Echoes of Destiny: Harry and Bellatrix's Second Chance

The journey to Hogwarts was mostly uneventful for Bellatrix. Instead of choosing to sit in one of the more widely used private compartments, which would have forced her to socialize with other students, she picked one of the public cars that carried a set of benches and the occasional table. Though there were many people around her, most of them kept to themselves. The few that were curious about what Bellatrix Black might be doing in a public train car knew better than to bother her. The arrangement was fine with her because she wanted to be alone so that she could think.

Bellatrix counted herself fortunate that her father had seen her off personally. For one thing, it had meant that she had not had to deal with Lestrange trying to get into her knickers-and she knew that was all he really was after. He lacked the brains to think with anything other than his teenage hormones after all.

Being alone also gave her the opportunity to turn her thoughts to what her father had asked her to do as well as the implications of what he had not mentioned. Her uncle, Orion Black, and her father knew very well that she was going to be at Hogwarts. That could only mean that they were of the opinion that Harry would be within her reach. Thus, it seemed likely that they had made arrangements of some sort.

The train car's door slid open, and Bellatrix groaned as she instantly recognized the newcomers-the source of the loud, incessant, boisterous chattering was unmistakably one or both of the Lestrange brothers. Bellatrix ventured a quick glance over to the door before quickly turning her head away, signaling everyone looking at her that she was deliberately ignoring the posse that was in the process of thundering into the train car. With some dismay she noticed that young Lucius Malfoy was nearly hanging off of Rabastan's every word, while Rodolphus was waving his arms around wildly, no doubt trying to describe one of his fantastically impossible Quidditch exploits.

"Bella!" Rodolphus called when he spotted her, much to her dismay. Talking to him was something she didn't feel like doing right now. In fact, considering what Harry had let slip before leaving the Black party at Christmas, she wasn't sure she even wanted to associate with any of the Lestranges anymore. Her mother was of the opinion that one of them would be a good match for her. They were purebloods and rich, and had a history of being violent, cruel, and ruthless on the battlefield, even if they were equally impotent and lazy in the political arena.

After spending some time around the two, Bellatrix had quickly found out that she and they had irreconcilable differences. Bellatrix valued her own quick wit, skill, and finesse and strictly adhered to the motto that knowledge was power-which was why she was in the top of her class. The Lestrange brothers, however, considered brains to be utterly useless, and it showed - they were all brawn, beaters on the Quidditch team, and brutal to the extreme. They were about as subtle as a sledgehammer, and were likely to use said sledgehammer when but a gentle tap would do perfectly well.

They were also at the very bottom of the class, though not necessarily for a lack of talent. Everyone who would usually have been inclined to make fun of them for their poor marks wisely kept their mouths shut. The three students who had once dared to say a wrong word ended up in the hospital wing with multiple broken bones. Said students had become a fine example and warning to their peers. For Bellatrix, who loved prestige and power-who luxuriated in acknowledgement and accomplishment, someone as unimpressive as them was almost beneath notice.

Thus when Rodolphus noisily made his way over to her, trampling on several students' belongings and feet on the way, she deliberately turned her head and looked out the window.

"Budge over," he urged. When she didn't move, he chuckled self-consciously and repeated himself. "Slide over, Bella."

Bella continued to ignore him, and she could almost hear the mental wheels turning in his head. She calculated the odds that he was likely to end up throwing a tantrum, and suppressed a smirk when she realized that chances were quite high. She stubbornly remained in her seat even when Rodolphus tried to push her over, gently at first, then almost shoving her. She counteracted his attentions with a quietly muttered sticking charm that attached her to the bench, feeling quite proud of her ensuring that he could not move her, though she had to wonder if he would end up trying to ram her off the bench like a wild boar if this continued.

"Bloody hell, girl, move!" he yelled loudly.

Bellatrix finally turned her head, fixing him with an icy glare that sent a shudder down his spine, and spoke one word. "No."

She took great delight in the fact that half of the people in the train car immediately found that they needed to visit other friends in other cars, while the other half paled noticeably.

"Come on, why don't you let me sit next to you?" Rodolphus said, his voice becoming pleading.

Bellatrix maintained her silence and glare until Rodolphus gave up, turning around with an angry shrug and a scowl that threatened bodily harm to anyone who dared remark about his failure to sit down next to his alleged girlfriend. She continued staring at his back until the door shut, then let out a quiet sigh. I'm really starting to hate that bloke, she thought to herself. I mean, who does he think he is? Ordering me around? Me! Treating me as if I was his property-as if Bellatrix Black could belong to anyone.

The train car remained mostly empty for the rest of the trip until the Hogwarts Express reached Hogsmeade, and she left the train with her trunk before anyone could even try to engage her in conversation. She made sure to keep an eye on the Lestranges and made a point to avoid their location, instead choosing to ride in a carriage with three unfortunate second-years who were ready to flee in terror by the time they arrived at Hogwarts.

She was still wondering what her uncle could have arranged - she knew this wasn't her father's work; while she respected him, she knew he didn't have the sharp mind or the clout her uncle wielded. Orion Black was a masterful manipulator who could engage in games of intrigue and subterfuge without anything ever being traced back to him. In fact, that was his style and he reveled in it. With the political firepower of an Orion Black behind him, Harry Ashworth could end up nearly anywhere, even as the Minister of Magic, but it had to be something less ambitious, something less recognizable, if he was planning on changing the future.

Her answer concerning Harry's placement came the moment she stepped into the Great Hall and glanced at the head table. Bellatrix's abrupt halt occurred so suddenly that the person behind slammed into her back, nearly sending her pitching forward. Under usual circumstances, she would have turned around and retaliate, but she was too stunned at the sight before her to even contemplate that.

Sitting at the staff table, right between Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick, in the chair usually occupied by Horace Slughorn, was Harry Ashworth. She continued to stare at him until he noticed her in the crowd. He gave her a weak smile and shrugged. His expression communicated to her he was as surprised as she was by his being at Hogwarts, and she could all but feel the nervous energy radiating off of him.

Bellatrix regained her composure and strode towards the Slytherin table, taking her usual seat. She had schooled her features into neutrality again, but her mind was reeling with the revelation. When in Merlin's name had he gotten a job at Hogwarts? For that matter, when the bloody hell had Slughorn lost his job? There hadn't been any openings before, and Slughorn's absence meant that Harry was here to replace him-her head shot up abruptly. They couldn't have… she thought, her eyes wide. It was quite possibly within her uncle's influence to have a teacher fired, though he had no desire to interfere with Hogwarts or its headmaster.

