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Grey Maiden V: Sacrifice | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Romance, Tragedy Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Violence Rating: R Reviews: 114 Summary: After 13 years, Lord Voldemort has risen again, and set his sights on conquering the Wizarding world. All that may stand in his way is Harry Potter, who must heal, train, and learn the lessons of life on the fly, while friendship, romance, alliances, and his own life hang in the balance. On top of all of this, Harry must cope with the consequences of his guardian’s inevitable fall into Darkness, and a Ministry determined to bury the truth. Hitcount: Story Total: 92969; Chapter Total: 5187 |
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Chapter 2: Delusions Harry stepped carefully into the room, watchful not to disturb anything as he peered around. The state of affairs was neat, although a thin layer of dust had settled over the floor, the walls, and every object in the room. The bed in the center clearly had not been used since before Harry was even born, and the room had seen precious few visitors. His eyes were drawn, however, to the clearly polished, nearly spotless glass of a large cabinet in the corner of the room. He took several more steps towards the bed, looking around for other anomalies. He noted the framed picture that sat on the nightstand that appeared to have been dusted fairly recently, although the glass was not as pristine as that of the display case. Hung around the room was the familiar green-and-silver banner of Slytherin House. The sheets and comforter on the unused bed were a dark green, as were the hangings of the large four-poster bed itself. Harry’s eyes began to detect more subtle details as he examined the room more closely. The bedposts featured ornate carvings of snakes and eagles. The walls were relatively spartan, except for a fine magical painting of a ship rolling in rough seas, one that seemed strangely out of place. Also, he noted a small family crest, almost looking as though it was present out of obligation, rather than because the room’s occupant wanted it there. He saw no other symbols of the man’s Dark loyalties, no tokens of his service. Indeed, the room, although clearly abandoned, really didn’t look all that much different from one that he might have lived in. He scanned the titles on the dusty bookshelf, whispering a Cleaning Charm to clear away a decade of neglect. There were a few books on the Dark Arts, but of the relatively tame variety, some books on Quidditch, a few on Potions, and a number of books with blank spines. Something about that struck him as odd. Frowning, he whispered the Incantation for the Revealing Charm, and found his suspicions confirmed as the air shimmered with dispersing magic. And as he stared at the silver inscriptions on the first few battered and well-worn books, his pensive expression morphed into a broad grin. The Fellowship of the Ring — Wizard’s Edition The Two Towers — Wizard’s Edition The Return of the King — Wizard’s Edition The Hobbit - Wizard’s Edition All that was left to complete the parallel was…there is was: The Chronicles of Narnia Collector’s Edition — Wizard’s Printing Yes, he and Regulus Archturus Black had quite a bit in common. The same interests, the same choice of Muggle fantasy writing, the same House, the same preference for spartan elegance over ostentatious décor… Except for that bit about him becoming a Death Eater, Harry reminded himself. Harry pulled away from the bookshelf and moved to the nightstand. He carefully picked up the picture and stared at the moving occupants. Regulus was at the center, a boy with long black hair and pale blue eyes, with only his wire-frame glasses and slightly sharper facial features setting him apart from his brother, and Harry’s Godfather, Sirius Orion Black. The boy in the picture, who was probably about thirteen, wore the same cheeky grin he’d seen in the photographs of the Marauders. Flanking the Death-Eater-to-be were Walburga (whose immovable portrait was prone to violent rages, although Harry had managed to speak a few polite words to her before Sirius showed up and caused her to start screaming) and Orion Black, both looking middle-aged and possessed of the same elegance and grace for which the Black family was renowned. The boy looked quite happy, and his parents equally proud. Harry smiled slightly at that, although he was fully aware Sirius’s parents were rather nasty individuals that, although too old to fight for the Dark Lord, still donated considerable funds to his operations. And their favored son, Harry silently added. His hand moved to the drawer and pulled. It was locked. He tried an Unlocking Spell. No luck. Deciding not to blast it open, he moved on. He was examining the contents of the cabinet, noting a couple of daggers, some jewelry, and a few odd trinkets, in addition to Regulus’s framed O.W.L. results. He’d aced them cold. ”Harry?” Sirius’s voice came from the doorway. Harry lazily glanced back at him, and then squinted as he tried to read the inscription on a large pendant. It was written in a language he didn’t recognize. “What are you doing?” Sirius demanded, sounding angry. “Must I chase you away from every single room in this bloody house that I don’t want you to go into? First the Black Family Tree…” “The study of which I intend to resume when I’ve got some time on my hands,” Harry interrupted. He turned to face his Godfather. “It was quite interesting, really. I’d never have dreamed my Great-Great-Aunt was born a Black. And the Longbottoms, the Prewetts, the Crouches…I’d no idea that the Blacks intermarried with Light families so often.” “Practically every wizarding family in existence dates back to the Blacks,” Sirius said shortly. “Now come on, get out of there!” “Why?” Harry asked innocently. “Because you shouldn’t be there,” Sirius insisted, his voice a harsh whisper, as if he was trying not to attract attention. “I’ve no idea what drew you here in the first place. Hermione’s down in the Library, reading. Ginny’s doing her homework, too. Why don’t you go join them?” “While you ward this place off and forget you ever had a brother?” Harry asked, a hard edge to his voice. “He wasn’t that bad, Sirius.” “He was a Death Eater!” Sirius shouted, abandoning all attempts at keeping the conversation quiet. Harry waved his arms at the room. “You can learn a lot about a person by studying the space they lived in, you know,” he said. “There’s not a single artifact documenting his loyalty to Voldemort,” Harry continued, despite the stricken look on Sirius’s face. “In fact, I’d bet good money that your parents didn’t give him all that much choice when it came to taking the Mark. They were in love with Voldemort’s goals, his ideas about blood superiority and the inferiority of Muggles and those possessed of their blood. But they were far too old to serve him themselves. So they gave him Regulus.” Something flashed behind Sirius’s murky blue eyes, dulled by over a decade in Azkaban. “Don’t say that name!” he snapped. “Get out. Now!” Harry ignored him, and reached for the handle of the cabinet. Sirius’s eyes widened. “NO! Stop!” Harry pulled the door open. Without warning, both of the daggers suddenly rose into the air and shot straight at his chest. Harry’s magic reacted instantly and