(1) What Did Harry Do?

The summer thunderstorm broke, a cascade of warm rain blown by a southerly wind, streaking the front parlour windows of 12 Grimauld Place.

Hermione came into the parlour with a gratified smile and a book.

"Let me guess," said Ron, turning from a window where he and Harry were watching a pair of cloaked Death Eaters seeking shelter across the street. "You found out about the name of the school."

"Yes, and my hunch was correct," said Hermione, plopping down in an armchair near the dreary window. She patted the book on her lap. "History of the Black family, volume seven. Grimaldee Hall was named after Grimauld Place, by Sirius' great-great grandfather, Nebulus Picard Black, who founded the school in Nineteen Eleven."

Harry looked over at her. "Did he teach there?"

"Only for the first two terms," she said, her eyes lighting up. "He went to Brussels afterwards and organized a potions guild. They called themselves The Fortifiers. They were rumored to be blood drinkers."

Ron made a face. "What? Vampires?"

"No. Vampires are immortal, and Nebulus died a natural death in Nineteen Forty-Five. The same year that Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. I think... well, I can't be positive, but I think his 'natural death' was not what it seemed. I think it was caused by the conflict between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, that Nebulus Black was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The book denies that he was a blood drinker and it pooh-poohs the idea that he and the Fortifiers were aligned with Grindelwald's aims. But of course, the author was writing for the wizarding public, not just for the Black family, and she probably didn't want to confirm the rumors."

"She?" said Harry. "Who's the author?"

"Gecky Scamander, Newt's cousin. She died in Nineteen Eighty, shortly after finishing this book."

Ron grinned. "Did she die a 'natural death' too?"

"No, not at all! And that's one of the reasons why I think the Fortifiers were indeed blood drinkers, seeking immortality without having to become vampires. I'm guessing that Grindelwald had the same idea."

"Well? HOW'D she die?" said Ron.

Hermione closed the book and stared out the window at the pattering rain.

"Her body was found drained of blood. And that's particularly interesting because her records at St Mungo's show that she had a very rare blood type. W--AB positive."

Harry leaned against the window sill, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "What's the 'W' stand for?"

"It means 'What is it?' There's a mysterious element in this rare type that nobody's been able to explain. It's not the element that makes a person a wizard or witch. It's something else, but we don't know what it does."

"Somebody probably knows what it does, or what it means," said Harry, "because someone drained her blood out. There must've been a reason for that."

"Maybe it was a bunch of vampires who sucked her dry," Ron suggested.

"No, it couldn't have been that," Hermione said. "The 'W' is toxic to vampires."

Harry stood up and pulled a scrap of paper from his jeans pocket. "Do you know what the Wizengamut concluded about Gecky Scamander's death?" he asked.

"It's unsolved. Of course, the Fortifiers were suspected at first, but the guild disbanded in the Nineteen Sixties, and none of the former members could be found."

Ron knudged Harry. "Is that another note from Giselle?" he asked.

"Yeah. Her owl came to the bathroom window last night while I was brushing my teeth. She wants to know if my scar's been hurting lately."

Hermione sat up straight. "I should think that's to be expected, now that Voldemort's back."

Ron fidgeted. "I wish you wouldn't say the name," he grumbled.

"Oh Ron, get over it. Harry, HAS your scar been bothering you?"

He folded the note into a tiny square. "Every night between nine o'clock and eleven," he said. "That's the time of Giselle's Charms class at Grimaldee Hall. Remember her first note? She was surprised to find out that the one class she takes there isn't nine to eleven in the morning, but in the evening. And now she knows why. The Charms professor is this bloke named Ringgold Elgar, and-- speaking of blood drinkers-- it's no secret that he's a vampire. He sleeps during the day."

Hermione shook her head in sympathy with Gee's unfortunate circumstances. "I suppose she's talked about this to her Aunt Minerva. I'm sure Professor McGonagall can take her out of the school if need be, unless, you know, Mrs Roundhouse can prevent it. She's the Assistant Minister of Magic and we all know she dislikes Giselle. I just can't understand why she's put her son Roger in Grimaldee, in the same class as Gee's. It just doesn't make sense."

Harry nodded. "That's why Giselle wants us to help her to get through this ordeal. No, she says she hasn't told her Auntie about her fears. She goes home each night after class. That makes her feel a little better. She's trying to cope, and thinks we can figure out what Ringgold Elgar is up to."

Hermione got up from the chair and went over to Harry. "What does she mean? Does Gee believe that this Elgar person is out to get her?"

"Not her," Harry said. "He's out to get me."

"What??" said Ron and Hermione at once.

"She's intuiting all this," Harry explained. "She's sensed that my scar's been hurting. It's like she feels it herself. She really believes that Elgar will be using her to get at me. And Roger agrees with her. He even thinks his mother might be involved."

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "But how can we help? You know what Mum and Sirius and the others think about Grimaldee. Just a lot of disgruntled kids having their summer ruined by being forced to go to a spooky school."

"Anyway, we're stuck here until September First, and that's three weeks away," Hermione said. "And Ron's right. Everyone here has weightier things on their mind than bored students at a summer school. But, Harry. I do trust Gee's intuition. If she senses something terribly bad, then there IS something bad going on. I just don't see how we can help. Grimaldee Hall is several miles from Godric's Hollow. We're stuck here. There's no way to get there."

Harry grinned at her.

"What? Have you an idea?" asked Ron.

"The Knight Bus. I saw it stop just up the street, at the corner, the other night. We could use my invisibility cloak on our way to the corner. And we could be back here before morning."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I suppose. But wouldn't the people here know we were missing?"

"Not if we used a Deception spell, Hermione. We're allowed to use magic here, right? We've been cleaning the place up with spells. One more wouldn't be noticed."

Ron laughed. "We're all going mental. But I guess it wouldn't hurt to give your a plan a shot."

Harry turned back around to the window, his breath fogging the pane. "I can't just sit here and do nothing," he said tensely. "If Elgar wants to get at me, I'd like to know the reason. And I can't help thinking that the reason has something to do with Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall and her 15-year-old niece came out to the porch of their thatched-roof cottage in Topper Smack as the late summer sun was setting.

"Here's the portkey for Grimaldee Hall," said Auntie, handing Giselle a muggle ballpoint pen. "And this is the one for coming home tonight at eleven-thirty," she added, giving Gee a pawn chess piece. "Have you your homework papers and the quill your cousin Marsha sent you?"

"Yes, I've everything."

"Your robe needs a wee bit of dry cleaning, but we'll take care of that in the morning. You've only a minute. See you later tonight, dear."

They kissed each other on the cheek.

Giselle walked out to the edge of the lawn and stood by the white picket gate, watching for the pen to start glowing. It was such a dreadful feeling having to flush herself (as she thought of it) to the darkly grim tower. But the pawn in the side pocket of her drab grey robe, the itchy woolen robe that all the students wore, was a consolation. Two hours of Charms class in a dank, torch-lit chamber high in the tower would not last forever, though it would certainly seem so. And then there was the happy feeling of going home to look forward to.

The pen glowed. Holding her breath, Giselle closed her hand over it.

