Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Harry and Harley, Chapters 7 and 8 By Rihaan Shimomura

   I don't recommend reading the story in this format, as it doesn't have
italics or bolds or anything else I may try to add to the story format.  I
recommend going to
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Rihaan_Shimomura/Stories/HandH/ to read
this.  But hey, if you want to read it this way, that's your prerogative.

   Chapter 7: Bubblegum

   *~Pre-Veil~*

   "You know what?  I think I'll keep it."

   Harry glared at Malfoy, who tossed the glass ball in the air with little
caution.  "Can't afford one on your own, then?  Have to take hand-me-downs
from someone you like to call a Squib?"

   The blonde sputtered.  "Shut it, Potter!  You want it back?  Come take
it." Without a word, he sped off into the sky.

   After glancing towards Hermione and Parvati, who looked deep in
conversation about how useless a remembrall was if it couldn't even remind
you of what you forgot, he turned back to a grinning, floating, ponce. 
"You know what?  I think I'm good down here."

   Malfoy laughed.  "What?  /Scared/, Potter?"

   "It's not my remembrall; Neville seems like an okay guy, but I wouldn't
literally fly through hoops for him."

   The boy scoffed.  "This is what your Golden boy is, everyone!  Scared of
ruddy heights!"

   "That's not a bad name," Harry muttered to himself, before he yelled
back up, "At least you've accomplished one of your lifelong goals; High and
mighty over everyone else!"

   Draco looked indignant as the small crowd of children laughed at him,
including a few Slytherins.  "I'll show you, Potter," he whispered, before
he tightened his legs around his broom, and pushed himself forward.

   Towards the ground.  Towards Harry.

   The ebony-haired child looked at the boy speeding towards him
incredulously.  What would he mean to accomplish if he crashed into him? 
It would probably hurt him more.  Was he planning on only getting a fright
out of him, pulling up at the last minute?  He hoped he realized he was
going far too fast to stop at that pace.

   On second thought - no.  He hoped Draco didn't realize that at all.

   The children immediately around him scattered, but he stood his ground.
This was Harry's true first impression.  And he liked leaving a mark.

   He slid his wand out of his back pocket, marveling at how easy it's been
since using the frail object, before pointing it skywards.  "/Protego/!" he
chanted, casting a simple shield charm.

   /At/ Draco.

   The boy's eyes could only widen in surprise as the small wave of energy
shot towards him, and hit him in the shoulder.

   He was unconscious before he fell off the broom, his body twisting and
turning as he tumbled thirty feet to the earth.

   He had barely fallen ten feet when Harry swooped under him, catching him
with both arms as he balanced himself on his broom.

   The kid was uncomfortably light, but Harry figured that - the frail
boy's best friends were practically body guards, and for good reason.

   Though, he wasn't sure how well they were faring if they were getting
paid, because they were currently staring up at him dumbly, simply watching
as Harry returned their keeper to them and dropped the boy three feet into
their quick-thinking arms.

   He floated back to Hermione, who had ran forward to greet him, shaking
her head incredulously.  "I thought you were going to keep your powers a
secret?" She asked him, exasperated.

   "I just shot a shield charm - incantation out loud and everything.  It's
got to be second year at the most, isn't it?" Harry guessed, figuring that
spell wasn't all too complex to learn for anyone, really.

   He really needed to start reading the titles of books instead of rushing
right through the material.

   "/Fourth/ year," Hermione corrected him, "and as far as I've read,
nothing suggests that it can be used as anything other than a shield that
wraps around you.  You can't /throw/ it."

   "But...  I just did," Harry pointed out.

   The brunette huffed, but he could see the corners of her lips turned
upwards.  "So you did.  Imagine everyone's surprise when they find out they
/can't/."

   Harry shrugged as he hopped off the Cleansweep broom.  "I'm sure if they
put their mind to it - " "MISTER POTTER!"

   Harry winced at the sound.  "Haven't heard her like that since the
Sorting."

   Hermione remembered as well as he did, and she was sure she'd never
forget the look on everyone's faces when they saw the once feared dead
Boy-Who-Lived.  "Hopefully, she won't force you to explain what happened
this time in front of everyone."

   Harry sighed.  He had decided, after he was practically forced to tell a
far more dramatic tale of his upbringing to the enraptured public, that he
wasn't going to be pushed to explain anything about his life after the
Dursleys.  Especially with Dumbledore watching.  Just looking at the
elderly man gave him a headache.

   "I'll be back after class," he muttered, turning away to follow the
irate Scotswoman, and she nodded, expecting nothing less.

   -----------------------

   McGonagall's eye twitched.  Not once did she consider that he might say
/no/ to her deal.  "Pardon?"

   Harry set his eyes upon both Oliver Wood and his professor with
firmness. "I didn't agree to join the Quidditch team.  We never even talked
about it.  I've barely been here a week!  I can't add practices and games
to my schedule." Not to mention how Hermione might respond if he had more
time taken away from her.  And, with her birthday coming up soon, he didn't
want anything interrupting what he had planned.

   Still, looking into their eyes, he could tell that they weren't
intentionally forcing him into the sport, and were genuinely hurt by the
thought that he wouldn't even consider it.  "I don't want to go to
practice. I just don't have the time nor patience.  And I don't even own a
broom."

   "You can own as many brooms as you want, Mister Potter," the professor
informed him after regaining her composure.  "Your father was the chief
investor in Nimbus."

   Harry's eyebrows rose.  He certainly wasn't told that when he had gone
to Gringotts.  He made a mental note to see what else he hadn't been told.
"Still, I won't have the time.  I've heard horror stories about your
training schedule, Wood.  I want no part of it."

   The fifth year student, to his credit, didn't flinch.  "You'd be the
only first-year to be on the Quidditch team in at least a century, Potter.
You sure you wouldn't at least try to go for the reserve?  If you're
anything like your father, I'd try anything at this point."

   Harry winced at the abstract memory, of his father sneaking him onto a
broom and flying him all across London for a day.

   He didn't know how his mother found out, but she did.  It was not
pretty.

   "What would I have to do in Reserve?" He wondered, half-feigning
interest.

   "Show up for one of the practices once every two weeks, and only the
minimum time.  According to Professor McGonagall, you seem to be the best
as a Chaser, but I'd like to test you on that myself.  I just want you to
come to the rehearsal trials."

   Harry weighed his options.  "I'll have to think about it," he finally
decided.  "I've seen the bulletin.  I'll tell you by next Saturday if I
show up or not."

   Wood seemed to breathe a sigh of relief - it was as good as he was going
to get at the moment.  "Alright.  I'll be in the fifth year dorm if you
need anything.  Thank you, Professor." He nodded once, and after being
dismissed, walked back into class.

   The Deputy Headmistress looked like she very much wanted to say
something, but the emerald-eyed boy looked firm in his decision.  A part of
her would be pleased to note that she may have inadvertently stolen a
Ravenclaw student from Flitwick - willing to think ahead and focus on
studies rather than sports.  "Thank you for indulging me, Mister Potter. 
You may return to class."

   "Can I go back in a moment, Professor?  My classmates are expecting me
to be expelled, or worse, by you right now.  I want to make them squirm a
bit.  Draco all but cancelled class for today."

   McGonagall caught herself from smiling.  She'd be even more pleased to
taunt Severus with the thought that the boy in front of her could have been
a Slytherin.  "Very well, Mister Potter.  Shall I interest you in a
biscuit? Lunch is next, anyway."

   Harry gratefully accepted, and the two walked to her office, McGonagall
subtly explaining the rules of Quidditch, and the heart-breaking tale of
how the Quidditch Cup hadn't been in her house's hands in a decade.

   That streak would end that very year.

   -----------------------

   <p class="style6">

   *~Post-Veil~*

   Pamela Isley stretched lazily in her bed, her beautiful lithe form on
display for anyone present.

   She opened her eyes, and glanced around in confusion.  She was the only
one in bed.  Looking at the ceiling window, designed for her whenever she
felt weak, she decided that she hadn't been sleeping for too long.

   A part of her took note that a mere twelve hours ago, she would have
easily assumed the worst, and thought that Harley ran away with Harry.  It
would have been a ridiculous thought, even then, but the thought would have
crossed her mind, and she would have had a small panic, easily.

   But, now, all she could do was laugh at the absurd idea, and fall back
to sleep, wiggling her bare thighs minimally.  She was beginning to realize
how her girlfriend felt; in the moment of passion, their lovemaking felt
unbelievably good - it had to, in order for her to orgasm four times - but
she was still feeling a bit sensitive.  Even her quick regeneration was
taking more time than it should.

   She'd have to go to the lab today.  But first, she needed her beauty
rest.  They wouldn't mind.

   Her last thought was the idea of Harley snickering, wondering which
shade of green she considered healthy enough to finally wake up, and she
smiled in her sleep.

   -----------------------

   "/Hocus Pocus/!" She whispered in the darkness.  "/Kazaam/!"

   Harry leaned against the wall as he spied Harley waving around his Holly
wand in a battle stance, brandishing it like a sword.  He was tempted to
silently shoot a spell at whatever she was pointing at, but he wasn't sure
she would like being indulged like that to such a degree.

   "/Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo/!" On second thought; maybe it would be
therapeutic for her.

   He kicked off the wall and stepped forward.  "Disappointed at what my
little stick can do, Harleen?"

   She jumped, and pointed the wand at him, before quickly jamming her
hands behind her back.  "Oh...  hey." She chuckled nervously.  "Morning."

   "Good morning," he smiled.  "Having fun?"

   She pouted.  "Just making sure your toy worked.  Is that okay?"

   Harry shrugged his shoulders.  "At this point, it really /is/ a toy. 
I've been using it because I've had to.  It's a great focus for my magic,
but I'd rather have it go straight through my hands."

   She pulled the wand from behind her and inspected it closely.  "So
there's no, like, /abstract/ magic in it?"

   He shook his head.  "Afraid not.  It's got the feather of a phoenix
inside it, but that won't react unless someone magic actually holds it. 
Sometimes, it still won't happen, because it's made specifically for me."

   She hmm'ed to herself, somewhat fascinated to learn that the feather of
the legendary firebird was in her hands, before pointing it towards a blank
wall.  "/Alakazam/!  /Abracadabra/!"

   The boy-who-lived winced.  "You're not far off with that one from a real
spell.  It's pretty dangerous, though." He decided not to tell her the
right way to say that spell, for her sake and everyone else's.

   Actually, he didn't know if the taboo was still in effect against
unforgiveable curses.  Voldemort had perfected silent casting because, back
in his first reign, the Unforgiveables were a taboo; one of the many
attempts of capturing him that had ultimately failed.

   Considering in this time, he was at his peak, he wouldn't be surprised
if his own Taboo was now in place.  It likely didn't reach outside of
Europe, so he and the girls were safe.

   Assuming, of course, that he was in Europe.  Or anywhere.

   Did this place even have a Europe?

   "Harleen?" He queried, interrupting her chant.

   "/Open Sesa/ - Hmm?"

   "This may sound like a ridiculous question, but is there a Europe here?"

   She nodded, dropping the wand to her side.  "Yep.  You speak Britain,
aren't you?"

   Harry nodded, relieved.  There didn't seem to be too much of a
difference between his world and theirs.  Except for the twenty-one year
thing, but that was a pretty minor detail, now.

   "/Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fai Di Zao/!  /As-Salaam-Alaikum/!  /Mecca Lecca Hi,
Mecca Hiny Ho/!"

   "What's that supposed to mean?"

   "I have no idea." She sighed, and dropped her hand at her waist again.
"Well, that's it.  I've got nothing.  Guess I'll just have to settle for
card tricks." She pocketed the wand and turned back to Harry.  "So - after
we go back to the place that changed my life forever, what's next for the
day?"

   Harry laughed at the casual way she said it, and she smirked cutely in
response.  "More sightseeing?  Dinner and a movie?  I'd like to know you
two a little more, and I really want to see where I am."

   "It's surprisingly bland during the day," Harley explained, "and the
only good movie theatre is playing some old black and white movie with some
has-been star.  We could see a performance?  I hear there's a magic act
coming in a few days."

   Harry raised an eyebrow.

   "Right - cheap imitations." Harleen chuckled.  "Though, I think Zatanna
could stand head-to-head with you.  She can do magic, too."

   "Zatanna?" Harry questioned, vaguely remembering his comment about
'stage names' when he first arrived.

   "Another super-police chick.  She's not in town, but you might've lured
her out with your magic." She smirked.  "Should be an interesting fight."

   "Do I sense a lack of confidence?" Harry wondered, wrapping an arm
around her waist.

   She snickered.  "More like a lack of focus, when you see her."

   "I take it she uses the 'Poison Ivy' approach to gain an advantage?"

   "Trust me - it's a common thing to use distraction in a fight, and the
ladies like to use as much as they can.  Spandex, leather, and Nylon are a
super-girl's best friend.  Dudes, too, now that I think about it.  You
actually looked out of place - the leather was good, but your pants were
nowhere near tight enough."

   Harry's eyebrows rose at the revealing fact.  "What a strange world I've
been put in.  Wouldn't there be excessive wardrobe malfunctions, especially
during fights?"

   She shrugged.  "I've never seen 'em.  And neither has the news or
tabloids, and they see /a lot/ of things.  There are, /of course/, rumors,
but I wouldn't trust 'em.  The magazines still place Harley Quinn and
Poison Ivy in their early twenties." She chuckled.  "Not that I'm
complaining.  Everyone else seems to believe it."

   Harry hmm'ed to himself.  "Good to know.  So if I were to, say, strip a
female crime-fighter nude and threaten to put pictures of them on display,
you think they would back off?"

   Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly.  "You somehow manage to
do that," she said incredulously, "And they'd /join us/ to stop those
pictures from leaking!  Though you probably could have just removed their
masks!  Your idea is much more fun, though!  Where did you get that idea?"

   "Just thought of it," he said sheepishly, "being a red-blooded male and
all.  Though it's based on a regular campaign Hermione, Luna and I did, and
it worked brilliantly." He didn't need to point out that it was Luna's
idea; the quirky girl loved to think outside the box.  "Death Eaters - what
Voldemort's followers call themselves - are one-track minded, and rather
obsessed with their cause of Pure Wizard superiority.  Their spouses,
however, might be on the same cause, but are kept at home, because they're
mainly trophy wives, and quite frankly, just want to be associated with the
winning side and a large bank vault.  They are there for relief and for
heirs - they have no option to fight, for their own safety, and the Death
Eaters don't trust each other, or their master."

