July 5th

Harry stared down at his bare ankles in confusion. What happened to my pants? They were so short they didn't even cover his ankle bones, when they'd always been too long. Maybe they got shrunk in the wash? That was unlikely. His clothes had been washed a billion times over before they ever got to him. If they were gonna shrink, they'd've done it already. Maybe I grew? Almost as unlikely. He was short. He had always been short, he would always be short. The likelihood of that changing when he was fifteen was very low. Lower than Dudley's clothing shrinking, though? And I've been so clumsy...

Shaking his head, Harry stood up against the wall of his room, drew a line with a pencil to approximate the level of the top of his head, and measured it. Merlin. He was almost five foot eight inches tall. He'd grown four inches in...well he didn't really remember the last time he'd measured himself, but still, four inches! No wonder he'd been clumsy. No wonder his bones had ached. Come to think of it, I feel a bit stronger, too. Maybe that's normal for wizards?

July 7th

His back itched. He tried scrubbing it with the long-handled brush in the shower, but it only helped for a moment before the itch was back. Finally he got out of the shower to twine around to look at it in the mirror, figuring he'd just somehow gotten poison ivy in a strange place, and froze. That's not poison ivy. It was black, and had sharp edges like a tattoo, and seemed to be in his skin, rather than on it. But it itched. What the hell is that? Some sort of weird magical skin disease or something? It really looked more like a tattoo, though, than any sort of rash - it wasn't raised, and instead of being a messy patch on his skin it was almost pretty – a crisp, black, flowing pattern of lines and dots that looked almost alive.

I didn't get drunk or anything, did I? He shook his head. No. He knew he hadn't gotten drunk, because he never got drunk, and he could remember the previous miserable evening precisely. He'd wandered around the playground like he always did, then went to bed. He had not gotten a tattoo. It doesn't really look like a tattoo, either, come to think of it. It was like vines or something growing on his skin and covering a precise portion of his shoulder blades, and it followed the lines of his body like a really well done tattoo might, but somehow he just knew that wasn't what it was. What the fuck is it, then?

“Boy! Get out of there! Petunia needs you in the kitchen!”

“Alright, I'm coming!”

Harry wrapped himself in a towel, carefully making sure the marks were covered, and walked back to his room to get dressed.

July 10th

Oh Merlin, it's growing. It really is alive. For three days he had scratched and bothered at it, but it never helped. Today he had finally given up on scratching it with his hands, and gone inside to the bathroom to use the brush from the shower, and frozen at the mirror. It was bigger. The damn thing was growing up his shoulder blades like some sort of parasite. And where the first patch no longer itched as badly, the new marks creeping up his shoulder blades were like to drive him mad. I'm diseased. Really, actually, diseased. I've got some sort of wizarding skin cancer.

Should he tell someone? They sent me back here nine days after I fought Voldemort and carried my friend's corpse back with me afterwards. They're hardly going to care that I've got some rash.

July 13th

Harry chewed carefully, trying to avoid using his canine teeth. He'd noticed the ache the previous day at dinner, and it had only gotten worse, since. It was like he had a cavity, or like a baby tooth coming out, or something. More like the baby tooth, he realized. It didn't feel unhealthy, for some reason, like a cavity did. It felt somehow...natural. Doesn't make it any more pleasant.

And his hair seemed to be growing faster, too, and looked so black it was like it swallowed the light, and made his eyes glow like coals at the same time. Besides that, he found his glasses didn't work anymore – his vision was almost blurrier wearing them than not, and either way he had trouble seeing well enough to navigate through his chores. What on Earth is going on?

July 14th

His shoulders ached and itched. The...whatever it was...had spread to the front of his shoulders and was now headed down his upper arms, until only the biggest of Dudley's tee-shirts would cover it. He'd taken to changing in the bathroom, because he couldn't cover it and his lower regions with one towel, and the one time he'd taken two it had earned him a slap from his aunt for the 'waste'. This. Officially. Sucks.

July 16th

This is nuts, Harry reflected, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair was down to his chin, where it had been only an inch long a little over two weeks ago. It had also developed a blue sheen in the sunlight that was completely unapparent indoors, but that he'd noticed that morning when he went out to work in the yard. Only a reminder of what had happened the last time she'd tried to cut his hair kept Petunia away from it. It was one of the more pleasant of his strangenesses, and he did not want it cut. Why not? I've never had long hair before...

July 20th

This really isn't stopping, is it? Harry thought, once again staring himself in the mirror. He'd left off his glasses entirely, as his vision was useless with them on and almost clear without them. Not only that, but his teeth were growing. Not a lot, but enough that they felt different in his mouth, and his bite felt a bit strange. They were also getting sharp – nipping his tongue if he messed with them too much. The pain in his teeth was fading, so he hoped that meant they were almost done changing, but they already showed when he smiled. Oh Merlin. What if I'm not 'wizard sick' like dragon pox, what if I'm 'wizard sick' like werewolf or something? I have fucking dog teeth!

July 22nd

This could be permanent, Harry realized, running his tongue over his teeth as he worked painted a fence in the yard. The tattoos on his arms looked...ingrained. Like they were in his skin, not on it. His teeth felt like...his teeth. Like they were supposed to be that way all along and it had just taken this long for them to show up. They were...real.

What was more, his back hurt. Not just ached like before, really hurt. It felt like his shoulder blades were getting too big for his skin to contain them – the skin felt stretched, and the bones throbbed dully like a limb held in an uncomfortable position for too long, but worse. Enough to restrict his movement and make painting the fence difficult. Please, please, please let it just be a weird backache.

“What is wrong with you? You think when I tell you to paint the fence I mean only the bottom six feet?!”

Harry looked up at his aunt, annoyed. “My shoulders hurt. My arms don't want to reach that high.”

“Deal with it.”

“How am I supposed to 'deal with it'? It hurts!” Harry said, getting angry, but his aunt was already inside the house. Sighing, he went to get the step-ladder. And me six feet tall. Well this sucks.

She's been on edge lately, he realized. Maybe she's noticed? He scoffed. How could she not? I'm six feet tall and my hair's down to my shoulders!

July 24th

His forehead hurt. He would call it a headache, but it didn't really feel like a headache. Usually a headache hurt inside, like his skull was too small for his brain. This felt more like his shoulder blades – like his skull was too large for his skin. And not even all of his skull, just two sharp places to either side of his forehead. This time, he refused to look in the mirror, and just kept working the garden, occasionally poking at the area. The skin felt raised, and the looked shiny and irritated, like it really was stretching over a bump in his skull. Which is exactly why I am not going to look in the mirror at it. I can cope with tattoos. I can maybe even cope with weird teeth. I am NOT getting horns.

He contemplated contacting Dumbledore about it, but once again dismissed the idea. What should he care if I have a headache?...And a weird tattoo that grows of its own volition. And hair that won't stop growing. And sharp canines. Wait. Weird markings on his skin. Big, sharp canines that showed if he smiled at all. Bumps on his forehead. Something funky going on with his back. Shit! I really am turning into something! By now he'd figured out that whatever was going on with his back was big. Bigger than his new tattoos, even, and they'd taken over most of his upper arms and were encroaching on his elbows.

Should he tell? If so, who should he tell? The headmaster had not told him anything this year! He'd barely acknowledged Harry's existence since the end of the triwizard tournament when Cedric- no. Don't think about that. It's over, it wasn't your fault. Don't think about it. Concentrate on the fact that you're some sort of spotted thing with big teeth.

He clutched his head, pushing his fingers into the almost-imperceptible bumps to try and rub out the ache. It hurt, but somehow it felt good, too, like messing with a loose tooth. Lupin, maybe? He of all people would know about being a- nonhuman. Harry shook his head. No. Lupin's human, and so am I. I'm just a...weird human. Nonhuman's just...I think I prefer the incurable wizarding disease option.

But he hadn't heard from Lupin any more than he'd heard from Dumbledore. At this point he hadn't talked to Lupin since before Cedric he had been killed. He couldn't go to him with something like this, now. He'd talked to Sirius more recently, but tell Sirius about this? What could Sirius do? He was stuck hiding out somewhere. He couldn't leave, and Harry wouldn't tempt him to do so. I've drawn enough people into danger lately, I think. Harry wrenched out a stubborn weed with unnecessary force, sending dirt flying.

Who else? Ron would think it was weird. Well, duh. But Ron, of the three of them, had had the hardest time accepting Remus, and Remus had been human most of the time, at least. Whatever Harry was, it was getting more obvious every day, and it didn't go away based on time of day or phase of the moon. Plus, Ron would want to tell Hermione, who would try to research it or something, and somehow Harry knew he couldn't bear it if she found his species in her Care of Magical Creatures textbook. And they'll try to be good about it, but it'll be weird. They'll never look at me the same way again. I mean, I can't look at myself in the mirror without a shock, for goodness' sake!

But was there really no-one he could talk to about this? It was like the whole wizarding world had abandoned him. That's not fair, he told himself. Sirius and Ron and Hermione have been writing, they just...haven't said anything. Even Sirius had just told him 'be careful', 'don't do anything rash'. Like he always ran off on purpose to get himself killed. And like Sirius wouldn't if he could.

You'd think that after the triwizard tournament, I decided it just wasn't enough glory and portkeyed myself to that graveyard, and then turned myself into some weird magical creature just to be reckless. No. He wouldn't tell anyone. He'd just be a burden, and he'd been enough trouble for one lifetime, apparently. Let them have their summer away from me. I'll just be a good little...freak...and stay out of trouble. Harry knew his thoughts were overly bitter, but he couldn't bring himself to care, much. It was being a really miserable summer. Maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe I am just sick and it'll go away on its own and I won't have to do anything about it at all. And maybe Snape'll run off to join the circus.

July 26th

He was strong. Strangely so. His chores were getting easier and easier, and if it weren't for the pain in his shoulders he'd have almost enjoyed them. It felt good to move and stretch the new muscles, as long as he didn't try to reach above his head just yet.

He'd also noticed that his food didn't taste good. He'd've thought it was the food – Petunia's cooking skills were unpredictable – but even some of the stuff he made tasted off. Finally he was reduced to eating bread and vegetables, finding that any cooked meat tasted nasty, though the raw seemed strangely appealing.

“Boy!” Startled, Harry jumped and splashed water on the floor, then turned his head to bare his teeth briefly at his aunt. It wasn't until the horse-faced woman gave a little shriek that he realized what he'd done. Shit! At this point, his upper canines were as long as a dog's – impossible to mistake for human. Like baring normal teeth would've been real 'human'. Humans roll their eyes, or something, they don't show their canines. What the fuck am I doing?

His aunt was looking at him wide-eyed. “What was that?” she demanded shrilly. “Freak! What have you brought into my house?”

“Nothing! It's just- it's just me!”

“In your room! Now! And you aren't coming out for the rest of the summer!”

“I didn't do anything!”

“You think I'll let our neighbors see you like this, you- you freak! GET IN THAT ROOM!”

Harry sighed. 'Cause this summer needed to get worse. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

July 28th

On most of his bathroom trips Harry avoided looking in the mirror. He knew the bumps on his forehead were getting more and more pronounced, and something was going on with his ears, too – they had started to itch and burn at the tips - but when his aunt screamed and almost shut him back in the bedroom immediately upon seeing him, he had to know. Something worse than dog teeth? He wondered, frightened. When he looked at himself in the mirror, nothing that he had expected had happened. He didn't have horns...yet. The skin was definitely stretched – it even had honest-to-goodness stretch marks to prove it- and there was definitely something bony just under the surface, but he didn't have horns. His ears looked normal, if a little red. The marks on his arms were safely covered up by the long-sleeved shirt he'd dug out of his drawers.

Nevertheless it was the most upsetting change yet, for Harry. His face, the one thing that had seemed to be staying the same, was marked with similar lines to the ones he'd managed to hide on his shoulders and arms. If they'd been on anyone else, he would've said they weren't too horrible. Just a couple black 'vines' and a dot on each cheek under his eyes, following the curve of his cheekbones. They were even symmetrical. But- my face. How on Earth am I supposed to hide this? As he bent to study the lines in the mirror, he noticed something more subtle. His eyebrows looked...different. And his chin, maybe. And his cheekbones. His face looked...strange. Just a little, but...strange. Somehow that was even more disturbing than the marks. The marks were on his face; this was his face. Staring into the mirror, he felt the first inklings of a deep despair. What is happening to me?

July 31 – 1:00 AM

It was a dream. Harry knew it was a dream, and yet some part of him was convinced that he would die if he couldn't just wake up! He was running, running after some helpless creature, intent on shredding it to pieces, while a large crowd chased him with the same intention. He had to catch his prey, before he was captured, or he had to wake up. Otherwise he would die. Then the dream changed, and he was running down a dark corridor, staring at a door. He wanted to enter it, something marvelous was inside, just beyond that door- PAIN! Pain and thrashing and the crowd had gotten him and were tearing at his back and no it was some sort of giant monster and it was clawing his head, too, and no he was in his bed and his forehead hurt and his back was killing him and oh please someone MAKE IT STOP! And then it did, and he collapsed bleeding on the bed, completely exhausted from the ordeal. He tried to turn over onto his back, but there was something in the way, so he gave up and rolled back onto his stomach. My back doesn't ache anymore, he realized just before falling asleep.

July 31 – 8:00 AM

“Boy! If you're not up in the next five minutes you'll have to wait until tomorrow!”

“I'm coming!” Harry mumbled, trying once again to roll over onto his back to get up. Once again, there was something in the way. Harry looked back to move it and froze, seeing something huge and black behind him. Frightened and still half asleep, he sat back on his haunches slowly, then stood up off the bed, still looking back. Whatever it was followed his every movement, but slowly, and Harry found that whatever it was didn't strike him as dangerous. The muscles in his shoulders ached, and he rolled them. The big black things rolled with the movement. Oh.

Finally his brain caught up with the rest of him and he held his breath and reached back with a hand to touch the lightly furred, leathery webbing. Oh! He jumped as sensation shot through him from the touch. Yeah they're definitely mine. He had wings. Honest-to-God bat-like webbed wings. Suddenly remembering the terrifying dreams and the pain from the night before, Harry reached up to touch the bumps on his forehead, and gasped. Oh, I was really hoping that those would turn out to be some sort of gigantic pustules. Nevertheless he explored the little bumps with his fingertips, avoiding the irritated skin where they had come through and touching just the little bony horns.

Abruptly Harry had to see a mirror. Hoping to avoid his aunt, he shot out of the bedroom in just his pajama pants and ran to the bathroom down the hall. He got in, wing-joints barely scraping the seven-foot doorway, closed the door, and whirled around to look in the mirror. What he saw...was unreal.

The first thing he looked at were the wings, huge black leathery things that reached a foot above his head when folded tight as they were. When he cautiously extended them, he realized that they were too big to extend inside the bathroom. Somehow that made him feel terribly claustrophobic, and he pulled them back in quickly. Next he noticed his chest and abdomen, muscled more than they'd ever been in his life, but at the same time not any bigger than they'd been. They were toned, was all. And he was tall. He'd never thought he would grow to be six feet. Never in a million years. His arms and shoulders came next. By now the tattoo was almost to his wrists, and looked...completely natural, like it was part of him and was meant to be exactly as it was. If he looked at himself objectively, it even looked kind of cool.

Finally he got to the part he'd been avoiding: his face. He definitely had horns. They were small, for the moment, and he could mostly hide them in his hair, but who knew if that would last? Horns. I have actual, honest-to-God horns. His ears had finally changed, too, he noticed: they came up to a subtle point, like they hadn't before. His facial structure still looked mostly like his – maybe like his after he'd grown up a bit and broken his nose once. Somehow, though, that was still harder to bear than the horns and the ears and the lines on his cheeks. He didn't look quite like him, and that was terribly disturbing. Baring his teeth at his reflection, Harry stopped looking at everything individually and stepped back to see the whole picture.

Oh, God. I'm really not human. Humans could have tattoos; they could be tall and strong and have nice abs and long hair. They could maybe even have pointed ears. They could not have sharp, elongated canine teeth. They could not have wings. They could not have horns. The figure in the mirror was...a monster. An abomination. A freak.

Petunia's going to kill me, he realized. Or, actually, more likely, she would just ignore him entirely. How am I going to eat? How...who's going to let me out to go to the bathroom?

Harry spent a few minutes staring at himself mutely in the mirror and tried to decide what he was going to do about the whole issue. He was too shocked to really figure anything out, though. He had wings for goodness' sake. I really ought to tell somebody, he reflected, but he knew he wouldn't. He could handle this by himself, and who was to say it would last, anyway? He'd handled Voldemort on his own, three times now. He could cope with this, too, until somebody figured it out on their own. He hoped that would be a long time from now. 'Dear Remus,' he thought, 'I'm even less human than you are, now. Any idea how to fix it?'

But the humor fell flat, even in his own head. He couldn't fix it. Somehow he knew that this was who he was, now. It didn't feel like a disease, anymore, now that most of the changes were over; it just felt like his body. His own winged, horned, deformed body. I'm going to be like this forever, he realized, despairing. How am I possibly going to keep it a secret? What will happen when it's revealed? Remus had to deal with ministry restrictions and public prejudice every day of his life. He'd had to register, he couldn't get a job, he couldn't adopt children. He'd even had to leave Hogwarts when parents had found out he was a werewolf because everyone had feared for their children. Oh Merlin, Hogwarts. Dumbledore had let Remus stay, as a student, but Remus had been able to hide what he was. I can't be kicked out. I can't. I have got to hide!

“Boy! What are you doing in there! Get back to your room, now!”

“I'm coming,” Harry said automatically, before realizing. “Errr...Aunt Petunia. I should warn you I look a little strange; well, stranger. I didn't do it on purpose, but-”

“You think it's new to me that you're a freak?! Get out of there immediately!”

Harry sighed. This is going to go great. I can tell. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Tucking his new...appendages...up tightly, Harry exited the bathroom, still dressed only in the huge sweatpants that he usually slept in.

Petunia was less than six feet away, and gaped at him in shock. Belatedly, Harry realized that this was the first time she'd seen the marks on his arms, too. How am I gonna get a shirt on? Harry wondered briefly, before Petunia regained the ability to speak.

“Out!” Was all she said, a high, hysterical note in the one word.

“What?”

“Out! Get out! Out of my house, out of my life, away from my family! Get out now; I will not tolerate your presence here any longer!”

That he had not expected. Locked in his room? Sure. Fed less? Likely. Not allowed out even to pee? Dreaded, but possible. Kicked out? Never in a million years. This was the only home he had. “But- Aunt Petunia, please - where am I supposed to go?”

“I don't care! Get out of my house! Vernon! Vernon get over here now!”

Vernon lumbered out of the bedroom, still clearly half asleep. “Yes, darlin-”

“Make him leave!”

Finally focusing on Harry, Vernon did a double-take before shaking his head, looking unsure. “Petunia, he's fifteen-”

“Please, Vernon, he can't stay here! Think what he'll do to Dudley! He's a monster! Take him away!”

Harry looked to Vernon as the more sane of the two and spoke. “Look, I'll leave, but let me get some stuff, first?”

“No!” Petunia shrieked, “Not here! Vernon, he can't stay here!”

Harry looked back at Vernon. “Unless you want me to walk out to the car looking like this.”

Vernon went back into the bedroom and came out with a key, approaching Harry and speaking menacingly. “Five minutes, boy. Grab what you need, but be in my car in five minutes.”

Harry knew better than to push his luck. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

And so it was that Harry arrived at King's Cross station with nothing but the stuff he kept under the floorboard in his room: his wand, the photo album that Hagrid had given him, his invisibility cloak, and a handful of Gallions. He hadn't been able to hide his trunk under the invisibility cloak, or even managed to put on a shirt. What do I do now? He wondered, keeping his invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around him as he watched Vernon drive away. Where can I go?

Harry stood at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, staring down at the street that had seemed so terrifying to him as a child. Not that it didn't seem a bit scary now – the people there were definitely strange, and it was clearly not the best part of town. There were a couple of people that Harry suspected were vampires – who Harry knew were, for the most part, safe - and some other people with strange markings or piercings, and even someone with a tail, but nobody with huge fangs or claws like he'd expected. They're a lot more normal-looking than I am, now. There was no reason for these people to be any scarier than he was. And there's nobody like me, either. Damn.

He briefly considered taking off the invisibility cloak; just covering his scar with his hair and walking in, but shuddered. I can't even put a shirt on, for goodness' sake. As soon as the invisibility cloak came off, everybody would see everything: the markings, the wings, the horns, the ears. At this point he'd only be able to hide his teeth if he never spoke. What if someone identified him as something truly scary, and alerted the ministry? All in all, even in this environment, he preferred to hide, at least for now.

Having taken stock of his surroundings, Harry creeped down Knockturn Alley, concentrating on avoiding people and finding an inn where he could stay the night, and someplace that might know how to hide his...issues. Finally he saw a sign advertising, “Wings 'N Things: Clothing for all types,” and ducked inside. Staying under the invisibility cloak, Harry wandered around the empty store, looking curiously at the clothing on display. It doesn't look strange. Then one of the manikins caught his eye. Oh. It was the usual blank-faced, big-boobed model except for a couple aspects: its barbed tail, pointed ears, and small, curved horns.

Curiosity piqued, Harry looked around at the other manikins, smiling as he noted one with wings similar to his, and another with spikes jutting from its shoulders. The clothing closed seamlessly around the...extras...and Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out how one got them on, but apparently it was possible. A sign on the wall even advertised robes that would 'faze when you do!'. He remembered how shocked he'd been as an eleven-year-old when signs and manikins had moved at all, and shook his head. It had been a long time since he'd been 'just Harry.'

“Who's there?! Show yerself! Thief!”

As Harry watched, startled, a wizened old man even shorter than Professor Flitwick came out of the back of the store, wielding his cane in one hand and a wand in the other.

“I said show yerself! I'll not have people skulking around my store!”

“I'm not a thief.”

“Well you wouldn't admit it, would you?! I'm hardly believin' you're not a thief just on your say-so! What are you doing sneaking around all invisible-like, huh? You got an explanation for that?!

“I- I just-”

“Like I thought! Thieving, that's what y' are! You want to prove me wrong, heh? Show y'self!”

He's got to see me before he'll sell me clothing, Harry realized. Tentatively, Harry removed the cloak and dropped it to the ground. Ugh. I feel...naked. Suddenly something dark came around Harry, protecting him from view but also blocking his view of the tiny shopkeeper. A moment later he realized it was his wings, and tightened them further to avoid seeing the man's reaction.

Far from yelling or sounding frightened, though, the man sounded calmer when he spoke. “Oh. One of those, are ya? Relax, nobody's going t' harm y' here. Y' need clothes, I wager?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, relaxing his wings the tiniest bit so he could see through.

“Well, go on, let me see you! I can't hardly be expected to size y' up with all that membrane in the way, can I?”

“No, sir.” Feeling foolish, Harry slowly opened his wings and folded them back behind his back, until he was standing openly in front of the old man in nothing but a pair of huge sweatpants. Feeling terribly exposed, he stared straight at the floor, using his hair to shield his face. I can't let him realize who I am, he realized suddenly. If he tells-it would be a disaster. An absolute nightmare. The whole world would know. The headline of the Daily Prophet would read something like 'Dark Creature or Dark Lord?: The Boy-Who-Lived is a monster!'

“Y'er a medium, I think, with alterations for the wings. Are y' looking for robes, or muggle-style pants and shirts?”

“Both, please.” Really, he needed an entire wardrobe, he realized. He'd not been allowed to take his trunk with him. “And socks and shoes and underwear. A-and a hat? Maybe? Do you have any suggestions for how to hide these?” he asked, touching one of his horns carefully.

“Y' won't have to do that around here. There're those who'd be a mite offended if y' did.”

“I- I know that, I think. But I can't just stay here all the time, and I can't walk out to Diagon Alley looking like this!” Harry paused, hearing his pitch rise a little on that last word. He would not have hysterics. Personally, he thought the situation merited some hysterics, but he would not indulge the impulse.

“Relax. I'll get you yer clothes. I was just suggesting that perhaps y' ought t' let some of it show – yer marks, or mebbe even yer horns. You can acknowledge what you are t' the rest've us without showing everything or alerting the humans, yeah?”

The rest of us. As in 'the rest of us non-humans.' He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. “Okay, yeah, I guess.” The marks on my arms just look like tattoos, anyway, he reminded himself. “By the way, do you know a place I can stay for cheap, here?”

“I thought you might ask that,” the old man said, cocking his head, “you are in a bind, aren't you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Y'er here, tryin' t' buy a whole wardrobe worth of clothes and lookin' for someplace t' stay, when y'er clearly so new t' your form y' still can't stand to look at yerself in a mirror. It's not that hard t' guess that you've lost your home.”

Harry turned away. I guess it's not, come to think of it. He turned back, searching for what they'd been discussing before and remembering that he'd asked if the man knew of a cheap inn. “Well, do you? And maybe somewhere I could get a charm or something to hide my- my weirdness?”

Abruptly the man fixed him with a gimlet glare and Harry ducked his head, realizing his faux pas. “Sorry.”

“Y' might want to be watching yer words, there. Y'er not the only one around here to be less than welcome in the wizarding world.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now there's an inn right across the Alley that'll fit'cher needs just fine. The landlady's a friend a' mine, and she'll set y' up proper once I get y' dressed. Mind you, some of her clientele are like to scare ye, but everybody knows y'don't want to cause trouble in Harlot's Inn.”

Harry choked at the name. “Umm- excuse me? Did you just say-”

“Well, what would you call an inn run by a woman named Madame Harlot?”

Still surprised, but not wanting to offend the man, Harry shook his head and responded, “Errr...good point, I guess.”

“Hmm. Now. I've got some modified Hogwarts school robes, here,” the shopkeeper said, looking through one of the racks, “as well as plenty of muggle-style pants and shirts. What colors and styles do y' prefer?”

“Err...black for the robes? And- er- jeans?” Suddenly Harry remembered, and dug a hand into his pocket to show the man his handful of galleons. “This is all I've got, though, so – maybe just a shirt? I'll come back for the rest when I've gotten to Gringotts.”

The miniscule man shook his head at him. “Y' really ain' ever paid for anything except with cash?”

“Errr...no?”

“And y'ain' ever seen any wizards pay for anything without cash?”

“I'm muggle-raised.”

The little man looked at him in consternation. “And that'd be why y' lost yer home, I'd wager. Yes?”

Harry sighed. “They were just scared.”

“Did y' attack them?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Well 'xactly. I wouldn't 'mediately think that, and neither would you, but they did. They were scared for no reason, and didn't love y' 'nough to get over 't.”

Well that was...tactful. He couldn't figure out how to respond and eventually went for polite, but couldn't quite keep the irony from his voice. “Thanks, sir that...that really helps.” Can I just get my clothes and go, please?

“What do you want fer shirts, then?” The man asked, and Harry returned gratefully to the previous conversation.

“Uh...dunno. Whatever'll work over my- my wings.”

“It'll all work over yer wings. It's the fabric what's modified, not the pattern.”

“Okay,” Harry said, smiling a bit for the first time that day. That's easy.

“Y' also talked about hiding them. That's custom, and 'tll be expensive, but it can be done. Why don't ya let me know what is is yer lookin' for, then, and I'll get y' the normal stuff now and the rest in a week or so?”

Harry looked at him in consternation. He'd just been planning on staying the night, getting his way to hide, and getting out of there and back to Diagon Alley where he...belonged. Used to belong, he reminded himself, then wrenched his mind back on track. He couldn't go anywhere until he had those clothes! “A week?” He squeaked, “but I- I can't stay for a week!” Stay for a whole week in Knockturn Alley? Among all the other weirdos? Without clothes to hide what he looked like? And the Order'll be looking for me for sure! What if they find me, looking like this?

The man just looked at him. “Where were you plannin' on going, then? I daresay y'll be much better off in Madame Harlot's then on Diagon Alley or the like. And 'tll do you good t' stay visible for a bit, an' get used to what y'er s'posed to look like 'fore y' hide yerself.”

Harry just closed his eyes for a bit and took a deep breath. There's nothing I can do about it, I might as well be polite.

“So what can you get me today, then?”

“I can get ya yer standard stuff – robes, jeans, shirts – but hiding wings is tricky. I would go down the street t' the Shadowed Drow. The cheapest and best way to get th' camouflage yer lookin' for is to wear charmed clothing like I can make ya, but for a bit of gold the 'Drow'll get y' some temporary charms. They'll fleece you for'em, and they'll only last a couple of hours, but if y' really need to go into Diagon Alley, they'll setcha up faster than I can.”

“Okay, I guess that'll work. Thanks.”

After getting his clothing, which he paid for by putting his thumb on a special pad that drew Gallions directly from his vault, and promising to come back the next week for the charmed stuff, Harry put on a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt and looked out into the street, trying to get up the courage to leave without his invisibility cloak. He could cover his horns and his scar relatively easily with his long hair, but there was no hiding his wings. This is ridiculous. Everybody out there looks strange. Nobody's going to care that you've got wings when they've got a tail. He would just put on the invisibility cloak, but it was just past noon, and beastly hot. And hiding is ridiculous. You're a Gryffindor, for goodness' sake! You've faced down Voldemort! What's so scary about a street full of people? He thought about it and almost groaned. Ridiculous. He was scared that everyone would stare at him, or be frightened and shy away, and at the same time he was scared of them, of their wings, and tails, and horns. Grimacing, he tucked his wings tightly against his back and walked directly out into the crowded alley.

As he walked out of the shop, Harry almost immediately blundered into another passerby, who bared pointed teeth quickly but continued walking. Werewolf? He wondered. Lupin doesn't do that...Hmm. Probably not. Lupin's teeth aren't big like that...like mine He didn't have time to think about it, though, as he dodged around the busy street traffic, trying to avoid bumping into anybody else but nevertheless knocking a Hag with his wings when he turned too quickly. He apologized fervently, then finally fled from the railing Hag, and safely reached the opposite wall of the Alley.

Well that was anticlimactic, he reflected as he reached the other side of the street. I crossed. The street...and got yelled at by a mean old lady. All hail the great brave Gryffindor. Looking up, he noticed that the sign in front of him said, “Harlot's Inn, all welcome.” It really is called that. Does that mean the owner's name is really Harlot? What kind of a person names their kid Harlot? He wanted to get off the street, though, safe to walk around on or no, and so went inside quickly.

Harry noticed first that Harlot's Inn was mercifully quiet compared to the bustling street – as soon as he closed the door he could hear the small crinkling sounds made by the room's single occupant as he read a newspaper - and second that it didn't look like an inn. It was more like a seedy pub. There was a large bar against one wall, with a long row of bar stools in front, and plenty of sturdy tables for eating or drinking. It was clean enough, he supposed, looking around in the bright sunshine that came in through the windows, but it was anything but fancy. The curtains on the windows were a little worn and faded, and the tables uncovered and unadorned. I like it. Harry decided. It felt very...genuine...compared to Privet drive, and very restful compare to the craziness that had invaded his life lately. Finally tired of looking around, Harry looked back at the man in the corner and spoke.

“Excuse me?”

The man ignored him. Maybe he didn't hear? “Excuse me?”

Finally the man looked up with an impatient expression. “What?!”

“Do you know who runs this place? I'd like to rent a room.”

“Try the kitchen. The entrance is there behind the bar.”

“Thanks.” The man didn't seem to hear, intent as he was on his reading, and finally Harry shrugged and headed around the bar. When he reached the doorway to the kitchen, he stopped at the threshold and peered in. There were two women conversing in a corner as they broke the ends off of an enormous pile of what looked like pea-pods. They looked up at him as one and he resisted the urge to cover his face with his wings as he'd done in the clothing store.

“Uh...hi. I was told I could get a room here? A cheap one?”

One of the women got up and Harry noticed what he hadn't before – she was huge. Not 'Madame Maxime' huge, but huge just the same. Taller than his six feet, and muscled almost like a man would be. Her face bore a scar over one eye, which added interest to an already striking visage. She wasn't beautiful, or particularly feminine, but she was...interesting. Her voice, when she spoke, was unexpectedly attractive, smooth and feminine where nothing else about her was. “You can.”

“S-so who do I talk to, then?”

“You're talkin' to her.” Finally the woman seemed to relent. “What is it exactly you're looking for?”

“Whatever you've got, really. I just need something cheap for a week.”

“We're pretty full at the moment. I can give you a room, but it'll be a crappy one.”

“That's fine. I really just need a bed and food.”

“Follow me, then.”

“Thanks, Ma'am.”

The woman gave him a strange look. “Call me Harlot. Everybody else does.”

Harry gulped. “Yes...Madame Harlot.”

“Who're you, then?”

“Harry.”

The strange woman led him back out into the bar, then up two narrow staircases. As Harry bent to avoid hitting his head on the sloping ceiling as he climbed the second staircase, he realized that she was leading him into the attic. He followed her down a narrow hallway to a small door at the end, opening it for him so he could walk inside and look around. It was one of the most... awkward rooms he'd seen with the exception of his cupboard under the stairs when he was little. The door she opened for him was only five feet across a narrow corridor from another door, which Harry hoped was a bathroom. When he looked down the corridor, he saw that the room widened at the end to accommodate a window and the bed, which was tucked under the sloping roof such that he would only be able to sit up in the bed from one direction. The room was so small that the small dresser blocked the door from opening completely, and even then could only fit that, the bed, and the bedside table. On the plus side, the one window got lots of sun, was of good size, and had a padded window seat that looked out over the alley, so he could watch all the interesting people walking by. Besides that, someone had seemingly attempted to make up for the room's size by improving on the bed: the mattress was comfortable, and the covers were soft and of good quality.

“Like I said, it's our worst room. You'd be better off going a block down the Alley to the Brokewinged Dove. Their food's not near as good as ours', and they'll be more expensive, but we mostly don't use this room for big folk.”

Big folk? “No,” Harry decided, “this is fine. How much does it cost?”

“You want your meals included in your bill, or are you likely to be eating elsewhere?”

Harry considered it. I don't want to have to leave here to eat. “Included, please.”

“Eight Gallions a day.”

That is cheap. Harry reflected. Wow. “I'll take it. Thank you.”

“Good. Breakfast and lunch are communal, and served in the kitchen at 8:00AM and 12:00PM, respectively. Dinner's whenever you want it, in the bar. Drinks are extra.”

“Yes Ma'a- Madame Harlot.”

The woman grinned at him, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. “You'll get used to it.”

Harry tried to glare, but the grin was infectious, and he instead gave her a small smile back. “I suppose I will.”

When Madame Harlot left him alone, Harry sorted his new clothing into the dresser and the bedside table. Other than the clothes he was wearing, he had two pairs of dark jeans, three sets of Hogwarts robes, all black, a pair of sweatpants that actually fit him, a real set of pajamas, three tee-shirts, two black and one blue, and plenty of socks and underwear. The Wings N' Things didn't sell normal shoes, unfortunately, so he'd have to get by with the horrible sneakers he had from Privet drive. He had also ordered three charmed tee-shirts, and a charmed backpack, all of which he'd have to wait for. He wasn't sure how the backpack was going to work, but the shopkeeper had assured him that it would be as comfortable as backpacks had been before he'd sprouted wings.

