Chapter XXXVII

December 16, 1994

'At least my head doesn't hurt' Harry thought, as he slowly came to. He was lying on a table in a plain room, with stone floors and walls, restraints present on his legs, arms, and neck. There was a faint hint of the sea in the air, though he was unable to see a window.

"Harry Potter," his head swiveled to see a blurry man in amethyst robes with a gold trim, reading from a scroll in an official-sounding voice, "per the adjustments to laws regarding breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy within La République Magique Française, you have been charged with fleeing magical authorities, eight counts of performing magical acts in plain sight of ordinaire, and two counts of apparition without a license. Because you fled our jurisdiction, you were tried and convicted in absentia, sentenced to two years following your apprehension at Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons." His recitation complete, the man rolled up his scroll. "Vice Minister Delacour, do you have anything to add?"

A man standing outside Harry's limited range of vision responded, "No, just glad to see justice done."

"Justice? Two years in prison for defendin- wait. Delacour? Is that what this is about?"

"The Statue of Secrecy is an essential component of the international wizarding world, Mr. Potter. Be grateful that you will serve your sentence in a French prison - we could have turned you over to the Egyptians. They are not nearly as benign as we are."

"Trying to bash my skull through a stone wall isn't my definition of 'benign'. What happened to my companion?"

"He was portkeyed to Paris immediately following your arrest. Unlike you and your Ministry, the people of France do not discriminate against ordinaire. Do you have anything else you'd like to say?"

"This isn't right!"

"Warden, I will leave this to you. Farewell." Delacour left the room, leaving Harry with the man in the amethyst robes.

"Place the runic restraints on him," the warden directed to someone outside of his narrow field of vision. "Be careful. He does not use a wand, but rather directs his magic through his hands. You must take care that he is never without these bindings."

A man and a woman, both clad in the same color robes as the warden but without the golden trim, attached silver cuffs firmly to his wrists, still restrained the table. The silver was etched with dozens of runes, so small that Harry couldn't make them out, even if he did have his glasses. 'Guess they didn't survive getting hammered into the wall'.

As soon as the silver restraints were on his wrists, he felt a strange sensation in his hands; it was not dissimilar from having a limb 'fall asleep'; but a strange numbness that he'd never before experienced. The two prison guards shackled his cuffs together with a short chain.

"The prisoner is ready, Warden."

A wave of his wand and the table's restraints opened. "Well then, Mr. Potter, let me show you to your new home for the next two years."

It started as a slow chuckle but quickly evolved to full-on laughter. Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head in amusement. He raised his manacled hands, wiggling his fingers at the prison staff. "Look!" he began.

Suddenly, the French wizards and witch were hurtled into the stone walls as Harry's magical shockwave tore through the small room. His eyes now open and emitting a steady glow, Harry focused on the fallen prison warden and his guards, chains sprouting from the stone floors and wrapping tightly around them. "...No hands!" he finished, strolling out of the room.

Coming to a window in a corridor, he squinted outside, trying to gain a sense of where he was. There was clearly a beach, which explained the salty breeze. He did not bother attempting to apparate; wards were obviously in place to prevent that. He was in the middle of trying to evaluate how far the drop to the ground was from his current elevation when he was discovered.

"Un prisonnier est en train de s'échapper!" A klaxon sounded, and Harry turned just in time to raise a wall between him and two guards. His wall quickly crumbled from a Reductor, but cries of surprise rang out, as before the dust from the disintegrated wall had even reached the ground, stone jaws erupted from the floor, dragging the guards up to their necks in pools of quicksand that quickly reverted back to stone.

The red light of a Stunner filled his peripheral vision, passing inches over his left shoulder. Harry dove to his right, twisting as he rolled, his evasion causing the next volley of spells to miss. There were a half-dozen guards that had come from behind and were firing off spells from a distance of more than twenty feet.

He conjured five iron discs, levitating them in a pentagram formation from his crouched position, cursing his poor vision. Intercepting spells was normally one of his strengths, but without his glasses, the light from the spells blurred together and made it difficult to calculate their exact trajectory. Walls were useless against this many adversaries.

'Only one option' he decided, springing back towards the window and pushing as hard as he could with his magic.

The wall exploded outwards and Harry was not far behind, feeling his stomach drop as he began the six-story fall towards the sand below. As he fell, he could hear one of the guards shouting, "Laisses le aller, la vouivre va s'occuper de lui!" Whatever it meant, no spellfire followed his descent.

A whispered "Arresto momentum" slowed his descent enough that he safely landed on the beach, running towards the waves that he could hear crashing on the shore. It wouldn't be easy with these damn manacles, but if he could swim far enough, he was sure that he'd reach the ward boundaries. From there, he could apparate - he hoped.

He'd barely set foot into the surf, the water not even to his knees, when there was an eruption fifty yards in front of him, his limited vision momentarily obscured by a wave of salt water crashing into him. Something had risen, something big, judging by the shadow he was now standing in.

