides… it’s fun.”

Argo laughs. “Just be careful.”

“I know, I know.”)

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus.” David feels the now-familiar double-beat thumping of his heart and shudders.

Magic is perhaps the coolest thing in the world, but never, until now, does it feel so much a part of him until he starts this ritual. He knows he’s magical, obviously, but it always seems like something to be used. A tool that he has access to. An ability, not…

That double-heartbeat is something weird. David isn’t even sure if it’s good or bad, but it’s weird. It’s something that makes no sense, that shouldn’t be possible. Something as fundamental as his very own heartbeat taking a turn for the magical… changes his perspective a little.

He thinks this is what Argo wants him to see. That magic is not at their command, not a resource to be used by wizards, but that wizards themselves are magic.

There is nothing like this in the muggle world. Muggles have their own magic, based on smoke and mirrors and misdirection and clever illusions, but there is nothing so deep and fundamental as one’s own heartbeat doubling, as if he is sharing a body with something else entirely and that other thing’s heart is stitched into his chest alongside his own.

David is quite sure that nothing is impossible, if he can do this. The only limit is his own self. His creativity, his drive for knowledge. Argo often describes magic as art. Weaving or sewing or painting or writing, not casting. Some art can be more defined, some is abstract, and the talents necessary for those are different, but it’s all artistry.

David hopes his art will be as cool as Argo’s, someday.

With a sigh, he pulls himself out of bed. As he dresses, he barely notices how his roommates scurry out of the room, rushing to leave the moment he leaves the safety of his bed curtains. As he passes through the common room eyes bore into him from whispering congregations huddling in the corners.

David doesn’t lift his eyes from the floor.

He doesn’t want to go to class. He doesn’t want to spend his holiday (which starts next week) at Hogwarts. He wants to go to the Scamander home with Argo again, have Christmas with magic and no passive aggression or talk of demons that aren’t cute cat-boys that may or may not snog Argo on occasion. He even wants Yule, and the traditions he doesn’t really understand because they don’t fully align with Christmas.

David does love his family, and that’ll always be his home, but… the more he realizes what magic really is, the less okay he is with tucking his wand away for the break. He thinks, with his family, they’ll choose him if an ultimatum is made, but he also thinks he’ll have to make the ultimatum.

He doesn’t want to. He wants the easy, free magic of the Scamander household. He wants the weird, freakiest creatures he’s ever seen coming up to him for pets like puppies.

And he wants Argo to tell him it’s okay.

He wants the older student who sits down across from him at the Ravenclaw table and drags him into a duel he knows he can’t win. The guy who has a hundred and one plans to protect him, but who lets him face his bully himself anyway.

Everything was okay, always, because Argo was always watching over them. Now David feels a lot like when he first goes to the mall all by himself. There’s no parent, no big brother, to keep an eye on him if he messes up, or to clean up after him. It shakes something in his core, but that’s why, even though he doesn’t want to go to class, or to do much of anything, really, he grits his teeth and does it anyway.

If Argo isn’t here to watch over Hogwarts, then David will be. Argo will be gone for five years. In that awful prison. He’ll never come back to Hogwarts, and even if he does, David will have graduated by then. David hears some of the older students talk about dementors, sometimes. They come to Hogwarts one year, apparently, before David starts here. But David knows Argo will be fine. He always has a plan, and there’s no way dementors scare him even the tiniest bit.

But in the meantime, while Argo isn’t around… David sees the people in the halls, even older students, press against the far wall, or completely turn around when they see him coming. And David realizes that, good or bad, right or wrong, he is Argo’s legacy right now.

It’s okay that people are scared of him. People are scared of Argo, too. Honestly, some people are scared of David even before it becomes public that Argo is a dark wizard who kills the most infamous dark wizard of their time.

(David is so glad that he’s muggleborn right now, because his parents, and more importantly his abuela, do not get wizarding news. If they find out that the cool older student who’s been teaching David is in prison… Well, they cannot find out. His brother might think it’s cool, though. Too bad he also can’t keep his mouth shut.)

He enters the DA club room, smiling at Shiloh who runs over to walk at his heels, and heads directly to where the Circle’s spellbook is kept.

It’s still not even winter break, after all, and Snape is just as bad at teaching Defense as he is Potions – which is to say, he’s knowledgeable but very abrasive, and a lot of students can’t handle him – so the DA is as needed as it ever is.

Just because Argo takes down Voldemort, that doesn’t mean they don’t need to learn how to defend themselves, anymore. David flips through the book, looking for something to have a lesson on that’ll keep people engaged and won’t be too much before the holidays.

(Argo wants to pass this on to him, he thinks as he clutches the spellbook just a bit too tightly. This is his responsibility now.)

He’s halfway down a page of notes on a weather charm when his fellow apprentices all come into the room at once.

“Hey,” he says. “I was thinking, since it’s almost the holidays, we should do something kind of themed. Maybe the snowflake-making spell? Would people enjoy that?”

The girls both give him odd looks, slowing and not quite approaching him, but Ross just slides up to sign, “Even the first years should be able to do that easily. Why not the Winter Charm?”

“I thought about that,” says David, “it’s the same principle. But I figured we’d need to work on habitat wards first.”

“Containment wards,” Ross signs with a smirk. “You spend too much time with zookeepers.”

“They’re different things! Sort of. Habitat wards are technically a kind of containment ward, but habitat wards are better for localized environments!”

“Containment wards are more useful for curse-breaking and defense,” signs Ross, which is admittedly a fair point. This is a defense club.

Camille eyes the boys carefully, and with an apprehensive look to Shiloh at David’s feet, slowly lets the tension bleed away from her. “I vote for the Winter Charm,” she says. “It’s more versatile. Maybe a little complex for the firsties, but I think it’ll be good for them”

David scratches at his chin. “Eh… sure. I’m down for the Winter Charm. Should I set up habitats around the room?”

“That’s probably the best way to do it, unless you want to make the club room a winter wonderland.”

“Kind of do, though.”

“Enough.” Everyone turns to look at the little girl who speaks. Elsie’s hands are balled into tight, trembling fists. Her glare is enough to subdue even Camille and David. “You’re all just going to act like nothing happened? That’s your plan?”

David’s expression settles into a serious one. “It’s over, Elsie. It turned out okay. What is there to say?”

“What is there to say?” Elsie hisses, stepping up to get in David’s space. Even though David is a small guy, she’s still just a little shorter, but nonetheless her incandescence and murderous presence push David back a step. “How much did you know?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb. How much did you know?”

David gulps, but both Ross and Camille, though not confrontational like Elsie, look curious as well. They aren’t going to come to his defense. He sets his jaw and, through gritted teeth, says, “Nothing.”

Elsie’s eyes narrow. “Liar. He’s your mentor. You can’t pretend you knew nothing abou-”

“He didn’t tell me a damn thing,” David snaps. And yeah, that hurts. It’s an irrational hurt. David knows why Argo can’t tell him. David thinks he would do the same thing, if he were Argo. But it still hurts. “I knew just as much as you did.”

