Written in the Stars - The Clan

The Clan

It felt as though he had been waiting for this moment for a lifetime, and though it hadn’t truly been so long, looking upon the young man seated across the table from him showed Sirius just how much had happened in his absence.

Harry was no longer a baby to be cradled in his arms, a rambunctious boy that would snatch at someone’s nose when they least expected it.

No. He was on the cusp of manhood himself and carried and comported himself as such.

James would likely be amused, but Sirius had no doubt that both Charlus Potter and Sirius’s own grandfather would be impressed with the boy.

“Well, you don’t look the raving lunatic like you did in your Azkaban photo,” Harry commented.

Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at the boy and chided him lightly.

“Harry!” she groaned.

He beamed in response, and Sirius was immediately reminded of James.

The two looked so much alike, especially when Harry smiled.

“It was supposed to be a compliment,” the boy huffed and Cassiopeia could only shake her head.

Evidently, she was used to him being this way.

It warmed Sirius to see that being despite by the infamous woman, he had not lost what he had gotten from his parents.

“Not the most flattering of photos,” Sirius agreed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “The photographer there has a unique talent for capturing the worst side of you.”

“Did you ever have a prison photo taken?” Harry asked Cassiopeia.

“No, I did not!” the woman gasped. “I have never been to prison.”

“Not as an inmate, at least,” Harry muttered, eliciting a warning look from the woman.

Had Sirius been Harry’s age and he’d received it, he would have fled and cowered under his bed for several hours until he was certain that he was safe from any repercussions.

Harry only chuckled amusedly and kissed Cassiopeia on the cheek.

The woman smiled at the gesture.

It wasn’t a grimace or an expression of tolerance, but one of genuine affection, and Sirius was quite taken aback.

Cassiopeia truly cared for Harry. Something he never would have believed to see from her.

“Does he really cause you so much trouble?” Sirius asked curiously.

Cassiopeia raised a delicate brow in his direction and Harry shook his head.

“I don’t cause any problems,” he declared. “I’m a good boy.”

Sirius did not believe him for a moment.

He knew James Potter too well, and Harry wore the very same expression James always had when he was trying to get himself out of trouble.

Not that it ever worked.

Everyone saw through the façade, but that never stopped James from trying to talk his way out of being punished.

It had always been a point of amusement for Sirius to witness.

James had been particularly skilled at getting himself into trouble, but never out of it.

“A good boy?” Cassiopeia scoffed. “I am lucky if a week passes that I do not receive a letter from school explaining an incident that you have been involved in.”

“Allegedly involved in,” Harry pointed out.

“Let us not pretend that you are ever innocent in any of these things, Harry,” Cassiopeia sighed. “Did you, or did you not, Charm a boot so that it would kick the librarian in the backside whenever she tried to sit at her desk?”

“That was never proven to be me,” Harry replied defiantly.

“What about the incident involving the toilet that would throw waste at any pureblood who tried to use it?”

Harry snorted at the mention of that one but sobered quickly.

“Again, never substantiated.”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the boy.

“What about the tainted Butterbeer that somehow made its way into one of the pureblood students birthday gathering?”

“I never heard of that incident,” Harry denied.

Cassiopeia tutted and Sirius chuckled.

“Do not encourage him, Sirius!” the woman huffed. “Some of those students were vomiting for three days.”

“Three days?” Sirius whispered, impressed. “We could only ever manage a few hours. How did you do it?”

Harry’s eyes brightened at the question.

“Well, since I am innocent of any wrongdoing, I cannot say for certain how it was done,” he replied matter-of-factly, “but if it was me, I would simply mix an additional basil leaf into Purging Solution to make it a little more toxic. I expect it would make quite the difference.”

Sirius’s mouth fell agape.

It was so simple, yet so brilliant, and he and the other Marauders had never even considered it.

They had always been about flashy and complex displays of brilliance when it came to their pranks.

Now, Sirius wondered just what else they might have achieved if they had taken a much simpler approach.

Not that it was time to focus on such things.

Harry was here, and thus far, it seemed to be going well, but Sirius did not wish to give his nerves the opportunity to surface again.

“So, what do you have planned for you summer?” he asked the boy.

“Homework, flying, and training mostly,” Harry answered. “I may get to see some of my friends, but I’m also visiting a vampire colony soon to see one of them.”

