Of Counsel Unheeded

Of Counsel Unheeded

TITLE : A Different Kind of War

SUMMARY : Confronted with the daunting threat of war looming over Britain, Harry must prepare for the inevitable confrontation. But when an enigmatic French Beauty arrives to assist Hogwarts in preparation for the coming dangers, Harry soon learns that matters of the heart and battlefield are of equal difficulty.

CHAPTER TITLE : Of Counsel Unheeded

PAIRINGS : Harry/Fleur

RATING : M

A/N: Big thank you to my Beta-Readers, x102reddragon and NerdDragonVoid for beta-reading the chapter and saving it from my terrible grammar.

Be sure to review, favourite and follow if you enjoy. Mostly the former, reviews help me grow as a writer and I appreciate them greatly.

Until next time, stay safe and enjoy!

The Weasleys possessed many admirable traits that made Harry come to love the atmosphere of the Burrow. However, tidiness and sound organisation could not be found amongst their ranks.

There was a crescendo building in the Weasley household, an unmistakable tension that would grow exponentially as the remaining few hours they had at the Burrow waned into nothing. The Weasleys had been operating under the annual anarchy that was the return to Hogwarts for days now and finally the day of reckoning was upon them all - September First.

Harry had been fully packed for days, sans the few articles of clothing he required. The house-elves Dumbledore sent to retrieve his trunk had done a fairly thorough job at packing what he needed, anything else wouldn't have been sorely missed. Hermione and Fleur had also been packed for quite some time. The former by virtue of her own tidiness, the latter was a mystery to Harry. He was unsure if Fleur's eagerness to begin at Hogwarts was born from excitement or anxiety, but the last few days had seen her acting differently from the norm that was Fleur Delacour.

Outside his room, the Weasley family seemed to be preparing themselves with all the fervour of a roaring fire. Ron would sporadically burst into their shared room, throw the room apart in a desperate bid to find something left behind. Inevitably, he'd leave the room empty-handed and Mrs Weasley would take his place, tearing it apart with equal enthusiasm albeit in a much more dignified manner.

The shrill, piercing shrieks of Ginny echoed through the house as the Twins, who swore they were only here to wish their siblings farewell, did their utmost to ensure chaos reigned wherever they could manage.

Harry very much preferred the solitude of his room as opposed to braving the depths of the lounge room amidst the chaos. He retrieved his wand and flicked it, levitating the trunk onto his bed in a blasé use of his newfound ability to perform magic without the trace sensors detecting it.

That had been one of the few boons the Minister chose to grant him against the many concessions he was forced to make.

" That scar on your head is little more, but skin marred red and purple," The old lion spat when Harry started to inquire as to what he was getting from their 'deal'. " Aye, I've got ten scars for every one of yours. Don't presume to think that it truly holds any power over us, and presume even less to ask anything of me."

Despite what the man said, he saw the benefit in providing something in return. Though he felt that was more a result of the ministry worker that seemed to whisper counsel to the older man rather than the Minister's own idea.

With whatever heated debate the man seemed to have with his advisor was rectified when he relented and before they left the Leaky Cauldron, the process was finalised and he was free of the Ministry's trace. He thought to push for his friends too, but after seeing the man after that he'd wisely decided against it. Although he'd only met the man once, it was enough to know that Scrimgeour wasn't one to be bargained with. Each word that Harry spoke contrary to the man's own plan set his pale yellow eyes alight with a thinly veiled anger and he was smart enough to know pushing the man wouldn't end well.

That, of course, was the second of his requests, the first sat at the top of his trunk. He flipped either latch of the leather-bound case and pushed the lid open, fishing out the first item he saw, the last he packed.

' SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT?'

The headline was published a few days ago and to Harry's surprise, was the easier of the two to convince the Minister of. He was eager to be shown as righting the wrongs of the previous administration. It at the very least hailed him as what he was, a hero. It wouldn't retrieve him from the veil, but at the very least he'd be heralded as a hero as opposed to being scorned as a coward.

Beneath the article was the price of his bargain - a letter.

One written in his hand, but not his words. Only a single one, but with the promise of more to come. His liaison to the Ministry, whom he didn't know the name of simply sent letters for him to copy and send back. That was the extent of Scrimgeour's master plan, publishing the words of a teenager in the Daily Prophet.

" If you so meekly fell into his hands, you'd be forever jumping through hoops on his command." Dumbledore's words echoed hollow, for he felt like he'd be jumping through someone's hoops no matter what he did.

It made him feel dirty, tracing words that weren't his own to publish thoughts that he wasn't sure he believed. While he wasn't always a paragon of intelligence, he wasn't dull either. He knew the significance of his words, but that didn't make it any easier to pick up the quill.

But they weren't the objects that held his interest at the moment, he wiggled his way through robes and shirts until he grasped a book, dragging it upwards through his other possessions.

AUROR PERSONNEL HANDBOOK

Property of J. C. Potter

The exterior of the book was fairly pristine, a dark blue colour that had stood the test of time. The writing underneath it less so, his father's name was scribbled beneath it and wore the scars of the years.

He ran his finger over the indentations the quill left, some of the ink freeing from the page under the rough skin of his finger. He wasn't entirely sure he could describe what he was feeling, instead of turning the page his eyes remained affixed to the signature that adorned the front page.

It was the first time he'd ever seen writing in his father's hand. The inscriptions on the Marauder's map were written by Remus presumably because his handwriting was the neatest. He'd seen Sirius' writing countless times in letters delivered by tropical birds, but this was something different entirely.

He traced his finger over the signature again, if only to ensure it wasn't a facade. He had the cloak and the map, he had photos and stories, but this seemed to be a piece of connective tissue to his father that was far stronger than the others, though he couldn't explain why. Their writing was similar but held subtle differences, where Harry's hand was blocky and obtuse, his fathers was more refined. It took him a moment to gain composure, everything he could've had, everything he should've had seemed to be embodied in a single signature.