A dragon. A great, big, Merlin-be-damned dragon.

"Bloody hell."

The thing about fighting dragons is that you bring lots of friends. Harry was a little short of those at the moment; on the bright side, however, a dragon the size of a four-story building wasn't the kind of thing that you need to squint to see.

The sand beneath Harry's feet solidified, transforming into granite and launching into the air as the dragon's snout darted out, seeking to turn him into a quick meal. The dragon smashed through the base of the rising pillar, sending Harry tumbling back into the surf. The winged beast rose from the water, ascending into the air before diving down towards Harry.

'It worked with the basilisk, maybe it will work again' Harry thought, sending two stone columns with iron edges spiraling into the air to meet the dragon's charge. Unlike the basilisk, whose open mouth presented a vulnerability, the dragon did not offer such a weak spot, and the iron points clanged off of its scales. Taking a deep breath, Harry dived into the sea, a firestorm of white-hot flames bursting into existence directly in the dragon's path as he did.

Like the iron-edged columns, his flames had no discernible effect on the dragon. Still airborne, the dragon made a banking turn, hovering in the air above where Harry was underwater. Just as his face broke the surface to draw breath, the dragon released its own exhalation, and a cloud of noxious yellow gas streamed out of its mouth.

Harry only took a single breath of the cloud before he shot out of the sea on a column of ice, propelled away from the poisonous cloud inside a cocoon of ice formed around the end of his column. His chest was on fire; the column carried him most of the way back to the shore before it disintegrated, dumping him into the wet sand, as the pain in his lungs stripped away the necessary concentration to maintain his transfiguration.

'What kind of dragon breathes gas? What am I going to do now?' Harry was desperate. He could barely breathe, crouched on his knees, trying to crawl away from the water but lacking the use of his hands thanks to the silver manacles. Harry gave up trying to flee, trying to direct his focus into his conjuration. The dragon flew upwards in a lazy circle, perhaps realizing there was little fight left in its prey. It landed in the surf with a tremendous crash, roaring into the air before the long neck darted out to finish the small human.

Just as its jaw opened to snatch Harry, an overpowered Vanishing Charm dropped him into a six-foot hole, which quickly sealed over with a thick layer of granite. Seconds later, his conjuration complete, Harry visualized a small fireball to appear several feet above where he'd collapsed on the beach.

A flash ignition triggered a burst of orange flame, as the tightly packed ethylene oxide aerosol that Harry had been continuously conjuring exploded. The heat washed over the dragon, doing no damage whatsoever. Less than a second later, though, the blast wave of the magical fuel-air explosive that Harry had formed slammed into the dragon, shattering every bone in its right wing and snapping its head back with such speed that the enormous beast collapsed into the sea.

Harry's transfiguration elevated him out of his shelter, rising to a scene of mass destruction. Trees more than a half-mile from the shore had been flattened, and great cracks were visible in the stone structure of the prison, the damage from the blast wave so great that chunks of rubble were falling from the towering building.

Still gasping for air, with hacking coughs wracking his trembling form, Harry could not stand. He curled into a ball, looking towards the dragon that was slowly gathering itself to stand on its legs once more.

'I need help' he thought desperately. 'I can't beat this thing alone!'

'As you so desire, master.'

Flames traced over the cuneiform brand on his wrist, traveling up his arm and engulfing his entire form, as the ifrit stepped out of Harry's body. By now, the dragon had roused itself, shuffling over towards Harry in an awkward upright gait. Clearly still suffering from the effects of the thermobaric explosion, it took a deep, gulping breath and released another wave of noxious gas.

This time, though, the ifrit barred the path of the cloud. It did not even gesture or move towards the dragon; as the stream of gas approached the intense heat of the ifrit, it caught fire and rebounded back towards its source. The sulfurous gas sacs at the base of the dragon's throat exploded, immediately decapitating the beast.

'Shall I deal with them as well?'

Harry could barely make out a group of purple-robed figures appearing at the base of the prison. He had no doubt that his fire djinn could do so. But he was still trapped beneath apparition wards, shackled, and judging by the increasing difficulty in drawing breath, in dire need of medical attention. Now wasn't the time for more fighting. 'No, you need to hide. I don't want them to discover you in case I require your assistance again.' The ifrit stepped back into Harry, it's fire merging with his body before condensing on his right arm around the cuneiform and vanishing.

He was still lying on the beach when the warden approached him, wand raised and holding an active Shield Charm in place.

"You're quite resourceful, Mr. Potter. I've never encountered an adult wizard who could escape our wyvern under these conditions, much less successfully slay it. We're going to have to resort to extreme measures to keep you restrained," he gestured to one of the guards that accompanied him, taking a potions vial from the man and removing the stopper. "Fortunately, I doubt that even you will have a counter for the Draught of Living Death."

