August 5

Harry started to roll over before remembering the infant held to his chest. He groaned. Good Morning, Harry. The night had been...horrendous. He'd gotten tired and decided to go to sleep at around ten o'clock. An hour later, he was still tossing and turning, and Mo had woken up. He'd changed her diaper – which was soiled this time – and fed her, before putting her back in her crib, where she'd started to cry. He'd picked her up again, soothed her, held her, and put her back in the crib. That time she'd been more okay with being there, but when he'd gotten into bed, really tired this time, he'd found he still couldn't sleep. He'd kept looking over to the crib, making sure Mo was still there; was still breathing; was all right. Finally he'd rolled the crib over closer to the bed, and put one of the sides partially down so he could reach her easily, then finally stuck an arm through the bars to keep a hand on her. That had finally seemed to work, and he fell asleep. Only to wake up two hours later with his arm almost completely asleep. When it had woken up some, he'd lifted Mo out of the crib and settled her on his chest as before, his wings wrapped around the two of them. He'd fallen asleep before his head hit the pillow, only to wake up an hour later when Mo woke up and started crying. Once again, he'd fed her and changed her diaper before going back to bed.

Now it was eight AM, the sun was shining in his face from his window, and it felt like he hadn't slept at all. Well at least now I know I don't need a crib, he reflected morosely. Can't even fucking sleep without touching the fucking baby. Brilliant. He was also on his very last diaper. He had to get to a baby store today, which means he'd have to get the charms today as well. His clothes wouldn't be done until the next day. I should just get the dang piercing, he realized. More convenient and more reliable meant it was one less thing he'd have to worry about. Outcast's Art, he remembered.

Finally the sun in his face got irritating enough to motivate him to get up. “Come on, Mo,” he said as he rolled up. He looked down her tiny face, feeling bad when her eyelashes fluttered and she gripped tighter to his shirt. Oh sure, I feel bad for waking her up, he thought grumpily. Five months old and already a spoiled brat. He had to get her to release his shirt in order to change, and so gently pulled it free, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't fuss. He put her down gently on her stomach in the crib and grabbed a clean shirt quickly, growling when Mo started to fuss and kick. “Quiet you. I have to take care of me sometimes, too, you know.” But she continued to fuss as he threw on a pair of sweatpants and finally picked her up again. He changed her into the very last diaper and set of clothes – realizing as he did so that he had to get her clothes like he had to accommodate her wings – fed her, and was ready to go.

Bringing one of the tooth-disguise potions with him, and leaving everything else other than the diaper bag in the room, Harry left and walked directly to the charms shop, buying seven of the piercing charms and enough horn-balm to last until Christmas, though the price made him wince. Bloody hell has life gotten expensive all of a sudden. From the charms shop he went directly to Outcast's Art, ignoring his nervousness as he approached the counter where one of the foot-tall Little Folk sat filling out some sort of chart with a tiny quill.

“Can I help you?” asked the shop-keep, flying up from the desk. “Magical tattoos are on sale today, and we're the only place in London where you can get them done by a foot-tall.”

Foot-tall? They're named by size? What were Bur and Pin, then, six-inches? Shaking the thought out of his head, Harry asked curiously, “what's the difference between a magical tattoo and a muggle one?”

“The magic!” the fairy said enthusiastically.

“Yes, I did guess that much,” Harry answered patiently, “but what does the magic do to the tattoo?”

The 'foot-tall' smiled, and Harry realized that he was being laughed at. Half-annoyed, half-amused, Harry defended himself. “Look, I'm muggle-raised and a switch. A little sympathy, please?”

The tiny shop-keep laughed, but finally answered, “they move around a bit. We can do muggle-type, too, if you prefer.”

“N-no that's okay,” Harry answered, “I'm not here for a tattoo. You do piercings, too, right?”

“Oh,” said the shop-keep, sounding disappointed, “yeah. But are you sure you don't want a tattoo? You get an additional discount with your piercing! And we've got the best tattoo artist anywhere! Ask anyone.”

“I don't have the time,” Harry explained, hefting Mo up higher on his chest, “but I really need the piercing for a disguise charm.”

“Oh very well,” said the foot-tall, seeming suddenly cross, “I've just never done one of the big fae before, and then you just walk in and all you want is a boring piercing.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry said, a little confused, then perked up. What did he have to lose? He was going to be explaining his markings as tattoos, so it wasn't like another one would get him in more trouble. “I'll consider it for later, but for now I gotta go buy diapers, and I need the piercing to do it.”

“Gotcha,” said the foot-tall, wings drooping briefly, “Alright then. Where do you want it?”

“Wing membrane,” Harry said, “but I'm otherwise not sure. What's standard?”

“Well we won't pierce closer than an inch from the edge of the wing or from a bone, but otherwise anything goes.”

Harry unfolded a wing and wrapped it around in front of his body, studying the membrane carefully. “What do you think, Mo?” he asked, shifting her so she was facing out and he could hold her with one arm. She promptly leaned up against his arm, bending forward to reach both hands out towards his wing. He shifted it closer to her and she grabbed the edge in a tiny fist, immediately starting to pull the whole thing towards her mouth.

“Gentle,” he warned her, but she had no fingernails to speak of and the grip didn't hurt. She'd grabbed the edge about a foot from the big hook at the top joint of his right wing. It seemed as good a place as any, so he told the shop-keep, “right there, please.”

