Written in the Stars - Liberation

Liberation

Dumbledore had been all but useless when Cassiopeia had discussed her wayward great-nephew with the man. He had no idea where Sirius may be hiding, or even how he may have escaped the confines of Azkaban.

It was disconcerting to say the least, but Cassiopeia was not one to give up so easily.

Her former Transfiguration professor may be willing to leave Sirius at large. Cassiopeia, however, was not.

If he had indeed given up the Potters to the Dark Lord, he was a threat to Harry, and so long as such a thing existed, Cassiopeia would not rest until it was mitigated.

That was why she had come to the house she had grown up with, a place she had no desire to ever see again.

Too many memories dwelled here, both good and bad, but none that would bring her any amount of joy.

Her childhood with Arcturus and Dorea had been spotty at best, and she had left Grimmauld Place shortly before the former had begun his education at Hogwarts.

Cassiopeia had been an idealist back then; had found a cause and leader she had believed in so wholeheartedly that she had abandoned her already fracturing family in favour of greener pastures.

Not that her pursuit on the continent had led to anything more than further heartache and several subsequent decades living in isolation, until Harry came along.

The thought of the boy filled her with worry.

Since he had learned of Sirius’s bid for freedom only a few days prior, he had been silent. The rage he felt towards the man threatening to boil over.

Cassie didn’t know what more she could do than what she was now, and though she wished to be anywhere but here, for Harry, she would face her demons.

“What a mess,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose as she entered the main hallway of the home.

It had been left to decay, and the smell of rotting wood and dust filled the air.

Despite her feelings on her childhood home, it saddened her to see it in such a state.

“Who’s there?” an unwelcoming voice croaked from the darkness.

Cassiopeia lit the tip of her wand and turned towards it, scowling as she found herself looking upon the most unpleasant elf she had ever seen.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Kreacher be the Black family elf,” the elf replied, shielding its eyes from the light of her wand. “Kreacher served Mistress Black and Master Regulus proudly.”

“Walburga?”

The elf nodded; its eyes full of reverence.

“Mistress was good to Kreacher.”

Cassiopeia grimaced.

She had met Walburga on a few occasions and found the woman lacking in every conceivable way with regards to the name she carried.

A Black she was not.

She was brash and lacked any subtlety or political acumen.

“What about Sirius?” Cassiopeia pressed.

“Master Sirius was a blood-traitor,” Kreacher spat. “He broke Mistress’s heart.”

That wouldn’t have taken much.

Walburga often complained about how disappointed she was in her eldest son, not that she would be now, of course.

If the woman knew what Sirius had done, she would be most proud.

“What happened to Walburga?”

“Mistress died of the shame,” Kreacher despaired. “Master Regulus died, and there was none left to serve.”

Cassiopeia could only shake her head.

Only Walburga would actually have died of the shame she had felt.

“What about Sirius?”

Kreacher’s expression darkened once more at the mention of the man.

“He is a filthy blood-traitor!” the elf spat, reiterating his earlier thoughts.

“Have you seen him?”

Kreacher frowned at the question.

“Kreacher has not.”

Cassiopeia believed him, but that didn’t mean Sirius would not come here to hide from the aurors.

Grimmauld Place was unplottable, after all, and he would never be found so long as he remained within these walls, as derelict as they were.

“Why have you allowed the house to fall in such a state?” Cassiopeia demanded to know.

“Mistress told Kreacher to leave it.”

“Walburga is dead,” Cassiopeia pointed out. “You serve the house of Black, and you have neglected your duties.”

“Kreacher serves Mistress still,” the elf replied defiantly.

Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow at him.

“You cannot serve someone who is dead.”

Kreacher grinned as he beckoned Cassiopeia to follow him down the length of the hall and paused as he reached a set of what had once been rather luxurious curtains.

As the elf pulled them open, Cassiopeia felt a sense of uneasy wash over at the sight of Walburga Black.

Kreacher had been serving a portrait and judging by the rather unhinged look the woman sported, one that had taken leave of her senses.

Walburga had always been erratic at best, had an overinflated sense of self-import that often landed her in trouble when she spoke out of turn, but the woman Cassiopeia found herself gazing at was maniacal, a wild, feral expression that spoke of the madness that plagued her.