The vertigo lasted only a few seconds. As usual, she stumbled in her dizziness as the lights of Godric's Hollow blinked in the distance.

The sky was a dull greenish glow along the rocky hills. And standing before them was the ghastly basalt-and-iron tower, rising like a limbless tree, thick and gnarly, its vertical row of windows shining like the pits of hell. Giselle couldn't see it any other way. Nothing about it was pleasant or indifferent. From the bottom to the top it was coldly unwelcoming.

As she began her slow walk up the gravel path to the rusty iron door she saw a tall lean figure in the topmost window, and sensed it gazing down at her.

She had a brief vision of Harry grimacing.

She put a hand to her forehead.

Story Art

(epilogue) The Goblin Fair

Harry stood between compartments on the Hogwarts Express, gazing out an exit door window, watching the hills of the Scottish Highlands receding in the distance of an early June day.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

He turned and saw Giselle looking at him sympathetically from the passage, her hands full of treats from the cart.

"I'm fine," he said.

"I'm so sorry about Cedric. I know how close you two became during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I wish... I wish there'd never been one."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I guess we could've done without it. I don't expect there will ever be another one."

Then he looked at Giselle steadfastly. "Cedric won't have died in vain," he said. "Not if I can help it."

"It's true then? You-Know-Who is back? Dumbledore was not just trying to make Cedric into a hero?"

"No, it's true. And it's going to be a long summer. Living with the Dursleys, I can't expect to learn much of what's going on. I would rather be at the Burrows; well, rather be just about anywhere other than the Dursleys, but Dumbledore thinks it's best if I stay in the muggle world. I'm better protected there, he says."

Giselle remembered how Dumbledore protected her from the wrath of Armando, disarming and binding him, just in the nick of time.

"And speaking of long summers," Harry said, "is it true you'll be attending Grimaldee Hall next month?"

Giselle sagged. "Unfortunately, yes, through mid August. But Aunt Minerva has arranged for me to take just one course. The Charms course. From nine to eleven, and I can go home everyday after class. So maybe it won't be too awfully horrible."

"Will you be visiting the Weasleys then, before Fifth Year starts?"

"I hope to," she said, smiling wistfully at the thought of Charlie being there during her stay. She saw that Harry was thinking the same thing, except that his thoughts were on Ginny.

He stepped toward her. "Shall we join Ron and Hermione, and see how much money they'll pay for some treats?"

Giselle laughed. "Right!" she said, shaking the goodies bag.

The train pulled into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at ten o'clock that night.

The goodbyes had all been said, and for Giselle there was the annual mix of joy and sorrow at watching the parents of her friends, and their little brothers and sisters, greeting them with hugs and kisses, while she stood alone on the crowded, boisterous platform, waiting for Heathcliffe, Auntie's squib servant, to arrive and take her trunk to the alley behind King's Cross where they would use a portkey for the journey home to Topper Smack village.

"Gee!" It was Roger, his Slyherin robe over an arm, wheeling his small trunk behind him. A short grey-haired wizard with a monocle in one hand watched him with a studied disapproval.

"Goodbye again," he said, coming up to her. "I suppose I'll be seeing you at Grimaldee now and then. Mum doesn't want me hanging around the estate this summer. Don't know why, and I'm past caring. Oh, and that new antidote Madame Pomfrey gave me has done wonders. Can you tell?"

They both laughed.

"Ripping," Giselle said, and they laughed again.

"Roger, my boy," the greying wizard said preemptorily. "Your social life can wait. Come, that's a good chap."

Roger smiled into Giselle's eyes and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, quite close to a corner of her lips.

"See you soon!" he called back as he trundled off. "Enjoy your vacation!"

When he had disappeared among the crowd, Giselle touched her cheek lightly with her fingertips.

(conclusion) The Goblin Fair

When Giselle woke on Wednesday morning she thought it was Tuesday.

"Get a move on!" said her alarm clock. "Katie's still at St Mungo's, and that means you'll be a starting Chaser today. Practice begins right after breakfast, or have you forgotten?"

Giselle sat up. "Today? But isn't it Tuesday?"

"I only know the time, not the day! But it's been over twenty-four hours since yesterday morning, and that means it's Wednesday."

Bea laughed, pulling a bath towel from her wardrobe. "Silly, of course it is. Gee, up up up! Deidre is already downstairs with her fancy new broom."

"But... what happened to Tuesday? Was I sleepwalking all of yesterday?"

"You might as well have," Lori said, getting into her shower slippers. "Your body was in class but your mind was in the clouds somewhere. You lost us five points with all your daydreaming."

Giselle was stunned. She pressed her hands to her cheeks.

Cass came out from the shower room drying her hair with her wand. "What time did you get in last night, Gee?" she asked.

"Eleven fifty-five, post meridian," said the clock.

"But... wasn't that... a dream?"

Deidre stuck her head in from the door. "I've got your Meteor, Giselle. I'm having Felix polish and brush it. Why are you still in bed? The goblins have been marching around outside since dawn, singing fight songs and gesturing rudely at the castle. We'll be sitting together at breakfast, the All-Star team, and talking strategies. Come on, look sharp!"

It was while taking a shower under the rain cloud in her stall that Giselle remembered all that had happened the day before. It came in a rush of emotions and a flash of images. It was as though she had suppressed the memories, and when reaching for her towel, the one with the gothic G on it, she understood why.

Roger's frightful mother, that's why! Giselle shivered as she dried herself off in the wisps of steam. She let the memories come flooding back. It happened at afternoon break. She had been talking gobstones with Bea and Parvati outside on the columned porch when a chill draft came over her. Somehow she found herself walking across the lawn toward the Whomping Willow, where Esther Roundhouse stood looking at her fiercely.

"Stop right there and listen to me!" the woman said through her bared teeth. "The only reason you haven't been suspended for your brazen wanderings last night is because of the special pleading of your Aunt. But don't for a moment think you'll be so fortunate next time! Oh, you think you'll be going to summer camp in Ireland, romping on the beach and flirting with the boys, but I've news for you! You'll be spending your summer in Grimaldee Hall, yes, Grimaldee Hall! A summer school for delinquent incorrigible brats like you! Think Professor Snape is a bit of a ghoul, do you? Wait til you meet the Grimaldee faculty and then you'll know just how terribly ghoulish a professor can be!"

Giselle tossed her damp towel in the hamper and started to get dressed, hoping this would clear her mind of that awful Mrs Roundhouse.

There was another suppressed memory struggling to come out, and to forestall it Giselle turned her thoughts to dinner last night. Roger sat at the Slytherin table, once again morose and withdrawn. Her heart ached to see him so down, and to see the smirks on the faces of Draco and Pansy.

She buckled her shoes and stood up, her cheeks paling as the suppressed memory bloomed in her head like a noxious plant. 'I shouldn't have thought about dinner!' No, she shouldn't have, because it was at dinner that her bizzare and scary adventure began, the events that made her late for bed.

It began with a pair of butterfly messages that came flitting toward the Hufflepuff table. Giselle wasn't sure which teacher had sent them. Her Auntie was talking to Dumbledore, whose expression was very solemn. Snape had got up and was straightening his black tunic, his eyes lingering on the Slytherins.

