Unofficial Portkey Archive

Intervention Part II: Il Nemico del mio Nemico

By FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER - Harry Potter and all ancillary copyrights are the property of JK Rowling and her authorized agents. I own nothing but the original characters that are the products of my fevered imagination. If I could make money off this, I wouldn't be working for Walgreens.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE PART I - Once again, please accept my apologies for the long delay between chapters. Partially due to writer's block as well as RL issues, I have also reworked the previous chapter a bit to correct a couple of flaws pointed out by reviewers, primarily involving the beginning of the train ride and the scene with Neville.

Anyway, while I can't promise how steadily I will update, I will definitely be continuing this, I have too many plot bunnies scampering about that are related to this story. If I don't get them written out I'll end up crazier than I am already!

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Interlude - Elsewhere in Britain

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Wales is home of some of the most spectacular virgin wilderness still existing within the area known as the British Isles, with rough-hewn mountains, cascading brooks and streams, and stands of timber where no man has walked since the Bronze Age…well, no Muggle, at least. For Wizard kind, it is a very different story.

Any number of old wizarding families traced their ancestral lines back to the hidden glens and forest paths of Wales, and while many of those family lands were no longer inhabited, the charms that protected them still existed, and the Heart Circles, lost, overgrown, and concealed under centuries of verdant growth, remained as sentinels over the land that was bound to, and often soaked with, a Wizarding Family's blood.

One such Circle stood deep within Coed y Brenin Forest, far from the hiking trails and bike paths that Muggles constructed in order to experience first hand the beauty of the Welsh landscape. It had been several hundred years since a Potter last stood within the Circle, but the magic that bound the Stones to the bloodline, though dormant, remained powerful. The ancient wards slumbered, drawing their energy from the node formed where several Ley lines crossed. On certain nights when the energies were stronger a bluish light enshrouded the stones, visible to anyone, Wizard or Muggle, who was sensitive to such magic, offering proof that while the Potter line might no longer occupy its ancestral lands, it still existed.

The pattern continued, season after season, year upon year, until the night the balance of energies shifted, and an awareness of Change flickered through the Circle and the wards that it anchored. The flow of magic travelling through one of the Ley lines pulsed as it entered the Circle, with a signature long absent but still familiar to the wards. The wards responded and the intelligence that slumbered within the Heart of the Circle, for the lack of a better term… Awoke.

"A Son has Bonded," it said to itself as it tasted the power that had joined to its matrix. "The Heir is once more linked to Us."

"The Bonding was not here," it argued with itself. "He has Bonded to another Circle, another Family, far from Our presence."

"Irrelevant," it responded to its own question. "The Heart Circle in question is connected to Us by ancient alliance, one never sundered by choice of the blood. Here or within the Circle of an Ally, it matters not. That which once was shall be again. When He needs Us, We shall be ready."

There was an infinitesimal pause before a feeling of calm acceptance spread through the wards. "We shall be ready," the voice agreed with itself. Blue fire danced for an instant over the stones of the Circle as a pulse of energy flashed out along the Ley lines to Its allies, letting all know that the ancient bonds between them would be called on again. Here and there the web was broken, the Circles long since destroyed by natural disaster or human intervention, but those that still existed sent echoes of their awareness back to the Circle that served as their hub. One in particular, the most active of the old Circles due to the heavy burden placed on it by the wards it powered, was especially receptive to the call. When the Heir needed them, they would answer.

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Chapter Two - Arrival at Hogwarts

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With all the changes that had befallen him over the summer, it seemed almost indecent just how normal the arrival at Hogsmeade Station was, if 'normal' was the right word to describe a trainload of young witches and wizards disembarking for another year at Britain's premiere school for magical studies. But to those for whom the Wizarding world was home, normal was indeed the right term. There was the excited babble and organized confusion of the older students as they made their way to the carriages that would bear them to Hogwarts, with the higher-pitched voices of the First Years exclaiming in wonder at everything that was new to them. And over all, the familiar, booming voice of Hogwarts' Care of Magical Creatures professor calling out, as he did every year, "Firs' years, this way! Hurry up now!"

Harry smiled at the sight of his first magical friend, and once again was struck by the way the new students flocked to Hagrid without any fear. There was just something about the half-giant that exuded an aura of safety, as if nothing bad could happen to you while you sheltered under his protection. "Hello, Hagrid!"

A bright expanse of white teeth appeared in the bristling mass that was Hagrid's beard. "Hallo, Harry, 'Ermione, yeh have a good summer? No problems with those Dursleys?"

"Every thing was fine, Hagrid," Harry assured his friend. "A little rocky at the start, but things started looking up once Hermione shocked some sense into me." He grinned at his blushing girlfriend, his hand seeking out hers on its own.

"Yeh, heard about you two from Professor Dumbledore, Harry, congratulations…an' it's about time you woke up!" Hagrid boomed enthusiastically, earning a surprised look from the two Gryffindors. "What? Anyone with half a brain could see you belonged together, seen that firs' year, I did!"

"Well, I guess that means I have less than half a brain, Hagrid," Harry admitted ruefully, "because I was too thick to see what was right in front of me until it almost was too late."