Bellatrix was even so distracted that she even failed to notice her sister Narcissa flirting with Lucius Malfoy two seats down, something that would have earned Narcissa at least some criticism otherwise. Harry's presence on the staff table left her mind with one burning question: what did her uncle think Harry Ashworth was worth, if he was willing to risk tangling with Dumbledore?

The chattering around her ceased suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. The headmaster stood at the head table, his expression grave instead of jovial. "We welcome you back for the remainder of this school year." he said. "Among the reminders I usually give to you after the holiday, there is an extra announcement I must make. Our very own Professor Slughorn recently met with an unfortunate accident. Though the incident was far from life threatening, I regret to inform you that it has left Professor Slughorn unable to return to his normal duties for a certain amount of time."

Whispers broke out among the students and Bellatrix noticed that Lestrange and his friends were giving each other significant looks. Bellatrix didn't understand why they would be sensitive to something as simple as an idiot potions master having an accident. On the other hand, Bellatrix realized that odds were that it was no accident-but Lestrange and his friends didn't know what she did.

Dumbledore continued his announcement as soon as the whispering had died down. "During his absence, Professor Slughorn's classes will be taught by Harry Ashworth."

Bellatrix frowned, glancing between Harry and Dumbledore. Though Harry had been hired, it didn't sound like Dumbledore had been terribly enthusiastic about the prospect. If Slughorn had really been sent out of commission only a few days ago, whatever Orion did must have quite literally forced Harry down the headmaster's throat. The next words from the headmaster's mouth only served to reinforce her suspicions.

"Mr. Ashworth comes… highly recommended," Dumbledore stated, glanced over at Harry with an unreadable expression. "I am assured that he will be an excellent teacher."

Bellatrix arched an eyebrow at this. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't - judging from what she had seen of him, she was willing to bet he had little idea how to manage a classroom full of rowdy students. It left her with the question as to what her father and uncle saw in Ashworth. How had they had known or sensed that there was something to be had in associating with him? She was certain that he hadn't told them he was a time traveler from the future, and he had not made contact with anyone else as far as she knew.

She frowned at that thought. As far as she knew . She would have to talk to him, and soon. If someone else knew who he really was, then she had to step up her game. It wouldn't do at all to let someone else reap the benefits of his time travel. He was hers; she had found him first, after all.

During the course of the meal, Bellatrix made a half-hearted attempt to join with her fellow Slytherins in conversation, mostly as a cover as she tried to listen to them talk and get a feel for their thoughts on Harry. Most of them were indifferent, which she had expected, considering that they didn't particularly care who taught what, as long as they got their grades in the end. Some were boisterously hostile, thinking that someone that young and clearly nervous would be easy pickings for them - Bellatrix made a mental note to talk to Harry about wearing his emotions on his sleeve. He was an open book she could read with ease as could, no doubt, others.

It was the select few that she had chosen to surround herself with because they had more brains than the average garden slug that worried her. Lucius Malfoy, for one, had a good head on his shoulders despite the fact that he was younger. He was shaping up to become a master at manipulating people to get what he wanted - not nearly as good as herself, of course, but good enough. The fact that he was ignoring her sister's advances when she knew he was interested in Narcissa told her he was smart enough to play hard to get for her younger sister.

Then there was Severus Snape. The kid already knew more about potions, both mundane and exotic, than most professors, and definitely more than Slughorn ever had. Bellatrix knew that his indifference and aloofness hid a keen intellect that was only betrayed by his piercing eyes. If anyone was going to pick up on the fact that Harry shouldn't be here, it would be either one of them. Glancing to the side where the Lestranges sat with their friends, Bellatrix hesitantly dismissed them as threats. Rodolphus and Rabastan were much too self-absorbed to be bothered with rooting out the background of an odd potions professor. Knott had no interest in potions, and Parkinson was too busy hanging off of Knott's arm to notice anything.

Deciding that she would have to make the first move, Bellatrix waited for the feast to end before quickly excusing herself from her own little clique. She made her way toward the staff table, doing her best to appear casual while trying to catch Harry's attention. He spotted her easily enough and, fortunately, had the foresight to move to a quiet space near the far corner of the table "How in Merlin's name did you get here?" she hissed as soon as she was close enough, taking care to look around and check that no one was within earshot.

"Malfoy," Harry replied quietly. "I had mentioned to him that I was looking around for something at that party of yours. He heard about Slughorn's accident and thought of me. Arranged it all."

"Malfoy?" Bellatrix asked, frowning. There was no doubt in her mind that Malfoy had, indeed arranged it all . But then that meant her uncle was working together with the elder Malfoy, which was too much of a coincidence. No, there was something deeper behind it, and she would have to be careful when digging with her father and uncle. "Do you even know anything about potions?"

Harry grimaced. "Not especially, but I didn't really want to pass it up. It can't be too hard." Well, it can't be too hard without Snape breathing down my neck just waiting for me to screw up and take off points, he thought to himself.

"I'll see if I can help you out," Bellatrix breathed urgently. Things were moving too quickly - and although it wouldn't be a good thing for Harry to become a pawn in one of her uncle's schemes, or Malfoy's, for that matter - he was here now, and they had to make the most of it. Harry appearing incompetent in front of the students wasn't a big deal. However, his appearing incompetent in front of Dumbledore, and thus causing him to begin questioning why Malfoy had pushed for Harry's acceptance at Hogwarts would no doubt cause all sorts of havoc. It might even force Malfoy and her uncle to accelerate their plans, whatever their plans were.

"We'll see," Harry said, not particularly eager to take her up on her offer. "Look, I've got to go now. Dumbledore asked me to stop by his office. I think the manner in which I've been added to his staff annoyed him slightly. He can't appreciate Malfoy doing his hiring for him."

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded, thinking quickly. "Do acknowledge that Malfoy's arranging this is irregular if Dumbledore brings up the subject or seems to be thinking about it, but act as if you're really grateful for the job and be thankful. And please, don't let him know you don't have a clue about teaching potions."

Harry bit back a scathing remark at her insistence to choreograph his every move. While it was convenient to have an ally - even if only temporarily, until she got what she wanted - who knew the lay of the land, it wasn't as if he was inexperienced and didn't know how to deal with Dumbledore. He kept himself to a curt, "Right," before turning around.

