A/N: If you think you're shocked right now that I'm updating this fic, believe me, it is nothing in comparison with how shocked I am right now. Srsly.

A day in a new world

There was already someone at Madame Malkin’s. A quite thin and peaky-looking boy with a pale, pointy face and white-blond hair. Harry was sure there was something vaguely familiar about him, but he couldn’t really figure out where in the world he was supposed to have seen him.

“Hello,” the boy said, giving him a measuring look. “You’re starting at Hogwarts too.” It was a statement, but there was a sort of a curl to it, as if the boy wasn’t quite as self-assured as he wanted to be.

“Yup,” Harry said cheerfully, sitting down on the stool that he was ushered towards. “Seems like a great place, doesn’t it.”

“I suppose. But then again, it’s the only place worth considering,” the boy drawled, checking his nails to the vexation of the witch trying to nail up his robe.

“Stand still, young sir!”

The boy sent her a menacing glare, but Harry could see his eyes flickering as the woman gave him a hard, unimpressed stare. Once again, he got the feeling that he’d seen this boy before, but where? He wasn’t from the village, and Harry had never been outside it before.

“What House do you think you’ll end up in?” he asked, just to have something to talk about while he pondered. Remus had told him about the Houses before they went to Diagon Alley, when they had been having breakfast in the kitchen. Harry had honestly thought it sounded rather stupid, but he hadn’t said so, because Remus seemed so enthusiastic about Hogwarts and Harry didn’t want to disappoint him by making him think he didn’t want to go. He really did, he just thought that the Houses sounded daft. As if a hat knew anything.

“Slytherin, of course,” the boy said, sounding as if had been the dumbest question he’d ever heart. Harry gritted his teeth.

“What’s so of course about it?”

The boy gave him a strange look, but wasn’t thrown for long. Harry thought he almost sounded like he was reciting his homework when he answered. “My family’s always gone to Slytherin. Slytherin is where the most powerful end up. Besides,” he smiled rather nastily, “I would rather kill myself than go to Hufflepuff.”

“Yeah, Slytherin seems fine” said Harry, unsure what to reply to that. What was wrong with Hufflepuff? He had to ask Remus, or maybe Tonks. “My... uhm... step-father went there too. But my real parents both went to Gryffindor.”

“Your real parents? What happened to them?” the boy wondered, regarding him with something akin to suspicion.

“They’re dead” Harry said flatly, not wanting to go into detail.

“How sad.” Harry didn’t think he sounded that sad over it. “But they were of our kind, weren’t they?”

“What kind is that?” Harry said, nonplussed.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Wizards, of course. They weren’t muggles or anything?”

“...I’m not supposed to talk to muggles...”

The way he said it finally clicked somewhere in Harry’s mind. Now he remembered! How could he even have forgotten? It was probably the only time he’d ever talked to a kid from outside the village.

“Now I remember!” he crowed, and the other boy gave him a wide-eyed, surprised look. “I just remembered where I’d seen you before,” Harry explained. “You’re Draco... Draco Melboy or something, right?”
”Malfoy,” the boy corrected.

“Well, yeah, something like that.”

“I’d say there is quite a large difference,” Draco replied huffily. “But how did you know that?”

“Don’t you remember? We’ve met before,” Harry said, jumping up and down on his seat so vigorously that the witch measuring his robes had to tell him to sit still. “You know, outside the store in my village? You told me you weren’t allowed to talk to muggles. And you ran away when my stepfather came out.”

The boy frowned, and then his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re... but I though... you aren’t a muggle?!” he finally managed to blurt out.

“Wouldn’t be here if I was, would I?” Harry answered with a grin.

Draco seemed to relax and his expression cleared, as if everything suddenly made more sense to him; that was at least the impression Harry got, even though he didn’t understand it. “Of course not,” Draco replied, matching grin for grin. “Muggles would be too stupid to find their way here.”

“Rubbish,” Harry replied scornfully, though he wasn’t very upset...yet. “My best friend’s a muggle, and she’s one of the smartest people I know.”

Draco looked surprised, and at first it seemed as if he was going to argue. But then it appeared that he had decided to ignore it for now. Instead he gave Harry a hard, assessing look, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“What’s that on you forehead?” he finally said.