He pried the covers apart, releasing a thin layer of dust trapped within the pages. At first he just sporadically flipped through the pages not taking particular note of what they held. It held the aura of something that was well-read, there were annotations in the margins and the corner of some pages were folded as if his father intended to go back to them.

He lingered on one of the margins of a disabling jinx, one that spun the victim around in fierce revolutions until they passed out, a hastily scribbled message adorning the margin of the page.

' TEST ON SIRIUS A.S.A.P'

He began to peruse the pages of the handbook and to his surprise, most of its pages were comprised of subject matter outside of duelling and combat. The first half was dedicated to Auror protocols and various laws and treatises that didn't particularly hold his interest and judging by the lack of wear on the pages, neither was it his father's.

" Contusio," Harry whispered, testing the foreign words and committing the spell to memory.

The Concussive Charm

Below the spell was an illustration, a rudimentary one albeit fairly enlightening. The drawing of a wizard seemed to use the spell and a few figures in front of it seemed to topple over. As the figures began to rise, the illustration reset itself and it cast the spell again.

There was a small glimmer of hope that rose within him, remnants of a dream long since dashed. Perhaps he could become an Auror, in all but name.

A particularly loud thump followed by Mrs Weasley's shrill voice screaming broke Harry from enrapturing pages. He'd been reading for close to half an hour and the pair still weren't finished packing. Harry sighed, moving to place the book back into his trunk from where he'd retrieved it.

"Are they always this rowdy?" A voice laced with poorly laced disdain asked from outside the room, though he didn't need to peer from his position over the trunk to know the face. Fleur Delacour had become a regular at his door.

"Mhm," He murmured in agreeance, "You should have seen it in my second year, they had five kids going to Hogwarts instead of two. Not to mention two of them were the twins. It was chaos."

The thought seemed to scare Fleur, another loud crash rang out and Fleur winced as if in pain.

"You okay?" Harry queried, catching the latter half of her grimace.

"Fine," She said tersely as either Ron or Ginny tried their best to imitate an earthquake, "Veela have sensitive hearing, nothing to worry about." She waved off, having weakness on display seemed to perturb her as much as the noise.

"Wouldn't it be quieter downstairs?" Harry asked as another clangorous noise rang out that sounded conspicuously like a dropped trunk.

"Nowhere's quiet in this house ." She shook her head, looking up as if she could see the source of the noise through the roof.

She tried to maintain the facade of civility, but her voice betrayed her true feelings although he was unsure if it was born from her pain or her feeling comfortable enough to do so. He was naive enough to assume their acclimation to Fleur meant the tensions might ease, that her willingness to be more friendly might've bridged the gap - it hadn't. She'd stripped Hermione of her intellectual superiority, Ginny of her brother and Molly of her first-born, crimes that as far as they were concerned, weren't atoned for.

Bill hadn't been to the Burrow reliably for weeks, his contract moved him place-to-place sporadically enough that he could hardly make time for home life. She was lonely, although she did her utmost to hide it. Alone and with the majority of the house against her, her ire was often indiscriminate. In many ways, they were far worse off from when they began.

"What were you reading?" She queried, breaking her self-imposed silence.

"My dad's old Auror Manual." He said, referencing the book that he'd just stowed back into his truck.

"Anything of use?" She asked eagerly, the reference of the book seeming to pique her interest.

He nodded, and she set herself down beside Harry on his bed.

"Mostly stuff that won't really help us," He said, thinking back to the first half of the book, "No wards from what I could see, just some stuff that could be good in a duel."

"Fancy yourself a duelist then?" She asked, her lips shifted in a half-smirk.

"I'm alright." He shrugged, not wanting to play into her hand.

"Just alright?" She smiled smugly, "I'll have to test you then, no protege of mine will be a lacklustre duelist."

"I've duelled and beat members of Voldemort's Inner Circle." He scoffed, her tone was bordering on condescension.

"Perhaps," She weighed, "Or did they want you to beat them?"

"Maybe," He considered, "But I beat them nonetheless."

"Sure," She smirked, "But you haven't beat me."

Harry had to concede that point, he hadn't and he was unsure if it was hubris or skill that prompted her boasting. Silence reigned for a few seconds before she regarded him again.

"Say," She began, this time a bit more passive. "Do you think I could borrow that book when you're done with it? It might have something helpful."

Harry took his time to mull over her question. They were friends, that was undeniable, but he was reluctant to relinquish the book to anyone else.

Fleur seemed to sense that same reluctance and he was soon caught in an awkward silence.

"I suppose," He relented, "As long as you're careful."

"I was going to cut it in half until you said that," She joked light-heartedly, presumably to set him at ease about his decision, "But thank you."

He hadn't taken the time to truly examine her since she'd been in the room, in her hands she clutched a piece of parchment and a browned envelope. If he was the paranoid sort, he'd assume she was almost trying to shield it from view.

"Writing to someone?" Harry inquired towards the letter in hand.

"Oh," She said in a rare moment of surprise, seeming to forget she held the letter in hand, "Yeah." She finished lamely.

"Gabrielle?" Harry guessed.

The Veela crinkled her nose, appearing to dislike the sudden scrutiny she was subjected to, but nodded.

"She'd be going to Beauxbatons this year wouldn't she?"

"Next year," Fleur amended, "Maybe I was right. Maybe you are interested in my sister?"

"Sod off." He shot back, though not unkindly, Fleur merely laughed before continuing her prodding.

"Should I tell Gabrielle she has some competition?" The French witch asked with a half-smirk, the momentary flash of dislike disappearing in an instance.

"Pardon me?" Harry asked, unclear of her meaning.

"Shall I tell her of Ginerva's longing glances? " She said, the last two words dripping with a seductive tone, "Or do you think I'd best save that for later?"

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned, feigning ignorance, but the heat rising in his cheeks told her a different story.

