A/N: Just a reminder, keep an eye on the time stamps.

Chapter XXXVI

September 6, 1994

"This is pointless! What kinds of spells are these, anyway?"

"You shouldn't be so frustrated. We're talking about magic that has likely not been cast in thousands of years. You're being too hard on yourself."

Harry sat down on the desert floor, trying his best not to sulk. It wasn't Sam's fault, after all; but he'd been unable to successfully cast all but the most simplistic of the Assyrian spells. "Tell me again, what the book said this spell is supposed to do?"

"It is a protection spell, from the sound of it, a powerful one. The carving, outside the temple of the animal with the human head?"

"The lamassu, right."

'He's been spending too much time with that scholar'.

"Sure. Well, the legend surrounding that creature actually emerged from this spell."

"Okay, run me through the theory one more time."

'He would not struggle so, if he would just use a focus. Are magicians today so arrogant that they believe they can channel their gift with their bare hands?'

Sam exerted considerable effort to keep his face from showing his annoyance with the voice in his mind. 'Most use wands, but Harry is unable, as a result of a medical condition'. Aloud, Sam began to recite the theory that the voice from the crown had taught him over the last several days.

'I see… these wands did not exist in my time. Has he tried a scepter, or prayer beads? Perhaps the wand is the problem, not the boy.'

'How do you do that? Rifle through my memories like that? It hurts, you know.'

'Just as my knowledge is now your own, so does yours belong to me. The discomfort will ease the more your mind opens to me.'

Before Sam could respond to that, Harry, both hands braced in front of him, enunciated with a heavy accent, "šēdu." An ethereal creature, a lamassu, formed of blinding light, fashioned itself before him. After several seconds, Harry canceled the spell, the light disappearing and leaving him standing with a wide smile on his face.

"I did it!"

"I told you! Great work!"

"Reckon we ought to head back to the site?"

"Sure, I can practically taste those rations already." The two of them shared a laugh, their distaste for the Iraqi military's food options a frequently shared complaint. It had been more than a month since Harry had returned with the relief expedition. Their days were spent wandering the wastes surrounding the ancient prison, Sam relaying his 'advisor's' knowledge to Harry, while the rest of the research team cataloged the materials and artifacts at the site.

They'd just ascended one of the taller dunes surrounding the ruins when Harry latched onto Sam's arm and motioned for him to remain silent. The two of them peaked over the rounded peak of the sand dune, noting the utter stillness of the normally bustling excavation. The two soldiers who normally sat out front, chain-smoking cheap cigarettes were crumpled on the ground. There was no discernible movement visible.

"What happened? Could there have been another guardian? Or traps that we overlooked?"

Harry didn't respond, his eyes closed as he reached inside himself and touched his magic, employing his focus to stretch his senses outwards. There was something present, but it was totally unlike the wards that had guarded the site prior to their arrival. These were subtle, barely present, and very unlike any he'd encountered in the last year. "Someone arrived while we were gone. There's new wards up."

The two settled in, content to wait for a glimpse of whoever it was that had intruded. It was an unpleasant two hours beneath the desert sun before a crowd of men emerged from the inside, along with a mute and expressionless Khadir.

'Sam, under no circumstances can you allow these men to detain us.'

'Why? You recognize them? How?'

The urgency in the crown's voice was transparent. 'Who else wears uniforms entirely of white linen? They are obviously Egyptians. I spent several decades slaughtering them, they must have been alerted by the unsealing of this location'.

'What do you mean you spent decades-'

"I guess it was too much to expect that wizards wouldn't come to sanitize any magical artifacts in the prison. I hadn't realized that there was an Iraqi Ministry of Magic."

"What do you think we should do? Can we sneak away?"

"I can't imagine they wouldn't notice a nearby apparition. We could head out into the desert and depart from there- shite!"

Sam felt the ground disappear beneath his feet and a falling sensation before he collapsed, ten feet below where they'd stood. A smooth rock closed over the pit that Harry and he now resided in. From the darkness, Sam heard Harry whisper, "Stay silent, just wait."

From their subterranean foxhole, they could faintly make out the conversation taking place above them. "The Human Revealing Spell did not show any trace of them, though this muggle is positive they are nearby. They go out into the desert every day and return before the mid-day sun becomes too overbearing."

"Form a search party. We need to determine what these English wizards are doing here, and what they may have taken from this location. Don't look at me like that; cast another Cooling Charm if you're so uncomfortable."

The other signaled his understanding, and the noises above them faded into silence. Harry counted to one hundred, then Vanished the rock ceiling, and the ground beneath their feet rose like an elevator, lifting them back to the surface.

"Harry, we need to get out of here."

"I know that, but I'd rather not have an apparition chase through the whole country, only to end up stuck against the border."

"Look, Khadir is still outside. I know he can help us!"

"He's zonked out of his mind, what can he do?"

"Can you stop arguing with me and just sneak over there and grab him, please?"

Harry sighed, then removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket, pulling out a cloak made of a silvery fabric. Sam's jaw dropped as Harry disappeared as soon as he swung it over his shoulders.

"Don't make that face. I'll be right back."

'The boy continues to surprise even you. He's rather remarkable.'

Sam didn't respond, keeping his eyes locked on the footprints in the sand as Harry approached the Iraqi professor, an arm appearing out of nowhere and grabbing hold of the older man, pulling him in Sam's direction.

"Ibrahim, are you all right?"

"Just a second. Finite. Professor?"

Khadir's eyes cleared, and he shook his head, as though coming out of a trance. "Harry, Sam. What am I doing outside?"

"The site has been invaded by men searching for Harry and I. We need your help to escape."

"You're wanted criminals?"

Harry met Sam's eyes, who took a chance and ran with it. "Yes. They are Egyptians, we did some archaeological work for them several years and ago and there were some… disagreements with our payment. They are men of means, Ibrahim. Can you help us escape your country without drawing attention?"

"Egyptians? You need not fear them. Our President would never allow them such autonomy within our borders. You are safe in Iraq, my friends."

"Please, Ibrahim," Harry said. "We are placing our lives in your hands the way that you placed your own in mine."

The older man met Harry's green eyes, then turned back to Sam, his decision apparently made. "Very well. Where is your destination?"

"Italy," Sam replied before Harry could speak. "We need to return the body of the Zabini woman to her family."

"I see. My wife's cousin supervises shipping manifests in Basra, our largest port. I can appeal to him to find you a place aboard one of the freighters that come in and out, though we would need to find a way to return to Hatra before we could set out for the coast."

Sam could tell that Harry was considering apparition. "Isn't the supply run scheduled for tonight? We could intercept the truck outside the ruins and hitch a ride. The soldiers know us, they would stop."

Harry looked pleased with Sam's idea, though Ibrahim still had a look of disbelief. "I do not understand your paranoia. Our President is an honorable man, he would never allow foreigners to impugn the reputation of our country by handing you over to Egyptians, especially after you have done such a service for us."