Harry thought this approach was rather rude, and frowned. “Just a scar. See.” He lifted his fringe. “It’s nothing special. You don’t have to stare.”

But Draco did stare, his eyes growing wide. “You’re Harry Potter!” he gasped.

For a few moments, Harry was totally nonplussed. Then he remembered Severus’ words...

“The name of Harry Potter is known to every inhabitant of the magical world.”

So he had really meant it. Okay, so Severus rarely said things he didn’t mean, but parts of his story had been hard to believe until now, when he saw the realisation dawn in Draco’s eyes. He wondered what the other boy had heard about him, if someone had told him that Harry was some kind of a hero, and suddenly he felt acutely uncomfortable.

“Uhm... yeah, I am,” Harry said, self-conscious in a way he had never quite been before. Draco kept staring, apparently as shocked by this revelation as Harry had been by Draco’s reaction to the scar. He was saved by a knock at the window. Andromeda was standing outside, waving at him with a secretive smile. He was just going to explain who she was to Draco, when the boy gasped.

“Aunt Andromeda?!”

Remus had been wandering Diagon Alley in a slightly desperate search for a present for Harry. It had to be something special, but it also had to be something he could afford, and that rather limited the options. Nonetheless, his eyes were drawn by their own accord to the window display in the quidditch shop.

But no. Despite being ridiculously expensive, broomsticks were also forbidden for first-years, so it wouldn’t do Harry much good.

His inner marauder – a part of himself that he’d tried very hard to forget – stuck up its ugly head and countered with that what the hell, Harry could still use it during the holidays, and by the way, it was quite possible to smuggle a broomstick into the castle unnoticed.

Remus was appalled with himself. Something like that could get the boy expelled. What kind of good example was he for even thinking such things?

The marauder part claimed that a bad example was better than a boring one, and when Remus wondered to himself in alarm what Severus would say if he knew that Remus had considering such a thing, the marauder part was appalled in turn by the notion that he actually cared about what Snape thought.
And that was when Remus completely shoved his teenage self and all of its idiocy back into oblivion, where it belonged. It had been such a relief to finally grow up and away from that petty way of thinking, and he wasn’t going to ever go back to it. He was a grown man with Harry’s best interests in mind, and they did not include being kicked out of Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, he stood for a while longer outside. It was true that Harry still would be able to use it during his holidays, and the boy would probably love it, but...

He sighed. “I can’t afford one anyway,” he reminded himself sternly.

“No. But we can afford one together.” For a moment, Remus thought wildly that his marauder self had become real and was talking to him, before his mind caught up with his ears and informed him that the voice he had heard belonged to Andromeda Tonks. Remus turned around in surprise, and found her smiling at him. During the years her manners had softened and the worst of the Blackish wildness and arrogance had been washed out of her, yet there still was a small edge to her smile that he remembered. He remembered it from the way Sirius had smiled whenever he was really pleased with himself, but she was kinder than he had ever been and this edge was softened by the warm amusement in her eyes.

Remus opened his mouth to protest that no, he didn’t have more than perhaps the tenth of the cost of a broomstick at his disposal, but she cut him short.

“We are rather well off, you know, and I could easily afford to buy him a broomstick all by myself, but I’d rather buy it, and give it, together with you. Harry won’t know or care who paid the most, he will only be happy that he got such a nice gift. It’s the thought that matters, remember?”

Remus felt he ought to be proud, ought to protest, but what he really wanted was to buy a broomstick for Harry. He smiled a bit bleakly. “Thank you.”

She smiled back. “Thank you. You know, I would never have figured out what to get him if you hadn’t given me the idea.” That was a big fat lie, Remus was sure, but he felt better for her saying it.

Harry sent Draco a look of utter surprise.

“Aunt Andromeda?” he demanded. “Tonks never said she had any cousins.”

Draco didn’t reply, but slid out of his chair, looking worried. “How do you know her?” he snapped at Harry.

“She was sort of a friend of my parents, I suppose,” Harry explained. He’d never been quite sure of how she’d known them either. He’d got the impression that they had worked at the same place. He also slid down from his chair, grinning as he noticed that Remus had arrived outside the window as well, carrying something. When he looked at Andromeda again he saw that she had noticed Draco and was watching him with what Harry assumed was surprise. “But that’s great! You can come with us if you want-” But his grin faded as he saw the look on Draco’s face.

