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A Murder

Harry and Sirius took a Portkey out of Egypt on the evening of the 30th, directly to the room in the Leaky Cauldron Sirius had written ahead to reserve. Straight away, Sirius went to get reacquainted with some of his favorite clubs while Harry, who was too queasy to eat anything, rolled directly into bed and zonked out.

-o-

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"

Harry woke up to see Delf about to land on his stomach. "UAAGHH! Ow…"

"Hahahaha!" That was Roderick, of course.

"What time is it?" Harry mumbled, sitting up and making Delf slide off him. The room was blurry and dim since he wasn't wearing his contacts, but he could make out his friends easily enough.

"Nearly seven," Delf said cheerfully.

"I slept till seven?"

"Nearly seven," she corrected him.

Roderick was grinning down at the pair of them. "Up and at em, mate, the day's half over!"

"Yes, we've got birthday things to do!" Delf agreed. "Roderick, get him dressed. We're going to have birthday breakfast downstairs, and then open birthday presents, and then get birthday tattoos!"

"Merlin, can I take a birthday piss first?" Harry asked, swinging his legs off the bed.

Roderick laughed as Harry fumbled on his nightstand for his contact lenses. "Well, get on then if you want him dressed, Delf," Roderick said lightly. "Though with his reputation these days, I doubt he'd mind if you stayed."

Harry, who had managed one lens, saw Delf scowl at Roderick and hurry out. "What reputation?" he asked, putting in his other contact.

"Well, you're a casanova now, you know. Everyone knows about your American fling last year because of your brother, and Katie had nothing but good things to say." He shrugged. "They're laying bets on who you'll date this year."

"That's ridiculous," Harry protested, crossing to the wardrobe and pulling out a shirt and trousers. "There was no 'fling' in Ireland, and Katie… well, why would anyone be laying bets?"

His friend shrugged again. "Couldn't tell you. But speaking of… no dishy Egyptian girls catch your fancy?"

Harry snorted. "As if pranking with the twins and staying clear of my family weren't enough to do, you want me chasing girls—?"

"Wait."

Harry looked up at him, startled.

"Stand up straight."

Harry did, utterly mystified. Roderick looked oddly concentrated as he stepped closer. He put a hand on top of his head, and moved it forward till it hit the top of Harry's forehead. Realization dawned and Harry grinned as Roderick groaned piteously.

"I'm finally taller than you!" Harry crowed triumphantly as the other boy sat on Sirius' bed and buried his face in his hands.

"What's going on in there?" asked Delf's muffled voice from the hallway. "Honestly Harry, you're taking longer to dress than I usually do!"

"Delf, come in here and see! I'm taller than Roderick!"

"It's just not right," Roderick groaned. "I shouldn't have to look up at my best friend."

"What, shall I just go about on stilts then?" said Delf, who had come in behind Harry and heard Roderick's lament.

"Yeah," Harry said as he turned to her. "Then you can…"

The thing about having bad eyesight is that it takes a couple tries to realize that things that have looked the same suddenly… don't. Without his contact lenses in, Delf had been a blur of brown hair-colour and pale face-colour above a smear of white and green, which were her top and skirt. Now that he could see properly, he realized the skinniness he'd always known had become slimness and grace, that her hair had a newfound luster and curl, and that her clothing, no different from what she usually wore, accentuated curves he'd never seen before. He found she was very pretty. Beautiful even.

"Merlin," he said stupidly. "Since when were you such a stunner?"

Her face was instantly bright pink, and before she quickly turned her eyes away he saw they were gold and hazel, happy and worried. But then Roderick let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Copped on, have you?"

"What do you—?" Harry began, but Delf interrupted by dragging Harry out of the room by his wrist.

"Nothing, nothing!" she declared. "We have birthday things to do, let's go!"

First on the agenda was birthday breakfast, consisting of underdone eggs, greasy bacon butties and strong tea. Harry kept having to do little double-takes at Delf, sure that his eyes were somehow tricking him and she was going to laugh quite soon and undo this enchantment that seemed to be on her. As they were sitting down, a slip of parchment fluttered out of Roderick's back pocket and landed on the ground. "Wosh 'at?" Harry asked around a forkful of egg.

"It's from Sirius," Roderick replied, studying the note. "Meet me at Bigby's parlour at 11. Hopefully I won't have a hangover by then. Have fun in the meantime. Happy birthday, Harry. Sirius. That's odd, how did that get there?"