A cool liquid was poured into Harry's mouth, his raw and abused throat involuntarily swallowing it. His eyes drifted shut, and he knew no more.

January 2, 1995

While a city as large as London was never static and always in motion, to Sam, it still felt like coming home after years abroad. Sure, the shops were different and neighborhoods had changed, but the general tenor of the metropolis was familiar and comforting.

After he was portkeyed to Paris by the traitorous Headmistress and the French aurors, he felt lost. The booklet that Maxime had given them was, in fact, the portkey, and Sam had read of the adjustments to French laws regarding breaches to the Statute once he'd landed. Pushed through with broad support, but primarily at the urging of Vice-Minister of Magic Marcel Delacour, it greatly increased the punishment for exposing non-magicals, but only for when foreigners did so. In other words, it was almost tailor-made to fit Harry's stunt from the previous summer.

'If Harry would have just listened to me and waited until we thought up a better plan, all of this could be avoided!' It was unusual for the normally rational teenager to make such reckless decisions of his own accord; he'd thought that he and Harry had the kind of relationship where they wouldn't take such rash actions on a whim.

'Perhaps he doesn't believe you are still as committed to his cause.'

Sam ignored Erra, who never failed to whisper poison into his mind whenever his thoughts strayed to Harry's motivations. What was important was getting help for him. It was that desire that led him to Charing Cross, waiting patiently until opportunity struck, and he was able to follow an oddly-dressed couple into the Leaky Cauldron, and Diagon Alley beyond.

Counting out his dwindling number of Wizarding coins, he counted his blessings that he wouldn't need to exchange any pounds at Gringotts, instead making a beeline for the Owl Express branch. He'd spent several days in France trying to figure out who he could turn to for help; who would have the power and influence needed to free Harry.

Taking the form from the bored-looking clerk at the shop, Sam began to fill out the recipients' names. One name came to mind immediately, especially so given the recency of their meeting; Sam printed out Alessio Zabini in neat letters. The next was a little riskier, especially given the reasons for Harry's incarceration, but nonetheless, he next wrote Congressman Irving Butler.

Setting aside the international delivery form, he next picked up the domestic mail slip, and with significantly more hesitation, filled in two lines with the names Marius Selwyn and Albus Dumbledore. He hoped that they could figure something out; he couldn't think of any other options. In the meantime, though, there was something he could do.

'So you're finally going to start listening to me? You could make things so much easier on yourself if you'd do so more often, you know.'

Sam ground his teeth in irritation at the self-congratulatory tone in Erra's comment. 'Even a stopped clock is right twice a day' he replied as he entered the offices of the Daily Prophet.

"Hello," he said to the secretary seated behind an expensive looking desk, "I'd like to peruse the back issues of your newspaper."

Two weeks later, a most unusual group of individuals congregated in the antechamber of the International Confederacy of Wizards, united only by the singular purpose they each shared.

January 30, 1995

"C'mon Tori, it's been days, are you going to mope for the rest of the term?"

"He's my best friend, of course I'm still upset. Why aren't you?" The news had broken in mid-January that Harry Potter was imprisoned in France, providing a much-needed distraction from the increasingly grim tenor of domestic politics in Magical Britain.

"I guess I'm just happy to finally hear some good news."

"Good?! What's good about Harry being stuck in a prison? What if… what if the dementors break free and get to him?"

Daphne chuckled and ran a hand down her sister's hair. "Don't worry, the French don't use dementors. That's only in Azkaban. As to why I'm not as upset as you, well… I guess not knowing was worse. Harry's too important to spend much time in prison. Now I don't have to worry about whether he ended up in some unmarked grave, or worse, with some foreign witch."

Astoria laughed at her sister's joke. "I guess that's true. Oh! I left my Transfiguration textbook in my trunk!"

"Relax, sis, we'll just go back and grab it. We have plenty of time before breakfast ends."

As they walked, Tori returned to their original topic, "I can't wait till he comes back. I bet he'll eat with us every meal!"

"Don't you think he'd sit at the Ravenclaw table?"

"No way! I wasn't at Hogwarts before. He'll want to eat at Slytherin." Their conversation ground to a halt as they entered the Slytherin dorms, nearly empty save for an apparently contentious conversation happening in front of the fireplace.

"-don't understand why you're still making me do this! You said the right kind of wizard gets rewarded, but I'm still stuck playing the escort to the only handicapped girl in the castle! It was bad enough last year when you made me be her friend, but now people think I have a crush on her!"

"What do you care? She's a nice girl; besides, you're just a Second Year," Draco Malfoy replied, sounding supremely irritated at Dedworth's confrontational tone.

"It's already been a year and a half. What girl will look twice at me when they all think I'm besotted with some cripple?!"

Draco had just opened his mouth to reply, but at the sound of her sister's strangled sob, Daphne let out an inarticulate cry of rage. He'd turned his head to see who had walked in, his grey eyes widening at the flashes of light and Daphne's shout of "Fernunculus! Morsus! Morsus!"