Elsie slowly backs down. Her eyes are distrustful, full of hate, but she gives him space. “If that’s true,” she says. “If you really didn’t know anything… that’s worse. That means… that means you were just okay with killing Harry!”

“I’m not the one who attacked my friends.”

“No, you were just willing to sit back and let Argo do it for you!”

“Because I trust him! Because I knew he had all the information, and I didn’t! Because I know him, and I know what he’s like, and I knew there was more to it because there’s always more to it when it comes to him.”

“Excuses, excuses. You always have some excuse! I can’t stand it! You can’t argue your way out of this! I will never forgive you for what you did!”

David all at once hardens his heart and narrows his eyes. “I don’t remember asking you to. I don’t need forgiveness from someone’s whose first thought was to throw a blasting curse. Say what you like about my intentions with Harry, but I never tried to hurt anyone.”

“Only get them killed!”

“Guys, that’s enough!” Camille shoves herself between them. She keeps one hand on David’s shoulder while Ross carefully grabs Elsie’s arm.

“No,” says David, glaring at Elsie. “It’s fine. She can say whatever she likes. It doesn’t change the fact that I was right. After, all, if you guys had your way, Harry would be dead right now.”

Elsie’s wand is drawn faster than David ever sees a second-year manage, but whatever comes next is cut off by Camille’s sharp, “Elsie Harlow, you put that down this instant!”

Still glaring, but with pink coming to her cheeks, she does.

Then Camille rounds on David. He gulps. “And you, shut up.”

He averts his gaze. His anger doesn’t cool, but shame does nip at his collar.

Ross pushes gently on his shoulder, towards a cushion on the floor, and does the same with the other hand to Elsie, guiding them both silently to sit down and face him so they can see his signs.

Shiloh jumps into David’s lap almost the moment he hits the floor cushion, and between the cat’s familiar weight and needing to slow down to interpret Ross (they’re all getting pretty good at it, but it’s still fairly recently that they learn sign language at all, so it’s not something they can do without focusing) most of the heat in his chest bleeds away.

Ross signs, “Good?” and, slowly, David nods.

“Yeah,” says David. “Sorry.”

Because Elsie doesn’t respond, Ross asks again, more pointedly. She huffs, turns away from David a little, and murmurs, “Fine.”

With that, Ross casually lifts his hand and, firmly but not hard enough to hurt, raps each of them once on the head with his knuckles.

David… thinks he’s calling them knuckleheads. But he’s also definitely just chastising them for letting their argument get out of hand.

“We’re friends-”

“He is not my friend,” Elsie hisses. “Not anymore.” David hugs himself.

More deliberately, so there’s no room to misinterpret anything, Ross slowly signs, “We. Are. Friends. You have to try to understand each other.”

The only thing stopping David from curling up into a ball is Shiloh in his lap. He settles for petting the soft cream fur. “I do understand,” David says. “I respect Harry a lot. The last thing I’d ever want is for him to get hurt, but Argo taught me that there’s always more to a story than meets the eye. Even though I didn’t have any idea what he was planning… I knew he wasn’t going to hurt Harry. I told you all that from the start, and I told you what my decision was from the start, but when it came down to it and I had to act… I don’t know why it surprised any of you.”

“He did explain himself from the beginning,” Camille admits. “Back when I told you all that Argo is Laelaps.”

“And I didn’t like it back then, either,” says Elsie. “But when it was real, seeing you take his side… I can’t forgive that.” She sighs. “But… I guess I can see where it came from.”

“Can we work together?” Ross slowly asks.

“I don’t appreciate being accused of wanting someone dead,” David murmurs. “Especially by a friend. But move on and get on with the DA is what I was trying to do in the first place.”

There’s a long, long pause. After forever, Elsie finally sighs. “I won’t ever trust you again. I won’t ever like you again. But fine. We can get our DA work done. Outside of that, I want nothing to do with you.”

“Deal,” says David without hesitation.

This is where Argo would say, “and fuck you, too.” David, however, for all that he can pull over on his family with them being non-magical, knows for a fact that if he curses aloud, his abuela will know. It’s a magic all of her own, and the only thing that saves him from inheriting his mentor’s foul mouth.

But even if he doesn’t say it, he means it. Elsie can hold a grudge all she likes. She can hate him all she likes. So long as she doesn’t get in his way. He swallows thickly, trying not to look at the others. He’s got to live up to Argo’s legacy. Argo’s counting on him to look after everyone, so… he can’t let her slow him down.

Even if it hurts.

“It’ll do for now, I suppose,” Camille sighs. “But guys…”

David turns away. “I’ll do some research on the habitat wards so we can set up stations to practice the Winter Charm. Cam, you want to take the lecture?”

Clearly, there’s something on the tip of her tongue, but Camille says, “I’ll do that. Ross will do the drought charms so we don’t get everything soggy from the snow. Elsie, you want to focus on the counter-spell?”

“Sure,” she says. “That’s fine.”

“Great,” says David. “See you later, then.”

Shiloh following at his heels, he walks away. And for a while, he just walks. Aimless. He should head to the common room or library, he supposes, but he doesn’t feel much like sitting still at the moment, so he keeps walking.

Until finally, Shiloh speaks up. “Hey. Come with me.”

David looks down at him. There’s something strange in Shiloh’s eyes when he looks back, a trick of the light that makes them flash oddly, and he thinks Shiloh is starting to tremble again (he’s like this since Argo is taken to prison) so he just asks, “Where?”

Shiloh looks away, fixing his eyes forward instead of on David, and says, “There’s something you need to see. Trust me.”

Implicitly. If Shiloh says he needs to see it… it probably has to do with Argo. David definitely needs to see it, then. “Lead the way.”

Shiloh does. He leads David all they way up to the seventh floor, where they come to a hallway with an odd tapestry of dancing trolls.

Anything Argo leaves for him… David needs to see it. His heart aches and is so tired, and it’s barely been any time at all since Argo is taken away. He can’t imagine the rest of his Hogwarts career knowing that Argo is locked away like he is.

Anything. Anything at all…

A door appears in the hallway, right before David’s eyes, stopping him in his tracks.

“Go on,” Shiloh says. David glances nervously to him, then grabs the handle. “Welcome to the Come and Go Room.”

David steps into a room that looks almost startlingly like the Ravenclaw Common Room. The high, arched ceilings, large windows, bright and airy atmosphere, right down to the same color of the wood trimmings. But looking around, there’s equipment for research, heaps of books organized on walls of shelves, instruments and other supplies for arts of all kinds… “Come and Go Room?” David echoes.

“More specifically,” Shiloh says quietly, “this is the function of the Come and Go Room which once served as Rowena Ravenclaw’s personal laboratory.”