Reminded of his new appendages, Harry moved one forward to look it over more closely then he'd dared that morning, noticing for the first time the little hooks on the joints that were usually held above his head. He was a little clumsy with them, and he almost took out his lamp when he folded and unfolded them, but he found that other than that it didn't feel any less natural to move them than it felt to move his arms. Like his teeth and his marks, they were his, part of him. Permanent, a voice whispered in the back of his head, and he quickly went back to arranging his clothing. I need a new trunk, he realized. And new books. And a cauldron. And potions ingredients. And parchment and ink and quills. And- oh my God. His Firebolt. He'd left his Firebolt behind his trunk in his cupboard. Vernon had probably burned it as soon as he got home from leaving Harry at King's Cross. Along with everything else that would remind them of me.

He sat down hard on his window-seat and put his head in his hands. They kicked me out. They actually kicked me out. I can't believe it.

He'd've thought he'd be thrilled to leave Privet Drive. He'd've rather lived almost anywhere else – Hogwarts even if it was completely empty over the summer, the Burrow, the Leaky Cauldron like he'd done his third year. His tiny room here would have been paradise if he'd chosen to leave, but he hadn't. He felt like he had nothing and nobody and, absurdly, he wanted to go home. He remembered what his Uncle had said that morning, 'he's fifteen,' and felt younger than he ever had.

This sucks. Deciding that he couldn't stand being alone anymore, and realizing it was only a half-hour until lunch, Harry gave up on his unpacking and went downstairs.

Harry got to the kitchen without encountering anyone, but found the kitchen itself much more active than it had been before. The woman that had been talking to Madame Harlot before was now at work rolling cubes of raw meat in some sort of spice mix and stirring some sort of sauce on the stove, while a young girl who Harry guessed was her daughter put food and utensils on the table. They were both small and dark, and yet the mother moved around the kitchen with an almost unnatural grace that somehow gave the impression of great strength, carefully controlled.

“Wait a mo'ent sir!” The older woman called. “Lunch'll be ready in a minute or so!”

“Yes, Ma'am, Harry said, knowing from experience that too many people in a kitchen could be annoying. “Anything I can do to help, Ma'am?”

“Y'any good at cooking?”

“Decent, yeah, if it's just simple stuff.”

“Feel like chopping so' vegetables for me? I' running a bit behin'”

“Sure,” Harry said, glad to find something to do, “where do you want me?”

Five minutes later Harry was chopping some sort of strange root vegetable that he didn't recognize, left largely alone by the busy cook and her daughter. This is a strange kitchen, Harry realized, looking around. There were three ovens, but Harry could smell the bread baking in them, rather than any sort of meat. The majority of the kitchen seemed to be taken up by chopping surfaces, sinks, and a walk-in refrigerator. I guess they don't make a lot of hot food. Soon after Harry started with his job, the daughter moved up next to him, chopping yet more vegetables, while the cook moved on from the cubes of meat (apparently leaving them raw, for now), to the bread, removing it from the oven and setting it to rest on one of the less-convenient counter tops. When he was done with the vegetables he was chopping, he turned to the daughter, who pointed him to a big bowl of salad. When he'd thrown the vegetables in, the cook handed him a sack of apples to wash and slice. Lulled by the familiar, menial tasks, Harry barely noticed the half hour had passed until the cook told him to wash his hands and sit down.

As he did so, he realized what else he had not noticed while he was chopping and slicing – the table had slowly filled up with other people, including Madame Harlot and the gruff old man from the bar. They all looked up at Harry with a measure of curiosity, and he spared a moment to make sure his scar was covered before looking around a bit more. There was a tall, thin, blond man that reminded Harry strongly of Lucius Malfoy, and Harry found he had to restrain a growl. As it was, his upper lip lifted just a tad from his canines, and the man returned his sneer. Relax, it's not even him. What's your problem? And stop growling!

But something about the man got Harry's hackles up, and apparently whoever it was felt the same way about him.

“Don't you two start,” the cook warned immediately. “You're allow' to dislike each other, but you cause trouble and I've no qualms about throwing y' out. We make more money off the booze anyway. Kahrn you at least know the rules.”

“I apologize, Missus Bighana,” the man answered politely, then turned to Harry and spoke emotionlessly. “I am Kahrn. Nice to meet you.”

“Harry,” Harry said shortly, unable to contain the slight twist in his upper lip that exposed his right canine. Why do I hate this guy so much? Weird. It wasn't hate exactly, though. More like...a profound distrust.

Trying to avoid further trouble, Harry ignored the man and looked around the table at the other inn residents. The cook and his daughter had joined them at the table while Harry and the blond stranger had exchanged glares, and they each gave Harry a smile. Besides them, the table held a goblin, a strangely gaunt old woman, and a pair of honest-to-God fairies. Harry knew from his Care of Magical Creatures class that fairies came in many sizes and forms, but he had never met any. These two were tiny – only five inches tall – and had clear dragonfly wings instead of the colorful butterfly wings he might have expected. They stared at him, and whispered, but he didn't mind too much – it conveniently excused him staring at them.

“Hi, I'm Harry,” he finally said.

“Hi!” the female said cheerily. “I'm Bur!”

“I'm Pin,” said the male, slightly more calmly though his voice was as high-pitched as hers, “what brings you here?”

Harry looked down, “my...changes,” he said hesitantly, gesturing with a hand down his body, “...were less than welcome at home. I came here 'cause I figured I'd be less likely to scare people.” When his answer brought an awkward silence to the table, he continued, “how about you?”

“Oooo we came to see all the different people and places and things!” answered Bur, “There's so much going on here!”

“It is an interesting place,” Harry agreed. Maybe too interesting, he reflected, looking around the table. Looking at the food, he realized that the cubed meat had been put directly on the table with a serving spoon, along with a variety of raw and cooked vegetables, the bread, and various things that Harry couldn't identify. He grabbed a chunk of bread and some cooked vegetables and tucked in gratefully, only then realizing how just how unpleasant Petunia's food had started to taste. Will Hogwarts food taste weird, too? This stuff is good! He gave the bowl of meat a speculative glance but quickly decided to ignore it. It's raw, dumbass. Leave it alone.

“Why're you here, Kahrn?” Pin wanted to know.

“Business,” he said shortly.

“With me,” put in the goblin before the curious fairies could ask.

“Do you live here?” Harry asked curiously.

“Temporarily,” answered the goblin.

“How about you, Elke?” The cook asked the old woman.

“I am on vacation from Germany,” the old woman answered with a slight accent, “I wished to see London.”

“Like it?” Asked the old man abruptly, startling Harry.

“Yes I do,” said Elke, “the Alley is very interesting, and the shopping is very nice. Do you live in London?”

“I do,” said the old man, “and it is not nearly as nice to live in as to visit, I assure you.”

“Yes that is but always true,” answered Elke with a smile.

“I suppose,” conceded the old man gruffly.

A short silence fell, then Pin spoke up again, “so, Harry was it? You mentioned your 'changes.' Are you a switch?”

“Yeah, that's my name...um...'switch?'” Harry asked, confused.

“You were born looking human?” clarified Madame Harlot.

“Uhh....yeah. I really don't know what happened, actually. Things just got...strange...this summer.”

“I hope to tell!” exclaimed Bur, “You really didn't always look like this?”

“I didn't look like this yesterday,” Harry said.

“Woah,” breathed Pin, “what must that be like?!”

“Horrible,” Harry said bluntly, not wanting to talk about it any more.

“That is difficult,” commiserated Elke, “I have always been glad that I have always looked the same as now. I am a witch, I guess you say in English, but not like a woman wizard. Most wizards cannot tell I am human or not enough to care, but I am...different. They would not like it, if they knew, I think.”

“Why not?” Asked Pin, sounding fascinated.

“My magic is not so clean as theirs. It is...bloody, smelly. I do not harm humans, but they would not like it, anyway.”

“You do blood magic?” Harry asked, morbidly interested, “you kill things?”

“Yes,” answered the witch, “but I think you would do also if you could not do magic with your magic stick.”

“I was just curious,” Harry excused himself, “I didn't mean anything by it.”

“It is no problem,” answered Elke, “you are new to this world. Do you know what you are?”

“No,” Harry said, frustrated. How could he not even know his own species?

“You are like us,” said Pim excitedly, “you are fae!”

“Fae? Like you? But I'm huge!”

“Fae's not a species,” said Madame Harlot, “more like a category. It's easier to say what you are not than what you are.”

“Not elf, or were, or vampire, or demonkind, or centauri, or sea people,” said Pin, “we are fae.”

“You are like us!” said Bur, “you are like brownies, and goblins, and gnomes.”

“But more like us Little Folk,” added Pin, “we are Winged Fae.”

That helps some, I guess, Harry thought, but what am I? I'm not a fairy. Fairies don't get this big! “But what am I?” asked Harry desperately, “are there others like me?”

“Yes,” said Bur definitively.

“But we don't know much about them,” said Pin, “we haven't spent much time with Big Folk before this.”

“Oh,” said Harry, disappointed, “so what're you then?”

“Little Folk,” said Pin, “humans call us fairies.”

That's why Madame Harlot said my room's not usually used for Big Folk, I guess. Suddenly Harry realized something. “Do you mind being called fairies?”

“Not really,” said Bur, “it's just not what we call ourselves.”

“Usually in this worl', we call things what they call the'selves,” said Bighana, “and it is generally more polite to do so.”

“Okay,” said Harry. Better to fit in here then nowhere, “Little Folk, then.”

After lunch, Harry returned to his room to finish putting his clothing away, but was promptly interrupted by a tapping at the window.

“Hedwig!” he said happily as he let the owl in, “you found me!”

The owl chirred happily at him while he took the letter from her. The envelope was of old, slightly yellowed parchment, and fat with its contents. He turned it over to see where it had come from and gasped. Written on the front of the envelope in place of the address was:

My dearest son Harry,

on your Fifteenth Birthday,

wherever your life may have led you.

Careful to not rip the face of the envelope, Harry ripped the letter open and pulled out the contents – a letter, two full potions vials, and a lock of auburn hair. It can't be. Taking a breath, Harry set the potions vials and the hair carefully aside, sat on his window seat, and opened the letter.

Harry,

Happy Birthday. It is nearly impossible to even imagine you fifteen years old, let alone imagine you turning fifteen without me, but I fear that that is likely, and I needed you to know that James and I loved you completely, despite everything else that went on. You are our treasure, the most important thing in our lives.

I don't even know how to start explaining this to you; surely you will hate me.

Harry shook his head. Nothing could make me hate you, mum. He went back to reading.

You should be noticing some changes in your body, lately. Do not be alarmed by them – they are not harmful, and they do not mean that you are any less James' son, they just- oh I am going about this all wrong already.

Harry, my child, I made a mistake. An awful, stupid, thoughtless mistake. I could tell you it was because I was stressed, because I missed James, because I feared for my friend, but I cannot expect you to appreciate what my life was like then. I am still overwhelmed that James has forgiven me so completely, and I only pray that you can, too.

It was October 1978. James was on a mission for- Hmm. I'm sorry, but I don't know if I should tell you about that. Ask Dumbledore if you wish to know more. I don't know what your world looks like enough to judge whether it is safe to say. But James was on a mission against the Death Eaters, and I was at home, alone. Like I said, I missed him, so one night – I believe it was the 27th – I went out to a pub. I met an old friend there, one who I had not seen since we had left Hogwarts. He was a good man, I think, but he made some terrible decisions. I am not in a good position to judge, I suppose. Long story short, we stayed a long time, and drank too much. It was cold, and his apartment was closer, which gave me the needed excuse to stay the night. When I left the next morning, though I did not know it immediately, I was pregnant with you.

The letter dropped from Harry's fingers as he shook his head frantically. No. No, no, no, no, no. Damnit you can't DO this to me! It's not enough that I'm some freak you have to land this on me?

Harry sat back and closed his eyes, feeling tears form behind and around the lids. James Potter is not my father. He died for me, but he wasn't my father. He couldn't process it, couldn't even believe it. Everyone says I'm just like him, hates or loves me just for that, and it's not even true. Damnit, Mom, how could you do that? He was off fighting Voldemort so you screwed some asshole you hadn't even seen since Hogwarts? Some- some jerkoff you met in a bar? And this is my father? Did Dad even know, or did he die thinking it was his son he was saving? I look just like him, everybody says so. How could I look like him if he wasn't my father? She's got to be wrong. Please let her be wrong. Shaking his head, Harry returned to the letter.

I felt awful the next morning, and I told James immediately after he got home. He was...amazing. Upset, of course. Hurt, angry, he left to live with Sirius (Sirius Black, a good friend of your Dad's) for a week. But when he came back, he was back, completely. By then I knew I was pregnant, and he assured me that he would raise you as his own, as if nothing had happened, with one condition: he did not want others to know. We cast a series of spells to hide your appearance, to make you look like James, but we always knew they would only last a certain time. You must understand, James never cared what you looked like, he just knew others would. He didn't want the questions...and he didn't want your father to come back and reclaim his son. It was unfair to him, but I concealed your true parentage from my friend. I wanted life to go back to normal; I wanted to raise you with James, and he wanted the same. I felt it was the least I owed him after what I had done. I cannot regret it, now. My family survived my idiocy. Neither James nor I wants to reopen old wounds. We both agreed, however, that you should know, once you were old enough to understand, at least a little. Even I do not understand completely how I could do that to James. Fifteen seemed like a good age for it, especially since the spells would be wearing off by then.

Abruptly Harry realized that he was getting angry. No. I don't understand, and you shouldn't either. He was fighting the Dark Lord, for God's sake! Then he realized what else he'd just read, and read it again. They put a spell on me. I – I'm not real. I don't really look like this. That's why my face is changing. It's not the same as all the other crap. It's the spells. I'm going to look like this other git. But if that was what she was talking about, what about the rest of it? Surely she would mention that he wasn't human? If she knew. Maybe she didn't know. That was a scary thought. Who was this 'old friend' who had given Harry such strange traits? It could just be a disease, like I thought at first, he considered, but he knew he was deluding himself. He didn't feel sick, he felt healthy, and even whole. He looked like what he was supposed to. Except for my face. That's a lie. He went back to reading.

You may notice I do not use your father's name. I know he is a good man, but he avoids me like I carry a plague. He is not well liked by our current crowd, for a variety of reasons, and is not a happy man. I believe he can't stand to see the family I have built. The point is, I don't know where his life has led him, or will have led him in 14 years' time. Perhaps putting his name in a letter would be dangerous to him. I cannot know, and so I must not say. I do want you to know your father, however. Whatever he was before, he is a good man now.

Except that he screws around with peoples' wives.

There are two potions enclosed in this letter. The brown is a paternity potion. It is complete, and should be unaffected by time. Simply put a bit of your hair into the potion and it will tell you who your father is. The blue is designed to break the spells that we cast to affect your appearance. If you wish, you can choose to change all at once. I will warn you, however – the spells we cast only changed those features affected by your father's genetics, not mine. The fact that you looked so very much like James afterward, even as a tiny child, indicates that you will probably look very much like your father when the change is complete. It could be a shock, both for you and for your friends.

Like it could really scare me more than the wings and the horns. That wasn't right, Harry knew: in reality the changes to his face were already bothering him, but he couldn't imagine more changes mattering all that much at this point. My life is a train wreck already, might as well screw it up further. Thanks, Mom.

I am sorry, my son, my child. Nothing was meant to happen the way it did and the way it is. It seems more likely every day that I will not be there to see you grow, and to help you through this. Please do not blame your father, if he lives and you find him again. He knew none of this, and though he and James never got on, I am sure he did not intend to interfere with my marriage. He was a very lonely and troubled child. He is possibly an even more lonely and troubled man. Please forgive him, even if you cannot forgive me. I know it is a lot to ask, but please approach him with an open mind and an open heart. He is...not the most easily approachable human being, but he has every reason to be the way he is, and he would certainly never harm you.

Anyway, I cannot fix this. I screwed up. Please forgive me. I really don't know what to say, other than that. I love you. James loves you. He does not care that you are not of his blood. It pains me to think that this letter may be all that you have of me, but what more to say? You're a year old, to me. You're in the highchair beside me throwing peas. To you...well maybe you will remember me, and maybe you won't. If you got this letter, I am dead. Who knows for how long already. What can I say other than that I love you? Please do seek out your father. He is a good man, and I think you could be good for him. Your loving mother, Lily Evans Potter

Harry stared at the letter in his hands, once again feeling his eyes burn as he tried to process everything he had learned. His father was not his father. All he'd had of his parents had been a book of photographs, some people's remembrances, and his own idealistic idea of who they had been. Now everything but the photos was a lie, and the photos didn't even show his actual father, but rather the man who had been betrayed by his mother and died for him anyway. No. James is my father. The 'old friend' is just some jerkoff who screwed around with a married woman. My father is the man who threw himself in front of the Dark Lord to try to save me. He contemplated the paternity potion for a moment before walking to the bathroom and pouring it down the sink. There. Bye bye, 'father', whoever you are. I'll stand by my real Dad, dead or no.

Getting rid of the paternity potion just after reading his mother's plea made him feel slightly guilty, but he pushed it away. She had betrayed his Dad. He wouldn't do the same. He firmly focused his attention back on the other potion. Did he want to just get it over with, or let the spells dissolve gradually the way they seemed to be doing? His one comfort with all the strange changes to his body had been that he still felt like himself, like his body was real. Until now, when he found out that it wasn't, not yet.

What if I'm unrecognizable? What if Ron and Hermione don't even know who I am? I won't look like James anymore! That stopped him. I'm not going to look like James anymore. Ever. It doesn't matter whether I take the potion or not, I am not his son. At that point, it was more a matter of now, or slowly over the next – he could only guess. Six months? If it goes slow, people will notice less. Ron and Hermione will at least recognize me in September. They'd be more likely to discover the...other stuff...though, if they were trying to figure out what was going on with his face. He'd have to tell them if he wanted them to remain ignorant of the rest. Might as well get that over at the beginning of the year, really.

And he was getting very tired of his body changing every time he looked at it. At least if he took the potion he'd know what he was dealing with and be able to get used to it by September. Is that my decision? I'm gonna die anyway so might as well get it over with? He reflected on his numerous encounters with Voldemort and smiled bitterly. I seemed to have picked up a slightly fatalistic attitude, lately. But then, in the triwizard tournament, it had always been the unknown that bothered him. He'd freaked out about the dragons, but he'd handled it once he was forced to. The second task hadn't bothered him once he was in the water and the gillyweed started working. The maze – ended badly. But the point still held: he did best dealing with things directly. His only other option was to wait and see what happened, and he hated that. That's it, then. I'll take the potion and damn the consequences.

That thought in mind, Harry carried the vial back to his bathroom with him. My decision's made. No more thinking. Uncorking the vial, he tossed back the contents with a grimace. It wasn't the worst tasting potion he'd ever taken, but it wasn't great. Sort of like the Elmer's glue he'd eaten once as a child.

Staring into the mirror, Harry waited. For a second, it seemed like nothing was happening, but then Harry noticed that his jaw was sharper than it had been. And then his cheeks thinned out a bit. And the new bump in his nose became more pronounced. His brows deepened, just a little, and his eyes looked...more intense, somehow. And then, long before Harry expected them to, the changes stopped. That's it? Harry wondered, at the same time as he curiously studied his new reflexion. His hair was still black, his nose and chin still small, his smile the same as it had been. He still looked like him. Apparently his biological father hadn't looked that different from James, or his traits hadn't been as strong as his mother had thought. Suddenly he grinned. I still look like me! All that and Mum was wrong! I still look like me! He looked different, for certain – a little more intense, a bit more mature, and overall just – different. Hermione and Ron would certainly notice, as would many others, but they would recognize him. At least once they look past the hair, he realized. The last time he looked in the mirror it was down to his upper back, and the growth hadn't slowed. I'd look more like me if I cut it. But he wouldn't, he knew. He liked it long, and it still didn't feel quite right, quite finished. He didn't know how long it wanted to be, but he'd let it grow for now.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Harry once again studied his whole body, surveying the changes, and, this time, breathed a sigh of relief. It's over. It still didn't look normal; he still felt a shock every time he looked in the mirror, but that was the thing. It was a shock that he looked so weird because he felt normal. Strong, a tad clumsy, but normal. As long as he didn't look at them, the changes didn't frighten him. Once again, he pulled a wing around his body to study it, once again noticing how sensitive the edges were to touch, but this time also noticing how soft the fur was to his fingertips, and how tough the leather underneath it. It wasn't sensitive at all, hardly, once you got past the edge. Perhaps he was just tired, but they didn't frighten him as much as they had that morning. They were his wings, and while part of him was still like, “shit I have wings!”, another accepted that as perfectly normal. Of course he had wings, he was supposed to have wings. What else would he look like? And this after only one day with them. Weird. But then the whole day had been weird. Compared to everything else going on, even the changes to his face couldn't really alarm him. He was just too exhausted. Sleep. Sleep would definitely be good. This isn't going to feel real until I give my brain time to figure stuff out. James isn't my father. Shit.

And so, though it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, Harry stretched out on top of the covers on his bed, curled his wings around him, and fell asleep.

He woke up two hours later to the sound of tapping on the window. His immediately saw Hedwig perched on his headboard and groaned. Not a dream, then. It had been a vain hope, anyway – the changes had started early in the summer, after all, and the events of that morning had only followed on that - but Harry allowed himself a moment of disappointment before hauling himself up to let the owls in through the window. Please let this be something normal. Please.

Both owls carried almost identical brightly-wrapped packages, each with a note. It's my birthday, Harry realized finally, I forgot. He hadn't even remembered to stay up to watch his watch turn over, he'd been so distracted by everything else going on. The letter from his mother had even mentioned his birthday, and he'd still not noticed. He smiled a little as he took the packages from the owls. Happy Birthday, me. He couldn't remember a worse one since he'd found out he was a wizard. And maybe even before then. This is really impressively bad.

Nevertheless he opened the packages and notes from Ron and Hermione, feeling a bit better. He was still somewhat peeved at his friends for not giving him any information, but that felt almost insignificant now, and anything normal was more than welcome at the moment. Both friends had sent him boxes of chocolate in various flavors from Honeydukes, and wished him a Happy Birthday. He quickly penned notes thanking them, and opened the chocolate, praying that it would still taste good. It did. In fact, some of the weird ones that he hadn't liked before tasted amazing now. He'd never appreciated the true magnificence that were maraschino cherries before that moment. Even the strange purple jelly ones tasted good, and improved his mood considerably. When all else fails, there's always chocolate, Harry decided, eating another one. Thank you Ron and Hermione. I'm some sort of weird fae thing, and a bastard, and I don't look the same anymore, but I have chocolate.

August 4th

Harry:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

“Yes? You need something?”

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

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

“Ones to make me look human.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What's the difference?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, how did you guess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

“Excuse me? Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How long'll they last?”

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

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

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

“Okay...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, do come in.”

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

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

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

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

“Can you not guess?”

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

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

“And the rest?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mori-what?”

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

“Moriyana?”

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

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

“What's wrong?”

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

“Wha-”

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

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

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

“You are an orphan. Now, so is she.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha-”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah...”

“an' she just hande' y' her chil'?”

“Yeah.”

“What else di' she give y'?”

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

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

“My- my whatness?”

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

“The – I'm- I'm the what?”

“I- I can't be the heir. I'm just...some bastard. There's no way I'm royalty.”

“You are now,” said Harlot, starting to recover from her shock. “You're wearing the earrings, and so's the babe.”

He looked down at Mo to see that she carried a tiny stud and a hoop in her upper ear where he had two hoops. “B-but how?”

“She chose you,” said Bighana. “That's why I ask' if she gave y' something. It seem' unlikely she woul' give you the chil' without naming you heir.”

“She didn't tell me that! She just said they marked me as part of her family!”

“They do,” said Harlot, “they mark you to any of the People and any human government officials as a member of the royal family, specifically as first in line to the throne.”

“A' to that that y're sidhe – though most even a'ong the People won't recognize you as it – they mark you as heir to our highest throne.”

“That- that-ugh! So you're telling me she just handed me the kid and gave me the earrings and- and died – without ever mentioning any of this?”

Harlot snorted. “What, and you'd've refused?”

“Yes! There's no way in hell I'll accept more f-ing fame than I already have!”

“More fame?” Harlot asked him, but he was saved from answering by Bighana, who commented,

“Y' still can, technically.”

“Really? How?”

“Job goes with the kid, Highness,” said Harlot.

“Huh?”

She snorted. “Give up the kid, you give up the job. Don't get too hopeful, though.”

“Why not?”

“Hand her to me.”

“Wha-” he gripped the baby closer, suddenly feeling threatened.

“Do you rationally think I am going to hurt her, Your Highness?”

“Don't call me that.”

“I don't have a choice. And answer the question.”

He thought about it. “No, I don't. And why don't you have a choice?”

“Y're the heir, Highness. All the People will call you that,” answered Bighana.

“Lovely.” The day was just getting better and better.

“So, give me the baby. Or Bighana, if you prefer. She probably knows better what to do with one.”

Frowning, confused, Harry tried. And realized he couldn't. It was like telling himself to step off a cliff, or burn the Marauders Map – he thought he sent the signal to his muscles, but they didn't move. He just couldn't bring himself to let her go. In fact, he stepped back a step away from the two women.

“See? You can't hand her off to a stranger, or even a casual friend. Don't know much about the fae, but if you were centauri or elf, you'd be able to hand her off only to very good friends, and only for a short time.”

Harry felt a sense of dread begin growing in his stomach. “So what are you saying?”

Bighana took over. “Y' might want to get use' to calling her yours. By every law we have, she is.”

“Congrats, you're a Dada,” summarized Harlot unhelpfully.

As Harry gaped at her, Bighana spoke up tentatively. Y' sai' so'thing about fame?”

Harry sighed, too tired to worry too much about what the two of them might spread. He'd be almost as screwed if they spread it about that he was the Heir, anyway. “Can you keep a secret?”

“You don't want us to tell that you're the Heir?” Harlot guessed, “No reason why we should.”

“Good,” said Harry, “but that's only part of it.” He sighed and lifted his hair off his forehead.

“Fate's really got it in for y', don't she?” was Bighana's only comment. Harlot just raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, she kinda does,” agreed Harry, “and to think I thought life was interesting with a mass murderer after me, and with that damned tournament. Now Voldemort's back and I've gotta take care of the royal spawn.”

Bighana winced. Harry thought it was because he said the Dark Lord's name, but then she spoke, and he realized it was the 'spawn' comment that had bothered her.

“Y' might want to be watching yer words, Highness. The Unseelie might be a tad offended.”

“They're the ones that threw her at me. I'll call her as I like.”

“Don't be too hasty,” cautioned Harlot, “you think your life blows now? Try pissing off the Unseelie court.”

“You did just tell me I am a member of the Unseelie court, right?”

“A point,” Harlot acknowledged.

“Still though,” contributed Bighana, “in general, y'ought to try and get use' to talking and acting like one of us. You can't affor' to be pissing people off, any'ore.”

“What do you mean?”

“We're not 'nonhuman',” said Harlot bluntly, “we're People. And don't ever insult anybody's child. Most of us don't make them often, and so very few of us are easy-going about them.”

“Don't hi' yer appearance a'ong other of the People, especially fae. Leave at least yer marks showing,” suggested Bighana.

“Don't call the Sea People mermaids, or the Little Folk fairies or especially pixies.”

“Why not?”

“Pixies are demoniacs, not fae. Horrible, stupid, nasty little things,” said Bighana, “to call a Little Folk a pixie woul' give grave insult.”

“Oh.”

“And what you call house-elves are properly called brownies,” said Harlot.

“Wait, house elves and brownies are the same thing? I didn't even know brownies existed.”

“They do, and they're your people,” said Harlot, “along with goblins, dwarfs, Little Folk, satyrs, dryads, gnomes, the sidhe of course, various mixed and smaller groups- am I missing anyone?” She asked Bighana.

“Undines?”

“Debatable.”

“Wait, how's it debatable?” Harry demanded.

“Politics,” said Harlot. “They're related to the Little Folk, but they live in water. That makes both the fae and the sea people interested in them. Same with the selkies.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not so far as I know. The selkies and the undines keep mostly to themselves and the fae and the sea people cooperate pretty well, so no biggie. The real problem comes between the weres and the humans,” said Harlot, giving Bighana a look. “The wizarding government does not want to loose their hold on the weres, 'cause they look human, and because the humans fear them, but they're ours. It's supposed to work that the People govern our own, wherever we are. It's a major point of contention between the Ministry and all the courts, right now.”

“Who do the weres obey, then?”

“Depends on the were, but mostly we watch the courts,” said Bighana. Harry looked up in surprise. But she and Lupin are so...different. Strange. Bighana was still speaking, though, “they aren't democratic, but since weres can't vote anyway-”

“I see,” said Harry. He did, but he was also just overwhelmed at the turn his life had just taken and the litany of new information he'd just received. “So let me get this straight. That woman was the heir to the Unseelie throne. She 'chose' me to take care of her child, and made me the heir. I can't give up the position without giving up the baby, and I can't give up the baby. So now I'm not human, and a bastard, and a father, and a prince, in what? two months?”

“Yup,” said Harlot unhelpfully, “that about sums it up.”

“Do y' have any idea why she chose you?” Bighana wanted to know.

“Umm...she said something about me being 'the one', but I have no idea what that even means.” When he looked up, both women were looking at him seriously, and with a strange sense of pity. “What?”

“It's not a prophesy, or anything like that. It's more...romantic,” said Harlot.

“Y' were hers, and she were yours. Or would've been, anyway,” said Bighana more gently. “If she' not die', you' be Prince regar'less of the baby. You were meant to be with her; the perfect couple, and the perfect consort. That's how she knew to give y' the babe – fate would have led her to you.”

“So...what? She was my great 'one and only' and now- now-” He trailed off.

“No,” said Harlot. “She would have been special, really special, but you still have your normal mortal chance at a normal relationship like any other of your peers. Most of the fae don't have a 'one', and never miss it.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but felt the vague sense of grief he felt at Lliannan's death grow. Cut it out. You didn't even know her. You don't think you've got enough on your plate right now?

Feeling completely lost, Harry asked tentatively, “so what do I do now?”

“I would suggest you go back out and get supplies while it's still light, personally,” said Harlot practically.

“I have some things,” Harry said, “enough for the night, anyway. Lliannan had a diaper bag packed.”

“Diapers?” Bighana asked suddenly, “bottle? changing pad? a change of clothes or two?”

“Yes to all except the bottle. She... doesn't drink milk.”

“Oh that's right,” said Bighana, “you can't stand milk, can you?”

Harry made a face, and Bighana laughed, then asked. “Surely she doesn't eat all solids yet, though?”

Harry hesitated. “Umm...no, she doesn't. She...ummm-” Finally he gave up and just showed them the red line on his wrist where the wound he'd cut into it had partially healed.

To his surprise, Harlot started laughing.

“What?”

She laughed even harder. “You poor thing!” She hooted, “you can't even bring yourself to eat the meat yet and now this!”

He bared his teeth at her briefly before letting himself laugh with her. “I'm a mess,” he agreed, looking down at the child in his arms. She was half-asleep, and he shook his head at her. “Look what you've done now, little monster. You put my whole life in shambles in a matter of hours, and then fall asleep.”

Bighana smiled. “That's what babies do, your Highness. Cause utter chaos and confusion, and then sleep. You'll learn to value the sleep.”

Suddenly Harry felt the reality of his situation weigh down on his shoulders. He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, careful not to jostle Moriyana. This is insane. I can't- I can't do this. What am I going to do when I get back to Hogwarts? Bad enough that I'm some creature, now I'm going to be asking Dumbledore to let me bring a baby to class? He could just imagine Snape's reaction, and McGonagalls...and Ron and Hermione's, and the Slytherins'... Oh Lord. How could my life get so messed up in so little time?

“I think I'm gonna take a nap,” decided Harry finally. “Maybe when I wake up, this'll all be some strange dream brought on by that weird brown stuff Magor made me drink last night.”

Bighana gave him a sympathic look, while Harlot stood look and said, “let me just set up your room, first, Highness.”

“My room's fine,” said Harry.

“Not for a prince, it's not,” said Harlot firmly. “Follow me.”

Unsure what to do, and really tired, Harry followed her up the stairs, and as she led him to room 3 – the nicest room in the inn.

She opened the door and strode inside. “Just a moment, Highness, while I change the sheets.” The room was not that extravagant, really. Certainly, it was nicer than his – about three times the size, with a queen-sized bed, a sofa, hardwood flooring, and a nice rug – but it was only one room, and really no nicer than any high-class hotel room. The room's nicest feature were the huge windows that looked out on the inn's small garden, rather than on the street, but he liked the view of the street, and the room didn't have a window seat. He hated it on sight.

“I don't care if I'm a prince. My room is fine-”

“You don't understand, Highness. If the court and the public found out that I knowingly housed the heir to the throne in our worst room, it would be a scandal. It could ruin me.”

Abruptly, Harry felt ready to cry. He just wanted a nap. A nap, in the room that he had made his over a week of intense adaptation and difficult adjustments. The last thing he wanted was for things to change again.

“Please, Harlot,” he pleaded. “I like my room.”

Harlot looked at him, unusual sympathy in her rough face, then suddenly seemed to get an idea. “Order me.”

“What?”

“You're the heir to the throne. An order overrules any preferences or obligations I might otherwise have.”

“I- I can't give you an order! I'm just-would you just treat me like normal, please?”

“Are you slow or something?” Harlot asked, suddenly angry.

“What?”

“You're the f-ing heir to the f-ing throne. I. don't. have. a. choice. If you want me to do anything other than house you in our best room, and pay more than I can afford to get you whatever you want to eat at every meal, and wait on you myself at table, then you have to order it. It's the only solution I've got, okay? You don't like it, then give me a fucking order, your Highness.”

Harry gaped at her for a second, before hanging his head, defeated. “I- I order you. Let me keep my room. Don't change the food. Don't treat me any different then your other customers.” He got an idea, “call me Harry. Good enough?”

She smiled, apparently relaxing. “Yes. Thank you, Harry.”

“Is it really that bad? With the royalty?” That's exactly why I don't want it!

“Yes and no. It'd be like that, but then the custom afterwards would likely make it worth it. And it's real unlikely to happen, anyway.”

“So my being here...”

“Will probably be good for me, once it gets out. It is not often that normal People get to see one of the court sidhe, let alone the heir. The fact that you chose this inn- but trust me, I don't want the trouble that would come if it got out that you were here, now, especially with the babe. Your secret's safe.”

“Okay. Now can I go take my nap, please?” he asked, feeling pathetic. “I'm still hoping I'll wake up and be Harry again.”

“Go. I'll save a plate for you, if you sleep too long.”

Harry looked at her, wondering.

She gave him a grin. “You paid for it, did you not? And besides, it is no trouble – it's not like I'm keeping anything hot.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, I did. Thanks. Tell Bighana I'm sorry I can't help out with dinner today, would you?”

“Will do.”

Back in his room, Harry opened the window to the fresh air before sitting down on the bed. He held the baby awkwardly, trying to take off his shoes and socks without waking her. Eventually he gave up and set her on his lap, breathing a sigh of relief when she stirred a little but didn't cry. He pulled his shirt off over his head, laid the baby on his chest, and wrapped his wings around both of them. I'm gonna need a crib, he realized just before falling asleep.