Dedworth collapsed to the ground, one eye swollen shut from either a lucky or a superbly aimed Stinging Hex, while painful boils burst across his face. Draco stood but before he could brandish his wand, a Disarming Charm sent it careening across the common room and a blur in green and silver trimmed robes barreled into him.

In her rage, Daphne lacked the knowledge of any spells strong enough to inflict the kind of hurt she wanted Draco to suffer. So, she resorted to her fists; she punched, clawed, gouged, ripped - anything to hurt him more than what he did to her sister. Even when she was pulled off of him, a quick elbow to the gut of Draco's rescuer allowed her time to aim a solid kick to his face, the crunch of his nose breaking against her shoe bringing her unmitigated joy.

Professor Aurora Sinistra, only Head of Slytherin House for two years, walked into the Serpents' dorms after being summoned by a Fifth Year girl who had skipped breakfast to do some extra studying. It had been more than five minutes since the fight had ended, but Dedworth was still on the floor. Daphne continued struggling against the prefect that had her restrained, screaming threats at the Malfoy Heir, who sat listlessly on the sofa, bleeding in silence.

"What in the name of all that is magical is going on here?!"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, MALFOY!" Daphne shouted, unconcerned at who was asking questions.

"Miss Greengrass, if you don't control yourself, I'm going to restrain you magically. Mr. Warrington," Sinistra asked the prefect holding Daphne back, "perhaps you can shed some light on this?"

"I wasn't here for the start of it, but when I came back from breakfast Greengrass was on top of Draco, attacking him."

"And Mr. Dedworth?"

"Nothing happened. We were just practicing spells, it was all a misunderstanding," Draco said quietly, not raising his eyes from staring at the thick green carpet. "I hit Dedworth with spells he wasn't able to block. I was irresponsible, Da-, Greengrass was just trying to protect him."

"That's not true!" Frances Rowle, the Fifth Year that had gone to summon Sinistra, cried out. "Greengrass attacked Dedworth and Malfoy out of the bl-" the girl fell silent as Draco finally raised his eyes, the furious intensity of his glare shutting Rowle up.

"As I said, it was just a misunderstanding. If you want to punish someone, give me a detention for hitting Dedworth with Fourth Year spells." As if on cue, the Second Year boy moaned piteously.

"Regardless of what you claim, Mr. Malfoy, I can't ignore the threats that I heard Miss Greengrass shouting. Two weeks detention, Miss Greengrass; Mr. Malfoy, you know better than to fire spells at a younger student, much less in the common room. One week detention. 50 points from Slytherin. Each."

"Let us share our detention together, dear Dracoand I still have things to work out-" The girl suddenly went ramrod straight, Warrington easing her to the floor following Sinistra's Body-bind Curse. She crouched over the girl, staring seriously into the girl's violet eyes.

"Listen up, Greengrass. If you can't control yourself, I'll be forced to recommend your suspension to the Headmistress. Would you rather finish the term at your family's home, or will you calm down and conduct yourself in a manner befitting a Hogwarts student?" A quiver of fear ran through Daphne at the thought of being sent home to her parents, visible only in the widening of her violet eyes. "Now, I'm going to release my spell. You will calm down and cease this reprehensible behavior. Am I clear? Blink twice if you understand."

Daphne blinked twice, and stood once the curse was released, smoothing her robes and searching the common room for her sister. Before she left to go look in the dormitories, she shot a contemptuous look at the silent Fourth Year bleeding on the couch. "This isn't over, Malfoy," she hissed quietly as she walked past.

Draco had been sent to the Hospital Wing by Professor Sinistra shortly after she'd doled out his punishment. He'd refused an escort, claiming that unlike Dedworth, he was more than capable of managing the walk by himself.

Instead of going to the infirmary, however, Draco stopped off in an empty classroom one floor up from the Great Hall. Easing himself gingerly onto a dusty chair, he winced as his salty tears stung his numerous injuries. Draco cried, not just from the pain of what Daphne had done to him, but more so at what he'd done to the Greengrass sisters.

Everything had been so clear before. Black and white. Good and evil. Clean and righteous purebloods against the cancerous and uppity mudbloods.

'How could I have been so naive?' Nothing, in reality, was so simplistic. The logical side of him still knew that his beliefs were valid; he knew that the Wizarding World had its traditions for a reason, and that ignorant muggleborns threatened those for no reason beyond the desire to see change for change's sake.

'And yet…' What use were traditions when defending them required sacrificing children, like the Weasley girl and Abbott? What kind of reward were muggleborns like Aidan Lynch offered, for embracing the Wizarding World and excelling at his chosen profession? 'What kind of future leader am I, that would inflict such cruelty on a sick and vulnerable little girl?' He cried even harder.