Then the two messages parted company. One passed over Giselle's head. She turned and watched it fluttering in front of Harry. He snatched at it, but it swerved away toward Ron, who made a grab for it and missed. Hermione laughed, but in the next moment she was sitting up, surprised as the message settled on the back of her right hand. She opened it, smiling wonderingly at her friends.

Giselle felt something pecking on her own right hand. Turning back around she saw it was the other message, unfolding itself impatiently.

'You and Miss Granger are to meet me at Hagrid's hut in twenty minutes. Don't dawdle over dessert.'

"What's it about?" Bea asked. The desserts were popping up all along the table.

"From my Auntie," Giselle said and dug her spoon into a Chocolate Sundae. Her reply meant that it was family business and no further questions should be asked.

Bea shrugged. "Well then, I won't inquire, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's about that threat of sending you to Grimaldee Hall for the summer."

"What a nightmare!" said Deidre, hoping her exclamation might prompt a response from Giselle.

Gee was halfway through her sundae.

"A friend of mine's sister had to go to Grimaldee once," Felix said. He paused for effect. "And it was awful beyond words."

Lori shook her head. "Gee shan't go," she announced firmly. "Can you imagine Professor McGonagall allowing her niece to be sent to such a terrible place? I heard Pansy Parkinson talking about it last year in Potions class, when Snape had stepped out for a sec. Her father used to teach there, a class called 'Inquisition History and Practices.' No, I'm sure the threat from the Assistant Minister of Magic was just meant to put a scare into Gee, so she wouldn't... you know, wouldn't keep traipsing around the castle at night in her see-through slip," and Lori burst out laughing.

Giselle wasn't amused. She was remembering asking Auntie about 'the threat' after sixth period, in the Charms corridor.

"We'll discuss it after the tournament," Auntie had said, shooing away a group of loitering students. "I want you to focus on the match with the goblin team tomorrow. No classes for the All-Stars, and it does look like you'll be one of the starting Chasers. Cedric Diggory will be going with his father to the Ministry in the morning, some festive award ceremony for the Hufflepuff alumni. So Harry Potter will be Seeker. You'll want to practice hard with him on the decoy maneuver."

"Yes," Giselle had said, her heart lifting. "We practiced it last weekend. I think I did all right in decoying the opponent's Seeker away from the snitch "

"See that you do as well tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and by the way, Gee, I had a nice long chat with Professor Frumlow the other night. I asked him about the Marvolo Curse. The poor man was quite shaken, but though he says he felt the curse's influence, he did not harm Isabel Channing, your grandmother. And I believe him."

"But that's not what he admitted to Krimson Johan," Giselle said meekly.

"I'm sure you must've misunderstood," Auntie replied quickly. "Now, best you get freshened up for dinner. I'll be seeing you afterwards."

Giselle remembered the walk down the sloping lawn with Hermione. The sun had set and there was a breeze coming up, full of the smells of the forest; the treetops a silhouette against the streak of fading twilight. They saw that the Fair rides and vendor booths had been packed away. It was just the circle of caravan house wagons now. The Fair was over. The goblin Quidditch team was having a practice session outside the stadium.

As they approached the level stretch that led to the groundskeeper's domain a goblin flew over to them on his broomstick.

"You better not be spying on our practice!" he screeched. "You better just keep your noses where they belong!"

Hermione waved a disdainful hand. "Oh go away," she said to him, and linked her arm in Giselle's.

"Over here!" called Hagrid, standing by the woodpile. He gestured with his folded pink umbrella. Fang wagged his tail and drooled as the two girls came up to Hagrid with expectant smiles and a nervous curiosity.

"Are we going into the forest?" asked Hermione.

"Aye, that we are. You two stay close to me and Fang."

"But what's the reason?" asked Giselle. "Is my Aunt Minerva there?"

"She and the old necromancer, Doris Crockford, and Professor Snape. Someone else, too, but I don't know her name. Come on, then. Light your wands."

It was not a long trek, but it involved a lot of ducking under low-hanging branches, the crossing of shallow muddy streams, and untangling oneself from bramble bushes. "A Centaur trail," Hagrid explained. "They always pick the worst way of going places."

Up ahead in the ranks of pines was a glow of eerie light. "That be them. Watch your step now, there's a mess of ground vines here. Don't wanna be tripped."

Giselle shone her wand-light between two fir trunks. She recognized her Auntie standing in a clearing next to Crockford. Across from them stood Snape, and beside him, apparently in a deep trance, was 'Madame Moonbeam,' her beige Celtic gown luffing in the breeze.

Hagrid stepped out into the clearing. Fang crouched behind Giselle and Hermione, whimpering.

"I've brought em, safe 'n sound," Hagrid said to the conclave, motioning for the girls to join them.

Giselle got the full impact of the smell coming from the curlicues of steam that rose from a vase-like cauldron behind Crockford, and it made her wrinkle her nose. Hermione covered her mouth and coughed. The clearing was alight with a bluish grey vapor. Warm droplets fell from the branches overhead.

Giselle was mildly surprised to see a black bird on Caprice's shoulder, a gossamer thread around its neck that looped down to Snape's wand hand. Was this the bird she had seen in Snape's private workroom the other day? She sensed it was.

Auntie had her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes exceptionally stern as she nodded to Giselle. She then spoke to Hermione.

"You've been invited as a courtesy, Miss Granger, seeing as how you have had a hand in this endeavor and have comported yourself well. What you will experience here is not to be revealed to anyone outside this circle, until you are given permission. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione whispered. "But may I ask what this is about?"

Snape addressed her. "The event will explain itself," he said. "I dare say an unusual and perhaps unnerving event, but you have nothing to fear except... fear itself."

He looked across at Crockford. "Is the brew ready for its application?"

"Precisely," Crockford said. She lifted her wand and turned to the narrow, one-meter high cauldron burbling softly.

It was a peculiar wand flourish, one Giselle had never seen before, and the canto was sung in a low aeolian tone that sent shivers down her spine. (Both she and Hermione stepped back against the fidgety Hagrid as Fang scurried off down the trail.)

The steam whirled swiftly, growing denser, hotter, then suddenly colder until it became like a fountain of ice crystals. The bluish light turned a ghastly green color, shot with streaks of a misty orange.

Snape shook the gossamer thead. The black bird hopped down to the pine-needled ground, ruffling its wings; the feathers sparkling until they became a dully shimmering red.

The bird was pecking and scratching at the ground. As a dark spot appeared beneath its tail, Snape jerked back on the thread. The red raven squawked. It fluttered messily up to the entranced woman's shoulder, where it hunched down, opening and closing its beak in silent spasms.

"Out of the way," Caprice said in a toneless voice, staring off into space.

"We have found the portal to Queen Isa's chamber in the pyramid," Snape said, "as expected. Let us proceed."

Doris Crockford stepped to one side of the groaning cauldron, crouching down, and began a series of incantations. Her wand swerved rhythmically, like a maestro's.

