(3) The Goblin Fair

Late the next afternoon found the Hogwarts Express chugging through the Scottish highlands.

Giselle sat next to the compartment window with her ashwood staff propped against it and her book bag in her lap. Lori sat in the seat nearest the sliding door teasing Deidre about the odd contours of her new broom, a Stardust Zephyr.

"You just wait and see how it flies," Deidre was saying as she stood there swaying with the broomstick between her knees.

"But Quidditch has been cancelled this year," Harry said morosely. "That tournament thing, you know."

"But haven't you heard," said Deidre, "the Goblin Fair is setting up on the school grounds this spring, after the break, and they've got a Quidditch team that wants to play us, a Hogwarts All-Star team. I'm trying out for Keeper. That's why I spent my entire summer's allowance on this really excellent broom." She kissed the handle.

"Cool!" said Ron. Hermione smiled indulgently. They were sitting across from Giselle and Lori, their excitement rising as the train entered a narrow valley, the last stretch of the journey.

The door slid open. Bea, Cass, and Felix came in with bags of goodies from the cart. "Can we tempt you to spoil your dinner?" said Bea, offering her bulging bag to everyone.

The bag was quickly emptied. "Is that pumpkin brownies I smell?" wondered Luna, shouldering in between Neville and Parvati. There was a group of skylarking students in the corridor.

"Have a munch," said Cass, handing over her bag. "Take what you like." She was standing as close to Harry as she could without stepping on his feet.

"What are those long sticks?" said Luna, twiddling a finger at the staves in the overhead baggage rack. "Are you going fishing?"

"They're magic staves," Ron said, as if nothing could be more obvious. "For Alternative Magic Methods."

Neville grinned bashfully. "Granny told me I better wait til seventh year before I take that elective," he said in his shy manner. "Said I needed to outgrow my awkwardness."

"Excuse me," said a tall handsome boy. "Is there room? Everywhere's jammed."

"Most certainly there's room," said Lori, patting the space next to her. Giselle saw the instant infatuation on Lori's pinkening face.

"Ripping!" the boy said. He squeezed in and sat down between Lori and Giselle. "Hullo all. My name's Roger Roundhouse."

Giselle noted his mussed hair and the careless way he wore his clothes. He looked like he had just flown down from the clouds.

Everyone introduced themselves to the newcomer.

"You're tall for a first year," Harry remarked with a kidding smile. Roger had been giving him a polite looking-over upon learning that this was the famous Boy Who Lived.

"I've been home schooled," Roger replied. "I'll be starting out as a fourth year. I say, I'm thrilled to be going to Hogwarts. And with the Tournament and the Fair, it promises to be an interesting year."

He looked at Giselle with a subtle appraisal. "What year?" he asked.

"Fourth. We're all fourth years here. I'm in Hufflepuff house."

"Ripping."

"Gryffindors over here," said Ron proudly.

"A fine house, that. My mum was in Gryffindor. My dad was a Ravenclaw. And my older sister was in Hufflepuff, too," he added, smiling at Giselle. She was quite smitten by his appearance and charming personality.

"Roundhouse," said Hermione, musingly. "By any chance are you related to the Assistant Minister, Esther Roundhouse?"

"My mum," Roger said. He was modest about it. "She was influenced by Fudge to have me tutored. Fudge isn't fond of Dumbledore, they say. But Dad finally talked her into enrolling me in Hogwarts. He played the Beater position on the Ravenclaw house team. He wants me to play the sport on a more intense level. I was on the junior league last year for the Dover Windmills."

"Whoa," said Ron, impressed.

"What position?" Harry asked.

"Beater, like my dad," said Roger. "Though I do favor being a Chaser. I enjoy handling the quaffle and making shots."

Lori had not ceased staring at him. "Which house do you think you'll be sorted into?" she asked breathlessly.

He leaned back, folding his arms and putting on a pensive expression. "I say, good question, that. My master tutor thinks Ravenclaw is the most likely."

"Good!" chirped Luna, waving her brownie. "We need more boys in Ravenclaw."

Felix snorted. "Oh right."

In the teachers lounge, Dumbledore, seated at the meeting table, noted the long shadows creeping over the lawns as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Filch came shuffling over to close the window drapes.

"That about covers everything," said the Headmaster. The faculty members began gathering up their papers and stuffing them in their satchels. "Let's all be in the Great Hall by seven this evening. Filius, has the Sorting Hat been given a clean bill of health?"