"Must've wiggled in your pocket when you sat on his bed," Delf suggested. "Well, that's useful at least. Gives us a timeframe to work with."

"Yeah, four whole hours and no plans for them," Roderick said dryly.

"Hello, you were the one who wanted to leave so early, if I recall," Delf cut in. "All that about being grounded forever and the only way to get out was to sneak out? Sound familiar?"

Harry frowned across at their suddenly frowning friend. "Have things not got better then?" he asked, unsure if there was a delicate way to phrase the question.

"No," Roderick said shortly. "I don't' reckon it's a good birthday topic." Harry let the subject drop and there was a minute of awkward quiet, a rare occurrence for their trio.

"So, um, I left your gift at my house, Harry, since I figured we'd end up back there anyway. I hope that's alright," Delf said, breaking the silence with a much more welcome issue.

"No, of course I don't mind. I had assumed the same," Harry said, smiling at her. For some reason she blushed again.

"You'll have to take being taller than me as my gift," Roderick groused.

Harry grinned broadly. "You'd better get used to it, because I don't feel like giving this gift up! Best gift ever!" Roderick smiled lopsidedly at his plate.

They wandered out into the Alley after breakfast, taking in the early-morning sights and greeting shopkeepers they knew. They meandered into Flourish and Blotts after a time, and spent a few hours poring over tomes full of obscure magical creatures, a habit from the previous year. Roderick declared himself sure of seeing an etching labeled as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but they couldn't find it when they flipped back through.

Eventually, it neared eleven, and they followed the half-remembered side-alley till they came upon the faded sign declaring Bigby's Magical Tattoo Application Parlour. They had a few minutes before Sirius could be declared late, so they waited about outside in the wan sunshine.

"Oh!" Delf exclaimed after a short while. "I suppose I should give you these." She dug in the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a few sheets of folded parchment, which she distributed to Harry and Roderick. Harry took it eagerly. He'd seen the draft she'd sent him in Egypt, but that had been rough and sketchy, more to see if they all liked the idea than to represent what they would actually get. These were much better. Delf was a talented artist, and the job she had done on the three stylized crows in flight was superb. Upon closer examination, he saw that one had a dot of green for its eye, another had a dot of grey, and the third was gold.

"Delf, this is amazing!" he said admiringly. "I can't wait to see what they look like."

"Where to you think you're going to get yours?" Roderick asked them.

"I was thinking right here along my arm, opposite from my dragon," Harry replied, indicating his inner right forearm. "What about you, Delf?"

"Along here," she replied, running her finger along the right side of her ribs and waist. "Easy to hide that way."

"Do you not have permission?" Harry asked, confused. How was she planning to go through with this without being allowed?

"I'm a rather good forger, Harry," she replied, pulling a fourth sheet of parchment from her pocket and waving it under his nose. Harry caught a glimpse of a passing good copy of her father's signature below a short note.

Harry held his hands up to say 'I surrender' and went back to examining the drawing as Delf asked Roderick, "What about you? I somehow doubt your dad gave permission for this."

"No, naturally not," Roderick replied. "Sirius and I are some sort of cousins. He's allowed to speak for me."

"Delf, your eyes just changed colour!" Harry exclaimed suddenly.

They both looked at him quizzically. "Is that news?" Roderick asked.

"No!" Harry said impatiently. "On her picture, her bird's eyes did!"

"They did what?"

While Roderick and Delf had been talking and Harry examining the birds, Delf's one's eyes had changed quite suddenly from the gold of happiness to a very green hazel, for excitement and anxiety. "How?" he demanded of her, consumed by curiosity.

"Um… well, it's not strictly allowed, what I did…"

"And?" said Roderick, obviously just as curious as Harry. He could practically hear the twins muttering 'Ravenclaws…'.

"Basically, what it is was, I added a drop of blood before doing the eye on each of mine. So that it would be connected to me, you know, and change when I did."

"Delf!" Harry shouted incredulously. "That's blood magic!"

"Ssshh!" she hissed, glancing about nervously. "I know, you idiot. Do you think I—"

"There's the birthday boy!" called a jovial voice from behind them. They turned in unison to see Sirius striding up from the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. "Sorry I'm late," he continued as he reached them and slung his arm about Harry's shoulder. "Had a spot of trouble convincing myself to wake up this morning." He finally noticed how tense his three young charges were. "What's the matter?"