instinctively, freezing them in mid-air, light glistening off the polished blades. Harry began to push back, and the daggers were forced back into the cabinet. Then he slammed the door hard so fast it rattled the rest of the contents. For good measure, he locked it. He stood there, panting heavily, before slowly turning to look at his Godfather. Sirius looked horrified, but his expression quickly turned to anger. “You see? This entire bloody house is booby-trapped! You ignore me, and you nearly get killed for it…where the bloody hell did you get that?!” he demanded, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he eyed the jewel-encrusted dagger in Harry’s left hand. “Aiden Greengrass,” Harry said simply. He turned the weapon over in his hand, peered into the cabinet, and found his suspicions confirmed. The daggers were almost identical in size, although the hilts and ornate decorations were quite different. Looks like this is another Pureblood tradition I ought to be familiar with…got to do some reading, find out if a dagger is a traditional part of offering an alliance. Absently, he turned back to face his Godfather. If the man’s eyes bulged any more they’d pop right out of his head. “Greengrass…” he breathed. Harry nodded. “Harry, you don’t understand what that…,” he said, indicating the weapon Harry had just flipped in his hands, “means,” he finished. “So it is a traditional part of forming a family Alliance, then?” Harry asked, keeping his voice innocently curious. Sirius probably knew more about Dark purebloods and their practices than he cared to admit. Somehow, Harry’s words had struck a chord within Sirius, who looked as though he might faint. “An-” “Alliance, yes,” Harry said impatiently. His Godfather was being utterly ridiculous, as he always was when it came to all things Dark. It drove Harry over the edge at times. He settled on not even bothering to try to win Sirius over, hoping to shock him into accepting what Harry was, what he had to do, and how he had to do it. All of which involved Dark wizards and spells in one fashion or another. “Aiden and I met for the first time at the Quidditch World Cup, although I’d been communicating with him through his daughter for some time. She’s a Slytherin in my year,” he offered by way of explanation, although the reminder that his Godson was in the House of Serpents, Voldemort, and Severus Snape didn’t do wonders for Sirius’s complexion. “I attended a certain ritual with him this winter. Early this summer, he wrote me and formally requested an Alliance, citing that he believed in my power and potential leadership ability, and that he was in the same boat as me; he and his daughter were marked for death. I accepted. The Potters and the Greengrasses are now formally allied.” Strangely enough, the last few sentences, the ones that Harry thought make Sirius go ballistic, had remarkably little effect. He’d frozen at the mention of a winter ritual. “W-w-what ritual?” he asked, his voice shaking. Harry met his Godfather’s eyes, and braced for the inevitable explosion. “Karachun.” “WHAT?!” “Sirius, please…” “That’s illegal!” he screamed. “That’s the Darkest, filthiest, most corrupt of them all! It celebrates the demise of everything your parents stood for! What would they say, Harry? What would they say if they saw their son in the company of a criminal, practicing Dark magic, attending the most foul of all their rituals? What’s next, Harry? Torturing Muggles? The Unforgivables?!” he ranted. Harry’s patience wore thin. “Shut up you prejudicial bastard,” he hissed. It was English, but it sounded eerily like Parseltongue, and Sirius stopped just as he was about to open his mouth to say more. “Listen to me,” he ordered, subconsciously pushing magic into his words, holding his Godfather spellbound. Harry’s eyes burned darkly. “I don’t know what my parents would say, Sirius, because they’re dead. They died to save my life, so that I could survive and fight Voldemort. I came to the realization some time ago that I can’t do it on my own. I need allies. Aiden came to me. I recognized the value of our relationship. He’s powerful, influential, and smart as hell. Moreover, he’s loyal, and it’s a kind of loyalty that comes from desperation. That’s probably the best kind, really. He’s got nowhere to run, and everything to lose. He has no choice but to support my efforts, because he genuinely believes I’m the only person that can do it. He’s a rather charitable man, actually. A Gryffindor, like yourself and my parents.” Sirius seemed to be trying to say something, but Harry’s magical grip on his attention did not relent. “Personally, I think that if all my parents wanted was for me to survive, then they wouldn’t object to me allying myself with a Dark family. Because I might very well need him, his daughter, and the allies and credibility he’ll bring with him in order to survive. That’s what Slytherins are good at, you know. Surviving.” “I’ve had enough of your poorly disguised efforts to lure me away from my mother,” he continued, the words sounding odd on his lips. “I’ve had enough of your self-righteous rants about how Dark I’m becoming, and how ashamed my parents would be of me. I’ve had enough of your using their memories to try to gain leverage on me, fruitless as it has been. I had enough of your disparagement of Slytherin House, your lamenting that I wasn’t Sorted elsewhere, your crude comments about Ginny, your pestering Hermione to find out just how much of the Dark Arts I know, and your prowling of the house to try to keep me out of places that I want to investigate, precisely because of their Dark nature. You are my Godfather in nothing but name, Sirius. I’m not James, I never will be James, and frankly, I don’t want to be James. I don’t hate him anymore; Remus told me things that made me believe he really had changed into a brave and decent man. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re entirely different individuals. I like who I am, Sirius.” Harry sighed, staring at his enchanted Godfather with in disgust and pity. “I’m not even going to bother arguing this with you. Don’t worry, as soon as I get a certain distance away, the spell will be broken. In case you are wondering, I didn’t use Dark magic on you. What I’ve done is nothing more or less than the same thing Dumbledore uses to quiet the Great Hall when he’s about to speak. The ability comes with power, of which I have abundance.” Harry began to leave the room. “Think about what I’ve said, Sirius. Think about it, please. I’d like to have an amicable relationship with you. But that won’t happen if you keep meddling in things you have no business trying to change, even if you could.” Harry walked past his Godfather, and headed for the Black Family Library. The section containing books on Dark magic and rituals were warded off, although Harry was fairly certain Hermione could disable them if she wanted to. Problem was that she didn’t. Sure enough, Sirius had been telling the truth, and Hermione was seated in an armchair, reading, while his girlfriend sat at a polished oak table, quill scratching out the introduction to her summer Potions essay. Both girls glanced up at him as he entered. “You had another row with Sirius?” Ginny asked. Harry nodded. “How’d you guess?” “We could hear him screaming from down here,” Hermione explained. “Honestly, what did you do to get him so