Who’s what now? “…Excuse me?”

Shiloh chuckles. “Argo found it a while ago, though it took some time for him to gain access to it. But when he did, he made a promise. Give to the Room; do not simply take. Leave your own knowledge here for the next true Ravenclaw who needs it.”

David gulps. “You mean.”

“He left everything here. Everything he learned. Every technique, every theory, he documented it all and left it here for the next true Ravenclaw to find the room.” Shiloh jumps onto a table, where two books lay set out carefully. One a thick journal bound in black, and the other an even thicker tome in natural brown leather. “He left it for you.”

For David? He slowly approaches the table, finding it hard to breathe in the face of the books. All of Argo’s knowledge, all bound up like this? It almost seems impossible.

Right between the books, there is a letter addressed to him.

“David,

I wish I could finish my time as your teacher. I am sorry that I have to leave you partway through our final year. I hope, if we meet again, we can greet each other as brothers once more.

But as I will no longer be your mentor, I am leaving you with some gifts. The first is my personal spellbook. It has all my notes on every spell I know. Around the laboratory, I have also contributed my knowledge to furthering our understanding of magic, and have left some journals alongside Rowena Ravenclaw’s.

The second is one that I am not sure you will use. Please feel no obligation to do so, I merely leave it to you in order to keep you safe and to help you protect those you care about. Do only what you are comfortable with; whatever your heart can take. But even if you do not use it to any practical effect, you should still know it all. It will give you many advantages.

Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure. Use them wisely.

Argo”

The thicker book, the brown one, is the spellbook. David handles it reverently, already seeing pages upon pages of things he can barely imagine. But the smaller one, the black one… David opens it tentatively, still not sure what he’s looking at.

He reads names, he reads statements. It takes him half a page to realize that this is somewhere between a book of blackmail and character analyses. After each name, there are motivations, dreams desires… shames, and crimes. Everything David could possibly need to use any one of these people to whatever end he desires.

This is what Argo gathers on people. On everyone. Some of it, David thinks, he only uses to make himself appear omniscient (It’s knowing the right things that matter. If you do, you don’t actually need to know everything.) and are just small, embarrassing things that don’t really hurt. But some of it… some of it can ruin these people if it’s found out.

And it’s everyone. Students at Hogwarts, the staff, Ministry officials, shopkeepers in Diagon and Hogsmeade, even some goblins both Gringotts affiliated and not.

David draws a shaky breath and carefully shuts the book. He thinks… Argo is right. One way or another, he should, at least, read that book. It gives him a much better idea of what’s going on not just at Hogwarts, but in the world as a whole. He needs it for context, even if he never uses that knowledge actively against anyone.

But not now. Now, his hands greedily find the spellbook, and he searches the shelves for a treatise or two on the fundamental nature of magic (one written by Argo, one accompanying a neat hand in Old English, which David can only assume is Argo’s translation of Rowena Ravenclaw’s own work) and he sits himself on a windowsill, looks out over Hogwarts castle from his high perch, and settles in with his research.

“He’s proud of you, you know,” Shiloh says quietly, curling up, trembling, in his lap.

David smiles. “I know.”

“When the girls came to him with the idea to take on apprentices… he wasn’t that thrilled about it.”

He wouldn’t be. He has a lot of irons in the fire by then, and taking on a burden like David sacrifices a lot of his valuable time.

“But he knew right away that you were worth it. He wanted you to reach your potential. He loves you, and he is so proud of you.”

David can give Shiloh only a watery smile. “I know. I’m proud of him, too,” he whispers.

Shiloh curls up, covers his face, and David simply turns his attention to his research for the rest of the evening.

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

(“How much do you want to tell them?” Shiloh asks.

Argo considers the question for a moment, then answers, “I have nothing left to hide. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“…I’d prefer not to hide from them, if they still want me around.”)

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Goldstein,” Professor McGonagall says when he enters the headmistress’ office. “How are you holding up?”

Anthony eyes her, and Professor Flitwick present on a chair, and sighs. “I’m alright,” he says.

He looks into his professors’ eyes, and he sees guilt. Shame. It would be easy to hate them. Anthony can’t deny the dark ember stoking something deep in his gut. But… he knows his cousin way to well to cast blame for any part of his fate.

Argo is in Azkaban because he chooses to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Whether it’s because he knows someone must be punished for everything that happens and is unwilling to offer one of those Death Eaters as a scapegoat – which is unfortunately in character – or a more direct result of his stupid insecurities, doesn’t really matter.

There is no blame. Argo is more than capable of landing himself into trouble, and getting himself through it, on his own. So, Anthony is worried for his cousin, of course. He remembers still his third year, when the dementors surround the school – and that’s at somewhat of a distance with the Hogwarts wards protecting them. Azkaban is a hundred times worse.

But worry aside, Anthony also trusts his cousin. He’s sad that he won’t be able to see Argo again anytime soon, but they are going to part ways, at least for a while, after school, anyway, as they enter their lives as full adults. Five years is excessive, but Anthony chooses to strive to impress Argo. When he gets out and they see each other again, Anthony will be… whoever he’s going to be. He’ll have it figured out, once five years comes.

So, he is, really, alright. He can’t be happy about it, and he’ll miss his cousin, but he’s fine.

“I have received word that you will be requiring an international portkey for the winter holiday,” Professor McGonagall says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Anthony says. “I’m going to take Argo’s things back to his place. Shiloh needs to get home, too.”

“I understand. You will, of course, have it. Will you be leaving directly from Hogwarts, or do you plan to visit home before using the portkey?”

“I’d prefer to take it home, if you don’t mind.”

“Very well.” Professor McGonagall marks down a note, then sets her quill down and looks firmly at Anthony.

Professor Flitwick is the one to chime in with, “If you need any assistance…”

“I know the packing charms,” Anthony says drily. “I can handle cleaning up after my cousin.”

“…Yes, you can.” Flitwick bites his lip for a moment. “Please, accept my sincerest apologies. If I had only-”

“No one here needs an apology, Professor,” says Anthony. “There was nothing you could have done to stop him. He made his choices knowing exactly where they lead. He’s content with his choices.” Anthony meets Flitwick’s eyes with a challenge in his own, then meets McGonagall in turn. “Because I respect him, I am too.”

If anything, Anthony respects him even more, now. It takes a lot to so boldly accept the consequences of his actions. Most people struggle to accept far less.

Flitwick stares for a moment, breathes in deep, nods to himself, and says, “Yes. Yes, I understand. I will not diminish the choice he made. Instead, perhaps… thank you, Mr. Goldstein, for being such a reliable and constant friend to him. I only regret that I was not able to be so reliable as a teacher.”

Anthony toes the floor, then, “…You did better than you think.” Seeing McGonagall, he adds, “Both of you.” With a small, sly smile to McGonagall, he says, “Do you think he would have trusted you to lead Hogwarts if he didn’t still respect you?”