"Don't play coy Harry," She laughed slyly, "Methinks you have an admirer in the Weasley household."

"I'm not so sure of that." Harry frowned.

"Of course!" Fleur agreed with false enthusiasm, "I'm sure she wakes every morning wearing her finest clothes and her hair done, all to have breakfast with her brother's friend."

"She's done that for ages." Harry argued.

"But does she do so with only her brothers?" She queried, her ocean blue eyes meeting his emerald in a fierce stare.

"How am I supposed to know?" He retorted, not entirely comfortable where the questions were leading.

"I think you know," She refuted in turn, "I also think she's quite jealous of me, non?"

He frowned at that comment, "No one is denying your beauty Fleur, but I don't think Ginny wants to be you."

She chortled, that same full-blown, infectious melody but this time it made him feel like he was the butt of the joke, laughing at something he couldn't quite figure out.

"Non, she doesn't want to be me for my beauty," She shook her head, the mirthful smile still covering her features, "But who has you in corners for hours at a time reading together? Non, methinks she's jealous of how much I've been spending time with you."

Harry didn't respond, for he couldn't muster an answer, though the heat in his cheeks rose and that was enough to set Fleur off into laughter again.

"Ahh." She sighed in faux wistfulness, "The virtues of young love."

"Young love?" Harry scoffed, "You're not that old Fleur."

"Not that old?" She said in a poor imitation of anger, "My, you do know how to charm a woman Harry."

"No, in fact, twenty is fairly old." Harry agreed, changing tact.

It was her turn to scoff, "Twenty is a very attractive age," She disagreed, "I know many women who of their own volition, have remained twenty their entire life."

"Do those same women bully sixteen-year-olds?" He returned, although not entirely understanding her words.

"The good ones." She confirmed. "Only the good ones."

"Shouldn't you be sending your letter instead of laughing at me?" He grumbled, eliciting another laugh from the French Witch.

"Maybe," She teased, "But maybe I should take my time to include how many times I made her hero blush?"

"Yeah, alright." He huffed, standing up from his bed.

The thumping and rattling upstairs suddenly fell silent and Fleur seemed immensely thankful for the lack of clangorous noises. Soon Ron raced down the stairs with hauling his trunk in hand. Ginny followed soon after with hers floating behind her courtesy of the Weasley Matriarch and her little purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, in her hand. Mrs Weasley followed soon behind, howling at them as they raced down the stairs. To her credit, she gained instant composure when she realised she was now in the presence of members of the Burrow who weren't her children.

"Come along dears, the Ministry cars will be here shortly." She said sweet, though still red in the face from exertion.

Harry and Fleur did as the matriarch bid, although the latter grudgingly. Reluctant to flaunt his newfound ability to use magic in front of Ron or Hermione he was relegated to hauling his trunk in his hand, Fleur trailing behind him.

Soon enough, the roaring of engines was heard beyond the outskirts of the Burrow. Eventually, two jet black cars came through the trees, driving with a fair amount of haste if the dust cloud trailing them was any indication. The rest of the Weasleys formed up outside, including the twins, whom he hadn't really seen yet. Both of them being more content in apparating around and causing mischief.

Fleur turned to Harry, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, I trust you won't make any trouble for yourself between now and then?"

"When have you ever known me to cause trouble?" He laughed, shrugging off her concern.

"I can think of a few stories I've been told," She smiled, "Let's not make another, non?"

The first car pulled up and four Ministry Workers stepped out. The first one he recognised immediately, Tonks still looked worn after Sirius' death but the colour had restored to her face a bit. She approached Harry but was noticeably apprehensive about contact with her colleagues around.

"Phelps, Roscoe, Fergus. Attention!" She barked, her tone uncharacteristically harsh for the usually jovial Auror. She was certainly far different from the time he last saw sulking out of the Burrow, Remus in tow.

"Hello Mister Potter," She greeted cordially though he was unsure if it was a result of being on duty or remaining blame that may have been shifted to him, "Myself and Hitwizards Phelps and Roscoe and Junior Auror Fergus will act as an escort for your party." The Aurors began to fan out as the second car arrived, this one was empty save for the driver.

Tonks flicked her wand and their luggage deposited itself into the trunks of the rear car. Another flick opened the car doors save for the drivers as she gestured for them to get in. Harry hopped in the car first followed by Ron, it was certainly the product of an enlargement charm, one row of hard leather seats ran where the back seats would usually be while another full row of seats ran adjacent to those in front, facing backwards. They all began to pile in including Tonks and Auror Phelps whilst the other two hopped into the leading vehicle. With a mechanical roar, the vehicles fired into action and the wheels began their slow trudge towards their destination.

They'd just begun pulling out of the Burrow when an embarrassed Ginny admitted she'd set down Arnold and forgot him. Phelps clenched his jaw and Harry could see how angry he was. The lead vehicle kept driving until Tonks shot red sparks from the window of the Car, the two Aurors in the lead vehicle burst out of the car with their wands in hand. It appeared to be a fairly well-practised manoeuvre, executed quickly enough that Harry may have missed it if he wasn't watching intently.

They moved in unison to their vehicle. Tonks whispered something to Ginny and the embarrassed girgirl tried to hide behind a shroud of auburn hair. She hopped out the vehicle with Tonks and the Hitwizard they'd been stuck with seemed to palm his wand in frustration.

His frustration was short-lived, soon they returned to the vehicle with one Pygmy Puff in tow and their journey began again in earnest.

They'd broken out onto the open road and met tar, they drove for a little while longer before Tonks finally broke the silence, but not by addressing him or the Weasleys but rather her partner in the vehicle.

A smattering of mutters here and there seemed to be the only barrier between them and the same silence that had reigned moments ago, it went for a few minutes before they finally seemed to decide on whatever they discussed.