"Delf did blood magic in these," Harry said in a low voice, lifting the sketch gingerly.

Sirius looked surprised. "But you're fourteen," he told her.

"I know," she muttered, blushing furiously.

"That's not the point!" Harry exclaimed. "It's against the law! Sacrifice-based magic was banned centuries ago, and—"

"And I'm sure whatever she put in your tattoos is perfectly benign and will matter not a whit to anyone," Sirius interrupted.

"But you're an Auror! It's your job to keep the law!"

"No, that's the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I catch Dark wizards and witches. And now that I've finally got you three, I'm taking you straight to the custody of Randolph Bigby. In we go." And he summarily grabbed Harry and Delf by the scruffs of their collars and dragged them through the door, with Roderick coming along behind, laughing his head off.

"Bigs!" Sirius called as they filed into the tiny reception area. "I've got clients!" But just as last time, it was a skinny blonde girl sitting behind the counter, that Gryffindor student in the year above them, Nita Linese. "Oh! Morning," Sirius said cheerily. "Bigs not in?"

"He's just finishing with someone," Linese said quietly. "Done in a minute."

"Jolly good then! Hm… I don't guess you know the application spells, do you?"

Harry thought her lips almost turned up at the sides. "He won't teach them to me."

"What rubbish! I'll have a word with him, never you fear!"

Just then the elderly velvet purple curtain behind the counter shifted aside and revealed Mr. Randolph Bigby himself, still small, still bald, and still scarily muscled. And his skin was still covered with all manner of twisting, moving wizard tattoos. He ushered out a couple in their twenties who held hands and giggled as they went out and didn't pay Harry or his friends any mind whatsoever.

Bigby sniffed at them, perhaps disdainfully, and then jerked a nod at Sirius, and said "You wrote. All of em?" Harry noticed through the sudden surge of excitement that Linese had disappeared.

Sirius nodded, grinning so widely Harry suspected his face was about to break in half. "Each and every. I'm paying."

Another curt nod. "Who's first?" he asked, fixing his gaze among the nervous and excited trio.

"Me," said Delf immediately.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "It's my birthday."

"And my drawing," she returned promptly. "I want to see if it works."

Harry huffed unhappily but subsided and they filed into the back room.

"Image?" Bigby said, seating himself on a low chair in the corner and twirling his wand, the same as last time.

Delf handed him the page and he examined it with a professional eye. "Yours again?" he asked, tapping the sheet.

"Yes," she replied.

He nodded approvingly. "Good." Delf looked immeasurably pleased. "Where?"

She untucked her top from her skirt and repeated the gesture she'd shown Harry and Roderick, only now on bare skin. She held her shirt up to bare her ribs as Bigby began the muttered incantations Harry remembered from his dragon. She held her shirt up to bare her ribs as the little birds began to flap and stretch on the parchment. She held her shirt up to bare her ribs as Roderick elbowed Harry and he realized he'd been staring. He turned away, hot in the face and blinking quickly, so he missed the moment of application when the ink bonded to her body. All he heard was a high squeak, and then a giggle, and by the time he was enough in control of himself to turn back around Bigby was tapping various places to see how the ink-birds reacted. They were flapping about establishing their territory and opening their beaks in silent shrieks and caws. One had grey eyes and two had green: one for Harry and one for a very excited Delf. Bigby grunted his satisfaction and Delf lowered her shirt, smiling hugely.

Harry went forward next, pulling up his right sleeve and handing his page over. Since he could see what the man was doing this time, unlike with his dragon, and Delf wasn't distracting him, he paid very close attention to what Bigby was doing, but the man spoke too low and fast for Harry to really make out what he said. The shock of application was less this time, probably because the birds were smaller, but he still jumped a little at the shock when the page slapped against his skin and the ink bonded. Bigby examined his work, poking at it here and there to see how the birds responded, and Harry looked on with vast satisfaction. Even if it was blood magic, it was wicked cool, and getting something that represented him and his two closest friends just felt right.

Roderick was up next, and as he handed his drawing over, Harry saw him gulp nervously.

"It doesn't hurt," he reassured his friend.

"Well, it sort of does," Delf amended, and Harry glared at her.

Roderick chuckled. "I know, I know."

"Where?" Bigby grunted.