"Naw, tha' just means yer a wizard, Harry," Hagrid chuckled. "Isn't one of us that's any too bright where witches are concerned. Good thing fer us they put up with us anyway, eh?"

"It certainly is," Hermione replied primly, smirking as Harry flushed in embarrassment. Despite how happy he was about his newfound relationship with Hermione, or perhaps because of it, there were certain aspects of it that were going to take getting used to, and listening to good-natured teasing from his friends was one of them.

Friendly banter about love and affection was not a skill he'd been encouraged to learn around the Dursleys, nor had the situations surrounding his life at Hogwarts helped matters. Dark Lords and prophecies and the baggage that went with them were not the sort of things that aided in having a normal adolescence, or whatever passed for normal in the Wizarding World. Still, he thought, putting up with all that no longer seemed like such a terrible thing, not so long as he ended up with the love of Hermione Granger on the plus side of the ledger.

Smiling and tugging on her hand, he started to draw her away from Hagrid and further embarassing comments about the relative dimness of males in general. "Come on, Hermione, we'd better see about getting one of those carriages. See you later, Hagrid!"

"Bye Harry, Hermione, see yeh at the feast!" In a matter of moments the towering figure had chivvied his young charges away from the station and down the path to the boats and their next step into the world of Hogwarts.

Meanwhile the chaos of the station began to sort itself out as the older students turned their steps to the waiting carriages and their outré motive power. The shock of seeing the vaguely reptilian thestrals in their harnesses was not as great as it had been the first time he'd seen them, but the sight of their clawed feet and leathery wings still sent a shiver down Harry's back.

A small gasp drew his attention to Hermione, who was staring wide-eyed at the creatures hitched to the carriages. "I can see them," she whispered. "Why, though? I thought you had to see someone die…"

Harry felt a sharp pang as he realized the answer. "The Veil," he explained. "You saw the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. I guess it really is a gateway to the realm of the dead…" The pain of the loss of Sirius, which had become muted over the last several weeks, flared again, bringing with it the old feelings of guilt and self-recrimination that had been so much a part of him during the early days of summer. But before they grew too strong he felt Hermione's slim arm slip around his waist, pulling him close as she drew him into the carriage to where the thestrals were no longer in view.

Once in the privacy of the carriage Hermione drew him closer and into a kiss, one not filled so much with passion as with love and support, easing his pain. "It's all right to grieve, Harry," she whispered as they finally separated, "but Sirius would be the last one to want you to tear yourself up over what happened. And I know you'll always blame yourself to some extent for it, you wouldn't be you if you didn't, but don't lose sight over who holds the lion's share of the blame."

Harry nodded and felt the tension drain from his shoulders; once again she'd helped him regain his balance, instinctively giving him what he needed to find firm ground under his feet in place of the quicksand that was such a perfect metaphor for the turmoil in his life. With its normal avenue of attack quelled once more, the nagging voice of his insecurities (the one that more often than not sounded like Uncle Vernon) tried to whisper that he was weak to depend on Hermione's strength, but that at least he could easily ignore. Needing Hermione might be a weakness, but if so, it was a weakness he embraced gladly. The alternative, that of not having her in his life, was too terrible to contemplate, and any imp of self-doubt that tried to use that particular argument could go screw itself.

Wrapped in each other's arms, the young lovers barely noticed when their carriage started to move towards the castle, the magical construction of the old-fashioned vehicle providing a far smoother ride than its Muggle counterparts. Their reverie was disturbed, however, as they passed the invisible boundaries of Hogwarts' wards. Harry felt the tingle of the magical energies on his skin, and a sensation of welcome and homecoming far stronger than any he'd experienced during previous terms washed over him. "What the…" he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly in consternation. "Did you feel that, too?" he asked, as Hermione's hand tightened its grip on his arm.

Hermione had felt it as well, but as something that resonated down her Bond with Harry as opposed to anything she personally sensed. There was something familiar about it, though, and it took her a minute to realize just what it was. "It's the wards, Harry," Hermione replied, her mind working rapidly with the same keen insight that she applied to all intellectual puzzles. "Somehow you've become sensitized to them…maybe your connection to the Burrow is affecting you, making you more aware of the magical energy surrounding Hogwarts."

Harry considered her words before frowning slightly. "You said 'you've become sensitized'; don't you feel the same thing?"

"Not as strong," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Mostly what I think I'm getting is an echo of what you're feeling though our connection."

"But…we're both connected to the Weasleys' Heart Circle now, right? Shouldn't we feel the same thing?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm afraid I haven't done much reading on ward magic yet, not beyond the basics that are covered in seventh year charms. I suppose family wards are a whole other matter, from what Professor Dumbledore said." Hermione felt the tenseness in Harry's muscles and continued, attempting to reassure him, "I'm sure there's some perfectly logical explanation why it's affecting you and not me, we just have to find it." Her words had little effect, and she gave him a little shake while trying to think of a way to keep him from fretting too much until they had more facts. "Don't worry, Harry, it's probably nothing to be concerned about."

