August 6

Harry opened the book first thing in the morning to look for his response, realizing as he did so that it was likely that there was a time difference between Great Britain and wherever the archivist was. But the man had had more than twelve hours now since Harry had written his question. If anybody really cared about communication with Harry, then they should have answered sometime overnight. Sure enough, the previous message from the archivist and the queen had disappeared, and written underneath his question was a new message:

Suspicious one, aren't you? I heartily approve! To answer your question, my copy of the book does not include the family tree at the end of yours, as it is self-updating and the purpose of my having a copy of the book is purely so that I can update it. We know your first name, of course, because the innkeeper at the inn where you met Her Highness Lliannan-She knew it. She claimed that you never told her your last name. I bring another message from Her Majesty the Queen. Please find it here-below.

Greetings, Harry-she.

I write once again to ask why you run from us. Please explain, as I do not understand. Truly we wish you no harm. We want only to help you; to keep you and our granddaughter safe.

I just lost my daughter, Harry-she. It was not unexpected, and we all knew she was ill, but to have her disappear so suddenly, looking, as it turned out, for you – we were relieved to know that we would still have an heir, but it was still a shock. And now you are gone, and our little Moriyana with you. Please, once again, why do you run? And is Moriyana alright?

Signed, Her Royal Majesty Sheyanan Karintalre-Ardtalmur-she.

Harry swallowed hard. He had not thought about things this way, before. Lliannan wanted him to take Mo, and he had not wanted to be royalty. He hadn't realized that Moriyana might have grandparents, and that those grandparents might care about Mo more than as their princess. Damnit, Lliannan, yet again you screw with my life. What am I supposed to do? He couldn't trust these people. Not yet. Harlot had said they wouldn't hurt him, but at the very least they wanted to make him one of them. And he didn't want that. Sure, he'd study the book and try to be a decent 'representative', since a lot of that he was doing anyway, but what if they wanted him to go somewhere with them? Was he supposed to just leave Ron and Hermione and Sirius behind? All his friends, his studies, the whole human world? Not happening. Stuffing his guilt away to a corner of his mind, Harry flipped back to the 'etiquette book' section in the heir book, found the section on letter-writing and used it to help compose his reply.

To her Royal Majesty Sheyanan-she, greetings.

You asked for an explanation of my actions regarding your court. I apologize, but a significant part of my reasoning is that I simply do not trust you. I cannot know for sure that your intentions regarding me are good, and until I can I will not risk Moriyana. Your daughter sought me out to ask me to take her child, rather than staying with you. I cannot know why she did so, but I agreed and I stand by that. I've been caring for Moriyana as best I can.

At this point Harry faltered, looking down at Moriyana sleeping in her carrier against his chest. She seemed fine, and she wasn't crying, but what did he know, really? What if she's sick or something? I don't even know how to tell! Finally he figured out his wording and continued.

I am inexperienced with children, but Moriyana seems fine. She's currently sleeping against my chest. I've been feeding and changing her every three hours or so.

Harry stopped again, suddenly nervous. What if that's not enough? She'll cry, if she's hungry, right? Suddenly he was really glad that he was in contact with the court. Maybe Sheyanan-she could tell him if he was doing okay.

I am sorry for your loss. I knew Lliannan-she barely fifteen minutes, during which she handed me her child amid frantic explanations that she was dying and that Moriyana wouldn't survive in another's care. She never told me why, and she never told me she was royalty. I don't know what I would have done if she had. You ask me why I run from you. That is my other reason. I am sorry, but while I accepted Moriyana, and will not give her up, I never wanted this. I just want to be left alone.

Harry read his letter and grimaced before continuing.

I understand that this means that you will hunt me, but I mean what I said. I am not a violent person, but try to take Moriyana from me, and I'll kill you.

It's true, Harry realized. He would kill to keep Moriyana. It had only been two days, but she was his, and he would do anything it took to keep her safe. He wouldn't want to, but he'd do it. And that was even if the weird instincts he'd developed didn't come into play. If they did - Researchers attempting to study the species in captivity have known to be ripped limb from limb by even the female of the species.  Harry smiled grimly. Yeah. Like that. But he didn't want to end his letter that way. He really didn't want to make enemies of these people.

That said, I do hope we can come to some sort of arrangement. You mentioned that you could not owl me without a last name. That I will not give you, but I have been going by the name Harry the Switch. It should be specific enough to allow the owls to find me. Signed, Harry.

His letter finished, Harry impulsively jotted down a quick note for the archivist:

To the esteemed archivist of the Unseelie Court, greetings. Sorry for the strange greeting, but I don't know your name, and I'm really no good at formalities anyway. I have another question. What's with all the bats?