“A vampire colony?” Sirius asked, a deep frown marring his features. “I know things have changed since I was locked up, but is that safe?”

“For Harry it is,” Cassiopeia answered. “He has been invited, and his safety has been assured. The leader of the clan will be sending his only daughter to me for the duration of the visit, an exchange of sorts. I was not keen on the idea, but he convinced me of the merit of doing so,” she added, shooting Harry a look of irritation.

“You mean that he asked and you agreed?”

“That’s about it,” Harry piped up.

“Bloody hell, he’s got you wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he?” Sirius chuckled.

“He has not!” Cassiopeia denied hotly.

Sirius merely grinned in response and Cassiopeia glared at the two of them.

“I should have known better than to be in a room with the pair of you,” she grumbled as she stood. “The introductions are done. You can get on with it. Kill each other for all I care.”

With that, she stormed from the room and Harry laughed.

“Is she always like that?” Sirius asked.

“Only when things get a little too emotional for her,” Harry answered. “She doesn’t cope with it well, but she’s sweet in her own way. If she draws her wand, you’d better run. She’s not messing around when she does that.”

“Noted,” Sirius replied as he removed a sheet of parchment and began writing the information down with a quill he removed from within his robes.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked curiously.

“Writing it down,” Sirius explained. “You’d be surprised how easily you remember something if you do this.”

“How hard is it to remember to run if she draws her wand?”

“It’s not,” Sirius agreed, “but I spent too long with your father when we were kids, and I always followed his lead. James was always too thick-headed or slow to run when he needed to, even from your mother.”

“Was he often in trouble with her?”

“Not a day passed that he wasn’t,” Sirius snorted. “Wait, I’m sure I have some letters and photos from them both. Would you like to see them?”

For the first time since Sirius laid eyes on the boy, he appeared to be nothing more than the orphan he was who wanted to know more about the parents he’d lost before he’d gotten to know them.

“I’ve even got some school letters from James. They are all from before fifth year. After that, I all but lived with the Potters.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Have you not met the portrait of my mother?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’ll introduce you to her next time,” Sirius chuckled. “I would quite like you to come back, and you wouldn’t if you saw the old cow. Anyway, come with me,” he instructed. “I’ve got a whole trunk of things from our school days.”

Harry followed excitedly.

He may not have gotten to raise the boy as he should have, but no one could tell Harry more about James and Lily than he could, and though he hoped for their bond to strengthen over time, it truly was an honour for Sirius to be able to do what he could for his godson.

(Break)

Albus was no stranger to playing host to the Minister of Magic and had done so for several over the past decades as they sought his advice on matters he would prefer to not involve himself with.

He had seen many come and go during his tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Some had proven to be worthy leaders, devoted to the betterment of Wizarding Britain, and others, much like Cornelius Fudge, had proven to be nothing more than a tool to be used by those who managed to earn his favour.

Still, as Albus looked upon the man seated on the opposite side of his desk to him, he could not find much sympathy within himself, despite how tired Cornelius appeared to be.

Throughout his time in office, the man had done just enough to appease the majority of the Lords and Ladies of Britain, but the Minister made no secret of his association with some of the less savoury members of society, one of whom had joined him this evening.

Dolores Umbridge had somehow found herself in a senior position within Fudge’s workforce. How she had managed such a feat, Albus knew not.

She had been a rather lacklustre student and seemed to possess little talent when it came to magic, but she had always had a way with words.

People like Cornelius would easily be fooled by her loyalty, her charisma, and even the charm she possessed on the surface.

Albus knew better, however.

Dolores Umbridge was a petty, bigoted, and deeply unpleasant woman, embittered by her failings in life.

Nonetheless, here she was now, elevated to what many would deem to be a privileged position that few believed she deserved.

“What is it I may assist you with, Cornelius?” Albus asked, watching as the man fidgeted with his bowler hat.

“Well, it is not something you can help me with. The matter is very much in hand, but I wished to bring it to your attention.”

“Minister, I do not believe it is any concern of Dumbledore’s,” Umbridge interjected pointedly.

“Perhaps not,” Cornelius sighed, “but it is not something we can keep hidden. His absence will be noticed.”

