(12) Here There Be Dragons

At the worktable in his private study during the dinner hour, Snape set aside the empty vial that had contained a half ounce of Hermione's blood, and, lifting the small glass cauldron, he held it up to the light of a torch burning in a bracket on the wall.

His right arm ached at the effort of pouring the contents of the cauldron into a beaker.

He must drink it down in one draft. It tasted vaugely like dill and pepper. When he had finished drinking it he stood a moment registering in his mind its effects. Then he said, "Dictation."

A quill rose from an ink bottle. It tapped its point on the bottle rim to expell the excess ink, then poised itself above the open journal on the worktable.

"Entry for Saturday of the third week in September, Nineteen Ninety-four."

The quill got busy writing in a fluid cursive.

"The anti-vampiric potion type B has instantly relieved the pain of the wound," Snape dictated impassively. "There is a dryness of the mouth and a slight thirst for mother's milk. This is a positive sign, suggesting that--"

A knock on his study door. He turned from the table and said, "Yes?" in a tone of annoyance.

It was Trelawney. "May I come in?"

"Seeing as how you are already in, it would be redundant of me to extend an invitation to come in. Who is that with you?"

"Come, dear," said Trelawney, urging Mrs Dursley into the room.

Petunia glanced around with a renewed sense of curiosity and revulsion. She could hardly bare to look at the specimens in jars on the black-lacquered shelves.

"May I?" Trelawney took the long curling leaf from Petunia and walked up to Snape with the leaf held in front of her thick glasses. She was acting out her usual trance state.

"Albus asked me to describe to you what I experienced when I first touched this leaf," she was saying in an otherworldly voice. "Mrs Dursley found it in her hair, after sixth period Muggle Studies on Friday. Charity brought it to my attention, and... Oooh..  the vibrations! The visions!"

Snape glared down at her with stoic impatience. "Proceed."

Trelawney was in full divination mode. "A stupendous revelation is coming! A bird in the hand is worth two in... in the cave. And what is found must be lost! Oh it must be lost, or terrible things will manifest in the life of she who... who clings to what must not be kept!"

Trelawney lowered the Bloodwort leaf and shook her head as though to disconnect with the Other Side.

Snape noticed the pallid face of Mrs Dursley. She had evidently heard this gibberish before, doubtless in Dumbledore's office. Now she received back the leaf with a look of incomprehension.

"Thank you, dear," said Trelawney to her, smiling sweetly.

Charlie appeared in the doorway and pretended to knock. "All here and accounted for, Professor," he said, and stepped back to let Trelawney and Petunia exit into the long torchlit corridor.

Giselle, Hermione, and Harry stood near the bottom of the Dungeon entrance stairway. They leaned back against the wall as Trelawney and Mrs Dursley came up the corridor.

Petunia stopped in front of Harry, eyeing him a little reproachfully, Giselle thought.

"I am leaving Monday morning," said Petunia to her nephew.

Harry nodded slowly. "It's been nice having you visit the school," he said.

"I don't see how any sane person can tolerate this 'school' for very long."

Harry swallowed painfully. "It's like a home to me, the only real home I've had," he said, and just then saw Ginny Weasley walk by the top of the stairs, with Ron and Dean Thomas. "And the Burrows," he added, "that's like a home to me also."

Mrs Dursley smiled tautly, her eyes narrowing. "You've another home, you know, where I'll be seeing you in June," she said, "if you survive this place."

With that she went on up the stairs, Professor Trelawney following. There came a sudden breeze through the Hall. Giselle saw the Bloodwort leaf swirling up over Mrs Dursley's head, to settle in her hair.

That should have amused Giselle, but it didn't. There was something about it that disturbed her.

'Well,' she thought, 'it was good of Mrs Dursley not to mention to Harry that she knows about his mother haunting the castle, haunting it in some troublesome way. Maybe Dumbledore told her to keep quiet about it.'

"Let's go!" Charlie called to them.

When they were all in the study, Snape said, "Come with me," and went to the round-topped wooden door that led to his office.

Here he went to the bare wall across from his desk where a large rectangle had been drawn on the wall with chalk.

"A full-size portrait of Titus the Terrible hung at this spot," he said. "It has been stored away for safe keeping. Miss McGonagall, come here if you please."

Giselle, surprised, walked over to him with a hand on her chest. She could feel her heart thumping.

"I am going to put you into an hypnotic sleep," Snape said to her. "You will do as directed. It will require only a minute. Relax and breathe normally."

Easier said than done, she thought. She tried to relax, but her body seemed made out of vibrating wood.

Then suddenly she felt comfortably dreamy and carefree. She thought it was quite the thing to do for her to hold hands with Snape. She knew that they were all holding hands: Charlie, Harry, Hermione, Snape, and herself; a sort of game, like getting ready to play Ring Around The Rosie.

"Go into the passage," Snape said to her.

Of course, the passage! It was right there in front of her. She stepped into the passage and went on for a few more steps until they were all there with her.

"Release hands," she heard Snape say, and with a strange reluctance she let go of his hand.

He snapped his fingers in her face.

"Oh!"

She saw now that she had somehow walked through the wall of Snape's office, leading the others along. It was a narrow passage, full of blue shadows, like a dry fog that smelled of old shoes. The walls, low ceiling, and uneven floor were studded with what looked like sapphires. It was drafty and cold, going straight ahead and then curving to the left. When anyone spoke, there were soft echoes of the speech, like a ghostly chorus following them.

"Pay strict attention," Snape was saying. "I will lead, and Mr Weasley will bring up the rear. McGonagall will come behind me, then Granger and Potter. Mr Weasley has cast upon us a Spell Delay shield. He is expert at it, having performed it many times to help protect himself from dragons and other adversaries. It will give you a few precious seconds to respond to any spells cast at you."

Giselle, Hermione, and Harry exchanged looks. This was not supposed to be risky. Perhaps it was just a precaution...?

"Keep this in mind," Snape continued. "High level spells may be either real or an illusion. The rule of thumb is this: if you find yourself in an utterly different environment, an obviously threatening one, it is probably an illusion meant to unnerve you, to distract you. A simple disillusion counter spell will get rid of it. But if an effect is something occuring in your true environment, it is probably an actual thing. Deflect it or reinforce your shield before countering with a hex of your own."

Giselle turned nervously to Harry and Hermione. She was sure that they were all remembering Moody's dictum: 'Constant vigilance!'

"Sir," said Harry. "What are we supposed to be looking for? And what IS this place anyway?"

Snape had turned to go down the passage. He looked back at Harry and said, "Our expedition is to discover where this complex of passages leads to. And in particular to find the living portrait responsible for it, a rogue portrait who can move about like a ghost. Any such person we encounter is to be stunned immobile. Now, follow me, and no talking."

Giselle sensed that there was more to the expedition than just the apprehension of Sanguino. As she followed close behind Snape she wondered if they would come across Harry's mother, and how Harry would react if they did. Poor Harry! He might be in for a really awful surprise.

Or maybe it wouldn't be awful, she thought as they turned the corner into a wider, higher passage. Maybe he would be glad, maybe overjoyed, to see the ghost of his mother. It would all depend, Giselle thought, on the circumstances.

In the dimly lit Infirmary of the hospital wing, Leon Vlaud struggled out of bed. Every joint of his body was aching.

But it wasn't that which got him on his feet.

"Thirsty?"

Leon stared at the opposite wall, where, between two beds, stood a familiar figure in a dark brown robe and red turban.

"Sanguino!"

The semi-transparent wizard chuckled. "I have something for your thirst," he said, motioning for Leon to come to him. "I can not stray far from the walls. Come, if blood thirst assails you. Your deliverance awaits."

"Where is my son?" growled Leon, his hands massaging his burning throat.

"Did I not promise him a cure? He is at St Mungo's."

"That was not your idea," Leon said, walking painfully across the aisle. "It was Dumbledore. He has eyes and ears everywhere. Lucius is a damn fool, I see that now. And your selfish agenda will just as certainly fail. God, I am burning up for blood! Help me!"

"Help you?" said Sanguino. "Why not? You have helped ME, yes, by being the guinea pig for my experiments with the fledgling Roc. Of course it was the draconic bird that bit you. Septima Vector told me so earlier this evening. She was the one who suggested I try quenching your thirst with... Well, come! Don't take all night! Follow me through the wall, where the portrait of Augusta of Salem so proudly hung. Come, take my hand!"

Leon lunged for the proferred hand, his breath wheezing from his parched mouth. He was pulled forward into a bluish darkness.

"There," said Sanguino, pointing to a elderly wizard in chains who stared back at Leon with hollow eyes. Beside the figure was Minx, stooped and shivering. Sanguino pushed the elf aside.

"Quench your thirst, Vlaud! The blood is pumping through the jugular vein of Titus the Terrible! I have built him up for you, yes, on the instructions of Vector. He is weakening as you stand there. Do not delay."

Leon cried out, his hands gripping the shoulders of the hapless Titus as the portrait dropped to its knees under the onslaught of Leon's gouging teeth.

Sanguino watched for a few moments, his tongue wetting his lips. Then he turned his back on the brutal feast and said to Minx,

"Tell Hexaba to meet me in the Chamber of the Pigments."

The elf bowed. "Be warned that Severus Snape and his cohorts have entered the domain," he announced in a shaky voice.

"All the more reason to prepare in the Chamber where my powers are greatest. Tell Hexaba that Lily Potter is to be sacrificed. She will understand what you mean."

"What you say, I do."

"And one more thing," Sanguino said, wiping saliva from his beard, "tell her that she will have her chance to kill Charles Weasley. Vector has assured me that he will accompany Snape."

Minx went scurrying off down the sloping passage until he vanished in the dense blue fog.

(11) Here There Be Dragons

Professor Vector thought the tulips in the wild garden behind the greenhouses could be doing much better. So she made a wish, as she liked to call it, and the tulips grew three inches taller.

