Archive of Our Own

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The following are canon to the Black Jewels Trilogy,

given as the forward to every novel.
+++++BJT++BJT++BJT+++++
JEWELS
WhiteYellowTiger EyeRoseSummer-skyPurple DuskOpal*GreenSapphireRedGrayEbon-grayBlack *Opal is the dividing line between the lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either. When making the Offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel. For example: Birthright White could descend to Rose. Note: The “Sc” in the names Scelt and Sceltie is pronounced “Sh”. +++++BJT++BJT++BJT+++++
BLOOD HIERARCHY/CASTES
 MALESlanden – non-Blood of any raceBlood male – a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn’t wear JewelsWarlord – a Jeweled male equal in status to a witchPrince – a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a HealerWarlord Prince – a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, lower than a Queen FEMALESlanden – non-Blood of any raceBlood female – a general term for all females of the Blood; mostly refers to any Blood female who doesn’t wear Jewelswitch – a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn’t one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled femaleHealer – a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess and a PrincePriestess – a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries, and Dark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer and a PrinceBlack Widow – a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisonsQueen – a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land’s heart and the Blood’s moral center; as such, she is the focal point of their society +++++BJT++HP++BJT++++++++++AND+NOW+THE+STORY++++++++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
I) Freak

Large things start from small things. Like a snowball, no bigger than your palm, rolling down a hill, gathering more snow as it travels, to create a large boulder wider than your shoulders. Or a tiny pebble being dropped into a pond to create ever-growing ripples outward, effecting even far away bits of debris. In our story, it all started with a song… +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ Every Christmas and Easter the Dursley’s went to their local church. This particular Easter, Petunia was in a frantic search for a babysitter to watch her nephew. Their regular sitter had recently moved away, and Mrs. Figg had gone to visit relatives. After calling all their neighbors to see if they could mind the boy and getting nowhere, Petunia gave up with a loud growl and slamming of a phone into its cradle. “We’ll have to bring the freak, Vernon. Everyone is either going to church or visiting family.” Little Freak perked up in his cupboard as he listened intently. He would get to go to church? He had never been allowed inside before. Only good little boys and girls got to go inside. And no matter how hard he tried to be good, Freak never seemed to be good enough. He had to be content with staring transfixed at the exterior of the grand building and its beautiful stained-glass windows. But perhaps this year he had been good enough to go inside? Freak let out a tiny happy sound at the very thought. Petunia jerked open the cupboard door and hauled Freak out into the hall as he blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness. She yanked his dirty over-sized shirt, tied around his waist with a length of rope, off quickly, mindless of any distress she may be causing to the tiny five-year-old. “Go wash up!” Freak reacted to the command with no hesitation. He knew better. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard her continue. “No hot water, Freak, or else!” Freak knew The Rules and in excited short order - less than five minutes even - he came out of the shower clean and pink from cold. He dried off just as quickly and darted back down to his aunt for more instructions. Despite it all, his heart was light and happy at the thought of actually being able to go in the pretty church! Petunia had a different set of clothes in her arms by this point and she proceeded to yank them onto the boy. Swift jerking movements straightened the articles, though did nothing to hide the many wrinkles. The clothes were still too big for him, but only slightly as she had gotten them from a neighbor who had a boy about the same size, and they were clean. She roughly tried to tame her nephew’s wild ebony hair with no avail. Finally, she huffed out an exasperated groan, “It’ll have to do.” Then she went off to give her adored spoiled son a look-over, determined that Dudley would look so much better than her freak of a nephew. Freak peered down at his clothes in awe. He had on a bright white button long sleeve shirt; the sleeves rolled up several times so that he could see his fingers. A shiny black belt held up the two sizes too big black slacks, the cuffs also turned up so that he wouldn’t trip as he walked. The pants were still long enough to hide the fact that he wore no shoes. He had never looked so nice before! He hugged his middle in his happiness, shaking back and forth in place as he waited for more instructions. He didn’t have to wait long. Vernon came down the stairs, grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me, boy.” He growled darkly. “Any funny business, any at all, and you will get double chores and you won’t eat for a week! You won’t speak to anyone! You are going to pretend that you don’t exist! Do you hear me?!” “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Freak answered meekly, his smile gone. “Good! Now get in the car!” Vernon seemed incapable of doing anything but shout. He was always shouting everything he said to Freak, no matter what it was. Freak didn’t care though. He didn’t remember a life that was any different. This was the way his uncle always spoke to him. The way his aunt always acted around him. He wondered what would happen when he was finally able to go to school. Were freaks allowed to go to school? Would the other children treat him like Dudley did? Would the other adults yell at Freak too? He didn’t know. He followed his uncle’s instructions very carefully. He hadn’t eaten today and was very hungry. He didn’t want to go another week without food. So, he was silent and hunched his shoulders to make himself as small as possible while he followed his relatives up the church steps at a respectable distance where people wouldn’t think he was with them. He took a seat at the far end of the very back row. He quite liked it, actually. It let him see all the colorful stained-glass windows, which he now could see were of people with wings. The one closest to him was the prettiest. It was of a golden-haired lady who smiled down at those seated. The smile such that it seemed like she smiled just for Freak, making his heart lighten. The lady held a small boy’s hand. A boy that looked a lot like Freak: short dark hair with marks on his arms and legs. Freak couldn’t see the boy’s eyes because the boy’s face was turned toward the lady, but Freak imagined that the boy was laughing. How could the boy be doing anything else when such a pretty lady smiled at him? Seemed to actually care about the boy? As Freak contemplated where the golden-haired lady was taking the boy, he heard music start to play. It was just as pretty as the lady! So, he listened closely to the words. 
I was walkin’ home from school on a cold winter day.

Took a shortcut through the woods and I lost my way.

It was getting’ late, and I was scared, and alone.

Then a kind old man took my hand and led me home.

Mama couldn’t see him, oh but he was standing there.

And I knew in my heart, he was the answer to my prayer.

Oh, I believe there are angels among us.

Sent down to us from somewhere up above.

They come to you and me, in our darkest hour.

To show us how to live. To teach us how to give.

To guide us with a light of love.

Freak’s eyes were wide as he listened intently. The man singing said that anyone could get an angel! Not just good children, but anyone! That meant that he could have an angel! 
They wear so many faces; show up in the strangest places.

And grace us with their mercies in our time of need.

Oh, I believe there are angels among us.

Sent down to us from somewhere up above.

They come to you and me, in our darkest hour.

To show us how to live. To teach us how to give.

To guide us with a light of love.

To guide us with a light of love.

Freak knew he had missed some of the middle bits, shocked at the idea that even freaks could have an angel. He didn’t quite know what an angel was, but if they were anything like the pretty lady in the window, then they had to be wonderful! Would his angel treat him like Petunia treated Dudley? With hugs and kisses and tucking in at night? Oh, Freak hoped so. The only bad part was the song said that he had to wait for ‘his darkest hour’ - whatever that meant - before his angel would show up. He supposed that made sense. With so many people in the world, angels were sure to be super busy helping all the normal people! That was okay, Freak decided with a firm nod, he could wait. He would wait…for however long he needed. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ That was the only time Freak ever got to go to church. He cherished the memory fiercely, often bringing it out at night when he was locked in his cupboard. He liked to remember the pretty golden-haired lady’s smile as he drifted off to sleep. It was the only memory he had of someone smiling at him. School hadn’t been much different at all. Dudley told everyone that he was really Freak. So other children stayed away from him, ignoring him completely. Or the boys in Dudley’s gang chased him around, hitting him whenever they were able to catch him. The teacher had called in Petunia and Vernon on the first day of kindergarten because he had insisted his name was ‘Freak’. The teacher got really angry, though at first she didn’t seem to be angry at him. That changed after her meeting with his aunt and uncle. Then the teacher, just like all the other adults, believed that he was a freak and treated him as such. His punishment for not answering to ‘Harry’ was no bathing for two weeks. Freak learned the new Rules for School as quickly as he could to avoid any food-related consequences. Not bathing for so long ensured that any children who might have gone against Dudley and tried to be Freak’s friend were too disgusted by the smell to even get close. The only good thing about school was learning. After the first test when he had done better than Dudley, Freak gained a couple more scars to remind him to hide what he knew. Another School Rule. He made sure to know not only the right answers, but how much Dudley knew so that Freak would consistently score lower than his cousin at all times. However, there was one place where Freak could escape Dudley and his gang. It was a magical land where anything could happen. The Library. Once Freak understood that as long as he was quiet and respectful of the books the minder wasn’t irritated by him coming in at recess and lunch, Freak spent every moment outside the classroom in the library. The first thing he read about was angels. Anything and everything he could get his hands on. It took him several painstaking months to read all the books on the subject. Since he was forbidden from taking notes, for that meant he was trying to do better than Dudley who never partook in such plebian things, Freak worked hard to memorize everything he could. Reading things over and over to make sure he didn’t forget anything. When Freak lay awake in his cupboard at night, he would think about what he had read. He noticed that while Christianity had a lot of stuff on angels, they weren’t the only religion that had the beings. Angels were documented in all parts of the world, at lots of different points in history. Not all religions had angels though. So that meant, from what Freak could discern, that angels had to be real, but not all religions were real. Therefore, he would discount all the religious stuff, for it would be too difficult and take too much time to figure out which religion was the true one, and just focus on the angels. Angels came in all sorts of shapes, wings, weapons, and duties. Freak soaked up them all. And with angels came demons. Freak reasoned that those two were like night and day. You couldn’t have one without the other. He also noticed that demons were seen even more than angels! That had to mean that there were more demons. Which meant that the reason his angel hadn’t come gotten him yet was because she was super busy! Because angels didn’t just help people at their darkest hour, angels also fought demons. Freak hoped that his angel eventually had time, when she was done fighting for a little while and all the non-freaks were taken care of, to come rescue him. That he would one day see that pretty lady’s smile in reality instead of out of a window or in his memories. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++
(Trigger warning: implied underage rape)

Freak came home from school one day to find his uncle pissing drunk. Freak listened and, hearing nothing in the rest of the house, remembered it was Petunia’s Ladies Night Out. On those days, Dudley had permission to stay over at his best friend’s Piers Polkiss’, whose mother was usually too busy to go to the Ladies Night Out. Which meant that Freak would be alone in the house with a drunk Vernon; something that had never happened before. Freak didn’t remember any rules that would apply in this situation except for the usual one: obey. With that in mind, he went ahead and did his usual daily chores of weeding, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, and making dinner. The meal finished and served on the table, Freak hesitantly moved to his lightly snoozing relative. “Uncle Vernon? There’s steak and eggs.” At the mention of food, the man darted awake with a snort. Bleary eyes took a couple of seconds to focus on his nephew. When they did, Freak trembled at the absolute rage he saw there. “YOU! I almost got sacked because of you!” Vernon screamed. His meaty paw darted out to grab the boy and shook him so hard that Freak had a difficult time focusing since nothing seemed to hold still. “It’s all your fault!” Another yell. The hand that wasn’t holding Freak went to unbuckle the belt. Freak shook, knowing what was coming. It had happened before. Freak held his breath as much as he could, choking back pain-filled cries. The beating seemed to go on forever, until he could no longer hold himself back. He began to scream. “Don’t you dare boy! Shut your mouth!” Freak tried to obey, knowing it would only be worse if he didn’t, but he had lost count of how many times he had been struck with the buckle-end. He could feel blood running down his back. Knew that his shirt was in tatters. “Shut UP! Or I’ll give you something to scream about!” Freak’s teeth clacked together as he used all his willpower to do as bid… It wasn’t enough. Another three strokes and he once again began to scream. “That’s it freak! I’ve had enough of you!” When the belt ceased its assault, Freak collapsed onto the floor in relief, his torso laying in his own blood, which he knew he’d have to clean up later. It was over… Wait. What was Uncle doing? Freak felt Vernon position him back onto his knees, though his chest was left on the floor, and his pants were ripped off his body. The PAIN, as if he were being ripped in two, was enough that his mind could no longer handle it and he blacked out. His eyes blinked open to the darkness of his cupboard. His body ached in places he didn’t know were possible. His back was on fire, but nothing compared to his bum. There in the meager light filtering in from the slats, Freak silently cried. He had read lots of books. He knew what his uncle had done. Fat tears fell as he wrapped his arms around his knees. 
(end trigger warning)

His heart screamed as never before, yelling wordlessly into the dark expanse of his mind, though no sound escaped his lips. Wasn’t his angel supposed to save him? Would his angel even want to, now that his uncle had done…that? Freak threw the thought out into the unworldly inky blackness that only his mind’s eye had ever seen. He screamed as loudly as he could, putting all of the pain, shame, and sorrow into the sound that he could never voice aloud. He screamed for long moments, a seemingly unending noise of relentless agony. Finally, his mind quieted into a false calm where thought abandoned him. It was in this drifting silence that he felt…something. Something in the black abyss that wasn’t him. Someone maybe? Had his angel finally come? *Please. I know you’re really busy with more important people…people who aren’t freaks…but I’ve waited so long. Please?* his mind called into the darkness. He somehow sensed that the someone knew he was there, heard his heart-felt plea. Long, long minutes and he was about to give up hope - that his angel was still too busy with normal people and killing demons - when suddenly, between one breath and the next, there was a lady right there in front of him! She was beautiful! Short white-gold hair crowned deep sapphire eyes staring at him, through him. She had a small white spiral horn in the middle of her forehead. Her only semblance of modesty a fuzzy white fur covered her nude form all the way down to two dainty hooves. Her blue-blue orbs roamed his body, seeing all his injuries, seeming to stare into him. Seeing things no one had ever bothered to look for before. Finally, they met his eyes again, a decision made. *Hello, little one.* Freak felt tears pour down his cheeks in relief as his angel finally came for him. *Are you going to take me away now?* *Would you like me to?* her voice was velvet-covered midnight, yet gentle. He nodded so fast and vigorously it pulled his barely-healing back. She gave him a soft smile and held out her hand, careful not to scratch him with the wickedly sharp black claws tipping her fingers. *Then I will take you to my home…* She used the back of one finger to brush a sweat-coated wisp of hair away from his forehead. *You do not ever have to return, if you do not desire. I promise.*
 
The little seven-year-old gazed at her adoringly. *Can I stay with you forever?* Her smile grew wider as she began to guide them both back to her own realm. *Yes.* +++++BJT++HP++BJT++++++++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
II) Missing
 Mrs. Figg was concerned. She hadn’t seen little Harry in almost a month. She usually saw him weeding the flower bed, since the boy, even at such a young age, seemed to love to garden. His seventh birthday was coming up. It was prime time for weeding, watering, and trimming the grass. Why hadn’t she seen him? Running her hands through the fur of one of her prized Kneazles, a habit gained from loving to hear them purr and it helped her think things through properly, she finally made a decision. Someone needed to check out where such an actively outdoor child could be. If he had been grounded for some bad behavior, then the punishment should have ended long before now. A month was too much time for anything a six-year-old could have possibly done! Getting to her knees, she tossed green Floo powder into the fireplace and yelled precisely, “Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts!” She didn’t like Flooing of any variety, much preferring owl-post, but this could be an emergency. After all, little boys didn’t just disappear for no reason! “Arabella? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’s head asked congenially, eyes twinkling merrily even through the fire. Along with his job as Headmaster of Hogwarts for the last several decades, approaching on half a century, he also held the titles of Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards.  With so many proverbial hats to wear, the art of politics was one he had perfected and honed his skill with each interaction until it had become a habit. Mrs. Figg blushed slightly at what she interpreted to be genuine pleasure in the Headmaster’s words and smile. She had always liked the man, even when she was younger, and some of her more esoteric fantasies involved him kissing her breathless before sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away to a comfortable bed for a night of heated lovemaking. They weren’t that far away in age after all! It could happen; even if, for the moment, it still only occurred in her dreams. However, she had a different message to send, and a very concerning one at that. So, she mentally shook off the reminder of her one-sided ruminations, and frowned. “Albus,” she always addressed him as such, ever since she had officially graduated from the school and he gave her leave to do so; she hoped it would one day remind him that she was an adult and thus ready for any personal liaisons that he’d care to discuss. Or perhaps just grab her by her shoulders, push her against the nearest surface, and snog her senseless. “I’m worried about little Harry. I haven’t seen him in almost a month.” Dumbledore’s seemingly expressive eyes dimmed slightly at the news, pondering the implications. “Have you been over to ask about the boy?” “No. The Dursley’s don’t like it when I pop by. I was hoping you could come check on him?” That it would give her a chance to admire the man’s physical form, even covered up by robes, was not a factor of her request. At all. Of course not. Such would be considered improper. Albus nodded slightly, “Arabella,” she shivered a bit at the inflection he always put in her name, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. “However, it’ll be good exercise for me. Ease back and I’ll step through.” She immediately pulled her head out of the fire, took one step to the left, and waited for the Headmaster to come through her fireplace. A shiver of eager anticipation went down her spine at the thought that the man would be in her house! In her living room! With a small pulse of green flames, her desire was granted as the Supreme Mugwump appeared in the (outwardly) perfectly ordinary home of one Arabella Figg. He had on one of his everyday robes, a pale, pale blue with zooming golden dots dancing the polka, with a pointed wizard’s hat to match perched atop his esteemed head. His long beard was hanging, making one wonder if it might ever grow long enough to tuck into a belt or possibly trip over. In short, he was the epitome of a walking, talking Dursley nightmare. With a twinkling smile and wink to Arabella—who was quite proud at her ability to control herself at such a wonderful man winking at her and pondering what such an action could possibly mean for her future, both immediate and long-term—the elderly, yet still spry, old man made his way out of the squib’s home and across the street. He didn’t voice any objection to Arabella following him, however based on her previous words about the family he also wasn’t surprised when she refrained from joining him. Thus he was alone when he gave a perfunctory knock on the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. He frowned slightly as he let his magic probe the blood wards surrounding the property and found them… Well, he wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. They were present; yet at the same time they were not nearly what they should have been. So Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not in the best of possible moods, thinking as he was about what could have caused the blood wards to feel as they did, when Vernon Dursley opened the door. The incredibly large man saw who was present, his face went a shade of puce that was almost impressive, before he abruptly slammed the door; again without greeting nor letting the Headmaster into his home. The Chancellor of the ICW frowned slightly at the reaction, but he had dealt with difficult people many times before and the expression smoothed away almost instantly. Instead, he calmly pulled out his wand and knocked a second time. When all he received was a shout of “Go away you freak!” through the door, Albus flicked his wand and the door unlocked and opened seemingly on its own, allowing him to step over the threshold easily. Another flick and the door closed. “Good evening, Mr. Dursley. Mrs. Dursley. I’m here to inquire about your nephew.” Albus maintained his polite courtesy, even at the interesting shade of red-purple Vernon Dursley was working himself into. “You need to leave now! Before I call the police!” Vernon shouted angrily, gesticulating with one imperious finger toward the door. “Mr. Dursley, I’m sure the police don’t need to be bothered for such a simple matter.” The Supreme Mugwump had observed the knick-knacks on the coffee table, the pictures on the mantle, the seemingly random items strewn on a bookcase as soon as he’d entered and had drawn the correct conclusion about the couple’s societal priorities. He looked up to Petunia, “After all, what would your neighbors think if the police were to take such an interest in your home?” It was a threat-- though it certainly wouldn’t have sound like one with his cheery tone and twinkling eyes--and the couple took it as such. “Now don’t you threaten me, you godless abomination!” “There’s no need for name calling, Mr. Dursley. I simply wish to speak with your nephew. Is that such an extraordinary request?” Petunia finally found it within herself to speak. Her tone was tight and angry. “He’s not here.” Dumbledore stiffened slightly. Anyone who knew the man well – few though there were-- would have understood the warning in the normally energetic man’s sudden change of posture. “I’m sure I misheard you. Old age, you know. Where is Harry Potter?” “He’s not here!” she yelled at him. All pretense of being a kind old man vanished, leaving the man that had vanquished a Dark Lord. “What happened?” His voice was cold and hard, his eyes sharp like ice as he pierced the pair with his gaze alone. “You people just drop him on our doorstep with only a letter and expect us to take care of the freak? Well, we did take care of him and damn ungrateful freak he was too! Now that he finally vanished, we were grateful your kind finally took him back!” She pointed to the door. “Now get out of my home! I won’t stand for it! You freaks telling me how to run my home and probably putting ideas in my poor son’s head. I won’t stand it! Never again! Get OUT!” Arabella Figg heard the soft ‘pop’ of displaced air as Dumbledore apparated into her living room. “Well?” she asked hopefully, hands tightening on the Kneazle in her lap, prompting a soft yowl and clawed protest. Albus shook his head. “You were right, Arabella.” The delighted shiver down her spine at her name was instantly overshadowed by cold horrific dread as he continued. “I’m afraid that Harry Potter is missing.” +++++BJT++BJT++BJT++++++++++BJT++BJT++BJT++++++++++BJT++BJT++BJT+++++ 
III) Adoption

It took a single look. One glance to convince Saetan that his services as executioner would be needed. The bed almost engulfed the small frame held in a deep healing sleep. The daughter of his soul sat in a chair beside the boy, her melodious singing directing the healing web. The tiny body reminded Saetan of other small boys, his precious sons. Full of happy firey energy, yet both taken from him in the space of a month. Sons taken, beaten, brutalized, and enslaved at the age of seven. Sons he hadn’t seen in almost 1700 years. Now here was his daughter, his Queen, crooning to another small boy. A boy brutalized and beaten. This boy, Saetan could help. “Who is he, witch-child?” Jaenelle Angelline looked up at her adopted father. A man who took care of a brutalized, beaten, and raped girl all those years ago. Now here was another child and she knew he would do it all again, willingly and without being asked. Instead, she knew another destiny for this little boy. “Just as I am the daughter of your soul…he is the son of mine.” +++++BJT+++++ 
IV) What’s in a Name?
 Eyes that mirrored a deep Green Jewel blinked awake, confused. Those orbs looked around and lit upon the form of his daughter, only to stick there. Adoration joined confusion. “Lady?” the child asked, his voice a bare whisper of sound. Jaenelle smiled at him and echoed her first words, “Hello, little one.” A brilliant smile answered her and Saetan’s heart lightened, knowing the boy was not yet broken beyond repair. “What’s your name, little one?” “Freak.” The temperature plummeted, ice frosting across the glass. “Who called you that, young one?” Saetan crooned gently. Those eyes didn’t understand the severity of the situation. Was not yet old enough for his caste to assert itself. To the boy, it was not a Warlord Prince asking, but an adult male. He didn’t grasp the tone’s meaning. “My aunt and uncle, sir.” “Papa,” Jaenelle shook her head at him. Saetan reined in his temper with a noticeable growl, “Your will is my life.” He knew she would explain later. He hoped she would explain later. She was going to explain later! Jaenelle turned back to the boy, “Did anyone ever call you a different name?” “The teachers at school said my name was Harry.” It was clear in the boy’s tone that he hadn’t believed the instructors, having gotten reinforcement at home of his original ‘name’. “Hmmm…” Jaenelle fluffed her hair as she thought. “You look more like a Hadrian to me.” Green eyes widened in shocked amazement, “I can have a real name?” More ice crept along the window panes. This time, it was not Saetan’s. However, Jaenelle’s voice showed none of her cold rage. “Yes, little one. If you would like, you can have my last name of Angelline, or I’m certain my papa would let you use his surname of SaDiablo if you prefer. My…intended’s last name of Sadi could also be yours. What would you like?” Those eyes just got wider with every offering. His whisper, when it came, was worshipful, “I can have your name?” Jaenelle’s smile finally reached her eyes and the frost began to melt. “Yes, little one. You can have my name. What about for your new first name?” The boy bit his lip as he thought. It was a hard decision! Yet, at the same time, easy. His angel had said Hadrian suited him, so Hadrian he would be. Though… He looked up at her, “Can the spelling of my name be more like yours and Papa Saetan’s and Daddy Daemon’s?” Her smile widened and nodded encouragingly. “You’re to be Haedrian Angelline then?” His voice once again was reverent, “Oh, yes please.” +++++BJT+++++ 
V) Lost History
 The Keep. Ebon Askavi. The Black Mountain. The Lair of Witch. The Seat of the Blood in all the Realms. Containing all of the records for all the Realms. Usually, only historians or those seeking sanctuary came to the Keep. Its dark power repelled most. To Jaenelle Angelline, it was home. She was Witch. Dreams made flesh. A living creation spun from hundreds of thousands of dreamers from dozens of races, Blood and kindred alike. She was Witch unlike any other before her (because there had been Witches before her; other living dreams spun from dreamers). She had been a wish of the land as much as she had been a dream of the peoples. She had been in the process of dreaming for tens of thousands of years. Jaenelle knew all this. She was the daughter of Saetan’s soul, destined to love his mirror, guarded by the brother. The fourth side, the center, of a Blood triangle over 50,000 years in the making. She was also spun from dreams of Draca and Lorn, the creators of the Blood races. The kindred, all kindred, had dreamed so very fiercely and in a purer form than the humanoid races. Which is why in her true form, Jaenelle sported soft white-blonde fur, dainty hooves, a small unicorn horn in the middle of her forehead, and the claws of a cat. Able to wield all the Jewels upon her Birthright Ceremony, along with 13 Black Jewels. She hadn’t understood, at seven years of age, just how extraordinary…how different…she was from those around her. She had been able to travel the Realms with an ease that frightened even Saetan. To her eyes, given knowledge from dozens of races for tens of thousands of years, the realms were connected in ways others couldn’t see. She could see connections they didn’t comprehend. She’d understood the intricate dance of Protocol from her first breath and followed the Old Ways more closely than even Saetan knew. As she had grown older, she had learned how…freakish…her view of the realms, of Craft, of Blood, made her seem to others. The consequences of her so-called ‘sick’ nature being ‘treated’ in Briarwood had been devastating to more than one Territory in the end. When little Haedrian had named himself Freak, all those memories spun back to her, igniting a fierce cold rage she had thought burned out long ago. “Lady?” Draca asked quizzically. The prime Blood matriarch had been playing at being the Keep’s Seneschal for time immemorial. Jaenelle jerked her thoughts away from her own past. Now was not the time. “Draca, is…” she trailed off in her question. The truth was that, when little Haedrian’s scream into the Darkness had drawn her, she had always meant to ask the Seneschal this question. She had always felt another web beyond Hell—such a very long distance in comparison to Kaeleer’s or Terrielle’s webs she could barely feel their existence and nothing else, not even a feel for its health—but there had never been a call from it, so she had never felt the need to venture so far until Haedrian. Now however, the occasion again reminded her of a long-thought question. For Jaenelle had the dreams of tens of thousands in creation, all of whom lived, or had lived, in the three Realms. Had the memories and wishes of hundreds of thousands of dreams. Yet she still felt at least one web beyond Hell… “Draca, has a Realm ever been…forgotten?” She couldn’t think of a better word. She felt as the dragon stiffened minutely, then gave a great heaving sigh of resignation. “More than one, Lady.” Jaenelle’s eyes widened. More than one? “What…?” Draca held up a hand to stop her. “Come. Thisss iss not a disscusssion to be had here,” her sibilant voice said with a hard edge. Usually, even Draca and Lorn deferred to Jaenelle’s wisdom and edicts. In this, Jaenelle felt that this was not a topic she could move either dragon. So, she fell silent and followed the Seneschal. In a chamber deep underneath the Black Mountain was a dragon so large that, if he had so wished, he could have easily chomped on ten men with one bite. Just Lorn’s head was visible in the atrium, for that was the only part of him that would fit inside the large cave antechamber of the Dark Court. His scales, as small as her palm to as large as her body itself, were iridescent. As if in a single scale could dwell any Jewel’s strength or rank for male or female Blood. Which was true. The Jewels of the Blood in all Realms came from Lorn’s scales. Jewels were the focus and reservoir of power for the Blood. Much Craft would be impossible without them. “Sshe assksss of the Lossst Realmsss.” Draca’s voice hissed loudly through the darkness, echoing slightly. Lorn opened his large eyes, as big as Jaenelle’s head, and shifted to look at both women. His psychic scent telegraphed to Witch just how sad the statement made him. *We knew this day would come, my Queen.* Draca bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. In her movements, she had crossed the room to stand next to Lorn. A single motion placed her hand on his snout, which he nudged gently. The love of the couple was obvious, despite the millennia or the disparity in their physical forms. Jaenelle looked closer and noted that the gesture was also conciliatory. Comforting. Her eyes shifted to Draca and it was in that moment of vulnerability that Witch could finally see the intense pain Draca had been hiding. Mother Night! How long had the dragon been holding such agony? “Draca?” she asked with more than a hint of concern. “It isss painful to remember,” the Queen of all Blood intoned. After a brief pause, she said, “If one doesss not learn from the passst, one may live long enough to ssee mistakesss reoccur.” Jaenelle blinked. *The Keep was created in part to hold the history of all the Blood races. To learn from past mistakes.* Lorn’s deep voice explained. The Keep was created…? What a phrase! Jaenelle knew of Draca and Lorn. They had been very intense dreamers…but whatever this was, a story long forgotten by all but two, it had been kept from even her. Saetan SaDiablo was a Guardian, one of the living dead. He had seen over fifty thousand years. Geoffrey was also a Guardian, the Keep’s historian/librarian, and was so old that even he had forgotten his age. (He’d actually said that he’d lost count several times, which was a bit mind-boggling if one thought about it long enough.) Yet Draca and Lorn were even older. They were already old when the dragon couple had founded Blood society and culture.   “How long?” Witch asked, settling herself on her Dark Throne to watch the couple. *Far beyond counting. Not even Geoffrey was alive when these events began the first time.* Lorn began his tale. Draca was silent, letting him comfort her through the memories. Her pain. Her failure. *You know the beginning of the story. The land needed caretakers. We dragons were dying out, myself and my Queen the only ones left. After weaving a tangled web, my Queen finally found a solution: dispensing our power to the lesser races. She shed her scales willingly as she flew through the sky one last time in every Realm, bestowing power upon all those that felt their touch.* Jaenelle nodded; she knew this part. *Thus the Blood were created to be caretakers for the land.* Lorn continued, *In every Realm…of which there were five.* Jaenelle sat a little straighter in her throne at the admission. She also heard Draca give a small moan of anguish. If the cave hadn’t been designed to enhance and echo even the tiniest sound, Jaenelle doubted she would have heard. *I have often wondered if, once, there were even more. So many things in Blood and Craft come in 13. That rule has been true for longer than even we have been alive. Thus only 5 Realms has always left me speculative.* The great dragon admitted thoughtfully. An absent idea long held in contemplation. *Terrielle. Kaeleer. Hell. Vhorm. Gian. Each with kindred races as well as humanoid that became Blood. Each with unique races found only within themselves. The same layout for each, layered upon each other.* Jaenelle nodded again. To her eyes, the difference between Terrielle, Kaeleer, and Hell was as simple as one web of power on top of another. Which is how she ‘jumped’ so easily when she was younger and had yet to learn about the traditional method of travel. She was also one of very few capable of jumping from Terrielle to Hell anywhere. *As time passed, Blood society developed with our guidance until we felt we could step back. We were confident they could continue without us. After all, how will a child fully develop wisdom under their parents’ scrutiny? *We were content to become a legend. Only interacting with the odd Blood male or female that stumbled upon us. Until we began to feel uneasy.* Lorn blinked at Jaenelle. *It had begun so slowly, gradually increasing in creeping steps, that we didn’t realize what we felt until the cry cut off so abruptly, we knew it only in its absence. Until it had gone so far that it could no longer be fixed.* He fell silent. His psychic scent full of regret. “The land had been ssscreaming,” Draca said. Witch’s mouth dropped open for a moment before she closed it, closed her eyes at even the idea of such an atrocity. They’d had no reference point for understanding the sensation. It made a terrible logic that made her sick to her stomach. The Blood were created to guard and protect the land. And the land had been screaming… Witch had always felt the land. Felt it in every Realm simultaneously (though the further away she was, the quieter her awareness). She knew, had always known, that Terrielle’s land was aching under the strain of negligent Blood. For under Dorothea and Hekatah’s guidance, the Blood in Terrielle had forgotten the Old Ways. Forgotten how to feel and care for the land. There were parts of Terrielle so drained that it made Witch weep in sadness, for she knew that it was too extensive for even she, the most powerful Blood Queen to ever live, to fix in a single lifetime. Kaeleer, where the Old Ways were still followed in every Territory, the land prospered and Witch felt hope that all was not lost. Even still, in all her travels, Witch had never felt the land scream. She already knew she never wanted to experience such devastation…or what could cause it. *We left immediately to investigate. It took several days to discover the events that led up to such…obliteration. So many days to find even a single survivor to glean what had occurred in our absence.* Lorn sighed. *Hekatah is not the first to have high ambitions and dark enough power to manipulate herself into a position to control others, even though it is not in a Priestess’s nature to control or feel the land. The first…I will not speak her name. *She was an Ebon-gray Healer and Black Widow. She rose fast and manipulated her way into key positions. Within a single generation, she had control of the entire Realm of Vhorm. *As those that were able fled through the Gates to the nearest Realm, Gian, so too came the taint of her ideas and machinations. However, Gian was much like Kaeleer. It held fast to the Old Ways of the Blood and refused to bow to her power.* Such a heavy weighted silence. “There wasss war,” Draca picked up the story as Lorn seemed unwilling to continue. War between the Realms? It was what had almost occurred over 50,000 years ago, back when Saetan had first become a Guardian. He had annihilated half the Terriellean army before it could reach Kaeleer. (A fact she didn’t think he wanted her to know, thus she kept silent.) The other half had Andulvar and Saetan’s sons, Mephis and Peyton, walk off the killing field as demon dead. A war between the Realms was something Jaenelle had sworn would never occur if she could prevent it. She knew that her papa would step onto the killing field, as all her family would, but she also knew that not all of them would step off. The mere idea sent spikes of rage and terror down her spine. She would prevent a war between Terrielle and Kaeleer…at any cost, even her life… Lorn jerked her out of her reaffirming oath, *The killing field didn’t stay in one place and it didn’t stop with the Blood or the Courts. The entire land was coated with the blood of the tainted and un-tainted alike. Such devastation! In the end, there were no survivors. Or rather, no Blood survivors. When the ruling Blood of Vhorm had been wiped out, the Gian Courts tried to take over and re-teach the values they prized. The landens, fearing more oppression, began to fight them. Another war began.* Jaenelle was just listening at this point. She was hearing a mixture of events she had seen in some of the most distant-seeing tangled webs, but to a terrible outcome than she’d ever imagined. *When we arrived, Vhorm was soaked in the blood of hundreds of thousands. The few that remained were scattered, having fled the field of battle. There were no Blood left. The land had been screaming and had only fallen silent when it had no more strength. That had been our initial unease. We realized too late. When we arrived, the land of Vhorm was depleted, desolate. *Gian was better, but not by much. The land still held a few Blood. Enough to guide and protect what was left. However, they wanted nothing to do with any other Realm. No more trade or politics. They unanimously requested to be cut off completely from all other Realms. *We agreed.* Lorn said simply. Jaenelle could sense the story was almost at an end. *We removed the knowledge of how to light the candles to open the Gates to either Gian or Vhorm. Both Realms became a legend that then faded from all memory or record. Not long afterward, we decided to build the Keep in every Realm. A stronghold of knowledge and history. A reservoir of power, should it ever again be needed.* “Never again will we withdraw completely,” Draca re-swore an age-unknown oath. Never again. Jaenelle was silent as the story finished and she dwelt in her own thoughts. Then, “In which Realm was Haedrian born?” *Based on how much power you used to reach him, Vhorm is most likely. It’s the closest.* There were more questions that came from the story, but Jaenelle thought she was done for now. She needed time to contemplate the implications of this hidden past. The air grew still, except for the slight wind created by Lorn’s massive lungs, as she stared into the darkness around her, pondering what could—and should—be done. +++++BJT+++++ Before she left the Keep, Jaenelle made sure the Haedrian Angelline was added to the Registry in every Realm. The adopted child of Jaenelle Angelline and Daemon Sadi. It was noted that his birth parents were deceased with no other living relatives. A detail that would soon be true… +++++BJT+++++ 
VI) Justice
 Saetan lit the candles in the precise order, waited for the Gate to turn to mist, then stepped through. He drew a deep breath, noting that the land felt slightly odd; it wasn’t drained, but it wasn’t thriving either. But that was somewhat expected, given what Witch had explained of Vhorm’s past. In deference to a long ago promise, he was only travelling to Vhorm for a single purpose before he would return to SaDiablo Hall and leave the Realm to its own devices. No politics or trade would transpire, as sworn. Only justice. The High Lord of Hell called the web Witch had designed, activating it with a drop of the Black and a vial of his new grandson’s blood. Even going so far as to test it on herself, ensuring it would work over long distances. She explained it was like a lighthouse in the darkness, drawing him to a single point that she designated: Haedrian’s blood relatives. His smile would have terrified any who witnessed it, if any had been around to see. As it was, only birds chirped in the gloaming as he walked down a hill, caught the nearest web, and vanished. When he arrived at him destination, which didn’t take as long as he was anticipating, he was surprised at the cookie-cutter houses lined right upon themselves. Yards with barely enough space for a garden. Every house looking exactly like the one beside it. He sneered at the sight, but pushed the feeling away. Now was not the time. He followed the web beacon to a house only one down on the right, with a large 4. Deactivating and vanishing the web, the Executioner knocked. A tall, overly skinny woman with a face vaguely equine—he would not call it horse-shaped, as he had met many horses far more gentle and graceful than this disgusting individual—matched Haedrian’s description of his blood aunt. “Can I help you?” Behind her, a male so incredibly large it was a wonder the chair had not broken beneath him. The Executioner smile that terrifying smile, “Indeed, Dursley.” Her knees went weak at that smile and she fell backward, desperately trying to crawl away. His Red ring flashed as he put up a shield around the house, preventing any escape or rescue. “I have come to dispense justice.” “W-w-we haven’t done anything!” the whale stuttered, already having wet himself in terror. “Nothing?” Saetan crooned. He watched the couple for several seconds, letting the pair feel his overwhelming power bear down on them—just as they had done to Haedrian—then walked a short distance to a small door under the staircase. Pulling it open, he peered down at the small pile of dirty, torn blankets. The smell of dirt, unwashed body, spoiled food… and blood. A small collection of broken toys, pushed so far under the stairs that if he hadn’t known to look, Saetan would have missed them; which had been the point. He vanished them, just in case Haedrian wanted to keep them, especially the well-loved brown-grey rabbit that had lost half its stuffing, two limbs, and an ear. “Nothing?” he crooned again. “He was a freak! He didn’t deserve anything!” the whale yelled in his defense. The woman wasn’t better, “Dropped on our doorstep like the trash he was. What were we supposed to do?” “Stamped the freak out of him every chance we got!” “I see,” Saetan nodded. He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. They cringed back from him, hugging the wall at the sight of that smile. Their legs didn’t have enough strength to support them, not that they could have gotten far. “How long was he in your care?” it was almost conversational. “Five years, the miserable freak,” the whale spat. The Executioner, the High Lord of Hell, tilted his head. His smile so incredibly pleasant that it was sharper than glass. “So be it.” “What?” The Red Jewel in his torc flashed as he set up the spells that both he, Jaenelle, and Lucifar had agreed upon were fitting justice. Black shields came up around the house in layers of complexity, weaving in and through each other until it would take Witch herself to tear them down. Webs activated, weaving their craft around the two Dursleys like extra layers of skin. The Executioner finished his task, gazing upon the doomed landens. “You starved, beat, raped, and enslaved a child for five years. Every wound, every insult, every violation that you met upon him will be returned to you fivefold.” His teeth glint, his smile was sharp, “You tortured him for five long years. It will take you five long years in which to die.” He paused as he looked at them. They didn’t understand yet the spells he’d weaved. “To my lasting misfortune, I will not see you again,” the High Lord of Hell said before walking away. +++++BJT+++++ A couple hours later, an overweight seven-year-old boy was found wandering down a road in a daze. He had no memory. When asked, he could only say his name was Freak, remembering nothing else. No one ever came to claim him. (Over a period of many years, the boy—who was adopted by a nice family six years after he’d been found—was able to lose weight under the enduring bullying of other foster children and the wandering eye of the caretakers. He studied hard, learned well that a library was a good hiding spot, and eventually became an advocate for foster-care reform, championing other misplaced and mistreated children.) Dudley Dursley, Petunia Dursley, and Vernon Dursley vanished from all records. Number Four Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey, was condemned within a week. The local community told anyone that would listen that it was haunted, as proven by the screams you could sometimes hear, if the wind blew just right. A dark, oppressive aura was so heavy that only the most strong-willed could approach the door. No one ever entered. +++++BJT+++++ 
VII) Birthright
 “Are you worried about today?” Marian asked gently. “I don’t care what Jewel he wears. None of us do. But we all know that it won’t be as dark as the most of the family, and I don’t want him to think himself as ‘less’,” Lucivar grumbled, reining in his terror of a son, Daemonar, with one arm. “Jaenelle knows—” Marian laughed, “Of course Jaenelle knows.” “—but she won’t say.” His wife patted him on the shoulder in a show of comfort, though her eyes were laughing at him, even if there was a serious set to her. “We have spent the last few months doing our best for that boy. He knows how much he’s loved, even if he forgets every now and then.” Her wings flexed in the sunlight as she contemplated him. “He isn’t ‘less’…and if it takes telling him that every day for the next decade until he believes it, then that’s what we’ll do.” She took a breath, looking down at their rambunctious son with a maternal smile, then back up at her beloved husband. “He’ll wear the Jewels he wears. No one can change it. As an uncle, and a father, it’s your job to teach them how to live up to their own potential. Instead of trying to match up to someone else—including us.” Lucivar studied his wife, then drew her in for a deep kiss. “You are so much smarter than me.” She laughed, genuinely now, “And don’t you forget it!” She pulled her son up into her arms as she noticed the first child coming out with his new Jewel. “Oh,” she grinned warmly, “he’s got a Rose.” The next child in line, a girl, went into the Sanctuary with her chosen witness while the boy stood beside his mother, who proceeded with the formal granting of paternity. Another child went in, and another man was granted legal rights to the child he had made. Saetan called in chairs for the women and children and a blanket for the younger children to sit on the ground and play without their mother’s complaining about them getting dirty. A deck of cards came out as well, the older children beginning a game of hawks and hares. Andulvar called in a jug of water, while Mephis called in glasses, and Peyton began to go around with the proffered tray. The entire SaDiablo and Yaslana families were here in support of little Haedrian.  Andulvar, Marian, Lucivar, Prothvar, and Daemonar. Saetan, Mephis, and Peyton. Tersa, who was Daemon’s mother. Surreal and Rainier. Jaenelle’s dark power overhanging the Sanctuary so that the demon dead attending suffered no ill effects. Surreal wandered over with a wineglass of yarbarah and shoved it into his hands. “He’s at the end of the line,” she groused. “We’ll be here all day.” Saetan nodded, but it was with a resigned smile. After all, he’d been through this Ceremony five times with his own children as well as Andulvar’s son, Prothvar. “She is the Lady, Witch, and he is her Kit. I am the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, as well as the High Lord of Hell. There was no possible way it would be a private Ceremony, even if the eaves were filled with droppers.” She snorted laughter, “As if you couldn’t keep them out.” “Not for this,” he intoned solemnly. “I didn’t want Haedrian to think he was being hidden away.” Surreal sobered instantly, nodding her agreement. She looked over at the nervous boy who just that morning had been terrified of getting his clothes dirty, that the Priestess wouldn’t let him in. It had been one of his bad attacks, one of those that only Jaenelle could calm. In almost a whisper, Surreal prompted, “Did you—?” “The debt will be paid in full,” he answered in the same tone, “in five years.” When understanding dawned, her smile was wickedly sharp, “Good.” He nodded to the Queens standing to the side, “Besides, if nothing else, as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, all the Province Queens would come to see the second half of the Ceremony for themselves.” After three hours—over a dozen children were going through their Birthright today—all the water, snacks, and yarbarah had been polished off. The children were whiny and restless, as were most of the adults, and Andulvar, Prothvar, and Lucivar looked ready to call in their bladed stick to slice through the onlookers, sick of the speculative glances and whispers. Finally, it was little Haedrian’s turn. Saetan held out his hand, palm side down, for Jaenelle to place her hand over his, standing on her left as she was the dominant power. They walked up to the Sanctuary, where the Priestess waited for them. The Priestess looked at Haedrian, “Who will stand as your witness?” They had talked about the Ceremony extensively until the boy was able to recite the steps from memory. But while they had all coached him on what to do at what time, none of them had told him which person to select. It was a hard choice; seen as the first decision of a child’s life. The first stepping-stone of maturity. Little Haedrian looked between his grandfather and his mother, biting his lip, his eyes filled with a helpless desperation. However, it was his choice, and no one would choose for him. Finally, he came to a decision, and looked at Saetan. Jaenelle smiled encouragingly. “Good choice,” she whispered low enough that no one but the four of them heard her. He smiled back, relieved that he hadn’t made her angry. Instead, his grandfather took him by the hand and the pair followed the Priestess to the room where his Birthright strength would be acknowledged and made apparent by the Jewel that would be both warning and reservoir for the power he wielded. Lucivar noticed his sister’s change of mood, and asked, “Why didn’t he pick you?” It was no secret that the boy worshiped the ground his mother walked upon. Jaenelle’s smile tinged with understanding and sadness as she watched her son and father disappear. “He didn’t want me to be disappointed if he didn’t get a Jewel.” Couldn’t stand the idea of being rejected, not that any of the family ever would, but Haedrian was still learning that their love and acceptance was unconditional. +++++BJT+++++ Five tense minutes passed when little Haedrian held up his new uncut Blood Opal Jewel hesitantly. “It’s not like yours or Mommy’s,” he said sadly. “It’s white with only stripes of red.” His eyes fixed on Saetan’s thumb ring which held a chip of his own Birthright Red. “And Mommy told me Daddy Daemon’s is Black too, like yours.” “Jewels only measure one kind of strength,” Saetan intoned in his deep timbre. “The strength of your character means much more than the color of your Jewel.” Ignoring his knees, he crouched down on one knee to look the boy more fully in the eye. “You have already been through more than most anyone you will ever meet, little Haedrian. The strength of your heart will match any Jewel.” Such was the strength of his tone, that conviction was transferred to the boy. So that, when they walked out of the Sanctuary, he held up his Blood Opal with hesitant pride, but pride nonetheless. Jaenelle beemed at him, which also imbued him with strength as she came forward and Saetan took several steps backward. “Come here, Haedrian,” she said kindly. Again, this was the second part of the Ceremony and they had coached him about what would happen. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked out at the crowd, but made sure that her eyes connected with none of those present. “I, Lady Jaenelle Angelline, acknowledge Prince Daemon Sadi as the father of Haedrian Angelline. I grant him all paternal rights from this day forward.” However, unlike with the other children, Daemon Sadi wasn’t present to receive the gift. Haedrian took two steps forward. Saetan SaDiablo also took two steps forward. As the father’s father, he would stand in for his son, until such time that Daemon joined them and could take over the role himself. Saetan wondered how his mirror would react when he finally realized that he didn’t just have a future wife waiting for him to get his ass in gear…but a son as well. +++++BJT++HP++BJT++++++++++BJT++HP++BJT++++++++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
VIII) Letters
(Five Years Later…) Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stared with barely concealed nervous anticipation as the automatic quill wrote the names and addresses of those students that would be attending the next school year. The quill went in year order, beginning with the seventh-year students. Thus, she had been anxiously waiting almost an hour for one particular letter as it ran through its enchantment. Though the content of each letter was dictated by the professor, headmaster, or deputy headmistress in her case, the envelope itself was generated by Hogwart’s magic. Finally, the names of each potential first year student and where they could be found began to be written. She watched, each passing second feeling like a small glimpse of eternity. One long-awaited letter demanded immediate attention. Being unable to get the automatic quill to write an address before the student was old enough to attend the school. It was a safety measure put into place centuries ago, which had made it impossible to track down one Harry Potter before the child was eleven. There was a knock on her office door, and she gave a short, sharp, “Come in!” Unsurprisingly, in walked the current headmaster, his eyes immediately finding the quill in front of her. “Minerva, I trust you are well.” “It will work, won’t it Albus?” she asked quietly, needing the reassurance. “Of course, Minerva. Harry’s name has been on the books since his first bout of accidental magic. Just like all British magical children.” He answered with a smile, but the observant could see a gleam of worry—years of failed tracking spells in the making—which relaxed as the automatic quill began to write one very special name. “See? What did I tell you?” However, as the quill kept penning the address, a frown began and deepened with each word. 
Mr. Harry Potter