Harry sighed. "Hermione," he huffed, his voice tinged with the frustration he felt, "not to sound like I'm getting an ego the size of the Ferret's, but nothing about my life is ever just nothing."

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The rest of the trip to the castle was uneventful, aside from some minor teasing from Ron upon their arrival concerning their need for a private carriage. As usual, the Great Hall was awash with noise as the students settled at their respective tables and those who had missed each other on the train ride reacquainted themselves. A certain amount of excitement bubbled up when their fellow Gryffindors began to notice the changed dynamic between Harry and Hermione; her ring might still be hidden, but there was no hiding their clasped hands or the body language that spoke of a changed relationship. That indefinable barrier of personal space that still existed between friends but disappeared between couples was definitely missing in their case, and if that subtle clue was overlooked, the sight of them sharing a quick, chaste kiss was not. For the outside observer, the wave of motion that traveled the length of the Gryffindor table (and to a lesser extent, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables as well) as necks craned to see the new sensation was quite entertaining.

For his part, Harry spent what time he wasn't focusing on Hermione studying his classmates for signs that the news of the Death Eater attacks had affected their spirits, especially those he knew for a fact to be Muggleborn, but aside from a few who looked like they were forcing a level of cheerfulness they didn't really feel, everyone seemed to be well.

A gentle nudge drew his attention back to his fiancée. "Harry, take a look at the Slytherins," she whispered. "It looks like Blaise was being honest with us."

At first he didn't understand what she was talking about, and then he realized that there were definite divisions within that House that he hadn't noticed before. Blaise, Daphne, and those of their housemates that Harry assumed sided with them were clustered at the end of the table closest to the faculty's seating, while Malfoy and his cronies were gathered at the opposite end, closest to the Great Hall's massive doors. The other divisions to which the Sixth Year Slytherin prefect had referred weren't as obvious, but there were still some definite cliques scattered through the rest of their table. "That doesn't look like a very happy House, does it?" he commented, unable to feel too bad about anything that adversely affected Voldemort's support base within the school.

Hermione nodded as her gaze traveled to the staff table at the head of the Hall. Suddenly she gasped, her face lighting up with a smile, "Harry, look who's here!"

Harry's eyes followed to where Hermione's were fixed. It took a second to recognize who she was looking at, but when he did he smiled as well. Seated next to the dour Potions professor was a worn but cheerful Remus Lupin, and even more surprising, next to him with her hair tinted Gryffindor red and gold was Nymphadora Tonks. The bubbly auror, who was chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick, paused as the sixth sense that helped young Aurors become old ones told her she was being watched. She glanced up, her eyes zeroing in on Harry and Hermione, and gave them a smile and a wave before nudging Lupin. When she had his attention she nodded in the direction of the Gryffindor table, drawing his attention to the young couple who were looking at them. Remus added his silent greeting as well, before returning his attention to his conversation with Snape.

""Do you think Professor Dumbledore has convinced him to come back as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Well, he's the only decent one we ever had, if you don't count crazy, disguised Death Eaters," Harry allowed with a small grimace at the thought. "What with Voldemort and all, maybe he convinced Remus he couldn't find anyone better qualified for the position. I wonder why Tonks is here, though."

"What are you guys talking about?" Ron asked, finally noticing their distraction. Hermione quickly filled him in before answering Harry's last question.

"Remember, Harry, Professor Lupin is going to be incapacitated a few days each month," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe she's going to act as his assistant, helping with the classes and covering when he's too ill to teach."

"Makes sense," Harry acknowledged. "Got to be better than having that greasy git do it again, especially after the stunt he pulled last time."

"That's Professor Greasy Git, Harry," Ron smirked, earning a tsking sound from Hermione, though the smile quirking the corners of her mouth gave the lie to any sign of disapproval. Ron started to make his usual bickering comeback, but was silenced by the arrival of Professor McGonagall and the First Years. Looking at their wonder-filled faces Harry couldn't help smiling as he recalled his own amazement upon entering the Great Hall for the first time. His smile faltered a bit as he recalled all the subsequent events that had filled his years at Hogwarts, and then he felt Hermione's hand slip back into his own and give his fingers a squeeze. Looking over at her smiling face, he felt the knot of sadness that had started to form relax.

A slight commotion at the front of the Hall drew is attention to where Professor McGonagall was placing the tattered and venerable Sorting Hat in its place of honor. She stepped back, waiting with the rest of the school's population for its annual admonishments. There was a brief pause before the Hat stirred and once again its resonant voice echoed throughout the Hall, though this time its words sounded very different from years past.

Once I was worn
By the One-Eyed Wanderer;
Wisdom He had of the ways of Men.

Hear then, again,
The words that were spoken.
Inspired by Odroerir, the sacred draught.

The one who stands at a strange threshold,
Should be cautious before he cross it,
Glance this way and that:
Who knows beforehand what foes may sit
Awaiting him in the hall?

Greetings to the host, the guest has arrived,
In which seat shall he sit?
Rash is he who at unknown doors
Relies on his good luck.

Who travels widely needs his wits about him,
The stupid should stay at home:
The ignorant one is often laughed at
When he sits at meat with the sage.