"You've a green thumb, Septima," Dumbledore remarked, coming out from the shade of the high hedges.

She greeted him with an anxious smile. "Have you attended to Boris Vlaud?"

"He was whisked away to St Mungo's early this morning, just before the breakfast bell," said Dumbledore. "I had to disspell an Imperius curse which, unfortunately, young Vlaud knew nothing about. His memory is a blank from the time he returned from his nocturnal hunt until the disspellment. Who it was that cursed him remains a mystery."

"It must've been Sanguino!" said Vector, her face flushed with outrage. "I've felt all along that he's been playing his own game. I was foolish to trust him. Thank heavens for Leon mumbling in his sleep, and Poppy there to hear it! Otherwise we'd have never known that his son was a vampire! How fare the villagers?"

"The man and woman whom Boris attacked? The man remains in critical condition. The woman, who's a cousin of Rosemerta of the Three Broomsticks tavern, is expected to recover."

"But they'll be vampires! Oh what a fool I was not to see this coming!" Vector wrung her hands in frustration. "I should've known that Sanguino would not stop at just draining the vitality from the portraits. He would want to taste the blood of real people, and apparently he has! Through Boris!"

"There now, Septima, don't be so hard on yourself," said Dumbledore, patting her hands. "It is only through Sanguino's diabolical scheme that we can discover the details of the Malfoy plot to gain control of Hogwarts. There is more to the plot than just that, I'm quite sure. There is the desire to win the Death Eaters away from Voldemort's lingering influence, which would simplify matters for me, but in all likelihood will merely result in strengthening Voldemort's resolve, once he has returned."

Vector shuddered. "I dread to think that such a thing could happen! But yes, better to deal with Lucius than a resurrected Voldemort."

Dumbledore saw in Vector's eyes that momentary gleam of wistfulness. It was the look of a woman who had lost the man she wanted; lost him to a despised rival, Narcissa. But the gleam quickly became a glint of vengeful determination. In some ways it reminded him of Snape.

Vector noticed Dumbledore's thoughtful appraisal. "Tell me you haven't informed any of the other teachers about what I've been doing!"

"I haven't told a soul, not even Minerva. Our investigation remains a secret. And with luck it will be concluded tonight."

Vector looked skeptical. "That idea Severus has about linking the caves in the forest to hidden passages in the castle walls? Well, that sounds like something Sanguino would generate. He has grown almost as powerful as I, as a real living witch or wizard, thanks to his assaults on the portraits. It won't be long before he will equal my power, and then! And then the servant will become the master! Oh, I do hope that the Barrier spell I placed on that painting of Governors Hall doesn't weaken! Should Sanguino be able to enter it, he will have access to the Malfoy mansion and find out that Lucius has no knowledge of my involvement in his plans! Lucius knows only what I have hinted at to Hexaba. Sanguino will then know that I've been deceiving him!"

"Not to worry, Septima, I have reinforced your spell," Dumbledore said, "and, furthermore, the fact that you have been in contact with a fugitive whom the finest Aurors have not been able to apprehend, is what gives Sanguino and Lucius a certain faith in you."

He looked back at the lawns where groups of students could be seen heading for the gates and on to the village. "Mrs Dursley will be leaving us on Monday," he mused.

"Yes, Albus. I heard from Charity Burbage that Petunia encountered Lily Potter inside a painting in her room! Bumbling Argus! That's TWO paintings he's failed to take down!"

Dumbledore smiled wryly at her. "It was providential that he missed those two works of living art. Mrs Dursley found her sister through one, and, through the other, Giselle McGonagall discovered that Lily is held captive by Sanguino and Hexaba. For what purpose? Severus might find out tonight."

Coming out from lunch, Hermione seized Harry's arm and gave it a tug. "I've something private to ask you," she said, leading him down from the castle porch toward the lake.

When she saw his suggestive grin she slapped his arm, "Oh don't be funny," she said. "It's about tonight. Snape's project. I'd like you to come with me."

Harry made a face. "Like I don't get enough of Snape in Potions class, I want to hang with him in the evenings?"

"That's silly. Of course I know you don't like to be on the same planet with him, but it's for a good cause. And besides, I'd feel safer with you along."

"If Dumbledore's letting this project go forward, well, it can't be all that risky. Anyway, Charlie's going. And Giselle."

Hermione picked up a stone and threw it skimming across the dark waters of the lake. "I wouldn't THINK of going if Charlie wasn't. Giselle has some good skills, but she's not exactly a wand warrior." She turned to Harry and gave him a stern smile. "Come on, Harry, you KNOW you want to go. Just never mind Snape and think how grateful I'll be if you're there with us."

Harry dug up a large stone and tossed it in a looping overhand out into the rippling water, where it made an impressive splash.

"That's called a hook shot in basketball," he said.

"Yes I know. Are you coming with us?"

He grimaced. "I really ought to get some homework done tonight."

"Oh right. So it's settled, then. You're coming?"

Harry was looking past her. "Yeah," he said absently.

"Great! Now, shall we go into Hogsmeade, or visit Hagrid?"

Harry was still staring past the strands of her hair waving in the breeze off the lake. "Ron's on his way now, to Hagrid's, with Neville.... and Seamus..."

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "Ron just needs time to get over it."

"And Lavender..."

Hermione dropped her hand. "But if he wants to keep us as friends, he had better stop acting like a child."

That night at dinner Charlie sat at the Gryffindor table.

When Hermione saw the look of disappointment on Giselle's suntanned face, she said cheerfully, "Come and eat with us, Gee," then had to skip to one side as Giselle rushed past to get a seat next to Charlie.

Charlie Weasley the Dragon Tamer was the focus of attention. Giselle noticed how all the boys bunched around him, asking questions and expressing awe as he told of his adventures in the wild lands where dragons were confined, but from which some had escaped from time to time. When the desserts popped up, boys from the Ravenclaw table came over and stood listening to the tales as they munched cakes and got frosting all over their faces.

But the girls were looking at Giselle with their sly, knowing smiles. This made her self-conscious, sitting so close to Charlie; so close that she and he kept bumping elbows as they ate.

Giselle decided to just ignore the looks. She gazed up at the faculty board.

Only a few teachers were having dinner there on a Saturday night. Auntie, Dumbledore, and Snape were conspicuosly absent, along with Trelawney and Burbage. But Hagrid was there, of course, and Kettleburn, Vector, Sinistra, Flitwick... and Mrs Dursley.

For once Petunia Dursley was glancing over at the Gryffindor table. Giselle could've sworn that Harry's aunt was staring at the back of his head. The muggle woman was no longer in that state of awe and bewilderment. Now she seemed resigned to all the things about magic that had bothered her before. She wasn't happy about it, just accepting of its strangeness.

Rumor had it that Mrs Dursley was leaving after the weekend. No more muggle assistant in Muggle Studies class. No more coming upon Mrs Dursley having a scare over sudden displays of ghostly antics, or seeing her trying to do a spell of some sort and everyone calling for Madame Pomfrey. All that kind of thing was over, and Giselle wondered what Harry thought about it.

She noticed something odd that no one else around her did. Professor Trelawney came into the Great Hall with her shawl hanging down from her shoulders, her eyes magnified by her thick lenses, her hair all frazzled out as though she was on the verge of panic. She gestured to Mrs Dursley.

Petunia set down her fork and steak knife, her brows raised. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, dropped it on the table, and got up in a leisurely way, as if the summons didn't interest her much.

Giselle watched her going out into the Hall with Trelawney speaking in her ear.

In the main cavern of the cave complex, Hexaba LeStrange stood in her torn black gown and watched the twilight fading behind the dark forest.

She looked back at the Roc lying in an ensorcelled sleep, its feathered wings folded alongside its immense body; the serpentine eyes closed, its beak breathing out a reddish mist.

Near it were four dragoneers lying on their backs, stiff as a rod.

Satisfied, Hexaba looked back out at the forest. A flash of gold caught her eye. Alarmed, she flourished her wand.

"Revealo!"

In her mind  she saw it quite clearly: a phoenix soaring just about the treetops.

"Damn that Dumbledore," she muttered, her beautiful face contorted by hate.

She cast a Confundus spell over the cavern entrance. Hopefully this would confuse and disorient Fawkes if it tried to enter the caves. But it was a highly magical bird, and Hexaba couldn't be sure that the spell would have any effect on it.

She went hurriedly to the rear of the cavern, where the Malfoy house-elf, Minx, stood shivering and bowing before her.

Here, and in all the passages, the darkness was diminished by the eerie glow of blue crystals embedded in the walls and ceilings.

Hexaba said to the elf, "Go into the passage and keep watch."

"What you say, I do," said Minx in a grovelling manner. He went quietly through an archway that was carved in odd hieroglyphics.

Hexaba turned and stared down at the hibernating Roc.

With a smile that did not mask her twinge of anxiety, she lifted her wand, and, pointing it at the monster, whispered in B-flat minor,

"Awaken."

(10) Here There Be Dragons

Early Saturday morning Harry and Hermione stood before the iron door to Snape's office and looked at one another with a dawning sense of foreboding.

Since receiving the summons in their dorm rooms, they had walked sleepy-eyed and yawning down the many stairways and deserted corridors, careless of what the summons might mean for them. But now, facing the prospects of possible trouble for some misbehavior, they were tense and questioning.

With a shrug, Hermione tapped on the door with the ring-pull.

"Come in."

Snape frowned at the sight of Harry as the two stepped inside his dim candlelit office.

"I don't recall requesting the presence of Mr Potter," he said to Hermione.

She cleared her throat nervously. "I sent your summons round to him," she said in an apologetic tone. "There are rumors about vampires, and I thought it best to have someone come with me, since it's still quite early and--"

"I know what time it is, Miss Granger. And if it's security you're concerned about, why didn't you also invite Weasley? Is he not up to your standards? Or is there a schism among the Holy Trinity?"

Hermione glanced at Harry. He was looking at Snape with his usual displeasure.

