The following morning Hermione embarrassed herself upon being shown the wound, letting loose a small shriek that, while muffled by the hands she had clapped over her mouth, was still decidedly girly.

"What did you do?!" she hissed in disbelief, tapping her wand against the palm of her hand like she was trying to decide whether to help him or hex him. She grabbed Scott's good arm and pulled him aside while Harry and Ron stood around them to try to block the view of any passers-by.

Gingerly loosening his bandage further, Scott lifted it all the way off of the injury to give Hermione the full view, wincing as the cloth stuck to the damaged skin. Hermione appeared to be biting back another short scream.

"Oh, dear," she muttered, paling. Her anger pushed its way back to the fore. "You should have gone to Madam Pomfrey immediately! And for heaven's sake, what did you do?"

"I'll tell you later," Scott said, warily looking around the mostly empty common room. "Harry and Ron can fill you in until then. Can you do anything?"

"I don't know," Hermione snapped, obviously put out by his stonewalling. "I'm not a Healer. You need the hospital wing, not a few low level healing spells and a shirt for a bandage." She rounded on Ron, who unconsciously backed up a step. "I can't believe the two of you just let him go to bed like this!"

"I told him to go see Pomfrey!" Ron defended himself. "He wouldn't listen!" He shot Harry a glance that clearly said 'back me up'.

"It's true," Harry added lamely. "He wouldn't listen to us."

"He never listens," she muttered darkly, giving Scott a cutting glare. "You could have bled to death in your sleep, but apparently such petty concerns are beneath you."

"Your Episkey is the better than mine," Scott said, unmoved by her fury. "At least try it."

She huffed in irritation but raised her wand regardless, slightly mollified by the compliment. "Anyone's Episkey is better than yours. Hold out your arm, and try to tilt it so that the angle of the puncture faces me directly."

Scott grimaced, clearly in pain while manipulating his wounded arm. "Ow. That hurts."

"Of course it hurts!" she railed at him, her voice rising dangerously. "I suppose you might have thought of that before you somehow had a hole punched through your arm-"

"What's going on?"

The four of them started guiltily. Scott tucked his arm back against his chest, while Harry and Ron moved closer together to hide him from view.

It was Ginny, looking at them curiously. She raised an eyebrow. "Nice morning for standing about?"

"None of your business," Ron said gruffly. "We were discussing something."

Ginny's eyes flashed. Ron always seemed to instinctively handle his sister in the worst possible way. "Oh, really?" she spat. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Ginny, wait," Harry said before she could storm off. "It's… Well, here, take a look." He moved aside to let her into the closed group.

Scott rather sheepishly held out his injured arm. Ginny's eyes grew wide. "Merlin! What did you do?!"

"Oh, I never get tired of hearing that question," Scott muttered.

"It's a long story," Harry explained. "Scott will tell you later tonight."

Ginny looked to be willing to accept that for the time being. Hermione raised her wand again. "Arm, please," she said firmly. Scott adjusted the perforated limb to her prior specifications.

"Episkey! "

The result was noticeable if not quite dramatic. The wound contracted slightly, and the inside darkened as it congealed further. Any other benefits were not apparent to the naked eye, but Harry thought that it might be a bit better.

"It's not very effective," Hermione fretted, examining his arm. "A deep wound like this needs stronger spells and potions."

Scott rewrapped his arm in the old shirt, fitting it tightly. "Good enough for now."

"And if it doesn't get better?" Hermione questioned him severely. "Do you want to have that arm amputated if it goes gangrenous?"

"It's not going to go gangrenous," he scoffed. "I'm resistant."

"Fine," she grudgingly relented after a moment's staring contest. "But if it doesn't start looking better soon, I want you to promise to go see Madam Pomfrey."

Scott waved her off. "Sure, I promise."

Scott retreated upstairs to his dormitory in order to bind his wound in a fresher cloth. Upon entering the common room, he discovered the majority of the Gryffindor sixth-years gathered around the notice board.

He raised himself up on his tiptoes to see over the heads of the crowd but still couldn't discern their object of interest. He frowned, absently tightening the makeshift bandage that covered most of his arm and then tucking the appendage underneath the front of his robes. Why had everyone congregated in front of the board? If something major had happened without so much as a twinge from the universe, he was going to be upset.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were clustered in with the rest of the jostling students. He made his way over to them and approached Harry first, figuring that whatever could draw such a crowd was probably Quidditch related.