Roderick took a breath and pulled up his left sleeve. "There," he said, indicating his inner forearm. It took a second for Harry to realize the significance of the placement, but when he did his eyes widened. That was just where a Dark Mark would go, like Mr. Malfoy had. Sirius seemed to have realized the same thing, and he reached forward to touch his young cousin's shoulder. "Right on," he murmured.

Bigby made no comment as he began his incantations, but Harry thought he saw a glimmer of respectful approval in the man's eyes.

Roderick yelped as the application spell took hold, and looked on with some trepidation as Bigby checked his handiwork and declared it sound. Indeed, he seemed a little dazed as Sirius paid and they trooped back out into the Alley.

They all had their crows now. They were a proper murder.

"We're supposed to meet the others at the Leaky Cauldron at one," Delf announced cheerfully. "What do we do till then?"

"Ice cream," Roderick said. "That's all I want right now." Sirius laughed and agreed, and they all turned towards Florean Fortescue's.

"Speaking of 'the others'," Harry said, piggybacking on Delf's previous comment. "You and Oliver again, eh? How's that? And since when?"

"Oh," she scoffed. "Not even three weeks. We ran into each other again here at the Alley because I wanted a complete version of Leonard Aldopold's Compendium of Magical Reptiles just for the satisfaction's sake, and he started talking at me and in the end I agreed to go out with him again just to get him to stop his mouth. We've only seen each other twice since then."

"That's not real gossip," Harry complained.

"I never said it would be," she replied peevishly.

Roderick and Sirius were demonstrating they were related again by laughing behind him and Delf, though the reason was completely lost on him. Giving up understanding their joint sense of humor as a lost cause, Harry turned his attention back to Delf. She really was extremely pretty all of a sudden, and it made him both nervous and excited, though those weren't quite the correct words. He couldn't exactly say just what she made him feel, but it was different from the warm affection and appreciation he had always had for her friendship. His mind flew back to the summer of two years ago, when he alone had a new tattoo from Sirius. He suddenly started to grin.

"Hey, Delf…" he said, and she looked up sharply, hearing his sly tone.

"What?"

"Does this tickle?" He reached out and poked her ribs, right where she had her murder. She squeaked loudly and danced out of his reach, trying to cover the area in danger from his grasping hands. A short chase ensued, she screaming bloody murder as she attempted to avoid him, and he laughing and shouting in pursuit.

Roderick finally told them to knock off, looking strangely impatient as he did, and Harry restrained himself and only tickled her five times as they sat outside Florean Fortescue's and ate sundaes.

They met Tracey, Cedric and the twins at the Leaky Cauldron a little later, and they all set off back up the Alley, laughing and shouting and having a merry old time. Sirius had to run off for business, he told them, but he would meet them at the Greengrass' that evening. Harry and the twins shared all about their Egyptian adventures, including the pub incident, and Percy's mysterious pink hair, which had yet to revert to its usual colour. Cedric spoke at length about a Quidditch club he and a few others in his year had started. Tracey went on about her Muggle aunt and uncle and three cousins visiting, and how she'd had to hide practically all of her things in the linen closet to uphold the Statute of Secrecy. Delf had stories about her brother and sister to share, which they all enjoyed. Roderick laughed at everything but shared nothing, Harry noticed. Not a good birthday topic indeed.

At about five, they all trooped back towards the Leaky Cauldron to go to Delf's house for supper. Roderick and the twins were in front, talking in low voices and sending Harry furtive glances every so often, which he decided to ignore. Tracey and Delf were behind him and Cedric, and as they passed the lingerie shop which had so unnerved them on Harry's eleventh birthday, he heard Delf whisper to Tracey, "You know, if you want Roderick to make a move, that would be a good place to start," followed by some indignant spluttering and promises of revenge on Tracey's part. Harry grinned to himself. Maybe something would finally happen for those two this year.

Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass were excellent hosts, as usual. Dwight had been banished to his room for the day because he'd cut all of Astoria's hair off the previous night. The mortified girl wore a knitted hat to cover it, but brown tufts stuck through the wool. Sirius and Remus were there, and Mrs. Greengrass made treacle tarts—Harry's favorite—and they had him open presents on the back lawn as the sun sank towards the horizon.

