August 4th

Harry:

It has recently come to our attention that you are no longer at Privet Drive. Your relatives assured us that you left unharmed, but we are having unexpected difficulties locating you. Where are you? Why have you not written? Signed, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

He stared at the scrap of parchment incredulously. It took you that long, really? You let me rot at Private Drive for the summer until I get kicked out, then don't even notice for five days? And now you want me to tell you where I am? Clearly, I'm terribly important to you.

Professor Dumbledore: I am safe, but I think my location would be a terribly dangerous thing to disclose in a letter. Wouldn't you agree? Signed, Harry James Potter.

Smiling in satisfaction, Harry sealed the envelope and gave it to Hedwig. Take that, Dumbledore. He felt vaguely guilty for a second, but shrugged it off. He couldn't tell Dumbledore where he was, after all, not if he didn't want Dumbledore coming to find him before his disguise clothes were finished. Besides that, he was coming to rather like Knockturn Alley, unpromising as his arrival might have been and despite the Alley's rather formidable reputation in the wizarding world. He'd made good, if rather quiet, friends with the cook and her daughter, helping every morning with the preparations for lunch, and gradually moving up to more complicated tasks as the cook determined his skill. The kitchen tasks still usually consisted of chopping, peeling, and slicing, however, as the majority of the food was still served raw. Both the cook herself and the goblin happily ate the raw meat, it turned out, but Harry had still not had the courage to try it himself.

The Alley itself was fascinating. He could never predict what he'd see out his window in the morning, or who'd move into the inn next. The 'Little Folk' had left, to be replaced by a somewhat foppish man who openly identified as a werewolf and flirted outrageously with tiny Bighana, who, it turned out, acted as the bouncer for the bar at night, pounding out of the kitchen to bodily remove any troublemakers. He still didn't know what she was, but she certainly wasn't human. The only clue he had was her strength, and the one time she'd bared her teeth at him. Her teeth looked human, but the gesture certainly wasn't. The fact that he'd bared bigger teeth right back had just made her smile. They both knew who'd come out on top in case of a fight, not that it would ever happen.

Harry always looked forward to both lunch and dinner – lunch for the good food and quiet camaraderie (though he still was only barely civil to Kahrn, and Kahrn clearly didn't like him any better) and dinner for the interesting company and even more interesting drinks. He'd still never been drunk, but several of the inn regulars seemed determined to get him there, particularly the goblin he'd met the first day. His name was Magor, and was evidently much more friendly at night, especially with some alcohol in him. He delighted in buying something either very strong or very strange for Harry, then watching the faces he made. Once others in the bar had caught on, there were always loud discussions before they handed Harry a drink to try. Fortunately, Harry had also come to enjoy the game, and to actually like some of the drinks, though he never asked what was in them. He prided himself on actually managing to swallow whatever they'd given him: the one time he'd spit, it had been from pure surprise, when he was handed a clear liquid he expected to be disgusting, that had turned out to be a sweet, coconut-flavored Muggle drink the others called a Malibu. The bar customers had laughed uproariously, but Harry had carefully remembered the name of the drink – it was definitely a chick drink, but it was a good chick drink. Most of the other stuff they'd given him was pretty foul.

Finally, Harry just didn't know what he would do once he was brought back into contact with the rest of the wizarding world. Would he tell people what he was? He was slowly becoming more comfortable with his reflexion in the mirror, though his face especially still gave him a shock, but he wasn't ready to show others just yet. After all, he was still somewhat afraid of the other denizens of the Alley, and he looked less human than most of them did, and had trouble repressing the occasional growl or other singularly non-human mannerism.

Pin and Bur had been unable to explain those to him, just saying that different fae had different instincts and habits, and so they couldn't predict his. All the two of them ate was fruit and nectar, for example, while he had a much broader palette. He'd tried to find a book on different kinds of magical creatures in the Alley's one bookstore, but the bookstore owner had told him in a rather offended tone that magical beings did not share information about themselves or other magical beings with the wizarding world. Selling a book about it would be highly inappropriate, and make the author very unpopular in their world. When Harry thought about it, he had to agree that he would be very unhappy if someone were to publish information about him where anybody could read it. It would blow any chance he had at pretending to be human, for one thing. He was starting to despair of finding anyone who could tell him what he was before he got back to Hogwarts, though.