The shop-keep smiled, and Harry had to fight back a blush. So what I had the baby choose where it goes? It's not like I have any clue. He was spared further embarrassment, though, when the tattoo artist asked him, “You mentioned a disguise charm. Do you have it with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, reaching into the bag he'd brought from the charms store and bringing out a little envelope with the stud while Mo sucked happily on the edge of his wing. “Here.” He handed the charm to the foot-tall, who slid the stud out of the envelope before saying, “alright, here's what we've gotta do. I'm going to grab the membrane and use a spell. It'll heal up instantly, and then I'll put in the stud. Thing is, I gotta get really close to you. You going to be alright with me that close to the little?”

Harry was tempted, momentarily, to give the man a glib 'yes', but then realized that it was something he'd have to really consider, given his reaction to Kahrn the day before. So far it had only been Kahrn that had really set him off near Mo, and that had to do with species tensions. The foot-tall was fae. That should be okay, right?

“I think so. I've – I've only had her for a day,” he admitted.

The smaller fae gave him a curious look but didn't ask, and Harry finally offered, “maybe if you just move slowly? I'll tell you if it's bothering me.”

Luckily, the little fae's approach didn't set off any alarms, and after a second of pain and a little maneuvering, Harry's charm was in place and he could turn to look at it in the mirror. Uninvoked, the charm just looked like a large stud – too big to be an earring, but otherwise just a bright spot of silver that showed up sharply against the matte black of his wing. Surreptitiously lifting his hair off the hoops in his ear, Harry found that the silver in his wing only drew attention to the silver of the hoops. Funny, he realized. Mo's are gold. Lliannan had taken her earrings off and given them directly to him, so he knew it wasn't because he was somehow different from her. Maybe just personal preference? At any rate he was glad for it – gold might've looked trashy on a stud the size of the one in his wing. The silver looked cool. Dropping his hair down over his earrings, Harry smiled at himself ruefully in the mirror. Why should I care if it looks cool? It's not like anybody's gonna see it. Then he realized. Sure they will. Unlike the potions and the shirts, the charms could be turned 'off', extending their life considerably and allowing him to show his wings and horns at will where the shirts and potions he was getting wouldn't.

Wanting to do it where he could look in a mirror and check everything, Harry grabbed one of the pots of horn-balm out of the bag from the charms store and carefully applied the thick gray paste to his horns. He then drank the tooth-disguise potion and invoked both charms before looking himself in the mirror.

He still didn't look particularly human, he realized. The most obvious signs were gone, but his ears were still pointed at the tips, and his “tattoos” really didn't look like tattoos, at least to anybody who knew how to look. His hair was really too black. In the sun, it would gleam blue and people would hopefully assume he'd dyed it, but in the artificial light of the store, it just looked strange. It was also down to his waist – something that he'd forgotten to check since he'd gotten to Knockturn Alley. I wonder how tall I am, he mused. He knew his growth had finally slowed because his legs had stopped hurting, but he didn't know how tall he'd gotten in the meantime. He wasn't that much taller than he'd been when he'd left the Dursleys, but he suspected that he'd continued to grow at least some. Some like what? Two inches? Four? In a week? My definition of 'some' has changed a bit, lately. And he was strong. Around Outcast's Alley, he was almost a weakling, but he suspected he'd have to be a bit careful once he got back into contact with humans, especially with his wings. He was still really clumsy with them, and tended to break furniture if he moved too quickly. Harlot had been nice enough about it, in her own way - laughing her ass off and then informing him that he was paying for the bar stool - but he'd quickly learned to keep them folded.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized another thing. If it weren't for his scar, a casual observer would never recognize him for Harry Potter. They'd see the weird hair, and the tats, especially the ones on his face, and they'd never see him. Add to that the subtle changes that removing his mother's fancy glamour had wrought, and he didn't look anything like 'just Harry.' I wonder if the charms store has something to cover up the scar. That would be really convenient. He could walk down Diagon Alley in broad daylight and nobody would know that the 'Harry' buying baby supplies was in fact Harry Potter.

I might want to avoid 'Harry Potter' being seen, too, if I don't want to lead Dumbledore back here, he realized. On the Alley, he just covered his scar and his earrings, and was Harry the switch. On Diagon Alley, he'd cover the wings, teeth, scar, and horns, and be 'Harry', the tall, tattooed, long-haired stranger. Nowhere would anyone see him as Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. And shouldn't, he realized. As soon as anybody realizes who I am, it'll be in the papers that I went all rebellious and got some girl pregnant. He'd want to be under Dumbledore's wing before that got out, despite any feelings he might currently harbor about the man. At the very least, he'd want to explain to his friends first. Before or after I explain that I'm People and a bastard and a prince? He shook his head. He had enough stress as it was without borrowing trouble. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

When he'd freed himself from his thoughts, Harry looked down to find Mo sucking on his hair. “You know that's really gross, right?” he asked her softly. She gurgled, adding another layer of drool to the hair tangled in her fist. He scowled at her. “I ought to get you a chew toy or something. You like rawhide? Ow! Hey!”

He turned her towards his chest and carefully removed his hair from her fist, throwing it over his shoulders. She promptly gripped his tee-shirt in both grimy hands, spreading slime all over the soft, navy-blue cotton. He gripped the back of her head gently in one hand, making sure her head stayed securely against his chest, then impulsively pressed a soft kiss to her soft curls. “Little monster.”

When he looked up, he once again saw the shop-keep watching, and blushed hotly. The shopkeep smiled, clearly amused, and Harry bared his now-human teeth briefly before asking, “So how much do I owe you?”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

After the tattoo place, Harry went back to the charms place to pick up the charm to cover his scar. As he'd hoped, it was a paste, and a relatively cheap one. Thus disguised, Harry was finally ready to go back to Diagon Alley. Once again removing his hair from Mo's mouth, Harry left the shop. When he got back to where he'd entered Outcast's Alley the first time, he stared out for a moment, hesitating leaving like he'd hesitated entering the week before. He'd only been on the Alley for a week, but he'd gotten used to the anonymity he'd gained. Nobody on the Alley remarked on his appearance, but even 'cleaned up' a bit he looked strange for Diagon Alley. He wouldn't be noticed as Harry Potter, but he'd be noticed. And that was even if he weren't carrying a tiny, winged baby with him. He'd quickly decided against getting the charms for her. For one thing, he was not about to pierce her little fragile wings, and for another he wasn't sure if the magic itself would be good for her.