She plucked her wand from her wrist holster, raising the dark shaft to the roof of the car, chanting in a dialect that he didn't understand, Hermione might've, though she remained silent. Tonks' wand movements shifted from wayward motions to something more deliberate and before their eyes, the exterior of the car shimmered softly from view, camouflaging into their surroundings.

The leading vehicle with the two others, however, did not and when the first junction came, they diverged onto a different path than their vehicle.

"Where are they going?" Harry said, regarding the pair of Ministry workers as the rear of the other car disappeared into the distance.

"They're taking another path." They responded, although not Tonks like he would've assumed, she seemed hesitant. Her partner, however, spoke first. His grating voice spoke the answer in a tone that Harry assumed must've hurt his throat.

"Why?" Harry probed succinctly, whatever the reason he was sure he wasn't going to like it.

"Because," Tonks said, acknowledging them for the first time since they left the Burrow, "Your safety is paramount."

"That doesn't tell me why they left us," Harry said, frowning at the answer.

"Thirteen cars left the Ministry this morning," Tonks explained in a terse tone, "Up until this morning, none of us knew which car would house you nor where it was leaving from, but just because we didn't know, doesn't necessarily mean Voldemort didn't. The Ministry is full of leaks you see, we've planned accordingly. They'll throw off any who attempt to track us."

"So they'll fend for themselves then?" The raven-haired teen shot back, incensed.

"They'll escape." She amended, "As will we should anything arise, but your protection is our main goal."

There it was, the reminder that it was all for him.

He wanted to retort, to be petulant, to be the child they seemed to forget he was, that he was merely a teenager caught in their war. But he couldn't. The Weasleys present seemed intent to blend into their seats and remain free from the conversation. Tonks and her partner merely regarded him with piercing gazes. They'd all accepted what he was.

If the armed guard and escort weren't enough to remind him of that, this was. As were the other cars of men and women risking themselves so he might live.

Suffice to say, the rest of the journey passed with an uneasy silence reigning.

A few hours later they pulled into the overflowing car park of King's Cross Station. Muggles moved en masse, rush hour slowly beginning in earnest, enough so that they couldn't safely navigate and were relegated to parking a short distance from the car park.

The sun was high in the sky and the heat was still surprisingly high for London. Once they'd pulled into a suitable location, Tonks pushed her wand into the roof again and the exterior of the car materialised into view as they piled out. Harry and Ron began passing trunks from the rear of the vehicle. Ginny's came last and when he handed her trunk to her, the Pygmy Puff balancing gently on top, she grabbed too close to his hand, encompassing half of it in her own. She flashed a smile that seemed to be indecipherable to him before she trotted off. Maybe, Fleur was on to something.

The two Ministry Workers escorted them towards the station, their robes contrasting greatly against the overwhelming exodus of muggles moving to and fro. Though their outlandish clothing seemed not to garner as much attention as he would've first thought He imagined there'd been far stranger things at King's Cross Station. They continued weaving their way through the crowd until they found themselves past the barrier and onto the platform.

Tonks was directly behind him, the rest of the Weasleys and the Hitwizard in front of him. He kept his pace until a pair of hands seized his shoulders and pulled him sidewards, unbalancing him.

"Tonks -" Harry tried to call out as the hands pulled him behind a pillar.

"Pretend to be tying your shoe." A harsh voice whispered. the same harsh voice seemed to belong to the arms that pulled him aloft, Nymphadora Tonks.

"What…" He asked, bewildered at the suddenness of the affair.

"Now." The Auror demanded and Harry did as he was bid, kneeling down to untie and tie his trainers.

"Listen," She whispered again hardly, enough that her voice was legible, if only just, "Scrimgeour's planning something, you need to be vigilant."

"What?" He asked again, although this time born out of concern as opposed to bewilderment.

"Now's not the time," She hissed peering over her shoulders, "He's been monitoring the Floo network and owls, he's had advisors in his office for weeks, make sure you don't tell anyone anything that we can't handle being public knowledge, understand?"

Harry swallowed hard before nodding.

"Up, quickly!" She bid urgently and he did so, now face-to-face with each other.

"As for the other thing," She started, sounding like something was stuck in her throat, "We need to know you're not going to do something stupid this year."

"Stupid?" He asked icily, his brow lowering in the beginnings of anger.

"Like trying to avenge Sirius," She elucidated and his anger began to grow, "We're worried you're going to do something that'll get you hurt, we just-"

In any normal circumstance, he would've been meek, agreed with what she said and bid the Auror goodbye. But his scar throbbed with anger, his veins alight with the righteous indignation he felt.

"How dare you?" He broke through the Aurors words, his own filled with vitriol.

"Harry-" She tried again, taken aback by the sudden shift.

"You, Remus and the rest of the Order ignore me all of last year, don't say a word to me after Sirius died and you expect me to do as you say?" He spat, his scar pulsing angrily with each beat of his heart. She had the decency to look abashed at his outrage, offering no defence.

"I think I'll be fine." He snapped, " Thank you for your concern. " He shot her a final look before stalking off towards the Weasley contingent, unsure if the Metamorphmagus was trailing behind him. By the time he'd reached the ginger-haired family, his absence hadn't seemed too conspicuous. Thankfully, with him being in the rear of the group they couldn't see his face nor the anger that surely would be written across it as he did his best to bleed the rage off. The Hitwizard who had led them there seemed to be aware of the absence though and searched around for his lost partner.

Molly came around to dispense kisses and hugs between the children quickly, Harry came last being at the back. When she reached him she gave him a bone-crushing hug. "I want you to stay safe dear. Should you ever need it, the Weasley family's door will always be open, no matter what." She kissed him on the cheek and sent him with Ron, Ginny and Hermione as they began to board the train.

Tonks' diversion and being last to board the train hadn't been as much of an impediment as he'd imagined. He sent a sideways glance down the platform, originally to see if Tonks was still there, but he found something of greater interest. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, the latter seemed to place a nondescript bag into the former's hands, who he quickly stowed away. That raised some suspicions, especially since he saw him that day in Diagon Alley lurking in the shadows.