   Harley could guess the next part.  "So that leads to some rather lonely
nights." Her eyes twinkled.  "To have sex with the other cause's leader,
though?"

   Harry shook his head.  "I'm not a miracle worker - I use glamour charms,
or disguising spells, so they or anyone else don't know who I am.  I
pretend to be part of their cause, and bang on their door looking for
immediate shelter when I know they have another meeting - and thanks to my
scar, I know exactly /who/ is in that meeting.  I claim that I'm from a
distant part of a pureblood family, and steal traits from that family;
Sirius had vetted me well on the twenty-some of the purest bloodlines, and
we have a library of notable portraits from nearly every one.  The rest...
well, they usually instigate it.  At the very least, we become very good
friends by morning, so there's no need to blackmail." Andrea Goyle and
Terry Nott helped him on occasion, even - similar to the muggle culture,
Pureblood housewives tended to keep in touch and form a network of
'friends', while not really trusting or associating with them, but it was
best to have a few sets of watchful eyes.  "Seduce them, get them to cheat
on their husbands, and threaten to show them the pictures I took that
night. That's how it regularly went."

   "I don't know the urgency of defeating the 'Death Eaters' in your world,
so I may be out of place in saying this - but doesn't this method seem a
bit, erm, inherently and obscenely cruel?" She leaned against his chest. 
"Not that there's anything wrong with that.  You just don't seem like a
'means to an ends' type of guy."

   Harry saw her point - he was basically using them for sex and then
betraying them - or so it seemed.  "Their husbands are rapists and killers
- two things you have to do before taking the Dark Mark, Voldemort's symbol
of allegiance - and their wives know it.  Arguably, you could say that it's
plenty enough reason for what I did, but I showed them some pity - I don't
actually release the pictures.  It makes for a nice little scrapbook, and
the occasional calendar for my most loyal friends, but I don't ever
publicly send out those pictures.  Considering they don't know my glamoured
face, they'd quite easily assume I was not a wizard, and kill her before
she could explain otherwise.  Best situation; they could start a blood feud
with the family I claimed to come from, or just kill the closest relative
they know.  I couldn't live with that.  Using them, though, I'm not
particularly sorry about."

   He remembered something, and chuckled.  "There was only one person who
found our collection when she wasn't supposed to, and she was incidentally
a reporter, looking for dirt on me.  She tried to blackmail me, but I knew
that the biggest backers of her newspaper were those wives' husbands and
me, and she had no interest in releasing it anonymously.  At some point, I
realized that I was really the only one that could get away with putting up
those pictures anyway - I already have Voldemort trying to kill me.  One of
his followers seeing his wife on her knees, barking happily and getting
shagged thoroughly into by some unknown stranger, probably isn't going to
change that much if they ever found out it was me."

   "Hell of an inside job," she laughed, "but what about Hermione and Luna?
Where do they fit in?"

   "So to speak," Harry continued for her.  When she looked confused at the
comment, he explained.  "They did the same thing I did.  They use a more
stable form of disguise, glamour potions, what we call Polyjuice, and they
use it to look like me.  We usually choose amongst each other to see who we
want, and if there's a conflict of interest...  well, it's more believable
if it's more than one guy talking about how they were ambushed by Wizard
Policemen, and were looking for a place to lay low."

   The blonde's eyes were wide with disbelief.  "Are you telling me that
they get..." her eyes flickered to his crotch, ".../all/ of your
appearance?"

   Harry smirked at her reaction.  "Harleen, don't tell me you're getting
turned on by the thought.  Ivy and I aren't enough for you?"

   The blonde smiled and pecked his lips with her own.  "I thought Ivy was
enough until you came along.  You thought Hermione was enough until... 
well, /more/ came along.  But a girl can have fantasies, can't she?"

   "Indeed, she can," Harry grinned.  "I'll make sure you get copies. 
That'll help the fantasies along."

   She almost began to drool at the thought.  "This demanding and predatory
side of you - Is that always there, laying dormant?  Some kind of bi-polar
disorder?  I don't care - I like it!"

   The teen chuckled, and Harley preened at the rumble of his chest against
hers.  "I don't think I'm bi-polar.  The voices in my head tell me I'm
perfectly normal." The two shared a laugh.  "Though, as it turns out, I'm
not the submissive type."

   "I am," she smirked, "as Ivy's taught me.  But I have never seen Pammy
that submissive before.  Sometimes, she gives me the reigns, but she's
never - I mean, you practically had her on a leash!"

   Harry nodded - he had suspected as much; that Harley and Ivy's
relationship was like that.  He had seen first-hand just last night. 
"Probably because she didn't give me the reigns; I took it.  She put her
faith in me the moment she accepted this relationship, and I wanted to see
how far she would let me take it.  I think she's more submissive than you,
actually."

   She almost moaned at the thought; the idea of her aggressive,
compassionate, loving girlfriend wanting to be dominated and broken.  "I
find that hard to believe."

   "Maybe," Harry shrugged, "but you saw the evidence yesterday.  You saw
how turned on she was when I took control.  Like, whenever you get playful,
and you start it, I bet she happily lets you.  This was just a considerably
rougher version of it."

   She clenched uncomfortably.  "That'll be a fun thing to bring up." She
wrapped her arms around his neck.  "How much time until we go to the
theatre?"

   "The theatre?" he wondered.  "I thought you didn't want to go there? 
Besides, we have to check out the portal, first."

   "Oh!  I thought you noticed.  The portal was /right in front/ of the
theatre, in the middle of the street.  I just saw a flash, and you were
there, rightly in a panic.  Scared me so damn much you almost made me drop
my loot.  Didn't know I'd get such a priceless gem out of it." She reached
up and kissed him once more.  "How much time?" Harley wondered again,
squirming against him.

   Harry unwrapped his hands from her waist to glance at his watch, and
grimaced.  "Forgot to change the time." He put his hands back, and answered
her question.  "When Pamela wakes up, I guess.  I reckon at least one of
the girls are working on the veil, or at least have a monitoring charm on
it, and Hermione or Luna probably told them about the time difference.  We
still have plenty of time, and I can still put up a notice-me-not ward
around the place if people are out and about."

   Harley chuckled at the unique name.  "Notice-me-not..." she muttered,
and giggled again.

   The green-eyed boy smiled.  "You haven't been reading the Hogwarts book,
have you?"

   "When have I had the time?" She countered sultrily, slipping her free
hand in between them.  "I've been /way/ too busy lately..."

   "You may have a sex problem," Harry muttered quietly, and didn't argue
any further, nor did he ever intend to.

   She shrugged.  "You should've seen me and Pammy in the first two months
in after she kidnapped me.  We had to do it in the greenhouse just so she
wouldn't tire out."

   Harry recalled the comment Ivy made about her plant side half-living on
sunlight and water.  "In the greenhouse?  What happened in there that made
her ban it from any, er activities?"

   The blonde sighed, a little depressed.  "We found out later that it
wasn't the best air for the plants to be around.  I liked the fresh
outdoors feel of it, and Ivy was more energetic with me.  In hindsight, I'm
kinda glad we left the greenhouse.  She was a /machine/.  I don't think I
could have survived another week.  Occasionally, she surprises me, and
though I'm unconscious for a few hours, I love her more every time."

   "You...  really might have a sex problem," Harry practically forced
himself to say again.

   "Oh, don't worry," she muttered.  "I'll peter out in a few days... 
couple of weeks, tops...  maybe a month..."

   "And after that?" he murmured, reaching up and gently cupping her chin.

   She wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  "Think I'll get bored of you?
The most interesting alien I've ever met?" Her eyes went unfocused for a
moment.  "We've never really had much pillow talk, have we?" She looked
back into his eyes with clarity.  "We haven't even done it in a /bed/, have
we?"

   "Do you feel comfortable with that?" Harry asked her, concern in his
eyes.  "A relationship built on sex?"

   She bit her lip.  "That's how Pammy and I started.  We admitted how we
felt six days in, and that was it - not much in common, so we couldn't
really tell each other anything.  Our old place, for the longest time..."
she glanced around the house.  "It was quiet - really quiet.  There was the
occasional moan and groan, awkward conversations of what to do next, and
more moaning and groaning.  Eventually, we just...  stopped talking." Her
eyes went back to him.  "A full week.  Maybe eight days.  I didn't bother
counting.  We eventually made up, and today, she's my lover, only second to
my best friend in the world." Her eyes shined, and she grinned up at him.
"You seem to be friends with all your girls.  How do you do it?"

   While the question was valid, Harry could easily see that it was a
distraction.  She would tell him the rest when she wanted to, and he would
wait with Hermione-like patience; it was how she got all of the answers out
of him.  "I'd say the ones I mentioned /are/ my friends, actually, before I
ever got to know them intimately.  For the few that I'm not too close with,
well, they're either friends by proxy with my closest friends, or students
I regularly chat with in and out of class, or it's a full-grown woman who
isn't really looking for a relationship."

   "You're a whore?" Harley asked aloud, and covered her mouth
embarrassingly.

   Harry laughed heartily, expressing that he wasn't mad at the accusation.
"I suppose I am, but there's no transaction or anything.  Being a target
means you have a few spells going at your back at all times.  In the world
I live in, women are not property, per se, but the Lord of the house is
just that - the king of his household.  It's archaic, and it's a tradition
I plan to upend, but I can't avoid it while it's still there.  /Spoils of
war/ is very much a real thing in the Wizarding World.  Luna's actually
taken to calling me the Battle Master.  So yes, the occasional slave may
come my way, along with properties and bank vaults and...  kids.  I
occasionally rescue girls from Marriage contracts as well - that was
Daphne's idea.  So while they're not looking for a relationship, they can't
exactly date around with a magically binding, unbreakable contract, unless
I sell them, and they happen to trust me not to use them.  Hermione likes
to call it a comfort service."

   "Like she calls your harem a 'mutual love affair'?" she wondered, and
Harry seemed surprised she knew the term.  "Ivy told me.  Is Hermione
really okay with this entire situation?  All of your girls?  Her names for
them seems like she's trying to cope with reality."

   Harry smiled.  "I really don't know what I've done to deserve her, and
she knows it, while she feels the same - our mind links tell us that all
the time.  She knows I love her, and I know she loves me.  She knows that
I'll always return to her." His eyes pierced hers.  "No one can have the
connection we have.  Maybe, in any other relationship, I can be
self-conscious about everything I do around her, even if we were
monogamous, but I have access to her mind - /all of it/.  We know each
other's every little secret.  She knows things about me I haven't even
figured out yet.  Believe me when I say that her idea of this open
relationship is just as much her idea as it is mine."

   The blonde looked confused.  "So she...  likes girls?  /And/ guys?"

   Harry shrugged.  "Maybe, she did, at some point.  It's complicated, but
from what we've figured out, reading about soul bonds, is that there is
a... well, an open limit.  She likes girls because /I/ like girls.  She's
believed, that before our soul bond, I was the only one she had an inkling
of feelings for, but it was nothing more than an innocent crush.  So my
preference, my visual images, and my preteen hormones were available to her
at all times, and it eventually turned into a strong feeling.  Her
attraction to girls only grew as she went through puberty, and her thoughts
were realigned from my reference point.  Had she been attracted to boys
from the beginning, I'd probably be a lot more popular with all of those
housewives' husbands.  And sons."

   Harley took a moment to absorb that information.  "Wow.  You lucked
out."

   Harry didn't look too concerned at the thought.  "Either way, my mind
would have allowed me to enjoy it, because /she/ probably would've enjoyed
it.  It's not like I'm trapped in her vision, I just have the option to see
the way she sees things.  My love for books have compounded, and I look at
teachers and professors, and studying material with more respect than I
used to.  You've seen that I have a bit of a domineering side, and if we
didn't have a bunch of friends by that point, we'd both probably be loners,
not looking for any type of companionship but each other."

   Harleen hmmed to herself, playing with the tuft of hair on the back of
Harry's neck.  "Sooo..." she drew out the word teasingly.  "If you saw the
way she saw things...  does that mean the good /and/ the bad?"

   She squeaked in surprise as Harry picked her up by her waist and forced
a leg around his, the thin holly wand clattering to the floor beside his
bare feet.  Understanding his silent command, she wrapped her other leg and
crossed them behind his back.  "If you're asking what I think you're
asking," he continued with a grin, "Yes, we went through puberty together.
I felt some very strange, /very/ painful things, and so did she, until we
learned how to block it off completely.  Now, I could safely say that we
have a pretty insatiable sex drive, when we're fully linked.  Even after
puberty, we're perpetually unstoppable when we're bored."

   "I thought I had the sex problem?" She wondered with twinkling eyes, but
she wasn't complaining.

   "The first step is admitting it," he swiftly replied, his hands resting
against her cotton-clad back, against her overly large t-shirt.  "We
admitted it was a problem the first time we had sex - and believe me, we
shagged for hours; when we were finally spent, we realized what time it
was, and Hermione fell out of bed because she couldn't move her legs.  I
fell on top of her when I tried to help her up, and Susan found us like
that.  So yeah, then we realized it was a big ruddy problem."

   Harley whistled lowly.  "Sounds like a hell of a marathon."

   Harry shrugged, unconcerned, not willing to admit that back then, he was
a bit of a quick-shooter, and it would have lasted far longer with the
stamina he had now.  "Have you noticed something?" Harley shook her head.
"We haven't found a shortage of words between each other, have we?  I doubt
I'd ever run out of questions, and neither will you.  We're getting to know
each other, and we seem rather interested in what we have to say.  Does
that seem like an unhealthy friendship to you?"

   She smiled fondly.  "You know just what to say, don't ya?"

   He leaned back against the plaster wall, and leaned forward to kiss her
unpainted lips.  "Just enough to keep us talking," he muttered, and she
giggled as their lips connected once more.