When Harry woke up, it was to the feel of the baby on his chest stirring. She didn't seem unhappy, but she was definitely awake. Which of course means I have to be, too. Lovely. Still, she wasn't crying, at least, so he sat up more-or-less cheerfully to look her over. As he'd noticed before, she had tiny, tight, purple curls reminiscent of her mum's, and the earrings that he'd learned marked her as royalty. She didn't have horns. And neither did her mum. Maybe girls don't? She also didn't have any markings on her arms. Since her mum did, he had to figure they would come later. Since she also had no teeth yet, the only thing to mark her as his own species were the soft, under-formed little wings that she waved around in the same haphazard way that she moved the rest of her limbs, when they weren't trapped under her. There were other things he hadn't noticed before, though, like her tiny, perfect fingernails, and little chubby fingers and toes. As he watched her, she grabbed one of her own tiny feet with both hands and started bringing it to her mouth.

“I gotta get you something to chew on that's not my hair or your own feet and hands, don't I?” asked Harry. She just squealed and released her foot to reach both chubby hands up at him. Unsure, he lifted her under the arms and stood her on his lap. Her legs held for a couple of seconds before her knees buckled, and he stood her back up, and they buckled again. She seemed to like it, though, so he stood her up again. This time she bounced up and down a couple of times before falling onto her bum. He let her, studying her big bright eyes as she stuffed her fingers in her mouth. Remembering the bag he'd left beside the bed, he reached down and rummaged around until he came up with one of the soft washcloths, using it to wipe off her face and hands. “Here, little monster. You'd think you were made to produce slime. Jeez.”

Still, he found himself smiling. He remembered what Bighana had said: “she's yours”, and though the thought still scared him out of his mind, sitting there with Mo in his lap, he found he didn't mind so much. His life was gonna be complicated, was all. “We'll figure it out, somehow,” he whispered to her. Dumbledore and Snape and McGonagall and his friends and the Slytherins would just have to cope.

But what if they won't? What if I can't go back? If they couldn't...well, he had money, and a place to stay. Alone. Maybe he'd contact the Unseelie court. They'd help him out, wouldn't they? Lliannan had mentioned that they'd be looking for him. And then I'll just live the rest of my life dressed up in Prince gear being waited on by toadying courtiers. Fantastic. But he was stuck being prince, regardless. It was nice to know that he had the option, at least. The Potter vault wouldn't last forever, and it wasn't like he could go ask the Dursleys to help him out.

Remembering his last day with them, not even a week before, he frowned and picked up Mo to go downstairs. They're not important. Let it go. He had his life to live.

When Harry got downstairs, he was met by Harlot, looking grim. She got straight to the point.

“You wanted us to keep it a secret that you're the heir. We can't.”

“What? Why not?”

“I've got a body upstairs, Harry. The Princess died here. I have to report it. They'll be looking for the babe, and they'll be looking for you.”

“Why? They can't just leave me alone?”

Harlot gave him a look that made him flush. Yeah, okay, that was stupid.

“What do you want me to do, Harry?”

“You really can't just...I dunno...tell them I'm not here?”

She snorted. “Why do you wish to avoid them? They'll give you bodyguards, servants-”

This time it was Harry's turn to give Harlot an incredulous look.

She didn't seem affected.“Well it's gonna happen sometime, Harry! They're not going to just leave you alone with the child, unprotected!”

“But I just want to be left alone! Can't I just pretend not to be the heir?”

“No, you can't,” Harlot said. “I have to report the death. When I do, they will come here, and they will ask me where the baby is, and I will have to tell them.”

Harry groaned, then had a thought. “Not if you don't know.”

She gaped at him. “Running is idiotic,” she said bluntly. “Even if you weren't heir, you have a child of their line. They will find you.”

Abruptly Harry was filled with terror. “But I'm not hurting her! Lliannan gave her to me, for goodness' sake! It's not like I've kidnapped her!”

“No, but you are the heir to the throne. They need you. And they've got better resources than you do. Running won't do you a lick of good. It's not like they're going to hurt you.”

“Don't you get it? I just want to be normal, okay? I'm already Harry f-ing Potter, I've learned to deal with it. I'll learn how to take care of Mo. But I can't - I won't be their heir just yet. I'm leaving.”

Harlot sighed. “I'll tell them that the child's safe, and that Lliannan-she gave her to you willingly, but they will be looking for you. You won't evade them for forever.”

“I know,” Harry said, “but not yet. I just - I can't deal with that yet, okay? I've gotta go.”

She shook her head briefly, then finally said, “stay for dinner? I can get the body removed, then wait to report until tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” said Harry, “thanks.”

“Where're you going to go?” she asked him.

“I'm not sure. I was thinking the Brokewinged Dove, but I don't want to force Kahrn to move again.”

“Hmm. Try the Bloody Mary. It's a vamp hang-out, but they won't harm you and the food's alright.”

“The Bloody Mary? And it's a vampire bar?”

Harlot put her hands on her hips. “I didn't name it!”

Harry held his hands in the air for peace. “Alright, alright. Just sayin'.”

She grinned at him. “Alright. Given that I recommended the place, I know where you're going. So: I also recommend Cassie's, further down the Alley. It mostly caters to weres, and the food blows, but it exists. I recommend Demetri's if you really want to spend the night on a dirty floor. I think they even have rats. But maybe you like rats. You might go there. Other than that...there's the Leaky Cauldron, on the wizarding side of things. Oh, and then I highly recommend you leave London,” she said, still grinning. “See, now I have no idea where you might have gone. Come with me to the bar and get dinner so you can get to the – wherever you're going - before they close. Bighana's watching the bar while I talk to you, but she needs to cook.”

He smiled. “Alright,” he said, following her and taking his usual seat at the bar while she went behind it to set up drinks.

“What do you want, then?” Harlot asked him once they were both settled.

“Whatever's ready,” he said. Harlot walked back to the door to yell to Bighana, then returned to the bar. Harry bounced Mo on his lap a bit while he waited, hoping the noise from the bar wouldn't bother her. Harlot brought him his food, winking as she set a bowl of the raw meat in front of him next to his usual veggies and bread. Realizing he was starving, he looked at it for a moment before sighing and popping a chunk into his mouth. Like he'd mostly expected, it tasted like heaven: salty and spicey and meaty and juicy and filling like nothing else he'd been eating was. He ate the whole bowl without another thought for how his human self might have reacted a week before. Harlot handed him a second bowl with a grin and he started eating just as Magor joined him at the bar.

“Finally got over yourself, did you?” He asked gruffly.

“Apparently,” said Harry, too preoccupied to be bothered by the comment.

“Where'd the little'un come from?”

“Long story.”

“Guess you'll not be drinking tonight then?”

Harry barely thought before saying, “no. Definitely not. I'm leaving right after dinner, anyway.”

“I thought you were staying until Saturday?”

“I was.”

“Problems?”

“You could say that.”

“Well good luck, then.”

Harry arrived at the Bloody Mary at eight o'clock. The bar, of course, would be open until at least midnight, but he was unsure if they accepted overnight guests that late. Still, they were happy enough to receive him at eight, and he followed a waitress through the somewhat dimly lit bar to an office to one side, where a professionally-dressed male vampire coolly informed him that the two nights would cost him 20 Galleons, and that food and drink were extra. Apparently noticing Mo, he added that Harry could rent a crib for four Galleons.

Harry agreed to all of this, decided to pay in advance, and was promptly led to his room, a perfectly normal rectangular hotel room with a full bathroom of its own, a desk and chair to one side, and big windows. The curtains used the same fabric as the bedspread, which coordinated with the carpet, which was a solid color that complimented the bland wallpaper. On the wall was a print of some vaguely-abstract, entirely inoffensive painting. All in all, if it hadn't been for the lack of television, and the vampires in the bar, Harry would have thought himself in any generic muggle motel. He missed the warmth and quirkiness of Harlot's Inn.

He put his bag down, and smiled slightly, remembering what Bighana had revealed as she helped him pack his meager belongings. She had started shrinking things, and he had protested, explaining that he wouldn't be able to unshrink them again, because he wasn't yet 17. She'd smiled and said simply, “that is wizards law. You are People. We have no such law.” He'd protested that he couldn't reveal himself to be People at the ministry, and she'd informed him that he wouldn't have to – they wouldn't be able to detect his magic anymore now that he was under a different jurisdiction. He could do magic, and the ministry wouldn't know anything about it.

At any rate, he was grateful for it now- it meant that he didn't have to make multiple trips, carrying bags and baby. All his stuff fit into one paper bag from Wings 'N Things, and all of Mo's into the diaper bag. Since the diaper bag fit over his shoulder, that left him one arm to carry Mo. It wasn't perfect, but he'd successfully moved. I need something to help me carry her, he realized. He knew, vaguely, that there was a wizarding baby store near Diagon Alley, but he couldn't get there until he got his clothing and charms. His clothing would be done in two days. Until then, he had to either use charms for everything, or stay on Knockturn Alley.

Five minutes later, a porter came with a folded crib, and set it up next to the bed without speaking to Harry other than to ascertain that that was where he wanted it. He left as quickly as he had come, leaving Harry alone in the lonely hotel room. Frustrated, Harry sat down on the bed, baby still in his arms. Why is this happening to me? He asked himself once again. It was the second time in a week he'd had to move in a hurry. Sure, this time he'd left semi-voluntarily, but the last time he hadn't had people after him, and he hadn't had to worry about the needs of a five-month-old baby. As if she heard the thought, Mo started to fuss in his arms.

“Now what's wrong?” He asked her. “Are you hungry again?”

Grimacing, he used a canine to reopen the wound on his wrist and offered it to Mo. She quieted, and sucked for a little while, but when she let go, she was still unhappy. Once again he felt the terror rise in his chest as he realized he really had no idea what to do with a baby. Lliannan, you idiot. Can't you see that anybody would have been better for this job? I'm only fifteen years old!

Looking through the diaper bag for inspiration, he came upon the diapers. Maybe? He lay the changing pad down on the bed, and put Mo down on her back on top of it. He carefully removed her pants and diaper and discovered that, indeed, the diaper was wet, but mercifully not soiled. He wrapped the diaper around itself, threw it in the miniscule trashcan provided by the hotel, and got a new one out of the bag. Okay, half done. He grabbed one of the washcloths, ready to clean her up a bit, then realized he'd have to wet it. He dragged Mo, on the changing pad, into the center of the bed where she wouldn't roll off, to give himself the time to go to the bathroom and wet the cloth, but as soon as he left the room, she started to cry, so he splashed some (cold) water onto the washcloth and hurried back out to her.

She screamed even louder when the cold cloth touched her skin, and he just got more frustrated.

“Damnit, Mo! I don't have much of a choice here! You didn't want me to leave long enough to get you warm water, so it's going to be cold. Live with it.” Luckily that part was done quickly enough, and he unfolded a clean diaper for her as she kicked her legs and cried. Oh, fuck. He didn't remember which was the front, and it wasn't marked. Finally, figuring he had a fifty-fifty chance, he put the diaper on sticky-tabs to the back, stretching the tabs a little like he remembered the dirty one had been. And finally, finally, he had her pants back on and he could gather her up and go back to the cuddle, bounce, and pray routine that he'd established the last time she'd wigged out. “What am I going to do with you, Mo?” he asked her once she'd quieted. She had one hand wrapped in his shirt, and another in his hair, and showed no inclination to let go, so he just held her close while he unpacked and unshrinked his belongings with one hand. Eventually he realized that she had fallen asleep.

“Do you think I can put you down?” He whispered to her. It was only 8:30; he wasn't ready for bed yet, and he wanted to take a look at the book Lliannan had given him. When she didn't stir, he carefully, gently, set her on her back in the crib. She shuffled around a bit, but didn't wake, ending up curled in the fetal position with her wings wrapped around her arms and legs. Not finding any baby blankets in the room, Harry grabbed one of the beige, fuzzy hotel-room blankets and unfolded it. Rolling up one end allowed him to fit it in the crib without burying her under six inches of fuzz. Watching her briefly, he decided she was okay and sat at the desk where he'd laid the book.

He'd barely looked at the book since Lliannan had shoved it at him that afternoon, too busy with the sharp turn his life had just taken. Now he did, and realized even before opening it that it was ancient. Like many magical books, it had remained in perfect condition over time, but it was like you felt that it was old. Maybe it was the size of the book – it fit on his lap, but it fit better on the desk, especially if you wanted to actually open it. It could also have been the style of the cover – real leather, as far as Harry could tell, left a dark brown color, and embossed with a design much like the markings on Harry's arms and face, but more ornate. There was no title, and Harry was more interested in the contents than anything else, so he stopped his inspection at that and opened to the first page.

Whosoever not of the Unseelie court who, in taking, copying, or reading this book thereby causes the knowledge held therein to be passed onto any unauthorized persons shall fall under a painful, long-lasting, and ultimately fatal curse.

Right, thought Harry. Better hope the book recognizes me, then. Surely Lliannan would not have given it to him if it would harm him? Even more curious than before, Harry turned a page, and finally found the title:

A short summary of information required for the accomplishment of duties required of a young heir of the Unseelie Court.

Yet more evidence that Lliannan knew exactly what she was doing to me, thought Harry. At least he'd finally get some information on what was going on.

The first page after the title was a table of contents, listing three sections called, 'Proper Comportment,' 'Politics', and 'Duties.' Each of the sections, in turn, were separated into sections. Under 'Proper Comportment,' for example, were sections on how to address a peer, an inferior, the King and Queen, and foreign dignitaries. Under 'Politics' was a section on the different courts, and one on the inner workings of the Unseelie court itself, one on the human governments, and one simply labeled 'enemies'. 'Duties' was apparently a short section of only ten pages, with no listed sections. Finally, the table of contents listed a family tree on the last pages.

Curious, Harry flipped to the 'Duties' section first, and read the introduction.

The heir is a very important political position in the Unseelie Court. The monarch and consort, by tradition and necessity, do not leave the court more often than absolutely necessary. The heir is much more mobile, and so is used as a representative of the court wherever he goes. As such, the most important duty of the heir when young is to thoroughly learn the contents of this book, and to apply that learning to his every interaction with others, such that he reflects well on the monarch and consort.

On the other hand, in the event that the heir is responsible for the care of a child, the child must be his priority at all times. At such time as the child is old enough to be put in the care of others for more than a couple hours in a day, the heir can then take up his other duties as outlined here-below.

Harry stopped reading there. Ten pages of what he was supposed to take up when the court finally found him and Mo grew up didn't seem terribly relevant to the here-and-now. Suddenly Harry had a thought. If the book was as old as it seemed, how likely was it that any of it was relevant to the here-and-now? But Lliannan said I would need it, he remembered. Frowning, Harry flipped to the end, where the family tree was supposed to be. It was unexpectedly beautiful – an image of a twisted Japanese maple with red leaves interspersed with names of family members and their relatives. At the base were two enormously long names that Harry didn't have a prayer of pronouncing, but the names became more and more discernible as one followed the tree up towards the modern generations, and about halfway through became pronounceable, though they remained long.

Following the tree up, Harry found a Lliannan connected with a straight line to a Beijahnd. To Harry's surprise, Moriyana was also listed. Apparently it is up to date, then. Weird. Harry was familiar enough with magical books not to be too freaked out, though. Looking at the entry for Moriyana, he was curious to find another dotted line attached to her name. Who else would she be attached to? Is she engaged or something? Would that be listed? Following the line over, Harry was stunned to find his own name listed on the same level as Mo's parents, and connected with another dotted line to Lliannan. So I am -was- her fiancee or something? Mo I can understand, but why the dotted line to her?

At any rate, whatever magic was worked into the book had apparently accepted him. This is real. Damn. He'd been really, really, hoping this would go away. Why should it, though? Mo's still here. I'm still some- I'm sidhe. Unseelie sidhe. People. Not nonhuman. Not a creature. Harlot and Bighana were right. He really had to get over thinking of himself and the other People in human terms. He wasn't human. He was People, and he would be okay with that. If he was a creature, something monstrous and stupid, then so were Harlot and Bighana and Magor and even Moriyana. He lifted his lip in a silent growl. No. They were People, and so was he. He might hide it so that he could return to Hogwarts, but he wouldn't hide it from himself any longer. Sidhe. Too bad the damn book won't tell me what that IS.

He was fae, he remembered. Like goblins, and gnomes, and Little Folk, and dwarves, and not like vampires or weres or demonkind. But again, what was that supposed to mean? And aren't demons supposed to be evil? Or is that just another of my human assumptions? He hadn't noticed anyone on the Alley that looked more like a classic demon than he himself did, but there had been the manikin in the clothing store. That could've been a joke, though. Remembering that the 'Politics' section of his book had an 'enemies' chapter, he flipped to it to see if the demons were listed there or elsewhere. To his surprise, the 'enemies' chapter was barely more than a paragraph, and stated only:

Though it is primary in our laws that all species be treated the same in all of the courts, and judged on their individual acts and dispositions, there is one group for which we make an exception. The Demonkind are categorically evil. Any Demonkind found in People territory will face immediate execution. Any of the People known to cooperate in any way with one of the Demonkind will be unwelcome in any of the People courts and exiled from all of the People territories. There are no exceptions. This may be hard to stomach for one accustomed to our policy of tolerance, but make no mistake. The human governments, for the most part, agree with us on this point. The demonkind are irredeemable. No encounter with them can go well for one of the People or the humans.

Recent rumors and intelligence indicate that the human 'Dark Lord' Voldemort, recently returned according to our intelligence, has had friendly dealings with Demonkind in the past. As such, none of the People are to have anything to do with this 'lord' or his followers, called Death Eaters. The soul exception to this rule, of course, are those bid by the courts to infiltrate and observe them.

Interesting, thought Harry. I guess some of the Death Eaters...aren't Death Eaters. Harry remembered those tortured at the graveyard earlier that summer and shivered. That can't be a fun job. The passage also decidedly answered his question about the demons. Not that the Ministry can probably tell the difference between the demons and the sidhe...he'd just have to hope his friends would. Or that they never find out. He sighed, suddenly depressed. He could tell himself all he wanted that he was 'People,' not 'nonhuman', or 'creature,' but it wouldn't make any difference once anyone at Hogwarts found out. Sidhe. Might as well be 'demon', to them.

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!

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.

Harry looked over at the clock and groaned. Hurray, it's morning. Mo had been awful that night, fussing and crying, and no amount of care on Harry's part would get her to settle and let him sleep. In the week since he'd 'adopted' Mo, he'd stopped even hoping for a full, uninterrupted night's sleep, but he'd have liked some sleep. His annoyance at Mo vanished, though, when he heard a tiny whimper and looked down at her in the morning's light. She looked okay, but her nose was running. As he watched, her face screwed up and she sneezed hard.

“You know you're not allowed to get sick, right, little monster? 'Cause I don't know what to do with sick babies. I only know what to do with healthy babies.”

Her only response was another sneeze and more mucous out of her nose. Shit. She better not be sick.

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

She was sick. Her nose was runny, she sneezed, she didn't want to eat, she fussed even more than usual. Harry told himself it was just a cold, and tried to work on his Potions essay, but he couldn't leave her on her play-mat and listen to her fuss, especially when he could hear her breathing through the stuffy nose. And so she was on his lap, distracting him and occasionally making him smear his ink. Usually, she'd be happy like this, but not this afternoon. The poor little mite was miserable, and she made her displeasure known. And Harry couldn't concentrate. What could he do? Should he take her to a doctor? It's just a cold, he told himself. But she was so little, and so unhappy. He sat and worried and tried to do his work and felt like the worst Daddy that had ever been for letting her get sick.

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

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. She had a fever. Her little head felt warm and her curls were damp. Fever. Fever is bad. He had to get her to a doctor. Today. And it was already late afternoon.

Is there a doctor on Knockturn? Harry tried to remember. There's not on Diagon, that's for sure. Surely there existed such thing as a wizarding hospital in London? He could hardly take her to a muggle one. Shit. Where am I gonna take her? Maybe he could go to Hogwarts, take her to Pomfrey? Will she even be able to treat a big fae? She'd at least be able to get him to somebody who could. Damn, no. It was the summer. She probably wasn't even at Hogwarts, even if in theory he could get there and she could treat Mo. And she'd hand me into Dumbledore. Wait, fuck, what am I thinking? What kind of an asshole was he? He cared if he got caught afterward? Mo was sick!

The fae. Maybe Sheyanan-she will know where I can go.

Getting out his book, Harry wrote hastily,

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

Mo's sick. I thought it was just a cold or something but now she's got a fever. I'm still in London, and I can't apparate. Where can I go? Will anybody know what to do with her? Signed, Harry the Switch

And I'm screwed, Harry thought grimly. They've got me. Unless he managed to leave London undetected, and maybe go to the muggle side? Without them catching me at the hospital or whatever first. Sure. And now he had to wait for a response. How long, though? They might all be asleep, or something. Should he go out on Diagon Alley looking for second options? I could. Go out, and bring the book. If I find a second option, great, and in the meantime I'll keep checking the book. The thing weighed about a thousand pounds, and shrinking it wasn't an option, old as it was, but what other option did he have?

And so Harry closed the book and put it in his backpack, tucked Mo carefully into the baby carrier, checked his glamours one last time, and left the room.

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

Nothing, still? It had only been two hours, but things on Diagon Alley were starting to shut down. They've never responded in less than six hours, dumbass. Don't count on them. Damnit why did I wait so long! I should've started looking when I thought it was just a cold! That was it. He really was the worse parent anybody could ever have.

Damnit, I have got to find somebody. He'd been going store to store, trying to find anybody that he knew he could trust, but the Alley was almost abandoned. Things really were shutting down. But they're not closed yet. I'll find somebody, if it's the last thing I do. Hell, I'll go to Gringotts and ask the goblins. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. One or two more stores, Harry thought, ducking into the Slug and Jiggers apothecary, and then I'll ask the goblins. Or wait, no! Of course. Madame Harlot. If he had to, he would go and see if Madame Harlot knew anything of what to do. It was even more guaranteed to get him caught then the note to the queen had been, but that didn't matter at this point. But she might not even be able to help me, Harry reminded himself. He really needed someone like Madame Pomfrey, or Mrs. Weasley, or – Snape?

For there was the Greasy Git himself, talking to the man behind the counter about several different items from the store. Well isn't that ironic. I look for somebody I can trust and promptly run into the one person I least want to. But also one of the people most likely to be able to help him, he realized. Potions overlapped with medicine quite a bit. Shit. He's a bloody Death Eater, you moron! But Dumbledore said he was a spy. He trusted him. He could've let me die first year, or third, Harry remembered. Hell, he could've killed me himself at pretty much any time. He knew where I was. Harry bit his lip. Does it have to be Snape, though? And what would Snape care if Mo – if Mo was sick? He wouldn't even recognize Harry. And if he does, he'll immediately take me to Dumbledore. If Dumbledore's right and he doesn't take me straight to Voldemort. Could he trust Snape, just on Dumbledore's say-so?

At that moment, though, Snape finished up whatever it was he was doing and headed for the exit.

“Professor!”

Snape turned. “Yes, Mr-”

“Tobias Bâtard. Please, sir, umm - I need help.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

“Ummm...no,” Harry lied. Who knows? Maybe he'll help me without knowing my name? Maybe? Sure. Professor Snape, the good Samaritan.

“And yet you called me Professor.”

Harry just shook his head. “Sir, please, it's my – my daughter. She's sick, you see, and-”

“And I have no time for this. Take her to a mediwitch, boy.” At that, Snape turned away and headed once more for the door.

“No! Please, Professor-” Snape didn't turn back. “Professor Snape!”

At that, the Professor turned. “So now you do know me.”

“Y-yes, sir. You teach at Hogwarts. P-please. She's sick. D-do you know where I could find Madame Pomfrey, at least?”

“And you know Madame Pomfrey, too,” Snape observed, seeming to ignore Harry's desperation entirely, “and yet from your appearance you are not a student at Hogwarts.”

Give it up, Harry. He's not going to help you, otherwise. “I – I am a student, Professor.”

“Polyjuice? A glamour?”

“Just a long story,” Harry said, looking Snape full in the face for the first time. To his surprise, Snape's eyes widened and he latched onto Harry's arm.

“Stupid boy,” he hissed. Harry didn't get a chance to respond, though, as Snape was already apparating out.

A very unpleasant second later, they were standing in the middle of a dirty, dilapidated street, and Mo was screaming. Shooting Snape a quick glare, Harry pulled his arm out of the man's grasp to hold Mo closer and talk softly to her. “Poor bub. Today is just not your day, is it? Me neither.”

Snape made a disparaging sound and Harry focused back on him angrily, his voice raising over Moriyana's cries even as he held her tightly to his chest. “Perhaps you wouldn't understand why I might be distressed that a child is unhappy, Snape, but regardless she is the only reason that I am cooperating with you at all right now, so unless you want to tell Dumbledore that you fucking lost me you'd do well to bloody help me out with her. She's sick, okay? Now are you going to help me, or just keep dragging me around?”

Snape sneered at him. “Don't fool yourself, Potter, there is no danger that I will 'lose' you, regardless of your cooperation. Not that I am likely to lose it. It is blatantly obvious to me that you are desperate. You approached me, Potter, and you are not going to run now just because you dislike me. Now if you want help for your 'daughter', whoever she really is, then you will cooperate.”

Harry just stared at Snape, knowing that everything the man said was true. He wasn't going anywhere. All he could respond was, “It's Bâtard, and she is my daughter.”

The look Snape shot him was so derisive it made Harry flush, but the man didn't comment, simply thrusting a slip of paper into Harry's hands. Harry looked down at it, reading, “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at number twelve Grimmauld Place.”

“What's the-”

“Quiet!” Snape commanded harshly. Startled, Harry watched as an old, dirty house appeared, squeezing into existence between two other houses on the street. When it had settled, Snape grabbed Harry's arm again and hauled him up to the front door and into the house. For a second Harry thought he'd made a disastrous mistake – the entryway of the house positively screamed dark wizardry – but then Snape hauled him into a dining room off one side and commanded,

“Put the child on the table.”

Harry hastened to obey, his worry for Mo overwhelming any other thought. She was still too warm, still sweaty. As he put her down, she let out another of her rough little sneezes, then started crying even louder than before. He hauled a washcloth out of his diaper bag to clean her face of snot and tears, feeling helpless. To his credit, Snape didn't wait around, and immediately started running his wand down Mo's little chest and abdomen, silently incanting. All Harry could do was give her a finger to hold and watch.

Finally, Snape stopped incanting and looked up at Harry with an inscrutable expression, and Harry couldn't bear it any more. He picked up Mo off the table and held her tight to him, trying to soothe her continuing cries.

“I-is she okay? Or, well, is she gonna be okay? Can you help her?”

Snape sneered. “She has a cold, Potter.”

Harry stared at him for a moment as the words penetrated. Just a cold, really just a cold. “She- she's all right? She had a fever-”

“Her temperature when I started was one hundred degrees.”

“And that's alright?” Harry asked, needing to know.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I controlled the fever and boosted her immune system. It's all I can safely do for a child that young, especially given that she is not human. She'll be fine in a couple of days.”

And she was finally quiet, Harry realized as he pressed his forehead to hers. Finally he looked back up at Snape and said, “thank you.”

Snape just sneered at him. “I have every intention of contacting Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity.”

Harry sighed. So much for being polite. No, I really thought you were going to help me escape again. He was going to meet Dumbledore. Soon. And he needed a damned good story for it. Trying to look like he was just playing with his hair, he made sure that the earrings were fully covered. Dumbledore probably wouldn't recognize his markings as sidhe – even most of the People didn't recognize him as anything more than one of the various 'big folk' - but he would almost certainly recognize the earrings.

Let's see...truth, or as much of it as I can afford. I found out from my mother that I was a bastard and...and took the potion to make my face change. Then – then I got all angsty and pissed off so I went to go get some tattoos...and a hair-growth potion Okay...that made some sort of sense. Sort of. Why these tattoos, though? Okay, the bat and the markings are all one tattoo so...so it all represents change and uncertainty, and the bat is...is me, figuring out who I am and flying away. Wow was that humiliating. He'd sound like a complete imbecile.

But let's face it, that's not going to surprise anyone.

The more truth in his story, the better, though. So...the Durseys got pissed off about the tattoos and kicked me out, at which point I was approached by a woman who wanted me to take care of her baby.

Why him, though? He could hardly tell Dumbledore that it was destiny that led her to him, though that might essentially be the truth. Okay, then, she was a friend of mine already. I met her in grade school. And Mo just happened to have wings. Sure.

Okay, so I met her, and...and was curious, about the wings, and we became friends after I escaped, and only later she asked me to take Mo. And I've been staying away because...because I needed time to adjust before facing everybody. He winced. That was a little too close to the truth...and it was sure to get him in trouble. But what other reason could he give? He'd say he “needed time to adjust,” but really – I've had my time to adjust. And I still don't want to face them looking like this. And now he had no choice. Snape would tell Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would certainly tell his friends. And then they'd want to see him. And then all hell would break loose.

If only I could just stay Tobias Bâtard, he reflected morosely. Nobody cares if he has tattoos and a little baby daughter. And he wasn't ashamed of them, Harry realized. The only person that mattered to him was Mo. If anybody had a problem with Mo, they could just go fuck themselves. But again, that was Tobias. Ron and Hermione would never understand it. They would want him to be Harry, the reluctant boy hero, and never understand why he was so different.

He'd gotten used to being Tobias Bâtard, to being the the tattooed delinquent, the bastard child who'd been kicked out of his home, the unwed parent who threw everything he had into caring for an infant he should not have had. It felt real. He really had been kicked out of his home. He really was a Daddy, now. And he'd wanted the tattoo. Tobias Bâtard felt more real than Harry Potter ever had. He wasn't a hero, or somebody's Heir. The best thing about him was that he was somebody's Daddy. And I blow at that, too. But he liked being Tobias. Especially when Mo was quiet and clinging to his chest like she was now. So helpless, and so trusting. And so rubbing snot all over my shirt.

And there it was. Harry Potter was the boy-who-lived, the shining poster boy of the light. He could never be anything other than the perfect human hero. The orphan who 'got over it' and went and did heroic things. Harry Potter couldn't be a bastard, or be kicked out of his home. And Harry Potter didn't have a daughter. Harry Potter could not be Tobias Bâtard, and Tobias Bâtard could not be Harry Potter. Do I have to choose, then?

Abruptly Harry realized that Snape was staring at him, and that he'd just totally lost track of the conversation.

“Sorry, Professor. I'm kind of out of it, right now.”

“Are you ever 'in it', Mr. Potter?”

That doesn't even sound right, anymore. Harry met his eyes again. “It's Bâtard.”

Snape snorted softly. “The game is up, Mr. Potter.”

Harry fought to keep his temper. “I realize that, Professor. However, I prefer the pseudonym.”

Snape sneered. “Identity crisis, Mr. Potter?”

Harry once again fought his temper down. “Something like that, Professor. Why do you care? It's not like you've ever had any use for Harry Potter.” Suddenly Harry realized something. “How did you recognize me, Professor? You're the only one that ever has.”

Snape gazed at him, expression completely blank, and Harry shivered. “I believe that is my business, Mr. Potter.”

“And mine,” Harry contested. “If there's a weakness in the disguise, I need to know.”

Snape stared at him “Wear color contacts,” the Professor answered shortly.

My eyes. He recognized my eyes? “What's so special about my eyes?”

“They are what most obviously remains of your previous appearance.”

“Okay, but nobody else-”

The look Snape gave him shut him up. Ooooookay. Topic not welcome. Got it. As Harry stared, confused, Snape turned away from him and threw floo powder into the fireplace, calling out, “Dumbledore's Office.”

Harry closed his eyes as he heard the headmaster's voice on the other side.

“Severus my boy, what a pleasant surprise. Do you have information for me?”

Harry's stomach clenched as he heard Snape's reply. “Better. I have the boy.”

“Harry? You found him?”

“He found me.”

“He approached you? Forgive me, Severus, but that seems singularly unlikely.”

Snape's voice sounded very dry. “I believe there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Extenuating-?”

“Floo through and see.”

This the headmaster did, and within moments he stood in front of Harry. Harry looked back bravely, but the headmaster didn't meet his eyes.

“Harry?” The headmaster asked softly.

“Tobias,” Harry corrected.

“Don't be difficult, Potter,” Snape snapped.

“My name is Tobias Bâtard,” Harry snapped back. “I've been Tobias for some time now. Mo knows Tobias, not Harry. And it's 'cause you've been looking for Harry Potter this whole time that you've missed me. And Voldemort, for that matter. I've been safe like this. If you want to keep me safe as you claim, then you ought to respect that. Harry Potter has a bloody price on his head. Nobody's looking for Tobias Bâtard.”

“Nobody has recognized you?” the headmaster wanted to know.

“Nobody even notices what I look like, like this,” Harry confirmed. “They just see the tattoos. Well, except Snape, apparently.”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore admonished, but he seemed distracted, his gaze having met Snape's. After a second the headmaster looked back at Harry, but still didn't meet his eyes. “And the little one, Tobias? You called her Mo?”

Harry turned Mo around to face the headmaster, but spoke to her, first. “Mo, this is Headmaster Dumbledore. Professor, this is Mo. I adopted her. It's kind of a long story.”

The headmaster smiled slightly, eyes twinkling. “How fortunate that we have such a surplus of time. How about we go downstairs?”

Like I really have a choice, Harry reflected.

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

“So where do I start?” Harry asked when they were all three seated around a huge table in the basement.

“I have always believed that the best place to start a good story was at the beginning,” answered the headmaster.

Of course. Well, Dumbledore, it all started one morning when I realized that my clothes didn't fit...and then I started developing markings and wings and horns... “Umm...well I got this letter from my mum,” Harry started, seeing both adults in the room turn to him sharply. “She'd sent it ahead fourteen years so that I would know some stuff...” Harry stopped. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. He'd thought the difficulty would be in lying believably, but the truth?

“I'm a bastard,” he said bluntly, looking up for their reactions. Dumbledore looked a little startled, but Snape – Snape whitened. Feeling compelled to continue, Harry spoke, “James Potter is not my biological father. He was gone, and Mum met some guy she knew and got drunk-” he trailed off. Snape was acting really strangely. He'd gotten up and was pacing. Dumbledore looked up at Snape too, before looking back at Harry and urging,

“Go on.”

“So...” and here was where the lying started “so I got kinda mad, and wanted to do something crazy, so I got the tattoos. The Dursleys didn't like them, and kicked me out.” Well that was easier than expected. But then I've been lying to a lot of people, lately. And Dumbledore's not even looking at me.

“So then I left, and started telling people I was Tobias, so that people couldn't find me. I mean, I looked different, anyway, 'cause Mum also sent me a potion to get rid of the glamour that made me look like James.” At this, the potion master turned back towards Harry sharply, a dark expression on his face. What is up with him? “Anyway, eventually I met this woman in a pub, and was curious, 'cause she had wings. So I asked her about it, and she said she wasn't human, and we started talking and got friendly and stuff.”