The icy column broke apart. Shards of hard frost spun in the air. Each grew in size, taking the shape of a ghostly figure. Slowly features appeared until several distinct persons stood in midair, moaning, hissing, calling out in echoing voices that were hardly distinguishable from the sound of the wind in the trees.

Giselle pressed her side against a tense Hermione.

Auntie turned to Snape. "Do you recognize any of these five apparitions, Severus?"

"They are victims of the Dark Lord," he replied stoically. "They are the ones he murdered in the process of creating his horcruxes. But there should be six. One is missing."

"Not seven?" remarked Crockford with a sly glint in her eyes.

Snape frowned. "The seventh is purely speculative. And in any case, the supposed victim's identity is not to be revealed in the present company." He glanced at Hermione.

The five frosty ghosts dove into the black hole in the ground.

A geyser of crystals erupted out of it, dissolving in the vaprous air. The red raven attempted to fly away, but was held by the gossamer thread. 

The stiff form of Caprice tilted backward in defiance of gravity, her blank eyes staring at the canopy of leaves dripping bluish droplets on her face.

The earth trembled. A loud grainy noise announced the rising up of the stone sarcophagus.

"What in blazes," muttered Hagrid, a protective hand on Giselle's and Hermione's shoulders.

The ancient casket floated just above the ground as Crockford feverishly intoned a dark canto.

A pale transparent arm extended up through the lid of the sarcophagus, the fingers of the hand stretching themselves out as though searching for something; demanding the return of something.

Snape slashed the air with his wand, inches from Caprice's face.

She raised her arm. From the thumb of her lilting hand the golden scarab ring worked its way loose and hung suspended in the air, quivering.

Giselle saw her Auntie's eyes glow with intense satisfaction.

"That's it!" said Auntie, drawing her wand just in time to arrest the ring's flight.

"Stasis! Now hear me, and obey me forsooth! Be thou the one to guide the warmest heart to the very truth!"

In a streak of yellow the scarab ring flew off into the treetops and vanished.

"How is one to follow it?" wondered Crockford, as the ghostly arm of Queen Isa sank back into the sarcophagus.

"There is a thing yet to be discovered," said Aunty.

"Something related to the idea of fidelity," said Snape. "The ring is concerned with matrimony, the faithfulness of which was broken by the daughter of Queen Isa."

"The scroll?" asked Hermione. "Is it about the scroll in the pyramid chamber that told of the faithless princess?"

Snape considered. "Indirectly," he said, and looked thoughtfully at the closed eyes of Caprice Eff.

*
Giselle came into the Great Hall that Wednesday morning like a fly that had escaped from a spider's web. She had shaken off the effects of yesterday's memories and now breathed deep of the breakfast aromas that greeted her.

She smiled at the starting players and back-ups for the All-Stars. They were seated at a large oval table in a corner, by the statue of the first chef to work at Hogwarts, Phil Yerplate the Great.

Giselle was about to join them, hefting her newly polished Meteor 500, when suddenly Hermione grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the far end of the Gryffindor table.

"I think I've figured it out," Hermione said excitedly. "The ring, and the Marvolo Curse, they're about the evils that destroy a marriage! Look, your parents were, of course, married, but an evil was coming between them, and I think it was this fascination with horcruxes. The fortune teller, Caprice, or Madame Moonbeam, was married to Minnex, until an evil came between THEM. Her scarab ring is somehow connected to the unfaithful princess! I think the fortune teller herself is an evil, and that what came between her and her husband was... " Hermione lowered her voice. "Was Professor Snape. I sensed it strongly when I saw them standing together last night."

She glanced over at the faculty board. But it was all right. Snape was absent.

This was the last thing Giselle wanted to think about. She shrugged and said helplessly, "But we still don't know what happened to my parents."

Hermione sighed. "True. But we're getting closer. That ring. The scarab ring. It's supposed to guide 'the warmest heart to the very truth.' We must just be hopeful."

"But the ring disappeared, Hermione. Maybe it's gone back to where it came."

"Gee!" shouted Oliver Wood. "Join in! It's time to get serious!"

Giselle crossed the shiny floorboards... feeling someone staring at her. She looked over at the Slytherin table.

Elenor Womblatt turned back around to her plate of stuffed pimentos. Across from her Krimson was absent-mindedly cutting his omelette into ever smaller pieces.

The goblin Kroft jumped down off a broad window sill, onto the damp grass and hurried down the slope to the Black Lake.

In the low rays of the rising sun the shadow of the Durmstrang ship reached the far bank, where a stand of juniper trees concealed the presence of Boogum.

He glared down at the panting goblin and said, "Is he there?"

"Yes," said Kroft, "eating his breakfast with the other teachers."

Boogum was more frightened than astonished. "But I slew him! I cast the killing curse on him! You're sure it's Professor Snape you saw?"

"Positive! Now my fee, if you don't object to being honest."

Boogum stood motionless, his mouth open in a soundless groan of fear and despair. "I was tricked. And I myself must have been the one who killed Minnex. God forbid that Caprice should find out who the killer is."

He snarled at the restless Kroft, and after a moment he tossed him a galleon. "If you're mistaken, and I don't make it out of here, I'll see to it that you'll not have time to spend your money."

Kroft pocketed the coin. He turned away with a wicked grin and started off for the fairgrounds.

Boogum strode for the school gates, his breath hissing through his teeth. He was preparing himself to apparate the moment he stepped past the winged-boar columns.

He didn't quite reach them.

"Halt," said a familiar voice.

Boogum staggered back, feeling for his magic dagger, but too late. He dropped his hand from the empty sheath and said fatalistically, "You have me, Snape."

"But not where I want you," said the grim potions master. He held his wand threateningly.

"Don't kill me!"

"No? But there is a condition on which I may spare your life. Agreed?"

"Anything!"

"Give a message to Lord Voldemort for me. You might find his lackey, Pettigrew, at the Riddle House. In any case find him and deliver this message. 'I remain loyal to our Dark Lord, and think it best that I continue on the Hogwarts faculty so as to be his eyes and ears at the school.' Boogum, you don't want me to be disappointed in you."

"You will not be! But tell me you won't let Caprice Eff learn the identity of Minnex's slayer!"

Snape lowered his wand. "Can one prevent a fortune teller from learning the truth? I can only assure you that if you deliver my message I will not speak of your guilt to Caprice."

Boogum hesitated, his face taut and sweaty, then fled through the gates.

Soon after the lunch hour the crowds began to fill the Quidditch stadium. There were dignataries from the Ministry, Hogsmeade residents, professional Quidditch scouts and their families, the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton players and fellows, Hogwarts students and faculty, and in the pavilions at either end of the pitch, the goblin team (Fair Flyers) and the All-Stars.

"Good afternoon, Mr Swiddle," said Caprice.

Clement Swiddle, in the open bleachers beside the Hufflepuff bleacher tower, lifted his sunglasses and smiled up at the lovely bobbed-hair brunette. "It is my great pleasure, Madame Moonbeam," he said. "Will you honor me with your company?" And he patted the empty seat next to him.

Caprice sat down and crossed her legs. She was holding a soda cup and a small bag of peanuts. "I'm wondering if you remember the reading I gave you during the Fair?"