He'd noticed the symbol all over the place in the book, used as a decoration at the top of a page here, a section marker there: a little black bat with his wings outspread beside him. He found it very appealing, for some reason, but it seemed strange in such a formal text. And it might not be a bad idea to get in contact with this guy. The archivist was his only connection with a sidhe who was not royalty, and who better to ask questions about stuff than the guy who literally wrote the book?

Finished writing the message, Harry fed and changed Mo before grabbing his stuff and heading out of the hotel. If what Bighana said was true, then he'd want to get away from Knockturn Alley as quickly as possible. He had one errand to run before leaving the Alley, and so headed for the Wings 'N Things to pick up the shirts he'd commissioned to hide his wings.

The walk there made him really nervous, and he found himself constantly looking around for watchers. Once there, though, he relaxed a bit, and walked to the counter to ask for his clothes. When he approached the shopkeeper to ask for them, though, the gnome gave him a strange look.

“Y' say yer the switch what came las' week?”

“Yeah. You sent me over to Madame Harlot's. Why? What's up?”

“Y' look a mite different, is all,” the old man said hesitantly, scratching his jaw.

“I got the charms you suggested-” Harry suggested, before trailing off in confusion. He was still on Knockturn Alley. He hadn't invoked the charms yet. The only thing that looked different that he could think of were his teeth. I still need the knife, Harry reminded himself.

“No, no, no not the charms,” the gnome said dismissively, “was talkin' 'bout yer face.”

“My face?” Harry questioned, before remembering. Of course. When he'd been in the shop before, he'd not yet received the letter from his mother, and so not yet taken the potion that came with it and changed his face. But he'd thought it was subtle. “I was under a mild glamour,” he explained to the gnome. “Can you not recognize me?”

The gnome studied his face. “Well I can now that you mention it, but it's like you're your own sibling or sommat.” And that from someone who's used to my hair and tattoos, Harry thought, panicked. Ron and Hermione might not recognize me at all. I really thought it wasn't that bad. But of course, he'd watched his face change, and he'd been used to much greater changes. He'd known that casual passersby wouldn't recognized him as Harry Potter – counted on it, really – but he'd thought that once people looked past his tattoos they would recognize his face. This was apparently not so, and it threw him. My own sibling. Mum was right after all- I look more like my Dad. Which meant he didn't look like anybody; not himself, not his Mum, just like some stranger. And not even really like him, if he looks at all human.

The thought that his father might be sidhe pleased him, somehow. At least then he'd be connected to someone. But if his father was sidhe, then how did his mother know him? She'd said they'd been friends at Hogwarts, hadn't she? Surely somebody would have mentioned it if somebody at Hogwarts was openly People? Surely his mother would have said something if she'd known? He could've done like me, and hidden with charms. Finally he shook his head, dismissing the question. His real father was dead. Nobody was going to accept a fifteen-year-old sidhe as their child, even if he wanted them too. And I don't. So no problem. Abruptly he realized that the shopkeeper was waiting for a response.

“Interesting,” Harry finally said, “thanks for letting me know. I thought the glamour was more subtle than that.”

“Tha's silly,” the gnome commented. “What'd be the point of the glamour then?”

Harry didn't feel up to explaining, so he just said, “good point.”

“Alright,” said the shopkeeper, getting back to business, “I've got your shirts. Was there anything else y' needed? Fer the little one, perhaps?”

“You have baby stuff?” Harry thought about it and suddenly remembered some things he'd been unable to get on the previous trip. “Do you have one of those baby carrier backpack things, with the straps? I've got almost everything else I need for her, but those things won't fit around either of our wings. And I need shirts for her, too.”

“That's easy,” said the shopkeeper. “You want one that goes on your back, or on your chest?”

“Chest,” Harry said, “and with her facing me.”

“They work both ways,” said the shopkeeper as he walked over to a rack. “Here, go ahead and pick one out. We don't have a lot of kids' clothes, but you should do well enough. The infantwear is over on the left wall.”

And so Harry had eventually left the store with Moriyana supported in front of him and all of his clothing and Moriyana's in paper bags at his sides. It was a lot better than moving with his bags in one hand and Mo in the other, but he was still glad when he finally got to the Leaky Cauldron. As he walked in, he realized that this was the first real test of his disguise – he'd spent three weeks here as Harry Potter the summer he turned thirteen. If Tom didn't recognize him, nobody would. Except maybe Dumbledore. He notices a lot, when he wants to.

“Uhhh...excuse me? Sir?” Harry asked, putting his bags down and putting a hand on Mo's head.

“How can I help you?” Tom asked, turning from where he'd been shelving something behind the bar but giving no indication that he recognized Harry.