He knew all too well how to deal with Dumbledore.

"Every Flavour Bean," Harry muttered at the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. He was glad that this time, at least, he wouldn't have to guess the password. He could only imagine how silly he must have looked that one time standing in front of the figurine and yelling out the names of every sort of sweet, both Muggle and magical alike, that he knew.

"Come in," Dumbledore called out as soon as the gargoyle had fully moved out of the way and Harry had ascended the staircase and knocked on the office's door.

Harry entered the office, closing the door behind him quietly. He gave the ancient wizard a weak smile, but couldn't really find any words to say as he nervously approached the desk.

"Mr. Ashworth," Dumbledore greeted him neutrally. "Please, have a seat."

Harry sat. There wasn't much else he could do at this point, except wait to see what Dumbledore had to say.

"We meet again."

"So we have," Harry agreed.

Dumbledore stroked his beard and reached for a small glass bowl with his free hand. Holding it up to Harry, he smiled benignly. "Lemon drop?"

"Err - no, thanks," Harry said, shaking his head slightly. He had tried one once, and never again.

"Tell me, Harry - may I call you Harry?"

"Sure."

Dumbledore nodded and took a piece of candy. "So tell me, Harry, how is it that one such as you makes the acquaintance of Romulus Malfoy and impresses him enough to receive such a sterling recommendation only a week or so later?"

At least his tone wasn't accusatory - yet. But Harry knew that Dumbledore was curious, and he had to defuse that curiosity immediately-nip it in the bud, before it grew and the headmaster started digging and found out that Harry Ashworth didn't really exist. "Miss Black kindly arranged for me to be invited to a Christmas party because I was new in the country. She seemed rather eager for me to get to know her acquaintances."

Sticking to the basic truth would hopefully minimize any future contradictions in his cover story, Harry decided. "I met Mr. Malfoy there and mentioned that I was currently looking to explore and expand my horizons, since I had not yet decided on a line of work. I hadn't expected to hear from him again, but he contacted me two days ago and told me that there was an opening on your staff, if I was qualified."

"I see."

Harry shrugged, not really perturbed by the headmaster's noncommittal answer. Dumbledore's posture was still relaxed, his eyes intrigued, but not suspicious yet. "I really wanted to thank you again for having me; I know it cannot be easy trusting someone whose skills you know nothing about with your students."

"Of course," Dumbledore acknowledged graciously, though he wasn't really looking at Harry anymore. In fact, he was staring off into space, and, Harry, thought, seemed distracted with something. "You are welcome, Harry, though I have to be frank. Your position here is only temporary until Horace recovers from his… malady. It's nothing personal."

"I understand," Harry replied easily, "as it is, I am already grateful for the chance to be here. Perhaps, by the time Mr. Slughorn returns, I will have found another opportunity." Harry stopped himself before he mentioned that he was probably more qualified to teach DADA than potions, but decided that drawing Dumbledore's attention to that particular set of skills right now probably wasn't a good idea.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck with your ongoing search," Dumbledore said as he reached for a stack of papers and handed them to Harry. "As you are no doubt aware, Potions is one of the core subjects taught at Hogwarts. Unlike an elective it is an important requirement for the OWLs and NEWTs, which are our standardized tests here in Britain." He glanced at Harry over the rim of his glasses. "Mr. Malfoy hinted at the fact that you are familiar with our schooling system?"

"I am," Harry admitted. "Unlike the system in the United States, the Australian schooling system is very much like the British. It's been a while since I have heard some of the terms used, but I do remember them well enough."

"Good, good. Now, it is imperative that your students do well on their tests, though, especially if they have high career ambitions."

"Right." Harry absently wondered if Dumbledore had ever bothered to give this speech to Snape. If he had, the greasy-haired potions master apparently had not listened very well.

Dumbledore continued, glancing through another set of papers that Harry immediately recognized as a copy of his forged schooling documentation that he had provided Malfoy upon request. "It would be comforting for me to know that you, yourself, had earned your OWL and NEWT majoring in Potions, but as Mr. Malfoy reminded me, you have not actually been schooled in Britain." Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow. "Though I suppose your work at foreign schools will suffice and has rendered you competent."

The blank stare Dumbledore gave him wasn't outright hostile or suspicious, it was more of an evaluating gaze that told Harry the headmaster didn't know what to do with him just yet, and would wait and see how he performed before passing judgment. Although, Harry could almost hear the unspoken words. If you're incompetent, we'll find out soon enough .

"I am," Harry said with more confidence than he felt. In fact, he hadn't even taken his NEWTs. School had been closed well before the end of his seventh year because the war had escalated, and students of all ages had taken up arms against Voldemort's forces - or for him, as the case had been. It had been sobering to see so many young faces on both sides of the conflict, a conflict that, in reality, belonged to the generation that came before then.

"All right," Dumbledore nodded. "I've included a number of things you may find useful, especially with it being the middle of the term. On top, you'll find a list of potions and the curriculum that the fifth and seventh years must have mastered in order to pass their OWLs and NEWTs, respectively. There is also a copy of Professor Slughorn's lesson plans for all the classes he was teaching. The plans, unfortunately, are not quite as up to date as they ought to be, so you will likely have to discuss with the individual classes what material they have covered and which they have yet to cover."

"Thank you," Harry said, idly thumbing through the papers, grateful for the fact that he wouldn't have to make up entire lesson plans for a subject he didn't even really like. At the very least, he knew that he could look up the things he didn't know in the library as they were outlined by the lesson plans. Skimming through them briefly while the headmaster talked, Harry suddenly realized with some dread that he would inevitably be spending a lot of time reading potions books.

"One more thing," Dumbledore noted, "although the fifth and seventh years are the only years to take standardized tests, I highly suggest that you follow the lesson plans outlined by Professor Slughorn for the others years. He has also left records of previous years in his office. I would advise you to take a look at them, so that you can teach your students to the best of your ability."

Though there was no skepticism in his tone, Harry knew that Dumbledore was internally wondering if he really was capable of teaching this class. So do I, Harry thought to himself. Worst case, he mused, he could always follow Snape's example and put the recipe on the board, then let the class do their thing in silence. Someone was bound to get it right, and he could grade everyone else off of that.