Sam had to visibly restrain himself from rolling his eyes at Khadir's description of Iraq's ruler but kept a straight face. "Ibrahim, we are placing our lives in your hands. Don't let us down."

"Very well. Let's head out to where we will meet the supply run."

They walked, minimizing their exposure to the sun as best they could with hats and cool rags, until they reached a spot on the by-now worn path to Hatra, four or five kilometers from the ruins. Harry passed out water to each of them, and they settled in to wait for the supply truck to depart the site. While Khadir and Harry discussed potential routes to reach Basra, Sam had a different sort of discussion on his own.

'What are you? An 'enchanted crown' doesn't wage war.'

'No, I suppose they don't.'

'Why did you lie to me?' Sam furiously questioned.

'What I told you was not a lie, from a certain point of view,' the voice smugly replied. 'My essence was bound to the crown, when you wore it, my Heartstone transferred my soul into your body.'

Sam touched the red jewel he wore, through his thin shirt. 'Your soul? How is that-, what do you mean?'

'Long, long ago, centuries before I ascended, and before my mortal shell was born, my father discovered a way to preserve a segment of our essence within objects. He bestowed this knowledge only to the greatest and most able magicians. As we ascended to immortality and godhood, we became a family of sorts, each with a soul anchor and a Heartstone.'

Sam trembled in fear. Why hadn't he consulted Harry first? Why did he think this… thing would be the answer to saving the young man? 'Who are you?'

'I am the Plague-bearer, the Harbinger of Rage. I am Erra.'

It had taken more than two weeks to traverse the width of Iraq, traveling by camel, car, and bus; staying with the Iraqi academic's friends, family, colleagues, and even in one situation a former student, but Khadir had safely escorted them to the bustling port city of Basra. After a brief introduction to his in-law, they were shown the oil tanker that they would be hitching a ride upon for their trip to Italy.

"Ibrahim, thank you for your help, and for believing us."

"I suppose that I will likely never understand the full story, but given what we survived together - bombings, near starvation, traps - it is no less than what I owed you."

Harry shook his hand. "We won't soon forget it, Professor."

Khadir smiled at the English teenager and took the briefcase that he'd received from the colleague they'd stayed with two nights before. "As you are abruptly taking leave of my country, I asked that I be allowed to give you this. The people of Iraq do not forget those who offer them aid, my friends."

Sam, eyebrows raised, opened the briefcase, jaw dropping at the rows of currency inside, stacks of crisp 50-pound notes. "This must be more than a hundred thousand pounds!"

"Just over a quarter million, in fact. Think nothing of it, the finds that we made at those ruins will bring in scholars from around the world, not to mention the revenue that international museums will offer to display artifacts in such pristine condition. On behalf of the Republic of Iraq, I thank you for your efforts in unlocking another chapter of the history of our people."

"Thank you, Ibrahim," Sam gave the man a brief embrace.

"Now, your ship is departing. Farewell, Sam! And Harry, don't shy away from the future that awaits you - I see you doing many great things, young man!" He continued to wave until they had boarded the ship and the gangway retracted, the huge oil tanker steering away from the port, and away from Iraq.

'Tell me of this Italy, and why we are going there?'

October 23, 1994

"I'm telling you, we won't find anything here."

Harry grimaced, biting back an angry reply, "We've looked everywhere else, haven't we? If there's nothing here, then we'll just head back to France."

"Why would a wizarding community be in the city which houses the religion that has spent centuries persecuting them? I think we should leave Rome and go back to Milan."

After a mind-numbing two week transit aboard the oil tanker, Harry and Sam had disembarked in Sicily, only to realize that neither of them had any clue where an Italian wizarding settlement might be located, much less where the Zabinis, in particular, could be found. What followed was, in Harry's opinion, a pointless exercise of apparating from city to city and walking around in search of wards or some other sense of magic.

"We spent nearly a week wandering around Milan. I didn't pick up even a hint of magic, not a ward or a charm anywhere. Rome is as good a place to look as any."

"Suit yourself. I just can't imagine wizards setting up shop down the road from the Pope."

"I wasn't joking around, Sam. If we don't find anything here, we're leaving."

"Harry, I know you feel like you have this duty to Norm and Diane, but-"

"There. Come on, no chance those aren't wizards!" Two oddly dressed men had just exited a low-rent dive bar.

'Why do you seek to deny him the revenge he seeks? The child is a mirror of my own virtues. Allow him the absolution that embracing his wrath will bring…'

'Shut up! You don't understand anything.' Sam willed Erra to remain silent and followed Harry. It seemed that every time that he tried to start the conversation about talking Harry out of his plans for revenge, Harry found a way to dodge the topic.

Turning his eyes towards the two men that Harry had pointed out, Sam wondered how he hadn't noticed them before now. One was in a hot pink dressing gown, complete with a grey fedora. The other wore a baby-blue ruffled tuxedo, one that would have been considered laughably out of style when Sam was a child.

"Hey!" The men didn't turn, didn't even react to Harry's cry. "Hey, you! Basta!" Harry's rudimentary Italian made them turn.

"Si? There is something you need?"

"Yes. I need directions."

"Please, excuse me, my English, it is, uh, small. I cannot help."

"Yes, you can. I need to find the nearest Owl Express location."

At the words 'Owl Express', Harry had the attention of both men. One removed his wand and gave a questioning look at Sam before Harry nodded; he then proceeded to cast a series of privacy charms. "Owl Express? No office here. No office outside the island."

"None? Does everyone in this country own an owl?" Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and turned to Sam. "How will we contact the Zabini's now?"

As soon as the word 'Zabini' left his lips, both men gasped, one of them apparating away immediately. "What does a boy need with House Zabini?" asked the tuxedo-clad man in a hushed tone.

"That's our business. Where can we find them?"

"House Zabini is everywhere. They own the island. Go there, they find you."

"What island are you talking about? Sicily? We went there."

The man shook his head, dispelling the privacy charms. "Answers on Sardinia. You no hear from me." He walked towards a nearby alley, apparating away with a crack the moment he was out of sight.

Harry, eyebrows raised, turned to his companion. "Still glad we came to Italy?"

From Rome, it was child's play to find a ferry that took Sam and Harry across the Tyrrhenian Sea. They'd barely arrived in the port of Olbia before Harry perked up, the presence of wards clear as day - intent-based defensive wards, not muggle-repelling.

"We're definitely in the right place."

Following Harry's directions, they arrived at the epicentre of the warding in the town. A small but neat barber shop, in a building with just enough room for a half-dozen chairs. Despite the size of the interior, which in Harry's opinion would benefit from a few Expansion Charms, thirteen men crowded the interior, counting the barber. At their entrance, every eye but the barber's and the man sitting in the chair turned to bore holes in the two Englishmen.

"Siamo Chiusi." The man nearest to the door, clad in a black suit with styled hair that would have made Draco Malfoy envious, gestured to the unlit 'Open' sign, then stood and barred any further entry to the shop.

"We came seeking House Zabini." If there was any surprise at Harry being the one to speak, rather than Sam, it did not show on the faces of any of the men.