Suddenly Harry got an idea. This story makes a little more sense if we were dating...sorta. “And so, well, she wasn't that much older than I was, I guess, and we met a couple times in the bar, and we talked, and I met Mo. But then, one day, Ll- Lily gave me Mo and said she couldn't keep her anymore. I tried to say no, but then she just left and I was stuck. She left me a note that said that by their laws the baby was mine, and that was it.”

And hopefully Dumbledore doesn't know much from People law. She's only mine 'cause I bonded with her.

“At that point I moved to Diagon Alley, where we'd both be safer, and have been there for a week. But then Mo got sick, so here I am.”

“It was the child's sickness that led you to approach Professor Snape?” the headmaster inquired.

“Yes, sir. S- Professor Snape said she just got a cold, but she had a fever, and I didn't know who to go to.”

“And so you handed yourself in for the sake of the child?” Dumbledore pressed, looking at Snape thoughtfully. The potions master was still staring at Harry like he'd never seen him before, but he looked up, startled, at Dumbledore's words.

What is he staring at? Harry frowned back at the potions master and held Mo closer as he responded to the headmaster's question. “What, wouldn't you? She's my daughter.” Harry looked down at Mo and took a deep breath, petting her hair to help him calm down. She needs to go to bed soon, he realized absently. But I need to finish up this conversation. He was getting tired of the questions about Mo, and Snape's unrelenting stare was making him nervous. She's my daughter. Mine. Don't even think about questioning that.

“What are you staring at?” he finally demanded.

Snape actually looked taken aback for a second, but then his habitual sneer returned. “I was interested in the train wreck that you have made of your life.”

Harry glared, fighting to keep from showing his teeth. “I like it this way.”

Snape snorted. “You would.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Language, 'Bâtard'. I simply mean that you will seemingly do anything to attract attention. Though I must admit that I had not thought you would go this far.”

Harry felt his lips lifting off of his canines, and hoped the expression would be interpreted as a sneer. “You honestly think I arranged to get kicked out of my home because it was dramatic? I'll admit freely that I made rash decisions after finding out that my mother screwed some asshole rather than waiting for my father to come home, but I assure you that none of the decisions I made after that were for the sake of 'attention.'”

“Your 'father', Bâtard?” Snape mocked, sneering.

“Yes,” Harry said angrily, “my father, as in the man who threw himself in front of the so-called 'Dark Lord' in order to save my life, not the man who got drunk and screwed around with a married woman without even using proper protection.”

To his great surprise, Snape flinched, and didn't reply. Harry took the opportunity to continue. “I accepted Mo because I did not immediately have another choice, but now she is my daughter. And don't you dare suggest otherwise. You wanted me back, fine, but you gotta deal with her, too.” This last was directed at Dumbledore, who for whatever reason still wouldn't meet his eyes. When nobody said anything, Harry asked, “So what are you gonna do with me now?”

“Do with you, Mr. - Bâtard?” Dumbledore repeated questioningly.

“Yeah. You wanted me here – wherever here is – and now you've got me. What are you going to do now?”

“'Here' is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Which is-?”

“A small, clandestine organization founded during the first war to oppose Voldemort. This is the safest place for you right now, Tobias. The building is unplottable, in addition to being protected by a Fidelius Charm.”

'Cause that worked so well the last time Dumbledore wanted to protect someone, Harry thought bitterly. He wasn't quite sure why he was so pissed off at Dumbledore right now, but somehow everything the man said was getting on his nerves. Something about the way the man wouldn't look at him, maybe. What is wrong with him? It's like I'm a pariah.

“And so I'm just supposed to hang here, then?”

“I'm afraid so, my boy. But you won't be alone. The Weasley family is here, as are Sirius Black and Ms. Granger.”

“And you expect me to just walk up there and be Harry Potter?” Harry asked.

“Is that a problem, my boy?”

Snape spoke up then. “Perhaps Mr. Potter is pointing out the danger he constantly courts in openly being the Great Harry Potter. For once I must agree with him. Perhaps, indeed, in order to keep the Boy-Who-Lived living, he must cease to be Harry Potter. Even, perhaps, to his friends.”

“What?” Harry gasped, “no! That's not what I meant at all!”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, and Harry was filled with a vague foreboding. “Professor, that's really not what I meant. I just meant – well I've been Tobias for a while, now. I'm just worried they won't be able to relate to me anymore. And they'll have a ton of questions. I do want them to know who I am; of course I do.”

Dumbledore's expression was grave. “Nevertheless, my boy, I believe that Professor Snape has a good point. You have successfully evaded capture as Tobias Bâtard, and have remained safe that way. In addition, you have already established that identity on Diagon Alley. It would be quite easy for you to keep that identity, and you would, indeed, be safer doing so.”

“And like I said I'd be okay with that, but Ron and Hermione-”

“Have shown themselves to be less than discreet in the past, unfortunately.” At this point the headmaster was staring off into space, seemingly talking to himself. “They are loyal friends, to be sure, but perhaps they should grow accustomed to calling you Tobias before they learn your true identity. You could write letters to them, assuring them of your safety, and I, too, could inform them that you have been found and are in safety. I am sure I could arrange to enroll 'Harry Potter' at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, so that people would not wonder overmuch where you were. And then you would come to Hogwarts as Tobias Bâtard and be sorted as a new transfer student, having already met Ron and Hermione here at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry felt his mouth fall open in horror. “You- you can't be serious.”

Dumbledore looked back in his direction, but still, maddenly, avoided eye-contact. “Unfortunately, I am, my boy. Perhaps you have not kept up with the latest news, but it is not only Voldemort gunning for you now, but also the Ministry. Fudge is trying hard to suppress news of Voldemort's return. He would do almost anything to see your reputation tarnished.”

“And you have made it uncommonly easy for him,” Snape pointed out snarkily.

Harry felt his lips lift fully off his canines, but hardly cared. “Oh, so this is not about my safety, but about my reputation, then? Can't have the precious Golden Boy looking like less than a perfect preacher's kid? I won't hide Mo.” He contained a growl through sheer will. How does Lupin hide it all so well? Surely his instincts are at least as strong as mine.

“Precisely my point, my boy,” Dumbledore interjected smoothly. “You won't hide her, and I would not ask you to. However, if you return to Hogwarts with her in tow, and keep your name, you will no doubt have problems. Being Harry Potter will not be easy, in the coming months.”

“You think it'll be easy, pretending that I don't know my own best friends? I'd rather deal with the press! At least I'm used to that, by now.”

“And were you planning on keeping your old rivalries, as well, Mr. Bâtard?” Snape interjected smoothly. “You think it would be dramatic, perhaps, to duel in the hallways with the child held in one arm and your wand in the other?”

Harry froze, the image horrifying him, before another thought intruded. Malfoy. Shit, I'd kill him. If I thought he'd threatened Mo...especially on purpose...

Snape apparently noted Harry's reaction, because he simply nodded before saying to Dumbledore, “if you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I have more important things to do.” Yeah, good, Harry thought, furious. Go ruin somebody else's life.

The headmaster seemed very pleased about something. His eyes twinkled as he answered, “Very well, thank you, Severus.” Snape nodded again and left.

Harry relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes, just trying to adjust. Shit. Of all the times for Snape to be right... He shook his head. Fine. I've already given up on being human and James' son. I was already telling people that my name was Tobias. How much worse can this be? Horrible. Just...miserable. With his luck, he'd be sorted into Slytherin this time, and be living in the dorm with Malfoy and his cronies. It's for Mo. Everything's for Mo. He'd been right before. Harry Potter didn't have a daughter. Tobias Bâtard did, and would do anything for her. Anything means anything, he reminded himself, trying to face reality head on as he'd been forced to so many times in the last weeks.

“Harry-” Dumbledore started gently-

“It's Tobias,” he answered, resigned.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry froze at the sound of Ron's voice, and turned towards him from where he'd been headed into the kitchen. Tobias. I'm Tobias.

“Do I know you?” he asked coolly even as his heart pounded in his chest. God he'd missed Ron. You don't know him. And he's being rude. Ron was probably just noticing that Tobias didn't 'fit in' with the rest of the crowd here, but it was still rude.

“No, you don't. Sorry, I guess. I'm Ron.”

He doesn't recognize me, Harry thought, at once relieved and disappointed. He missed Ron, and if the other boy had recognized him, somehow, then Dumbledore's grand plan would be destroyed, and they could stay friends, but he also knew that wouldn't be a good idea. Safety is more important, he reminded himself again. Mo. Always Mo.

Harry looked Ron up and down, surprised to find that he was significantly taller than his friend now, though Ron had grown, too. Come to think of it, I'm taller than Snape now, too. In all the excitement, he'd missed that detail. It made him feel a bit smug. “Tobias Bâtard.”

“Soo...why are you here? Are you a member of the Order?”

Harry had just spend the last hour with Dumbledore preparing for just this sort of question. Eventually the rest of the Order would know who Harry really was, but he'd need a story that held together for everybody else. “No. I'm a student. I'm transferring into Hogwarts this year, and Dumbledore asked me to stay here until the beginning of the term,” Harry recited, trying to sound like he believed it.

“He asked you to stay here?”

Okay, he bought it. “Yeah, weird, right?” Harry said ruefully. “I guess it's 'cause he knew my Mum. He wasn't happy with me living alone before school started, and he says it's safe here.”

“It is,” Ron said hastily. “And so's Hogwarts.”

A slightly awkward silence fell, and Harry decided that it was his turn to initiate the conversation. “This is Mo,” he said, trying to turn her but giving up when he found her gripping his shirt in both hands, mostly asleep. He smiled apologetically. “She's apparently not feeling the most social right now.”

“No – that's fine,” Ron said, looking from Harry's face down to Mo and back again. Harry was getting used to the reaction – people trying to reconcile a fifteen-year-old, rebellious-looking boy with a tiny baby girl, and not finding a comfortable way to ask.

“She's my daughter,” Harry said, then blushed. “Well, not that way. I adopted her from a friend. Long story.”

Ron nodded rapidly like he did sometimes when he was pretending to understand something Hermione was explaining. Reminded of Hermione, he wanted to ask where she was, but restrained the impulse.

“So – you want to play chess?” Ron asked.

“Sorry,” Harry said, truly regretful. “It's past Mo's bedtime, and I can't leave her.”

“Uh – okay. Do you need help finding your room, then?”

“Maybe. Dumbledore said that it was on the second floor, to the right of the bathroom, but to be honest I'd rather not try to find it on my own.”

“Sure. Come on.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry surveyed his room with a sense of relief. It was dim, and kind of dirty, but it was big enough for all his stuff, once it was retrieved from the Leaky Cauldron, and had a double bed, so that he could put Mo on it for brief periods without worrying that she would immediately roll off.

Ron had left him alone at the door, so he felt free to go immediately to the closet to check for what Dumbledore had said would be waiting for him there. He opened the closet door and grinned, unbelievably happy to find his trunk and his broom tucked away safely. Of course, my clothes won't still fit, he thought, grinning crazily, but who cared? It's not all burned. It's here. They got it for me.

“Look, Mo,” he said to the child sleeping in his arms. “I've got all my school stuff back.” She didn't stir, and he smiled. It was time to go to bed. Should he wake her up and feed her first, though? She'd wake him up later, unless he did. Damn, yeah. This was why he usually tried to stick to a schedule.

And so he went down to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, so that he could sleep immediately upon getting done feeding Mo. When he left the room, though, a soft “Oh!” alerted him to the fact that he'd startled Hermione.

“Oh, sorry, H- miss. I didn't mean to startle you.” Miss?? I just called Hermione 'miss'? Harlot would laugh her ass off. 'Course she laughs at me for just about everything, he remembered, smiling.

“I'm Tobias,” he offered.

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione answered tersely.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, a little confused by her slightly off-putting tone. Is she always this way with strangers? he wondered suddenly.

She looked him up and down and said dismissively, “Pleasure.”

He looked up, almost startled as he remembered the first time Hermione had met Ron in the train, how she'd looked down her nose at him and said, “you've got dirt on your nose.” Of course she'd disapprove, he realized, suddenly glad that he didn't have to tell her all of who he was just yet. I've got tattoos and hair down past my hips.

“Anyway, it's my daughter's bedtime,” he said, not bothering to explain like he had to Ron. Hermione would either get over herself or not, and it really wasn't his responsibility to try to make her like him. “I was just going to brush my teeth.”

“Yeah, alright,” Hermione said, letting him pass in the corridor even as she stared. He grimaced, but kept walking. On the street, when people stared, it didn't seem all that different from when people had stared at Harry Potter. People stared at him, whatever. But Hermione had never stared at him, before. Delinquent with a baby, Tobias thought bitterly. She's probably trying to figure out how she can 'rescue' her.

He brushed his teeth quickly and returned to his room to feed Mo, trying to ignore his thoughts, and failing. Ron and Hermione were his best friends as Harry Potter, but their acceptance and treatment of the strange newcomer was still to be determined. Ron was nice enough. He's not the greatest at polite introductions, but he did offer to play chess, he reminded himself. And I just don't look like the type of person Hermione normally spends time with. She needs to get used to it, is all.

Mo whimpered as he gently disentangled his shirt from her fists and lay her down. Taking out the sharp folding potions knife that he'd finally remembered to get, he flipped it open and nicked his wrist, hissing slightly at the sharp pain. Luckily, Mo woke up enough to eat without getting upset or even really opening her eyes. He smiled down at her. She looks like she's sleep-eating. Wish I could do that.

When she finished, he placed her carefully on the bed before hauling out the Heir book to write a quick note:

I guess they still didn't get the note from before, Harry realized. They'd have responded, if they had. Closing the book, Tobias joined Mo on the nice double-bed and fell asleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

August 14

Harry woke up the next morning feeling wonderfully refreshed – Mo had actually slept, what a concept! – and starving. Shit, I forgot to eat, again, Tobias thought as he sat up.

Still, he followed his normal morning routine as closely as he could, given the different circumstances. He fed and changed Mo and got them both dressed for the day. He was forced to put on a pair of pants from his trunk, one that only mostly still fit, and the same shirt from the night before, having left all of his clothes on Diagon Alley. He had the diaper bag, of course, though, so at least Mo got clean clothes. I'd better get my stuff soon, though, or I'm gonna run out of diapers.

Finally ready to leave the room, Harry headed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and went downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to dig something up out of the fridge. To his surprise, Molly and Arthur Weasley were both already up and talking to another woman in the kitchen. Both stopped speaking and looked up when he stopped at the threshold, and Molly spoke.

“Good morning, dear. You're up early. Tobias, isn't it?”

“Yes Ma'am,” Harry answered politely. Dumbledore had decided to let Harry tell those of the Order members who knew him already who he was if he wished to. Those who didn't know him – and those whom Harry did not choose to tell beforehand – would be appraised of the situation at a meeting that evening. He wasn't sure if he was going to tell anybody at all, just yet, but it was nice to see the Weasleys, anyway. She's so short! he realized right away, looking at Molly. He wasn't that tall – somewhere between 6'2” and 6'4”, he figured - but Mrs. Weasley didn't even come up to his chin. Mr. Weasley was taller, certainly, but still noticeably shorter than Harry himself. It was weird, being taller than people.

“And the little one?” Molly asked.

“This is Mo,” he said, turning her around and walking closer so Molly could see.

Molly smiled broadly. “Oh, and isn't she a pretty little one?” she said, obviously enchanted by little Mo. Mo squealed and waved her teething ring in the air, and Harry grinned broadly, finding himself blushing. MY pretty little one. And she was energetic again! Just as he thought it, she gave a loud little sneeze, but he wasn't worried anymore. It wouldn't quite make Snape his favorite person, but the man had seemed to work a miracle. Mo had slept through most of the night, and woken up her usual lively self, the remaining stuffy nose seeming not to bother her at all. The man could – and no doubt would - taunt and torture him all year, but Tobias would remember this.

“She's my daughter,” Harry explained, needing to know that Molly would be okay with that. She looked up at him, frowning a bit, but then smiled a little.

“I was wondering,” she admitted. “Where'd the wings come from?”

“She's fae,” Tobias answered. “A friend of mine couldn't keep her, and for some reason wanted me to take her. I told her I was only fifteen, but...” he shrugged.

Molly smiled sympathetically and offered Mo a finger. Mo latched on and started pulling towards her mouth, prompting Molly to gently free herself.

“That age, is it?”

Tobias smiled. “I've tried convincing her that her feet aren't edible, but even that's a lost cause,” he admitted.

Molly smiled back, before saying, “Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me. I am Molly Weasley, dear, and this is my husband Arthur.” She gestured to Mr. Weasley, who nodded and smiled, and then at the young woman. “And this is Nymphadora Tonks.”

“Wotcher, Tobias!” the younger woman said excitedly. “Call me Tonks.”

“Hi,” Harry said, smiling, finding he liked Tonks immediately. If nothing else, the woman's spikey, bubblegum-pink hair made him a little less worried about how his own appearance would go over with people at the meeting that evening.

The woman gave him an appraising look and said, “I like your hair,” and then screwed up her face in a look of intense concentration. A couple of seconds, and her hair matched his. Another second, and it took on a dark maroon coloration.

“Wouldn't want to be a total copy,” she said, winking.

“What'd you do?” Harry asked, amazed. Does she have charms, too? I thought mostly only People used those? But no, charms wouldn't let her chose an appearance on the spot like that.

“I'm a metamorphmagus,” Tonks explained shrugging. “Just lucky genetics.”

You and me both, Tobias thought briefly. Well, lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at things. “Cool,” he said.

“Would you like some breakfast, dear?” Molly offered. “I could make you eggs and toast, or porridge.”

“Umm...yeah, if you don't mind,” Harry said hesitantly. “Porridge, please.” I'll help cook lunch, he promised himself. “I can cook it myself, though,” he added as an afterthought. “It's no problem.”

“Absolutely not, my dear,” she said amicably. “You sit and take care of the little one. It's no trouble, and I know how precious the quiet moments are.”

Tobias smiled, appreciating Molly's wisdom, and sat down.

He sat Mo up on his lap , facing towards him, and smiled broader as she reached her fingers out to his mouth. Shielding his teeth with his lips, he gripped her hand gently in his mouth, then let go, growling playfully. “Got you!” Mo squealed and clumsily grabbed at his nose. He reached out and tapped hers with a finger, earning a huge, open-mouthed smile and another squeal. He found himself grinning crazily in response. It was a relief to just sit and play with Mo, without worrying about her or if anyone was tracking him. From Dumbledore's explanations of the security measures on Grimmauld Place, there was really no way the court would find him here. And, for now at least, he was still Tobias, so he didn't have to face everyone's judgment. He'd have to be careful to hide his own People status, but other than that, he was safe, and it felt good.

The others in the room talked quietly while Molly prepared the porridge and Harry played with Mo, and in seemingly no time at all, Molly was calling him to table, the tender expression on her face making Harry blush as he sat. “Thank you,” he said shyly as she set down sugar and cream next to him. Suddenly realizing that Molly was probably more versed in babies than he was, he asked hesitantly, “do you know if it would be okay for her to try this? I haven't tried her on solids yet, 'cause I haven't been sure.”

Molly gave him a smile. “How old is she?”

“Around five and a half months,” he answered.

“Definitely,” she said. “Just take it slow, stick with the porridge, and don't give her too much at once.”

She handed him a small spoon from a drawer, and he tried the porridge for temperature before offering some to Mo. About half got spat back at him, but he'd mostly expected that, and just scooped it off her chin to offer it back to her. She seemed to like it well enough, and soon he was alternating bites for himself and for her. It occurred to him about halfway through the bowl that he should probably not be using the same spoon, but shrugged. Too late now, at any rate. If I get a cold, I get a cold.

Realizing that Molly hadn't said anything since he started eating, he looked up to find her watching him, a soft expression on her face. When she met his eyes, she blushed and turned away to pull out pots and pans for breakfast.

I wonder if she misses her kids being this small, Harry thought suddenly. Certainly they got into less trouble. Of course, Mo was probably in danger just by virtue of existing, same as he was, but she was a special case. And the world was a safer place, when Ginny was this small. Watching Mrs. Weasley starting to prepare breakfast, Harry hoped suddenly that he hadn't worried her too much. I suppose I'll find out tonight at the meeting, he realized, dreading it. Oh God. She's going to kill me.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted then by another hard little sneeze. He looked down at Mo, a little concerned, then looked up to see Molly once again looking at the two of them, a small frown on her face.

“It's okay,” he said, “she's got a bit of a cold, and I was really worried yesterday, but Professor Snape said she'd be rid of it in a couple of days.”

Suddenly Harry realized. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ron are all here. What about the rest of the family?

“So...do you have any kids?” he asked, hoping she'd elaborate. Mrs. Weasley loved talking about her children.

“Yes, I do,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling kindly. “Seven, actually. You've probably met Ronald?”

“Oh. Yeah, I have,” Harry answered. “Are all your kids here, then?”

To Harry's surprise, Mrs. Weasley saddened at the question. “No, they're not,” she said. “My oldest son, Bill, lives nearby, and Ronald, Fred, George, and Ginny are here, but my son Charlie is in Romania, and – well Percy's not here, right now.” The last few words came out choked, and Harry wondered what must be wrong with Percy. Arthur came to stand with her and squeezed her shoulder gently, and she continued.“And Harry's off somewhere, too,” she finished. “Be glad your daughter's still little. Little ones you can just keep home and safe. Eventually she'll get older and decide that she knows what's safe and then you'll just have to wonder.”

“I-is that what happened to Harry, then?” Harry asked tentatively, not sure if he really wanted to know what Mrs. Weasley thought of him.

“I don't know what happened to Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, sounding upset. “He's not mine by blood, he lives with his relatives in Surrey. But then one day he disappeared, and he's sent letters saying he's alright, but he won't actually say where he is or what he's doing, so all I know is that he was alive at the time he sent the letter. And it's dangerous out there! And then Dumbledore – you know Dumbledore, yes?”

Harry nodded, wanting her to go on even as her words hurt him.

“Dumbledore says I shouldn't write him, because we don't know if it's safe for him to be sending and receiving too many owls, and he's right, but then what am I supposed to do? For whatever reason the boy won't come home for him, and I just don't know.”

THAT's why she didn't write me? Finally Harry couldn't stand it anymore. “He's safe.”

“He's safe? How would you know?” Mrs. Weasley sounded really skeptical.

How to go about this...she really is going to kill me. “Well, here's supposed to be safe, yeah?”

“Quite safe,” confirmed Mr. Weasley, nodding and giving him an appraising look.

“Well, he got brought here yesterday night by Professor Snape,” Harry said slowly. “He'd've stayed hidden, but then his daughter got sick, so he had to find help.”

“His – he doesn't have a – oh.” Mrs. Weasley stared at him for a minute, gobsmacked.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. “My-my name really is Tobias, now. Even the goblins call me that. I'm Tobias James Bâtard.”

“You – you're Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered uncertainly, “that too...”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Tonks put up silencing spells all around the kitchen, locked the door, and left. As soon as the door shut, Molly set in.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED EVERYONE HAS BEEN OVER YOU?”

Harry winced. He'd heard Mrs. Weasley yell at her kids, of course, but she'd never been this angry at him. He tried to defend himself. “I wrote-”

“TWO LETTERS. YOU REALLY THINK TWO LETTERS IS GOING TO REASSURE EVERYBODY THAT YOU'RE SAFE WHEN YOU'RE GONE FOR TWO WEEKS?!”

“I was safe! Honestly, Mrs. Weasley-”

“SO YOU TOLD US IN YOUR LETTERS. SAFE! AND HOW COULD YOU KNOW WHAT IS SAFE, HARRY?”

“Nobody even knew who I was-”

“AND SINCE WHEN IS THIS WORLD SAFE FOR ANYONE, HARRY? ESPECIALLY A FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD?!”

Harry looked to Arthur for rescue, but he didn't look particularly happy with him, either. He's mad, too? Maybe he had been less than prudent. God, I am such a dumbass, he realized, looking away from the two adults. I thought I was safe, sure, but...

“I DON'T THINK SO, YOUNG MAN. LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM SPEAKING TO YOU!”

Harry looked back at her, once again looking to Arthur in the hopes of a reprieve, and once again finding him regarding him gravely. No help from that quarter. God no wonder everybody's leery to mess with Molly. At that moment, however, Mo decided she'd had enough, and started to cry.

“Oh, I'm sorry, dear,” Molly said, voice suddenly soft as she addressed Mo before glaring back up at Harry. Not off the hook yet, apparently.

“What were you thinking?” She demanded, still loud but no longer screaming.

Mo was still wailing, so Harry stood up to walk around the kitchen and soothe her, and started his explanation, avoiding both adults' eyes as he did so. He explained as he had to Dumbledore, about finding out he was a bastard and getting kicked out and meeting 'Lily' and adopting Mo.

“...so now Dumbledore wants me to keep the name Tobias with everyone except the members of the Order. Even Ron and Hermione aren't allowed to know,” he explained.

Arthur spoke up when he was done, saying, “And so you refused to return to us because...?”

Harry swallowed hard, ashamed, and told the truth, or at least part of it. “I- It was just so much to explain.” That's a terrible reason, Harry realized even as he said it. Of course, he'd had other reasons, but surely safety was more important? I thought I'd have to be Harry Potter again, and that the court would therefore find me, but that's not true. I might actually be safer from the court, here.

“And so you thought that you would just hide from us forever?” Molly demanded.

Harry stopped walking and faced them, noticing as he did so that Arthur's expression was almost as angry as Molly's. The fact that it was Arthur, who never seemed to get angry, made it even worse. “No...” he started.

“So you knew you would have to face us eventually, and you hid anyway? What did that gain you?”

“Err...” She's got a point. Some Gryffindor I turned out to be. Of course, he'd had other reasons not to return, but those reasons had been proven wrong by the simple expedient of remaining Tobias Bâtard. He'd already been living in human territory, and hiding his Peopleness and his royalty. This didn't really change anything.

“So you didn't have a reason,” Molly concluded. “You stayed away for two weeks, refusing to tell us where you were or return, because you didn't want to explain something that you were going to have to explain later, anyway? Did you not realize that if you wanted to bring Mo to school with you, that Dumbledore would have to know ahead of time?”

“I- I did, I mean, I do now, I just-” Harry cut off, unsure what to say, and focused back on soothing Mo. She was starting to quiet, but she really hadn't liked Molly's yells, and it comforted him to comfort her. I screwed up.

Finally Molly got impatient with his reluctance. “You just what?”

Harry gave up. “I'm sorry, okay? It's just been a rough summer. Maybe I wasn't thinking so straight.”

“I hope to tell.” Molly said. “Do you have any idea how worried we've all been? Did it occur to you that we might want to help you with all of this? That we cared about you?”

Tempted to wrap his wings around his face in a gesture of shame, Harry instead allowed himself a more human response: he looked at his feet. He hadn't even thought about Mrs. Weasley. He'd known Dumbledore was worried, but he was angry at Dumbledore, and so didn't mind too much. It hadn't occurred to him that Molly would worry as well until he'd gotten here. Sensing Molly ready to lay into him again, he looked back up and said, “I'm sorry, okay? I should've come back.”

Once again Harry took solace in Mo's presence, bouncing and rocking her and petting her head. “Hey little girl,” he whispered, too low for the two Weasleys to hear. “My pretty little monkey.” He would never get tired of her soft purple curls. Nobody else's baby has purple hair. So there. Finally calm, Harry realized what he hadn't before – Mo had dropped her teething ring somewhere along the line, and proceeded to regain her usual habit of sucking on his shirt. He was positively soggy. Freeing his shirt from her mouth and hands, Tobias retrieved the teething ring, rinsed it off in hot water from the sink, and returned it to Mo.

Molly seemed to be calming, too, but she apparently wasn't done just yet. “Yes, you should've. You are safe here, Harry. That is all we wanted for you. Safety and support. You don't think you could have used that?”

“I was safe,” Harry defended.

“As safe as you are here?” she asked incredulously.

Safer than in an unplottable house protected by the Fidelius charm and warded by Dumbledore? She's got a point.

Harry grimaced. “Maybe not.”

“Of course not, Harry,” Arthur put in softly. His sudden input surprised Tobias anyway, though. He'd almost forgotten the man's presence, for all he knew he was there supporting Molly.

Tobias met the man's eyes, then nodded. “Okay, no, I wouldn't have been. But I didn't know that, sir. Dumbledore said that I was safest at Privet Drive, but then I didn't have anywhere to go. I didn't know that Dumbledore had this place, and he's never let me return to Hogwarts.”

“He told you that he wanted you to return and that you'd be safer, didn't he? Don't you trust him?”

“I don't know,” Harry said honestly. “He's been acting strange. He won't tell me anything, or even meet my eyes.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons, dear,” Molly said complacently.

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I agree with them,” Harry said. “I mean, he didn't even know Mo existed.”

“Because you did not tell him,” Arthur pointed out.

“Because he doesn't tell me anything!” Harry answered hotly, frustrated.

“He has that right,” Arthur said firmly. “He doesn't tell me everything, either. I simply trust him to share with me what I need to know, because I know from experience that his judgment is sound. You do not have such experience, and so perhaps we cannot expect you to trust him as firmly, but the fact remains that he should not be expected to share all of his plans with everybody right away.”

Harry fought down his resentment, trying not to let his frustration at the lack of information cloud his judgment. He hated not knowing, hated that people like Fudge and Dumbledore made decisions and didn't even have to tell him why and that he still had to deal with the results. It helped, some, that Arthur also had to accept that, sometimes, but it was still frustrating.

“I hate that,” Harry finally answered. “I get it, I guess, but I still hate it.”

The conversation died, and Harry looked over to Mrs. Weasley to see her regarding him with a smile, tears in her eyes. “You're safe,” she said softly, clearly relieved.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said again, speaking as softly as she was.

“Oh, come here,” said Mrs. Weasley, engulfing him in one of her smothering hugs. He hugged back with one arm, careful of Mo. Looking down at the little one, Molly smiled. “I have to say, I never thought I'd be a Gramma this soon.”

Harry beamed at her. It's gonna be okay. Oh, thank God. Pulling out of the hug, he suddenly realized that he hadn't felt threatened by her proximity to Mo. He hadn't even thought to be.

“You- you want to hold her?” he offered.

Molly's face lit up. “I'd love to.”

“Just be a little careful of her wings,” he said. “They're a bit fragile.” Paying careful attention to his own reaction, Harry handed Mo slowly over to Molly. In a moment, he took his hands away, leaving Mo in Molly's arms, and smiled. I did it! I can let other people hold her! Well, at least Molly, who was probably the number one person he would trust with a baby, but still. He was all right with it. He missed Mo, a little, but it was more a problem of him not holding her than Molly holding her.

And Molly was clearly thrilled, smiling down at Mo as the little one gurgled and reached out for her hair. Grabbing a lock of it, Molly tickled Mo's face.

“She's beautiful,” Molly said as Mo reached clumsily for the lock. “Such lovely eyes!”

Tobias smiled proudly, and, unable to resist, offered Mo his finger to hold, prompting her to draw it towards her mouth. Noticing that she had, once again, dropped her teething ring, Harry freed his finger and once again went to rinse it off and return it to her. This time she gripped it in both hands and brought it into her mouth.

“I suppose we can take the silencing spells off the room now?” Arthur asked good-naturedly.

Molly smiled and nodded, but Tobias cautioned, “Just remember I'm Tobias, alright?”

Arthur smiled. “We'd be a pretty poor secret organization if we couldn't remember something that important, I should think,” he said, then waved his wand carefully around the room, dispelling the silence and unlocking the door.

No sooner had he done so, then Sirius and Tonks both walked in, followed by Fred and George, loudly demanding why the door had been locked.

“We apologize, but we needed the kitchen for a private conversation,” Molly explained.

“And who's this, then?” Sirius asked.

“Tobias Bâtard,” Harry answered, telling himself that he'd introduce himself more fully during the meeting that night. I'm not James' son. If anyone was going to react badly to that, it would be Sirius. Tonight. We can't talk in front of Fred and George, anyway. For now, he'd be Tobias. “I'm transferring to Hogwarts this year, and Headmaster Dumbledore invited my daughter and I here for the rest of the summer.”

Even as Harry repeated the story, he realized it was a bit strange. Even if the Headmaster had known his mother, why would he want Tobias Bâtard, who had no obvious relevance in the war against Voldemort, to spend the summer at the headquarters of a secret organization like the Order? The only reason the story was believable at all was because the headmaster confirmed it. They probably realize that there's more to the story than we're telling, and just don't ask, Harry realized. At any rate, lying to Sirius sucked.

“So what house are you in, then?” asked Fred. Or George, I suppose. He never had quite figured that out.

“I don't know. Dumbledore said I've got to be res- sorted. My old school didn't have the same system.”

“You're going to be sorted?” asked the twin Harry was assuming was George.

“Like at the beginning of the year with all the first-years?” finished the other.

Harry winced. I hadn't thought of that. “Yeah, sounds like it. Ew.”

“What year are you gonna be in?”

“Fifth.”

“You're only fifteen?” Fred asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“Woah, you're tall!”

“You must be taller than Bill!”

“How tall are you?”

“Umm...” Tobias smiled, feeling himself blush. “I don't actually know. I went through a growth spurt this summer, and I haven't measured myself.” The truth was, he hadn't measured himself since the first time, when he'd seen 5'8”. But he could hardly tell them that, when he'd probably grown six or eight inches since then, could he? I really hope I'm done growing, he reflected.

Molly expertly transferred Mo to one arm and pulled out her wand. “May I?” Tobias nodded, watching her strong vertical wand movement as she incanted, “Modas Sublimitas.” The spell produced a small shimmering tape measure that pulled itself into a straight line alongside Harry and announced, “Six feet five and three-eighths inches!” That's more like ten inches, Harry realized. Shit.

“Okay,” Fred said, “so he's not really taller than Bill.”

“But he's only fifteen,” George pointed out.

“I'm also right here,” Tobias said.

“True. So how'd you get so tall? Your Dad like ridiculously tall or something?”

“I don't know,” Tobias said, “I never knew him.”

“Oh.”

After that, talk moved on to other things, and Molly handed Mo back to Tobias to prepare breakfast. Finding himself still hungry, despite the porridge, Harry ate again with the rest of the crowd before returning to the quiet of his room to study the Heir book and work on his homework.

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

Greetings, Harry-she

Please accept our apologies for the delay in communications. Should you wish to contact us with any urgency, please write the word 'emergency' in capitol letters before your message. This will cause the book to alarm, such that we can respond more rapidly to your need.

We thank you for your careful care of Her Highness Moriyana-she, and once again extend our assurances that, should you choose to reveal yourself to us, you will be treated with the utmost respect and consideration. It goes without saying that, should you not, you will still be treated with the same respect and consideration.

Signed, his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-She.

Let's see, Tobias translated. Woopsies, sorry about not actually helping you keep the baby alive, try again next time. We're glad you figured it out on your own, anyway. Please hand yourself in. If you don't, we'll catch you anyway. Love and roses, his Scariness the King.

Smiling a little, he started his reply.

To his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkransdin-She, greetings.

I thank you, and I will contact you at absolute need.

Harry grinned, unable to resist adding a small barb now that he'd found himself a safe harbor.

A question, though. What do you think to gain in asking me to hand myself in? You seemed so sure in your last message that you would catch me on your own. Surely it must be child's play, to hunt down one adolescent boy?

Signed, Harry the Switch.

