Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Do you mind if I sit down here, Miss Potter?" The voice was mild. Perfectly polite. It didn't sound threatening at all, except for all the ways it was. "Or would you prefer Mr. Black?"

Archie froze.

Shit.

Deny. Deny. Misdirect. Deny. Deny some more.

He wrestled down the surge of panic rising up through him.

That had to be the name of the game until he could figure out how badly he and Harry were screwed. He had to get away, warn Harry, buy time for her to escape and get to safety.

Archie couldn't be the one who got Harry killed. He couldn't.

"Sir?" he asked, carefully keeping the terror he felt in his bones out of his voice. He forced himself to tilt his head and adopt a confused expression. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. My name's Harry. Harry Potter."

John's dad just looked back at him unblinkingly, studying him the same way Harry eyed particularly interesting potions. Straight in the eye. The same way John looked at people during card games in the common room.

This was Archie's third time meeting John's dad.

The first when John had enthusiastically and ecstatically introduced all of his friends to his parents when they'd stopped by Pettingill after something called a "parent teacher conference." The second in the auditorium only a few hours ago during two guest lectures that Hermione had dragged him to: one special session for anyone interested (and of course Hermione had been), and the other as part of their magical history seminar series for international students.

And now this.

"Told you the Secretary's a Natural Legilimens."

Archie hadn't really been paying attention to the whispers of harried aides at the time, what with Hermione dragging him down the hallway so they could get the best seats in the auditorium. John had never said his dad was a Natural Legilimens as well, but Archie had never asked him and oh god, Harry was going to get arrested and Dementors would snack on her soul and it was all going to be his fault.

He slammed his eyes shut. Too little, too late – but he'd been caught. Harry was going to be caught, and–

Something lightweight and cool to the touch slid across his temples, settling over the bridge of his nose.

Spectacles?

Archie held himself still for an extra moment, waiting to hear a door being slammed open, the heavy thunking bootsteps of aurors storming in to arrest him– but nothing happened.

There was just silence. All he could hear was the thud-thud-thud of his own heart pounding in his chest and the shaky, stuttered sound of his own breathing.

Nothing else.

Slowly, carefully, his heart filled with terror, Archie peeked one eye open. Then another.

The world was shadowed all around him. Colors flattened, painted over with a grey-brown tinge. Not blurry, the way everything looked when he wore Harry's spectacles as himself. Just darkened.

"The lens are mirrored. No one can see your eyes while you're wearing these, which means you're safe from Legilimency." Archie focused his attention back onto John's dad, still standing in front of him. "Now then, if you don’t mind – may I take a seat? Would you rather I call you Miss Potter, or Mr. Black?"

By now, Archie’s stomach had dropped so far he was pretty sure he could feel it lurching somewhere near his toes, desperately trying to find a way out. His hands curled into the sleeves of his school robes, looking for– Comfort? Safety? Escape?

He and Harry had been caught. But it was still just the two of them here, in the No-Maj Studies classroom. No Aurors. No teachers. Maybe he could still rescue something from this mess.

Maybe he wouldn't get Harry killed.

John's dad looked harmless in his fuzzy, heather-grey, sleeveless jumper and round-rimmed spectacles. Dark eyes and dark hair speckled with grey strands. A bit like Uncle Remus, only ages older – almost as old as Archie's grandparents, actually. Uncle Remus, Archie thought, wouldn't be mad at Archie and Harry if he found out about the ruse. Uncle Remus never ever yelled, even when the two of them got into trouble.

And this man was John's dad. John, who was nice and kind and understanding and good. Surely, he wouldn't do anything to hurt them.

Archie shoved away the part where he and Harry both knew Uncle James would be forced to arrest her if – when, now – the ruse was discovered. This was different. It had to be different.

Forgive me, Harry. He couldn't see another way out of this.

Trembling at what he was about to do, Archie shook his head and slumped in defeat. As John's dad sat down in the chair next to him, he said, voice shaking. "I– It's Archie." He took a deep, trembling breath. "My name is Archie."

"Thank you, my dear," John's dad said, gracing him with an easy smile. "I find it's always easier when we don't have to keep track of extra names. Don't you?"

Archie winced. "Are– Am I– I can explain– Are we in trouble?"

"No, lad. No. You're quite alright. You’re not in trouble. Your cousin isn’t in trouble. No one is about to be expelled, arrested, or sent anywhere."

Archie’s breath stuttered. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding it until then. "You're sure?"

John's dad just smiled again, raising a single eyebrow. "If I were unsure, we wouldn't be sitting down here for a chat right now. Tea and biscuits?"

Archie had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to do at this point, so he just nodded, small and tight. He sat there in stunned silence and watched John's dad conjure up a teapot and a brightly-colored packet of chocolate biscuits, lightly humming under his breath the entire time.

A cup of tea and a plate of biscuits lightly come to rest in front of Archie. He didn't touch them and kept his attention focused warily on John's dad instead.

John's dad took out his wand and traced unfamiliar patterns in the air, and Archie felt the rush of magic in the room as some kind of ward settled around them. He had no idea what kind of a ward that was, it didn't look like anything he had ever seen before.

"A privacy ward," John's dad said, answering his unspoken question. "I warded the general perimeter of the room against anyone listening in before coming in, and this specific ward is keyed so that only those involved in this conversation – the two of us – can hear what’s said inside."

"Now, I'm going to say this again so there is absolutely no confusion on the subject. You are not under arrest. No one is preparing charges against you or your cousin. No one has contacted Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic, and no one will be contacting them. No owls are in the air.” Despite not being able to see his eyes, somehow John's dad still managed to land his gaze squarely on Archie's. "You are safe."

Disbelieving, shaky relief was lurching around in Archie now, somewhere with his stomach proximate to his knees.

"How did you–" Archie tried. "Was it John?

"John knew?" The question was mild and more than a bit exasperated. John's dad pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow, exhausted-sounding sigh. Archie tried his best not to make a face at the realization that he had probably just gotten John in trouble with his dad. Whoops. "My son didn't need to say anything for this to be uncovered."

John's dad drew out a lever arch folder and set in on the desktop between them. Archie could see pages and pages of paper poking out from between the covers. "Harriet Potter's visa application. Her license of safe conduct issued by the British Ministry of Magic. Her UK passport. Her mother's visa paperwork from years ago, when she was a student here. Estate records and family trees for the Peverell estate, which are a matter of public record in Wizarding Britain. International travel these days is terribly fussy. We have quite a lot of information about Miss Potter. And you, young man, are not her."

Archie didn't know how to explain himself, but he had to try. "We didn't mean to– I mean, Harry didn't– We just–" How to get this man to understand the unfairness? The opportunities that Harry deserved? Archie's own dreams?

John's dad didn't wait for him to find the words. "I understand," he said instead. "The two of you wanted an education that was being denied for reasons quite unrelated to merit. Hardly fair, that. And so you trusted each other to do something…" Here, he paused, a gentle, amused smile crossing his face. "Something very brave, very foolish, and very eleven."

Archie flushed, feeling his face turn warm and red and blotchy. "That bad?"

John's dad just shook his head in answer, his voice light and amused. "I once had to bluff my way past Hungarian border guards with the wrong papers and an even worse accent. The two of you did rather well."

John's dad had done what?

But that wasn't important right now. Harry was.

"And Harry?" Archie asked, the words rushing out now that they had started. "My cousin. My best friend. She’s at Hogwarts right now, and if anyone finds out, they’ll–" His voice cracked, thinking of everything that could happen to Harry. "She’ll be expelled. Or arrested. Or killed."

The Dementors would suck her soul in and chew it out if they were caught, and it would be all his fault.

All Harry had wanted to do was learn potions. She was brilliant, she was a genius, she deserved the world.

John's dad leaned forward in his own chair.

"Archie," he said. This time there was no gentleness or amusement padding the words, only steady reassurance and certainty. "No report is being made. Not by us. Not today and not ever. The Wizarding American Union does not recognize discrimination based on blood status. We oppose Wizarding Britain's policies publicly, privately, and rather energetically. As far as our government is concerned, you and your cousin qualify for protection, not punishment."

There was a pause as Archie just sat there, attempting to take all of this in. He was pretty sure he was failing.

"Protection?" he echoed faintly, confusion ringing in his voice, unsure of what else to do.

"Asylum and refugee status, if it should prove necessary. Schooling, at the very least. Safety. Options. For you and your cousin, and both of your families. I understand Remus Lupin, your father's friend, would likely face limitations, but I have counterparts in nearby countries with whom I could put in a good word for him. Somewhere in the Caribbeans, perhaps. You could visit him whenever you liked, as often as you wished."

Archie’s eyes burned, hot and wet. He blinked. Hard.

"You’re saying–" He couldn't quite get the words out. "I didn’t ruin everything."

I didn't just get Harry killed.

"No, lad. You did not." The reply was steady and reassuring beyond words.

Something inside Archie finally gave way. His shoulders sagged and his breathing evened out, slowly and shakily, overwhelming him with relief.

"I thought–" he whispered, half to himself. "I thought I’d killed her."

He had thought that he would have to stare at Harry's unmoving body after the Dementors swarmed all over her, bury another coffin, look Uncle James and Aunt Lily in the eye and tell them it was his fault that their only daughter was dead.

"You didn't." Came the answer again. Just as steady, just as reassuring. Maybe if he heard it enough times, he would eventually believe it. Maybe. "Now, I have some papers for you to look at. I'll walk you through them."