Third Largest Bedroom on the Left in the Family Wing

SaDiablo Hall

Dhemlan

Kaeleer
 “Albus?” Minerva asked in dumbfounded confusion. She had never seen something even remotely like it; never heard of any city nor town called ‘Dhemlan’ nor country ‘Kaeleer’. “What is this, Albus?” Though in her years of teaching she had seen a second form of address in a few, extremely isolated, cases, she had never seen the rest. The silence was long enough she looked up at him from the envelope and was surprised at the equally puzzled expression she could see on his face. “I’m not sure. I’ve never heard of such a place.” After holding the transfiguration instructor position for several decades, then becoming headmaster, and afterwards being elected the Supreme Mugwump (and later Chancellor) of the International Council of Wizards, he had heard of most locations around the world. These were a mystery. Neither were familiar, nor did either sound even vaguely recognized. “Let’s deliver it,” he said abruptly. He motioned one of the school owls forward, spelling the creature with several locator charms one-handed as he held out the letter with the other. Only to be stymied as the owl just looked at the letter, looked back at him, back to the letter, back to him. At last the brown owl gave a very indignant hoot, shoved the envelope back with its beak, and picked up the next letter instead. “Well, that’s interesting.”  Albus muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Minerva was gob smacked. Literally; her mouth was slightly open in surprise for a second before she spoke. “I’ve never seen an owl do that.” “Neither have I.” His words shocked his deputy even more, if such was possible. Occasionally a student would have an accident and die before attending Hogwarts, but when that occurred the automatic quill skipped the student’s name entirely and their name would be stricken through in the main ledger to indicate death. Never had such a letter, fully addressed to a living student, been refused by an owl. Never in all the time he had been a professor or headmaster. Never in any historical accounts he could remember reading. He thought for several long moments, wondering what he could do, when the twinkle came back into his eyes. “Fawkes!” he called out. With a flash of red-orange-yellow fire, a beautiful phoenix appeared in the air above his head, then glided down to his shoulder. Peering at him quizzically sideways, one of the most magically powerful creatures that existed, gave a short chirp as if asking him what he needed. “Would you deliver this letter please?” Albus asked gently. He knew it was odd, but it was the best idea he could come up with and his familiar had never disappointed him before. The magical bird cocked its head in the opposite direction—rather like an owl could, Albus thought—before it looked at the letter still held in the Headmaster’s hand. Another chirp as the phoenix took the envelope into its beak, shook out its wings, leaped into the air, and a flash of flames signaled its departure. Albus mentally bemoaned the sad fact that there was no spell that could be laid upon a phoenix. Thus while Fawkes could—hopefully!—deliver the letter, he couldn’t spell her with even a single locator charm as he had the owl. He had no other choice but to wait for his return and the greatly anticipated reply. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
Dhemlan - Kaeleer
 That morning, before her husband rose for the day, an incredibly gifted Black Widow felt an urge to spin a tangled web of dreams and visions. She saw more than anyone else ever could. Her sapphire eyes drew together in a frown at the knowledge she gained and the questions that went unanswered. She fluffed her barely shoulder length blonde hair as she sat back and thought of what had already been and what may come. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ Jaenelle Angelline watched in proud amusement as her adopted son played Stalk and Pounce with one of the kitties. He had seen her play the game with Kaelas and Jaal when he was younger. The impression that it was an expected activity of an “angel’s son” stuck with him until he quickly discovered how much fun it was and proceeded to volunteer for the task. Even bringing up the game himself regularly, goading the cats into the task more often than not. As with all cats, the Arcerians were predators and playing prey games was essential to their ability to survive in the wild. Now that her son was older, he was playing the game with Kaelas’ youngest son, Kaelaski. (Not to be confused with his older, bigger brother, KaeAskavi, who already had a human kit to look after.) The kitten wasn’t quite fully grown yet, but the five-hundred-pound cat was working on it. Kaelas had finally stopped growing at the impressive weight of eight hundred pounds and still slept in Jaenelle’s bed, even after she married. Just as Kaelaski now warmed little Haedrian’s. To Jaenelle, who had been playing Stalk and Pounce since she was seven years old, this was nothing new. That her son played the game gave her a great deal of pride, since she knew it wasn’t considered normal by anyone who wasn’t herself or kindred, the Blood that lived among the animal species. Even the rest of the family—other than her brother Lucivar, but Lucivar was always an exception to such societal rules—considered the game dangerous and an invitation for injuries. Her current amusement was generated by watching her husband, who watched their son. Looking at Daemon Sadi was never a hardship. His thick black hair was disheveled from his fingers running through it while he contemplated the scene of boy and cat bouncing and pouncing around the inner courtyard. His customary white silk shirt had the top two buttons undone, giving her a wonderfully teasing view of toned muscles in a lovely golden brown hue, as all of the long-lived races held. She caught a flash of his Red Birthright Jewel that hung on a gold chain around his neck every once in awhile, when he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “He’s getting better,” Daemon commented softly to her, eyes still on the game. His deep, cultured voice always had a sexual edge that would make anyone’s pulse race. Though Jaenelle was the only one in all the realms that would see pleasure instead of pain if he was provoked. The man was far too beautiful to be called handsome, and his temper was very typical of his caste. Since he was one of only two men in the entire history of the Blood to wear a Black Jewel, he was as lethal as he was beautiful. And she loved every inch of him without measure or restraint. Jaenelle was fully aware of what Daemon was capable of if provoked—some others even lived to tell stories of such events, earning him the nickname ‘Sadist’—yet she never hesitated. Why would she? Even at his worst, he would never harm her. Sometimes it scared her how much she was in control of this deadly male. She knew that, if she asked, he would let her kill him if she told him it was necessary, and he’d never ask why. Lucivar, Daemon’s Eyrian half-brother, was the same way.  Some of the other boyos in the First Circle were too, but most of them would still ask why before laying down their lives. However, as powerful as Daemon was, he also knew when it was smart to yield. Which is why the newly-married man had never voiced a complaint about the eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat that slept in his wife’s bed. It had only taken a flexing of those considerable claws to silence any objection. Perhaps a rumbling growl as well. Which is why he found his wife’s and son’s seeming enjoyment of the task of playing with creatures that could literally bite them in two without any trouble absolutely baffling. Even knowing already that there was no situation where any kindred, Arcerian or not, would ever knowingly harm Jaenelle or Haedrian, Daemon was still baffled. But he couldn’t argue with the obvious enjoyment both wife and son took from the game, so he stood silent vigilance, lest a stray claw open anything larger than a scratch. Jaenelle herself watched her husband more than the game, finding his watchful wariness hilarious. She grinned as she drank her morning coffee, hiding the smile behind the mug. Her thoughts were jarred from their wanderings at the exhalation of a boy’s shocked surprise. Her eyes jerked back to the garden and its occupants. The white striped form of Kaelaski was standing in front of the eleven-year-old boy, fur fluffed menacingly as he showed his teeth in challenge to the newcomer. Haedrian had his twin knives—gifts from his Uncle Chaosti—in hand, body tense and ready. Daemon was three steps in front of her and one step to the right, giving her a clear view of the area, even while between the perceived threat and his wife. Daemon’s frame was loose; though a casual observer would see his hands in his pockets, leaning backward, as a posture unsuited to fighting. While Daemon’s style of fighting was very different to his brother’s, who charged into fights with all the finesse of a dragon, it was no less deadly. At the entrance to the garden was a bird that Jaenelle had never seen before. Her feathers were red, orange, and yellow in a pattern that reminded one of fire. Feathers near the ends of her tail and wings red, then shaded progressively lighter into a yellow-white at the lower chest, before returning to an orange-red in the area around her eyes and beak. Plumage drifting on the air currents like stray sparks adrift in smoke. Her eyes were a beautiful golden and in her clawed talon was…a letter? “Mother?” Haedrian’s hesitant voice called out. Jaenelle’s heart still lurched slightly at the reminder; she had stopped being Mommy the year her son first attended school. Stating that only babies called their mother such. She missed it. Many things had changed that first year of school. But those memories were to be dwelled upon at another time. Her feet took the few steps forward to come up even with Kaelaski, Daemon shadowed her perfectly without interfering. “Hello,” she greeted gently both verbally and on a broad mental communication thread; kindred preferred using their own form of language unique to each species, but would use the communication threads with her, if no one else. As expected, it wasn’t a few moments before they all heard an unknown female timbre within all their minds. *Bright morning.* The bird alighted on the nearby fence, folding her wings regally. A slight incline of the head to indicate rank according to Protocol’s intricate dance of who was dominant based on those present, caste, Jewel rank, and occasion. “I am Lady Jaenelle Angelline,” she prompted, simultaneously sending a mental image of her true form. Most kindred had a difficult time speaking with humans, who had such strange concepts, terminology, and customs. *My current human calls me Fawkes, but once I was known as Crystun Gayl.* Mentally, Jaenelle translated the Old Tongue phrase that had been made into a name. ‘Fierce Joy for All Children’ had probably been named as most kindred; a Black Widow spinning a tangled web of dreams and visions upon her birth. Often those webs amounted to nothing but fog, but occasionally they resulted in a unique name that would describe or guide that kindred throughout their life. Kaelaski’s own name was also Old Tongue and translated to ‘white storm’. (Referring to a particular kind of maelstrom that could appear without notice, devastate a Territory, and vanish again leaving devastation in its wake.) “Well met, Lady Crystun.” Jaenelle smiled at the bird. “May I ask what species of kindred are you? I’ve never seen one of your kind before.” The bird puffed up its feathers slightly, looking even more majestic. *I am a phoenix, created to remember.* There were implications in all kindred communication that made translation difficult, even uncomfortable at times. When Crystun said ‘to remember’, the flashes that came across all of their minds were different events occurring across countless centuries. The scenes too fast to get more than vague impressions of courts, wars, and children. Many, many children, and along with the images of children came the intense feeling of protectiveness. Her name served her well. *My human sent me to find a chick.* She bobbed her head toward Haedrian and Kaelaski, nudging a letter, which had gone unnoticed until that moment, forward with one delicate claw. “I’ll take that,” Daemon practically purred. He tilted it to show his wife the name and address. He slit the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper; handing both to his Queen after several probes with Craft confirmed it was safe. Jaenelle read the pages, frowning lightly at the phrasing. Many questions were rolling through her mind. At the forefront were the spinning implications of the complete absence of all adherence to Protocol. First, they had sent the letter to Haedrian, when it should have been sent to Daemon. Nor did they acknowledge Haedrian’s parents at all, instead addressing Haedrian personally as if they had already been introduced and been permitted thusly. Next, they didn’t mention coming for a tour of this supposed school, nor give a date for such a tour if it had been pre-arranged (as with most schools); he was too young to go somewhere completely unknown alone. And who would send their child to an unknown place, school or not, without knowing any of those involved? No instructors were named, nor credentials given. No references. All the unknown terminology was absolutely secondary to the complete lack of Protocol. Every Blood child from the time of their Birthright Ceremony to the Offering studied Protocol; most going so far as to constantly review it afterward to remain ready no matter the occasion. It was essential to every aspect of Blood society! Without Protocol, the Blood would have gone extinct thousands of years ago, since every slight would have been met with immediate, potentially lethal, consequences. She flipped to the second page and frowned further. No mention of pricing, nor where to obtain the sometimes bizarre-sounding items. Though a spark of interest went through her at books and authors she didn’t recognize. She knew Saetan would love them too, if he didn’t already own them. (Though she doubted it, as she had exhausted the Hall’s family library in her late teens.) She certainly inherited her father’s bibliophile nature. She could also ask Geoffrey, the Keep’s Historian/Librarian—a Guardian so old that even Saetan, himself fifty thousand years in age, was as a child in comparison. When she finished reading, she passed the pages to her husband, who quickly scanned them. She looked at the kindred, “Lady Crystun, please have some refreshment while you wait.” The bird dipped her head as Beale, the extremely efficient Red Jeweled butler of SaDiablo Hall brought out a tray with three bowls: water, fruit, and scraps of meat. Apparently with the entrance of an unknown species of kindred the Hall’s cook had erred on the side of caution. Jaenelle and Daemon spoke mind-to-mind on a private communication thread while their son looked between them with slight annoyance. The boy disliked being left out of a discussion. Daemon’s mental tap brought a footman with a stationary lapdesk within minutes. “Thank you, Holt.” Daemon inclined his head to the man as he penned a short reply, folded the return, and used Craft to melt the wax to drip and seal the missive. Pressing the official SaDiablo seal into the still soft wax completed the letter. He then offered the lapdesk to his wife. “Beale, please inform Mrs. Beale that there may be two more joining us for dinner.” Though his tone was calm, something in Daemon’s eyes must have alerted the other male to the possible danger. “Of course, Prince.” The butler inclined his head and disappeared to tell the cook about the change of plans. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
Lady McGonagall,

As no owl is currently available to send this missive, I hope that you have no objections to phoenix delivery.

The individual you know as Harry Potter was adopted over five years ago.

Prince Haedrian Angelline will not be allowed to attend your school. The absence of Protocol in your letter does not lend towards a future relationship. Your lack of propriety by sending the missive directly to Prince Angelline is unacceptable. All future correspondence should be addressed to Daemon Sadi, the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.

Lastly, Lady Crystun Gayl, kindred phoenix, wishes to remind you she is female.

Lady Angelline

Dhemlan - Kaeleer

Minerva blinked as she set the letter to one side, perplexed at all the strange verbiage, to look at the second, which was amazingly even shorter than the first. 
Lady McGonagall,

No.

Prince Sadi

Warlord Prince of Dhemlan - Kaeleer
 Minerva’s mouth tightened at the one-word reply. “Albus!” she called out. She looked at the phoenix, who was calmly regarding her with an almost queenly air. Minerva idly wondered if she was thinking in royal terms due to the recent correspondence (and subsequent salutations), or if there was something else present. However, as soon as the headmaster came through her fireplace, she pushed the thought to the side. There were more pressing matters to deal with. “What do you make of this?” she perfunctorily shoved the two letters into the man’s hands. The Headmaster of Hogwarts read them both before looking up at his phoenix with a twinkle in his eyes. “Lady Crystun?” he addressed, humor filling his words. Yet he paused with slight surprise at the immediate acknowledging regal incline of her head the phoenix gave him as if in answer. “Warlord Prince? Protocol?” Minerva was very efficiently not-yelling in her annoyed confusion. “Who are these people, Albus? Why are they answering Harry’s letter? Do you think they are the ones that adopted him?” she demanded. “Why didn’t we hear about his adoption?” A magical adoption was permanent and required the special parchment for magical contracts; not to mention legal representatives. Each magical adoption was recorded in several locations because of the different aspects of magical society that were affected by each adoption. Gringotts and the Ministry being the main affected due to legal status. Blood adoptions were even more significant, requiring intense, powerful magic. It required special dispensation from the Ministry because it was technically a ritual; all rituals were highly documented, as they were always far-reaching potential. Both good and bad potential as well. Albus neatly sidestepped the questions, though internally he was also wondering the same thing. “As both are addressed to you, may I suggest you answer them?” His eyes twinkled at the emotion he saw in his deputy. He hadn’t seen her this riled since the last time Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup. Though if she knew he was amused at her, instead of his normal general amusement at everything, he had no doubt she would hex him. He looked at his—female—phoenix. “Are you tired from the travel?” A shake of a beak. “Then perhaps you could deliver Minerva’s reply promptly?” A nod. Along with the distinct impression of the bird’s own amusement at the exchange. Smug amusement even. What did a phoenix have to be smug about this situation? Oh well, a thought to ponder later. “Oh no you don’t, Albus! You’re dealing with this! You are the politician, so you deal with replying to this…this…” the deputy headmistress didn’t seem able to come up with a suitable word to describe what she was thinking. Instead, she proceeded to raid her secret stash of Ogden’s Finest. Some upstarts downgrading her impeccable manners. Bad mouthing her school. The nerve! +++++HP+++++ 
To Lady Angelline and Prince Sadi,

Allow me to introduce myself: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I do apologize for any disrespect you may have taken from the previous letter. Hogwarts has been addressing entrance letters this way for over one thousand years and you are the first to remark on any perceived lack therein that I am aware.

I am afraid that I am rather confused by some of the terminology you used in your reply. It would be much easier to answer the many questions I’m sure each of us have generated in a more personal setting. As Headmaster of the school in which young Harry’s parents attended, I am more than qualified and happy to answer any queries made concerning my proud establishment. There is no finer school in the world in which Harry could receive his own education.

Perhaps tomorrow in time for afternoon tea?

Albus Dumbledore

Order of Merlin, First Class

Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, ICW

+++++BJT+++++ 
Lord Dumbledore,

Your presence is requested at SaDiablo Hall.

Prince Sadi

Warlord Prince of Dhemlan - Kaeleer

+++++HP+++++ “How intriguing,” Albus commented as he finished the extremely short missive. Compared to the previous from the same mysterious Sadi, it was practically a novel, but still just as bare of any details or significance. It did give him what he wanted though—invitation to meet these people that answered young Harry’s letters. Harry’s guardians perhaps? Still unknown since the boy had only been addressed in passing with no familial ties listed. It must have been overlooked, what with the apparent aversion this Sadi and Angelline had taken to the customary entrance letter. 
To Lady Angelline and Prince Sadi,
 
Perhaps a more impersonal meeting location? I do apologize but I am as unfamiliar with the city of Dhemlan as I am unfamiliar with the country of Kaeleer. Madame Puddifoot’s or the Hogshead in Hogsmeade Village are both delightful where one can find excellent fare.

Albus Dumbledore

+++++HP+++++

Lord Dumbledore,

Your presence is required at SaDiablo Hall.

Lady Crystun has graciously consented to stand as your escort.