The rest of the meeting passed quickly, as Dumbledore only had a few more arrangements to discuss as he assigned Harry an office and apartment. By the time he left half an hour later, he was finally ready to begin his new duties as a substitute staff teacher at Hogwarts.

"I don't like it one bit," Moody growled angrily, gesturing the barkeep for another round of ale.

Dumbledore had arrived at the Three Broomsticks late on the first night of the new term to find the grizzled old auror drowning his suspicions in alcohol. Even though the headmaster could agree that Slughorn's sudden "accident" and Ashworth's subsequent appointment to the Hogwarts staff at the behest of the Malfoy and the Board of Governors was slightly suspicious, he couldn't seem to find the energy to worry about it.

"Aren't you being a little paranoid, Alastor?" Dumbledore commented as he sat down and waved away the waitress when she asked him if he'd like to order anything. The large dinner at Hogwarts had left him more than satisfied.

"It's suspicious," Moody argued, coughing around a gulp of ale. "I can see Slughorn having an accident, but everything put together is just far too convenient. We've got Malfoy pushing things around to get an unknown and potentially dangerous young man into our midst. It's practically impossible for him not to have an ulterior motive."

"Romulus has always been too underhanded for his own good," Dumbledore agreed, "but there isn't enough information to form a connection right now. Mr. Ashworth claims he only met Romulus briefly and mentioned he was looking for a job. There is a perfectly good chance that it is all legitimate." He only wished he could believe his own words, he wanted to believe them. The last thing they needed right now was to deal with an internal threat because Malfoy had developed an interest in Hogwarts internal affairs.

"It's got to be some kind of plot," Moody muttered. "Maybe he's here to spy on us. He may even be an assassin."

The headmaster shrugged tiredly. "As far as I know, Mr. Ashworth hasn't associated with Romulus Malfoy enough for there to even be a plot. Ashworth's only connection in Britain seems to be a passing acquaintance with the Black family. If there was a ploy, it certainly would be coming from that direction."

"As far as you know," Moody insisted. "And who knows who's pulling Malfoy 's string? Orion Black could be manipulating both Malfoy and Ashworth from different directions. He is a lot craftier than you seem to give him credit for."

"Even Orion Black would have trouble manipulating Romulus. No, it would be much easier for the Black family to take matters into their own hands than to convince Romulus to be their middle man."

"So you're perfectly all right with an unknown variable sitting at your staff table, who, as far as we know, could be plotting to plunge a knife into your back at any moment?" Moody growled, taking a large swig from his mug.

"In all honesty, Alastor, I see no reason to worry about that." Dumbledore said, shrugging ever so slightly. "Young Mr. Ashworth doesn't particularly strike me as the assassin sort, and he's certainly displayed nothing to give us reason for suspecting that he has nefarious motives."

"The best assassin is the one who doesn't appear to be one."

"That may well be, but in my conversations with him, I didn't detect any evil in him. He seemed perfectly polite, if a little nervous. Certainly not the demeanor of a professional hit wizard."

Moody eyed the ancient wizard suspiciously. "He also seems to know an awful lot about the school and Britain in general, for someone who has never been here before."

Dumbledore didn't have an answer for that and remained silent for a while. "True," he finally admitted, "but until Mr. Ashworth proves to be untrustworthy, I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. If I let myself get distracted over Ashworth, I'll end up neglecting my other duties. We currently have more serious issues in the Wizengamot."

Moody nodded curtly, understanding perfectly well what Dumbledore was getting at. "I suppose the affairs of state are more important than the existence of an odd young man. And it isn't as if he's out on the streets causing havoc-unlike certain other young people."

"You never know," Dumbledore said slowly. "But as far as I can see now, the improper hiring of a substitute Potions teacher is the least of my concerns. Even if Malfoy is plotting something against Hogwarts or me, there is enough trouble brewing among the pureblood families to keep him occupied. As for Mr. Ashworth… if he is capable, so be it. If not, he'll be replaced when Horace recovers and returns."

Harry arrived in the Potions classroom the next morning well before his first class was due to start. He would have the pleasure of teaching the fourth year Slytherin and Gryffindor classes, something he looking forward to with a certain amount of trepidation. As far as he knew, the rivalry between the two houses was just as bad now as it had been in his time. He felt fortunate that he had the lesson plans and teaching materials supplied by the headmaster. It would alleviate his stress a little bit. In addition, he at least possessed a passing familiarity with many of the potions, and had enjoyed being able to pick one he actually knew a little more about for his first attempt at teaching.

Deciding to take a clue from Professor Snape, he wrote the recipe for the chosen potion on the chalkboard and then hid it behind an illusion charm. It didn't take long after he had finished with that for the first students to filter into the room, and Harry realized why the Snape of his day liked to stride into the classroom after all the students had arrived and were settled in. As it was, he could feel every pair of eyes on him, some with interest, some with condescension, but all of them curious. Harry made a show of studying a random textbook in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact until the bell rang.

When the time had come, he looked up, all of his carefully planned first words forgotten as he stared at the collection of faces staring back at him from the rows of students. Sitting in the first row, side-by-side - or, at least, as side-by-side as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin could get - were Severus Snape and a woman whose face he had only seen in photographs. Despite the fact that she was much younger now, there was no mistaking her long, red hair and vivid green eyes that were staring right back at him: Lily Evans.

Two rows behind them were even more familiar faces. Occupying two benches next to each other were the four Marauders. Sirius was unmistakable, with his unruly black hair and roguish grin, and Remus Lupin looked as scraggy now as he would decades in the future. Harry knew that the pudgy young man sitting next to Lupin was Peter Pettigrew, recognizing him as he stared a little harder. Realizing that he had been staring, he moved his gaze to James Potter, who was trying to bore a hole in the back of Snape's head with a glare.

Despite the fact that they'd already met, this was the first time Harry took the time to study his father carefully. He could see why a lot of people told him he was his father's spitting image, because, looking at the young James Potter, Harry felt as if he was staring at a mirror. However, there were subtle differences. The eyes were blue, instead of green, and there was a demeanor to James Potter that Harry figured he had never had - a sort of straightness to his spine, a sort of feeling of superiority or invincibility that came from the knowledge that he was the better man. Harry idly wondered where that had come from, then stopped when he realized that he should probably start the class.

"Well…" he began, looking for the right words. "Welcome back from the holidays.