Of his knowledge one should never boast,
Rather be sparing of speech
When to his house a wiser comes:
Seldom do those who are silent
Make mistakes; mother wit
Is ever a faithful friend.

A guest should be courteous
When he comes to the table
And sit in wary silence,
His ears attentive, his eyes alert:
So he protects himself.

Blessed is he who in his own lifetime
Is awarded praise and wit,
For ill counsel is often given
By mortals to each other.

Silence becomes the child of a prince,
To be silent but brave in battle:
It befits one to be merry and glad
Until the day of his death.

To ask well, to answer rightly,
Are the marks of a wise person:
Men must speak of men's deeds,
What happens may not be hidden.

Moderate at council should one be,
Not brutal and over bearing:
Among the bold the bully will find
Others as bold as he.

The Wise One has spoken words in the hall,
Needful for men to know,
Unneedful for trolls to know:
Hail to the speaker,
Hail to the knower,
Joy to him who has understood,
Delight to those who have listened.*

The ancient, battered hat fell silent, its final words echoing in the minds of those who had been mesmerized by its spell. Here and there were looks of comprehension, or at least recognition, mostly among the Ravenclaws and the faculty. It came as no surprise to Harry when he saw that Hermione could be counted among those who clearly recognized the Sorting Hat's words, and if the fire in her eyes was any indication, she was already working out its significance.

Ron, on the other hand, looked to be every bit as much in the dark as Harry was, but unlike past years where his only interest in the Sorting Ceremony was how long it would delay the feast, this time he shared a look with Harry that included a nod at the bushy-haired girl who meant so much to both of them, along with a smile filled with masculine camaraderie. The effects of their evolving relationships on the dynamics of the Trio notwithstanding, the two young men knew they would be able to count on Hermione to explain (in terms simple enough for them to understand) just what significance the Sorting Hat's words held for them.

After a few moments of murmured whispers the various House prefects quieted their charges and the sorting began in earnest. Harry was a bit taken aback at just how small some of the new students seemed from his lofty position as a Sixth Year; surely he and his friends hadn't looked that tiny when they'd been Sorted, had they? Of course there was some variation among the 40-odd new students; a span of a year could mean a vast change in a child's body, whether they were magical or muggle, and the incoming students were no different. One or two of the smallest looked tiny enough to be from Professor Flitwick's lineage, while here and there were Firsties who were tall to be mistaken for Third or Fourth Years.

They were almost to the end of the process and Harry was listening to Hermione's whispered comments on how the students were Sorting into the different Houses might be reflecting the current tensions. A disproportionate number had gone to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, with a slight drop going to Ravenclaw and Slytherin had received the least of all. His attention, however, was drawn back to the Sorting when he heard Professor McGonagall call out, "Zabini, Lucretia!" He craned his neck to get a closer look as Ron muttered, "Bloody Hell! She's a First Year?"

Harry's gaze shifted to the young girl about to take her seat under the Sorting Hat. She certainly was tall, was his first thought, and while the loose-fitting school robes did their usual excellent job of hiding any salient details of her figure, she still had that gawky coltishness about her that came from a massive growth spurt, the kind that sometime left adolescents uncomfortable in their own skin. Then Professor McGonagall finished placing the hat on the girl's head and stepped aside, letting Harry glimpse her face, and all concerns about the girl's possible figure fled his conscious thought.

It was her eyes, he realized when after a few seconds his synapses started firing again. Oh, the rest of her features were remarkably pretty, a heart-shaped face with a flawless if pale complexion, long, straight hair that looked to be even blacker than his own, a mouth that was wide and looked to be made for smiling, though now it was tense with nervousness, and a pert little nose that was slightly crooked, just enough imperfection to make her seem human and approachable. But her eyes were another matter. They both looked too large for her face and just the right size at the same time, with sooty black lashes and perfectly formed eyebrows acting as the setting for the irises that were the most astonishing shade of violet he'd ever seen.

"Oh, that poor girl," Hermione whispered to him, her hand resting briefly on his forearm.

"Why? What do you mean?" Harry asked, but any reply was drowned out as the Hat shouted out "Slytherin!" and her new housemates erupted into cheers, and to the blushing girl's embarrassment, more than a few whistles. They watched as she rose from the stool and set the Hat aside before making her way to the empty seat they noticed Blaise was holding for her. Side by side the family resemblance was far stronger, with shared complexions, hair color and bone structure, though Lucretia's violet eyes seemed to be uniquely her own.

He started to ask his question again, but the sound of the Headmaster clearing his throat drew his attention back to the head table. "Another Sorting has been completed and another year has commenced, and as in the past we have words of wisdom from our esteemed Sorting Hat to contemplate as we enjoy our first feast of the term. There will be several announcements following, but for the moment, let me just add, 'Owah, Tagu, Siam!' Tuck in!"

As the platters, pitchers and goblets magically filled with the House-Elf prepared fest, Harry finally managed to ask his question. "What did you mean when you said 'poor girl', Hermione? Do you know something about, what was her name, Lucretia?"