"So, what's up in the magical world of Quidditch?" he asked Harry as he came up behind the other boy. "You holding waterboy tryouts?"

"What?" Harry said, looking over his shoulder at Scott in confusion. "There aren't any more tryouts."

Scott leaned in closer, now concerned. "This isn't about last night…?"

"Try reading the announcement," Harry said and pointed towards the board.

"Fine." Scott walked up to the front and examined the large notice pinned to the centre of the board.

It was a form for Apparition lessons. Interesting, certainly, but nothing critical. He could see Harry's name already scrawled on the list next to Ron's. Clearly, Scott had a decision to make.

Given his innate travel abilities, Apparition would be of little use unless the universe should close even that door to him — an unlikely event. Prudence dictated that he take the class regardless, if only to understand how the spell functioned. However, he knew that his chances of passing the class were slim. His academic performance at Hogwarts was acceptable only because of the time he dedicated to studying for the written material. By contrast, his practical performance left a great deal to be desired, save in Potions, a class which required no casting. In all his other subjects he had managed to blend in with the average students by expending a great deal of effort to craft and release just enough working spells to satisfy his teachers.

He struggled with control. Even the mildest of spells were difficult to cast. It was even more difficult to ensure that the spell had the necessary level of focus and accuracy, flowing out of his wand instead of jumping out of his hand in the form of raw force. The wand acted as a converter, creating specific effects. He had come very close to breaking his wand with a poorly directed surge on more than one occasion.

Taking that into account didn't change the look of excitement adorning the faces of his friends and fellow students. That was what made up his mind for him. It would be very odd to show no interest in the lessons. Grabbing the quill attached to the notice, he jotted his name down near the bottom of the list.

"What do you need Apparition lessons for?" Harry asked Scott as soon as he returned to the group.

"Expanding my horizons, Harry. Trying new things," Scott said airily.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said disbelievingly.

Apparition was very much the topic of conversation during Charms that day. The classroom was abuzz with a shared tremor of anticipation and nearly every student in the room was discussing the signups in between spells. Scott didn't participate in much of it, his attention locked onto the hated wand that he held.

"Aguamenti," he said precisely. Proper pronunciation was not his problem, unfortunately, as that could be remedied much more easily than the obstructions he faced. Half afraid that he might destroy his wand should he force the spell, he had tried to go through the motions and cast without using any energy at all. He had held out little hope for success and, sure enough, nothing happened. "Aguamenti, goddammit!"

"Scott, hush," Hermione said next to him. "Flitwick will hear you."

Scott ignored her and waved his wand again. "Aguamenti. Aguamenti you fucking piece of shi-"

"Scott!"

"Is something wrong, Ms. Granger?" Flitwick's piping voice came from the front of the room, his attention captured by Hermione's exclamation.

"No, Professor," she answered, mortified.

The professor gave her a chiding look and turned away to assist another batch of students. As soon as his back was to them, Hermione fixed a white-hot glare on Scott. He could practically feel the heat against the side of his face.

"If looks could kill…" he muttered, staring intently at his wand and rolling it over in his fingers. No one else required an outside power source to cast spells. It was as if he were disconnected.

"Then you'd certainly deserve it," Hermione said in response to his mumbled comment.

"Probably," he absently agreed. Disconnection — that was an interesting line of thought. Suppose he was, in some fashion, literally disconnected from the current of magic. When his classmates cast spells, the act of moving the wand and speaking the words were enough to summon the power to complete the spell. Theoretically, some type of conversion took place, like a power supply. The base energy of the shape was channelled into the caster and converted into spell power.

That didn't happen for him. He had to supply his own sparks, and his power came in the rawest of forms. The only way to guarantee a successful spell cast was to devote time and effort to calculating the exact amount of energy to use and defining the extremely specific conduit through which it should flow, that being his wand. Then there was getting the spell to come out of the wand at the correct angle, a whole other issue in itself.

Time was not a commodity in combat. In the classroom he could work out a decent cast when given enough time to expend considerable effort on the problem. In a fight, well… He'd probably be better off throwing his wand at the enemy, or stabbing someone with it.

He wondered if he was trying too hard. Perhaps instinct was the key. Taking a deep breath, he blindly pushed a jolt of power through his wand. "Aguamenti!"