Eventually, their friends began leave. First Cedric, then the twins, and finally Tracey went into the smaller sitting room and Flooed away. Sirius and Remus had left some time ago, citing work and the need for sleep by way of apology. Harry was reluctant to leave, as ever, and Roderick got downright depressed at the idea, so they sat out under the stars and talked about the lessons they were to start with Master Jerome the next day. They reckoned they were about ready to do their Animagi transformations, and wondered what else the month would bring.

But even this reprieve had to end. Stuffing his presents into his trunk, including the three-part silver frame, traditional scrapbook, new set of contact lenses and a singing toilet seat, he bid farewell to his friends and Mr. Greengrass, as his wife and second daughter had already retired upstairs for the night. Flooing with a trunk was tricky business, but he spun away just as the clock began chiming ten.

The clock was striking ten on the mantle in Potter Manor too as he stepped out of the fireplace, heaving his trunk out of the ashes behind him. He'd been hoping his family would all have been asleep by the time he got home, but Tom immediately scuttled those. He was seated on the sofa, polishing what looked like a brand new broomstick.

"Evening," Harry said tiredly, going towards the door.

Behind him, Tom cleared his throat loudly. Harry ignored him. He had had a very long, very pleasant day, and the last thing he wanted was to get into some nonsense argument with his brother. But Tom cleared his throat again and inquired, "Don't you have something to say to me?"

Harry sighed and turned around. "Nice broom."

Tom somehow managed to look both pleased and peeved at the same time. "It is, isn't it? It's a Firebolt, see? Not actually out till next week. But that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Tom?" he asked, cloaking his rising impatience behind exaggerated good manners.

"You weren't at my party. Everyone was here for it. Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic were, and your friend Cedric and the Weasleys. We all had a lovely time. But you weren't: aren't you at least going to wish me a belated happy birthday?"

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, "No," he said. "I'm not. I sent you a gift and wrote you a card. Isn't that enough?"

Tom stood up and crossed his arms. "No," he replied petulantly. "I want to hear it in person."

"Or maybe you should say it to me," Harry suggested coldly.

Tom frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Do you even know what day it is?" Harry shouted, temper flaring high. "Damn you Tom, you're so self-centered! Your birthday was three days ago! You don't need me to wish for it to be happy! It's not that special!"

Just then, Lily appeared in the doorway that led out to the foyer. Her expression was enough to tell that she'd heard the correct part of her elder son's exclamation to be furious.

"What did you say to him?" she shouted.

"Merlin's bleeding beard," Harry cursed, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture of desperate exasperation.

"And what is that?"

He blinked at her livid face in confusion, and then glanced down at his arm. Oh. Raising his hand had caused the sleeve of his robe to fall back, revealing his new tattoo. That was an error on his part.

Well, she had seen it. No point in pretending now. "It's a tattoo," he said, making sure to sound matter-of-fact and not at all defensive. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this without a serious verbal drubbing, but he wasn't going to make her think he thought he deserved it. "I got it today with my friends."

Lily drew a deep breath. "Harry, I have had it up to here with you," she said grimly, making no indication of where 'here' was. "Your continuing blatant disrespect for our family must stop. We've come to accept that you don't care for us. But for God's sake, don't you value our reputation?" The resigned disappointment in her voice might have been painful if she had made any sense. As it was, it simply made Harry angry.

"I fail to see how getting a tattoo applies," he said flatly.

"Damn it Harry, you're being purposefully obtuse!"

And then James arrived. He was had on a scruffy dressing gown and a quill dripped ink on it from its perch behind his ear. "What's the matter, Lil?" he asked, looking as if he'd rather not know. Harry silently put his trunk down. This was going to take a while.

"Harry," she glared at her son, "has gotten a new tattoo, in unabashed contempt for our opinions and the way it will reflect on us as a family."

James frowned at him sternly. "I thought we had made our views on that very apparent after the first one."

"You did," Harry agreed through gritted teeth.

"Then I'm really at a loss. We let the first one go, allowing for Sirius' involvement, but two is more than enough. You're still our son, Harry, and a part of this family, of which I am the head!"

"And he didn't even wish his brother happy birthday when he got in," Lily supplied. Tom sniffed righteously.

"I can't believe this," Harry hissed furiously.

"Harry, the core tenet of any family should be unity," James intoned, tucking his hands behind his back in a manner suggesting the imminence of a long lecture. "Over the past few years, you have demonstrated very clearly that you do not want to be a part of this family. You routinely disobey your mother and me, with the tattoos, and the girls, and you've done nothing but demean your brother ever since he started at Hogwarts."