“You are following the orders of a portrait?” she asked the elf, who nodded proudly.

“Mistress has never left Kreacher.”

Cassiopeia turned her attention towards the painting once more, the grin that Walburga sent her way being rather disconcerting.

“Why does it not surprise me that you found a way to cling on to an existence of sorts,” Cassiopeia snorted. “Portraits are reserved for heads of the of the family.”

“I was the last of us!” Walburga spat.

Cassiopeia shook her head.

“I yet live,” she pointed out. “As does Bella, Andromeda, and Narcissa. Even Sirius.”

“Do not mention that boys’ name in my house!” Walburga hissed.

An amused grin tugged at Cassiopeia’s lips.

She never could resist getting a rise out of Walburga.

“Well, it seems as though you got your wish in the end,” she sighed. “Sirius will never be the head of the family.”

Walburga positively beamed at the revelation.

“So, it will fall to one of the other’s children.”

Cassiopeia shook her head.

“Bella is in Azkaban, childless, and will never see the light of day,” she explained, much to the chagrin of Walburga. “Andromeda…”

“Is a filthy whore who married a mudblood!”

Cassiopeia nodded.

“Narcissa has a son with Lucius Malfoy.”

“He comes from fine stock,” Walburga mused aloud. “He will make for an excellent lord.”

Once more, Cassiopeia shook her head.

“He is not the heir of the family,” she said with no small amount of glee. “It seems that Sirius did something right.”

“What did the boy do?” Walburga growled.

“He chose a suitable heir,” Cassiopeia replied with shrug. “Before he chose to do what he did, he left everything to his godson, including the title he should have inherited.”

“He can’t have done,” Walburga denied. “You cannot leave the Black lordship to any who does not satisfy the needs of the position.”

“My Harry does,” Cassiopeia returned proudly.

“Your Harry?”

“Well, Dorea’s Harry,” Cassie corrected. “He is her grandson.”

Walburga frowned thoughtfully for a moment whilst she attempted to piece the puzzle together, a frown that morphed into a scowl.

“He is a Potter!”

“And a Black,” Cassiopeia pointed out. “He is a fine boy that I have raised, and one that will see the family right, though I do not believe he will be pleased by the state of his ancestral home. Kreacher, you will fix it on behalf of the Lord Black, or I will have you replaced with an elf that will. Do you understand?”

“Kreacher, you will do nothing!” Walburga commanded. “There will be no filthy mudblood lord of our family.”

Cassiopeia chuckled to herself.

“What do you intend on doing about it, Walburga?” she questioned. “You are nothing but an essence of what you once were, and even if you were alive, there would be nothing you could do to prevent it. Now, if you wish to remain intact, I suggest you shut up or I will reduce you to nothing but a pile of ashes to be blown away in the wind.”

Walburga glared balefully at Cassiopeia, but the woman no longer had any power or influence here.

She could rant and rave all she wished, but it would change nothing.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Kreacher?” Cassie snapped.

The elf looked towards the portrait of the woman he revered so much before disappearing with a pop.

“As for you,” Cassie continued, addressing the portrait, “I think it is best that you remain silent for the time being. I will not have you interfering with the elf’s work.”

With a wave of her wand, and before Walburga could protest, Cassie cast a series of charms over the portrait to ensure the woman could no longer speak or interact with anyone that may enter the house in her absence.

It would not do for Sirius to be made aware of her visit.

When she had replaced the curtains, Cassie shook her head in frustration.

She had been convinced that Sirius would be here, and not knowing the man intimately in any way, she was at a loss as to where he could be.

Still, she would not give up her search.

He would surface eventually, and when he did, she would be ready to ensure that he posed no threat to Harry. Though having spent more than a decade in Azkaban, she doubted he was much of a threat to anyone.

If anything, she was more concerned that Harry would take it upon himself to look for Sirius, and though the man would deserve everything he had coming to him, Harry was only thirteen years old.

The burden to find Sirius should not be on him, not when he had Cassiopeia to carry out whatever fate he wished for his godfather.