The class stared at him wordlessly.

Harry cleared his throat and started again, determined not to let a group of fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds intimidate him. "As you know, I am Harry Ashworth I shall be your substitute Potions instructor until further notice."

Pettigrew raised a hand.

"Yes?" Harry nodded at him.

"Uh… aren't you the bloke that wiped out that bunch of people fighting in Diagon Alley around Christmas?"

"The reports are exaggerated, I'm sure," Harry said. "I certainly did not 'wipe out' anyone. But yes, I was there."

A couple of loud snorts that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter followed that pronouncement, and Harry quickly traced it to James Potter and Sirius Black. He glared at them, doing his best to put on his best Snape face. "Did you two have something to say?"

"No, not at all," Sirius replied casually as James shook his head.

Harry kept the two fixed with his stare, refusing to be intimidated by the fact that he was staring down his father and godfather. Dammit, I'm the adult here, and they're the children, he thought to himself.

His concentration was broken when he realized someone else was staring at him from the side. Turning around and instinctively finding the source of that stare with reflexes honed by years of battle, he discovered his mother looking at him intently, her brow furrowed suspiciously. Fine, I'll do her, too, Harry thought before realizing how that sounded. He barely managed to suppress the urge to retch at that. "Did you have a question, Miss…?" he asked.

"Evans," she supplied perfunctorily. "Just where are you from?"

He absently noted that no one had yet addressed him as "professor" yet, not that he really cared, but it meant that he would have to either intimidate this class into following his instructions, or persuade them some other way. Briefly running through his false identity in his mind to avoid potential conflicts, he replied. "Australia. I've travelled a lot, though, so you might actually pick up on a slight American accent."

"Have we met before?"

"No," Harry replied quickly, realizing too late that perhaps he had answered too quickly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not quite sure I understand, Miss Evans. Was there a point to your question?"

"Just because you're from some other country doesn't mean I couldn't possibly have met you before. It's perfectly possible that I've travelled to one of the places you've been to and ran into you there," Lily informed him, her tone rather precocious.

"So, have you travelled someplace and seen me there?" Harry asked, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

Lily seemed to take a moment to think, a puzzled expression on her face, but soon answered. "I've been to a lot of places with my family, but I don't remember seeing you in any of them."

"Then you have your answer, Miss Evans," Harry said, preparing to move onto the lesson. "Now-,"

"But I still have the feeling that I've met you before."

"Whatever," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. "If you happen to remember, let me know." Good luck remembering the future, mother .

With a negligent wave of his wand, Harry removed the illusion from the board and revealed the potion recipe. "Your assignment for today's class," he said by way of explanation. "Finish it before you leave, label the bottle with your name, and leave it on my desk." As an afterthought born from his not wanting to be completely like Snape, he added, "If you have questions, I will assist you."

While the class erupted into a sort of controlled chaos as the students began their work, Harry settled down in his chair and wondered what he would do if they didn't get it right. A sigh of disgust drew his attention, and Harry immediately recognized the source: Severus Snape. The look on his face made it clear that he thought this potion was beneath him, and Harry was sorely tempted to dock points from Slytherin.

"Sir," Lily called out approaching his desk as other students began working, "I'm not sure we're supposed to be brewing this potion today."

The headache turned into a pounding migraine. "Does it really matter?" he asked, doing his best to keep a level tone.

"Well, we're supposed to learn them in a certain order. Didn't the headmaster give you any of Professor Slughorn's lesson plans?"

Now I know how Snape feels when Hermione is on a trip, Harry thought, almost feeling sorry for the man now sitting on the other side of his desk. As much as he loved Hermione as a friend, sometimes she drove even him up the wall with the way she was planning things to the extreme and got upset when those plans were not followed exactly.

Harry half-heartedly found the pile of papers that he'd looked at. "Yes, he did. And for your information, Miss Evans, that potion is marked in the lesson plan for this semester, signed off by the headmaster himself."

"But sir…"

Harry really needed a painkiller now. Glancing at and noting the way in which Snape was looking at the board with barely disguised boredom, Harry knew that at least Snape would get it right. For once in his life, he was grateful for the snarky future potions master. Deciding that he needed to nip this in the bud before it became worse, he stood and picked up the fourth-year textbook, preparing to mount the first defense of his teaching methods.

"Seeing that I am new to this class, and I have no idea where Professor Slughorn left off, I feel that I need to evaluate the skills of you and your classmates before making a decision about what to teach next. According to your textbook, this potion is perfectly acceptable for your grade and level."

"But we didn't-,"

" Miss Evans," Harry said slowly, desperately trying to hide from her the effort it took to hide how nervous he was. "While I appreciate your attempts to help, I would much prefer it if you got started. Now."

The remainder of the class passed in relative silence, though Harry did notice that Snape seemed to be looking at him with far less disdain than he had when he had first walked into the room. Now that's a scary thought, Harry mused, me, being Snape's role model. Ten minutes before class was scheduled to end, the last of the students had placed their finished potion on his desk, and Harry decided to dismiss the class early. He was rewarded with a brief cheer from the class and, as they left, got the feeling that they didn't hate him.

Thankful for small victories, he tried to figure out how he was supposed to grade the two dozen potions that were left on his desk. Holding each of them up against the light, he soon realized there was going to be a huge issue with that, since all of them were a different color and consistency. Feeling like banging his head against a brick wall, Harry opted to drop his head into his arms, instead.

"How the in Merlin's name am I to grade these?" Harry wondered out loud. He knew only the appropriate color for the finished product, not having really examined or used samples of the potion in his time.

Snape, he thought suddenly. He must've gotten it right . Searching through the flasks until he found the correct one, he held it up to the light and let out a relieved sigh when it was the appropriate color. Recalling that Dumbledore had once told him his mother was brilliant at potions, he found hers too, and smiled in relief when it matched both Snape's and his understanding of what the potion ought to look like. He now had two samples to grade against.

What are the odds I can do this for all other potions I'm going to go over? He idly wondered. Odds were, in fact, good that he could do this. After all, both Snape and his mother couldn't both be wrong at the same time. With that thought in mind, he set the samples aside and began prepare for the next class.