“Absence?” Albus pressed, ignoring the look of irritation the woman gave him.

“It’s Barty,” Cornelius replied unhappily. “We have had to have him admitted to the Janice Thickey ward in St Mungo’s.”

“Barty?” Albus questioned, surprised by the revelation.

Cornelius nodded darkly.

“The man has gone quite mad, rambling about his dead son. It took eight aurors to subdue him.”

“I see,” Albus mused aloud. “What did he say?”

“That he took him from Azkaban, that the boy managed to place him under the Imperius Curse and is now on the loose.”

“Minister!” Umbridge warned. “We do not wish to alarm anyone with this nonsense.”

“Of course,” Cornelius said dismissively. “What a mess.”

Umbridge may not wish to alarm anyone, but Albus certainly felt such.

Barty Crouch was not one for tales of fantasy, and he had certainly not seemed to entirely be himself throughout the tournament.

“You’re quite certain that was what he said?”

“According to Amelia,” Cornelius answered tiredly. “Not that she could question him much. The man was raving. We had no choice but to have the healers come for him. I do not expect he will return to work soon, so it appears as though I will have to replace him.”

“As I said earlier, Minister, I believe Lord Yaxley would be an excellent replacement for him, or even Pius Thicknesse. They have been excellent supporters of yours over the years.”

Fudge nodded.

“I will consider both, but there are others that should not be so easily dismissed.”

Umbridge did not seem to be pleased but did not comment further on the matter.

“No, what I came to discuss with you is whom you intend on appointing as your Defence professor for the year,” Cornelius explained.

Albus frowned deeply.

“I suppose you have a suggestion on whom I should hire,” he replied carefully.

“Well, Dolores here would make a fine addition to your staff,” Cornelius offered. “Lucius has already agreed to give her full backing, and he assures me the other governors will follow suit.”

“And why would Madame Umbridge wish to be employed here when she has such an important position with yourself?” Albus asked curiously.

“Because we feel that it is about time the Ministry took more of an interest in the education of our children,” Umbridge answered sweetly. “Concerns have been raised that the education they are receiving is preparing them poorly for their future careers.”

“Concerns raised by whom?” Albus pressed. “I can assure you, the educational standards here at Hogwarts have only improved. I am happy to fully disclose reports, examination results, and anything else you need to see to prove that.”

Cornelius nodded.

“I do not doubt that you can, Albus,” he replied diplomatically, “but the concerns have still been raised.”

Albus needed no more than one guess as to whom had spoken of them.

Lucius Malfoy had been attempting to make things at Hogwarts more difficult since he became governor, and more so since his son began attending.

“Well, it appears that I have not found it necessary to appoint a new professor for the year,” Albus revealed. “Alastor Moody has agreed to return to the post on a full-time basis.”

“Moody?” Umbridge scoffed. “The man is madder than Crouch.”

“Alastor has proven himself to be a most competent educator,” Albus defended. “His student’s results this past year were the best Hogwarts has seen in quite some time. I will not be replacing him, nor any other member of staff for that matter.”

Umbridge reddened in the cheeks at the firm denial, but Cornelius nodded his acceptance.

“Very well,” he agreed readily. “I did wonder if the concerns of the school were to be unfounded, and I am pleased to see they have.”

“Indeed,” Albus returned unhappily. “And do remember, Cornelius, Hogwarts is not and never has been beholden to the will of the Ministry. Perhaps you should remind Lucius of that when he decides to raise his concerns with you instead of me.”

“Of course,” Fudge stammered as he stood, suitably cowed, though his political acumen helped hide it well.

Umbridge on the other hand appeared to be struggling to remain her composure, and Albus could only imagine how awful a teacher she would be.

Being a terrible student was one thing, but he would not have the school subjected to her again in a position of such immense responsibility.

What Lucius was trying to achieve, Albus could only speculate, but should the man truly desire it, it would only be a matter of time before he got what he wanted.

Lucius Malfoy had a way of achieving the unthinkable, and with his attention seemingly on Hogwarts more than ever, Albus could not help but feel concerned.

What was his interest?

It was a question that would irk him, but not one he would likely get an answer to before something drastic occurred.

The headmaster released a deep breath as he watched the Minister and his Undersecretary depart.