Prince Sadi

Warlord Prince of Dhemlan - Kaeleer
 “Guess that settles it then.” Albus muttered to himself, getting to his feet and heading for the door. “I’ll inform Minerva and Severus about tomorrow’s plans.” Lady Crystun had been patiently waiting for her human to announce he was ready to go. However, when she heard his comment—definitely not what she had been expecting—the elegant bird hung her head. If she had been human, the term “facepalm” would have applied to her reaction. Instead, all she could do was trill in mournful frustration at her human’s retreating back. Yes, she had acquiesced to escorting him—he was her human after all—but she didn’t think he’d miss the rather commanding Protocol phrasing. It wasn’t as if it was subtle!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I) Meetings
 The next day Albus found himself in his best robes; a beautiful sunset sky with passing clouds, charmed to move as he walked. (Though if anyone other than Albus were to be asked, they would confess it was more along the lines of a disgusting hot pink and burnt-orange background with white polka dots trying to dance.) He had spent several long hours yesterday at the Ministry, pouring through the magical archives. Looking for young Harry’s adoption in every category he could think of, and several more he had referenced. In all cases, there were only thirteen adoptions the year Harry disappeared, ten magical and three blood. None of whom were Harry, involved a family named Angelline, nor did they reference a boy of Harry’s age or description. Which meant Albus still had some cards up his sleeve he could play… Minerva was in her customary no-nonsense attire: black professor robes with her hair in a tight chignon. Severus as well was in his own typical black robes (prone to billowing as he walked—several betting pools were between the youngest Potions Master charming them or Snape spending hours practicing the ‘billow-walk’) and stern glare. When Dumbledore was certain that all three were ready to go—meaning that extra portkeys, both word-activated national and international, charmed to only be removed by their own hand, were in all of their pockets in various hidden (and a few obvious so that anyone spotting them would stop looking after finding the ‘hidden’ portkeys) places —he raised his voice. “Fawkes, if you would?” The phoenix gave an annoyed huff and practically glared at him from her perch, not moving one inch at his form of address. Now that her human knew her name, he should be using it! “I do apologize,” Albus said formally, eyes twinkling, but it seemed more habitual than genuine. He had too many other things on his mind to twinkle effectively. “Lady Crystun, if you would please?” Lady Gayl kept up her glare for another second to indicate the depth of her irritation, then inclined her head and glided over to his shoulder. She flashed out of Hogwarts. As one of the most magical beings in existence, dragging along three full grown adults wasn’t an issue. Though she did have a moment to wish it was a detriment, just so that her human wouldn’t have yet another lesson to be added to his list. It was already going to be an interesting visit before her human had decided on the extra personages. Knowing that the list began with her human learning basic manners, Lady Crystun was very precise in her destination; appearing exactly on the landing web nearest to SaDiablo Hall. As soon as the rush of phoenix travel dissipated, and all had gotten their feet under them, the humans had a new difficulty: keeping their expressions neutral. Only two managed. McGonagall’s mouth dropped open slightly, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh…” it was only a breath of sound, but held such longing that it might as well have been a shout of pleasure. To Minerva’s eyes, she was staring at one of her childhood country’s manors. Beautiful, huge, and full of large stones as high as someone’s waist or bigger. Though it looked as if the portcullis had been renovated into a simple wrought-iron gate sometime in the last few hundred years. Several tall spires, with ‘L’ shaped sections as well as the usual ‘T’ wings. It may have been called a hall, but it looked more like some of the Scottish castles from McGonagall’s youth. It was very clear from the ivy climbing some of the towers that SaDiablo Hall had been standing for much longer than a few hundred years. Though also well maintained going by the gardens and the rest of the well-kept walks and estate. There was also an almost palpable…something…in the surrounding air. Minerva felt as if every breath filled her lungs with that unnamable weight. As heavy as the gigantic stones, yet she also instinctively knew in her bones that it would only become cutting if provoked. It was comforting to her. She felt at home here and her shoulders relaxed minutely, much more willing to meet these unknowns who answered little Harry’s letters. Whoever they were, they couldn’t be so bad if they made their home in such a place. Severus Snape stood a bit to the side and behind his coworker, thus she didn’t see the minute widening of his eyes before his neutral expression won out from years of practice. The youngest Potions Master in the history of Hogwarts had been through a great deal in his relatively short lifespan. Seeing the looming dark castle of a dwelling before him brought to mind all sorts of bad memories from the war. He had felt things similar before, but never so terrible. Voldemort himself didn’t feel as…as…as dark as this. And this was supposedly a residence?! Whoever lived here must be even worse than the Dark Lord himself! They needed to grab the Potter brat and leave as soon as possible. They may not even survive long enough to do that much… Snape mentally shivered at the thought, but didn’t hesitate to walk forward. He had sworn to protect Lily’s son and he would do exactly that. No child deserved to grow up surrounded by such evil, let alone Lily’s son. Behind both of his employees, Albus Dumbledore stood stoically before the grand enormity of SaDiablo Hall. He let the weight of the building run through his mind, practically a taste upon his tongue. His memories were stirred at what he sensed but let none of it show. His experiences had given him the knowledge and wisdom to understand certain things, certain differences that most wouldn’t contemplate. At the forefront of his mind was the absolute truth that SaDiablo Hall was nowhere near anywhere Albus had visited in his lifetime. There would be no mistaking this feeling in the air. A feeling that would pervade and invade its surroundings. He had felt things similar, but nothing to this degree, this intensity. He had no idea where they were. Not a clue of country or origin. Which meant their emergency portkeys may not work. With that in his mind, he cheerfully turned back to the matter at hand. “Well? Shall we go introduce ourselves?” His levity was feigned of course, but no one need know that save himself. Fawkes—Lady Crystun—chirped from his shoulder, her own form of encouragement. He applauded his Transfiguration Professor’s bravery as he watched her step forward first. Gryffindors lead the way indeed! +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ Before Minerva could even raise her hand to knock, the front door was opened. It revealed a reasonably tall, decently-muscled male with dark skin, gold eyes and a stern expression. He wore what Albus thought could be a traditional butler’s uniform, but what drew his eye the most was a low-hanging chain that held a startlingly-large ruby. The way it was presented, it was obvious there was some significance to the ruby, chain, placement, or all of the above. Perhaps a family heirloom. Perhaps from the butler’s own family. Or from the family he served. “Good afternoon,” the butler said. “How may I be of service?” There was no expression on his face or in his tone as he spoke, even as his phrasing reinforced Albus’ assumption of the other’s profession. “Hello!” Dumbledore said genially, a little louder than he had intended. It was this place… It brought back memories best left alone. “We’ve an appointment with Prince Sadi for afternoon tea.” As the butler moved slightly, letting them into the foyer, his hand turned from its vertical position of palm on the door to a horizontal position with palm facing up. It seemed between one eyeblink and the next, the upright palm was holding a small silver tray. An empty silver tray. “Your card?” the butler prompted tonelessly. Snape shook his head once in the negative, not saying a word. Albus was shocked; he hadn’t thought of bringing a calling card. It was definitely something that the muggles did. But it had been so long since he had needed one—who didn’t recognize him these days?!—that it had completely slipped his mind. “I am sorry, my good man, but I neglected to bring one.” “I have one,” Minerva said. While calling cards had fallen out of fashion in the recent years – probably due to the higher influx of muggleborn – Minerva was of an older generation, when elegant expensive calling cards were expected. She carried several at all times; a habit she’d never seen a reason to break. The other two males looked at her, Snape with shock and Dumbledore a small hint of pride (and a little frustration) upon her remembering. Minerva reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a slightly yellowed card. In beautiful stylized calligraphy was a rather large ‘M’ with an embossed crest around the letter. Below the crest was ‘Minerva’, perfectly centered. The card was simple, but beautiful. The butler accepted the card onto his tray even as his eyes went to the two unknown males. “Your names?” he prompted. “I’m Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and this is Professor Severus Snape, who teaches Potions.” The butler waited a beat, obviously expecting him to say more, but didn’t wait very long for the information before he asked, “Territory?” “We’re from Hogwarts.” Albus said, as if that explained everything. “We are expected,” Minerva said, having a great more poise than Albus at the moment. The man tipped his head a small amount as if acknowledging he spoke, but not deeply enough to signify deference. “I’ll inquire if the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan is available to receive you.” “Thank you,” Minerva nodded shallowly, indicating only recognition and not deference. The formal style of speech and mannerisms was definitely bringing back memories. She had listened to Albus talk while her eyes had been on the butler and noticed a very small nuance. She had the strong impression that this man might be a butler by profession, but he was strong-willed enough, and had enough self-confidence in his bearing and position, that he would have no qualms about kicking them all out if the proper respects weren’t followed. She watched as the man went to the back of the foyer—which was more of a large hall than a small entrance room—knocked on a door and went inside. It wasn’t long before he came back out and he looked at them. “If you would follow me, please.” Like little ducklings, they followed the man to the back room he had just exited. Just before the headmaster—who somehow got in front of her in the last six seconds from foyer to back room—could cross the threshold, the butler positioned his body to block the door, raised his voice and announced, “Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape of Hogwarts in the Territory of Hogwarts.” “Thank you, Beale,” a deep, cultured voice replied instantly. “Show them in, please.” The butler, presumably Beale, stepped fully aside and they all trooped into the room. They barely registered Beale closing the door behind them as they all stared. The room was shaped like a reversed ‘L’. The long side was an informal sitting room, complete with tables, chairs, bookcases, and a leather sofa large enough for a full-grown man to sleep on. The short side of the room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filling the back wall, red velvet covering the side walls, and the massive black veneered desk with three chairs in front of it for visitors. From behind the desk rose a man with very distinctive coloring. Thick black hair, golden eyes, and light brown skin. He moved so gracefully that it was easy to believe he wasn’t quite human. The fact that he was the most beautiful man any of them had ever seen helped the inhuman impression. Minerva registered his beauty and grace, blushed from the tips of her ears to the top of her chest and hastily had to look away to gather herself, and the tatters of her propriety; suddenly finding the red velvet covered wall extremely interesting. She hadn’t felt such a tingle since her beloved Dougal! Severus blanched from his usual never-comes-out-of-the-dungeon pale into an even whiter shade. As the man spoke it was as if warm syrup dripped over Snape’s skin, producing a very unwelcome arousal. In his life Snape had seen some men (though more women) that had seemed to exude sexual heat just by breathing. (As a species Veela had their innate allure; though they spent years learning control.) However, he’d never before met anyone that could seduce a practically asexual man just by getting up and walking around a desk with an introduction he barely heard! “Lady McGonagall.” A pause. “Prince Snape. Lord Dumbledore.” Another pause. “I’m Daemon Sadi.” The Headmaster of Hogwarts for over half a century froze in his tracks at the sight of the man. Albus hadn’t felt this kind of instant sexual attraction since…since…since Gellert. He felt that punch to his gut that Gellert had always given him and his mind froze as well as his feet. His mind almost absently registered the same dark feeling exuding off this man in waves as he had felt from the Hall itself, permeating the walls, floor, and the very air. Then the man, this ‘Daemon Sadi’ with which he had been corresponding, looked between the three of them…and frowned. Oh, it wasn’t a large frown. But it was enough for Albus to notice, for his heart to clench in fear that he had done something to make this beautiful man disappointed in him. That instant emotion, that it was his fault Sadi wasn’t happy, was enough to jerk Albus back into rationality. Or at least a semblance of rationality. “If you would like to settle yourselves until my lady arrives.” Daemon suggested mildly, gesturing to the formal chairs in front of the black desk. There was only a slight hesitation before Minerva sank into the one on the left while Albus took the one in the middle. Snape chose instead to keep standing, as far away from Sadi as he could manage while still being in the room and seemingly part (or apart) of any conversation. It was obvious he didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit and Dumbledore didn’t blame him. It was only Albus’ extensive practice in restraining himself after his former lover became an enemy that let him seem outwardly relaxed. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ *Jaenelle?* Daemon called out to his wife on a psychic communication thread, frowning at the triad. He’d only been expecting one and he’d expected him yesterday, but now that they were here, what he was sensing didn’t make sense. All three of their psychic scents were…off somehow. *Daemon? I can feel your unease. What’s wrong?* *I’m not sure. I’d like you to meet them.*
 
A flash of amusement. She knew that he trusted her judgement much more than his own, despite the seventeen centuries difference in their ages. He wasn’t the only one that held that opinion either. *Are you in the sitting room?* *My office study.* *Give me five minutes.*
 
He cut off the psychic connection, then had another thought and threw a spear thread—male to male—to his butler. *Beale, I have a feeling this meeting is going to go a bit…* he stopped, not sure how to voice the uneasiness he felt as he looked at this group. *I’ve already informed Mrs. Beale and asked her to prepare a tray.*
 
*Thank you, Beale.* It wasn’t that Daemon was afraid of his cook. He wore the Black and Mrs. Beale wore the Yellow. No, it was just that she was so very…large. Technically she worked for him. But that only seemed to matter when she conveniently remembered the fact. Or something needed his attention. In which case, he would be dusted off and deposited in front of whatever was preventing Mrs. Beale from her duties. Since Daemon also like puttering about in the kitchen upon occasion, he’d finally come to an agreement with Mrs. Beale: she wouldn’t raise a fuss about his experiments messing up her kitchen and he built a small kitchen onto the Hall in which to perform his experiments. Even before Jaenelle could appear, Beale had efficiently opened the study door half a finger’s width, a tray of small sandwiches with a pot of freshly brewed coffee appeared on Daemon’s blackwood desk in front of the visitors, and the door closed again soundlessly. Yes, the team of Beale and Mrs. Beale were well worth what he paid them, even with Mrs. Beale’s quirks about ‘her’ kitchen. “Won’t young Harry be joining us as well?” The older male, a Warlord by the feel of him, asked almost pleasantly. Daemon refocused on the group, eyes narrowing on him. He knew that the mild irritation he was exuding wasn’t much, but the overall effect of such in his formal study, was about the same as when his father, the High Lord of Hell, frowned. Smart people tensed and shifted away. “Haedrian,” he stressed the name, reminding the Warlord of his son’s adoption, “is, as you mentioned, young. Hence, he has lessons to attend.” Not to mention that allowing his eleven-year-old son to meet an unknown possible enemy was beyond stupid. What kind of Warlord Prince did these people take him for? “Oh?” The woman perked up and smiled. The mention of education, her profession, was obviously enough to curb her unease in his presence. “Usually lessons are postponed during the summer. How does H—he like them?” She had almost said ‘Harry’, but managed to correct herself adequately enough Daemon didn’t comment. “General formal lessons are suspended during summer, that’s true. However, there is so much for a child to know that we thought extra lessons were necessary.” He gave her his paternal lazy half-grin. “And it gets him out from under foot for a few hours every day.” Little Haedrian had never been the energetic, exuberant handful that was his nephew Daemonar. Indeed, Haedrian was more often quiet and watchful of their every move than to get into mischief. The boy had overanalyzed everything he saw or heard, listening for some evidence of unwanted behavior or speech, for months before they figured out what he was doing. Minerva’s smile grew more genuine and nodded her understanding. “What does he study during the summer months?” “Oooooh,” he drawled the word as he leaned back on the blackwood desk, “dancing, drawing, music, Craft, Protocol, weapons… Really anything that he, his mother, uncle, or grandfather manage to talk me into including this week.” If they bothered to ask him at all before teaching Haedrian! “Weapons?” Albus’ tone was sharp. “He’s a—” “Warlord Prince,” Daemon interrupted him instantly, his tone as cold as ice. Though he noticed that he had enough control over his emotions that ice wasn’t forming on the furniture. Yet. “Who wears Birthright Blood Opal. As a Warlord Prince myself, I know what training Haedrian needs to perform his duties when he is old enough to be accepted into a Court.” He paused, letting his glare thaw slightly. “Besides, Haedrian quite likes working with his uncles.” Albus slowly nodded, wary of this man’s mood swings. Prince Sadi was beyond dangerous, his magic as dark as any Albus had felt since Gellert or Tom Riddle. Darker! He reached out and poured himself some of the tea…coffee in a teapot?...as he gave himself time to think before speaking rashly again. This entire place threw him off balance. It was too important; he had to get this right. He had to calm down and think! “One of the letters mentioned that young Harry had been adopted…?” He left the statement with a lilt at the end, turning it into a question. Daemon smirked internally at the blatant bid for more information.  The man certainly wasn’t subtle. As opposed to the younger male, who had yet to speak more than a couple words since entering and barely made eye contact. Daemon was tempted not to give anything else until they met Jaenelle, but it would be good if these people were aware of Haedrian’s new situation. They were too interested in the boy; knowing how protected the eleven-year-old was would be beneficial. “Almost five years ago, my wife answered a plea thrown into the Darkness and returned with a broken boy, barely alive.” McGonagall blanched, her entire being sitting ramrod straight in a split second as she absorbed the words. Snape’s face tightened around the edges in response. Daemon kept his tone conversational and an iron fist around his emotions that wanted to flare from the memories. “It took her two days to fully heal him.” His golden eyes were merciless as he imparted the knowledge. A mere sentence to describe what took the best Healer in all the realms, in the entire history of the Blood, two days to fix. Singing to the healing webs until her voice was raw. Only Lucivar had ever been more wounded without becoming demon-dead. “One smile and that little boy managed to work his way into all of our hearts.” A new voice took up the story, drawing attention to the newcomer. The three turned to look, startled; having not heard the door open nor her footsteps. She was thin, though not unhealthily so; thin enough for a man to wince at the thought of bedding her. Her golden-blonde hair was styled shaggy and long enough to brush her shoulders. She was not pretty in the traditional sense of the word. Unusual was perhaps a better description. Her best feature by far were her piercing blue-blue eyes. “We adopted him the week before his Birthright Ceremony.” Albus knew that this woman would be able to convey much with just a glance of those eyes. He also noticed that Daemon Sadi didn’t care about any of it…and that the sexual tension inherent to the man Albus had noticed before, was normal. Now, with this woman in the room, the hunger in Sadi’s eyes blazed into a hot fire and Albus had the very inappropriate thought of wanting to watch… He shook himself free of the idea before it could fully form. She stepped further into the room, but raised an eyebrow at Daemon. *Whatever you’re thinking of doing, we don’t have time.* *You’re wearing one of my shirts,* his mental voice purred back at her. She blushed, knowing what the image of her wearing one of his shirts did to him. *It’s Papa’s shirt.* She corrected, knowing that the difference between Daemon’s and Saetan’s shirts was only the size. She hadn’t been thinking of that when he had called her to come meet the newcomers. She’d gotten side-tracked from her lazy lounging in the parlor catching up on her reading—the newest ‘Tracker and Shadow’ novel had come out the month before—by his call and hadn’t changed. Daemon walked the few steps towards her—putting himself between the unknown party and his wife—and as soon as he was close enough, he put a hand up to lightly caress her from shoulder to wrist. His eyes never leaving hers as he did so. He didn’t do more than that, but the tension was enough that if Albus hadn’t already been sitting, his knees would have no longer been able to support him. Albus knew he should look away, give the couple a few seconds of privacy. But he couldn’t. Albus had felt that kind of hunger. That heat. It had been decades, but he remembered. And his heart longed for what he could no longer have. Daemon’s fingers finally glided down far enough to encircle her wrist, which he raised to kiss the back of her hand. Golden eyes locked with blue. “Hello, wife,” his voice purred through the room. “Mother Night…” she breathed, her entire body shivering slightly in a way that had nothing to do with cold, before she got ahold of herself. Her eyes turned into a glare. “Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” He grinned at her unapologetically, teeth flashing in the candlelight. “Shall I introduce you?” The woman focused her full attention back on the room, and its occupants, and Albus felt those blue eyes change. Saw as they went from playfully challenging her husband and lover to piercing examination. His own eyes narrowed as he saw them change further from blue-on-blue to a deep sapphire that seemed to become a doorway. A corner of Albus’ mind acknowledged the threat the woman became; something feral that he couldn’t name but knew instantly he never wanted to encounter. “This is the Warlord Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, from the Territory of Hogwarts. His Deputy Headmistress, Queen Minerva McGonagall. And Prince Severus Snape.” Daemon formally intoned. “What?” Minerva’s eyes were wide in shock at the introduction. She wasn’t a queen! Warlord? How did he know that Severus was a Prince? The man barely acknowledged his mother’s bloodline! “Lord Dumbledore, Lady McGonagall, Prince Snape, this is my wife, the Lady Jaenelle Angelline.” Daemon finished his introduction without pause. “What?!” However, it was at this point that things went a little sideways… +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ He didn’t know when his knees buckled. Didn’t feel the arms that suddenly griped him tight, holding him upright. His black eyes were tied to deep sapphire, registering nothing else. Snape had turned as soon as he heard the woman speak. She was pretty, if in a plain way. Golden hair flowing down and around her beautiful sapphire-blue eyes that reminded him of midnight pools and summer storms. Eyes that looked at him and saw him.Saw through him.Saw his soul. Severus felt a tug in his heart that he hadn’t felt since Lily. Suddenly, everything in him shifted, rearranged, fell into place, and the new form was centered around this woman. He breathed in deeply and could practically taste the dark essence that filled his senses. It was dark and it was dangerous. But not evil. No. It was the calm in a storm. A place he knew he could relax, knowing something bigger, with more teeth and claws, would protect him. 
Safe…