“If my mother... I mean, I have to go. Bye!” Draco grabbed the package Madame Malkin was handing him, threw her far too much money, and bolted for the door without heeding to her call to come back and take back the change. Harry could hear a hastily called, “See you at Hogwarts!” before Draco appeared outside the window, charging down the street without even looking at Andromeda.

Harry distractedly handed over some money and took the package and the change with a vague, “Thank you,” before exiting as well. The others were all waiting for him outside, although Andromeda was still looking rather sadly in the direction Draco had disappeared.

“Are you really his aunt?” Harry asked her, and she started slightly, looking guilty.

“Yes, I am. Or I’m supposed to be, at least.” Harry had no idea what she meant by that, nor did he understand why her eyes had gone so shiny, as if she was trying not to cry, or why Ted threw her a sharp glance when she wasn’t looking, shaking his head and looking worried.

What he didn’t know, and what Ted worried about, was that Andromeda, although she loved her husband dearly, hadn’t been able to handle the exclusion from her family with the same aggressive indifference and relief as her cousin. Despite their prejudiced ways and their stupid elitism, she still loved her family, and had hoped that they would come around and at least talk to her again, if maybe not accept her. And then, to not even be mentioned in her parents’ will, nor even find out that they were dead until weeks after the rest of the family; to be scorned and rejected by her beloved sisters; and on top of that, finding out what Sirius had done...

She had learnt to hate Bellatrix after she had ‘dealt with’ Regulus for the Dark Lord, and when she had been put to jail she had been relieved. But she couldn’t help hoping against hope that one day, Narcissa would see reason, and she would have back that one part of her old family that wasn’t forever lost in some way. Until that day, she would keep her heart sealed tight rather than invite in more people that could hurt her. Her friendship with Remus was cautious at best; her love for Harry enabled by the fact that he was still far too young to cause any damage. To almost everyone else, she was little more than a stranger.

Dora gently nudged her mother, bringing her back from her contemplations. Andromeda shook her head slightly while breathing a soft sigh. The boy indeed did look a lot like his father - curse him - but just like Harry, he had borrowed his eyes from his mother. Oh, not in colour perhaps, but in shape, and the way they sat so far from each other. But most of all, he had inherited that fear of hers; her constant anxiety. She had always been so scared of not being good enough, that maybe she was doing something wrong, and perhaps, if she just tried a little bit harder... Andromeda was quite sure she had interpreted him right from that short moment before he ran away; after all, she had known her sisters very well.

She wondered over the fact that he had recognised her, but not everyone in the Black family was quite as vicious as Walburga, blasting away at family trees and burning portraits. So probably there were still some portraits left in Narcissa’s possession; maybe those miniatures that had been painted just before she eloped with Ted.

“Dromeda, dear, we should be going to the ice-cream parlour.” She blinked, and found Ted watching her anxiously.

“Oh... What?”

“Florean Forescue’s,” he prompted. “Harry’s supposed to open his presents there, remember?” She fought down and impulse to snap at him for being so protective; she knew he meant well. So she nodded without, starting to lead the way hurriedly in a vain attempt to outrun her own thoughts.

They found a nice, sun-lit spot and pulled some tables together there, crowding around it while they chatted and laughed. Diagon Alley was bustling with life and movement, and despite the dust that swirled in the air it was a lovely day. Besides, the ice-cream proved an excellent remedy against dust-filled throats, and soon everyone had put their worries aside for a while.

“So... who’s first?” wondered Andromeda.

“Me! Let me!” Her daughter mimicked an eager student, waving her arm in the air and jumping on her seat. Andromeda raised her eyebrows somewhat, but then nodded to Nymphadora with a small smile, which was all the encouragement the girl needed. From her, Harry received a bunch of comics, a colour-changing quill and what Dora called a notebook, even though Remus thought it really looked like a diary. But he supposed it was a wise move, since not that many eleven-year-old boys would ever admit to doing something as girlish as writing in a diary. Even if it happened to be a very handsome such, made from dragonskin leather. Harry was equally happy about the textbooks and the snowy owl that Hagrid handed over with a gruff, incomprehensible mutter. But when he opened the gift from Remus, Andromeda and Ted, he went very still. He stared at the broomstick in open-mouthed surprise, and then breathed a very soft, “Wow!”