“I was hoping you had a room free upstairs,” Harry said.

“We do. How long do you want it for?”

“A week.”

“And under what name?”

And there it is. He doesn't know me. Harry was at once relieved and upset. It made it a lot easier for him to hide, if nobody would recognize him, but it would make it harder when he saw Ron and Hermione again. He could only hope they would be understanding. In the meantime, though, Harry was ready for the question. He'd thought it over while trying to fall asleep the night before, and decided that Bighana's idea of taking a pseudonym was a good one. If it got out and into the news that Harry was marked up and running around with a baby, it would also get out that he was living in the Leaky Cauldron. Dumbledore, at least, would certainly find him. He'd cast around in his mind for names, and eventually decided that he liked the name Tobias. From there he'd just needed a last name to go with it.

He'd thought briefly of just keeping the last name Potter, but then decided that if he was going to change his name, he might as well go all the way. He didn't want to give anybody any clues. Who do I want to be named after, then? Evans was also too obvious. Any of his professors names would be...weird. So would Sirius'. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn't his father. I'm a bastard. Naming himself after anybody living would be pathetic. Finally it came to him. He'd follow Harlot's example. He'd asked her once why she was called Harlot, and she'd responded that she'd taken it during her time working upstairs in the 4 Play Gentleman's Club. Harry had apologized for the question, but Harlot had just grinned. She'd never been one to soften or run from the truth, and he'd be the same. And so he confidently responded to the innkeeper,

“My name is Tobias Bâtard.”

Having checked into the hotel, Harry went up to his room, dropped his bags and collapsed into an uncomfortable armchair. At least I don't have to do anything more today. Well...other than the normal baby routine. Speaking of which... It had been three hours. He had to change Mo's diaper and probably feed her. But I'm moved in and have my new name. Maybe now I can stay in one place. At this point just staying in the room, taking care of Mo, studying the book, and doing his homework sounded bloody wonderful. I have to get to Gringotts tomorrow, though, he realized. Some of that stuff'll be really nice to have.

August 7

“I'm Harry Potter,” Harry said anxiously to the goblin behind the desk, uninvoking the charm on his forehead so the goblin could see, “I need to get some stuff from my vault.” Harry worried for a moment that the goblin would challenge him, but he just gave a slight smirk and led Harry to a cart. At the vault, Harry found all of the baby stuff he'd bought in a large box labeled, “Harry Potter – items forwarded from the Bloody Mary Hotel 8/5/95”. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he looked at the Goblin in shock and growing anxiety.

“How did these get here?” he asked, “I never gave the concierge my name, I just asked to have the stuff sent here.” It was generally assumed on Knockturn that people didn't want their names known. You checked into hotels and such on your thumbprint alone.

“You paid with your magical signature,” said the goblin simply.

Harry looked at him, confused. “Sorry, I don't understand.”

The goblin gave him a condescending look. “You paid with your magical signature. The concierge just forwarded that along with your stuff, and we knew it was yours.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then realized something. “So, in theory, then, you could track my movements based on my payments?”

The goblin smiled. “Now that was a more intelligent question. Yes, in theory, we could.”

“So if someone, say your queen, were to be looking for somebody, you could tell her where they were?”

The goblin drew himself up quickly, the look on his face telling Harry that he'd offended him. Big time. “Her Majesty the Queen would never ask such a thing of us, and we would never share it. We keep our clients' secrets as carefully as we keep their gold, Mr. Potter, and the Queen respects that.”

Abruptly Harry wished he'd looked over the etiquette section in his heir book. Apparently he'd just stepped in it. He looked down briefly, then met the goblin's eyes. “I apologize, sir. I meant no offense. I had to know.”

The goblin gave him a shrewd look. “Naturally, your Highness, I take no offense.”

Harry felt his mouth fall open slightly as he stared at the goblin and his heart started pounding in his ears. Shit. “H-how'd you know?”

The goblin smiled. “Young sidhe with black markings, traveling with a child? There is a rumor circulating that the sidhe seek their heir. There is a reward for any who forward information leading to your capture, and even under this disguise of yours any of the People who get close enough will know that you are not human. Any who see the babe won't even need to get all that close.”

“So I'm screwed then.”

“In the long term, yes. In the short term, moving to Diagon Alley was a good idea. Nobody need know that Harry Potter, His Highness Harry-she of the Unseelie Court, and Tobias Bâtard are one and the same. Just avoid others of the fae, and be a bit discreet about Moriyana-she's wings, and you should be alright for a little while.”

Harry shook his head, overwhelmed. “You-you know a lot.”