wound up? Did he catch you practicing?” Harry shook his head. “I was in Regulus’s room.” Hermione shook her head. “Why on Earth-” “Because I’ve heard so little about him, and I wanted to know more,” Harry said, sitting down on a couch. “Just looking at his room, I don’t get the sense he was as evil as Sirius would have you believe.” “Harry, he was a Death Eater,” Ginny reminded him, glancing up from her assignment. “I don’t think he served willingly. That he was apparently executed by Voldemort for cowardice would seem to support that theory. He was just a scared kid, Hermione, forced by his parents and tradition to join the ranks of the Dark Lord. Bloody brilliant too. He aced his O.W.L.s,” Harry explained. “Really?” Hermione asked, her irritation instantly forgotten and interest aroused. “Sirius did too, I think,” Ginny said. Harry nodded. Sirius Black was known to be a very, very smart man, although he rarely showed it around his Godson. “Was there anything else?” Hermione asked, sounding suspicious. She was good. “I told him about my alliance with Aiden. And about Karachun. He ranted at me. I made him shut up, did that thing Dumbledore does to silence crowds, and read him the riot act. I told him to get over who and what I am, or to forget that Dad ever named him my Godfather.” Hermione shook her head in dismay, “Oh, Harry…” she moaned. “Serves him right,” Ginny said, a predatory grin splitting her face. “He’s pretty bad at subtlety. He called me a whore within my earshot.” Hermione went pale. “What? That’s horrible!” she cried. “I’d made some rather pointed comments to him about Harry, and he muttered it under his breath when I was leaving,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “He’s just delusional. Azkaban loosened his screws.” “Don’t say that, Ginny,” Hermione said sharply. “No, you shouldn’t,” Harry agreed. “I don’t think Azkaban’s got much to do with it. This hatred of everything Dark was created as a result of how poorly his parents treated him. He despised his parents, and everything they stood for. I remind him too much of his parents. I probably remind him quite a bit of Regulus, which made the fact that I was in his room, musing about how similar the two of us really are, even more disturbing. I just hope he can get over it, because he was my Dad’s best friend, and his is a wand I want at my back.” Ginny scowled. “I just don’t have the urge to give him that chance, Harry. He’s already blown a number of opportunities. I didn’t really understand the way he felt about things when I met him in the cave. Living with him for over two weeks has given me an appreciation for his true feelings about you. He’s been nothing but a selfish bastard, Harry, to me and to you. He actually accused me of corrupting you, you know, and tried to bring my family into it when I told him he was nutters.” “Ironic, seeing as I was the one once accused, loudly and repeatedly, of sinking my corrupting Slytherin hooks into the innocent Ginevra Weasley and ripping her away from her Gryffindor destiny,” Harry remarked dryly. Ginny giggled. “It sounds so much more absurd when you say it like that. Speaking of my brother, has he come out of his room since Harry got here?” “Outside of eating and doing chores around the house, no,” Hermione said. “My room is right next to his,” she added by way of explanation. “The twins are also staying in there. They create an amazing racket sometimes.” “Genius at work,” Harry commented. Another giggle from Ginny. “Right,” Hermione said, clearly not amused. “Come on, Hermione, they are both absolutely barmy, and quite destructive, but they are amazingly talented,” Ginny argued. “Maybe so, but perhaps they might consider using those talents for something useful,” Hermione sniffed. “Harry! Mum’s using Polyjuice to impersonate Hermione!” Ginny cried in mock alarm. Harry snorted. Hermione glared at both of them. “If you are quite finished having fun at my expense,” Hermione said. “You might consider taking things a bit more seriously.” “Pardon my language, but what crawled up your arse and died?” Ginny asked. “We’re just joking around because it makes it easier to forget everything that’s going on out there. We’re both perfectly aware that it’s no joking matter. But at the moment, neither one of us wants to think about it.” “I was also talking about Harry’s upcoming O.W.L.s,” Hermione said stiffly. “But I take your point.” Her voice softened a little, and something glistened behind those chocolate-brown eyes. “Hermione, I’ll be fine. I’ll start revising mid-term, and we’ll both earn perfect scores. How does that sound?” “Smashing, if you can pull it off,” Hermione said. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just…I don’t know how to deal with all of this, so I just go right into studying, because that makes me more comfortable.” Harry could now see that Hermione was re-reading their Third-Year Transfiguration textbook. “It’s alright, Hermione,” Ginny said softly. “We’re all trying to deal with the stress and the anxiety in our own way. Mine’s humor and sarcasm, yours is studying, and…” “Mine’s training,” Harry finished, rising to his feet. “Speaking of which, I probably should be getting some more practice in, tightening up my defensive spells. Daphne wants to test them soon.” Ginny looked unhappy. “Come on, Harry, we’ve barely seen any of you this summer. It can wait. Come over here and help me with my Potions essay. Snape’s practically written these instructions in Bulgarian.” Harry noted with amusement that Hermione’s cheeks took on a slight pink tinge at Ginny’s choice of words. He sat down next to his girlfriend, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and then began reading the familiar condescending words of his Potions Professor. Ginny Weasley moved slowly through one of the long hallways of 12 Grimmauld Place, trying to navigate her through the maze of twists and turns. She’d been sent to Walburga Black’s room by her mother to retrieve some cleaning supplies she’d left up there from an earlier attempt at disinfecting the room, an attempt that had ultimately proved unsuccessful. Now she was attempting to get back down to the kitchen, where her mother was cooking dinner. Last she’d heard, Harry was working with Daphne, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione hadn’t woken up yet for an afternoon nap, the twins were visiting Lee Jordan, and she didn’t have any desire to talk to Ron, who was moping in one of the sitting rooms. The corridor she was in was dark, and she passed forbidding doors at regular intervals. Black Manor was truly enormous, even larger than the ancestral home of the Dresslers, where she’d once been a guest. Then, abruptly, Ginny came to a stop. She could see light shining out beneath a door ahead of her. Curious, she moved closer, and heard a pair of voices. One male, one female. The door was slightly ajar, so she halted just before the doorframe and listened intently. “…I might have known you didn’t mean well for him, Dressler,” a voice she recognized as Snape’s snarled angrily. “But I thought you’d at least have the sense to dispose of the body!” Ginny froze. Body? Daphne? Oh no… “You should have assumed that Avery was a dead man from the moment you told me where and when they were meeting, Snape,” Daphne replied coldly. “You know what he did, and you know what has already become of the others. He