"That's enough, Gianni," the barber paused as the man who he had been shaving with a straight razor turned the seat to face the door, his English accented but otherwise flawless. "It wouldn't do for our visitors to get the wrong impression of Italian hospitality, after all. Take a seat, Mr. Potter, and tell me why it is you and your companion have gone through such effort for an audience with me."

"You're the Head of the Zabini family?" The man receiving the shave was not very intimidating, standing only 5'5, elderly, and had an elaborate cane styled from ebony wood leaning against a nearby wall.

The man that had blocked their entry drew his wand with a snarl. "You dare disrespect il Padrone?!"

"Gianni," there was steel in the voice of the previously genteel man, "I'm sure Mr. Potter did not intend to be rude. You'll find, Harry - may I call you Harry? - that my family is quite beloved on this island. You'd do well to keep that in mind."

"Er, of course. My apologies. How do you know who I am?"

"Where to begin? Perhaps it was the warrant that the Egyptian Ministry filed with the ICW for your arrest, for purloining magical artifacts from the Iraqi desert, only a few weeks prior to two Englishmen disembarking an oil freighter in Sicily. Perhaps it was your apparitions to and from every major city on the Italian peninsula. Or perhaps my grandson merely described to me your physical appearance and proclivity for finding trouble." The barber carefully completed the shave, gently wiping away the excess shaving cream from the old man's face. "Excellent work as always, Lorenzo. One of these days, you really must let me pay you for this."

The barber's voice trembled as he responded in Italian, deference clearly audible in his tone. He placed his razor on a nearby counter and withdrew to the rear of the small shop.

"Why would the Egyptians care about what I did in Iraq?"

"The magical government in Egypt has authority over the entire Arabian peninsula. You were unaware? They are… territorial about magical ruins within their lands, only allowing Gringotts' cursebreakers access. It's made a personal matter of mine quite difficult to resolve. But I suspect that you are here to tell me that you have come seeking me with a solution to that problem."

"That's correct, sir," Sam replied, "We've traveled here to return your daughter's remains."

"I'll take them now."

Harry withdrew his trunk from his pocket and enlarged it, opening it and removing a red rose. "I transfigured it before we left Iraq. I must warn you, she spent several years inside the ruins before we arrived."

Zabini snapped his fingers, and two of his men approached Harry and took the transfigured body from him with great care. "That is a beautiful flower. I commend you for your respect for the dead, Harry."

"I am intimately familiar with losing a mother. I know what Blaise has gone through; it was the least I could do."

"Yes, I don't doubt that you understand his pain better than most," he regarded the young man before him, seemingly answering an internal question no one voiced. "I am Alessio Zabini. This, gentlemen, is my island and my home. For doing me this favor, I am in your debt."

"It was nothing, really, we merely happened upon your daughter and wanted to do the right thing. Now that we have returned her to you, my companion and I must be-"

"-Going? I think not! You will remain as my guests, at least until the funeral. After all, it would not be possible to lay my daughter to rest according to our traditions were it not for you."

"Lord Zabini, that's very kind of you to offer, but-"

"Of course we would be honored to attend." Harry shot a furious glare at Sam, who steadfastly ignored him.

"It makes an old man proud, to see youth respecting the wisdom of their elders." Alessio stood from the barber chair, holding out his hand and accepting the ebony walking stick from one of his men. "I would have been quite… offended had you refused my offer, Harry."

Harry gave a slow look around the barber shop, at the ten wizards that glowered at him with barely restrained hostility. "Very well."

"Come along, my niece makes the most delicious tortellini you will ever taste. We'll celebrate your arrival, discuss my debt to you, and then you will tell me about my daughter's last days."

The surprisingly spry old man walked to a door labeled 'Fire Exit' in multiple languages, not hesitating for a moment before pushing it open and walking through. The remaining nine formed a phalanx around Sam and Harry, ushering them towards the same door, an exit that turned out to be a portal that transported them to the grounds of an opulent villa.

Sam gasped, looking around, "It's just like the entrance to Lyman Hall in Boston!"

Alessio chuckled. "You've been? This was, in fact, created by the same enchanter who designed that. My father was so impressed by his work in the MACUSA that he… persuaded the man to travel to our island and build another. Regrettably, it turned out that the enchanter was quite disagreeable and passed away soon after it was completed."

"I see."

"Come, allow me to introduce you to my pride and joy, mi famiglia." A quick sonorous charm summoned more than fifty people from the villa - which, on further reflection, was more of a palace - and the two Englishmen endured greetings from a seemingly endless procession of dark-haired, olive-skinned Zabinis.

"And this, Harry, is my granddaughter, Chiara. As beautiful as her Aunt, who you've returned to me. Chiara, I'd like you to give Harry a tour of the villa after dinner."

"Si, Padrone," a dazzlingly beautiful young woman, perhaps a year older than Harry, dutifully replied.

The family escorted them into a massive dining room, larger even than the mess hall that the Mastery students at Ilvermorny ate in. There, they found a woman in her mid-forties directing multiple elves in setting the table and ladling portions of stuffed noodles into pasta bowls. The mouth-watering smell of the food suggested that Alessio had not, in fact, been boasting about his niece's culinary skill.

Lord Zabini, naturally, sat at the head of the table, and Harry was ushered to the seat directly to his right; Sam, however, was provided a place near the middle of the lengthy table. A middle-aged man made to take the seat on Harry's other side, but a lithe feminine form slipped past him and quickly occupied it. Chiara winked at Harry, before turning her attention to her grandfather, along with the rest of the table.

"My dear family, today we gather in equal parts joy and grief. My wonderful daughter, Sofia, who was tragically taken from us three years ago, has at last been brought home. She will finally be able to rest, at peace with our ancestors. For this, our gratitude is owed to Harry Potter and his companion, Sam Chambers. They traveled far and wide, succeeding where even two teams of Gringotts cursebreakers failed. Today, the Zabinis raise their glasses to our guests - salut, Signore Potter, Signore Chambers."

"Salut!" The family drank deeply of the wine that was set out in front of them. Underage drinking was not a concern in Italy, it seemed. The toast completed, everyone tucked into the delicious meal laid out on the table.

Harry's first forkful of tortellini was not even in his mouth when Alessio turned to him, "Now, I will have the real story of my daughter's death."

Returning his utensils to his plate, Harry met Zabini's dark eyes. "Here?" he glanced at Chiara, who was not even pretending to look elsewhere. "It isn't exactly light conversation over dinner, sir."

Zabini swirled the heavy chianti around his glass, taking a deep sniff of its aroma. "Were you under the impression that I was asking a question?"

"I'd rather not detail a woman's death in front of children. Sir."

Both Harry and Alessio ignored Chiara's outraged exclamation at being referred to as such. "Very well. We will adjourn to my study, where I hope you will be more articulate. I would hate for my niece's cooking to be your last meal."

As Harry stood to follow, two men fell into step beside him, part of the omnipresent security force that surrounded the Zabini Head. They took positions on either side of Alessio, who sat down behind a desk, Harry taking the single chair opposite.