Greetings to his Scariness the King. Thanks for the help. You suck. Catch me if you can. Harry grinned. This just in, Harry Potter is still an idiot. He'd've probably not had the courage to poke at the King in person, but it was fun from a distance. And at the moment, the King and his court seemed very, very far away.

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

Tobias walked into the basement kitchen, sat down across from a handsome dark-skinned man with a gold earring, and set Mo on his lap. The man looked up from where he'd been reading a newspaper and frowned.

“There's a meeting starting here in ten minutes.”

“I realize,” Tobias answered neutrally. “It's about me, actually.”

That gained him the man's full attention. “You are Harry Potter.”

Harry nodded.

“Interesting.”

And the man returned to his newspaper.

I think I like him, Tobias reflected.

After Tobias, Tonks arrived and sat next to the other man. Then Sirius arrived, and Arthur and Molly Weasley, and then some people Harry didn't know, and then Bill, coming through the floo. Harry stopped paying as much attention after that, trying to just focus on Mo and keep his nervousness at bay, but then a familiar feeling made him look up. He immediately thought of Bighana, but then cursed himself for a fool. Not Bighana, you dumbass. What would she be doing here? It was Remus. Of course it was Remus. He'd sensed him from across the room, a spot of kinship where everyone else felt just a bit – different. Shit. If he'd identified the werewolf's presence that easily, surely Remus would sense him as well?

As Tobias considered, the werewolf looked up and frowned. His curious gaze send a trickle of ice down Tobias' back. It's just Mo. You can see that Mo is fae, wolf. You just sense her. But the combination of werewolf and the threat Tobias felt his presence to be made him want to snarl a challenge at the man, to warn him off. Yeah, 'cause that would improve matters.

But he hadn't planned for Remus's reaction to him. For in that moment Remus saw Tobias' expression, and the small challenging sneer that he'd not been able to suppress, and his upper lip lifted the slightest bit off of his canines in response. Tobias felt his lips lift totally off his canines, and a quiet snarl rumbled in his throat. Shit. It would still look to everybody else who noticed that Tobias had simply taken a quick dislike for Remus, but the werewolf would know the difference: there was no way he hadn't heard the snarl.

In the next moment, Remus even confirmed it, looking at Mo and lifting a hand in a placating gesture. Tobias took a big breath, knowing that Remus was truly no threat to Mo, then passed on his own message, looking around the room before bringing a single finger to his lips, eyes pleading. Remus pursed his lips briefly, then nodded. Looking around, Tobias didn't think anybody had noticed. Except the earring guy, Tobias realized. He had the impression the man didn't miss much.

Tobias turned his attention away from Remus, noticing that the room had filled and people were starting to settle into chairs. Snape's not here, he noticed. That's funny. Having seen him the day before, Tobias had assumed that the man was in the Order. He could still be, I guess. He might just have not come to this one...or he's late. That seemed unlikely. Finally, though, it became obvious what everybody had been waiting for, as Dumbledore flooed in and quieted the room with his mere presence.

“I apologize for the short notice on this meeting, but I have some rather important information to impart. Mr. Bâtard, if you would? I'd like everyone to be able to see you.”

Tobias stood up, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Shit, that's a lot of people, he realized suddenly. Suppressing the instinct that made him want to hide behind his wings, he threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin. Stare, why don't you? Words of what they might be thinking flashed through him as he saw their curious expressions, and he allowed a small, challenging sneer to appear once again. Yup, I'm a delinquent. What of it?

But then Dumbledore was talking again. “This is Tobias Bâtard and his daughter. I want all of you to fix him and the child in your minds. They are extremely important, and are to be defended at all cost. At the same time, no one outside this room, other than Severus Snape, who has already been apprised of the situation, is to know that they are significant in any way.” Almost as an afterthought, he spread his arms. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, may we know why?” someone called.

Dumbledore turned to Harry and smiled softly. “Do you want to tell them, my boy, or should I?”

Tobias shrugged. No reason not to, I suppose. He also had a certain way he wanted to do things. It seemed important, somehow, that he presented himself as himself. As Tobias, then as Harry Potter. “Like Dumbledore said, my name is Tobias Bâtard. I'm fifteen years old, and yes, I have a daughter.”

Tobias adjusted Mo so she was facing out, then took hold of one of her wings and gently extended it, before releasing it when she pulled back. Mo really didn't like having her wings messed with, he'd learned early on. At least I'm not trying to clean them, this time, Tobias remembered with a slight smile. Mo did not like getting wet, and she'd made it abundantly clear.

“Her name is Mo. As you might've noticed, she's one of the fae. Her Mum's dead, and I adopted her. I wanted to introduce myself first, because it's important that you think of me as Tobias Bâtard. Most of you have actually already met me, though if this is going to work you don't know it. Long story short, I'm Tobias, but I'm also Harry Potter.” He smiled at the startled looks he received. “Yeah, I know. It's been an eventful summer.”

A man he recognized immediately as Mad-Eye Moody stood up and walked closer, but stopped six feet away when Tobias took a step back, not wanting Mo that close to the man even though he technically knew it wasn't Crouch.

“Sorry,” Mad-Eye said gruffly. “Could've predicted that.”

Tobias shrugged. “No big deal.”

Mad-Eye didn't comment further, just stopping to examine Tobias from head to toe. “Amazing,” he finally commented, but continued, “Get a spell for your eyes.”

“Will do,” Tobias promised.

“Polyjuice or glamour?”

“Took a glamour off, actually,” Tobias answered, not looking at Sirius. It's gonna come out sometime, might as well just tell. “My mum did a spell to make me look like Dad, 'cause I looked too much like my biological father and they didn't want trouble.”

“Your biological-” Sirius sounded choked.

“I'm a bastard,” Tobias answered bluntly, finally looking over at Sirius. “I'm not James' son.”

“Whose son are you, then?” Remus asked, staring fixedly at Tobias as if trying to figure something out.

“Whoever my mum decided to mess around with while my dad was gone,” Tobias answered bitterly, not appreciating the direction the conversation had taken.

“Harry!” Molly objected. “Don't speak so about your mother!” She quieted when Arthur put a hand on her arm.

“It's just the truth, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answered. “Mum wouldn't've liked it, but then she wouldn't want me lying, either, I should think.”

Harry took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to the room as a whole. “Anyway, that's it. My name is Tobias James Bâtard. I'm transferring into Hogwarts this year and I'm bringing Mo with me. Dumbledore has asked me to not reveal my true identity to anybody outside of the Order, including Ron and Hermione and the other Weasleys, so please remember that I am Tobias.”

“That won't be hard to do,” Mad-Eye commented, sounding approving in his gruffness.

“You don't even hold yourself the same way,” Sirius commented. Hearing something – off – in the man's voice, Harry looked up and met Sirius' eyes. Sirius looked away quickly, and Tobias frowned, wondering what was up. Don't be obtuse. You're not James' son. You knew that was gonna throw him for a loop.

Tobias turned back to the Headmaster. “Anything else, sir? Or should I go back upstairs?”

“I cannot think of anything else at the moment-” Dumbledore started, before cutting off. “Yes, Remus?”

Remus looked over and met Tobias' eyes. “You mentioned that young Mo is one of the fae. Have you forgotten to mention your own...situation?”

Tobias blanched. No, Remus. What are you doing? Once again pleading with his eyes, Tobias barely mouthed the words, “you promised.” The man had just indicated that he wouldn't tell, for goodness' sake!

“I am sorry, Harry, but I think you'll agree that I did not know the full story at the time that I made that promise. If it were not relevant to your defense, I wouldn't mention it, but as it is - If you will not tell them the full story, Harry, then I will be forced to.”

“The full story?” Dumbledore inquired, disarmingly polite. “Is there more to tell?”

By then the whole crowd was staring between Remus and Tobias, who was growling low in his throat.

“You didn't even tell Dumbledore, Harry?” Remus asked incredulously.

Dumbledore's eyes fixed on Harry's face, yet strangely still did not meet his. “Tell me what, Tobias?” His voice held a demand, but Tobias ignored it, still looking at Remus, and fighting back a growl.

Remus' gaze held a hard sort of sympathy as he returned Tobias' gaze and said slowly. “He is not human, Headmaster.”

Not human. Tobias heard the echo in his mind as he fought with everything he had not to let loose and confirm Remus' claims. You unmitigated fucking BASTARD!

“You are certain, Remus?” the headmaster asked softly.

“Definitely.”

Tobias closed his eyes as he spoke, hearing the words come out anguished even as he felt the anger building in his chest. “I never betrayed you, Lupin. I never told a soul.”

“I know,” the former professor answered softly.

“Then why-” Harry stopped as he felt his throat close around the words. “Never mind. I guess it doesn't matter, now.”

“Harry-” Remus started.

“It's Tobias.” Tobias answered sharply, restraining an all-out snarl but feeling a low growl vibrating in his throat.

“Tobias.” The headmaster's voice demanded attention, and Tobias ignored Remus in favor of turning towards him. “You are fae, same as the child, I presume?”

Please, please, let him not know about the rest. “Yes.”

“Now that is a glamour,” Tobias heard Mad-Eye comment.

“Would you show us, please?”

With pleasure, Tobias thought savagely, before a more cautioning voice calmed him a little. It wasn't just Remus and Dumbledore in the room, after all. Thanks Remus. Really, great job. Couldn't just tell Dumbledore, had to tell everybody I cared about. He looked over to the Weasleys, and saw Arthur regarding him with a frown. Sirius was looking at him like he expected him to immediately Were or something. Lovely. And here I thought I was done moving every week.

Maybe if I just show my wings, that'll be enough? After all, they'd only seen Mo. The only aspect they knew he should have were the wings, and they weren't really the scariest bit, in Tobias's opinion. Remus got by in this crowd, and they knew he was a werewolf. All he had to do was be like Remus – just show his wings, 'cause they already knew they were there anyway, and continue to tone down his strength and his normal reactions to things as he had been doing since he got to Diagon Alley. Everything should be okay. Nobody had to know there was more to it. It was a good plan, really. And it disgusted him. Remus is a coward, he suddenly realized. I am PEOPLE. Not 'nonhuman', not a creature, People. They can fucking deal with it; I'm not going to spend the rest of my life pretending to be something I'm not. If he had to move, he'd move. If only I could go back to Knockturn, he thought. I was welcome, there.

“Sure,” Tobias answered neutrally. Standing up, he moved to the end of the table where nobody was sitting and set Mo down on her stomach, smiling a little when she immediately propped herself up on her two hands to look up at him. “Stay put, monkey,” he whispered, keeping a gentle hand on her back so she wouldn't roll off. Deciding to go for the smaller parts first, Harry reached into a pocket in Mo's diaper bag and fished around for his potions and charms, finally pulling out the light purple potion that would reveal his teeth. Determinedly keeping his gaze on Mo, he downed it, then deactivated the charm on his horns. Finally, he let go of Mo so he could remove his shirt. He hesitated for a moment, shy about baring his chest to the whole room, but then mentally shrugged and peeled off the shirt. His wings immediately sprang free, and Tobias could pick Mo up again and hold her to his bare chest.

Holding Mo, Tobias finally looked up at the rest of the room, knowing that his expression showed his canines and not caring. Here we go. If they were going to have a problem with this, he had to know now.

Well they were staring, that was for sure. He'd expected that much. Nobody was screaming, so that was good. Nobody was reacting much at all, though. It was like they were petrified. That's probably not good.

Surprisingly, it was Tonks who spoke first. “So how'd that happen?” she asked bluntly.

When he looked at her face, trying to figure out how she felt about things, she gave him a slight smile, allowing his snarl to fade. “Just lucky genetics,” he answered, parroting her earlier phrase and earning a bigger smile. “Presumably my Dad looks something like this.”

“Not necessarily,” she answered back. “Genetics can be funky in the wizarding world.”

He hadn't known that. Interesting. He nodded back, and the room returned to silence before Bill spoke up, just as blunt as Tonks had been.

“You're a dark fairy,” he identified.

“Unseelie Sidhe,” Tobias corrected, stress making his tone unnecessarily sharp.

“My apologies.” Bill bowed his head slightly, a good-humored smile on his lips.

Tobias felt his snarl disappear as he responded to Bill with a wan smile of his own. “No biggie. Well observed, actually. Not even all of the People recognize me on first sight,” he answered, still slightly wary.

“I work with the goblins,” Bill explained.

“Of course,” Tobias acknowledged. “They know everything.”

Bill grinned. “That they do. They've probably known where you were this entire time.”

“And that Dumbledore was looking for me,” Tobias answered lightly, enjoying the joke. “They especially enjoyed the Ministry's cluelessness, actually.”

The room seemed to relax a little at Bill's ringing laugh, but Tobias' smile quickly faded as he looked around at the serious faces.

“So...should I pack?” he asked bluntly. “I was doing fine on Diagon Alley, honestly-”

“DON'T YOU EVEN START!” exclaimed Molly suddenly, startling Tobias with the yell before looking at Mo at continuing more quietly. “Did you not hear us this morning when we said how dangerous it was for you out there?”

Harry looked at her, confused. “Well, yeah, but-”

“But what? You think you're safer out there than you would've been before?”

“Actually, he is,” interrupted Bill. “Nobody messes with the fae with their little one anywhere nearby. Nobody.” Molly sent him a glare, and Bill threw up both hands placatingly. “Not that I think he should leave. Just stating the facts.”

Molly turned on Dumbledore next. “Albus I swear if you make the boy leave I'll leave the Order.”

“Duly noted,” Dumbledore said neutrally, before turning to the rest of the group. “Well? Who else is with Molly?”

Bill and Arthur both raised their hands immediately, and then Sirius and Remus...and Tonks, and then the man with the earring, and immediately a whole bunch of other people Tobias didn't know. All in all, about half the room rose against Dumbledore. The other half just looked confused and distressed.

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore commented cheerfully, no trace of sarcasm in his voice. “See, my boy? It's a mutiny. I couldn't kick you out if I wanted to.” He sat back, fished a sherbet lemon out of his pocket, and popped it into his mouth, clearly very satisfied with the situation.

Tobias looked around in confusion, breathing hard as a feeling of relief made his muscles turn to mush. He hadn't even realized how tense he was until that moment. Mrs. Weasley must have seen something in his eyes when he met hers, because her whole face softened, and she walked up to him fearlessly to wrap him in her arms, fumbling just a little to figure out how to hug him around the wings. Hardly believing it, Harry hugged back with one arm, gripping the back of her shirt and briefly laying his head on her shoulder. Confused and relieved and stressed as hell, for a minute he just held on and breathed. Oh thank God, I don't have to move again.

“This is the real reason you didn't come back, isn't it?” Molly asked him softly when he pulled back to look at her.

He nodded. “What I told you was true, too, I just- well, at first I couldn't come back 'cause I didn't have any of the stuff I needed to pass as human, but then I could have come back but I-”

Molly glared at him, and he revised what he was going to say. “Okay, maybe I should have come back then,” he admitted.

Someone cleared their throat, and Tobias turned back and faced the room, Molly standing at his side with a protective air. Before anybody could even say anything, Molly was addressing the group. “Anybody have a problem with H-Tobias?”

Of course, after that nobody was going to say anything. If they had a problem, Tobias supposed, he'd find out later. The meeting adjourned, people cleared out, and soon only Sirius, Remus, and the Weasleys remained in the room. Strangely, even Dumbledore left without another word to Tobias. I'd've sworn he'd've at least stayed to tell me off. Did Dumbledore have more of a problem with the Peopleness than he was letting on? He seemed totally okay with Remus. Remus is at least pretending to be human. But then Dumbledore was already being weird yesterday, too, so that can't be it. But if not that, then what was Dumbledore's problem? He'd barely even look at him, and now it looked like he wouldn't talk to him unless absolutely necessary. He'd left the meeting the night before without speaking to Tobias beyond what was necessary to get his story, and now even after all this he wouldn't stay beyond the rest of the Order members.

“H-Tobias?” Sirius asked tentatively. “I-it's true, your mother-?”

“You think Dad had these genes?” Tobias answered abruptly, indicating his whole body with a hand.

“No, but-” he cut off once again.

“It's verifiable,” Tobias realized suddenly. “Mum said Dad stayed with you, afterwards. I was born in July 1980, so I must've been conceived in...” he trailed off, counting, but Molly spoke up.

“Late October 1979, dear.”

“Okay, so, Dad would've spent about a week with you in early November,” Tobias finished. “It was right after Mum told him, and he needed some time to think things over.”

Sirius bore a look of intense and unhappy concentration for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I do remember that. James asked to stay with me, but wouldn't say why.”

Tobias looked over at the three Weasleys, and, this time, nervously allowed his wings to wrap around his body. He didn't hide his face, wanting to be able to see and be seen, but the protective gesture felt natural.

“You can put your shirt back on, if you like,” Bill commented.

“True,” Tobias said, relaxing enough to smile. “Mrs. Weasley, would you take Mo? I'd rather not just put her on the table.”

And, wonder of wonders, Mrs. Weasley once again approached him fearlessly, compassion the only emotion showing on her face as she took Mo. Considering the shirt, Tobias wrinkled his nose. He only had two of the shirts that hid his wings. He hadn't thought about it that morning, but the one he was about to put on had already been worn for three days in a row. His other clothes had arrived that afternoon with the rest of his stuff from the Leaky Cauldron, but he hadn't changed because his other shirts wouldn't conceal his wings. After a moment's hesitation, he put the shirt on, grimacing as the concealing spells tingled on his wings, but then turned to Molly.

“On second thought, this shirt is gross,” he said apologetically. “Will you hold Mo while I go grab a clean one?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Molly said.

Let's see if I can manage to leave Mo for a bit, Tobias thought. It was the first chance he'd had to try it since taking Mo – he just hadn't been around people that he trusted quite well enough. And so he slowly walked away from Mo and towards the door, ready to turn back immediately if Mo protested or he felt threatened at all. He walked away. Nothing. Left the room, and shut the door behind him. Nothing. He was fine. Reassured, Tobias hurried upstairs to grab the shirt. It was one of the older ones, that wouldn't conceal his wings, but it was clean. Once he found it, though, he hesitated, worried about encountering Ron or Hermione in the hallway with his wings out and his glamours off. Should've thought of that on the way here, he realized. His teeth and horns were showing, regardless. Deciding that he'd just change downstairs, he carried the clean shirt out of the room.

When he got back down, he found Molly talking to Arthur and Bill, Mo in her arms happily chewing on her hair. They were ignoring Remus almost entirely, and Sirius had left. Closing the door behind him, Tobias changed his shirt quickly, showing his wings once again, before moving towards the group of Weasleys. When he got there, Mo twisted to reach out for him with both hands, suddenly
fussy. Molly turned to him and smiled as he took her back.

“She's just hungry, I think,” he explained. “You want food, Mo? Other than my shirt, I mean?”

The three Weasleys chuckled, and he turned to go find privacy upstairs but was stopped by Remus' soft call.

“Tobias?”

“Not now, Lupin.”

He left.

August 14 continued

After the meeting, Tobias immediately headed for his bedroom, intending to feed and change Mo, then go to bed. The day had already been plenty stressful. He got up the stairs without incident, but promptly ran into Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a clump the hallway.

“What're you all doing here?” he asked, confused, before realizing how stupid his question was next to the fact that he'd just shown up in the hallway without any of his cover-ups.

“Failing at eavesdropping,” Fred answered.

“Which of course means we have no idea how you suddenly ended up with new appendages,” George continued cheerfully. “Care to explain? Sometimes they forget, and we can listen to the meeting for a bit before they put up the spells, but today the security was really tight.”

“They were always there,” Harry admitted, smiling a little despite himself. “Maybe you just missed them. I mean, they're really very subtle.”

“I believe he just insulted us,” said Fred, looking to his brother. “Do you think he did?”

“You know, Fred? I think maybe he did!”

“Do you think we should take up the challenge?”

“Definitely,” said George. Turning back to Harry, he said cheerfully, “You, sir, are the most reprehensibly yellow-bellied, empty-headed snail-eater I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

Fred took up after him. “Quite. Moreover, sir, I rather think you would be better chopped up and used in one of Professor Snape's nastier concoctions. Are you offended?”

“Terribly so,” Harry said agreeably, holding Mo carefully as he executed a short bow. “I surrender to your superior abilities. I'd even walk off in a huff if I had anywhere to go.” Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had yet to say a word, he noticed uncomfortably. Ginny looked okay, somehow, but Ron and Hermione were staring, as if in shock. Come to think of it, why are Fred and George so okay with this?

“Err...I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, mainly to Ron and Hermione.

George snorted. “Really? Funny how I was convinced you were going to snarf us as soon as you got the chance. Well, I suppose you didn't eat us yesterday...”

“I don't know, George,” said Fred. “He still looks questionable to me.”

George laughed. “I suppose he might've had a change of heart since yesterday. I personally think I'd be rather tasty.”

“Umm...eww,” said Ginny, speaking for the first time.

“Oh, dear, Fred, I believe you frightened our dear sweet baby sister.”

“Awww, poor widdle Gin-gin! Did I offend your innocent little ears?”

“I think anybody would be offended by the idea of tasting your-”

“Ginny!” the three other Weasleys cut in frantically.

“- your cooking,” Ginny finished smoothly.

Harry smiled again, despite his increasing concern with his other friends' non-reaction. “Don't worry,” he said, turning to Ginny, “really I have no interest in your brothers' – cooking. Nice to meet you, by the way.” He'd eaten with her at breakfast, but they'd been on opposite ends of the table from each other.

“You too,” she said, smiling at him even as she stared.

“I'm insulted,” said Fred.

“Terribly sorry,” Tobias said, taking the twins' cue to just ignore the other two for the moment. “I'm sure any insult to your general fabulousness was entirely unintentional. I simply meant to reassure your fragile little sister as to my good intentions.”

“Hey!” Ginny said hotly.

“I know it can be hard to accept the truth, Ginny,” George said consolingly.

“I'll give you fragile,” Ginny muttered, flinging a quick curse at George, who put up his block way too slow. Next thing Tobias knew, George was gasping and blowing small black bundles out of his nose. Harry watched incredulously as the bundles unwrapped in the air and flew off, squeaking out their indignation before turning to attack George's face as full-sized bats.

“Okay, okay, okay!” George exclaimed quickly, laughing and trying to fend the creatures off with his hands and failing. “You win! You win!”

Smirking at her brother, Ginny lazily waved her wand and dismissed the bats.

“Don't mess with Ginny,” Fred said as a side to Harry.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he answered seriously, absently petting Mo's head as he felt her tug on his shirt.

“So, you ever gonna answer the question about why you have extra limbs today that you didn't have yesterday?” Ginny demanded, mock-fierce, before cracking a huge grin. “'Cause if it's anything you did by choice I am TOTALLY in.”

“Yeah, how do we get some?” asked George.

“Not on sale, unfortunately,” Tobias answered confusedly. The twins and Ginny always seemed to take things in stride, but this was...frankly amazing. Ron and Hermione still had yet to say anything, though. Looking at them, he caught Hermione's eyes, and she opened her mouth as if to speak before closing it again and breaking the eye contact. Tobias moved his gaze to Ron, and found him looking at his siblings before staring back at Harry.

“Oh, good, no competition then,” Fred answered.

“Oil of Fluxweed, you think?” George asked, turning towards his brother. “And maybe some Doxy wings?”

Oh yeah, Harry remembered. They're actually running a business.

“It's...not a spell,” he finally said uneasily. “It's just...me. They were there yesterday, I just concealed them with charms and potions and the like. I'm Unseelie Sidhe,” he finished, speaking mostly to Hermione and hoping having the information would reassure her. At her blank look, he continued. “It's a species of greater fae, related to the Little Folk, who you would call fairies.”

She nodded shortly, and he smiled a little bit.

“Anyway, I really have to get Mo to bed. See you all at breakfast?”

“Sure,” Ginny said, backing up to get out of his way.

“Goodnight,” said Hermione softly, backing up a little quicker than Ginny when he moved. Still, she seemed to be trying, so that was...good, he guessed.

Don't think about it. Just go to bed.

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

I need a shower, Tobias realized as he sat down to feed Mo. Nicking his wrist on a canine, he set Mo up carefully before relaxing back in the armchair in his room. Mo was clearly sleepy, and just ate quietly before letting go and falling the rest of the way asleep. Tucking her into the portable Moses basket to sleep, he set her on the threshold between his room and the bathroom, locked the other door to the bathroom, and stripped down. After a moment's thought, he carefully unbraided his hair and brought a comb with him into the shower, hoping to get it washed and combed out properly as he hadn't managed in the last couple of weeks. I really ought to just cut it, he realized, but he knew he wouldn't. It felt like too much a part of him to just cut off, and had really given him surprisingly little trouble, for how long it was. Still, it was nice to have it actually clean and brushed out, rather than in an increasingly-gross braid.

When he got out, he took the time to dry his hair as best he could and rebraid it so it wouldn't tangle while he slept. As he finished, he caught his image in the mirror and stopped. It was the first time he'd seen himself in the mirror since he'd started wearing the charms. He'd almost forgotten how strange it had been, the first time he looked in the mirror after the horns and wings developed. He still felt normal, but he had horns, honest-to-God horns. Impulsively, he bared his teeth, almost startling again at just how obvious they were. No wonder Hermione had been frightened. And I'm going to bed, he reminded himself again. Just don't bloody think about it.

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

August 15

That dream again, Tobias reflected as he woke up. I've been having that a lot, recently. It was sorta frustrating, actually. Every time, over and over, trying to get to something beyond a stupid boring corridor and waking up before he got there. He snorted. Trelawney would probably have something to say about that. 'Oh! My poor, poor boy, you are being shown your imminent and horrible death!'...behind a door. I'm worried. He got up and worked on getting ready for breakfast, deciding to take his hair down out of the braid for once. Jeez, it's almost to my knees.

For the second time, Harry was up before almost everybody else, and joined Mrs. Weasley and Bill in the kitchen with Mo. Mrs. Weasley smiled as he entered, pulling out a chair for him to sit in before asking him what he wanted for breakfast.

Meat, Harry immediately thought, but then shut that down. He wasn't quite ready to ask Mrs. Weasley to give him anything raw, yet.

“Errmm...toast?” he suggested instead.

“Butter or jam?”

Ewww milk. “Err...jam, please.”

Next to come in was Sirius, who did a brief double-take on seeing Harry before sort of nodding and tucking into the eggs Mrs. Weasley set before him. Watching him, Harry noticed that though Sirius was avoiding his eyes, he was also studying him covertly when he thought Harry wasn't paying attention. Ohh yeah, my life is going just great recently. Finishing his toast, Harry escaped back upstairs, determined to study his book and get some homework done. He'd barely sat down, though, before a knock on the door-frame alerted him to Bill's presence at the door.

“Hey, Bill,” he said, surprised.

“Hello, Tobias,” Bill said seriously. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Tobias said uncertainly, picking Mo up as he turned his chair around and moved to sit on the bed. He motioned Bill to the vacant chair. “Sit down.” Bill sat, but just stared gravely at Harry for a moment. Feeling awkward, Harry finally said, “Soo...what's up?”

“I couldn't help but notice a certain very pretty and very illegal set of jewelry that your daughter wears,” Bill answered bluntly.

“Jewel-” Harry cut off as Bill traced the edge of his own ear with a forefinger.

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Bill said seriously. “Oh.”

“It's – it's not illegal,” Harry answered hesitantly, feeling a vague panic open up in his chest.

“What's not illegal?” Bill asked, a slight, ironic smile reaching his lips, “Wearing jewelry only permitted to a princess, or kidnapping one?”

He doesn't know about mine, Tobias reminded himself, breathing picking up. “Neither.”

“Neither is not illegal,” Bill stated, still slightly ironic even as Harry could tell he didn't find the situation funny. “That's exactly my point, though significantly less eloquently put. And it still does not explain why you're running around with a child marked as a princess.”

Tobias just stared at him, totally at a loss. Shit. What the hell do I say to that? He'd tried to keep the earrings hidden, but it was too hot to have Mo wear a hat, and her hair was too short to cover them. He'd just used a hand, most of the time, but then Molly had been holding her at dinner the night before so Harry could just eat his own food for once, and he hadn't thought of it.

“Errmm...it's not illegal,” he said finally.

“I see,” said Bill, looking intrigued. “So in other words, she is a princess, but you're not kidnapping her.”

Aaand I just made it worse.

Tobias just stared at Bill, eyes wide. Just once in his life, it would have been nice to have a random fainting fit. Finding himself totally unable to speak, Harry just met Bill's eyes and lifted a hand to push his hair behind his ear. Seeing Bill's eyes widen, he finally managed to speak.

“I- it's legal.”

Bill's eyes were huge. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Don't call me that,” Tobias instantly answered.

“Tobias-she?”

“Tobias.”

Bill hesitated, and suddenly Tobias felt really irritated. “It's a fucking order, okay?”

Bill smiled just a bit. “Tobias it is, then.”

Tobias breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. And sorry,” he said. As far as he knows, Dumbledore already knows everything. Just act normally.

“Don't worry about it,” Bill answered, getting up slowly. “See you at lunch. And nice hair, by the way. Mine would never grow that long.”

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

Oh yeah, lunch, Tobias thought morosely when Bill left. Looking forward to it. The last thing he wanted to do was force Hermione any closer to him than she felt comfortable. It would just be painful and awkward for both of them. And in all likelihood somebody would jump on her for it, too. Like she can help being scared. I'm a fucking monster. He immediately shot back at the thought with a firm, PEOPLE, I am people. Not a monster, just different. It didn't help. As far as Hermione was concerned, he was a monster. Actually, I think I'll pass on lunch, for today. Besides, Mo was happy and relaxed on her play-mat. It would be a shame to move her.

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

Studying the book late in the evening – he'd finally gotten around to reading about the damned bows, as really anything was better than thinking about how his life was going- Tobias realized that he hadn't been checking for messages from the Court since he'd sent his last rather insulting message. That was probably not a good idea, he realized once again. But then, he'd known that at the time, and it had been really fun. He couldn't make himself entirely regret it. Moving quickly to that section of the book, he found a message from the Queen.

Greetings, Harry-she.

I couldn't help but notice that you have been in some rather – intense – discussions with my husband lately. I feel that these are becoming less and less productive, and so decided to intervene, if nothing more than to ask after my granddaughter. You said she was sick, but that she is alright now? You also said you found help. I can only hope that you are as safe as you claim. I must once again reassure you that you and Moriyana would come to no harm under the Court's protection. These are dangerous times, Harry-she. What will you do, if someone threatens Moriyana?

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

Bitch, Harry thought before he could stop himself. She really wasn't. They were politically opposed, but the woman did actually seem to care about Moriyana, at least. Still I don't like her scare tactics much more than I care for her husband's.

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

Forgive me, but I am out of patience for talking around things. I don't appreciate the Consort's threats anymore than I appreciate being hunted down. My life is hell because of you people, and I request once again that you leave me alone. These are, as you say, dangerous times, and I cannot see myself coming to trust you under the current conditions. Mo's fine, I'm fine, and I'm with the closest people I have to friends since I was forced to leave Madame Harlot's. In answer to your question, I would kill them.

Signed, Harry the Switch.

August 17

Well this is awkward, Tobias thought. Nobody seemed to know what to do with him, when he came downstairs, so the previous day he'd just grabbed food from the fridge and eaten in his room, but this time Molly had insisted. As supportive of him as she was being, he really couldn't refuse. So now he was stuck around a table with the Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, and Lupin, and nobody seemed to have the slightest idea of what to say to him.

“What do you think, Tobias?” Molly asked, once again trying desperately to include him in the conversation. He really wished she wouldn't – every time she did, the table went silent. Of course, if she didn't, everybody either ignored him entirely or stared, but at least the conversation continued.

They were talking about the ministry, Tobias remembered. Ginny had just expressed the opinion that in some ways Fudge was right to worry – Dumbledore was, in fact, going behind his back in creating the Order.

“I agree with Ginny,” he finally said. “Dumbledore is more powerful and better liked, at least by young people, than Fudge. And the Order members are worth more than the Aurors, for the most part.”

Molly beamed at him, and Tobias decided that his duty for the day was done. “I've got to change Mo,” he said as an excuse, standing up to leave the table.

“H-Tobias?”

Tobias turned towards Lupin, feeling a sneer lift the edge of one lip off his canines and hearing Hermione gasp and the whole table go silent. Ohh, yeah, that just improved things. He missed Madame Harlots. Here, he couldn't even express mild annoyance without people thinking it was violent.

“I'll – try again later,” Lupin offered.

Coward, Tobias snarled to himself, turning and returning to his refuge upstairs.

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

August 18

“Tobias.”

Tobias stopped on his way out of the crowded kitchen and turned towards Lupin, arms around Mo.

“What do you want, Lupin?”

Remus winced. “I am sorry.”

You really think I'm going to be okay with this? “You sold me out.”

“You'll be safer,” Remus said weakly.

And you're still trying to defend yourself? “Bullshit.” He turned toward the stairs and started to walk away.

“Language, Mr. - Bâtard!”

Bastard, yourself. Tobias was already starting up the stairs, and he didn't turn.

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

August 19

“Tobias, stay and talk to me, please,” Molly requested.

Can I please just sit and eat a meal without being attacked immediately afterward? Sighing, he sat back down at the table. Hermione and Ron were starting to get used to his presence, but it wasn't really an improvement. Rather than just sitting silently, they were back engaged in the conversation, but without ever talking to him. He wasn't speaking to Lupin, and Sirius didn't seem to know what to do with the two of them at the same table. Well that and his own issues with my parentage and everything else. The man barely managed to meet Tobias' eyes. It didn't make the conversation any more comfortable, even with the other Weasleys trying desperately to cover it all up. I have to talk to Sirius, he realized. He'd never get a chance to talk to the man alone if he didn't start leaving his room more. Not today, though. Apparently today I've got to talk to Mrs. Weasley.

After everybody had cleared out of the room other than Molly, she put up silencing wards and turned slowly to him.

“Harry, I wanted to talk to you about Lupin.”

“What about him?” Tobias asked, hearing it come out with an edge.

“Harry, I understand your feelings, and I'm not particularly happy with the man, either, but you're hurting him. He just wants to apologize.”

“No he doesn't,” Tobias said harshly. “He wants to explain. There's nothing he can explain to me that will make anything better.”

Molly sighed. “He made a mistake,” she said softly.

“He doesn't think so.”

“How can you know that, if you haven't let him talk to you?” Molly sounded exasperated, talking to him with both hands on her hips.

“Because the first thing he said to me was that I'll be safer!” Tobias exclaimed, only just then realizing it for himself. It only made him angrier. “What's the point of him apologizing if he thinks he did the right thing?”

“He did not mean to hurt you, Harry,” Molly implored.

“But he did mean to betray me. What's the point of having a friend if you can't trust them with something that basic?” Tobias answered angrily.

“Friends sometimes do things you don't like, because they believe that what you want is not what is best for you-”

“Yeah, and sometimes it breaks the friendship,” he informed her coldly.

Molly sighed again. “Alright, I'll leave you alone about it,” she said finally.