Two things happened simultaneously: Scott, sensing in that split second that he had used more energy than was safe, immediately smothered out most of the spell, the shaping equivalent of throwing sand onto a fire-

-and what was left of the spell came out of his wand in a frothy torrent of water — a torrent which emerged at a ninety degree angle and soaked Hermione from head to toe.

"Crap," Scott said dully.

Hermione closed her eyes and her hands clenched into tight little fists. A wave of laughter rippled through the room, and Scott knew it was only a matter of seconds before Flitwick traced it back to its source.

"Nice shot," Harry commented.

"But you might want to run," Ron added.

Hermione was applying Drought Charms to her clothing, a task made difficult by the fact that every patch she dried immediately turned soggy again due to the surrounding soaked cloth and her dripping hair. "Shut it, you two," she said with an air of resignation.

Flitwick assigned Scott to writing lines (I am a wizard, not a water balloon), a punishment the professor seemed fond of. Scott dutifully recorded the sentence the required number of times, not meeting the various smiling gazes he was still drawing from around the room.

In a way, making mistakes served to normalise him in the eyes of his peers. Initially this had been useful in hastening his integration, but at the present point he had already become part of the background at Hogwarts; to most, merely another student in the crowd. His dearth of native magical ability was now an inconvenience.

"It's salt water," Hermione said. She licked her lips and made a face. "How on earth did you manage that?"

"I thought of sand. I guess it must have been white sand," Scott answered, shrugging.

Scott spent the rest of the class session carefully calculating an energy level and trajectory for the water spell and then demonstrated it for Flitwick in order to receive a good grade for the day. His equations were off slightly (unsurprising considering the amount of guesswork involved), and his spell was not perfect, but it was acceptable. The fact that he could only manage decent spell work under such controlled conditions confirmed to him that magic would be largely worthless in a battle.

Later that evening Scott slipped away from the other students in the common room and went to the secluded portion of upper-story hallway that he sometimes used for phone calls. He knew Lila would want to be kept appraised of the evolving situation.

She answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"It's me. Thought I'd drop you a quick update."

"Oh, fun."

"I had an altercation last night. Two down, no witnesses. With the highly annoying exception of my age change the universe hasn't done anything severe to limit me, so I'm going to assume that I'm on the right track. I'll take care of anyone else I find as soon as I can age up again. Tonight was a quick run, but in the future I'll try to compare things with you."

"Okay."

Scott paused for a moment, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he asked, "No questions? Comments? …Insults?"

"I'm busy. Are we done?"

"Busy with what?"

"None of your business, that's what. Bye."

She hung up on him. He lowered the phone from his ear and frowned at it. That had been strange. What exactly had she been busy with this time of the night?

On his way back to Gryffindor tower Scott ran into Harry on one of the main staircases. Harry wore the pensive look that he often did when returning from a session in Dumbledore's office. "How'd it go?" Scott said by way of greeting, falling into step with Harry.

"Fine, sort of," Harry said paradoxically.

"Any useful revelations?"

"I'm not sure." Harry looked at Scott and raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug. "I know one thing for certain: he didn't want to hear about Snape."

"What did he say?"

Harry explained his conversation with Dumbledore, including his odd task to retrieve a memory from Slughorn, and finished with, "He said it wasn't important and wouldn't talk about it any more. He even got a little angry with me."

"I bet you were pissed off too." Scott mentally assessed the situation. During Slughorn's Christmas party Harry had overheard a conversation that undeniably linked Snape to Malfoy's mysterious workings. Dumbledore knew that Harry wouldn't lie about such a matter, so if the Headmaster was not concerned then that was a revealing insight.

"It's like he won't even think that he might be wrong about Snape," Harry growled in frustration.

"This is important, though, because you outright confronted him with what you heard, and he still didn't give a shit," Scott said. "That means one of two things: either he's a senile old coffin dodger who is so totally in love with his ex-Death Eater pal that he rejects all rationale, or he knows something we don't. I'll say this much — he didn't come across as senile when I talked to him."

"I don't know," Harry said tiredly. "Maybe I could believe that if it was just this one thing, but..."

"But it's Snape," Scott finished for him. "I know what you mean. It would be a lot easier to buy into the whole 'Snape is a born-again good guy' deal if he wasn't such a fucking dick. I mean, most people who have a change of heart generally show that in some way. Snape is just an asshole."

"You don't have to tell me."