There were a lot of papers, as it turned out.

Archie lost track of the blur of numbers and letters. F-1. DS and I and OS. 10, 20, 157, 156, 589.

John's dad really didn't make him write answers down for most of the questions or sign anything. Instead, it was mostly explaining the questions Harry and Archie would need to answer, if it ever came do that, and Archie answering them verbally.

First came the forms that Aunt Lily had filled on Harry's behalf. Ones that neither of them had even known about before the ruse.

Names. Birthdays. Places of birth. Titles. Marital statuses. What countries have they lived in or visited in the past five years. Family trees going back four generations.

Harriet Euphemia Potter, born on July 31, 1980. Daughter of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Ann Potter.

Arcturus Rigel Black, born on August 3, 1980. Son of Sirius Orion Black and Diana Genevieve Black, née Fawley.

When Archie had frowned and asked why he needed to to provide a family tree, because that sounded like something only stuck-up purebloods would care about, John's dad calmly informed him that America operated under a family-based immigration system.

If Harry made an asylum claim here, he explained, or if Archie himself chose to stay here after graduation like many of his peers would, their relatives would be eligible to be sponsored for immigration as well. It was important that Wizarding America knew who might be coming over with them. If either of them didn't know some of the names from further back in the timeline, that was okay. All America asked was for people to answer to the best of their ability – not that providing a detailed, annotated family tree that only went back four generations was a problem for Archie.

Do you have documentation to establish that you have received vaccinations in accordance with American law?

Archie stared blankly at first the page, then John's dad. Vaccinations? In response, John's dad just shook his head, sighed, and said that he would handle it.

Have you ever been afflicted with a communicable disease of public health significance or a dangerous physical or mental disorder, or ever been a drug abuser or addict?

Have you ever contracted any serious and interminable condition of any kind? Have you ever had any communications with wizarding or non-wizarding non-humans or part-humans? Have you ever contracted any unusual skills or abilities as a result of same?

Do you have a communicable disease of public health significance? Do you have a mental or physical disorder that poses or is likely to pose a threat to the safety or welfare of yourself or others?

More questions for the sake of public health.

Like Harry, Archie would have to declare that Uncle Remus was a family friend, but John's dad assured him that it wouldn't impact either of their applications.

"Answering 'Yes' to any of these questions doesn't necessarily disqualify you," he said, making sure Archie met his gaze. Even with his new spectacles on, Archie had to fight the urge not to squirm and look away. "The important part is that you and your cousin are honest about it. These are only words on paper. That's all. Just be honest."

List all professional, social and charitable organizations to which you belong (belonged) or contribute (contributed) or with which you work (have worked). List all association affiliations and any required registrations within your home country.

Are you a member of or affiliated with the Communist or any other totalitarian party?

Have you or your family members ever belonged to or been associated with any organizations or groups in your home country, such as, but not limited to, a political party, student group, labor union, religious organization, military or paramilitary group, civil patrol, guerrilla organization, ethnic group, human rights group, or the press or media?

Archie had no clue what 'Communist' was, or what 'totalitarian' meant, but John's dad said he didn't have to worry about that.

Archie's grandparents on the Black side and Uncle Regulus had been and currently were members of the SOW Party, even though he and Dad rejected it, and really Archie himself was too young to be part of anything anyway. Uncle James and Dad were part of the Light faction in the Wizengamot right now. Harry, if she achieved her dream, would hopefully (she had to be, she deserved it) be a member of the British Potions guild one day. Hermione, if she ever decided to stay in America after graduating, would need to list the BSA on her paperwork. Even the AIM Theater Troupe could count, if Archie felt like listing it!

Required registrations? A lot of countries, including Wizarding America, made certain categories of people, including criminals, register themselves on a list. Animagi counted as a registration category, but John's dad reassured Archie that being an animagus wasn't a big deal – John's mom was one, it turned out! Not everything you had to list was disqualifying. You just had to own up to it.

These were all harmless questions. It was just information on who they were and what kind of people they hung out with. None of these had anything to do with blood status, even if they'd kind of sounded like it at first.

The list of questions went on and on and on.

Do you seek to enter the United States to engage in export control violations, subversive or terrorist activities, or any other unlawful purpose? Are you a member or representative of a terrorist organization as currently designated by the Secretary of State? Have you ever participated in persecutions directed by the Nazi government of Germany; or have you ever participated in genocide? Have you ever participated in, ordered, or engaged in genocide, torture, or extrajudicial killings? Have you ever engaged in the recruitment of or the use of child soldiers?

Archie had no clue what most of these even were, and so he said as much. John's dad and said not to worry about it then, so Archie didn't. Though he did warn Archie that American agricultural inspections were much stricter than he and Harry were used to, so if Harry ever visited, she would need to declare the contents of her potions kit or else risk the beagles coming after her.

Have you ever been arrested or convicted for any offense or crime, even though subject of a pardon, amnesty or other similar legal action? Have you ever unlawfully distributed or sold a controlled substance (drug), or been a prostitute or procurer for prostitutes?

Prostitutes, seriously? (Or Siriusly – and John's dad laughed when Archie explained that particular joke to him!) If Harry was ever arrested for blood identity theft and fled to America for asylum, this would be the section where she would list it on the form.

Again, John's dad reminded Archie, this wouldn't be a problem for Harry. Blood identity theft was a crime in Wizarding Britain, yes. It wasn't disqualifying for asylum purposes, however – especially since Wizarding America didn't recognize that as a valid crime. All Harry had to do was write it down for the record.

Have you ever been refused admission to the U.S., or been the subject of a deportation hearing, or sought to obtain or assist others to obtain a visa, entry into the U.S., or any other U.S. immigration benefit by fraud or willful misrepresentation or other unlawful means?

Technically, what he and Harry had done by carrying out the ruse counted as both fraud and willful misrepresentation, John's dad informed Archie, rather dryly.

Before Archie could finish going pale and stammering out an apology, John's dad just reminded Archie that neither he nor Harry were in trouble. Luckily for Archie and Harry, it was John's dad's department and ultimately John's dad himself who had the final say on approving their paperwork. If they ever needed to fill out these forms for real, all they had to do was be honest, and everything would be taken care of.

And then came the questions Harry would need to answer if she ever needed to claim asylum on the basis of blood status discrimination.

Have you ever been physically assaulted as a result of belonging to the impugned group?

Have you ever been sexually assaulted as a result of belonging to the impugned group?

Have you ever been harmed in any other way as a result of belonging to the impugned group?

Have you, your family, or close friends or colleagues ever experienced harm or mistreatment or threats in the past by anyone?

Do you fear harm or mistreatment if you return to your home country?

Are you afraid of being subjected to torture in your home country or any other country to which you may be returned?

With each question and each explanation, Archie took careful notes, thinking through how he would explain this all to Harry.

The entire process wasn't as boring as he had expected either, when the subject of paperwork had first been brought up!

John's dad kept up a steady stream of light conversation as they steadily worked through page after page.

How was Archie finding AIM? What were Archie's thoughts about Quodpot? How fares the spring theatrical production going? Did Archie know that John's dad used to be a stage manager himself at Ilvermorny, back in the day? It had been decades since John's dad had been – what was Diagon Alley like these days?

They talked about the pending Marriage Law. What that could mean for Archie, and Harry. What Wizarding America might do in response to it. Archie's half-formed plans to betroth himself to Harry in order to protect his cousin. Unlike John, his dad didn't even tell Archie that his plan to propose to Harry was an awful one. He just listened, his dark eyes that were just like John's – gentle and kind and non-judgemental – steady on Archie the entire time.

The pot of tea cooled, then emptied, and so did the packet of biscuits.

It felt so good to just be able to talk to someone, to trust that he and Harry weren't all on their own. For even just a bit of the unbearable weight on his shoulders to be shared with someone else.

It turned out that Archie really didn't have anything to fear from the other students at AIM, according to John's dad. The entirety of the BSA could put out an ad in the Daily Prophet telling everyone about the ruse or even walk straight up to Lord Riddle or Minister Fudge and tell them – it still wouldn't matter.

All Archie ever had to do was deny it.

He was a pureblood. A noble. That was the only thing that mattered in Wizarding Britain. His word was worth more than any hundred of theirs in a court of law. Even John's dad's own word – not that he would ever, he promised – would be outweighed by Archie's!

"I am," John's dad emphasized, with an air of wry, sardonic amusement, "rather infamously a halfblood myself."

Archie wasn't quite sure what John's dad meant by that, and he didn't know how to ask. Hermione would probably know, because she knew almost everything and read absolutely everything. He could ask her, when this was all over.

He learned that he had rights as a student, too. There were laws here in America. No one outside AIM who Archie didn't personally allow access could see the student records under Harry's name unless he allowed it. The American government had access to all of Harry's legal paperwork and her passport, but no one in Wizarding Britain would ever be able to see it. No one ever had to know that Harriet Potter masqueraded as a boy while in America.

The ruse could work. Archie could make sure it worked and continued to work. He hadn't screwed up. He hadn't doomed himself, Harry, or the ruse.

He hadn't gotten his cousin and best friend and almost-sister killed.

Finally, they finished reviewing the last sheet of paper in the lever arch folder. John's dad stood up, dismantling the privacy ward with a swish and flick of his wand. "I rather think that it is time for your dinner, young man. You’ll feel better for something to eat, and nothing else here needs sorting right this moment."