“A nimbus 2000. The best there is to get,” said Andromeda in what was supposed to be an offhand voice, but she didn’t quite manage. Her face broke into a huge smile after just a few seconds, Nymphadora gave and impressed whistle, and Ted clapped Harry on the shoulder with a good-natured laugh.

Harry, thinking that perhaps he’d been rude to look so much happier over this gift, blushed a bit and busied himself with removing the last traces of Spellotape from the handle of the broom. Remus, who sat close enough to notice the reverent way the boy touched the broomstick, had a hard time holding back a quiet chuckle. He knew it was silly, but he was glad that his gift had impressed Harry. He felt as if he had to make up for all the time when he hadn’t been able to be there for the boy, all the long weeks between each of the visits to Harry that Dumbledore had allotted him. He didn’t resent Severus for this, but he did envy him quite a lot. And he certainly did wish that he hadn’t been so completely out of his mind back then when Harry needed a parent. But how could he have felt any different?

At least now, he had still been allowed a part of Harry’s life. That was more than he would’ve got if Harry had been sent to his aunt and uncle. And Harry was happy, and that was still what mattered most.

"Ah yes...I thought I'd be seeing you soon.”

Harry jumped a bit at the dry, low voice, but Remus’ hand on his shoulder was reassuring, and so was Dora’s presence, although a little bit alarming as well. There seemed to be quite a lot of things that could be tipped over or broken in there, and she was already fingering a shelf absentmindedly. The wandmaker Ollivander seemed to be of the same opinion, because he gave the girl a watery glare, and she stood back with a sigh, putting her hands behind her back.

Ollivander’s gaze returned to Harry again, and it appeared that intended to pick up where he left off. “Harry Potter... It seems like yesterday your mother bought her wand here...”

“Really?” Harry asked, squirming just a little bit as the eyes of the man bore into him.

“Yes,” Ollivander replied a bit irritably, confused at being interrupted again. “I... Ten and a quarter inches long, it was, rather swishy, made of willow. A fine wand for charmswork.” He stepped closer. “Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand -- eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.” Harry gulped, uneasy in front of the unblinking stare.

He was saved moments later by a huge clang and an, “Oh, dear!” from Dora, followed by a string of murmured excuses. She had managed to upturn a brass vase.

“Nymphadora Tonks” said Ollivander a bit dryly, and the girl grimaced at the name. “Yes, I remember your last visit here very well.” The girl grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at Harry when Ollivander looked the other way, setting down the vase with the right end up. “Ten inches, birch, unicorn hair, hmm?”

“Yup,” Dora said, indicating the wand that she had for the moment stuck behind her ear. The old man gave a quite dissatisfied grunt. Dora made a funny face at him when he turned to Remus, and Harry was forced to hide his grin behind the palm of his hand.

“Remus Lupin. Twelve inches, juniper, dragon heartstring. An... unusual combination.” The gaze that Ollivander gave Remus was odd, sort of challenging. But he met the gaze without wavering, and his eyes gleamed almost orange in the gloom.

“You remember it correctly. As always.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, of course... They are all the work of my hand, after all...”

Remus nodded politely, but his voice indicated impatience. “Perhaps we ought to start thinking about matters at hand. Harry’s wand, for example.”

Ollivander nodded, moving back among the shelves to retrieve a wand for Harry to try, while a tape measurer was happily swishing around, taking every kind of measurement on Harry on its own. After a while, the old man returned with the first possible wand, and the tape shrunk back on a shelf. Harry thought it looked a bit disappointed, and almost giggled, but sobered when Ollivander cleared his throat disapprovingly. Instead he picked up the wand presented to him and, having hade the process already explained to him, gave the wand a enthusiastic wave.

Nothing what so ever happened.

This scenario repeated itself until there was a large stack of already used wands on the counter. But Ollivander seemed happy enough. Harry thought that maybe he didn’t have that many visitors except the customers; maybe he was lonely when there wasn’t someone there trying out wands. That thought made him feel unexpected sympathy towards the nosy old man.