"There's not much we can do about it right now."

"Why don't you talk to Dumbledore about it?" Harry asked.

"I don't see the point. He trusts you more than me, and if he won't talk to you then my chances aren't exactly stellar."

"At least you're an adult," Harry argued. "You could make him see reason better than I can. He sees you as an equal. I'm just a student."

"I'm an unknown, that's what I am," Scott contradicted him. "My motivations are clear only so long as you don't think every word that comes out of my mouth is a lie. Dumbledore trusted me just enough to give me a chance. He must believe that I don't represent any threat to you, or he wouldn't have let me into this school."

"If he thinks you can help then he should let you try," Harry interrupted.

"No. It's one thing to think that I might be able to keep you safe; he's allowing me to be an extra layer of protection because that's what I promised. It's something else entirely to give me an opening to alter his most vital plans. Not happening," Scott said, shaking his head. "As far as Dumbledore is concerned, I'm a handy secondary line of defence. I basically told him as much."

"Then maybe you should do something about Snape yourself." Harry said it under his breath, quietly and without true seriousness.

Scott knew that it might come to that. He didn't address Harry's comment, though. "So anyway, I don't get paid enough to get into a fray with Dumbledore."

Harry had a small smile for that. "That would be an interesting fight. I'd want to watch from distance, though... Wouldn't that be illegal for you, anyway?"

"The Imperiarchy has always had a variable ethical standard. It's easy enough to condone something when you're not the one who has to do it. That's a process known as 'delegation'. It's the cornerstone of all militaries."

"I still don't understand how you get your missions," Harry said. "I mean, how did you know about all of this? About Voldemort, and the Prophecy, and me. Who told you this was happening?"

Scott hesitated, reflecting on the history of his profession. "Well... That's actually sort of a sad story."

Harry blinked. "Sad?"

"It's something I don't really like to talk about, just because it opens up so many difficult questions…" They had reached the Gryffindor Tower entrance and stood before the portrait. "If you want to know, I'll tell you."

"I would like to know, but if it's something that's hard for you to talk about, you don't have to," Harry said.

"It's not personal like that. It's... something some of us prefer to ignore because the truth is unkind." Scott shook his head. "Let's go in. I'm sure Hermione will want to hear this."

It didn't take long to gather up Harry's two friends and relocate to the boys' dormitory, which was devoid of their other room-mates for the time being. Scott sat on the foot of his bed and stared at nothing, his thoughts deep in his memories. Hermione was eagerly anticipating his words while Ron and Harry patiently waited.

"It's a question that doesn't always occur to people immediately," Scott began abruptly. "I know a lot of my Primes have never thought to ask, probably because when a problem is so close to you it would seem impossible for anyone else not to know about it. Either that, or you would simply assume that we have people watching various universes in case something goes wrong. And we do. But there's a lot of universes out there. We couldn't possibly watch all of them.

"So how do we know when and where there's an issue that could use our intervention? Somebody has to tell us, and they are the Liberi Visus." Scott ran a hand through his hair and tried to lean back before remembering that he had nothing to rest on. "Or, 'Children of Sight', if you prefer English. Which you should, being English. Do you know what autism is?"

Ron looked blank. Harry frowned like he was trying to remember where he had heard that term before and predictably it was Hermione who provided the answer. "It's a mental disorder. People who suffer from it have difficulty interacting with others, as I understand."

"There's a lot of variation there, but close enough. There are Kharadjai children who are born like that, but they're not autistic. They're what we call 'overcognizant'; they are so sensitive to the shape of the Multiverse that they can't handle it. We can all sense the shape of things in some capacity, large or small, but they feel it like the rest of us can't even imagine. It's devastating to them. The human mind is not designed to see so far or so clearly."

Hermione had already put the pieces together. "You use them to find where things have gone wrong."

"Yeah, we do," Scott said plainly. "There's a place called Ara Collis where they're kept. Some of them partially recover as they grow older. Like autistics, they can be taught self-care and enough social skills to get by if they can function at that level. But most can't." He sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you. Reading the shape can be frightening and painful for them."

"Are they allowed to leave, though? If they want to leave that place?" Hermione asked. It seemed very important to her.

"It is essential to understand," Scott answered slowly, "that, as Kharadjai, we all serve in our own way. It is considered an honour to have a family member at Ara Collis. Many of the people there don't know any other life."