Harry's stomach was roiling sickly and he was afraid to open his mouth for what he might say.

"And that's the heart of the problem, isn't it? You resent your brother. Don't try and deny it." James raised his hand to quell the protests he assumed would come, but all Harry could do was sneer. 'Let them think that then,' he thought savagely. 'If they want to invert every problem we have and make it my fault, they won't listen to me if I correct them.'

"You're a teenager, and we made allowances for your actions because we expected some rebellion. But your behavior has simply been childish: you sneak away when we go out as a family, you constantly incite arguments with Tom, and you reject us when we try to bond with you. What have we done to cause you to stop loving us?"

At this, Harry could take no more. "I don't love YOU?" he shouted incredulously. "How many of my birthdays have you forgotten? My seventh was first, remember? Yes, you got my eighth, well done, but my ninth? Tenth? Eleventh?" Lily flinched, eyes wide and nearly fearful at Harry's outburst. "You've missed all of them since then, if I'm not mistaken. Remember last year, when it was 'don't bother Mum today because she has people over and you know how she gets'? Or when I turned thirteen, and Tom got the Cloak? Or today?"

"And we're sorry for those, Harry, truly," Lily pleaded. He had turned the tables and she clearly didn't like it. "It's just that Tom's birthday has become such a political affair that takes so much time and effort to put together that—"

"That's no excuse," Harry interrupted snidely. "Mine is after Tom's. All it would take is a couple invitations and telling Tipsy to make a cake, like she wants. I mean, really, I'd be satisfied with a 'happy birthday' in the morning."

"And we're going to make it up to you—" Lily started, but James overrode her. For so long now, Lily had been the one spearheading the 'Harry is a bad and rebellious son' campaign while James simply hoped it would all die down, but now it seemed the roles were reversed: Lily had simply wanted to tell him off and go to bed, and James was the one with a bone to pick. Evidently he didn't like his elder son talking back to his wife.

"If all of this ridiculous behavior is simply you telling us you're angry at us, then you can stop right now, Harry. You've made it perfectly clear. So you need to stop with the tattoos, stop picking fights with your brother, and stop being so damned competitive. You're not only reflecting badly on yourself, but on us as a family."

"Family?" Harry repeated. "The only important thing to you is looking good for the press and keeping Tom famous. I sure don't feel any love from you! The Greengrasses are more like my parents!"

Lily looked as if she'd been slapped in the face, but James only looked offended. "How dare you say something like that? You're our son: of course we love you. It's just that with Tom being who he is, we sometimes have to make sacrifices."

"Sacrifices like not taking your elder son to the train station to go to Hogwarts for the first time? No, Tom had an interview, which both of you had to attend as well, apparently. No 'good luck, Harry, you'll do great, we'll miss you!' It was 'oh, Sirius, we forgot Harry has to leave today, and we're busy: could you take him?"

"Well, Sirius was teaching that year, it made sense—" James blustered.

"And the year after that?" Harry challenged angrily. "Even though Sirius wasn't teaching, he took me again."

"Your mother was ill and I had work, you know that. You're being hysterical!"

"Last year! You took the day of for him. You came to see him off. Kissed him on the forehead, told him good luck, shed a tear or two."

"You're letting you jealousy of your brother blind you to our situation, Harry. It's time you grew up and accepted that some things in life are less pleasant than others."

"Oh, I would laugh if I weren't furious," he snarled. "I'm jealous alright. You know what of? You know everything about Tom: his best friends, his favorite dessert, anything. I bet you even answered his letters, didn't you. And considering all the narcing," he glanced hotly at his brother, who had faded into a corner and looked shocked and wilted, "there have been a lot. I wrote you in first year! Many times! And I got back a Christmas note and five Galleons, thank you for that, it obviously showed a lot of care and forethought."

Lily had been quietly sobbing for the past few minutes, but it suddenly burst into a noisy crescendo, and she crossed to the sofa, hands over her mouth to try and quiet herself. Harry felt a twist of guilt coil tight in his stomach. Fantastic, he thought. Now I feel bad, just because I'm telling the truth.

"Do you see what you're doing to your poor mother?" James demanded, going to his wife and taking her hand. "She doesn't deserve any of this! We're your parents and you don't seem to respect us at all. That has to change."