McGonagall blinks, realizing what Anthony implies. Argo is Laelaps. She doesn’t think of this part of it all until now, but… Laelaps is the one that pulls all the strings to discredit and remove Dumbledore. She is headmistress because of him.

“He decided that Hogwarts is his,” says Anthony with a shrug. “It’s under his protection. But he can’t be here, anymore. Putting you in charge… along with everything else he accomplished, it made it so that he could walk away confident that Hogwarts would be safe. Because he trusts you.”

To Flitwick, Anthony smiles. “And you, too.”

Flitwick fully believes that Argo can and will upheave the Hogwarts staff if he believes it necessary to keep the students safe. It does show trust that he’s even here today.

“Mr. Goldstein,” Flitwick says slowly. “How much did you know?”

Anthony smiles. “I knew exactly as much as Argo wanted me to.” To Professor McGonagall, “Thank you for arranging the portkey, Professor. I should finish packing.”

With that, he turns around and walks out.

He heads promptly to the Room of Requirement, where he finds a bedroom and a familiar cat. Shiloh sits up to look at him, and there’s a strange trick of the light, something in Shiloh’s eyes.

Anthony closes his eyes, sits on the bed, and says, “Hello, Cousin.”

Soft purring fills the room. Shiloh’s high, boyish voice says, “How’d you know?”

“You’re the one who taught me to sense magic,” Anthony says. “And if you’ll recall, legilimency comes from my side of the family.”

He barks out a laugh. “I thought it’d take you longer,” Shiloh’s voice admits. “But you’re not exactly right.”

Anthony hums. “It’s sort of… muddled. What did you do? How is your magic – and your minds – mixed like that?”

Shiloh grins up at him. “I’m more than just myself, now. I made Argo do the ritual, and now we’re connected.”

“Connected,” Anthony echoes. “What exactly is shared? You are still independent, aren’t you?”

He flicks his two tails. “Yeah, Argo insisted on it. He wouldn’t even consider any ritual that didn’t allow us to occlude each other from our minds. So, we’re still individuals. But he’s also here. When we’re not occluding, we share a mind. That means, everything. Sensations, feelings, thoughts… everything that’s processed in your mind, we can share. It took a while to figure out how to talk to each other more directly, and we’re still working on letting him take over control of my body – mostly he doesn’t want to, but I told him that’s stupid and that I want him to, but… hehe, yeah. He used a ritual to link our minds semi-permanently. It’s like passive legilimency, but specific to the bonded target. Everything he knows is somewhere in my mind, and the other way around.”

“That’s remarkable,” Anthony breathes. “So, you found a way for him to be free while he’s in Azkaban.”

Shiloh curls his tails around his feet, moving his eyes to the floor. “It was my idea,” he says. “Argo was against it at first. Actually, I’m not sure I ever really convinced him. Even now, he spends most of his time occluded.”

“Really?” If he’s trapped in prison, why wouldn’t he want to keep an eye on things through Shiloh? If nothing else, it must be the only interesting thing to do.

“All sensation comes across. All feelings,” Shiloh explains. “Even cold. Even despair.”

Ah. “He doesn’t want the dementors affecting you.”

Shiloh huffs. “He still doesn’t get that that’s the whole reason I wanted to do this in the first place. Because even if I have to put up with the dementors, it also means he gets away from them.”

“Effectively halving his dementor exposure,” Anthony concludes. “And with his animagus form, the dementors affect him even less.” He chuckles. “That brilliant idiot.”

“Hey! I told you, it was my idea!”

“But are you going to be okay?”

Shiloh sighs. “I don’t have a choice. Whether I like it or not, Argo is very carefully limiting how much I can actually help. He doesn’t let us stay connected long enough for anything to really affect me, and then I recover before he stops occluding again.”

“You’re trying to protect him and he’s still mothering you,” Anthony says sympathetically. “I understand. That’s just like him.”

“Yeah,” Shiloh says distantly. “But I love that about him, so I can’t really be mad. I’m just glad he agreed at all.”

“I’m a little surprised he agreed at all,” Anthony admits, “considering the risks to you.”

“He wouldn’t have if I didn’t insist on it. It took a lot of convincing, and there’s still nothing I can do about him just occluding me out. But so far, he is letting me help, and he’s pretty curious about how everyone is doing. That said, five years is a long time to be in constant contact with the dementors, so I’m worried that he’ll keep me out more as he gets worse, but… that’s something we’ll work through together between us. I hope that between his animal form and the freedom from them through me, we won’t ever get to that point.”

“But it’s always best to have a plan,” says Anthony.

Shiloh grins. “Mhm! That’s why I have four.”

(“I never dreamed much about Niklas,” Shiloh admits. “I knew about him, I’d seen you together once or twice, but I never dreamed him enough to feel like I know him. This is kind of exciting for me, to actually meet someone new. Do you think he’ll like me?”

Argo chuckles. “I’m sure he will. Just remember not to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? It’s a weird situation with me being here in your head, but it’s still your life. Don’t forget, you made a promise. The last thing I want is for you to just live as my stand-in.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about that.” Shiloh snickers mischievously. “I have every intention of sweeping that man off his feet all on my own.”)

This is weird. It’s definitely weird, right? Niklas looks to Reynard and thinks yes, this is definitely weird.

It’s not as if Niklas is wholly uncomfortable with the other men that Argo is involved with (which, really, is only this one, as the kiss with Charlie doesn’t count and nothing ever happens with George) but he’s still trying to wrap his head around just what exactly is going on.

“So,” Niklas says, “you’re Shiloh, but also Argo.”

“Yes,” says Shiloh’s high, boyish voice. (It’s so different from Argo’s, which, of course it is, but Niklas is forced to compare them right now and there’s a jarring dissonance. Shiloh is so small, too, comparatively.)

It’s so weird, but Niklas has to ask. “So… if I wanted to make good on my promise to ask Argo out now that everything has settled down, that’s technically something that I don’t have to wait until he’s out of prison for?”

“If you don’t mind me tagging along!” Shiloh chirps. “Or the body. I’m more than happy to let Argo drive if you want to do something with him. Between you and me, I think it’d be good for him. But, uh… if you want privacy, you’ll have to wait until he’s out and occluding.”

Right. That makes sense. “And… how does Argo feel about that?”

“He still doesn’t like the idea of controlling my body, but he’s totally down for going on a date with us. So long as you don’t mind going out with me?”

Well… Niklas has to look Shiloh over for a moment to consider. He’s always okay with Argo having the others around. He does like George himself, so he can see that going both ways if that had happened, but… frankly, he doesn’t actually spend much time with Shiloh.

Shiloh works at Hogwarts, Niklas works outside the school. They work together, technically, under Argo’s guidance, and of course Niklas knows of Shiloh and meets him a few times, but they don’t get the chance to ever hang out.