Home…
 Her eyes saw so much of him. He knew. Knew what she wanted. What she needed. So he pulled down every Occlumency barrier he had, yanking them from where they had been moored for decades. Bared the core of himself—every triumph, every fault, every discovery, every shortcoming, every mistake, every delight, every regret, every… He showed her everything… …and waited for her judgement. He saw as her eyes changed from that deep sapphire into a more normal blue; felt the shift in the air when she smiled in sad understanding. His heart clenched, aching from that smile aimed at him. “Please…” he whispered to her, the one word a bare breath of sound. He wasn’t quite sure what he was pleading for, but knew that it was important. Vital, in fact. “Sit, Prince.” She commanded, though not unkindly. Her gentle hands directing him to the left and he followed willingly. If she had directed him over a boiling cauldron of Exploding Flesh-Eater – one of the worst combative potions that existed and an extremely painful way to die – he would have gone just as readily. “Drink,” she pressed a cup of something into his hands. He wheezed as the most potent version of firewhiskey he had ever experienced exploded into his lungs. He gulped air afterward…and felt a little more grounded. Even as his mind fuzzed slightly at the edges, his emotions settled and cleared. He drank again when the cup was refilled. After three, he was finally able to look around the room at the others—most of whom were appearing either disgruntled or concerned. Two males, the butler and one unknown, he’d never seen entering were standing just behind the golden haired siren of his soul. “What… What happened?” he asked. Her smile had many emotions swimming inside it, most of which he wasn’t sure he understood or could identify. “I don’t think it’s something to discuss right now. You’ve had quite a shock. Beale and Holt,” she gestured to the two men behind her; the pair looking at him with more concern than he was comfortable with, more concern than he was used to, “are going to help you to a guest room so you can get some rest.” Snape thought she saw he was about to protest because her face suddenly reminded him of Poppy Pomfrey when faced with recalcitrant patients. “You need rest, Prince. So, either you can rest on your own, or I’ll make you rest.” He knew a threat when he heard one. “I’ll rest.” +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ *Jaenelle, what happened?* Daemon sent on a tight psychic communication thread. *I’ve never seen a male react like that before.* He’d had to jump forward to catch the man when his knees went weak at just looking at his queen. Daemon himself had a strong reaction to seeing Jaenelle when they first met, but nothing like this. Jaenelle mentally sighed, sadness permeating the link. *He’s had a queen before. Perhaps not a queen, but the equivalent to a First Circle bond… And it was shattered. Not just broken, Daemon, but shattered. This was no easy bond to be broken and remade, as most are; bonds made for convenience, power, or temporary position. Nor even the more tightly-knit bonds created between a Court that all belong to the same Queen. It was so close that when it was destroyed, it destroyed a piece of his Self along with it.* She paused. *A bond that deep…* He could hear the mental tears trying to fall, though outwardly her face didn’t change as she gently coaxed the Prince to drink several mouthfuls of Gravedigger. Twilight’s Dawn could still create a Gravedigger with a bigger kick than the strongest of Khardeen’s brews. Daemon didn’t envy the man—Severus Snape—for being forced to drink it. Sadi had learned his lesson on that particular concoction years ago on one very memorable trip that he still didn’t remember in its entirety. (They still didn’t know how that little fish had gotten stuck between the laces of Lucivar’s boot.) *A bond that deep shattered his crystal chalice?* Daemon finished her thought. *It destroyed his mind?* *No, but it was close.* Jaenelle knew that a bond like what she had seen in Severus’ mind was very similar to the bond Daemon held with her. When she eventually died, a piece of Daemon’s mind, heart, and soul would die with her. He wouldn’t walk into the Twisted Kingdom from his grief…but it would be a near thing. *What is worse is that he was the cause of the shattering, so the only one to blame was himself.* Daemon winced internally, understanding the full ramifications instantly. Princes—though not even close to the violence inherent to every breath in a Warlord Prince’s nature—were savage in defending what was theirs. Any threat was analyzed and dealt with as soon as it was identified. If the cause was himself? The Prince would have attacked himself, just as he would any threat, with everything he had. Daemon was amazed that the Prince still breathed. It showed either a strong will to survive, or a strong will to punish oneself. *How long?* he asked gently. *Almost thirteen years.* Jaenelle answered. *It’s part of why his reaction to seeing me was so violent. If his bond with Lily had still been in place, he would have been able to turn away from me. He’d have been the equivalent to Seventh or Eighth Circle. However, with that bond shattered and nothing had taken its place in all this time, his mind latched on to the first thing that was compatible.* *Nothing took its place?* Daemon asked, confused. Psychic connections were part and parcel of being Blood. Hell’s fire, there was a Queen sitting right there! Or was this part of that oddness he sensed from them? Jaenelle read his mind easily. *That’s part of it: the strange psychic scent you noted that they all have. None of them have any Court bonds. They’ve never had Court bonds.* *What?* Court service wasn’t required after an individual had finished the full training in Protocol and made the Offering to the Darkness, but it was still part of that training. Every member of the Blood, from the lightest-Jeweled witch to the darkest-Jeweled Warlord Prince, were required to complete the full Protocol training. At least part of that training was in the service of a Court to have the experience and education of how to interact with those that ruled. Though in what capacity and duration of that service was variable to the power and caste one held, it was still a required part of a Blood’s education. “I’ve called Papa. He’ll be here by morning.” Jaenelle surveyed the other occupants of the room as Beale and Holt finally were able to half-carry Severus out of the study. “There’s a lot for us to talk about.” +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
II) McGonagall
 McGonagall walked beside the golden-haired woman that Minerva had already observed ruled this family. Those sapphire eyes had commanded, easily directing the others when Severus had collapsed. Though her mind swam with questions, Minerva was reluctant to voice any yet. There were too many unknowns. The pair arrived at a glass door expertly tucked into a corner of the hall, unobtrusive. It opened onto a sunken garden. Raised flower bed bordered all four sides except where the stone steps led down into the garden. Two statues dominated the space. A few feet in front of them was a raised stone slab and a wooden seat. Carefully positioned candle-lights illuminated the statues and the steps. The statues pulled at her. She went down the steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the grass. Power filled the air, making it almost too rich to breathe, but she persisted. As she filled her lungs with it, she felt her body absorb the strength and peace contained within this garden. On the stone slab were half a dozen candles in tinted glass containers. Seemingly choosing at random, Jaenelle moved silently up from behind her, and used an already-lit candle to light another two. A hint of gentle lavender in the air. The feeling Minerva absorbed was as if this small garden were instead a centuries-old cathedral: thoughtful serenity, solemn contemplation, exuding peace. The fountain, which contained the statues, was up against a curved wall of rough stone curtained by smooth water spilling into the stone-enclosed pool. The female statue, the face an exquisitely detailed mirror of the flesh-and-blood woman beside her, rose halfway out of the pool, her face lifted toward the sky. Her eyes were closed, and there was a slight smile on her lips. Her hands were raised as if she were just about to wipe the water from her hair. Everything about her embodied serene strength and a celebration of life. Minerva turned to the other statue—the male. The beast. She knew this blend of human and animal with gut-deep recognition. She’d seen it before. Massive shoulders supported a feline head that had its teeth bared in a snarl of rage. One paw/hand was braced on the ground near the head of a small sleeping woman. The other raised, the claws unsheathed. It was an odd thing to see in such finely-sculpted stone, for it was a physical manifestation of a single truth Minerva had never been able to explain, though she had tried at one time. Someone like Albus, or Minerva’s own parents, would look at this creature and assume it was about to crush and tear the female, that the only way to control that physical strength and rage would be to keep it chained. Someone like Albus would never look beyond that assumption to notice the small details. Like the sleeping woman’s hand reaching out, her fingertips just brushing the paw/hand near her head. Like the way the crouching body sheltered her. Like the way the glittering, green stone eyes stared at whoever approached, and the fact that the snarling rage came from the desire, the need, to protect.*** “What do you think of him?” those blue-blue eyes asked. Minerva could be nothing but honest, “He’s beautiful.” She half-turned to face the other. “I—” she stopped before she could ask. Jaenelle simply looked at her, “Do you understand what he represents?” The old woman nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “That is my late husband, my dear Dougal.” She didn’t know how to explain that it was shocking how, here for all to see, was a perfect description of how cherished and protected her husband had made her feel, despite the fact that most only saw his violent hostility and rage. Many had asked her what she saw in Dougal, but though she’d tried time and again to explain, none had fully comprehended. Eventually, she’d stopped trying. Dougal was hers and they could just live with her choice. Though she voiced none of this, those deep sapphire eyes seemed to understand anyway. Jaenelle slowly nodded, turning back to the statue. “This is the essence of a Warlord Prince,” she stated solemnly. Minerva blinked at that, absorbing the words. “You said Haedrian was a Warlord Prince.” “Yes.” The Transfiguration professor tried to imagine her love’s antagonistic temperament and bellicosity in the body of a hormone-driven eleven-year-old male. Since she had met her husband after graduating Hogwarts, it was a difficult task, but she managed a minute semblance. All she could think was, “Oh dear.” +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
III) Not Yet Trained
(The Next Morning) Severus Snape let out a low moan of pain. The loud drummer in his head was having a party. Even the sound of his own groan intensified the beat. It took him opening his eyes and seeing the obvious aristocratically prepared guest room’s neutral colors (cream and blue) to remind him of the night before. The dark castle and it’s not-evil blanket. The butler. Stilted politeness. The sexually heated male. Awkward. The golden woman… As much as he knew that woman was his in an absolute way he couldn’t describe or explain, he also acknowledged that the only thing he knew about her was her name and that she was Daemon Sadi’s wife. She held Severus though. She held him in her hands and he would do anything she asked without question. She had become the reason he existed. The reason he breathed. Which was quite terrifying if he dwelled upon it too long. Time to face the world and find breakfast… He groaned again as he righted himself. And perhaps a headache soother. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ It seemed that either his typical foreboding countenance sufficiently showcased his desire, or the servants in SaDiablo Hall were extraordinarily efficient. Every time he came to an intersection there was a servant wordlessly pointing him in the direction he wanted to go. He’d found a Hangover Reliever in one of his expanded emergency pockets—what kind of a Potions Master would he be if he didn’t brew his own vials; and what kind of spy would he be without an emergency stash of various just-in-case potions—but it seemed that whatever he had caused his hangover was more powerful than the potion was able to relieve. Thus, while his headache had greatly decreased, it certainly hadn’t vanished. Halved. Maybe. Severus made a mental note to get a sample of whatever he had drunk to be able to analyze and then brew a better hangover all-cure. He’d definitely make some Galleons on such a patent… Whatever it was, it was certainly an extremely good excuse to drink sparingly! His head turned as a jingle of bells began to make it to his ears, increasing his headache a notch or three, quickly approaching. He blinked in surprise as around the far corner came what initially appeared to be twenty bouncing puppies with a black-haired green-eyed boy hot on their heels. The entire group had been running full-tilt until, seeing him in the corridor, they all instantly attempted to halt their mad rush. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word.  The dogs slid instead of stopping, their nails giving them no traction on the high-polished wood floor. The boy did better with his shoes, but only for a moment before tripping over the puppy pile.  Snape coughed a ‘hmph!’ noise as he collapsed under the weight of boy and dogs crashing into him. Being the receiver of such a collision, he was naturally on the bottom of said pile and the breath knocked from his lungs upon impact. Hence the noise. [[It could be noted that as a former spy and Death Eater, as well as a Potions Professor, Snape should have been able to dodge the collision. Whoever thinks such has obviously never had a hangover-induced migraine.]] “Sweet Darkness, I’m sorry!” The boy rushed to his feet, pulling Snape’s hand while he was getting there—which was a bit faster than Severus was able to follow, what with trying to re-establish air in his lungs. “I’m sorry! The boyos and I were playing and we got caught up and forgot to scan for people ahead of us and then you were there and we tried to stop, I promise! But you were there and then we couldn’t and then—” he finished helping Severus upright, his words tripping over themselves. “Are you okay? Did you hit anything really hard? Mother can take a look at you if you did!” Severus internally acknowledged that it was the wind knocked out of him that prevented him from replying. It had nothing to do with the boy’s bright green eyes – Lily’s eyes – staring at him with such intense concern. Nothing at all. However, the boy—who could only be Haedrian with that particular shade of green eyes—mistook his silence as an admittance of both injury and pain. The concern deepened and the boy was suddenly dragging Severus off down the hall, puppies yapping and bouncing around them. “Mother is the best Healer. She’ll be able to tell what’s wrong and fix it. I’m so sorry! Father’s told me a hundred times not to run in the halls.” He confessed in a guilty rush. “I’ll be doing extra sticks tomorrow for sure. Not that I don’t think it’s deserved! We shouldn’t have been running and then to run into you like that. Here, Mother’s room is just down here.” Upon closer inspection, there were in fact only seven puppies bouncing around, weaving in and around the feet of the two humans in a strange dance-like maneuver Snape had difficulty focusing enough to follow even a single dog through its steps. Severus also noticed that they were all heading straight for one large dark-brown door in particular, but two puppies were slightly ahead of the pack by a pounce or three as if to let whomever was inside know that they were about to receive company. It worked: the dark-brown door opened to reveal the woman from the night before. Severus’ knees weakened again at the sight of her and he desperately clutched the wall and boy to keep himself upright. Black hair bounced with the puppies in a unique pattern that Severus suddenly found intensely interesting. “Mother! We were running in the halls trying to catch the rabbit that got out of the kitchens and we accidently crashed into the Prince and he won’t talk and I think he’s hurt!” Sapphire eyes focused on Severus intently for a moment or two, “Escort him to the sitting room and let him catch his breath, Haedrian.” “Yes, Mother,” Lily’s son nodded dutifully, pulling Snape through the door as the woman disappeared behind a door further inside the suite of rooms. The boy went to a side table and poured a small amount of liquid into a teacup. It seemed that with the unspoken testament to Severus’ health, the boy became even more guilty and bashful, judging by the red that came to his cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered yet again. Severus tilted his head to the side, studying the figure. Strong features that were slightly aristocratic (as expected from a Potter.) Wisps of black locks framed his face. Strong shoulders and a healthy, strong body hidden behind well-cut bespoke tailored clothes of fine cloth. Clothes that Lucius and Draco would be hard pressed to find fault with other than their obvious function: outside play and/or chores. Severus was surprised to see that there were no glasses as he had expected from James’ child, but more surprised was the lack of a scar. The implications of that lack would drive Albus around the bend with speculations, no doubt. His attention was jerked downward when one puppy in particular suddenly bounced into his lap, paws on his chest letting it balance enough to gaze up at Severus with big bright golden eyes. A happy grin, complete with lolling tongue, greeted the Potions Professor. At first he thought it was a border collie; primarily grey with small sporadic golden brown patches, perhaps 3-4 months old. Young enough to have boundless energy and old enough to have enough mass to push recalcitrant critters as it learned its herding skills. However, once the pup stopped bouncing, he saw it was slightly too small for a collie and instead was probably a shetland sheepdog or other mixed collie breed. He frowned as he felt a mental poke. As if the dog was trying to get passed his Occlumency shields. Which was preposterous! … … … Wasn’t it? “Oh dear.” Severus snapped up his head to stare at Jaenelle as she rejoined them in a more comfortable day gown.  She had a hand to her mouth, trying in vain to hide a large smile. “Yes, I suppose you have.” He frowned in confusion at the statement, because she seemed to have directed it to the dog. “Lady?” His thoughts paused at the natural label that came to his lips. It seemed right to address her as such. She was his, and he was hers. Unnatural. Yet his entire being pulled him to her. There was no sexual component either. Just…a rightness. “I’m afraid his training has just begun, little sister.” She again addressed the puppy on his chest. Jaenelle’s smile was wide as she looked at her son. “Breakfast should be interesting.” “Why?” Haedrian asked with innocent confusion. She beamed at her son affectionately. Having spent the last five years at SaDiablo Hall, Haedrian had grown up dealing with the various kindred. He didn’t yet understand that most humans had difficulty interacting with them. He just accepted kindred as part of life. Having Snape claimed as the little Sceltie’s human wasn’t strange at all to the boy. After all, Haedrian himself had been ‘Kaelaski’s human’ from almost the moment the pair had met. She finally peered at Snape directly, studying him with a Healer’s eye. She nodded resolutely and gestured. “Prince Severus, you should be on my left—the subordinate position.” She said in a tone that the Hogwarts professor instantly recognized as a gentle lecture. He’d heard Pomona use the exact same tone and lilt in the greenhouses with the first and second years.  “Now, you are the eldest and are Second Circle, so you should be in front. However, you are also still currently a guest and don’t know your way around yet. Haedrian, as the highest rank and caste other than myself, will be leading the way.” “Yes, Lady.” Haedrian acknowledged and gave a formal bow to his mother before turning to do as instructed. Jaenelle smiled at Severus for several moments until, with a surge of understanding, Severus offered his arm slightly up for her to hold, expecting her to place her arm in the crook of his elbow. However, her smile widened, eyes glittering with amusement as she lightly balanced her forearm across his own parallel to the floor, hand over hand. Severus knew how to conduct himself in aristocratic circles. In the beginning, it had been a challenge; another way to attempt to fit in with the Slytherin purebloods in spite of his half-blood status. Becoming Lucius Malfoy’s best friend, and thus being invited to all the ‘important’ events honed his knowledge into skill, which quickly became practiced ease. For whatever reason, the political dancing and formal etiquette came easily for him. The movements that he now observed with his Lady and Lily’s son were very similar to those of British magical society, especially the Ancient Houses. Yet there was enough difference that he knew it would take time to learn this culture’s version. He hated to be uncertain. When in doubt, he kept his mouth shut. Usually. Occasionally. In this case, he didn’t want to sound like an idiot to his Lady. He wanted that smile back. So, he stayed silent and followed the herd. The puppies bounced around them in a mob of interweaving fur. Though Severus noticed that ‘his’ grey one stayed relatively close to him as they made the journey. She was always on his left when he glanced down, though at varying distances ahead and behind. Of course, Jaenelle noticed his silence and proceeded to fill it. “Mostly, breakfast and lunch are informal family affairs, but since you are learning, you may escort me. The family will be happy to answer any questions you’ll have, but I think it best for Papa to do the majority of your training. He’ll understand the odd circumstances—we all do of course—and be able to react accordingly. He’s had lots of experience with the boyos too. He’s mostly retired from the living realms; you’ll have to go to him most of the time. The Hall and Keep are both perfect.” She nodded as if having decided something. Severus wondered who ‘Papa’ was and which Keep she could be referring. They’d had to travel to this Kaeleer via phoenix! The Lady couldn’t possibly be referring to the Scottish Keeps…could she? If so, McGonagall would be pleased, even eager, to accompany him. Once they were through into to the dining room, Jaenelle went off to the side of the long table, plopping herself down next to the already present Daemon Sadi. She kissed her husband’s cheek absently as she stretched to grab a carafe of steaming brown liquid. Minerva and Albus were also present; Albus seated on the other side of the table directly across from Sadi, Minerva across from where Jaenelle had landed. Severus found himself being directed to sit across from Haedrian, who had taken the seat beside Jaenelle, and on the other side of Minerva. “Good morning, witch-child,” a soothing baritone from an older version of Daemon, who sat at the ‘head’ of the table. The previously mentioned ‘Papa’ presumably, as he had taken the position usually reserved for a family patriarch. Grey hair caressed his temples. He was a bit narrower in the shoulders from his son, but other than that, they were practically identical in appearance. However, the darkness seeping from every pore of Daemon was absent in the sire. “Morning Papa,” Jaenelle answered easily. She grinned devilishly over at Severus and the Potions Professor swallowed nervously. “Prince Severus made a new friend.” “Oh?” Golden eyes focused on his daughter before peering at Severus, then at the floor. “Ah. I see.” It was obvious he was fighting a smirk. “Sage was quite sad that he wasn’t properly trained,” Jaenelle said as she filled her plate. “Indeed,” came the non-committal reply, laughter barely contained. “I think he’d be best with you, Papa. Either here or at the Keep.” The laughter left as if it had never been, “For how long?” “Well, he is a teacher at this Hogwarts school. Thus, a week before their new term seems adequate for a good beginning.” She nodded apparently to herself. “He’ll at least need to know enough not to set off any tempers.” Saetan nodded, “We can begin after breakfast.” Snape’s eyes had been bouncing between his Lady and her father at this verbal tennis. A ball of dread was forming in his stomach at this deciding of his immediate future. However, he already knew that he would willingly walk over broken glass for his Lady. This wasn’t nearly as bad. He didn’t think. “Sage can help him when he’s at Hogwarts. And Haedrian too, though that might not be the best idea.” She finished eating an omelet as she gestured with a twirling fork. The others at the table froze momentarily at her last instruction. Two instantly relaxed again in a lazy manner that set Snape’s instincts into overdrive. Minerva and Albus were both eager, happy with the news. Though the Transfiguration Professor also held a thoughtful contemplation along with her excitement. “I’m going to Hogwarts?” Haedrian asked. Jaenelle nodded, “At least for this first year. I would’ve left the decision to you, but I wove a tangled web last evening.” “He’s not going alone,” Sadi practically purred the words. Severus shivered; he recognized the purr as a velvet-coated warning. “He’s allowed to bring an owl, a toad, or a cat.” Minerva said helpfully. “Or perhaps one of you would like to accompany him? We could find a position at Hogwarts for you. Assistant Librarian, perhaps.” Dumbledore added. He couldn’t let his pawn escape! Saetan SaDiablo’s lips quirked upward in amusement. He was the Assistant Historian/Librarian to the Keep. He was the most expendable, having retired from the living realms, and thus the most easily able to be go gallivanting off towards parts unknown on behalf of his Queen. Most especially, he would be able to control Haedrian and deal with any threats or accidents that arose. “I accept.” It was a perfect compromise. “Kaelaski would be perfect!” Jaenelle echoed the word. Daemon relaxed further into his seat at the news that his father, the High Lord of Hell, and an Arcerian, no matter how young, would be accompanying his son to the new school. “You will write every week,” he ordered. Haedrian nodded, looking a bit stunned. This was certainly unexpected. But his Queen had spoken and he knew better than to go against her word. Especially when his Papa and Grandpapa were in the room! +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
IV) Lesson One
 Dumbledore had requested to be present for this first session between Saetan SaDiablo and Severus Snape. He was told that he was welcome by Jaenelle before either male could protest, which apparently decided the matter for all three. Saetan sat in a high-backed chair while Severus reclined stiffly upon a cushioned sofa. He handed the Potions Professor two thin texts. “These are books on Protocol. You’ll need to study them extensively in order to know how a proper Court functions and how to comport yourself in a variety of situations. You are to be a Second Circle Escort. You should read them with that in mind.” Severus nodded. Then asked softly, “Protocol? Court? Circle?” Part of him wanted to be his usual gruff self, but knowing that this man was the father of his Lady held his tongue in check. Saetan nodded in return. “Protocol is the intricate dance of Jewel rank and caste among the Blood. A Court is a group that governs a set portion of land. A Court helps to maintain the balance between landen—the non-Blood—and the land itself. As Blood, this is our function and role. We nurture and keep the land. A Court is made up of one or more Circles; those dedicated to the healthy function of the Court. The minimum for each Circle is twelve males of any caste.” He poured a glass of thick red liquid and began to heat it with a small tongue of black fire. Severus’ eyes widened at the display. He leaned forward. “How did you do that?” Saetan chuckled, but it was more with dismay and sadness than the guests would know. “All Blood can do basic Craft. It is part of what makes us Blood. Jeweled Blood can do more advanced Craft. The more potent their power, the more advanced or powerful their Craft. What I just performed would be considered basic Craft. I called in the glass from my personal store and am heating it over witch-fire. The only advanced portions are that, as my Birthright Jewel is the Red, my personal storage is much larger than that of the lighter Jewels, and it is a stronger, hotter flame.” Saetan took back one of the books that lay momentarily forgotten on a side-table, turned to a specific page in the very beginning and pointed. “Not all Blood have Jewels, just as not all Blood have a specific caste. This is a list of all the…common…Jewels.” His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Our Queen has two Jewels not on this list, but she is the exception. An explanation would be more than you are able to absorb for the moment.” Severus nodded as he read. Each section went into more detail than he yet had the ability to grasp. Thus, he focused on the lists in particular. Jewel Ranks: White, Yellow, Tiger Eye, Rose, Summer-sky, Purple Dusk, Opal, Green, Sapphire, Red, Gray, Ebon-gray, Black. Female Castes: Landen, Blood female, witch, Healer, Priestess, Black Widow, Queen. Male Castes: Landen, Blood male, Warlord, Prince, Warlord Prince. There were several notations on what each caste meant in terms of occupation and gender equivalencies. There was a notation for a Blood Opal, as well as how a specific ceremony could limitedly increase one’s Jewel strength if done properly. His mind hovered on the caste ‘queen’. Yes, that term fit his Lady perfectly. After a moment of contemplation, he asked, “Is this why Daemon called me ‘prince’?” Saetan gave a sigh even as he nodded. “Your caste is Prince, Severus. Just as his caste is Warlord,” he gestured to Albus with a flick of a finger. “I am a Warlord Prince, as is Daemon and Haedrian.” He drank to give himself time, contemplating on how to explain. “Somehow, you and your companions are Blood, but none of you have displayed any knowledge of Protocol nor Jewels. Your bond with your last Lady was broken so utterly, and has been thus for so long, that it pre-empted your instant bond with Jaenelle. This is partly why I agreed to be Hogwarts’ Assistant Librarian. I want access to your histories to try to piece together this puzzle. “Part of your training will be to sense the telepathic presence of those around you to determine caste. Jewels of rank are usually prominently displayed,” Saetan raised his hand to emphasize the Red Jewel in a thumb ring, “as there is no way to always psychically tell power. With a great deal of practice one can usually determine the Jewels of those below your rank. Any above your Jewel rank will be as blank a void as a non-Jeweled Blood.” Snape took this all in. Or attempted to. “Albus is a…Warlord.” It was a statement, but the lilt at the end indicated a question. Saetan took it as one. “Don’t confuse caste with position, rank, or occupation. Just because you outrank him does not mean that your profession overshadows his own. Protocol is an intricate dance of who is dominant given the situation, rank, and caste of those present. It is a constantly changing dynamic. Very rarely are there static cases. One of the few is that all children—those who have yet to undergo the Birthright Ceremony—and all minors are subordinate to any adults present. However, even this is case-by-case; varying with each child and strict adherence to Protocol will increase as they age and mature.” The High Lord of Hell gestured. “You, for example, will be treated as a child for these first few months, despite your age. This is to ensure you survive your training.” He took a drink. “You’ll find that what foibles you enact will be swiftly corrected. Any missteps the females of the Court allow, will not be accepted by the males. However, we all understand your unique entrance to our society and will correct you accordingly. It will be expressly evident when your skills and knowledge allow you full range. “My acceptance of the position at Hogwarts serves multiple purposes. I will continue your training in both Protocol and Craft, as well as my grandson’s. I will also be able to be a…buffer between Haedrian and the staff and students at this school.” Albus made a noise of protest from his spot in the corner. “That won’t be necess—” “I assure you it is most necessary,” Saetan interrupted the Headmaster. “Haedrian took to Protocol easily, with a natural grace. Only his age prevents him from going further, not his maturity. An entire school full of non-Jeweled Blood, none of whom have any idea about Protocol, will grate nerves. Haedrian, however, will not have my centuries of experience in which to control himself.” He folded his hands into a prayer-like position and lay his forefingers against his chin. “I expect that there will be several occasions when Haedrian will react as any Blood male, which will be decidedly contrary to your society’s cultural ethics. “I have no doubt that Blood law is different from your own, as the behavior you all have thus far exhibited is dichotomous to our own. Haedrian is young and prone to rash, emotional responses. He will need my experience and influence to stay his hand. Otherwise, the consequences could be…unpleasant.” There was a long silence. “Such as?” Saetan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had occasion to observe a variety of children. Landen children tend to behave the worst. They poke fun. Tease and torment others. Including those younger than themselves with boys towards females being particular for this discussion.” Albus acknowledged the jab, “Children will be children. They can occasionally be cruel.” “I see,” Saetan sighed. “Haedrian’s reaction towards anyone tormenting another will be swift and violent. As a Warlord Prince, it is in his very nature to protect those lesser than himself. As a Blood male Warlord Prince of the SaDiablo line, we who follow the Old Ways, Haedrian has been trained to rise to the killing edge only to protect those he perceives as ‘his’. However, as I have said, he is young; his sense of honor and justice is understandably strong, given his previous upbringing. In relation to his age, he has an uncharacteristically violent reaction to what he perceives as, how did you phrase it? Ah yes, ‘children being cruel’.” “Killing edge?” Albus questioned sharply, honing in on that phrase. The High Lord grabbed two volumes, identical to those he had given Snape, and passed them to the Headmaster. “It is difficult to describe to one who isn’t a Warlord Prince. The description in that text states ‘violently passionate and passionately violent to follow Blood law’.” “What is Blood law?” Severus tried to refocus the intense stare on something more mundane. The apparent slight Albus made had been noticed, registered, and ignored. But Severus thought it was only ignored because of their complete ignorance. Otherwise, the glint in Saetan’s eye told that he was violently passionate to defend his grandson. “The first law is to honor, cherish, and protect. The second is to serve. The third is to obey. Other than that, a Queen’s word is law inside her territory. Her Court will enforce those laws.” “And without a Court?” “A Queen’s power comes from her Court. Without a Court, she holds no more power than any other Blood female. Though a Queen without a Court is…odd. Not unknown, especially for the very young or very old, but odd. Your colleague is one of these and I think it is simply because your culture has forgotten all things Blood,” Saetan answered. “Minerva is a Queen?” A nod, then asked curiously, “What is her occupation within the school?” “She’s the Deputy Headmistress.” “Meaning?” “She handles disputes between the faculty. Handles the majority of the inter-school paperwork. Determines adequate punishments for transgressions. In all, she ensures the school runs as smoothly as possible,” Albus explained. Saetan did his finger-to-chin thoughtful pose again. “Hmmm… In terms of Blood society, she has been performing the function of a queen, with her territory being that of the school. Interesting.” He pointed to Albus. “What are your duties as Headmaster?” Said Headmaster sputtered indignantly. “I handle any disputes that Minerva cannot. Mostly I deal with extra-school politics and paperwork. Ensuring that we are compliant with current Ministry guidelines. Handling any monetary issues. Etcetera.” Saetan nodded as he absorbed this information. With a tap of his finger against his chin, he rose. “I think this is a good time to break. Prince, your assignment is to read the texts. We will have another discussion once you have completed reading the basic text.” “Yes, sir.” Again, Severus had a large instinct that yelled not to annoy this man. That and it would upset his Lady if he did so. She had directed him to learn Protocol from Saetan and that is what Severus would do. Saetan gave a genuine smile for the first time. “The correct form of address is ‘Lord’, ‘Prince’, or ‘Steward’, as I am the Steward of the Dark Court in which you find yourself.” Snape frowned. “I thought I was a Prince and you were a Warlord Prince.” Saetan chuckled. “Indeed. When in doubt, ‘Lord’ is universal for all Blood males. ‘Prince’ can be used for either Prince or Warlord Prince. ‘Lady’ for any Blood females, regardless of caste or rank.” “With such intricacy to Protocol, why so few forms of address?” he asked curiously. Magical culture and pureblood society was on a caste system as well, but there were six ranks and nearly as many titles. “It is back to our inherent ability to psychically determine true caste. The ability to do so negates the need for more designations.” Saetan gestured towards the correct direction. “Which is why it will be one of your first lessons as an escort.” Saetan stopped him before he went much farther. “Oh, and prince? You will not be allowed to go beyond the Hall until I’m satisfied you can comport yourself properly. This is for your own safety.” “Would strangers react so violently towards him?” Dumbledore asked, aghast at the suggestion. “The very label ‘stranger’ would increase suspicion and any male temper would instantly sharpen. After that is recognized, which I assure you would not take longer than a second, even for the children, his first mistake in Protocol would be his last.” Saetan stated simply, bowed shallowly in a gesture of acknowledgement only, then made his way back down the hall in the opposite direction. (It was time to seek his bed. As a Guardian, he couldn’t withstand the strongest daylight hours.) Dumbledore stared in shocked muted horror. “Poor little Harry…” he murmured under his breath. In what kind of world did the tiny infant he had once held grow into? What world would attack a visitor simply for an innocent faux pas? “Other than barreling down corridors, his manners are excellent. He acknowledges his mistakes, gives apologies as needed. I have no doubt he can hold his own against Draco.” Severus answered the unasked commentary he knew was going through the Headmaster’s mind. “He is healthy and fit. No need for glasses nor does he showcase the lightning scar.” Albus’ eyes widened, then narrowed as thoughts swirled around in rapid arrays. Plans within plans needed to be adjusted. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, “You have no objections to the boy?” “Of course I have objections. He will be coming into a world for which he is not equipped; even more so than a muggle-born! I’ve edited his shopping list so that he can find supplies a bit easier.” Snape bit back. He had spent a portion of his morning adding such details of what to buy and where in Diagon Alley so that Lily’s son would have at least a small leg up. “I can start his introduction to the Wizarding World while I’m getting my own lessons.” “You are…staying here?” “My Lady…” how good to say aloud! “…commands and I obey.” “Your lady? Severus, really. What happened to you last night?” Snape sighed. “Suffice to say that my priorities have been reordered. I’m not sure how to describe it, Albus.” He paused and could only think of the words in the book he held. “She is my Queen and I will honor, cherish, and obey her.” To my last breath. Albus’ eyes narrowed before he straightened and nodded. “Perhaps it’s for the best. You can get acquainted here. I’ll be leaving for Hogwarts shortly. I presume that Minerva will go with me. Will you be alright by yourself?” Snape snorted derisively, giving the comment all the answer it deserved. “Very well. Good luck, my boy.” He needed to contact Nicholas as soon as possible to get the stone to Hogwarts. Plans needed to be adjusted. +++++BJT++HP++BJT++++++++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I) Books, books everywhere, but not a one to buy
One step into Diagon Alley—what a strange name for an alley! Did these wizards know that ‘diagonally’ was a direction? Or did they just not care that all the landens would be confused? And the landen-raised…or those like him, who wasn’t landen or landen raised, but had no idea these things existed… Okay, too many possibilities so the wizards must not care—and little Haedrian’s eyes zoomed in to a winking shop window about halfway down the cobblestone road. (According to his father, he and his mother shared the unique ability to pinpoint a bookseller in a matter of seconds, even if the books were initially hidden down back-alleys, behind crowds of people, or by the newness of a location. The Arcerian version of laughter going on above his head confirmed that supposition.) Unbidden from his brain, the boy’s feet were already taking him straight to the large windows showcasing a variety of new editions. Haedrian gazed in open-mouthed wonder at the large bookshop. “Flourish and Blotts” was the main bookseller in Diagon Alley. He knew he had stopped in the entrance to the shop, his eyes twinkling with stars at all the lovely books that he hadn’t read…but he didn’t care! It was only when he was tapped on the shoulder so that someone could come in themselves did Haedrian jump into action. He heard the cat-laughter from Kaelaski air-walking, invisible, above him again, but paid no attention. He had the whole of a new (well, new to him) bookstore to explore and his father’s purse to empty! (As if he actually could.) To an outsider, they would have seen as an extremely well-dressed boy of approximately eleven years of age, actually skipped through Flourish and Blotts, flitting from one section to another with seeming no pattern whatsoever. To a more astute observer, they would have noticed that the boy initially plopped down in the middle of an aisle with no care for those around him now being forced to go around or over him (if someone happened to want to go by, he just leaned far to one side without looking up from his book). He would stay with a single book “An Introduction to the Wizarding World, Twelfth Edition” by Genis Prime for over an hour as he read, constantly muttering under his breath. Then, when he got to the end of his speed-reading, the boy’s head popped up and a slow grin blossomed across his features. A caricature artist might have put blazing fireworks into his eyes if they saw his expression. The book went to the floor, the boy began to move…and he didn’t stop moving for almost three hours. By the time he went up to the front desk to pay, the ‘firstie’ had three copies of every textbook in the Hogwarts curriculum. There was also an additional pile of books for Potions, Herbology, Magical Creatures, Magical Theory, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Modern Runes, Spellcrafting, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Wizarding Government, Wizard Laws, Wizard Nobility and Etiquette… The list went on. In a smaller pile were four different books on Divination and “Wizarding Travel Methods” by Travers E. Relm. It seemed the only subject the boy had missed was Astronomy. There was also a small pile of books that a keen observer might  have interpreted as the boy glaring at them. All concerning the same person. “Harry Potter: Our Youngest Hero” and “Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived” were both non-fictional texts. However, the others in the short stack were children’s stories: “Harry Potter and the Deadly Dragon”, “Harry Potter and the Wandering Werewolf”, “Harry Potter and the Hiding Hinkypunk”. All of which were written by the same man, Lockroy Gildehart. *I wonder if these people have ever heard of slander? Or fraud…* Haedrian practically growled over the thread. “Umm…sir? Do you have enough Galleons to pay for this?” the young clerk, his nametag said Mike, asked hesitantly. Sure, the boy was dressed like one of the wealthiest purebloods the clerk had ever seen—even better material than the Malfoys!—but all those stacks of books meant thousands of galleons! The boy nodded happily (so fast that the clerk was afraid his head would just bobble right off and roll onto the floor). “Did you hear that?” Mike asked in confusion, having heard an odd hissing coming from somewhere above his head that sounded sort of like laughter. If a Kneazle could laugh, that is. The head of unruly black hair—the only indication of an unkempt nature on the child—shook as shoulders shrugged noncommittally. His smile didn’t dim either. And so, the clerk obediently began to ring up the piles. It took fifty-three minutes to calculate it all. “That will be fifteen thousand, nine hundred twenty-one Galleons, thirteen Sickles, and four Knuts.” Mike had been smart enough to organize the piles of books into stacks of reasonable height as he wrote down each title and its price while a junior assistant tied brown cord around the stacks. “Hey! What are you doing?” the young boy asked indignantly. His green eyes wide with horror as he looked at the junior assistant in the process of shrinking the bundles. “Sir, these are much too unwieldy for you to handle. Jason is applying a Shrinking Charm and Weightless Charm so that you can take them home in your pockets.” Mike reassured. “But I don’t know how to un-Shrink them!” “Your parents will—” he stopped mid-sentence at the intense glare sent his way. “Not everyone has the luxury of wizard parents.” The boy’s tone was suddenly a bit lower in timbre, almost menacing. If an eleven-year-old could be menacing. “Please simply tie them as you were and I will do the rest.” “Yes, Sir.” Mike agreed immediately. It was less work anyway. The dark head counted out papers as he waited for his piles to get processed. A couple minutes and there was a ‘chuff’ sound (again above his head?!), resulting in the boy muttering a low, “Thanks, I forgot.” before exchanging the papers for coins. Mike was happy to see they were properly gold and silver. However, when he looked closer, he scowled. Thinking this had all been a scam or prank, he growled, “What are you trying to pull, boy?” Without waiting for a reply, he held up one of the faux-coins. “This ain’t a Galleon! I don’t think this is funny. Where are your parents?” Green eyes blazed with anger at the accusation and Mike was startled to notice that a glaze of frost was starting to radiate outward from where the boy’s hands were clenching the counter. The woman next in line, who had been watching this entire encounter with no small amount of amusement, spoke up, trying to diffuse the situation. “Perhaps he simply hasn’t visited Gringotts yet to exchange his currency. You can tell by his accent that he isn’t from Britain, Mr. Bottis. Is that correct?” She had given a stern glare to Mike that had shut his mouth quickly before turning an understanding smile to the child. “Yes, that’s right. Would you be so kind as to indicate which building is the wizarding equivalent of a bank?” “Of course. Mr. Bottis will of course hold your order until you come back,” another glare at the clerk, who winced and nodded his reluctant agreement. “This way and you see that large building at the end of the alley? That’s Gringotts. They’ll be able to help you with any of your banking needs or questions. Have you dealt with goblins before?” She waited for the shake of a head as a response before continuing. “Goblins are very particular about their manners, so be sure to be very polite when interacting with them.” “Thank you, Lady.” The boy even gave a small inclination of his head that was probably meant to be a bow. The woman blushed slightly at the honorific. “I’m always happy to help a fellow bibliophile. Good luck.” Green eyes pierced the clerks’. “I will be back for my books.” Then he walked off. It was a threat, pure and simple. Michael Bottis acknowledged that fact easily. And since the frost on his counter was still in the process of melting, he thought he’d err on the side of caution and have the order ready for his return instead of the usual procedure of assuming the customer wasn’t returning and replacing the order back in the appropriate shelves. +++++HP+++BJT+++HP+++++
II) Gringotts
 Haedrian read the inscription engraved in the silver entrance doors of Gringotts Bank and felt the hooks of Craft latch onto his mind. 
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So, if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
 He was momentarily surprised—for this was the first bit of Craft he had felt since he had entered the so-called Wizarding World—but then he grinned. He certainly hadn’t finished his training in the Hourglass Coven yet, but he knew enough to feel the intention of the spell and track it back. The words were the trigger, then once it latched on the spell read the intention of the person before doing more. Haedrian knew plenty about his grandmother’s (seemingly ‘harmless’) abilities to know how nasty the many, many layers of Craft could do if it deemed the person judged as a ‘Thief’. Since Haedrian had never been a thief (even when accused), he opened the door with no fear of what he would find on the other side. The tendrils of Craft ‘tasted’ his mind one last time before letting go. He grinned to himself, happy that his Hourglass training had progressed so far as to have this unscheduled confirmation of his abilities. Each of the tall counters—obviously that high to induce a sense of smallness, belittlement, and inferiority—was sitting a creature Haedrian had never seen before. Perhaps a mix of dragon and some of the shorter-lived races? It had the standard humanoid appearance of most of the sentient non-kindred races, but also a slight wrinkled-scaled appearance on their skin, as well as long pointed ears with a tuft of hair from the ears and on their head. How interesting! Haedrian had been warned by the woman in the bookshop, but his parents had also taught him well. So, when he approached the nearest bank teller that was free, he ignored the fact that the teller was waaay up there and looked the goblin in the eyes. Haedrian tasted his psychic scent and addressed him accordingly. “Lord Guardrock, I am Prince Haedrian Angelline. I’ve come for a currency exchange.” The goblin had initially sneered at the wizarding human boy that had come to his desk, like he had sneered at thousands before, but that sneer froze as he heard the greeting. Then his mind ran in a whirl as he analyzed the words. Humans loved royalty and liked to think of themselves that way. Most of them, whether actually royal or not, thought themselves entitled. As if they were better than goblins! For the most part, all goblins took this as a human trait to be scorned; noted and ignored. As long as they had money, and didn’t violate the Laws, they would all be treated the same. However, never in Guardrock’s memory had a wizard addressed a goblin as royalty. Yet, that was Guardrock’s appropriate title! A title that the little wizard before him shouldn’t have known… Unless this was no ordinary little wizard. One of the goblin-spells on the front doors of Gringotts read whoever walked beneath them for true-identity. So Guardrock brought up the scan that the door had made just a few seconds previous and read the notation. 
Caste:                                                  Warlord Prince
Name:                                                 Haedrian Angelline
Birthright Jewel:                                  Blood Opal
Jewel of Rank:                                     (not yet eligible)
Alternate names:                                Harold James Potter
Mother:                                               Lady Lily Anne Potter, nee-Evans
Father:                                                Lord James Charlus Potter

Guardrock’s black eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the boy, who faced him without a twitch, and slowly nodded. He was quite proud of himself for not reacting to the information. Not only had Harry Potter been missing for many years, but there weren’t any wizards who remembered the Jewel rituals! That was the oldest magic in existence. Only a few races remembered, all of whom were classified by the arrogant wizards as ‘lesser’. Yet here was Harold Potter, looking whole and healthy…and dangerous. He was beginning to come into his Warlord Prince nature. There hadn’t been a Warlord Prince among the wizards in decades. Only three in the last hundred years! Two of whom had gone on to do great and terrible things, and the third stood before him. Guardrock gestured, “You will need to speak with your account manager.” Haedrian blinked, “I have an account manager?” “Yes, Prince Angelline. More accurately, you need to speak with the Potter account manager.” Haedrian blinked again, still confused. Then he shrugged. “Can I get the currency exchange while I talk to the manager? I’ve got books I’d like to buy.” “You’ll want to speak with the Potter account manager first, Prince.”  Guardrock wasn’t used to being so polite with any human. However, most humans weren’t prone to violence if treated poorly. Warlord Princes were known for such behavior. “Okay, if you think it’s best,” Haedrian agreed. “Follow Griphook.” Haedrian pulled his thoughts out of the past and looked around the office space. It looked a lot like his father’s study in the way that there was a large desk with two chairs in front of it off to one side. On the other side of the room was a low table and a small chaise. In his father’s study, the two partitions would indicate different kinds of dealings: family and official. That wasn’t necessarily the case with goblins. “Always assume you know nothing when approaching something new,” he muttered under his breath one of his mother’s favorite sayings. Jaenelle Angelline was… Well, she was different. He loved her dearly for all her differences. The kindred called her “The Lady”. Jaenelle was the Living Myth. Dreams Made Flesh. Witch. She had been being dreamed for thousands upon thousands of years, even longer than Grandpapa Saetan had been alive. Great-Aunt Draca said that there had been, and would be, many, many Witches over the millennia…but there would never be another like Jaenelle. Even among the unique, Jaenelle Angelline was extraordinary. One of the things that Jaenelle did, and made her part of who she was, was govern over the kindred races. All of the kindred Territories were hers and she toured those Territories twice each year to make sure they were doing well. For the most part, the kindred had been ruling themselves for eons, thus Jaenelle didn’t need to do much actual governing, but it was still a good thing to remind all the non-kindred that those Territories were protected. (As if anyone was insane enough to think that after Jaenelle had used her full strength to Purge all three realms of those tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah!) As Haedrian was Jaenelle’s child, he had been introduced to all the kindred on one of those tours shortly after he was adopted. Jaenelle was “The Lady”, but he… Well, he’d had years to get used to the idea of being called “The Pup” by all the Scelties, “The Kitten” by the cats, “The Cub” by the wolves, “The Colt” by the horses, etc. It was just one more part of his life. A life he loved very much. Jaenelle knew more kindred races than any other alive (except for maybe Lorn and Draca). She had been moving around and interacting with most of them since she was seven, so she was able to teach her new son how to interact with new races as well. Just as she had. However, that wasn’t the extent of Haedrian’s training in dealing with others. Papa Saetan was Jaenelle’s adopted father, and had been the High Lord of Hell for over fifty thousand years. He knew Protocol perfectly. He had been teaching Haedrian as soon as the boy emerged from his Birthright Ceremony. Daemon Sadi, Saetan’s son and husband to Jaenelle, had become the family patriarch when Saetan stepped back from the living races, and taken over the SaDiablo family’s finances, holdings, and governance in the last few years. He had been teaching Haedrian all about money, business, and finance. Uncle Lucivar Yaslana, Saetan’s youngest son and brother to both Daemon and Jaenelle (yes, their family was convoluted, but it was theirs and he loved them all), was an Eyrian warrior. He had taken on Haedrian’s weapons training. He’d just shown up at the Hall one day with his son Daemonar in tow, thrust an Eyrian wooden practice stick at Haedrian, and started to walk both boys through the forms. After an hour, he’d announced that he’d be back in two days and to better practice or Haedrian would be sorry, then left. Daemon and Jaenelle had generously (while hiding laughter) helped the boy with the forms so that when his uncle had, as promised, shown up again to drill him, he hadn’t been reprimanded. (Daemonar apparently hadn’t practiced though and Haedrian learned the price of not drilling as told was a dunk in the nearest fountain. Since Haedrian had been terrified of being beaten like his previous ‘family’ had used as discipline; he was greatly appreciative, if initially confused, of the demonstration so that he’d know what to expect.) Lucivar was married to Marian, who was a hearthwitch. When she was around, she snuck Haedrian nut cakes and pointed out to him little spells that could help him keep things organized and clean. Daemonar learned some of really interesting things from the wolf pups that lived in their Eyrie, which Daemonar in turn showed to Haedrian. They had gotten into a lot of trouble for some of them… Playing with the different shields that one winter had been a doozy… One of Haedrian’s favorite teachers was his Grandma Tersa. Tersa had been broken on a spear, taking from her most of her power and had shattered her mind. But Tersa was Tersa. A natural Black Widow and one of the most promising of her generation. She saw the world differently than her sisters. And even when Tersa was broken, she was still able to see those differences. While Tersa walked the border of the Twisted Kingdom—that mental Realm the landens called madness—she was still able to impart wisdom and knowledge to her grandson. She knew that he wouldn’t push her to be more sane than she was, allowing her to just be herself, and that he would listen. That easy acceptance, with no expectation, was more than she got from most. In return, she showed him roads and paths that only those like herself walked. She always cautioned him, of course, but she still pointed out the markers. Just in case. Haedrian knew that official training started once the Birthright Ceremony was completed and continued until the Offering to the Darkness granted one’s Jewel of Rank. Thus, he still had years of training to go in all aspects of his education. He wasn’t even halfway done yet! One day, after his majority, Haedrian would be the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan (well, maybe…his Jewel wasn’t nearly as dark as Father’s!) and the Warlord Prince of the kindred Territories (at least the liaison between the kindred and the humans). He had a looooong way to go before he was ready for either title. The door to the office/study opened, pulling Haedrian once more out of his contemplations. He turned to see an older goblin than either Griphook or Guardrock step through the doorway, close the door, amble over to the desk, and settle himself. The goblin did all that without saying anything. It was only after his long-fingered hands were in his lap as he leaned back in his chair to look at Haedrian did he speak. “Why have you not answered our correspondence, Mr. Potter?” Haedrian blinked again, trying not to bristle at being called the wrong name. “I’ve never received anything from Gringotts.” He would be polite. He would be polite. The goblin looked at him for long moments, “I would call you a liar, Mr. Potter, if the wards on this room allowed for such.” He paused for another minute before continuing. “Your identity needs to be verified before I may speak with you about your account holdings.” “How do we verify my identity?” Really, why was this necessary for a simple currency exchange? The goblin took out a dagger from a drawer and a sheet of parchment. “Place three drops of blood on the parchment.” Haedrian sighed – Really, why was this necessary for a simple currency exchange? – but did as he was bid. He let the three drops fall, then used the flat of the blade to hide the use of healing craft for the small cut. Then handed the dagger back, hilt first, just as he’d been taught. The goblin’s eyes narrowed slightly at the show, training he knew and recognized, but had never seen a wizard perform. Instead of commenting, he turned his attention to the parchment. Crimson words began to appear, some were echoes of the identifiers on the entrance to Gringotts, but there was more.  Caste – Birthright/Jewel of Rank – Name:                       Warlord Prince – Opal/(not yet eligible) – Haedrian Angelline Alternate names: Harold James Potter Mother (birth):         witch – n/a – Lily Anne Potter, nee-Evans Father (birth):          Warlord – n/a – James Charlus Potter Mother (adopted):   Queen/Healer/Black Widow – Black/Ebony – Jaenelle Angelline Father (adopted):    Warlord Prince – Red/Black – Daemon Sadi Additional: British Magical Guardian – Albus Dumbledore Magical Proxy – Albus DumbledoreHeir Apparent – House Potter Heir Presumptive – House Peverell Current Assets: Godric’s Hollow Potter Manor 12 Chancey Circle – on permanent loan to Ministry of Magic (see terms of service – 253F.1) Ministry House – on permanent loan to Ministry of Magic (see terms of service – 253F.2)The Daily Prophet – 23% The Quibbler – 49%
 