He'd asked the concierge at the Bloody Mary for directions, and so once he entered Diagon Alley it didn't take him long to find the 'Little Angels' baby store. The place was wayyyy bigger than he had expected; almost intimidating in its size. How much crud do babies really need? Completely unsure where to even start, Harry approached the customer service counter where a very average-looking, gray-haired woman sat doing her nails a hideous bruise-purple color.

“Err...excuse me?” Harry asked as Mo squealed and leaned away from him towards the counter, reaching for a colorful quill. “No, no, no,” he said, gently grabbing her reaching hand. “That's not food.” Of course it's not food. Jeez I sound like somebody's mother.

“Can I help you?” asked the woman.

“Well...yes, actually. At least I hope so. Umm...I recently...adopted...Moriyana here and it was on kind of short notice...I'm totally unprepared,” he finally admitted.

The woman stared at him, looking up and down with obvious skepticism. “How old are you?” she finally asked.

Harry's temper flared. “None of your business. That's the situation. Can you help me or not?”

The woman grabbed a sheet of parchment from behind the counter and slapped it down in front of him, seeming miffed. “Here's a list of some basic supplies for new parents. It'll start you off, at least.”

Harry looked at the list, eyes wide. How am I gonna even fit everything in the hotel room? This was going to be a long trip. Then he remembered the most urgent item on his list.

“Umm...could I just start with diapers? I'm gonna need to change her, and I'm out.”

The woman looked up at him again, a little more sympathy on her face. “You really don't have anything, do you?”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I started out with four diapers, a diaper pad, some washcloths, three changes of clothing, and a tube of lotion.”

“And that was-?”

“Yesterday,” Harry answered, “look, I know I'm young. She's the child of...of a friend. Her parents are dead. I didn't have much of a choice, and I'm doing my best.”

At that moment, Mo twisted towards Harry, giving the shop-keep a good look at her tiny wings.

Harry turned Mo to face him as she wanted before looking up at the woman, seeing her looking at him with wide eyes. For a moment Harry thought it would be a problem, but then she said, “Interesting friends you've got.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah, I guess.”

She gave him a small smile. “Alright. Look, since it sounds like the diapers are the most urgent, why don't you go grab a pack? You can go ahead and break it open and change her, and we'll ring everything up at the end.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, relieved. “I'll do that.”

After that, the trip went relatively easily. Well, easily for a shopping trip that was supposed to prepare him for caring for a 5-month-old in a single trip. The list was long: self-cleaning washcloths, both wet and dry, an infant-sized bathtub, soft, baby-sized bath towels, special soap, special shampoo, tiny nail-clippers, a whole set of bottles and bottle nipples (he wasn't about to explain to the assistant why he didn't need them, and for all he knew he could give her another type of blood), various blankets, piles of diapers, a “Moses Basket” (which turned out to be a portable carrier-thingy with handles that Mo could sleep in), a highchair...

There were a couple of things that the woman suggested that Harry refused. He decided not to bother with a crib, though he did get a pad for the floor that had a rod for a mobile that sang softly and spun little plushy horsies around in a circle. Hopefully she could play and he could work. He also refused the myriad noisy toys and stuffed animals she suggested, buying instead some easily-cleaned plastic and wooden toys that she could safely chew on. At the end of the trip, though, he ended up buying one goofy-looking stuffed hippo. Mo had reached for it, making a loud squeal Harry had identified as one of her 'happy noises', and he'd grabbed it. “And that is it,” he told her. “At this rate my hotel room is going to look like a daycare center.” She just squealed some more and grabbed his hair. He freed it and handed her one of the plastic chew-rings he'd bought.

“Do you want to buy some hair-ties or clips while you're here?” the assistant asked.

“She doesn't have enough hair,” he answered. And I am NOT giving her pigtails. That's my limit on the 'Daddyness,' thank you very much.

“I mean for you. It seems to get in your way a lot, and you obviously don't want to cut it, why not pull it back?”

Harry looked at her. He'd been using his hair to cover his scar and earrings, but a low pony-tail or braid would still cover the earrings, and he had the charms now, for the scar. “Sure, yeah.”

And so he finally left the store with his hair secured low on his neck in a thick braid. He'd bought enough stuff that the delivery to his hotel was free, and so he was able to walk out carrying nothing but a newly fed-and-changed Mo, her chew-ring, and his newly-refilled diaper bag.

He had originally intended to go straight back to the hotel, but on the way home he passed Flourish and Blotts and realized that, though he didn't have his book-lists for fifth year yet, he could buy the books from fourth year that he needed to get a start on his summer assignments. And I'm going to do this...when? Still, he'd like to at least try, and he did have a month. He entered the familiar bookshop with a smile. “See, Mo?” he said, “someday we'll come in for the first year textbooks for you.” And wasn't that a scary thought. Ten years? Really? By the time she's eleven I'll be twenty-six! And like when he thought of the Dursleys or of the royalty chasing him, he shook his head and focused himself back on the here-and-now. He really didn't have the time or energy to worry about much else.