   -----------------------

   /Femme Fatale's Newest Trick up Their Sleeves!/<br />/The Warlock Puts a
Spell Over Gotham!<br />The Ménage à Terror Debuts, with a Menacing
Message!/

   Bruce Wayne grumbled something unintelligible as he glared at the Gotham
Gazette.

   "Excuse me, sir?" Alfred wondered, and cursed himself immediately.  He
knew where this was leading, and now the billionaire could air his
grievances.

   "They still haven't been caught," he growled, slapping the paper on the
table next to his oatmeal.  "And now their speech is the headline.  I knew
I should've gone after them, Alfred."

   "You were in no condition to, Master Bruce," he reminded his ward,
almost in a bored fashion.  Of course his words weren't going to ring in
his ears for long.

   "They've gone into hiding, planning their next move.  And I could've
stopped them."

   "Sir, I feel that I have to remind you that you are in no condition to
stop them, and if you had attempted to, then they could have simply killed
you and continue planning."

   Bruce was unperturbed.  "We'll never know for sure."

   "/Yes/, sir," Alfred whispered.  "That's the problem.i /We do/." He was
silent for a moment.  "The police department could use more funding.  They
could even do wonders with a new cadet, if you're interested."

   "We talked about this, Alfred.  The police can't do what I do.  The
system doesn't work."

   The faithful butler sighed, and gathered his meal.  "You're right, sir.
If it did, then you would have never become the Batman.  I admit it.  And
if it worked today, they would have captured the Batman a long time ago."

   Bruce looked disbelievingly at Alfred's back as he stood at the sink. 
"I am /not/ a /criminal/, Alfred!"

   "Of course not, sir; what you do is perfectly legal.  I'm sure the mayor
is crafting a key for you at this very moment." He put his plate up in the
cupboard, and turned back to face the last Wayne.  "You've done a lot of
good things, sir.  I've seen you stop terrible, horrible things, and put
away vicious, disgraceful people.  But I don't think you know that there's
a point where you allow the police to step in and do their job.  The
scanner says that they have ignored everything in favor of finding those
three.  Perhaps the petty criminals think they might be ignored with their
crimes?"

   Alfred was aware that Bruce knew what he was doing - distracting them
from facing the trio again, and abandoning the job completely for the
police to handle.

   He'd never go for it, but he figured he should try.

   After a minute of silence, Bruce calmly rose from the table and walked
towards the sitting room without a word.

   The Englishman sighed once more and gathered the unfinished plate and
utensils from the table.

   Minutes later, he peeked into the sitting room, and saw the last Wayne
sitting in his father's favorite chair, with his chin resting on his
knuckles, his elbows on his thighs, staring at the portrait of Thomas and
Martha Wayne.

   Right beside him was the bust of William Shakespeare, as of yet
untouched.  It was, frankly, a near-obvious spot to have a secret passage,
for someone who knew what they were looking for, but he could understand -
it was the same spot he made the decision to become a vigilante.

   Then, without warning, he jerkily pulled back the marble head and
slammed down on the button.  The bookcase smoothly rolled back, and by the
time it stopped, Bruce was already inside the elevator beside it, pressing
the button to close it.

   Alfred and Bruce silently looked at each other for a brief, tense
moment, before the bookcase obstructed each other's view.

   And then the sitting room was empty.

   Alfred Pennyworth hoped that it wouldn't stay that way.  For Bruce's
sake.

   -----------------------

   Pamela Isley stared at her chocolate skin with a sense of wonder.  "It
never ceases to amaze me how good you are at this."

   "Believe it babe," Harleen grinned, smoothing her lover's jet-black
hair, making sure all the red was covered up.  "I got skills."

   Harry marveled at Ivy's transformation.  A part of him had to remind
himself that she wasn't using a glamour charm, and while the extreme change
would've been a lot shorter, he was very interested in Harley's skill after
she bragged quite boisterously about it.

   She was underselling.

   Ivy still looked beautiful, and naturally so, as her purple contacted
eyes blinked innocently at him, her smooth brown skin shining almost
naturally under the room's light.  "So real," he whispered, reaching out to
touch her.

   "Nuh uh!" Harley warned, not looking away from her hair.  "Ink needs to
dry; no touchy."

   A breath rushed through Pamela's lips while her eyes rolled in
annoyance. "I'm not a sculpture, Harley."

   "When you're in my hands, you're a masterpiece," she muttered, running
her fingers along her girlfriend's eyebrows from behind, checking for
excess powder.  "Perfection enhanced," she grinned as she stepped from
behind her and walked to Harry's side.  She inspected her work carefully
before nodding.  "Looking good, baby!"

   She gave a small grin.  "I better be."

   Harley slipped on her glasses and quickly banded her hair into a
ponytail, rather than the pigtails Harry had ever seen her in.

   It was a damn near transformation of her entire character in a matter of
seconds, that Harry was sure that Ivy was jealous of.  Her blonde tail
rested on her right shoulder, as she winked through her silver-framed,
square-rimmed glasses.  "Ready to go?" Harley asked cheerily, her smile
bright and almost innocent, if the two didn't know her.

   Harry nodded, when the sound of thunder rolled in the distance, far from
the house.

   "Shit," she deflated in one breath.  "Ivy's not waterproof." She looked
hopefully at Harry.  "Any spell for that?"

   "I don't even think the Wizarding World knows what umbrellas are," Harry
considered, thinking back.  "Except someone I know, Hagrid, and he probably
won it in a bet." He looked at his blonde girlfriend curiously.  "You okay
with me messing with your glamour?  You seem rather proud that I can't tell
the difference."

   Harleen shrugged and shook her head, her ponytail falling from her
shoulder and spilling behind her back.  "Nah - I just wanted to show off.
Make changes as you wish - this isn't exactly a complete make-over."

   Pamela looked herself over.  "Except for under the clothes, it looks
pretty complete to me.  I'd rather you keep the ink and makeup away from
sensitive places - it's pretty difficult to rub off."

   "You never complain when I clean you," the perky blonde reminded her,
and Ivy stuck out her tongue at her.  "So, Harry, how long is it gonna
take? Is there going to be some secret ritual?  A rain dance?  Perfect
weather for it.  What about - ?" She squeaked when Harry shook his head
quickly, and his unruly black locks flashed brown in a single swish. 
"Woah! Okay, that works, too!"

   The brunet smiled at her, flashing her his now grey eyes.  "Sorry, but
not much involved.  I've been doing this for years - before I even knew
magic."

   He waved his hand lazily over Ivy's form and colors exploded from her
body, completely engulfing her for a brief, tense moment.  When both girls
opened their eyes again and saw that she looked the exact same, with
slightly curlier hair, the brown-haired boy crossed his arms.  "I can
certainly make it flashy, though.  Feel any different?  I've rarely gotten
the opportunity to do a full-body makeover."

   Pamela felt tingly all over, and she giggled at the sensation. 
"Full-body?" she wondered, and pulled out the collar of her red t-shirt to
look down.  "This is...  surreal," she marveled, seeing the dark skin of
her flat stomach.

   Harley went around to Ivy's hair and rubbed a few strands between her
fingers.  "It's real fucking hair," she breathed in awe.  "Is it always
this easy?  To just change your DNA around like that?" She sounded like she
was almost in shock, but Harry could see that the idea worried her a
little.

   Harry shook his head.  "It's not permanent - even I can't make it last
forever.  It feeds off my magic after a while; it's almost like an illusion
I have to keep up.  All the changes are physical, it's not like an eye
trick or anything, but it's not your natural look, and you have to be
magical for this to work, usually.  Even wizards and witches normally take
potions, and they're rather difficult to obtain.  Even if they did
masquerade as someone you know, they wouldn't be very good at it - they're
pants at trying to be normal.  So how do you like it, Pam?"

   The once green-skinned girl craned her neck to look at her backside. 
"I've always wanted one of these."

   The bespectacled blonde slapped her rear unexpectedly, and she /yipped/
in surprise.  "One to have or one to own?" she wondered, watching her lithe
form closely, not seeing any differences, yet looking a slight bit more
appealing right now.  "Because I wouldn't mind a few hours with my
minty-chocolate goddess right now."

   The violet-eyed teen looked particularly playful as she smiled at her
Harleen's joke.  "Think you can handle this, white girl?  Don't make me
bend you over my knee."

   She put on an innocent face, and both onlookers had to remind themselves
that this was /Harley Quinn/.  "Do I look like a girl who could /ever/ do
something wrong?"

   Ivy licked her bare lips.  "You have no idea how delicious you look
right now." She shook her head wildly.  "Stop that.  We have things to do
today."

   "I know," she grinned.  "And we're going to be out all day.  It's going
to be /so fun/ teasing you!"

   Harry was near-positive that it was going to be a short day.  "When you
two are done torturing me," he said with a smile, and the girls grinned
coyly at him.

   A /very/ short day.

   -----------------------

   <p class="style6">

   *~Pre-Veil~*

   "So," eleven year-old Harry muttered awkwardly, skimming his fingers
alongside the brick walls of the corridors, "I'm aware that I'm a
celebrity, but I'm starting to find this a bit creepy."

   No one responded.  He didn't expect her to.

   "Or maybe you're not a fan," he said slowly, "maybe you just find me
attractive.  If it helps, I find you attractive.  But I honestly have no
idea how that relationship would work.  You can't exactly take me to
Hogsmeade without raising a few eyebrows, can you?  I mean, it's
conceivable, in a year or two, but for now, it'd only be a pipedream.  So I
could understand why you want to follow at a distance."

   His free hand dug into the pocket of his robes for a moment, before he
pulled out a small sheet of plain, normal paper.  "I keep your secret, and
you keep mine, okay?  I can see you - I always have.  My mum showed me this
once.  Apparently, I giggled at the dots moving randomly around the paper,
and it never failed to put me to sleep.  /The Marauder's Map/, they called
it.  That's what my dad and his friends called themselves.  You work for a
man who practically raised them - You should ask about them sometime. 
They're a fascinating bunch; bullies with good intentions.  Just like the
guy you report to.  Am I right?"

   Silence.  Harry paid it no mind as he poked the paper, watching as the
animation came to life.  "They all had one; it was a bit of a competition
to see which one made it the best.  His friend Moony won, but he got it
confiscated soon after.  He never tried to go after it - after all, they
had three more.  Filch never knew what he had.  Don't tell him I said that,
okay?"

   The Boy-Who-Lived watched his specially-made red dot blinking on the
paper, and the two dots in close proximity.  "Of course, the one mum showed
me went with everything else in the fire, but as soon as I remembered it, I
made one of my own before I even got here.  You have no idea how bloody
useful this thing is.  Hermione's got a copy, but I can't give it to anyone
else - not until I get Wormtail." He spied the abnormally tiny red 'X' on
the paper and groaned.  "You'd know him better as Peter Pettigrew, I'd
imagine.  But right now, he's in a form that makes him harder to catch -
for me, anyway."

   He snapped his head sideways, towards a dark corridor, and a figure
jumped back.  Harry grinned.  "You can come out now," he said placatingly,
leaning alongside the wall and sliding down to the floor.  "You've been
following me all this time; you're going to have to work with me if you
want this to continue.  I can get away from you anytime I want.  You've
only been allowed to see the things you see because I want you to see it.
Now that I've got it all planned out, it's time to return the favor.  It's
much more valuable than reporting on a kid doing nothing, isn't it?"

   Yellow eyes pierced from the darkness, curious.  "You don't want to
catch a rat for me?  I'd say he's worth quite a few meals."

   The black cat padded silently and slowly towards the kneeling boy, her
nose wriggling cutely.

   She stopped a few feet away.  Harry slowly pointed to the spot on the
map.

   "I imagine you've got this place mapped out in your head.  You've been
here enough years to know exactly where this is.  On the third floor, next
to the painting of the knight riding a unicorn into battle.  There's a
small room behind the painting.  There, you'll find the fattest, juiciest
rat you'll ever see.  If you get him, come back to me with the head. 
That's all I want - the head."

   Mrs.  Norris eyed the map with great intensity, her ears flickering back
and forth, twitching excitedly.  Then, without warning, the small cat shot
forward, brushing past his leg, and quickly paced down the corridor,
hissing menacingly.

   Harry stood up when the cat drifted around the corner, tapping his map
once again.  He smiled to himself as he pocketed the folded sheet.

   "If you want your cousin to be proved innocent, I'd hurry.  No time to
report to Dumbledore.  Time is ticking, Ms.  Tonks.  We'll talk tomorrow at
that spot, this time.  No one'll know you're missing - it's Halloween,
after all."

   Harry walked on, smiling slightly as his sensitive hearing picked up a
whispered curse.

   -----------------------

   <p class="style6">

   *~Post-Veil~*

   "Earlier," Harry started, holding the compact mirror up to the girls, "I
told you about glamour charms and polyjuice potions, and how I don't really
follow those rules.  Ladies, I present to you the only other exception to
the rule that I know.  This is Nymphadora '/Don't Call Me Nymphadora/'
Tonks."

   The pink-haired girl grinned brightly.  "Wotcher, ladies!"

   "Er...  Wotcher, yourself!" Harley replied, almost as a question, but
with the same energy the bubbly girl seemed to exude.

   The pink-haired girl's teeth gleamed.  "It means hello.  Old British
slang, don't worry about it."

   "Oh," Harley flushed.  "I suppose I could have guessed that."

   "Hello," Ivy said politely, smiling warmly at the teen.  "Thanks for
being up so late."

   "I'm used to working the night shift," the young beauty explained, "so
it's nothing.  I'm one of the only non-students allowed in here without
breaking curfew, other than Fleur, Cissy, Seppy and Ari.  Luna's keeping
Hermione thoroughly distracted, and we're doing a little to pitch in, and
since she knows how you are, she hopefully won't be losing much sleep. 
Dumbledore is looking closely at everyone right now, but I can just
disguise as Snape and walk right through.  He can do anything suspicious,
and the old man will turn a blind eye to it.  I don't think he knows I'm
even here right now."

   "Students go home next week," Harry said suddenly.  "Where are you
moving it - if you can?"

   Tonks thought to herself for a moment.  "I'm the only one cleared to
move it, but we really haven't discussed where.  The best place to hide it
would be Amelia's house, I reckon.  I'll start putting protections on it
tomorrow."

   "Why?" Harry wondered curiously.  "Dumbledore still doesn't know where
my house is - it's unplottable."