There was no doubt in his mind, anymore, that he wasn't human, and that, more than anything else, bothered him greatly. How would Ron and Hermione react to that? Would they see him as a monster? Would Dumbledore allow him back to Hogwarts if he knew? Would Molly trust him near her children anymore? The thought made him shiver. The Weasleys were the only family he had, now, other than Sirius. He couldn't bear it if they rejected him, too. Even worse, the few humans he had met on Knockturn Alley stood out. He could identify them, somehow, and it seemed likely that everybody else could, too. Which meant that anybody else nonhuman – Hagrid, for example, or Remus – would most likely identify him as not human the moment he encountered them. He could not afford to return to the wizarding world until he found a way to hide himself.

It was with that thought in mind that Harry got up from his window seat and went downstairs and out to the Alley, determined to check out the charms shop the clothing store owner had recommended. Well, sort of recommended. He could hardly expect the clothing owner to advertise for his competition, though. The fact that he'd even told Harry the place existed was a mark in his favor. And in the charm place's favor, come to think of it.

And so he waved a quick goodbye to Bighana before setting out for the Shadowed Drow. They really like the vaguely creepy store names, around here, he realized. Wings 'N Things wasn't creepy, but Harlot's Inn? The Shadowed Drow? The Brokewinged Dove? And yet Bourgin and Burkes was the only one that was nearly as scary as Knockturn Alley's reputation would suggest, and even that store was really just a pawn shop. The stuff it sold was mostly pretty creepy, but it was legal, so presumably it wasn't really that bad. Admittedly, Harry didn't know what they were selling from the back of the store, but that was always true. There were a couple of blokes that hung out in certain spots at night that seemed more than a little shady, and he was pretty sure that the “4 Play” “gentlemen's club” had upstairs rooms, but again, if you took the basic precautions, the Alley was reasonably safe. I wouldn't poke around too much at night, but that's true anywhere.

At any rate the Shadowed Drow, like many of the other stores on Knockturn Alley, looked like any other wizarding store, other than the products sold. According to Elke, most human wizards had little use or respect for charms, which were much like solid potions that were activated and carried on one's person, rather than eaten. They were a very different sort of magic than wizards used, and were generally created by true witches, like Elke, in a slow, exacting process involving the inherent magic of the ingredients in addition to that of the witch. Also like potions, those ingredients could be really icky.

Unlike potions, they were associated strongly with the non-humans, and so frequently overlooked by the Ministry of Magic. Because of this, and because the non-human authorities were much less subject to public opinion than the Ministry, charms were generally not nearly as closely regulated as similar potions might be. Non-humans also, for the most part, had more respect and tolerance for charms that required the still beating heart of a rabbit or stoat than the humans had, and a much narrower definition of what they considered 'dark.' As such, though the Shadowed Drow had the very sterile feel of a well-organized pharmacy, some of the products sold were truly odd, and once he got inside, Harry quickly found himself wandering the isles, curiosity overcoming his actual mission for a good fifteen minutes.

Half of the store was dedicated to reagents, including a good selection of small animals. All the ingredients were carefully sorted by category, then organized alphabetically, then separated by quality. The labels were meaningless to Harry, who could only note in bemusement that the animals were sorted into the categories and alphabetical order just like all the other ingredients – mice and minks right next to mistletoe- rather than put in their own category.

Another section of the store was dedicated to pre-made household charms, including cosmetic charms, anti-stain and anti-wrinkle charms for clothing, and over-the-counter medicinals. These, too, were organized by category, and clearly labeled by function and duration. Besides that, there was a counter for prescribed medicinal charms, and another for the special orders that according to Bighana made up more than half the store's total income.

Finally, though, Harry remembered that he'd come with a mission, and returned to the pre-made charms. The most common were the cosmetics – charms to hide blemishes or marks on the skin, or to change one's eye color, or make one's nose look a little smaller. Harry didn't immediately see anything to help him look human, though, and he finally walked up to the special orders counter and addressed a short, roundish, apparently middle-aged man with horns that followed the curve of his head all the way back.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes? You need something?”

“Yes. Somebody at Wings 'N Things sent me here for disguise charms, but I can't find them in the pre-made section. Do they need to be made custom, or what?”

“Nah, they don't need to be made custom, they're just expensive. We keep'em behind the counter so they don't walk. What're you looking for?”

“Ones to make me look human.”