Niklas admittedly can’t say he ever imagines himself with such a… feline boyfriend. He always pictures more of a bear. But… “I’m willing to see where it goes.”

“Yay! Then we’ll arrange a date, sometime. Oh, can I kiss you?”

What? Niklas laughs a little. He forgets that Shiloh is like this. Or, more precisely, he knows Shiloh is like this towards Argo and doesn’t expect it to come out directed at him. “Uh… sure?”

With permission, Shiloh saunters up, wraps his furry arms around Niklas’ neck (he’s shorter than Niklas – it’s hard to remind himself that Argo’s in there, too) and grins wide. There’s a sort of trick of the light in Shiloh’s eyes, and Niklas swears he sees Argo’s hazel and rounded pupils that don’t belong on a cat, and-

Wait. What?

Niklas blinks, and everything is off. Shiloh is still there, hanging on him, grinning at him, but he doesn’t… feel like Shiloh. He feels like…

“This is one way to be the little one again,” says Shiloh’s high, boyish voice, but the tone is so Argo. “Although, I maintain that I don’t need to be small to be the baby.”

Suddenly, it’s not hard to remember that Argo is there. It is Argo. It looks like Shiloh, but Niklas knows, somehow.

He kisses the weird cat muzzle on the lips.

A pleased “mrp!” and a rumbling purr follow before the two break apart.

Niklas chuckles softly, presses his head against Argo’s, and says, “Are you seriously complaining about not being acknowledged as the baby during our first real kiss? That’s a little weird.”

“Maybe I want to call you daddy.”

Reynard coughs. Loudly.

Niklas groans, mostly just because Reynard is right there. “Please don’t.” The man in his arms laughs. Niklas shakes his head. “How did you do that? Your… something changed. I know it’s you, even though…”

“We’re working on that,” says Shiloh’s voice. “The ritual that connected our minds also connected our magic. What you’re sensing is a shift in a bunch of different micro-habits that we have as magical creatures. Just differences in the way we expel magic, in expression, and in tone. I’m exaggerating it a little, because I’ve studied magic-based communication so I can, because I really wanted you to know I’m here for this, but to a lesser extent most people should be able to instinctually pick up on those nuances. Sort of like how you can tell if someone is serious or joking based on body language and tone – which no doubt also plays a part in how you can recognize me. Fun fact: this is also how you can identify someone using Polyjuice potion, so I’d recommend you keep developing the skill. It’s still technically Shiloh’s magic, although some of mine is getting mixed in there, but the expression is all mine while I’m in control. Make sense?”

“Barely,” Niklas admits. “But if we’re going to make this work, I will appreciate you making it obvious who’s in control. I’m not against doing anything with Shiloh, obviously, but…”

“No, I understand. We want to respect you, too. You should know exactly who you’re dealing with if this is going to work. And- I am sorry that it’s like this.”

“Hey,” Niklas says gently. “This just means I get two boyfriends, doesn’t it? What’s so bad about that?”

Argo giggles.

“But seriously,” says Niklas. “This is more than I expected to get when you were taken to prison. I’m happy to work on this with both you and Shiloh.”

Shiloh’s head nuzzles into Niklas’ neck. “Thanks. You’re way too good for me.”

Niklas would protest, but he is currently hugging his boyfriend who is inside his other, furry boyfriend’s mind/body, and that’s not even the weirdest thing Niklas deals with because of Argo. Granted, it’s probably the weirdest directly related to their relationship, but not close to the weirdest thing.

So, yeah, not too good for him, obviously, but Niklas feels the sentiment is warranted all the same.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s going to miss that body while Argo is in prison, but while he certainly appreciates Argo’s body… that’s not what he’s in love with.

What he’s in love with is right here, just starting to shiver slightly in his arms.

(Besides, cat features aside, Shiloh is a shapeshifter. If Niklas misses Argo’s broad chest and shoulders and those thick arms and belly too much… he doesn’t have to go entirely without.)

With a deep breath, Reynard steps closer. “I’m glad you’re going to work it out. You both deserve that kind of happiness. Or, all three of you, I guess.”

Argo snickers.

“And I’m sorry.” Reynard bows his head, frowning harshly at the floor. “I didn’t trust you, but in the end-”

“I didn’t give you any reason to trust me,” says Argo calmly. “Just because things turned out well doesn’t mean you had any idea I was even aiming for that.”

“I didn’t even know,” Niklas sighs. “I was just… ready to do what was necessary.”

“I know,” Reynard says quietly. “I know, and I don’t judge you for that. It was a hard decision. We both had to make the right one for ourselves. I just…” He looks directly at Argo. “I just feel kind of stupid in hindsight, because I really should have trusted you the whole time. If I’d known…”

“Then the other Hounds would have known something was off, and their kids might’ve known something was off, and one of them might’ve tipped off Harry, and if that happened…”

“No more Harry,” Reynard sighs. “I’m not sure how I feel about being so thoroughly played. You’re really good at taking all the blame onto yourself, you know, but… whether it is what you wanted or not, I made my own decisions.”

“It was a good one,” Argo says. “It wasn’t only yourself you were looking out for, right? You were right not to take the risk.”

“Still… I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better… then I accept your apology. I’m sorry for forcing you to make that choice. Would you accept me back into the Circle?”

Reynard chuckles. “You know I never actually kicked you out.”

“Yeah, magically, but…”

“Of course. You’re practically my little brother, you know. You’re always welcome. And Shiloh, too.”

Argo, in Shiloh’s body which is so much smaller than his own but still bigger than Reynard, rushes in to hug him tight.

He holds him, and he doesn’t let go. Only after some time passes does Niklas reluctantly say, “It’s almost time. Anthony should be back soon to take you home.”

Argo sighs, separates from Reynard, then grins at Niklas. “One more, then. This time, you can play with Shiloh.”

“Huh?”

There’s a switch, just like earlier, and Niklas knows it’s Shiloh who fills his arms this time. Just like before, arms around his neck, Niklas’ hands on Shiloh’s waist to hold him there flush against his body, and Shiloh tilts his head cutely, looks at him with big eyes, and hesitates. “Can I?”

Niklas smiles. It’s different, despite it being the same body. It’s newer, less familiar, despite him never actually kissing Argo before. But it’s still something with potential, and Niklas wants to make it work. Even if they don’t ever have the same relationship, even if they decide against this kind of intimacy later on, they’re still going to be close because of Argo, so… where’s the harm in exploring?

He leans in slowly, letting his intentions clear. Shiloh starts purring before their lips even touch.

(“How’re the Hounds doing?”

Shiloh hums. “They’ve mostly run underground. Seems like they’re happy to avoid being associated with you.”

“Good.”

“But I’m not sure I totally get it,” says Shiloh. “Aren’t you, like, the hero who stopped Voldemort?”