deserved nothing less.” There was a pause. “Does it bother you, Dressler, that you kill so easily? Does it bother you that you own ward doesn’t even know the things you have done?” “Don’t bring him into this, Snape,” she warned. “This is to remain secret between you and me. I don’t want Dumbledore learning of it either. He wouldn’t understand.” “No, I daresay the Headmaster would not understand the cold-blooded killing of a man that may or may not have killed your husband thirteen years ago.” “The man was a psychopath, Snape. You know it as well as me. He was a conscience-free killer; a sadistic and barbaric criminal. The world’s better off without him. Do you know that most of those he interrogated committed suicide? Every last woman that survived her ordeal with him took her own life.” “I do not doubt that Avery was an abominable excuse for a human being,” Ginny’s Head of House shot back. “I am merely questioning your killing the man. Had you bested him in a duel to the death, your actions could be defended. What you did was nothing more or less than an assassination.” “So it was. You are hardly one to be waxing poetic on morals, Severus.” “I was not doing anything of the sort, Daphne.” “Funny, it sounded like you were. Do we have anything further to discuss?” “The Dark Lord is suspicious. He knows that Avery was betrayed. If he should find out that it was me…” “You’ll suffer the fate that you deserve. One that you would have earned some years ago if not for Lily’s compassion.” “What I did was unforgivable, Dressler. I will not deny that. But that said, you have no right to see me dead for it. I was drunk. I was fifteen years old.” “See if Remus and Sirius care.” Snape made a disgusted noise. “Somehow, I doubt it will matter much to them. You are a vindictive bitch, Daphne.” “And you are a spiteful, ruthless bastard, Severus.” “At least we’re agreed on something.” “Is there anything else? Besides your false concern for my mental state?” “No.” Ginny was already moving as she heard the footsteps. The Silencing Charms she’d whispered allowed her to get out of sight before Daphne or Snape saw her. She finally stopped, leaning against the wall, desperately trying to calm her heart, which was beating so hard it threatened to break free of her chest. She couldn’t believe the conversation she’d just overheard. She was confused and frightened. She’d seen what Daphne was capable of before, but she now knew that it was not just a one-time thing. Her murder of Avery had been premeditated. She’s a monster, Ginny declared in her mind. She’s sick, she’s twisted, and she’s unbalanced. She needs help, badly. She could find Harry and tell him everything. Shatter any remaining illusions he might have about his guardian, convince him to support her efforts to get Daphne treated. Make him understand that the Grey Maiden had fallen into Darkness, and that the price was already being paid in blood. “I can’t,” she moaned silently. “I can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s been through.” She’d seen them together, seen the way that Harry looked to Daphne for advice and comfort. He’d be torn apart if he lost her. And if his girlfriend took her away from him… Well, I can probably forget about the “girlfriend” part, if he reacts that way, Ginny thought morosely. She’d remain silent. For Harry’s sake, and perhaps for her own. But she knew that she’d never be able to look Daphne Dressler in the eyes again. Harry raced down the stairs, a hard, determined look on his face. Ahead of him, Ginny squealed in equal parts delight and mock-terror as she struggled to stay ahead of him. He continued to pursue her through the house, feet pounding on the floors of 12 Grimmauld Place. Finally, she reached one of the doors that led into the downstairs kitchen. To her obvious dismay, it was still locked from the last Order meeting that had been held in there, and she didn’t have time to use an Unlocking Charm before her boyfriend was on her. Harry pushed her against the wall, and crushed his lips upon hers, engaging her in what was probably their most passionate snog to date. It was an appropriate occasion, he decided, as she unsurprisingly took the initiative and deepened the kiss. It was August 11th, and more importantly, Ginny’s 14th birthday. She’d taken off the instant she saw him prowling toward her and Hermione in the Library, a feral grin on his face. Hermione had burst out laughing as her friends disappeared down the dark and winding corridors of Black Manor. Finally, as Harry began to get dizzy from a lack of oxygen, they broke the kiss, and both of them grinned stupidly at the other, finding it difficult to muster any words. Ginny managed to find her voice first. “Wow.” Harry’s grin got broader, and he kissed her again. While Harry still felt their relationship was probably more emotional than physical, it couldn’t be denied that a combination of separation, hormones, and a growing comfort level when they were together had led to a few more of these snogging sessions than he’d expected. Not that either one of them regretted it, of course. Harry had been at 12 Grimmauld place for slightly less than two weeks now, training, doing homework, and just spending time with his friends, time he knew might be difficult to come by in the busy year ahead of him. So for his part, he’d made the decision that he was going to enjoy every moment they had together. Hermione, as far as he could tell, didn’t seem to mind the change in Harry and Ginny’s relationship, although she made it a point to be elsewhere when things got…physical. Harry had by now told his friends all about the letters he’d received, and they’d spent many hours discussing the repercussions of some of the new relationships Harry had established. Both had been pleased by Susan Bones’s letter, but Hermione wasn’t as pleased with Harry’s promise to schedule an interview with Rita Skeeter, although they’d eventually won her over. As usual, she’d appeared a bit cold when Blaise was discussed. Harry and Ginny had talked about that, too, and they were undecided as to the cause of the tension between them. Ginny made a snarky comment about Muggleborn Gryffindor bookworm and the pampered, idealistic Slytherin being hopelessly in love, but neither one of them believed that to be the case, not by a long shot. They could only hope it wouldn’t be too much of a problem in the coming year. The Order had been busy, although Harry was a bit irritated by the way he was being shut out. Daphne was still telling him more than the others would have him know, but his lack of participation, on the absurd basis that he was too young, was wearing on him. Daphne had told him that Hestia Jones had recently returned from a reconnaissance trip on the continent, and delivered a rather disturbing report on Voldemort’s recruitment efforts, which were making alarming progress. It seemed their fears about central Europe being a source of a new army for the Dark Lord had been justified. The mood at Headquarters was rather depressing, actually. Daphne had actually said that some were privately starting to wonder if it might even be possible to win this war, without the support of the Ministry. Fudge remained resolute in his denial of Voldemort’s return, saying that there was no evidence to suggest the existence of any threat to public safety. They had to come up for air again, and this