“You'll need several, then. What do you wanna hide? Just your wings and horns, or the markings and hair as well?”

“Just the first two, I guess, and the teeth. The markings pass as strange tattoos.”

“Hmm. Teeth're a problem – I've tried making charms for that, but I haven't found how to attach them. The mouth's just too wet. I suggest you try Brews, Bats, and Beyond. They might have a potion that'll do the trick. I can help you with the horns and wings, though. What form do you want?”

Brews, Bats, and Beyond? Really? And what does he mean by form? “Err...what forms do they come in?”

“You've got a couple of options. For your horns, you can either get your charm as a paste or as a solid. The paste you apply to the horn – thoroughly– before you activate it. The solid you tie or glue onto your head or the horn itself. Closer is better. For the wings, most tie a charm to the hook at the top joint, but it can be also worn on the webbing in place of jewelry.”

“What's the difference?”

“For the horns, the paste is more reliable, but the solid more convenient. For the wings, the piercing is more reliable and more convenient, but requires that you get the webbing pierced, which some like just fine, but others won't do.”

Hmm. I don't know if I'm okay with that or not. “How long would the charms last?”

“The horns'd last longer than the wings. The wing charms would only last you between four and six hours, the piercings longer than the ties. The horns'll last you all day, regardless.”

“Okay, great. That's a lot better than I'd heard, actually.”

The man shot him a suspicious glance. “You came from Wings 'N Things?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” the man said, sounding offended, “of course they told you my charms wouldn't last for very long, trying to sell their fancy highbrow clothing. They think their charmed clothing can compete with real charms. And what happens if you want to take the clothing off, huh? You'd be screwed then, wouldn't you?”

“I suppose,” Harry said cautiously, but the man quickly interrupted him.

“Still, he did send you over here, so I'll do'em the favor and admit their stuff works well, in its own limited way. Tell Marley at Brews n' Bats I sent you over, okay? He owes me one.”

“Err, sure.” I wonder what they can do for my other stuff? The charm for my horns sounds damned inconvenient. “Where do I go if I decide to go for the piercing?”

“There's a tattoo place down the east end of the Alley, on the right hand side. It's called Outcast's Art. Don't ever go outside the Alley for piercings, by the way, if you don't already know. They're bound to mess up and pierce the edge.”

Harry winced. “I wasn't considering that, but thanks for the advice. Why's it Outcast's Art, do you know?”

The man gave him a strange look. “You a switch?”

“Yeah, how did you guess?”

“You're one of us, and you've found your way here, but don't know our name for the place. You're on Outcast's Alley. It's famous all over Europe as a place where non-humans are welcome and don't have to pretend.”

Outcast's Alley. That's appropriate. He'd not been on Knockturn Alley long, but he'd already come to see it as a sanctuary as much as a place of exile. He could be himself here, and not hide. As much as he looked forward to getting his clothes and his charms so he could go to Diagon Alley, he no longer planned to move from Harlot's Inn to the Leaky Cauldron. Knockturn Alley was more interesting, and he felt like he was making real friends as he never had at the Cauldron.

“Outcast's Alley,” he said, smiling, “I like it.”

After the charms shop, Harry went directly to the potions place the store owner had recommended. Standing just inside the door, Harry noticed immediately that it was a lot more cheerful-looking than the potions supplier on Diagon Alley. From the decorations, it was one of the stores on the Alley that played at being dark, in the most obvious sense possible. It looked more like it was decorated for Halloween than like it was truly dark. It had obviously-fake bats hanging from the rafters, and strings of black garland around the bannister on the stairs, and lanterns with colorful flames hanging from the ceiling. The most obviously creepy thing were the jars full of (hopefully fake) eyeballs that were magicked to watch you move around the store. Once Harry started to wander the isles, though, he was interested to see that many of the actual products were, well...borderline. Of course it's the most innocent-looking stores that sell the unicorn blood, he reflected. You wouldn't want to advertise darkness like Bourgin and Burkes does if you were actually selling illegal substances.

Harry didn't even consider reporting them. For one thing, for all he knew the unicorn blood had been acquired legitimately, without actually killing the unicorn. It wasn't unheard-of, and Harry had learned that there were many products that had as many legitimate uses as dark ones. For another thing, you didn't report a creature to the human authorities. There were ways to get justice in the creature community, but going to the Ministry was not one of them. As far as Harry could figure out, it was all complicated and depended on the species what authority you went to, and the different authorities negotiated among themselves how to deal with conflicts in the various laws. He did know the authorities were generally quite cooperative with each other, and that there was a loose hierarchy, but that was the limit of his understanding of the subject. If he was honest, he wasn't that interested. The actual laws weren't that different, after all.