(Break)

Harry watched interestedly as the small bolts of lightning danced across the tips of his fingers. Whilst he had been trying to come to terms with the latest of his inner turmoil, he had discovered that his affinity for the element responded more readily to him during periods of heightened emotion.

It was quite the breakthrough for the boy, but he could only compare it to his studies in the Dark Arts, though he was pleased to learn that the lightning did not leave him experiencing any ill-effects.

The Dark Arts, as incredibly complicated as they were proving to be, thrived on the emotion of the caster, and would allow themselves to be wielded so seemingly freely, but using them was far from being so.

Acting emotionally denoted a weakness that the magics would eventually exploit, addling the mind and even leaving their marks on the body.

Mastering them without experiencing such unwanted repercussions was no minor feat.

To do so, the practitioner must first master their emotions and act without their influence.

Wielding them whilst being fuelled by anger, hate, even the notion of greed, and almost all things that elicited a sense of euphoria would only end in disaster.

The magic feasted on these things, used them as a focal point to embed itself within the caster, and would fester, and continue to feed the more it was called upon in such a way.

Harry had learned that the Dark Arts truly were intoxicating, a power that should never be abused, nor allowed to corrupt.

He was still learning how to prevent that, something he would continue to do when he returned to Durmstrang in only a couple weeks.

He dragged his eyes away from the pulses of energy he was creating and focused them on the unopened envelope that had arrived an hour or so prior.

The missive inside would determine his future at Durmstrang, what he would and wouldn’t be able to continue to study, and though Harry wasn’t truly nervous, he had found a moment of bliss in being ignorant.

Shaking his head and releasing a deep breath, he picked it up and broke the Durmstrang seal on the back before removing the thick wad of parchment from inside.

Dear Mr Potter,

Please find enclosed your academic report from the school year 1992-1993.

We look forward to welcoming you back to Durmstrang shortly.

Professor Igor Karkaroff

Headmaster

Professor Misha Sidorova

Head of Second Year

Grades

Your grades are awarded based on the system outlined below. If you wish to discuss them in further detail, please arrange an appointment with Professor Sidorova who will be happy to do so.

Grading System

Grades are given based on expected levels achieved for the academic year you have completed.

Each year, the grading boundaries and expectations change as you progress through a subject.

Grading Classes

First Class* - The highest attainable grade at Durmstrang. You are working considerably beyond what is expected at the level of study.

First Class – You have accomplished beyond what is expected at your level of study.

Second Class – You have achieved all that is expected of you at your level of study.

Third Class – You have not achieved all that is expected of you at your level of study. Your performance will be closely monitored throughout the next year.

Unattained – You have not reached an acceptable level of progress/completion of the subject matter. You are no longer eligible to continue studying the subject.

Results for Harry James Potter

Academic Year: 1991 – 1992

Arcane and Esoteric Magicks – 1st Class*

Blood Magic – 1st Class*

Charms – 1st Class*

Dark Arts – 1st Class*

Defensive Studies – 1st Class*

Elemental Magic – 1st Class*

Enchanting – 1st Class

Herbology – 1st Class

History of Magic – 2nd Class

Magical Languages – 1st Class

Magical Mathematics – 1st Class

Potions – 2nd Class

Runic Studies – 1st Class*

Study of Magical Creatures – 1st Class

Study of Wandlore – 2nd Class

Transfiguration – 1st Class*

You continue to impress me deeply, Harry. You should be very proud of what you have achieved thus far at Durmstrang.

Although you have more than met the criteria to continue with all of your subjects, we recommend that you select between 8-12 to pursue for the rest of your time at Durmstrang.

Please select these by return post at your earliest convenience.

Congratulations, Harry, and I look forward to continuing to watch you progress.

Professor Sidorova

Harry already knew what subjects he would selecting and put a tick next to 12/17 he was eligible for, the ones that would be most useful for him, and the ones he enjoyed most.

He would be dropping History, Wandlore, and Magical Mathematics to begin with.

The former of the three provided him with nothing of note other than knowledge of the recent war on the continent and the Goblin rebellions of old.

Wandlore seemed to be a subject that someone who wished to pursue it needed to have an affinity for the art, and although Harry had come to appreciate the complexity of the art, he would never be a wandmaker.