Snape picked up an old moldy book, opened to the marked page, and sat back in his desk chair. "You may wait outside in the corridor, Potter," he said, "and close the door."

"Gladly, sir," Harry replied tersely, and went out.

"Miss Granger, come forward, and keep your voice down," Snape said in his low quiet manner. When she came up to his desk he continued.

"Do you remember the ounce of blood you provided for a potion of mine, in your second year?"

The question surprised her. "Yes, sir," she said anxiously. "Was something wrong with it?"

"I wouldn't say 'wrong,' but I was not aware at the time that you have a Slytherin ancestor. You know of this?"

She fidgeted slightly. "Yes."

"And is his name Hellington Nestor?"

"I believe so. I was quite young when I met him. And I haven't seen him since, Professor."

"You needn't be defensive about it, Miss Granger."

Snape set the open book face up on his desk. It showed the illustration of an avian dragonette. "Do you recognize this creature?" he asked.

Hermione bent forward over the desk to scrutinize the drawing. "No, I can't say that I do, sir. But its wing feathers look quite a lot like the Bloodwort leaves of the Bird-of-Hades plant we studied in Herbology the other day." She straightened up with a puzzled expression.

"I may be mistaken," Snape began, wincing as his right arm made contact with the desk, "but this creature derives from the plant you mentioned. I believe that the seeds of this plant develope into a vampiric, feathered reptillian, known in mythology as a Roc." He spelled it for her. "My investigation into the darker side of necromancy leads me to conclude that the blood of Slytherin type wizards and witches is of special interest to the Roc, and that the blood of the Gryffindor type, and especially the Hufflepuff type, is an antidote to the vampiric condition caused by the bite of a Roc."

Hermione's puzzlement grew. She shook her head. "Professor, I don't understand what my blood donation has to do with any of this. Are you saying that the potion you made from my blood is a cure for vampirism? That sounds rather astonishing."

"I am saying that the little bit of Slytherin in your genealogy prevents your blood from being a vampiric cure-all, but that it could arrest the condition in the early stages so that the blood thirst does not arise."

In his mind's eye Snape saw himself applying the flesh tone to Hummerhorn's portrait of Lily, the paint crafted from a sample of her remains and the blood provided by Hermione. It had worked almost instantly. The image of Lily became invitalized. She had at once recognized him, backing away from him into the scene of the painting, a look of fear and revulsion on her lovely, youthful face.

The intense sorrow of that moment lived again in his memory, so much so that the pain in his arm was forgotten. He pushed the thought of Lily from his mind and focused on the girl standing before him, who asked him, "You want another ounce of my blood? Is it for Boris Vlaud's father?"

Snape smiled grimly. "I see now where the rumors of a lurking vampire came from," he said. "Yes, your blood is requested, and a half ounce will do. Its use is confidential. First, however, there is something else I need to discuss with you. It concerns Professor Vector."

This did not help to clear up Hermione's puzzled state. "My Arithmancy teacher?"

"The very same. She gave you an assignment yesterday that involved a small wicker cage. She provided a set of numbers with which to determine if the purpose of the cage would result in a success or a failure. No details of the purpose were given. What was the result?"

Hermione blinked, amused as much as puzzled. "It indicated success," she said. Then her expression became solemn and pensive. "Oh, I think I see the connection. I sensed that the cage was for a kind of half-bird, half-snake, or... dragon, a small one of some weird sort."

Snape nodded. "A fledgling avian dragon. It grows into a very large and ferocious creature that is capable of shape-changing into a peculiar tree. A carnivorous tree, rather like a monstrous version of a Venus Fly-Trap. We have one such monstrosity in the Forbidden Forest. A Roc that is certainly not a myth."

"Is it to be gotten rid of?" asked Hermione. "Was that the reason for my assignment in Arithmancy, to see if the hunt will be successful?"

"We may suppose so," Snape said indifferently. "Tonight after dinner, at eight o'clock sharp, you will meet with me here. Bring Potter if you wish. In any case, the edict from the Headmaster is that students are to go in groups of at least four when outside the castle. We will be venturing forth. The group will include myself, Charlie Weasley, Giselle McGonagall, and yourself, along with whoever you wish to bring."

"Giselle?"

"She is a Hufflepuff, the significance of which I have explained, regarding blood types. Also she has, shall we say, a vested interest in this endeavor."

"Which is what, sir? Where are we going? Is it... is it dangerous?"

"Life is dangerous, Miss Granger," Snape replied and turned his head to stare at the wall between his bookshelves and potion cabinet, to wonder if a complex of caves and passages existed within the walls, and to hope that somewhere within was the portrait of Lily, or the ghostly essence of her, waiting to be found.... waiting to be rescued?

Earlier that morning, an hour before dawn, Moody arrived at the east lawn of the castle, gazing around impatiently until his bulging magical eye found what he was looking for.

"Wormtail?" he whispered gruffly.

"Over here, Crouch."

Moody gritted his teeth. "Don't call me Crouch, you mangy imbecile! Stay where you are." He hobbled over to the clump of lilac trees where Pettigrew stood hunched over, fingering his face as if making sure his rat whiskers had vanished.

"You met with Carrow?" asked Moody. "Give me the news."

"Everything is ready. It is all but certain that Potter will win the Tournament. Carrow has confidence in you and in Karkaroff. When Potter lays hands on the Winner's Cup--"

"I know all that, you idiot! What did he say about Hexaba LeStrange? Has he any idea what she's up to?"

Pettigrew, shrinking back, said tensely, "Alright, alright. He don't know what she's planning, only that she supports the Malfoy faction. He thinks it might have to do with Vector, you know, a teacher at the school. Vector has always been keen for Lucius, ever since their torrid affair some years back. She wants him to be Headmaster. But Hexaba, he don't know exactly how she plays into this. He says Vector and Hexaba don't like each other none. Jealousy, he figures."

"What does Bellatrix think of this? You spoke with her?"

"No, she wasn't there. She's busy sowing mistrust about Snape among the Loyalists. Who knows? She may be right about him. Carrow doesn't want you confiding with Snape."

"As if I would," Moody grunted. "Hold it! What's that?" He motioned to Pettigrew to make himself scarce. "Someone's coming. Lay low. I'll check it out."

Moody stood looking out from behind a lilac tree as a rat scurried off into a nearby hedge. A caped figure, indistinct in the pre-dawn darkness, approached the wall of a tower not far from the lilac grove.

The figure put its hands on the wall and was about to press a foot against it when Moody pointed his wand, flourished it in an up and down pattern, and intoned, "Stasis!"

The figure immediately stiffened.

Going up to it, Moody peered at the young face shadowed by the hood of the cape. He grunted a mirthless laugh.

"Boris Vlaud. Out for a morning constitutional, are you? Or could it be..." He wiped a wet red spot from the boy's chin. "Ah, it could indeed. Out to quench your thirst, I see."

The boy's eyes stared at Moody in a fearful worry. The eccentric teacher stood considering how best to take advantage of this fortuitous event. After a minute he smiled slyly, stepped back, and cast upon Boris the Imperius curse.

Boris turned to face Moody like a soldier at attention. His expression was calm and expectant.

"Very good, boy," Moody said. He considered another minute. "You and your father have a confederate here in the school?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Professor Vector," Boris replied. He spoke smartly, eager to please his master.

"Anyone else?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Sanguino of Toledo."

Moody frowned. "He's been dead for hundreds of years. Is he a ghost haunting the castle?"

"A living portrait, sir. He is able to transcend the painting and walk about like a ghost. He derived this power from absorbing the vitality of other living portraits. It is a vampiric power."

"Well, well, one learns something new every day. And this Sanguino, is he subject to orders from Vector?"

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

"To generate disillusion with Dumbledore, so that he will be replaced by Lucius Malfoy."

Moody thought that over for a moment. "Dumbledore is no fool. He must know about Vector's love affair with Lucius awhile back. He has his own reasons for having her on the faculty, no doubt." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Who bit your father?"

"I do not know, sir."

Moody grunted. "But Vector knows, surely she does. Boy, you will speak privately with Vector the first chance you get. You will keep your correspondence with me a secret from everyone. What you learn from Vector, you will reveal to me. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

Moody patted Boris on the shoulder. "Don't forget to ask Vector about Hexaba LeStrange."

"What do you wish to know about her?"

"Ah! So you know what Hexaba is up to? Inform me, boy."

"She has been offered a large sum if she kills Charlie Weasley."

Moody scowled. "No, we can't have that. If Charlie's killed the Tournament might be cancelled, and that would ruin everything for us. Learn what you can about Hexaba but don't let on that you oppose her plans. D'ya hear?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Very well," said Moody. He eyed Boris a moment, nodding his head at some hopeful thought. "You are dismissed. See that you do what I've ordered. Above all, don't let your father know that you are my slave."

"Right, sir."

Charlie Weasley slapped his hands down on the table in Hagrid's hut. "You've wiped me out," he said, grinning at Giselle. "Remind me not to play gobstones with you again."

She laughed. "Oh I was just lucky! If you had skip-rolled instead of hop-shot, I think you would've won the last round."

"I'll remember that next time."

They glanced at the back window when Hagrid walked past the garden in the noon sun, carrying a huge pumpkin.

"For Professor Vector, I bet," said Charlie musingly. "Her pumpkin pies are famous. She'll want to impress the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students at Halloween."

He noticed Giselle's troubled expression. "Something wrong?"

She smiled brightly. "No, nothing! I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you awfully. I had such fun at the Burrows last summer. How long will you be here at Hogwarts?"

"Another month or so," he said, scooping up the gobstones and pouring them into the pouch. "I spoke with your Aunt Minerva after breakfast. She wants us to assist Professor Snape tonight in an experiment. It's about the living portraits that have lost their vitality. Snape believes he knows something about the cause, and that our help is needed. Dumbledore has okay'd it. It seems safe enough. Something about the interior walls of the castle. Anyway, it should be interesting."