Looking around, Harry realized that, nicely decorated as the place was, it wasn't nearly as well organized as the charms shop had been. He'd need, as usual, to ask at the counter. There wasn't anybody there, though, so after a moment Harry called out.

“Excuse me?”

Harry heard somebody moving around in the room behind the counter, but they didn't emerge right away, so he decided to call again.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

“Sorry!” A girl's voice called, “I'll be right with you!”

A couple minutes later a cheerful-looking vampire in pink-and-black “goth” gear flounced out of the back of the store chewing bubblegum.

“Sorry 'bout that! It's just so mixed up back there you have no idea! How can I help you?”

Wow she's annoying. She reminded him of Lavender Brown, somehow. “The guy over at the Shadowed Drow said to come here for a potion to hide my teeth.”

“Yeah that's right. They can't do them 'cause they won't stick. Why they would even try when they can just use a potion is beyond me. Anyway, they're back in the corner there,” she said, pointing a finger to the left of the door, still chewing her gum, “just grab whatever you need.”

“How long'll they last?”

She blew a bubble and popped it in her mouth. “A week? A little more? Depends on the batch, really. Your fangs'll tingle about half an hour before it wears off, though, so it'll warn you. If you want them to wear off beforehand, we carry antidotes to just about all our stuff. Those should be in the box right next to them.”

“How about potions to hide my wings and horns?”

“We have them, but to be honest you'd be better off sticking with charms, if you're gonna be on the potion for your teeth. Marley would kill me for saying it, but it's not healthy to be on too many potions at once, and the Shadowed Drow has some pretty good stuff. I get my makeup charms there.”

“Okay...”

“Oh! And you know the the clothing store down the way – Wings 'N Things? They're probably the best choice for hiding your wings long-term. Everybody knows the charm for it doesn't last worth a dang. They'll tell you that the things last four to six hours, but it's always on the four end of things. 'Course, you might just want it for an errand or two, if you live here, so I guess they're not completely useless.”

She actually seems to know her stuff. Who knew? She was also the first to give him information about the other two stores without sounding overly resentful. “Great, thanks,” Harry said, moving back to the section she'd indicated. He found what he was looking for relatively easily, and checked the expiration dates. All of them would expire in around two years. Figuring that he could come back at Christmas, if not before, he grabbed eight vials of inky purple potion, and two vials of the lighter purple antidote. He then realized that if he actually needed to use the antidote, he'd also need to retake the potion later, and grabbed two more of the dark potion. Cradling them carefully in his two hands, he brought the twelve small vials to the counter.

“Two hundred and sixty Galleons, five sickles, and twenty knuts, please.”

Harry stared at her for a second, then pressed his thumb to the pad. Note to self, he thought, reeling. Potions are bloody expensive. Two hundred and sixty Galleons for twelve potions meant they'd cost him about 20 Galleons* each- as much as his custom charmed shirts had cost. He felt dumb for not checking the price before bringing them to the counter, but then, what would he have done? He needed the potions, and that was it. Good thing I can afford it, I guess. The girl at the counter hadn't even blinked, which indicated that the price was not unusual. I should ask the charms owner about pricing before I decide whose stuff to use.

“Oh, the bloke at the charms shop wanted me to tell Marley that he sent me over. He says Marley owes him.”

“Not anymore, he doesn't. I sent you back to the charms place, after all. Now it's Wings 'N Things who owes us.”

“True,” Harry answered, amused by the weird relationship the three competing stores seemed to have, “thank you.”

When Harry got back to the Inn, he was immediately approached by Madame Harlot, who informed him that he had a visitor, and that he should go find her in room four, where the werewolf had been staying. When he asked her who it was, she just smiled and told him to go find out. He bared a canine at her briefly and climbed the stairs to knock on the door of room four.