   But Tonks was shaking her head even as he was talking.  "Sorry, Harry,
but the Unspeakables have a charm on it.  That was their only condition
when Amelia took it into custody.  They know it's at Hogwarts, but they'll
ask questions if it's somewhere they can't see.  They've already visited
this room twice since yesterday, and per our rules, agreed not to monitor
us, but they're not happy about it.  They still believe you're dead, and
want no part in helping us.  We're not telling them otherwise."

   "That's best," Harry nodded.  "They'll be none-the-wiser about it. 
They're probably not gonna tell anyone about me being alive even if we told
them, but some of them could owe Dumbledore a favor."

   "Speaking of," the girl continued, "he's the biggest problem.  He claims
to be busy, dealing with the press and whatnot, but he occasionally shows
up to look at our progress, and give snippets of mostly useless advice. 
We've transferred all of his monitoring charms to other items in the room,
but I think he's going to notice a missing archway when we take it out."

   Harry rubbed his chin.  "He knows I'm alive and well, and he's not in
any real hurry to get me back.  He just assumes I'm in a different place.
He knows if he can't find me, then Voldemort can't find me." He looked back
into the mirror.  "Does he know that Voldemort's currently deceased?  Did
Snape tell him?"

   She shook her head.  "Unless something happened in the previous hour,
Snape knows nothing, so Dumbledore definitely doesn't know.  As far as Luna
can tell, the door is still locked, and the Death Eaters are afraid to
intrude."

   Harry's eyes sparkled.  "Good.  Tell Snape to unlock the door.  That'll
keep him busy for quite a while, I imagine."

   "Will do," Tonks nodded dutifully.  "So...  how are you holding up?" She
switched to concern, her dark eyes shifting to a golden colour.i Harley and
Ivy stared with interest at the slow shift, while Harry gave a slight
smile. "Better than you would expect, transporting to another dimension. 
Nothing to complain about, certainly.  How about you, Tonks?  I don't want
you to worry - I'll be back soon."

   "That depends entirely on whether or not this bloody thing'll work," she
said stubbornly, looking off to the side to what Harry assumed was the
veil. "Right now, we've got Yaxley, tied up and ready to go.  We've used a
steel cable and unicorn hair, two things famed for their toughness, and
nothing so far has worked as a good fishing line.  We have no idea where
they went, and while part of me knows that I don't care...  well, we're no
closer to getting to you.  So, unless you see the tied up bodies of
Bellatrix and Goyle, then we're shit out of luck for figuring what to do
next."

   Harry made a show of glancing to the left at the empty road, devoid of
bodies.  "Sorry, nothing.  If they did show up, I doubt they would still be
here.  Push Yaxley through - if he shows up here, we'll start looking for
the other two."

   The pink-haired auror nodded reluctantly.  "Alright.  I've got the
Carrows here, too, if you want 'em.  We're trying to use them sparingly. 
Don't have many souls to go around."

   "I've got an idea to try, later," Harry told her.  "It's something
Harley thought of.  I want to see if it's possible."

   "Hm?" Harley wondered, her eyes on the back of Harry's head.  "When did
that happen?"

   Harry shook his head and grinned.  "I'll show you in a moment.  Tonks?
When you're ready."

   "Righteo," she murmured, flicking her wand at something out of their
view.  "Okay, Harry.  Wrapped up in iron chains and laced with unicorn
hair, I'm sending this bastard through in three - two - /one/."

   She flicked her wand again.  "Bloody hell!  The end of the chain is
still here!" She rushed forward and grabbed onto the chain.  "It's...  it's
the same weight!  He's still on the other side!  See him?"

   They waited for seconds - in the tense silence the three watched the
spot that Harry had appeared, literally dropped into their lives.  The
first drops of moisture landed on the cobblestone, twinkling merrily,
despite the dour situation.

   After a few bated breaths, Harry breathed tiredly.  "Nothing, Tonks. 
Sorry."

   Ivy looked further down the empty road both ways.  "Is there a rip into
space I'm supposed to be looking for?  Is a body going to be falling out of
nothingness?"

   "Hold on, Harry." Tonks tossed the mirror, and in a flash, they saw the
pink-haired girl tugging on the rope and chain.  "...Dammit," she muttered,
staring at the listless form of Abreaus Yaxley.  "I think 'e's dead." She
looked ponderous.  "What time did you go through the veil?"

   "Six thirty-nine," he answered immediately, remembering how odd he
thought the time was under the streetlights when he arrived.

   "Shit," she whispered, before her eyes lowered.  "It was six-thirty two
when I got to the Department of Mysteries.  I remember thinking it was
about five or six minutes before I saw Sirius get sent through.  I don't
think there's much lag-time.  There's a chance he might fall through within
a few minutes, but it's minimal." She sighed, and put up a fake, cheery
voice.  "So, what's your idea?"

   Harry stared at the unmoving Death Eater, scratching his chin.  "I've
gotten through this once, and I can do it again," he muttered, looking up
into the watery sky, the rain lightly pattering onto the trio with abandon.
"Fine, then.  Plan B."

   -----------------------

   *Omake by Rihaan:*

   Sirius stared blankly at the infinite whiteness around him.  His mind
was blank; his expression calm.  He stood there, his eyes passively roaming
the area around him, before he let out a low whistle.

   "Well, at least it's not a dark red, or black or something.  So that's
probably a good thing."

   "Wouldn't have been my bet."

   He looked back and gasped.  "J-James?  That really you?"

   The raven-haired young man bowed.  "Of course, mate.  You're lucky -
they don't really allow welcoming committees; especially in Limbo.  You
must be the exception to the rule.  You've earned it Pad."

   Sirius reached out to touch his best friend, his hand trembling.  James
swatted his hand out the way, and immediately leaned in to hug him.  "Thank
you, Padfoot," James, whispered, his voice gruff with emotion.  "Thank you
for taking care of my son.  You don't know how grateful Lily and I are."

   Harry's godfather laughed at the thought.  "Please, Prongs - if
anything, he's raised me.  You shouldn't have put me in any position to
raise a child."

   "Considering how you got yourself killed, I agree." The two shared a
weak laugh at that.

   Sirius stood back, and smiled slightly.  "Look at you, Prongs; you
haven't aged a day.  And I bet Tigerlily is as beautiful as ever."

   James tapped him on the back of the head.  "We don't need another
Snivellus, Paddy.  Stop ogling my wife."

   "And to believe, you could've stopped him from doing that at any time,"
Sirius snickered.

   James grimaced.  "Had I known," he corrected him.  "Still; Harry put the
life-debt to better use.  Indentured servitude is the next best thing to
ordering him to shut up forever."

   Padfoot barked a laugh.  "That's what I /said/ you would've done!"

   The latest Potter to pass on had a twinkle in his brown eyes.  "I wanted
him to stand out in the sun until his hair caught on fire, but when I heard
your idea..."

   /"*SIRIUS!*"/A scream echoed throughout the vast emptiness, quite a bit
louder than an echo one would expect.

   For the first time since Sirius's death, the two old friends looked
worried.  "Harry?" Sirius croaked.  "Not you, too..."

   "He's too young!" James whispered, almost in shock.  "He can't be!  He
promised me!"

   "/*SIRIUS!*/" the voice yelled once again, this time from a single
source.  They both turned to see a giant picture before them, Harry's
scratched, dirtied, angry, wonderful face in front of them.  "/*NO!*/"
Sirius watched helplessly as Harry ran towards the veil, full-speed.  "No,
Harry..." he whispered brokenly.  He gasped.  "Harry, *STOP*!"

   Of all the things that he would have suspected to happen next, for Harry
to actually stop was not one of those things.  The green-eyed boy's stride
was caught mid-run by time itself, and, he noticed a moment later, so was
everything else in the picture.  He saw a red spell whizzing by his godson
in mid-cast, but Harry had craned his neck to the side to barely avoid it.

   With a stray thought, the picture zoomed out, and to his chagrin, the
veil was only several strides away.

   "James..." he whispered, "what do we do?  James?"

   "He can't hear you, Sirius."

   An unknown echo once again ominously rang across the infinite space, and
Sirius, by instinct, looked around for his friend.

   He was once again alone.

   "I sent him back," the voice intoned, its smooth tenor tones calming him
faster than he wanted, "but I can't move you yet."

   Sirius nervously swallowed the air, not certain if he still had lungs to
breath in or not, and looked back towards the picture.  "Why not?"

   "You know why.  You've read the prophecy.  The veil will not kill him.
It will kill the tainted soul inside of him, but his own soul half and the
half-soul of his love will remain together, intact.  This has never
happened before."

   Sirius thought furiously.  "The tainted soul?  Harry still had that
damned Horcrux inside him?  And it's just been lying dormant?"

   "A small piece of his soul had remained.  It became even more
complicated, actually.  However, all traces will disappear."

   "Doesn't the veil have another side?  Can't he just run right through?"

   A mirthless chuckle filled the air.  "I cannot.  The veil must have one
complete soul.  It is the one constant I cannot change on the earth. 
Furthermore, I am not that inhumane.  If he immediately walks out of that
veil without a scratch, the boy will be considered a Deity or a Martyr.  I
cannot tell you the definite future, but I can predict the stupidity of the
common man.  The second he hits the veil of death, he must either leave
that world behind, or he will fight the world - though it was planned, he
is not yet ready.  One day, he may be, but not this day.  Right now, this
is the only way it can be done.  It is how it /must/ be.  For now."

   Sirius looked unsure, before he sagged his shoulders.  "Okay.  Am I here
to watch him die?  Because of my actions?"

   The next laughter that rang through was full of mirth, and Sirius
couldn't bring himself to be angry - or rather, he couldn't even /try/. 
"Once again, I am not inhumane, Sirius.  No, you have already served your
sentence for any transgressions.  Nine years in prison, and almost six more
in solitude; you have earned the right to live eternally alongside your
friends.  However, as I said, it is not your ward's time.  He and his mate
Hermione have certain tools that guarantee their life - the veil, even if
it wanted his soul, can never have it under these conditions.  He will
undoubtedly have a place next to you when he passes, along with his mates.
None of them will appear here for a very long time."

   "A 'Very long time?' You mean he would have survived the fight against
Voldemort?  All of them?"

   "I cannot tell you what I don't know.  However, the odds were in young
Potter's favor.  But now, there will be no fight.  There will be no
Voldemort.  To the rest of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter will die.  The
veil has some rather interesting qualities to it, however.  It's a... 
collector, you could say.  When one Horcrux falls through, the others are
sure to follow its mate.  That's how the veil works.  One /whole/ soul must
go through.  I only have the influence to choose the soul that is accepted,
though in this instance, he's made it significantly easier - now, I can
choose where it can go.  In a single instance, the broken pieces will be
whole again, and stripped from the earth.  The other soul...  is why I have
you here.  You must decide, temporarily, where to take Harry Potter's
soul."

   "What do you mean?  If he must leave earth, what's left?" He almost
scoffed at the thought.  "Another universe?  Some other dimension?"

   "Precisely."

   The silence that followed spoke volumes.

   The last Black grimaced.  Harry Potter, his Godson, and Hermione
Granger, his, for all intents and purposes, goddaughter-in-law, not to
mention his girls - he was going to have to leave his life behind for - he
didn't know how long.

   A part of him didn't worry.  Those two, even separate, were the most
powerful forces magic had ever seen.  How he would fare anywhere else, he
didn't know, but he was willing to bet that he'd find his way back to her -
/them/ - even if it broke the rules of magic itself.  They'd find a way to
each other.

   What concerned him most, however, was that it seemed like the old
bastard really was right.  Love - that's what's going to do Voldemort in.
Harry running into the veil, attempting to save his Godfather, would
finally kill the Dark Lord for good.

   It was time to start acting like the Godfather he never tried to be.  It
was time for Harry to truly enjoy his life with no interruptions.

   "Fine, then." Harry Potter's final guardian spoke with a heavy breath.
"What are my choices?"

   "You were silent for longer than I expected, actually." He sounded
almost sheepish.  "I had posed the question to James and Lily as well - I
felt that they needed some say.  Lily had a suggestion."

   He blanched at the thought.  "It's some place called Biblioworld, isn't
it?  Nothing but books as far as the eye can see?"

   There was a scoff at his side.  "I've missed you too, you old dog."

   Sirius nearly jumped back in surprise.  "/Lily/!"

   The impeccably beautiful redhead really hadn't aged a day.  She smiled.
"No, I'm pretty sure you'll like where Harry's going.  It's based on
something I've read."

   "Of course it is - */OW!/*" The mangy-haired man grimaced as she flicked
his ear.  "How does that /still/ hurt so much?!"

   She looked out, into the vast nothingness.  "Make it so, Ignotus.  At
least this way, he'll have a bit of a challenge with making his harem." She
glared at Sirius.  "At least you weren't riding his coattails."

   "Had I not been a convicted criminal, I might've," Sirius muttered. 
"/Ow/!  Stop /doing/ that!  Where the bloody hell did you send him,
anyway?"

   The redhead had a fierce look in her green eyes.  "A place where he'll
be ready - a place where he'll be prepared to avenge his family.  He'll go
back and lay waste to Dumbledore and all that have wronged him - /us/ -
from the very beginning.  They'll have what's coming to him, and he'll need
powerful allies to make sure he stays on top.  He's far too nice,
otherwise."

   Sirius silently conceded to her point.  "Fine, then.  Are there at least
any companionship he can enjoy?  You know his condition, Lily..."

   Her smile was predatory.  "We need to have a talk about that, Sirius..."

   He gulped.

   He was very familiar with that sinister smile.  And for the first time
under her scrutiny, Sirius wished he was /not/ dead.

   -------------------------------------------------

   Chapter 8: The Steps We Take

   Hermione breathed raggedly, her voice in hiccups.  "H-Harry?"

   "'M alright," the boy slurred, struggling to get to his feet.  "Ah!" he
gasped, and fell back to the ground.  "Bloody - my leg hurts like /hell/!"