In his current state, the task of pushing down the urge to chase the blonde and seeing what he had was curtailed only by Fleur's advice in his head.

' You'll catch the rat, but the pack will be smarter for it.' The melodious voice echoed, he gritted his teeth and stepped through the door into the carriage.

Once they boarded they were forced to shift through crowds of the lower years to find a compartment. They eventually located an empty one. It was of decent size and enough to fit six people comfortably. Ron, Hermione and Ginny piled in and Harry lurked behind them, content to let his anger simmer for the moment as the pain in his scar waned.

They'd been in the compartment for a few minutes before Neville and Luna found them and began to ingratiate themselves into the group. Small chatter broke out between the five of them. Harry noticed Neville brandishing a new wand held tightly in his hand as if he was scared of letting it go.

"Got a new wand Nev?" Harry asked, nodding towards the death grip that choked the wand, light in colour where his Father's was dark, short where it was long, and straight where the other was crooked.

"Yep!" He said excitedly, he brandished it in a wide arc to show it off, but instead a bright shower of colourful sparks sprung from its tip, decorating the small space with a series of loud cracks and bright flashes.

"Bloody hell," Ron cried in fright, pushing himself backwards into Hermione. Neville briefly looked embarrassed but regained his confidence quickly, an action that seemed woefully out of place on the bashful boy.

"Nine Inches, Cherry with the tail hair of a particularly graceful unicorn." He continued, reciting the description in a wizened voice - a poor imitation of the ageing wandmaker. "Dad's wand always made me feel close to him, you know?" He asked, though more in Harry's direction than the others, he obliged the boy with a nod.

"But this," He continued, "Just feels right I 'spose."

"I thought your Gran didn't want you getting a new wand?" Harry asked, remembering a conversation they had when Neville was having trouble learning a particular spell and seeing the old woman's demeanour when they met at St. Mungo's.

"She didn't," Neville admitted and he could see the glimmer of insecurity have new life breathed into it at the mention of his grandmother, "But she was right angry when Dolohov broke dad's wand. She reckoned if I was going to be fighting Death Eaters I'd be needing a new one."

"Well good on her then, you were invaluable that night Neville, I reckon your parents would be proud." Harry said sincerely, the same glimmer that had momentarily bloomed in the boy's eyes had vanished under his words.

Neville smiled and moved to sit his trunk on the rack above Ginny but it was to heavy for him to put up properly, his trunk burst open and his old remembrall flew out and careened for Ginny's head, she put her hands up to stop it but Harry's hand was faster, honed by years of dodging brown balls and motley coloured spells. He caught the smoke-filled ball within his fingertips, leaning over Ginny to do so, an action that certainly didn't go unnoticed by the girl.

"Sorry 'bout that." Neville apologised, taking the item from Harry's outstretched hand.

"That's alright," Ginny mumbled as Harry leaned back into his seat. "Thanks." She added towards Harry in an even lighter mumble, before claiming she needed to use the toilet and retreating from the compartment.

"Maybe it's just a trick to go see Dean?" Harry teased Ron with a sly look when the girl had retreated from the compartment.

"Sod off, not that slimy git." Ron bit back, clearly annoyed.

"What's wrong with Dean?" Hermione asked, looking between Ron and Harry with the same harsh glare that dared them to say something stupid. Thankfully, Ron charged in first as far as the stupidity was concerned.

"Never really liked the guy." He admitted in a sour tone. "Just not sure he's the right bloke to be dating Ginny is all."

"That's just immature and insensitive Ronald." She retorted. "Your sister can make her own decisions."

"Harry can back me up, can't you mate?" Harry just shrugged. He couldn't say he'd been in the same position nor did he have any misgivings with his dark-skinned roommate. Though their words seemed to ignite the same cyclical arguing that had been happening for years without end. Harry was just thankful for the illusion of normalcy brought back to him at returning to school and seeing his friends argue.

Once the train broke away from London into the famous Scottish Highlands and the hours began to pass, the trolley lady began to make her rounds. She came and went wishing them well though Harry chose not to partake in the sweets as he once had. With further hours passing soon the call for the Prefects meeting came and Ron and Hermione shuffled out dutifully and Harry too left to use the loo.

He'd separated from the pair of them and crossed into another carriage to the toilets. He did his business and exited the small toilets and found another unwelcome sight on his exit.

It was Draco Malfoy, again.

The blonde boy was still skulking about, presumably to the Prefect's meeting. The alcove that held the toilets meant while Harry had seen him, he wasn't so sure of the inverse. The boy walked past and they locked eyes, though he passed without incident, no foul-mouthed insults nor threats, he seemed to be intent on his destination more than anything. Perhaps if he was less perceptive, he might've missed something about the boy.

His left hand clutched something gingerly, clearly worried about it's delicacy. It took him a short moment to realize exactly what it was, or at least, what he thought it was. The overhead lights shone down brightly and whatever was in his hands reflected the light in an odd way.

It was a silk bag.

Perhaps, if he hadn't washed Aunt Petunia's silk dresses as a child as the older woman tried to play the role of a budding socialite, he might've missed it.

The importance of silk wasn't something that he'd have ignored after his education on all dark matters by the false Alastor Moody, the man's gruff voice seemed to ring his counsel in his ears.

Silk, Acromantula Silk specifically was non-conducive to many dark enchantments, ensuring they could be transported safely without the holder being cursed. But it was also absurdly expensive, with the destitute state of the Malfoy Family, they wouldn't have had it to flaunt their waning wealth.

They had to have had a good reason.

The cogs in Harry's mind began to revolve dangerously.

Draco is smuggling dark objects into Hogwarts.

There was that same rational part in his brain, the same melody of Fleur's counsel. The pack might be smarter for it, but the temptation not to learn the rodent's plan was another issue entirely. He had his plan and with long, purposeful strides he returned back to his compartment.