The goblin's smile grew. “Do not worry. We are not omniscient, and usually a single goblin would not know so much of what the group as a whole knows. But you must see the entertainment value that this game of cat-and-mouse has for us. The most powerful people in our world apply all of their resources to seek out their heir, and one of the most powerful people in the wizarding world seeks his Boy Who Lived, and only us goblins know the connection.” The goblin got a mischievous glint in his eyes as he rubbed his hands together, “and the Ministry knows nothing at all. They still think that Harry Potter is hidden in the muggle world, dressed as a hobo.”

Harry found himself smiling, too. He hadn't thought of it that way. Go me. “Thank you,” Harry finally said, “I can see that. That's kind of...awesome, actually.”

“Glad to be of service,” said the goblin. “Us goblins, at least, hope to see the game go on for a little while.

“Well, you know my name,” Harry said finally. “May I know yours?”

“I am called Galrok,” the goblin smiled. “Which name would you like us to use, please?”

“My name in this guise is Tobias Bâtard.”

“Very well, Mr. Bâtard.”

Suddenly Harry had an idea. “Any chance you know a goblin named Magor? I got to know him while I was staying at Madame Harlot's.”

“As it happens, yes, I do.” The goblin smiled. “He's been bragging about his efforts to get the future Heir of the Unseelie Court drunk.”

Harry smiled. “I'd point out that he failed.”

“Oh he doesn't care. He just thinks it's funny that he met you in a bar.”

Harry smiled. “He would.”

Back in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry sat at the desk in his room and opened the book, sure this time that he would have a response to his message from the day before. Sure enough, the archivist and queen had both responded. This time the message started with the queen's response.

Greetings, Harry-she.

Thank you for your explanation. I hope that my own can ease some of your fears. First off, know that we would never attempt to take Moriyana from you. Our daughter chose you to care for the child, and that is enough for us. Besides that, fate would never have led her to you if you were not meant to be part of our family. That is all we want, Harry-she; to support you and the child, and bring you into our family.

Your information on Moriyana was reassuring. I thank you, and ask that you forgive my worry. I do not doubt that are caring for her to the best of your ability, but she is my granddaughter. It was reassuring to hear that you would fight for her, and that you are taking good care of her. Please contact me if you have any questions about her. Like I said, I only wish to help.

You say that you want to be left alone. We will not harm you, but we cannot honor your wishes on this point. You need bodyguards, and we need an heir. You are royalty, and that will be true no matter where you go. The same is true of Moriyana. Would you leave us with no heir? We are not old, but we will be eventually. Would you leave the fae without a ruler? Perhaps you do not believe in fate, but we do. You are meant to be our heir. It is your duty, and your destiny.

Signed, Her Majesty Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court.

Harry read the letter over once more, unsure what to think. On the one hand, some of the things the Queen had said were reassuring – it didn't sound like she thought he was doing anything wrong with Moriyana, or that she felt that he had stolen her in any way – but on the other hand, she clearly intended to continue to search for him, and to 'bring him into the family.' That was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. But her arguments made some sense, if he took her perspective. Their Majesties had as little control over recent events as he did, and they needed an heir. They clearly believed that the connection he'd had, however briefly, to their daughter, and her choice to give him Moriyana, indicated that he was their destined heir. He had accepted being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived because it was the price he paid for entering the wizarding world. Was this, then, the price he paid for entering the People world?

Why does everything always happen to me? Why couldn't Ron be their bloody heir, for goodness' sake? He'd love it. Realistically, though, it would never happen the way it did, with Ron. He just couldn't see Ron accepting a baby from a strange woman. Ron was a great guy, but responsibility just wasn't his strong-suit. Like it's really mine? What about Hermione, though, or even Neville? Either of them would be totally capable of taking care of Moriyana. Way better than me, at any rate. But then, if I'm doing 'why nots', why not an adult? Whatever the reason, Lliannan clearly wanted me, specifically.

Shaking his head briefly, Harry read the short paragraph written by the archivist before trying to respond.

To his Highness Harry-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

Do not worry about your greeting. You managed pretty well, given the information you had. My proper title is Royal Archivist, and I am a member of the court, but not of the royal line. You would therefore greet me, “To Royal Archivist Kylpin of the Unseelie Court, greetings.” This is, however, an extremely formal greeting, and not necessary in this case, especially given that you are my social superior. You might just say, “greetings, Archivist Kylpin.” Your greeting to the queen was close to correct, except, of course, it its formality. Completely correct would be, “To her Royal Majesty Queen Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings,” but this is extremely formal. As the Heir, you have the right to greet the queen as she greets you: “Greetings, Sheyanan-she.”