time Harry spoke. “Happy Birthday, Gin,” he said softly. “Like your present?” “You better have gotten me more than a little snog from my boyfriend, Mr. Boy-Who-Lived,” Ginny replied snobbishly. “That’s something I ought to be able to get any day I feel like it.” “Never pegged you as the materialistic type,” Harry admitted. “We all have our secrets, don’t we?” was Ginny’s response, her brown eyes sparkling mischievously. She also pushed him back with surprising force, and he soon found his own back to the opposite wall as she stood on her tiptoes and began her own assault. Harry bent down to give her better access. Both of them had gotten taller over the summer, but Harry still had about a head on the petite redhead. Her hands moved to his back, and he countered by burying one hand in her hair and cupped her cheek with the other. Sadly, they were interrupted by a cry of disgust from somewhere up the hallway. Reluctantly, Harry broke the kiss and turned his head to glare at the tall, gangly redhead that had disturbed their snogging session. Ginny flashed her brother an impish grin. “Sorry, Ron, were we bothering you somehow?” Harry joined in. “Yeah, if you’d rather we did this somewhere else, there are all those empty bedrooms on the 3rd floor.” Ginny giggled at the implications, though she also went red. As much as Harry knew that tormenting Ron was utterly juvenile, there was something about it that was irresistible. Karmic payback, he supposed. Ron was clearly doing his best not to yell at both of them, and had settled for holding his breath. His skin had taken on a rather unhealthy-looking color. “Must you two be all over each other like that?” he hissed. “It’s revolting!” “Ron’s just jealous,” Ginny explained to him. “The best kiss he’s ever had was from Auntie Muriel.” Ron’s face picked up a tinge of green. “That’s just disgusting, Ginny,” he said. Harry was somewhat surprised he was handling this so well. It seemed that the boy might actually be starting to grow up, if such a thing were indeed possible. He’d taken no part in the Slytherin-bashing of Sirius, despite the man’s best efforts, and done his best to avoid Harry and his friends whenever possible. It was a considerable improvement over his past behavior. “Doesn’t make it any less true,” Ginny persisted. “I promise Ron, if you ever get a girlfriend, we’ll let the two of you snog in public to your heart’s content.” “Do you really think we ought to be agreeing to that?” Harry asked her in a whisper. Unpleasant mental images were flashing through his mind. Including one of Ron and…oh god…Hermione. Not in a million years, he told himself. “Quiet, you!” she hissed. Ron had settled on just glaring at both of them. Ginny had turned so that she was now leaning back against Harry’s chest, his arms wrapped around her stomach. “I’m doing my best to tolerate you, Potter. But you’re snogging my fourteen-year old sister right in front of me.” “And I assure you that I appreciate your efforts,” Harry replied. “That said, it’s not your business what Ginny and I do with one another. She’s not a baby, Weasley.” Ron bit back a retort of some sort. Harry was actually impressed by his self-control. “Can we please just drop this?” then he turned to glare at his sister. “And for your information, I do have feelings for someone. A girl.” Harry got the sense he regretted saying it from the second it passed his lips. “Oh?” Ginny asked, merciless. “Do tell?” Ron looked at her as if she’d grown an extra head. “Like I’d tell you! You’d make my life a bloody nightmare, not that you aren’t already. It’s none of your business.” “If I’m right about this, than it most certainly is my business,” Harry countered. Ginny looked confused for a moment, glancing back up at him. “What? Who? Oh…OH!” she exclaimed. “Hermione? You actually have feelings for Hermione? You actually think…” “Not in a million years, not if you were the last man left on this planet, not if I had to impale myself on a flagpole if I refused, Ronald Weasley,” Harry’s aforementioned best friend said loudly, pushing through the apparently now unlocked kitchen door. Her blazing eyes met his. “Look at me, Ron. It. Isn’t. Happening. You think that after all you’ve done, everything you’ve subjected me to, I could actually feel anything of the sort for you?” Ron’s face had turned red. “Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth. “You hate me Hermione, and I’m well aware of that.” “So why do you persist in these delusional fantasies?” she demanded. “Oh, I’ve noticed the way you look at me, Ronald. The looks you threw at Krum at the Yule Ball, those oh-so-blatant peeks in my direction when you think I’m not looking. Bloody hell, even Parvati knows about it, and that girl’s as thick as polar ice.” Ron seemed frozen, unable to speak, perhaps because Hermione had just sworn at him. Harry decided to take pity on his former rival. To be fair, he’d been forced to give away something he’d wanted very badly kept secret, and Ginny wasn’t giving him a break. It was payback for the way he’d treated her in the past, payback rightly deserved, but Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for him nonetheless. He gently pushed Ginny away from him, disentangling himself and moving to stand beside her. “That’s enough,” he said. “Ron didn’t ask for this. Give him a break.” Harry could see the shock in Ginny’s eyes as he defended the boy that had done his utmost to make his life a living hell just a few years ago, but he also saw the approval in Hermione’s gaze. Ron looked pretty well floored that Harry was actually coming to his defense. The four of them stood there, awkwardly, until they heard Mrs. Weasley loudly calling them for dinner. Hermione astutely took Ginny by the arm and led the protesting redhead inside, leaving Harry and Ron alone in the hallway. Ron cleared his throat. “Thanks, Potter.” “You can’t change the way you feel about people,” Harry said by way of explanation. He sighed, closing his eyes. “Look,” he said, meeting Ron’s gaze. “I’m never going to forget the things you did in my First and Second Years. You were a right bastard, to me, to Hermione, and especially to Ginny, your own sister. But the thing is, I think you know that now. I think you realize that you were a complete arse, and you are trying to make things right. It’s just difficult because I haven’t exactly done much to make you like me. Indeed, I’ve tormented quite a bit myself, exacting revenge for the past, I suppose.” Ron simply nodded, but then managed a few words. “I’m sorry, Potter. I still don’t really like you, but what I did to you wasn’t deserved or fair. You’re right, I really was an arse, a total git. To Neville, too, I suppose. Seems like he’s found a home with you, at least.” “He has,” Harry admitted. “I’m grateful for your apology.” Harry took a deep breath. “Ron…we’re never going to be friends. There’s far too much bad blood between us, and it’s not all in the past, is it? But we don’t have to be enemies, going around trying to find reasons to hate each other.” “No, we don’t,” Ron agreed. He sighed tiredly. “Pot…Harry,” he corrected, responding to Harry’s use of his given name, “I don’t really approve of the way you go about things. I mean, you’ve admitted you are learning the Dark Arts.” “I’m not going to deny that I’ve been learning some spells classified as Dark. I haven’t begun practicing any