"So they can't leave if they want to." Hermione's face clearly showed what she thought of that.

"Hermione, most of them don't even know where they are. The only way they could ever want to leave is if they recover to the point that they could actually decide something like that. And then, yes, they can leave."

"And they're treated well?" Hermione persisted.

"Everyone knows how important they are. The people who care for the Liberi are specially trained. It's a highly respected career. And let's not even talk about appropriations; the Council pours money into that place like it's tap water. Shit, you know what I could do if I had that kind of funding?"

"But they do care?"

Hermione was beginning to try his patience. "Where does the human component ever fit in a bureaucracy? I know some of the caretakers at the Hill. They're good people."

"So you get your missions from them," Harry summarised before Hermione could say anything else. "That answers my question."

"Why is it whenever we want to know something about you we have to know ten other things first?" Ron asked rhetorically.

"I'm complex?" Scott shrugged. "And I don't get my missions directly from them. The information from the Liberi is recorded at Ara Collis, it gets passed to the Imperiarchy, and the powers that be decide whether to act on it. Those of us in the Primarius get our missions designated like everyone else, but chain of command-wise we answer to the Oritorius since he's also our Praefectus."

"Praefectus?" Hermione said startled.

"Now I guess you know where 'prefect' comes from. Praefectus means 'commander'. Every branch of the military has several, Minors, Majors and so on. We don't call the Oritorius that because he's the only general-class commander we have in the Primarius."

"You do remember we're at school already, right?" Ron groaned. "I can't learn any of this; I'll forget everything else."

Hermione didn't seem to care about Ron's distress. "That's really rather fascinating," she said. "Is there a wider variety of ranks elsewhere, or-"

"No, enough!" Scott told her, standing from his bed. "Enough exposition. I'm tired of it. I should write you a book or something, for fuck's sake. Ron's right, everyone's sick of hearing about the Kharadjai." He turned to Ron. "Ron — you, me, and a chess board. I will destroy you."

"You're on," Ron said, grinning.

"You promised to start telling us about these things-" Hermione began to accuse Scott, clearly intent on wringing ever possible bit of information from him.

"Let it go, Hermione," Harry said, siding with Scott and Ron. "You can ask him more questions later."

"Fine," Hermione responded shortly. To Scott she said, "I'll be holding you to that."

Scott rolled his eyes at her. "Like I'd expect anything less."

The next night found Harry and his friends once again in the Room of Requirement while Scott explained himself, though they were missing two as they had been unable to contact Luna and Neville had already been asleep. The heavy silence that pervaded the room following the Kharadjai's admission was uncomfortably stifling. Harry shifted in his seat and wished that his current situation didn't crop up so often.

He had anticipated Ginny's reaction, one of shock and disbelief, but it was Hermione that surprised him. Rather than a well-justified visage of horror, she wore what might have best been described as resignation. Certainly, given her logical thought processes, it was likely that she had considered the possibility of Scott's actions, but the divide between consideration and resignation was a large one.

"…No one saw you?" Hermione said slowly, shattering the quiet. Everyone except Scott stared at her.

"What kind of bumbling amateur do you take me for?" Scott said in mock affront.

"You weren't exactly subtle about it," Hermione snapped at him, not amused in the slightest. "I have reason enough to ask."

Wait a minute... was Hermione chiding Scott for hurting himself and almost getting caught instead of committing the act itself? Harry traded a stunned look with Ron.

"I'll be the first to admit that this hit was less than technically superb," Scott conceded, "but to suggest that I might have allowed myself to be seen… Well. That's just insulting."

"I already refrained from asking how close you came to being more severely injured," she said, eyeballing his still-bandaged arm. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You've murdered two people, and I was tactful enough not to question your acuity. Perhaps I should be asking what's wrong with you and why has it infected me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, or me-"

Ginny snorted at that.

"-war is unpleasant by nature, and it's natural to become inured," Scott carried on, disregarding Ginny. "The best soldiers have always operated on a clinical level. It's a necessary function of the human mental defence."

"It's a necessary function of rationale for monsters," Hermione said coldly.

"Only if you allow it to be."

"Explain then, if you would, how becoming more like Voldemort is supposed to be conducive towards anything but being evil?"

"That's a question unworthy of your acumen," Scott chided her.

She lowered her head and swallowed hard. When she raised her eyes again, they locked onto Ron and Harry. "Well? What do you think of this?" she asked sharply.