He found the Hogwarts textbooks quickly, and grabbed the books that he'd need for his assignments – Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology. He would have left then, but his attention was caught by a section of the store called “Magical Creatures and Nonhuman Beings.” That would be me, as designated by the Ministry, Harry guessed. Maybe they could tell him something about the sidhe? There was clearly a taboo against writing about other of the People in the People world, but he already knew that the humans didn't respect that. They'd studied werewolves and vampires in Defense, after all.

The magical creatures section was organized into smaller sections by species – werewolves had their own category, for example, as did vampires, and there were sections labeled 'horselike', 'catlike' and 'doglike' beings. Interestingly, there was no category for the fae. This was interesting because, according to Madame Harlot, the fae were the biggest category of the People. Maybe the humans don't recognize that distinction? At any rate, there was a section for 'fairies', and Harry went there first. He looked up 'sidhe' in about 10 different books before realizing the the humans probably had a different word for whatever he was. He started just flipping through the books, and finally came up with something approximating his own appearance in a book called, “Magical Beasts and Beings”. It was labeled a “dark fairy,” and the initial description was relatively correct:

The dark fairies are the biggest of the fairies. The males average 6'2” in height, the females 5'8”. Their most obvious feature is the huge, dark-colored, bat-like wings that extend from their shoulder-blades. Also obvious are the dark markings on their arms and shoulder-blades. These markings lighten as the fairy ages, and can be almost any hue. Other features include horns, sharp, dog-like canines on top and bottom, long, thick, hair, and pointed ears.

Not too bad, Harry thought. I didn't know that the marks lighten. Lliannan wasn't that much older than I am, then. Of course, he didn't know how long he might live, and therefore how fast or slow he'd age. Strange thought.

So the description wasn't too bad. Thing was, whoever had done the picture was clearly not the same person as had done the description. Either that, or I look really strange, Harry realized. The “fairy” in the image was ugly: huge and over-muscled, with bright-green marks on his arms that looked more like some sort of warpaint than anything natural and coordinated with its weird, glowing eyes. Its horns were huge, and Harry could only hope that that was another inaccuracy in the picture, rather than his future. Its ears were inhumanly long, and its wings were tattered. It looked...evil. Dark fairy, Harry reminded himself. The ministry probably thinks we are evil. But no, that didn't make sense. Harlot had said that the Unseelie court was negotiating with the ministry over the status of the werewolves, and that human government officials would recognize his earrings. The ministry had to know that the Sidhe weren't evil, or they wouldn't be working with them, right? So maybe it's a government secret or something?

Pushing the thought aside, Harry brought his attention back to the text, and almost immediately found his lips drawing back from his teeth in a snarl.

Dark fairies are smart, strong, aggressive, and extremely dangerous. Researchers attempting to study the species in captivity have known to be ripped limb from limb by even the female of the species.

Well, duh, Harry thought, trying to quiet the furious snarls that wanted to rip themselves from his throat, you captured a woman and her child and put them in a cage and promptly died. What a bloody surprise. Hell, try it with a human woman sometime.

In addition, the fairies have large, sharp, canines which they employ frequently in their daily life in order to assuage their blood-lust.

Or in order to feed the baby, Harry reflected, smiling, before remembering. Blood lust? What blood lust? That's a total lie!

Little else is known about this illusive species, though rumors indicate that they may have some governmental system centered in Eastern Europe.

Eastern Europe, Harry thought. Brilliant. There is no WAY I'm moving to Siberia. Not. Happening. Shutting the book with a snap, Harry put it back on the shelf. He'd've kept it for information on other species of fae if he'd thought he could trust any of the information in it, but it was clearly a load of crap.

On a whim, Harry pulled the book back out and flipped around until he found a small, dragon-fly-winged “fairy” that looked vaguely like Pin and Bur. Sure enough, the information on them was crap, too. According to the book, the fairies spent their time pollinating magical blossoms as they went about eating the nectar. That might've been true at one point, but Pin and Bur had been perfectly comfortable in London, and as happy drinking fruit-juice and honey as flower nectar. Certainly they had better things to do with their time then going from flower to flower like bees or butterflies. Glad to have the confirmation that the book was useless – the size of the horns in the picture and the reference to 'blood lust' had worried him – he once again put the book away. At least now he knew the human word for what he was. Using it to look up information in the other books didn't gain him anything, though – they were all the same. Then Harry had a thought. Hagrid chose the textbooks they used for his Care of Magical Creatures class. Surely anything he chose would hold fewer human prejudices against the People?

This thought in mind, Harry went back to the section with the Hogwarts textbooks, and found what he was looking for in a cage in the corner – a single, somewhat beat-up copy of the Monstrous book of Monsters. Harry frowned at the title, then realized something. Hagrid taught Care of Magical Creatures. They'd never been taught anything about any sentient beings in the class. Damn.

It was at this point that Mo decided that she'd been patient enough for one day, and started to cry, drawing dirty looks from everyone in the store other than one middle-aged woman. He bounced her, and cuddled her, and shushed her, but nothing seemed to work, and he finally decided that he had to leave. Harry carried his Hogwarts schoolbooks up to the desk to pay for them, apologized for Mo, and left the store.

By the time Harry got back to the hotel, it was two in the afternoon, he was exhausted, and Mo was no longer outright crying, but still fussing. Since he'd fed and changed her before leaving Little Angels, he had to figure she was tired. He hoped so: if she'd sleep, maybe he could, too. He hadn't eaten, but she had, and he really couldn't care less. He got up to his hotel room, dropped the bag of books on the floor, removed his shoes and jeans, and curled up on the bed on his side, Mo in his arms, wings wrapped around them both. It wasn't long before they were both asleep.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When Harry woke up again, it was to a tapping on the window. Mo was still sound asleep, and after a moment of indecision, during which the owl-taps got more and more frequent and less and less discrete, Harry gripped her carefully to him and rolled to put his feet on the floor, and finally stood. He then walked blearily over to the window and let the owls in. The first two owls didn't bother, though, and instead just dropped the slip of parchment and letter they carried onto the floor and left.