When no one said anything for a moment, Harry took that as his cue to begin, "I learned of Madam Zabini's demise during my First Year at Hogwarts. One of my closest friends, Daphne Greengrass, told me of the circumstances. After I completed my Third Year, Sam and I traveled to Iraq and sought out the ruins. There was a malicious ward scheme in place; I don't have the requisite knowledge to understand exactly what effects they elicited, but based on the aftermath that I saw inside, it looked as though one of the muggles that accompanied your daughter killed her."

"That was… remarkably succinct. I would like you to provide a memory of the runic layout for me to have examined."

"I can do you one better, I have the wardstone," he reached into his pocket, removing, then enlarging his trunk, and taking out the diamond-shaped piece of stone.

"Why did you take it with you?"

"There was a muggle that accompanied us. It seemed prudent to hide it, in case he somehow reactivated the wards."

At Alessio's gesture, one of the men behind him took the stone from Harry and left the room. "I'd like to know more about these ruins."

"Sam would probably be more appropriate to ask; beyond disabling the wards and an initial exploration, I only know generalities," Alessio motioned for him to continue, "It was built by the Assyrians, to imprison one of their gods following a plague that broke out in Babylon. It's several thousand years old. Um, there weren't any treasures or great knowledge. Just an old building in the middle of the desert with nasty defenses."

Alessio turned to the remaining bodyguard and asked him for drinks. The man placed a snifter filled with a clear liquor in front of both men, then returned to his spot behind Zabini. "Sofia was always my favorite. She had cunning, beauty, grace; unfortunately for her, she learned to use all three before any real ambition had a chance to take root. I can't understand how she could have been so foolish as to wander into an undiscovered archaeological site like that."

Harry didn't respond, choosing instead to take a sip from his drink. It was like liquid fire going down his throat; he coughed until he was red in the face. "What is that?"

Both of the men chuckled, Harry's distress causing even the bodyguard to break from his stoicism. "It's grappa. Similar to brandy."

"You could lubricate an engine with that stuff!"

"If we could return to the topic at hand?"

With one last cough, Harry tried to make a straight face. "Of course, my apologies."

Draining half of his own glass with a single sip, Alessio leveled a pondering stare at the teen across from him. "When Sofia disappeared, I recruited the most skilled cursebreakers available, paying them handsomely to find and return her to me. None returned, and after the second team's disappearance, there were few willing to accept the risk. Years later, the most famous boy in the world and his nonmagical companion arrive, unsolicited, to return her remains to me. What is it that you're after?"

"I didn't do it for a reward. Beyond a few interactions with Blaise, I knew nothing of your family." Harry privately thought he might have been better off had that remained the case, but did not voice such concerns.

"If that is so, then why did you do it? You said you traveled to Iraq seeking out these ruins."

Harry tentatively took another sip of the grappa. It didn't taste any better the second time. "Do my reasons really matter?"

"In order to determine my response to your… generosity, they do. A great deal."

"Sam is highly educated. He was curious to visit an unexplored magical archaeological site."

"Indeed, just like that? And you went along with him, knowing that an adult witch had lost her life there, with no knowledge of curse-breaking and no companions beyond a few non-magicals?"

Harry shrugged.

"A word of advice, Harry - if you seek obfuscation, offering an unsolved mystery is not the method to do so."

"One of my professors once said the same thing, sir."

Silence fell over the room for several long minutes before Alessio spoke again, "I will consider the debt my family owes you while we prepare Sofia's funeral. Until then, you will remain at my villa."

"Sir, Sam and I were on our way to France, we can't-"

"The Zabini name is well known in Europe, Harry. There are men who have killed for a favor from my family. Then, there are others, who through their actions have earned disfavor. It would be quite an insult if you were to spurn our hospitality."

With confidence earned through hardship, Harry wasn't one to be intimidated. He stared challengingly at Alessio, an electricity present in his green eyes. "Do the Zabini's also repay their debts with threats?"

Alessio held up his hand to still the man behind him who drew his wand. "Certainly not. It is, however, important to us that you attend Sofia's burial. It will take time to gather the family. We will provide you with everything you need in the meantime. Now, Matteo will return you to the dining room."

Harry reluctantly nodded and followed the man in the black suit out of the room.

"...And these are our vineyards. We do not produce enough for sale, but it is quite excellent."

"I see," Harry had accompanied Chiara on a walk around the Zabini property, which he quickly realized was larger than most towns. Despite his frustration at their extended delay on Sardinia, he had found that he enjoyed spending time with the stunning young woman.

"My family acquired some proprietary charms to extend our growing season year-round, and of course dragon dung ensures that the soil does not lose its fertility," she recited proudly. "Look, some of the workers are preparing to tread the grapes. Let's join them!"

Harry, bemused at her enthusiasm, took her outstretched hand and let her lead him down to a large, wooden tub where laborers had dumped dozens of crates of wine grapes. "Let me just tell Giorgia that we would like to tread some grapes with her!" Chiara spoke to the woman briefly in Italian.

"Certamente, Signorina Zabini." The elderly woman hurriedly stepped out of the vat and made her way over to them, where she hastily removed the younger woman's shoes and stockings and began to clean her feet. Harry awkwardly followed her example, washing and rinsing after removing his shoes and rolling up his pant legs.

"We just… jump in?"

"You will, yes, and then you will help me in."

"You know, a less beautiful woman wouldn't get away with such haughtiness," Harry teased, but it was true. He hopped into the vat, sucking in his breath as his feet squelched onto the assembled grapes. "It's cold!"

Chiara laughed gaily, her musical giggles bringing a smile to his face. She extended a hand, accepting his assistance in stepping in while using her other to lift her long skirt up to her knees. "And now, we step, like this."

Harry watched as she pressed with the balls of her feet, bouncing to and fro in the jacuzzi-sized vat. It was… distracting.

"No, no, you are stomping! Press, like this. Watch closely," Harry certainly did, though it seemed despite his best efforts, his eyes refused to make their way all the way down to her feet.

"Right," he answered absently. She responded with an enigmatic smile, and the two of them continued to press the grapes together in silence.

Eventually, Chiara tired of the manual labor, and they climbed out, putting their shoes back on and continuing their stroll through the grounds.

"Your grandfather referred to Sardinia as 'his' island; do the Zabinis own all of it?"

"'Own'? No. Control, yes. For generations, my family toiled to make Sardinia the preeminent wizarding community in Italy; it is so, ah, what is the word… comprehensive that eventually all magical businesses and communities migrated here."

"That would explain why I couldn't find any on the mainland."

"Si, I was told of that. Was apparating around an entire country really the best idea that you came up with?"

"How would you have gone about it, then, princess?"

She gave him a sly grin. "You think you are teasing me with such a name, but you will come to see that it is an accurate description. As to your question, I would have simply paid for the person I was seeking to meet with me," she linked arms with him, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. "Don't tell me the rumors of the Potter fortune are false. A best-selling author, a storied family estate; you needn't act so coy, Harry."