By the time they arrived, Harry was in a much better mood than he had been earlier that morning. His introduction went over without pithy remarks or questioning looks from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He gave them the same potion to work on as he had the previous class, expecting another argument, but he was pleasantly surprised when the students shrugged, accepted his explanation that he needed to gauge their level, and went to work without complaint. By the end of the class, he had a dozen more samples that looked like the ones made by Snape and Lily, and he was confident that he could use them to effectively grade both classes.

He was in high spirits upon arriving in the Great Hall for lunch and was looking forward to his next class. If things keep going like this, this is going to be a walk in the park, Harry thought. He went through lunch in a good mood until he realized that his next class was NEWT Potions for the sixth-years. Harry began to wish that Snape was in one of those classes, because then he would at least have one person whom he was reasonably certain would get the assignments right.

Thinking of putting Snape in an advanced class gave Harry an idea. Working a few things out and scribbling a handful of notes on a napkin, Harry leaned back and enjoyed the rest of his lunch break..

When he returned to his classroom, he found, to his surprise, that Bellatrix was already there. "Aren't you a little early for class?" he asked.

"For class, yes," she replied. "However, I wanted to talk to you before, to make sure you know what you're doing. If you screw up, that makes our situation tougher."

" Our, eh?" Harry commented, amazed at the amount of sarcasm he managed to hold back.

Bellatrix ignored Harry's tone and continued. "I've interviewed a number of students you taught this morning - subtly, of course. It seems you're doing a fairly good job. Most of them like you. Surprisingly, I even heard good things from some of the Slytherins about you. The only down side is that a few of them seem to think that you're a little bit dim."

"Dim?" Harry muttered under his breath.

"That's perfectly all right," Bellatrix commented casually. "Lots of famous and powerful people have been dim. Sometimes it was even an advantage."

"That they think I'm dim?" Harry grumbled. "I thought I was trying to be nice."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Anyway, I was going to say that that's not necessarily a bad thing. If you appear nice and simple, perhaps a little dim, no one is going to think you're a threat to them."

Harry muttered something intelligible. He didn't like the idea of establishing a reputation of stupidity. "It doesn't help me if everyone thinks I'm utterly incompetent."

"Of course," Bellatrix agreed, "we'll have to prevent that. We don't need you appearing like an idiot in front of my family."

"Your family?" Harry glanced at her oddly.

Bellatrix looked startled and Harry caught her faint blush. "Nothing," she caught herself quickly. "Other students will be arriving soon. You better get to it."

Harry was suspicious, but decided not to call her on it as she walked back to her chair. A few minutes later the remainder of the students arrived, and a brief look around the room told Harry that he was going to have his work cut out for him. A lot of the faces were familiar here, too - though not so much from family photos, but the battlefield.

Remembering that he had fought - and won against-some of the people in his class in the future helped Harry gather the determination to appear every bit the caustic, hard, and strict teacher that Snape would turn out to be. "Welcome back from your holidays," he announced. "This second half of the year will be run a bit different than what you may be used to. We have a number of potions left for this year, and it's my responsibility to drill them into you to get you ready for your NEWTs. You'll be split into groups, and I will assign each group a set of potions to study, master, and make. You will then present your findings and the potions you made to the rest of the class. Presentations will begin Monday of next week. Since that is relatively short notice, I am willing to accept volunteers for that group and award extra credit."

The students seemed to think that this was a decent idea and class was soon off to a good start. Harry felt quite productive as he divided up the potions and class periods and then assigned them to each student. There was soon a productive hum coming from the students as they worked in their groups to master their assigned potions.

This might not be so bad after all, Harry thought.

Professor Binns droned on and most of the students slept. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was taking the opportunity to write a carefully worded letter to her father. She had been able to take some time to consider her conversation with her father on the train platform and had concluded that her father and uncle's concern of Harry associating with the wrong sort probably indicated that they were considering the possibility of bringing him into their confidence.

While Bellatrix was wary of allowing Harry Ashworth to become a pawn of Orion Black, she had nothing against the opportunities a Black-Ashworth connection would bring her. For one thing, she could play her games from within the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, as well as through Harry. There was also the change of her becoming privy to things that not even Orion shared with her father. Of course, this all hinged on Harry cooperating with her.

With Orion Black behind him, Harry could do great things-and if one were to take into account the fact that Harry had mentioned he had inherited the entire Black estate in the future, it would only help to get in on what the old man might be up to.

Thus, Bellatrix was now penning, or rather, scratching out with her quill, a letter of recommendation of sorts. The key was to prevent her father from realizing that it was such a letter. Her goal was to come off as being a disinterested daughter duly, though perhaps prematurely, carrying out a father's request for information.

Dear Father,

With regard to Harry Ashworth:

The Headmaster seemed a little chuffed at Ashworth being added to the staff, but no one else really seems to mind. Ashworth generally comes off as being a rather mild and agreeable chap, despite everyone remembering or being reminded of his interfering with that fight back in Diagon Alley.

It does not appear that Potions is Ashworth's forte. Fortunately though, he seems to have gotten into the rhythm of things. He is able to teach the younger years with little trouble and the fourth and fifth years with only moderate difficulties. For the sixth and seventh years, he has turned the learning experience into more of a team effort. Doing this has not made the class easy, but he seems to have gained respect from at least the wiser students.

As far as Ashworth associating with the right sort, I don't think you have to worry. I seem to be the only person he knows-all the other students and staff being only acquaintances that he treats neutrally.

I shall try to keep you updated between my schoolwork,

Your daughter,

Bellatrix

Harry sank into an armchair in front of the fireplace in his personal fireplace. The chair was a little too cushy for his tastes, but he wasn't about to complain as he allowed himself to relax, silently congratulating himself on surviving his first week as a teacher at Hogwarts. Aside from that first day, he hadn't felt the urge to strangle anyone, done his best to curb the Marauders' antics, and, most importantly, he didn't think anyone had complained about him. Now it was Friday night, and he was looking forward to a weekend free of classes, although he would likely be spending most of Saturday trying to figure out how to grade the assignments for this past week and what to do for the coming few classes.

"And I thought sitting on the other side of the classroom was hard work," he muttered to himself, having gained a whole new appreciation for teachers.

The roar of his fireplace roused him from his introspection as the flames turned green and Romulus Malfoy's head appeared inside. "Mr. Ashworth. I was hoping I would catch you. How are you this fine evening?" the Malfoy patriarch asked pleasantly.

Harry blinked at the sudden appearance of Malfoy's floating, disembodied head, wondering why his benefactor would be calling him at Hogwarts. "Not bad, thank you. And yourself?"