Just then, the door that he'd failed to lock opened. "Is everything okay? I heard someone crying from the corri- Oh. Malfoy." Morag MacDougal stood in the doorway, her sympathy turning to irritation. "I'll leave you be."

"Mac-" Draco's voice cracked in an embarrassing fashion, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "MacDougal, wait."

The girl paused. "What do you want, Malfoy? Looks like you must have finally mouthed off to the wrong person."

"The opposite, actually, but I deserved it nonetheless." He stared at Morag, this girl that he had known peripherally for almost his entire life. The MacDougals had been a respectable if somewhat middle-class family; until Morag's father had gone and married a muggleborn. Draco had taken great pleasure in heaping abuse on Morag for her father's sin of…

'Of what, exactly? Making a proper woman out of a mudblood?' Wasn't Mrs. MacDougal the contrary example of everything that the proper sort of people claimed that mudbloods were? She, and her daughter, conformed to every written and unwritten rule of pureblood etiquette. What more could Morag have done, other than be born to a different family, to meet every standard of what a proper witch should be?

"What is it, Malfoy?"

Draco jerked; he hadn't realized he'd been staring while his thoughts raced. "I'm sorry."

"For staring? It's an improvement from your insults."

He deserved that. "Listen, MacDougal," Draco winced at the nasally quality that his broken nose gave his voice, "I wanted to apologize. You… you never did anything to deserve the way that I treated you."

Whatever Morag had been expecting him to say, it clearly wasn't that, as her jaw dropped. A few seconds passed, and she still hadn't replied, so Draco soldiered on, "I- I've been horrid to you, for pretty much our whole lives. I thought that I had it all figured out, but I was wrong. I'm sorry."

Morag continued to stare but eventually nodded. "Very well. Do you require assistance to the Hospital Wing, Malfoy?"

"No, I can manage. Thanks, Morag."

"For what?"

He hauled himself to his feet, standing straight to meet her eyes. "For not walking away when you saw it was me. You-, you're a good person. Thank you."

Still watching him suspiciously, she nodded again and walked off towards her first class. It was a start, at least. Draco Malfoy promised himself that he would be a better man.

February 6, 1995

While the ICW had tried rotating the location of its headquarters, as the administration and functions of the organization had grown over the centuries, the hindrance that came with that sort of transience outweighed the security benefits that such mobility offered. In the end, it was decided that the supranational body which regulated and enforced so much of the international wizarding economy, along with the all-important Statute of Secrecy, could not be based within the borders of any individual national ministry.

In service to that requirement, along with the symbolism offered from the mundane surroundings, a 'headquarters' of a sort was fashioned within a large mountain in the Swiss Alps, outside the authority of both the French, German, and Austrian Ministries. Completed in 1878, despite technically being a subterranean structure, the ICW capital boasted the latest charms and enchantments, elegant ornamentation present as far as the eye could see. Named Tutela Silenda - 'Protecting the Secret' after the founding mission of the Confederacy, the citadel had a year-round population of nearly five hundred wizards and witches who manned the bureaucratic machinery of the institution.

Albus Dumbledore had spent most of his summers here for the last half-century, since his defeat of Grindelwald. He was the first Supreme Mugwump to ever rise to the position without first serving as a national representative - also called Mugwumps, but the regular sort. The position had not so much been offered as it was enforced; following Grindelwald's all-too-frequent disregard for the Statute, and his own unchallenged magical supremacy following his defeat, the ICW needed some assurance that Dumbledore would not, himself, become a threat to their fragile international order.

Over the ensuing years, he'd often looked back on accepting this position with regret; the constant bickering over commercial licenses, intellectual property, royalty settlements; for being the overarching authority over a world of magic, so little of what the ICW did actually contained any wonder or fascination. Still, in this moment, he counted his blessings that he'd accepted and retained this office; the last of his political power and influence following his fall from grace in Great Britain.

Dumbledore left his office, walking to the antechamber just outside of the Sorcerer's Assembly, the hall where the political business of the Confederacy was conducted. Given that it was he who had convened this session, well out of the normal calendar of meetings, he was somewhat surprised to find two men waiting for him. One elderly, holding a cane but standing straight; the other middle-aged and easily recognizable. Behind the two, Dumbledore could sense two other additional presences. Their Disillusionment Charms were certainly very impressive.

"Ah, Mr. Pirras," Albus greeted the Italian Mugwump as he would an old friend, "Lovely to see you again. I trust the unexpected travel was not too much of an imposition?"

"Indeed, it was not. In fact, had you not called for this meeting, I would have filed the documents to do so myself. As it is, I would like to introduce you to someone - my father-in-law, Alessio Zabini, Head of the family."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. While the elder Zabini was not someone that shied away from the public eye, it was exceptionally rare for him to leave Sardinia. "Lord Zabini," he greeted with a nod of his head.