Something was undoubtedly amiss, and it left Albus feeling rather unsettled about the meeting he’d just had.

(Break)

Ever since he had received the first letter from his mother, Cain had been dreading his return to the pack, and with good reason. Having done so, it was impossible to ignore the atmosphere, the excitement, and nervousness that seemed to hang over them.

Living amongst werewolves, there had always been something of a tension. Sometimes, a rivalry between two males would break out and the other members would have to take sides, or someone may even challenge the alpha, hoping to take his place.

None had been successful thus far, and in truth, Cain could not comprehend the notion that such a wolf like Fenrir Greyback existed anywhere else on the planet.

For the most part, life had been good under the alpha.

Greyback had kept them safe, made sure they had shelter and were never hungry, but his leadership came at a price.

To be a member of the pack, or even to survive here, he demanded unwavering loyalty.

Those who did not fulfil that did not last.

As safe and as content as any member of the pack was, Greyback led through fear, and there had been many reminders of that throughout Cain’s life.

The man, if he could be referred to as such any longer, was as ruthless and vicious in person, as he was when transformed.

With Cain being so young, he had never been called up to hunt with the rest of the pack, but it was only a matter of time before he would be taken notice of; a day he hoped upon hope would never come.

Still, it was in his nature to be bloodthirsty, to attack, maim, and kill at the fulness of the moon.

Something he could not ignore, as much as he wished it wasn’t so.

“Friends, are day of glory will soon come!” Greyback declared, pulling Cain from his thoughts.

The man was seated in front of the fire in town square, his silhouette no less foreboding than the yellow-toothed leer that pulled his lips over his teeth.

He was unkempt, as wild as his nature, and with long claws at the end of each finger, filthy, but as sharp as daggers.

His thick beard was always stained with congealed blood from where he ate only freshly killed meat and cared nothing for hygiene.

Fenrir Greyback truly was the epitome of what many of the witches and wizards believed all werewolves were.

Cain winced as the crowd cheered, both his mother and father included.

The woman in particular had always vocally supported their alpha, but now, it was like she had been gripped by madness, her own teeth bared in anticipation and blue eyes flecked liberally with the amber of her inner wolf.

Greyback held up a hand to silence the crowd.

“For too long we have been prisoners here, outsiders to all besides ourselves,” he continued. “I gathered this pack so that we might have a chance at a better life, one where we would not be punished for merely following our natural urges and feeding on those beneath us.”

Once more, the crowd cheered and Greyback offered them a feral grin before silencing them again.

“The day that vision becomes a reality is coming, friends, and when it does, we must seize the opportunity with both hands, give all that we have so that we may live as the wolves we are.”

“Do we not do that now?” a voice called. “Do we not have our share of food, warmth, and homes to call our own? What more could we want?”

The crowd began murmuring amongst themselves, but Cain shook his head.

Whomever had the temerity to question Greyback would likely not do so again.

“You are right to ask,” Fenrir spoke, a smile cresting his lips. “What more could we want indeed? Come, friend, allow me to show you what it is we have here.”

He beckoned to the man who had addressed him, and even wrapped a familiar arm around his shoulder when he reached him.

“Here, we have homes,” Greyback began, pointing towards the man houses in the small town that had been abandoned by muggles some years prior. “We have food,” he continued, pointing towards the woods in the distance where another, larger city could be found on the other side. “And we have safety,” he finished, pointing to the large gathering of werewolves.

There were hundreds of them in all, and Cain doubted that there was an auror force in the world that could match their numbers.

“We do,” the man agreed readily.

Greyback chuckled amusedly.

“There is something, however, that we do not have.”

“What’s that?” the man asked curiously.

Cain could only wince as Greyback rammed his claws into the man’s throat and began tearing chunks of flesh from his face with his teeth, much to the delight of the crowd.

It was not the first time Cain had seen someone killed in such a way.

Living as a werewolf, murder of such a brutal nature was commonplace and something he had grown accustomed to.

When his victim had bled out, and Greyback had eaten his fill, he turned towards the onlookers, his smile unwavering as he tossed the corpse aside.

“WE DO NOT HAVE FREEDOM!” he roared. “Continue to prepare yourselves. When word is given that we are to leave this place, we will be doing so immediately.”