Giselle was intrigued. "Snape needs our help?"

"Hermione Granger will be along, too, and your Auntie thinks Harry Potter might join us. Some strange thing about traits and necromancy. That's not my expertise. I guess we'll be learning as we go about the experiment, whatever exactly it involves."

"Have you decided what to do about the giant Roc?"

Charlie smiled, and, leaning back in the oversized chair, he stretched out his arms. He wasn't used to sitting for any length of time, Giselle thought.

"My boss, Crankspit, will have to decide about that," Charlie said. "For now the Roc is subdued in the main cave of its lair, a sort of forced hibernation. I'm just glad that we have it under control."

They heard the dull thrum of a bell.

"Lunch," Charlie said. "Shall we see what the elves have cooked up?"

On the walk back to the castle Giselle made up her mind. Heart pounding, she shyly slipped her hand into Charlie's.

He gave hers a squeeze.

(9) Here There Be Dragons

Professor Sprout came into the Hufflepuff Common Room that evening at ten-thirty and tapped the air with her wand. It made a sound like a bronze gong.

The students stopped what they were doing, which was all manner of things, and turned to their Head of House attentively.

Sprout looked a thoughtful moment at Giselle. She was sitting cross-legged on the fireplace apron with a handful of gobstones, doing well, apparently, against her opponents Bea, Deidre, Cedric, Herman, and the Gryffindor girl, Parvati.

"Miss Patil," Sprout said, "it is half an hour til Lights-Out. You should be getting back to your house dorm."

"Yes, ma'am." Parvati gave Giselle a hug goodbye. She gathered up her books and went out as Sprout glanced about the room.

"Any other houses here? No? Well then, I've one announcement. There is a creature in the Forbidden Forest that is a recent addition and has not yet been identified. Tomorrow is Saturday and some of you may wish to go into town. Stay clear of the forest. Go in groups of at least four. Have your wands with you. Should a threat appear, you are to cast a collective shield spell and remain in place until help arrives. As you know, shield spells automatically alert the Headmaster. He will take appropriate action."

Mrs Dursley read the letter she had just finished, at her desk in the guest room that night.

'Dear Vernon,
I trust you have kept quiet about my whereabouts. You know what gossips the neighbors are. Is Dudley keeping to his diet at Smeltings? Is he keeping his grades up? Have you sold many drills lately?

'I hope to be home sometime next week. I have been asked to assist one of the teachers, the most absurd situation. Such craziness here! It's all I can do to keep my head on. Nonsense at every turn.

'There is one teacher in particular who is mad as a hatter. The potions master. Snide, arrogant, bullies the students, an altogether horrid man. And to think, Vernon, my demented sister actually WENT with this disagreeable lunatic! And I heard from this old wretched woman, who changes things into other things, that he still pines for Lily. There are even rumors that he played a part in her death. Yes, we have this ghoulish potions maniac to thank for Harry contaminating our house!

'Yesterday the Headmaster called me to his office in this drafty, dirty, nightmare of a castle. Imagine, this old man with a white beard longer than my arm, like some silly character out of a fairy tale. He says he hopes my experiences here will help me to be more sympathetic toward Harry. The cheek! I told him that I do not neglect my duties as Harry's guardian. And if he thinks--'

Petunia turned around in her chair and stared at the painting on the wall opposite. Again she had felt that someone was watching her. But the painting was of a plush velvet armchair in a quaint parlor. No one was ever seen in the chair, and yet...

Petunia got up and walked determinedly to the painting with the firm intention of taking it down and stowing it away in the wardrobe closet.

She reached both hands for the frame, and found herself gripping the armrests of the chair!

With a gasp of sheer astonishment she straightened up and gazed about the parlour. Her mind froze in shock. The impossibility of what happened had overwhelmed her. The painting, through which she had evidently fallen, was now a shuttered window.

"Petunia?"

A hand to her gaping mouth, she turned and stared bug-eyed at her sister standing in front of the parlour door, wearing a plain blue smock.

"Lily--!"

"Shhh, I don't want him to hear us. I can't stay long. I'm trying to find my way back..." Lily sighed, her expression a melancholy one touched with a poignant sorrow.

A strange composure came over Petunia. "Go back? But Lily, you can't ever go back. You... you died."

"Don't say that! I meant find my way back to the lovely room near the private study of Severus." She sighed again and rubbed her forehead as though to clear her thoughts. "He says he still loves me. He says that Harry's anger at me is due to the failed killing curse that Voldemort cast on him that horrible Halloween night. He says the curse is embedded in Harry's soul and can't be disspelled. There's... no hope. There's just Severus. And I can't seem to forgive him for going over to the Dark Side." Tears welled in her eyes.

None of this made any sense to Petunia. She stood there puzzled and feeling helpless. Fear was beginning to creep up her spine.

Seeing this, Lily went up to her and grasped her hands. "Don't be afraid. I'll show you out. He's coming to fetch me and I don't want him to see you here with me."

"Who--?"

"Sanguino of Toledo. He has some terrible plan to control the school, something about vampirism that is different from the usual sort. It's necromancy, a dark magic. And Lucius Malfoy is involved. It's awful, but what can I do? I must find my way back to Severus, I must!"

Lily glanced back at the door. "Sanguino is coming! Here--" She opened the shutters and pointed to steps that led down from the frame to the floor of the guest room. "Go, quickly! Cover the painting with cloth. Don't try to take it down. Petunia--" She gazed earnestly into her sister's eyes. "Have you forgiven me?"

"Forgiven you? For what?"

"For not being the sister I should have been. Ah--! He's in the hall! Go now!"

She gave Petunia a gentle push, prompting her down the steps.

When Mrs Dursley turned, she saw only the painting of a chair in a parlour. Nothing more than that.

Snape came out from the Restricted Section of the library later that night and stood pensively in the third floor corridor with the big moldy book on unlawful necromancy in one hand. With the other hand he was feeling the wall where a painting had hung.

Had Filch gathered up all the living portraits? Had he missed any? Snape had found no sign of Lily in any of the paintings stored now in the annex of the Trophy Room.

The painting in the Charms balcony that Miss McGonagall had seen was taken down by her Aunt Minerva that afternoon. But... strange how the wall areas where the paintings had been gave Snape the sense that there was a complex of caverns, a series of caves, within the walls. It was as if the magical dimensions of the painted scenes extended into the walls. If so, then rather that aiding the search for clues, the removal of the portraits made it more difficult, for now there was nothing to see.

Snape was grimly amused at the sight of Giselle in her nightgown sleepwalking up the corridor toward him. 'That girl needs to remember to take her medicine,' he thought, watching her going down the stairway to the second floor.

He followed her, intent not to wake her.

In the Entrance Hall she went straight to the great doors, languidly but with a subconscious purpose.

Snape was surprised to see her walk right through the door as if she were a ghost. He made a mental note to look into this odd phenomenon inherent in the sleepwalking state. Then, unlocking the doors, he went out to the porch to see Giselle going sure-footed down the sloping lawns toward the groundskeeper's hut.

Snape cast an Immanent Misdirection spell so that no one would notice his presence.

It was a breezy, humid night with a blurry quarter moon. In her white nightgown Giselle was easy to follow as she passed the hut and started into the forest.

Snape set the book on a woodpile next to the hut and drew his wand. He shortened the distance between himself and Giselle, keeping her well in view as he followed her between the huge gnarly boles of trees, around the clumps of bracken, over the mossy logs and across the little trickling streams.

They had walked about a half mile through the forest in a northeasterly direction when a low growling call from close by had Snape reaching out to grab Giselle by the arm. He swung her behind him as he faced the darkness from which the ominous sound had come.

Giselle woke up. She rolled onto her side, blinking her eyes and trying to make sense of what she felt and heard. What was all this dirt and sticks and crispy leaves doing in her bed? And was that Deidre snoring?

A roaring blast, and Giselle was wide awake to her horrifying predicament. She went scooting backwards until a fallen tree stopped her. A pair of gigantic feathered wings parted a copse of bushes, revealing a horned head at the end of a long scaly neck.

Giselle screamed.

Paralyzed with fear, she could only sit pressed against the tree trunk and watch the monster snap its jaws at something she couldn't see. The Roc was trying to fight off invisible assaults that had it screeching and tearing up tree limbs and brush with throbbing swings of its neck and fanged maw. What was it fighting? What was keeping it from lunging upon her?

Voices, behind her: "Hagrid! Your umbrella!"

"Right-O, Charlie!"

In monents came flashes of orange light that seemed to punch the fight out of the Roc. With one last cry it fell in a heap, lying in a clearing too small for it.

"Charlie!" gasped Giselle.

"My God!" he said, forcing his way through the brush to her. "What! Were you sleepwalking?"

She made an apologetic face. "I won't forget again," she promised in a breathless voice, faint from her ordeal.

Charlie shook his head, grinning. He turned and hollared at Hagrid. "The beast will be out cold for several hours. I'm taking Giselle back to the castle. See if you can talk the dragoneers into keeping watch here."

"Aye" Hagrid said, scowling reprovingly at Giselle as Charlie helped her up. "That medicine don't do you no good if you don't take it, lass. I'll head back to the caves, Charlie. The men'll still be there, probably."

Snape stood in the shadows, unmoving and silent. He was thinking that the caves in the forest might have some mysterious connection to the 'caves' in the castle walls. It was an idea worth pursuing.

He watched Charlie pick the girl up in his arms. She was blushing, embarrassed at being seen in her nightgown but not without a naughty thrill to go with the embarrassment.

When they were out of sight Snape held up his right arm to examine it in the soft rays of moonlight.

From the torn black sleeve fell droplets of blood.

(8) Here There Be Dragons

Boris Vlaud stood looking through a gap in the heavy drapes of the window beside his father's hospital bed, watching Giselle going down the sloping lawns to the groundskeeper's hut.

She is pretty, he thought. Not for the first time he wished she were a Slytherin girl. That she was a Hufflepuff gave him some encouragement, however, since it was said that 'opposites attract.'