Thorngold had been the Potter Account Manager for fifty-three years and knew the assets well. He was aware of all monetary holdings and the liquid assets at all times. So the reason why he choked on his own spit was neither, as neither were revelations (though they may have been so to the boy). No, it was the Jewels of Heir Potter’s adoptive parents which made the goblin pale dramatically. “I’ll get your statement and balance. One moment.” Thorngold would deny that he squeaked to the day he died. He would also deny that he rushed out of the room. He needed to report this! +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
III) Ragnok
 The goblin who came into the office next was older than any other he had seen yet. However, though he knew this goblin was older, Haedrian also saw that it wasn’t like the shorter-lived races getting older. More like Papa Saetan. Older didn’t always mean grey hair, wrinkles, and stooped shoulders. Getting older for the long-lived races meant only a touch of grey hair, but most of the change was in the eyes. The longer-lived races got experience and poise as they aged. This goblin exuded both traits to a degree that Haedrian could only relate as to his grandfather. The goblin took Thorngold’s chair and stared at him with an expression that was almost blank. Studying him. “Long has it been since a Blood male walked these halls. Let alone a Warlord Prince.” Haedrian blinked in confusion at both the topic and the abruptness. He hadn’t been under the impression that Blood had been part of wizarding society at all, ever. Dumblebeard had certainly been confused when it had come up. Yet Father and Papa Saetan had been teaching him how to do this for years. He could do this. Right? Right…? Though having Father here with him was suddenly a much better idea than him talking and potentially messing up! What was he supposed to say?! He felt another cat-nuzzle on the top of his head, much gentler this time. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. He appreciated it. He took a deep breath as he settled himself in one of the chairs. When in doubt of what to say, either say nothing or state the obvious. “That’s not true.” The goblin frowned and tensed at the apparent accusation, but Haedrian kept going, “One of the wizards that contacted my family about enrolling into Hogwarts was a Warlord Prince. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he must do business here.” The goblin relaxed again, back to his previous posture. “Hmmm… I misspoke. Not since the Thousand Years War has a Jeweled Blood male walked these halls.” He paused again before finally introducing himself, “I am British Gringotts Director Ragnok.” Haedrian’s mind was still on the first comment, and he agreed with it, since he hadn’t met a Jeweled wizard yet. Though Blood implied Jewels, it wasn’t necessarily the same thing. One could be a Blood male and not be strong enough to wear Jewels. However, if one wore Jewels, they were always Blood. He nodded. His head cocked to one side curiously, “The Headmaster didn’t seem like he was at all familiar with Blood society. Has your race of kindred remembered?” Director Ragnok gave a single bark of laughter, his humor showing a large number of very sharp teeth. “Goblins are kindred, Prince, but I doubt in the way you mean. Goblins diverged from the Great Dragon eons ago. We have retained much of what wizard-kind has lost.” “Great Dragon…” Haedrian tasted the phrase and asked, “Do you mean Lorn? Or Draca?” Though he didn’t know it, Haedrian was treated to a sight not seen in many a lifetime by any wizard: a goblin choking on air in surprise. “Are you alright?” he asked with concern. It took a few seconds, but Ragnok got control of himself quickly. One didn’t rise to the level of Account Manager without the ability to control oneself. Even if that control temporarily waxed under extreme duress. “The Great Mother Dragon that birthed all Blood races: Draca.” He paused, “Not many who live know that name.” Haedrian shrugged. “She’s the Seneschal of the Keep. I see her every time I go. I don’t see Lorn as much because he’s so big. I think he gets bored and sleeps a lot.” Director Ragnok understood the boy wasn’t lying. There wasn’t an error in the spells. This was truly a Jeweled Blood male. And he had been trained. Spoke of people more powerful than any wizard or goblin, ever. Spoke of visiting the very creators of Magic-kind. Knew words and names that had been lost to all but very few. Names that no goblin would tell a wizard. Words no goblin would ever explain. (All of this on top of which was the boy’s status as the Boy Who Lived and Heir Apparent to an Ancient and Noble House!) Which meant this boy was very, very, very dangerous. The connections this boy held were enough to wipe out the entire race of goblins from the face of everything. Carefully he phrased his first question. “For what purpose brought you to Gringotts?” Haedrian knew he was missing a lot. He could feel it. Like when he was watching Papa in one of his meetings as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and something was said. Haedrian could tell more was being said than the actual words, but it took Papa explaining later before he understood. Sometimes not even then. He sent a mental poke at Kaelaski, *Do you know what he’s talking about?*

*Don’t know his race of kindred.*
 Haedrian’s shoulders slumped at his friend’s success of stating the obvious, but also unhelpful, comment. So, he’d have to go another route. As politely as he knew how, he said, “Prince Ragnok, I’m sorry. My training is only just started. I know that you are trying to ask me something important, but I don’t yet have enough training to understand your implication.” There, that was appropriately bland, right? The goblin stared at him for long moments. “You came to Gringotts today with a purpose. What was it?” Words bypassed Haedrian’s brain without permission and tumbled out. “My parents want me to go to Hogwarts to learn more about these wizards. So, I was in Diagon Alley to get supplies…except when I went to pay for the books, the shopkeep said that my currency was wrong.” Haedrian’s eyes blazed temporarily with anger at the remembered accusation, but it was quickly waylaid as he brought out his purse. “Papa gave me gold marks and silver marks, enough for everything Mother and Grandpapa wanted me to find, but then Kaelaski remembered that the wizards are weird and only take coins, but the clerk said the coins were wrong, even though they’re gold and silver and bronze!” The goblin, presented with the dichotomy of a well-trained Blood-male who had acted much older than his apparent age, suddenly speaking a flurry of words without seemingly taking a breath, blinked. “I…see…” It took him a second or two. Then he leaned forward to study the coins that the boy—for that episode had definitely been that of a child—had pushed towards him for study. Goblins were born from dragons—rather like seventh cousins thrice removed—and as anyone knows, dragons loved treasure. The goblin affinity for treasure stemmed from this dragon trait. Just as a dragon could identify any precious metal or stone, and was able to innately find flaws or know its purity, so could goblins. And rather like dragons, goblins loved to get more and more treasure. It’s part of what made them such good bankers. Thus, when Director Ragnok analyzed the coins with a critical eye, he knew several things all at once. They were indeed small round coins of gold, silver, and bronze. Each coin was over 90% pure and weighed approximately one ounce each. However, after that, the similarities between them and British Wizarding currency ended. Their relative size was different and the pressed engraving on each side was vastly different, which is probably what the aforementioned clerk had noticed. “Hmmm…” Haedrian was blushing scarlet at his outburst. He hadn’t meant to do that. His mouth had run away from him. “What’s the exchange rate?” he asked hesitantly. Ragnok snorted and leaned back in his leather seat, studying the boy. On one claw, this boy was a human wizard and wizards were not trusted. A goblin did not offer advice of any sort to a wizard. On the other claw, the boy’s connections made him more Blood than wizard and Blood followed the Old Ways of Honor, Protection, Servitude, and Wrath. He was obviously being trained in those ways, though allowanced must be made for his age. “May I inquire as to your companions? Or rather, your lack of companions?” Green eyes ducked under black bangs before he looked up again. He pointed to the space above his head where suddenly there was a LARGE white tiger grinning large pointed teeth at him. “I’m not alone, if that’s what you mean. This is Kaelaski. He’s my best friend.” The Green Jewel hanging from the gold chain around the tiger’s neck promised Ragnok death. The teeth and claws were practically an afterthought, even if they were noticed first. It took all of Ragnok’s years and training not to twitch. “Your parents?” he asked instead, though his eyes didn’t leave the threat hovering in midair. “Oh, you mean why don’t I have an adult with me? Well, Papa was going to come with me, but something happened right before it was time to leave. Since I wanted to go, and Mom had given me a list of things to look for, and Kaelaski was going with me, Papa decided that it was safe enough for me to come without him.” Haedrian clarified. Then he muttered, “Though Uncle Lucivar is probably following from the rooftops…” “I see.” Ragnok again had the distinct impression that he was speaking to both a child and an adult with how the boy’s sentences would be so formal before running off with him with typical childish enthusiasm. “Gringotts could exchange your coins for the local currency if you wish, but it would have to be off of the purity of the metal itself. I will bring back Thorngold to assist you in that endeavor.” He paused, thinking. “Prince Angelline…” The eleven-year-old’s back straightened at the formal address, making the goblin mentally catalogue and approve of the change. Yes, the boy did have some training; it was just incomplete. “I will speak plainly…or as plainly as an old goblin like myself is capable.” He showed his teeth in a goblin smile, which most wizards would flinch upon seeing. Ragnok wasn’t surprised to observe that the child did neither. With such a companion, seeing teeth longer than his little finger must be commonplace.  “There is a spell upon our doors which reads an individual’s identity. There are many reasons for this; including those trying to access accounts not their own, and those attempting not to be noticed, to name a couple. The spell upon our doors identified you as Warlord Prince Haedrian Angelline and as the Heir Apparent Harrison James Potter. Since you have said nothing of it as of yet, I must ask: are you aware of your wizarding heritage and the implications therein?” Haedrian blinked and blinked again at the goblin, trying to take in all the words. “Ummm…no?” he finally answered, but it was also phrased as a question. “You mentioned an uncle that was likely unobtrusively accompanying you. Perhaps this would be better spoken of in such company.” *Uncle Lucivar? Are you…around…somewhere…?* With a Blood Opal Jewel, Haedrian didn’t have the depth of power needed to isolate his uncle’s Ebon-Gray. However, since none of the wizards seemed to understand about psychic communication threads, the chances that only Blood would pick up the spear thread Haedrian had cast out broadly were almost a certainty. *You in trouble already, little hellcat?* The immediate response was amused, with an air of prepared predatory anticipation. Lucivar had followed at a discrete enough distance that only Haedrian’s knowledge of his uncle’s character allowed him the guess of his presence. Much like Kaelaski, Lucivar used sight-shields to predatory advantage. 
*I’m in the big bank building, talking to their director. -- Goblins are actually cousins to the dragons! – But he says that an adult should be here for the next part. Something about my having a wizard inheritance…?*

*Already on my way.*
 Haedrian nodded. He mentally refocused to look at the goblin. “Uncle Lucivar is on his way. He’s Eyrian.” He thought to warn the banker, though he wasn’t sure that the goblin would understand what that meant. “I will alert my guards.” Ragnok got up and left the office without another word. Haedrian looked woefully at his uncle when the bare-chested man walked through the door not long after. “I just wanted to buy some books.” Lucivar snorted back laughter. “Only you, Hellcat.” He stayed standing since his large black wings weren’t conducive to traditional seating arrangements, arms loose by his sides, ready for a fight. Lucivar was always ready for a fight. “I don’t think the goblins are used to Eyrians.” “They’ll learn.” +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
IV) Exchange Rates
 “Lucivar Yaslana, here for a meeting with the director.” Goblins were a warrior society. They recognized and understood a threat when they saw one. Every goblin that saw Lucivar recognized the way his body moved with feline grace. Power and skill locked within skin, held back by iron control. Once they saw his Red Jewel proudly displayed, they gave the goblin equivalent of a choked swallow or paled, bowed slightly in respect of a fellow warrior, and got out of his way. Lucivar noticed but didn’t outwardly acknowledge any of it other than a slight incline of his head in return for the bows. He also noticed every entrance, exit, corridor, and obstacle. His Eyrian-warrior’s mind cataloguing every weapon in sight; both the obvious and the unobtrusive. He noted the customers and guards on duty and each of their approximate skill level. Noted how long it would take him to go through all of them with lethal and non-lethal force. All this he took in a glance before proceeding to follow the little goblin that hurried before him, taking him to his nephew. When the black-haired boy looked at him sheepishly, Lucivar held back the grin. “I just wanted to buy some books.” “Only you, Hellcat.” He smiled at his nephew. It was quite typical of any shopping trip with either his sister, Jaenelle—who, thank the Darkness, had lost some of her energy as she aged!—into any bookshop or musicshop. Lucivar figured that he only missed such expressions and utterances from his father and oldest brothers because he hadn’t yet been old enough to understand any sentiments uttered. Though, to be fair, it was usually the shopkeepers who had that expression. Lucivar Yaslana just stood at the goblin desk. Eyrians learned quickly that there were not many places built to accommodate those with wings, especially anything related to transportation, or sitting in particular, and of course, clothes. Thus, standing was the best option. However, to an outside observer who didn’t think of such things, they’d see a man with large dark leathery wings (big enough that they brushed the ground when he walked if he wasn’t attentive), a darker stoic expression on his face. Arms seemingly casually crossed over a bare chest that was in the peak of health and physical excellence. One could conclude that he was either showing off or extremely intimidating by nature. Haedrian bit his lip from his chair as he pondered his uncle. “I don’t think goblins are used to Eyrians.” He had noticed the lack of accommodating chair for his uncle’s wings too. Lucivar snorted, “They’ll learn.” He’d be happy to disabuse them of any preconceived notion they might have. He’d been dealing with prejudice, bigotry, and bullying (among other things) his entire life. He knew how to handle himself. Two goblins came into the office, neither of whom were the director. Still Haedrian recognized and quickly used his training, “Lord Guardrock, may I introduce Prince Lucivar Yaslana. Uncle, this is Lord Guardrock.” He peeked at his uncle to be sure that he did it correctly. However, his uncle had never been one for formalities, so he simply gave a short nod of approval without clarification. Lucivar would leave that for his brother and father. “Haedrian said he needed an adult.” He raised an eyebrow at them. Guardrock looked slightly ill. Though it was difficult to tell, given that neither Blood-male had spent much time around the other species. “I am here to exchange Prince Angelline’s currency. Director Thorngold is gathering the goblin in charge of the Potter vaults and will join us shortly.” Lucivar stepped back and waved a hand dismissively. “Exchange away.” Haedrian knew how much Lucivar hated paperwork, but also knew that it was part of his education to be able to talk to bankers. So he asked, “What’s the exchange rate? Could you explain it please?” Guardrock looked much easier at dealing with the boy instead of the warrior and nodded. “The wizards use a system of gold, silver, and bronze coins they have named Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Seventeen Sickles is one Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts is one sickle.” Haedrian did some quick mental-math. “Then that’s four hundred ninety-three Knuts to one Galleon. Right?” “Correct. Unfortunately, we here at Gringotts do not understand your form of currency, as we have lost touch with the other Realms since the Thousand Years War. As such, we will buy your coins for the current form of currency, using the metal inherent to the coin.” He picked up one of Haedrian’s gold coins that he had poured on the desk earlier. “Ironjaw will help me calculate the exact purity of your coins.” The other goblin nodded, placed a form of apparatus on the desk. Haedrian thought resembled one of his mother’s scales for weighing Healer ingredients. Actually, when the goblin placed a single one of his gold coins on one side of the scales, he corrected himself that is was almost exactly like one of his mother’s scales. The only apparent difference he could see was that it worked on colors instead of little weights one put on the other side. Ironjaw finally finished his work and nodded to Guardrock. “91.67% pure gold.” “For efficiency, would the young Prince only like to sell his gold?” “Yes.” Lucivar interrupted. Anything to make this meeting go faster! He was patient when it mattered. This wasn’t any form of killing floor. “Very well. The current wizarding price of gold would make this piece 39 Galleons, 3 Sickles, 27 Knuts per ounce.” Guardrock nodded as he dictated, then looked at Haedrian. “How many of your coins would you like to sell?” The boy looked at his uncle, eyes asking for help. Lucivar acquiesced. He wasn’t good with paperwork, but in his mind was a wealth of knowledge. Eyrian history was almost entirely oral. Only in the last few years had stories begun to be transcribed. “Assume that however many…Galleons that bookshop wanted is average. Increase by 10% for posterity spending in the other shops. Multiply by how many shops Jaenelle and Saetan wanted you to go through, and add another three shops. That will ensure you have enough for whatever you want in this alley and get it all in one trip.” Haedrian nodded, his expression furrowing as he thought hard. He bit his lip. After a few seconds he huffed, Called in a piece of paper and pen and began to do the sums by hand. “Round to 922…plus 10% is 1014…multiply by…7…7098 Galleons!” He grinned at his paper. Then he looked up at the goblin, blushing slightly. “What was the price of gold again?” He wrote that on his paper and continued his maths. “Divided by…40…” “That’s a lot of rounding, Hellcat.” Lucivar commented idly. “But I’m rounding up, so it’s okay!” the boy chirped back, not taking his eyes off his numbers. “Carry that… So, I want to sell one hundred seventy-eight coins!” He bounced in his seat, excited about his victory. Lucivar’s lips twitched at the exuberance. It was really nice to see the boy so happy. If he was ever able to get his hands on those relatives of his… Lucivar shoved the thought away before he let the urge overwhelm him. “You rounded, Hellcat. While they are counting, find out exactly what you should be getting back.” Haedrian nodded with fresh determination and went back to his sheet. “177 times…” he stalled, frowning as he looked up at the goblin. “Do I need to change the Sickles and Knuts into a decimal first? Or can I just multiply as it is?” Ironjaw grinned a large toothy grin. “Decimal is more accurate.” “How many Sickles and Knuts to the others again?” Haedrian dutifully wrote down the information at the top of his page. Then started his decimal conversion. “27 over 29, plus 3 over 17, plus 39…” He frowned. “That doesn’t look right.” Lucivar leaned over to see his paper. “You’re right.” His number was over 40. “It’s wrong?” the boy looked crushed. “Try again.” This time, his uncle stayed where he was to watch as the black head of hair bent, reading the numbers as they were written. “Right idea, but that’ll make the number smaller.” The goblins were watching this small introduction in how some taught their young with fascination.  “Remember, you’re converting Knuts to Galleons…” Lucivar gently (well, gently for him) led the eleven-year-old towards the correct method. Haedrian perked up at the word he had needed and quickly scrawled different fractions across the paper. “Good. Keep going.” He beamed up at his uncle in thanks before turning back to the sheet. Lucivar leaned back with a smirk; his version of praise. Haedrian still had to puzzle his way through a couple minor mistakes before he figured out the flaw in his logic. Yet, once he found the correct set of fractions, the rest of his notations were made quickly and efficiently. “39.2313?” his tone was questioning, looking up at the other occupants of the room for approval. He grinned happily when they all nodded at him. “Times 177…6943.9401!” “Now convert the decimal back to Sickles and Knuts.” A pause as he did the calculations. “6943 Galleons, 15 Sickles, and 28 Knuts.” He frowned. “But there’s still 0.47 left over… Did I do it wrong?” “No, young Prince. However, there is always ‘left over’. If it was over 0.5, we would round up one Knut. As long as it is below 0.5, we leave the calculation as it is.” Ironjaw said. “Can’t get lower than a bronze piece, Haedrian.” Lucivar commented. “Oh.” “Now, will you like this added to the Potter vaults with a Wizarding card instead of carrying it around?” Ironjaw tried to help. Given how polite (and the intimidating figure of Lucivar) the boy was, as well as interested in banking, he thought he would suggest something easier to carry. Lucivar looked at the goblin. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Potter vaults.” It was the way he said it that made the other pale slightly. “Perhaps I should just go inform Thorngold that we’re done here…” “Yeah, why don’t you do that.” It wasn’t a question and the two goblins hastily left the office. Lucivar watched them leave before quietly asking his nephew, “Your relatives weren’t the Potters.” It was stated as a given, when really he was confirming his mental holding of information was accurate. Haedrian shook his head in confusion. “They were the Dursleys…but Dumblebeard called me that. And it’s on my letter.” +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
V) Future Correspondence
 Ragnok’s shoulders slumped slightly in relief as the winged form of death finally left. They hadn’t been done, but when Lucivar Yaslana had walked in, all his certainty in handling the first wizarding Blood male in millennia disappeared. “All future dealings with Haedrian Angelline nee Harold Potter will be done by owl correspondence, if at all possible.” “Yes, Warleader.” Thorngold nodded his agreement instantly. He hesitated, “Should I begin the correspondence now?”  The Director of the British Gringotts Bank sighed and nodded, “You will use all due deference,” he paused, thinking, “and I will look over it for proper Protocol before it is sent.” The wizarding populace might have forgotten everything about how to treat Blood males, but the Goblin Nation definitely hadn’t, as they still followed the Old Ways…or what had been kept over the thousands of years since the Great Separation. “His is a House of Warlord Princes, Thorngold. Show all deference.” Ragnok warned as he gestured the account manager out. Thorngold swallowed hard and nodded. Goblin Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves, only being held back by the Queens. Thorngold was only a lowly Lord. He would have to watch his Protocol carefully, even for letters. As an account manager, Lord Thorngold didn’t have much interaction with Warlord Princes, whose jobs were in two main categories: guarding the Queens and warriors/guards of the Goblin Nation (which was entirely different than guards of the banks). He’d need to brush up on his Protocol for such interactions…and perhaps request a practice session with one of the Warlord Princes. Under strict supervision of course. And, now that he thought about it, he’d also have to find any surviving documentation on how to contact the Angelline family, as all the previous correspondence had been lost. He may have to wait until the boy was in Hogwarts. Perhaps that was for the best… +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
VI) Back to Shopping
 “We’ll finish discussing this at home. For now, concentrate on finishing your shopping.” Lucivar instructed over an hour later as the pair walked out of Gringotts. Haedrian still looked dumbstruck and more than a little lost, but at the reminder of his pile of books waiting for him, he brightened and took off running down the street. Lucivar chuckled under his breath at his nephew’s antics, but dutifully followed at a distance. Kaelaski was already sight-shielded yet again and following much more closely to the boy, so the Eyrian’s presence wasn’t as necessary as it would have been otherwise. He pulled up a sight-shield, then launched himself into the sky with powerful pumps of his large wings. A bit of Craft to help along, and it wasn’t long before he was settling himself on a roof to watch the Alley below. Keeping an eye out for trouble and his nephew. He watched as Haedrian stomped out of the shop with childish rancor. He wondered what had occurred that put such an attitude on his normally mild-mannered nephew. However, since there hadn’t been a call for help and the anger appeared hot in nature—rather than the much more dangerous cold rage—Lucivar only observed. Ready if needed, but giving the child a small taste of independence. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ Haedrian didn’t think much of Scribbulus Writing Instruments. They were supposedly the best stationary shop in Diagon Alley, at least according to Prince Severus. But Haedrian had better at home, so he skipped the store. “They still use quills!” he muttered in astonishment. Really, who couldn’t afford a fountain pen these days? Even the landens used them! (Those that had that type of work anyway.) He’d just go to one of the shops in Amdarh for a few student’s notebooks. Much more practical. Really, they wanted him to use rolled parchment? Only the oldest documents in the Keep were rolled parchment and Geoffrey guarded them like gold! On that thought, Haedrian bought a set of rolled parchment as a gift for the Keep’s Historian/Librarian as a Winsol gift. Quite happy with his purchase, Haedrian bounced down the alley. “Okay, what’s next?” he looked at his list. Prince Severus had made notes on Haedrian’s list of needed supplies, recommending which shops to patronize to obtain them. Flourish and Blotts had been noted, but Haedrian shook his head. He’d find another shop to get books. A shop with polite and respectful owners! He looked around the district, seeing all the different signs and suddenly just wanted to go home. Where he could go into any store and instantly be given the service expected, regardless of his name or station. (He did understand that being the Lady and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan’s son gave him extra-special attention, but he also knew that those shopkeepers were just as amenable and respectful of any customers that walked through their door. Papa had explained it was because the owners knew that politeness earned more return business.) He had pewter cauldrons at home. Though he did go to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary to get potions ingredients. He also carefully followed Prince Snape’s instructions to buy twice as much of certain ingredients and to get separate items instead of the displayed ‘Student Potion Kit’ that was apparently only mediocre supplies contained. At least the shopkeeper was polite and didn’t argue when Haedrian told him to just tie everything together. Though the man’s eyes had widened in shock when Haedrian had Vanished his purchases. As he exited the apothecary, he saw a door with an almost hidden sign: Terror Tours. It reminded him of the spooky house that his mother and aunt had set up and all the horrors that had occurred in the other spooky house that Jarvis Jenkle had created to punish the SaDiablo family. He still had nightmares. With those memories swimming around, he created a second Opal skin-tight shield around himself, on top of the first that Uncle Lucivar had hammered into his head, hand loose at his side in readiness for his Eyrian war blade if needed, and walked inside. However, instead of seeing what Grandma Tersa called ‘little surprises’, he saw large posters of towns and landscapes. He frowned in confusion. “Can I help you, young sir?” A polite female voice called. A woman with brown hair and kind blue eyes smiled at him. “I wondered what this shop was, so I came in.” He explained. “The sign…” She smiled wider. “It is a bit misleading, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “Father thinks its funny. We’re a travel agency. We create international portkeys for various countries or even specific cities.” She handed him a brochure that explained the different destinations possible and for what price. “There’s some packages listed on the back for extended stays or with sight-seeing tourist-y things in mind.” “Oh.” Haedrian had no idea what a ‘portkey’ was, but nodded anyway. He Vanished the brochure—earning him another shocked look. Really, was such basic Craft that unusual? “Thank you for the information. I’ll be sure to give it to my parents.” Second guessing himself that perhaps he should have just put the pamphlet with his school list, Haedrian left. “No problem,” she said softly, watching him go. How had he done wandless magic? +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ Second Hand Bookshop the sign read. Haedrian resisted the urge to glare at it. He shifted his glare to the air above him when he heard the Arcerian chuffing version of laughter. Understandably wary, he strode inside. “Ah! Don’t usually get many young ones these days.” An older male with grayed hair at his temples said from behind a counter. “Looking for anything in particular?” Haedrian nodded. “I went to Flourish and Blotts and…  Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what they did.” “Rude, aren’t they?” The man nodded his understanding instantly. “Getting’ too big for their britches, if’n ya ask me. They expect everyone to shop there so they don’t bother with the service part of customers. Personally, I find that a very nearsighted viewpoint.” He came around the counter and offered a grin of welcome. “Name’s Malcolm.” Haedrian grinned back, hesitantly hopeful this bookseller would be more willing to accommodate his needs. “Haedrian Angelline.” “Nice to meet’cha Haedrian. Now, what were ya’ wantin’ to get? I’ve got all the main texts for your schoolin’ of course. What year would ya’ be in? First? Second?” Malcolm had eyed the boy with a single glance to gauge age and moved to a particular shelf where he kept such titles that were usually bought together. “First,” Haedrian confirmed. “But…” Malcolm stopped his stacking of the assumed required texts and turned to give the eleven-year-old a curious look. “Somethin’ wrong?” *Go on, Kitten.* Kaelaski mentally nudged his charge, providing both encouragement and support. “My family just learned about this re—world,” he’d almost said ‘Realm’ but changed soon enough he didn’t think the man was suspicious. “I was trying to get lots of books about lots of subjects to help…” he trailed off again, not knowing quite how to word his request. He shifted on his feet nervously. Looking at all the wonderful books—despite being in various stages of use, they were all obviously cared for and maintained—that were just waiting for a new owner. “Did your parents have any specific subjects in mind? I’d be more th’n happy to recommend some titles.” “Well…” Haedrian finally gave a huff of defeated annoyance. “I tried to buy one of everything I could get my hands on in the other bookshop but they wouldn’t take my coins, and while I was getting them exchanged at your bank, they put my order back on the shelves, and when I went back they said that I couldn’t possibly have so much money on me and stop wasting their time!” He was still quite angry and his voice had risen with his temper. Malcolm Reynolds blinked at the outburst, his mind absorbing the information. “Well now…” he rubbed his chin, trying to figure out how honest this young man truly appeared. His eyes danced across the tailor-fit clothes of fine quality, even if it was an odd cut in design, and smiled. “One of everything you said?” Haedrian nodded sharply. “Mother wanted at least three copies of all the school textbooks and references.” One set for the family library, one set for Jaenelle to write her notes inside, and one set for Haedrian. “Hmmm… It’ll take me awhile to pack so much up for you. You come back in about five hours or so and I’ll have it tallied and ready for you.” Malcolm smiled at the astonished expression on the child’s face. “Would you like my advice?” he added and continued when the boy slowly nodded. “Take that time to go to Twilfitt and Tatting’s. Ask for Catherine and she’ll set you right up with your school robes. Then Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. They’ll have trunks and telescopes from your school list as well as various other things that you might find useful; I’d look beyond the student trunks they will have on display too.” “Thanks,” Haedrian said with feeling. The crush of all these strangers and different city—different everything—was really starting to grate on his instincts. “Not a problem. Run along now. I’ll see ya’ in a bit.” +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ “Malcolm Reynolds told me to ask for Catherine,” Haedrian announced to the woman straightening bolts of fabric on one of the many shelves lining the walls. She turned to smile at him in greeting. “Mal sent you? You must be special then. I’m Catherine. What do you need, honey?” “School robes.” Catherine nodded, “For Hogwarts?” “There’s other schools?” She laughed softly as she nodded. “Not in Britain, but yes. There are more than a dozen world-wide I think. I’ve got a few customers that go to different academies.” She held up a picture that showed him what the standard uniform were for those schools. “The blue one is for Beauxbatons. It’s warmer in France than Hogwarts, hence the more flowing cut and breathable fabric design. This one is a heavier lay and fabric due to the cold weather they get much of the year in Bulgaria. Salem Academy is this one. See how they are a bit between the other two?” Haedrian had some knowledge on clothes, thanks to his father and grandfather. He nodded as he peered at them in delight at the new information. Perhaps that travel agency could help him? Or rather, the books that Lord Reynolds was wrapping for him would have such information, right? Then he could go to the travel agency to maybe get there. After talking to his parents of course…  He pointed to the fourth picture. “This design is for colder weather than Salem’s but not as cold as the Bulgarian.” “Good eye,” she praised. “Hogwarts is located in Scotland, where it does snow quite a bit in the winter, but the late summer can get warm. In general, I actually recommend two sets of clothes for each school: a winter set and a summer set.” He nodded his understanding and agreement. “What are the exact requirements for Hogwarts? How much can we alter them?” Catherine grinned brightly at him, a dose of delighted mischief in her eyes. This was going to be fun! “Hogwarts insists on a flat-black for any over-robe and a clear area on the right breast, where the House crest will go once you’re sorted, but there are still many things we can do to tailor them to your needs…” Haedrian paid careful attention to what the woman indicated was possible, chimed in with his preferences and they created a design they were both happy with and would be acceptable. Then came measuring him—in all sorts of places, to the point in which he was close to calling out to his uncle to see if this was normal. The fact that the measuring tape was doing all the measuring on its own as it hovered around was a bit un-nerving since he could plainly see Catherine’s back was turned as she focused on other tasks to help her complete his order. In the end, he walked out of Twilfitt and Tattings with one black pointed hat, five over-robes (two summer, two winter, and one for relaxing), one heavy winter cloak, two sets of gloves (warm winter gloves and a dragonhide set as the list specified) and one set of dragonhide boots. All of which included what Catherine called Charms. She listed many, but Haedrian lost her before she’d said half a dozen words. She noticed his eyes glazing over and laughed softly, then wrote him a list. “You can look them up in your course books when you get a chance. Now, when is the school uniform required dress?” she prompted. “Full uniform for feasts, especially the Sorting Feast, which is the first of the year, the Yule Feast during mid-winter break, and the Leaving Feast at the end of the year. Black over-robes are required for all classes.” He recited dutifully. “Full uniform includes the black over-robe and the pointed hat.” He wrinkled his nose at the hat. It looked ridiculous. What was the point? (No pun intended.) With a general shield spell being Basic Craft, it couldn’t be to keep off the rain. “And if anyone questions you on your clothes?” “Article 137, page 86 in the school handbook.” “Very good!” Catherine nodded. “Malcolm will have copies of both the student handbook and Hogwarts: A History in his shop.” She bundled up the order and cheerfully added, “If you give me your address, I’ll be happy to send them home by owl.” Haedrian shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” He Vanished the clothes. “Thanks so much for all the help!” He bit his lip, looking at the time. “Catherine? Malcolm said that I needed a trunk. Is that required? A specific design, like the uniform?” Catherine blinked herself out of her shock at the use of such advanced wandless magic. “Trunks are recommended because it’s where you’ll keep all your clothes and supplies, but they are not required to be any specific type of design.” He frowned, but nodded his acceptance. At least this way he could use his own trunk. But it did bring to mind why the school wouldn’t have closets or dressers to hold students’ clothes. You’d think, given that they were expected to spend over nine months in Hogwarts, that such basic accoutrements would be available. “Just the wand left then,” he muttered. As much fun as he’d had with Catherine, he was ready to go back home. “All set, young sir!” Malcolm called brightly when he saw the boy enter his shop again. The shelves were noticeably empty. “If you don’t have a magical relative to un-shrink these, then I’d be happy to owl-deliver them.” Haedrian shook his head. He should ask Prince Severus about this un-shrinking spell that all the shopkeepers seemed to expect. Instead, it was just easier to Vanish the items. He blinked at the abundance of trunks that were apparently containing his order. He needed to delve into his Opal Jewel in order to hold so much. “What do I owe you?” Malcolm didn’t appear to be shocked—the first that wasn’t—at the display of power. Instead he was still rather cheerful. Though, given that he had probably just made his yearly income in one go, Haedrian didn’t blame him for it. ““You just about took my entire stock! All told, 824 Galleons, 12 Sickles, and 3 Knuts.” The black-haired boy tilted his head to the side as he thought about the first statement. “And if I wanted your entire stock?” The quote was actually lower than what Flourish and Blotts had wanted, and Haedrian would bet that he was getting more books too! The teller laughed and pulled out a trunk he had kept hidden behind his counter. “Thought you might say that. Entire stock is 893 Galleons, 5 Sickles, and 19 Knuts.” Haedrian nodded and began to carefully count out stacks of ten gold Galleons each. It took some time to get 900 Galleons from his bag. He deliberately didn’t wait for change as he bowed slightly to the owner. “Your kindness is appreciated,” he intoned. “Come again any time, young sir!” Haedrian walked away. He could feel the stress the abundance of packages (mostly the books) were having on his mind and called out. *Uncle Lucivar? Think I’m ready to go home now.*
 
*Did you forget anything?* came the immediate reply. *If I did, we can come back. Right?* He knew his voice sounded more than a bit whiny and winced. *I’m sorry, uncle. I’m really tired and all these strangers…*
 