With that, he seized the corpse he had discarded by an ankle and began dragging it back towards where his own home could be found, the baying of the pack echoing off every building in the town.

Cain simply left them to it and returned home, the dread that filled him now considerably worse than it had been at the thought of returning here.

(Break)

Of all the places Harry expected to find himself when arriving to be the guest of a vampire coven, a cave in the wastelands of Russia was not one of them.

Perhaps his perception of how the creatures lived had been skewed from reading Dracula, or simply assuming that anything immortal would have accumulated considerable wealth for themselves over the years.

The entrance to the cave he stood before, however, did not give the impression of great riches or even comfort.

Nonetheless, he was a guest here, and he would unwaveringly conform to their customs.

Vampires were rather strange in their ways.

Before hunting had been outlawed across most of the wizarding world, covens were not so common. For the most part, they had been independent, and reclusive folk.

The latter had not changed, but with their very lives under threat, they had banded together to form societies of their own in which humans were rarely invited into.

Thousands of vampires had been slaughtered over the centuries, and though Harry had indeed been invited here, he was not expecting to be welcomed warmly by those who had long memories of what had occurred in the past.

Releasing a deep breath, he began walking towards the cave where he was greeted by a dozen guards led by a rather imposing woman who bared her fangs at him much like Lucinda had done on many occasions.

She was tall, her eyes a bright piercing blue, and her hair blonde.

Her hand rested on the pommel of an ornate sword that was strapped to her waist, those that followed her armed in the same manner.

“You must be Harry Potter,” she greeted him, her eyes shifting towards his neck.

Unlike Lucinda, who Harry felt safe around, he had no doubt this woman would happily feed on him, if given the chance.

Harry offered the woman a shallow bow.

“I am,” he confirmed. “And you are?”

The woman’s smile widened almost ferally, and Harry felt his own gaze drawn to her large fangs.

It would certainly be unpleasant to find them plunged into his flesh.

“My name is Svetlana Kuzmina. I am the leader of our defensive forces here. We are to escort you to Draikon, who is eager to greet you.”

“Then lead the way,” Harry urged.

With a nod, the woman removed a necklace from within her jacket.

“You will need to wear this during your time here,” she explained. “Not all of us are so friendly, and some hunger more than others. This is Draikon’s own blessing for you to be here, so you will not be mistaken for a fool who has wondered into our home.”

Harry placed the metal talisman around his neck, and Svetlana and her group surrounded him as they led him into the cave.

“I do not sense fear from you,” she murmured as they walked down a rocky tunnel.

“Should I be fearful?”

“No, but any other who has come before you have not been so calm,” Svetlana snorted. “We can smell fear. It excites us.”

“Then I can only apologise for not exciting you,” Harry returned with a smirk.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can see why one of our own would wish to befriend you,” she commented. “You are an amusing boy.”

“I have my moments,” Harry replied, “but then I usually end up in trouble because of them. Are all of you short-tempered and quick to threaten violence?”

Svetlana nodded.

“It is our nature,” she replied with a shrug. “We thrive on instilling fear and conflict. Fear makes the blood all the sweeter,” she added, licking her lips hungrily.

“You have been around long enough to remember the hunt.”

“I have,” Svetlana confirmed, “but those days are long passed. We survive on what is given to us, not what we can take for ourselves.”

Before Harry could offer a response, they had reached the end of the tunnel, and he was taken aback by the sight of the underground city sprawled out below him.

“You didn’t expect us to live like Neanderthals, did you?” Svetlana questioned amusedly, slapping Harry playfully on the shoulder.

The power behind the blow almost knocked him off his feet, but Harry was too focused on what he had been led to.

“How many of you are there?” he asked curiously.

“Around six thousand at the last count,” Svetlana informed him. “Almost every vampire in the region lives here amongst us.”

“Impressive,” Harry murmured as the group continued on, navigating their way down a long slope that led them to the edge of the city.

“Draikon is waiting for you in the centre,” Svetlana informed him. “Just be respectful and you will be fine.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on pulling his trousers down in front of everyone,” Harry chuckled. “I will be on my best behaviour.”

Svetlana hummed, evidently not believing him.

“It seems as though you have drawn quite the crowd,” she pointed out, nodding towards the seemingly hundreds of people lining the streets to get a glimpse at him.