He knew Draco better than anyone, at least, so he thought. He had something, something that was no doubt a danger to someone, somewhere. Blinded by hatred or otherwise, heeding counsel from someone who didn't know the boy as well as he didn't sit well with him.

Neville seemed to be lost in a Herbology book and Luna was reading an upside-down copy of the Quibbler. Harry fished his trunk down as quietly as he could, removing his cloak and stuffing it inside his jumper. The other two appeared none the wiser to his plan. He moved to the door and quietly opened it, to his surprise, there was someone on the other side. A younger girl wearing Hufflepuff robes who seemed particularly nervous. It appeared opening the door in her face surprised her as much as it did Harry. She went red in the face and jumped back a little.

"Harry Potter?" She asked nervously.

"Uhh.. Yeah?" He responded sceptically.

"Professor Slughorn requests you and Neville Longbottom in the Conductor's Compartment for a luncheon." She said as she passed a note. Harry nodded at her after glancing at the piece of parchment and she took her leave.

"Nev?" He called behind him.

"Yeah, I heard, who's Horace Slughorn?" The boy asked curiously, standing up.

"The new Professor, I guess he wants to meet the students he'll be teaching." He wagered, but he had a feeling he had an idea of what he wanted - to see who was worth befriending.

Neville hopped up and they bid Luna farewell and headed towards the front of the train, where they assumed the Conductor's Compartment would be located as neither had ever been. Harry's plan to crack Draco Malfoy's 'conspiracy' was shattered for the moment, he'd have to seize an opportunity in future.

They made their way through the remainder of the carriages until they got to the front of the train. There was a door that connected the last carriage that no one was allowed to enter labelled 'COMPARTMENT C', Harry seized the door handle and pulled it open.

Inside was just a regular compartment albeit a bit bigger. Professor Slughorn sat at the head of the Compartment, spread along the seats were all people he'd recognised. To Slughorn's right were Cormac McLaggen and Marcus Belby. The former he had the displeasure of dealing with quite a few times McLaggen saw himself as a womaniser. However, his terrible manners and personality weren't what Harry would refer to as 'ideal'. The latter on the other hand, Belby, Harry had never spoken to though he was sure he'd heard the name from Remus at some point. To his left were also two confusing guests, Ginny Weasley who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else and Blaise Zabini, who shot Harry a terrible glare.

"Ah, Harry, my boy!" Slughorn said jovially once he had noticed him and Neville had arrived. "Mister Longbottom too! How very delightful, please take a seat. We've got some beverages here, of course, feel free to indulge."

Harry decided to be easy on Neville and let him sit next to Ginny whereas he took a seat next to Belby. Picking up one of the drinks in a fanciful cup with a slice of fruit on the rim. He peered down into the cup. It was a thin, clear liquid that smelt almost tropical. He took a hesitant sip of the drink, it burned his throat not dissimilar to the feeling of firewhiskey. But this time, he belched no flames, only fought against the odd compulsion.

To laugh? Harry questioned internally, letting out a little snort at the sip. It didn't taste terrible, so he continued imbibing in the foreign liquid that seemed to tickle his taste buds gently.

"Welcome you two," The jovial man said again, "We were just discussing some of the family members I've taught. So Marcus, how is your Uncle Damocles?" He said, regarding the plump boy to his right.

Marcus, who at that point had been wolfing through the sandwiches provided with such ferocity that Ron would be proud looked embarrassed at the topic.

"He's.. uh… he's good." The plump boy responded nervously, brushing crumbs off of his face.

"Do you see much of him these days?" The Professor pushed, clearly not perturbed by the boy's nervous demeanour.

"Not… Not too much, no." He offered meekly.

Slughorn took it in his stride. Harry supposed Slughorn had been creating social networks for decades, enough so that he was most likely superb in the art of ensuring conversation continued with his 'supplicants'.

"Ah, well no bother then! I daresay he'd be a most busy man, being such a successful potioneer as Damocles is, with his creation of the Wolfsbane Potion and whatnot. The Belbys have always been the capable sort!" He offered, this elicited a small smile from Marcus. From the outside, you could see clearly what he was doing, or maybe it was just Harry's forewarning on the matter. He'd questioned Marcus and then made him feel like he was a valued member, Harry supposed he wasn't Head of Slytherin for nothing. The man clearly had cunning in spades to weave the webs he was so proficient with.

"What of you Cormac?" He turned to the tall blonde. "Last I heard your Uncle Tiberius was promoted to Head of the Hitwizard Department and your Father was making his way in the Department of Labour. How fares that?"

Cormac, in contrast to Marcus, seemed better prepared for Slughorn's probing.

"They're both quite well. Uncle Tiberius has been doing excellent work with keeping the civilians safe, and Father is always reaching higher, us McLaggens are an ambitious sort." He said proudly.

Again, Slughorn took it with ease. "I dare say you are! Well, send my regards to both of them, it's been quite some time since I made the company of such excellent men. Though I heard you made good time in the hunting season?"

"A good season too! Bagged a few Erumpents on the reserve." The boy boasted and Slughorn's face seemed to push him onwards

Conversation between them seemed to last far longer than with Belby. Harry was content to observe the older man while he chatted animatedly with Cormac.

The plump professor seemed to have a gravity about him that attracted people like Cormac to him. Cormac was forever eager to boast and impress and Slughorn was eager to listen and befriend, a dangerous combination. Though the older man seemed to be holding Cormac's conversation with ease as well as shooting sidelong glances at Harry with an odd look in his eyes, the same he had the night they'd met. Harry had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't like the conversation that was almost certainly ensuing and continued sipping the fruity drink.

He then turned to Blaise. Harry was particularly interested in this conversation. He couldn't say he knew too much about Blaise. At least, not as much as he did about the other Slytherins. However, he hadn't heard of anyone with the name 'Zabini' being a Death Eater.