She eyed the staff he had set between his seat and the wooden rail, opposite her.

"Quite," he replied. "One of the two will return, you predicted. Yes... 'One of the two will return.' And I must say, I haven't solved the riddle."

She smiled at the word 'riddle.'

"It isn't so difficult, is it, Mr Swiddle? Didn't you have two staves? And evidently one has returned to you."

He frowned pensively. "Two staves? You must be thinking of Professor Frumlow."

It was Caprice's turn to frown. "Upton has two staves?"

"Yes, and they each have a raven-heart core compatible with the other's. I work for the Experimental Charms Department, you see, and my hope is to create a double-hearted staff that is compatible with itself."

"So, that explains why you snuck two staves into Ollivander's shop," Caprice remarked brightly, sipping her soda. "Would you care for some peanuts?"

"Eh, what's this about sneaking staves into Ollivander's? Oh I say, you are quick on the uptake. But Ollivander was quite aware of it. Part of my experiments, you see."

"And one of the two has found its way back to you. Which one, may I ask?"

"Need a clairvoyant ask? Can't you guess?"

"Need a clairvoyant guess? Really, Mr Swiddle, you underestimate me. The staves were a banyon wood and an ashwood. And that one there--? The African banyon wood?"

"Decidedly," Swiddle said.

"And what has become of the ashwood staff?" asked Caprice while gazing over at the faculty box, intrigued to see Esther Roundhouse sitting next to Dumbledore.

"Perhaps YOU can tell ME," Swiddle replied with a wry smile. "Just when I had determined that its carven sigils enhanced its compatibility properties, it turns up missing."

Caprice glanced down at her ringless thumb. "Sigils? Of what sort?"

"Numibian, I'm thinking. But I'm not sure."

"Not Egyptian? Not similar to the scarab beetle?" Caprice looked at him with raised brows.

"Oh you DO surprise me, Madame Moonbeam. Yes, not unlike the scarab beetle, now that you mention it."

A trumpet fanfare swept over the stadium. Madame Hooch was flying out to the center of the pitch, quaffle in hand, the crowds applauding.

"Have you placed a wager on the outcome, Mr Swiddle?"

Clement Swiddle wasn't sure what the Eff woman was referring to. He took hold of the banyon staff and gave it a squeeze. "I leave outcomes up to the Fates," he said.

Caprice opened her bag of peanuts. She was staring at Snape as he sought a seat in the faculty box. She smiled. He had been rough with her, but not unjustifiably. Besides, better to be subjected to him, she thought, than to be ignored.

In their pavilion tent the Hogwarts All-Stars shouldered into their black and grey jerseys.

Oliver Wood stood at the tent flap, gazing across at the goblin team hovering at the far end of the pitch, their orange uniforms gleaming in the sun of a clear day.

He was not entirely satisfied with his team's roster, having doubts about the accuracy of Thomas Bluntquill's bludger shots, but impressed with his strength. Fred Weasley could be counted on to whack the opponent's quaffle carrier pretty much at will, but his shots lacked the degree of power that Tom could generate. The Chasers, Roger Roundhouse, Irma Wormhole, and Giselle, were as fine a combination as he had ever coached. If they played their best today, the All-Stars were sure to talley up a good deal of quaffle scores. And though Cedric would have been Oliver's choice for Seeker with his longer reach and greater experience, Harry was arguably the swiftest and most agile Seeker among the house teams.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

"We're on, mates," Oliver said. "The best of luck to us all! Let's show em what Hogwarts is made of!"

Giselle was determined to put all things behind her except the Quidditch match. At that moment nothing else mattered.

She mounted her Meteor and flew off with Roger and Irma to either side of her. Bluntquill and Fred cruised above them, bats in hand, four bludgers circling them.

And high over them all was Harry, his silver cape flapping, his attention on Zink, the goblin Seeker. They circled one another warily while far below Hooch tossed up the quaffle to the roar of the spectators.

Giselle darted forward and upward, crushed in the onslaught of Chasers fighting for possession of the quaffle. It was the most violent quaffle-grab she had ever been in. It knocked her spinning wildly in a downward arc.

She pulled back on her broom handle, a knee scraping the grass, and sped after the biggest of the goblin Chasers: Holo, a female with hairy ears, who had got the  quaffle and was zigzagging toward the goal hoops where Oliver swung back and forth, waving an arm.

"I'll take the right-hand side, Gee!" yelled Roger, zooming alongside her. She immediately swept to her left and accelerated. She felt like her hair had been yanked as a bludger grazed her head. Ducking, she angled over to Holo. Roger had bumped the goblin girl hard, and now it was Giselle's turn to ram her.

They collided, bruising each other's arms. Holo grabbed Gee's broom for just a moment, released it, and then angled straight up as the goal hoops seemed to rush toward them. Giselle could only scrunch down. There was no time to swerve away from the mid-size hoop, and right through it she went.

A shout of disbelief rose from the crowd.

Giselle turned and flew back to the pitch, wondering at the reaction of the now laughing spectators. The goblin team was celebrating.

"Giselle McGonagall of Hufflepuff scores for the Fair Flyers!" announced Lee Jordan.

Giselle blanched. The awful truth struck her like a slap. Holo had shoved the quaffle in the tail straws of the Meteor. Burning with embarrassment, Giselle dislodged the quaffle and held it out.

"I'll take it," said Irma, seizing the quaffle and positioning herself in front of a disheartened Oliver.

"Don't feel bad, Gee," Roger said to her, clapping her on the back. "You couldn't know the goblins play dirty. Come on, let's get those points back!"

This was easier said than done. The goblin Chasers were ferocious defenders, and when they weren't slamming into Irma, and then into Roger when he took a hand-off, the goblin Beaters were there to pound the quaffle carrier mercilessly and with pinpoint accuracy.

So strident were their skills that Thomas Bluntquill was knocked out of the game with a broken jaw. Pomfrey tended him as Felix flew in to take his place, only to get the wind bashed out of him a minute later.

After half an hour the score was 80 to zero in favor of the Fair Flyers, and Oliver was putting all his hope on Harry.

The snitch appeared three times during that half hour. The first time was so brief that Giselle didn't notice it. It zipped around the Ravenclaw Tower bleachers before Harry and Zink could get within ten meters of it, and then it vanished somewhere in the shadows.

The second time it flashed past Giselle as she was carrying the quaffle between Roger and Irma, who deflected two bludgers at a high cost; their arms and shoulders bruised.

She saw the snitch spiralling up toward the Slytherin bleacher tower, but with a goblin Chaser punching at her broom she could not help Harry in the slightest, but had to do a barrel roll to get free of the aggressive goblin. She ended up in a direct line with the center hoop.

The goblin Keeper spat at her; a jet of spittle that stung her cheek like acid. No foul, since Hooch didn't see it. But it outraged Gee so much that she banged Holo out of the way, did a reckless somersault over the  Keeper, swerved back around, and side-armed the quaffle through the smallest hoop.

"Ripping!"

"All-Stars score! Eighty to ten, Fair Flyers advantage."