Archie glanced at the wall clock and was stunned to realized that almost two hours had passed. Hermione would be looking for him, if she wasn't already. She must be frantic with worry, annoyance, or both.

Probably both.

Archie chewed at his lips, working up the courage to ask yet another favor after John's dad had already done so much for him and Harry. "That ward you set up. For privacy. Can I learn it?"

He could think of dozens of ways this would come in handy, and it hadn't been like any magic he had ever seen before.

"Of course," came the immediate answer. "There are quite a few useful tricks would be helpful for you and your cousin. I'll leave a reading list with Patricia. Your Professor Ryan," John's dad clarified, seeing Archie's look of confusion. "And, speaking of books, do make sure you take these with you on your way out."

The Intergalatic Kitchen. Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. Jurassic Park. The Warrior's Apprentice.

Archie had forgotten all about the books Professor Ryan had said she had set aside for him, hours and hours again. The ones she had told him to stop by her classroom after classes were over for the day. The books that had meant he had been standing in this room to begin with, when John's dad had walked in.

His head jerked up. "Professor Ryan? She–"

She knows about me? And Harry?

John's dad just met his gaze calmly, and Archie wasn't even sure when in the last couple hours that had stopped being scary.

"Once, many years ago, when she was a student here, Patricia's closest friend was a girl by the name of Lily Evans." Archie started at the sound of Aunt Lily's name, his eyes widening. "You might ask her about it, one day."

Whether by 'her' he meant Professor Ryan or Aunt Lily, Archie didn't know.

Aunt Lily never talked about her time at AIM other than to mention its healing program. Archie hadn't even know that she'd had friends.

Except, of course she'd had.

He nodded, mind whirring through all the things Professor Ryan might have known about Harry before he had ever set foot in her classroom. No wonder he and Harry had been caught so easily.

"One last thing, Archie," John's dad said, standing by the door. He was smiling, warm and nonthreatening. "You haven’t ruined anything. You haven’t put anyone in danger. You were, in fact, rather brave. If you ever find yourself frightened, or confused, or simply on your own, remember that there are people you can speak to. The British Student Association offers a great deal in the way of pastoral support and guidance – do give them a chance. Living two lives, pretending to be someone you aren't, is quite a difficult undertaking. You have people here who are on your side, who want to help you. Friends. Don’t forget that."

Archie grimaced, about to dredge up the dozens of excuses he had thrown time after time at Hermione in order to avoid BSA events, but John's dad pushed onward before he could say anything. "For the moment, you’re simply a student. Your only job while you’re here is to learn, argue a bit with your teachers, and forget your homework now and again. Go along to a few BSA events. Make some friends. You are not responsible for putting the world right just yet – and you’re not on your own. Do you understand?"

Archie breathed in. Out.

He nodded.

"I understand."

Archie had needed to hyperventilate in his room for a few minutes (way more than a few minutes, actually) before going to dinner, safely tucking away all the papers John's dad had given him in a desk drawer as he did so.

Bloody hell.

He almost couldn't believe everything that had just happened.

He wasn't arrested. Harry wasn't arrested. No one was even in trouble. No one would ever be in trouble, at least not from the American side.

They were safe. The ruse was safe.

Hermione shot him curious glances all through dinner as Archie dodged her questions about what had taken so long. John just looked shocked at the sight of Archie's new spectacles, and when Archie cornered him afterward in the privacy of his room, John said he'd had no idea that his dad was going to do any of that.

"Dad always keeps his promises, though," John said after grilling Archie about what had just happened, his voice filled with all the trust in the world. "If he says that you and your cousin are safe, then it has to be true."

Professor Ryan, though…

Archie felt like a complete coward for his inability to meet Professor Ryan's gaze all through their next few classes together.

He was grateful that Hermione didn't take No-Maj Studies class with him, because she most certainly would have asked him dozens of questions about his uncharacteristic awkward silence around Professor Ryan by now.

Professor Ryan had known Aunt Lily. She had been friends with Aunt Lily.

Archie had known Aunt Lily since the day he'd been born, but he couldn’t remember even a single instance of her talking about AIM or the friends she had made there. She had friends now, he was sure – but they were all purebloods, all British. Mum and the Longbottoms and the Weasleys and maybe sometimes the people she worked with?

Archie had never imagined Aunt Lily walking across the same lawn and down the same hallways as him and Hermione. Laughing with her friends over barbecue and fries at Braffy’s. Study sessions and cramming for unit tests in Swem. Eating hotdogs in the stadium as they cheered on AIM in Quodpot matches.

Most days, with Dad and Uncle James' and Uncle Remus' stories filling his and Harry's lives, it felt like she had attended Hogwarts with everyone else.

Professor Ryan, in the end, was the one who solved the issue for him.

"Harry – could I have a word with you after class, please?"

Archie hadn't been able to say no.

So there he stood, staring down at the shiny linoleum tile floors, waiting for some kind of axe to fall. He knew from Harry just how much Master Snape hated their fathers, how much work it had taken for her to earn his regard and respect as a student worthy of his instruction.

Did Professor Ryan hate him as well because of whatever falling-out she must have had with Aunt Lily?

Except that didn't make sense either, with all the books she had recommended him and all the time he had spent asking her follow-up questions during office hours. She'd been a great teacher to him, it didn't–

"How are you finding this week's readings, Harry?"

Archie's head jerked upward, startled. Of all the questions to start off with, he hadn't expected this one. He had expected her to demand answers from him, to threaten to expel him from school, a hundred other dreadful fates.

Instead, she was treating this like any other office hour.

Until she didn't.

"Seven years here together," Professor Ryan said, her voice light and airy. "And if it weren’t for the name labels we stuck on our robes, I doubt anyone would’ve managed to tell Lily and me apart by the end of it. It’s honestly a wonder they handed us the right diplomas at graduation."

Archie's eyes widened, drinking up this story of a younger Aunt Lily to bring home to Harry. He would give anything for stories about Mum's school days – surely Harry would love to hear this as well.

"I first met Lily in '71 at a train station in London. I’d come over from Belfast by ferry just to catch a train down to London, all so I could catch another train to get to America. Completely roundabout, of course, but that’s the English for you." There was a note of dry humor in her tone, one that faded into something tinged with exhaustion as she continued. "The last time I saw Lily was at graduation. I was getting ready for college that fall. She had a wedding in the works, a title all lined up, and a job waiting for her back in England.”

There was a long silence after that. Archie didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t read the expression in Professor Ryan’s eyes. When she started up again, Archie wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t for her to say, “I didn't agree with the choices she made – still don't, in fact. But those were her choices. None of them are on you."

Her voice was firm. Steady. Unflinching. She shifted her chair slightly as her voice gentled, pausing just long enough to make sure Archie was listening.

"You don’t need to be afraid of me. My job is to look after my students – all of my students. I don’t care what they want to study, or where they come from, or what it takes for them to achieve their dreams. And I have no interest in helping the Ministry of Magic with anything at all. Do you understand me, Harry?"

Archie swallowed hard. He could run screaming back to his room, retreating to his homework and figuring out some kind of way to boycott No-Maj studies for the rest of his time here.

Or he could stay and trust Professor Ryan. Trust in the fact she'd clearly known the entire time that Harry Potter wasn't Harry Potter at all.

"Yes, Professor Ryan," he said.

"Right then," she said briskly. "Have a seat, and I’ll explain what comes next."

Archie still didn't tell Harry about any of this.

It wasn't that he didn't want to, exactly, or that he hadn't tried to. He just didn't know how to write it.

Dear Rigel,

Thanks for your letter. So it turns out my friend John is a Natural Legilimens and so is his father who's a super important person working for the American Ministry of Magic. Right, I never told you about John. Remember how I said that John and Chess were some of my classmates in the Healing track? Well, John is actually kind of one of my best friends. Also, fun fact, Mum filled out a bunch of very official paperwork containing lots of information about me on my behalf to attend AIM! Also also, one of my teachers at AIM used to be best friends with Mum back in the day – what a small world, right?

That wouldn't go well at all.

Unlike AIM, Hogwarts students didn't have private mail cubbies. Any letter he wrote to Harry would be received and likely opened in the Great Hall, where she would be surrounded by dozens of students – pureblooded, Dark-aligned students.

He could use red ink on the envelope and send it with the only screech owl AIM had, but that would make her panic when this wasn't actually a situation worth panicking over!

Everything was fine. They weren't in trouble. No one was coming to arrest her and Wizarding America very firmly did not have an extradition treaty with Wizarding Britain even if the Ministry did want to arrest her.

Professor Ryan had promised support. Escape routes for Harry if she ever needed it. John’s dad could guarantee safety and amnesty and asylum. They could be safe here.

There was nothing for Harry to panic about. Nothing had changed, not really. There was no point in freaking Harry out over nothing.

More than that, what if she hated him? Resented him for messing up, for being discovered so easily, for having so much fun at AIM while she was stuck in Hogwarts surrounded by people who would turn her in without hesitation if she was caught?

Archie hadn't written to her when he had first learned that John knew about the entire ruse, and so he didn't write to her now. He didn't know how to.

It could wait until summer, he decided.

Two weeks after their conversation, Professor Ryan took him up to a red-bricked and rectangular building, sprinkled with white columns, in a place called Washington DC. They'd learned about this in the geography unit of No-Maj studies class! It was the non-magical capital city of the United States of America and it was named after the very first No-Maj president, George Washington, who famously (though falsely, according to Professor Ryan) never told a lie and never chopped down a cherry tree.