"Sure, great parents," he sneered. "Great parents to the child they had on purpose, perhaps, as opposed to the accident baby you wish you'd never had! How was it Mum, to graduate Hogwarts six months pregnant as Head Girl? Were you embarrassed? Ashamed, perhaps? You wish I didn't exist because then all the stuff you do to make Tom look like the heir would actually count for something! The Cloak, for example. The Cloak that's supposed to go to the eldest son? The one Melody Peverell brought to the family? Even with two boys, you might have said 'you need to learn to share this at school' or 'take turns', but no, pass it right one to Tom as if I don't exist. And now I'm a 'bad child' and 'rebellious' because you've realized you don't know a damn thing about me! You don't even realize when you're playing favourites! Oh, yeah, great parents alright. You can't love someone you don't know!" Lily stifled a moan as more tears poured down her cheeks.

"Of course we know you!" James protested over Lily's crying. "You're our son. Stop with that nonsense about us not wishing you were born."

"Oh, you know me, do you? Favourite colour? Favourite class? Best friends' names? Go on, tell me," he challenged.

"Well, blue, for Ravenclaw, obviously," James said.

Lily looked up with swollen, hopeful red eyes. He could almost see her thinking that there might be a way to redeem the situation, their whole relationship, if they can guess these few questions right. "Yes, blue," she agreed eagerly.

"Wrong: it's Delf's happy eye colour. And if you bothered to get to know my friends the way you do Tom's, you would know what that means. But I assure you, it's not blue. Favourite class?"

"Charms?" Lily suggested tentatively.

"Transfiguration," James guessed.

"No. I'm tied between Defense and Potions."

"But Snape teaches Potions," Tom protested, speaking up for the first time since starting the whole thing. "Snape."

"And if you weren't an arse, you'd know he's nice to people he respects," Harry snapped.

Lily did something between a sniff and a whine.

"Favourite dessert?" he carried on inexorably. This was the time for everything to be set right. They would finally realize the depths of their neglect and his hard, deep anger would be vindicated. And if things were too wrong to set right again, well… he would at least have won moral superiority.

"Chocolate cake," James said, sounding less hopeful.

"No, that's Tom," Lily put in guiltily.

"Ah, something right at last," he said sarcastically. "I like treacle tarts. In fact, Mrs. Greengrass made us some only a few hours ago when I went there for my birthday." He paused to let that sink in. "Favorite book?"

"Quidditch Through the Ages?"

"No, that's your one," he told James.

"The Source of Magic in the British Isles?" Tom piped up.

"No," said Harry, moderately surprised. "I only read that for Master Jerome. How did you know that existed?"

"I saw you carrying it around," the younger boy mumbled.

"The Picture of Dorian Gray?" said Lily, growing tearful again. "I saw that on your desk once…"

"No, I read that because my friend Tracey thought it might have been based on a magical portrait a Muggle saw by accident. She wanted a second opinion. No, it's The Tales of Beedle and the Bard." James looked vaguely affronted at his choice of a children's book as a piece of favoured literature, but Harry charged on. "Favourite thing to do at home?"

"Running?" said James.

"Close," said Harry.

"Reading?" said Lily.

"Close," said Harry.

"Cooking with Tipsy," said Tom.

"Actually, yes," said Harry, blindsided. "How did you know that?"

"You were making midnight breakfast once when I came down for water. I heard you tell her so. 'Cooking with you makes coming home worth it,' you said. I heard you," he accused.

"And it's true," Harry replied. "Now, my best friends?"

"The Weasley twins?" James asked weakly.

"No," Lily interrupted. "It's the ones he studies with. One of the Greengrass girls, Daphne, and the Malfoy heir."

"Malfoy!" James shouted, fury renewed by old grudges. "They're bastards, what do they have to do—"

"If you had asked about my tattoo," Harry overrode him loudly, angrily, "at the beginning of this stupid argument rather than flying off the handle about it, you would know that it represents me and my friends, and that Roderick Malfoy got his where a Dark Mark would go specifically to stick it to his dad. Don't you dare prejudge my friends. The Blacks were Dark until Sirius inherited, remember? And next time you think I've gone and dishonoured the family, just remember that you're wrong! I don't want to best Tom at anything, and I'm not dragging our name through the mud! You can't call me a disappointment just because you've realized I'm not dependent on you. You know nothing about me, and it's your fault."