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

Dear Harry,

How are you doing? Dumbledore says you're safe, now, but also that you're not returning to Hogwarts next year. Is it true? Why didn't you tell us? I mean, Dumbledore says you'll be safer at Beauxbatons, but Hogwarts is supposed to be really safe, too. The protective wards are legendary, and of course Dumbledore is really powerful. Oh, you just can't, Harry. Ron and I will miss you terribly. I'm glad you are safe, though, and that you're back in contact with Dumbledore. We were all really worried about you. But why didn't you tell us anything?

Anyway, I need your opinion on something. There's this new guy, here, and I'm worried about him. His name is Tobias, and he's not human. Dumbledore says he's safe, but he won't tell us anything about him. The thing is, everybody trusts him, but I'm not so sure.

Harry, you know I never had a problem with Lupin, or Hagrid, but you've got to understand how this guy's different. He says he's some kind of greater fae, like a fairy, but he's huge. He's only fifteen, but already he's more than six feet tall. And he's got horns, and canines like a carnivore, but he doesn't eat any meat. And that's suspicious, isn't it? I mean, he came here pretending to be human, and now he's pretending to not eat meat. Well, I don't know he's pretending, I suppose, but why else would he have those sort of teeth?

I'm just not sure we can trust him. He hides in his room all the time, and just comes down for meals, and then he barely talks to anybody. He and Professor Lupin really don't get along, for some reason. Or, well, Professor Lupin seems to try, but Tobias just brushes him off, every time. He's even growled at him once or twice, and showed his teeth like some kind of animal. And, oh, I know that comparison sounds uncharitable, but what else am I supposed to call it? Humans don't growl.

Anyway, like I said, he really doesn't like Professor Lupin, for some reason, and Mrs. and Mr. Weasley are really nice to him. Oh, and Sirius seems kind of unsure what to do with him, too. It's like everybody knew him before, and like he's somebody important, but then everybody denies that. And that's another thing. Everybody's acting really suspicious about him. He just arrived one day, and nobody will tell me anything about him. I've asked everybody, and mostly just get a 'don't worry your little head about it' sort of response.

And then he's got a little baby with him, even though he's only fifteen, which isn't really responsible in any case. But I don't know, maybe he's not really fifteen? Or maybe that's okay, among his kind? He's really nice to her, in any case, but then she's his daughter, and one of his own kind. How can we know who he's loyal to, really? I just can't trust him, not entirely, and now everybody thinks I'm prejudiced against non-humans. I got in a big argument with Ginny about it yesterday. I'm not saying that we shouldn't trust him just because he's not human, but nobody seems to want to tell me the truth about him, either, so what am I supposed to think? But then nobody will listen to me because they think I'm just scared and prejudiced. And okay, maybe he does make me a little nervous, but that certainly doesn't mean I should just throw away all logic and automatically trust everything he says.

What do you think? Doesn't it seem strange, to you?

Sincerely, Hermione Granger

Tobias reread the letter, smiling without joy. Poor Hermione. Damn she's smart. What was he supposed to say to her? She was absolutely right- his story was fishy, everybody did know him, he was hiding the fact that he usually ate raw meat, and he didn't know who he was loyal to, anymore, so how could she? And I was right. She is scared of me. Her behavior kind of pissed him off sometimes – if she was so suspicious, why didn't she just talk to him instead of all the adults? - but the letter was just so Hermione. It sounded half like a letter, and half like a critical essay. And it really wasn't her fault that he made her uncomfortable. Suddenly curious, he started his letter back.

Dear Hermione,

I'm doing fine, but yes, it's true that I'm not coming back to Hogwarts. The Ministry is really suspicious of me, right now, and between them and Voldemort, Dumbledore decided that I would be safer at Beauxbatons. Who knows, maybe I'll meet up with old Fleur Delacour again. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before Dumbledore, but I only found out just recently, too. I'm going to miss you, too. I told Dumbledore how much this plan sucks, but he didn't seem particularly concerned. Sometimes it seems like he doesn't give a damn about me as long as I'm alive.

And isn't that true, Tobias reflected, thinking over Dumbledore's continued avoidance of him. He knew that the man had been in and out of the Order headquarters in the last couple of days, but Tobias hadn't seen him since the eventful Order meeting earlier that week. He hadn't said a word about Tobias' People status, or Mo, or anything.

This Tobias person sounds interesting. You said he had horns, and sharp teeth? He sounds hideous. And he does sound kind of suspicious to me. I'm surprised to hear that you're the only one worried about him, honestly, but then we've been wrong before. It almost sounds more like Dumbledore's hiding something, than that he is. Or, at least, that he's hiding anything from Dumbledore. Why isn't anybody else scared of him? Do you know? As for what to do about it, have you considered talking to him about it? Maybe he'll be more willing to share than everybody else.

And maybe he's noticed that you haven't managed to bring yourself to talk to him since he stopped wearing charms and taking potions. She hadn't mentioned his wings, he noticed. That actually made sense. The wings really weren't the scariest part of the whole getup, in his opinion. They were...almost external, somehow. Not to him, certainly – they just felt like his other limbs – but to someone else? Without the horns and teeth, he could be a human who just happened to have wings, but somehow the teeth, especially, were an integral part of his body. And as Hermione had pointed out, they marked him as a carnivore. Well, partially, Tobias reflected. He liked bread, and some veggies, but he'd figured out quite quickly that he liked a lot of meat in his diet. He was getting hungry, without it.

Casting a quick mirror charm, Tobias once again studied his face in the mirror, and was once again mildly surprised by what he saw. Wings, check, big teeth, check, horns, check. Somehow he forgot about the marks on his cheeks most often. Well, I can't feel them like the other stuff, I guess.

I look savage, he realized, staring into the mirror. The ministry would label him 'creature' in a heartbeat. But I'm not going to, he reminded himself fiercely, baring his teeth fully in the mirror. And they can't either, not if they want to keep their diplomatic ties. They could think it, and even be rather obvious about it within their own borders, but they couldn't actually legislate on it. If he'd learned anything from the Heir book it was that the Courts, and not the Ministry, were responsible for the People.

But it wasn't really the ministry that mattered. The ministry was an it. Hermione and Ron were people. They were his friends. And they were frightened of him.

Just out of curiosity, what makes you so nervous about the guy? I mean, he sounds ugly, but what makes him scary?

Like I honestly want to know that. I have no sense of self-preservation. Deciding he was done, he scribbled a quick, Your friend, Harry, at the end and left it. Jeez, I've got a lot of names, he reflected, handing the letter to Hedwig. Harry Potter, Harry the Switch, Harry-she, Tobias Batard, Tobias-she. Who the bloody hell am I?

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

August 20

A knock on the door made Tobias look up from feeding Mo. He considered not answering – nobody knew, yet, that she drank blood any more than they knew that he usually ate meat, but then he realized who it was and sighed. Molly would want him to let the man in, and it had been a week. Maybe if I let him say his piece, he'll leave me alone.

“Don't give me any reason to think you're a threat, Lupin,” he called through the door.

Apparently taking this for consent, Lupin opened the door to Tobias' room and looked in. Tobias didn't look up. He'd had very little time to just spend with Mo, recently. He wasn't going to ignore her just because some werewolf wanted to talk to him.

“H-Tobias, please. It's been a week. Won't you talk to me?”

“I don't really think there's anything you can say to make this better, but you're free to try,” Tobias answered, still without looking up from Mo. She'd grabbed one of his sleeves in one hand as she ate, but otherwise all of her limbs were wrapped up in the tight little bundle that was her version of the fetal position. He never got over how fragile she looked that way.

Lupin came in the rest of the way, then closed and silenced the door. “Why are you so angry with me? The secret was bound to come out sometime, Harry. And Dumbledore needed to know.”

“You want to know why I am angry?” Tobias asked, incredulous. “You can't guess?”

Lupin sighed. “I know you think I betrayed you, Tobias, but I never meant for it to harm you, at all.”

Tobias tried to remain calm and focus on Mo, but he could feel his anger rising. “Didn't mean for it to harm me? How could it not? If nothing else you deliberately betrayed my secrets and invaded my privacy.”

“To Dumbledore, Harry,” Lupin said.

“Yes, to Dumbledore,” Tobias said sarcastically. “And nobody else in the room heard or noticed a damned thing, I'm sure.”

Lupin winced. “That was...done badly. I admit that I should have told Dumbledore in private.”

“You should not have told Dumbledore at all. It was my secret to tell, regardless.”

“And if you never did? Dumbledore needed to know, Harry.”

“If I never did, then Dumbledore would never know. It wasn't his business in the first place, and it certainly wasn't your business to tell him.” How was Lupin not getting this? How simple could he possibly make it?

“He can protect you better, if he knows more about you. It was your safety, Harry.”

“Exactly, Lupin. It was MY safety, and you betrayed me. I had the right to make the choice between being safe and keeping my privacy. If this even is safer. It wasn't your choice to make. And anyway it doesn't bloody matter. You just don't do that.”

“Don't what?”

Tobias paused, wanting to get this right. How could he do that to me? And now the man clearly thought he was in the right. Which is absurd. What Lupin had done to him was wrong, on that much, he was completely clear, but why? Why did he feel so betrayed? What was so fundamentally wrong about what Lupin had done? He wanted to protect me. He thought that this was a dangerous secret to keep, and wanted to protect me.

And yet, for Tobias, nothing merited Lupin telling people what he was. Nothing. But why? And why do I feel like it's worse that it was Lupin, and not Sirius? Lupin had his own secrets to keep, or at least he had before. Why didn't Lupin get this? Madame Harlot would have, so would've Bighana. Hell, even Bighana's little daughter Ran would have known. You just don't do that. What don't you do?

“You don't betray one of us to the humans,” Tobias finally said.

“'The humans', Harry?”

Tobias stared at him, a sinking feeling in his chest. Why do I get the feeling he's not going to like this?

“Yes. 'The humans,' Lupin. As in, not me, and not you.”

Lupin stared back, then spoke slowly, but with growing anger. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

What can you not understand? Tobias stared at Lupin and spoke slowly, as if to a toddler. “We,” he said, pointing between himself and Lupin, “are People. Not humans. We live among the humans, and are friends with them, but we aren't human, and don't fall under Ministry jurisdiction. We are different.”

“Only if you allow yourself to be,” Lupin answered.

Tobias stared at the man, starting to feel vaguely disgusted. Of course. He's been hiding who he is for his entire life. Everybody thinks he's human, when he's not in wolf form. “You mean if I don't choose to pretend like you do, Lupin? Only if I don't hide my strength, and my instincts? Control my facial expressions, my every gesture? Does Dumbledore know that you could rip him in half, Lupin? That you could rip me in half? Or was that not relevant to the Order?”

“Dumbledore knows, not that it's relevant.”

“Of course it's relevant! How are you ever going to know if your friends are real if you don't show them who and what you really are?”

“You mean like you were going to, Tobias?”

“Yes, Lupin. Like I would have. Eventually. Slowly. If you hadn't decided to announce it to half the fucking Order before I ever got a chance to say anything at all.”

“Watch your language.”

Tobias just stared at the man, disgusted. He really doesn't get it. “What do you tell people, Remus? That you're 'just as good' as the humans? That as long as they think you're human, it doesn't matter? Don't ask, don't fucking tell?”

“You,” Lupin said, pointing at him, “are not trying to get a job. It's easy to say that I should be 'out' when you've got a trust vault.”

“So hide yourself at work! What do I fucking care? It's a little cautious, but whatever, that's life and necessity. But your friends, Lupin? Hell, yourself? You won't even acknowledge that the two of us have something in common! It's like you think I'm the weird one, the nonhuman, and you're one of the humans!”

“I never said that!”

“You might as well have! I'm 'not human,' Lupin? What are you, then?”

Lupin's voice came out artificially light, and Tobias could hear the anger in it. “Personally, I like James' description. I have a 'little furry problem'.”

“You're delusional.”

The anger won out. “How dare you-”

“You're a werewolf, Lupin. Not a human that just 'happens' to turn furry once a month. Neither of us is human. We can either accept that, and be People, and join a community of those like ourselves, or we can delude ourselves by trying to be human and allowing those no better than us to treat us as second-class citizens.”

“I am not deluding myself, Tobias. I know I am not human. I also know that I don't have to make it my entire life.”

“You'd rather spend your life pretending to be human?”

“Yes! Yes, I would. My life is much easier this way.”

Tobias just stared at him. “Fine, you're not delusional. You're a coward,” he said finally, hearing his own voice come out cold as ice. “Get out.”

August 22

“Sirius?” Tobias called softly from the doorway to the attic.

Sirius stood up from where he was checking Buckbeak's hooves and looked vaguely at Tobias without meeting his eyes. “Yes?”

That did not sound promising. “A-are we okay, Sirius?”

“Of course we are, Tobias,” Sirius said shortly, getting out a bristle brush and starting to groom the horse-like animal.

“Then why can't you look at me?” Tobias asked bluntly, anguished.

That made Sirius look up again, seemingly lost for words for a second before finally speaking. “I – I'm sorry, Tobias,” he said finally. “It's been a lot to process.”

“Yeah, for me, too,” Tobias said softly.

“I can imagine,” Sirius said with sympathy, “and I'm probably not helping, am I?”

“It's alright,” Tobias said. “I understand. B-but I'm still Harry, you know? I mean, I know I'm different, but-” but what? He barely knew me when I was Harry, really. What connection can he have to me, now that I'm not James' son? “-I guess I'm really different, aren't I?”

“Yeah, that's true,” Sirius said regretfully. He went back to grooming, and Tobias left quietly, not even bothering to pretend it didn't matter.

Stupid Court, he thought, returning to his room with Mo. He'd been fine, at Madame Harlot's; settled, adapting, and slowly getting comfortable in the second new world he'd been forced into, until Lliannan had showed up. And even that would have been fine – different, but fine – if the rest of the court had just left him alone. But no. They'd had to pursue him, and he'd had to flee, and now everything was chaos. I should've just let them catch me in the first place, he reflected morosely. It's not like I managed to salvage anything of a life out of any of this. His two best friends were frightened of him, Dumbledore was avoiding him like he carried a plague, Lupin had betrayed him, and Sirius had no idea what to do with him anymore. What was the point? What was he trying to hold on to, at this point? He was never going to be human again. Mo wasn't going away. The court wasn't going away. He couldn't go back to Hogwarts as Harry, he had to go as Tobias, but who the hell was Tobias?

I should seriously just turn myself in. At least then he'd be able to stop running, and just be himself. Except Mohira was a scary fucker. He's going to catch me anyway, though. Unless he told Dumbledore the truth, and stayed at Grimmauld Place for the rest of his life. Yeah, 'cause that's a life. And, once again, as a member of the Wizengamot Dumbledore would be politically obligated to turn him in, if he knew. And Mohira's a scary fucker, but he might actually be an okay scary fucker. Certainly Lliannan had seemed nice, and Sheyanan, too. And they're his wife and daughter. And none of the People would be scared of him. What, honestly, was he bothering with all of these people for? They were just scared of him. Part of him wanted to protest that these were his friends, but were they, really? They didn't even know him. They were scared of him, what kind of a connection was that?

The Weasleys. The Weasleys really are my friends. Family, almost, even, if you talked about Molly and Arthur. They aren't scared. And neither were their kids. Well, Ron was, but he always took a little bit of time to adjust to things. And he hadn't been mean about it, just really quiet, like he didn't know what to think. Once he figured it out, he'd be fine, too. He had somebody, at least.

August 24

You know what? Screw it. Mo was hungry. He would feed her. Who the hell cared what everybody else thought? Having finished eating – in silence, as usual – Tobias pushed back from the table and tipped Mo, fussing noisily, back into his arms and cradled her gently, careful not to trap her wings. Once she was in place, he caught the tender skin of his wrist under a large canine and pulled, wincing a bit as it cut the skin. Still, he healed incredibly quickly from such cuts, so it really wasn't a big deal. He set Mo to eat comfortably before looking up, realizing as he did so that the table had gone silent.

“She eats – blood?” Ron asked, looking green.

Strangely, Tobias was just happy Ron actually asked him. “Yeah, mostly. She likes porridge, too, though. Neither of us can stand milk in almost any form.”

“That's gross, mate,” Ron said.

“Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, apparently scandalized.

“It's alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Tobias said. “The human method seems gross to me, too, honestly.” And did before the change, too. Yich.

Mrs. Weasley huffed loudly, but Ron smiled a little, “just so you know, mate.”

“I'll take it under advisement.”

All of a sudden, Ron grinned, and Tobias couldn't help but grin back, petting Mo's hair as she sucked happily at his wrist. He looked over at Hermione, and noticed her watching the two of them with a slight frown. He tried not to care. Hermione'll come around eventually, and I didn't think I'd manage to be friends with either of them, anyway.

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

August 26

Once again escaping after an uncomfortable lunch, Tobias lay back on his bed and lifted Mo off his chest in both hands, smiling as she promptly spread her little wings out wide, flapping slightly like she was trying to fly. She smiled broadly and squealed, and he bounced her down and back up gently. She laughed and flapped her wings harder. He ignored Hedwig when she came in through the window, and she dropped the letter on his head before going to sulk on her perch. Putting Mo down on his chest and holding her there with one hand, he picked up the letter and noted Hermione's handwriting on the envelope before slitting it open.

Dear Harry,

I'm really sorry that things are being so difficult. It's really horrid that you can't return to Hogwarts. Don't be too worried about Dumbledore, though. I'm sure he cares, he's just...busy, or something. I haven't seen him much lately, either. He just comes to meetings, then leaves immediately afterward.

Huh. She's noticed, too, then, Tobias noted.

I think you might be right about him and Tobias, though – like, whatever is secretive about Tobias, Dumbledore is in on it. He won't say anything about the guy, except that his secrets or lack thereof are none of my business. Which I suppose, maybe, they're not, but it does seem kind of weird.

No, no they're definitely not, Tobias thought, mildly amused. Hermione had trouble admitting that anything wasn't her business, most of the time.

Maybe I should go talk to Tobias. He doesn't seem to really like talking to people, though.

Not to you, certainly, Tobias realized. Whoops.

He's gotten even weirder with Sirius and Lupin, by the way. He and Lupin don't speak, and I think I even saw Lupin growl at him once. Surely that's not right, though. Lupin wouldn't growl. Sirius and he are just kind of awkward.

Well that's an understatement. And sorry, Herm, but weres do growl. And yes, Lupin didn't like being called a coward to his face. I'm not surprised he's not speaking to me. Come to think of it, though, it was pretty impressive that Hermione had noticed. Both he and Lupin were maintaining courtesy wherever possible.

Oh, and Ron's apparently decided he's okay, now, so now it's really just me. He fed his daughter blood and somehow the two of them decided they were okay. Boys are weird, you know that?

Harry laughed. Yeah, that was a bit weird, come to think of it.

Anyway, as to why he makes me nervous...I'm not really sure, other than the fact that he's so obviously not human. He's not really ugly, like you'd think. He's just...big, and striking. He's got black markings that look almost like some sort of tribal tattoo, but not, and cover his arms completely, and a little bit of his face. Oh! And I somehow forgot to mention in the last letter that he has wings. They're huge and webbed, sort of like a bat's, and he's got one of them pierced. I think maybe one of his ears is pierced too, but I haven't gotten a good look. He's also like 6'6” tall, despite being only fifteen years old. I really wonder how big he'll be as an adult.

She doesn't find me ugly? That was interesting. Striking. He could cope with that. She'd noticed his earrings, though, however briefly. He'd have to be more careful about that. It was bad enough that Bill knew, though he'd apparently not said anything to Dumbledore. Or, well, at least Dumbledore hasn't said anything about it.

I tried to research his species, but none of the books around here say anything about it, at least not that I can find. He said he's an 'Unseelie' something-or-other, (Shee? Sheed? Shied?) and that it's some kind of fairy, but none of the books on non-humans say anything about anyone called 'Unseelie' anything. It's very frustrating. And yes, I suppose I should ask him about it, but approaching the guy would be difficult no matter how safe he was. He just doesn't encourage anyone near him, or at least near his baby. Same thing, really, given that he hardly ever puts her down. It's not even like he's unfriendly, though. More like he's just watching you, all the time, when you're near him and the kid's around.

He did that? Really? He hadn't noticed. Sure, he liked being in the same room as Mo, even with Molly holding her, but had he really been watching that way, that Hermione would notice? It made him sound like some sort of psycho. Or hysterical new parent. Bloody fantastic.

Anyway, I'm doing pretty well, otherwise, though it's boring here. I finished all my summer assignments ages ago, and it's gotten to the point that I look forward to finding something new and disgusting in all the cleaning we've been doing. How about you? Doing anything interesting? Hoping to see you soon, Hermione

Well at least now he knew why Hermione was so suspicious of him. Some of her arguments were perfectly logical, but she was also just scared. Why she was scared was interesting, though. Sure, he looked weird, but he was making her uncomfortable with his attitude, too. Whoops. The Weasleys had Bill, who was pretty familiar with the People, to explain his weirdness about Mo. Hermione didn't. Though one would hope they would tell her. But then, it seemed like she'd been isolating herself, too. She might just've not been there for that conversation, if there was one.

Damn People secrecy, and damn Dumbledore. If there'd been a book out about him – an accurate one – then he could've sent it to Hermione and fixed a lot of problems. But 'Harry' wasn't supposed to know anything about 'Tobias.' Harry could've 'found' an accurate account of the Fae for Hermione to read, if one existed, but he couldn't just say anything about the fae and their children. Hermione was smart – she'd figure it out immediately. And Snape, bloody bastard, was right – Tobias couldn't afford for his friends to know who he really was. They had to treat him as a near-stranger or none of this would work. The best he could do was try and give Hermione logical reasons not to fear him, when everyone knew fear wasn't a logical thing. Which means she'll never trust me, probably. Lovely. Putting the letter aside, Tobias turned his mind of the topic and went back to playing with Mo.

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

On his way up the stairs after dinner, it occurred to Tobias that he'd never responded to Bighana's last letter – he'd just run, as she'd advised. I don't want to lose her friendship, he realized desperately. She and Harlot were the only people who knew who he really was. So, setting Mo up on her play-mat with her mobile, Tobias set himself up at the desk in his room and wrote.

Dear Bighana,

 

I'm an idiot. I should have written you back ages ago. I was grateful for your warning, and have moved again, so I am now in relative safety. I won't tell you where I am - I think Harlot's point about knowing my location was a good one – but I can tell you that I wish I'd been able to stay with you guys. It's pretty miserable here. I am with some old friends, but they don't recognize me, and are very suspicious. I find myself getting very lonely. On the other hand, it's nice to not have to move anymore – I've been in three different locations since I left the inn. Moriyana, at least, seems to be having a great time. One of my old friends is really good with her, and is the first person I've found that I can hand her off to for any period of time. I don't know what I'm going to do when I go back to school - I doubt my professors would be particularly pleased to have her in class, though I could imagine it being quite a bit of fun, with some of them.

He smiled and looked over at Mo, on her stomach on her play-mat and apparently confused as to how to get back over again. She could roll in both directions, now, but seemed to forget how to go about it once she wanted to do it on purpose.

He was already starting to dread what would happen when she started to crawl. Hogwarts was hardly 'baby proofed'. Dumbledore was in on the plan of him returning, so he had to assume the man would help him, but 'help' from Dumbledore didn't always turn out well. Frowning, he returned to his letter.

Anyway, how's it going at the Inn? Did the grumpy goblin leave? How's the brownie settling in? You didn't tell me her name? And how are Harlot and Ran? Tell them 'hi' for me. Miss you, Harry.

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

August 28

Snape's back, Tobias noticed, watching the man stalk through the front door. And late. By now everybody was either already downstairs, or hanging out in Ron's bedroom. Then Snape noticed Tobias standing at the bottom of the steps. Tobias shivered as he met the man's eyes. Woah. He'd known the man hated him, but damn. The man looked at him like he was some sort of particularly disgusting insect. What'd I do? I haven't even seen the man in two weeks! He put a protective hand on the back of Mo's head.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Tobias said awkwardly, for lack of anything else to do.

“Good afternoon,” Snape responded, sneering. “How interesting to see you with the 'make-up' removed. Perhaps you have developed some modicum of self respect, Mr. Bâtard? Or am I overly optimistic?”

Tobias gritted his teeth, and spoke with matching snide. “I'd actually have expected you to notice that I was fae without being told, but perhaps I, too, am overly optimistic.”

Snape's brow furrowed briefly, but then the expression cleared to be replaced with a deeper sneer. “Be careful, Mr. Bâtard,” he advised coldly. “I am still your Professor. If I choose, I can make your existence truly miserable.”

“And since when have you held back from doing that, sir?” Tobias asked.

Snape just stared at him without responding, and Tobias shivered again at the coldness of his gaze. What the hell is his problem?

He helped Mo, he reminded himself, and gritted his teeth. “I apologize, sir. I thank you, once again, for your help with my daughter. She's fine, now.”

“Of course she is,” the man answered derisively, turning to limp down the stairs.

And you're so humble and gracious, sir, Tobias thought, growling at the man's back. Why the hell do I bother? He was sincerely grateful to the man, but that didn't make him like him. But I'd still better be polite, if I can, he realized. The man was absolutely correct – he alone had control of how miserable Tobias would be in his classroom in the following year. Jeez, just a couple more days. At this rate the bloody book-lists won't be here until the day before school starts. Hogwarts seemed singularly disorganized about the whole book-list process. They came at a different time every year.

August 29

Tobias took the fat, yellowish envelope with disbelief, immediately recognizing the plain emerald-green print of the address on the front:

Tobias Bâtard
The large second-floor bedroom to the right of the bathroom
12 Grimmauld Place
London

You have got to be kidding me. It looked exactly like the envelope that had contained his first-year letter. He flipped the envelope open to find, as expected, a purple wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest. Slitting the envelope open, he drew out the letter, and read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.,)


Dear Mr. Bâtard,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress


P.S. I apologize for the lateness of this letter, Mr. Bâtard. Your identity caused some confusion. Please ignore the missed deadline – we already know you are coming, and have made all necessary arrangements. The attached equipment list is special to you – please read it carefully so as to be fully prepared at the start of term. 

Tobias frowned and pulled out the equipment list. It contained the normal list of required textbooks, including the usual Standard Book of Spells Grade 5, and a new one called Defensive Magical Theory. The 'special' section included a lot of what he already had – supplies for Mo, mostly – but also a couple things that he hadn't thought of, like magical baby monitors for any time he needed to leave Mo alone for any reason. Thank you, McGonagall. Good thing she knew what to do, 'cause it seemed like he was still totally incompetent. No surprise there. I think one month still counts as 'new parent,' he thought. He'd have to give the list to Molly – she was planning on doing all the shopping for them this year so that nobody put themselves in danger unnecessarily.

August 31

What's all the excitement about? Tobias wondered, hearing a shriek from downstairs. He picked up Mo and left his room to peer down the stairs and listen in to Molly's excited babbling.

“...don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!”

When were the twins prefects? Tobias wondered, just as he heard one of the twins speak up indignantly. “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?”

“Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie -”

Tobias grinned as he heard the twins start to gag loudly. So Ron's a prefect? Interesting. I bet Hermione is, too, though Molly wouldn't be as excited about that. He wasn't at all worried about the fact that he hadn't been named. It've been phenomenally stupid for Dumbledore to name him – a new parent, and supposedly a new student – to the post. I'd've had to refuse it.

Curiosity appeased, Tobias returned to his room with Mo. He had a lot to pack before leaving for Hogwarts the next day.

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

September 1

As usual, Mo woke up before Tobias did, and woke him with her wiggling. By the time he was awake enough to realize it was morning, she was crying.

“Alright, alright, I'm up!” he told her, rolling up with her clutched to his chest. Still bleary, he cut his wrist and offered it to her, hoping it would be enough to appease her. Looking at the clock, he groaned.

“Bloody hell Mo! It's not even six! You couldn't wait a little longer?”

Mo just wrapped the fabric of his sleep-shirt in one fist and kept eating, wide awake and totally unconcerned.

“Little monster.”

When Mo had finished eating, Tobias got the rest of the way up out of bed to do the rest of his usual morning routine, trying to ignore how Mo fussed the whole time while he changed her and brushed his teeth, and how she screamed while he rushed through a shower. Finally able to pick her up again, he bounced and rocked her until she quieted, remembering with a certain sense of pride how panicked he'd been the first time she'd cried. He knew what to do, now, though the sound was still unpleasant. Once Mo had calmed down, he returned to preparing to leave for Hogwarts.

He'd made sure the day before to have his special shirts clean so that he could leave Grimmauld place fully covered. Now he put one of them on, feeling the strange tingling that meant his wings were hidden. Next he grabbed for the potions to hide his teeth, but paused before taking it, suddenly disgusted with himself. Was he really going to spend the next nine months hiding everything? “What do you tell people, Remus? That you're 'just as good' as the humans? That as long as they think you're human, it doesn't matter? Don't ask, don't fucking tell?” What kind of a fucking hypocrite was he? Shit.

He couldn't go back as People. That would be insane. Everybody would be frightened of him. He'd never make any friends. Would the teachers even allow him in their classes? Hogwarts was a school for wizards, not People. But I'm a wizard, too. And Hagrid and Lupin weren't human. But they'd hid it. I can't just waltz through the halls with wings and teeth showing.

But why not? He'd done it at Grimmauld Place. People had given him funny looks, but hadn't screamed or run. Even the Order members who didn't know him and apparently didn't like the People had mostly just glared. It had been unpleasant, for sure, but not dangerous. In fact, people had mostly avoided him, which was really safer for all around, when he had Mo with him.

And it sucked to hide everything. Even if he made friends, none of them would actually know who he really was, not when he couldn't express himself normally. And he'd be faking some of his classes, too, if he couldn't show his actual strength. And he'd feel like a bloody coward. He'd be a bloody coward. Perhaps you have developed some modicum of self respect, Mr. Bâtard? Or am I overly optimistic?

Making a sudden decision, Tobias threw the potion back in his bag, and pulled his shirt over his head, replacing it with one of the normal ones, breathing a sigh of relief as the tingling went away and his wings sprung free. He'd have to be under the invisibility cloak, to go through the King's Cross train station, but he'd been told to be under the invisibility cloak on the train, anyway, so nobody would find it odd.

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

Tobias sighed with relief and whispered a quick thank-you as Fred and George Weasley shoved the last load of his belongings into the compartment with him, then locked and silenced it behind them and settled back into his seat, Mo in the carrier on his chest. Finally. The trip thus far had been a total pain in the ass. Tobias had come downstairs with the others to climb into the Weasleys' packed car, already wrapped in the invisibility cloak, and followed them through the King's Cross station and onto the platform, where Molly bossed everybody into getting Tobias' enormous pile of belongings on the train for him while he cared for Mo and kept himself carefully under the cloak as Dumbledore had ordered. He'd take it off on the platform, and follow Hagrid with the first-years, but for now he couldn't spare a hand to carry anything other than the cloak and Mo. And Mo was not a happy camper.

It happened sometimes, for no reason Tobias could discern. She'd just wake up in a bad mood, and the day would go downhill from there. Sometimes she'd snap out of it eventually, again for no particular reason that Tobias could see, but sometimes she'd be miserable all day long. And, being a baby, her being miserable meant that she'd make everyone around her miserable, as well. Why did it have to be today? he wondered, unbuckling her carrier so he could hold her in his arms to feed her. Of all days... He slit his wrist carefully and brought it to her mouth.

“Could you please be good today, Mo? Please?”

Well she was quiet now, at least. Moving carefully, Tobias tipped himself back with Mo on his chest, and closing his eyes. It was only eleven AM, but he was tired. And maybe if I sleep, she will, too, he reasoned without much hope.

To his surprise, when he woke up, Mo was still asleep on his chest. Checking his watch, he realized that he'd slept for four hours, and so estimated that he still had about two hours left to the trip. And if I don't wake Mo, she won't sleep tonight. Dang. He'd enjoy the quiet, after the difficult morning. Still, he needed to feed and change her before they arrived, anyway. Cradling her carefully, Tobias sat up, and slashed his wrist for the third time that day to feed her. She stirred and whimpered at the move, but then latched onto his wrist happily enough, one hand as usual wrapped in his shirt. Monster.

Luckily, once awake and changed, Mo seemed to be a pretty happy camper, laid back in his lap, clutching and drooling on her hippo while he hauled the enormous Heir book out of his bag to continue studying it. He'd need to know this stuff, if and when he got caught. More likely a 'when,' he admitted to himself. They couldn't find me at Grimmauld Place, but Hogwarts? Even if he had been wearing his charms, it was highly unlikely that he'd manage to stay hidden without continually moving like he had been, especially in an area that had at least a few other People. Well, at least without the charms I won't look like I'm hiding.

Whatever. There was nothing he could do about it now, at any rate. He'd just study his book and hope for the best.

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

“Woah,” Tobias heard somebody murmer as he got off the train. He'd waited until most of the students had cleared out before getting off the train, knowing that the first-years wouldn't leave until the entire train was empty. It had allowed him to remove his invisibility cloak and get off the train without anybody realizing that he'd been invisible in the first place.

There were still plenty of students on the platform, though, and his emergence from the train drew stares. He'd expected it, and tried to ignore it, looking around instead for Hagrid, just as he heard the half-giant shout the usual, “Firs' years! Firs' years over here!” This time, though, Hagrid also shouted, “Tobias Bâtard!”

Making his way over to the half-giant was unexpectedly easy, and extremely depressing, as the students on the platform parted to let him through, whispering among themselves fearfully.

I'm new here. I've never done this before, Tobias reminded himself as he approached Hagrid.

“I'm Tobias, sir,” he said when he'd gotten close.

“Oh, good,” Hagrid said, looking down into Tobias' bright purple eyes. Unable to leave Grimmauld Place to get contacts or a magical means of changing his eye color, Tobias had asked Molly to get them for him. He'd decided to have his eyes match Mo's, figuring it would be one more layer against people connecting him with Harry Potter. Hagrid didn't seem to recognize him at all. “You certain you're wantin' to go without charms, Mr. Bâtard?”

“Quite certain,” Tobias answered.

“Alright,” the half-giant said dubiously, before looking out over the platform again. “Firs' years! Firs' years over here!”

Soon enough, they had a small posse of wide-eyed first years surrounding the pair of them and staring. Tobias couldn't help but snort a little, even as the fear in the littles' eyes hurt him. “So...do you think they're staring more at you, or me?” he muttered.

Hagrid laughed. “No doubt both,” he said. “I'm pretty use' to it by now.”

There was somebody there, Tobias realized suddenly. A were, and one of the fae, really close by. He looked up and around, startled and mildly alarmed, baring his teeth, but a noise brought his gaze back down.

“Sorry,” the first-year said softly in strongly-accented English, stepping back a little. “I don't notice the little one. Just want to say hi.”

Tobias smiled. It was the fae he'd sensed, approaching him with no fear at all. His ears were slightly pointed, like Tobias', and he was very skinny, but otherwise the small, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy would have no trouble at all hiding among the humans.

“Don't be sorry,” he said softly so the others couldn't hear, smiling broadly. He's not scared of me. He's fae. There are People here! “You startled me, was all. Do you know where the Were is?”

“The – the dog-person? - you mean?”

Tobias smiled. “Yeah. The werewolf.”

“Yes, I sit with her on train. She is Akela, the short-” he frowned, “short, dark, quiet one. She don't talk.”