Most had likely never left this place before, let alone seen a human, of whom they had undoubtedly been told horror stories.

Most of the vampires looked at him with interest, but there were those who did not appear to be so accommodating.

Harry would avoid those.

“We are here,” Svetlana informed him some time later walking under the scrutiny of the vampires. “Draikon is just ahead.”

As the group reached a small set of stone steps, Svetlana and the other guards fell to one knee in respect of their leader, a gesture that Harry did not follow.

He was not beholden to Draikon, and to do so would give the impression of submission.

It would make him appear weak. Something Harry could not afford to do in a place like this.

“You may rise,” the pale man instructed before standing from the top step he had been seated on.

Draikon was a tall, wiry vampire, his red eyes, black hair, and sharp features being what Harry had come to associate with the creatures, but looking around, he realised that such an image was not so common.

“Come forward, Harry Potter and allow me to greet you,” Draikon instructed.

Harry did so, pausing only a few pace away from the man before offering the same shallow bow he had to Svetlana.

“I am honoured to be welcomed into your home, Draikon,” he spoke confidently. “As is a fitting gesture on my part, I have brought a gift for you and your people. May I?”

Draikon nodded and watched curiously as Harry removed a shrunken trunk from within his robes and placed it on the floor before resizing it.

“My gift to you is five hundred gallons of the finest blood I could find, so that you and yours may be fed for days to come.”

Draikon seemed surprised by the gesture but offered Harry what he deemed to be a warm smile.

“Your gift is truly appreciated, Harry Potter,” he said sincerely. “It is as generous as it is thoughtful. In return, you have my full hospitality and I ask that you and those you are visiting to join me to feast this evening.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Harry replied with another bow.

Draikon chuckled as he offered his hand.

“You are most welcome.”

Harry shook the proffered limb and fought the urge to shudder at the coldness of the vampire’s touch, but Draikon could not hide the surprise he felt.

“Your magic is quite something,” he commented thoughtfully. “Human, and familiar for the most part. The rest is not known to me. Tell me, Harry Potter, does the name Peverell mean anything to you?”

Harry frowned.

“It does,” he answered. “If I remember correctly, Iolanthe Peverell married into my family some centuries ago.”

Draikon’s eyes widened slightly as his gaze swept over Harry speculatively.

“You do resemble him,” he murmured.

“Who?”

“I met a Peverell once,” Draikon revealed. “I resided in Britain for a few decades many years ago now, long before we formed our clans. A man named Peverell spared my life when he caught me hunting in a village he claimed to protect. He subdued me, but he let me go with the promise that I would become the hunted if I drank another drop of the blood of his people. Your magic is very much like his. It has the feeling of Death.”

“I can’t say I would know much about it,” Harry admitted. “The Peverell’s died out a long time ago.”

Draikon shook his head.

“Their magic lives within you, Harry Potter,” he whispered, still gripping Harry’s hand in his own. “I look forward to dining with you this evening,” he added before releasing him.

Harry could only watch in confusion as the vampire turned and walked away, turning back once more to take in his appearance before disappearing with his guard.

With the greeting over, most of the crowd dispersed, but Harry did not miss the familiar face among those that remained and he approached the girl he had made this journey for.

“Mr Potter,” Lucinda’s mother greeted him, her nostrils flaring as she took in his scent.

Harry offered the woman a grin.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I prefer my food to be a little more aged than what you can offer,” the woman replied amusedly.

Harry chuckled and accepted her offered hand, brushing his lips across the back of it in greeting.

“It is nice to see you again,” he said genuinely.

“And you,” the woman replied. “I do not believe you have met my husband, Alexei.”

“I haven’t,” Harry confirmed, turning towards Lucinda’s father. “It is a pleasure, Sir.”

“Sir?” the man questioned. “It has been some time since I was addressed in such a way. Well, it is nice to finally meet you, Mr Potter. My wife and daughter have told me a lot about you.”

“Oh dear,” Harry muttered.

Alexei laughed and shook his head.

“I can assure you; they have both been very flattering.”

“Well, at least I don’t have another angry vampire to threaten me,” Harry quipped, his eyes drifting away from the stocky, tall man and coming to rest among the last member of the group.

Lucinda seemed to be nervous, and she had either shrunk or Harry had grown during their time apart.