"No, I've never met her, but I knew a couple of girls like her in primary school," Hermione replied, absently transferring her usual small portions to her plate.

"What, you had pureblood witches going to a Muggle school?" Ron interjected, having heard Harry's question and her reply. "What Family would do that?"

"Not purebloods, Ron, girls that…developed…earlier than the rest of us," Hermione answered, her voice picking up the touch of asperity it often did when talking to the redheaded member of the Trio.

"Huh? Whaddaya mean?" he asked around a mouthful of roll heavily slathered with creamy butter and spun honey.

"You pointed it out yourself; she doesn't look very much like a First Year, does she?" Hermione replied.

Looking back across the tables, Harry had to admit Hermione was right. Based on height alone the new Slytherin girl could easily pass for a Fourth or Fifth year, and her face held little of that unfinished look common among her year mates.

When he commented on that, Hermione nodded. "Not all children mature at the same rate; you remember how big Crabbe and Goyle were their first year. A lot of bullies get their start that way, by being bigger and stronger than the kids their own age. Well, with a girl it can lead to other problems. Sometimes her friends get jealous because they're afraid she'll steal all the boys they like, while the older girls look down on her for being an intruder onto their 'turf'. It can put a lot of emotional pressure on a girl, especially if she's pretty enough for the older boys to notice and start paying attention to her."

Ron's expression showed he still didn't understand what Hermione was talking about, but Harry finally caught on. "Merlin, Zabini is going to have his hands full, isn't he?" When Ron turned a puzzled look towards him he sighed and nodded down their own table to where Ginny was sitting with some friends from her own year. "Ron, you remember how you felt last year when Dean and Seamus and some of the other guys started to realize Ginny was a girl, and that was when she was in Fourth Year. Now imagine how you'd feel if they acted like that towards her in her First Year."

It took a second for his friend to make the connections, but the sudden look of fury on his face made it clear when he did. "I'd kill them!" he growled fiercely as he kicked over into protective brother mode. "Anybody who tried anything with her would be…be…spider food!" he finished, coming up with the most horrible fate he could imagine.

"Uh…right," Harry agreed, trying not to laugh. "Well, now you know how Blaise probably feels about his sister." He looked over again and saw the siblings chatting animatedly, their expressions remarkably like those he'd seen at the Weasley's dinner table when Ginny was talking to her brothers. Then someone else at the Slytherin table directed a comment at them that caused Blaise's expression to darken while Lucretia blushed. No, having a younger sister that pretty in Slytherin with him was not going to be easy…

Hermione once again nudged him in the side. "Take a look at Draco," she whispered.

Harry shifted his attention to where the platinum-haired Ferret was seated with his cronies. Sure enough he was making no effort to hide the way he was staring at Blaise's little sister, and the calculating, predatory look on his face made Harry slightly ill. And from the way Blaise was glaring at Malfoy, he wasn't too thrilled with the attention being directed at his sister, either. "At least Zabini has the authority to yank him up short if he tries anything," he observed, and then shrugged half-heartedly at the disbelieving look his girlfriend gave him. "All right, so I don't think that'll stop Malfoy, either. What else can we do? They're not in our House."

"No, but we can bring it up at the next Prefect's meeting, not just about Lucretia, but concerning any of the younger girls who might be harassed," Hermione replied. "Really, it's one of the things we should be watching out for as part of our duties anyway. I know Parvati had problems her third year with one of the older boys bothering her, so it's happened before, even if no one talks about it."

Harry nodded his agreement with her plan, and after a last glance at the Slytherin table, concentrated his attention on his Housemates and the repast laid before them.

When everyone had finally eaten their fill and the last crumbs of treacle pudding and gooseberry fool had magically been whisked away, the students' attention returned to the figure of the headmaster, who once again was on his feet at the head table. "As always, there are a few announcements before we all head off for a well-deserved night of rest," he began. "First of all, once again we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, but in this case he is returning to us after too long an absence from these halls. I refer, of course, to Professor Remus Lupin." Remus stood to a half-hearted round of applause; despite his popularity as a teacher, the stigma the Wizarding world placed on him for his condition was a hard one to overcome.

Ignoring the lackluster nature of the accolade his announcement had received, Dumbledore continued speaking. "I am well aware that some of you may be concerned that Professor Lupin's unfortunate ailment might at times adversely affect his ability to conduct his classes. Rest assured, this small problem, such as it is, has been dealt with by the addition of a teaching assistant to the Dark Arts professorship. She will take over the classes of the younger years, freeing up Professor Lupin's time to concentrate on instructing the older students in the art of defense. In addition, she will fill in on those rare occasions when Professor Lupin is indisposed. Please welcome your new assistant professor, on loan to us from the Auror's department, Nymphadora Tonks!"

The response to this announcement was much more heartfelt, especially among the older male students who always believed that a school could never have too many attractive female teachers. Irrepressible as ever, Tonks stood and waved, earning more applause and an indulgent smile from the headmaster, along with a sneer and a sniff from Professor Snape.