Argo sighs. “No. That’s Harry. Sacrificing himself to save everyone is… uncontroversial. People may be thankful for what I did, but my methods still make them uncomfortable. If the Hounds were to go public in their support of me, they’d basically be declaring themselves dark wizards. Certainly, it wouldn’t be as bad as admitting to be Death Eaters – they might not even get in any legal trouble – but they’d be put under a lot of scrutiny that wouldn’t be worth the five minutes of fame.”

“Oh. Okay. But… Isn’t Harry supporting you?”

“That’s different. He’s standing by his brother, who did, sort of, save his life. And he was never a Hound, so he’s only supporting me after the fact, not actually committing any crimes.” A pause. “Besides, as I said, he’s the uncontroversial hero. The good and just wizard who didn’t resort to dark magic to stop Voldemort, and who was willing to give his life for Wizarding Britain. I ruined Dumbledore’s reputation, so I’m the only other option for everyone to celebrate. Harry will be able to get away with a lot, if only so that they’ll have their hero to rally around.”)

Rolf grins when his little cousin knocks at his door, but valiantly resists the urge to hug. Anthony still isn’t a toucher. (Rolf can remember little Anthony protesting so much whenever their grandpa Theseus was around. The adults always called it a phase – apparently some kids get like that for a while, not wanting overt physical affection from their family. But no, Anthony is like that with everyone, even now that he’s all grown up.)

“It’s good to see you, Anthony.”

Anthony smiles tiredly. “You too, Rolf. How’re you doing?”

Rolf steps aside, silently inviting Anthony in. They move to the living room, where they collapse into plush chairs. “I’m holding up. I got to admit I miss Go-go, but I’ll survive. He’s always been good at handling himself. Even when he does ask for my help, the only thing he ever needed me for was cuddles.” Rolf sighs. “I guess, as a big brother, that should make me proud, but…”

“Yeah,” Anthony says mutedly. “Me too.”

“It helps that I’m not really worried about him,” Rolf sighs. “Especially with what he did with Shiloh. Honestly, I’m more worried about how everything with Niklas will turn out… mostly when Go-go gets out and the dynamic shifts.” He makes a face. “Honestly, I’m kind of worried that something weird will happen with them and Charlie.”

Anthony snorts. “I still have no idea what’s going on there. I don’t think they’re that into each other, though, that we have to worry about it. Charlie is a bit old.”

A long-suffering look crosses Rolf’s face. “For Charlie, I hope so. For Argo? No, he’s not. Lucky Go-go doesn’t focus much on that kind of thing. If he actually cared to pursue the people he gets interested in, I’d be the one with the harem of weird in-laws. Mostly weird because they’d all be my age or older.”

“Speaking of; how’re things going with Luna?”

Rolf rolls his eyes. “We’re friends, thanks. And haven’t even met in person. Probably won’t until she’s finished with school, honestly.” He shakes his head. “And on that note, how’re you doing? You’re almost finished, yourself.”

“I’ll be glad to be finished.” Anthony groans. “I guess I’ll miss school, but… No one’s comfortable with me, anymore. I mean, I already had a reputation for being hairy-hearted. But Argo… On one hand, he saved everyone from Voldemort returning. On the other, he’s a criminal in Azkaban. Probably the only thing anyone agrees on is that I, and anyone else associated with Argo, are apparently terrifying.”

“I’ve met the DA circle. Y’all are.”

Anthony sends an unimpressed glare at his cousin. Rolf just shrugs in return, standing by his statement without shame.

Rolf breaks into a smile. “What’re you going to do once you graduate?”

“…I don’t know,” Anthony sighs. “Part of me wants to retire to the countryside and make a living farming or something. Just… something lonely and peaceful.”

Yeah… Rolf can see that. “But?”

“I might join the aurors with Susan.”

“You want to be an auror?”

Anthony hums unenthusiastically. “Well, Madam Bones wants me to be. You know, I’ve been asked to decipher the runes on Argo’s armor. Apparently, every expert at the Ministry can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Rolf chuckles. “That doesn’t surprise me. He went to Hogwarts in the first place, even though he didn’t want to, specifically for Runes. But can you decipher it?”

Another non-committal hum. “Argo did leave notes. David has most of them, but I’ve got access to some of it. It’s not easy, but I do have a better grasp of just what Argo did to that armor than anyone else. Madam Bones wouldn’t ask me, otherwise. Plus, I’ve got that one.” He points to Shiloh, who jumps onto Rolf’s lap to curl up. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, so Rolf just greets him with pets for now.

“Is she hoping to use runed armor based on his design for her aurors?”

“Considering how damned effective the thing is, yes. It’s decades ahead of the most advanced runic armor in common use, and frankly quite a bit more impressive than the best enchantments as well. Moody’s got the next best thing and even he says that’s got nothing on Argo’s design.”

Rolf can’t say he’s surprised. Runes, and specifically runic protection, is Argo’s specialty right behind tracking and identification spells. And frankly, he’s more passionate about runes, and considers his other specialty one more of circumstance and necessity, much like Defense, than pure interest.

Rolf doesn’t get a good look at that armor, but he’s confident in saying that’s a piece of art.

“Might try Charlie,” Rolf says. “I know Argo figured out how to make a protective enchantment that mimics the ancient magical protection in dragonhide. He sent that to Charlie some time ago, though Charlie isn’t supposed to share it.”

Anthony hums. “Maybe. I’d be surprised if they’re not related, though I doubt it’s the same. I don’t think that enchantment is runic.”

“I don’t think so,” admits Rolf, “but Go-go would’ve used the principles. Of course,” he pokes playfully at the cat in his lap, “he could just tell you himself what’s going on with that.”

Shiloh bats at Rolf’s hand, grinning even as he’s distracted with Rolf’s playing. “Where’s the fun in that?” Shiloh says. “Anthony is more than capable of figuring it out himself.”

Rolf chuckles at that, and laughs harder at Anthony’s expression. “But are you actually going to hand that over to the Ministry?” Rolf asks.

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs once more. “Honestly… I don’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Shiloh says. “That was always going to go into Argo’s book on Runes, anyway. I mean, not that specifically, but all the techniques he used to make it. Argo plans to publish the enchantment he sent to Charlie, too, so don’t worry too much about it.”

Anthony bites his lip. “In that case… I’ll publish it on his behalf and let the money build up while he’s in prison. That way, when he gets out, he’ll be loaded.”

“We’re kind of loaded already,” Rolf chuckles. “But it’ll be good for him to have some personal savings for when he gets out and has to get back on his feet. It’s a good idea, so long as Argo doesn’t protest.”

Shiloh hums. “Nah. Argo just doesn’t want you finishing his books for him yet. The armor runes can be published as a runic enchantment, though, if Madam Bones is interested in hiring a Runic Warder to draw them.”

Anthony snorts. “He’s going to bleed the Ministry dry.”

Shiloh offers a wicked grin, but no verbal response.

“The DMLE may only be able to afford a few, probably for Madam Bones herself and the top aurors, but the dueling circuit will be mad for them. I can easily see Argo making quite a lot off of this.”