They had been the same height before he had left for Hogwarts, but now, he was a few inches taller than her.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Hello?” Harry questioned. “It’s been almost a year since we saw each other, and that is all I get? Come on, Princess, you can do better than that.”

Despite her best efforts, the girl could not stop herself from smiling as she approached and wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist.

He gladly pulled her into his embrace.

It was rare that Lucinda showed any affection.

She had explained that it was difficult for her kind to feel such a thing let alone express it. Something that Harry understood.

Still, he wouldn’t accept anything less than this.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I suppose I missed you too,” the vampire huffed irritably.

“That will do,” Harry snorted. “Now, why don’t you tell me how your year at Durmstrang was?”

(Break)

“Something has happened to that boy, Gellert,” Cassiopeia sighed, “but he’s not saying anything.”

“What do you mean?”

Cassiopeia shook her head.

“I don’t know, but I know him. He’s different.”

“Unless he tells you something has happened, then there’s nothing to be done, Gellert pointed out. “He’s a teenage boy now, Cassiopeia. They are always quite secretive. Has he agreed to meet with me?”

Cassiopeia nodded.

“He has. I will bring him before he returns to Durmstrang.”

“Good,” Gellert declared. “So long as he is happy and healthy, that is all that matters.”

Cassiopeia reluctantly agreed, but she knew she was right. Something had happened to Harry and she was determined to discover what it was.

(Break)

The Dark Lord threw the slip of parchment he had received from Barty into the fire and watched as it was reduced to ash, his gaze shifting to the flames as he pondered the short missive.

He was quite furious that the man had allowed his control over his father to slip enough that Crouch Sr had managed to break free from it.

Much to Voldemort’s relief, he had been deemed mad and placed within St Mungo’s, and though it was a loose end he could do without, it would be remedied soon enough.

Barty Crouch would be dead before he could regain any semblance of believable clarity.

His son, however, was another matter entirely.

Although his loyalty was not in question, his ability to keep his composure and not do anything reckless was not so assured.

His time in Azkaban had undoubtedly taken its toll on him, and Barty could not entirely be relied upon, and yet, he was undertaking an exceedingly sensitive task that required his full focus.

For the first time since the Dark Lord had begun making his moves within the shadows, he felt a sense of unease wash over him.

If he had a capable body to call his own, he would not be filled with such trepidation, but until Lucius had gathered all he needed and the opportune moment arrived, Lord Voldemort would have to make do with what little comfort and ability he had.

“Wormtail!” he called irritably. “It is time for me to be fed.”

What made what Barty was doing much more difficult was that no one else knew of it, and it needed to remain that way.

It wasn’t that the Dark Lord believed that either Pettigrew or Lucius would dare question him, but he had no doubt the latter would not approve.

It was a risky plan, but one that may pay dividends should Barty manage to remain undetected.

“Apologies, M-my Lord,” Pettigrew stammered as he entered the room, clutching a bottle of the concoction Voldemort drank to sustain himself.

It tasted disgusting, but it was one of the necessary unpleasantries he’d have to endure until he could obtain a stronger vessel for himself.

“Get on with it, Wormtail!” Voldemort snapped irritably, his thoughts drifting to the day that drew closer, the day he would no longer rely on another to feed him and he could stand on his own two feet.

It had been so long, but not much longer.

Lord Voldemort would rise again.

(Break)

Lucinda and her family had never been invited to dine with Draikon. They were young vampires of no consequence nor importance. To find herself here was among the greatest honours anyone in the clan could have bestowed upon them, but beyond that, she was merely pleased to be seated next to Harry.

They had spent the afternoon simply catching up, and Lucinda took no small amount of glee in telling him all the things that had happened to Barkus during his absence.

Still, she could not hope but notice the differences in Harry.

Of course, a year apart would have seen him change.

He had indeed grown taller and broader, but it was not those two things that she noticed most.

It was his magic.

As a vampire, she had a rather acute sense for feeling it from any she spent time with.

Cain’s always had been and always would be turbulent, strong but also came in sporadic, hot waves with the mood of his inner wolf.

Ana’s felt very much like being outside amongst the trees; serene, and much like a gentle breeze, unless she became angry. Then it changed to a strong gale that threatened to sweep any off their feet.