“I wonder...” said Mr Ollivander after yet another failed attempt, looking down at one of the slim wooden boxes that the wands were stored in. Then he apparently reached a decision, because he snapped it open and handed the wand to Harry, who gave it a rather tired wave. His wrist was starting to ache. When a bunch of red and gold sparks flew out of the end, lighting the dusty air, Harry almost dropped the wand out of surprise.

“Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. A very supple wand.” The old man shook his head. “Curious... Very curious...”

Remus was looking a bit annoyed by now, but Harry’s curiosity had been kindled. “Excuse me, Mr Ollivander, but what is curious?”

Ollivander gave him a piercing stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. And it so happens, that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather - just one other. To the very wand that gave you this.” He pointed with a long, pale finger at the scar in Harry’s forehead. Remus sucked in breath sharply, and there was a muffled crash as Dora, perched on the bench by the window, lost her balance and toppled into the window display. Mr Ollivander didn’t seem to notice. “Thirteen and a half inches,” he said a bit mournfully, as a parent might talk of a child gone astray. “Yew. A very powerful wand, and in the wrong hands...” He spread his fingers. “The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

“How much for the wand?” asked Remus abruptly, and Harry noticed that he was trying very hard not to become angry. He also looked shaken and upset, but not nearly as shaken and upset as Harry felt.

The wand chooses the wizard, remember...

The phrase repeated itself with malicious monotony in his head, and he didn’t like it at all. Why had it chosen him, then? Stupid wand. He glared at it before stuffing it in his bags.

Remus handed Ollivander some money, wanting desperately to get out as soon as possible but not wanting to seem rude. As he cast about for a reason to make an immediate retreat, Nymphadora winked at him, before innocently asking Ollivander if he wanted help with putting the wands back. The old man declined the offer with a slightly panicky note to his voice, and they were almost shoved out the door. Remus smiled thankfully at the young woman, and she gave him a glowing smile in return before challenging Harry to race her back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Remus shook his head, thinking that people never seemed to amaze him. As soon as you thought you knew someone for sure, they went and changed your view of them.

And that thought of course brought back the memory of Sirius’ face, laughing madly as he was dragged away. It clung to his mind like an infection, unbidden, unavoidable, and Remus shivered, suddenly feeling cold. He didn’t want to think of it, but yet the harder he tried to avoid the thought, the harder it sunk its fangs into him; sharp, yellow fangs, stained with blood, crushing his ankle between huge jaws... He pushed away that memory too, angry with himself. Whatever had led him to think about that? He hadn’t dwelled on the moment he was bitten in years.

But if he was going to be honest with himself, he knew exactly why. That someone he had loved so much, someone he had respected and admired, could turn so foul and vile and betraying... it had taken away some of his faith in humanity, and that meant it had made him less human than before. How could he be something he didn’t believe in? So his eyes, which before only had turned yellow when he was really angry or when he transformed, had permanently taken on a yellowish tint, a constant reminder of what he had lost; faith, perseverance, hope... After all, what was there to hope for.

But then, suddenly, he remembered Snape. Snape, drawing wand at their backs and using Dark Art hexes on them, harassing Peter when they weren’t around, calling Lily a mudblood. He remembered the disgust in his young face when Remus had tried to apologise for almost hurting him during that... that incident in the shrieking shack...

“Get away from me, you filthy half-breed! And don’t you ever come near me again, do you hear me? Or I will tell! I’ll tell everyone!”

It had been empty threats of course, but Remus had still hated him with all his heart right then, because it was so unfair. Being blamed for what the wolf had tried to do, as if he, Remus, wouldn’t have given anything, absolutely anything to be able to remove that part of him forever. He would freely have shouldered his part of the blame in their bullying, had Snape demanded it, but instead he was being blamed for what that parasite monster that lived inside of him had done.

All he had wanted to do was to prove that this monster had nothing to do with him, but Snape hadn’t allowed him to. And that had stung.

With a shudder he remembered the battles against the masked Death Eaters, how he had seen friends and the families of his friends being slaughtered. Severus had been one of those Death Eaters, and the blood of people he had cared for was undoubtedly on his hands.