To answer your question, bats of any type are sacred to the sidhe, and the symbol of the royal court. We view them somewhat as humans view various primates: they bear a superficial resemblance to us, and by legend are our cousins. We tend to identify strongly with them, and, sometimes, they with us. As a result we frequently represent them in our decorations. There is also a strong taboo against harming them in any way.

Harry frowned, confused. Dang but the greetings are complicated. How am I supposed to know that he's of the court, but not royalty? And then I've gotta know his full title, too? And they wonder why I don't want to deal with this shit? But the thing about the bats was kinda cool, actually. He liked bats.

Realizing that he should respond to the queen first, Harry decided to remain formal and wrote out his reply,

To her Royal Majesty Queen Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

It is good to hear that you do not wish to separate me from Moriyana. That would get ugly, and I truly do not want there to be any conflict between us. I also thank you for your concern for my welfare, but your worry is unnecessary. I am quite safe where I am.

Though I'd be safer if I hadn't had to leave Knockturn Alley, Harry thought briefly. It wasn't quite true, though. Dumbledore and the Ministry had allowed Harry to stay on Diagon Alley when he was thirteen because of the number of good wizards and witches in the area. On Knockturn he had safety in obscurity, but the openness of Diagon Alley was probably safer from the dark wizards that were after him. He was also much less likely to get mugged, come to that. Not that anybody on Knockturn would be dumb enough to try to mug anybody with a child in tow.

I am concerned about your wording on other things, however. You say you will not leave me alone as I wish, and that you wish to 'bring me into your family'. I am sorry if it sounds disrespectful, but did it not occur to you that I have a life of my own that I want to live? My life has already changed enormously in the last weeks. Lliannan-she begged me to take Moriyana, knowing that she was asking a lot of me. How can you ask me to give even more of my life to your court? I've only even been People for two weeks, and now you are hunting me. What 'duty' can I possibly have that I am not already doing? Even the Heir book says that Moriyana should be my first priority. Respectfully, Harry the Switch.

Greetings, Archivist Kylpin.

Thanks for the answer, and your corrections. If you don't mind, I've got more questions. If my greeting to you may be so informal, why does yours to me sound so formal? Also, what sort of power does the queen have over her subjects? For example, I have heard that the Gringotts goblins won't give out information on their clients for anything, but they are fae, and so presumably bound to obey the court. What happens if the two come into conflict? Do others of the People who are NOT fae still have to obey the queen? Would they have to obey me? Signed, Harry the Switch.

Harry read over his response quickly, deciding that it was alright. He'd've liked to just openly ask the archivist whether or not he could trust the goblins' word that they wouldn't betray him to the queen, but, if they would, he really didn't want to give the archivist the idea, or let him know that Harry was still in London. Too bad I'm not real good at subtlety, Harry thought. They'll probably figure out what I'm really asking, anyway. But still, the attempt at subtlety had opened up a couple of other questions that he also actually wanted to know, so maybe they would serve as enough of a distraction to hide Harry's real purpose.

Just as Harry was finishing the letter, a squawk at the window announced Hedwig's return from wherever Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore were. He figured they must all be together, since Ron and Hermione had referenced something Dumbledore said, and they wrote to him on the same piece of parchment. He let Hedwig in and gave her some meat he'd kept from his lunch, but set the letters down on the desk as Mo woke up from her nap and started fussing. He fed and changed her, intending to get back to the letters right after, but then he realized that he'd practically ignored her all morning already. And so he picked her up again from the changing table, and instead of sitting at his desk, lay back on the bed with her on his chest.

He liked having her there. She was warm, and had a tendency to pick herself up shakily on her two little arms to smile at his face. This she did now, drooling as usual, and he found himself smiling back. “Hey, Mo. Your Gramma misses you,” he said, petting her head. He felt kinda guilty about that. It wasn't enough to motivate him to let them find him, but it still made him sad that him having Mo meant that they didn't. But Lliannan wanted me to take care of her, he reminded himself again. It's not my fault she didn't think about her parents. After a little while of this, Mo got tired and dropped back down onto his chest, gripping his shirt in both hands. And there goes my last clean shirt, Harry realized, resigned. Sure enough, no sooner did Mo have a grip on his shirt than it was in her mouth. Good thing my hair's back, at least. He'd discovered that he could sleep with the braid in, and so hadn't bothered to take it out from before. He didn't have so much free time that he wanted to spend it on his hair.

After fifteen minutes or so of just relaxing and holding Mo, Harry decided to get up and check out the letters he'd gotten. To that end, he rolled up to sit, then stand, and carried Mo over to sit on his lap while he opened the first letter. Predictably, it was from Dumbledore, and contained another plea for his return.