When the door opened, Harry stepped back, eyes wide. A young woman stood in the doorway, cradling a mostly-naked baby on one arm. Behind her, and extending above her head, was a pair of dark, bat-like wings. Her arms from shoulder to elbow were covered with dense, black markings, subtly different from his, but similar. She had no horns, but her ears were pointed like his, and she had ankle-length, dark purple curly hair. Her eyes were a strangely bright blue, and merry, like she laughed at him, though all that showed on her face was a gentle half-smile that left her canines half-covered. He blushed, realizing that he was staring. But she was one of his race, and pretty. Gorgeous, more like. Bloody beautiful. He blushed even deeper, and her smile widened. Finally she spoke.

“Harry, do come in.”

His eyes widened and he looked around quickly before whispering to her, “how did you know?” He'd been very careful all week to keep his hair over his scar. It wasn't hard to do, with his hair as long as it was.

“Come in. I will explain.” Her voice had a note of command, and he finally acquiesced, following her into the room and sitting where she indicated. As he might've predicted, the room was much less awkward than his own. It actually had room enough for a desk and a chair, for one thing.

“I have been looking for you,” she said once they were both seated, “your landlady told me your name.”

Oh, thought Harry, relieved, she doesn't really know who I am. “Why?” asked Harry, worried.

“Can you not guess?”

“You're like me,” Harry said breathlessly, “you're big fae.”

She smiled. “You have been talking to the little folk. We are Greater Fae, specifically Unseelie Sidhe. But yes, that is, in part, why I have sought you out.”

“And the rest?”

“You were the one.” She said simply. “I am relieved to have found you.”

“How long have you been looking for me?” Harry wondered. I've only even been a non-human for five days! “And more pertinently, the one? What do you mean, the one?”

She met his eyes, suddenly solemn. “Five days. I-” she bit her lip. “There's no time. Here.”

With no more warning than that, she thrust her baby into Harry's arms, forcing him to juggle a little bit to figure out how, exactly, he was supposed to hold the tiny thing. All he knew about babies was not to let their head loll. And no human could tell him how to cradle a fae child without squishing the tiny, underformed wings, though he figured it out relatively quickly once he had to. Why does she? he? have wings already when I didn't get mine until I was fifteen? And why am I holding her, now?

“Her name is Moriyana-Lliannanre-Ardbeijahn-She. She is five months old.”

“Mori-what?”

She smiled, sadly this time. “Mo-ree-yana Le-liann-rey Ard-bei-jahnd-Shey.”

“Moriyana?”

“Moriyana-She. The 'Lliannanre' refers to me, as her mother. My name is Lliannan-She. The 'Ardbeijahnd' refers to her late father, Beijahnd-She.”

Harry smiled, then looked down at the tiny, purple-eyed baby. “Hey, Mo.” When he looked up again, the woman had tears in her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“Here, you will need this,” she said, putting a book on his lap. “It is the best source for information on how our society works.”

“Wha-”

“Oh, and these.” She reached a hand under her hair to her ear, then reached out quickly to grip his ear. He yelped at a sudden, sharp, pain, and brought a hand up to his ear to feel two small hoops lodged in the cartilage of his upper ear. “What the heck? I never asked- Please, what is going on?”

And finally she met his eyes. “I am dying. I have no more time, and I know no one better to take her. She must be with you, do you understand? If you give her to someone else, she will die.”

For a second, Harry's mind refused to process what she'd just said, but then it came back online. A horrified understanding came over Harry, and he looked back down at the baby, who promptly gripped his hair in a fist and brought it to her mouth. “Take her? You mean like, take her, take her? I can't- I'm fifteen! I don't know the first thing of what to do with a baby! She's cute, okay, but I – I don't even have parents! I can't-”

“You are an orphan. Now, so is she.”

“No, no she's not. You're fine. You've got to take her to somebody else- I-” he pulled his now-slimy hair out of the child's mouth. “She's – she's – I'll be totally unfit, do you understand? I can't do this!”

Lliannan moved to lean on one hand. “My family will contact you, soon – the earrings mark you as one of us. They will tell you much that I cannot.”

He looked down at the baby in his arms. “You've got to be joking! Did you not hear me when I said I was fifteen? I'm sorry, okay, but I can't do this! You're insane!” He looked up and realized suddenly that Lliannan was no longer listening. She lay on the bed at a strange angle, hair spread about her, to all evidence dead. He'd not even heard her fall. As he stared blankly at the body, a sense of vague desolation growing in his chest, he felt a tug on his hair. He looked down to see his hair once again trapped in the small, slimy fist of a very alive baby girl.