"I don't think it's quite so easy as you make it out to be. Is that a quidditch stadium?"

"It is. Where else would our national team practice?"

"Wow."

"Harry, I would like it if you took me to dinner this evening."

"Wha- tonight?" It was tough to discern whether Chiara was overly used to getting anything she asked for, or whether she was simply bold. "I don't think your grandfather would appreciate me taking you away from the villa."

"Nonsense, here, there, if it is on Sardinia, it may as well be my grandfather's. He even controls most of the non-magical businesses. I trust you have a suit?"

"Er, you want to eat at a muggle restaurant?"

"I would. Meet me in the parlor at 7; I will arrange for a driver."

"Right. Okay." Being around Chiara was disorienting, like spinning in a circle one too many times then trying to focus on a single object. "I'll see you then."

While Harry was wondering where and how to find a suit in three hours, Sam was sitting in the guest room that he and Harry had been provided.

'I said no.'

'You need me. If you want to survive what's coming-'

'The only thing I need, you haven't been willing to provide. You promised me knowledge, but the spells you've shown have almost no use to us!' Sam looked over the 'spellbook' that he'd been writing under the tutelage of Erra, full of divination rituals and bloodline beneficences. 'You understand what he's up against.'

'It's not my fault that the boy's soul is so damaged he cannot employ a magical focus. If you would allow me full control, I could enact the ritual that would heal him, and from there, teach him to wield the power of the gods.'

Sam didn't like the sound of 'full control'. 'No.'

'In refusing me, you are not only guaranteeing Harry's death but your own as well.'

Doing his best to ignore the oily whispers in his mind, Sam pulled out an old set of notes from the Magical Archives and began transcribing them into the spellbook.

"That was great, Chiara, though I don't think that they needed to clear the entire dining room for us."

"No? You didn't think it was romantic, sharing an intimate candle-lit dinner alone?"

Harry grinned, holding out his arm for her to take as they walked along the streets of Cagliari, Sardinia's largest city. "It was very nice. Tell me more about yourself. Where do you go to school?"

"I am tutored at the villa. I received an invitation to Beauxbatons, but felt no need to leave."

"No? You didn't want to meet people your own age?"

Chiara gave him an odd look. "There are many, many people my own age right here. I need not go to a different country to spend time around other teenagers."

"But… what about magic?"

"What about it? I am happy to be a witch, but the non-magicals have many things to offer. This dress, for example, was hand-sewn from a Parisian grand couturier," she raised an eyebrow at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "You're very cute when you look confused."

"I don't think I've ever met a witch like you."

"Nor will you again - I am like this dress, one of a kind."

Harry wasn't sure if it was the bottle of chianti that she'd ordered at dinner or the very form-fitting dress she wore; it might have been the sheer confidence that oozed out of her every pore, but, at that moment, Chiara's presence was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever experienced. He dipped into an alley just short of her waiting driver, pulling her along with him and pressing her against the wall.

"Harry, what is- mmph!" she tasted faintly of the tiramisu and espresso they'd shared for dessert, with a hint of something far sweeter. His kiss was rough and forceful against her lips, but she didn't hesitate to respond to the sweep of his tongue with her own. Harry didn't think he'd ever made a sound like the moan that rose from his throat when their open mouths met.

It felt like only seconds, but may well have been an hour before Chiara pushed against his shoulders. "If you stained my dress, I'm going to send you a bill," she said, kissing him again to take the sting from her rebuke.

"That was, uh-, I mean... I think I'll find my own way back."

She laughed, patting his cheek. "Very well. I would thank you for being a gentleman, but I think I like this Harry Potter better. Let's have lunch tomorrow."

"I'd like that. Goodnight, Chiara."

"Buono notte, Harry." He watched until she closed the car door behind her, then apparated back to his room at the villa. Harry looked forward to sleep, hoping for dreams of wine grapes, candles, and a sun-kissed southern Italian girl.

November 20, 1994

Sam stared out the open window, feeling the cool Sardinian air brush over his body. The winters here were mild, but even so, the slight chill in the air felt refreshing. He turned around, leaning against the windowsill and regarded the young man sleeping in the bed next to his own. Harry and he had not been spending much time together, this new Italian girl tending to dominate his attention.

Truthfully, Sam couldn't understand her appeal, outside of the most basic physical attraction. She was nothing like Harry, lacking the hard-won maturity and the razor-sharp edge that the English teen had gained from his all too frequent trials. But then, Sam supposed, therein may lie Chiara's appeal. From all accounts, Harry hadn't done much living for the past several years; even during his last term in Britain, he'd been punching far above his weight in terms of public appearances and political engagement.

'Plus' Sam thought, 'maybe this girl might convince him his life can be more than this quest for blood and revenge'.

'You are a fool. Are you really so blind to what's really going on?' As was more and more common, Erra interrupted his own internal musing. 'The boy remains as focused on his goal. He simply does not believe that he will survive to its completion.'

'That's not true. If it were, he would not have worked so hard to prepare himself.'

'Is that why he's dedicated his gifts to violence and destruction? Or is it to ensure that when he dies, he will take his enemies with him?'

Sam rolled his eyes, willing the ever-present voice of his 'hop-along' (as he'd come to think of Erra) to be silent. 'You just don't understand. I've known Harry longer than anyone alive. We're going to get through this.'

There was no immediate reply. Just as Sam was considering waking Harry to see about breakfast, though, Erra's final comment echoed through his mind.

'You'll see. I'm only trying to protect you, Sam.'

Harry stirred, his eyes opening and taking in Sam staring at him from the window. "All right, there?"

"Yea, was just about to wake you and see if you felt like some breakfast."

"Sounds heavenly. Were you told that the funeral has been scheduled? Blaise arrived with his great-uncle late last night, the burial will take place next week. Apparently, that's everyone."

"Blaise is your old schoolmate, right? Are you looking forward to seeing him again?"

Harry popped into the attached bathroom, coming out with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "We weren't very close. Still, I hope he can tell me how my friends are."

"I hope so too. Go finish up and get dressed, let's get moving."

In short order, Harry and Sam sat down at the lengthy dining room table that the Zabini family ate at. Harry settled in next to Chiara, who turned and gave him a kiss. "Buon giorno, Harry. I believe you're already acquainted with my cousin?" she gestured to the familiar face that sat across from them.

Harry blushed, realizing that in his haste to greet Chiara, he'd completely ignored his surroundings. "Blaise, it's nice to see you again."

"Come off it, Potter, you're not going to impress her by pretending that we like each other."

"Same old Blaise."

The Italian Slytherin looked intently at his former classmate. "I wish I could say the same about you, Potter." His lip curled into a sneer at the sight of Harry and Chiara each eating their breakfast with one hand, their other intertwined together. "If you can pry yourself away from her for a few minutes, I need to have a word with you."