From his greater height, and able to sense her, in a limited way, it wasn't difficult for Tobias to pick her out of the crowd. She was, in fact, tiny, and looking at him with enormous brown eyes under a head of tight black braids. He smiled at her, showing canines, and she bared her teeth back, half in greeting, and half in challenge. He smiled broadly. Fierce little thing, isn't she? Were children were, sometimes, at least according to Bighana. Certainly Ran could be, though she would never be described as 'quiet', once you got to know her.

“You – you don't hide,” the fae child said to him hesitantly. “No magic – lotion, or jewelry.”

“Charms,” Tobias supplied. “And no, I decided I didn't like them.”

“I – also don't hide?” the kid asked hesitantly.

“No,” Tobias said. This shouldn't be my decision. “You should hide, for now. Wait until you are older before making that decision.”

The kid nodded vigorously, obviously relieved.

“I'm Tobias,” Tobias offered finally.

“I am Illatobe,” the little boy said, smiling with more confidence.

“Illatobe?” Tobias tried.

“You please just call me Toby,” Illatobe suggested. “It is what I tell humans is my name.”

“Toby,” Tobias agreed.

'Toby' stuck to him like a burr on the walk to the boats. The rest of the children hung back, still pointing and whispering rather obviously, but not quite as fearfully as before he'd talked to Toby. He'd take what he could get. Akela stayed in the crowd, but he could feel that she, too, stayed relatively close to him as the new students got their first look at the castle. Great. Here I thought the kids would avoid me like the plague, and I'm developing an entourage. He grinned at the thought, prompting a couple of the human kids to shrink back further away from him. There are other People here. Oh, thank God. He really shouldn't be happy about it – it was likely to mean he got caught that much faster – but he'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to be among them, among people who neither feared him nor viewed him with any kind of suspicion.

“No more'n four to a boat,” Hagrid instructed as they approached the boats. “Tobias, Akela, and Toby, you're wi' me.”

Thank you, Hagrid, Tobias thought gratefully. He'd not been looking forward to forcing some poor first-year into unwanted close contact with him. Akela, too, looked relieved, though she eyed the boat with some dubiousness before climbing in next to Hagrid.

He'd forgotten how beautiful the trip across the lake was, Tobias realized, looking up at the castle with almost the same wonder as the first-years. “Look, Mo,” he whispered, turning her to face forward. “Isn't it pretty?”

The lake was perfectly still, the ripples from their boats the only disturbance, and the lights from the castle made the water sparkle. Nobody seemed at all inclined to speak, so the only sound was the quiet lapping of the oars, and Mo's happy and oblivious babble as he bounced her gently on his knee.

They came to shore in the strange, underground harbor that Tobias vaguely remembered from his first year, where they tied up the boats before climbing a narrow stair to the surface, and Hagrid counted them one more time before knocking hard on a huge wooden door into the castle. Exactly like in his first year, McGonagall opened the door, looking stern. This time, though, she gave him an especially sharp glance, and he suspected that she was unhappy with him – probably either for coming to Hogwarts without his charms, or for not warning anyone ahead of time, but he couldn't be sure. McGonagall didn't say anything, however, and led them all into a small, empty chamber across from the entrance to what he now knew was the Great Hall, and introduced them as before to the house system, and the fact that they were all to be sorted.

Remembering that he was supposed to be new, too, he paid close attention, and hid his amusement at the first years' nervousness. He'd been scared, too, though of course he'd had Ron telling him that it was a test, and going to hurt, besides. This year the rumors were different. Once McGonagall left, and the talking started, they started right up. One boy thought that the 'houses' were actual separate physical houses, but he was quickly whispered down by a boy who said that of course they weren't actual houses, because then they couldn't fit in the castle. Another boy argued that of course they could, and what was the other boy, a muggle? One of the girls spoke up, then, saying that the sorting was probably totally random and she personally didn't care. They argued for awhile, but unlike his first year, no ghosts came in to frighten them, and soon the most interesting thing in the room proved to be Tobias.

“What are you?” one boy finally asked, after everyone had been staring at him for awhile.

“Darren, that's rude!” protested the same girl who'd said the sorting was random.

“Oh, shut up, Miss Manners,” Darren responded.

“Well it was,” the girl argued, tossing her shoulder-length hair.

“No, it's alright,” Tobias said. “I'd rather you ask then just be scared of me. I'm Unseelie Sidhe – a sort of really huge fairy with big teeth.”

“That means you're coniferous, right?” another boy asked.

Tobias held back a laugh. Yes, kid, clearly I'm a tree. “Carnivorous, and no, I'm an omnivore. I do eat more meat than most humans, though.”

“Do you eat people?” a third boy questioned hesitantly.

Tobias heard a soft growl, and gave Akela a grin. He'd never been in a community that defended itself as fiercely as the People did. As far as he knew, Akela didn't even like him. “No, I don't. I eat beef, same as you.”

“You're scary,” one of the girls said then.

“I know,” Tobias said.

“Are you going to bring a baby to class?” 'Miss Manners' asked.

“If the headmaster will let me,” Tobias answered.

“Excuse me,” said McGonagall, reentering the room carrying a stool and the sorting hat, “but if you are finished, would you please form a line and follow me? It is time for the sorting to begin.”

Clearly overawed by the setting and the sternness in the professor's demeanor, the first-years obeyed with alacrity, and they were soon entering the Great Hall, Tobias taking up the rear with Toby and Akela as a buffer between him and the still-nervous human first-years. All conversation in the Hall stopped as they entered, then started up again in hoarse whispers, and Tobias wracked his brain trying to remember if that had happened his first year, before realizing that, even if they did, it was probably because of him then, too. It took a lot to quiet the Great Hall. Finally he remembered that he'd witnessed other sortings, and no, the hall was never quite this quiet while the first-years walked in.

Good thing I'm used to getting stared at, he told himself, doing his best, once again, to ignore the extra attention as he walked with the others to the front of the room. He couldn't help but be vividly aware of his own height as he followed the first-years, though – he towered over them, to the point that he could clearly see Dumbledore frowning at him at the head table over all of their heads. Turning his attention from both Dumbledore and the staring crowd, he instead looked for his few friends in the crowd, finally finding the Weasleys and Hermione all sitting in a large clump and watching McGonagall. One of the twins met his eyes, though, and smiled. He said something to the others, and they all looked up and waved.

“Little tall for this, aren't you, Tobias?” one of the twins shouted. “Or is little Mo the one getting sorted?”

“I don't know, you'd have to ask the headmaster!” he shouted back, grateful once again for the twins' deft maneuvering around an otherwise awkward situation.

“Silence, please!” McGonagall called sharply, and Tobias turned back to her to find her giving him a piercing glare. He smiled apologetically, but she just looked down at her list and called out 'Abercrombie, Euan' as the first to be sorted.

Suddenly realizing just how early in the alphabet 'Bâtard, Tobias' really was, he cursed himself for choosing it while listening carefully for his own name. Sure enough, he was called just as the terrified-looking Euan made his way over to the Gryffindor table.

Feeling ridiculous, he stepped out from among the crowd of littles and sat on the stool before taking the hat from McGonagall and putting it on his head.

“You again!” the hat said instantly, startling him.

Umm...yes? Tobias thought at it, remembering how it had picked up his thoughts first year. Is that a problem?

“Not a problem, no,” answered the hat, “just most unusual, most unusual indeed. Let's see, where should I put you?”

You can't just put me back in Gryffindor where I belong? Tobias asked, a little worried.

“Where you belong? No, definitely not where you belong. That is what is so interesting. Perhaps I should sort all students a second time.”

B-but, I haven't suddenly turned coward, or something, Tobias protested. What's wrong with Gryffindor?

“Coward? You? Surely not! No, you are no coward. But you are practical, now...cautious. You think more carefully before rushing off to do things, and you value a single person more than any other, and more than any ideal. A very nice mix, I must say. I quite like how you've turned out, young Mr. 'Bâtard.'”

Err...thanks, I guess, Tobias thought to him, more nervous by the minute. 'More than any ideal?' He really is going to put me in Slytherin.

“No, no, no, not Slytherin,” the hat admonished. “You are clearly meant for... HUFFLEPUFF!”

You have got to be kidding me, Tobias thought, getting up off the stool and putting the hat back before facing the silent room. Hufflepuff. That was the very last thing he'd expected. Better than Slytherin, though. He walked slowly down the steps towards the Gryffindor side, remembering that the Hufflepuff table was right beside it. They were cheering for him, though less enthusiastically than they might've. He made his way to it, before getting confused. Did he sit further down the table, where the first years usually were, or with the other fifth-years? Doesn't matter, just sit.

Having no time to decide, Tobias sat in the middle of a largish gap towards the upper end of the table, allowing his new house-mates to stare while he turned his attention back to the others being sorted.

“H-hello,” somebody from the group next to him said, voice a little shaky. Tobias looked up to see one of the older Hufflepuffs sitting right next to him and staring him straight in the eyes. “Welcome to Hufflepuff.”

Tobias felt his jaw drop a little. Goodness, the hat was right. Hufflepuffs don't lack nerve, either. He gave the other boy a grin. “Thanks. I'm Tobias Bâtard, and this is Mo.”

“Gabriel Martinez,” the boy said, offering a hand.

Tobias accepted it, and they both went back to watching the sorting just as McGonagall called, “Daray, Illatobe.”

Toby walked up to her hesitantly, seemingly more worried about the professor than about the magic hat. I wonder how much contact he's had with humans before, Tobias suddenly realized. There were definitely places in Europe that were distinct 'People' territories, and Toby didn't speak English all that well...

“Hufflepuff!”

Hufflepuff cheered louder for him then they had for Tobias, and Toby came happily enough to the table, sitting next to the second-years because there were no other first-years at the table yet.

The next to be sorted went to Gryffindor, and then two to Ravenclaw, and a third to Hufflepuff. Tobias noted her name absently – Amanda Hinkel – before digging into his ever-present diaper bag for Mo's hippo as she started to fuss.

“Oh, I know,” he told her absently, listening with one ear as two students were sorted into Slytherin, “you've been so good all day. Well, at least since your nap. Just be patient a little longer, okay? This is going to take awhile, but then I'll get you some porridge, I promise.”

She probably wasn't really hungry, more bored, but she liked porridge. Actually...

“Hey, can I talk to one of the kitchen brownies, please?” he said quietly to no-one in particular.

“Zuka is happy to serve, sir!” the female brownie answered, popping into view right next to him. Mo startled a little, then smiled and leaned forward against Tobias' arm, reaching for one of the brownie's big ears.

“Hello Zuka,” Tobias greeted. “Could you do me a favor and get my daughter some plain porridge, please?”

“You wants Zuka to cook for the little one, sir?”

“Yes, please, Zuka,” Tobias said.

Zuka smiled hugely. “Thank you, sir! Zuka is most honored, sir! Zuka will make very nice porridge for little big one!”

“Thanks, Zuka,” Tobias said. The over-excited brownie smiled broadly before giving a bouncy little curtsy and apparating out.

“Little big one?” Gabriel asked him curiously.

“We're Greater Fae,” Tobias explained. “Called 'big fae' by some of the smaller species. But Mo's a baby so...little big one.”

“Cute,” the boy said. Tobias smiled.

“Osei, Akela,” McGonagall called. Tobias looked up as Akela walked straight up to the stool and sat down. Apparently the hat's speech startled her, because she promptly bared her teeth and hauled the thing back off of her head to face it fiercely. Tobias couldn't hear what was said, but eventually she gave the thing a dubious look before putting it back on her head as some of the other students snickered.

“Gryffindor!” the hat exclaimed. Tobias smiled. He could've guessed that, the way she'd challenged him and stood up for him in the same half hour.

“That one looks like she could be trouble,” Tobias heard another of the Hufflepuffs comment.

“Really?” another said, “I hadn't noticed.”

The other snorted. “I thought she was going to eat the hat.”

She needs to be more careful, Tobias noted.

“So why was 'Zuka' so honored to help you? I mean, I've got house-elves at home, but they've never acted quite the way she does with you,” a sharp-faced girl across the table from him asked.

“It's probably to do with Mo,” Tobias explained. “The fae don't let many other than themselves do anything with their young.”

“So she's honored because you trusted her to cook porridge?” Gabriel asked skeptically.

“I think she's probably also just young,” Tobias said.

“But you're 'Greater Fae'?” asked the girl curiously. “Greater than what?”

“I think it mostly means 'greater' as in 'bigger,' Tobias answered. “Bigger than the Lesser Fae, I guess, though you're right that it seems like a pretty useless distinction. I'm Tobias, by the way.”

“Esmeralda Leguin. Nice to meet you.”

She even sounded like she actually meant it. I suppose 'Puffs are supposed to accept everybody, but I didn't know it actually worked, he reflected. “Why are you so okay with me?” he finally just asked.

“You're a 'Puff,” Gabriel answered. “You can't be that bad.”

Yeah, after all, there's not a wizard gone bad that wasn't in Slytherin, Tobias remembered. Rule of thumb: All Slytherins evil, all Puffs good. Got it. It was bullshit, but if it meant that they accepted him this easily, he'd take it. He needed all the help he could get.

When the last first-year was sorted – Zeller, Rose, into Hufflepuff – Dumbledore stood and spoke briefly.

“To our newcomers,” Dumbledore announced, beaming, “welcome! To our old hands – welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!” Dumbledore sat down, and Tobias turned his attention to the food that showed up in front of them on the table. To his surprise, Zuka returned with a tray, and handed him a bowl of porridge for Mo, and a plate of raw, seasoned meatballs and vegetables for him.

“Thanks, Zuka!” he said. “That's very helpful.”

Zuka beamed, blushing, and bowed low. “Zuka is happy to serve, Master Fae, sir!”

Tobias grinned. “It's Tobias,” he said, “and thanks again.”

She bowed once more, and disappeared.

“Excuse me for asking,” the sharp-faced Esmeralda Leguin said, “but why did she bring you special food?”

I am People. Fae. He really didn't want people thinking of him as some sort of screwed-up human. “Humans are much more likely to eat their food cooked than the fae,” Tobias answered bluntly, purposely putting distance between 'the fae' and 'humans.'

“That's raw?” another girl exclaimed.

Tobias sighed. This again. “Yes. And before you all freak out, in about fifteen minutes I'm going to cut my wrist in order to feed Mo. My kind don't drink milk.”

“Umm...okay,” the girl said, sounding mildly affronted.

“Sorry,” Tobias sighed. “I'm just tired, and everybody who so much as looks at me has to stare. I understand, and I don't mind questions, but I do get tired of feeling like everything I do is weird.”

“Don't mind her,” Esmeralda said, giving the other girl a glare. “She's just being rude.”

The other girl tossed her head in mock-arrogance. “I was not being rude, 'Ralda, I was being righteously offended.”

“Yeah, which is frequently synonymous with rude,” Esmeralda told her friend.

“Well that's not how I meant it,” the friend answered, tossing her hair saucily before turning to Harry with a contrite smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I'm Jody.”

“Tobias Bâtard,” Tobias said shortly, “and I really don't mind. Everybody's either rude or scared. Trust me, I prefer rude.”

Gabriel gave a low whistle. “That blows, man.”

“Yeah, it does,” Tobias answered, softening the bluntness with a smile. Go Hufflepuff.

When the meal ended, Dumbledore stood up and made the usual announcements, including introducing a new professor, Delores Umbridge.

“She looks like a toad,” Esmeralda whispered. Jody snickered, and Tobias smiled. She really kind of did.

As Dumbledore moved on to talk about the house teams, however, he cut off and looked at the new professor, who had stood up to speak. The headmaster got over his confusion quickly, sitting down to listen attentively. The other professors didn't look quite as happy.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” the new professor said unctuously, “for those kind words of welcome.”

Jody gagged loudly, exactly like one of the twins had the day before.

Esmeralda smiled maliciously. “'Kind words of welcome'? Really?”

Gabriel snickered. “I think my ears just developed cavities.”

“Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” Umbridge continued, “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”

“Oh. my. God,” Gabriel murmured. “Did she actually just say that?”

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll all be very good friends!”

“Yeah, yeah she did,” Jody answered, sounding resigned. “Oh, I am so looking forward to her class. Defense against the fluffy bunnies.”

“But that's no ordinary rabbit,” Gabriel said, grinning, “that's the most evil, foul tempered rodent you've ever set eyes on!”

“Oh, shove it, Gabe,” Esmeralda told him, punching his arm.

“You're muggle-born,” he said to Gabriel as he recognized the reference.

The whole table stiffened, and Gabriel met his eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Tobias said, “I just noticed. I am too, of a sort.”

Gabriel relaxed. “Of a sort?”

“Mixed-born, muggle raised,” he answered.

“Ah.”

“I thought blood-status was a human thing?”

“It is,” Tobias said shortly.

A strange, girly little throat-clearing cough saved him from having to continue, bringing their attention back to the new professor as she began speaking in an officious, obviously memorized cadence. Tobias listened with one ear while he slit his wrist on a canine and fed Mo. He caught enough to be vaguely disturbed - something about progress and tradition and pruning. When it was over, Gabriel was frowning.

“Can she do that?”

“Do what?” Esmeralda asked.

“'Perfect what needs perfecting', 'prune what needs pruning'?”

“Sure she can,” Jody answered. “Didn't you hear? She was appointed by the Minister. Probably to do just that.”

“Oh lovely,” said Esmeralda sarcastically. “'Pruning'. Just what we needed. She's like Hell's own kindergarten teacher.”

“I'm excited,” said Jody, turning to Gabriel with obviously-faked enthusiasm, “aren't you excited?”

“Oh, yes,” said Gabriel, batting his eyelashes. “I love bunnies. You think maybe she'll install some lovely topiaries?”

Both girls turned to stare at him. “That was terrifying,” Esmeralda said seriously. “Never do that again.”

“Do what, darling?” He batted his eyelashes again before exclaiming, “Ow! Hey!” as Jody punched him in the arm.

“That.”

Suddenly, the noise in the hall increased as everybody started getting up to leave.

“Oh, oops,” Gabriel said. “I'm supposed to help the first-years find where to go.”

“No,” Jody said pointedly, “you're supposed to show the new students where to go.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said with exaggerated patience, “and the difference is-?”

“Me,” Tobias answered.

Gabriel blushed and brought up a hand to cover his face. “Aaand I'm an idiot.” He brought the hand down and gave Tobias a look of confusion. “I don't actually know what to do with you, though. I was honestly just told what to do with the first-years. Surely they're not going to put you in the dorm, what with the little one and all?”

“I don't know,” Tobias answered. “Maybe let's just go on up and then see what Sprout says?”

“Sprout?” the boy questioned.

Shit, I'm not supposed to know her! “Yeah, Professor Sprout. Ermm...she's our Head-of-House, right?”

“Yeah, but how'd you know?” Gabriel asked without suspicion.

“Oh, err...the Gryffindor head-of-house – McGonagall – she talked about the four houses before bringing us in to be sorted,” he said, glad to find a not-quite-lie that would explain his knowledge. Whoops.

“Oh, right,” Gabriel said. “Well, come on, then.”

Gabriel gathered up the other new students to leave the hall, while Tobias wet a washcloth to start cleaning Mo up to leave. Fighting to wipe off her hands -she much preferred waving them around or chewing on them to having them washed – he suddenly realized something that he'd been sensing all along, but had ignored. There were a lot of People here. He'd thought the two first-years were a fluke, but apparently Hogwarts – or at least Dumbledore – accepted the People as students on a fairly regular basis, and it was just kept quiet. Either that or Dumbledore didn't know, and the students just hid themselves. They stood out from the crowd, somehow, as if he knew them, was intimately familiar with them and the way their bodies moved. And yet he didn't know them, and he couldn't see that they moved any differently at all. From the ones Tobias could sense, he guessed that there were about one in twenty students. How did nobody notice? Well I didn't, did I? I was human, I assumed they all were too. Even after Lupin had talked about Dumbledore allowing him in, he'd not made the connection. Dumb me. But it wasn't like the students who were People were going to expose each other. Except for me, he suddenly realized. They won't expose each other as People, but I bet somebody will report me to the Court.

He moved on to wiping Mo's face as he continued to think things through.

Could he return to Grimmauld Place, hide out? I thought that's what I was not doing. But if Mo was in danger – but that was the thing, wasn't it? Mo wasn't in danger. Lliannan would never have recommended that Tobias contact the Court for help if Mo was in danger from them. She probably wouldn't have if Tobias was in danger. And again, Mohira was scary, but possibly a perfectly decent guy. At the base of it, Tobias was running because he was scared, not for his life, but for his freedom. But that wouldn't matter, for Mo. At least, it wouldn't until she was significantly older.

Oh, hell, I really don't want to be their Heir. But if the last few weeks had taught him anything it was that once one started running it was nearly impossible to stop. And running wasn't any kind of freedom. He wanted to stay here, to finish his education. What kind of freedom was it, if he couldn't just be himself and make friends, but had to hide constantly who he was? Maybe the Court will let me stay here?

Wait. Let me? They can't make me do shit. The thought made him breathe a sigh of relief. They couldn't force him. Not really. The letters from the queen had proven that. They needed him, badly. They could beg, badger, cajole, and maybe even order, but they couldn't literally drag him. Even the order would probably be too strong - they needed him to be at least somewhat cooperative with them. He was the only Heir they had, and the Second's guardian. They certainly wouldn't want to alienate him any further. He already had a fair amount of power over their relationship, just like that.

Okay, so that's helpful. But how did he preserve that? Great. And already I'm playing politics. But it was important. He didn't want to meet the Queen and Consort for the first time from a position of weakness. And he was losing this chase. How did one lose, and look strong at the same time? By resigning, and pretending the game wasn't all that important in the first place, he realized. By handing myself in, willingly.

Soo...what? I write them back, 'hey there, you 'caught' me, I'm at Hogwarts? He'd just barely gotten to Hogwarts. He hadn't even gotten to his dorm, yet. And just his luck, he'd send them the note today, and they'd show up tomorrow. No good. I need to get settled in here, first. If he could keep things quiet for just a couple more days, he could get settled here, then deal with the court. It'd be a balancing act, to make sure he was the one that contacted the court first, but with any luck, he would have that time. The Hogwarts students, even the People ones, were mostly children. Most of them probably wouldn't even know that the Court was looking for him, let alone what he looked like. And those that did might make the connection, but they also might not, at least not right away. He was some species of Greater Fae, but they didn't know which, and he was carrying around a baby, which was strange, but they'd hardly expect to find the Heir to the Unseelie Throne up to his elbows in mud in Sprout's Herbology class, or getting growled at by Snape in Potions. And I only need to get by for like two or three days. Long enough to get on my feet here before dealing with the next set of difficulties. He'd dealt with moving every two days with an infant, he could deal with this. He was alright. Or I will be, once I get some sleep. God, am I tired.

“Oy, Tobias, you coming?”

Tobias looked up quickly to see that Gabriel and the other prefect had finished getting everybody organized to leave.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

Tucking the wet washcloth back in his diaper bag, he gathered Mo into his arms to leave. Paying attention to her, he barely noticed the students parting to let the Hufflepuffs through.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Woah. He'd seen the Slytherin common room, and of course the Gryffindor, and he'd imagined that all of the dorms would be like them – decorated totally in the house colors, and embodying the stereotypes about each house. The Hufflepuff common room was different. The furniture was mostly black leather, and the wood of the floor was a gentle yellow, so the colors were there, but they were almost totally overwhelmed by the room's real feature – the plants. He felt like he was walking into a particularly messy greenhouse, or a particularly well-lit jungle. There was plenty of space to move around in, and the windows were so enormous it felt like there were no walls at all, but everywhere you looked there were magical plants in fantastic colors. It was beautiful. “Look, Mo,” he whispered, beyond caring what the eleven-year-olds would think of him talking to a five-month-old. “See the pretty plants?”

“Before we enter,” Gabriel told them all, “make sure you watch out for the plants. The purple-green one to the left of the entrance is particularly mean.”

“How can a plant be mean?” a blond boy in the front of the line asked loudly.

“It bites, of course,” Gabriel answered simply, leading them around the plant in question.

“Scratches?” the first year guessed.

“No, I really mean bites,” Gabriel said calmly. “Don't piss it off.”

“Ooookay,” the boyr said skeptically, looking sideways at the plant. Tobias felt a tug on his robes, and looked down to see Toby clinging with one hand to his robes.

“Do this plants really...bite?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” Tobias answered.

“Okay...” Toby said uncertainly, hand still gripping Tobias' robes.

Of course Sprout has carnivorous plants guarding the door. Why not? Tobias thought, shaking his head. Hogwarts really was a strange place.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff, students!” a voice greeted them happily as they got to the middle of the room. “I am Professor Sprout, your head-of-house and Herbology teacher.”

The first-years all looked up at the kind-faced, matronly woman as she entered the common room from a door off the side. Tobias watched over all their heads, glad to be fifteen years old, and not eleven. This whole process was terribly overwhelming as a first-year. Hopefully Toby'll figure out that Sprout's okay and cling to her, he thought, giving Sprout a smile.

“Oh, Tobias, yes. The headmaster gave me instructions for you,” she said enthusiastically. “He thought you'd appreciate having a separate room, so that the other students would not wake up the little one, and vice versa. What do you think? It is no trouble at all, I assure you.” As if she'd heard her name, Mo squirmed in Tobias' grip. He turned her around to face Sprout, and the woman smiled broadly, clearly delighted. “Oh and she is so sweet, isn't she? What a little darling. Yes, you'll need a separate room, I think, and big enough for a crib and a changing table. That's not something we've needed at Hogwarts for quite some time, I must say. Now, you don't worry about a thing, we'll get you all set up in a moment. Now, first years. Your rooms are upstairs, girls on the left and boys on the right. There's a list of basic rules up there for you, we'll discuss some other things in a bit, for now you should all get upstairs and get your pajamas on, and then come downstairs for some chocolate.”

The eleven-year-olds faces all lit up at the word 'chocolate', even after the enormous welcoming feast, and in no time they'd all disappeared up the stairs.

Once they were all taken care of for the moment, Sprout turned towards Tobias with a sympathetic smile. “How was your trip over, dear? You look exhausted.”

Tobias smiled. Goodness, people here are amazing. “Exhausting,” he said. “But it's nice to be...” not back “...here...anyway. And the brownies have been wonderful.”

Sprout gave him a confused look. “Brownies?”

“House-elves,” Tobias said. “They're fae, and so am I. We call them brownies.”

“You're related to the house-elves?” Sprout asked skeptically.

“People tend to underestimate the brownies, it's true, but yes, they're related to the Unseelie and the goblins, and actually quite powerful. They're just not ambitious, is all.”

“Interesting,” Sprout said openly. “Well, dear, we do have a room set up in the dorm for these kinds of special cases, but it's not set up as a nursery just yet. Did you bring all your own stuff, or do you need us to find you anything?”

“Err...I have most of what I need,” he said, “but I don't have a changing table, just a pad. It works just fine, but-”

“Oh, absolutely, dear. No problem at all. Will you need a crib, too, or did you bring one?”

“No, she stays with me,” Tobias answered. Sprout smiled broadly at him.

“Alright then. Now the changing table might not get there before you go to bed, but at the worst we can get it for you while you're in class tomorrow. Do you need any other supplies? An extra set of diapers, maybe?”

“No, I've got enough for now.”

“Oh, good, you're well prepared, then. But if you need to restock, just let me know and I'll make sure to find you some catalogs for owl-order. Oh, and you're a new fifth-year. Have you chosen your specials, yet?”

“Oh,” Tobias said. That's right, we did that in third year. “Umm...all I have any background in is Divination and Care of Magical Creatures...”

“So you'll want to continue those, then?” the Professor asked.

I hate Divination. “Can I change them? I don't have any background in the other ones.”

“It's a bit unusual, and might be rather difficult, but it is certainly possible,” Sprout assured him.

Awesome. But...he sighed. School was going to be hard enough already without trying to make up for two years worth of Arithmancy. “No thank you,” he finally said. “I hate divination, but I think I'd better just stick with what I know.”

“Alright, dear. That's probably best. Would you like to see your room, then?”

“Sure.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Hey, nice, Tobias thought, looking around. The room was set up like a hotel room, or a guest bedroom, rather than a dorm at all. His trunk had already been brought in, presumably by the brownies, and was set at the base of a nice double bed with pale yellow covers. Beside the bed was a bedside table, with a lamp and drawers. The room also held a comfortable-looking loveseat, a nice desk, and a chest of drawers. Everything in the room was in various colors of yellow, from a just-slightly-yellowish cream to a dark honey color. The overall effect was ridiculously cheerful, and a bit feminine, but still nice.

There were three doors leading from the room. The first was the one he'd come in by from the common room, but another proved to lead to a nice bathroom, with a bathtub option that he knew the dorms didn't have. The third door proved to be a decent sized closet.

Ron would be jealous, he realized with a pang. He couldn't really share it with him, not when he couldn't ever be 'Harry'. Not that that was really his favorite thing about Ron, but he missed his friends. Ron was cautiously friendly, but he wasn't his friend anymore.

It kinda sucked, he realized suddenly. He tended to push the emotional stuff to the back of his mind, running around as he had been, but it really did kind of suck. On the one hand, he had the chance to really start afresh, with new friends and an entirely new life, but on the other hand he'd never meant to get this far away from who he was before. He wouldn't have minded getting away from the Dursleys, but not if it had meant leaving Ron and Hermione behind, as well.

He shook his head. Whatever. It's done. And reversing it would mean giving up Mo, which he wouldn't do even if that were possible. New life, new friends, new problems. He didn't have time for the old ones, anymore.

And I've got that meeting. Life in Hufflepuff 101. Moving quickly, Tobias set out his changing pad on the bed and set Mo down to change her. When that was done, he changed her into pajamas and grabbed her carrier. Deciding to leave the diaper bag in the room, for now, he instead grabbed her hippo and one of the ever-present teething rings and left the room. When he got out, the room was almost full, and the other students scooted across the floor to let him pass, some quicker than others. He pretended not to notice, and just smiled and sat down against the door, wings tucked up carefully behind him. Looking around quickly for Toby, he found him in a group with three other boys, to all appearances perfectly content. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the rest of the group. He sensed three – no, four - other People in the room other than himself and Toby. Two were his same age or older – he wasn't sure – and the others were younger – maybe second or third year for the one, third or fourth for the other. Two were some sort of fae, and another he thought was maybe some kind of shape-shifter, but the other felt a bit strange, and he couldn't place it. This wasn't unusual at all, but it did make him a bit curious.

Feeling a tug on his shirt, he looked back to Mo and pulled his shirt out of her mouth to replace it with the teething ring. A giggle to his left drew his attention to one of the older girls, watching him with wide eyes. When he smiled at her, she blushed but spoke. “She's...she's just like my cousin Cassie. Everything goes in the mouth.”

“Yup,” he agreed, “and since I'm usually closest...”

The girl smiled. “Of course.”

“Quiet, please,” Sprout called out.

She got almost-instant silence. Amazing. Sprout was so nice, it was difficult to imagine her having any sort of authority over her students, but obviously she did. Once again, go Hufflepuff, he thought.

“Hello everyone, and welcome again to Hufflepuff!” Sprout said happily. “I'm not going to bother going over the rules, as I am quite sure you are all perfectly capable of reading them, just know that you are expected to do so, and to ask questions if you are unsure about anything. I do want to once again remind the older students that you, too, were once new here, and of how overwhelming it was. Please do your best to make Hufflepuff the welcoming place that it is meant to be and help the younger students to get settled. First-years, do ask them or me for whatever help you need, we're all very glad you are here and more than happy to help. Tobias, that of course goes for you as well.”

Tobias gave her a smile and a nod, readjusting a sleepy Mo in her carrier. Sprout smiled back and looked back around at the whole room.

“Oh, good. Well, then we just have one more thing to talk about before we break out the chocolate. You might have noticed that there's a child here a good bit smaller than the rest of you. Tobias, would you like to stand up and introduce little Mo?”

Oh, Tobias thought, startled. He stood up slowly, keeping a hand behind Mo's head. He realized to what extent he really towered over the room when people moved back nervously to be able to see his face. I'm Tobias-she of the Unseelie Court, he reminded himself. I can't make a fool of myself, not now. He took a moment to breath and plan what he was going to say, then spoke. “This is Mo. She's my daughter.” He looked down at her briefly, and decided not to qualify the statement. She's my daughter. They can deal with it. “The important thing to realize is, she's a baby, and so a good bit more fragile than any of you. My instincts make me extremely protective of her, so please be careful. I really don't want to hurt you over a misunderstanding.” Hopefully that didn't sound too violent, he thought. “That said, I don't mind people approaching, as long as I don't feel like you're going to be a threat.” Little better. “Any questions?”

“Your room's right off the common room, right? Do we gotta be quiet?” asked a girl that Harry recognized as the Hufflepuff Keeper.

He hadn't thought of that, but apparently Sprout had. “His room is silenced. Unless you actually knock on the door, you won't disturb them.”

The girl nodded, apparently relieved.

“You going to bring her to class?” one of the older boys asked.

“I have not fully discussed it with the headmaster yet, but that is what I am hoping, yes.”

“You'll want to be careful,” the boy advised. “Some of our classes here can be dangerous, and certain professors probably won't be the nicest about her crying in class.”

“Snaaaaape,” a student called.

“Snaaaaaaaaape,” another called back.

“Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape,” a third responded.

“And Care of Magical Creatures,” yet another advised, cutting off the razzing. “Some of the critters can be pretty nasty.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. “I may have to find a babysitter, though that has some complications with my race.” Molly Weasley, maybe? he wondered.

“What are you, anyway?” one of the sixth or seventh years asked.

“Unseelie Sidhe.”

When he just looked at him blankly, he grinned, and explained. “I'm big fae,” he said, “like a giant, scary, meat-eating fairy.”

“Scary's right,” the sarcastic blond first-year from before commented.

“Alexander!” Sprout admonished.

“Sorry,” the student grumbled, “he said it first.”

“I did,” Tobias acknowledged. “If it helps, I'm a lot less dangerous than a hippogryph or a unicorn,” he said. “I'm just uglier.”

Nobody seemed to want to answer that. Tobias didn't blame them.

“Soo...chocolate?” he asked Sprout, trying to avoid an awkward silence.

She smiled at him. “Absolutely.”

The next morning, Sprout walked around the tables distributing schedules and answering questions. He'd finished his own meal and was once again cleaning oatmeal off of Mo's face when she finally got to him. She waited patiently for him to finish up and put the washcloth away before handing him his schedule. He looked it over in confusion. For the most part, it made perfect sense, but under the names Potions, DADA, and Care of Magical Creatures was written, “(G+S)”.

“G and S?” he asked.

“The Sorting Hat made the rather unusual request that you take three of your classes with the Gryffindors and Slytherins. He wouldn't say why, but the Headmaster acquiesced, and chose those three. They can still be changed, if you wish.”

“No,” Tobias said confusedly, “no, that's fine. It's a little strange, but if the Headmaster wants it then it's not a problem to me.” Why would the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore want me in with the Snakes and Lions? he wondered. Unless this was Dumbledore's attempt to help him get back in contact with Ron and Hermione? But he wanted me away from them... It was strange.

“Well good. In that case, I would suggest you get to Divination. And go ahead and bring the little one with you – the Headmaster has said it is fine, so your teachers will just have to cope.”