*It’s alright boyo. You’ve done more than enough for this trip.* Lucivar back-winged into the Alley—making more than one person give a small scream of fear at the unexpected arrival—to meet up with his nephew. “You both ready?” *Yes Lucivar.* Kaelaski answered. “Alright. Hold on to me.” When the pair were settled against the Eyrian, Lucivar pulled all three onto the Ebon-gray web and began to travel back to Ebon Askavi.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I) Malfoy’s First Clue
 As much as Haedrian didn’t want to—thinking the entire experience was a waste of time; seriously, why couldn’t he just ride the Winds to the school?—Severus had been firm. Apparently, it was “traditional” and “a way to meet your fellow students and make friends”. He’d known that his course was set upon the traditional argument. SaDiablos followed the Old Ways, which were traditional. Thus, one found Haedrian upon Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Delivered to the station by Snape via “apparition”. Which Haedrian thought could be another word synonymous with “avoid at all costs”. Really, what was so dreadful about the Winds? “Uncle Sev!” a voice called out. Snape immediately turned to search out the owner, his face brightening slightly with a small smile. “How was your summer, Draco?” He leaned down to give the white-blonde boy a one-armed hug. “Lucius,” he greeted to the other. Haedrian blinked at the reception. Both males that had approached Severus were well-dressed in fine clothes. Definitely aristo, and probably for at least a few generations by the casual bearing of the adult. The boy received his expected hug, then blushingly took a step back to reaffirm correct posture and countenance. Yes, definitely aristo. “I was beginning to worry, Severus. You don’t usually stay silent so long.” Lucius returned the greeting with an arched eyebrow. “Mmmm,” Severus made a non-committal noise. Then he gestured to Haedrian and introduced, “May I present Prince Haedrian Angelline, heir to the SaDiablos. He’ll be joining the first years at Hogwarts. Haedrian, this is my long-time friend Lord Lucius Malfoy, patriarch of the Ancient House of Malfoy, and his heir Draco, my godson.” Lucius didn’t hesitate to respond despite the odd introduction. “How do you do, Prince Angeline?” His mind had already made a mental notations to research the SaDiablo family, including their ties to royalty. “Very well, thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Haedrian said. “You’re a prince?” Draco chimed in surprise. Haedrian shook his head, “Warlord Prince.” “What’s that mean?” “Draco,” Lucius cut in. “Sorry Father.” The blonde boy looked down for a second before firming his spine. “Would you like to share a compartment, Prince Haedrian?” Haedrian shrugged. “Alright.” He really didn’t care either way. He just wanted this particular tradition to be over with already! The two adults watched as their respective charges climbed the train’s steps and began to move down the car to find a place to settle. “So,” Lucius drawled. Severus sighed with a single breath. He’d known this was coming, but hadn’t expected to run into his friend so soon. “It’s been a summer of change, Lucius.” “Oh?” +++BJT++HP++BJT+++ 
II) The Crimson Train
 “You play Quidditch at all?” Draco asked as soon as they were on the train. “No,” Haedrian shook his head. Severus had explained enough of the basics of the game for him to understand. “Don’t really get the point.” Why use brooms to fly when you could modify airwalking for speed? Draco’s mouth dropped open in shock for a second before snapping it closed. “What do you mean you don’t get the point?” Haedrian shrugged again, glancing up at the compartment’s rigging for baggage. *How’s that for a spot, Kaelaski?* he sent the psychic thread to the cat sight-shielded above him. Haedrian frowned at the shelf, then he spun a strengthening spell through the metal. He’d spent a week that summer on strengthening spells just for this purpose until he could cast one within a second or two if necessary. A huff of air as the cat scoffed, but seemed to deem the metal strong enough. *It’ll do.* Draco took his seeming silence as offense and blushed mildly for a second. He knew how to act, he was just really liked Quidditch! Too bad the other boy didn’t. Searching for a change of topic, he tried again. “Know which House you’ll be in?”   Haedrian refocused on the blond once Kaelaski was settled. “I thought you were already of House Malfoy?” Draco nodded but clarified. “Hogwarts House, I meant. No one really knows until they get there, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. My whole family was in that House.” Oh, Haedrian acknowledged his mistake. Severus had explained the different Houses at Hogwarts, as well as how they would be sorted. He’d have to open his outer barriers to a hat. These wizards were really strange. “I don’t know. I doubt Gryffindor though.” Draco smiled at that, congratulating himself on finding a common topic. “Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” Haedrian frowned thoughtfully. “According to Prince Snape, Hufflepuff is the House of hardworking and loyalty. Those are good things to have.” Prince? Draco wondered. “Well, yeah, when you put it that way. But they just don’t do much with their lives. Father says it’s the house of rejects. Those that the other houses don’t want get put in Hufflepuff.” Haedrian frowned harder, his hackles rising automatically at the rudeness. Instead of reacting, he tried his grandpapa’s methods. “Have you ever met one?” “One what?” Draco was confused. He understood he’d made another misstep with the other boy, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. “Have you ever met someone who was in Hufflepuff?” Draco opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a snap and shook his head. “Then maybe you should reserve judgement until you have met someone from that house.” Haedrian looked at the blond, trying to make his face neutral but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. This boy was aristo. How could he phrase it so that Draco would understand? Did he want to make the effort? Before he could even attempt to voice his beliefs, the compartment door opened and a brunette boy poked his head inside. “Draco, there you are.” “Hey Blaise. This is Haedrian.” “Hey Haedrian.” Haedrian gave a nod instead of a verbal greeting. The introduction was too informal for his tastes. He didn’t know these people! However, it seemed that with the entrance of Blaise—later introduced as Blaise Zabini—opened the way for others to join them. In no time there was Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Theodore “call me Theo” Nott joined them. All male and approximately the same age. Haedrian fought the urge to pull out his Eyrian blade to make them back off and give him more room. It was getting very crowded! As if in answer to his thoughts, Blaise said, “I don’t think there’s enough room for the girls.” “Oh, I saw them down in the next car,” Theo answered. “They were talking about the latest fashion from Paris and the best color-changing charms that won’t degrade the fabric.” Haedrian’s Warlord Prince mind snapped into sharp focus. “Girls?” There were females out there that these boys knew and they weren’t protecting them? Blaise nodded. “We all grew up together. Our parents are friends or political allies. Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Tracy Davis, and a few others were the female half to our group.” Haedrian’s instincts wound just a bit tighter. These girls were alone? And the boys knew and weren’t doing anything?! He got to his feet and glided to the door. He distantly acknowledged that his movements had fallen into a battle-ready smoothness. “Haedrian? Where’re you going?” The Warlord Prince turned to look at Draco, whose eyes widened at whatever he saw there. “To do what you should have.” He left and it wasn’t long before he found a compartment that was packed with just females. It was too crowded to join them, so instead he set down an alarm to alert him if any entered or left. *Kitten?* Kaelaski had, of course, followed him. All these people! *Too much.* He needed to get away. *Wait here.* The invisible cat bounded off to find a place where his friend could calm down. It wasn’t long before a thread came back. *Here! There are only two kits.* A mental image of round-faced boy and a bushy-haired girl. Haedrian followed the thread to its source. He knocked and slid open the door. “May I join you?” “Sure!” the girl smiled at him in welcome, though it was hesitant, wary. The boy was nervous, but nodded also. “I’m Neville.” Did wizards usually introduce themselves with just a first name? “Haedrian.” However, Kaelaski was correct. The decrease in numbers was already soothing his nerves. The fact that a boy was with a girl also a balm. “Hermione Granger,” the girl almost bounced with enthusiasm. So much for only giving first names. “Can you believe that we’re going to a magic school?” Neville shook his head. “I did my first accidental magic a few months ago. Uncle Algie tossed me out a window and I bounced. Got my letter a day later.” Just when he was starting to relax, Haedrian tensed at the admittance. A relative had tried to hurt the other boy? “That’s horrible!” Hermione exclaimed. “Your uncle threw you out a window?!” Haedrian looked at the girl more closely, her words mirroring his thoughts. Her front teeth were a bit too big, but Haedrian thought she’d more than likely grow into them. He sent out a psychic tendril. A Tiger Eye witch. Or she would’ve been if she had a Birthright Ceremony. While he was at it, he scented Neville. White Jeweled Warlord at best. However, Haedrian thought it was more that the other boy’s ‘magic’ was a bit…off. It wasn’t the right word, but he couldn’t think of a better one. Almost as if it was pointed in the wrong direction. What did that mean? “Just to see if I had magic,” Neville defended softly. “That’s no excuse! If you hadn’t magic you couldn’t died!” Haedrian nodded. “Did you tell your parents about it?” Neville looked down at his feet. “They’re in St. Mungo’s long-term care ward. I live with my grandmother.” “Did you tell your grandmother?” He assumed that St. Mungo’s was some type of Healer’s building based on the ‘long-term care’ comment. Neville shook his head. “Uncle Algie’s her brother.” The boy was either protecting his grandmother from the knowledge of what her brother had done, or she had been party to the event. Either way, Haedrian’s Warlord Prince nature, already tight from the previous situation, sharpened into resolve. Hermione tried to change the subject. “Have either of you tried any spells yet?” Neville shook his head again, but did gain enough courage to look up. “Have you?” “A couple simple ones. I knew I’d be far behind everyone, so I’ve been reading ahead.” Hermione’s voice lost its excitement and gained a slight bossy tone. “They’ve all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard—I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough!” She spoke it all in a rush of words. Haedrian blinked at the seeming flip of personality. A glance at Neville confirmed the other’s surprise. However, he was able to gather his thoughts enough for a response. “All your course books? I just read my Herbology one.” He smiled bashfully. The smile reminded Haedrian a bit of Kalush; hesitant and shy. Yet Kalush could be very determined and loyal if the occasion called for it. Aaron was her shield, but Kalush was Queen. It was something to remember for Neville. “I haven’t finished many, but I’ve read the first three chapters of all of them,” Haedrian commented. He was thinking of the massive library that he’d acquired from Diagon Alley. Not finished many indeed! He had finished the reference texts that Prince Snape had recommended though. The theory was fascinating. Mostly in how different and similar it was from Craft. Some more than others. “You won’t be behind,” Neville said. “There’s lots of muggle-born that come to Hogwarts. It’s set up to start all first years at about the same level.” “Muggle-born?” “Those born to non-magicals yet have magic themselves. There’s also half-bloods that have a muggle-born as a parent or grandparent. Then pure-bloods who have only witches or wizards for at least two previous generations.” Neville explained. He sounded more confident as he spoke. “Oh how strange.” Hermione frowned. “Does it matter?” Neville grimaced. “Depends on who you talk to. There’s people who think so and get really mean if you disagree. There’s also people who think not and get mean if you disagree.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of a big argument in politics right now.” “What do you think?” He shrugged again. “I’m a pure-blood, but Grandmother thinks it’s more that the family follow the traditions. It’s hard to explain.” “Pleeease?” she whined. Neville grimaced at the tone. “I’ll think about it and see if I can put it into better words.” She had the decency to blush at the unspoken rebuke. “Thanks!” She looked at Haedrian, “What are you?” Haedrian shrugged. “I was adopted, but both sets of my parents are magical. Just different types.” “There’s different types of magic?” It was obvious the girl loved to learn and was more than eager for any type of knowledge. Haedrian nodded. “My grandfather is at Hogwarts as the assistant librarian to see about figuring out the differences between our two cultures and magic.” “How exciting! So you didn’t grow up in England?” He shook his head. “I grew up in SaDiablo Hall in Dhemlan.” Neville and Hermione both blinked at him. “Where is that?” “Kaeleer.” “…” “Where?” He shrugged. “I don’t have a map with me.” Hermione frowned in frustration as she obviously wracked her mind trying to find a reference to the location. When she came up with nothing, she refocused. “Why do you sound British?” “My birth family was from here.” “Really?” she perked up again. “And you said they were both witches and wizards? Who were they?” He opened his mouth to answer but stopped when the door once again slid aside to reveal a redheaded boy. “They say that Harry Potter is on the train. Are you him?” the boy demanded. Haedrian’s temper sharpened at the rudeness. Did no one on this train understand proper manners? Of how to approach an absolute stranger without provoking instincts? Or was he just unlucky enough to find the few who didn’t? With a draw on his grandpapa again, “Are you he,” Haedrian said. “I’m not Harry Potter! Why would I be looking for him if it was me?” “If it was I,” Haedrian corrected again. It had taken until Haedrian’s second correct but then Hermione’s eyes brightened with humor and she stifled a giggle behind a hand. She also noted almost absently at the frost on the windows that she swore hadn’t been there before.  “What? Are you barmy?” Haedrian tilted his head slightly. “What does ‘barmy’ mean?” Neville coughed, “He’s asking if you’re insane. In this context, it’s an expression of confusion.” “He hasn’t introduced himself. He’s been brash, rude, and now calls me insane. Is that it?” “Basically.” “I see.” Haedrian pulled himself to his feet and faced the redheaded boy whose face was becoming as red as his hair. It wasn’t a good look on him. “I suggest that you either brush off your manners and try again or leave.” His tone had dropped and he idly noted the creeping frost flaring with his temper. Only Hermione’s giggle and Neville’s attempt at diffusing the situation stilled his hand. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” the brashness increased rather than being cowed. Haedrian glared down at him. “I am Prince Haedrian Angeline. Chosen son of the Lady, Jaenelle Angeline, and Daemon Sadi, son of Saetan SaDiablo…and you are making me angry.” The frost had turned to ice and a fine coating fluffed across the nearest surfaces. Kaelaski decided that was a good time to drop his sight-shield and show his fangs to the offending boy. For added measure, he snarled. The redhead’s eyes went from Haedrian to Kaelaski, widened in alarm at the 500 pound cat laying in the metal luggage bin, turned and ran out of the compartment. “Ummm…Haedrian?” Hermione’s voice was shaking with fear. “There’s a really, really big tiger above your head.” With the redhead—still lacking an introduction—fleeing, Haedrian’s temper lessened and the ice thawed as he settled back in his seat. “That’s Kaelaski. He’s my best friend. And he’s not a tiger. He’s Arcerian.” He grinned, trying to dispel both the fear (which did nothing for his temper) and the anger. Neville swallowed but politely intoned, “How do you do, Kaelaski?” The Arcerian preened at the attention. *Very well, young kit.* Neville blinked, as did Hermione. “I heard him in my head!” she said. Haedrian grinned. “That’s wonderful. Prince Snape had to learn how. Mother said it’s easier for children though.” “I don’t mean offense,” Neville hesitantly asked, “but why is Kaelaski here?” Haedrian shrugged, “They said I could bring a cat.” That was all it took. Hermione began to giggle. It wasn’t long before Neville and Haedrian joined her. Though he did make sure to Craft-lock the compartment door. That was enough interruptions for one ride. +++BJT++HP++BJT+++ 
III) Dumblebeard Loses
 “Haedrian? Where’d Kaelaski go?” Hermione asked curiously as they stepped off the train. Over the last few hours, Hermione had turned into quite the cat-lover, thus none of them were surprised when she noticed first. *I’m still here, kit. I’m above you.* Kaelaski purred softly to prove it. Kaelaski had turned into quite the Hermione-lover. Apparently she gave really good ear scritches. “You’re invisible again. How do you do that?” she whispered to the air. A cat version of a laugh, *It’s called a sight-shield. I will show you later. For now, you must follow the loud one.* “Firs’ years!” A gigantic man bellowed over the sea of children. “Firs’ years follow me!” Haedrian was incredibly tense as they were all herded down a very steep, very narrow, very dark path. His hand twitched every few seconds, wishing for his Eyrian blade. Were these people insane? What if someone fell? What if someone was hiding in the huge trees to either side? It was a perfect ambush spot and it wouldn’t take much to cause a lot of damage, even death. “Are you alright Haedrian?” Neville asked softly in concern. “Yeah, you don’t look so good,” Hermione agreed. “I’ll be better when we get out of here.” *Do not worry, Kitten. I hear only deer and water.* A pause. *Not too much farther. There are boats.* A snort of cat annoyance. Haedrian relaxed slightly, but not all the way. He did smile though. “You can airwalk, Kaelaski.” A huff. “What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked. “Arceria is up north where there is lots of snow and ice. Water, not so much.” Haedrian smirked. “He knows how to swim, but he doesn’t like to swim.” “Oh,” she giggled. Then she gasped as she got her first look at Hogwarts. “It’s beautiful!” Neville nodded at the vast castle of turrets and towers glittering in the darkness from dozens of windows filled with light. It was picturesque. Haedrian refrained from commenting, not wanting to spoil their mood. To him, it was rather…disappointing. For a castle, it didn’t look that fortified. He saw at least three unguarded entrances easily and he was eleven! Maybe there were wards he couldn’t feel yet? It made him yearn for SaDiablo Hall with its dark aura shrouding protectively over all its inhabitants. “No more’n four to a boat!” The large man called, pointing to the boats that Kaelaski had spotted. “Everyone in?” he shouted from his own boat all to himself. He needed the space. “Right then—FORWARD!” The small fleet of boats moved off in unison, gliding smoothly across the vast lake. All the children stayed silent, gazing at the great castle overhead. They sailed nearer and it seemed to loom over them. Which made sense as Hogwarts was built on a cliff. Haedrian wondered how much power it would take to turn the cliff into powder. As they were getting out of the boats and stepping onto Hogwarts grounds, he finally felt wards flare and lick at the group, testing their intentions before settling down. It made the Warlord Prince feel better about the castle. More protection than was immediately obvious at least. “Everyone here?” The large man raised a huge fist and knocked three times on an even larger oak door, which swung open at once. Lady McGonagall greeted them in emerald-green robes. Her hair was back in its customary severe bun that went with her stern face. However, as her eyes swept over the children, they paused on him and her eyes twinkled a welcome. “The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.” “Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide to allow them entrance. The hall was so big you could hit an entire house in it! Well, at least one of the village houses. The walls were lit by torches, of all things, the ceiling so high that it was difficult to see, and a beautiful marble staircase leading to the upper floors. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” said the queen. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room. “The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can.” Her eyes lingered on the rude redhead’s smudged nose and Neville’s crooked cloak. Haedrian shook his head. He still wasn’t really used to the woman’s forthright attitude, but he preferred it to some of the aristo under-handed snubs. He gestured to Neville’s cloak, which the boy blushed as he pulled it straight. Then shifted his pointed hat to also sit correctly on his head. Haedrian sighed as he did the same. Really, pointy hats? Some traditions were just stupid. You wore hats to keep the rain and sun off your face and neck. Period. Indoors and at night? That was stupidity. “Hermione, would you like help with your hair?” Haedrian offered softly, under his breath, when he saw her trying to pat it down. She turned brown hopeful eyes to him. “Can you?” He nodded and lifted his hand to run it from the top of her head down to her shoulder. As his hand moved, he laid a spell that Helene had taught him for his own hair. He liked his hair ruffled and framing his face, but not as willful as it wanted to be. He did the same for Hermione’s bushy brown locks. When the spell was fully in place, it lay gently across her shoulders. Still in waves, but tamed to more than a degree. Her hug was instant and heartfelt. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” He laughed as he grinned, winked. “I’ll teach you. I use the same spell for my hair.” McGonagall waited a couple more minutes as various students hastily straightened hats and clothes, then opened the double doors into the (presumably) Great Hall. It was lit by thousands upon thousands of…candles?...that were floating in midair over five long tables. Four parallel to each other and perpendicular to the fifth, where sat the teachers. The four parallel tables, two to each side of the double doors in which they’d entered, held the other children. Each was decorated in two main colors, all different. Haedrian heard Hermione whisper, “Look at the ceiling! It’s been bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.” At the moment it was pitch black. The candles were so bright that it was impossible to see any stars and the moon wasn’t in the right location to be seen either. “Wonder how they deal with rain,” Haedrian countered. She giggled, starting to get used to his brand of humor. Or what she thought was supposed to be humor. Lady McGonagall was standing by a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool was the hat Prince Snape had told Haedrian about and the boy grimaced. His facial expression didn’t get any better when the wide brim opened like a mouth and began to sing. At least it wasn’t off key. The hat finished its song and the whole hall burst into applause. The hat bowed to each of the four tables filled with children and then became still again. The rude redhead—oh that almost rhymed—whispered loudly enough to be heard by at least half of those present in the first year group. “So, we’ve just got to try on a hat! I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.” Haedrian stiffened at the threat, eyeing the annoying boy with narrowed eyes. How serious was the redhead? *What’s wrong?* his grandfather’s deep soothing voice brushed across his mind. Haedrian instantly relaxed more than he had the entire ride. That voice had gotten him through very bad times, when no one else had been willing or able to care for him, there had been his grandpapa to sooth his nightmares. *The redhaired boy said he’d kill someone named ‘Fred’.* *Hmmm…* Saetan’s gentle voice soothed his temper again. *I’ve been listening to these children for the last twenty minutes and have heard several threats of the same kind. I’m beginning to think its part of their culture to make unfounded threats that aren’t intended to be taken at face-value.* Haedrian blinked. *I know some people say things they don’t mean…but a threat of murder?* *We cannot judge their society based on only a few undisciplined children, boyo.* *Yes, Grandpapa.* He smiled at the man sitting at the far end of the head table, almost half-hidden by a statue. *How’s the library?* *Extensive for being a school library with a variety of topics. Have you made any friends?* *Neville is the boy who just went to Hufflepuff. Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw. She’s the bushy brunette.* He sent a mental image of each. *I met several that are going into Slytherin. They left girls alone on the train.* His anger came through the thread, which Saetan easily smoothed. *That’s Draco, he’s apparently godson to Prince Severus.* *Hmmm…do you know what I’m wondering?* *What?* *They are going in alphabetical order it seems. So why hasn’t your name been called yet?* Saetan’s tone had gone a shade darker in thought. *Lady McGonagall wouldn’t tell them all that I’m that Potter kid they idolize… Would she?* *Perhaps not upon her own…* “Potter, Harry!” she called. Her eyes were asking his forgiveness. Whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. He grimaced in annoyance, then decided he wasn’t going to move. Especially when he heard some of the whispers. “Potter, did she say?” “The Harry Potter?” Oh no. He wasn’t. Just no. He was not Harry Potter. *I thought he was told that I wasn’t going to go by that name?* He almost demanded, but held back slightly. His grandfather didn’t comment upon his almost-rudeness. Instead, his voice was also almost a growl. *We did.* McGonagall immediately understood his lack of reaction and gave a slight nod to indicate such. Then she carried on with the rest of the children until he was the only one standing. “Did I skip you?” she asked almost gently. He nodded. “Angeline, Haedrian.” “Of course,” she gestured to the hat. He took a step forward, but was interrupted by the Headmaster getting to his feet. He made a large movement with his arm. “You were born Harry James Potter. You will attend this school under your birth name.” Two Warlord Princes gave Dumbledore flat looks. Anyone who knew either man would have advised the Headmaster to shut up. Snape, the only one capable of such, gave the man a significant glare, which he ignored. Haedrian narrowed his eyes just slightly further. “Harry James Potter died at the hands of his uncle at age seven.” There were sharp gasps and the color drained out of many. “I am Prince Haedrian Angeline.” He glared harder. “Do you wish to deny my lineage, my birthright, my heritage, or my family.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. “Your parents are James and Lily Potter.” “I am the son of Lady Jaenelle Angeline and Daemon Sadi, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.” “Adopted son.” “My lineage has been recorded in all the Keep Registers.” He took a step back and shook his head as he realized the obvious. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. His tension and anger drained away. He gave the Warlord a genuine smile. “Thank you for the excuse.” He turned and began to walk toward the double doors. *Boyo--* “Wait!” Albus yelled. Haedrian looked back. “If I can’t attend under my name, then I’m going home. Mother will understand.” Albus saw the expression on the boy’s face and realized that this battle had already been fought, and he’d lost. He nodded once. “As you wish my boy.” “Prince Angeline,” Haedrian corrected instantly. Albus said, “You need to be Sorted, Prince Angeline.” Saetan’s mental laugh was proud and approving. *Well played, boyo. You’re learning.* It was only a surprise to those that hadn’t payed attention when Prince Haedrian Angeline went to Slytherin House. +++BJT++HP++BJT+++ 
IV) First Night Reactions
 “SLYTHERIN!” the Sorting Hat yelled its verdict for Prince Haedrian Angelline. Snape closed his eyes in resignation, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He’d more than expected it but having a Potter—even a former Potter—in his house was daunting, if only for the other students’ probable reactions. Not to mention that he’d now have to warn his house… If they acted like their usual selves, Severus wasn’t positive they’d end the year without a body count. Oh Merlin… It was the first night. Tradition dictated… He had to catch them before they began or there would be a murder before dawn! He gave a speaking look to his Head Boy and received a small nod in reply. At least tradition was good for some things. +++HP+++ Haedrian grimaced as the food once again tried to make a re-appearance. Oddly, the students seemed to rather enjoy it and looked at him strangely when he barely touched his plate after the first bite. Even the drinks were different! What was wrong with wine that it couldn’t be served? *Grandpapa?* *Yes, boyo?* *Could we talk Mrs. Beale into coming here? Please?* Saetan let out a bark of laughter at the note of pleading. *It certainly isn’t up to her standards, is it? I’ll send Beale a missive.* True to his word, the guardian Called in a bit of paper and pen, and wrote a quick note. Then he looked over at the headmaster. More specifically at the phoenix sitting on the back of the man’s throne-like chair. The Great Hall only noticed this exchange when the bird gave a trill of laughter, took the folded paper in her beak, and flamed away. As he had been watching his grandfather, Haedrian also was in the position to observe as something caught Saetan’s attention and the High Lord of Hell was suddenly sitting at the front of the Great Hall. Haedrian stiffened, looking around for the source. He found it in the floating figures of several people. He’d never seen their like before. They were pale, translucent, and floating above the floor rather than walking across it. He could see several of the beings drifting around the tables. *What are they, Grandpapa?* There was a pause. *I do not know, but I will find out.* Haedrian also paused before he continued. He knew that tone of steel. *They came through the walls.* *I saw. Make sure you ward your room tonight. Another around your bed.* *Yes, sir.* He watched as one of the beings came closer to his end of the table. A male, gaunt face, clothes stained dark in patches. The pattern of dark silver staining suggested it was blood. Most disturbing however were his eyes: blank and staring. *Sir?* Haedrian couldn’t help his tone. *You are double-shielded.* It was more a statement than a question. Haedrian gave one short sharp nod. Uncle Lucivar would have in weapons drills for hours if he hadn’t. *Then do nothing unless confronted first.* A pause. *This culture will be filled with new experiences, young prince. Be cautious, but do not fail to observe. Notice no one has moved to intercept them or offer warning. Only the youngest of children show unease. While strange to us, it seems these beings are commonly seen here.* *Yes, High Lord.* Haedrian understood the difference between the Steward of the Dark Court, the High Lord of Hell, the assistant historian/librarian of the Keep, and his Grandpapa. All three resided within his mother’s father, but each for a specific set of circumstances. It was what Haedrian himself was learning. It was part and parcel of Protocol. At last, the desserts—or what passed for dessert here—disappeared, and the headmaster got to his feet yet again. The hall fell silent. “Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds in forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of two redheaded twins sitting at a table across the hall from Haedrian. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.” The old man paused, giving the room at large what Haedrian assumed was supposed to be a stern glare. “I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” Haedrian stiffened in his seat. *What?* the communication thread to his grandfather caught the surprised thought and broadcast it before he could stifle it. He glanced at the few students who laughed. “He can’t be serious,” Draco muttered. “The man is insane and more manipulative than any other staff member.” An older boy answered further down the table. “However, he knows he’d get sacked if any student were seriously injured due to his own actions.” “Meaning the chances that he’s not serious right now are slim,” an older female continued. “I’d stay out of that corridor if I were you.” *What?* Were they all insane? Just acting as if this were to be expected? *I’ll take care of it.* Saetan mentally rumbled in reply. Haedrian relaxed almost instantly. “Finally,” Dumbledore continued, “I’d like to introduce a new addition to our staff. To my right is sitting Mr—” “Prince” “—Prince Saetan SaDiablo, who will be assisting Mrs Pince in the library. He is joining us here in Wizarding Britain from a far-off land and is doing a study, comparing the differences between our two fine nations. Please be honest if he asks you any questions regarding such. You should also feel free to ask him any questions of your own. I’m sure he’d be happy to answer them! “And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. He gave a flick of his wand, as if he were trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. Haedrian blinked at the bit of Craft. Such intricacy was quite rare. His mother certainly would be able to pull off something like that with a bit of preparation, perhaps his grandfather as well with even more preparation beforehand. But the headmaster had performed it, start to finish, in less than two seconds! For the first time, the boy was officially impressed with this world’s ‘magic’. If it could do things like that, maybe this year wouldn’t be a waste after all. Well, he was impressed until the school began to bellow the words. Then the young Warlord Prince clapped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the horrible cacophony of sounds. They were all singing different tunes! Haedrian relaxed when the noise suddenly quieted. He carefully pulled away his hands and noticed the utter silence with intense relief. *Thanks.* *Try not to react without thought. You could have easily done the same. Do so now, under mine, as practice.* But the smile the man sent him was understanding, softening his rebuke. *You should be able to pull together any type of shield within half a breath. It may one day save more than your hearing.* It was part of his training to serve, to being a Warlord Prince. Both paid close attention to the crowd to let them know when it was safe to pull down the aural shield. They still winced as they caught the last two (the redhaired twins from earlier) finishing up using a low mournful dirge. “Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes dramatically. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” *How about a music sphere as a Winsol gift?* Haedrian suggested. Then no one would have to suffer through that horrible uproar every again. +++++BJT++HP++BJT+++++ 
V) Slytherins: One For All, All For One
 As the Prefects began to lead the Slytherins to their dormitory, the Head Boy pulled himself aside and patiently waited for his House Head. It didn’t take long. “Mr. DeLuca, there will be no pranking the first years tonight.” The potions master stated, no room for argument in his demeanor. Dominic DeLuca wanted to argue, but he knew that tone from his head. “Understood, sir. I’ll inform the upper years.” Snape watched the seventeen-year-old leave and mentally let out a sigh of relief. He was absolutely certain they wouldn’t agree, but they would obey. They would never know how close they came to death. +++++HP+++++ The Slytherin common room was dark. Haedrian was curious, but assumed it was done on purpose to create a specific ambiance. (He was quite correct. Usually the common room was kept lit brightly as it was the main thoroughfare for all years to socialize and study. The lights had been dimmed for this specific meeting of the new firsties.) The two seventh year Prefects stood on either side of the largest hearth (The common room held 3, two smaller to either side and a large main in the center wall directly across from the entrance.) cloaked in even darker shadows. With the ease of having observed this same ceremony six times before, the pair waited until all first years had entered the common room, the portal had closed, and waited still longer until the shuffling of feet began to irritate their senses. The male prefect began, “More than a thousand years ago, there were four friends. The most powerful of their era had come together with a singular goal: to create a safe haven for children to learn the art of witchcraft and wizardry. Though they worked together to build a structure capable of such supreme safety, each had their own view of who was suitable to be taught.” “Hufflepuff, the weakest of the four, came seeking to cultivate the land. Her generous nature ensured all that would not be accepted by the other four fell into her house. Ravenclaw, the pretentious, came to invest in books above all else with no boundaries or guidance in which to use the knowledge.” The female continued, “Gryffindor, the arrogant, charged toward any obstacle in his path with no thought to strategy. And the greatest of them, Slytherin, watched his fellows and chose only the cunning. Those that used their knowledge to plan their assaults.” “The others became jealous of Slytherin and his incredibly successful students, such was their motivation. Together, they did everything they could to marginalize him and his vision of the future. Ultimately, they drove him out, and began to spread lies.” “We live with that legacy of lies every day.” The female prefect again took up the spiel. “The other houses in this school fear and suspect us at every turn, both students and staff. Simply because you were Sorted into Slytherin House, you are now considered to be evil by the short-sighted fools in which we share this castle and indeed Wizarding Britain.” The male continued, “Our allegiance to one another is the only protection we have against the prejudices and ignorance of the lesser houses. Outside of these walls, we project a united front.” “And never go anywhere alone,” the female added sternly to the group of first years.  “Inside these walls, you may have rivalries. You may even hate your classmates. But as soon as you step outside the common room into the main castle, we present as one force.” He emphasized again. She kept up the list of expectations. “You will have an escort to and from all classes for the first week until you learn your way around. Then you will go together to all classes. Study times and meals may be done in small groups but if you wish to be alone, you will only do so in the Slytherin dormitories. You are expected to begin any assignment the same day it was given. No late assignments will be tolerated.” “If you need any help with your homework, there are always older years studying in the library, Great Hall, a few specific classrooms you’ll be shown, and of course the Common Room. We all have done the same thing you are, so we are willing to help you, just as we were helped when we were Firsties.” He gave them a smile that was supposed to be both humorous and reassuring. This was Snape’s cue. He glided into place before the hearth, having the shadows illuminate his form. “I am Professor Severus Snape and your Head of House. This means that for ten months of the year, you are my responsibility. The legal phrase is in loco parentis. This is a responsibility I take seriously. As such, if you are caught rule breaking, I will be the one to dole out your punishment. You can be assured the consequences will be both greatly unpleasant and intensely memorable.” His voice was as dark as the room and just as intimidating. After he was sure his threat was both understood and believed, he relaxed his posture slightly. “If you have need of me in any emotional capacity, I am available.” His tone softened for his next sentence, designed to slightly lessen the intensity of his previous words. It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious in his threat, he was. It was that he—in his own way—genuinely cared about his students and understood that they needed emotional support as well as a disciplinarian. He didn’t want them to be too afraid to approach him if they needed advice or were feeling homesick. (There were always a few, especially in the first month.) A flick of his wand raised the lamplight and thus the atmosphere. “You should always read a chapter ahead of any class. Note anything the professor repeats as likely to be important and more than likely tested upon at a later date. Remember than any upper year is available to answer any questions you have over any material. My door is always open as well…though you had better have tried several others before coming to bother me about something any third year could answer.” He raised his eyebrow menacingly, but he let his lips twitch to signal the small humor. He was serious. Yet, he would never turn away a student. How amenable he was became variable...dependent upon the question’s stupidity and ease of locating the answer. “Curfew is 9pm. At that time, you are expected to be in the Common Room. By 11pm, you should be in bed, curtains drawn. Breakfast is served from 6:30 to 7:30am. You will receive your class schedules tomorrow at that time.” He finished the usual announcement with barely a thought. More focus went towards his next words. “Now…” The upper years were surprised at the addition and stopped their anticipatory shuffle abruptly. This was new, unexpected, and thus extremely important. A couple pulled out quills, ready to jot down notes on his words. Others were waving wands over magical recording spheres. More were cursing their lack of foresight in bringing the same and were trying to bribe those who had into making copies. Severus took a breath. “I’m sure all of you remember Prince Angelline and Prince SaDiablo’s introductions.” Both had been memorable from the Welcoming Feast and even if Haedrian hadn’t been Sorted into Slytherin would’ve been fodder for gossip for months. “Their culture is from a far older society than our own. It is very formal, practical, and literal.” He stressed the last word significantly. “If anyone threatens either male, or someone under their protection, their response will be immediate and vicious. I can guarantee you will need to visit the Infirmary afterward.” A female fifth year raised her hand. “Professor? If they’re so dangerous, why are they here?” “Partly on Dumbledore’s insistence. Partly to learn of the differences in our cultures.” He eyed them all. “To help all of you understand how to interact with the visitors, think of how you would address the Head of a Most Ancient and Noble House.” Many students’ spines straightened in shock. He nodded at them. “Precisely. The consequences for not doing so may be just as severe. “As they are here to learn not only Wizarding Britain’s magic, but culture as well, you are encouraged to socialize. Just remember that unless specifically granted permission otherwise, treat them with the utmost caution and respect.” The male sixth year Prefect coughed significantly. “Sir? Are the other Houses being given this warning?” Snape sneered. “No.” He wasn’t angry at the question. It was the concept that Dumbledore hadn’t moved to require the warning. “Professor McGonagall is making a special announcement to her House, but Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are as yet unawares.” “And the Gryffindors don’t listen to safety anyway,” one child muttered from the back. Severus nodded once sharply. Most of those present understood the ramifications therein. He hoped he had hammered the point enough that he wouldn’t have maimed students. “That is about enough for tonight, so you may—” he was interrupted by a ruff! given off to the left behind a tapestry. “Ah. My apologies.” He turned his body and held out a hand as if waving forward a lady. Those that knew, noted his introduction as high-society old-century formal. “Students, may I present Lady Sage.” A medium-sized grey body eagerly popped out from behind the curtain. “She has chosen to accompany me this year. She was raised in the same society and culture as our two princes. I understand that there is a fourth somewhere, but I have yet to meet them. Lady Sage will also be happy to answer any questions you have.” There was a long pause. “She’s a dog.” A sound that was half snicker and half sigh. “She’s a Sceltie.” It was the first time that Prince Haedrian had spoken aloud. He hadn’t even moved during Prince Snape’s severe warning; not stirring an inch even with the looks being tossed his way. He’d taken it as an exercise in practicing a flat-affect. The Lady Sage took this as a perfect opportunity to showcase her Craft. Popping up to three feet above the ground, she wagged her tail enthusiastically. *I am kindred. I know my Craft. I will help take you all walkies so that you may be trained!* There were many shocked gasps, a couple screams, from the older years—though there were a good half-dozen who had to hastily explain what was so exciting to their companions—while most of the first, second, and third year lit up like Yule had come early. “She can talk!” several exclaimed, delighted. *I talk! But only to my special humans.* Her tail wagged harder. *Severus is my special human and he belongs to me. You belong to Severus. So I will talk to you too. Are you sleepy? I am sleepy. It is sleep time. I will not bite or nip, if you sleep too much. This time.* Her lips lifted in a snarl that was also cooed over, in spite of her seriousness. Haedrian didn’t disabuse his Housemates of their assumptions. Sage could take care of herself. And the humans would be disabused of their own notions quickly enough. The Slytherin dorms were divided by gender and then further into two students per room. Haedrian’s roommate turned out to be Blaise Zabini. Haedrian exchanged a polite nod to the other boy, who seemed to be decidedly wary after Snape’s speech regarding behavior toward the newcomers, then turned his attention to what was to be ‘his’ side of the room. Haedrian eyed the four-poster bed hung with thick dark-green curtains. He was trying to gauge the size. More specifically, if it was big enough to hold both himself and Kaelaski. It took less than half a second to conclude that it really, really, really wasn’t. Kaelaski, still a kitten, was a little over 600 pounds at his last weigh-in. There was no way both of them could fit on the double bed. He bit his lip. *What do you want to do?* he asked the cat. This was one situation he hadn’t thought about. Of all the various scenarios and contingency plans that had been drilled into his head, this hadn’t been a consideration. A distinct air of amusement came through their link. *You will sleep with me.* *Where?* They had been inseparable since that long-ago fateful day when little Haedrian had climbed on Kaelaski’s back, which included sleeping in the same bed. (It wasn’t that unusual. Kaelas slept with his parents in their bed.) *Grab the coverings.* Kaelaski moved down from the position he had kept above Haedrian’s head the entire day via air-walking, circling a place beside the bed. A large, thick area rug, in another shade of green, cushioned the floor perfectly. With a nudge of his paw, Kaelaski placed a warming spell and then settled down, curving his body to fit between the wall and the bed. Haedrian obediently took the thick comforter (again green), wrapped it around himself, and nestled between Kaelaski’s outstretched limbs. *Grandpapa said to shield.* Haedrian reminded, peeking around the bedframe to see that his roommate had already closed his bed curtains and was presumably sleeping. It had been a long day after all. He gave a great yawn. Since Kaelaski’s Green Jewel was darker than Haedrian’s own, it was his right to provide the wards around their half of the room, the bed, and their sleeping spot. When the cat was finished laying shields he lay his massive head to the floor, snuffing in amusement when he spotted his charge’s gentle breathing, already asleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I) First Wakings