Dear Harry,

While I do not doubt that there is some reasoning behind your behavior, I still must ask that you return to us. Everyone is very worried about you, and it is not safe. As yet the ministry thinks that you are still at Privet Drive, but we are unsure of Voldemort's knowledge. At any rate, any Death Eater to come across you will no doubt want to deliver you to him. We have a safe place for you to live, and you can see your friends as well. They miss you, and worry about you at least as much as I do. Again, I insist you come home.

Signed, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Harry shook his head. This one was more strongly worded than the previous two, but Dumbledore had it all wrong. He couldn't see his friends, now. He missed them, for sure, but he dreaded the first time they laid eyes on him. And returning to being Harry Potter would hardly keep him away from the Court. His picture would be all over the newspapers, and then they would find him. He was much better off as Tobias Bâtard.

Professor Dumbledore, greetings.

Whoops. Harry started over.

Professor Dumbledore,

Home to where? I do intend to return to Hogwarts in the fall, but it is still summer, and you've made it clear that I cannot stay there. I was to live with my relatives. Well, now I can't live there, either, so I have found a place to live, and am comfortable there. I know you think it is unsafe, but I disagree. I'll say to you what I responded to Ron and Hermione. If I can elude you, how is Voldemort supposed to find me? Like you said, he might not even know I've left Privet Drive. Signed, Harry Potter.

Reading over his response, Harry grimaced a bit as he realized that he wasn't being entirely honest about his reasons for staying away. In truth, he knew that he'd probably be a bit safer, physically speaking, living wherever Dumbledore wanted him to be. The problem was, Dumbledore wasn't the only one he was avoiding. What if I told Dumbledore that I was hiding from the Sidhe, too? Maybe he could help me? But then he'd have to tell Dumbledore why. Hey Dumbledore. Not only am I the Boy-Who-Lived, I've also kidnapped a princess of the Unseelie court, and am the Heir to the Unseelie throne. So not only am I being hunted by Voldemort, I'm also being tracked by the Unseelie Court. Please help hide me. Suddenly something occurred to him. Shit. Who was he kidding? Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the Chief Warlock of that international council thingy. Politically, he couldn't possibly help hide Harry. In fact he'd probably have to hand Harry over himself as soon as he knew who Harry was.

So that argument was worse than useless. The only argument he had left, was that he didn't want to, and that Dumbledore was wrong that Harry was unsafe away from him. Even if it's a lie. But it wasn't a lie, not really. Harry hadn't yet felt unsafe in any way. If he had, he would have returned, for Moryana's sake if not for his own. But nobody had any reason to believe that Tobias Bâtard was Harry Potter, so why would they even bother with him? He was no more unsafe on Diagon Alley than any other wizard.

Deciding that he was finished with the letter to Dumbledore, and sealing it, Harry opened up the next. This one was from Hermione, and, as predicted, included a detailed and well-organized list of his summer assignments, with Hermione's suggestions for how to go about getting them done. With the list was a note:

Harry:

I've sent you your list as you asked, but I'm not really happy about it. I still think you should come home. If anyone would know where you should be to stay safe, it is Dumbledore. Just because he can't find you doesn't mean you're safer. It could just be luck.

Ron and I are doing fine, thanks for asking. We're a little bored, here, but it's nice being together. But we miss you, Harry. Really we do. Why won't you come back?

Harry blinked, finding his eyes starting to burn. I can't. Too much is going on. What was he supposed to do? Everybody wanted something of him, all of a sudden. The Court, Dumbledore, his friends, everyone. Dumbledore wanted him...somewhere safe; Sheyanan-she wanted him at Court; his friends wanted him with them. But nobody knew who he actually was. Sheyanan-she wanted an Heir, Dumbledore wanted the Boy Who Lived, Ron and Hermione just wanted Harry Potter, their friend. But none of those people were even him, even existed anymore. Hell, he didn't even know who he was. Too much had changed.

Thinking this over, Harry was startled when a tear fell from his eye onto Hermione's letter. He swiped at his face with one hand, impatient, and just held Moriyana for a moment as he struggled for control. Feeling his shift in attention, Moriyana gripped tighter to his shirt and looked up, gurgling happily. He looked down at her to see her wearing a huge smile. Well that's one thing clear, at least, he realized. Whatever happened, he had to take care of Mo. It didn't matter to her who he was, or what he did, as long as he was there for her. Was it unconditional love? Not really. But she needed him. The thought put him back on an even keel. If nothing else, he had that one point of stability: he had to take care of the baby. MY baby. It's like Lliannan said. I'm an orphan, and so's she. So now instead, she's mine. Whatever else he was, he decided, he was Mo's Daddy first. Even if I won't give her pigtails.