"I trust that you convened this session due to the extraordinary actions of the French Ministry in regards to a mutual acquaintance of ours. I want you to know that you have our support, and not only in the form of my son-in-law's vote." He snapped his fingers, and a black-suited bodyguard canceled his disillusionment and stepped forward, handing a thin folder to the Supreme Mugwump. "I kept it only to the necessary information. Where he is being held, how they have treated him; everything else I'm certain you've sussed out for yourself."

"How did you come upon this information? It seems hard to believe that the French, no matter how petulant they may be acting, would send Harry to the Lost Prison."

"Capraia Isle is not as impregnable as the French would like to believe. The Zabini family has ways of acquiring information; you can trust that it is reliable."

"What exactly is your interest in Mr. Potter? I wasn't aware that he had any connections with the Italian magical community. I should think his imprisonment would be of little concern to your business ventures."

Alessio smiled mysteriously. "Who said that my family's interest in him was about business?"

Before Dumbledore could respond, all eyes turned towards the entrance, where two more men joined the group in the increasingly crowded antechamber.

"Supreme Mugwump, Mr. Pirras," Roger Williams, the American Mugwump, didn't recognize the other men in the room and merely continued, "er, gentlemen; I'd like to introduce Congressman Irving Butler. He accompanied me from the MACUSA to speak with you, Albus."

"Congressman, it's a pleasure to meet you. However, your timing is rather inopportune. I was just speaking with Lord Zabini and Mr. Pirras about the upcoming ICW session I'd convened-"

"-Regarding the French Ministry's deliberate change to their laws in order to specifically target Harry Potter? That is precisely the reason I came to speak with you."

Dumbledore was feeling rather overwhelmed. The head of the most powerful crime family in Europe and the most beloved political figure in the MACUSA had both come in person to make appeals on Harry's behalf? 'What happened over the last two years?'

"By all means, please go on, Congressman," Alessio said, filling the silence left during Dumbledore's musings.

"I suspect I received the same letter that you both did. Harry is something of a friend of mine, and to my country; I'd like to offer my voice in speaking in support of his release."

"It seems to me that having the Ministry that is the most vocal in their support of strict enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy is a powerful aid in our cause, Dumbledore."

"Indeed. Well, gentlemen, shall we go ahead and get started?"

February 13, 1995

Daphne was concerned about her sister. Since Malfoy's scheming with Astoria's peers had been exposed, the girl was a shadow of her former self. She sent Tilly for food, rather than eat in the Great Hall, and by and large, stayed in her dorm when not in class.

"This has gone on long enough."

"Easy, Daphne, how much do you think you think she'll enjoy you storming into her room and demanding she come to dinner? You have to admit, when it comes to your sister's well-being, you aren't the mos-" Blaise looked over Daphne's shoulder, quickly whipping his wand out from his sleeve. "Duck."

Daphne and Tracey did so, allowing him the space he needed to hit Mulciber and Dedworth with Hair-Removal Jinxes. The three of them had made it their mission to ensure that the two Second-Years had as miserable an experience at Hogwarts as possible. "Little bastards. Anyway, like I was saying, you can be a bit overbearing."

"She's my sister, Blaise, of course I'd look out for her!"

"He has a point, Daph."

The elder Greengrass sister pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "So what do you suggest? I just let her spend the next five years in her dorm room?"

"How about I go talk to her? We've always got on well, and maybe she'll have an easier time talking to someone that isn't… well, you."

Daphne grudgingly admitted that Tracey had a point, and her best friend stood up and walked towards the girls' dorms.

"She'll bounce back, you'll see."

"I hope so." She turned her attention to the olive-skinned teen across from her. "Have you retaken all of your makeup exams?"

"All but Astronomy. I think Sinistra is letting me slide because she's our Head of House."

"Nice to know there's at least some benefit to her replacing Snape."

Blaise raised an eyebrow and carefully replied, "You can't tell me you expected her to go easy on you after what you did to Malfoy. He stayed overnight in the Hospital Wing, Daphne."

"Professor Snape let us resolve things internally. It was a Family issue. You just take her side because she's young and… relatively attractive," Daphne sniffed haughtily.

"C'mon, you're just being stubborn. She let me miss the end-of-term exams for Family business. She's not as bad as you're making her out to be."

Daphne quieted at that, casting the Italian teen a sympathetic look. "I know how much it meant to you that you were able to inter your mother according to your traditions." When he didn't respond, she continued, "You never told me how your grandfather recovered her remains."

Blaise stared at the table, seemingly weighing an internal decision. "It was Potter."

She gasped, sitting up straight, "Harry went and retrieved your mother?"

"He, and his muggle companion. They traveled to the Middle East and disabled the traps around the archaeological site. My grandfather was so impressed, he allowed them to stay on the island for a month."

"Wait, wait," Daphne was working through her surprise. "You mean when you went back, you saw him? And you didn't tell me?"

"It's complicated. He was… involved with my cousin."