Harry tried to think of some way to dodge the question. It was obvious that Hermione was searching for a handle on the situation, and he didn't think he had one that she wanted to hear. Harry had reservations, certainly, but he still couldn't help but believe 'better them than us'. "I dunno…"

Ron shrugged helplessly. "It's sort of a bad job all around. But they would have killed us if they could have…" he said, echoing some of Harry's thoughts.

"We don't know that for sure," Hermione muttered.

"If they got a laugh out of killing other innocent people, I don't see why your demise should be different," Scott said darkly. "They were Death Eaters, and that's reason enough to make sure they don't get in our way."

"You mean your way," Ginny accused him.

"No, Ginny, I don't," Scott stated forcefully. "I mean our way. And our way is Harry's way."

There Scott went, dragging Harry back into things. While what Scott said was true, Harry preferred to be left out of it when Hermione and Scott went toe to toe in these philosophical battles.

Hermione sat up straight. "Don't you dare try to make me accept this by using Harry-"

"Oh, you want me to lie again?" Scott asked sarcastically. "Shall I conjure up an amusing story for the benefit of your conscience?"

"Do you even know what you're asking? How can you just drop this on us and then use Harry as an excuse?"

Scott's brow furrowed and Harry sighed, slouching back into his chair. Apparently this wasn't going to be one of the calmer discussions. "Are you incapable of dealing with the realities presented?" Scott said cuttingly.

"It's not as easy as all that to accept a double homicide, Scott!"

"You've already accepted it!" he said loudly. "You're just looking for the moral trapdoor so you can squeeze your pert little ass out of the line of responsibility!"

Hermione flushed a dangerous shade of red. Before she could retort, Ginny came to her friend's defence. "Don't talk to her like that — you're the one responsible!"

"Yeah," Ron said, apparently feeling that Scott had crossed a line. "Don't yell at Hermione."

"Ginny, Ron — kindly shut the fuck up," Scott said, not looking at either of them as his eyes remained locked with Hermione's. "She can speak for herself."

"You shut it-" Ron said hotly.

"No," Hermione interrupted him, "he's right. I… I didn't want to admit it because then it'd be like I was giving him my permission to do it again."

"I don't need your permission," Scott told her frostily.

"Scott, I am agreeing with you at the cost of my own embarrassment," Hermione said shrilly. "The least you could do is reign in your defiant impulses for one moment!"

Scott glared at her for a moment; then his shoulders slumped, and he deflated. "Well played."

"I can't believe I'm even in this situation," Hermione groaned. "How did it come to this?"

"Sorry for being born," Harry apologised.

"Shut it, Harry," Hermione said absently.

"I'm not sure where you expected this whole 'war' thing to lead," Scott said to her, though the biting tone was gone from his voice. "You knew people were going to die. This time it's someone on the other team, and you're struggling with yourself because you don't feel the way you think you should."

"All right," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "then what do you suggest?"

"You're a logical person. Harry and Ron follow their guts, and their guts just told them that we won a battle. They're pretty much at peace with that. What you need to do is consider the realities involved when there are people attempting to kill you. It's the coherent course of reason that it's better to strike back than to look away."

"I don't think we'll ever fully agree on what the coherent course of reason is," Hermione sighed.

Scott shrugged. "All I'm saying is this probably isn't the ideal time to pledge yourself to pacifism."

Harry thought Scott was making a great deal of sense, which was fairly unusual for the Kharadjai.

Hermione must have thought so too because she changed the subject without further comment. "How's your arm been?"

"Sticky." Scott shook back the sleeve of his robes and peered at his stained bandage. "I'm hoping to get it taken care of tonight." He carefully began unwrapping his arm, grimacing as the material clung to the skin.

"I've done all I can, another Episkey isn't going to work," Hermione told him.

"That won't be necessary." Scott finished removing the bandage and looked closely at the wound, which had turned a nasty collage of red and dark purple.

Ron stared at it with the same sick fascination he'd had before. "Bloody hell, you're a mess."

Scott carefully prodded his horribly bruised appendage. "Okay, here's the deal. In order to make this go away I need to be an adult, but ever since I attacked those Death Eaters the universe has squeezed in on me like I'm a fat baby in a birth canal." He paused while everyone made exclamations of disgust at that analogy. "So, I need to loosen things up for a second."

"How?" Ron asked.

