“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.