Snooty creatures, Harry thought, bending over carefully to pick up the slip of paper and envelope with one hand. The first was a simple note informing him that his purchases had arrived, and that he should notify the desk when he wanted them brought to his room. The other was a simple sealed envelope with 'Harry Potter, the Bloody Mary Hotel' written on the front in a strange hand. The third owl was Hedwig, and she was much more polite, carrying her two letters over and perching on the back of his desk chair. Walking over to the crib, he set Mo gently down and went to check on Hedwig. She seemed to have weathered the journey just fine, so he took the letters, sat down at the desk, and opened it.

Dear Harry,

Where the bloody hell ^heck are you, Harry? Dumbledore says he's looking for you, but you won't tell him where you are. Why the hell ^heck not? Why do you want to be alone? We miss you, mate! Grr Hermione keeps changing everything I write. Okay Hermione's gonna write next.

Harry, what are you doing? Don't you know it's dangerous? And you're worrying everybody. You can't just go wandering off someplace on your own. Stop being ridiculous and tell Dumbledore where you are. Anyway, we're worried and we miss you, Hermione and Ron.

Harry reread the letter once, unsure whether to be annoyed or touched. Hermione could be such a know-it-all! She didn't know what he was dealing with, what right did she have to tell him what he should do? And she made it sound like he'd just left the Dursleys' on a whim, or for fun, or something. Maybe Dumbledore didn't tell them? Or maybe he doesn't know? That angered him, too. Dumbledore didn't apparently care that he'd been locked in his room. It seemed likely that he wouldn't bother to ask his relatives why he'd left. Shaking his head, Harry got a piece of parchment and wrote out his reply:

Ron and Hermione:

I'm sorry that I've worried you, but I'm just fine. You'll have to trust that I have my reasons for not coming back. And I find it a little unlikely that Dumbledore is all that worried, considering it took him 5 days to even figure out that I was gone. And seriously, I'm fine. I mean, how likely is Voldemort to find me if Dumbledore can't? Harry.

Sealing that letter, Harry opened the next, recognizing the script as coming from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

While it is true that it would be dangerous for you to reveal your location in a letter, it is far more dangerous that you remain alone. I apologize if you are angry with me, my boy, but it is imperative that you return to us. Please, where are you? Signed, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

The 'please' bothered Harry, for some reason. It made Dumbledore sound...almost desperate, and made him feel that his previous letter to Dumbledore had been a tad childish. They were worried about him, and though he was less than thrilled with any of them at the moment, he felt a bit guilty that he'd responded so rudely. At the same time, though, he couldn't go back. Dumbledore was probably right that he was in some danger, but what he'd told Ron and Hermione was true: if the Unseelie nobles couldn't find him, and Dumbledore couldn't find him, how likely was it, really, that Voldemort could? Voldemort was human, and looking for a human. He'd never find Harry.

Another problem was Dumbledore and the Weasleys. If he told them where he was, they wouldn't let him stay on Knockturn Alley. They would want him to move someplace near them or with them, where he could be monitored. Only he had even more reason now to avoid them then before – he had the materials he needed to look human, but he would still have a ton of explaining to do as soon as they saw him – tall, with waist-length hair, earrings and tattoos, when he'd left them short, with short hair and a general 'good kid' look. Not to mention the changes to his face. He couldn't imagine their reaction. The likelihood that he'd even manage to hide that he wasn't human was pretty low. His shirts would come in the next day, and they would help, but he had to come up with some damned good excuses if he wanted to keep people from digging around.

And then there was Mo. How could he explain her? A sudden thought made Harry blanch. He was only fifteen, and she was clearly not human. What if they tried to take her away from him? Abruptly he felt his lips curling off his teeth. They can try. No. He couldn't go back. Even if they didn't try to take Mo from him, in all likelihood the two of them would end up living in the crowded Burrow, and he didn't know if he could handle that many people near her all at once yet. I can't go back now. I gotta get my own shit figured out first, and I need a contingency plan in case they react like the Dursleys. He looked over to Mo, sleeping in the crib, and shook his head. Shit is my life screwed up right now. Using the same sheet of paper, Harry scribbled his reply.

Professor Dumbledore,

I apologize for my earlier rudeness, but I cannot yet tell you where I am. Please believe that I have my reasons, and am not just being an idiot. If you like, I will write you periodically to let you know that I am all right. Signed, Harry.

Sighing, Harry folded the parchment back up and put it back in the envelope it came in, then opened the last letter. To his surprise and joy, it was from Bighana.

Harry,

How are you making out? We're doing great. Just got a family of little folk in, they're staying in your favorite room. (Just looked into it again, and still don't get why you insisted on staying there. It ought to be a closet!) Elke has left, too, and we've got a nice couple of elves in. (You wouldn't like them, of course, but they're really very polite and easy to deal with.) There's a really grumpy goblin in the nice room, too, but luckily he doesn't stay for meals. I've been missing your help in the kitchen, but we've had the great fortune of being adopted by a brownie. She's a terrible cook but loves to clean, so we're doing fine.

Harry snorted. The idea that Bighana couldn't manage in the kitchen without him was laughable. He was interested by her description of the house-elf/brownie, though. She had apparently chosen them. He'd always figured that wizards bought them or something, bad as it sounded. Certainly they seemed to end up in wealthy households more often than not. Maybe it had something to do with the amount of work that needed doing? Certainly the inn could use the extra set of hands.

