Harry Potter and the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus

Chapter 18: Dances with Wolves

WHAT SHE HEARD FIRST WERE THE VOICES. In the dark, against the distant rumble of the unseen surf below, they reached her ears as low murmurs. Tickling whispers at the end of an evening shared between two lovers. A light tinkly laugh. More faded syllables borne away by the night wind. Silence. And then...

A scream.

A cry of shock and surprise, long, loud and anguished in the darkness.

Bethany rushed forward, groping her way past the brambles at the end of the steep path to the summit. The gravel crumbled beneath her feet with each feeble step as she scrabbled to regain her foothold on the path. A strip of light like a sabre slashed the night sky; the wind whipped mercilessly against her ears; and the storm clouds tumbled in, a cloak of black suffocating the stars. As the rain fell, she struggled against a net of vines and nettles, finally tearing through the thicket with her arms, bloody and scratched from their labour.

Then through a break in the bramble, she saw them both. A flash of white blonde and jet black. Heads thrown back, one in savage victory, the other... in death.

Claire!

As the tenebrous shadow of her sister´s murderer slid into the black depths of the looming crag, Bethany plunged forward and sank to her knees beside Claire´s body and the pool of fresh blood in the sand. No! Claire´s limp form sprawled awkwardly on the muddy earth, one arm jutting out from behind the folds of her sodden gown, her golden tresses spilled round her as in sleep, her face, obscured by the silky gauze of her cape. No! Bethany sobbed. This is... all my fault. Oh, Claire... With a trembling hand, she slowly pulled the fabric away from the body. As the cloth slid from the pale face, Bethany gasped and fell backwards. The stunned blank stare of the girl on the ground wasn´t Claire´s. It was her own.

A firm hand clasped over Bethany´s mouth, stifling her startled cries. "Hush." The soothing tingle of warm breath tickled her ear.

"You´re safe now," murmured the dark figure from behind. His arms held her close. The rocky cliff dissolved away and Bethany twisted, struggling to see her rescuer in the shadows. But as the darkness thickened, all she knew was the comforting brush of lips against hers and the tender caress of fingers across her damp eyelids and cheeks. She sank weakly against his chest and a faint, breathless whisper was all she could manage.

"Who... who are you?"

In reply she heard... a distant rapping. Tap, tap, tap... tap, tap, tap.

Her eyes fluttered open suddenly, and he was gone.

A deep twinge of disappointment set in as the red velvet canopy above her bed slowly came into focus. Pale morning light streamed in reluctantly through the high casement window, but there was no owl scraping against the pane. Where on earth...?

Tap, tap... tap, tap, tap...

She sat up groggily, willing her eyes to scan the sparsely furnished chamber.

"Er... good morning, Bethany."

She gasped, startled to find Professor McGonagall´s pinched face in the fireplace. To her credit, the Transfiguration professor herself seemed rather uncomfortable for being there.

"Minerva!" Bethany sat up and gaped at the dark-haired witch. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." McGonagall´s lined face, typically stern, bore an unfamiliarly sheepish cast. "I do apologise for bothering you at this hour, but Albus was insistent that you be aware of this scheduling change as early as possible today to enable you to prepare--"

Bethany shrugged on her dressing gown and yawned. "Sorry, Minerva, but... prepare for what?"

Beneath her wire-rimmed spectacles, Minerva´s pointed nose wrinkled in barely concealed disapproval. "Due to an urgent out of town appointment, Professor van der Witte has rescheduled the Society´s international dance seminar from this evening to this afternoon--"

"This afternoon? But--"

"Yes, without realising that she would be equally unavailable to moderate this afternoon´s seminar."

Bethany glanced out the high window and sighed. I´ll bet.

"... and since you have had experience with the Society´s European chapters, the Headmaster was quite anxious for you to lead the inaugural seminar at Hogwarts."

"Me?"

Bethany swung her legs off the side of the bed and her bare foot landed on something soft and warm and--ouch! She jerked back in surprise and peered down at a hissing white ball. Lilith took another swipe with her tiny claws and bared her teeth before arching her back and scampering from the room.

"Yes," said Minerva shortly. "You."

"But..." Bethany groped round for some excuse. Any excuse. "Minerva, perhaps you could--"

"Conduct a seminar in Latin Dancing? Me?" The Transfiguration professor´s eyes crinkled merrily at the corners and she let out a little snort. "No, I think it best to leave the more physical aspects of teaching to the younger generations--"

A faint knock echoed from the fireplace and Minerva´s head disappeared momentarily to address someone in the distance. "... with you in just one moment, Mr Longbottom. Would you mind waiting outside?... Thank you." Professor McGonagall´s head and her severe dark bun soon returned to the hearth and she smiled at Bethany. "Don´t look like that, dear. There´s no need to worry; they´re only teenagers."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Bethany, "but... Oh!" She snapped her fingers, grateful to have remembered a previous engagement. "The Headmaster knows that this afternoon I´ll be working with Professor Snape--"

"That will be quite difficult," replied Minerva, "as Severus himself is escorting the Slytherins to the seminar."

Oh, no. Bethany´s stomach sank. She hadn´t been on a dance floor in... well, years, and now she´d have to conduct a seminar on international dance in front of the Evil Vicar. Holy Agrippa. Bethany pressed her palm against her temple. How humiliating.