He closed the gap in the drapes. Yes, she was pretty and desirable, but she was also a complication.

Had Sanguino succeeded in having her abducted by Hexaba LeStrange, then Giselle might now be a beneficial addition to 'The Group,' as Boris thought of it. But fate had other plans, apparently. And how ironic that the person who foiled the abduction, who derailed Sanguino's little scheme, was the Head of Slytherin House.

But then, how understandable, too. Snape was a Voldemort supporter, a Loyalist among the Death Eaters. He did not particularly care about Lucius Malfoy. And though he showed some favoritism to Draco, that was just a ploy to keep himself within the circle of grace should Lucius gain enough followers to overthrow any attempt by the lingering spirit of Tom Riddle to resurrect itself.

Boris frowned. Evidently the belief that Snape was secretly disloyal to Riddle's memory due to the murder of Lily Potter was untrue. The source had been wrong. And yet... and yet...

How could a Snitch pea be wrong?

And hadn't Sanguino insisted that Snape harbored a keen fondness for Lily Potter's spirit, going so far as to generate a living portrait of her?

But it was true, also, wasn't it, that this Lily woman, the mother of that obnoxious show-off, did not trust Snape, and that she blamed him for the death of her husband, for her own death, and for the attempted murder of her son? She blamed Snape as much as she blamed Sirius Black, her secret-keeper who betrayed her location to Riddle. Sanguino was certain this was true. And the Snitch pea confirmed it.

There it was again, the call of the Roc! Such an unearthly cry!

"Father, did you hear that?"

Leon Vlaud shifted painfully in his bed and tried to sit up. The pain was too much. He sank back on his pillows.

"Son," he said, "tell me. Reassure me. When you are out in the sunlight, you no longer feel any discomfort?"

"None at all. It is pleasant."

"You had such a difficult summer, in so much pain. It is gone now, gone completely? But your blood thirst, it has grown stronger?"

Boris hung his head and sat in the bedside chair. "Yes," he replied. "But Sanguino was confident the other night that 'together' we can find a cure. And remember what I told you, Father, that he says we are not to trust Madame Pomfrey. She is too conventional."

Leon stared narrow-eyed at his son for a moment. Then he looked away and said, "You were not the one who bit me in my sleep?"

Boris sat up, shocked. "Father! How could you think that? It is absurd! Bite my own father? No, no, it was a villager I bit that night. I... I drained him... I drained him of every drop of his blood. I did not want to have to sneak out again the following night."

Leon sighed. "Then it must have been this Charlie Weasley fellow."

"But the Snitch pea says--"

"To hell with your Snitch peas!"

Leon grimaced in pain and let out another long sigh. "There... the bell. Your lunch hour has expired. Come back this evening."

"Yes, Father. I will read to you from the Marquis de Sade."

"Good, good."

Giselle had to pile four big cushions on the chair seat in order to rest her elbows on the table in the hut. Everything here was so much bigger than the ordinary things in ordinary rooms. And the mug that Hagrid had given her for the popberry juice was so large that she needed both hands to pick it up. It was like drinking out of a bucket.

Hagrid was tending the pumpkin patch while Giselle finished writing about the aerodynamic quality of the hickory straws on broomsticks for her Advanced Flying class. That done, she worked out the solutions for the predictive equations assigned to her in Arithmancy last week. She was surprised to see that they foretold an upswing in her love life.

Love life? "As if I have one!" she said aloud to herself.

This got her daydreaming about Charlie. She always ended up embarrassed when she let her imagination become a little too grown up.

Where was he now? With Dumbledore in the Forbidden Forest, looking for a bloodsucking, shape-changing bird-like dragon. Oh, it was just a simple little routine thing like that? She breathed a laugh that was a mix of worry and infatuation.

Poor Charlie, she thought, bothered by a starry-eyed teen girl with no sense in her head whatsoever. Hmm...

"Welcome, Gryffindors!"

Hagrid's voice boomed, startling Giselle out of her reverie. No use trying to do anymore homework, she thought. And hopping down off the chair, she took her mug with her to a window near the door; Fang following her lazily.

Hagrid stood beside an iron cage in which was coiled a large centipede with scaly purple skin and what looked like buckteeth. It would surely be several meters long when it stretched out, similar to the size of a boa constrictor.

The Gryffindors were seated in two rows on the grass, at a respectable distance from the cage. Harry and Hermione sat hip-to-hip in the front row. Neither looked very happy. Ron was in the back row next to Lavender Brown, who eyed him appraisingly.

As Hagrid spoke lovingly about the Centisnake, Giselle wondered once again why Ron was acting so aloof toward his closest friends. Could it be that he was jealous of Harry? Why? Because Hermione gave more attention to Harry? Or because Harry had been selected by the Goblet of Fire to be co-champion along with Cedric? It was incredible that Harry had been selected, and quite against the rules, but Dumbledore accepted it. Why so? Why didn't the Headmaster just say no? Was Ron jealous because Harry was treated in a special fashion by Dumbledore?

"Whoa!" grunted Hagrid as he grabbed the Centisnake just as it began to wrap itself around a screaming Gryffindor girl whose name Giselle didn't know.

In the next instant the class was looking on from the top of the slope, out of breath from their run.

"S'all right," Hagrid said, patting the scaly beast on the head and giving it an affectionate hug.

Giselle was not looking forward to her Care of Magical Creatures class.

She went back to the table. There was a nice breeze coming in from the gardens behind the hut, through the back window. Unfortunately there was something else coming in that wasn't so nice.

Giselle snatched at her wand on the table but missed.

She flung her arms around in wild abandon as she stumbled backwards over the living-room rug. She was too horrified to scream, gasping for breath as she swatted desperately at the fledgling monster that swirled around her, screeching and snapping its crimson beak in quick darting lunges at her head and neck.

She finally managed to let out a piercing cry as she swung a small length of firewood at the wing-flapping, hot-hissing avian dragonette. But a glimpse out the front window showed Hagrid chasing after the Centisnake, the class trotting along behind him with shouts of encouragement.

Giselle tossed the piece of wood at the hideous creature when it alighted on the mantle of the hearth. Running in leaping strides she threw herself on top of the table, scattering her school books and grasping her wand as she went sliding off the opposite edge to crumple on the floor amidst a flurry of parchments.

When she rolled over, a sharp-feathered wing slashed across her cheek. She gasped out a shield spell that evaporated with the awkward flourish of her wand.

The door crashed open.

"Stasis Maximus!"

Giselle lay stock still. Even the drifting papers hung suspended in the air.

Charlie Weasley rushed over to the back window and put his head out. Dumbledore appeared in the gardens.

"Did you see it?" Charlie asked him. "What was it?"

"Just a blur going off into the forest. But I've little doubt that this is the fledgling that Giselle saw in the wicker cage. It was no illusion. And it means, I'm afraid, that the Roc is hatching a brood in its lair, wherever that happens to be. Tonight, take Hagrid with you, along with any of the dragoneers who care to volunteer, and find that lair. Try the complex of caves to the northeast."

"Will do," Charlie said determinedly.

He disspelled the effect of his hex.

At once Giselle scrambled to her feet, flinging her arms around Charlie's neck. She sobbed on his chest and stood trembling against him.

He rubbed her back. "There, it's all right. Look, you've a souvenir in your hair." He pulled lose a feather from her locks.

"Class dismissed," said Professor McGonagall. "And do remember that your first quarter quiz is this coming Monday."

The Ravenclaws filed out of the classroom in their usual orderly manner, erupting into levity only when they were well down the corridor.

Snape watched them go, impassively, then with the same demeanor he entered the classroom.

He stood in the shafts of late afternoon sunlight that folded over him in patterns, waiting for McGonagall to turn from her desk where she was brushing cat hairs off the blotter.

"Severus," she said, coming toward him.

"You wished to see me, Deputy Headmistress?"

"About Mrs Dursley. Evidently she senses the presence of Lily here in the castle."

Snape arched a brow. "I find that difficult to believe."

"I'm not so sure it should be. She requested enrollment after her sister received the letter of invitation. Dumbledore was kind enough to send Petunia the written entrance exam. She failed it, but not by much. I recall that Albus and I considered having her registered as a squib. The Board nixed that idea. And now here she is, in our midst, bewildered by the magic she sees, but, even so, having a degree of second sight. Severus," McGonagall added firmly, "she believes that you have knowledge of Lily's spiritual presence here. But she's afraid to ask you about it."

"Of course she is."

McGonagall took a deep breath, her hands clasped, and said evenly, "Albus and I are aware that two years ago you met with Winderthal Hummerhorn, one of three magic artists authorized to create living portraits. You went to Lily's grave in Godric's Hollow and took some of her remains. This particular type of necromancy requires it. And an ounce of blood from someone sufficiently like the Subject. Who was the blood donor?"

Snape went to a window, turning his back to it, outlined by the glowing rays, and faced McGonagall. "Hermione Granger," he said.

"Miss Granger?" said McGonagall, surprised. "And she obliged you?"

"I used a ruse," Snape replied. "She believed it was for a purpose other than the true intention. Something concerning a health potion for a ministry official. She had no reason to doubt me."

"And her blood was efficient?"

"Yes. Like Lily, she was born to a muggle family, was sorted into Gryffindor, and, in my opinion, was equal in talent to Lily. I realize that my endeavor was unlawful. But I trust that I am of high enough value to Dumbledore so that my indiscretion is forgiven."

"Never mind that, where is the portrait?"

"In my quarters. But the Subject has been missing for over a week. I have not located her. I confess that she... that she has not reconciled herself to me."

"Severus, don't you understand that Lily will want to see her son?"

Snape turned to face the window and its view of the central courtyard.

"That isn't possible," he said.

McGonagall was silent a moment, her anger rising. In a strained calmness she said, "You have placed an Ignorantus curse on her. You have deprived her of the knowledge of her son. And in what way? Does she believe him to be dead? To be attending some other school? What does she think?"