Magical Mathematics was interesting, but mostly useless unless someone wished to either create spells or analyse established magics, something that Harry doubted he would ever delve into.

If he did develop an interest for it later in life, he could look into it further at his leisure rather than spending three hours a week studying it in a classroom.

Herbology was the next topic he had chosen not to continue with.

As useful as it could be, there was little he couldn’t learn from referring to a text as he had no ambition to grow his own crop of magical plants.

It was simply something that offered him no stimulus.

Much to his own surprise, the final topic he would be forfeiting was his studies in Elemental Magic.

Having identified what he had an affinity for early on, he needed only to continue practicing with summoning and controlling it.

There was little more that Larsen could do for him as he had to figure the rest out for himself.

He had already discussed it with the professor before he had left for the summer, and she agreed that his time would be better spent studying something else but had also assured him that she would be available if he required further assistance.

It was somewhat reluctantly that he had made the decision, but the only other subject he had been able to consider leaving behind was Enchanting, and it was far too intricate to abandon when it could prove to most useful to him in the future.

Harry knew that Voldemort was an expert in the art, and though he may not need to enchant anything, he may need to know how to break such creations.

As such, his final decision had been made, and he would be pursuing the 12 he had eventually decided upon.

Releasing a deep sigh, he placed the piece of parchment into the provided envelope and made his way to where Callidora would be resting.

With it being milder weather, the journey to Durmstrang would not be detrimental to the owl who would enjoy the long flight at this time of year.

“I have something for you, girl,” he murmured before fixing the missive to her leg.

With a loud bark, Callidora took flight and Harry watched her from the window of Cassie’s office, his mind inevitably drifting back to his escaped godfather.

Every part of Harry wanted the man to suffer for what he had done, for Sirius to live every last second of what remained of his life in abject misery, and Harry wanted to be the one to ensure that happened.

He had never felt such anger towards someone until he had read the article announcing Sirius’s escape from Azkaban.

Harry clenched his fist at the audacity of the man that had betrayed his parents.

Given the chance, he wouldn’t even need a wand.

He would throttle his godfather, squeeze the life from him and watch with no small amount of glee as the light left his eyes.

Harry took a calming breath.

As much as he desired it, he knew that the chance was unlikely to come.

Cassie would see to that, and Harry trusted that she would punish Sirius suitably before either ending him or handing him back to the Dementors.

Although Harry despised the very thought of the creatures, no fate was too unkind for Sirius Black.

With a shake of his head, Harry left the study and headed outside.

He had heard the saying that the devil made work for idle hands, and were his to remain so for any longer, he would be unable to ignore the impulse to conduct his own search for his godfather.

No, he was much better continuing with his efforts for the wars ahead, but if he did ever happen across Sirius on his travels, he knew that what little restraint he was exercising would no longer be enough to hold him back.

Sirius Black had better be hoping and praying that such a meeting between them was never to occur.

It would end badly for the man. Of that, Harry had no doubt.

(Break)

Severus watched as Lupin entered the office, his lips curling into a sneer at the sight of the man who looked completely out of place here. The werewolf’s robes were shabby, his hair liberally marred with strands of grey, and his skin was heavily scarred from years of torturous transformations.

It was not the potions master’s prerogative to have one of his former childhood nemesis’s here, but Dumbledore’s, who was looking to employ the man due to recent events.

“Thank you for coming, Remus,” the headmaster greeted the man. “Do take a seat.”

Lupin did so, his eyes darting around the room in discomfort.

“I expect that you have heard of Sirius’s escape?” Dumbledore pressed.

Lupin nodded, his jaw tightening at the mention of his former friend.

“I have.”

Albus released a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

“I would like for you to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post,” he said without further preamble.

Lupin shook his head.

“You know I cannot do that. My condition…”

“Can and will be catered for,” Albus cut in. “Severus will prepare the Wolfsbane potion for you and will cover any lessons you require. The Shrieking Shack will also be available for you to use.”

Lupin’s gaze drifted towards Severus who merely offered him a single stiff nod in confirmation.

“Is this about Sirius?”

“Yes, and no,” Albus answered. “I will admit that his escape is unsettling, but it is no secret that you are a most competent practitioner of Defence, something that is sorely needed after our previous instructor.”