"I'm well. How was your first week teaching?" Malfoy inquired, surprising Harry with the sincerity in his tone.

"Not bad, actually," Harry replied honestly, "it's taken some getting used to, but I'm glad for the work. Thank you again for arranging things."

Malfoy smiled, and Harry could tell where Lucius had gotten his creepy smirk from. "Don't mention it. I merely heard that a position at Hogwarts had opened up, and suggested you for the post. The Board of Governors are the ones who deserve your thanks more than me.

"I will make sure to thank them, as well, when I see them, then," Harry said, wondering just how many on the board were in Malfoy's pocket. Still, he was grateful to the man, and he didn't seem like the evil sort. Well, Harry amended, he was scheming and manipulative, but that was to be expected. Unlike the Lucius of the future, though, he wasn't outright evil. Harry idly wondered what Draco would say if he knew that Harry had made friends with his grandfather. It would be rather amusing if Harry could tell Draco that said grandfather considered him a disgrace.

Malfoy paused for a moment, then spoke, perhaps a little too casually. "Say, Ashworth, why don't you come over to the Manor tonight? It's the weekend, there isn't any work that you're likely to get done tonight, and I would be very interested in hearing how my son is doing in school."

"Sure," Harry answered after a brief moment of hesitation. He wasn't really certain why Malfoy would suddenly invite him into his home, but turning him down at this point likely wouldn't win him any points. He knew that Malfoy had a hidden agenda somewhere. Harry expected it, even. He just hoped that, whatever it was, it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass later.

"Excellent!" Malfoy nodded. "Would half an hour work for you?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Just call for Malfoy Manor in the floo. I'll be expecting you, Mr. Ashworth. I'm looking forward to our chat."

"So am I. I'll be right over."

Malfoy smiled and was gone from the fire. Harry lingered in the chair for a bit, wondering what Malfoy could possibly have invited him over for, then rose from his chair and went for his wardrobe. Perhaps his extended shopping trip with Bellatrix had been a good thing, after all. The clock chimed the half-hour mark, and Harry realized after getting dressed that he only had five minutes left until he had to leave.

Before he could reach for the floo powder on top of the fireplace, though, a knock on his door stopped him dead in his tracks. "Who's coming to visit me now ?" he muttered to himself, setting the can of floo powder back in its place and heading for the door.

"Yes?" he asked, even before he'd fully opened the door. "Miss Evans…" he trailed off, quickly catching himself. "What can I do for your?" What does she want, he thought to himself.

Lily nimbly sidestepped him and moved into his living room, causing Harry to arch an eyebrow at the uninvited intrusion. She simply seemed to take him inviting her inside as a given, without waiting for it to actually happen. It certainly wasn't something he'd expected from her. Seeing that she was standing in the middle of the room, he closed the door behind himself and moved to sit at his desk, waving her to take a seat.

"Again, Miss Evans, was there anything you needed?"

"I just wanted to drop by and apologize to you about our first class this term," she said quickly, and he could tell she was nervous about it. Bit late, isn't it? he thought. That first class had been Monday morning. Still, he supposed he should take what he could get.

"That is quite all right, Miss Evans," he replied evenly.

"I just…" Lily shrugged. "I didn't mean to question you. I guess I was just used to the way Professor Slughorn did things, and having things change mid-year was… confusing. I had worked out a study plan and everything already, but since you're going through the material in a different order…"

So that's it, Harry mused. She was upset because I nixed her carefully-planned study habits? He mentally shrugged. As long as it wasn't anything serious, he didn't particularly mind, as long as she didn't keep it up. And it wasn't as if he couldn't sympathize with her. Snape's stint as a DADA teacher during his third year while he was replacing Lupin had been rather traumatizing, as well. Harry dearly hoped he hadn't left the same kind of impression.

"I suppose I was a little short-tempered, myself," he admitted carefully.

"So let's just not worry about it anymore," Lily smiled brilliantly at him. "I'm sure you know what you're doing, Professor Dumbledore would never have approved your appointment otherwise."

"I'm sure," Harry said, idly wondering if he would be able to budge his mother out of the room within the next… he glanced at the clock. Two minutes?

"Now," Lily continued, seemingly having no trouble transitioning from one issue to the next, "I could swear have I have met you before. You just seem so… familiar. Would you terribly mind telling me more about you? I think it'd be so thrilling to be able to tell my parents if we had met before."

Though Lily's behavior bordered on being presumptuous, and though Harry needed to be at Malfoy Manor shortly, he just couldn't seem to find the words to send her away or hurt her feelings. Harry took a seat and began listing off the places Harry Ashworth had lived. The mastery of the forgers' skills in identity manufacturing was soon made manifest. Though the Evans family seemed to travel quite often, never had they crossed paths with the fictional Harry Ashworth. Ashworth had never been near tourist attractions during tourist seasons.

A clock chimed the half-hour and Harry took the distraction it provided to end the conversation. "I'm sorry, Miss Evans, but I'm afraid that I must cut this short," he announced, standing up.

Lily took the hint, stood and made for the door. "Perhaps we'll figure this out another time," she said. "Feel free to call me Lily, though."

Harry nodded gravely and shut the door behind her. He then quickly moved to the fireplace, threw some Floo powder into the fire, yelled "Malfoy Manor" and stepped into the green flames. Managing to come out of Malfoy Manor's fireplace standing was a difficult feat, but Harry accomplished it, though he felt ill from the effort.

"Mr. Ashworth," Romulus Malfoy called from a nearby door, "welcome to Malfoy Manor, my ancestral home."

"It's very beautiful," Harry acknowledged by way of greeting as he surveyed his surroundings. Compared to Grimmauld Place, the home of the Malfoys was very open and well lit. Harry wasn't really an expert on architecture, but he supposed that the style was French, to some extent.

"Yes, I've always thought so," Malfoy said. "Why don't I take you on a quick tour to show you the highlights of the place?"

Harry agreed to this and they were soon walking about. Romulus seemed very impressed with his own home, and Harry did have to agree, though he felt that the style was very overdone. Despite this, Harry did his best to seem astounded by the richness of the manor, paid Romulus several compliments, and thanked him for the opportunity to see his fine home. If Harry ever had to attack or raid the manor again, he could now say that he had inside knowledge.