“Stop that,” he whispered, terrified. “I can't be your Dada, you understand? I'm a fifteen-year-old kid. I can barely take care of myself.”

Moryana- Lliannanre-something-or-other just gave a big, mushy smile, and went back to chewing on his hair.

“Don't you get it, you little monster?” He said softly, running a hand over her impossibly soft, tight, curls, “Your mum's dead. You can't be so- so happy.” She just gurgled and kicked her legs a couple times, and Harry readjusted her more firmly in his arms. “Weird little monkey. I don't even like babies.”

Given no other choice, though, and suddenly finding himself alone in a room with a baby and a corpse, he carefully transferred the peaceful baby to his right arm so he could pick up the book with his left, and walked up to his bedroom. He'd no sooner put the book on his desk, though, that he realized he had a lot to do.

Food. Diapers. Even if I'm just keeping her for a couple of days, I at least need those. Oh fuck I don't even know what she eats. I don't even know hardly what I eat! Umm...no meat...or maybe just no cooked meat. No eggs. Umm...fish. Bread. Veggies. Can she even eat solid food yet? No cow's milk. Oh shit. If she can't have solid food, and she can't have cow's milk, what can she eat? I'm a guy! I can't-yeah. Gotta find her food.

Hurrying back downstairs, Harry reluctantly reentered the room with Lliannan's body to look around. The room was almost bare, but there were two small traveling bags next to the bedside table. The first was full of adult's clothing, but checking out the other, he hit jackpot – it was a clearly the baby's travel bag, and, not wanting to be in the room any longer than necessary, he grabbed the whole thing, discovering as he threw it over his shoulder that it somehow automatically arranged itself around his wings.

Back in his room, Harry put the baby gently on the bed and dug through the bag, discovering that it contained four diapers, several changes of baby clothing, including a soft hat and five pairs of socks, a bottle of labeled lotion, several clean, folded, washcloths, and what Harry guessed from his very limited experience was a changing pad. Unfortunately, there was no sign of a bottle anywhere. Keeping half his attention on the squirming infant next to him as he dug around, Harry noticed almost too late when what he'd figured was aimless wiggling turned into a roll, almost sending the baby off the bed. After Harry caught her, he found adrenaline racing through his system, speeding up his breathing and heart rate even as he tried to calm them. She's fine. She didn't fall. I'm an idiot. Don't put the baby down where she can roll off something. Duh.

Eventually he managed to calm down enough to think again, and immediately sat down on the bed, baby in his lap and head in his hands. This is insane. I can't take care of a baby. He had to find somebody else. Maybe Madame Harlot would know who to go to. Or the name of an orphanage, at least. He winced. Damnit, Lliannan, what am I supposed to do? How could you just hand your daughter to a complete stranger then- then just up and die? You didn't even look sick; you couldn't've held on a little longer? “The one?” What the hell is that supposed to mean? How many times do I have to tell people that I'm nothing special before it sticks? I can't do this! But the word orphanage resounded in his head with the same cold feeling he would normally associate with the word tomb or prison. The warm child in his arms had nothing to do with such places.

A whimpering sound drew his attention back to the baby in his lap just as her face started to screw up, and she started to cry, a keening, mewing, wailing sound that threw him into an abject panic.

Oh, my God, what did I do? “No, no no no please don't do that you were happy like two seconds ago please I'm sorry please you've gotta stop I can't think oh shit what do I do? Oh, great, Harry curse in front of the fucking baby please Mo what'd I do?”

Harry gathered the child up into his arms and against his chest, trying to remember reasons why a human baby might cry. Hungry tired bored cold just 'cause she's a baby and that's what they do. Oh, fuck what am I gonna do? He stood and held her and bounced her a little and rubbed her back between her wings and prayed. At long last, she stopped outright crying, but her face was still all tight and the sounds she made were no longer happy. What's wrong? Stressed, he was aware vaguely when he started chewing on his wrist, but didn't think too much on it, still trying to figure out what to do with the suddenly unhappy baby.

A sharp pain drew a gasp from him as his upper canine caught on the tender skin of the inside of his wrist and tore it open. Blood welled, and at the same moment the baby started wailing again and he was back to his frantic effort to make the noise go away. Please, please, please. Somewhere in the bouncing and the patting and the praying, she quieted, and started sucking on the side of his hand. He gently guided her to his wrist before realizing what he'd done. By the time his brain caught up enough to think it was weird, the baby was quietly, contentedly, sucking blood from the wound in his wrist. You have got to be kidding me.