Snape replied with just a hint of reluctance, "She thinks that Harry believes she killed her husband and attempted to kill her baby, so that she could return to me. The curse is so strong that she has no hope of changing her son's belief. Her only hope for happiness is reconciliation with me. But even such a powerful spell as I have cast upon her has not been able to change her attitude toward me. However," he added, turning to look McGonagall in the eye, "in time the spell will work its way through her stubbornness. In time... in time..."

McGonagall shook her head in a dull amazement. "Never mind that as well," she said. "You say Lily is missing. Who is responsible for that?"

"Obviously I have yet to determine the culprit."

She went up to him and glared into his dark, defensive eyes. "I don't know what good Albus sees in you, Severus. I really don't."

She turned abruptly and walked over to her desk. "That is all."

(7) Here There Be Dragons

When Giselle went up the steps to the fifth tier of desks in the huge Charms classroom, she was determined to clear her mind of everything. She sat at her narrow little desk at the end of the row, her face stiff with this determination to focus all her energy on doing better, much better, at casting charms.

The two sets of tiered school desks faced each other across an expanse of polished wooden floor, a lectern at one end where Professor Flitwick stood on a pile of old books, his longish wand in hand, and his cheerful face beaming around at all the students.

It was such a large room that it could accommodate the fourth years from three houses. Today it was Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor.

"As we discussed Thursday last," Flitwick was saying, "this year begins your studies at the Intermediate Level. Today we begin with a reminder about the difference between Transient charms and Immanent charms. Who whould like to explain it?"

Hermione, who sat across the room from Giselle, in the bottom tier, half rose from her seat and stretched an arm as high as she could without dislocating it.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Transient charms are those that are cast upon other people. Immanent charms are cast upon oneself."

"Very good. Two points to Gryffindor."

Draco muttered something to Goyle, but Giselle was not going to let anything distract her from the lesson. Not even the sour looks that Ron was giving Harry; no, nothing was going to get in the way of her concentration. A 'Poor' in Charms last term, just awful! She really must bump her grade up to at least an 'Acceptable.'

"Now, this morning we will be learning an Immanent charm called  'faerie feet' magic. A most delightful charm that you can use to move at great speed or with complete silence upon any surface. Also, we will use faerie magic to defy gravity in walking up walls and across ceilings. Let me demonstrate."

This was always fun, watching demonstrations, but a bit disconcerting also, because you were expected to do these things yourself. Giselle watched intently.

The first charm had Flitwick going around the room so fast that he was just a blur.

Then he sprinkled a lot of fragile items on the floor, cast the second charm on his booted feet, and walked upon the items so that they crunched and shattered, but without the slightest sound being heard.

Lastly, with a rather wild flourish of his wand, he went strolling up the rear wall, then upside down across the very high ceiling (which made Giselle shiver), and down the opposite wall.

As was customary when a teacher performed an impressive feat of magic, the Hufflepuffs applauded, the Gryffindors nodded, and the Slytherins looked bored. (Had Ravenclaws been present, they would've tapped their chins thoughtfully.)

"Now we shall spend the next twenty minutes or so practicing the cantos and the flourishes. Turn to page twenty-eight of your textbook."

Giselle read each sentence twice. She hung on every word Flitwick said. Her flourishes were nicely fluid; no jerky movements.

She pronounced the three cantos fairly well, not having perfect pitch. She knew that this was the reason she had trouble with charms. She sometimes was off key, intoning a G flat, for example, instead of a G natural. But usually she was close enough so that the charm worked pretty much as expected.

Today she was lucky. The three cantos were all in the key of C, the easiest one of all.

Flitwick stepped down from his books and, flicking his wand, had the books and the lectern floating off to a corner. "And now that we're done with Theory," he said, "on with Practical."

The class practiced the charms one row of students at a time. Giselle was nervous watching the attempts. Some were skidding around on their butts, some were uncontrollably tap-dancing, some were having to climb back in through the open windows.

But there were a few who did quite well. Pansy Parkinson was good at going fast, Giselle noticed, but her 'silent' walking was a thunderous noise that had everyone covering their ears.

Hermione made the fast and the silent walks look quite simple, but Giselle could see that she was uneasy about scaling the walls.

This last charm, Scaling, was practiced separately, after the 'floor walks.' Giselle, to her immense relief, did splendidly at the fast walk. It was strange moving at such a speed when it didn't seem to be fast at all, just a slight feeling of vertigo. But Flitwick was there with his stopwatch, saying, "One and a half seconds round the room, Miss McGonagall. Excellent."

Her silent walking wasn't exactly silent, but Flitwick nodded and said, "Not bad for a start. Next time try not to step on your shoelaces."

Scaling was next. Everyone was breathing nervously and fidgeting. Giselle told herself to just relax and think of it as a walk uphill. This didn't help much when she saw that the attempts often ended with Flitwick shouting out, "Arresto momentum!"

The exercise was one student at a time. Most walked up the rear wall for just a few meters before turning around very carefully and coming back down, or falling down, while the class stood in lines getting themselves psyched up.

Harry walked about halfway to the ceiling. Ron matched him and then took a few more steps until he wasn't far below the balcony, where members of the Board of Governors would sit during final exams.

Hermione satisfied herself with a brief walk up and a rather nerve-wracking walk back down. Deidre, Lori, and Bea all fell screaming from a short ways up, and Felix wasn't able to make a single step up before falling over backwards.

"A tutorial this weekend, Mr Franklin," Flitwick said to him.

Draco bested Pansy's effort, but came down a little too quickly and had to be arresto'd. Neville took a few steps up and fell on top of Crabbe, to the delight of Seamus and his girlfriend Angela.

And then it was Giselle's turn.

She performed the extravagant flourish well, and her canto, for once, was pitch perfect. A wonderful feeling of confidence came over her. This was a rare thing for her in Charms.

With bouyant steps she started up the stone-block wall, her eyes staring just a little past her feet. She didn't want to think about heights. Just keep walking, she told herself. She was determined to go higher than Ron had gone.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Flitwick.

The class began whispering. Bets were made on whether this bold Hufflepuff would fall or not.

Hermione had her fingers crossed and Ron was grinning. Harry did a thumbs up. Draco had bet that Giselle would fall, and the longer she lasted the more he scowled.

She kept going, her confidence growing with each step. She even noticed the names that had been scratched on the stones from years back: Sirius... James... Remus... And further up, in deeply scratched letters filled with mold, Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

From the corner of her eyes Giselle saw the balcony. She was a good twenty meters above the floor. This put a tiny crack in her confidence. So high up! But there's nothing to worry about, she said to herself, I'll just turn round slowly...

When she began her turn she could see over the railing of the balcony. The seats were empty. In the back was a large framed painting that a shaft of light from a high window opposite had lit up, and for a moment it mesmerized her.

The painting showed two young women sitting side by side on a garden bench. Both had reddish hair and the one on the left had eyes that reminded Giselle of Harry's eyes. The other woman looked very much like the witch in the forest.

Then Sanguino entered the scene carrying a small wicker cage. The woman with Harry's eyes shrank back from him, prompting the other woman to take firm hold of her companion's, or captive's, wrist and squeeze it brutally, as if she thought the frightened woman might try to flee.

The sight of the painting had surprised Giselle just enough to weaken the charm. When she saw how the two women acted, and heard the reptillian bird in the cage hiss in a strange timbre, it all became too much for her.

With a gasp of horror Giselle fell head-first toward the floor far below.

"Arresto momentum!"

"YES!" said Draco, pumping his fist.

In the Great Hall at lunch time, Aunt Minerva came down to the Hufflepuff table and motioned to her neice to follow her.

Giselle had no appetite anyway, and was glad of the opportunity to have a talk with Auntie about what she had seen, and... well, about how good she did in Charms.

They went into the teachers lounge off the Hall. This was an austere chamber set with silver and gold leaf, high-backed armchairs, white damask drapes at the tall lancet-arched windows, and bouquets of flowers in Egyptian urns on the meeting table.

Professor Sprout stood up as they came in and met Professor McGonagall at a book-lined alcove. Giselle stood to one side a little bashful, gazing about the room that she had never seen before.

"Albus confirmed that it was a feather from the Roc that Charlie observed in Transylvania," Sprout said. "Not the same Roc, probably, but a feather from one just like it. Bea Swiddle seems to think that the Bloodwort leaf changed into this feather! When I mentioned this to Albus, he explained that a Roc has a shape-changing ability, though Charlie says it's a limited ability."

Giselle was all ears. Her Auntie cleared her throat and asked, "Is Albus still with Charlie in the forest?"

"So far as I know," said Sprout, and, lowering her voice to a whisper, added, "he says Charlie thinks he might have sighted the monster last night! He can't be sure. They're looking for a possible lair. There are caves, you know, deep in the woods. Of course, this situation could cause a cancellation of the Tournament."

"The wicker cage!" said Giselle suddenly.

Auntie looked at her, frowning, and said, "The cage you saw in Charlie's room last night, with the fledgling beast in it? Charlie says he's totally unaware of it. It certainly wasn't there when he got back. Nor did Professor Snape see any such thing."

"Yes, but I meant to say that I saw Professor Vector carrying a wicker cage yesterday after sixth period, out by Hagrid's hut. I just now remembered. The cage was empty. And then in Charms class, in the balcony--" Giselle described her experience.

Her mention of Sanguino intrigued Auntie and Sprout, but when she described the woman in the painting who had eyes reminiscent of Harry's,  Auntie was quite clearly shocked. Sprout seemed merely puzzled.

"Never mind," Auntie said in a flustered, anxious tone. "You say the Arithmancy teacher was carrying a wicker cage, like the one you saw in Charlie's room?"

"Yes. I'm sure of it."

"You have Arithmancy after lunch?"

"Yes."