At the snitch's third appearance Giselle had just bumped the goblin quaffle carrier out of bounds, where he caught a foot in the awning of a snack cart, tipping it over, to the delight of a flock of hungry pidgeons.

"Snitch up!" she heard Irma call out.

Gee flew at a steep angle, keeping her eyes in the opposite direction from where the snitch was loitering, yelling at Harry loud enough for Zink to hear her and to see her pointing madly toward the faculty box. But Zink didn't fall for it. He followed Harry. The snitch waited til the last possible moment before flashing away in a long swooping arc. And that was that.

Try as she might, Giselle could not distract Zink. She even tried blowing kisses at him. Nothing worked. He seemed to have eyes all around his head.

It was when the score was a depressing 130 to 40 that the snitch made its fateful fourth appearance.

"Help Harry!" said Fred to Giselle, "I'll cover you," and sent a bludger at Zink.

She flew up under Harry and tried to stay with him as he chased after the snitch. Whenever Zink drew too close she would block his progress, which often got her poked in the ribs with the angry goblin's broom handle. And though Fred and Felix kept the goblin Beaters dodging shots, they managed to get in a few of their own, striking Giselle twice, painfully in the back.

The second strike dazed her. She lost altitude.

The crowd was roaring. Gee could not orient herself. She caught glimpses of the snitch, just ahead of the outstretched hands of Harry and Zink; glimpses of the Chasers crashing their way from one end of the pitch to the other; but she was too dizzy to take effective action.

That was changed in an instant.

"Harry Potter with the snitch--" Giselle's broom was punched out from under her just as she was about to celebrate. She swayed wildly for a second, then grabbed hold of... her ashwood staff!

For a puzzling moment she thought that the golden snitch was shining before her eyes. But it wasn't that.

The scarab ring was on the end of her staff, her flying staff that was taking her at great speed over the stadium and toward the castle!

Giselle at first just held on as the staff swept low over the lawns, out over the lake, and back around toward the bridge that connected the east and west sides of the castle. Her mind was a frozen blank. Then, as she was carried along between the east towers, dangerously close to striking the walls and roofs, she came to her senses and drew her holly wood wand.

She sang out every spell she could think of that would slow the staff and put it under her control. But with each garbled canto and wild flourish the scarab ring blazed as if in anger, dissipating the spell effects.

The staff rose up over the Astronomy tower at such a steep angle that Giselle had to wrap her arms tightly around it to keep from sliding off.

The height was making her dizzy. She closed her eyes. The wind blew loudly in her ears. She felt a sudden drop, smelled the pungent odor of a courtyard garden, heard the shout of a gardener, the laughter of a student. And when at last she opened her eyes in response to a warmer, mustier wind, she found herself flying swiftly down the long corridor that led to the iron-studded door.

"Stasis!" she gasped, flourishing her wand.

She tumbled head over heels and came to a skidding halt at the foot of the door.

The ashwood staff lay on the floor next to her. She sat up, breathless and aching all over, and reached for the staff.

The ring was gone.

"There! You see, Armando, I am the one you should trust, your Uncle Upton. Here, hold the ring, and let's see what Miss Womblatt and Mr Johan have to say about that!"

Giselle pressed an ear to the door. Her heart was pounding, and she was so frightened she could not stand up. She was drained of strength. When she touched the staff she felt the warm pleasant sensation, yet this was little comfort. But her intuition was telling her that she had been guided to 'the very truth.' She was where she was meant to be. Surely it would end well.

"By rights the scarab ring belongs to my Father," said the voice of Elenor. "He was the one who found it, through his exploration of the secret rooms in the Sphinx. Give it to me!"

"Your father," said Armando in a sneering tone, "got his hands on the ring by double-crossing my Uncle Upton. He then gave it to a Slytherin girl, Caprice Eff, thinking she would turn her affections to him and get him in good with the Scottish Effs. But it's Snape she wanted. So he matched Caprice up with Minnex, who convinced her that Snape was hopelessly in love with Lily Evans. It worked, but not to his liking. When your father realized his mistake in trusting Caprice, he passed on 'rumors' of a horcrux and invited the post-grad Snape to join him on an expedition to Egypt, hoping he could play off Snape and Caprice against each other, and come out on top, getting hold of the ring AND the horcrux. But he failed. Minnex fooled them all."

Professor Frumlow said, as his springs squeaked forlornly. "No, he didn't fool them all, Armando. He didn't fool Odin McGonagall. Odin and his wife, Bella..." There was a catch in his voice. Sighing, he continued. "Odin and Bella believed that the horcrux was the work of Voldemort's spirit, through proxies, of which the chief one was Minnex. And they were correct to believe so. Hexaba killed Samson Studmann, for use in creating the horcrux, killed him while she was possessed by Voldemort. When Odin and Bella got wind of this and were planning to have Hexaba and her mother arrested, Voldemort influenced Minnex to plan the death of the McGonagalls--"

"Liar!" shouted Krimson.

"Don't you call my uncle a liar, you mudblood!"

"Your uncle IS lying," said Elenor heatedly. "It wasn't Minnex who killed the McGonagalls. Oh, well yes, he did plan to do so, at the urging of Caprice and YOU, Armando. But it was Professor Frumlow who killed them. And I know why he did! He wanted his own horcrux, didn't you, sir! Don't lie to us!"

A growl and the loud clanging of springs. "You insufferable interferers! Armando--! Stop them!"

"Expelliarmus!" intoned the young man.

"Ahh," moaned Elenor. "Don't harm us! We won't reveal your secret, we promise!"

"We'll make an Unbreakable Vow," offered the nervous Krimson.

"Wait--!" said Professor Frumlow. "There's a bird in the bush!"

Giselle struggled to her feet, tears drenching her face, but she was not quick enough.

The door swung open, creaking and crackling. Giselle was pulled into the classroom, stumbling to her knees. To her left Elenor and Krimson clung to each other, staring at her in astonishment. At the front of the room Armando stood gaping at her in surprise and amusement. Professor Frumlow held his two staves at arm's length, his mouth open in a deep breath.

It was then that a powerful intuition galvanized Giselle. She flourished her wand.

"Enlargo PROXimus!"

It seemed that Frumlow and the table behind him came hurling toward her. She set down her wand and held out both hands.

Her fingers seized the two staves. The sensation reminded her of what she felt in Frumlow's private study on the night she had sleepwalked.

At the front of the classroom she saw him snatch Armando's wand, his face contorted in rage.

"Avada kedavra!" cried Professor Frumlow, pointing the wand at her.

Grimacing in horror, Giselle held the twin staves close together in front of her.

In seeming slow-motion the beam of harsh green light reached for her. It struck the staves and immediately retreated back toward the professor.

"NO-O-O!" he wailed. And in the next moment he was falling backward, striking the table and crumpling to the floor, his legs bouncing and squeaking; his nephew stepping back in shock and disbelief.

From the two staves in Giselle's trembling hands the ghosts of two hearts rose up, forming the man and woman they had animated in life and now infused in death.

Odin and Bella grasped each other's hands. In the glow of their love they vanished, while above them spun the scarab ring, its gold turning to rust.

There was one love it could not destroy. And in its failure it passed away into the nothingness it deserved.