   "Don't move it!" she said urgently, forcing herself to move from the
corner; she scrambled forward, pushing the rubble out of her way as she
reached her friend.  "Hold on," she frantically whispered, moving to his
side and giving him a once-over.  She flinched as her eyes locked onto the
awkward way his left leg was bent.  When she looked back at his face, his
eyes were closed.  "Speak to me, Harry," she muttered brokenly, her voice
raw.  She reached for his wand arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. 
"/Please/."

   "I's sorry," he slurred again.  "Gettin' you in this.  M' fault."

   "It's not your fault, Harry.  You know that." She lifted him slowly,
making sure he could lean on her.  "I've got you.  Let's get you to the
Hospital Wing."

   The battered, broken child didn't seem to hear her.  "How could you say
it's no' m' fault?" He was angry, now, and she wasn't sure if he was angry
at himself or the entire situation.  "You don't deserve this.  None of it."

   She hooked her arm behind his back.  "Harry - look." She waited
patiently until Harry lifted his weary head to look at the giant carcass
before them, the beast's headless body still.  "This is not your fault.  It
is this - this /thing's/ fault!  Not yours!  Don't blame yourself for
this."

   "You...  you almost died tonight, 'Mione.  You almost died because you
followed me into this." He looked over to her, seeing her teary face. 
"I... I can't - "

   She leaned over and gave a quick, gentle kiss on his lips.  "Shut up,
Harry," she whispered.  "You talk too much."

   Harry was silent as his best friend led him out of girl's bathroom,
stumbling slightly.  They were halfway down the corridor when he spoke
again.  "I'm still sorry."

   Hermione gave a weak chuckle.  "I'm not kissing you again.  Not until
you're checked out by Madame Pomfrey."

   "Worth a shot." He was silent for a moment.  "How the hell did a troll
get into the school?"

   The brunette bookworm shrugged helplessly.  "Maybe Nymphadora didn't
catch Wormtail?"

   Harry shook his head.  "I checked the map this morning - she has him. 
He's still in rat form, too."

   "I'll meet with her," Hermione told him, leaving no room for argument.
"Tomorrow.  We'll take Pettigrew and Owl him to Madame Bones."

   "Not safe enough," Harry grunted, lifting his damaged leg high and
holding more firmly onto Hermione, in favor of hopping at a more rapid
pace. "And not trustworthy enough.  The school owl will eat him.  I'd need
to transfigure a cage."

   "I'll do it, and don't argue."

   Harry chuckled weakly.  "Fine.  We still need to figure out who did
this."

   "I don't think Dumbledore would've done it," she wondered, pacing to
keep up with Harry's stride.  "We'll have to ask Snape about it - he might
know something."

   "Hope this meeting goes better than the last."

   Hermione noticed that his grunts were getting steadily louder.  "Harry?
How's the pain?"

   He shook his head.  "It hurts, but it's starting to fade."

   She went still.  That wasn't a good thing.

   Quicker than a flash, Harry was hoisted into her arms bridal style,
earning a /yip/ from the Boy-Who-Lived, and she paced faster down the
corridors.  "Hermione!"

   "I'm not letting you lose a leg for me, Potter!" She growled, her eyes
staring sraight forward.  Faster than she thought her small, slim legs
could carry her, the bookworm rushed towards the moving stairway. 
"Emergency!" She yelled loudly, and the staircase quickly lined up for her,
leading to a more-or-less direct path to the floor she wanted.

   She made a mental note to read /Hogwarts: A History/ more.

   Harry was silent for a few seconds, helplessly hanging onto the girl's
neck.  "I'd lose a lot more for you," he whispered, his eyes closing.

   Hermione could practically feel him start to lose his strength, and
shook him roughly as she hopped up the stairs.  "Come on, Harry!  Stay with
me!  I need you to be awake!" She had seen him fall nine feet from the
troll's back to the tiled floor, head-first, and without missing a beat,
summon a knife and jump on the beast's back once more.  It was imperative
that he stay conscious, or he might suffer a concussion, and she didn't
know what cure there was for that, or if Wizards even knew what those were
at this point.

   Plus...  she didn't know what to do.  She felt as much fear now as she
had facing a troll about to club her into oblivion.

   Harry was jolted awake by the brunette's shaking.  "I don't think you're
supposed to do this to someone injured." It came out as a protest, but his
voice was weak, and his breath shortened as he spoke.

   More tears streamed from her eyes as she made it to the top of the
staircase, and without stopping, turned left.  "Please, Harry.  Stay with
me." Her voice was just as soft.  She didn't think it would be fair to
scream at him again as long as he listened.

   "I'm not gonna die, Hermione," he said forcefully, and her eyes lowered
to his pale skin for a moment, dubious.

   She couldn't understand why, but she could feel Harry's life draining
away in her arms - the danger was over, but the impending doom that had
surrounded them, for some reason, stayed.

   Harry had, at the /most/, a concussion, a cut on his cheek from a broken
marble sink, and a disfigured leg that could probably be fixed with a bit
of skelegrow.

   But, for some reason, Hermione had the overwhelming feeling that if she
didn't get him to the Hospital Wing /right now/, he would die.

   She shook her head, slowing down minutely, her left leg beginning to
cramp.  This was ridiculous.  She didn't even know what to tell Madame
Pomfrey when she got there.  '/Madame Pomfrey, please help us!  We were
attacked by a troll!  Yes, we know we were supposed to be in our dorms, but
Harry had to come get me!  How the hell was I supposed to know that the
name /Eugene/ belonged to a troll?  It was a dot on a map to me!  I was
just trying to get to Quirrell, before he went into the Slytherin's dorms.
I just wanted to ask him about a man he seems to be...  close to.  I don't
judge, it's just...  it's complicated./'

   She'd rather avoid the entire conversation.  She didn't want to reveal
the map, or any of the answers to questions that may come with it.

   Working with Harry was a chore - she had known that since she followed
him to Azkaban and helped him break out Sirius.  He had protested the idea
every step of the way, of course.

   And when he finally woke up, he would never hear the end of how honoured
she felt being by his side.

   Her eyebrows furrowed - where did that slip come from?  When he /woke
up/?  - and she looked down.

   Harry hung limply in her arms, his jaw hanging lethargically, his hands
slowly sliding off her shoulders.  She could only see the whites of his
wide-open eyes.

   "*/HARRY!/*"

   -----------------------

   ~Post-Veil~*

   The rain pounded heavy on the streets of Park Row, spattering loudly
around the three occupants of the empty roadway.  A clear dome protected
them from the downpour, as they looked out onto the horizon of Gotham.

   But they weren't really paying attention to the admittedly beautiful
scene.  No, they were more distracted by the story regaled by the currently
brown-haired, silver-eyed teen.

   "Wow," Harleen whispered, her eyes wide.  "You fought and beat an eight
foot tall /beast with a club/ when you were /eleven/?!"

   "And you /decapitated/ it," Pamela noted with no small amount of
surprise, her voice shaky.  Now she had known why Hermione was so hesitant
to tell them the story - she was thankful Harry had spared the details of
the actual battle.

   The Boy-Who-Lived nodded with no hint of pride in his eyes.  "I've never
killed anyone before that.  I mean, I've held guns..." he scoffed
mirthlessly.  "I've /made/ guns.  Whenever I was in trouble on my own, I've
fired the gun, and my force-shield charm went behind it.  I've never had to
use a bullet.  But when that Troll went for Hermione..." his eyes went
unfocused, before he quickly shook his head.  "It doesn't matter.  Hermione
hunted down Snape, one of our professors, and explained what was going on.
With his help, she /obliviated/ - the memory-erasing spell I told you about
- the school nurse and took me to his chambers instead.  He was really the
best person we could've gone to either way - he brews the potions that the
nurse, Madame Pomfrey uses.  Hermione didn't trust her, and we had every
right to trust Snape."

   "Why?" Harleen interrupted, absently smoothing down her skirt as the
rain poured heavy around them.  "Was he friends with your parents or
something?"

   Harry shook his head.  "No, but he owed a debt to my dad.  But now you
know why I think Harley's idea could work.  That night, Hermione got half
of my soul.  We don't know how that ritual took place, but it happened -
after it did, she could link to me in ways we're still figuring out.  Her
cramp in her leg disappeared when I fell unconscious and couldn't feel my
own broken leg.  We had soul-bonded - half, anyway.  It would be a bit down
the road for Hermione to complete the ritual.  And I had two different
souls in my body.  Why didn't the veil touch those?  Why specifically go
for the small, tainted soul?  I doubt someone with more than one soul has
gone through the veil - actually, it's safe to say that I'm the only one
with /three/.  Is Hermione right?  Did we really just stick together, and
make a whole soul?  I barely know how I feel and what Hermione feels
anymore - it's one in the same, except I usually feel it in my scar.  We'll
have to test that more, now that the Horcrux is gone." He pointed to his
currently unmarked forehead, to the place where his scar was, once again,
hidden.

   "Nym," he looked back at the mirror, and the girl now sported a mousy
brown colored hair, to reflect the tone of the conversation.  "I have to
take a gamble here.  If two people went through the veil at the same time,
you think it might trick the arch into thinking it was looking at two
souls, and pick one?"

   "I...  don't think that would work, Harry," she said slowly.  "Maybe I'm
giving it more credit, but maybe the actual souls have to go through at the
same time?"

   "Where /is/ the soul?" Harley asked speculatively.  "Your heart?  Your
feet?  Liver?  Brain?  It'd make sense for the brain - what with it having
access to thoughts, and pain receptors, and feelings.  Could be on the
spine for all we know - somewhere on the nervous system." Her eyes raked
over Harry's forehead.  "Your creativity, intuition, and insight comes from
the right side of your brain.  Any hallucinations?  Visions?"

   Harry blinked.  "Err...  yeah, actually.  I could see through
Voldemort's eyes, sometimes."

   "Oh - you told me that.  Must've slipped." She crossed her arms and put
her chin against her chest, thinking furiously.

   Harry was in slight awe, looking at the small, care-free girl's
brilliant mind go to work.  "It must be in the right side of his brain as
well.  His soul's /got/ to be there!" She looked up at the young
Metamorphmagus.  "So if you sent two at the same time, head-first..."

   The young auror looked back to the still Yaxley, unmoving on the ground.
"If it doesn't work, we can capture more Death Eaters, I guess...  wouldn't
mind tossing in Umbridge.  Nosy bitch walked down this hallway twice. 
Third time's the charm." She sent a spell at the body, and the steel chain
wrapped in unicorn hair uncoiled from the Death Eater.  Another spell, and
he was banished again into the glassy, smoky archway.  "Though, that leaves
the question of what happened to the body, and why you didn't see it."

   Harry shrugged.  "Can't answer that until someone makes it to the other
side and can tell us.  Better get some Veritaserum ready."

   "Already got some left," the auror grinned, her bubbly persona
returning, her hope renewed.  "Daphne's idea.  We've been interrogating
some Death Eaters while we had them - It's how Bellatrix admitted that
Luna's guess about her hidden Horcrux was right." Tonks's hands went to her
sides, and she pouted at something off to the side of the mirror's view. 
"We haven't had the chance to do the Carrows, yet...  and we don't have
enough for two."

   Harry frowned.  "They're pretty high ranking, last I checked.  They
might know something useful." He sighed.  There was always a hitch.  Dark
Marks protect Legilimency, so that wasn't an option.

   Hold on...

   "Tonks?" Harry inquired.  "Check their arms for the Dark Mark."

   She looked somewhat confused at the request - they knew, after all, that
the two were Death Eaters - but she did it anyway.  She walked off to the
side, out of Harry's view, and his hearing picked up some shuffling.

   Seconds later, the metamorph's boots signaled her approaching as she
walked back into frame, and the confusion on her heart-shaped face doubled.
"Err...  Harry, is there something you're not telling me?"

   "I take it that it's fading then?" Harry wondered, his grin widening.

   "Fading?" The metamorph shook her head.  "No, mate.  /It's green/.  The
whole bloody tattoo is green!  The veins sticking out around it...  it's
colored green as well!  It's really weird!"

   Ivy could see, by the look on Harry's face, that he wasn't expecting
that news.  "I suppose his tattoos have never done that before, then?" she
wondered, recalling what Harley was telling her when she finally awoke
about the Dark Mark.

   Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.  "I don't know what the hell..."
He looked up.  "When Voldemort was defeated the last time, the Mark was
faded.  Usually, the more powerful he is, the darker it gets.  It's never
acted like a bloody mood ring before."

   "So he could be alive?" Harley wondered, her eyes alight with curiosity.
It wasn't particularly good news, but she wanted to see this Dark Lord.

   The brunet gave a heavy sigh.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "But this
/fucking/ veil is really grating me."

   The former redhead hummed softly.  "Eddie would consider this a
wetdream."

   "Eddie?" Harry and Harley asked at the same time, setting their eyes on
the currently ebony teen.

   "Eddie," she repeated, "you've met him, Harls.  He's the one that gave
you that questionnaire the day we met.  He prides himself on his riddles,
and quick wit.  We got along well enough at Blackgate - insulted my
intelligence on occasion, but he messed with the others equally.  He knew
he was the smartest in the room."

   "Is he at Blackgate?" Harry wondered, half-curious.  He wasn't too keen
on telling everyone his origin story, but it wasn't like telling anyone
could have any negative effects on his own world.

   She shook her head.  "Last I heard, he broke out months ago.  He
developed the security for the damn place, so I guess he knows the weak
spots.  He used to work for the police department," she answered their
unasked question.  "Cybercrime division.  It's really the only reason I
would trust him, after what you did to the police." Her violet eyes went to
Harry.  "Not saying that you should.  He's an information junkie - always
looking for blackmail material and gossip to exploit.  Just a thought for
if we really needed the help.  He helped me break out, so giving him a
brain-teaser like this should keep him turgid for a few days, at least."

   Harleen giggled loudly, while Harry nodded.  "I'll think about it if
nothing works.  If there's anything magic taught me, is that everything's a
riddle.  I wouldn't be surprised if the veil is one giant ruddy puzzle."

   "Never finished that questionnaire," Harleen whispered to herself.  "I
should get back to it sometime.  Think I still got it around somewhere."
She noticed the three looking at her with amusement.  "What?"

   Harry smiled mischievously.  "Harley...  you want to have fun today?"

   "Depends on the fun." She licked her lips.  "You suggesting we go back
to the house after just getting some fresh air?"