The tour was soon over and Romulus led Harry back to a smaller sort of sitting room near the back of the house. "I'm afraid that my wife is not at home," Romulus commented, "and as you know, my son is at Hogwarts. Otherwise, I would see to introducing you to them. How is Lucius doing at school?"

"He's doing well," Harry replied, trying to remember something specific to say. Harry had not yet had to seriously interact with the young man. "He seems to get along well with his classmates. Rodolphus Lestrange seems to be a very good friend of his, though he does spend time with young Narcissa Black."

"Lestrange? Lucius hasn't mentioned him…" Romulus commented vaguely. "As I was saying, my family isn't home, but I've invited another friend of mine over for our quiet evening."

Upon entering the room, Harry discovered that the friend of Romulus was none other than Orion Black. The Black patriarch stood opposite the door in front of a mirror. He was studying his own reflection and those of Romulus and Harry too. Harry was once again struck by the regal bearing of him. Old age had not softened or weakened the man, it appeared to have simply made him tougher. He seemed quite old for having a child the age of Sirius, but Harry supposed that some wizards and witches were apt to marrying later in life.

"Orion, Mr. Ashworth has arrived," Malfoy announced.

Orion turned from the mirror and made direct eye contact with Harry. "Welcome, Mr. Ashworth."

Harry nodded to Orion, opting to say nothing because he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. He was saved from any awkward silence by Romulus negligently motioning for everyone to choose a seat from a collection of high-backed, leather armchairs around a small sort of table.

"I was just speaking with Harry here," Malfoy said with an odd smile on his face. "He mentioned that Lucius spends time with the Lestrange boy."

Harry wondered why Romulus would bother to mention that to Orion, but he supposed they might be friends and that Orion might know Lucius well as a consequence. Harry got no confirmation or denial of this assumption because Orion's reaction to the statement wasn't very revealing.

"It's good to see a professor who shows a personal interest in and gives notice to his students," Orion said gravely, leaning back into his chair, but not really relaxing.

Harry shrugged deprecatingly. "I'm around them on a constant basis; it's hard not to pick up on some things."

"You have a good point," Romulus commented as he snapped his fingers. A tray bearing and assorted collection of snack foods appeared and he proffered it Orion and Harry who each helped themselves. Another snap and a few tumblers appeared-filled halfway with some sort of amber liquid. Harry guessed it to be firewhiskey, but as he had never had the time to sample a wide assortment of beverages in the future, he couldn't guarantee that he could positively identify anything.

"We'd like to see how skilled you are at observing and thinking about things," Romulus stated casually.

"Yes," Orion added quietly.

Harry looked from one to the other, desperately trying to read their faces for a clue as to what would be the best way to respond. He should have been better prepared for interacting with the major players of the wizarding world, or at least should have come to the table with a strategy in mind. Did he want to infiltrate Voldemort's followers, or did he want to appear more neutral than not? "I don't know that I'm especially clever," he said, thinking of Hermione. "But I'd like to think that I'm not a dimwit."

"Don't we all," Malfoy said with a small smile. Harry was again reminded of Lucius, but the smile didn't seem as offensive as it had in times to come.

Orion reached into a pocket and produced a sheaf of papers. Harry's initial glance told him that the collection was composed of newspaper clippings and stray pieces of parchment. "Do me a favor and look over the newspaper clippings, Mr. Ashworth. Make some conclusions. Tell us what you think."

Harry took the small bundle of papers and started sorting through them as Romulus and Orion sipped their drinks and watched Harry intently. Each clipping detailed a fight or disturbance similar to the one Harry had been involved in-though it did seem that each was less severe than his. Some involved wounded wizards and witches being transported to the hospital while others had been broken up before anyone had gotten injured.

Harry's thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what to say to the two purebloods. There were obvious things he could mention, but Harry didn't think Orion and Romulus were interested in them. Harry opted to start speaking and hoped that it helped him think. "Well, obviously we've got a lot of disturbances here."

Romulus and Orion nodded, paying Harry their undivided attention.

"Each disturbance is caused by a similar sort of people. Young, not long out of Hogwarts. When interviewed or spoken to, they usually mention a lot of the same things."

"True," Orion said carefully, arching his eyebrow. "What else do you see?"

Harry winced internally. He wasn't doing well. A ten-year-old could have told them that. "If they're saying the same sort of things that means that what they feel is a common problem or concern to them. To be honest, I can see where they're coming from, though their solution is obviously not particularly wise." Let them chew on that, Harry sighed. Regardless of with who they sympathize with, I'm correct in saying that the behavior is silly.

Orion sighed. "Yes, too true."

The Black patriarch was about to say something else, but Harry was suddenly inspired and extended his observation, though cheating a little. "Not only are these feelings there, but someone or something must be actively festering them." Harry supposed that a really smart person would have gotten that without knowing about Voldemort's future rise to power, but he was willing to take any breaks he could get.

"Impressive," Romulus said expansively. "You weren't born yesterday, Ashworth."

"Quite," Orion agreed. "Now examine the handwritten accounts."

Harry did so and discovered copious notes on various attacks that had been made on Muggles. The injuries were more serious, though the Ministry had been able to set some things right. He wondered how it was that Orion had gotten his hands on the reports. There was really only one observation Harry could make-largely because he couldn't have an opinion, not when he already knew the answer. "Organization," he said at last.

"Indeed," Orion said. "Organization."

Harry sat and looked at the two older wizards, unsure what to say. "So what do you suppose is behind it?" he asked. He didn't want to comment on whether this was good or bad, because he wasn't too sure about how Orion and Romulus felt on the subject of Voldemort.

"It's not good," Romulus said. "Very little that happens in the dark is on the level."

"True," Harry said, being a little coy.

"We had hoped by placing you at Hogwarts that you might be able to keep your ears open," Orion said quietly. "Romulus and I would like to know more details about what is going on behind our backs-or even in front of our faces. Obviously, Lucius doesn't tell his father everything, as you have demonstrated tonight."

Harry nodded. "I could do that."

"I think I'm right in saying that my friend here is not thrilled about Lucius being as close as he is to the Lestrange brothers," Orion said as Romulus nodded affirmatively. "We fear that the Lestranges are definitely the wrong sort of people."

"Very well," Harry said, "I can especially keep an eye on what they're likely to be up to."

"Excellent," Orion said. "You can see what needs doing and get back to us as necessary.