“Not just Argo,” Shiloh says. “You, too. After all, until his methods book is published, you’ll be the only one who can stitch the things.”

“…Have I just been assigned a job as a tailor?”

“By commission only!”

Anthony considers that. “I’ll make a supply of them, but that’s it. Anyone who wants one and doesn’t get it right away can wait until Argo’s satisfied with his Runes book and other people can make the things.”

“Don’t worry,” Shiloh says. “He’s not stopped working just because he’s in Azkaban. I’m still working on the book with him, and you can publish it on his behalf when we’re done, so you won’t have to wait five whole years for that. We’re actually fairly close to finished!”

Anthony sighs and finds Rolf’s amused eye. He says, “The things I do for family.”

Rolf snorts. “Really, Anthony, we do appreciate it. I’d worry a whole lot more about Argo if you weren’t there looking out for him.”

“Really? I thought he was good at taking care of himself.”

Rolf tilts his head. “He is. But… he’s really good at little things. Sometimes, though, he has a tendency to…”

“Miss the forest for the trees?” Anthony offers.

“Yeah. Like, for all his planning, I’m fairly certain he hasn’t even considered what happens after prison.”

“He hasn’t!” Shiloh chirps.

“But you’re going out of your way to make sure he has a nest egg to support him,” says Rolf. “So, thanks. You might not show affection the same way Argo and I do, but I just want to make sure you know that we’re not just missing it. We love you, Cousin.”

Anthony shrinks a little in his chair and can’t quite raise his gaze to meet Rolf’s, but there is a smile on his lips. “Hair and all,” he murmurs.

Rolf laughs. “That’s right. Hair and all.”

(“And what if I can’t?” Argo asks. “What if I’m not good enough? What if they don’t-”

“Shut up! I’m sick and tired of you taking everyone else’s sins onto yourself!”

“I’m not. I manipulated them into-”

“As if they don’t have any agency!” Shiloh growls. “You are not responsible for every bad thing that happens. Don’t you know how ludicrous that sounds?”

Argo sighs. “I don’t claim to be responsible for everything. But the people that I manipulated-”

“Are still capable of making their own choices! According to you, Susan is just some helpless victim, then?”

“What? You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Because that’s how you’re treating her! Like she doesn’t have any control over her own actions. Because you’re so clever and staged things how you wanted it, she never had any choice to begin with, is that it?”

“Shiloh, I…”

Shiloh pauses, then huffs. “I think it is good of you to take the blame in front of the Wizengamot, but don’t mistake being legally punished for it for being solely responsible for it.”

“…I did bad things.”

“So did I. Does that make me a monster?”

“…”

“You’re so focused on being good enough, as if you have to earn something. Don’t you get that that’s not how it works? Hate my choices. Hate your own choices, if you have to. But don’t disrespect everyone by acting like you’re the only person capable of making decisions. Because I can choose on my own, thanks, and I’m choosing to love you. Whether you think you deserve it or not.”)

Argo shouldn’t be surprised. Shiloh definitely isn’t. Truthfully, he’s not even sure he is, he just… feels like he doesn’t deserve this.

Because when he comes home, when Rolf and Anthony bring him back to the rest of their family, Argo’s mother doesn’t hesitate for a moment. Even though he’s in Shiloh’s body, she just smiles, holds out her arms, and says, “Welcome home, Argo,” like she does every other break from school.

It’s all he can do not to break into tears.

She wraps him up in her arms, and his dad joins as well, crushing the both of them with his love, and when they deign to let him go, his grandpa Theseus already has his arms around him next.

(He’s still a hugger, and Argo still appreciates it because he is, too.)

And that’s the thing about family, that’s how Argo knows everything will be okay. They don’t need to tell him that they’re proud of him (though they do that) and they don’t need to tell him that they forgive him (they say he does good, better than they could’ve hoped, and don’t hold anything against him at all) because much like when he gets to Rolf’s place and all the talking that needs to happen is Shiloh curling up in Rolf’s lap and Rolf’s gentle petting, Argo enters his home and slots into place like he never leaves and it’s easy.

He fits.

It comes down to the pure and simple fact that this is where he fits. This is where, deep in his chest, all those insecurities, and the cold and despair, warm. This is the hearth where he can rest and let down his wand.

There is no production. They don’t linger on his imprisonment or even much of what he does to earn it. Argo tells them the truth, the whole truth, and they have a big group hug, and then they move on. Because the creatures still need to be taken care of, and the wards still need to be tended, and dinner still needs to be made.

Argo is about to occlude, give Shiloh his body back, though Shiloh still only giggles in the back of his mind, not making the slightest hint of wanting back out, when there is a knock at the door.

Queenie answers it, smirking at Tina because it is technically Tina’s house and Tina is a little put out about her guest answering the door, even if she is her sister.

Argo pokes his head around the corner, looking past his grandma to see Harry and his dads there, nervous to a man and not hiding it very well.

“There you are!” Queenie exclaims, already grinning. “We were waiting for you. Go on in and make yourselves comfortable; we’ll have supper ready in a few minutes.”

Their guests all look quite shocked at the treatment, mostly because the Scamanders aren’t actually expecting them, but they stumble through the door anyway.

Harry catches sight of Shiloh and smiles, waving. “Hey Shiloh.”

Sirius and Remus take one look at him, look back to Harry, then at once pinch the bridges of their noses with exhausted sighs. “He said Shiloh is his-”

“It’s not worth it, Moony,” Sirius groans. “Trust me.”

Harry and Argo snicker in unison.

“His cat?” Argo teases. “But I am a cat, aren’t I?”

“Why do you do this? Just to watch us suffer?”

“Why not? Isn’t it fun?” Argo’s chuckle takes on a dark edge to it that has Harry looking at him in alarm. Remus flinches away from the ice in Shiloh’s bright eyes. “…I might’ve been putting on a show for you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mean what I said.”

Harry gasps first. “Argo? Wait, that’s you? How did you-?”

“A ritual,” Argo answers. “And no, it’s not usually me. Shiloh’s still got control most times, and he’s still here in our mind. I’m just driving at the moment.”

“Is it based on legilimency?”

“It’s actually blood-magic based, and closer to soul magic, but as the connection binds our minds, the day-to-day effects mimic and are affected by legilimency and can be blocked by counter-legilimency and other mind-magics.”

“Cool.” Harry blinks, frowns, then looks at his dads. “What… what did you mean about them?”

Argo crosses his arms. “We had a chat before everything happened. When I kidnapped them.”

Harry flinches. “Oh. Right. And what-”

“Perhaps we should sit down,” says Remus.

Queenie winks at Argo as she passes and kisses his head, whispering, “I’ll set the table for three more. You be good, honey.”

No promises. (Tina sends him a stern glare. Okay, okay, he’ll be good.)