When the commotion surrounding the introductions finally died down, Dumbledore resumed his opening speech. "And now for the more traditional announcements; as always, the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, forbidden to all students. As our Care of Magical Creatures professor can attest, there are any number of dangerous creatures residing within its environs ready to enforce that ban should a student's common sense fail to do so. Also, our esteemed caretaker, Argus Filch, has requested that I inform you all that the updated list of banned and restricted items is once again posted on the door of his office; of for simplicity's sake, simply refer to the latest catalog from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for the list of updates." Dumbledore paused and smiled as a light round of laughter circled the hall.

"Concerning the traditional Hogsmeade weekends, some students and teachers have expressed their concerns as to the wisdom of continuing the practice, given the current situation in the Wizarding world. I refer, of course, to the return of Lord Voldemort." There was a collective gasp and a couple of muffled shrieks at the sound of the feared name. "As you were informed at the beginning of last term, and the Ministry has finally acknowledged, the person who refers to himself as the Dark Lord is once again troubling our world. No doubt many of you have heard of the series of attacks that occurred over the last several days. Sadly, these are likely to continue to occur until such time as Voldemort and his followers are dealt with once and for all."

Dumbledore once again stopped his speech until the commotion engendered by his comments had settled down. "It is fear of such attacks that has led some to suggest that activities such as Hogsmeade weekends be curtailed or cancelled, that they represent too great a risk, for what some view as a frivolous waste of time." The headmaster's gaze did not shift to the head of Slytherin House, but no student doubted where that particular observation had originated. "However, I find I cannot agree with such a gloomy outlook on the matter.

"The primary weapon of Voldemort and his followers is the fear they attempt to foment in others, and every time we surrender to that fear, we aid and abet those who are conspiring against us. As a very bright young woman said not so long ago, 'Every time we change our plans, give up doing what we normally do, alter our way of life, out of fear over what the Death Eaters might do, by that much they've already won.'" Only Harry and the headmaster noticed the blush that briefly coloured Hermione's cheeks as Dumbledore continued, "Those words struck me as being remarkably wise the first time they were recounted to me, and I have heard nothing since then to change that opinion. Consequently, while we will be instituting some additional security measures, Hogsmeade weekends will continue as in the past."

When the cheers that greeted this pronouncement began to die down, Dumbledore raised his hand once more for silence. "Finally, I have one other piece of news to impart. With the dark tidings of recent events and the shadow of impending war hanging over our heads, it is far too easy to lose sight of the truths that make our lives worthwhile, truths such as the warmth of friendship, the comfort of family, the joy of true love. It is when times are darkest that these intangibles become most important, for they are what give us the strength to persevere in the face of great adversity.

"Two of our students have, despite great personal trials, discovered these truths and the joy they bring. And though it is a custom that has not been celebrated by members of the student population for many years, they have chosen to declare their love for one another by one of the most powerful means in the magical world. They have entered into a formal Joining, pledging their love with the magical binding of their lives, their souls, and their destinies to one another." Beaming, Dumbledore waited while the excited whispers of the students rose and fell as the purebloods that knew of the custom explained the basics to their less informed classmates. After a few seconds the headmaster continued, "I trust you will all join me in extending best wishes for a long and joy-filled life together to the happy couple, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger!"

The moment the names registered the majority of the students at the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables erupted into cheers, and a veritable storm of black student hats flew into the air to shower down over the cheering, applauding crowd. Even a few of the Slytherins joined in a restrained manner, applauding politely though their own caps stayed firmly on their heads. At the Gryffindor table Harry and Hermione's classmates left their seats to congratulate the blushing couple, the girls squealing enviously over the ring that was no longer concealed on Hermione's finger.

Harry glanced at the head table and saw that even the teachers were moved by the announcement. Hagrid's bushy beard was split by an impossibly white smile, Madame Pomfrey and Madame Pince were exchanging delighted smiles, and even Professor McGonagall was surreptitiously dabbing at her suspiciously bright eyes. Of course it came as no surprise that Professor Snape looked as if he had bitten into something sour, while Argus Filch just looked disgusted at all the commotion, but for the most part the staff seemed happy for them.

Finally the noise began to die down as the house prefects restored order and Dumbledore resumed his speech. "I'm sure that our happy couple are delighted by your show of support. Mister Potter, Miss Granger, if you would come to my office after the fest, we should discuss the various changes your Joining will effect on your remaining time at Hogwarts. And now, to all of you, a pleasant night's rest!"

With his final words the tall doors of the Great Hall swung open, signaling the end of the feast, At each table the House prefects began assuming their duties and directing their charges to their common rooms and dormitories, with the seventh year prefects of each House receiving the passwords from their Housemasters to pass on to the students.

At the Gryffindor table Harry and Hermione watched as Ginny and Colin took charge of the new First Years, chivvying them out the doors and up the stairs as they themselves had been years before. Both of them were still feeling a bit flustered by the attention, and were waiting for the crowd to thin before departing. "I didn't expect this, did you?" Harry muttered, his hand seeking hers under the table.

"No," Hermione replied, keeping her voice down as well, "but really, it's probably not a bad idea when you think about it." At Harry's doubtful look she continued, "At least this way there'll be fewer crazy rumours floating about. The Daily Prophet can hardly engage in its usual wild speculation if everything's out in the open."