Harry was ready to tell Blaise exactly where he could shove his 'word' when Chiara squeezed his hand and leaned in close. "Go ahead, cuore mio, I need to freshen up anyway., her breath against his ear raised all the hairs on the back of his neck, which turned to a shiver of excitement when she briefly sucked on his earlobe. Across from them, Blaise's face twisted in disgust.

"I'll see you later, then," he fondly watched her walk away, the affection on his face evaporating as he once more faced the Slytherin. "Right, say your piece."

"Not here! You really are a dunderhead."

Harry laughed. "That takes me back. Fine, lead the way."

He followed Blaise down a corridor to the family quarters of the villa, eventually entering a nondescript room. As soon as the door closed, Blaise whipped out his wand and cast several layers of privacy charms.

In response to Harry's raised eyebrows, he just shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm a Zabini, in Sardinia. Do you really think Underage Magic laws apply to me?"

It made sense to Harry, so rather than reply, he sat down in the wooden desk chair and motioned for Blaise to go on.

"First of all, I don't want you getting the wrong idea. I'm not telling you this because I like you; in fact, you seem to be even more insufferable than your last year at Hogwarts."

"If you're done with the pleasantries, out with it. I've got things to do today."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "I don't doubt you do. That's what I need to speak with you about. Whatever you think you have with my cousin, you need to shut it down. Immediately."

"Excuse me? If this is some misguided attempt at a 'big brother' speech, save your breath. You wouldn't intimidate me if you had the entirety of Slytherin at your back."

"No, you idiot, I'm telling you this because you returned my mother to her family. I'm trying to look out for you Pott-, Harry."

"And breaking up with Chiara accomplishes that how, exactly?"

"I had barely landed from my portkey last night when her father dragged me off to his office. Uncle Tommasso is… well, if my mother was the black sheep of her generation, he is the lame duck. Chiara's father has never seen a business opportunity he couldn't bungle, has no skill with a wand, and is widely ridiculed within the family."

Harry had met the man several times and was forced to admit that Blaise's summation sounded correct. "Okay, so what did he want with you?"

"He interrogated me for hours on everything I know about you, your financial situation, and your current guardian. Specifically, how House Selwyn would feel about a betrothal contract for Chiara."

His easy-going demeanor vanished, Harry sat up straighter in his seat. "Why? I barely met her a month ago!"

"I'm guessing you never had much reason to learn about marriage traditions in the wizarding world."

"You guessed correctly."

"So you don't know that it is customary for the suitor - which would be you - to pay a bride price upon the signing of a betrothal contract. Harry, my uncle is planning to convince Selwyn to steal every Galleon you have and use Chiara to do it. Please, for the love of Merlin, tell me you haven't slept with her. I know you'd never be able to figure out how to cast a contraceptive charm."

Harry, still recovering from Blaise's revelation, didn't even flush. "No, we haven't."

"Thank Merlin. My own nausea aside, that will make it easier for you to break it off with no negative repercussions to either of your reputations."

"Does Chiara know?"

"She may, or she may not. Either way, she certainly has to be expecting that her father would sell her off to the most advantageous suitor that came along. He's desperate to improve his standing with Grandfather, and a beautiful daughter is just about the only asset he has."

Harry sat pensively, staring at the floor for several seconds. "What about your grandfather?"

"What about him?"

"Should I be worried about him, too?"

Blaise let out a sardonic laugh. "Absolutely, you should. But if you're asking about anything specific, I don't know. I live in Great Britain for a reason, to get away from my family."

Harry stood up and smoothed out his dress shirt and trousers. "Okay. Guess I should take care of this sooner rather than later," he hesitated, then held out his hand to the Slytherin. "Blaise, I appreciate your warning. Regardless of your motivations for being in Britain, they're still your family and you put my interests ahead of theirs."

Blaise gripped his hand in a strong handshake. "Just call us even so I can forget this whole conversation." Harry nodded and turned to leave. "And Potter - no matter what people said about her choices, I loved my mother. Thank you for bringing her back to rest with my family."

Harry closed Blaise's door behind him, setting out for Chiara's room. Though he'd never been inside, she'd pointed it out to him when giving him a tour of the villa. 'Was she planning this, even then?' he wondered, a sour taste present in his mouth as he mentally retraced their relationship. 'Was it all a lie?'

He didn't bother knocking, just turned the handle and walked in. If the door had been locked, he might have even blown it off its hinges, such a state he was in.

Chiara, styling her hair in front of her dresser mirror, saw his entrance and beamed an enchanting smile at him. "Harry! You've never been so forward before. Perhaps you are still hungry after breakfast, hm?"

Her words, filled with more sensuality than a teenager should be able to muster, used to set his blood racing. Instead, it felt as though his veins were frozen over. He made a brief effort to return her smile but gave up almost immediately. "Let's go speak with your father."

Her eyes lit up with barely restrained joy. "Do you mean it?" she practically flew over to him and tried to kiss him, frowning when he didn't respond. "Are you so nervous that you can't kiss me back? If this is what I think, then you need not be. Everyone will be so happy! Such joyous news to come out of a somber event!"

Harry stared deeply at her as she quickly finished with her hair and put on more jewelry than normal. He looked at her olive skin, her dark hair in its elegant style, her exquisite lips, and perfectly symmetrical features. Chiara was nothing if not a beautiful young woman. Seeing she was ready, he mechanically held out his hand, somewhat surprised at the sweaty hand that interlaced with his own. 'Guess she's worried about messing up now that she's so close to sealing the deal', he thought despondently.

Together, they walked through the corridors to her father's office, Harry lost in his thoughts the whole way. Was this how it would always be? Would he forever have to spend the rest of his life 'waiting for the other shoe to drop', so to speak? How could he not? He'd disappeared from the public eye for years, was in a foreign country with which he had no ties, and still, he was seen as nothing more than an opportunity to exploit. Opening the door to Tommasso's office, the handsome man, barely forty years old, stood and greeted him with a bright smile.

"Harry, Chiara, how lovely to see you both. Though it is so rare that you two are apart, I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? You two have been rather attached from the moment you met, after all."

"Did you really believe that I would stand idly by and allow you to steal my heritage?" All smiles melted away the moment Harry spoke, his anger clearly audible in his tone. "From the moment that I set foot in the Wizarding World, people have been trying to take advantage and use me for their own gain. I can honestly say no one has ever tried to whore their daughter out to me though. Congratulations, Tommasso - you're officially the most disgraceful piece of filth I've encountered."

"Harry, wha-"

"And you," he rounded on Chiara, "I must have made an easy mark. How long did it take you two to make this plan? Or did you always have it ready to go, just waiting for a starry-eyed fool to wander onto your island?"

Vigorously shaking her head, a line of tears smudging her cosmetics, Chiara's voice was shaky, "It wasn't like that, not at all. I-"

"Why bother pretending? You can't deny how excited you were when I walked in and said we needed to see your father. There's no possible way one month is enough time to know you want to spend your life with someone."

"I-, Harry, I-"

"Answer me!" he shouted, a dangerous glow surfacing in his eyes.