   Ivy shook her head.  "Can we please try some sort of interaction
instead? I've opened the windows to air the house out - we have plenty of
time to stink it back up."

   "I've been told that I've got a rather pleasant scent," Harry huffed,
and Harleen giggled.

   "One day," Ivy pleaded half-heartedly.  "Just one day without trying to
rip each others' clothes off.  I'd rather we actually get the chance to
have breakfast again."

   "Chocolate syrup and whipped cream doesn't sound like a balanced
breakfast to you?" the ponytailed blonde asked innocently, her eyes roaming
her two lovers.  "If not, I can think of a place to stick the sausage."

   "I blame you for this," Ivy smiled, looking over to Harry.

   Tonks spoke up from the mirror.  "Considering it's about three in the
morning, and we finally got Hermione asleep, how about we pick this up
later?  Gives me time to talk to Fleur."

   Harry nodded.  "Alright, Tonks.  Be safe...  and...  if Sirius...  I
mean...  If something happened to him - "

   "Honestly, Harry?" she interrupted softly, her frown marring her
features.  "I considered it.  I thought about it the moment he went
through. I considered it the moment /you both/ went through.  I've learned
to never count you out - you always find a way to make it through, breaking
the rules of magic and physics along the way.  We both know there's only
one way to check if he's truly gone, and I'm willing to bet you haven't
tried it.  I'm betting you don't want to, either.  Hell, I won't want you
to."

   Harry was quiet for a couple of beats.  "Maybe," he admitted.  The two
girls beside him had distracted him since he had arrived from really
thinking of a solution, and quite wonderfully so, but he knew that there
was a way to check - if he lost all hope for getting back.  "If he is, then
we still have the stone.  I don't know if it would work without a body,
though."

   Tonks shrugged.  "Essentially, we won't need a body.  As long as the
soul exists /somewhere/, that's what we need.  We can transfigure a body."

   Harry swallowed roughly.  "Alright.  That's what we'll do.  If he's
dead."

   Both girls chose not to speak at the entirely somber conversation, their
mood deflated.

   Then Harley's mind finally caught up with the words she just heard.

   "Hold on!" She looked at the mirror, her blue eyes wide.  "You can bring
back people from the /dead/?"

   The pink-haired auror gave a weak grin.  "It worked on a friend we know
- Myrtle.  And Pandora, Luna's mum.  We haven't really done it to anyone
else, though."

   "Try it," Harry started.  "Use it on Ron.  Bastard needs to be taught a
lesson."

   "If we tried it and it doesn't work," Tonks muttered hesitantly, "then
it would point too many fingers to us at this point.  He's been rather...
mistreated, you could say, by most of the girls at Hogwarts.  Apparently,
someone overheard Ron's comments.  I suspect Hermione told you what he
said, then?"

   Harry nodded, his scowl expressing his anger quite adequately.  "I'm not
letting him get away with those comments.  Tell Fred and George to test
every single product they have on him.  Especially the untested ones."

   "You doubt the temerity of the twins, Harry," the punk girl smiled. 
"They've been setting up traps all night.  You have no idea how many
hallways I've avoided to get here.  They're triggered to Ron, but I'd
rather be safe."

   The Boy-Who-Lived felt solace, once again.  "Good.  So - problem solved
on the veil front?"

   "Other than Dumbledore and Umbridge, we should be - " She snapped her
fingers.  "Umbridge!  I'll use her for the veil and try to bring her back!
We don't really have ties back to us - everyone hates her!"

   "Or Dumbledore," Harry shrugged, and Tonks looked at him in surprise. 
"You know - if it comes up.  Should solve a lot of problems - especially if
Voldemort's gone for now.  Could bring him back later rather than sooner,
really."

   She grinned deviously.  "You want me to try to take down Dumbledore 'if
it comes up?' I knew there was a reason I keep you guys close."

   "You couldn't live without us, Tonks," he said cheekily.  "You'd
probably be Head Auror without us around but hey - one less Dark Lord to
take down, right?"

   She childishly stuck her tongue out.  "Thanks for taking out the
challenge, mate.  Makes it real boring from there on out."

   Harry scoffed.  "I wouldn't say that..."

   <hr color="black" style="width: 65%; height: 2px"/> A piggish laughter,
deep and boisterous, rang through the black car.  "The Burning Man!  I like
it!" He slammed down the morning paper on the seat next to him.  "Looks
like the two dykes have picked themselves up a pimp!"

   Candace, sitting on the opposite side, glanced at the photo and licked
her lips.  "Hell of a sugar-daddy, though.  I wouldn't mind a taste."

   He grimaced.  "What?  I'm not good 'nough for ya?"

   The dark-skinned girl peered down her rectangle glasses.  "/Good enough/
implies that you're better than decent, honey."

   His beady eyes stared at her for a good, long moment.

   Then, without warning, he laughed loudly, and she winced at the nasal
sound.  "Well said, Candy!" He paused, and eyed her up and down, and she
crossed her legs in response.  "How would you know what you 'aven't tried?"

   It was her turn to grimace.  "Tracey won't shut up.  Good or bad, she's
got to keep me informed."

   He grinned.  "Yeah.  She's got a gob on her, doesn't she?" A wistful
look appeared in his eyes.  "Got its uses, certainly..."

   "Oi!  I can 'ear you!" the blonde driver complained from the front,
turning back for a short moment.  "This gob can also bite yer 'ead off!"
She turned back to the road, checking her cap in the mirror before focusing
on the two individuals behind it.  "And I'm talkin' about the one growin'
hair, not losin' it!"

   Candy made retching sounds while Oswald frowned.  "That's /not/ funny."

   She stuck out her tongue at the mirror, and focused on the road.  "Wha'
can I say?  I've got a gob on me."

   Candace tapped her crossed legs and smoothed down her skirt as she
looked over to the schedule at her side.  "You have a new shipment of
ammunition coming in today.  Usually takes a week to unload, but you might
be able to move more than a usual shipment today, what with the distraction
the Femmes made last night.  The pigs will be busy dealing with that."

   Cobblepot nodded.  He knew there was a reason he kept her around - her
secretarial skills were the only perks she put on the table when he hired
her, and despite his efforts, she didn't change her resume.  It was
difficult to find ladies with a mind like hers that could turn to a life of
crime, so he didn't really have much of a choice hiring her.  And she was
easy on the eyes - that helped.  "A'ight, then.  Send three trucks.  Make
'em take different routes, in case." He seemed to remember something.  "and
put a few zeroes on the next check to our lovely clients, will ya dear? 
I'm running out of cigars."

   She nodded, making a note on her clipboard.  "Anything else, hun?"

   The short, stout man glanced at the paper again as he absently reached
over to pick up his top hat, recognizing the car's turn into his
establishment - the Iceberg Lounge.  "Yeah.  Water the plants this mornin'.
I wanna make a good impression."

   She paused.  "They're coming by, sir?  They're not on the schedule this
week."

   His monocle glimmered in the nondescript automobile as he grinned
toothily.  "We'll just have to make 'em an offer they can't refuse, won'
we?"

   <hr color="black" style="width: 65%; height: 2px"/> "Did we find them
yet?  I'll /kill/ that bitch!  Don't she know who she's messing with?!"

   Jim groaned from his desk.  It seemed that Howard, despite all odds, had
suffered no concussion.  "Officer Branden - I see you've recovered."

   The SWAT leader in his trademark cap turned to him and sneered.  "Gordon
- the hell are you doin' here?  Thought you'd have found those punks by
now. It's been a whole night.  Gotham's Golden Boy's got a reputation to
uphold."

   Jim went back to wiping his glasses clean.  "I went home, to my wife and
kid.  If anyone's reputation needs protecting, Howard, it's you.  That
mallet to the face is the headline photo."

   He sputtered.  "What?  Where the hell did they get a picture?!  Did you
send it to them?"

   He shook his head.  "Unfortunately, no.  I didn't have a good angle. 
But the people behind you did."

   He was silent for a good long moment - then he stomped away.  Gordon
assumed he was going to look for the nearest newspaper.  He didn't have to
look far; it was on every desk in every cubicle.  It would be a matter of
time before he figured out that the perfect angle to see him get clobbered
like that had to have come from his own division.

   He slid the paper back under his book and leaned back.

   He briefly wondered how Branden would respond to the pseudo-meeting he
had today - The one-sided conversation he had with their mutual enemy in
his car.

   He opened the drawer and eyed the circular speaker / receiver with no
small amount of dubiousness.  This was probably a bad idea.  He could get
fired for this, or imprisoned.  But the 'anonymous' voicemail left on the
thing promised that it was untraceable, and would become a useless piece of
junk in twenty-four hours.

   If it wasn't, he'd take a hammer to it and refocus his efforts on the
damned Batman again.

   The voice in the speaker had a point.  Not even the police could take on
this threat alone, and if they didn't want any federals pitching their tent
in Gotham, then they would have to work together.  Just this once.

   "Alright.  I hope you're listening, because I'm only going to say it
once." Plausible deniability - if no one heard him rambling, then the
conversation never happened.  He looked at the police report in his lap,
pointedly ignoring the picture of the woman with red and green hair
grinning sheepishly, hiding a mallet behind her back as she posed for the
camera, several decimated cars behind her.

   He leafed through the file.  "Here's what we know.  Harley Quinn, real
name unknown, approximately aged twenty-two to twenty-five..."

   <hr color="black" style="width: 65%; height: 2px"/> Fifteen-year-old
Harleen Quinzel yawned.  Loudly.

   No one took offense.  The theater was empty.  She, Harry, and Pamela
were the only ones there, sitting together, in the middle seat, middle row
- the best way to watch a movie.

   Or this one, at least.  The movie was obviously made when they were just
looking into the magical marvel that was /color/.  It was far too bright
and blurry to sit up front.

   Though the plot was probably good - she remembered her parents liking
this movie, especially this actor, Carl something - she found herself
disinterested.

   She looked over to her left, past Harry, to Pammy, who looked just as
bored.  Honestly, she didn't know why this movie was playing - it was a
mom-and-pop theater, but they had to have rights to something younger than
her, right?

   She yawned again.

   Harry looked over to her.  "You're the one that chose this place," he
whispered, chuckling.

   She would've giggled at the thought that he was respecting the rules of
the theatre in an empty room.  "It's thundering outside," she defended
herself, her voice just as soft.  "Where else could we have gone?  I'd
rather not get wet, and we'd have to be to fit in with everyone else. 
Gotham usually shuts down on thunderstorms.  This is all we got."

   Harry shrugged.  The nice old couple who owned the shop next door to the
theatre set up the reel, and happily so when given several gold bits,
courtesy of his mokeskin pouch, one of his few obvious links to the magical
world.  Gold was worth far more than wizards suspected, and shaved, broken
galleons, with no description or hint to their previous value, made them
rather priceless to any other currency.  "We probably could've just gone to
a café.  I could have summoned an umbrella."

   She shrugged helplessly.  "Didn't consider that."

   Ivy quirked her lips upwards.  "I think she just wanted to take us to a
nice, quiet, dark place."

   She stared at her lover innocently, her square-rimmed glassed
accentuating her wide sky-blue eyes.  "Why would I wanna do that?  I just
want a nice, quiet peaceful time with my two bestest friends." She turned
back to the movie.  "Besides, I'd never give it up on the first date.  Mama
didn't raise no fool."

   They both chuckled at the irony of that sentence.  "Second date,
actually," Harry pointed out.

   "Oh," she squeaked, mentally chastising herself for almost forgetting
their outing last night.  "Well..." she pondered, eyeing him up and down.
"I guess some over-the-clothes stuff is alright."

   Pamela twirled her curly, luscious hair in her finger as she glanced
away from the screen once more.  "I knew you couldn't last..."

   "In my defense," the blonde said quickly, putting up her index finger to
emphasize her words, "...I knew I couldn't last either."

   Harry wrapped his arm around Harley's shoulders and pulled her close. 
"You know what?  I think I'll let you keep me."

   She giggled cutely.  "I'll allow you to think that."

   Pam shook her head, amused, and turned back to the film.  She squeaked
in surprise as Harry's other arm wrapped around her.  "I only let Harley
because you let me," he grinned roguishly.

   Her lips pressed against Harry's cheek.  "Of all the men I've ever met,"
she whispered sensually, "keeping you was the...  easiest."

   "I'll take that as a compliment," he murmured, kissing the side of her
head.

   She grabbed his chin and guided his lips to hers.  "I meant it as one,"
she whispered, licking her own lips, before kissing him.

   Harley fanned herself at the sight.  "Intermission time," she said
hurriedly, and no one argued with that.

   The three popped out of the Monarch theatre, and out of the sight of the
unblinking eyes upon them.

   <hr color="black" style="width: 65%; height: 2px"/> <p
class="style6">*<span class="style25">~Pre-Veil~</span>*

   "I never read that pamphlet."

   "Huh?" Hermione asked eloquently, looking through her new favorite book.
The amount of things she discovered about the school were fascinating.  She
made a note to tell Harry about the more useful details, like the idea that
every founder left a piece of themselves behind with a hidden room /
private study.  Just the idea of a large room of books collected by Rowena
Ravenclaw tantalized her to no end.

   "That pamphlet," Harry muttered again.  "I never read it." He shrugged
weakly.  "Just assumed that's what it said.  I mainly wanted you to leave
so I could get out unnoticed.  I couldn't have an adult looking into who I
am."

   Her mind's eye showed a vivid recollection of her first conversation
with the boy in front of her.  "Harry - I already knew that.  I tried
looking for one after you left.  We didn't have an informational material
of any kind at that library."

   "Oh." He laid there, staring at her blankly.  "Thanks for not hating
me."

   She smiled softly.  "Who says I didn't hate you?  You're the bane of my
existence, Harry.  I've been waiting until this very moment to take you
down when you least expect it."

   Harry closed his eyes.  "Make it quick, then."

   "My pleasure," a voice sounded behind them, and they both jumped.  "If
only that was a command," the thin, pale man intoned silkily, looking down
at them over his hooked nose.  "Ah, to dream again...  I highly doubt it
was, so I suppose I still find myself a /peon/ to the Boy-Who-Lived."

   The small boy smiled weakly.  "Good to see you too, Snape."

