(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.