 “Bloody hell!” The loud shout woke Haedrian instantly. In fluid movements, Haedrian Called in his bladed stick, got to his feet and settled to face his attacker. Uncle Lucivar’s training and Warlord Prince instincts pulled the Blood-male from sleep to deadly wakefulness in less time it took for Blaise to finish his exclamation. Kaelaski, trained in synch with Haedrian, was sight-shielded and poised to pounce in even less time. The other eleven-year-old’s face drained of color, eyes wide in terror. He hadn’t thought about what his shout would cause. He’d been surprised to see a snow-white cat with silver stripes, larger than the bed it was laying beside. It had been an honest reaction. Now he stood frozen, the center of all that deadly attention. He didn’t dare breathe or twitch. It took a solid three seconds for awareness to flood the black-haired boy. When it did, he blinked and his weapon vanished. Both boys continued to stare at each other until Haedrian broke the silence. “It’s not smart to startle us awake.” “I got that.” Blaise squeaked. He swallowed and eased backwards. Before he exited, he had to ask, “Does anyone know you brought…that?” Avada-Kedavra green eyes narrowed. “His, name is Kaelaski. He’s my best friend.” The other boy noted the stress of pronoun and registered the warning. Still, he pressed the issue. “But does Professor Snape know he’s here?” Haedrian shrugged and began to rummage through his clothes. “The letter said I could bring a cat.” A sound. “Meep.” Hurried retreating footsteps. Followed by the Arcerian version of laughter. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
II) Schedules & Names
 Sage had taken it upon herself to wake the late-sleepers with a Craft-enhanced barking session. *It is wake time! Come get ready for walkies to find food!*  By the time the collie was beginning to herd them out the portrait hole, the entire House was not only awake but alert. The novelty of the event had even the usually more lay-about students up and ready for breakfast in plenty of time. The few more well-known for having to skip breakfast because of their tendency to roll over for “just another ten minutes” were amazed. However, they doubted their new early-to-rise nature would last long. Haedrian inwardly grinned at the comments he overheard. No need to disabuse them of their fantasies. They’d figure out how a Sceltie alarm worked soon enough. He fought not to laugh aloud at Sage’s growled, *You are not herding properly! Stubborn sheep.* to the stragglers. However, his amusement faded quickly with the whispers that followed him the moment the Slytherins neared the main corridors. People lined up outside classrooms, some even standing on tiptoe to get a look at him. Several doubled-back to pass him again, staring. It started in the Great Hall for breakfast. “Prince Angelline, your schedule.” Snape handed him a parchment paper. “Prince SaDiablo wanted me to inform you that your extra lessons will be postponed until the second week of classes.” Haedrian nodded, having already been told. The first week was to get used to all the weirdness of the new environment. “Mr. Zabini explained there was an altercation this morning. Perhaps it would be best for you to room alone.” Haedrian nodded his acquiescence. “Is there anything else you might require?” “Can we get a bigger bed? I’m used to sleeping with Kaelaski.” Snape stared at him, obviously wanting to ask. Instead, he said, “I’ll make arrangements with the elves.” He almost turned to go but paused. “If anyone complains, please direct them to me.” “Thank you, Prince.” Haedrian inclined his head respectfully. Then he studied his schedule.-----------------------------------------------------Every Day6:30-7:45am:                    Breakfast – served in Great Hall11:30-12:15pm:              Lunch – served in Great Hall5:45-7:00pm:                   Supper – served in Great Hall Monday5:00-5:55am:                    Weapons Drills with Lucivar8:00-9:30am:                    Potions9:45-11:15am:                 Herbology12:30-2:00pm:                 Charms2:15-3:45pm:                   Transfiguration4:00-5:30pm:                   Protocol with Saetan Tuesday5:00-5:55am:                    Weapons Drills 8:00-9:30am:                    History of Magic9:45-11:15am:                 Transfiguration12:30-2:00pm:                 Charms2:15-3:45pm:                   Herbology4:00-5:30pm:                   Craft with Saetan Wednesday5:00-5:55am:                    Weapons Drills 8:00-9:30am:                    Potions9:45-11:15am:                 Defense Against the Dark Arts12:30-2:00pm:                 Transfiguration2:15-3:45pm:                   Transfiguration4:00-5:30pm:                   Magical Transportation (for first week of the month ONLY) Thursday5:00-5:55am:                    Weapons Drills with Lucivar8:00-9:30am:                    Defense Against the Dark Arts 9:45-11:15am:                 History of Magic12:30-2:00pm:                 Herbology2:15-3:45pm:                   Charms4:00-5:30pm:                   Blood History with Saetan10:00-10:50pm:              AstronomyFriday5:00-5:55am:                    Weapons Drills 8:00-9:30am:                    Potions9:45-11:15am:                 Potions12:30-2:00pm:                 Defense Against the Dark Arts 2:15-3:45pm:                   Charms4:00-5:30pm:                   Business with Saetan Saturday5:00-6:55am:                    Weapons Drills with Lucivar8:00-9:30am:                    Protocol / Craft  with Jaenelle9:45-11:15am:                 Blood History / Miscellaneous  with Daemon------------------------------------------------------------- Routine was a good thing. It made it easier to remember what time he should be where. Transportation and Astronomy were the weird classes time-wise, but at least Magical Transportation occurred at the same time as the other days. Haedrian had a feeling he was going to hate Thursdays: two versions of history and an extra-late class. Then he frowned as an idea occurred to him. “Why is Astronomy so late?” he muttered to himself. Did wizards not have a magical version of a viewing sphere to enable studying the stars during daylight hours? Something to ask the Prince Severus… He also saw that he would be able to see his parents at least once a week and his heart lightened, a part of him relaxing slightly. “Wow, Angelline. Why’s your schedule so full? You’re only a Firstie!” A fifth year sitting beside him asked curiously. The first years’ schedules were deliberately light, to help the children get used to the new setting. It was also why first years’ weren’t allowed to try out for any Quidditch teams. “Wait. What? You have Saturday classes?” Haedrian tilted the paper to show the other and pointed. “These are classes I’d get at home. Hogwarts doesn’t offer them.” “Oh, that makes sense.” The older boy continued to study the paper. As his finger hovered over Weapons Drills, the fifth year had momentarily frozen. The gossip mill had already spread the word about the morning’s antics like wildfire throughout the entire House. However, when Haedrian didn’t pause at all, saying it more matter-of-factly, he relaxed. “What are Craft and Protocol?” “What you call ‘magic’, I call ‘craft’. It’s part of why Grandpapa is the assistant librarian. We know that there are differences in the two. He’s trying to iron out exactly what they are.”  Haedrian said. “Protocol is harder to explain. Blood interactions are extremely dependent upon who is the ranking dominant in any given situation. Dominance is governed by Jewel rank, profession, caste, and gender. Protocol is the technique used to navigate those interactions with as little bloodshed as possible.” A sixth year female joined the conversation. “You said the word ‘blood’ three times but in two distinct contexts. Can you explain further?” “Blood society is complicated,” he said with a slight note of apology. “My training started at age seven and will continue until my majority. My family has been trying to explain it to Prince Severus -- Professor Snape -- for the last month and he’s still only beginning to pick up things. It’s why he gave that speech last night. Blood is not just our society and culture, but our purpose. The reason we exist. It is a large responsibility.” Another female further down the table piped up, “It sounds a little like how the Wizarding Houses function and interact.” She’d been paying more attention to the beginning of the conversation and trying to draw parallels to what she already knew. “Etiquette and social graces dictating what you can do and say to others based on who’s already in the room. Politics.” Haedrian looked at her, intrigued. “Would you be willing to explain that to Grandpapa and I?” “Sure, but I don’t know if I’m right. You haven’t said much. It’s just what first came to mind in conjunction with Professor Snape’s comments last night.” “That’s alright. Any new information concerning your customs would be welcome,” he assured her. “I think that’s enough for this morning,” the Head Boy stated. “Let Angelline eat.” Haedrian nodded his thanks and began to do exactly that. After he’d eaten his fill however, he turned to those nearest. “May I ask you something in regards to your speech?” They blinked at him. “Yes?” “Why do people keep referring to me as either ‘Haedrian’ or ‘Angelline’, without either title or honorific?” It had been bothering him since the day before. Adding an irritant grain with every recurrence. The female who had promised explaining Wizarding Houses was the one to answer. “It’s a combination of several things. The largest being our ages and the setting. School is generally considered neutral territory and informal. For example, my name is Grace Rockford. In a formal setting, I’d be addressed as Heir Apparent Rockford, since I’m the oldest child of my father, who’s the Head of the Noble House of Rockford. In a slightly less formal setting but still among those of higher rank than myself, I might be called Lady Rockford. Those in my employ might also call me Lady Rockford, Mistress Rockford, or Mistress Grace depending upon our level of familiarity. In an informal setting with people I’m unfamiliar with, I’d be addressed as either Miss Rockford or Rockford, which is also considered the loosest level of formality. The only ones who should be calling me Grace are those I’ve specifically given permission and only in an informal, casual setting.” He absorbed this, nodding along with each iteration. It was similar to how different people would view his father and Saetan. Depending upon what they were doing and who they were talking to changed how they were addressed. This culture just had different (and more) titles than the Blood. However, that didn’t answer why so many were being so informal with his own name if they were as strict as the Blood on the subject. “What would happen if someone you didn’t know called you Grace?” She gestured. “It would depend a lot on the situation and who had said it. It is considered very rude. However, the one that addressed me so may not understand. That’s called a social faux pas. Unintentional rudeness.” “And if it’s not unintentional?” Several students grimaced along with Grace. “Then it depends on even more conditions. More politics are involved. It gets pretty complicated for intentional rudeness.” He contemplated that for long enough that several new conversations started within his hearing range. He wasn’t paying attention, lost in his own thoughts, until the prefects got up and began to escort the first years to Potions. As they went, the older pair began to explain how interesting the castle could be for navigation purposes. All of the staircases moved. Some had vanishing steps or only went to certain places at specific times. Some doors wouldn’t open unless you asked politely or weren’t doors at all, but solid walls charmed to pretend. The walls were covered with moving, interactive portraits; conversing with not just the students but also each other, within whose portraits they could traverse at will. Haedrian was making mental notes as fast as he could. This was the best set of security precautions he’d seen that didn’t involve actual shields. Uncle Lucivar would be thrilled to have new ideas! +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
III) Monday Potions
 Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, only a couple corridors away from the entrance to their common room. The classroom was a bit colder than the hallway, Haedrian assumed that it was to keep the ingredients stored optimally. Many of said ingredients lined the top of all four walls, pickled in glass jars or framed, all with clear, neat labels. Examples of certain common or dangerous ingredients perhaps? The classroom was arranged in two rows of thick, solid tables -- that Haedrian privately thought would hold Kaelaski’s weight even without Craft reinforcement – effectively dividing the room in half. Two stools were placed behind each table. Two walls held waist-high bookshelves, all of which were full to bursting. Atop those shelves a few cauldrons were sitting, three of which already held simmering potions. The front of the class was more crowded. Two different doors than the one by which they’d entered, along with an even larger, more solid, desk than the students’ was sitting perpendicular to the two rows. Lastly, sitting at almost 45 degrees to the corner in which it was positioned, was a large blackboard stating: POTIONS – YEAR ONE. Though the Slytherins all came in together, it was interesting to Haedrian that the few Gryffindors already seated had only done so on the right side of the room. It wasn’t as odd to him that his housemates claimed the other side, given the speech about presenting a united front the night before. He was surprised though at the Gryffindors. Were they given a speech about not trusting Slytherins? If not, then why were they already segregating themselves? Or was he reading too much into this? Haedrian ended up seated beside Draco. (Part of the Warlord Prince noted with amusement that his former roommate had taken the seat furthest from Haedrian.) At the stroke of the last bell signaling the start of classes, one of the opposite doors opened briefly so that Professor Snape could sweep into the classroom dramatically. He was dressed in an all-black over-robe that had no sleeves. Considering the temperature of the room, the robe was to keep him as warm as possible while a lack of sleeves meant less to get in his way as he worked. (Haedrian quickly made a sketch at the top of his page to send off to Catherine at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.) Severus began by taking roll, marking each student as they answered. Once that was finished, he looked up. His eyes were the same black that Haedrian had come to know, but they were far colder than usual, practically glaring at them. “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began. He spoke barely over a whisper, but they caught every word easily. It helped that students didn’t seem to dare to even shift in their seat, intimidated by his penetrating eyes. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” Nothing broke the silence following his speech. Students exchanged looks varying from fear to incredulity to anticipation. Only a couple looked bored. “Mr. Weasley!” Snape suddenly barked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” The redhead, one of those who had looked bored, jolted to attention. “Uhhh…I dunno.” Snape’s glare intensified a bit more at the rudeness. “Let’s try that again. Mr. Weasley, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” Ron’s face darkened with anger as he understood that he was being called out on purpose. “Dunno.” Snape’s eyes narrowed even further, almost slits. “Mister Weasley,” he grit out, “in this class I expect all students to be courteous and respectful, or I will give you detention until you learn how to be polite. Now — try that again.” The boy’s angry glare wasn’t as intense as the teacher’s, but it was obvious he was trying. “I don’t know, sir.” The last word was said as if it were an expletive. “Thank you.” Those black eyes kept with Weasley for several moments longer until the boy looked away. Then Professor Snape focused back to the other students. “What is the difference, Prince Angelline, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Haedrian bit his lip, thinking back. He’d read ahead several chapters in all his textbooks, but there were a good many of them, and all new information. He’d only wanted a general idea of what to expect, he hadn’t tried to memorize. “I know both are essentially the same plant. One is gathered at midnight on a full moon and the other is not. However, I cannot recall which is which, sir.” “Wolfsbane is gathered at midnight on the full moon. It is the main active ingredient in the Wolfsbane Potion, which helps werewolves keep their human mind during transformation.” The professor nodded. “Mr. Thomas, where might I look for a bezoar?” The Gryffindor’s wide eyes could be called comical if there weren’t so much fear in them. “Sir, I don’t know, sir.” “One ‘sir’ is plenty, Mr. Thomas.” Snape’s eyes moved to the Slytherin side of the room again. “Miss Parkinson, perhaps you’d like to tell me where to find a bezoar?” “In the stomach of a goat, Professor. It’s one of the few known cures for almost any poison.” He nodded again in praise at her prompt reply. Then focused on the Gryffindors again. “Miss Brown, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” The girl sitting in the last desk at the back of the room had been the only Gryffindor to see the pattern of his questions and hurried to get out the two potions’ texts from her bag. She’d been quietly flipping through pages, trying to find the answer to the question she knew was coming. She’d been planning on whispering the answer to whomever was called upon, and was surprised when it was herself. “They make a sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death, Professor.” “Miss Brown, I would like to call attention to your performance so far, if I may without embarrassing you overly.” He actually waited for her hesitant nod of agreement before continuing. He looked at the entire class critically. “Miss Brown was the only one of you to recognize that while she may not currently know the answer to my questions, she did know where she might find them and proceeded to actively search. She has demonstrated critical thinking and the ability to problem solve effectively. “These are skills that you will hopefully develop, for you will need them. Not just as students of this class, but as you grow into adults.” He crossed his arms and eyed them. “I am aware that my class is your first and you may not know of how to effectively prepare.” He flicked his wand at the blackboard and writing began to appear, echoing his words. “Before any class, you should ensure to read a chapter ahead and review any notes that you took the previous session. Do a final look-over of any homework assignments to be turned in, checking for spelling and grammar. “During a class session, you will be expected to be in your seat, ready to take notes as soon as the bell finishes ringing. Anything your professors say repeatedly, I guarantee you, is highly likely to appear on a quiz or test. Anything your professors write, you should copy, adding details as needed throughout the lecture. “Directly after a class, you should go over the notes you took, adding any details you may have missed the first time. Then, begin any homework assignments the same night as they were given, for the relevant information to complete them will never be fresher in your memory. “If you have a question or become frustrated, you should ask for assistance. Either from your fellow classmates, House mates, or your professors. Each of your instructors has a list of hours posted in their classroom, detailing when they can be located in their office for just such an occasion. Your Head of House also has a separate set of hours for further assistance on any topic, not just their own subject material. We are here to help you.” His glare was back, directed at Ronald Weasley. “Be aware that magic—all magic—is extremely dangerous. If you behave irresponsibly in any manner, you will be quickly disabused of the notion. You show respect to your professors because we will be doing our best to make sure that you survive your time here. Am I understood?” They all nodded in unison. “Excellent. I have never had a student die in my class and I would like to keep that record. The previous potions professor here lost nine students. It is normal for between five and twenty students to die in potions class alone, worldwide.” He held their gazes for a long minute in which no one even twitched. Finally, he gave a last nod and turned. “We will begin by learning the different ways in which to cut ingredients. There are many different ways in which to do so. You may see examples of each on page 15 of your text.” He gestured with his wand and bowls appeared between pairs of students. “For the rest of class, you are to practice each type of cut with the apples I’ve given you. This is an essential skill you require for Potions and will be used immediately. I will be moving around the room, helping you as I see is required.” He paused, eyeing the motionless children. He raised an eyebrow. “Well?” They moved. About three fourths of the class began by copying down the blackboard, making notations on what they remembered from Severus’ speech, just as he had instructed, then begin practicing their cuts. As promised, he made rounds through the classroom, pausing to make comments here and there. In contrast to his foreboding demeanor during his introductory speech, the way he spoke individually to students was decidedly lighter. Though the man would never be called ‘kind’, he was not unkind either. Rather, speaking with a low, encouraging firmness as he offered corrections. Haedrian thought he might like this class. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
IV) Herbology
 The second lesson of the day was Herbology. Again, a prefect came – this one a fifth year girl – to escort the Slytherins to the greenhouses behind the castle. She took the time to explain which staircases could be used on which day of the week as well as what to avoid on their journey. They were met in the Great Hall by the first year Ravenclaws, also being escorted by an older year. Haedrian noticed that these eleven year olds, though wary and nervous, weren’t nearly as openly hostile as some of the Gryffindors had been during Potions. A dumpy woman was leaning over to weed a raised plot of dirt, her back to them as they approached. When she straightened to face them, they also saw that she was as short as themselves. “Hello students,” she called. “Hello, professor,” they answered dutifully. She smiled as she introduced herself. “I am Pomona Sprout, your Herbology Professor as well as the Head of Hufflepuff House. Now, as it is the first week, we will be working in Greenhouse One.” She pointed to the number 1 written in three-foot-tall black paint. “The greenhouses are numbered according to how dangerous the plants they house. The higher the number, the more likely you are to find yourself on the menu.” Though her voice was kind, it was also clear from her tone that she was perfectly serious. “There are ten greenhouses in total. We will only be working in Greenhouse One and Two this year.” She flicked her wand and suddenly flitters of parchment zoomed from a previously un-noticed pile, settling to hover in front of each student until they took it. “Now, I want to warn you all that our Herbology class sessions are primarily practical, since you are not allowed to move your assigned plants out of the greenhouses. It will be your responsibility to read your text, as the schedule I gave you indicates, and ask me any questions you come across as soon as you have them. If no one asks me questions, I will assume you all understand perfectly and are ready to begin the practical side of the chapter reading.” Her smile was still kind and gentle, and her words still held enough steel to impart her warning effectively. “Now, let’s get inside the greenhouse and I will help orient you—" The wind shifted, bringing her psychic scent to Haedrian and the boy froze. Queen! It had been shock that held him for so long. Looking back on the last hour, Haedrian blushed with embarrassment. He’d been warned that McGonagall was a Queen, but he hadn’t expected to meet another. However, once he thought about it for longer than a few minutes, he should have. This was the only school for several Territories. It made perfect sense that even the higher castes would be in larger quantity here. And since Queens were bred to rule, having a high position of authority, like McGonagall as Deputy Headmistress, also made sense. Yet there was another trait most Queens – at least all the good Queens he’d ever met – also held in common: they had a feel for the land. They were naturally drawn to it; tended it, loved it, cultivated it. Thus, the Professor of Herbology—a subject devoted to caring for magical plants—who was also a Head of House—a position devoted to caring for a group of people—being a Queen—the caste born to rule and nurture—made perfect sense. This Realm may not have records of their history, their real history, but some part of them still remembered their heritage and responsibility as Blood. Haedrian smiled at the older woman happily. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
V) Charms
 Lunch was uneventful, thankfully, other than the constant whispers from the other students. Haedrian thought he’d give them all two days to get over whatever preconceived notions they may have before he began to…express his annoyance more forcefully. The Charms classroom was set up in a large half circle of tables with the professor’s desk in the center and a giant blackboard on the wall behind. Professor Flitwick was a tiny little wizard who stood on a pile of books in order to see all of his students at the same time. The abuse of the literature made Haedrian shiver. He sincerely hoped that the stack was only an illusion of books instead of real ones. Well, now he knew a good way to redirect Geoffrey’s attention the next time the Keep Librarian tried to bustle him off to bed. When the teacher, who also called roll, got to Haedrian’s name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Haedrian sighed. Once the professor had calmed down, he seemed to think they could begin to practice wand-waving immediately. He used the blackboard to draw symbolic representations of the movements required for their first charm: Levitation. Haedrian listened intently to the explanation of what the spell did, how to perform it, and then tilted his head in confusion when the teacher emphasized pronunciation. As all the professors before him, Flitwick explained how an incorrect pronunciation could result in unknown, dangerous results. He even went on to tell a story of one wizard who pronounced the Levitation spell so badly that he ended up turning half his front lawn into pigeons. At this point Haedrian couldn’t help himself. He raised his hand. Professor Flitwick squeaked in surprise at the sudden movement, “Yes, Prince Angelline?” “Sir, why do you need to pronounce anything?” It was the teacher’s turn to blink in confusion. “What do you mean?” “Why do you need to say anything? Is it because this is a beginner course and it’s is meant to be a focusing tool, like the wands? Or can wizards not perform the Levitation Charm any other way?” This time the man understood. His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Are you saying you have the ability to perform this charm wordlessly, Prince Angelline?” Instead of responding verbally, Haedrian flicked his eyes to the stack of poor trod-upon books and used Craft to make the first three in the stack float up, travel around the room once, before settling themselves back down. Flitwick was ecstatic, clapping his hands together happily and jumping up and down on his toes. “And wandless as well! Excellently achieved! Very well done! Especially for someone of your age.” His grin was full of teeth. “To answer your question, the words are indeed used as a focusing tool. As you grow, you will hit your magical maturity between the ages of 15 and 21, at which point wordless magic becomes much easier to cast. “The Levitation Charm is a common, basic charm that is the core-element for many more advanced, specific spells. Such as the runic charm that make memos fly to specific targets whom may be on different floors of a building. Levitation is one of the few charms that almost every witch or wizard can eventually cast wordlessly, though most are not able to cast it wandlessly as you demonstrated.” “Where’d you learn how to do that?” Tracey Davis asked in an almost reverent tone. Haedrian looked at his fellow students and saw that most of them were looking at him with either a bit of fear, amazement, or admiration. He didn’t quite know how to react. Being the center of attention for being his mother’s son (or the High Lord’s grandson, or Daemon Sadi’s son, or Lucivar Yaslana’s nephew, etc.) was something he was used to, though didn’t particularly enjoy. This time however, he was the center of attention for something he had done. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. “I’ve been taking Craft lessons since my Birthright Ceremony. Calling an object is the first spell we’re taught.” “What’s a Birthright Ceremony?” “How old were you?” “What do you mean ‘call’?” Flitwick’s wand let out a loud explosive sound to halt the cacophony of questions. “Now, now class! Don’t crowd the lad. It’s rude.” Those that had been asking blushed at the slight rebuke and he regained order with no further interruption. When the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, he called, “Prince Angelline, a moment.” He smiled at the boy. “You’re not in trouble, lad. I would love to make a time we can speak on your training and abilities in private. That way, perhaps you won’t be so bored in class as you were today.” His eyes twinkled with excitement with thoughts of the future. Those twinkles were genuine in a way that Dumbledore’s had never been nor would ever be. Haedrian half-smiled. He didn’t really like the presumed familiarity of ‘lad’, but he’d heard the man call nearly every student ‘lad’ or ‘lass’ the entire lesson and didn’t take it personally. Much. It was even more offset by the obvious enthusiasm the small wizard held for teaching and his subject. “I’d be happy to speak with you, professor. If you speak with my grandfather, he can better give you an absolute time around my additional lessons. Or you could sit in on my lessons if you are interested.” His classmates waited for him in the hallway when he exited, and they made their way down more corridors and staircases to reach their next destination. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
VI) Transfiguration
 Professor McGonagall was again different. Haedrian was reminded of how strict she came across. “Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.” Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and wanted to get started immediately. Soon however, they realized that they weren’t going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long, long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. Or they were…until Haedrian raised his hand. The entire class stopped. McGonagall blinked at the odd spectacle. “Yes, Prince Angelline?” “Lady McGonagall, is Transfiguration illusion magic?” “Not at all. Illusions are defined as spells that conceal, but do not change, a person or object. A common type of illusion spell would be glamours. If you touched a glamoured individual, you would be able to feel the real surface even though you could not see it. Transfiguration is the actual changing of a person or object. The permeance of a transfiguration spell depends upon its caster; age, magical maturity, and practice.” Haedrian swallowed, mouth suddenly a little dry. “Could you permanently change an object or person? Forever?” Her expression was neutral as she looked at him, observing his reaction. “It would depend upon the type. Inanimate to inanimate would not be too difficult to make permanent, though that would vary upon the materials being altered, as well as the size and age of the object. Runic Transfiguration does this most effectively. Animate to inanimate is extremely difficult, but not impossible, to render permanent, while inanimate to animate is considered impossible. To change anything animate permanently, Potions would be the only option. What’s going through your mind, Prince Angelline?” she asked in the same volume and tone. The entire class watched him, waiting for his response. They could see the fear in his eyes. His face was a pale ashen shade. He looked ill. When he did answer, it was a quiet whisper. “I—I don’t think Mother can do that.” Jaenelle Angelline was one of the few that naturally had a triple gift: Black Widow, Healer, Queen. She was Witch. Dreams made flesh. The Living Myth. A dream that had been in the making for thousands upon thousands of years (far longer than Saetan had been a Guardian) from thousands upon thousands of dreamers. She was Witch in a way that no Witch before her had been, nor would any Witch after her ever become. Unique even among the extraordinary. She could do – had done – things that no one else had ever done or even thought possible. She thought creatively in ways no one could replicate and created spells never before imagined. She’d jumped between Realms at the tender age of seven, something always thought impossible. She’d invented air-walking at the same age. She’d recreated spells long since forgotten by most of the Blood. She instinctively understood things about the Blood and Craft. As she grew, her finesse increased. She was able to Heal those everyone else would’ve given up as dead. Her traps were beautiful in their simplicity. Her illusions so incredible that they could be touched and even held a mild form of intelligence, able to interact with the living. Her power was so dark that a Black Jewel had not been dark enough and led to the creation of the never-before-seen Ebony Jewel, of which she received six when she made the Offering to the Darkness. She’d held enough power, and enough skill, that she was able to cleanse all three Realms of the taint of Dorothea and Hekatah. She’d almost killed herself in the process, but she’d succeeded. No other would have been able to do what she’d accomplished that day; not even Daemon, who was the most powerful Warlord Prince in the entire history of the Blood, a shade darker than even his father. Daemon had done the impossible a few times too; creating intricate trap spells and death spells, was the first natural-born male Black Widow. Grandpapa was the first male to hold a Black Jewel, the first male Black Widow, one of very few Guardians, and had declared himself the High Lord of Hell, ruling the demon dead for over fifty thousand years. Uncle Lucivar could do things on the battlefield that none before had ever accomplished, not even Uncle Andulvar. So, no, the idea that there was something that hadn’t ever been done before wasn’t that odd to Haedrian. He literally grew up in a family where the unusual, extraordinary, and impossible were an everyday occurrence. It was the thought that his mother didn’t have the ability to do what was being casually tossed about that made him tremble. She’d made illusions permanent. She’d made trap spells that affected the living and the demon dead simultaneously. Once, she’d even prevented the sun from rising! But to affect the living in such a way as to actually change their physical appearance and properties, and to be able to do it permanently? It was unthinkable. *Haedrian? What’s wrong? Kaelaski says you’re afraid.* Saetan’s soothing voice came across a spear thread. Haedrian forced himself to at least attempt to relax as he explained what he’d learned. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
VII) Magical History Lesson
 Later that night, Saetan sipped from a glass of yarbarah as he waited and contemplated the day’s events. Once he understood his grandson’s fear, Saetan had quickly penned a short letter to Jaenelle on which wizarding books should be next. Then he’d used his position as Hogwart’s Assistant Librarian to pull several off the shelves for himself. He’d been given his own suite of rooms just as any other professor. So, it was that he was reclining in his sitting room when the anticipated knock arrived. “Come.” Prince Severus Snape stepped through and shut the portrait behind him. “Prince SaDiablo,” he greeted respectfully. He gestured for the man to take the other chair. “Prince Snape. I trust your first day went well.” He offered a glass of wine. Severus gave himself a mental pat on the back at recognizing the verbal invitation. “Much better than usual. I felt more,” he paused as he tried to think of a better word to describe the emotion, “patient. More stable. More… Better able to anticipate and handle any possibilities.” Saetan smirked in amusement. “I’ve already heard a rumor or two that I’ve cast some sort of spell on you to change your actions so dramatically from how you used to treat your students. That’s not entirely incorrect.” Saetan gestured. “That’s to be expected. You are a Purple Dusk Prince and for the past month you’ve begun to learn what that means in relation to yourself and those around you. Your mind and Self are less chaotic. That stability will be translated to how you act and react to others, including your colleagues and students.” They sat quietly for several moments, drinking. Saetan looked over at his newest pupil. “You’ve gotten to the point where you can learn beside him and thus you will be accompanying Haedrian for his Protocol, Craft, and history lessons, as well as weapons training.” He held up a finger to stall the protest. “I know you are not as advanced in any of those topics, but you know enough Protocol to begin the advanced training; Craft and weapons can be taught double easily.  “In addition, I would like you to begin teaching me about this realm: history, magic, and society.” Saetan said. “You can begin tonight.” Severus looked at the text Saetan had been reading and grimaced. “It’s difficult to explain how history and perception has changed without getting into too much detail.” He sat back as he tried to think of a way to phrase things. “As near as we can tell, in the beginning – around a hundred thousand years ago – magical society ran parallel to non-magical. We lived and worked side by side in order to survive. Then, sometime around ten thousand years ago, when large enough groups of people began to settle in one place, magicals began to appoint themselves into key positions in the developing societies. Rulers. Advisors. Priests. Prophets. Healers. “The Mesopotamian and Egyptian empires were ruled by magical bloodlines and were thought to be gods. Those societies lasted thousands of years, but had very disjointed views of their peoples. Eventually, they all fell for one reason or another.” He took another sip of wine. “Around a fifteen hundred years ago, the Roman Empire finally fell. It fractured Europe into new countries. The beginnings of modern society. However, a new religion had also been created which spread the idea that magicals were evil and people began to fear us. The idea became so wide-spread that approximately a thousand years ago a war against magicals began and we began to pull away. Six hundred years ago, a disease called the Black Death spread across the world that killed approximately 30% of the world’s population. The non-magicals blamed witches and killed thousands. Hundred of thousands, some say. “It was at that time that all magical societies pulled away from non-magical, hiding ourselves. Hiding houses, streets, even cities. In a couple cases, hiding entire countries from prying eyes. The old traditions were re-established.” He sighed. He was skipping a lot of detail in the need for brevity. “The governments established laws and how things would be governed, each was independent of other communities. For a couple hundred years after that was a time of plenty and invention. We were safe from the non-magicals and were able to develop new spells, build entirely magical cities. This is when much of modern magical society and culture was cemented.” Severus paused. “It might be easier for you to ask for something specific.” He really had skipped a ton. Whole sagas of books had been written on this one topic alone! Saetan nodded. “Why did Lord Dumbledore warn the children away from the third floor corridor?” Snape froze, not expecting the drastic shift in conversation. “The Headmaster doesn’t understand how…different…Haedrian truly is from his expectations. He’s beginning to set up a series of obstacles for the boy, to test his mettle.” Saetan snorted at the audacity. “He also has reason to believe that Voldemort will attempt to come to Hogwarts, because Haedrian is here, and has used the 3rd floor corridor to set up a trap for the Dark Lord as well.” Saetan raised his hands, steepling his fingers together as he studied the other man. “I was under the impression that Voldemort was destroyed over a decade ago.” Severus nodded. “He was. However, Dumbledore believes that since my mark did not vanish at that time, that he wasn’t completely destroyed and Voldemort will be able to resurrect himself somehow.” Saetan ‘hmmm’ed. “What do you believe?” “I…don’t know.” He’d seen so much after being introduced to the SaDiablos. “I do know that most of the families that joined him did so either out of self-preservation, or because they thought he was the best way to restore the old ways and traditions.” Saetan nodded. “I think that’s enough for tonight. We’ll continue tomorrow.” He watched with a critical eye as Severus bowed his way out of the room. Good. Practice would give him polish. With that thought in mind, Saetan pulled another magical text toward him, this one covering magical theory. He’d have more questions for the young Prince tomorrow. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
VIII) History of Magic
 The next day started the same as the previous: Sage barking to wake the stragglers and herding them all to the Great Hall. On a whim, Haedrian made his way to the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. “Good morning, Lady Hermione.” The girl looked up and beamed at him. “Hi Haedrian! How was your first day of classes?” “Interesting. I’m looking forward to today’s. Would you like to partner with me for Herbology?” “Alright.” “Hey mate,” a male voice from down the table intruded. “You know this is the Ravenclaw table, don’t ya’? No Slytherins.” Hermione frowned at the boy. “Mind your own beeswax, Renshaw!” Haedrian had wondered when this conversation would take place. He called in a book and handed it to the student. “Show me the rule forbidding such.” In fact, if the child bothered to look, he’d find that there were rules in place specifically encouraging inter-House mingling. Going so far as to have in place rules where teachers weren’t allowed to interfere. The Charter also stated that class schedules were to be created where each House had at least one class with every other House. “What’s that, Haedrian?” Hermione asked, pointing. Haedrian glanced at his plate and grinned. Mrs. Beale had come through. Probably only providing recipes to the Hogwarts cooks, but it was still enough. Haedrian happily began to eat. Something inside him that he didn’t know was tense began to relax bite by bite, the familiar smells invading his mind to curl comfortingly around his Self. The brunette still looked confused. “Hey!” the Warlord Prince scooped servings onto her plate and gave her an expression daring her to try them. When she did so, carefully taking a tiny amount onto her fork, he was satisfied at her bulging eyes and renewed interest in breakfast. To the point where she even put down the book. Haedrian grinned at her and another piece of him relaxed a little. +++HP+++BJT+++HP+++ Easily the most boring class so far was History of Magic, which was being taught by one of the incorporeal beings that Haedrian learned were called ghosts. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates. Haedrian heard the story and wondered why Binns had become a ghost instead of demon dead. It was as he was relaying the story to Saetan that Haedrian realized part of why the class was so incredibly boring. He looked down at his notes and flipped through the text to the first chapter. “Hell’s fire,” he muttered. “What?” Draco asked. He didn’t bother to whisper. Haedrian turned the book to show the other boy, moving his finger along the page in tandem with the ghost’s monotonous drone. Draco blinked. “He’s memorized the textbook.” “And quoting it,” Haedrian nodded. He snorted out an annoyed breath. Why bother coming to class at all if he could read the text in a quarter of the time? He raised his hand. When that didn’t prompt a response from the ghost, he called out, “Professor? Professor?” He almost growled under his breath and put a bit of Craft into his voice. “Professor Binns!” “—and so the First Goblin War—” the ghost froze, something about the last shout getting his immediate attention. “What? Yes? What is it?” “Professor, you are reading the text. Verbatim.” “Yes,” the ghost blinked at him. There was an unspoken ‘why did you interrupt me?’ “Why are you reading the text? We can read the book without you. What’s the point of you ‘teaching us’ things that we can do on our own?” The ghost eyed him for long seconds. “And are you doing it on your own?” The entire class nodded. “Really?” he asked doubtfully. The class nodded again. Draco - ever the show-off Haedrian was learning quickly - opened his mouth. “According to all known wizarding records, the first three goblin wars began over mineral rights. Despite showing obvious magical capabilities on the battlefield, goblin forces only were able to overpower wizarding through use of numbers. In the Last Goblin War, a compromise was finally found where the Goblin Nation as a whole were given security of all earthly minerals, including metals and gems, in the form of a bank, creating Gringotts. This Goblin Compromise has lasted the last six hundred years because the goblins are a war-like society and hold any breaks to the Compromise as a declaration of war. Eight Wizarding Houses were destroyed in the first hundred years of the Compromise before the wizarding world in general understood how far the Goblin Nation would go to uphold the document. “The Veela Accords were actually more violent due to the nature of the Veela. So powerful are the Veela influence and magic that the Accords—” “Enough.” Binns looked at his students and realized that they didn’t need him. His already incorporeal form began to disappear. He wasn’t needed. Haedrian straightened in his chair, his eyes suddenly sharp as they all watched the ghost fade. Though what Haedrian felt was a small almost-intangible blip of power suddenly vanish. “Mother Night,” he whispered. “What?” Draco said. “He became a whisper in the Darkness.” Whatever had kept the ghost on this plane faded, taking with it the last drops of strength. The power holding the form was enough to be a Jewel, but a living Binns had never received one. With a Jewel, Binns would have become demon dead. Without a Jewel, he became a ghost. Just enough power to stay, but not enough to keep his mind completely intact. An echo of the person he had once been. “Did he just exorcise our teacher?” someone whispered. “I think so.” Draco eyed Haedrian thoughtfully. The black-haired boy had weird curses. Sat at other House tables. Knew some kind of odd written language (or perhaps it was a code?) that he used for his notes. Called ‘prince’ as his title and honorific. Slept with a Siberian tiger that he called a friend. Unfailingly polite. And now had used logic to exorcise a ghost professor that students had been trying to get rid of for decades. Haedrian Angelline would need to be watched carefully.  +++HP+++BJT+++HP+++ Lunch was with the Slytherins and dinner he took with the Hufflepuffs (who didn’t object at all). He thought that was a nice compromise. Able to visit all his friends throughout each day. He didn’t realize (or didn’t care) that he was generating resentment through his actions. More than one person grumbled, “Nobody should be able to do that. Sitting at other tables! Who does he think he is? It’s not fair. He thinks he can do anything he wants.” Though more than one person was grumbling, only a handful were loud about the topic. One particular redhead’s eyes narrowed in the beginnings of hatred.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I) Wednesday Potions
 Haedrian didn’t bother to hide his smirk at the grouching, followed swiftly by squeaks of surprise and pain, by the Slytherins who didn’t immediately adhere to Lady Sage’s wake-up howl. He was quietly laughing at them, along with several of his fellow Housemates, when they finally blearily stumbled from their rooms, several hopping on one foot as they tried to dress and escape sharp teeth at the same time.That morning, Potions was first again. Snape burst into the room precisely on the last toll of the bell and called out, “Clear off your desks of everything but your quills.”There were several groans from the Gryffindor side of the room.Haedrian glanced in the direction of the loudest student and took the parchment.“When you are finished, turn your parchment over,” Snape instructed.  POTIONS – YEAR 1 – QUIZ 1 Name: ________________________________________________ 
List all different ways to cut ingredients.