"And tell me, Blaise, how is your mother fairing?" He questioned, but there was a clear edge in Slughorn's voice now.

"She is well, she's currently working on a business venture in Rome." The dark-skinned boy said tersely. Where the others, or at the very least McLaggen seemed keen to boast or appease Slughorn, Blaise didn't seem so eager to please.

"Ah yes, Hera always was a bright and beautiful woman, please do send my regards," Slughorn said quickly, seeming to want to switch from Blaise with all due haste without being disrespectful. It made Harry terribly curious about why that was.

Slughorn turned to the remainder of them in the compartment who he hadn't talked to. He had to take a different approach to these three and Harry could see the tact in leaving them for last. Harry and Neville didn't really have a family anymore, at least family members who Slughorn would've taught, members that'd be alive. Nor did the Weasleys operate in the same circles as Slughorn, but they did all have one common factor that Slughorn was desperate to learn about. Harry continued to sip his drink before Slughorn turned to them.

"As esteemed as our collection of guests is," The man began, affixing his gooseberry eyes on Harry, "I think we'll find no greater honour, nor stories without talking to you, Mister Potter."

"I wouldn't know what you're referring to, Professor," Harry responded, trying to see if impudence would free him from the conversation.

The large man let out an equally large, boisterous chortle.

"I daresay you do my boy," He countered mirthfully, "Your sortie into the Department of Mysteries was the stuff of legends, or so the papers say. Please, do us the honour of regaling the tale."

Slughorn seemed oblivious to the reactions of the three, each vastly different. Ginny looked murderous, Neville nervous and Harry guilty. But it seemed, in this case, unlike the three prior, he was more concerned with the story than forming a bond at that moment.

"Us being in the Department of Mysteries was just by chance." The raven-haired boy lied, disliking how quickly the falsities slipped from his lips, "Death Eaters chased us from the Atrium there. We just ran wherever we could."

"So there truly isn't any truth to the rumours of a prophecy then?" The older man asked, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands.

Ginny chose to make her own addendum. "I don't remember seeing any Prophecy down there. We duelled near the Hall of Prophecies but we didn't see any." Neville merely nodded in agreement. Harry thought it wise to nod too. He made hard eye contact with the Professor and noticed the glint within his eyes had turned steely.

The lie hadn't passed as well as they'd thought. Ginny was probably the best liar out of the three of them, having lied to her parents about riding brooms for years, but the look on Slughorn's face showed he didn't believe the story for a moment. Harry didn't want to say anything else. He felt the odd compulsion to procure and start sipping a second drink and he'd been beginning to feel the pleasurable buzz that the drink brought. It was clear why he'd set them out if this was the reaction, that they'd be more compliant to his questions, more susceptible if they were exposed to alcohol. It was cunning, he had to yield that much to the Professor.

"I did hear that Albus, or rather the Headmaster made quite a spectacle, no?" He prompted eagerly.

"I suppose some would say that, sir." He replied evenly, though the older man was not dissuaded.

"They also said you alone were responsible for felling many Death Eaters?"

"I think they played up my involvement a bit sir," He replied again, heat rising in his core at the mans insistent probing, "The Aurors did most of the work for us,"

The lie again hadn't seemed to have passed the man unnoticed, the man's light green eyes shimmered with what could've been construed as mirth. But it only seemed to garner him more interest from the enigmatic man.

"So truly," The man said, perhaps playing up his astonishment to cater to the small group, "The Prophet spoke falsely?"

"Perhaps," Harry said, trying to be diplomatic. "I can't say I read it, sir, not after last year."

"Oh bully," The older man said, "Anywho, I shall not pester you about it any more, terrible business I'm assured." Despite his saying otherwise, the man wore a look as if he intended to do just that.

"Perhaps," The man announced, taking a stand with the little space between him and the table, "I think I should properly introduce myself."

The man began to launch into a tirade of titles and achievements, or memories forged inside and beyond Hogwarts. At one point, a tangent took them so far as for him to detail all his good friends in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, detailing what he did for each one.

He sounded very much like an avid collector, regaling the history of his pieces. This whole affair seemed to be something along those lines, acquiring new pieces for his collection. He'd plied them with drinks, interjected himself into their lives, cared about their achievements. He tried to be the antithesis of what every other Professor was and judging by his results, it seemed an attractive prospect to some.

Conversation quieted down soon after the man's long tirade, they chatted quietly while they dined on sandwiches provided. Harry didn't eat much, more intent to watch the boisterous man. But he soon made his way into a third drink, the odd compulsion to pick up the cup not yet abating. Not long after they'd finished, Slughorn made a grand gesture, looking at his watch overtly, appearing to be shocked at what he found.

"Oh my! Look at the time! Less than an hour to Hogsmeade Station. You'd best get along then and remember, my door is always open should you need help!" The new Professor bid them well and began politely shooing them from the compartment.

They began to file out and Harry's plan prior to the long-winded 'luncheon turned networking' began anew, the Prefect meeting would be long done so Draco would be back in his compartment. More importantly, Zabini would be going back there. Zabini shot out of the Compartment. Harry had to be quick, he followed behind him feigning ignorance until he could pull his invisibility cloak out of his jacket.

He ducked into the alcove created between a pair of carriages and donned the cloak. He quickly tailed Zabini with fleet-footed steps, getting as close as he could without touching the dark-skinned boy. Though it appeared he wasn't close enough, Zabini flew into the compartment and closed the door behind him quickly. Harry shot forward and put his foot between the door, he winced as Zabini began to slam his foot in the gap.

"What the fuck is wrong with this thing?" He queried as he kept slamming the door into Harry's cloaked foot. Each time he threw the door closed, it sent a lance of pain up his ankle. Harry fished his wand from his pocket, poking it through the cover of the cloak.

" Contusio," Harry whispered. The first spell on his mind was the one he'd only learned that morning.