Once more, Severus’s lip curled in distaste.

Lockhart had indeed been a buffoon, but evidently not as foolish as he believed him to be.

At the news that Black had escaped Azkaban and Albus’s revelation that he may find himself here, Lockhart had terminated his employment under the guise of being needed urgently in South America.

He had given no further details but had left the castle within the hour.

“You think that he will come here,” Lupin mused aloud.

Albus nodded sombrely.

“According to the Azkaban guards, he had been muttering in his sleep the days leading to his escape. He repeatedly referred to someone being at Hogwarts.”

An expression of guilt formed on the werewolf as he looked towards Albus tiredly.

“Harry?”

“I believe so.”

Lupin deflated.

“How is he doing?”

Severus’s jaw tightened, and he had to bite his tongue lest he lost his temper with the man.

It had been almost twelve years that Lily was murdered, twelve years since her son had been made an orphan, and no one had seen hide nor hair of the werewolf.

“Quite well from what I hear,” Albus answered.

“From what you hear?” Lupin questioned confusedly.

Albus could only nod.

“Sirius is evidently under the impression that Harry attends Hogwarts.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He does not,” Albus sighed. “He chose to go to Durmstrang instead.”

“Durmstrang!” Lupin gasped as he stood. “Was that your idea?”

Albus shook his head as he held up a placating hand.

“Indeed not,” he assured the man. “Harry made the choice himself.”

The answer only served to confuse the werewolf more.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured. “How did this happen?”

“I suspect that his guardian was very reluctant to allow him to attend Hogwarts,” Albus mused aloud, “likely to spare him from his fame, and from my influence. She is not very fond of me.”

“She?” Lupin pressed. “Who has been looking after him?”

Severus felt no small amount of amusement at seeing Albus experiencing the slight discomfort the question gave him.

“Potter has been raised by none other than Cassiopeia Black,” Severus answered.

Lupin scoffed in disbelief, but when he realised there was no jest from either Severus or Albus, his confusion was replaced with a look of horror.

“The Cassiopeia Black?” he choked.

Albus nodded.

“She claimed him as her ward,” he explained. “There was nothing that could be done to prevent it. She used the marriage contract signed between Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black, and Sirius’s status as Harry’s godfather. As Sirius’s heir, Harry will be the next Lord Black.”

Lupin seemed to be experiencing a bout of information overload and simply collapsed in his chair at the revelation.

“Is he okay?”

“According to what I have been told, and on good authority, Harry is doing remarkably well.”

Lupin shook his head.

“James and Lily would never have wanted him to go there.”

“No,” Albus agreed, “but it was Harry that made the choice, and despite my misgivings and concerns of him being raised by such a woman, she seems to be doing an admirable job.”

“Bloody hell,” Lupin muttered. “So, Sirius is going to come here, attempt to break into the castle and murder Harry who will not be here?”

“I believe that to be his intention.”

Lupin released a laboured breath.

“He will not struggle to find his way in,” he sighed. “There are many hidden passages in and out of the school he could use.”

“That is part of the reason I wish for you to come on board,” Albus replied. “I would like the entrances watched closely. I have little faith that the Dementors will either be successful in capturing him or deterring him from whatever plan he has made.”

“Dementors?”

“By order of Cornelius, they will be stationed here until Sirius is captured.”

“What a stupid idea!” Lupin snorted humourlessly. “It is far too dangerous to allow them free roam of the school.”

For once, Severus found himself in agreement with the man.

“They will not be allowed onto the grounds,” Albus said firmly, “but they will be in Hogsmeade. Cornelius was very adamant about it.”

The two men fell silent for several moments before Lupin spoke once more.

“I’ll do it,” he agreed reluctantly. “To make sure no one is harmed by him, I will take the job.”

“Excellent!” Albus declared happily, shaking Lupin by the hand.

Severus offered no such congratulations, but instead took his leave of the office.

The school year would be interesting to say the least with a werewolf and Dementors around the place.

What could go possibly wrong?

There were too many things to choose only one, but the potions master had little doubt that something would go amiss in the coming months.

Still, he truly hoped it was him that found Black.