rituals involving human sacrifice or anything like that.” Ron groaned. “Not helping.” Harry winced. “Sorry.” “Whatever…maybe…maybe I’m just not sure I really like the kind of person that you are, or the kind of person Ginny’s become. And I suppose that while you might have had something to do with it, it’s not fair to blame you for it, either. I mean, she’s made her own choices.” “She has,” Harry said. “Like the decision to enter into a relationship with me.” Ron sighed again. “I’m sure I’m ever going to get used to that part. Seeing you two snogging just brings up all kinds of ridiculous protective instincts in me.” “I have to commend the job you did keeping your head through all of that,” Harry said. “You would have blown up at us in the past.” “I’ve changed, Harry,” Ron said. “At least, I hope I have. I know that I’m at least trying to change. After seeing what you went through last year, hearing the whole story from Ginny, seeing you lying there on the Pitch, looking, well…dead, I think I decided that I really didn’t like being the kind of person that would pick on somebody like you just to make themselves feel better. Actually, I decided that I really hated being that person.” “I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light, as it were,” Harry said. “If not friends, then…acquaintances?” he asked, sticking out his hand. Ron took it. “I can deal with that, I guess.” His grip was firm and unyielding. Harry stared into the eyes of Ginny’s brother and saw nothing but genuine honestly and determination. “We ought to join the girls inside, or they might think we’ve killed each other,” Ron commented lightly. Then his stomach gave a loud rumble. Harry grinned. “Sounds like a Molly Weasley meal might be just what you need right now. “Yeah,” Ron managed, before his stomach gave another tremendous growl. And with their difference resolved for the time being, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin entered the kitchen together. As they walked in side-by-side, Hermione’s smile could have warmed the coldest of hearts. “Harry, are you sure?” his guardian asked for what was probably the tenth time in the last ten minutes. “Yes,” he almost hissed at her. “Daphne, I know you want to be there, but I really prefer that it was just the two of us in there. I can fill you in on any important details later. Just let me handle this on my own.” Daphne opened her mouth to say something, then shut it, and Harry knew he’d won. It was a tremendous relief. Getting Ginny and Hermione to allow him to discuss the events of two months ago had been difficult enough. Even McGonagall had asked to be present. Daphne forced a look of passive resignation onto her face, and gestured towards the fireplace. Harry moved to it, reaching into pail hanging from a nail over the hearth and pulling out a pinch of Floo Powder. He tossed it into the roaring fireplace, and the flames flashed emerald green. He took a deep breath, then stepped into the flames. “Dumbledore’s Office,” he said clearly. A rush of color and sound later, and he was ejected through a large and ornate fireplace, skidding to a halt but managing to stay on his feet this time. Harry brushed himself off and walked out of Dumbledore’s sitting room, emerging into his cavernous office. The venerable Headmaster sat at his desk, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Harry had in the past suspected that the twinkling might be an indication that the man was using Legilimency, but he was no longer certain of that fact. He could feel it when someone pushed at his developing shields. He felt nothing now. Dumbledore was an eighth Demiguise, which explained his ability to turn invisible without the aid of a cloak or Disillusionment Charm. “So, you came alone, as promised? Lemon drop?” he offered. “It wasn’t easy,” Harry admitted, moving to the front of the desk. Dumbledore wandlessly conjured a chair, and Harry sat, staring up at the much older man. “And no thank you.” “Very well. You have fine friends, Harry,” Dumbledore told him. “That they were reluctant to allow you to be alone for this meeting demonstrates how much they care for you.” “I’ve been blessed in that regard,” Harry said. It was true that although his life story had a tendency to read like one of unending pain and woe, he’d survived it all because of the people had stood firmly beside him during his darkest moments. True, he’d nearly had to be killed by a troll before he gained Hermione’s trust, but the friendship he’d developed with her had proven to be crucial over the next few years. The fact that she was there was one of the few things that made him certain that he wanted to go back to Hogwarts. That, and he wasn’t about to let Malfoy and Weasley…Ron, he corrected himself, get the better of him. Harry sometimes wished he could live a normal life, or at least one without the pain and suffering he was forced to endure as he tried to fill a role that he wasn’t yet ready to take again and again, but somehow, he wasn’t sure a quiet life would make him all that happy either. Be nice if I didn’t have to live my entire life in fear that someone might be lurking around the next corner, ready to slit my throat, he mused. He saw that Dumbledore was staring at him now, a curious and yet amused expression on his face. “Sorry,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Got lost in my thoughts.” “I assure you that it happens to the best of us, my boy,” Dumbledore said kindly. “Especially for one with as…interesting a life as yours.” Harry was pretty sure Dumbledore hadn’t used Legilimency. It was quite possible he’d just guessed. Harry wasn’t very skilled at hiding his emotions, although he’d learned to conceal them in public, and to quickly recover his blank mask of indifference, and wasn’t on his guard in the Headmaster’s presence. Although Harry didn’t always agree with his methods, the man had his best interests at heart, and, to his credit, he’d given Harry a remarkable amount of leniency and autonomy. He respected Harry, and that meant something. Dumbledore had essentially admitted that he saw a great deal of himself in the Boy-Who-Lived. Indeed, he was the Dumbledore of this generation. Harry was the most powerful wizard of his age, destined to combat the most powerful Dark Lord of his time. The same description would have applied to Dumbledore fifty years ago. Although Dumbledore had also been quite a bit older than Harry was when he was asked to face his destiny. Harry had never learned what Dumbledore had done with himself in the first half of his exceptionally long life. He’d been a drifter, seeking to learn everything but vacant of real purpose. But that was all that he knew. Regardless, he’d had over half a century to mature into a war leader. Harry had less than a third of that. As Snape might say, Deal with it. Life’s not fair. If there was any lesson that Harry had learned well in his life, it was that one. Dumbledore had again left him to his thoughts. Absently, he popped another Lemon Drop into his mouth. “I’m going to assume you asked me here to discuss my confrontation with Voldemort,” Harry finally said. The old man nodded. The twinkle had vanished. Dumbledore’s face was tired and weary. Harry couldn’t really blame him for being depressed and fatigued by the constant fighting, the widespread loss of innocence that came with any war. And he knew that