Professor Ryan briskly informed him that this was the British embassy, the permanent diplomatic headquarters representing the government of the United Kingdom within this country. Not the Ministry of Magic and Wizarding Britain, she was quite careful to emphasize – the UK. Plenty of wizarding nations preferred to maintain their own separate embassies up in Newam, rather than consolidating down here in DC, but the Ministry of Magic didn't have an embassy on American soil.

Only the UK did.

As far as anyone from school knew, they were here on routine administrative business. Professor Ryan was accompanying Archie as a faculty representative carrying out her in loco parentis responsibilities. This was just some minor routine issues with paperwork, the sort that happened all the time with international students. The British embassy was a perfectly normal place for him to go to. Harry Potter, after all, was a British citizen no matter how you looked at it.

The Daily Prophet had announced Harry's birth, the way all noble births were announced. Uncle James had added her onto the Potter family tree and the Peverell estate was entailed to Harry, as recorded by the Bureau of Magical Land Management. At the same time, Aunt Lily had quietly registered Harry's birth at the Kensington and Chelsea Register Office. Over a decade later, she had filled out the paperwork for Harry's passport through the Passport Office.

Archie's birth had been announced in the Daily Prophet, just like Harry's. Archie was on the Black family tree and the estate was entailed to him as well.

Just like Harry.

Except Harry wasn't allowed to attend Hogwarts because Aunt Lily was a muggleborn.

Except Archie didn't have a UK passport of his own because neither Dad or Mum existed as far as the UK government was concerned.

Professor Ryan flashed her own pristine and crisp navy blue passport when they reached the front of the line. "Patricia Ryan, here accompanying a student for a consular appointment.”

The two of them were immediately escorted to a private room in the back, through what felt like a maze of gleaming, polished hallways filled with well-dressed people.

What followed was a blur of papers and questions and jabs made by pointy needles. Dragonpox and M3R and DTP (or was it TDP?) and something called polio! Archie hadn't even known you could prevent diseases this way – not just cure them, but stop people from ever getting sick to begin with.

This was the coolest thing ever!

No one really asked Archie any questions. Professor Ryan did almost 90% of the talking and all he really had to do was sit there without flinching when they poked him with sharp needles – which he was totally happy to do as long as he got to ask the healer poking him with said needles exactly how all of this worked.

No-Maj medicine was so cool! Everyone working there was kind and helpful and no one there even asked him to say his name.

Almost as an afterthought, Archie got his passport at the very end, as they were nearly walking out the Ryan's and Harry's. Unlike theirs, his was a rich burgundy red and it didn't have round rectangular holes cut out of the cover displaying his name and a series of numbers.

EUROPEAN COMMUNITY

UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND NORTHERN IRELAND

PASSPORT

When he asked Professor Ryan why his looked different from hers and Harry's, she explained that the UK was in the process of changing passport designs. Hers and Harry's were the old design – though still perfectly valid, she reassured him. His was the new design that they had just started pushing out two years age. Harry's passport had likely been issued out of a stockpile of the old templates, a stockpile they had finally reached the end of by the time it was his turn for a passport. These new passports, she informed him, were something called "ICAO-compliant" and readable by machines.

This was his to safeguard and keep now. His. If he ever needed it, he could walk into any British embassy or consulate and demand protection as a citizen.

Back at AIM, before going back to his classes, Archie started at Professor Ryan with thanks gathered up and choking him inside his throat. Where did even start? Where could he start?

"This is part of my job, lad," she said, cutting him off before he could even figure out what to say. "No need to thank me. Now – what I do expect is to see you at the Shrove Tuesday event shoveling at least one pancake in your mouth. Fair?"

He'd nodded. What else could he have done? It was a fair trade, or something close to it.

Later that night, lying on what should have been Harry's bed in what should have been Harry's room, Archie stared at his brand new passport. He ran his fingers over the grooves pressed deep into the burgundy cover and the smooth paper inside.

His own unmoving picture stared back at him from between those pages.

Arcturus Rigel Black. Citizen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

The concept felt odd, like a newly gifted coat lined with pockets he hadn't quite found yet. He'd always known he was from Wizarding Britain, of course, but he'd never thought of himself as a citizen of anything. Never thought that that might mean that Wizarding Britain owed something to him, and him to it in turn.

He turned to flip through the stack of paperwork Aunt Lily had handed off to Harry, and thus to him, before leaving to AIM. Wizarding Britain didn't do passports, really. Instead, all anyone leaving the country had to do was apply for a license of safe conduct from the Ministry.

The Ministry of Magic, by the Authority of the Most Ancient and Sovereign Wizengamot of Britain, having regard unto the peace and good ordering of this Realm and the lawful passage of those under its allegiance, do hereby grant licence unto Harriet Euphemia Potter, witch of this Realm, duly acknowledged and herein named.

We do licence, suffer, and permit the said bearer to pass out of this Realm into the parts beyond the Seas, and there to remain for the period of ten years, reckoning from the day of departure, or until such earlier return as the bearer shall choose, without hindrance or molestation.

And further, we do grant that the said bearer may depart and travel with four servants or attendants, being of lawful condition, and all trunks, chests, coffers, and necessaries, apparel, books, tools, and effects appertaining to their person and estate. All which may be borne, conveyed, shipped, or otherwise transported without let, search, seizure, or delay.

We do straitly charge and command wardens, watchmen, port-keepers, and all others exercising authority within this Realm that they shall suffer the said bearer, servants, money, trunks, and necessaries to pass freely, that they shall not stay, trouble, question, or vex the bearer or company, and that they shall offer such reasonable aid and passage as is customary and lawful provided always that the bearer behave peaceably and contrary to no standing law of this Realm.

This licence of safe conduct shall remain good and effectual for the term aforesaid, and shall also serve for the safe return of the bearer into this Realm within the same term, unless the same be lawfully revoked by the issuing Authority.

In witness whereof, we have caused this letter to be made patent, and have set thereto the marks and attestations of the officers charged with its issue.

Neither of them had ever thought to look through these papers before embarking on the ruse.

All it said was her name. No picture, no date of birth, no serial number. Just a single name on a piece of parchment with five paragraphs that amounted to "this person is allowed to leave the country" with a glowing seal fixed to the bottom of the page.

The ruse would have been so easy to pull off, if this had been all they'd needed to contend with.

Archie flipped through his passport for nearly the dozenth time, staring at the neatly curling letters laid out inside the front page.

Her Britannic Majesty's
Secretary of State
Requests and requires
in the Name of Her Majesty
all those whom it may concern
to allow the bearer to pass freely
without let or hindrance,
and to afford the bearer
such assistance and protection
as may be necessary.

He couldn't wait to show Harry his new passport once he was home.

PANCAKES, GAMES, BAD JOKES
ALL WELCOME!!!

There were even little pancakes with legs and arms, charmed to run all around the sign and using lemon slices as make-shift weapons.

The first time Archie had heard about the British Student Association, he had pictured…something. He wasn't sure what, exactly. A lot of boring meetings, maybe, all talking about Wizarding Britain. Lots of paperwork and political stuff. 

He hadn't expected pancakes!

Over a hundred students were milling around on the campus green, mostly clustered around various tables decorated with paper buntings. Each table had its own round griddle – and Archie noticed with delight that someone had even charmed them to be self-flipping! – and a giant pitcher of batter. There were also bowls of toppings: lemon juice and caster sugar and treacle syrup and jam and some kind of thick brown chocolate paste he wasn't familiar with.

One table off to the side had solely been dedicated to giant metal tea urns and an assortment of other snacks. Hermione, absolutely thrilled that Archie had finally gotten over his stubbornness and was giving the BSA a try, pointed out different snacks to Archie – snacks that he had never seen, let alone tried, before! Hobnobs and digestive biscuits and shortbreads and fairy cakes! It was always a good day when you got to learn about new snacks.

It wasn't just British students there either, Archie noticed. He heard more than one voice that definitely sounded completely American. When he asked Hermione, she said, "Oh, anyone can come to BSA events. We encourage it, actually. It’s not meant to be exclusive. Quite a lot of students come for the free food, honestly. And for events like these, you’ll see quite a few second-generation students."

At Archie's confused look, she explained. "American students whose parents were British or Irish. There's quite a few of them, and they'll show up to our holiday events because it reminds them of home."

Aunt Lily always cooked pancakes around this time of the year, Archie realized. He and Harry had never asked, because who questioned pancakes? Pancakes were great!

Had Aunt Lily been, for all these years, been celebrating a holiday that no one at home even knew existed?

It was hard to think about that, though, when there was so much happening right in front of him right now! Archie had worried, at first, that interacting with the BSA would mean everyone making a giant fuss and interrogating him for information about himself – but nothing like that happened.

Everyone was easy-going and nice! No one asked him any questions other than what he was studying and how he was adjusting to AIM. He got to really know, for the first time, the other dozen or so British kids in his and Hermione's year. He'd seen them around, of course, mostly in the history seminar for international students – John and Chess and the American students had to take a different history class – but he'd never really talked to them before.

Several of them were in Healing, as it turned out! Hermione said that was fairly standard for AIM – most families preferred to send their children to Ilvermorny, with its deep endowment and extensive bursary programs, unless the student in question already had a deep interest in a specific specialty. For AIM, that meant Experimental Charms and Healing.