“Thanks,” he told Sprout. “That's helpful.”

It was. He hadn't had any time the day before, to confirm with the Headmaster that he could take Mo with him to class. That Sprout had done so for him was thoughtful, and made him feel a bit more confident about the day.

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

Yey, ladder, Tobias thought, looking up at the trapdoor that was supposed to take him to Divination. Mo was strapped into the carrier on his chest, and he had a backpack for his books, but then he had Mo's only-semi-portable play mat to get up there, somehow.

“Maybe if you climb up, and I hand it to you?” a voice said behind him.

He turned around to find a Ravenclaw girl that he vaguely recognized from the previous years. Well, maybe. Wasn't her hair longer, before? No, maybe he didn't recognize her at all. Certainly he would've remembered the tattoos. Or maybe she just had fewer tattoos? She was even more marked up and pierced than he was. She had 'sleeves,' like his, but hers were actual tattoos, not markings – they were colorful and showy, a varied tangle of flowered and tentacled magical plants that seemed to weave in and out among each other as she moved. Maybe they do, he realized. The tattoo guy who'd done his bat had mentioned that magical tattoos would sometimes move. Her piercings, at least, were stationary – a small hoop on her nose and lip, and three in each of her ears, in addition to a stud in her eyebrow. Her hair was blond, and cropped very short and somehow spikey. The overall effect was...odd, but somehow not ugly, especially when she smiled. She'd stayed at a bit of a distance, but the smile was tentatively friendly, and very welcome.

“That would be really helpful,” Tobias said, “thanks.”

Leaving the play mat at the bottom, he climbed the ladder and entered the smokey classroom. Ugh, that's no good. He'd had enough of the thick incense smell in his lungs to know he didn't want it in Mo's. Thinking for a second, he remembered the air-clearing spell he'd learned the year before in Charms, and cast it. Instantly the room cleared of smoke. Better.

“Hey,” he heard a boy off in the corner say, “who- oh.” He fell silent.

“Hi,” Tobias said. The boy didn't respond. Maybe he just didn't hear me.

“Hey, take your mobile thingy,” he heard the tattooed girl call up.

“Thanks,” he said, turning around and leaning down to grab it from her. She climbed up the ladder and clambered through the hole.

“Oh, good, you got rid of that dreadful smoke. It always gives me a headache,” she said.

“Ah, but my dear, the smoke is helpful to the opening of your inner eye,” Trelawney said, appearing through a door at one corner of the room.

“Yeah, well, it stinks,” the girl answered.

Trelawney looked distinctly affronted, but her voice didn't lose its usual misty tone. “It is Gula wood, and is said to help the brain to escape its normal boundaries, and see the true wonder and magic of the world,” she said.

“It's hallucinogenic?!” the girl asked, sounding appalled.

“It is illuminating, Cassandra,” Trelawney answered, “at least to those versed in its use, and open to the possibilities.”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Do you use it often, then?” Cassandra asked questioningly. Tobias snorted, earning himself a disgusted look from the Professor.

Deciding it was time to intervene, before Cassandra got herself into any real trouble, Tobias took the opportunity to introduce himself.

“Professor?” Trelawney turned and looked at him.

“Ah!” she said, sounding startled, “my inner eye tells me that you are Tobias Bâtard, the new fifth-year Hufflepuff.”

“Yes, that's me,” Tobias said. Yeah, because nobody noticed my arrival other than you, he thought sarcastically. “And this is Mo. I apologize about the smoke, but I have to be careful of her lungs, and she is...too young to appreciate its...'illuminating'...effects.”

This time it was Cassandra that snorted, and Trelawney turned her back on the girl entirely to talk to Tobias.

“Ah, yes, that is likely true, young man,” she said mysteriously. “But of course, those of your race must have a natural acuity of mind and spirit?”

“Perhaps,” Tobias said politically.

A couple other students had trickled in while they were talking, so Tobias finally got a chance to scope out a good spot while Trelawney's attention was on them. The classroom was round, so there was no real back, but he did manage to find a place against the wall, and near the trap door, that would allow both for easy exit in case Mo got upset, and relative quiet. He sat there, and set up Mo's play mat at his side before unstrapping her from her carrier and setting her in the mobile. To his relief, she immediately set to grabbing for the revolving toys, and ignored him entirely. Watching her, he only vaguely noticed Cassandra approach.

“You mind if I sit?” she asked him, indicating the spot across the table from him. “I want to check out your 'natural acuity of mind and spirit'.”

Tobias smiled. “No problem. Trelawney called you Cassandra?”

“Andra. Last name's Carson.”

“Tobias Bâtard.”

“Bâtard? You realize that means-” she cut off. “Why's your last name bastard?” she finished bluntly.

I'm gonna be a prince...but then he was determined to be himself, first. “Because I don't know who my father is,” he answered, just as blunt.

She laughed, blushing just a little. “And aren't I a bitch?”

“Only a little.”

“Well that's good, I suppose,” Andra told him. “Balance in all things.”

“Healthy,” Tobias agreed.

“Good day,” Trelawney said then, interrupting the conversations that had been building in the room, “and welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely – as, of course, I knew you would.

“You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L...”

Oh yeah, Tobias remembered suddenly. The O.W.L. That's supposed to be important. He'd forgotten about its very existence. Whoops.

“...Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little...”

And what if we don't? Tobias wondered suddenly. Are we just supposed to rot, then?

“...However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so...” she trailed off with a shrug. “Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.”

Sighing, Tobias flipped open the leather-bound book on his desk, and started reading. He'd barely gotten a page in when a happy squeal from Mo drew stares from all over the room.

“Shhhh,” he told her absently, trying to ignore the stares and his very happy daughter to read the dry text. Would it be better if he picked her up, or left her on the floor? She generally liked being on his lap while he read.

The next happy squeal drew whispers and giggles, and he gave up. Leaning down, he lifted Mo up by her armpits, gently removing one of the revolving elephants from her hand, and set her on his lap to hold her against his chest with one hand. “Now shush.”

He went back to reading.

Fifteen minutes later, a tug alerted him to the fact that a length of hair had escaped from his long braid, and was getting eaten. Determined to get his reading done, he ignored it and read.

When Trelawney called for them all to start working with their partners, he had only managed to read half of the chapter. Frowning, he tried to flip through quickly for the gist, but was stopped by his partner.

“Don't,” said Andra, “there's a table in the back that makes a lot more sense, anyway. Page...24.”

Ravenclaw, Tobias remembered. Hermione always did admire their efficiency. “Nice,” he said.

Andra shrugged. “Hufflepuffs work hard, Ravenclaws work smart,” she said with some pride. It sounded like it might be their motto.

“Gryffindors don't work at all, and Slytherins pay someone off to work for them?” he suggested.

Andra laughed. “Or just pay off the Professor to give them the grade. So, dream anything recently?”

Dream? Well there was always the weird one with the corridor that came up every once in awhile. Or...wait.

“Yes, actually,” he said, frowning. I didn't realize I remembered this. It had been a very strange dream. “Promise not to laugh?”

“'Long as you don't laugh at mine,” Andra answered.

“Alright then,” Tobias agreed. “I dreamed that Madame Pomfrey was insisting that my wings were an unhealthy growth, and should be removed. Dumbledore seemed to disagree, but he also seemed to agree with Snape, who was convinced that they would be more valuable boiled into one of his potions. But then there was this weird shadowy King there, who said that the wings were an important symbol of my position in society. Any suggestions?”

Andra frowned sceptically. “Maybe let's look it up under wings?”

“Okay...” Tobias looked through the table in the back, which was helpfully organized alphabetically by category. “Wings. Representative of freedom, air, flight, and sometimes chaos.”

“Or just the fact that you have actual, physical, wings...” Andra pointed out.

“Not helpful,” Tobias answered acerbically.

“Yes, clearly it must have some greater meaning. Well, fine. They represent freedom, so you seem to think Hogwarts wants to remove your freedom and use it for Potions ingredients. Now King represents...” she frowned and flipped a couple pages in her textbook, “authority or an authority figure, opulence, power, see 'Chess'.”

“It wasn't a chess king,” Tobias said.

“Okay, a real king, then. So...know any kings?”

Tobias almost winced, but kept his face and tone smooth. “Let's just go with 'an authority figure'. So then, Hogwarts wants to boil up my freedom for potions ingredients, but some authority figure thinks it is important to my position in society?”

“Well that's clear enough, then,” Andra said cheerfully. “It is your destiny to leave Hogwarts and run off to join the gypsies, in order to allow yourself the freedom to fly. You will be supported in this by an important authority figure, who will also help you find your place in society.”

“Good, Cassandra!” Trelawney gushed, startling both of them with her sudden proximity, “perhaps your inner eye is more open than I had thought! But, Tobias, dear, beware your 'king'. Dark can merely mean secretive, or mysterious, and not indicate evil, but dangerous things can hide in the shadows.” She said it in her spookiest voice, but the advice actually made sense, given that he knew who this king actually was. Hmm.

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

After Divination, he had a short break, and took the opportunity to change and feed Mo before Potions. He was almost looking forward to the class, for once. Sprout had all but told him Snape couldn't do anything about him bringing Mo, and needling the man still gave him a perverse pleasure, though it was rarely worth the trouble it inevitably brought.

It still mildly disturbed him, how strange Snape had been around him lately, but he dismissed it from his mind. The man had hated him for absolutely no reason since the beginning of time, it seemed like. He probably just hated him more now because Tobias was People, or something. At any rate he wasn't going to agonize over it.

He arrived early to Potions, and chose a seat in the back, near the door so that if Mo got really disruptive he could leave easily. The other students trickled in afterward, conversations quieting as they caught sight of him. He hadn't really expected it to hurt – he should be used to it by now, after all – but it did. He'd forgotten, when Professor Sprout had asked him about taking some classes with the Slytherins and Gryffindors, that they would be the same Slytherins and Gryffindors. It came as a shock to see Seamus and Dean sit across the room from him, to stare and whisper. Neville gave him curious looks, surprisingly devoid of fear. Ron gave him a confused look as he came in, but sat near the other Gryffindors. Hermione came in afterward, and joined Ron. Nobody took the chair next to Tobias. The 'Puffs would have, he realized. So much for brave Gryffindors.

A sudden feeling made him tense and stand suddenly to face the door in a defensive crouch just as Draco Malfoy walked in, talking to his usual sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle.

“Woah woah relax, Fairy, nobody's going to hurt the little monster,” Malfoy exclaimed, obviously startled but still sounding disdainful.

Tobias found his lips lifting off his teeth in a fierce snarl as the words registered, a growl ripping its way out of his chest. Malfoy looked slightly alarmed. “Err...”

“Back off, Malfoy,” he bit out around his growls, feeling muscles bunch at the elf's proximity.

“You don't know me,” Malfoy answered arrogantly, “and I don't back off for anybody, especially not some stupid fifteen-year old Hufflepuff. Do you realize that you are addressing a nobleman?”

Tobias' snarls multiplied, and he found the small part of his brain that was not fully focused on getting the elf away from his child repeating a frantic mantra. He's a dumb kid, just a dumb kid, don't fucking kill him he's just being stupid he's not a threat. Just a dumb kid, don't kill him. Bloody Hell what is happening to me?

Draco was pale, but he didn't back off.

“Err...Draco...” one of the Slytherins started. “I don't think-”

“I would take Bâtard's advice, Mr. Malfoy. You've already proved yourself to be quite the mindless cretin, there's no need to get your 'noble' self killed as well,” Snape said sneeringly, entering the room behind the two of them.

Malfoy opened his mouth angrily, obviously ready to protest, but Snape just grabbed the back of his neck and marched him to a chair in the furthest corner from Tobias' seat. Malfoy sat sullenly, and Snape looked back to Tobias.

“Good enough, Mr. Bâtard, or do you remain determined to murder your fellow students?” the Professor asked sneeringly, turning to Tobias.

Sneer or not, he means the question, Tobias realized. He closed his eyes and took a breath, shaking as adrenaline from his sudden and violent response flowed through his body. When he opened them again, and looked at where Malfoy was sitting, he realized he could cope. Better than with Kahrn, at least. He nodded quickly, suddenly sharply aware of the other students' frightened stares. “Good enough.” He sat back down in his seat and held Moriyana, trying hard, once again, to ignore his peers' obvious fear.

“As Mr. Malfoy has so helpfully demonstrated,” Snape said to the class, “the fae are very sensitive about perceived threats to their young. He shouldn't react as strongly to you as he did to Mr. Malfoy, but don't be an idiot.”

Thanks, Snape, Tobias thought bitterly. Way to make it sound normal and acceptable. Not that he really thought it was particularly normal or acceptable, but still. And wait...how does Snape know so much about the fae? It was like he knew that Harry had reacted to Malfoy because Malfoy was an elf. Nah, he just knows that I already didn't like him. But then Snape was talking to him.

“And Mr. Bâtard, whatever you may think this room is not a playground, nor a nursery. The child has no place in here. You will leave her with someone else for the duration of this class, or you will leave yourself.”

“The headmaster has given me permission to bring her to class,” Tobias answered, carefully keeping his cool.

“Then take it up with him,” Snape said. “And in the meantime, find a babysitter.”

“I will put her back behind me where she'll be safe, but she stays with me,” Tobias retorted.

“If she stays with you, then leave,” Snape said dismissively.

“I'm staying, and she's staying,” Tobias answered, trying to hide his growing anger. “I was told that that was all right. If you do not like it, then take it up with the Headmaster who gave me his permission. I came to school in order to go to class, Professor, not to hang out in the dorms.”

The Professor walked stalked closer, and for a second Tobias thought that he would crowd him, the way he tended to do when he was trying to be especially intimidating, but then the man stopped six feet away. Good. He did not want his instincts to act up against Snape, if he could avoid it. Despite his distance, though, Snape's gaze was piercing and his voice authoritative as he bit out, “I instructed you to leave my classroom, Mr. P-Bâtard. You are to obey me.”

Refusing to be intimidated, Tobias argued back as calmly as he could, “I am paying my tuition, Professor. You are to teach me.”

The two of them glared at each other for a moment before a sadistic smile appeared on Snape's face.

“Detention, Mr. Bâtard.”

Tobias caught his breath, outraged. “For coming to class?”

“For disobedience and disrespect.”

And that, I can't fight, he realized. Fuck. He'd thought that along with his name, he'd lose his tendency to get the first detention of the semester, but apparently his record would follow him. Taking a deep breath, Tobias forced his face to smooth out as he faced Snape and asked politely, “At what time, Professor?”

“Six o'clock.”

Right on top of dinner. Tobias didn't give him a response, and was gratified to see that that seemed to irritate the man even further. I won, he realized suddenly. He can't kick me out, so he gave me the detention to save face. It helped, some. Damn Snape.

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

The rest of the class went smoothly enough. Mo didn't bother anyone, and just batted happily at the mobile attached to her portable play mat five feet behind Tobias, making the occasional happy noise but not getting loud. The class for the most part left the both of them alone, though it was clear that they were more frightened of him than they had been at the beginning of class. Even Ron gave him the occasional wide-eyed look. Hermione's glances, on the other hand, were more speculative in nature than frightened, and made him wonder whether he would be getting another letter from her soon. Whatever. His life really wasn't about them, anymore.

He also had more to worry about, at the moment, than them. As it turned out, Slytherin house had a lot of People in his year. Malfoy, of course, was an elf, and that was a shock in itself, but he, too, wasn't what worried him, once his instincts calmed down. He knew every Slytherin in the classroom from before – Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass. He had never noticed anything different about any of them, but Zabini was some sort of fae. Nott was...something. Not human, not elf, not fae, and not were. Just...something. And Crabbe and Goyle were both the same sort of strange-feeling fae. Mixed, maybe? But then they were happily hanging around Malfoy, an elf. Strange.

The most worrying by far, though, was Zabini. The sharp-eyed boy watched him and Mo for the entire class, looking very thoughtful.

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

When class finally ended, Harry left for his dorm to change his books over and feed and change Mo in peace. She needs a nap, he realized suddenly. Lunch wouldn't be long enough, but maybe if he brought her Moses basket to History of Magic? The class was boring and quiet enough that generally he wanted to sleep in it. With any luck, she would, too.

Ugh, lunch, he thought then. After his display in Potions, his reception in the Great Hall promised to be epic. It'll be like second year all over again. Tobias Bâtard is dangerous and out to kill us all! He smiled ironically. At least this time, I really am the Heir.

It was as bad as he expected. Every head in the room turned towards him as he entered. People pointed and stared and talked. Looking over to the Slytherin table, he saw Malfoy staring at him malevolently and talking loudly to his friends, obviously about him. He almost turned to leave, but he heard a gruff, “Don't.”

He turned and found himself facing one of the Hufflepuff seventh years who'd been introduced the year before as the Head Boy Travis Carlson.

“It won't get any better,” Travis continued. “You've heard of Harry Potter, I suppose?”

“Yeah...” Heard about him somewhere, I think.

“Well, he's not here anymore, but when he was it was just the same. Every time some bit of news or gossip came out about him, the whole school had to talk about it. Well now he's gone, and you're the next new interesting thing. It won't get any better for you leaving. Worse, actually.”

Tobias made a face. “What are they saying?”

“Well, it varies, honestly. About half seem to be of the opinion that you're scary as all hell, and about half are gloating over the fact that you scared the crap out of Draco Malfoy and got Snape to call him a cretin, and then turned around and stood up to the man himself.”

Half villain, half hero, Tobias thought, sighing mentally. As usual.

“So, yeah, not too bad, actually,” the other boy concluded. “You were brave enough for all that, you're brave enough to sit down long enough to eat.”

“Doesn't mean I want to, or have any real reason to, however,” Tobias retorted.

“Alright then,” Travis said, “how about this? I don't actually have the authority to make you stay, but I can tell Sprout that you didn't.”

“And she will...?” Tobias inquired.

“Cook you dinner herself, if needs be,” the Head Boy said, “and she's busy.”

Tobias thought it over. “You're kind of a bastard,” he finally said, somewhat amused.

“Definitely. Go eat.”

“Fine,” Tobias answered.

He threw his head up, boosted Mo higher on his shoulder, and walked to the Hufflepuff table. The first years stared at him fearfully as he went by, and he sped up, but promptly felt a hard tug on his robes. I get tugged on a lot, these days, he realized, turning to face Toby.

“What, Illatobe?” he asked irritably.

The first-year bit his lip. “I hear you has de-deten – trouble. Snape very mean. You be careful?”

Yes, I need an eleven-year-old to protect me from the Greasy Git. “I'll be fine.”

“Okay. I sorry. You go eat.”

Tobias shook his head. “Don't be sorry. It's not your fault I'm a jerk. Thanks for the warning.”

Toby smiled hugely. “You are not a jerk. You are nice.”

Tobias sighed. Great. I really wanted to be somebody's hero again. “Well, thank you. I'm going to go eat now.”

“Okay.”

Once again, he walked higher up the table. Looking forward to the other fifth-years, he saw Jody poke Esmeralda and point to him. He was readying himself to be repelled, but instead both girls shoved over and waved him to the space next to him. Relieved, he approached them and sat down.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Esmeralda answered.

“Ignore the others,” Jody told him. “They're just jealous that they don't have the teeth to scare Malfoy, or the balls to stand up to Snape. They'll have to get over it.”

He looked at them, confused. “You guys are nuts. You do realize that I really would have killed him, right?”

“Yeah, well, you told him to back off, didn't you?” Esmeralda answered. “And again, you're a Puff. If we can't accept you, nobody will.”

Yeah exactly, Tobias thought. I just figured nobody would.

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

History of Magic was, as usual, dull, and vaguely unpleasant. As predicted, Binns didn't seem to even notice the change, but the students definitely did. They stared and whispered almost as badly as they had at lunch. The tone was a little different – there were a lot of giggles, rather than fear – but Tobias still decided to ignore the whole class and just focus on Mo. She'd been sort of hauled about all day, anyway, and he really needed to get her to nap. It was amazing she hadn't already thrown a fit through sheer tiredness.

And so he held and rocked her until she started to fall asleep, and tucked her into the Moses basket, which he'd switched out from the play mat at lunch. Then she was asleep, and he still had an hour left to the class. Great.

Well, at least maybe he could get the rest of his notes. He realized, though, when he looked up, that the staring had reduced, and that the class had separated out into little whispering groups of students, entertaining each other during the terribly boring class. He saw more than a couple little magic desk games going on, especially among the Hufflepuffs, and what actually looked like a study session among the Ravenclaws, though at least a couple of them seemed to be taking notes, too. Suddenly, one of the students in the study session looked up, and he realized it was Cassandra, the Ravenclaw whom he'd met that morning in Divination. Whispering quickly to the other students, who also looked up, Cassandra retrieved a sheet of parchment from one of the others, and slid it across the table at him. Frowning, he looked down at the parchment, and found himself looking at a full page of notes from the half-hour of class that he had missed trying to get Mo to sleep, with a note on top.

We realized that you might be having a bit of a hard time. Your daughter's adorable. Signed, Andra, Millie, Yolanda, and Flynn.

He looked up at the Ravenclaws, finding himself at a loss for words, but Cassandra just shrugged and smiled, and went back to taking notes. Deciding not to waste the Ravenclaws' kind efforts, he did the same.

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

“Well, good afternoon!” Professor Umbridge greeted brightly to class when everybody got seated. Tobias was once again near the door, and Malfoy had wisely chosen to sit in the opposite corner of the classroom. Only a few students answered the greeting, and the new professor spoke up again.

“Tut, tut,” she said, “That won't do, now, will it? I should like you,please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” everyone chanted back. Mo squealed happily, drawing a giggle from the class, and the new Professor looked over once before frowning fiercely and looking away. It made her sickly sweet smile look even faker when it returned.

“There, now,” she said sweetly. “That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Trying to ignore his disappointment – that sort of opening never bode well for the quality of the class - Tobias shoved his wand back into his bag and pulled out his quill, ink, and parchment. Seeing the quill, Mo squealed happily again and reached for it. He unfolded her play-mat and set it up under the table where he was sitting, and gave her her hippo. She happily blew spit-bubbles at him and started chewing on the hippo's nose. He smiled down at her. Good. Maybe now she'll stay quiet. It was a miracle that she'd been this patient in his classes so far. Almost done. Just this class, and then she can cry all she likes.

When he looked back up, there were words written on the board:

Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles

Basic Principles? After four years? But then the Professor was speaking, announcing how, as their previous training had been 'fragmented', they would now be following a 'Ministry approved' course of 'Defensive Magic', and asking them to copy down the 'Course Aims'.:

Course Aims:

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

“Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

She got a vague 'yeah,' from a couple of people in the class.

“I think we'll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge patiently. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

Oh, Merlin is she annoying. “Yes, Professor Umbridge,” he answered with the rest.

“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk.”

Of course there won't be. We don't talk because we desperately need to, we talk because we're desperately bored. Still, he opened his book to page five and started reading. Or tried. The book was so boring it felt like his brain refused to process the text. He read the same sentence five times without getting any meaning from it, and then Mo was whining. Giving up on his reading, he lifted her out of the play-mat, praying that all she wanted was contact. She quieted, and he held her with one arm while once again making a stab at the reading. Deadly bored once again, he looked up five minutes later to find that Hermione hadn't even opened her book in the first place, but instead sat with her hand in the air, staring fixedly at the Professor and waiting. The Professor was doing her level best to ignore her, but the rest of the class was getting interested in the silent struggle.

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” Umbridge finally asked, as if she'd only just noticed her.

“Not about the chapter, no,” Hermione said.

“Well, we're reading just now,” said Professor Umbridge. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”

Helpful, thought Tobias. And you're not going to get Hermione to give up on a question. Anybody could tell you that.

“I've got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. “And your name is-?”

“Hermione Granger,” answered Hermione.

“Well, Miss Granger,” the Professor said with carefully-maintained sticky sweetness. “I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.”

So we're not allowed to ask about them? Tobias wondered with increasing irritation. He really didn't like the woman, already, though he couldn't have said why. Sure, she was annoying, but he'd known her for less than half an hour.

“Well, I don't,” said Hermione bluntly. “There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

Tobias looked back over to the course aims. Damn, she's right. What's this class for?

“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge said with a little, incredulous laugh. “Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?”

How thick is she?

“We're not going to use magic?” Ron repeated loudly.

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.-?”

“Weasley,” said Ron, raising his hand aggressively.

The Professor turned her back, obviously ignoring him. Deciding it was time to intervene, Harry raised his hand. So did Hermione. The Professor ignored him entirely and called Hermione.

“Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?”

Is that the new word for 'teacher'? Tobias wondered, and since when do we need an educational degree to realize that there's a war on?

“No, but-” Hermione tried.”

“Well, then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-”

“Excuse me?” Tobias finally asked.

“Hand, Mr. Bâtard!” sang the Professor triumphantly.

He raised his hand, and, as expected, she ignored it, turning away from him. Unfortunately for her, a lot of other people had hands raised now, as well.

“And your name is?” she asked Dean Thomas.

“Dean Thomas.”

“Well, Mr. Thomas?”

“Well, Professor, if we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free-”

“I repeat,” said the Professor, still smiling that sickening smile, “do you expect to be attacked during my classes?”

“No, but-”

Professor Umbridge just kept talking. “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, still smiling. Sure you don't, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh and stared straight at Tobias, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

“If you mean Professor Lupin,” Dean Thomas started, “he was the best we ever-”

“Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-”

“No we haven't,” Hermione protested, “we just-”

“Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!”

Once again the Professor turned away from her raised hand. Tobias had had enough.

“Respectfully, Professor,” he started.

“You hand, Mr. Bâtard!”

He clenched his teeth and ignored her. “Respectfully, Professor,” he said carefully, “many of the students here have been under attack in the past. A Death Eater came to the school just last year and posed as a Professor. You cannot blame us for wanting to be able to defend ourselves.”

“Defend yourselves from what, Mr. Bâtard?” she said without turning towards him.

“Your Ministry may not accept it, Professor,” he said carefully. I am Tobias, not Harry, “but the People have good intelligence indicating that your Lord Voldemort has, in fact, returned.”

There were gasps from the entire class, and for once, the Professor looked at him. “The People, Mr. Bâtard? You mean 'people' like you?” She put a slight irony on the word 'people', as if to imply that he was nothing of the sort. He found his lip lifting off his canines.

“Yes, I mean People like me. We know that what your 'Boy Who Lived' has said is correct. Lord Voldemort returned last spring.” He didn't add that she no-doubt already knew that. It wouldn't be politic.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Bâtard.”

The room was silent – everyone either staring at Umbridge or Tobias, and most at him. If I flip, they'll decide I'm crazy or bestial.

“Now, let me make a few things quite plain,” Professor Umbridge said almost menacingly. “You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead. This is a lie.”

“So you would dispute my entire government and the word of one of your most famous citizens who claims to have seen and fought with him?”

“Detention, Mr. Bâtard!” she said, once again sounding triumphant. “This evening. Five thirty. My office.”

“I already have one with Professor Snape,” he answered, feeling almost smug. Go me, the delinquent. “At six.”

“His will be moved,” the Professor answered. “Now, I will repeat. This is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark Wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark Wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'”

She sat behind her desk, clearly thinking she was done. Fuming, Tobias stood. I am Tobias. I have no connection to this. It was hard to remember that, when he'd never spoken of it to anyone, even as Harry. “So you believe that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?” he asked, voice shaking as he contained his growls.

“Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,” she said coldly.

“So your Ministry cannot identify the killing curse on a body, then? Or have you bothered? Harry Potter obligingly brought it back for you, did he not? The boy – a student here, and a friend of Potter's – was murdered, and you're telling me you couldn't even cast a Priori Incantatum? Or do you know, and you're just denying it because you are frightened?”

Professor Umbridge's face went totally blank. For a moment he was unsure whether she would scream or faint, but then she spoke in that same, horrible, girly tone. “Come here, Mr. Bâtard, dear.”

That was a problem, he realized, calming a little as he had to solve the problem. Did he walk away from Mo, or bring her closer to the Professor? To his surprise, Blaise Zabini stood and walked over next to Mo. “Okay?” he whispered.

He didn't know Zabini very well, but the offer seemed sincere, and it was better than leaving Mo alone. Tobias looked in his eyes and relaxed. Somehow, Slytherin or not, Zabini exuded a steady trustworthiness that was enormously reassuring.“Yes, thank you,” he said. He turned and walked to the Professor, who pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag and scribbled something on it. A minute or so later, she tapped it with her wand, and it rolled up and sealed.

“Take this to Professor Sprout, dear,” she said.

He gave her an angry smile, showing teeth such that she backed up a full step. He smiled wider and turned to return to Mo. Blaise backed off as soon as he was there, and he gave the other boy a grateful smile before picking Mo up and putting her in her carrier, packing up her stuff, and left. Nobody in the class said a word, but they all watched his exit.

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

It took Tobias a bit of time to find Sprout's office, but then he realized she was probably in the greenhouse anyway, and went there. Sure enough, she was there and pruning some sort of enormous plant that hissed at her as she scolded it affectionately.

“Well you know very well you won't flower as well if I don't do this. I don't care if you don't like it, it's going to happen and that's it! No, you give that back- oh, Tobias! Problems, dear?”

“Probably,” Tobias said.”I've been sent to bring you this.” He handed her the roll of parchment. “It's from Professor Umbridge.” He stopped talking to let her read. When she had finished, she fixed him with a surprisingly sharp glance.

“So, already you're causing trouble. First Professor Snape – and yes, I did hear about that – and now Professor Umbridge.” Her lips pursed as she said the woman's name, and Tobias wondered suddenly if she liked the woman any better than he did. “Well, it says here you accused her of lying, insulted the Ministry, and claimed Voldemort is back. I would assume that's true?” Tobias nodded. “And I trust you realize what she is here for?” He nodded again. “Well, then,” the matronly woman continued, “what possessed you to tick the woman off?” She sounded barely cross, but he could tell she meant the rebuke.

“I just told the truth,” Tobias defended. “She was lying, and Voldemort is back, and the Ministry is being fishy about it.”

“And in a lovely, idealistic world it was the best thing you could do to stand up to her,” Sprout agreed, “but surely you know better than that!”

Tobias frowned. “The Ministry has very little control over me, anyway,” he answered. “What can they do?”

“She may have little control over you, but she has significant power here, young man, and you'd do well to remember it! She can't put pressure on you, but she can probably force the school to expel you, and even if she can't, she can certainly fail you, which would require you to either repeat the year or leave. The headmaster wants you here, but his power is waning. Don't you ever forget that!” her tone was the sternest he'd yet heard from her. “As it is, you've got an entire week of detentions with her, and nothing I can do about it. She can do a lot worse. You're going to have a hard enough time here without courting trouble.”

Great, Tobias realized. Sprout was right. The last thing he needed right now was to piss off the Ministry, or to cause himself any trouble with professors at Hogwarts. Screwed up, again. When am I going to learn this?

Sprout was already smiling at him again. “Aww, don't look so glum. If nothing else, you might've convinced some of your classmates, and that can only be a good thing.”

He shook his head. “She really gave me five detentions, for that?”

“And nothing anybody can do about it,” Sprout confirmed. “You'll go, and you'll behave yourself.”

He smiled at her. “Yes Ma'am.”

She sighed. “Honestly, Tobias, six detentions on your first day?”

Yeah, Tobias realized with his own sigh. That's a record, even for me. “Six unfair detentions,” he felt impelled to grumble. It was childish, but it made him feel better.

“Hmm...” Sprout said. “You could have handled both situations better.”

“Yeah, but what fun would that be?” he finally said. “I'm the school's new delinquent. This is what I do.”

Sprout frowned. “You're not a delinquent. That's what is so frustrating.”

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

I will not tell lies.

Defensive Magical Theory Chapter Two: Building on the Basics

Moonstone: a hard, adularescent stone used frequently as a potions ingredient or divination aid. The stone can be used in powdered, sliced, or cut forms, each contributing different uses in potion-making. In divination, it is generally used in whole, polished form.

Walking down a hallway, door at the end. Something I want is through the door.

Greetings, Harry-she.

We apologize if you find your duty to your subjects inconvenient, but we remind you once again that we have no more choice in making you our Heir than you had in taking Mo. You became our Heir at the moment that you accepted Moriyana-she. Do you truly resent our daughter's choice to give you the care of her daughter?

Signed, his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-She.

To his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-She of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

I do not resent my daughter. I love her, and would not dream of giving her up. On the other hand, nobody saw fit to tell me that accepting her made me your 'Heir'. I resent the fact that the 'duty' was pressed on me without my knowledge or consent, and that you have seen fit since then to hunt me down.

Signed, Harry the Switch

But don't worry too much, your Highness. Nobody expects you to know it all, yet.

Commonly mistaken for the muggle culinary plant ginger, Gargaginger is in fact an important magical plant. Typically quite a bit bigger than ginger, and stronger-smelling, Gargaginger is used in cooking, healing, and potions in the magical world...

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

Greetings, Harry-she,

If it helps, please allow me to personally apologize for the manner in which the position of Heir was pressed upon you by Our daughter. However, Lliannan-she is dead. Had she not acted in the manner she did, young Moriyana would still be at Court. It is a custom, within the Unseelie Court, to bear children while one is still the Heir, and not once one becomes Monarch, such that one can devote the most time possible to the care of any children born. Lliannan-she sought to find her daughter the best possible guardian, in addition to finding us the best possible Heir. Do you truly think she chose wrongly?

Signed, his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-She.

To his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

I am fifteen years old, and new to your world. Do you truly think that that is the best choice?

Signed, Harry the Switch.

Greetings, Archivist Kylpin. A couple of questions, if you don't mind. I have two hoop earrings, as did Lliannan-she. These presumably mark me as the Heir. Moriyana-she has a stud and a hoop, presumably marking her as the Second. What do two studs mean? Also, what's an Amazon? Thanks for the help. Signed, Harry the Switch.

Greetings, Harry-she,

You are correct. Under normal circumstances, I would not be happy entrusting our future to a young adolescent switch. But our Lady chose you for our daughter. She would not have done so, if you would be the wrong choice for our Kingdom, especially given our daughter's illness. Perhaps the Lady meant to introduce new blood to our line. I cannot know. I try not to question our Lady.

Signed, his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-she.

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

Interesting questions! The 'earring' system is in the 'Politics' section of your book, under 'Lesser Courts', but I'll give you a summary. All Fae nobility wear at least a stud. A hoop indicates one of the Royal line. Wearing two earrings, of either kind, indicates one in direct line to take the throne. So your two hoops indicate, as you speculated, that you are the Heir to the Unseelie throne. Mo's stud and a hoop make her the Second. The monarchs themselves wear two small hoops in the upper ear, and a larger hoop in the lobe. Two earrings, without the Hoop, indicates the heir to a fae throne that is NOT the Unseelie. There are only a handful of these in the world.

As to your second questions, the Amazons are small but powerful group of Lycanthropes, with the power to change into Jaguars. Unlike the Weres, they can do so at will.

To his Royal Majesty Consort Mohira Karrillre Ardkrandin-she, greetings.

We will talk further in person. I am at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland. My name is Tobias Bâtard. Do not blame Madame Harlot. She knew me as Harry.

Signed, Tobias Bâtard.