Harry’s had always been different to everyone else’s.

His had always felt cold compared to any other Lucinda had experienced, though to her it felt warm and comfortable.

That feeling remained, but now, there was much more to it, almost as though his magic had matured in a way that she couldn’t explain.

Within the coldness, there was a burning heat, as though a fire had been lit, but somehow, it only made the cold more prominent.

With the heat, was the undeniable presence of what she could only describe as a storm.

Perhaps his affinity for lighting had caused that?

Lucinda was certainly no expert on Elemental Magic or the effects it could have on a practitioner, but it seemed logical.

What she could not speculate on, however, was the strong presence of death she could sense. It seemed to have strengthened his colder magic, but it was undeniably still there, swirling through the rest of what she felt.

It was unexplainable, and Lucinda had no doubt that her parents and even Draikon had noticed it too.

Lucinda was pulled from her thoughts as her clan leader stood and raised a glass of the blood that Harry had brought her people.

“I wish to raise a toast to Mr Harry Potter, our guest of honour,” he declared. “It is not often we welcome humans amongst us, and it is not a practice we will ever adopt to become a regular occurrence, but he has been courteous and respectful of our ways, and for that, I am grateful. To Harry Potter.”

The fifty or so other members of the clan that had been invited to join them stood, and raised their own glasses, and Lucinda rolled her eyes as Harry did the same, grabbing a goblet of blood as he did so.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he replied before taking a sip, much to the surprise of the others who watched him with interest. “It’s a little sweet for my liking. Do you have something a little more bitter?”

Draikon laughed heartily and was quickly followed by the others as Lucinda shook her head.

“Idiot,” she muttered as Harry retook his seat.

She knew the blood would be revolting to him, and yet, he’d drunk it anyway.

“I was proving that I had not tainted it,” he explained. “Your kind are suspicious of anything a wizard would give them, and me drinking it showed the others it was safe. I thought you would have known that.”

“He’s right,” her mother broke in. “He did something we all know he would find rather abhorrent to prove himself.”

“Not for the first time,” Lucinda sighed amusedly. “He drank blood at school when one of the pureblood wizards decided to try to pick on us.”

“Did he?” Alexei asked, evidently impressed by the gesture.

“That was during our first year. I don’t think he ever tried to bully any of us again.”

“He didn’t,” Harry confirmed.

“You truly are an interesting young man, Mr Potter,” her mother commented.

“He’s still an idiot,” Lucinda pointed out. “I hope it tasted horrible,” she added, taking a sip of her own and revelling in the flavour as it washed over her tongue.

“Oh, it was disgusting,” Harry confirmed.

“Good.”

Harry grinned at her and Lucinda felt the same jolt of warmth she always had when he did so.

As much as he seemed to have changed over the past year, he was undoubtedly still the same Harry who had more of an effect on her than she would ever admit to any.

“Are you going to dance with me?”

His voice shook Lucinda from her thoughts, and she looked up to see that all of the guests had moved to the dancefloor on the other side of the banqueting room.

“Dance?”

Harry nodded as he stood and offered her his hand.

With a smile threaten to tug at her ow lips, Lucinda accepted the invitation, and only a moment later, she found herself being swept around the room.

She’d not had much experiencing of dancing, but her mother had taught her enough to get by, and though she was enjoying the experience with Harry, she could not help but wonder if he had danced with the Greengrass girl like this?

From what little she could garner from Harry when they’d talked earlier in the day, the two of them had broken off whatever it was they had, and Lucinda could not pretend that the news had not improved her mood considerably.

She had been jealous, perhaps unrightly so, but it was as her mother had pointed out; she could not help her nature, and being here with him now, she felt almost a sense of what most would likely deem to be petty victory.

Lucinda, however, did not care.

Harry was here, and she would enjoy the moment for what it was, even if something had happened to him to change him.

What that was, she knew not, but she felt no less comforted by his presence.

Still, she wanted to know what lied behind the haunted look he wore when he thought that no one was watching.

Perhaps he would tell her when he was ready, or it would simply become another of those things that made Harry Potter such a mystery.

Regardless, it was not something to discuss now, not when she was living something that most of her kind would never get to experience.

Everything else could wait.

For once, Lucinda wished to think of nothing else but the moment she found herself in.