Dumbledore, fairly or unfairly, held himself responsible for a great deal of the pain suffered under his watch. “Your suspicions are correct,” the Headmaster said. “I have spent a great deal of time studying the Pensieve memory you gave us, Harry. The first time that I watched it, I must admit I saw things that I’ve never seen before in my life. And so I’ve studied that record, consulting every resource that I can, from the most respected to the most obscure. And, truth be told, I’m afraid all I have to offer as explanations are little more than educated guesses. I might have expected the battle between Tom and you to remind me of my final confrontation with Lord Grindelwald, but alas, that was not the case.” “Where do you want to start?” Harry asked. He steeled his expression, trying to keep his thinking level and rational. The memories of what had happened in the graveyard were still fresh in his mind, and indeed he’d been haunted by nightmares so ferocious that they overcame his improving Occlumency skills. He could only shiver at the thought of his nights without the mind-calming aid he’d received from Snape, as exhausting and brutal as the process could be. “The beginning is fairly straightforward. With the capture and death of Barty Crouch Junior, Tom lost his agent within Hogwarts. His primary goal was, of course, to bring you to him for the resurrection ceremony, though he also wanted to test you, to see what you were capable of and what you were willing to do in the right, or wrong, situation,” Dumbledore said. “And if I died in the process, then I was clearly never a real threat to him, and he might as well just use the blood of any person that could be considered an enemy,” Harry said. “Yes. And that list is a very long one indeed. It seems that Tom decided to risk one of his few loyal followers to accomplish his original mission. Alecto Carrow snuck onto the Grounds, ambushed your guardian, and turned the Tri-Wizard Cup into a Portkey. The plan, I suspect, was for her to impersonate Daphne until you were dead, after which she’d slip away in the confusion. Of course, things didn’t go as planned.” “I survived, managed to get back to the Portkey, and Daphne woke up. She then tried to poison me to finish the job, but Daphne killed her,” Harry summarized. Dumbledore nodded. “A rather simple plan, by Tom’s standards.” “Daphne’s blamed herself for failing to protect me, of course,” Harry said. Dumbledore’s nod was slow and solemn this time. “That is hardly fair. Daphne’s bloodline carries an ability to detect the magical signatures of other wizards, Alecto’s carried an ability to conceal it.” “I know that. You think that Voldemort was aware of that fact when he sent her?” Dumbledore shrugged. “He may have been. I’m not sure he had much choice in the matter. He couldn’t send Pettigrew. And it seems that Bellatrix’s escape was set to coincide with the beginning of the Third Task, to deflect attention.” “I’d really love to know how they pulled that one off,” Harry remarked. Dumbledore didn’t immediately respond. Harry was surprised by the rage he saw lurking behind the old wizard’s blue eyes. “A case of blatant incompetence and complacency,” Dumbledore finally said. “The Dementors had re-affirmed loyalty to Tom the moment he arrived in England. They allowed Bellatrix to escape, and a traitorous prison guard arranged transport. That man is now dead.” “You seem quite angry.” “I am,” Dumbledore admitted. “If ignoring the implications of your ordeal was bad enough, this was worse. The most heavily guarded and dangerous of Voldemort’s incarcerated followers somehow managed to escape undetected, and within the hour was back at her master’s side. One of the men guarding her, whose loyalties have been questioned in the past, vanishes from the island without explanation, and is then found three days later by Muggle police near the coast, the victim of a Killing Curse. The Dementors did not react in the slightest to her escape. Indeed, it seems they resisted the first efforts of the Ministry garrison to mobilize them to search the island. But Cornelius refuses to accept that these events are connected. Indeed, he’s devoted more attention to the murder of Thomas Avery than to the possible return of the man that nearly brought the wizarding world to its knees fourteen years ago.” “You said the guard’s loyalties had been questioned?” Dumbledore gave him a grin smile. “I should have suspected you’d pick up on that. The deceased guard was named Logan Young.” Harry frowned. “Am I supposed to recognize that name?” “Of course not. It’s a common enough name. The problem is that in the course of the brief investigation, they found something quite interesting. Logan Young was born Travis Mulciber, the younger brother of incarcerated Death Eater Thomas Mulciber, and wanted fugitive Lysandra Mulciber, who fled to Austria to escape capture by the Ministry and hasn’t been seen in thirteen years.” “That’s…that’s…” “Outrageous? Indicative of terrible incompetence? Absurd, but true?” “Take your pick,” Harry breathed. “Indeed,” Dumbledore said, his voice harsh. “Cornelius is up for re-election in two years, but I fear for what might become of the wizarding world in that time.” Harry bit back a recommendation that they deal with the blundering fool by themselves. Fudge had too many allies in the Ministry, including many heavily influential Light purebloods, whose allegiance was based out of family ties and convenience than real faith in the man’s abilities. Aiden Greengrass could be a powerful weapon, but he couldn’t bring down the Minister by himself. For the time being, there was nothing they could do. Besides, who’d replace him? And how long would it take them to weed out Fudge’s lackeys? It might be possible to strip Fudge of support by carefully exposing his gross incompetence, but if they moved too fast, Fudge would panic. They’d have to take him out then, else risk irreversible damage to the war effort, and Harry wasn’t sure there was anyone they could trust ready to take on the position. Amelia Bones was a possibility. A strong-willed and dedicated Light witch, she’d had a distinguished tenure as Head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement. But she wasn’t all that well liked by the people working behind the scenes. There was Alexander Smith, the newly promoted (or demoted, depending on the way you looked at it) Head of the Department for Magical Cooperation, a Ministry veteran and the uncle of Ginny’s Hufflepuff classmate Zacharias Smith. Daphne had described him in fairly glowing terms, and the man was a staunch ally of Dumbledore. Fudge hated him, which is why he’d been passed over for the job that now belonged to Susan’s aunt, and been shunted around four or five departments since Fudge had taken office. Most recently, he’d capably handled the challenging job of being the Coordinator of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, which included the Ministry’s Obliviators. Finally, there was Rufus Scrimgeour, better known as “the Lion.” A tireless, determined man of great intelligence and magical ability, Scrimgeour was an effective administrator, held a passionate hatred for the Dark Arts, and was a skillful manipulator and outstanding politician. He’d grudgingly allowed Daphne to serve as an expert instructor for the Aurors the previous year, though she’d quit after the Third Task. Scrimgeour would be exceedingly unpopular with Harry’s Dark allies unless the man might be persuaded to moderate his extremist views in the interests of cooperation that might lead to the defeat of Voldemort. But he was also clearly the most qualified man for the job. The Bloody Baron had said he was one of the finest Slytherins ever to grace the dungeons of Hogwarts. Now that is high praise, Harry thought. “Pondering the political future of the wizarding world?