Severus carried his guilt, had inadvertently betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord, but Black had done so willingly, had sold out a woman who was supposed to be his friend, and for what?

It was a question that had plagued Severus for many years now, but until he found Black, he would not get an answer, and when he did, the man would die by his hand.

(Break)

He sniffed at the scraps he had been able to gather from the bins in the village; a veritable feast for a starving man that had barely seen a meal in over a decade.

Sirius had managed to begin playing the part of a loveable stray, but even with the lady who ran the pub and the jolly owner of Honeydukes handing him morsels, it wasn’t enough to build the strength he would need for the task ahead.

Wormtail.

Just thinking of the name made his blood boil in his veins and a low growl passed his canine lips.

It wasn’t that the rat had managed to trick him resulting in Sirius spending the past years in Azkaban that bothered the escaped prisoner.

No, it was what he had done to Lily and James that angered Sirius.

He had been their friend, one of the four Marauders that had plagued Hogwarts with their pranks for seven years, and the snivelling coward had thrown it all away for Voldemort.

Sirius shook his head as he turned away from the food he had scavenged, his hunger having left him.

He too had been foolish, and were James and Lily alive now, they would both be unspeakably furious with him.

In his rage, he’d abandoned the one thing they would insist he focused on instead of the vengeance he so desired.

Harry.

If the thought of Peter angered him, the thought of his godson left the man feeling distraught.

He had promised them that he would care for Harry if the worst was to happen, that he would protect the boy with his own life, a promise he still wished to uphold.

He’s at Hogwarts.

However, Wormtail was there too which meant that Harry was in danger.

Learning of this had given Sirius the strength to slip past the Dementors in his Animagus form and swim from the island prison to the mainland.

He needed to save Harry.

His thoughts shifted to his godson, and Sirius wondered what Harry was like.

Was he quiet and reserved like his mother, but passionate and brilliant? Was he gifted in Transfiguration just like James, a brash and mischievous boy?

Sirius remembered the babe he had held the very night Harry had been born, the same moment that James and Lily had asked him to be the boys’ godfather.

He remembered crying from joy, vowing to be the best godfather Harry could ever want.

Sirius had failed on that front.

Harry had grown up without his parents, and without the man that should have been there for him when James and Lily couldn’t.

It begged the question of who had raised him?

Sirius didn’t know, but he hoped that it had been Moony in his absence.

The werewolf would have made a fantastic guardian, despite his furry little problem.

No one else came to mind as a potential parental figure for his godson, but if not Remus, then who?

Sirius could only speculate, each person who came to mind as unlikely as the last.

Whomever it was, he hoped they had told Harry all about his parents, how amazing they were and how much they had loved him.

Although his appetite was all but absent, he forced himself to consume the food he had gathered.

For Harry.

He hoped the boy would understand why he had done what he had, and that he didn’t truly believe that Sirius was the one to betray James and Lily.

Sirius would have died before doing so, and still would for their son.

If only he could speak with the boy for a few minutes to explain what had happened and who the traitor had been.

Such a thing was unlikely, however.

Having finished eating, he sat back on his haunches and whined to himself pitifully.

Nothing would ever absolve him of the guilt he felt for abandoning Harry in favour of seeking justice.

It was something he would always carry, even when he was inevitably returned to Azkaban.

So long as Wormtail was dead and Harry was safe, Sirius would gladly spend the rest of his days with the Dementors, content in the knowledge that Harry was safe from the scum that had sold his parents out.

He merely needed to get to the rat first and then it would be done.

(Break)

“Have we done something to offend him?” Lucinda asked as Harry left their cabin without saying a word.

He had been unusually quiet since they’d arrived to take the ship back to Durmstrang, only speaking when spoken to, and his answers short and lacking interest.

“Don’t you know?” Eleanor questioned. “Don’t any of you?”

Lucinda frowned confusedly as she looked towards the others.

Cain, Bruno, and Ana all seemed to be as clueless as her on the matter.

“Know what?” she asked irritably.

Eleanor shook her head as she removed a Bulgarian newspaper from within her trunk and handed it to Lucinda.

“Sirius Black?” she murmured. “Is he one of Harry’s relatives?”