"I'm excusing you from her class. And fifth period, also. I can run over the Transfiguration lesson with you this evening. For now, I want you to finish your lunch and then go to Hagrid's hut. You've his class at sixth period, haven't you? Take your books with you. You can catch up on your homework while you're waiting for sixth period. And I should tell you," Aunt Minerva continued in a softer voice, "that Charlie Weasley is staying in the hut for a few days, or until it can be determined if a Roc is roosting in the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps you'll see him today."

"Ah," said Giselle in a near faint.

(6) Here There Be Dragons

"Wake up!" said the angry face of the bedside clock. "That's TWICE I've had to tell you, Miss McGonagall. I see that the others are already up and bumping elbows at the sinks in the lavatory. THEIR clocks have a much easier time than I do. Don't make me wake you again."

"Oh shush," said Giselle, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "I was up all hours last night with Auntie."

"Make whatever excuses you like. Just get up. Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes. Cream puffs with strawberries, sausage links, and cantaloupe cubes with sugared raisins and almonds. Plenty of energy there! And you'll need it for your mad dash to the greenhouses, since I'm quite sure you'll be late for first period, if I know you."

"Oh. Well, since you know so much about me, what's my class schedule for today?"

"I'll tell you as soon as you're out of bed."

"I AM out of bed," Giselle said, shivering in the breeze from an open window. She reached for her quilted bathrobe and towel.

"Herbology first, then Divination, Charms, and after lunch Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures. There, you see, I ticked off the list for you. Get in the shower before Deidre and Lori finish brushing their teeth or you WILL have a long wait."

"Anything special in any of the classes?" she asked, turning to look back at the nuisance.

"According to Grandfather Clock, a teacher from Jaadoo ka Ghar will be substituting for Trelawney in Divination. What? Never heard of it? It means 'House Of Magic' in Hindi. She's from India. And she's the great-grandmother of Parvati, that Gryffindor friend of yours who played gobstones with you and Bea the other night."

"How interesting. And you're very nosey for an alarm clock."

It made a face at her. "Too much time on my hands."

Giselle brought a healthy appetite with her to the Hufflepuff table in a noisy Great Hall that crisp September morning.

She noticed that Cedric was still getting congratulations for being named the Hogwarts champion. Such an honor for their house! And there was a lot of grumbling, too, about Harry getting the nod as well. No one knew how that could possibly happen. Not even Auntie, not even Dumbledore, could think what to make of it.

"How did your visit with Charlie Weasley go last night?" asked Felix, shoving the dish of sausages toward Giselle when he saw what big helpings she was taking from all the other dishes.

"He was with the workers who are building the arena and bleachers for the tournament," she replied, careful to say only what Auntie had advised. (She could feel Aunt Minerva's eyes on her.) "So I didn't get to see him. But he's all right," she added with a genuine smile and a joyful lift of her heart. "I had feared that he was ill, but it's just that he's very busy. I'll see him tonight, Auntie told me. Come along, if you like. Harry and Hermione are coming, and Bea and Deidre. Lori has library duty tonight."

"And I have detention with Snape," Felix said, consoling himself with a big spoonful of strawberries.

With her burst of happiness still radiating through her, Giselle was curious how others were feeling.

She glanced over at Draco and noticed the cold-shoulder look that Pansy was giving him, for some reason. And Cho Chang at the Ravenclaw table seemed depressed over something. Did she and Cedric have a falling out? Surely not, with him the Hogwarts champion who would certainly want all the moral support he could get. And there was Luna Lovegood across from Cho, looking very whimsical, as usual, pointing to a picture in Cho's scrapbook that appeared to be trying to jump off the page.

The funny bow that Luna was wearing in her hair reminded Giselle of the Bloodwort Bird-of-Hades leaf that had become a feather; or so Bea liked to think. She was just then taping it onto her Herbology homework with a dubious expression.

Giselle's ray of sunshine turned dark as she recalled the strange creature in the wicker cage.

When she, Ron, and Hermione had followed Snape back to the lower chamber, she saw that the cage was no longer there. The stool was bare except for what looked like a drop of blood. Someone had walked off with the cage, and who could be the guilty one if not Professor Moody?

Could it have been that terrible witch whom Giselle had caught just a glimpse of before losing consciousness?

Snape had refused to tell them anything about her, except to say that she was a fugitive, and that the Headmaster would take action... whatever that means, thought Giselle, looking up at the faculty board.

Snape was sedately cutting a slice of ham, while Mrs Dursley, sitting next to him, leaned away and darted nervous looks at him. What sort of misinformed thoughts were going through her mind? He paid her no attention. And Auntie was just as secretive about the witch in the forest as Snape was about virtually everything.

Auntie had brought Giselle to her office late last night and told her, in her strictest manner, that her neice was not to get wrapped up in intrigues like those that kept Harry Potter in the gossip pages of the Daily Prophet.

Harry was apparently the main interest of that poison-pen columnist, Rita Skeeter. "And I don't want you getting the same treatment," Auntie had said to a meek, blushing Giselle. "Consider that your grade average last term was only an 'Acceptable,' and a 'Poor' in Charms! Gee, you must concentrate on your classes if you're to have any hope of getting a good job with Faerie Ministries. I see I'll have to tutor you in Charms during Christmas break, and keep your nose to the grindstone this summer recess. No going to the Fair, not until you show some real improvement."

It was a sober Giselle who suddenly realized that her remembrances were making her late for first period, just as predicted!

She grabbed her bookbag and trotted out into the Hall and down a side passage that led to an inner courtyard.

Here she recognized a salesman from Quality Quidditch Supplies, examining the school broomsticks with a critical eye, as Madame Hooch looked on. "Wouldn't wanna ride THAT one," Giselle heard him say as she ran past, "too many splinters."

She just made it into Greenhouse Number Two as the bell tolled dolefully. She squeezed in between Bea and Cass at the long table where mounds of Snitch peas lay on a line of wax papers.

Professor Sprout was explaining that the peas were compared to a Snitch because they tried to avoid being picked up. As soon as you reached for one it would start rolling around in various directions. Not even Harry could catch one without using both hands.

Hufflepuff was sharing the class with Gryffindor. Giselle was surprised to see that Ron was several places away from Harry and Hermione. Something was bothering him. He looked very disgruntled about whatever it was.

The class spent the hour potting the peas and discussing the uses of the mature plants in potions and magic menus.

Herbology was Bea's favorite subject. But when Sprout said, "Class, time to pass in your homework assignments from yesterday," Bea looked as if she wished she had never heard of the subject.

While Giselle put her report on 'The 5 Curses Associated With Dingleberries' on the top of the stack of papers passed along on their side of the table, Bea slipped hers in the middle somewhere, then looked horrified when she saw that the feather was sticking out from the stack.

Thankfully Sprout was distracted by Parvati, who rushed in and asked for "the little green things for Divination."

Sprout gave her a bag of Snitch peas. "Let Aditi know that if she needs more, I'll send them up to her next period."

"Yes, ma'am," Parvati said and rushed back out.

Giselle had to laugh. Were they going to be using Snitch peas for Divination? She couldn't imagine what manner of use the peas could have. But she soon found out.

After the dizzying climb up spiral stairwells and that horrible ladder, the clouds of incense floating about the circular classroom was oddly rejuvenating in a relaxed sort of way.

Giselle, Bea, Lori, and Deidre sat at their usual table near the windows that lent a view of the Owlery. On the table were thick sheets of cardboard that resembled placemats. But these had rows of words written on them in different colors, words such as Yes, No, Safe, Dangerous, Brother, Uncle, Bride, and so on. In the center of the table was a ceramic bowl in which several Snitch peas were behaving themselves.

"Maybe it's like an Ouija Board," Lori said. Bea, who wasn't taking Muggle Studies, asked her to please explain.

But the substitute teacher, Aditi Jiva, resplendent in a gold macrame sari, did the explaining.

"The object of this exercise is the discerning of meaning in the intuitive thought processes as concerns the present and the future," said the elderly wise woman. "You will begin as a group. That is, all those at a table will first practice together. Decide amongst yourselves which questions you should ask. Then hold your hands above the chart. The single Snitch pea you have placed in the small circle will move around erratically until it finds what your deep subconscious minds already know. It is your unified spirits that direct it. Afterwards each one of you will discern by yourselves, and you need not ask your questions out loud."

"What should we ask it?" wondered Deidre, setting a pea in the circle of one of the boards.

"Let's ask if Cedric is going to win the Tournament Cup!" said Lori excitedly.

They held their hands above the board, and sure enough the Snitch pea began to roll around aimlessly. But after a minute or so it stopped on the word 'Yes.'

"Oh my God how awesome!" said Bea. "But let's ask if HARRY is going to win. It should say 'No.' If it doesn't, well then, something's messed up."

The pea took longer this time, but finally it rolled to a stop on... 'Yes.'

"That's that then," Deidre said with a sigh. "It doesn't work. You can't have TWO winners. We're right back where we started from. For all we know, neither one of them will win."

They asked more questions, though no one was convinced that the answers were right.

But Giselle had an idea.

When Aditi announced that it was now time for individual practice, Giselle scooted her chair over toward the window and sat facing away from her friends. They decided that she was taking this nonsense all too seriously, and, giggling at themselves, they took turns watching each other look foolish.

Giselle's first question was one she knew the answer to. The pea got it right. She did this several times, and the pea was never wrong. She still wasn't sure that this proved anything, because, after all, it apparently got the winner of the Cup wrong. Or did it? Couldn't the Tournament end in a tie between Cedric and Harry?

Encouraged, she took a nervous breath and asked herself, 'Is Charlie a vampire?'

She closed her eyes, afraid to watch. When at last she peeked between her fingers, the pea was resting on the word 'No.'

For awhile Giselle luxuriated in the sure knowledge that Charlie was perfectly okay. The giggling and mocking going on behind her was just background noise.

Then she remembered the strong feeling she had that Mrs Dursley was hoping to find a particular thing at Hogwarts.