"Fit as a fiddle," said Flitwick. "It's been singing the school song and practicing its psychoanalysis jargon."

"Ah what happy memories I have of the Sorting Hat ceremony," said Frumlow, "except for my own sorting," he quipped, winking at the frowning Snape.

McGonagall breathed a laugh. "I do believe you were misplaced in Slytherin, Upton," she remarked. "You spent more time in OUR common room than in your own."

"I must confess that I felt more at home in yours, Minerva," he said, and this time his glance at Snape was apologetic.

"We've twenty-three first years to sort," Dumbledore announced, "including the teenage son of Esther Roundhouse, who I'm guessing will be either a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. Severus, will you stay behind a minute? Off you go now, and let's look sharp for the students."

McGonagall was the last to file out. She looked back from the doorway, her grey eyes behind her stern square glasses giving Snape a thoughtful stare.

He stood with his back to a glass cabinet, his satchel in hand. He said nothing until McGonagall had gone out and closed the door.

"Your thoughts, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore took a small vial from a robe pocket. "Your memories of ten years ago," he said, standing by the draped window, his face as serious as anyone had ever seen it. "Your search for the rumored horcrux, the rumor passed on to me by Hellington Nestor. I have examined your memories of these events very studiously indeed. But something more needs to be done."

Snape waited impassively. The only sign of his brooding tenseness was the firm set of his jaw.

"Such as?" he asked.

"Intuitive insight. One who can view these events and Intuit their deeper meaning. With such help, we might be able to ascertain if Minnex was culpable, as you believe he was, in the presumed deaths of Odin and Isabel McGonagall."

"I assume you have a particular intuitive person in mind?"

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "Hermione Granger," he said, raising a hand when Snape's expression registered an objection. "Hear me out, Severus. Miss Granger has a deep-seated Slytherin gene, we might say, inherited possibly from Nestor himself, who is a cousin, twice removed, of Miss Granger's mother. According to Septima, our Arithmancy expert, Hermione has a highly developed intuitive sense, even higher than the average Hufflepuff student."

Dumbledore put the vial back in his pocket. "I suspect that when she views certain aspects of your memories she will recognize the true substance of them, the identities of the person or persons involved. It may lead us to the answer regarding the question of what exactly happened to Minerva's brother and sister in law.

"And moreover," he added, stepping up to the narrow-eyed Snape, "what happened to Giselle McGonagall's parents. With that in mind, I wish to have Giselle delve into the Pensieve alongside Miss Granger. The heads of two intuitives are better than one."

Snape shifted his weight, his face taut with disapproval. "Are you asking for my permission? I would rather not have two of my potions students cavorting around in my intimate memory of a situation that has darkened my life. It is too great of a violation of my privacy. I should think that a professional soothsayer would be a better choice."

Dumbledore nodded. "And there will be one," he said. "Doris Crockford will be along to advise Giselle and Miss Granger. But as for your permission, yes. I wouldn't think to go through with this without it. There is time to reconsider, Severus. You needn't give me an answer until the Goblin Fair arrives this spring."

In the Great Hall that night, Professor McGonagall, in her black gown and witch's hat, consulted the Registrar's scroll and announced, "Roundhouse, Roger."

At the Hufflepuff table, Giselle noticed Lori crossing her fingers and whispering, "Please... Oh God, please."

The tall handsome Roger, proudly wearing his scholar's robe, left the line of nervous first years and took his place on the Sorting stool.

McGonagall set the hat on his head and stepped back, watching the boy's expression with a special curiosity.

Giselle was full of suspense. She noted Roger's confident smile. His eyes were closed, listening to the raspy voice in his head.

Then he stopped smiling. He seemed confused. He squared his shoulders and sat up straight, as if that would influence the hat. He bit his lip. His brows came together. His hands became white-knuckled fists. He shook his head. Then he smiled once more, apparently relieved. Giselle heard him sigh, it was so quiet in the hall. Then again he frowned, alarmed.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Lori looked over at Giselle, her mouth falling open. "Gee! No!"

Giselle was looking up at her Auntie. The Transfiguration professor gave no indication of surprise or disagreement. She lifted the Sorting Hat from the crestfallen Roger and pointed out the Slytherin table to him as he stood up from the stool.

A few Slytherins clapped, but most were guffawing. Giselle saw the jeering faces as Roger made his slow way over to their table.

But Pansy Parkinson liked what she saw. She neither clapped nor jeered. She sat there eyeing the new boy with her lips pursed.

Giselle thought, 'Humph.'