Feeling better, Harry reread Hermione's letter quickly and responded,

Dear Hermione. Thanks for your help – the list is great. I miss you, too, but I have something really, really, important to do. I'm also worried that being with Dumbledore would not be the safest thing to do, given my circumstances. I'm absolutely fine, but the situation has gotten complicated beyond what you can imagine. I'll come back eventually, I promise, but I've got to figure some things out first. Love, Harry.

August 8

Greetings, Harry-she.

I am grateful that you do not wish there to be conflict between us. I, too, hope that we can work these things out. I am aware that you have your own life, but what would you have me do? You are our Heir, and Moriyana is our Second. We have no-one else. Do not think that we ask this of you on a whim. We have no more choice than you do. In addition, you argue yourself that Moriyana is your first priority. Would it not benefit her to have bodyguards?

Signed, Her Majesty Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court.

Harry read the letter, finding himself a little shaken up. Either bodyguards or returning to Dumbledore would be safer, and there were Death Eaters after him, even if he'd avoided them so far. Was he really putting Mo in danger with his actions? Could he live with it if he was? I'm not in that much danger, though, he told himself. The Death Eaters are looking for Harry Potter, not me, and they might not even know I've left Privet Drive. Moriyana's their second. If anything, there'll be people after her if they know who she is. Shaking his head, Harry went on to read the note from the archivist.

To his Highness Harry-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

Please do not worry about your questions. They are an interesting break from what can otherwise be a tedious job. My greeting to you is of mid-level formality, because though the situation is somewhat informal, you are far above my station. The queen's power is absolute, in most situations, however the Royal Sidhe have, over generations, purposefully set some limits to their own power. One of these limits regards the Gringotts goblins. They have been given the right to maintain their confidentiality, because their sense of honor will not allow them to obey the queen if she asked them to break it, and we did not want the conflict. Others of the People are not technically obligated to obey the Queen directly, however many of their leaders look to the court in governing their own people, so the laws are largely the same. In addition, all are required to show some measure of deference and respect for the rulers of other groups. The same applies to you. Generally, the People are cooperative enough that a ruler in one group is seen as a ruler of all, so even those who are not fae will defer to you. For more on this, read the comportment section in this book, under 'towards foreign dignitaries'.

Hmm. That was interesting. But his mind was still somewhat preoccupied with the Queen's message, so he decided to reply to that before thinking on the Archivist.

To her Royal Majesty Queen Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

Bodyguards are only necessary when there is actually someone out to get you. Telling me that becoming your Heir is going to require bodyguards is hardly a good way to convince me to do that, especially considering my desire to keep Moriyana safe. Signed, Harry the Switch

Greetings, Archivist Kylpin

Thank you for your answers. You've given me a lot to think over. You say your job can be tedious, and that you update the Heir book, but that you are minor nobility. What exactly is it that you do? And forgive me, but how is it that one of the court nobles has this job? Signed, Harry the Switch

August 9

To his Highness Harry-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

To answer your question, I am the Royal Archivist. I am responsible for maintaining the various official books of the Unseelie Court. This includes the one you are currently using, as well as similar books given to the Queen and Consort, and one that chronicles all of the actions and events of the Court. As these books can effect the actions of the Queen, Consort, and Heir, it is extremely important that they remain accurate and up-to-date. It is an important job, and one requiring a high level of education. As such, it is given to one of the nobility who shows the aptitude. I've been asked to transfer the following message from His Royal Majesty the Queen's Consort.

Greetings Harry-she.

Congratulations. My searchers tell me that they have lost your track, for now. Make no mistake. We will find you, but I do find myself somewhat impressed. Turn yourself in, Harry-she. You can run until you are found, but running with an infant in tow cannot be easy, and you will be found. We will not allow you and the child to live in danger, however safe you may think yourself to be. Signed, his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-She.

What are they doing, playing good-cop/bad-cop? Harry wondered, heart beating fast. If they were, it was working. He was thoroughly freaked out. Consort sounds like he's not somebody to mess with. He was screwed. Absolutely, totally, and utterly screwed. No wonder Harlot warned me about pissing off the Court. It's not the Queen who's the scary one, it's the Consort.

He decided not to bother with a reply. It seemed that they were done trying to convince him. Or at least, done trying to convince me nicely. Apparently, now, it was down to how long he could hide.

August 11

Harry was going crazy. Stuck in a hotel room with nothing to do but study and do homework and no company other than a five-month-old baby was not nearly as appealing as it sounded. He wanted to keep a low profile, but this was getting ridiculous. He'd almost rather be caught.