'What is Petunia Dursley wanting to find here?' she asked. And to her astonishment the pea wriggled its way straight to the word 'Sister.'

Her sister? But that's Harry's mother, Lily Potter, and Lily's dead, killed by You-Know-Who when Harry was just a baby! How could Mrs Dursley hope to find her dead sister?

It occurred to Giselle that just maybe...

'Is Lily Potter a ghost at Hogwarts?'

The Snitch pea rolled slowly, indecisively, to the words 'Yes' and 'No.' It seemed to be trying to make up its mind, but couldn't decide whether the answer was an absolute yes or an absolute no. It trembled between the two answers as if frightened by the prospect of getting it wrong.

Giselle thought, 'Hmm,' and wondered how to get to the truth of the matter. Another idea came to her. It was worth a try.

'Does one of the teachers have contact with Lily Potter?'

This time the pea rolled decisively to the word 'Potion.' And as Giselle wrinkled her brow over this, the pea went unerringly to the word 'Master.'

The Potions Master!

Giselle could not imagine why Professor Snape would be in contact with Lily's ghost, or whatever it was that she had become. Although Giselle knew that Snape and Harry despised each other, she had no understanding as to why this should be so, except that Harry had sometimes talked about how his father and Snape were students together at Hogwarts, and neither liked the other.

Giselle pondered this. She kept going back to the question of whether Lily was a ghost, or something else. But WHAT else?

It was when Argus Filch came huffing and puffing into the classroom and took down a portrait of Nicodemus, lugging it over to the top of the ladder, that the mystery solved itself.

Lily Potter's living portrait was somewhere in Hogwarts. And Severus Snape knew where.

Giselle looked at Harry sitting with Neville and Seamus. They were grinning at their boards and trying to give their Snitch peas a knudge, though the peas were quick to avoid any help.

Giselle recalled the times that Harry would talk about seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised.

That was nothing compared to what Snape could talk to. But why would he want to? Was Lily free to visit the other paintings? How was it that Harry hadn't encountered her? Does his mother know he's here? How could she not know?

"Oh, Gee, give it up," laughed Deidre.

(5) Here There Be Dragons

It seemed natural to Giselle to let the two Gryffindors take the lead. She followed close, her wand at the ready.

Ron had started off so recklessly that Hermione had snagged his shirt collar, pulling him back with a hiss in his ear.

"Let's be careful," she had whispered. "There may be others with Vlaud. We should try to come up behind them, and signal to Charlie."

"WHICH Vlaud?" wondered Giselle as they paused a moment at a fork in the footpath that snaked through a dense stand of pines. "Could it be Boris' father? Surely not Boris himself!"

As they pondered which path to take, straining to hear what might offer guidance, Dumbledore stood in his office looking with disappointment at the small painting that McGonagall had brought in.

It was set upright in a chair by the bookshelves: a portrait of a 17th century wizard, Garth, once the Minister of Magic. The portrait showed signs of lifelessness. The spiritual energy it had been embued with was now gone.

There with McGonagall was Professor Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, and Burbage's new temporary assistant, Petunia Dursley. They were all in their ceremonial robes, still a little amazed at how the Choice of Champion ritual had turned out.

Petunia was gazing around at the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses that graced the office walls. No comatose state here; they were alert and anxious to hear what Dumbledore had to say, fidgeting in their frames and eyeing one another in a mutual fear. Were their two-dimensional lives in jeopardy?

"It seems that the epidemic in Promethea has a counterpart in Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "This makes the seventh portrait that has been drained of its vitality by some unknown hand. The seventh in, what? Just five days?"

"Such an unprecedented thing," exclaimed McGonagall, "that I can't help thinking that the Goblet's additional choice of Harry Potter is somehow connected to this peculiar vandalism."

Dumbledore arched his brows. Her idea seemed to amuse him. "If that should happen to be true, my suspicion would lie with Karkaroff, the Head of Durmstrang. His delegation, and that of Beauxbaton, will be arriving in two weeks. Time enough to investigate the possibility of his involvement in this misfortune. But as I intimated," he continued in a more serious tone, "the vampiric epidemic in Promethea has found its way here in the case of Leon Vlaud, and possibly in the form of the Roc, if indeed the monster has taken up residence in the Forbidden Forest. The appearance of the afflicted portraits suggests a draining of blood."

Professor Burbage said through a puzzled smile, "Blood? I should think it's a red pigment of sorts. How could paint be of any use to a vampire thirsting for blood?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Good question," he remarked, noting the troubled look on Petunia's pale face. "The portraits here in my rooms are safe enough, I dare say, but those in the hallways and classrooms are vulnerable to whoever this mysterious villian may be. I'll have Argus gather them up and lock them away in the annex of the Trophy Room. I shall personally cast an impenetrable spell on the annex door."

He had not stopped glancing at Petunia. "Mrs Dursley," he said in a tender voice, "is there something you wish to discuss with me?"

Petunia folded her arms defiantly and looked away. But her lips trembled and her breathing was shallow, her eyes misty with an emotion that was more like disgust than the confused yearning she usually expressed.

"I was just... wondering," she said, biting her lip. "Just wondering if there was... if there happened to be... a portrait of Lily... of Lily Potter."

She stared intensely at Dumbledore now, all pretense of indifference gone. But still there was that stubbornness about her, as though she refused to accept what she really felt.

The name did not mean much to Burbage. She was just curious. But McGonagall blanched, turning her back to Petunia and very slightly shaking her head at Dumbledore.

He considered a moment, and said, "Not to my knowledge."

Severus Snape stood in the lower chamber, noting the painting above the hearth, its replica of the room's furnishings; the untidy bed and the clutter on the worktable; the empty stool by the open door to the dark earthen tunnel. Everything was as he expected, except for one thing.

"Vlaud," he said over his shoulder.

"Sir?"

Boris stood on the bottom tread of the stairs. He was the Slytherin house hall-monitor for that night.

"Go and inform the Headmaster that Mr Weasley and Miss McGonagall are not where they are supposed to be. Explain to him that I am taking the exit tunnel to the forest."

"Yes, sir," Boris said, and hurried up the stairs.

Snape drew and lit his wand. He negotiated the tunnel swiftly from long familiarity. He paid no mind to the merman peering at him from the stream as he crossed the stone bridge. Outside the birchbark door he paused to shine his light on the odd footprints in the patch of dirt that led away to the east; to where the dragoneers were setting up the corrals and the arena for the first challenge.

'Moody,' he thought, and wondered at the series of paw scratches that paralleled the marks of the peg leg.

He was about to follow these tracks when a sudden glare of orangish light appeared in the depth of the woods straight ahead.

At once he strolled in haste down the winding footpath, ducking the low branches, his wand's light extinguished, guiding himself by the flecks of moonlight.

The auburn-haired young woman in the fashionably torn black gown fingered her wand, smiling at the three figures lying on the carpet of leaves. Just as she turned her head at the sound of a twig cracking, her wand flew from her hand.

"Severus?" she said, and then a gusty laugh, "Ha!" and stood with her hands on her hips.

"Hexaba LeStrange," Snape said, and splintered her wand against a fir. He tossed it back to her. "Ollivander will be pleased to see you."

"Yes! And aren't you? Oh don't worry, these brats here are only stunned. They'll come out of it after I'm gone. You won't try to stop me from apparating, will you, my love?"

"Where is Charlie Weasley?"

Hexaba breathed a laugh. "I haven't a clue. Haven't seen him."

"What brought these students out here, then?"

"I imitated Charlie's voice. I'm good at that, you know." She said the last sentence in Snape's own voice. "Ha! You see?"

Snape stood with his wand idly pointing at her, his eyes narrowed.

"Mad-Eye has been out here, in the forest," he said. "Would you be associating with him, if I may ask?"

"With an Auror? Have you gone mental on me? My sister Bellatrix doesn't trust you, Severus, but I have no reason not to. You're loyal to the aims of the Death Eaters, I've no doubt. But, my love, listen to me."

She stepped closer to him, now full in the moonlight where her beauty shone with a spectral quality. "The Dark Lord is not coming back. The power is with Lucius. Oh don't look so amused. Lucius has been gathering support from Hellington Nestor and the secret Grindelwald Society. There is a division among the Death Eaters. More and more are coming over to the Malfoy side."

Snape smiled grimly. "Very few have come over. It is a lost cause. What happened at the Quidditch World Cup is just a foretaste of what's to come as the spirit of Voldemort gains strength. Already Malfoy is playing both sides. He'll have a clever explanation for the Dark Lord if he's asked about rumors of his subversive activities. He'll say he was testing the Loyalists."

Hexaba smiled darkly at Snape, but not without a twinkle in her green eyes. "I see that you've been analyzing this with your usual keen intellect. But your optimism is surely exaggerated. There is little hope that Tom Riddle will ever be alive again, let alone be Lord Voldemort again. His death diminished his potential, Severus. You know the theory. If he comes back, he will be little more than a ghost."

"Perhaps," said Snape, impatient. "But this doesn't explain what you're doing here, or for whom you are working, nor why you lured these students into a trap. You may be interested in knowing that one of them is the neice of Minerva McGonagall. Should she find out about your abuse of her neice, your life might take a serious downturn."

Hexaba's levity vanished. Her lovely face took on a look of petulance. "I can hold my own against any witch," she said in a voice utterly unlike her natural one. "I am not at liberty to answer your questions. I've revealed too much as it is. I will just add that a powerful necromantic magic is at work here, and you'd be wise not to interfere. Now, I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me... my love."

Snape lowered his wand. "You escaped from half a dozen Aurors who were taking you to Azkaban. You've managed to outwit them in the two years since. I won't try to stop you. But don't let me catch you anywhere near the school again."

In the next instant she disappeared. A final "Ha" lingered as a ghostly echo among the trees.

Snape turned to the three students. Hermione lay next to Ron, her arm across his chest. Giselle lay on her side a little apart from them, her face upturned to the scudding moon.

With a smirk, Snape waved his wand over them.