James' furious expression had melted into something resembling shame as Harry shouted at him, and he sank onto the couch next to Lily, who was openly weeping again. With a funny lurch, Harry recognized the gesture of James running his hand through his hair: it was the same as the one he'd done to start this whole thing.

Without another word, he picked up his trunk and left the room, guilt tying his insides in knots as his mother's sobs followed him up the stairs.

Mini-chapter: Tom

The last ringing echoes of the argument had finally died away. Tom stood in the corner, clutching his broomstick, for once forgotten by his parents. Dad had taken Mum upstairs to bed, both of them shell-shocked and shamed by Harry's outbursts. He was having a bad time wrapping his mind around what had just happened. There were some things about their family that he had never had to question, things like what it meant for him to be who and what he was, and how that might affect them, and why anyone should be anything but supportive of him. Over the years Harry had demonstrated quite beyond a wisp of doubt that he felt no affectionate ties for them. Had he been pretending to hate them all that time? Why, then, couldn't he have simply talked to Mum and Dad before, rather than blowing up in a fury? Mum and Dad were reasonable people. True, they did tend to forget Harry's birthday, and that was pretty bad… but couldn't he understand that it wasn't meant meanly or anything, it was just eclipsed by Tom's own birthday?

A soft clattering sound in the kitchen caught his attention, and he leaned his Firebolt against the wall and went to investigate.

Tipsy was on the floor, a small plate and several chocolate biscuits strewn across the flagstones in front of her. She was crying quietly and looking at a cut on her knee. From this evidence, Tom deduced that she had tripped and dropped the plate, and that was the noise he had heard. As he watched, Tipsy took a deep breath and drew her finger across the cut, and the skin sealed beneath her touch. Tom had always felt a bit bad for house elves because they didn't get wands like wizards, but they couldn't want them too badly if they could do stuff like that.

He moved to go, mystery solved, but the noise made her look up, eyes wide and startled under that silly sparkly crown she always wore. "Oh! Master Thomas!" she squeaked. The way she talked always made Tom uncomfortable—the high pitch, the third person—it was like she was talking to a baby or something, and Tom Potter was not a baby. "Tipsy did not see Master Thomas there, Tipsy is sorry," she continued, scrambling to pick up the plate and biscuits and put them in the bin and sink. "What is it Tipsy can do for Master Thomas? Perhaps some milk? Or biscuits?"

"Yes, both," Tom said, who had realized that he was rather peckish. Stress made him hungry, and that was a lot more stress than he'd had to deal with in a long time. He went to the table and sat at his usual spot while Tipsy went for a new plate and set the biscuits out. He bit off a piece of one as she got the milk. She went so scrub some dishes at the sink after she gave him the cup, and something abruptly occurred to him. "Tipsy, you weren't taking those biscuits for yourself, were you?" he asked sternly, trying to sound how he imagined his dad did when confronting law-breakers. "Stealing from your Master's family is very wrong."

She seemed to shrink into herself. "N-no, Master Thomas, Tipsy would never do that, Tipsy would never st-steal. Tipsy is a good elf who is loyal to Master P-potter and his family, yes she is."

"Then who were the biscuits for?" he demanded, pushing the milk aside. "Tell the truth now."

"They w-was for Master Harry, Master Thomas," the elf replied faintly.

"Harry? Why?"

"Master Harry said many hard truths tonight," was the solemn reply. "Master Harry said things which hurt Master and Mistress Potter and young Master Thomas, which he did not wish to say. He never wishes to hurt his family, Master Harry doesn't."

Tom scoffed. "'Master' Harry doesn't give two straws about hurting us."

Tipsy turned from the sink to face him, and he was startled and discomfited by the gravity of her expression. "That is not true, Master Thomas. Master Harry cares for his family very very much. He does not say so when Master and Mistress hurt him for that would shame them. He stops Master Thomas from detentions at Hogwarts. He is so good to Tipsy. Tipsy is always sorry that Master and Mistress do not know him more, for then they would have to love him."

"They do," Tom protested. "They're our parents: they have to."

She went to the cupboard and took down a new plate. "As a son," she allowed. "But not as a person. Master Thomas is the Boy Who Lived, and the world loves him for that." She collected more biscuits out of the pantry and arranged them on the plate. "But Master Harry is good, and that is also deserving something. Good night, Master Thomas." And she left to take Harry the new biscuits.

Tom sat in the kitchen and thought for quite a long time.