The invisible wave of energy connected with the dark-skinned boy, blowing the door open and him careening backwards into Crabbe and Parkinson. Harry seized his opportunity and bounded through the open door although his reflex seemed to be slowed by whatever drink he'd indulged in.

Pansy had vacated her seat, as Blaise stumbled past her. Harry placed his foot in the seat and began to hoist himself up into the luggage compartment. His hand flailed in the attempt to dodge everyone in his path and accidentally shot across Parkinson's breasts, who in turn seemed to think Blaise was trying to grope her, sending them into disarray again. All the while Harry had safely sequestered himself in the luggage rack.

Draco watched the spectacle with a hyper-vigilant eye and Harry hoped he hadn't alerted the seemingly paranoid blonde.

"What the fuck was that?" Blaise spat vulgarly once he'd regained some composure.

"Probably messed with the enchantments." Goyle said gruffly, recovering from being pushed over.

"There's no enchantments on the door, you lackwit." He spat back.

"What did Slughorn want?" Draco demanded, breaking up the budding argument.

"To connect with his students I suppose," he said indifferently, "It was only six of us. That pig Belby, McLaggen, Potter, Weaslette, Longbottom and myself."

Draco snorted at that. "What is he assembling a club of swine? He's got the stomach of one, Belby eats like one, Weasley lives in a sty and Longbottom looks the part." The entire compartment let a laugh out at that one save Harry. He felt rage build within him about the comment against his friends.

"Well, I don't foresee I'll be at this dump for much longer anyway." Draco announced."Something's happening this year, I doubt those same swine will be allowed back."

Blaise started as if to ask what it was but Draco shot him a glare that seemed to ward him off from doing just that.

"Do tell Draco." Pansy said eagerly, clearly not taking the cue Blaise did.

"Not now." The blonde boy ordered, seeming far harsher then what was necessary.

" Yes, Drakey. Do tell." Blaise said, mocking the pug-faced girl.

"Remember your place, Zabini ."

Harry could hear the hatred within his voice, but the dark-skinned boy wasn't cowed in the slightest, not this time.

"Of course, My Lord."

"There's only one Lord, Blaise and he'd flay you for your impudence."

"I'm shaking ." The boy said nonchalantly.

There wasn't much more of interest in their conversations save for that little tidbit. They talked back and forth about how Hogwarts had 'gone to the dogs'. The only other thing that seemed unusual was that Malfoy seemed to brush off Pansy consistently.

If the rumours are true, they couldn't get enough of each other last year.

Last he saw the pair were on good terms, but now he appeared nervous, jittery almost. He kept his right hand clutched in his pocket, presumably on the silk bag he'd been trying desperately to hide. It seemed woefully tame for what Harry hoped to be a moment of incrimination for Draco.

Harry could see from the windows they were entering Hogsmeade Station, the resounding noise of the train's horn only served to reinforce that. Goyle shot up to the luggage rack and swung his trunk down with a fair amount of force, on its way it smacked Harry's head, hard. He fought to stop a gasp as he felt blood run down his head. He saw white and Goyle was wondering what he hit but clearly wasn't too bothered by it as he walked out of the compartment. The rest of the trunks didn't worry Harry but his head was still spinning, the alcohol certainly didn't help his predicament.

Draco seemed to pause for a moment while the others grabbed their trunks, a look of strange contemplation instead.

"You guys go on, I'll be along in a moment," Draco said, the others looked confused but followed his orders.

Draco feigned reaching up to his trunk but shot his wand out instead, plunging under the depths of the cloak.

Harry, to his credit, was not one to be undone in such a fashion.

He took the Hawthorn wand in an ironclad grasp, Draco stumbled forward a short distance as Harry yanked the wand towards him. The surprise stilling Draco's words at his lips. Harry lunged forward off the rack, his vision blurry as the blonde-haired boy was in sight. The cloak somehow clung to his body as he launched downwards at the boy.

A spell flung by that Harry didn't hear, a bright white flash that illuminated his vision for a moment. With his wand stowed away in his waistband, it would be no easy task to retrieve it. Instead, Harry resorted to a less intellectual form of battle; one Dudley Dursely had taught him with blow after blow.

His fists.

He swung his right hand, hard. His swing lacked finesse but did not want for power, it careened across the distance and struck Draco in the chin, sending the boy sprawling backwards with a surprised cry. His vision was still unclear from the knock to the head and Slughorn's compartment but the bright, almost white-blond hair was a beacon in the dark. He made to swing another first, but to his chagrin, Draco saw an opportunity to strike. Harry's arm raised, and the cloak shifted, exposing the body beneath.

" Petrificus Totalus !" he cried, Harry felt the cloak swing off of him, he was hardly in the state of mind or body to respond in a manner that would send the curse careening past him. The distance was too short and Draco's advantage with having his wand, too great.

The spell struck his body, there was an overwhelming coldness for a brief moment as the spell washed over him. But there was a briefness to it, taken over by the sudden fall to the hard ground. The impact had cracked his glasses, and white spots overtook his vision. Harry fell the distance to the ground with a sick thud. Draco looked down disdainfully.

He took a moment to tend to his cracked lip, even Harry could see the rivulets of crimson making themselves known on his lip.

"I thought there was something amiss. I knew I saw something when Blaise couldn't close the door, or when Goyle hit you with his trunk. Didn't your filthy mudblood whore of a mother teach you any manners?" He gasped, "It's rude to spy on your betters." He followed that point by stomping his boot into Harry's face, the cartilage bending under the bottom of his foot with a sickening crack.

He leant down and placed his wand under Harry's chin, but as he did so, the train blew its whistle again. Draco stood up quickly and threw the cloak back over Harry.

"They might find you in London; they might not. Good riddance Potter." He spat a mouthful of blood on the floor of the cabin. The blonde boy was wroth.

He quickly left the compartment, but Harry didn't see what followed as the harsh grips of unconsciousness grasped him and dragged him under its spell.