List all stirring directions.

What dictates which stirring direction you must use?

What controls how many times you stir?

Haedrian appreciated the not-so-subtle hint that more of these ‘quiz’ things would be given in the future. As the professor had suggested (twice even!), Haedrian had spent several hours reading ahead in his potions’ text, as well as practicing the different kinds of cuts. So, he was able to quickly answer question 1, then began to ponder how to best answer 2, when he heard a whine from the Gryffindors.“Professor! We haven’t talked about stirring yet!” It was a brunette female.Snape narrowed his eyes in annoyance and she shrank in her chair, but all he said was, “Do your best, Ms. Dunbar.”The room was silent after that. Snape waited for fifteen minutes before he called out, “Time’s up. Exchange parchment with your partner.” He waved his wand and all their quills glowed red for a second or two. “Place a check by each correct answer and a ‘x’ by each incorrect answer.” He pointed his wand at the blackboard. “Ms. Parkinson, please list all the ways you can cut ingredients.”Obediently, the girl recited, “Mince. Dice. Cube. Paysanne. Julienne. Sticks. Strips. Chiffonade.” The blackboard wrote as she spoke each.The teacher nodded. “Good. As we went over these cuts on Monday, I hope you all did well.” He turned to the Gryffindor side of the room. “Mr. Thomas. Please list the different stirring directions.”The sandy haired boy gulped, “Clockwise and counterclockwise?”Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”“Telling you?”The potions professor closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. Or begging a deity for more patience. “Ms. Cassidy, would you like to help Mr. Thomas?”“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t think of any other directions.”“Prince Angelline? Perhaps you can list other stirring directions?”The board wrote as he spoke, “Deosil. Widdershins. Infinity. Whisk. Fold.”“Correct,” Snape nodded. “What dictates the stirring direction, Mr. Weasley?”It was the student that had moaned the loudest when the quiz had first been passed out. “How should I know? You didn’t talk about this last time!”“Detention, Mr. Weasley, for your rude and antagonistic speech. Mr. Riverns?”“Sir?” the blond squeaked.“Would you please tell the class what dictates the stirring direction?”“I guessed sir.”Snape closed his eyes again. “Then perhaps you could either tell us your guess or read what your partner wrote on their parchment.”“Ummm…I guessed that it was the most explode-y ingredient and Lavender has that it’s the last ingredient put in the potion.”The teacher’s eyes opened as the board wrote the answer. “Ms. Brown is correct. The last ingredient’s properties must be considered for stirring direction. Mr. Malfoy, how about the number of stirs?”“I said that it was the most volatile ingredient, sir.” The board wrote the answer.“Very good. Ms. Brown, please tell the class where you found your answers.”The girl, again sitting in the farthest back row, shifted uncomfortably. “They were in section two of the text.”“And why did you read over material we have not covered in class?”“Because you told us to, sir. During class on Monday.”“Thank you, Ms. Brown.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t do this to torment you nor for any sadistic pleasure. It is to make sure you hopefully live through this class.” He paused and took another deep breath. “Alright, pass your parchments forward. You will be attempting to brew the Boil Cure potion today, which you will notice uses six of the eight cutting methods and all five stirring directions. Precision is imperative.”He’d need to make sure not to call on Ms. Brown too much. Otherwise she’d be labeled as a ‘teacher’s pet’ and ostracized. However, so far, she was also the only Gryffindor to follow directions. Hopefully that would change with next class. Hopefully. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
II) Defense Against the Dark Arts

The class Haedrian had been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smell strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days.(Haedrian privately thought this was a very stupid thing. Whatever a vampire was, it was obviously a threat. Why hadn’t Quirrell taken care of the threat the first time he’d come against it? While the swiftness and expediency was more a Warlord Prince trait and training, that didn’t mean that Quirrell’s Blood-male wasn’t capable. So why hadn’t he?)Quirrell’s turban, he told them, had been a thank-you gift for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed his story. When Victor had asked how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, the professor had turned pink and started talking about the weather.(Haedrian assumed this meant that Quirrell hadn’t taken care of that threat either. Perhaps was lying and taken credit for another’s job, or was lying about the incident taking place altogether. Bad form either way.)On the other hand, Haedrian was fascinated (or rather deeply disturbed) by the concept of vampires, werewolves, and various other magical creatures…. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ “What is a zombie?” Haedrian asked.The Slytherin boys were starting to get used to his questions about things ‘everyone knew’. Greg piped up to answer this one, “Zombies are a type of animated corpse that is charmed to obey the animator. Zombies are specific to the Central American and African magics. As opposed to Inferi, which are native to Europe.”Haedrian blinked. “Animated corpse? Oh. My family call those demon-dead.”All the Slytherins froze in the process of eating. They looked at him. “Your family has zombies?”Haedrian shrugged, “Well, we have demon-dead. Not as many as we used to. Uncle Andulvar and Uncle Prothvar first taught me the sticks, and Uncle Mephis—”“Wait! Wait. Wait. Wait. Just…stop…” Kerry held up her hand, palm towards him. Haedrian blinked and closed his mouth. The girl was usually unfailingly polite and was now a bit green. “Your zombie uncles taught you things? They spoke to you?”Haedrian nodded. “Of course. They were demon-dead, not gone.”“Zombies don’t talk. They don’t teach. They follow orders. That’s it. They aren’t people anymore. They’re dead.”Haedrian tilted his head. “Oh, then I guess zombies aren’t like the demon-dead after all.” He went back to eating Mrs. Beale’s wonderful dishes while they all stared at him. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ “What is a vampire?”They looked at him, then looked at each other.Hermione answered. “A vampire is neither living nor dead, and they have to drink human blood to survive.”Haedrian nodded, understanding immediately. “We call them Guardians. Geoffrey’s a Guardian. He’s the Keep’s Librarian. He’s been around so long I think he’s forgotten how old he is.” He almost mentioned that Saetan was a Guardian too, but something about their horrified eyes told him that probably wasn’t a good idea. “He’s the oldest after Lorn and Draca, I think.”“Who are Lorn and Draca?” Hermione asked. She was usually the one unanimously elected to ‘deal’ with Haedrian. She didn’t mind. She liked learning new things, even if his culture was so strange, it was really interesting!“Oh, they’re… Well, they’re…” Haedrian paused, wondering how to describe the pair. Finally, he shrugged a bit helplessly. “Draca is the Keep’s Seneschal and Lorn is her husband. They’ve been around for ever. They made the Blood.”“But they aren’t, what did you call it, Guardian? They aren’t Guardians?”“No,” Haedrian shook his head. “They’re dragons.”There was complete silence around the table before someone hesitantly asked, “Your dragons talk?”He blinked at them. “Of course. Don’t yours?”They all shook their heads at him.He frowned. That wasn’t right. Well, maybe what they called dragons was something else? “Dragons look similar to really big lizards. They have wings and breathe fire. They love to wave womp and pickleberries.”“I don’t know about the second bit, but yeah, that’s dragons. Flying lizards that breathe fire.”“Then why don’t your dragons talk?” Haedrian asked, baffled. Worried. That was a big something to be different.“Why do yours talk?” Smith shot back at him.He shrugged. “Why does anyone? They have something to say.”Usually using his refusal to eat pickleberries as an excuse to treat him like a child, and giving him all sorts of hints and tricks to make his flying better. All of which unhelpful since he wasn’t a dragon. And telling Mother didn’t help, because she’d just giggle and try to give him more flying pointers! He flew just fine, thank you! +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ “What is a werewolf?”By this time, Prince Angelline’s questions about creatures were almost infamous.The Hufflepuff table braced themselves. “It’s a human that turns into a wolf on the full moon.”Haedrian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “They can? Are any of you werewolves? Would you show me? Can they talk to wolves when they look like one? Or Kindred?” He stopped upon registering their tense expressions.An upper-year said somberly, “It’s not something that people want to become, Angelline. Werewolves are only semi-wolves. It’s not… They don’t keep their human mind when they transform. So they attack anything around them, including family and friends. They can’t tell the difference. It’s only with the recent invention of the Wolfsbane Potion that werewolves are able to keep a clear head during transformation. Even so, most werewolves can’t afford to buy it since it takes a long time to brew and requires a couple really rare ingredients.”“Oh.”“You…your culture doesn’t have werewolves?”Haedrian shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything remotely similar.“Count yourself lucky then. Werewolves are dangerous, Angelline. Most don’t live past a third transformation because they are hunted down after they kill someone.”“That’s only partially true,” an older female said sadly. “My uncle got bitten a few years ago. He didn’t know until after he woke up the next morning. He killed himself when realized he’d killed everyone in the house.” She took a breath. “I looked it up after. Most werewolves kill themselves after their first transformation.”The table went silent except for a few murmurs of support to the fifth year.Haedrian resolved to ask his mother. +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ The Weasley twins asked, “Rumor has it your country has talking dragons…”“…so what about talking unicorns?”Haedrian looked between them and nodded. “Yes.” He’d never been around a set of twins before and was a bit intrigued and curious. He idly wondered how they’d be in a fight. Could they use their identical-ness to create confusion? It was an interesting idea…“Really?” a first year asked hesitantly. She was the shortest in their year, among all the houses, and spoke rarely.He smiled at the shy girl and nodded again. “They have their own Territory, and its very protected because people used to hunt them, but sure. I visit with Mother every year on her circuit.”“They talk?”His smile widened. “They’re Kindred. All Kindred can speak, but who they choose to speak to is very selective. They all talk to Mother, of course, and most will talk to me because I’m her son, but even the Scelties are selective and they love humans the most.”“Why do they ‘of course’ talk to your mum?” a fifth year was confused.Haedrian blinked, the question stumping him. It was so accepted. Everyone he knew, everyone in the village, everyone he’d ever met in any Territory, ever, knew his mother. Even if they didn’t believe, they knew. It was very disturbing and shocking to hear. “My mother is Queen Jaenelle Angelline. She’s Witch.”The girl wrinkled her nose. “We’re all witches.”He shook his head. “No, she’s Witch.” He put emphasis on the word, stressing it.“What does being Witch mean?”He looked at them helplessly, and finally shrugged. “It can be a title. Cassandra was Witch, but that was only because she received a Black Jewel at her Offering. Mother was born Witch. She’s always been Witch.” It was so all encompassing. Witch was. And always had been. There had been Witches throughout Blood history. And Jaenelle was Witch beyond all Witches before her.It was too much. He had no idea how to even start. “I’ll ask Grandpapa on how to explain it.”
 
+++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
III) Flying

Magical Transportation turned out to be flying.Or rather, this Realm’s version of flying. Which was on broomsticks.Haedrian eyed the devices with no small amount of skepticism. He wondered if he taught them all air-walking if they’d let him do that instead. It was a small stick and it was supposed to hold his weight? Well…he supposed that if he fell, he’d be able to air-walk down to the ground…With that thought bolstering his courage, Haedrian approached the brooms.Kaelaski’s huffing laughter above his head did nothing to urge him forward. Nope.All four houses first years were taking the class together. So they all stood beside their broomsticks in two neat-ish lines facing each other. The Gryffindors were beside the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins were beside the Ravenclaws. Which wasn’t perhaps the best plan, since the Slytherins were now face-to-face with the Gryffindors.  Haedrian had never before met such an impulsive, rude boy as Ronald Weasley. He’d barely been paying attention as they walked down the hill from the castle, but had still heard the loud boasting of the puerile. Saying he’d been flying for years with his brothers, who were Beaters (whatever that meant; Haedrian was certain his Eyrian stick would win), and had shown him all sorts of tricks.As if trying to drown Weasley out, Draco Malfoy had felt compelled to do his own bit of loud boasting. Something about dodging helicopters. (Haedrian wondered if they were like dodging dragons or Eyrians, but doubted it.)Either way, by the time they all reached the broomsticks, Haedrian was already reaching irritation. His hand itched to call in his practice stick to beat some sense into both boys. He’d show them a Beater! But they were children. Untrained.So instead of doing what he really wanted to do, Haedrian put himself on the very end of the Slytherin line. Theoretically able to be up and away as soon as he was given the go-ahead. That and Kaelaski could pounce on him and easily drag him away if necessary.He glanced down at the broom. It was old and some of the twigs (or was that lacquered straw?) were at odd angles. It wouldn’t matter if they were used for what they looked like; that is, if they were brooms used for sweeping. But did it matter for flying? Haedrian didn’t know, but he had a bad feeling. The constant griping between Weasley and Malfoy wasn’t helping.“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch from the middle of the line, “and say ‘Up’!”“UP!” All the children shouted.Haedrian’s broom practically jumped into his hand at his command, but his was one of the few. Draco’s had, but Hermione’s had simply rolled over twice, and Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Haedrian wondered if tone had anything to do with the object obeying, since he’d heard Hermione ask ‘Up?’ instead.Hooch moved up and down the line, correcting hand placement and tonality until they all were holding their brooms (though some had simply reached down and picked theirs up). She then showed them proper mounting posture so they wouldn’t slide off (an idea that made Haedrian’s eye twitch).“I’ve been doing it this way for years!” Malfoy protested one of her corrections.She sniffed. “Then you’ve been doing it wrong for years. You use that grip and try to go faster than a CleanSweep 50 and you’ll tumble right off.”A boy laughed meanly. “Serves you right, Malfoy!”“Shut UP Weasley!” came the elegant retort.Haedrian wondered if anyone would notice if he just pulled up a sight shield and went back to the castle. Grandpapa was obviously lonely and needed company.“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”Neville however was nervous, jumpy, and frightened. He pushed off too hard and shot straight up like a cork out of a bottle. Twelve feet. Twenty feet. Haedrian could clearly see the other boy’s terrified features before he was too high. Then Neville slipped sideways off the broom and —That was enough of that! Haedrian MOVEDUsing everything his mother, the dragons, and the Scelties had taught him about flying air-walking, Haedrian used Craft to enhance his speed and leaned forward on the broom to reduce his drag (it would take too long to climb off the broom and then go after Neville). He raced upwards as Neville came down just as quickly.If he caught the other boy as they were speeding like this, it would hurt them both. Instead, Haedrian sped upwards to where he was even with Neville and then grabbed his hand as he reversed his direction and began to fall. “Hey Nev.” He quickly cast a cushion of air beneath them to increase drag, significantly reducing their speed.“Hey ‘Rian.” The fear was obvious in his tone.Haedrian smiled at the new nickname. He had so many, but this was the first one a human had given him. “I’m going to reverse again in a second, hold on.”“Okay.”Haedrian lifted them again, further reducing their speed downwards. They were less than five feet from the ground when they were finally slow enough Haedrian wasn’t worried about them breaking something upon landing. When they were slow enough, he cancelled the downward angle entirely. They both gently settled on top of the grass.Neville looked down and noticed that they had actually stopped an inch above the grass. “Umm…’Rian?”Haedrian grinned wider. “Step down.” He’d made the air platform so that it ended right after their toes.Neville swallowed his fear, but his friend had just saved him, so he took a single step and was then on the ground under his own power and gravity. “Thanks ‘Rian.”Haedrian nodded. He wasn’t going to disparage the other by saying it had been instinct or that it was nothing. Instead, he intoned, “It was my honor to serve.”Of course, this was all ruined by Madam Hooch yelling at them both. “You are lucky to be alive! You could have broken something! Why did you go after him! Why didn’t you let me handle it!”Warlord Prince Haedrian Angelline turned and looked at the woman. It was not a nice expression. He made sure he was polite in his words, even if his tone was not. “Lady, when I took action, there had already been plenty of time for you to ‘handle it’. Since you did not, I stepped in. Might I inquire as to when you were going to ‘handle it’; as when I reached Lord Longbottom, he was already halfway back down? May I suggest that should such an incident be repeated, you not wait until the child’s life is in immediate danger to ‘handle it’?”“May I be of assistance?” Saetan SaDiablo asked. He was simply standing beside the group between one second and the next. He’d cast a sight shield to reach them unnoticed, using Craft to go as fast as he was able when Kaelaski had sent the psychic call for help.Hooch was already red in fury as she pointed a finger at Haedrian. “That little hellion of yours just risked his life and that of a fellow student! Then he denigrated me! Attacked my reputation and ability to teach! If you don’t do something about that little freak, I’m gonna—”His kind-old-uncle harmless-librarian persona vanished with the first three words out of the woman’s mouth, but when his grandson gave an involuntary flinch at her designation for him, the patriarch of the family stood tall before her.He said it slowly, even as he interrupted her. He put enough Craft in the words that everyone could hear him. “Careful, Lady,” he stressed, putting quiet menace in the title, “Warlord Princes eliminate threats without prejudice.”She took an involuntary step back. Her voice shook slightly. “Twenty points from Slytherin and detention for threatening a professor!”Saetan leaned back, put his hands in his pockets, and a smile spread across his face. “It wasn’t a threat, professor. It is a fact.” As pleasant as the smile was, it sent a cold shiver of pure terror down Hooch’s spine. “As for ‘doing something,’ my grandson will no longer be attending your class. He will find instruction elsewhere.” He reached out and Haedrian easily moved to his side and one step back. Kaelaski dropped the sight shield and stood with them. “However, Lady, you will find that if you ever call a child such a denigrating affectation again, you will find yourself on the receiving end in your nightmares. Good evening.” “You can’t do that,” her voice shook. “That’s impossible.”His smile widened and he turned his head to speak. “The spell is already in place.” +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ The children watch the trio leave in bewilderment. Whatever was making their instructor so scared? Why was Hooch shaking? It was just the assistant librarian. He was only Haedrian’s grandfather. The man hadn’t even done anything.Neville falling had been much scarier. And Haedrian had caught him so fast! Without a broom! +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
IV) Thursday Astronomy
 Haedrian groaned miserably (feeling very understandably childish) along with the rest of his Slytherin and Hufflepuff classmates, as they trudged back down the steep stairs after their last class of the day: Astronomy. They were all exhausted. “Who thought a midnight class was a good idea?” he groused.“When else can we view the stars?” Susan Bones asked, her tone just as begrudging.“The Great Hall always has a view of the outside sky,” Gregory Goyle muttered. “Why couldn’t a classroom be charmed to always show the night sky? That way Astronomy could take place during normal hours.” “My parents took me to a planetarium last year,” a muggleborn Hufflepuff said thoughtfully, “and magicals are always going on about how much better their stuff is to non-magical. Shouldn’t they have a magical version of a planetarium?”That input made the Slytherins glance between each other and their mouths shut tight. But they still listened.“Or at least a magical projector,” another agreed. “My primary school used them all the time.”They finally got the hall where the two houses split and went their separate ways to their own dormitories.After long minutes, Haedrian asked, “Does such a magical object exist?”There was a long pause. “I’ve never heard of one.”“If they do, then you have to wonder why Hogwarts – the supposed best magical school in Europe – doesn’t have one.”“Too expensive perhaps?” he suggested.Draco snorted and shook his head, “My father is on the Board of Governors. I’ve overheard him talk about a vault set up by the Founders for the continued upkeep of Hogwarts, including replacing expensive equipment and updating the wards and such.”Another long pause. “But the teachers are all supposed to be the best in their fields. Do they not have the ability to make one?”Haedrian shook his head. “I know Craft recording spheres exist. My father recorded plays for my mother to watch later when she was ill. I’ll ask Grandpapa in the morning.” He disappeared into his room and collapsed onto the bed, fast asleep still dressed.Kaelaski gave a snort of amusement. He set up the wards and curled himself around the boy, facing the entrance as he settled himself on the new huge bed in their private room.Unknown to them, there was a group of Slytherins that overheard them, having been in the common room when the first years came through. The upper-years glanced at each other in disgruntled, almost embarrassed surprise. “Why haven’t we ever thought of that?”“I have no idea. It was just one more thing to get used to as a firstie.” “Hmmm...I think I’ll ask Snape in the morning.”  +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++ 
V) Reactions
 The rumor mill flew fast and furious. Most houses spoke about how Haedrian had caught Neville without aid of a broom. But the Slytherins spoke of the oddness of the new librarian and Hooch’s reaction. And one red-haired boy in particular began to rage silently at the unfairness of it all.Harry Potter was supposed to be his ticket to fame and fortune!It was so unfair! Harry Potter wasn’t his friend. He wasn’t giving him things. He wasn’t noticing him. He wasn’t letting him cheat off him.Snape was supposed to hate him! He was supposed to be a Gryffindor!He wasn’t being reprimanded by the teachers for wearing weird robes. Or sitting with other houses at meals. Or using magic without a wand. Or going around with a monster disguised as a cat. Or having his own room. Or using a weird name. Demanding weird food.It was all so unfair…

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Blood Sings to Blood – Part 07 – not really
 
Apologies
 Okay guys, I’ll admit defeat. I was so excited about this fic. I spent years developing the world and how it all could interact. I have over twenty pages of notes and details. Who had what Jewel and caste. Lists of students, classes, etc. The whole shebang.However…The last two books: “The Queen’s Bargain” and “The Queen’s Weapons” have completely put me off writing any more. I waited eagerly for them to be published, read them with such excitement, and then all my desire bled off into the ether. I haven’t written a single word of BStB since.I tried to listen to the audiobooks. Tried rereading all my favorite bits from the original saga. Nothing worked. It’s been over two years. I give up. I’m sorry. I can’t force myself and fanfic is supposed to be fun, not torture. I apologize, but this is it.BUT, I won’t leave you guys hanging. I’ll give you the basic outline of what I had planned. That way you aren’t swinging in the breeze for an ending. 
Couple Details
Discoveries made between Craft and Magic—both Craft and Magic have spells unique to themselves, with no other way to perform them (just as Terrielle & Kaeleer & Hell have unique between them)Wizarding World had Blood, but the bloodlines slowly died out (landen war) and Blood became diluted enough that they no longer could wear Jewels, forcing them to create “magic” and wands instead of Craft….the strongest witches/wizards in every generation have the ability to wear Jewels, but the knowledge has been lost on how to acquire them, let alone use them. Magic became all that was available.4th Realm – Vhorm – Wizarding World/Harry Potter Realm5th Realm – Gian – The World of the Others >>>see AO3 for pics of similarities, differences, castes, jewels – if I can figure out how to do it correctly -- apparently I can't. I'm not nearly as tech-savvy as newest generation. Sorry 
YEAR ONE – after Part 6

Draco Malfoy
Best at explaining aristocracy hierarchy; attempts to make friends with Harry as political allianceLordship/Heirs – gives books from Malfoy LibraryExplains whole story of Voldy; Harry notices bad logic for convicting Sirius (magical guardian/godfather incapable of harming?)Amelia Bones discovers no trialSirius freed before end of Year1Sirius & Remus go with Harry back to Kaeleer 
Astronomy
Craft spelled sphere of night sky given to Hogwarts (Winsol gift?) so that Astronomy no longer has to be taught during night. 
Ron Weasley – Potions - Duel
When Snape away (reason?), Ron gets snarky. Harry doesn’t react; Ron gets worse. Ron challenges Harry to a duel at midnight.                >>Haedrian tilted his head to the side and looked at the instructor, “Prince Snape, is he asking me to join him on a killing field?” It was best to ask for clarification from one more knowledgeable of another culture. Perhaps the child didn’t know what he was truly asking. 
DADA
Harry thinks Quirrell is demon-dead; mentions to SaetanAsks Q about how he gets yarbarah                Leads to Saetan/Daemon starting trade/business of yarbarah to vampire covens                                Voldy takes over to give Saetan contact info for vampire covens (V plans to wiggle a deal for future alliance with vamps in next war)Saetan notes difference in psychic scent btw V & Q; asks Jaenelle about itJaenelle figures out two different people; banishes V; Q dies as resultMinistry Auror takes over DADA position for rest of year 
Norbert
Learns dragons are demi-Kindred (similar to Dark Dancer)Figure out post-owls also demi-Kindred (similar psychic scents to dragons) 
Stone
Harry gets bored & goes to investigate 3rd floor corridorMakes friends with Fluffy (Cerberus full Kindred – unique to Vhorm)                Makes deal to explain for getting passed grate                Traps annoyingly easy – airwalking!Gets Stone – researches what it is (Snape) and decides to give to Jaenelle for WinsolJaenelle & Daemon now can live together as long as J has Stone! 
Various – No Specific Time – Can Be in Any Chapter
Snape gets his first scent of Pomona’s moonsblood as Prince. Doesn’t know how to react. Goes overboard with fussing.Draco takes Harry to “Etticute/Social Graces” club. H learns lots of how interaction/politics. Similarities made to Blood caste/jewels dance.“What’s a muggle?”“What’s a mudblood?”Harry as Potter Heir à Goblins?? à Magical Heir vs Blood Heir 
End
Rest of Hogwarts year very boring for Harry. He decides that he can learn more from his family and doesn’t go back to Hogwarts.    
YEAR FOUR

Goblet
Harry is forcibly called by the Goblet to come back to Hogwarts (Kaeleer set as 4th school)Magically binding contract means he must participate in tournament. SaDiablo family attitude varies between cold rage & dismissive. Initially Harry agrees to only come to Hogwarts for tasks. 
Luna Lovegood
Harry stays because of what he sees in Luna—Black Widow Seer, natural, untrained                Treading too close to the Twisted KingdomVoldy kidnaps Harry                Daemon/Lucivar come to “rescue” Harry, Jaenelle along for the ride because the boyos don’t want to give her a reason to reclaim Ebony, and to heal Harry when they find him                                “Red rain” descends upon the Riddle Manor, Voldy made an exampleJaenelle recognizes what Luna is and offers to take her with them                Luna and her father move to Kaeleer permenantly +++++HP++BJT++HP+++++
Again, I am very sorry. Hope this gave you some closure.