"It, it isn't what you think. Yes, I wanted a contract with you. No, I don't love you. Not yet, at least," Chiara reached out for his hand with her own trembling one. "You don't know what it's like, to wonder every time a man visits the villa if that's who I'm going to be sold off to. So… so when I saw you, I jumped at the chance. You were kind, and shy, and treated me like a lady. Can you blame me?"

His eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment. "It's over."

She choked out a sob but nodded her understanding. Tommasso, however, had other plans.

"I'm afraid it is not, Mr. Potter. You don't get to dictate terms on Sardinia." He held his wand aloft, and a strange buzzing sounded. The doors opened and six men in black suits rushed in, wands drawn. "This man threatened myself and my daughter. Subdue him, though try not to break the bones in his right hand," he finished, a cruel grin lighting his features.

"No!" Chiara stepped in front of Harry, her arms widespread as though to block any spells cast towards him.

By now, Harry had enough. If they wanted a fight, he'd bring down the entire fucking villa. His frustration at being delayed in Italy so long, his fury at Chiara's and her father's deception, even at Sam, for simply not understanding that he had no choice to walk away, it all boiled over. The glow in his eyes brightened to a blinding radiance, and his emerald aura settled around him in a rush of magical energy that blew outwards, shattering every window and splintering the wood furnishings. The security staff hesitated, having never encountered power of this magnitude.

"What are you waiting for?! I am a Zabini, this is my island! Get him!" Tommasso shouted from beneath his desk where he'd taken cover.

"E'ABBASTANZA!" A new voice roared. "That's enough, Harry."

The tap of Alessio's ebony cane was clearly audible as he strode fearlessly into the middle of the confrontation. "Tomma, you little worm. Your island, is it? Matteo, have these men resume their normal duties. Gianni, remain. Now," he said in a much more pleasant tone, repairing a damaged chair with his wand and taking a seat, "who can tell me what is going on?"

Chiara sagged against Harry in relief, ignoring how he stiffened when she wrapped her arms around him, and then rushed over to her grandfather. She spoke to him in rapid Italian, at times gesturing violently towards Harry and her father. The expression on Alessio's face did not change, though the longer he listened, the tighter his grip on the handle of his cane became.

At last, he patted Chiara's arm and rose from his seat. "Harry, is what Chiara told me true? Did my son conspire to steal your family's estate?"

Harry was trying hard to rein in his anger, having suppressed his magical output but managed to bite out, "Yes."

"Gianni, take Tommasso to my study." Alessio and Harry watched impassively as the guard with slicked-back hair manhandled Tommasso to his feet, snatching away his wand and dragging him out the ruined door. "Now, what to do about this? It seems that I owe you yet again, Harry."

Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and felt the adrenaline fade. "It's fine. No harm done."

"Chiara is-, she is my favorite grandchild. Mia principessa, Harry. She assures me that she had nothing to do with this, and I am inclined to believe her."

Harry did not respond, so Alessio continued, "You seemed to enjoy each other's company. I could arrange for a fair contract to be drawn, with a standard bride-price and a guarantee of a place in my family."

"Or I could take her for free," Harry chose to ignore the way Chiara's eyes lit up. "You are really going to stand there and continue to auction her off?"

As Alessio's expression darkened, Harry cut him off before he could speak. "You keep talking about these favors and debts, but they all still seem to involve me doing what you want. You want to pay me back for what I've done for your family? Guarantee me, right now, that Chiara be allowed to choose her own husband. No contracts, no sale. Give her the freedom to live her own life."

Alessio regarded Harry silently, still with that menacing expression. When Harry made no further demands, the anger melted away and he burst out laughing, "You naive child. With my family honor at stake, you call in my debt to spend it on a fifteen-year-old girl's choice of suitor? Oh, Harry - forgive an old man his cynicism. It's been more than half a century since I have allowed principles, no matter how noble they may be, to govern my decisions."

Recovering from his mirth, Alessio returned to the single undamaged chair in the room. "I would happily agree to your terms, Harry. However, I am 96 years old. My word as the family Head is only good so long as I live. Therefore, your terms are unacceptable. I believe, however, that there is a solution to that problem."

"What is it?"

"Chiara signs a betrothal contract with you-" he held up a hand to forestall the interruption that Harry had already been about to voice, "-but you do not sign the contract. I will allow it to be drawn up with no bride price. Keep the contract unsigned and intact, and no other betrothal can be negotiated for her hand, so long as you live."

"Very well. I agree," Alessio smiled, and Chiara squealed in joy, embracing her grandfather and rushing to Harry to do the same to him. Harry allowed her to hold him, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent one last time before quickly whispering in her ear. "Listen, under the terms of this contract, you will need to choose quickly. With what is waiting for me in Britain…" He trailed off, looking into her dark eyes and trying to impart the importance of what he left unspoken.

Chiara met his eyes without hesitation, once more with the attitude of a girl who had always got what she wanted. "Don't worry, Harry. I think I've already made my decision."

December 3, 1994

France was in the midst of a bitter winter. After more than a month in Sardinia, Sam and Harry had departed mere hours following Sofia Zabini's burial. Alessio had arranged an international portkey to arrive outside of the gates of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Harry had already alerted Hermione, via Owl Express before they left the island, of his and Sam's travel schedule.

Both clad in heavy winter cloaks, they stood at the gates of the school. Much like Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons was ensconced in a mountain range, the enchantments enforcing weather manipulation clearly visible beyond the gilded silver bars.

"So, what now?"

"I just need to cast an announcing charm. Just a mo'., Harry quickly consulted a spellbook that he pulled from his robes, then focused and held out a single hand. A brass-colored wave of energy lanced out and struck the wards with a tremendous clang that reverberated through the surrounding mountains. "Sorry, first time."

Two figures emerged from the school, making their way towards the gates. One was significantly larger than the other, and as they drew near, it was clear that the individual was also much larger than both Harry and Sam.

"Can't they walk a little faster? It's bloody freezing out here!"

Harry nodded his agreement, a smile breaking out on his face once he recognized Hermione's untamed hair as she approached. The huge woman next to her shouted out in heavily accented English, "Identify yourselves!"

"I am Harry Potter."

The thin metal gates swung open, and the two Englishmen hurried inside, both relieved to be out of the cold, quickly stripping off their winter cloaks in the balmy artificial climate of Beauxbatons.

"'Lo Hermione, it's nice to see you again!"

"Harry," she greeted, somewhat stiffly. "You're looking well."

"Gentlemen, shall we adjourn indoors?" Madam Maxime led them to the entrance of the school. "You and your companion are permitted to spend the next hour here. There are clear directions in the hallways to the administrative offices, where I will be waiting to provide a portkey that will return you to Paris at that time. Miss Granger will take you to where you need to go."

There was an ominous air in Beauxbatons that raised Sam's hackles. Harry, in contrast, looked relatively comfortable, trying to make conversation with a taciturn Hermione. They walked through the halls, which were devoid of other students. The school felt… off.