"I guess so," Harry agreed reluctantly as he glanced around the room. There had been a lot of speculative looks sent their way during the headmaster's speech, and the glare Malfoy had directed at them had been positively murderous. 'We're still going to have trouble with him,' Harry thought. He noticed the platinum-haired Slytherin scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Tossing aside his quill, he rolled the scrap into a thin tube before hurrying out of the Hall. A sudden hunch occurred to Harry, one that presented an opportunity he decided to act upon.

Leaning close, he whispered to Hermione, "There's something I need to take care of before we see the Headmaster. Get the password from Professor McGonagall and I'll meet you in front of the gargoyle that protects his stairs."

"Harry, where are you-?" she started to ask, but before she could get the question out he was off. "Just you wait, Mister Potter," she muttered darkly at her boyfriend's retreating back. They were a team now, and he was going to have to learn he couldn't just run off without telling her what was going on.

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Draco paid only half a mind to his surroundings as he descended from the Owlrey. With a little luck, his report would arrive before those of any of the other spies he knew the Dark Lord had to have working for him at Hogwarts, which would mean he would get the credit for letting the Master know of the change in the relationship of Potter and his Mudblood. Of course he'd already reported his encounter during the summer, and the likelihood that the two Gryffindors had become engaged in the Muggle fashion, but a Joining, that was something quite different. Draco didn't know what use the Dark Lord could make of the knowledge, but there must be some way to turn it to their advantage.

An evil glint appeared in Draco's washed-out grey eyes as he thought about Gryffindor's newest couple. Of course he didn't take Potter's earlier warnings seriously, he was one of those idiots who bought into all that truth and honor shyte that that fool Dumbledore preached. Potter could bluster and threaten all he wanted, but Draco knew that so long as there was no proof of his actions he could do whatever he pleased, and one thing Draco had learned very early was how to avoid leaving evidence behind, or witnesses for that matter. And now that the Fool-Who-Lived had been stupid enough to magically commit himself to that know-it-all mudblood whore, there was a whole new way for striking back at him for his interference with the Dark Lord's plans. And it was a way that promised additional rewards above and beyond causing his enemy pain. After all, mudblood or not, Granger was a tasty little bint.

As a young boy Draco had listened to his father exchanging tales with his associates about the different ways it was possible to 'entertain' someone like the mudblood. He'd been too young to really understand all the references at the time, but even so the stories had enthralled and excited him with their images of humiliation, pain and blood. Now that he was old enough to really appreciate the artistry involved in some of those images, he couldn't wait to try it for himself. He felt himself hardening at the thought of the bushy-haired Gryffindor chained to a wall, her voice gone from prolonged screaming, her stripped body covered with bloody welts from the lash in Draco's hand…

So engrossed was he in his fantasies on methods of revenging himself on Hermione, he didn't realize he wasn't alone on the stairs until the figure stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, Malfoy."

Draco flinched and almost stumbled as he came to a halt; the voice was one he recognized and hated, but he'd never heard such a cold, implacable tone in it before. His gaze locked on the slender form of his enemy; the dim light of the stairwell made him seem even more menacing, and for a split second Draco thought those hated emerald green eyes were glowing.

Falling back on the attitudes drummed into him from birth, that one never showed fear to an enemy, he replied haughtily, "What do you want, Potter?" Draco's eyes glinted maliciously. "Off to send an owl to that godfather of yours? Oh, wait that's right," he continued with a patently false realization, "You can't send owls to the dead, can you? What a shame!"

Harry kept his voice calm, though his blood was boiling at the vicious reminder of his loss. "I'm not here to send an owl, Malfoy, and you know it. I'm here because after your remarks on the train I thought we should have a private chat," he replied, his voice if anything growing colder, sending a chill down Draco's back. "Somehow I got the feeling that you didn't take my warning seriously, so I thought it might be a good idea to lay out a few ground rules, just so we didn't have any misunderstandings."

"Rules? What rules?" Draco tried to bluster. "I don't have to listen to any rules a Mudblood-lover like you-"

Malfoy's words were choked off as Harry's hand flashed out and grabbed him by the throat, pushing him back against the stairwell wall and forcing him up on his toes. Draco clawed ineffectually at the grip at his neck; he might be similar in height and build to Harry, but his life of prestige and privilege, one that sneered at Muggle exercise as beneath a wizard's blood, had left him ill-equipped to handle a physical confrontation, especially with someone who'd spent a good part of his life working from morning to night as his relatives' personal slave. Harry didn't have a lot of muscle on his frame, but what he had was rock-hard and conditioned. When combined with the oversized clothes that concealed his wiry strength, most people thought of Harry as being far weaker than was actually the case.

"See, now, that's the first item of business," Harry said in a conversational tone that belied the anger snapping in his green eyes as he pinned Draco against the rough stones. "I don't much like that word. I never have, not from the first time I heard you use it. It's words like that that lead to people thinking nutters like Riddle have the right idea. So you can see where it bothers me when you say them about friends of mine?"