"By doing something that wasn't supposed to happen."

"But you said that was dangerous," Hermione objected.

"It is... so we'll do it on a very small scale," Scott explained. "The majority of what you do in life isn't fated, but it all tends to take you towards the destination that is. All we need is to disrupt the status quo a little bit."

"Scott, if there is any chance that this could cause a problem, then we aren't doing what you want," Hermione warned him.

Scott rolled his eyes. "We're not going to break anything, just bend it a little…"

"What did you have in mind?" Harry asked.

"Well, here's what I thought. You and Ron are supposed to be friends; that's pretty obvious. It's important to the universe that you guys remain best mates, so it's in our best interests not to jeopardise that, since if you ever started hating each other for some reason it would, as Hermione put it, cause problems."

"I'm pretty sure we can't stop being friends on command," Ron noted.

"Right, and that would be bad anyway," Scott agreed. "But if you suddenly did something that was very un-best-mate-like, that would qualify as a minor disturbance, and it just might give me enough breathing space to change my age."

Harry had a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to like Scott's idea at all. He exchanged a worried look with Ron, who was also looking apprehensive. "This sounds like a bad idea," he heard Ginny mutter, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

Scott overheard her and countered, "I told you, it won't be a big enough deal to cause any problems with the shape! Things are constantly going wrong with universes. It's only the severe stuff that puts us in these situations. We're going to create an unanticipated event with a minuscule impact."

"And what is this unanticipated event?" Hermione questioned him.

"I figured Harry could punch Ron in the face. Or vice versa, whichever you guys prefer." Seeing the looks on everyone's faces, he hastened to continue, "Not real hard or anything. But that's such an unexpected thing… The universe has to expand slightly in order for new possibilities to coalesce…"

"No. Absolutely not," Hermione stated unequivocally.

"But-"

"No! You are not going to make Harry punch Ron in the face!"

"It wouldn't be real hard, right? I guess I could just take it on the jaw…" Ron mused.

Hermione whirled on him. "Ron!"

"What? If it'll help fix his arm, then it's not a big deal," he defended himself.

"You cannot be seriously considering this," she said in disbelief.

"Yeah, how do you know he doesn't want you to do it just for a laugh?" Ginny chimed in.

Harry looked at Scott. "You're don't, right?"

"I solemnly swear that I really do need the universe to be loosened in some way," Scott promised.

"And you couldn't think of anything better than that?" Hermione scoffed.

"For a minute or two I considered having Harry kiss you-" Scott admitted. Hermione paled. "-and while that would certainly create the reaction I'm looking for, I figured it might cause some real problems."

"You're bloody well right it would," Ron said, sitting straight up.

Scott raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "You can see the bind I'm in…"

Harry shook his head. "This is so stupid," he said, getting to his feet and facing Ron. "All right, you hit me."

Ron stood up too. "Nah, you can let me have it."

"You're utterly mad, both of you," Ginny told them. "Completely mental."

"Maybe you should flip a coin," Scott suggested.

"This is not going to happen!" Hermione burst out. "Stop it! There is absolutely no sane reason why anyone should get hit!"

"I think I explained everything pretty well," Scott disagreed.

"Here," Harry said, digging a Sickle out of his pocket, "you call it."

"Heads," Ron said. He reached out and grabbed Harry's hand before he could flip the coin. "Wait — do I get hit or not hit if it's heads?"

"Ummm… Not hit," Harry decided.

"Right."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione moaned and flopped back down on the couch in a huff.

Harry flipped the coin up in the air and deftly caught it, slapping it down on the back of his hand. His heart sank a little in his chest upon looking at it — it was heads. "Well, that's that," he said as stoically as he could manage. "A little punch to the face never hurt anyone, right?"

"That's the spirit," Scott said encouragingly.

"I cannot believe…" Hermione didn't even finish her sentence, burying her face in her hands.

"Where do you want it?" Ron was kind enough to ask.

"I dunno…" Harry turned to Scott. "Where's the safest place to get hit?"

"Well, there's not really any good place to get hit in the head," Scott said unhelpfully. "The eyes and the nose can be lethal, so not there, and anywhere on the cheek or jaw can cause some serious dental damage. I'd suggest a punch straight to the forehead. With a little luck, your cerebrospinal fluid will prove sufficient to prevent a concussion."

"Fantastic."