(22) The Goblin Fair

On their way down the corridor from the Headmaster's office, Hermione said, "I need some air."

She pulled up on the rusty latch of a tall mullioned window. The lower half swung open with many squeaks and a puff of mildewy dust.

"Mr Filch should clean the windows once in a while," she remarked, and, laying a forearm on the sill, she gestured to Giselle to join her in gazing out into the night and at Gryffindor Tower looming close by, its upper floor ablaze with light.

"Isn't it beautiful," said Giselle. "How nice to have a dorm in such a lovely place."

"Don't you like being in the basement? You do have a charming view of the lawns and the forest from your Common Room windows."

"It has its advantages, I suppose. We're near the kitchens and the Entrance Hall."

"And you haven't miles of stairs to climb, like WE do," Hermione added with a soft laugh. "Why not spend the night with us? We're just around the corner from the tower, and one flight of stairs down from it. One of my dorm mates has gone home for some sort of family meeting, an inheritance squabble, I think. You can sleep in her bed tonight. Besides, Ron will be in a better mood if you're there in our Common Room. You know how frumpy he's been lately, ever since Viktor took me to the Fair."

Giselle felt squeezed between Charlie and Roger. A slight faintness came over her. Seeing this, Hermione thought Giselle was dwelling on the mystery of her parents' disappearance, and suddenly the import of her and Giselle's experience that night struck her as ultimately unsatisfactory.

What had they uncovered that was not already known? Professor Snape had tricked the goblin into killing Minnex, who was believed to be responsible for Giselle's parents' fate, but nothing was certain. Yes, there was a horcrux, but it had not been found. Instead, they came away with just their wands.

Something had been left behind, but either she could not remember what it was, or simply didn't care. She had a very strange, sort of 'missing' feeling about it.

"What's wrong?" asked Giselle. "If it's Ron you care for, then why not excuse yourself from Viktor Krum's affections?"

Hermione smiled. "Is that what's bothering you?" The smile faded. "I thought you were dismayed at not finding out more about your mum and dad."

Giselle turned from the window and leaned back against the wall. "I sensed more about them than I was willing to tell," she said, and looked apologetically at Hermione, who nodded and said, "Same here."

"They were involved in the horcrux thing, and they didn't want Faerie Ministries or Fudge to know about it," Giselle continued. "That young man bossing around the locals, I just know he's Professor Frumlow's nephew."

Hermione was intrigued. "Really? I do remember he was called Armando, and I wondered if he was related to Armando Dippet, the former headmaster, but of course that's silly. So, he's Professor Frumlow's nephew! How weird."

"The two poles he ran off with," Giselle said, a hand to her mouth. "I kept thinking of the two staves that Professor Frumlow uses."

Hermione gasped. "Huh--! Do you think? You did mention to Snape about Frumlow... bothering... your grandmother when she was a student here. But I've such a hard time imagining the springy professor being caught up in this. Wait...! It was in his classroom that you and I had that vision about the pyramids and heard the voice of that young man, Armando, talking about Voldemort. Oh, I'm sure it was his voice, it MUST have been."

Giselle turned and crossed her arms on the window sill. A breeze was stirring her hair, bringing with it the smells of the night; the tar of the Durmstrang ship on the lake, the crisp smell of woodsmoke from Hagrid's hut, the cinnamony aroma drifting over from the Beauxbaton house carriage. These did not erase from her memory the dank smell of the pyramid passages, the odor of great age, of ancient death. She looked over at Gryffindor Tower. How old, how austere, how mysterious it was, those steps that the Four Founders had taken, up the stairs of the towers, each Founder having their own plans and desires...

"Salazar Slytherin," Giselle whispered, glancing at Hermione. "Why was Roger sorted into Slytherin house? Don't you think he has some little part in all this?"

Hermione turned her head away, as though caught thinking something that she oughtn't. "Oh...  now that you mention it. I had that strong feeling about Krimson Johan being connected in some way with the Marvolo Curse, and, well, I felt that Roger was with him, you know, sort of like... helping him. But I didn't want to upset you, so I kept quiet about him. Everyone knows he likes you. I just supposed you were fond of him, without losing your fondness for Ron's brother, Charlie."

"Helping him? Roger helping Johan?" Giselle bit her lip, a surge of anger going through her that immediately made her feel guilty. She remembered what Johan had said to her on the Tunnel of Love ride, that Roger had gone to see the gypsy fortune-teller, 'Madame Moonbeam.' And wasn't she the Eff woman, the wife of Minnex?

No, she thought, the WIDOW of Minnex. She put her hands to her face and sighed.

"I don't think I'll ever know all that's happened," she said.

Hermione laid a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe it's best if some things stay hidden. Come on, it's after curfew. You ARE staying the night with us?"

Giselle thought of Roger and the comfortable Hufflepuff Common Room, so settled and predictable compared to Gryffindor's.

"Yes, I'd like that," she said.

The Fat Lady made them wait while she spooned sugar into her coffee cup and selected a cookie from a confectioner's box. "Oh, are you wanting in? I assumed you were going to wander around all night. And who is this bashful thing with you?"

"She's the daughter of the man who decides which paintings will stay and which ones will be thrown out," Hermione said casually.

The portrait swung inward. "Watch your step, dears. Have a good evening."

The table where Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Neville were sitting was messy with textbooks and papers, quills and inkbottles, but you would never guess they were doing their homework. A bishop chess piece was kicking the toy statuette of Viktor Krum around the table, a better entertainment than charting backwards comets for Astronomy class.

When Ron saw Hermione and Giselle crossing the room, stopping here and there to answer a friend, he hurriedly stashed the Krum toy in his pocket, wincing as it bit his thumb.

Harry grinned at Giselle. "Did they boot you out of Hufflepuff?"

"I've been banned for life, but I'm just going to ignore it. Isn't that what Gryffindors do, ignore the rules?" She winked at him.

"Only when nobody's looking," Ron said. "Pull up a chair and do our homework for us."

"Ho ho," said Hermione. "We're going to relax by the fire and have some hot chocolate with marshmallows. We've been rather busy, you know, not like you four, goofing off all evening."

Seamus turned around in his chair to look up at her. "What's all this about looking into a bowl of water and watching memories? How daft is Dumbledore, anyway? Did you win any house points for us?"

"Yes, we did. Ten points each for our houses. And you guys could win us a point or two if you'd do your homework like you're supposed to."

They held out their papers and quills for her to take, but Hermione tut-tutted and went off to the refreshment counter with Giselle.

Aunt Minerva came in at 11:30 to announce Lights-Out. By then there were only a few students in the Common Room. She saw her niece sitting on the rug by the smouldering fire, leaning back against a sofa, a cup in hand, saying something to a sleepy Neville, who was putting away a packet of seeds and nodding wistfully.

"Off to your beds," said Aunty. "Giselle, I suggest you Accio your sleepwalking medicine if you intend to spend the night here."

But in the fuss over getting ready for bed, Giselle forgot about taking her medicine. She lay awake an hour or so talking to Hermione and Parvati, whose canopied beds were to either side of hers. By then she was yawning more often than talking, and talking more often than thinking. And then, in the moonlight through the east windows that shone on her bed curtain, blinking and yawning more often than anything, as silence took over and the clocks lulled them to sleep.