On a less cheerful note, we were able to avoid telling the investigators where you were, but were required to give them your description. We have had no trouble from it since, however several of Harlot's friends at other inns have mentioned being questioned about 'a young sidhe named Harry, with black hair and markings, traveling with an infant.' If you wish to keep ahead of the searchers, I would suggest you leave Knockturn Alley, and perhaps even go by another name.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, be safe, Bighana

Harry groaned. Moving again?! What the fuck?! No way. Well, not today at least. He was scheduled to check out of the hotel tomorrow before 11:00AM. He'd have them send his stuff to the Leaky Cauldron. No you won't, dumbass. Then they'll know where you're going! He'd have them send his stuff to Gringotts, then have Gringotts send it to the Leaky Cauldron. The goblins were famous for keeping your secrets, that's why everybody had them keep their money. He'd just have to hope that that secrecy applied to their monarchs. Shit, the goblins are fae. I better REALLY hope that secrecy holds. Maybe I should show them I'm royalty so my authority will cancel out some of the King and Queen's? Does that even work that way?

Realizing that Mo was still asleep, and that he couldn't leave the room until she woke, Harry dragged out the Heir book and started looking for the answer to his question. He grimaced as he skimmed past a chapter in the 'Proper Comportment' section on bows and greetings before finally finding some help in the 'Politics' section under the title 'position of the heir':

As heir, you are second only to the Queen and Consort of the Unseelie Court. As the Unseelie Court is the largest and most powerful of the People governments, the Vampire Council, First Pack, Sea Court, Elven Court, and numerous other smaller organizations of People all fall under our influence in many situations. This puts you in one of the most powerful positions in the People world. That said, the position of heir is meant to be one of observation, rather than of the exercise of power and authority. To put it bluntly, you have the power to order the noblemen, generals, and officials of our court, but it would be a very stupid thing to do. They likely know far better than you what they are supposed to be doing, and while the Queen and Consort can undo almost any mistake you make, they cannot fix your reputation in the court if you tarnish it.

Harry read the paragraph over several times, once again marveling at the strange turn his life had taken. He knew all about one's reputation with the public, but with a court? With generals and noblemen? It was unbelievable! And, Harry realized, it didn't really answer his question. The passage made it clear that the King and Queen had authority over him, and that they could veto any order he lay down, but would his wishes soften an order made by the King or Queen enough to allow the goblins to keep their confidentiality? He also had no idea what the court actually looked like. Most of the People he'd met had seemed happy enough with the courts, but that was all the information he had. It sounded like he was going to have a lot of dealings with the King and Queen. Were they ambitious and power-hungry, or did they care about the people they ruled over? Harlot had seemed free enough to criticize the court, so that was a good sign, but that was all he knew. Maybe the King and Queen wouldn't violate the goblins' confidentiality, even if they could. It would make sense, politically, to preserve it, but he really had no clue. No worries, I don't think I'm going to feel confident making political decisions for a good long time. I'll leave the noblemen and generals to you, thanks.

The power you are given is through that of the Queen and her Consort, and all who know who you are – all People, and all human government officials – must acknowledge your position and treat you with the respect due a Prince, but it is also expected that, as Prince, you act with the courtesy befitting your station.

Which means I've gotta study the damn greetings and bows, I suspect, Harry realized. Yuck. Can't I just tell people not to bow to me and then treat them the same?

Besides the formal behaviors and social niceties as laid out in the 'Proper Comportment' section of this book, this also refers to the treatment of others. One's inferiors, especially, are to be treated with the utmost courtesy and consideration.

Well that's nice, at least, Harry thought.

Above points being made, it is unlikely that you would be lacking in the qualities necessary to an Heir of the Unseelie Court, being Chosen for her Highness Lliannan-she. We look forward to meeting you, Harry.

Harry snapped the book shut, eyes wide. What the FUCK?! Okay, I dealt with the self-updating book. but I'm with Mr. Weasley on this one. Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.

Unfortunately, the sound of the book snapping shut woke Mo, who immediately started to fuss. Figuring that she probably needed it, Harry changed and fed her. It was the third time he'd fed her since taking the potion to hide his teeth, and he found himself missing them. It was a lot messier and more painful to open a cut on his wrist with a human's blunt teeth. Need a knife, he told himself, chewing at the scab. Bloody hell why does the thing have to heal up so damn fast? I'm just going to open it again! By the time he was done feeding her, she was energetic and content, and he was starving. Idiot, of course you are, you haven't eaten anything all day and here it is six thirty! And so he carried Mo down to the bar to get dinner, arranging on his way by the front desk to have the majority of his purchases sent to his Gringotts vault.

“What's your pleasure?” asked the a waitress as soon as he sat down.

“Err...water please, and umm...do you serve any raw meat?”

The waitress looked at him strangely, and Harry realized that, once again, he was showing how new he was to the alley. “Any restaurant on the alley will offer their meat raw. Specifically, we serve spiced ground beef, and a medley of meat and vegetables. Which do you prefer?”

“Err...the second, please,” Harry finally said, embarrassed.

“Anything for the little 'un?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright, I'll be back with your food as soon as may be.”

Sure enough, the waitress was back in less than ten minutes with his food. It wasn't as good as Bighana's, but then he hadn't expected it to be. He snarfed it down, paid for it, and returned to his room with Mo.

Immediately upon entering the room, Harry saw the book sitting innocently on his desk, and shivered before sitting down and opening it again to the page with the strangely personal note. Right below where he had stopped reading, it said,

Her Majesty the queen has requested that I use this book to send your Highness the following message:

Greetings, Harry-she. Since we have been unable to learn your full name in order to send a letter, we have decided to use this book, which is connected to one that our esteemed archivist keeps in the library, as a messaging system. Please, why do you run from us? We know that you did not harm our Princess, and certainly mean you and and our granddaughter no harm. Signed, her Royal Majesty Sheyanan Karintalre-Ardtalmur-she.