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. “Bleak, isn’t it?” “I see a few strong candidates, but Fudge won’t go anywhere until he’s forced to,” Harry answered. “He’s already worried about the possibility of people moving against him, to the point where he’s tried to discredit you in the press. He’s terrified by the thought of you becoming a political rival.” “Yes, he is,” Dumbledore agreed. “His fears are unfounded, of course. I have lived well over a century, Harry, and I have had more than my fill of politics. I have no wish to lead the entire wizarding world, to manage the convoluted and corrupt collection of individuals known as the Ministry of Magic. Though I suspect it might not be the same for you.” Harry shrugged. “Haven’t really thought about it, honestly. It would be quite a ways off, and certainly not before Voldemort was defeated. That’s the only goal I can afford to focus on. The future will attend to itself.” “Perhaps,” Dumbledore replied. “There were other things I wished to discuss.” “Such as what happened with our wands?” “That was one of them, yes. As you are no doubt aware, your wands share cores, feathers from the same phoenix…this phoenix, to be precise,” Dumbledore said, gesturing at Fawkes, who sat warily, perched on a stand in the corner of the room. Harry hadn’t actually been aware of the source of the feathers. “Shared wand cores are quite rare,” Harry said. “And from what I understand, they are quite unpredictable.” Again, Dumbledore nodded. “In this case, it seems that your wand resisted having to fight its brother, and vice versa. Hence the formation of a connection, one that ended the duel in progress. What happened after that, even I don’t fully understand. Some sort of magical charge began to build up in the connection, and eventually drifted your way. You panicked, and tried to push it back. Tom countered your move by releasing some of his own magic. Nothing of real consequence happened until they touched.” “Then everything just went straight to hell,” Harry finished. “Indeed. Such an explosion requires tremendous power on both sides, as well as a fundamental opposition to the magic of the other. Though it would seem that Tom’s magic reflects his commitment to the most foul of the Dark Arts, your own essence was not quite as revealing.” “Perhaps it reflects my indecision,” Harry said. “Technically I’m loyal to the Light, but I use Dark Magic when it serves my needs.” “More than that, you seem to possess an affinity for the Dark Arts. It is possible that, although you managed to purge Riddle’s stain from the magic you absorbed from his diary, his proclivity for the Dark Arts remained.” “Makes sense,” Harry said. “I’m from a Light family, and I didn’t really start using Dark Magic until well after Riddle’s possession and the subsequent power increase that I experienced at the end of my Second Year. There’s no reason for my magic to be better suited to the Dark Arts unless…unless it isn’t really my magic.” “Exactly,” Dumbledore said. “It seems that we have drawn the same conclusions, Harry. If you don’t mind telling me, how do you feel about that?” “What, my strength when it comes to using the Dark Arts?” Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded. Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. As a Slytherin, the practical value of anything is far more important to me than its moral virtue, or anything like that. If it works, and I can use it to help my own cause, keep myself alive, and ultimately win this war, I see no reason to question it. It is what it is, and wishing it were any different is an unproductive and potentially harmful waste of time.” Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, saying nothing. He wasn’t using his magic, merely his physical powers of observation. “If that is truly how you feel, then I see no reason to interfere or question your judgment. I merely warn you, Harry, that the Dark Arts may bring you great power, but they can also carry a terrible price. The lure of power is often what leads to corruption, to an individual straying from the path they started out walking. In addition, the association of the Dark Arts with our more negative emotions: fear, anger, hatred, spite, and the like, can do damage in their own ways. Finally, the Dark Arts are most often used to inflict pain and suffering on others.” Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, gathering his words. Harry waited patiently. “Harry, I care for you deeply, and not merely because you are the son of two of my favorite pupils. You have endured far more than one your age could be expected to survive, and have indeed grown stronger because of it. You have taken on a monumental task with the best of intentions. You have shown a capacity to help those cast aside by others, to be kind and compassionate, as well as cunning and manipulative. It is those virtues that give me confidence that you might resist the lure of the Darkness, and be the first powerful Dark wizard in quite some time that acts in the interest of the public good. I warn you to be aware of your emotions and the consequences of your actions not because I am afraid of you or disapprove of the path you have chosen to walk. I warn you because I don’t want to see you fall, to see you fail. Because if you do fall, Harry, others will pay the price. Such is always the case when a witch or wizard of your strength embraces the darker side of his nature. You must understand this.” Harry swallowed. “I do. Believe me, Professor, I do. And it frightens me, how easy it might be to fall as Riddle fell. But he didn’t fall because he was Dark, Professor. He fell because he cares for no one but himself.” “And it is that capacity to love, to care for others, that sets you apart, Harry,” Dumbledore said, smiling proudly. “You care as deeply for your friends as they care for you. Tom has never known love. He was orphaned as a child, had no real friends at Hogwarts, only followers. He does not understand what it means to love, or to be loved. He hates it because he has never known it. And that is his greatest weakness.” “Perhaps,” Harry said. “I’d say that his arrogance might also be a great flaw. He assumes that he is superior to all others, that he is meant to rule the wizarding world, maybe even the Muggle world. He makes errors, even admits to making them, but he does not learn from them.” “An astute observation,” Dumbledore agreed. “But I might say that modesty is not necessarily your own greatest virtue, Harry.” Harry could do little but grudgingly accept that he was right. And that perhaps Voldemort’s inability to love was the weakness he’d best find ways to exploit. Dumbledore had already defeated a Dark Lord in his lifetime. Harry didn’t always agree with him, but it didn’t change the fact that his opinion was one to be respected. |
| Reviews 114 |
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