"Friends?" Malfoy scoffed past the pressure that was half-choking him. "It's not your friends that bother you, Potter. You only care because Granger is spreading her legs-"

Draco's rant was cut off as the palm of Harry's work-hardened palm crashed into his cheek, rocking his head to one side. Before he could get another word out a second blow rocked his head even harder as the same hand backhanded him, smashing his lips against his teeth. The hand at his throat released him and he slumped, groaning, to the stairs. He fumbled in his robes for his wand, but the second he tried to draw it a foot slammed down on his wrist, wringing a cry of pain from his throat and sending his wand clattering down the flagstone steps.

A hand fisted in his slicked back hair and forced his head up. "And that's the second order of business; you will keep your foul mouth to yourself where she is concerned. Yes, she's my fiancée, to use the Muggle term, not that it's any business of yours. I'm also proud to say she's my Joined. That means it's now my duty as well as my pleasure to protect her reputation from the filth you spout.

"You couldn't wait to race up here and inform Senór Psychopath of the fact, could you? I'm guessing you're already cooking up some scheme in that warped mind of yours to take advantage of it, too. Well, go ahead and plot if it makes you happy, but before you try anything, you'd better keep one thing in mind. Cross the line again where Hermione is concerned, and you won't like the consequences."

"What are you going to do, Potter?" Malfoy sneered as he got his breath back and his nerve returned. "Gryffindors are too noble to be threatening; you obey the rules, that's why we'll win in the end." The sneer was wiped off his face as Harry laughed; it wasn't a very nice laugh, and it sent further shivers down the Slytherin's spine.

"You really are clueless, aren't you, Malfoy? Haven't you figured out by now that rules don't mean a damn to me, not when it's about something important? There's a very good reason the Sorting Hat told me I would do well in Slytherin," he added, chuckling at the stunned look on the other boy's face. "Oh, yeah, I turned it down; didn't want to be in the house with all the Dark Wizards, not after meeting you." His smile turned grim as Malfoy spluttered in outrage over the implied insult.

"You want to know what will happen if you get out of line; fine, I'll tell you. You and your bootlickers are going to keep your hands, your mouths, and if you're smart, your thoughts to yourselves where my friends are concerned. If anything I don't like happens to anyone I care about, especially to Hermione, I'm not going to worry about trying to figure out who did it, I'm going to go straight to the source, you."

"You can't hold me responsible..." Draco started to bluster, but Harry cut him off.

"I can and I will; Crabbe and Goyle won't even go to the loo without your say-so, and the rest of your toadies aren't much better. So if you don't want to pay the piper, you'd better sit on your goons, hard." He eyed Malfoy speculatively. "Think about it; you don't hold the cards this year, I do. Umbridge is out, and with her, your licensed brute squad's gone, too. And in case you haven't read 'The Daily Prophet' lately, I'm no longer that 'crazy attention-seeker'; I'm 'the Boy Who Lived' again, bravely warning against the return of Lord Thingy. I can do no wrong right now. Why, if I claimed self defense, I could probably even get away with…murder."

Draco's face turned a sickly green. "You're bluffing."

"You want to risk that?" Harry pressed. "You're the son of a known Death Eater; one that ended up in Azkaban for trying to kill me. Do you think anyone would doubt me if I said you tried to follow in Daddy's footsteps, or even just tried to get revenge? Knowing you, anyone who cast priori incantatum on your wand would turn up a bunch of evidence of Dark magic, enough to convince the Wizengamot you were guilty, especially if you weren't around to contradict my testimony."

The Slytherin felt himself starting to sweat as Harry continued, "In case you've missed it, there's a war on, and whether I like it or not, sooner or later I have to get used to the idea that I might have to kill to protect the people I care about. You want to risk making it sooner?"

Malfoy stared up into the green eyes gazing implacably down at him, and once again they seemed to glow with an inner fire, a flicker of blue flame that danced within the pupils. Draco shivered as he realized that his rival was absolutely, one could even say deadly, serious. A whimper escaped his lips, and he flushed with shame as he realized it came from himself.

Harry stared into Draco's pale face a few seconds longer; the cheek he'd struck first was already purpling, and the thin lips he'd mashed with his knuckles were split and bleeding; nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't cure with a couple of flicks of her wand, but until then the evidence that Malfoy had come off rather badly in a violent confrontation was glaringly obvious, a fact that gave Harry no little satisfaction.

Releasing his grip on the Slytherin's hair, Harry rose to his feet, brushing his robes off and starting to turn away, and then stopped and looked back. "Remember, Draco, this is your last warning, which is more than you should get. Step out of line again and I won't go to the professors or the headmaster, I'll deal with you myself…permanently."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE PART II - Thanks once more for your patience, hopefully you are enjoying this enough to put up with my dreadfully slow pace. I do have a good idea where this is all leading, but the details getting there are still hazy, hence the slow pace. Still, I do intend to keep going, even with the new book due out shortly that will render all sixth year fics AU. I hope you stay around for the ride!

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*Stanzas are taken from the Havamal, a collection of sayings attributed to Odin in the Poetic Edda.