To reply to the queen's message, please write to us here-below. An identical message will show up in my copy, and I will alert their Majesties the Queen and Consort that you have done so.

Harry looked down at the book for a second, contemplating. If the book, or the person behind the book, was telling the truth, then this book wasn't anything like the screwed-up 'memory' given life that had been so dangerous his second year, but was rather simply connected to another book. But then why don't they know my name? It's in the family tree. Thinking about it, he grabbed his quill and wrote neatly at the bottom of the page,

If you have an identical copy of this book, then why don't you know my name?

He decided not to mention just how, exactly, they should know his name from the book. There was still a chance that they could, and just hadn't thought of it. Of course, they'll probably still figure it out from my note. But it seemed unlikely that the archivist wouldn't've thought of the family tree, if he was the one updating the book. He stared at the book for a minute or two, waiting for a response, before realizing that if it was true that it was a real person on the other end of the line, that person might have written the note to him several days ago, and might not realize right away that he had finally responded.

In the meantime, though, Mo was quiet in his lap with her hippo, and he had his fourth-year textbooks. And no assignment list. Damn. But he did have parchment and quills, so he could write to Hermione for them. She'd probably send him perfect, very specific instructions for each assignment, too. She was helpful that way. And so he wrote,

Dear Hermione,

I was trying to get a start on my fifth-year assignments –

that should make her happy, he thought, smiling a little,

He thought for a moment, then added,

p.s. How are you and Ron doing? I should have asked in the previous note, but I was a little distracted. Are you two having a good summer?

He scribbled a little more over the likely fate of his broom and other school stuff, not wanting Hermione to think that he was in any trouble. Even if I kinda am. A fifteen year old bastard kid with a baby to take care of and an entire court after me? How much more screwed up can you get? Which was exactly why he didn't want her to know. She'd just get more worried, and be even more annoying and even more intent on convincing him to come home. Home to where? Plus, for all he knew she thought he'd left voluntarily. If that were so, then for the moment he didn't want to disabuse her of the notion. Again, she was worried enough as it was. He held his quill still for a second, before accidentally drawing a long messy line across the parchment as Mo grabbed a hold of the quill.

“Hey! I'm writing here!”

She just squealed at him happily and reached for the quill again. He tickled her with it before giving into fate and folding the letter. He was really done, anyway. Checking the book quickly for any response to his question, Harry carried Mo (and her fuzzy hippo) downstairs to send the letter with one of the hotel's post-owls-for-rent. The grumpy owl clacked his beak at Mo's reaching hands. Harry growled, showing his teeth.

“That's my baby you're clacking at, you dumb animal.”

The owl quickly subsided, seeming to realize just how outclassed he was, but Harry was still careful to keep Mo's hands away from it when he handed the letter over.

“Leave the owl alone, Mo. They nip sometimes.”

She ignored the advice totally, squealing and still reaching for the stuffy bird, and he finally backed up as the owl took flight, keeping Mo carefully at arms length from all of the birds as he paid.

Okay, moving again, Harry thought when he got back to the room. Packing tonight while Mo's not fussing would probably be smart. Only he didn't want to. God, I'm tired, he thought. I don't know if I've ever had such a long day in my life.

Well, maybe the day he'd left the Dursley's. Maybe. But then, he'd been in Harlot's inn by the early afternoon, and he'd had a good night's sleep ahead of time. This time he'd spent all night taking care of Mo, then all morning shopping for stuff for her, then finally taken a nap (with her). He hadn't even remembered to eat lunch, for goodness' sake!

Maybe one of the days of the Triwizard Tournament? But none of the tasks took more than a couple of hours. He'd been stressed ahead of time and tired afterwords, but the day hadn't been as long. Scarier, definitely, but not longer. If anything, things had seemed to happen too fast. Nope, he thought tiredly, today was definitely longer. And tomorrow he had to move again. And get his stuff from Gringotts. And keep Mo alive while doing it.

As if on cue, Mo squealed and wiggled, bopping him in the chest with her hippo. “Hey! Little traitor! See if I ever get you toys again.”

She squealed again, apparently liking the attention, and he carried her over to the bed to lie on his back with his wings outstretched and her on his chest. Impulsively, he lifted her with two hands up into the air, watching her little wings unfurl with the movement as he 'flew' her around. She squealed around her two fists, drooling, and he brought her back down to lie on his chest, where she gripped his shirt and lifted her head a little bit to look at him with an open-mouthed smile. He smiled at the drool on her chin, and lifted the edge of his shirt to clean it off. “Close your mouth, grossness. You're drooling.” Finally she put her head back down on his chest, gripping his shirt with one hand and chewing on the other.

After a little while of this, Harry realized that he had to pee, and so put Mo in the crib while he went to the bathroom. He didn't feel comfortable just leaving her there in the room alone, though, so, foolish and awkward as it felt, he left the door to the bathroom ajar. When he was done, he washed his hands and splashed some cold water on his face before going back to the room to start his packing. Luckily, he'd left all of the already-dirty clothing from Madame Harlot's still shrunk, so all he had to do was shrink the new dirty clothing, and some of the new baby stuff that he'd brought up to the room in case of need, and arrange everything as compactly as possible into his backpack, the diaper bag, and the paper bag that he still had from Wings 'N Things. The charms were the biggest issue, as they could not be shrunk, but he did manage to get everything down to the three bags.