Something like 75 percent of all British students in America – which accepted over 90 percent of all British muggleborns and halfbloods studying abroad to begin with – ended up at Ilvermorny. Not for the first time, Archie was grateful that Aunt Lily had managed to get a scholarship to attend AIM all those years ago, so that AIM was the natural school for Harry to attend instead of Ilvermorny.

Eventually, Archie asked the question of Why pancakes? Not that pancakes really needed a reason, admittedly – but he hadn't realized that muggles had a whole holiday around pancakes! Though as far as reasons for holidays went, he thought pancakes were a pretty swell reason.

"Oh– umm…Right!" Mathias – one of his newly-introduced year-mates, who had promptly said to call him Matty – started, screwing up his face in intense concentration. "So. It’s Shrove Tuesday, right? Because you’re meant to be, like… shriven? Like confession!"

Matty looked around their little cluster for some help and got back couple of shrugs and half-hearted nods of agreement. Archie had no clue what sort of crime they were supposed to be confessing to, but he stayed quiet. He could always ask Hermione later. "And so you're supposed to give things up and be a bit… you know." A vague hand waggle. "Pious. Or something. And back in the day being pious meant you weren’t allowed any eggs or milk or fat, so everyone had to use it all up before tomorrow. Hence pancakes!"

Archie still wasn't sure what any of that had to do with pancakes, and he wasn't sure he cared. This was pancakes! What more reason did anyone need?

He lost himself in the easy fun of the event.

Arguing with griddles so they would flip themselves when you wanted them to instead of on some arbitrary griddle timer to get the most perfectly golden-brown pancakes. Sprinting across the obstacle course set up on the lawn for the pancake races – minimum one flip per checkpoint, and inevitably someone dropped their pancake. Heated debates about the best toppings for pancakes – and the overwhelming consensus that American pancakes didn't really count as pancakes.

It was loads of fun! It also was nothing like how Archie had thought the BSA would be like. He’d pictured lots of serious meetings and questions and politics – not a bunch of kids just like him and Harry.

And so the next time Hermione asked Archie, her voice full of hope, if he wanted to come with her to hang out in the BSA lounge to do their homework, he said yes.

The BSA lounge was located on the ground floor of Gravenor Hall, the administrative building. It was a cozy space, filled with tables and beanbags with plenty of kettles and teabags and snacks. A space for British students to socialize or study or even just to hang out in.

The walls were covered in corkboards plastered with various notices pinned on them. How to prepare for university and job interviews. Reminders about annual tax deadlines. Grant applications for field trip fees and formal attire for interviews. Various strong warnings to sign up before the deadline in order to sit your GCSEs – muggle OWL exams, Hermione explained.

And no one interrogated him or asked what an imposter like him was doing there. Part of him had always been just a little worried that deep down, the BSA would know that he was a fake, spot that he wasn't really a halfblood after all – but nothing of the sort happened. Professor Ryan had assured him that if any of the students tried prying too hard into the difference between Harry and Harriet Potter, she would take care of the situation. He didn't have to attend any more meetings than he wanted to. If he wanted to lurk around the back of the crowd and show up in the lounge just to mooch off the free Hobnobs, that was perfectly acceptable.

The BSA welcomed him without a hitch. As if he had always been one of them.

"It's a little late in the year for us to assign you a specific mentor," Nicola Daubery, the chapter president, said, more than a bit apologetically. "We typically do that in September, and the numbers are such that we don't have any upperclassmen available right now – though don't ever hesitate to ask any one of us whatever questions you might have! Helping each other is what we're here for. Ilvermorny has some extra people, though, and they've offered to lend us someone."

Archie had tried to insist that he was perfectly fine, he didn't need any sort of mentoring – but apparently, this was a non-negotiable BSA tradition. Incoming new members had a specific older student assigned to guide them and introduce them to life in America. Ranjan was Hermione's, as it turned out – which explained quite a lot, actually.

His mentor was to be a third year from Ilvermorny. A girl by the name of Saoirse Riordan. It had taken him five different tries to learn how to pronounce the name to Professor Ryan and Nicola's satisfaction – the spelling was all sorts of nonsense. Mentorship pairings were almost always assigned within the same school, but apparently none of the AIM BSA students who had initially volunteered themselves as a mentor back in September were available anymore – they had classes, exams, uni and college and immigration applications.

That was how Archie found himself at an ice cream parlor seated across from an older blonde girl, with an absolutely massive root beer float in front of him – her treat, she'd insisted. He'd asked her in bewildered amazement how she was allowed off-campus by herself when she was only a third year – even in AIM, you either had to be a fourth year or older, or accompanied by one, in order to be allowed off-campus! Sure, she looked more like a sixth or seventh year than a third year, but the AIM Portkey sign-out roster actually specifically checked for what year you were and whether you had permission to go off-campus and where you were going. 

She had replied that the rules at Ilvermorny were different – and she had been raised in the muggle world beside. AIM wouldn't say a word about her taking him out for ice cream because Archie was her mentee. She was an Ilvermorny student, and therefore any excursion they undertook fell under Ilvermorny rules. Archie had no clue how that worked, but he wasn't going to argue – not if it meant he got to go on adventures like these!

Archie rattled off an introduction, well used to talking about Harry's life as his own by now. Dad was an auror,  Mum worked for a private development company, and his uncles ran the absolutely best pranking business in the country. He was at AIM because he loved Healing and wanted to become a Healer one day, and he had an absolutely brilliant potions-loving cousin who was attending Hogwarts.

Saoirse didn't say much about herself. She was from Ireland. Halfblood. Raised in the muggle world. Hadn't declared a specialty yet even though she was in her third year. Nothing about her family – maybe she was an orphan? She studied him for few seconds longer than was polite, strictly speaking, before she finally spoke.

"I’m told you’re friends with a Kowalski," she said. "So I won’t insult you or him by wasting your time with breathing exercises and meditation."

She pulled a deck of cards out of her pockets and smoothly shuffled them without ever having to glance down. "Instead, I’m going to teach you how to cheat at cards."

Archie blinked. Then blinked a few more times. "What?"

Hermione talked a lot about Ranjan – and Archie knew now that it was because he was her mentor! He would check in on her assignments, show her around town sometimes, offer to show her what he was working on, give her advice about school and life and healing. She had never said anything about him teaching her how to cheat at cards, and that was the kind of thing Archie would definitely have remembered.

There was a flicker of a glance in his direction, along with the faintest slash of a smile. Saoirse had been looking to get a reaction out of him, he realized. "Not so you can go fleecing pensioners, mind you," she said dryly, "but because this'll teach you how to hide your thoughts."

Huh?

She passed out cards, alternating between both the two of them and taking care to show him the different designs. "Shields are all well and fine – but anything can be broken if someone pushes hard enough, especially if they think you have something worth hiding. Your friend Kowalski can tell you all about that. You're less likely to get your head ransacked if you look like you haven’t a thought worth stealing."

She tapped the table between them lightly.

"If you build a wall, sooner or later, someone will try to knock it down. And they'll probably succeed because there's no such thing as a perfect shield. If you look open, though, most of the time they won't bother. More effort than it's worth to go digging."

Archie's brow furrowed in a sort of bewildered confusion. He was a noble – even Harry was a noble! They were immune to Veritaserum or Legilimency searches, and even for non-nobles, the Ministry wasn't allowed to do that kind of thing without a warrant.

Before he could explain all that to his new mentor, though, her gaze shifted upward, away from the tables and cards, to squarely meet his. "You let the top of your mind run on something simple and dull. Song lyrics. Your lunch order. The weather. If someone does prod at you, they’ll hit the surface noise first. Most people will stop there."

"You don’t have to trust me," she said, setting the remaining cards to one side. "Just pay attention. And whatever I say – don't react."

She pushed his stack of cards toward him, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.

"Your turn."

Seeing Harry for the first time in six months felt like dancing through a quick-change backstage in between scenes. Costumes shoved into his arms, fabric sliding over his head as he pulled on pants one hop at a time, a brief reminder of entrance cues – then you were right back on stage.

That was him and Harry with only five minutes left before their Polyjuice disguises ran out, huddled in his bedroom frantically changing clothes. They really needed to figure something out for next year – but first, they had to survive dinner.

It was almost easy, to talk about how good Aunt Lily's cooking tasted and how happy he was to be home – it was the truth, after all. He'd genuinely missed Dad, missed Harry, missed Uncle James and Aunt Lily and Uncle Remus.

All of that was true.

But he was back in Wizarding Britain, and that weighed on him.

There were only so many harmless pleasantries he could express enthusiasm for in a single conversation, when there was so much he actually wanted to tell them.

He wanted to tell Dad about movies and theater and all of his friends and science fiction and thrift stores and music and absolutely just everything! He wanted to ask Aunt Lily what her favorite snack to buy at Vittles had been, when she had been at AIM. He wanted to ask her about Professor Ryan, and the tight, strained smile that appeared on Professor Ryan's face every now and then. Uncle James would absolutely love Quodpot, Archie knew – all he needed was the right introduction to it, to be persuaded to just give it half a chance. And Uncle Remus needed to hear about the beautiful libraries at AIM – and there was even a Healing one! – and how incredibly easy it was to find books with the way Americans organized libraries.

But he couldn't say any of that, because Arcturus Rigel Black had never set foot in AIM.