And then he had found out that Snape had been a spy for their side for several months, risking his life for people he didn’t even seem to care for; people who never learned to trust him, even when they found out what he had done for them. And from the moment he lifted Harry out of the cradle that cold November morning, he had never given them any reason to doubt his devotion to Harry’s protection, nor his devotion as a father.

Maybe, just maybe, they had something to hope for, after all.

Severus leaned his head in his hands with a tired sigh. It was true that it was unfair that he would not be allowed to follow Harry today. Everyone agreed with that. But he knew the orders, and so did they. At all costs was it to be avoided that the wizarding society was made aware of that he had the boy in his care. And he was far too old to whine about that he wanted to go to, like some spoilt kid with far too little to occupy himself with; like Black would undoubtedly have done...

He lifted his glass to the light, studying it lackadaisically. The only light in the room was the muted glow of the fire, and it gave to the white wine a touch of amber, and faint reflexes danced over his fingers.

He wondered if they talked about him, but he doubted it. None of them liked that Harry was with him, he was quite sure with that. Lupin was jealous, Hagrid disapproving, Andromeda Tonks was just like her cousin, sulking and whining... And not one of them trusted him.

Of course he had been sorely tempted not to say a word, to remain silent about who Harry really was until right before he started school. He had been tempted not to give the pendant to the boy, to imprint in him of how very little consequence his father was now. After all, it was he and not James who had taken care of Harry for all these years, watched over him. Tucked him in at night and awoken him in the morning. He had fed him. Clothed him. He had seen the boy take his first steps, and from that moment he had been there to take care of him whenever he fell. And through all of this he hadn’t been able to keep from thinking that it was unfair that no matter what he’d done for Harry, no matter if he cared about the boy too, everyone would always say that Lily and James were his real parents. He would never be regarded as more than a substitute. No matter what he did, the boy would always belong to the parents that he couldn’t even remember.

And then he had thought: Belong? Like a house or a broomstick or a book? Like a thing? Or maybe like a pet? And he had scolded himself for being so selfish. It was true that it was unfair that in the eyes of the world, Harry would never be his son. But that shouldn’t matter as long as he knew the truth. And that was that Harry didn’t belong to Lily and James, nor did he belong to Severus, or Remus, or anyone else. Harry belonged to Harry, and that was all there was to it. And thus it was up to Harry to decide who his real father was; as decision the boy had clearly already made. Who said you only could have one father, after all?

And as his father, Severus decided that he was pleased, despite everything, that Harry finally got to spend a day in Diagon Alley.

Almost before he had thought the thought to an end, there was a rush of flames, and Harry stumbled out of the fire-place, carrying several heavy parcels and looking exhausted and exited in at the same time, in that special way that only children seemed to manage. There was another whoosh from the fire, and Lupin stepped out quite a lot more gracefully, carrying a cage with a rather frantic snowy owl in one hand, and a broomstick in the other. He was looking quite tired as well. Harry grinned and held up all his purchases and gifts for inspection, and Severus nodded in approval, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small smile.

“I trust everything went well?” he asked Lupin rather coolly. The other man nodded, although whenever he looked at Harry, his face turned thoughtful. When Harry thundered away to his room – no doubt to dump everything he carried in his bed or on the floor – Remus handed Severus a short, hand-written note.

“Read it,” he murmured, before following Harry to dispose off the owl and the broomstick. Severus raised his eyebrows at his back, wondering if it really was necessary to be so secretive, but he resolved to read the note before Harry came back anyway. As he had gotten to the end of the message, he was glad he had. It left his with a feeling of unspecified, but nonetheless powerful dread, and it took a while to arrange his features in the semblance of calm. Yet even as Harry and Remus returned so that Harry could bid Remus goodbye, Severus was going over the contents of the note in his head, again and again. The very same phoenix that gave its tail-feather to the wand of the Dark Lord? In Harry’s wand; Harry, who was the only one to have survived a killing curse, and a killing curse cast by the Dark Lord? Severus didn’t know what it meant, but he knew he didn’t like it. He wanted Harry to be protected from his past, yet the boy seemed so powerfully linked to the events that had robbed him of his parents that it seemed unlikely that he would ever be allowed to forget them. And if this meant that Harry was somehow linked to the Dark Lord as well, then he was sure that it was going to mean trouble.

A/N: Ta-dah! Who knows, maybe I'll be able to keep this up...