   He frowned at the lack of respect, but otherwise ignored it.  "A troll,
Mister Potter?  You skipped the feast so you could go fight a troll?  If
there was ever a banner for Gryffindor..."

   Harry sighed.  He was going to go against his word on giving Severus
free speech one day; he just knew it.  "No, /Snivellus/.  Hermione went to
meet Tonks to pick up Wormtail.  I was preoccupied dealing with the most
annoying boy in the world.  He seemed quite gleeful at the thought that I
lost my parents ten years ago today.  Remind me to kill his parents when
I'm feeling better."

   Snape raised an eyebrow.  "An eye for an eye, Potter?  I suppose it's
/always/ worked before..."

   Harry's fingers twitched.  At the very least, he would one day make sure
he couldn't speak in sarcasm.  "Enough, Snape.  How am I?"

   He started without further encouragement.  "You don't have a concussion,
and you seem as normal as you could be."

   Hermione seemed pleased, and hugged Harry gratefully.  "You're alright,"
she whispered, her lips pressed against his cheek.  Harry wrapped his hand
tightly around her back, and the two shivered at the touch they felt.

   Their eyes opened, and Hermione jumped back.

   "W-what was that?" Hermione gasped fearfully.  Harry sat up, glaring at
Snape, who held his hands up placatingly.  He looked back to Hermione, who
seemed to be trembling, lost in her own world.  "Hermione?"

   "I see v-visions," she whispered frightfully, visibly shaking, and sweat
broke out on her forehead.  "Harry, /help me/," she whimpered.  She looked
around frantically.  "Where am I?  I've never - " Her head whipped around
to a dark corner in the chamber.  "Who are you?  What - Ah!"

   Harry scrambled out of bed as he saw his friends head whip back.

   "Stop!  /Stupefy/!"

   Harry dodged the spell, and without thinking, sent his own stunning
spell back.  Severus wordlessly dropped to the floor.  He ran to Hermione's
side, and his magic pulsed in his fingers as he grabbed both her arms. 
"/Hermione!/"

   "Help me," she whimpered again, not really looking at him.  "It's dark.
I can't see anything." Without warning, she started struggling to escape
his grip, and Harry squeezed her to himself as she thrashed around.

   She screamed something, and Harry, with a thought, stunned her in his
arms.  She fell limp against him.

   Harry collapsed to the floor, his rear hitting the green carpet, holding
Hermione close.  He looked over to his professor, meters away from him,
lying on his side as he was blown back from the spell.

   He looked back to Hermione, then to the professor, and it clicked for
him.  Snape was trying to knock Harry out so he wouldn't get to Hermione,
because she began getting the...  visions, or whatever she had, when they
touched.

   He looked down to Hermione's peaceful face.  He brushed the sweat from
her brow, and kissed her forehead.

   He spent the rest of the night, rocking back and forth, cradling her
head in his lap.  When Severus finally awoke, that was the sight that
greeted him.  With Harry's command - or rather, plea - he forewent carrying
her to the transfigured medical bed, and cast the appropriate charms on her
right there, with Hermione's head in his lap.

   He couldn't find anything; absolutely nothing.  She seemed to be
perfectly normal, mentally.

   Harry was about to fall asleep, when she whispered something
unintelligible.

   Well, mostly unintelligible.  He was able to hear the tail-end of the
statement.

   ".../Dudley/.../kill you/..."

   Severus paused and looked away from the image projections his wand gave
him.  "What?  Who is Dudley?"

   "My cousin," Harry said, confused.  "I've never told her his name.  She
knew about the Dursleys, but I never told her Dudley's name.  His name was
never in the search report for me."

   Snape was silent.  "The troll; is he dead?"

   Harry nodded.  "What does that have to do with anything?"

   Severus sighed heavily, and for the first time in his life, he felt
something akin to sympathy for a Potter.  "/Everything/.  She has developed
a knack for Legilimency.  Suddenly, she seems to be at your level of
proficiency.  Her mental barriers before were menial, at best.  Now, her
shields are impenetrable for even the Dark Lord.  And she knows something
that you've never told her." He allowed the boy a moment to absorb the
information, before moving over to his desk and picked up a small black
book with empty, well-worn pages.

   The book crashed on the floor in front of Harry, and he looked up in
surprise at the frowning professor, who now stood in front of him.  "Tell
me, Potter," he said silkily.  "You seem to know many things - things you
aren't supposed to know, things that even I have yet to find out.  /What/
do you know about Horcruxes?"

   "I'd lose a lot more for you," she whispered brokenly.  "I'm not gonna
d-die, Hermione...."

   <hr color="black" style="width: 65%; height: 2px"/> <p
class="style6">*<span class="style25">~Post-Veil~</span>*

   "/WHAT/?  You're telling me this whole time - this /whole fucking time/
we've been talking - he's been listening to us and - /where the hell is my
bazooka/?!"

   Harry and Ivy winced at her tone.  "He wasn't there the entire time,"
the buxom raven-haired teen weakly defended.  "I don't know how long he was
there, but I noticed about the time Harry closed the connection."

   Harry rubbed the back of his head shyly.  "Yeah...  sure, let's go with
that."

   They both stared at him, and he stepped back in response.  "What do you
know?"

   He looked over into Pamela's violet eyes.  "He was there.  He was always
there.  In the alleyway, behind the theatre.  He didn't notice us there
until we went to find the couple who let us in."

   "You sound so sure about this," Harley noted, narrowing her eyes. 
Combined with her square spectacles, Harry felt a chill up his spine at the
intimidating sight.  "You're telling me you knew /exactly/ where he was and
didn't kill him when you had the chance?"

   Harry shook his head.  "No.  We can use him."

   She tilted her head, her glare still in full effect.  "How the hell are
we gonna use that guy?  He's a freakin' enigma!"

   Pamela sat down on the sofa and let out a heavy sigh.  "Alright.  I
guess we're gonna do this now." She looked up to the now raven-haired teen.
"If I'm close, tell me."

   Harley looked confused.  "Tell you wha- OH!  His identity!" She looked
embarrassed.  "Slipped my mind for a sec.  Lots of information I've had to
go through recently - very busy."

   Harry directed her to the seat, and she sheepishly followed.  "Alright,
ladies," he smiled, "What's your guesses?"

   "It's Harvey Dent," Ivy said instantly, conviction in her voice.  "It's
gotta be.  No one is that obsessed with catching criminals as that guy. 
Plus I get a creepy vibe from him."

   But Harley hmmed negatively.  "I don't think so.  I don't think it can
be someone who actually has legal power like that, yet go to such lengths
to capture them.  I think it's someone who would rather not take any legal
route to see justice served.  I don't think he - if it even /is/ a he - has
any faith in the justice system we have, and he only delivers thugs to the
cops because he doesn't want to be seen like a criminal, or even a cop,
himself." She grinned at Ivy's expression.  "Public school libraries,
Right? They give too much info for our own good."

   Harry pressed his finger to the side of his nose and winked.

   Harley pumped her fists in the air in victory as Pamela glowered.  "So
now we're playing charades?"

   Harry refrained from mentioning that he had never played that game - or
any fun party game that families do, really - but he didn't want to bring
them down.  "I don't know how that might work.  I don't think I can act out
his life in front of you."

   "Ooh!" Harley clapped her hands happily, her grin wide, "We could play
Twenty Questions!"

   The game was familiar to him.  He searched his mind for the name, and he
found a memory - Hermione and her parents playing the game after returning
from Hogwarts for the very first time.  She was feeling absolutely
miserable at the time, and as Harry found out later, it was not because of
the actual game itself.  "Alright.  Pammy.  You're first."

   It wasn't lost on her that it was the first time he had called her by
that name, and she smiled a little at how natural it sounded coming from
his lips.  "Fine, then.  Was he born in Gotham?"

   "Ooh, good question!" Harleen praised, and Harry nodded the affirmative.
"Harleen?"

   She chose her words carefully.  "Does he have a certain position of
power, where he probably could make a difference if he wanted to?"

   Harry nodded.

   It was Ivy's turn.  "Is he rich?"

   Harry nodded again, grinning.

   Harley sat back, and leaned against the arm of the couch.  "Is he really
that muscle-y?  Or is it all padding?"

   Harry considered her words.  "He has single-digit percentage body fat,
and looks quite intimidating, but yeah, there's padding and armor in that
suit.  To answer your question, he doesn't look like a body-builder at
first glance, but you'd notice if he flexes."

   "Alright," Pam nodded.  "Narrows down the list considerably.  Rich, but
in shape." She looked down at her crossed arms, and glanced back up at
Harry.  "Could you turn me back?  I feel a little out of my skin right
now."

   Harry nodded, and when she looked back down, her skin was green again.
She knew she shouldn't be surprised by now, but she couldn't help but feel
a sense of awe.

   Harley took the distraction to steal a question.  "Is he a hermit?"

   Harry paused before he answered.  "You see him on television,
occasionally.  He's a public figure.  You'd never see him outside of his
obligations."

   "She asked two, I get two," Pam argued, and the bespectacled girl
giggled.

   "You only get twenty either way," Harry pointed out.  "You've got
fourteen more."

   "Hold on...  hey!" Harley shouted.  "We only asked five!"

   Pamela recounted in her head.  "Oh, you didn't dare..."

   Harry grinned evilly.  "You probably shouldn't be asking questions in a
game about questions unless it's relating to the topic.  You asked, and I
answered by turning you back to normal."

   Harley folded her arms while the now-green vixen pouted cutely.  "Dick."

   Harry laughed out loud at the unexpected response by the redhead. 
"Maybe," he admitted, "though that would make for an interesting prize..."

   Harleen adjusted her glasses.  "Shit just got real."

   Pamela ignored her in favor of asking another question.  "Have I seen
him on the news recently?"

   Harry shrugged.  "I wouldn't know that." He didn't even think they had a
television.  He certainly hadn't seen one.

   She blushed.  "Oh...  sorry, forgot.  If I turned it on right now, would
he be?"

   Harry pondered to himself.  "Late-night, usually.  But he wouldn't be a
regular."

   Harley snapped her fingers.  "Does he go to Social Functions?"

   "Yup," he confirmed, falling back into a freshly conjured chair that
went into focus right as his butt hit the seat.  He smiled at the girls'
reaction.  "You have no idea how many times I've fallen on my arse to get
that trick right."

   Ivy scooted uncomfortably on her suddenly hard seat.  "Could you - " she
started, before she stopped herself.  "Never mind.  I'll ask after, or
you'll cheat again."

   The green-eyed boy grinned, and she felt herself sink further into the
cushion.  She sighed in happiness as magic itself weaved beneath her
curvaceous form.

   Harry sat back as the two settled into the couch, seemingly forgetting
about the game.  That is, until Harleen's head shot up.  "Oh!  I almost
forgot about his freaky tech!  Does he buy it from somewhere in Gotham?"

   Harry shook his head.  "He doesn't buy it.  You're close, though."

   Ivy could see the twinkle in his eye as he said those words, and had the
overwhelming feeling that he just dropped a huge clue.  Or Harley did.  "He
doesn't buy it..." she heard her girlfriend mutter to herself.  "So how the
hell am I close...?"

   "Maybe he doesn't buy his tech, because he already owns it?" Ivy
wondered.

   "He owns it?" Harley repeated questionably.  "Like he has a high tech
hardware store or something?"

   Pam shrugged.  "He's rich.  Maybe he's the CEO of some giant technology
conglomerate."

   "Oh!" she snapped her head up to Harry "It's /Roman Sionis/!  It /has/
to be!"

   Harry tilted his head a little, his face impassive.  "Why would you
think him?"

   "He fits every description," she argued.  "Born here, rich as all hell -
he owns a /bank/, for God's sake - at social functions, you never see him
in public, he owns a freakin' Steel Mill, and," she cleared her throat. 
"Being a psychiatrist, I know that the Batman is clearly a victim of either
criminal abuse or a deep-seated childhood trauma that somehow involves
bats."

   "Childhood trauma?" Pam wondered.  "And Sionis suffered from that, I
guess?"

   She nodded.  "I read somewhere that his parents died in a fire; he's
gotta be it.  No one should be that socially balanced without a closet
/bulging/ with skeletons.  He always looks like he has something to hide."
She turned to Harry with a triumphant smile.  "Right?"

   He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair nodding along with
her points.  "You're right on most points, actually.  Hell, every point
except one.  Sorry to say that he's /not/ Batman."

   Her face visibly fell.  "Wait, but..." she scrunched her eyebrows
together.  "How did you know who Roman Sionis is?"

   "Batman looked it up and researched him extensively.  Sionis has an
identity, but it isn't Batman."

   "There's more of them," Ivy fretted, looking weary.  "I'm sick of
dealing with masked crusaders."

   Harry did nothing but grin.  Harley got the message.  "Oh!  You didn't
say anything about him being a good guy, did you?" She narrowed her eyes.
"You know, we're not playing Twenty Questions: Gotham Edition.  We can't
guess every masked citizen in the stupid city, because, sadly, we're going
to be here a while."

   "Oh, alright, then.  Would've gotten bonus points for guessing, though.
He's the Black Mask."

   "No fucking way!" Harley yelled, sitting up straighter.  "That guy?  The
Black Mask?  The guy that has homeless shelters named after him, owns the
biggest drug-smuggling business in Gotham?"

   Ivy looked just as unconvinced.  "I met him once.  When I was all-human.
He seemed nice enough.  He didn't leer at me, at least.  There was a short
time where Sionis was interested in buying the biochemical wing of
WayneTech Industries.  In hindsight, he could have been interested in
improving his drugs with biochemical and such.  Maybe he wanted to invent a
new strain that he could sell exclusively, or lace his regular drugs with
an addictive chemical?"

   "Didn't he and Wayne have a falling out?" Harley wondered.  "Like, a
decade ago?"

   "Five years ago," Ivy corrected her gently, "And Roman, at that point,
was buying all of his companies back that Wayne had bought from him, like
Janis cosmetics.  Within about two years, Sionis went from bankrupt to a
multi-millionaire."

   Harry nodded.  "Yup.  With the hope that he might get rid of his life of
crime if he had a legitimate business to run again, Wayne gave him his old
company for a marked down price.  You probably would've ended up working
for Sionis had he been more subtle about using that company for a front."