After dinner, Archie pleaded with first Dad, and then Uncle James and Aunt Lily, to let Harry stay for a sleepover.

The two of them hadn't seen each other for almost half a year! Letters just weren't the same. They'd been so far away from each other and Harry's plane had come in so late and they simply had to catch up with each other – please please please?

Their parents had said yes, of course.

It was past eleven by the time the two of them were curled up in his bed in their pyjamas, but Archie barely felt tired at all. His brain was still firmly convinced that it was six in the evening, and he had so much he wanted to share with Harry about AIM that he felt like he could go on for days!

Her first, though. Archie absolutely could not survive a full conversation with Dad – which would be happening no later than tomorrow morning at breakfast – without more details about Hogwarts than he currently had.

She laughed softly at his demand for her to spill absolutely everything, and started from her return to school back in January – which felt like forever ago.

Archie listened as she recounted one story after another, memorizing useful details that he could draw on when Dad and Uncle James inevitably bombarded him with questions about his time at Hogwarts. He learned the cast of characters of Rigel's life: Professor Snape, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, Aldon Rosier and Edmund Rookwood and Alesana Selwyn. Archie built up characters in his mind, fitting them into the context of his Rigel, at school.

He would have to be careful when telling Dad stories, because even if they were believable, he and Harry would be screwed if Dad ever decided to reminiscence with one of Archie's alleged friends and brought up a shared story that had never happened in real life.

Archie was almost relieved when she told him about the deal that she'd struck with Flint. He felt awful that she'd felt the need to make a Vow of Undisclosed Debt – which he made her promise to tell him if she ever needed any help fulfilling that debt, because that was his debt as much as hers – but at least he wasn't the only one who had slipped up while at school, wasn't the only one who would have to confess to compromising.

Harry talked about the Sleeping Sickness. Hours spent brewing Aurora's Breath and Snowhit Potion and Sweat Inducers – he would need to commit those recipes to memory, because there was no chance Rigel wouldn't know them by heart after so many batches. She talked about the terror of watching her friends fall one by one by one.

It sounded nothing like any sort of illness Archie had ever heard about, and she told him about her suspicions that Lord Riddle had thrown this Sickness – which surely wasn't naturally occurring, it had to be a curse – at Hogwarts to weaken Dumbledore's position. What Rosier and Selwyn and Flint had said to her, confirming that the Marriage Law plans were shelved until further notice as a result.

Archie frowned through the entire tale, nodding and humming in all the right places, making mental notes along the way.

Wizarding Britain was insane.

Absolutely insane.

The SOW Party was completely bug-nuts out of their minds. There was no other word for it. Using children as a bargaining chip in a play for politics that? Using sickness as a weapon? That was disgusting – just absolutely disgusting. Reprehensible. Indefensible. Evil.

By the time Harry finished sharing everything that she felt was relevant, it was past two in the morning. She apologized for messing up his relationship with Dad, for not writing home to Dad more, for her inability to pretend to be him in person when Dad was the one she was lying to instead of Hogwarts students. She confessed her fears that if Dad had known about the sickness, then he would have immediately pulled her out of Hogwarts.

Dad probably would have, truth be told. He couldn't decide if that would have been a good or bad thing.

This couldn't continue, though, and Archie made that clear to her. Harry had to do a better job when it came to Dad.

Mum was already dead – he couldn't lose Dad as well. He just couldn’t.

Letters every two weeks at least, not every two months. It stung a bit, to know that he had dutifully written letters home to Aunt Lily and Uncle James every week like clockwork even when he didn't have anything particular to relay back, only to learn that Harry placed her fears of being pulled from Hogwarts and her persona as Rigel Black above maintaining his relationship with his dad.

Harry was so full of regrets and apologies, though, that Archie didn't have the heart to remain upset with her. It almost felt good to hear that she had fallen into her new identity as well, gotten swept up in the joy of being Rigel. It made him feel less guilty about having done the same in America. Maybe that meant she could forgive him for everything he had done while pretending to be her as well.

She was curled up close to him like a little roly-poly, both of them tucked under his brand new Slytherin-embroidered duvet. She smelled like old books and her cauldron and she knew exactly how he liked to be hugged.

Archie was one of the few people in the world that Harry trusted unconditionally and without reserve. He knew that. He treasured that.

And then it was her turn to ask about him. "So– how was AIM? What have you been doing for the last few months?"

Archie paused, considering where to start. He had so much to tell Harry. What had he done, while she had been at Hogwarts dealing with disgusting, evil plots?

He'd learned so much.

He had thrown himself into his studies, learning about Healing and Occlumency and Legilimency and warding and glamors. He'd learned about Quodpot and theater and cars and space and fiction. He'd made friends and pranked his schoolmates! He had discovered there existed a whole network of British students committed to supporting each other, even the nervous quiet kid who hung around the back of events and mooched off the free food. And he had information for her, too. He had paperwork and an escape hatch – maybe they wouldn't even need to continue the ruse into next year.

They could all move to America, and it would be incredible!

Dad would love living in a big and bustling city, somewhere with history and action and light. Like New York City, John's home – or maybe one of the big cities in the West Coast that Chess sometimes mentioned! America was the home of the most innovative centers of magical research, which was absolutely perfect for the Marauders' products and Aunt Lily's work as well. The brand could expand to a whole new market, in America, with thousands upon thousands of mages lined up to buy their goods.

Aunt Lily could reconnect with Professor Ryan, and the other friends that she'd had to leave behind when she chose to return to Britain. He was sure Uncle James could find a new home in one of the many American Auror departments, getting to use No-Maj forensic science!

Archie remembered John's dad saying that Uncle Remus might encounter some difficulties in the immigration process, but surely that could be solved, and he had promised that they could visit each other whenever they liked regardless no matter what! Uncle Remus would be able to explore so much more magical theory away from Wizarding Britain. He would have the chance to live on the cutting-edge of magical research, in an environment that actively encouraged research and development.

And Harry! Harry would fit right in, he was absolutely sure. There were Potions Mastery students at AIM, – which wasn't renowned as the main North American Potions institution (that was Cascadia) due to its intense specialized focus on Healing potions and pharmacology – but there was such an appetite for innovation here, a hunger for improvement, to push known limits, that there was no way Harry could fail to love it as much as he did.

Harry could be happy in Wizarding America! And if they moved there, Archie could take her and show her all the things that she had been missing: movies and music and games and books and theater and field trips.

Forget Wizarding Britain. Forget the nobility and arranged marriages and fear and blood status and maniacs cursing children. The two of them didn't need to be chained to the future titles of Lord Black and Lady Potter. They could just be Arcturus Rigel Black, Healer, and Harriet Potter, Potions Mistress.

They could breath clean air, unafraid of what the future or the Ministry held. They could live free and happy.

The paperwork, he decided. He had to start with the papers first. John's dad had given him extra copies, and the BSA lounge always had a giant stack of blank forms in light-weight plastic trays right by the door.

Asylum. Green cards. Escape. A future.

"There's an organization called the BSA – British Student Association – at AIM," he started. "Actually, they're not just at AIM. There's a chapter at every overseas school with a major British student presence. Ilvermorny is where the headquarters chapter is, since so many Brits and just about all the Irish go to school there, but both AIM and Cascadia – that's the other big American boarding school – have their own chapters as well."

He told her about the cultural events the BSA hosted, the support it gave students, the papers it ensured every one of its charges knew about.

Refugee applications form. Asylum paperwork. Student visa renewals – did Harry know that if she got a job on campus or received any scholarships, she had to file taxes for that? Sitting GCSEs and A-levels while schooling abroad, for the students who wanted to go home. The arduous, impossible ordeal of obtaining an educational equivalency certificate in Wizarding Britain, for those who chose to eke out a life there. The transition from an F1 student visa to an H-1B or EB work visa after graduation, for those who chose to stay in America.

Archie excitedly informed Harry that she didn't have to lie to their parents anymore. Neither of them did. He had all the proper paperwork ready to go, though he did decide to gloss over exactly how he'd gotten said paper. No need to scare her when everything was absolutely fine, and anyway the BSA did provide copies for anyone who wanted it. It wasn’t a lie, not really. It didn’t matter how he learned about this. Their applications would get approved. They could move and their families could live free – the BSA would certainly help them secure enrollment for Harry before the start of the next school year.

There was so much in Wizarding America that she would love, he just knew. Harry didn't have to endure this awful, interminable fear when no one knew what was happening, frantically doing whatever she could to save lives and cure a curse sent by evil, awful people.

This was the solution to all of their problems.

He was practically buzzing with excitement by the time he more or less finished hitting his main points – having gotten side-tracked several times along the way because he just hadn't been able to resist. It was almost three now, but he didn't feel tired at all – riding on the exhilaration of everything he had to share with Harry.

In his excitement, he hadn't noticed Harry going silent next to him. Not in fascination or interest or even consideration – but in horror.

"No," she said, sounding aghast and almost recoiling away from him, before she repeated herself even more emphatically. "No. Archie– why? No! I get to study under Professor Snape at Hogwarts, and he's even thinking about taking me on as his apprentice! Why would I want to study Potions in America? AIM's never seen the light of a potions periodical – you know that. Mom and Dad and Uncle Sirius and Remus wouldn't want to leave either. The ruse is working! We're getting everything we wanted. Why would we give up everything to move to America? No. We're not doing that."

Her voice was full of determined finality.