Mrs Norris raised her head, her whiskers quivering. What was that coming down the marble staircase? A human, no doubt, by the smell of it.

She jumped down off the pedastel by the dungeon entrance and, extending her front legs, her rump arching up, she stretched. Should she inform her master that a student was out of bed? No, the pity, he would not want to be awakened in the middle of the night.

Mrs Norris slunk into the shadows cast by torches flanking the south corridor that led to that long passageway where she had caught a mouse the other day.

Here came the student. Mrs Norris recognized the scent of McGonagall's niece, that prissy wallflower who Argus would say was little better than a squib.

The cat growled under its breath as the girl walked by.

There was no one in the dark classroom to see Giselle sleepwalk through the big iron-studded door, just the stars in the moon-hazed night outside the high windows, and they merely twinkled.

She walked in the slow, graceful fashion peculiar to sleepwalkers, her filmy white nightgown seemingly made of smoke, her hair catching what few winks the stars gave her.

She came to Frumlow's office door off the front of the classroom. Here she stood still for a minute, appearing to be completely indifferent to the banyon-wood staff floating up to her. Then she turned her head to look at it, her face expressionless.

She was not surprised by the staff's presence. Hers and Hermione's had been left behind in the burial chamber, in the past, and both girls had quite forgotten about them. Not even Dumbledore remarked about their absence. But now here was Hermione's staff. Giselle felt that it was a gift from the past, given to her by someone's memory, or spirit.

She gripped it, and with no reaction at all to the cool pleasant feeling caressing her arm, she walked through the office door.

"Your opinion, Severus?"

Snape sat staring at the burning logs in the fireplace. "The victim whose life energy formed the essence of the horcrux was Samson Studmann."

"I thought you would say so," remarked Dumbledore, linking his hands in his lap. "Studmann was slain by Hexaba, or so we all believe. And if it's true that the horcrux is a product of Tom Riddle's enhanced ghost, and meant to secure his future resurrection, then he used Hexaba as a proxy. In short, he possessed her."

"As he later possessed Quirrel," said Snape. He stared across at the pensive Headmaster. "Armando Frumlow insisted that Voldemort was dead and therefore not an active player in the horcrux scheme. This might be in compliance with the demands of Esther Roundhouse, if indeed she is the ringleader. Armando mentioned that Minnex, in league with Caprice Eff and Hexaba's snake charming mother, was to bring the McGonagalls to an end of some sort. It doesn't appear that Odin and Isabel McGonagall were killed for the purpose of the horcrux, but for some other reason; perhaps just to silence them. I've no doubt that Minnex was their killer."

Dumbledore nodded. "We agree, then, that the horcrux, wherever it has been hidden, is for the sake of Voldemort. But what is its appearance? What is the object? Was Miss Granger or Giselle able to offer any insights?"

"Indirectly," Snape replied. "They sensed something about the sarcophagus. I believe that the two empty boxes on its lid held the material essence of the horcrux at one time. Young Frumlow commented that the boxes had 'served their purpose.' Evidently an additional piece of the victim was required: Studmann's eyes."

Dumbledore nodded again, but with less conviction. "Two boxes, two eyes. How unique this horcrux is, a container of some sort that holds not only a split-off of Riddle's soul, but also selected body parts from his victim. Why this need for a material essence?"

"Perhaps a proof against mere spiritual resurrection, when a bodily resurrection is desired."

Giselle stood in the middle of Professor Frumlow's office, the staff held away from her side. It gave her a gentle tug, as though not to wake her, but prompting her to walk across to the partially open door of the living quarters.

Giselle entered a Victorian-style room, her eyes half closed, and letting go of Hermione's staff she walked over to a pair of bookshelves. Here she glanced at the bedchamber doorway and saw that the bed was occupied. A single small candle burned on a bedside stand. Then she turned her sleepy attention to the space between the bookshelves.

Slowly, deliberately, and with no apparent emotion, she placed her hands on the professor's twin staves that leaned against a curtained window.

She was immediately awake.

The shock of finding herself in these unfamiliar surroundings drew a cry from her. She stepped back from the staves, wringing her hands, moaning in gasps.

"Who's there--? Answer me!"

Giselle ran to the office door. She fumbled with the latch. Thankfully the door was not secured shut by a spell. She flung it open and hurried out into the classroom, bumping into school desks and bench seats as she headed pell-mell for the iron-studded door.

It was bolted shut on the inside, but the seconds it took her to throw back the iron bolt had her trembling and whimpering. She could hear the creaky spronging noises of Professor Frumlow going into his office. In another second--!

Giselle jerked the heavy door open so vigorously that her chin was cut by the iron plate that covered the door edge. She ran as fast as she could down the passageway, fearing the whiteness of her nightgown would be visible to her persuer in the dense darkness.

She hoped he would not chase after her and that he had not identified her. For a reason she couldn't have explained she feared him terribly. That her Aunt Minerva was Deputy Headmistress and could smooth away any trouble did not lessen her fear.

Would Professor Frumlow use a hex on her that would drag her screaming back to him? The idea further terrified her. Magic was not to be used against a student except in a class demonstration. But rules were not likely to discourage a desperate man.

Giselle ran down the adjoining corridors in a weaving stagger, out of breath, her side aching, until at least she came to the Entrance Hall.

At the basement steps she stopped to listen. Was he coming? She strained her ears. No sound of springs creaking. Relieved, she went down the steps in a normal manner, trying to catch her breath and to calm her thundering heart.

She tapped the designated barrel five times. It opened, and into the carpeted tunnel she went, feeling much better. She was thinking that she had made too big a deal of her predicament. After all, she could not be held responsible for her sleepwalking, and her panic was understandable.

By the time she entered the vacant Hufflepuff Common Room she had convinced herself that no trouble would come from her unconscious faux pas.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light. The Common Room was not as vacant as she had thought.

She stood aghast. Her overriding emotion was one of extreme despair. 'I must look a dreadful mess!'

But Roger, seated in an armchair staring at her, did not think so. He saw an alluring Giselle damp with sweat and looking like a wild thing.

His mother was not amused.

Esther Roundhouse, seated with her back to the hutch's door, had seen the bemused and titillated look on her son's face. She stood and turned to face the reason for it.

"Who is that? Is that Giselle McGonagall? Look at you! What do you mean, cavorting through the castle in your nightie? No, I'll have no excuses, young lady! Get to your dorm room and don't be surprised when you're given a suspension, you wanton twit. Don't stand there like a street strumpet! Get to your room!"

Roger watched the mortified Giselle hurry up the steps to the girls dorm. He let out his breath, his hands shaking.

"I'll have more to say to you tomorrow," his mother announced in a flustered tone. When he looked up at her he could clearly see the probing spirit of her eyes drilling into him.

"Pack your trunk in the morning, after third period," she continued. "My mind is made up, and there's nothing your father can say or do to change it. You're transferring back to Slytherin. It's where you were sorted, and it's where you will stay."