Eleanor nodded as she released a deep breath.

“A cousin of sorts, but also his godfather,” she explained. “He’s the one that betrayed Harry’s parents to Voldemort. Black is the reason Harry is an orphan.”

“Bastard!” Cain growled as he snatched the newspaper away from Lucinda to take in the image of the man. “How did he escape from Azkaban, isn’t that supposed to be impossible?”

Eleanor nodded.

“No one has ever done it before,” she confirmed.

“So, he’s escaped to kill Harry?”

Eleanor shrugged.

“It would make sense.”

Lucinda’s nostrils flared in anger, a rare feeling of protectiveness washing over her.

Ana and Cain had a similar reaction, the latter’s eyes flashing a brilliant amber whilst Ana’s hand flexed towards her wand.

“Well, if Black wants to try something, he’ll have to get through me and the others first,” Cain declared before storming from the room; undoubtedly to discuss what he’d learned with the other werewolves.

“And me,” Ana muttered, her usually affable demeanour all but absent.

Eleanor simply nodded her agreement with the sentiment, and Lucinda stood and took her leave of the room also.

She had no need to plot with the other vampires.

She merely wanted to find Harry to make sure he was okay.

Having searched most of the ship before she came upon him, she found the boy staring almost aimlessly out of one of the viewing windows on the lowest deck.

Without saying a word, she pulled him into her arms and just held him for a moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, more firmly than she’d intended.

Harry shrugged.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he answered.

“Yes it would,” Lucinda countered. “You don’t get to just come back like this, not when you don’t deserve it. Black will be captured, and he will spend the rest of his days rotting in his cell, or with a bit of luck, they’ll just execute him.”

A slight smirk tugged at Harry’s lips.

“Careful, princess, people will begin to think you care.”

Lucinda narrowed her eyes at the boy before taking hold of his earlobe.

“I do care,” she hissed, ‘but if you tell anyone that…”

“You’ll drain me of every last drop of blood and allow the wolves to have my corpse?” Harry interjected.

Lucinda nodded.

“Now you’re getting it,” she snorted amusedly.

“Ah, the joys of being friends with a vampire,” Harry chuckled. “Are all of you so sentimental?”

Lucinda shook her head.

“No, most of us don’t care for your kind and often enjoy your suffering.”

“That sounds just like you,” Harry replied.

Lucinda frowned thoughtfully before nodding.

“Maybe you’re an exception, Potter,” she conceded. “The difference is, I only enjoy seeing you suffer when it is me administering it. No one else is allowed that privilege.”

Harry laughed heartily.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended, worried, or flattered.”

“Why not all three?” Lucinda suggested. “Don’t deprive yourself on my account.”

Harry offered her a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I suppose I’m just stuck in my own head at the moment.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that, so long as you don’t get lost there.”

“I won’t,” Harry assured her.

“Good. Now, what are you planning on doing about him?”

“What can I do?” Harry returned. “He’s somewhere in Britain, and I’m on my way back to Durmstrang. As much as I want nothing more than to hunt him down, it won’t achieve anything. He did what he did, and I want him dead for it. Maybe he will evade capture long enough for me to be the one that kills him, and maybe not.”

It was odd to hear Harry speaking about killing someone so casually, but there was nothing about the tone of his words that made Lucinda disbelieve him.

“You’d really kill him?”

Harry nodded.

“There are many that I would kill and one day may have to,” he answered with a shrug. “I’ve always known that, and it is something I’ve come to terms with. It’s not the life I or my parents would choose for me, but we can only work with the hand we are dealt.”

He spoke truly.

Although Lucinda didn’t remember being mortal, she often pondered what her life would be had her parents not turned her.

She didn’t hate them for it, and didn’t even dislike her existence, but it certainly presented problems for her, even more so as she was growing older.

For a moment, she simply watched Harry and allowed her thoughts to wander.

“What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Lucinda denied with a sad smile. “Not anything that won’t keep. Come on, I think we’ve moped around enough down here, don’t you?”

Harry looked as though he was going to question her further, but instead offered her his arm.

Lucinda accepted it, and the two of them made their way back towards their cabin, each lost in their own rather maudlin thoughts.