   "More subtle?" Harleen questioned.  "What?  People knew?  This is the
first time I'm hearing about it!  Seems like the only one who had any idea
about it was..."

   Ivy blinked.  "Bruce Wayne."

   Harry wordlessly pressed his finger against the side of his nose. 
"We've got a winner."

   "/Holy shit!/"

   It was a general summation of everything the two girls felt at the
moment.  The idea of the richest aristocrat in Gotham, the /playboy/, the
seemingly bored heir of the most recognized name in Gotham's history was...
/that guy/.

   Harleen's head hurt - not because of the startling revelation - she was
young, but even she knew of the Wayne family's impact on their society
today - but the fact that neither she nor Ivy said anything just now.

   She was getting really fucking tired of people spying in on her
conversations.

   The room kept silent, almost unsure of where the mysterious voice was.
It was most decidedly a woman's voice, and somewhat familiar....

   "Selina?" Ivy wondered, looking around curiously.  "Where the hell are
you?"

   Harry's eyes lost focus for a moment, before he looked up towards the
skylight in the ceiling.  "No point of sneaking away now.  I can see you."

   They heard a whispered curse.  "I guess you really are the real deal,"
the voice lowly murmured, before a shadow peeked into the open skylight. 
"Give me a break, alright?  I just found out that I flirted with Bruce
Wayne like, a week ago."

   Harleen rolled her eyes.  "Is there a reason you decided to not announce
yourself?  Did you think we would stop playing a /guessing game/ because
you showed up?"

   She shrugged.  "Call it a defense mechanism.  Information is valuable.
And that may be the most priceless thing in the world I could steal."

   She slowly leaned forward, and fell down into the room.  Harry blinked
in surprise, seeing her absolutely calm face as she fell at least twenty
feet, but more importantly, the absolutely salacious uniform she wore as
she flew gracefully, even sneaking in a roll before she landed nimbly on
her feet, her motion stopping in a crouch.

   Her yellow eyes sparked with mischief as she laid her eyes upon the
trio, rising from the ground.  "Girls," the curvy woman nodded, resting her
hands on her hips.  She eyed Harry with heavy curiosity, her ruby red lips
fixed in a permanent, cocky smirk.  "/Warlock./"

   Harry raised his eyebrow at the sensual tone.  "Kitten," he replied,
spying the ears on her skintight jumpsuit, and focusing on her cat-eye
irises.  "Quite an entrance," he remarked.  "Trying to impress?"

   She scoffed, and smirked.  "Make one good appearance, and you think
you're the hottest thing in Gotham."

   "I was on fire for a good moment there," he countered, crossing his
arms.

   "Hold on," Harleen interrupted.  "Were you really planning on stealing
from us?" She looked almost upset at the thought.

   The woman known as Selina seemed to ponder to herself, but faltered a
little to the cuteness that was Harleen Quinzel being upset at anyone. 
"No, sweetie.  It was only a joke.  But," her eyes fluttered to Poison Ivy,
"I would hope that you would've eventually told me.  After all, I
apparently lost a free room."

   Pamela rolled her eyes.  "Boarding is still open.  We still have a free
room available, should you agree to the terms."

   Harley looked uncertain, before she shrugged it off.  "Eh, doesn't
matter.  I got the roomie I wanted out of this."

   A black, buckled boot stepped forward, and the blonde felt herself
sinking further into the cushions.  "Oh, you don't like little ol' me?"

   "I'm more afraid of the metal-looking whip at your waist." She giggled
nervously.  "Not sure if you're looking at me like you wanna make me lick
faster or assigning me a slave name."

   That got a genuine smile out of the masked woman.  "We'll work on safe
words, dear."

   "First of the terms are: hands off of Harley," Pamela droned, and Harry
got the distinct impression that it wasn't the first time she said that to
her.

   "You said nothing about flirting," she purred - literally /purred/ - and
her eyes roamed over Harry's form once more, and he felt akin to a ball of
yarn.  She suddenly narrowed her eyes, and glanced back to Ivy.  "What
about him?"

   The green-skinned beauty leaned back against the arm of her chair,
stroking her chin not unlike a 1920's villain stroking their pencil
mustache.  "A tease like you?  Talk about pussy-whipped..."

   But she was already shaking her head.  "Oh /please/, Ivy.  I wouldn't be
asking /permission/.  What I want to know is how come he and Harley have
each other's scent slathered all over each other?"

   Harleen's nose wrinkled, before she lifted her arms and sniffed.  "I
showered just this morning!"

   Harry snickered.  "Yeah; with me.  I don't even remember us /using/
soap."

   Pamela laughed at Selina's expression.  "He's not a tenant, here,
Selina. He's a partner."

   She pouted.  "And I can't be?  I thought you guys were looking for
someone to work with?"

   Ivy grimaced.  "We were.  And we found him instead to work with.  And he
became our...  /partner/."

   The leather-clad seductress looked confused, and Harley poked her lover
in the side.  With a meaningful look, Ivy relented.  "Okay, okay, I get it.
I shouldn't be afraid to say it.  I've just never had one before.  He's our
boyfriend."

   The cat-like girl blinked owlishly at the two.  "Really?  You're both
hooking up with him?" She blinked some more.  "So that shitty /Ménage à
Terror/ name they're coming up with?  It's legit?"

   Ivy tilted her head.  "What do you guys think?" she asked the room.

   Harley's tongue ran across her lips.  "They could do better.  They
called me a clown when I first got on the scene.  Me; a freaking clown! 
Could you see that?  I don't even have face paint!  Not a big red nose! 
Nothin'!"

   Selina still looked perturbed.  "Seriously?  What kind of magical dick
made you guys turn?"

   Harry snorted as Harley and Ivy gave each other knowing glances.  "It
has its properties." He held a leather-like skullcap in his hand, and
inspected it closely.  "I could use something like this for my new costume.
Mind if I borrow it?"

   "Borrow...?" her delicately maintained eyebrows furrowed, before her
eyes widened.  She grasped at her bare, flawless face, and ran her fingers
through her short-cropped ebony hair frantically.  "How the fuck did you -
?"

   "Magic," he said simply.  "How's that for information you can steal?" He
turned the face of the mask towards her.  "That wasn't a parlour trick
yesterday.  If I had an inkling of encouragement to, I could steal the
clothes off your body."

   She eyed him delicately.  She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth,
but she wasn't going to take any chances.  "I'll be good; I promise. 
Scout's honor!"

   The Boy-Who-Lived smiled disarmingly.  "Good kitty."

   She frowned.  "I'm pretty sure I'm older than you."

   He eyed her form appreciatively.  "Not by much."

   Her cheeks colored at his frankness - usually, she was the forward one.
"Alright, well, asking you about your boy toy is not why I'm here." She
turned back to Harley.  "Did you get the gem?"

   Harley nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose.  "Yup.  It's in the
kitchen.  I don't think I moved it since I stole it, actually.  Been a bit
distracted."

   "Gem?" Ivy wondered, moving her red hair behind her ears.  "You mean the
heist two nights ago?"

   She nodded.  "Yup.  Selina gave me the code.  Got me in and out pretty
quickly.  Of course," she tilted her head to her other green-eyed lover,
"you saw what happened when the heist didn't go exactly as planned."

   "And why couldn't you steal it when you got the code?" Pamela wondered,
curious.

   The ebony-haired beauty shrugged.  "I was busy.  Had some eyes on me
that I'd rather keep away from the jewelry shop, and I found out it was
just sold in auction.  I didn't know who bought it, and I didn't know when
they'd get it.  She volunteered, alright?"

   Harley allowed herself to push out of the couch and stretch her legs. 
"Damn, that's comfy," she sighed.  "So, how's my babies?"

   "Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that..." Selina started
slowly.  "They're scaring my cats.  They won't come near me, now.  I don't
like it."

   "I could talk to them," Harley tried to compromise.  "You wouldn't be
able to move in if they couldn't get along; that's why we tried this.  They
need to learn how to make friends.  You were supposed to teach them how."

   "Yeah, I thought I /could/ do that." she muttered, and she almost
sounded disappointed in herself.  "I've never domesticated a fucking
/tiger/, though."

   "They're not all tigers; at least /one/ of them should be trained by
now! And you dress like a cat dominatrix!  You should be the /perfect/
teacher!"

   "She has a point," Pamela agreed.  "You are basically calling yourself
the Cat Queen."

   "I'm a wildcat who domesticates humans, Ivy," she simpered, glaring at
them both.

   "I'm beginning to see a trend, here," Harry muttered, sitting back in
his seat.  "I'm starting to believe that all humans hate each other."

   "Nah," she disagreed, moving to sit in his lap.  "Just us crazy ones."

   Selina ignored them.  "Cats just tend to like me.  I can't promise
they'd all like each other." She looked back at Harley.  "Weren't you
supposed to be getting my gem?"

   "You're the thief," she countered.  "I wouldn't be surprised if you
already took the damn thing."

   She shrugged.  "Fair point." She slid her gloved fingers into her ample
cleavage, held only by the silver zipper that kept her suit together, her
smirk firmly in place.  "I was actually on my way out when you guys showed
up...  you had the windows open, so I let myself in...."

   The smirk somewhat faded seconds later, as she awkwardly kept fishing
through the deep pocket between her breasts, three sets of eyes on her. 
"Where the hell...?"

   Harry, successfully amused by her confusion, reached behind his
girlfriend's ear, and pulled a quarter-sized jade rock from between his
fingers.  "Didn't even need magic for that one."

   The black-haired woman covered her pale chest, suddenly feeling
violated. "Hey!"

   The Boy-Who-Lived wordlessly tossed the gem towards her, and she fumbled
before she caught it.  "I was referring to the behind-the-ear trick.  It
was boring those first few years before Hermione.  I had to learn a few
tricks of a few trades." He nodded towards the stranger.  "Like how to
distract enemies to getting what you want."

   She looked indignant as she pocketed the gem in her actual pocket, not
willing to give them another show.  "Whatever.  I can see I'm not welcome
here."

   "Someone's had sour milk this morning," Harley muttered, leaning back
against Harry's chest.  "Relax, Selina.  We're just messin' with ya. 
Harry, this is Selina Kyle, Gotham's resident Cat Burglar."

   She crossed her arms, unintentionally lifting her ample bosom.  "Fucking
Vicki Vale couldn't even try with my name."

   "Selina," Harley patiently interrupted.  "This is Harry Potter,
otherwise known as the Warlock, and wizard extraordinaire."

   "Charmed," Harry said brightly, and Pamela laughed unexpectedly at the
pun.

   "Uhuh," the ebony-haired girl said sourly.  "I'd say it was nice to meet
you, but you just saw how it went." She turned to Harley.  "So, do you want
your cats back or what?  I think they've been away from their mother long
enough."

   She looked towards Ivy, who tilted her head, as if to say she didn't
care either way about the manner.  Then she turned to Harry.  "So, how do
you feel about a few giant beasts roaming the halls at night?"

   Harry shrugged.  "Nothing I'm not used to.  As long as none of them go
for my bits."

   "They don't actually bite your junk off," she said exasperatedly. 
"Maybe, if they're curious, they'll take a whiff.  Ivy woke up that way,
and she's had a vendetta against Bubbles ever since.  But they're not
particularly violent to the male anatomy.  I'd never risk that on you.  It
- /you/ - mean too much to me." She smiled impishly at her Freudian slip,
but Harry knew she was joking.

   "Juliet and Bubbles?" Harry re-clarified.

   "And Twilight," she added.  "Cutest little pets you ever saw."

   Selina snorted.  "A fully-grown tiger, a lion, and a fucking /snow
leopard/ aren't little, Harley.  So, are you taking them off my hands?"

   Harley looked up at the skylight, and saw the cloudy weather.  "It looks
like it might rain again, soon.  Wanna take the express?"

   Ivy stretched her long, smooth legs before standing up from the couch.
"Other than bombing Wayne manor, I wasn't planning on doing anything
today."

   Harry set the light blonde on her feet before he stood up.  "I also have
to check with Tonks again in about an hour.  And, of course, I have to talk
Pam into /not/ killing Wayne yet."

   "I look forward to your argument," she said dryly, moving over to hold
Harry's hand.  She reached out with her other arm and grabbed Selina's whip
at her side.  "Huh.  It really /is/ metal."

   "Because it's a /weapon/," Selina muttered, rolling her eyes.  "I'd be
some kind of freak if I was trying to take down enemies with actual leather
whips." She glanced around.  "Can someone tell me why we're holding hands
like a Kumbaya?"

   "Popping over to your apartment," Harleen said happily; she might have
been getting addicted to the rush she got when being squeezed in a tube,
much like flying.

   "Oh." She was silent for a moment.  "Are we bursting into flames to do
that?"

   Harry blinked.  "You want to?"

   "/NO!/"

   "No need to shout." He closed his eyes and concentrated on a picture. 
"Harleen, are there snow leopards in the zoo?"

   "Uh-uh," she shook her head.  "I took their only cub.  They've never
replaced them after they got endangered."

   "So is it a safe bet that you've got the only one in Gotham?"

   "Yup yup.  I'm unique like that."

   Selina gave her a look.  Before she could say anything, Harley spoke
without opening her eyes, "Not a peep, /cat lady/." The black leather-clad
thief's mouth audibly snapped shut.

   Pamela Isley looked over to her newest lover, and saw him trying to hide
a ghost of a smirk on his lips.  "You're /loving/ this, aren't you Harry?"

   He squeezed both of their hands.  "Far from hating it."

   "It gets worse."

   "Counting on it." With a thought of a black-spotted jungle-cat -
something he was very familiar with - he popped out of existence, taking
the group with him.

   -----------------------

   *Omake by Rihaan:*

   A thin wooden cane struck the floor with gusto, and sparks emitted from
the steel tip at the bottom.

   "/Riddle me this/," the holder announced impatiently, leaning against
the cane with the curved handle with both hands, propping himself up as he
stared into space, his teeth bright and gleaming.  "What tries to evolve,
to adapt with the environment, yet also tries to stay the same?" He grinned
mischievously, his eyes twinkling.<br> "Oh, don't worry.  I'll wait."
   For more, please go to http://rihaansfics.com/Adult