Archie's heart felt like it was ripping in two inside of his chest. "Harry, you don't understand," he tried, scrabbling for something – anything – to say in order to get her to just understand.

He wasn't sure Harry could see his face in the darkness. He couldn’t really see hers, that was for sure. All he could do was stare in the direction her voice was coming from as she continued, "I'm not sure I trust this organization anyway – you said it's called the BSA? Why are they being so nice to you? Who told you all of this? Who gave you these papers?"

Because that was why the British Student Association existed. To help students exiled through no fault of their own. To help scared, lonely kids thousands of miles away from home. What more reason did anyone need than that?

He didn't know how to answer her.

The papers in his hand, the passport carefully hidden in the lining of his rucksack tucked away inside of Harry's travel trunk, the secrets he'd spent the last several months carrying in eager anticipation of sharing them with Harry – his chest had felt like it was being crushed under the weight of everything he hadn't said.

Hadn't said until now.

And Harry didn't want to hear it.

Harry's voice softened. Maybe she'd noticed the jagged gasps of Archie's breaths, his wounded silence. "I'm glad you're making friends. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself at AIM," she said. "I wouldn't have. Can't you see that I love Hogwarts just as much? We're both happier this way, I promise. Nobody has to go anywhere."

A pause as she tried to gauge his response to what she'd said. Archie didn't need to see her face to know that she was sending worried glances in his direction. "Is there anything else you want to tell me about AIM? I can stay awake for it."

Yes, but–

He thought about AIM. The rickety study carrels in Swem, the wall of chatter and warm smells that occupied Braffy's, the fierce anticipation of waiting for the moment a Quod would explode and the ROAR of the stadium whenever their team scored a goal. How cozy the beanbag chairs in the BSA lounge were. The way watching the American students recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning had turned from a confusing oddity to just a normal part of life. All the field trips where he had seen the grand, towering buildings of Newam that reached all the way into the sky, the smooth, polished marble of all the monuments in Washington, and the bustling plazas and massive mounts of Cahokia.

None of it mattered. Not if Harry didn't want to hear it.

It was late – very late. There was no parental interrogation session awaiting her in the morning, after all. No one ever expected Harry to talk much about anything other than Potions. There hadn't been a single question about AIM asked at the dinner table tonight. Maybe there would never be one.

Harry didn't have to know any of this.

"No," Archie found himself saying. "Nothing important. It's late, Harry, and I'm really tired from traveling. We can talk later."

He rolled over in his bed, away from her, and let the forms he had brought with him across an ocean drift onto the floor.

Grimmauld Place still looked like the Ghost of Slytherins Past had vomited all over the hallways, and Archie still couldn't decide how he felt about it.

He liked green. It was a great color! It wasn't the green or even the silver that was the problem! It was everything that they represented.

Dad had decorated for his son, was celebrating the sorting of his son who attended Hogwarts by filling the backyard with snakes – and that son didn't actually exist.

Archie wasn’t in Slytherin. He didn’t even go to Hogwarts.

He had to study the stupid Marauder's Map to make up stupid Hogwarts stories that never even happened, because of course Dad wanted to know every last detail of his time at Hogwarts. The friends Archie made, the adventures he'd had – minus the whole mysterious, likely man-made contagion spreading around the school.

And none of it was real.

Archie had so many stories, so many adventures – and he couldn't tell Dad about any of them. He couldn't tell Dad about movies, or the club fair, or the pranks he'd masterminded, or running up and down the campus lawn flipping pancakes.

Because Rigel Black had never set foot outside of the country. Rigel Black didn't know anything about AIM, and moreover Rigel Black didn't want to know.

So many things left unsaid between him and Harry, so many lies separated him and Dad – and Archie hated it.

He absolutely hated all of it.

One year down. Six more years of this left.

He hadn’t realized, when he and Harry had sat in their bedrooms coming up with this plan, just how long seven years was.

Dad spoke with him about the drafted Marriage Law, discussed measures would be necessary to keep Harry safe and Archie couldn't even bring up the asylum paperwork because Rigel had no reason to know about that.

He said yes to the betrothal, of course. What else could he do?

"Thank you," Harry said, after they'd told her, her gratitude and happiness evident in her grin. "This engagement will be enough to make sure I can get a job."

Archie wanted to throw something, wanted to shove the immigration forms back into her hands and make her see.

One set of papers – or, well, six sets – and none of this would ever be a problem again. They could live free and happy in a country where none of this would ever be a problem.

But Harry didn't want that life. She didn't know, didn't realize, the world that was just within their reach.

She didn't know a single thing about the outside world. She didn't know how good life could be without the blood purity laws. Harry, someone as brilliant and talented as Harry, should never have had to have a stupid fake engagement just to make sure she could find a job – and what about everyone else? What about Hermione and every other member of the BSA who didn't have a noble, pureblooded cousin to sign themselves away on a fake betrothal?

This was stupid. It was so bloody stupid and senseless and he hated this garbage.

But he smiled anyway, because Rigel wouldn't have known any other world either.

And then the Malfoys invited Rigel to their summer garden party – to their heir's birthday. Rigel's best friend and therefore Archie's as well – except Archie had never met him. In reality, Malfoy was Harry's best friend – except Harry was a halfblood, the kind of person they would have spat on if they had met her as herself, instead of as Rigel.

After the events of the last year, Rigel Black was now an honorary Malfoy. The Malfoys intended to treat him like family. Like another Dark pureblood. Harry desperately wanted to go to her best friend's party even though it was a Dark Society event.

And Archie…

Well, Archie didn't like the idea. He really didn't. The Malfoys were extremely prominent in the SOW Party, and it was so obvious that Lord Malfoy had had a role in the exact sickness Rigel had saved his son from.

What kind of monstrous people endangered their own children – and scores of other children – just for the sake of scoring political points?

But Harry liked Draco Malfoy and she'd been insisting ever since Christmas Break that Malfoy wasn't a bad person, he was a great friend, a good person – so Archie tried his best to keep an open mind.

He still really didn't like it, though, and he felt a stab of betrayal listening to Aunt Lily argue for Rigel's friendship with the Malfoys.

And Harry had shot him a pleading look, clearly begging for him to join his own, her (Rigel's – this ruse really was getting confusing) side of the argument.

So he did, even though his stomach churned as if there was a pit full of snakes wrestling around in his digestive tract. Harry wanted to go to Draco's birthday party, so she would go.

Whatever Harry asked of him, he would do his best to make it happen.

It was that simple.

That was why when Archie asked Harry, only a few days later, if she would like to attend the summer BSA gathering with him and Hermione, he was stung by her flat refusal.

She wouldn't even need to come with him as Harry! She could go as Archie, Harry's cousin! Meet Hermione! They were both absolutely brilliant and Archie was just sure that they would love each other. Try pizza and go bowling for the first time! Hang out with other British halfbloods and muggleborns for once, maybe even make some friends that wasn’t him or her Hogwarts SOW buddies!

Harry didn't want any part of it.

"I don't understand why you want to go, or why I should go," she said, her brows furrowed. "I don't think it's safe for you, Archie. Or the ruse. You can go, if you want, but I have a new recipe I want to try."

Archie wanted to retort that he rather thought it was safer than schmoozing with Dark purebloods and SOW Party supporters. It was the BSA annual get-together attended by students and local alumni alike and, according to Hermione, equal parts a casual hangout at a bowling alley with stacks of pizza taller than most of the students, and a chance to meet some of the new incoming class of British muggleborn and halfblood students – mostly the muggleborns.

Congrats on having magic!! Surprise, they hate us here and we have to cross an ocean to receive an education – here have some pizza.

Hermione had come down with a badly timed case of the flu the week of the event last year and hadn't been able to attend, but she was extremely excited to get to go to this year's gathering.

If nothing else, Archie thought that some time in the sun, bowling for the first time (Wizarding Britain didn't have any bowling alleys!!), and stuffing herself with pizza would do Harry a world of good!

But Harry didn't want to, no matter how much Archie asked. Begged. He even tried convincing her that this would be good for the ruse, for her to be able to convincingly answer more questions about AIM and campus life there.

Except both of them knew that was a lie. They'd been home for not even a month, and it was already so obvious no one would ever ask Harry more than two questions about AIM at a time.

Harry just didn't see the point. She had potions to brew, journal articles to read, more potions to brew, and was absolutely not interested in meeting Hermione or any of the other British students.

In truth, she didn't even think he should go, though she stopped short of forbidding him from going. She didn't have any issues with him hanging out with Hermione or making friends, but just didn't like the sound of this student association. It sounded too political to her – a whole association dedicated to helping advocate for British lesser-blooded students – and therefore too risky for him.

Archie had pointed out that if she – if Rigel – got to hang out with her (his?) friends, then there was no reason he shouldn't be allowed to do the same.

This wasn't a political fundraiser or a party event. This was literally just students hanging out at a bowling alley getting ready for another year in exile, whereas she was about to set foot in SOW Party Central and hang out with people who had engineered an entire outbreak just to advance their own political agenda.

She said it was different. Going to her best friend's birthday party was different.

In the end, they agreed to disagree on the subject of each other's friends.

So Harry went to hobnob with Dark purebloods, and Archie spent a morning touring the Bodlean libraries with Hermione. That was what he told Uncle James and Aunt Lily. He declined to mention the details of what they would be doing after the tour – an afternoon spent at a bowling alley adjacent to a pub called the Red Ledger.