"The spoiled rich girl you were always complained about? How involved was he?"

The possessive quality of her barbed questions wasn't hard to read. "Ease off. Chiara and I may not get along, but she's a Zabini."

She opened her mouth to press further, regardless of Blaise's warning, but at that moment Tracey appeared with Astoria in tow.

Tracey had walked down the corridor of the girls' wing of Slytherin's dormitories, coming to a halt outside of the room that Astoria shared with the other two girls in her year. She knocked on the door and waited for over a minute, then let herself in.

"What, too busy to answer your door these days?"

Astoria sat in her wheelchair facing her bed, an open Charms textbook on her lap. "My roommates are out, and I assumed the only person that would be coming to see me is my sister."

"And you don't want to talk with her?"

"Not with the way she's been hovering over me like a broomstick parent." Astoria didn't look up from her reading. "You can go tell her I'm fine."

Tracey ignored the younger girl's dismissal and stepped forward to take a seat on her bed. "You know, you might feel better if you would come out of this room once in a while. It's not easy to cheer up when you only go to class and to the bathroom."

"What's the point? Nobody wants me around."

"Blaise and I do."

"Only because of Daphne. Besides, she's better off without me."

"What is that supposed to mean? You know how devoted your sister is to you!"

Tori slammed her book shut. "Do you think I haven't noticed that Daphne's the only girl in her year that hasn't gone out with a boy? Even Bulstrode got kissed by Goyle when they went to Hogsmeade before Yule Break."

"Wha- what in Merlin's name are you talking about? It's not because of you she doesn't go out with anyone; it's because your sister has a stick so far up her rear she can't bend over to tie her shoes!"

Astoria's eyes flashed as she instinctively defended her sister, "Don't you talk about her that way!"

Tracey grinned in response. "I'm her best friend, I can call it like I see it. Now quit making excuses and let's get ready for dinner."

"You don't need to worry, Tilly will bring me my meal right here."

"Okay, have it your way." Tracey sprawled out on Astoria's bed, fluffing the pillows to make it easier to sit upright.

"What are you doing?"

"If you won't come eat with us in the Great Hall, I'll stay and eat with you right here. I'm sure your elf won't have a problem bringing dinner for two instead of one."

"Tracey…" Astoria's eyes glistened with tears of frustration.

"Look, what Dedworth and Mulciber did was awful. They didn't realize how great a friend you are. But you can't let two bell-ends ruin your life. Not everyone thinks like they do!"

"Yea? It's not like I'm putting up wards to keep away the people that want to spend time with me! I-, I'm not cut out for friends. Maybe if I weren't sick, or if I was normal, it would be different."

Tracey regarded her silently for a long moment. "Tori?"

"What?"

"You can come with me willingly, or I'm going to levitate you out of here. I want to spend time with you, and tomorrow is Valentine's Day, so I'm going to be busy snogging Eddie Carmichael. What's it going to be?"

Astoria's jaw dropped at Tracey's blunt demand. "Who's Eddie Carmichael?"

A sly smile on her face, Tracey winked at the younger girl. "Let's go meet your sister and Blaise. I'll point Eddie out to you in the Great Hall."

Tori sighed, but couldn't suppress the slight upturn of her lips. She set her book down on her nightstand and let Tracey lead her out of the dorms, entering the common room and interrupting a somewhat tense conversation between Blaise and Daphne.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine," Blaise replied smoothly. "Good to see you again, squirt. Let's get going, shall we?"

The four of them made their way out of the dungeons and walked into the Great Hall, taking their seats and making their plates. The Great Hall was packed, filled with students gossiping about the upcoming holiday, some discussing their plans, and others nervously seeking out dates.

A flicker of light at the next table over caught Astoria's attention, and she watched while Neville and Susan walked a huge bowl of pudding over in front of a surprisingly well-dressed Luna, complete with a set of floating candles hovering over the dessert's surface.

"It must be her birthday," Astoria said absently, leading Daphne to turn and look over her shoulder. No sooner had the two Fourth Years reached the Ravenclaw table when a Tripping Jinx lanced out and struck Neville, causing the Gryffindor to tumble to the floor, his fall unceremoniously dumping the entire bowl of pudding over Luna.

Blaise and Tracey both laughed uproariously, along with most of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, at the sight of the sticky yellow pudding coating the Third Year. Neville was busy apologizing and casting scouring charms, while Susan was shouting angrily at the Eagles, demanding to know who had cast the jinx.

"Tori? Where are you going?"

She ignored her sister, pushing her chair away from the Slytherin table and slowly making her way over to the site of the commotion. Neville seemed oddly resigned, having spelled away most of the pudding; Luna looked longingly at the empty dish, while Susan appeared ready to start a duel with the entirety of the blue-and-bronze clad House. Flitwick had arrived from the faculty table and was nearly as furious as the Fourth Year Hufflepuff, threatening House-wide sanctions.

"Luna?"