When he was done, curiosity overcame him once again, and he checked the book to see if he'd received a response. Seeing the space under his simple question still maddeningly blank, he returned to studying the contents of the book, sifting briefly through the diagrams of various bows he was supposed to learn before once again deciding to skip them. How important can it be, which bow I use? I don't want to bow at all! That's so...medieval. He scoffed, shaking his head at his own idiocy. Like everything in the wizarding world is so modern. Really, Harry, get a clue.

It was funny, though. Some of the stuff in the wizarding world – like the quills and parchment and pewter cauldrons – seemed totally medieval, while other things - like the baby stuff he'd bought, and the flush toilets in Hogwarts – were totally modern. He supposed some of it had to do with magic itself. If you could take a quill, and then give it drip-and-spill-free ink, then why would you ever invent the pen? But toilets were better than privies, regardless, and nobody would argue against disposable diapers given the choice. He'd asked why they weren't self-cleaning, as were the washcloths, and the clerk had explained that many parents didn't want their children's clothing to contain too much magic. Not really knowing how spelled clothing worked, Harry had been forced to agree.

Finally Harry's attention was caught by another paragraph from the 'Politics' section, with the heading, 'A brief introduction to the allies of the Unseelie Court'.

The Unseelie Court has many allies among the People, the most important being the Vampire Council, the First Pack, and the Elven Court. The Sea Court is also an ally, but it is rare for anything to come of this alliance given the inability of most land problems to trouble the sea, and vice versa. We have allies among the humans as well, including many, but not all, of the wizarding governments, but they are less likely to involve themselves in People affairs than our People allies.

You may be surprised to hear that we consider the elves some of our more valuable allies. Though personally and culturally it can be very difficult for our two peoples to get along, intellectually and ethically we know the elves to be moral, intelligent beings and worthy allies. They have a court much like our own and, politically, we do our very best to be polite and accommodating when our two peoples meet. With a child, this can be very difficult to do, and it is best to just avoid contact with the elves until the protective instincts of a new parent start to fade. When the issue does come up, the elf or sidhe that caused the problem apologizes in writing, and the other party generally politely accepts. See the 'Allies' section of 'Proper Comportment' for details on how such an apology or acceptance should be worded.

No wonder it's such a big book, thought Harry briefly, it sounds like it includes an entire etiquette book! Ooo...and that reminds me. I've still gotta send that letter to Kahrn.

The lycanthropes and vampires are organized very differently from the elves or the fae. The lycanthropes are arranged into relatively small (as few as ten individuals, and as many as 50) packs, with an 'Alpha' running each pack. The alphas are chosen by a complicated mix of majority choice and physical and mental prowess, and political change within a pack tends to come rather violently, sometimes but not always involving the death of the previous Alpha. These packs are then governed by the so-called 'First Pack', whose members include the alphas of the forty-nine largest packs.

However, there are weres that choose not to claim membership in a pack. These solitary weres do not technically fit into the pack structure, and tend to be quite disorganized. This arrangement can be quite dangerous for a were, however, as any weres not governed by a pack fall by default under the control of the human government of the country they inhabit, and these governments tend to be heavy on control of the werewolves, and lax on protection.

Currently the First Pack is in conflict with the Ministry of Magic in Great Britain, which seems to see the weres as some sort of inferior, dangerous breed of human, and frequently tries to control even 'packed' weres without their, or the First Pack's consent. This is in direct defiance of one of the mutual treaties between the People governments and the Ministry, that stipulates that the People governments be allowed to rule their own subjects without interference from the Ministry, and is one of several reasons that the Ministry of Magic is regarded as a neutral power to all of the People governments, and not as an ally.

As a side note, the People governments' alliances can largely be summarized as 'the enemy of my friend is my enemy.' Therefore, because the Ministry is uncooperative with the First Pack, they are officially considered a neutral power to the Unseelie Court. Unofficially, while the two governments are not at any sort of war, and the Ministry is not considered an enemy of the Court, it is well known that we are not friends. This leads into the following advice: as a representative of the Unseelie Court, it is important that you be very, very careful with Ministry officials. Neither of us wants a war, but both of us know that it would not take much to start one. It would not do for a member of the Court to cause a scandal within Ministry territory.

OK no killing the Minister of Magic, then, got it. It was important to know, though, considering that Harry's own feelings towards the Ministry were less than charitable at the moment.

Finally, the Vampire Council is made up of the oldest, most powerful vampires in Europe. Vampires tend to be solitary creatures, but given a common cause can make up quite a powerful force. Their ties to our Court are not as strong as those of the First Pack, but we have cooperated well in the past in times of mutual need.

Finally, there are multiple smaller groups that look to the Unseelie Court for guidance and protection. Among these are the Centauri, true witches, gargoyles, and some smaller groups of lycanthropes, for example the Amazons and were-hyenas. While not as numerous as the vampires or the weres, and not nearly as numerous as the fae, these groups put together are a significant part of the People community, and not to be underestimated. In addition, the Unseelie court does not discriminate based on species, and that includes outside the fae. These groups are as worthy of our attention and concern as any other species, up to and including the sidhe.

Harry stopped there, realizing that it was nine thirty, and probably time to go to bed. For Mo, at least. Still, bed time for him sounded excellent, too, and it would be best for him to leave early the next day. Ugh. Moving again. And he had to change Mo's diaper and feed her before he could sleep. Lovely. So when do I get to do what I want to do? But he got up, and changed her diaper – correctly, this time, since the lady at the baby store had helpfully pointed out that the tabs actually went towards the front – and fed her, before finally brushing his teeth and taking his jeans and shoes off. By the time he curled up in bed with Mo on his chest it was ten. Argh what is happening to me? I'm fifteen. I'm not supposed to want to go to bed at ten!