But it was like his own wings and horns and marks: his human mind rebelled at what he was seeing, but he couldn't actually get grossed out. He was just relieved that he'd gotten her quiet. Maybe that was why I was chewing on my wrist, he realized. We're supposed to have instincts for these things, right? Maybe I can do this. He closed his eyes. I can't be that foolish. She's not a puppy, Harry. She's a baby, and you won't be able to even keep her alive, let alone healthy and happy. He did remember what Lliannan had said - “She must be with you...if you give her to someone else, she will die,” - but this was just not possible. I'll talk to Madame Harlot. She knows everyone, here. She'll know what to do.

When Harry got downstairs with the infant, however, Madame Harlot was talking quietly with Kahrn, and suddenly the room was way too small for the two of them. He held Mo closer as his lips drew back to fully expose his canines and a low growl ripped itself out of his throat. Kahrn looked up, eyes going from Harry's face to the child in his arms, and back, and Harry felt his snarls increase as he dropped into a crouch, fury roaring in his chest. The man raised both arms into the air.

“Easy, Harry. I'm going. I won't harm the little one. I'm gone.”

Harry watched warily, snarling the entire time, as the man eased across the bar room floor and out the front, Madame Harlot shouting after him, “I owe you one, Kahrn! Your stuff'll be at the Brokewinged Dove!”

Once he was gone, Harry started taking deep breaths, completely confused as to what had happened. He didn't think he'd ever been so furious, so quickly, in his life. It was like he'd lost all control. Belatedly, Kahrn's words came to him. I won't harm the little one. Was that the problem? Kahrn had taken one look at him and left, apparently knowing immediately that he was the problem. I owe him an apology, he realized. He couldn't regret Kahrn leaving – he didn't like him, and it was clear that one of them had to leave – but now that his brain was back online he realized that his reaction was completely unfounded.

“Sorry, Harlot,” Harry said finally, blushing. “I don't know what came over me.”

“Save it,” said Madame Harlot, “you've got a child, it was gonna happen.”

“Wha-”

“I' forgotten how bad the greater fae can be with elves,” said Bighana, coming out from the kitchen, “that were quite the show. No wonder the two of y' haven't gotten along.”

“Huh?”

“Y're some sort of greater fae. Kahrn's an elf. A bit like the weres and the vamps, are the greater fae an' the elves. So' species are worse than others, but it's quite co'on to have so' issues.”

That's right, Lliannan said I was greater fae. Unseelie sidhe, she called it. And we hate elves? Harry knew that weres and the vamps couldn't be civil to save their lives. If an inn on the Alley housed one or the other, they posted a sign warning the other species off. Harlot's Inn's sign was permanent, making Harry wonder who was the were, or if Madame Harlot just didn't like vamps.

“A' to that that everybo'y around here is careful with anybo'y that's got an infant, and you get why Kahrn left. It's just self-preservation; you're not the only one to react bad when they think their young are un'er threat. The rule around here is, anybo'y with a chil' gets priority, were or vamp, elf or fae.”

“I'm sidhe,” he said, gently running a hand over Mo's curls, “Mo's mum was, too. She didn't tell me much, though.”

“Unseelie sidhe?” Harlot asked, at the same time as Bighana asked, “why di' you say was?”

“She's dead,” Harry said quietly, once again feeling a sense of grief. I didn't even know her.

“I was wonderin' why you reacted like she was yours,” commented Harlot. “She is, isn't she?”

“No, Lliannan-She said I had to take her, but she's not mine. I don't know-what?”

The two women weren't listening to him, anymore, and just stared, literally open-mouthed. Finally, Bighana spoke up, her accent thick in her astonishment. “Di' y' say Lliannan-She?”

“Yeah...”

“an' she just hande' y' her chil'?”

“Yeah.”

“What else di' she give y'?”

“Umm...a book. Oh! And these,” he said, lifting his hair off the hoops in his upper ear.

Harlot was not the type to faint, but she was very white as she she inclined her head and upper body in a brief bow, and Bighana mirrored her. “You- Harry – your Highness. Allow me to offer my congratulations.”

“My- my whatness?”

“Harry-she,” Bighana took up gently, “y're the new heir to the Unseelie throne, dear.”

“The – I'm- I'm the what?”