"Hello, Astoria," she greeted, somewhat more subdued than normal.

"Would you, I mean, do you maybe want to study in the library tomorrow? If you don't have plans, I mean."

Luna smiled brightly and nodded her head, and Tori found herself smiling in reply. "Great! Let's meet after dinner. And happy birthday, Luna!"

March 17, 1995

"Most students come to the Library to study, you know."

Daphne grabbed Neville and pulled him behind the shelf she was leaning against. "Keep it down!" she hissed, "I'd rather not announce the fact that I'm here, thank you very much."

"Checking up on your sister?" Astoria was, presently, giggling at something Luna had said while the two girls had their books open on a table, working on their assignments together. Somehow, the odd pair had become fast friends, frequently getting together over the last month.

"Yes. What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on Luna," he grinned.

The two watched the younger girls in silence for a few moments before Daphne spoke again. "I'm glad that Tori has a friend, but I can't help but wish it was with someone less…"

"Quirky?"

"Strange. You can't deny that the girl's oddities bring on the wrong kind of attention."

Neville's face darkened. "Are you saying she deserves the way her House treats her?"

"No! I mean, she's just so… never mind. Tori's had such a rough go of things, I just worry is all."

He looked over the two girls again, before turning back to Daphne. "What did you think of the Minister's address to the Wizengamot?" he asked, changing the topic.

"I can't imagine it's anything but posturing. The last two generations were dominated by war, first against Grindelwald, and then against the Dark Lord. I doubt anything will come of it." Fudge had given an antagonistic speech, demanding Harry Potter's return to Great Britain, threatening to send a contingent of aurors and hitwizards to take him back by force if necessary.

"Only Harry could flee the country and end up starting a war in doing so." Daphne didn't seem to share his amusement.

"Just as long as he comes back soon. I never would have imagined they'd keep him locked up this long."

"Gran says that their Vice-Minister is the one holding things up. I'm sure that they'll give in eventually; word is that the ICW isn't happy with the escalation between two member-states."

Daphne glanced over at the younger girls, who were packing away their quills and parchment. "Looks like they're turning in for the night."

"Seems that way. See you tomorrow?"

She shook her head. "Astoria has her treatments at St. Mungo's in the morning, she usually needs a few days of rest before she's back to her normal self."

"About your sister..." he seemed to hesitate for a moment, then pressed on, "why is she so ill? There aren't many conditions that last that long, and she's been in that wheelchair since she started school."

Daphne pressed her lips together, seeming to age several years before his eyes. "She's been in the chair since she was a child. Astoria has never walked. She has a hereditary blood illness that resists treatment. The healers said she likely wouldn't live to see her graduation, but I'm hopeful that this new potions regimen might give her more time."

Neville was stunned. "I-, I had no idea. I'm sorry, Daphne."

She brushed away an errant tear from her misty violet eyes. "Me too."

The next morning, Sam rang the buzzer of a rundown apartment building just a few blocks from the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Who is it?"

"Wilson Campbell?"

"Yes?"

"The same Wilson Campbell that was pushed out of the DMLE hitwizards for using excessive force?"

There was no reply on the other end of the intercom, and Sam wondered for a moment if he had the right man. Just over a minute of silence passed, before the locked door opened with a click, and Campbell's voice came over the intercom once more.

"Apartment 4B."

Sam walked up the stairs of the shoddy building, arriving on the fourth floor where a man in his late forties stood leaning against an open door.

"Do I know you?"

"No, you don't. I found your name in a back issue of the Daily Prophet."

"So? You some kind of reporter or somethin'?"

Sam looked him over skeptically. The man looked as though he hadn't shaved in several days, was clad in an ill-fitting shirt and grease-stained blue jeans. "Is it true you lost your wife and children to a Death Eater raid in '79?"

Campbell's fists clenched. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone that can offer you a path to retribution against the people who took your family from you. That is, if you're willing to get your hands dirty in doing so?"

The angry expression on Campbell's face eased, and a feral gleam appeared in his eyes. "Come on in, I'll make us some coffee."

A/N: I'd considered finishing all of 4th year with this chapter, but the truth is that between this and my new story (It Was Written in the Stars) I've written like 15k words in the last 3 days. I'm a little burnt out. I've put a LOT of time into my fiction lately, time which honestly I should have been spending on my dissertation :P

Next chapter will likely be a week or more away. Hard to believe that I've written 200,000+ words since April when I started this fic. For reference, ASAoV as of this chapter is longer than The Fellowship of the Ring, and just about as long as the first 3 Harry Potter books combined. Wow.

I started this fic mostly because of the COVID lockdown. I never would have imagined that it would have turned into something this long, with plans for a sequel and several other fics in progress. Thank you so much to all of you that have stuck around to see how this plays out - I can truly and honestly say I likely would not have stuck with it without the kind and supportive words that you all have offered. Thank you!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy - Frickles