But where could he go? He had everything he needed in the room with him, and he could easily get his food downstairs. All of the baby stuff had been delivered from Gringotts as he'd requested, so his room looked like a nursery, and suddenly seemed cramped. So I don't need anything. Why don't I go out for something that I want? Going out with Mo was a pain in the butt, but it had to be better than hanging out here. And the chance to go out and just do something frivolous sounded lovely. Just a short trip, he thought. Like an hour, then I'll come back. But what could he do? Normally he'd go to Florean Fortescue's for ice cream, but he couldn't stand the stuff any more. Take milk, sweeten it, and add weird flavorings. Yuck. He also used to go and check out the animals in the Magical Menagerie, but the very last thing he needed was a pet. What about the joke shop? What use would I ever have for practical jokes? he thought glumly. They'd just go off at the wrong time and wake up Mo. And wouldn't that be fun. Something to do that's just for me. Suddenly his mind flashed back to Outcast's Art, and the foot-tall complaining that he never got to do one of the greater fae. Getting a tattoo wasn't strictly fun...but it appealed to his sense of doing something for just him, and not worrying too much about the consequences for once. Tobias Bâtard was hardly supposed to be the type to worry about peoples' opinions, after all.

Grinning, Harry hauled out the Heir book and did a quick, but careful sketch before changing and feeding Mo, and heading out.

“Hey! You're back!”

Harry grinned, relaxing a little. It had occurred to him, as he left Diagon Alley and crossed into Outcast's Alley, that this trip was probably a very bad idea. He had forgotten that his main cover was the fact that he was supposed to be human. Young sidhe with black markings, traveling with a child. Even the little fae in front of him could decide to report him, if he knew. He'd uninvoked the charms he used to make him look human, not wanting to lead anyone from Outcast's Alley back to his hiding place on Diagon Alley, and he'd walked to the tattoo parlour under the invisibility cloak, but he had to reveal himself to the tattoo artist, and that right there could be a problem. But still, risky as this was, he'd rather get caught then spend his entire life in the Leaky Cauldron.

“Yeah, I am,” he said. “I decided to let you give me a tattoo.”

“Really?” asked the small fae, grinning, “great! You want a wizarding tattoo or a muggle one? And of what? And where?”

Harry had thought about it a bit, decided that he didn't want anything really dramatic or colorful, and immediately thought of the symbol from his book – a small, flying bat drawn in simple, black lines. The archivist had said that bats were sacred to the court, and that the symbol represented it, and Harry had found it really fitting – the little black bat even flowed well with the marks on his arms, which is what had given him the idea. Besides, he liked the little thing. It was cool and creepy, but strangely appealing.

Handing the copied picture over to the foot-tall, Harry said, “this, muggle, and on my shoulder right where the markings end.”

The small fae frowned. “You'll have to show me, and I'll need your shirt off.”

Harry took a deep breath. Young sidhe with black markings, traveling with a child. He'd have to show his markings, of course. Maybe he won't know? Deciding to just go for it, Harry took Mo's carrier off, then maneuvered her carefully while he also removed his shirt. When the foot-tall didn't say anything, Harry pointed with a finger to a spot close to his neck. “Like here-ish.”

“Absolutely,” said the foot-tall, but something in his voice made Harry worry, and he looked at him closely. The small fae was staring between the marks and Mo, a frown on his face. Finally Harry couldn't stand it.

“You gonna report me?”

The fae frowned down at him, and Harry was suddenly reminded that the fae, though small, was in fact an adult and probably older than he was. “As stupid as you're being right now? You'd deserve it.”

Harry blushed, embarrassed. “I got tired of hiding out. It was just going to be a quick trip-”

“To Knockturn Alley. Where everybody and their mother is looking for you. For the sake of a tattoo.”

“Umm...yes?”

The fae shook his head, but started to smile. “You're an idiot, but I won't turn you in.”

Harry breathed out, quickly. “Thanks.”

“Don't worry about it. I just want to be able to tattoo you.”

“What's so special about having done one of the big fae?”

“Bragging rights,” responded the foot-tall. “I've done just about every other species, but I haven't done any of the big fae. And I've never done a prince.”

“Don't call me that. If I'm a prince then you've gotta be all weird. I hate that.”

The fae frowned. “True. Fine, you're just another customer. But you're still big fae. You know that the tattoo is not going to show up much right next to your markings like that, right?”

“That's the idea.”

“Oh,” said the little fae, “Alright then.”

Harry breathed out in relief. I am so lucky. And so stupid. Still, a tattoo like the one he was getting, that blended into his markings some, would help him in the long-run to make people believe that the markings were also tattoos. So it wasn't that stupid. Or so he told himself.