'You're wise to trust your instincts. Something is wrong here', Erra agreed.

"Pardon the interruption, but were you able to complete Harry's project?"

"I ran into trouble with the modification of the Protean Charm and needed assistance from an older student. She's a Seventh Year, number one in her class. She provided the arithmantic solution to the issues I had, and cast the charms herself. We're meeting her now."

Harry wasn't pleased to hear that a stranger had been involved. "You couldn't cast the spells yourself?"

"She's an impressive witch, Harry. I'd assumed you wanted it done right."

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise at the hardness in her tone. "What's your problem?"

"Here, Fleur's waiting inside for payment. She'll give you what you asked for."

"Hermione, what-?"

"How could you, Harry?" She looked at him with a wounded expression on her face. "Neville told me what you wrote to the Prophet. Your parents are murdered, and you decide to blame muggleborns? How could you betray me like that?"

"You don't understand, I-"

"You went through with it?!" Sam couldn't believe it. "I thought we agreed to talk it over before you made any decisions!"

"I didn't know we'd be gone so long! I couldn't wait. You don't understand how important this is! I don't have the option to sit back and hope for the best, I have to make things happen!"

"You don't even know, do you? What you've done?"

"What? What do you mean?"

Harry's face grew tighter, his lips pressed firmly together and lines appearing on his brow as he listened to Hermione summarize the violence at the World Cup, the changes to creature laws that the Wizengamot made, the debacle of the aborted Triwizard Tournament.

"What they did to Fleur - treating her like an animal that way - it was horrible."

"I'm sorry. I never wanted… I just…"

"Just go see Fleur. She has what you asked for."

"Hermione, I'll make this right."

"How? How can you-, no. You know what? It doesn't matter. Goodbye, Harry." She stormed away.

"What were you thinking? I warned you that we didn't have the proper information to set something like that in motion!"

Harry clenched his teeth, exhaling loudly, "I can't afford the time to be careful." Without another word, he turned and entered the empty classroom.

'He's desperate… but why?'

For once, Sam agreed with Erra, 'I don't know.'

Seated inside was, well, to call her 'beautiful' would be like describing a tornado as a light breeze. She was, undoubtedly, the most aesthetically pleasing being that Harry had ever laid eyes on. Even the disdainful look that she leveled at him did not distract from her otherworldly grace and beauty. Seeing his eyes glance her over, Fleur's expression twisted into a cruel smirk, and an intensity filled the room.

Though the man that accompanied him slid down the wall, an insensate mess, Harry's stare was merely unfocused, as though he was simply examining the magic of the full-powered allure she was projecting.

"What is that?"

Fleur reined in her allure, feeling frustrated and embarrassed. Since Hermione had informed her of Harry's scapegoating of muggleborns, she'd looked forward to humiliating him. In her daily life, she struggled to tamp down her allure as best she could; however, when the opportunity arose, it was somewhat satisfying to see those that looked down on her as a beast reduced to drooling wrecks.

"It, it's nothing. Hermione promised that you were willing to pay for my enchanting work."

"First, I'd like to see what you came up with."

Fleur slid two Galleons across the table. "These are linked together with a modified Protean Charm. You can transmit short messages between the paired coins. Observe," she picked up one of the coins, holding her wand against the metal surface. "Now, take the other coin."

Harry picked up the remaining Galleon, watching as the goblin script morphed and modified into a string of French words. "That's brilliant," he breathed, "Thank you, Miss..."

"Delacour. Now, the payment?"

"Of course. How much?"

"Sixty Galleons."

Harry reached into his robes, removing a coin purse, setting out stacks of gold coins. "Here. Thank you, thank you very much. This is perfect." He stood up, moving to collect Sam and depart.

"Why did you do it? Blame those less fortunate for your family's murder?"

He paused in his tracks, turning and coming back to his seat at the table. "I had to do something. I just hadn't anticipated being away for so long."

"But why? You hurt your friend very much. Surely you can't pretend that you were unaware of the influence that your celebrity offers."

"Hermione told me what happened to you. I'm sorry."

"They think I am acreature, but it is they who are the animals, not I."

Harry didn't respond, simply nodding his agreement.

"What makes you so sure that you could have controlled the reaction if you hadn't been away?"

Harry's shoulders hunched, as though a heavy-weight had settled upon them. Her clear blue eyes locked onto his vivid green gaze, seeing an unfathomable determination present. After a moment, he once more rose from his seat and helped Sam to his feet, giving the man's face a few gentle taps to rouse him from his stupor.

"Wha-, what was that?"

"C'mon, Sam, time to go. Let's go track down the Headmistress."

"Okay." With one last glance at the gorgeous veela student, Sam ambled out of the classroom.

Harry paused at the door. "Fleur, was it?" He did not turn around. "Sometimes, the only way to put down a rabid animal is to dangle bait before them. That strategy, though, only works if the hunter is manning the trap. I won't make another mistake like that again." He then walked out of the room. Had he been facing her, he might have seen Fleur's eyes widen, guilt flashing across her face.

They followed the signs posted in the still-empty halls, making their way to the Headmistress's office, where Madam Maxime was waiting.

"Here is your portkey," she passed a small booklet to Harry. "Come, we have a portkey departure area for use at the end of term, just this way."

Maxime's imposing bulk was such that it took up almost the entire doorway to their portkey departure zone, where she paused. While they waited, Harry looked down at the portkey. He couldn't recall ever seeing a book used as a portkey before. He turned it over in his hand, reading the title off of the spine of the otherwise unlabeled publication.

"'Penal Law and the Violation of the Statute of Secrecy'…" he murmured aloud, his eyes widening. "Sam! It's a-"

Everything went dark as a massive hand palmed Harry's face, obstructing his sight. The back of his head exploded in pain, and stars filled his vision as he was lifted up and slammed into the wall as though he weighed no more than a feather. He lashed out with his magic, pushing at the Headmistress, but his magic slid off her as it had the troll and the basilisk. He blindly conjured a stone spike, but from the lack of any reaction from his attacker, he must have missed. Maxime, still ragdolling him, slammed him once more against the wall, finally releasing him to crumple to the floor in a heap. Through darkening vision, he saw white-robed French aurors rushing through the door from the portkey departure room, surrounding him before everything went dark and he lost consciousness.

A/N: Well - my 2nd longest chapter (only the CoS chapter was longer!). Can't wait to go back to multiple POVs in a chapter; it's been brutal, being 'stuck' with Harry/Sam.

A few shout-outs: (Possum) and DorianGrey from SinisterMan's discord server helped me out with getting Harry to Sardinia and intro-ing the Zabinis. I had some really helpful reviews, gbbz, bittatat, PTHC, and Inoobe.

To those that feel the story has lost its way: it's on the rails; all of this has been planned out since around chapter 6. Can't change it now; just got to ride it out :D

Two more things: 1) I've story-boarded most of the sequel to ASAoV, and 2) remember that this story is rated M for graphic depictions of violence.

I'm sure there's something else I meant to say here, but I can't quite recall at the moment.