"E r, we don't have to do this, mate," Ron said, hesitant after Scott's 'advice'.

"Scott, if this works like you say it will, you owe me," Harry told him. "And if it doesn't work, you owe me double."

"I understand," Scott replied gravely.

"But, how hard… I mean, I don't want to hurt him…" Ron fretted.

"Use your arm, don't put your body weight into it."

"All right." Ron repositioned himself, and Harry tensed up. "Here goes…"

Ron didn't throw the haymaker Harry had feared but instead let loose a straight jab to Harry's forehead. His fist slammed home, and Harry felt his head snap back from the impact. He stumbled backwards and tripped over a chair leg, crashing to the floor.

"RON!" Ginny and Hermione simultaneously screeched.

"It wasn't that hard!" Ron protested. Harry begged to differ. The room was still spinning when Ron bent down to help him to his feet.

"Methinks ol' Ron don't know his own strength," Scott commented.

The pain began to set in once Harry regained his bearings, a dull throb that spread from the centre of his forehead and permeated the rest of his skull. "Did it work?" he wondered.

"Yes!" Scott exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Wow! It actually worked!" He bolted from the room without any explanation, leaving them staring after him.

"Well, that's good," Harry muttered.

"He is so…" Hermione struggled to find the right word. "Inconsiderate! Are you all right?" She fussed over Harry, brushing back his fringe and examining the bruise that was forming in stark relief against his pale skin. Ginny hovered close nearby, occasionally moving forward as if she were trying to take Hermione's place.

Harry would have rolled his eyes, but it felt like they might fall out if he did. "You pack quite a punch, mate," he said to Ron.

"Sorry," Ron said sheepishly. "I tried to pull it a little bit, but I've never really done that before, you know?"

"I couldn't tell," Harry said, rubbing gingerly at the bruise.

"Walk it off, Harry," a jocund voice said from the doorway. The deeper pitch told Harry without looking that Scott had switched ages again.

"…Scott?" Hermione said faintly. With a start, Harry remembered that the two girls had never seen the Kharadjai in his older form.

"Who else?" Kharan strolled back up to his usual seat at the fireplace. He had changed into Muggle street clothes, which made sense considering his altered size. "Observe, if you would, my healing prowess. Try not to swoon, ladies." He held out his wounded arm so they could see it, the puckered hole looking smaller against his now larger forearm. Then, without so much as a single word from Kharan or the slightest visual or audio cue, it simply vanished. The only sign it had ever been there was the ring of dried blood surrounding a pristine patch of skin.

"Wicked," Ron breathed. "That'd be dead useful to learn."

"Unfortunately, it is not within my power to teach."

Hermione looked deeply curious, but Ginny was plainly in shock. Harry supposed that, being absent from much of the interactions they had been involved in with the Kharadjai, she had never really come to terms with his origins. Now, sitting before her as an adult and having healed himself in an impossible fashion, the truth about Scott Kharan was hitting her in a hard way.

"So this is your natural age? How old are you?" Hermione asked.

Kharan shrugged. "Physically, about twenty-five. Could be less, could be more, there's no precise way to tell."

"That's genuinely amazing," Hermione murmured. She moved in closer and inspected him like he was a specimen in a jar, even going so far as to tap him with her wand a few times. "There are some potions that can achieve a similar effect, but a decade's worth of ageing in a matter of seconds is quite a feat…"

"Where, exactly, are you going to stick that wand during this examination?" Kharan asked her, eyeing her wand hand.

"What? Oh, sorry," Hermione said, backing away and looking embarrassed.

"Anyway, problem solved," he said, rubbing the newly healed portion of his arm. "I vote we adjourn."

That sounded brilliant to Harry. His headache was developing nicely, and he wanted to lie down. "What time is it?"

"Bedtime," Ron yawned.

"Eleven fifty-two p.m.," Kharan supplied with his usual inexplicable precision.

"It is rather late," Hermione said, agreeing with Ron. She stood and headed for the door, pointing at Kharan as she did so. "I hope you don't plan on going back to the Tower looking like that?"

"What? I like this shirt."

"It's not the shirt I'd worry about. Be sure you don't forget to age down."

Kharan crossed his arms. "I'm more useful to you like this, you know."

"That may be, but you aren't good to anyone here if you blow your cover."

"I've had about enough of this being-a-kid crap," Kharan grumbled. "I don't know how you guys put up with it."