They all sit. They all look at each other. Rolf flops down next to Argo and slings an arm over his shoulder as Sunspark dives in on his other side as a blazing dog, eyeing Sirius teasingly.

With the tension effectively broken, Sirius shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll start. I’d be a right hypocrite to comment on your methods, and in the end it turned out you were thinking about what’s best for Harry, so as far as I’m concerned, I’ve nothing to be upset with you about. That might not mean much to you, but for me it means we’re back where we were before. Since things are calming down, I’m hoping our families can spend more time together and I’ll have the chance to get to know you.”

Rolf doesn’t give Argo time to reply, not that he has anything to say. But what Rolf interjects with is a bit of a non-sequitur. “Are you going to be spending much time at home, Harry? After you graduate, you’re going to need to find a job.”

“I wouldn’t say need,” Sirius mumbles. “My family has more than enough money if he wants to stay home.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll be looking for a job, yes, and I might have to spend a lot of time away for work experience like when I came here last summer, but I plan to stay at home for now. Unless I end up working somewhere that I have to get my own place, I’m happy enough staying with my dads. They’re certainly happy to keep me.”

The way Sirius visibly brightens is telling enough.

Rolf chuckles. “Then opportunities to spend time together may not be too common, but I’m sure we could plan something. Since Argo won’t be going to Britain regularly anymore, it’ll be more complicated to arrange travel. But if you’re at home, that’ll at least make things easier.”

“You mean it?” Sirius asks. “You’re open to it?”

Rolf’s smile sharpens, just slightly, and there’s a wave of heat through the air from Sunspark that feels dangerous, and Rolf says, “I feel exactly the same way about you as Go-go does.”

Sirius winces. “…Which is?”

“You’re a brash fool who constantly makes bad decisions,” Argo says casually. “But you do, at least, make decisions and follow through. I don’t… hate you. And I don’t really blame you for much except acting without thinking, so while you’re not really the kind of person I tend to like, I don’t have anything against you, either.”

Argo shrugs. “You’re Harry’s dad, to me. But I’ll keep an eye on you, so you don’t do something stupid that’ll put Harry in danger again.”

Sirius sags. “I’d appreciate that,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I’m trying to work on that, but I’ve always been rash. Being a dad seems to have scared a lot of it out of me, but I’m still not the best at thinking before I leap. Last thing I want to do is mess up with Harry.”

“I’m an adult, Padfoot,” Harry says gently. “I can take a few mistakes.”

Sirius just sighs heavily. “I’m not sure I can.”

Harry shakes his head. “And,” he says, eyeing Argo, “what about Moony?”

Remus, who is silently curled up in himself until now, hesitantly barks, “Harry…”

Turning to Remus, the Scamander brothers turn truly cold. Harry sweats a little, overcome with the feeling of being watched, the dread of knowing someone is after him (a familiar feeling), and of a forest fire fast approaching. Sunspark’s molten tongue lolls and licks of flame escape their throat as they pant. Can they even get hot?

“I’ve said it before,” Argo begins. “I don’t care that I was abandoned. I’m glad for it, even, because it means I got picked up by my family. But… Professor Lupin didn’t make a mistake and get his priorities mixed up. He wasn’t kept away from us. He just chose not to look for us. So, while I am happy that that all happened to me, that doesn’t mean I’m happy with someone who would abandon a baby.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Rolf says with a shrug. “It’s just that, as caretakers ourselves, we can’t help but despise people like you, who would willingly abandon your duty to the people who rely on you. What you did is unforgivable on all counts.”

Remus doesn’t say anything. He just burrows into himself to wallow.

Harry sighs. “I guess I get it,” he says. “But he’s here now.”

“Yes,” says Argo, “because Dumbledore asked him to. Not because he wanted to find us.” His eyes flick to the man in question. “He’s a coward, and even though he is here now, that hasn’t changed. But,” he shrugs, “so long as you don’t expect me to have any respect for him, I can’t care less if he’s around. He’s at least not an active threat like Ron was.”

Rolf nods along sagely. “Go-go said it. We’re not going to like him, but so long as he’s harmless, we’re not going to avoid him. And we won’t instigate anything, so long as you don’t ask.”

Harry thinks that’s as good as it’s going to get. “Alright, then. But that means… you are willing to try? I want us to get along.”

“Like we don’t already?” Rolf fakes a pout. “Come on baby brother-” Argo lets out an offended squeak in protest “-we’re family.”

“Hey!” shouts Argo. “I’m the baby!”

Rolf makes a show of considering it. “Mm… no, I think Harry’s the baby brother. You’re Go-go.”

“Yes, I’m Go-go, but I’m the baby! You can call Harry whatever you want, except that.”

Sirius, watching the brothers bickering continue, leans close to Harry to whisper, “Why does he care so much about being the baby? Don’t most kids find that embarrassing?”

Harry sends Sirius a look that says, “Most kids? This is Argo.” Which is fair.

What Harry ends up saying is, “I think he likes the attention.”

“I’m adorable!” Argo says.

“You’re bigger than Teddy’s stash,” says Rolf. “Shiloh’s body doesn’t count that’s his.”

Argo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m talking about me. I’m adorable.”

“You’re a bear.”

“That’s my point!”

Sirius leans in, grinning. “Baby brother, eh?”

Harry sticks his tongue out, completely unashamed. “What of it? Like Rolf said, we’re family.”

“I thought you were on my side on this!” Argo pouts.

“Oh, I am. You’ll always be my precious baby brother.” Rolf pinches Argo’s cheek for good measure. “But be honest, Harry’s more baby than you.”

Harry can’t recall ever seeing Argo so legitimately offended. “He’s not. I’m baby!”

Sirius ruffles Harry’s hair. “Family, huh?” he murmurs. “Who’d imagine ours would get this big? Hanging in there, Moony?”

Despite everything, Remus is smiling as he watches the boys. “Y-yes,” he says. “Just… I know they’ll probably never accept me, but… I’m just glad to be here. I’m glad I can see this side of him, too.”

Their musings, and Argo and Rolf’s argument, is cut off by Queenie calling them all to dinner.

“Good!” Sirius says. “That fire thing is starting to scare me, anyway.”

Smoldering smugness fills the room as Sunspark stares him down.

“Coming, Grandma!” Argo shouts. “Alright, I’m kicking Shiloh back into the driver’s seat.”

“What?” Rolf says as they stand. “Don’t occlude when we’re just sitting down for supper.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t occlude. I’ll just be listening from the backseat. I don’t like using Shiloh’s body too long, and you’re not going to convince me to, no matter what you say you silly cat!” The last part obviously directed at himself, Rolf rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” Rolf says. Looking to Harry and his dads, Rolf says, “All of you. Before Granny tans our hides for being slow.”

All the men share a significant look and run to the dining room.

And, seated, with a warm meal, they laugh, and they relax, and they fit. That’s what family is about.

#write #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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