The Red Ledger, Hermione had explained, was located on ground floor of the headquarters office for the British International Association.

He had loads of fun! The pizza was perfectly greasy and the BSA – the BIA, really, according to Hermione – had rented out the entire bowling alley. The pins were charmed so that they screamed if you hit them and taunted you if you missed.

There were loads of people there! Not just students, but their parents as well, and even alumni without children or whose children were too young to attend school yet.

AIM and Ilvermorny and Cascadia. The Collège and Oceania.

America and Canada and Australia and New Zealand.

Archie hadn't realized just how large of a community this was. Parents and children and, in some cases, even grandchildren – though the grandchildren tended to be only babies.

He'd always thought that most wizards and witches were pureblood by definition at least these days, that most of the muggle blood had been bred out of the gene pool by now and no one really married out of magic anymore.

He'd been wrong.

Hermione said that this wasn't even everyone! Plenty of folks who lived further north, especially the new muggleborns whose parents were still adjusting to the whole idea of magic and international boarding school, couldn’t make the trip down into London for this.

He didn't see Saoirse anywhere, and so asked Hermione whether she'd happened to see her around. Hermione shook her head, frowning, and said, "The Irish mostly do their own thing, I think."

It was easy enough to identify the soon-to-be first-year muggleborns and their parents – they were the ones walking around, staring at everything with a sense of bewilderment and awe. Archie couldn't believe how small the first-years looked.

Had he and Harry and Hermione really been so tiny only a year ago? Surely not.

The adults drifted in and out, spending as much time in the pub next door as the bowling alley. It was easy to ignore them, to let the hours pass with greasy fingers and the clatter of pins and the beeping of arcade games – out of all the games, Pacman was definitely his favorite.

Most of the students naturally grouped themselves by school, and within the same school by tracks or houses. Archie found himself on a team with Hermione and some of the other AIM Healing students and he spent as much time cheering for his teammates as he did trying to knock over his own pins.

When took a break to fetch some more drinks from the soda fountain for everyone, there was a woman waiting for him there.

Older than Professor Ryan, he thought, with light brown hair that fell in loose waves. She was dressed in a loose-fitting cardigan, her skirt falling just past her knees, the gleam of gold earrings dangling from her earlobes.

"Good afternoon, Harry," she said, her voice warm and friendly, her smile open. "I'm Derrick's mum – Elaine Holden.” Archie couldn’t remember exactly who Derrick was – one of the BSA upperclassmen, he thought. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I hear you’ve been keeping rather busy with your Healing studies. Very impressive work there – that's no small feat. I also gather you might be looking for a bit of extra help with glamours and aura work. If that’s the case, I may be able to lend a hand."

Archie had to talk to Harry. It was July now, and they were rapidly coming up on the start of the school year. He took a deep breath, stopped wringing his hands, then walked into her room and lightly tapped her shoulder. "Harry? Can we talk?"

Harry looked up at him, frowning slightly, but accommodatingly tucked a bookmark into her book before setting it aside. "Of course, Archie. What's wrong?"

"Can we go outside?" Archie asked.

Harry said, "Sure," so out they went. Into the sun and his newly snake-filled backyard, with blue skies and white clouds overhead.

Dad was out volunteering and wasn't due to be back for hours, but just to be safe, Archie wove one of the privacy wards from John's dad's reading list that Saoirse had helped him practice. There were more advanced ones he would learn one day, ones that would feed innocuous conversations to any eavesdroppers, but this was the only one he had down at the moment.

"Harry," Archie started, trying his best to not sound too awkward. "I've been thinking. About the ruse. And I'm a little worried."

He would start like this, he had decided. He would start with the weaknesses in the ruse, so that when he finally revealed that John – and John's dad, and Professor Ryan – knew, Harry would understand. People had found out, but it was fine.

This was just like the Flint situation, he would make Harry understand. Flint knew at least part of the ruse, and he would keep his mouth shut, and everything was fine. This was no different.

Once Harry understood that the ruse was intact and neither of them were in danger, he could segue into talking about America. Maybe if he tried again, figured out how to word his argument better, she would understand him this time.

"Okay," she replied, her voice patient. "I can't blame you for being concerned about what we're doing, but what exactly are you worried about?"

Archie told her.

By now, he had a carefully curated and comprehensive list of all the weaknesses in ruse, and an only slightly less comprehensive slight of mitigation measures.

There was nothing to be done about their international paperwork without triggering a cascade of questions from their parents about Harry's identity crisis, and a probable Society backlash. He wouldn't bring that up until the very end, because there was nothing Harry could do to fix it and Archie trusted John's dad when he said that it wouldn't be a problem.

The two of them were far too recognizable now, for another. He hadn't realized – not until John's dad pointed it out, not until he'd started attending BSA meetings, not until he'd heard some of the grown-ups gossiping at the BSA summer get-together – just how prominent their names were as noble heirs, and their situation had only grown exponentially more precarious since Harry had cured the Sickness. Master Snape taking an interest in Rigel had literally been the entire point of the Ruse, from Harry's perspective – but what would happen when he wanted to meet Sirius? When Rigel would need to appear next to Sirius in public?

Sooner or later, their friends would become involved. They couldn't keep pretending they only wanted to ever see their friends on the same exact dates during the summer without their parents present for the next seven years. What would happen when their parents wanted to meet their friends?

Or, well Rigel’s friends. Aunt Lily might want to meet some of the BSA kids, but Uncle James and Dad hadn’t expressed any interest in meeting even Hermione.

But sooner or later, Archie knew that Dad would want to meet his son’s supposed brand new best friends. And AIM had yearbook photos as well, which Archie had ducked out of this year by faking an intense bout of food poisoning, but he couldn’t do that forever. Professor Ryan would probably help cover for him if he asked, but Archie wanted to be normal. He wanted a collection of yearbooks with scribbled well wishes and to see himself – even if he had to wear Harry’s face –with the rest of the Theater Troupe and the Healing students and even the BSA.

And then puberty. Archie rather thought that at AIM as Harry, he could pretend to be a boy forever because he really was a boy – no matter what Harriet Potter's paperwork officially said. John's dad knew. Professor Ryan knew. Everyone at AIM thought he was a boy, and he was confident that he could work something out if anyone ever asked. And even if he was caught out at AIM – no one in America really cared what Harry or Harriet Potter did.

So what if Harry Potter turned out to be the Potter Heiress and liked to cross-dress as a boy? The only British mages schooling in America were all halfbloods and muggleborns, and for all Harry was a halfblood herself, she was still a noble. In a court of law, her word would always win out over someone from AIM. All she ever had to do was deny it.

Everyone in Wizarding Britain, however, knew that Arcturus Rigel Black, the Heir to House Black, was male. Harry couldn't let herself be caught as being anything but a boy. There would be no leniency there, and several articles in Archie's reading list had warned of the dangerous side-effects of long-term cross-sex polyjuice transformation. There wasn't anything about the increased risk of doing it while undergoing puberty in your real body – possibly because even the Americans weren't insane enough to try that – but surely that couldn't help any.

And then Occlumency, and the risks of Master Snape being a Legilimens. Probably not a Natural Legilimens, but the difference didn't really matter. Anyone they met – especially Rigel – could have any number of skills that would give the game away If they were going to switch places, they had to do it well. Archie had had almost a semester's worth of mediating with John and learning how to cheat at cards with Saoirse, along with lessons and reading list taller than he was on long-term glamours and aura manipulation courtesy of Mrs. Holden.

He was just about to move onto the next part of his speech, where he told her about John and John's dad and Professor Ryan and Saoirse and the BSA, when Harry cut him off with her own answers.

She had made her own plans! She'd planned for every eventuality herself, All she needed was just a little bit more time to work out the details.

Harry would work out a way to blend their appearances so that they could swap on a whim. So that it was plausible for them to be the other person if there were ever any pictures taken of them. And she had a backup plan for if they were caught – she would sign up for an owl correspondence school, creating a record that she'd home-schooled herself here in Wizarding Britain. She would answer an ad for a brewer for an apothecary in Diagon Alley, and then she would rent a flat with the money she earned from that job.

If they were ever caught, then Rigel Black would just disappear, and there Harry Potter would be – dutifully homeschooling herself in a flat in Diagon Alley like the good little lesser halfblood she was while her cousin Archie fulfilled his dreams of becoming a Healer.

It meant that Harry didn't need to know anything about America.

No, more than that – knowing too much about America would run contrary to their cover story. He could still tell her everything, but he didn't have to. It was probably safer for her not to know, but he still wanted to tell her because this was Harry – his sister and best friend and confidante.

He wanted to, because there was so much about AIM and America worth sharing.

Except–

Except she had refused to accompany him to meet Hermione and the rest of the BSA. She had rejected even considering coming to America with him.

He could hear her voice, the feel of her next to him in bed, recoiling as she'd demanded answers. Who were these people? Why were they being so nice to him? How did Archie know he could trust them?

"So we're agreed on this?" Harry asked, an excited gleam of satisfaction lighting up her eyes. "When we get the plan in place, as soon as one of us is found out, the other has to be ready to implement the backup plan. As long as both Harry Potter and Archie Black are accounted for when the game is up and Rigel Black disappears, it'll be next to impossible for anyone to prove anything for sure."

Archie thought of everything he could say, and everything Harry might say back to him in turn.

In the end, all he did was nod.