"Very well, then, it´s all settled," concluded Minerva. "Albus will be so relieved--I mean, pleased." Minerva adjusted her spectacles and gave Bethany a thin-lipped smile. "Now, I´m afraid I must leave you to attend to some House matters. But... thank you," she said as her face faded from the fire.

Bethany sat back on the bed to indulge in a small whimper. She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the dark man from her dream, but he, too, had gone.

**********

Hermione paused in her reading and peered at Ron over the edge of Miranda Mottlepole´s Freaky Phyla for Fifth-Years.

"They asked you to look for what?" Her brown eyes widened as Ron leaned over to recount the tale of the two footmen in the painting.

Greenhouse Five had erupted as usual with the Merobabs´ vituperative hissing and thwacking, so whispering seemed pointless. Harry had heard the story before, but he was sure the tips of Ron's ears hadn´t turned as red then as they were now that he was practically cheek-to-cheek with Hermione. Harry quietly stirred his phosphorescent beaker of diluted Merobab cerebral fluid extract and hid a smile.

After some time, a flushed Hermione cleared her throat.

"But why would they want you to look for a flower?" she asked, glancing dubiously up and down the greenhouse.

"Death," said Harry suddenly. He rested his ladle on the counter and leaned across the creaky table. "Didn´t they say it was the mark of death?"

Hermione´s brows knitted together and she chewed absently on her lower lip.

"Yeah. Something like that." Ron nodded. "They said it was a royal symbol used for murderers..."

As Ron spoke, a slow fog settled over Harry´s thoughts, which he had trouble keeping straight thanks to the Merobabs´ frantic whispering. Harry stood and pushed away from the table. He felt dizzy. Flower... death... mark... Dark Mark... He frowned. Merlin, why do these things have to be so loud? He couldn´t even hear himself think--

"Fleur-de-lis," muttered Harry.

"Yeah, that´s it." Ron eyed Harry incredulously. "You´ve heard of it?"

"What?" Harry blinked. "You just said it a second ago."

"No, I didn´t." Ron´s ginger brows rose and he shook his head slowly. "Did I, Hermione?"

"Well someone did," Harry insisted, frowning at them both.

Ron looked bewildered, but Hermione´s eyes brightened.

"The fleur-de-lis..." she murmured. "I remember this from when Mum, Dad and I went to Versailles. Literally, it translates to `flower of the lily´ but it´s really a stylised version of the iris that later became the badge of the royal house of France." Putting on her most teacherly expression, Hermione picked up a quill and sketched above her notes a familiar three-petaled pattern that Harry vaguely recollected seeing emblazoned on Aunt Petunia´s souvenir china and the Dursleys´ living room upholstery and drapes next to magazine racks teetering with back-issues of Royalty Magazine. "Erm... it looks a bit like this... kind of," continued Hermione. "Our guide said that a few hundred years ago they used to brand it on criminals who had committed particularly heinous crimes like murd--"

"Oy!" Ron interrupted in a startled whisper. "What´s up with them?"

The Merobabs´ phosphorescent blue tentacles shifted abruptly, huddling into the corner closest to their table and sending a heavy backsplash over the glass walls onto Professor Sprout and clusters of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs on the other side of the greenhouse. Parvati, Lavender and Hannah Abbott screamed, emerging drenched from the cold splash, stringy bits of seaweed dangling in curtains round their faces.

Harry and Ron started to laugh and promptly swallowed mouthfuls of salty seawater as a fresh wave crested over the side onto their table. Harry could have sworn he´d seen an pair of red-black eyes peering cheekily from the tank, but they soon vanished into the mass of thick blue tentacles trailing in the murky water.

Ron picked a glutinous clump of seaweed from his teeth. "Wonder what´s got them so spooked."

Harry sighed and pushed the sodden fringe from his eyes, scanning round for something clean to wipe his glasses.

"Secculum."

From the tip of Hermione´s wand sprang a warm zephyr that spun round the boys, ruffling Harry´s and Ron´s robes until they flapped dry in the breeze. Harry and Ron laughed at the sight of each other´s hair, dried and sticking up in odd places. Hermione rolled her eyes and performed carefully targeted Drying Charms on her hair and robes, smoothing them down as the greenhouse door sounded with a soft knock.

Remus Lupin´s sandy head peered round the edge of the door. Taking in the dripping wreck of the room, his brown eyes crinkled in contained merriment, though at the sight of Professor Sprout´s startled countenance, he seemed to settle for pursing his lips tightly together. Harry thought the resulting expression made him look as if he´d weathered a double curse of Silencio and Rictusempra.

"Ah, good afternoon, Remus," said Professor Sprout lightly, as if the sight of twenty soaking students under her greenhouse roof was a common occurrence. "Do come in." The stout old witch squished amiably aside as her robes dripped onto the floor. A muffled aquatic squeal emanated from behind the glass, but otherwise the Merobabs kept still, cringing as they were in the back of the tank. Professor Lupin´s old shoes plopped gingerly in the puddles by the door, but given the effects of the less expert Drying Charms of the fifth-years, his faded grey flannel robes looked positively smart by comparison. Surveying the room, he coughed and pressed a hand to his mouth.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt, Meriwether," said Professor Lupin. "But would you mind if I stole Harry for the rest of the period? The Headmaster wishes to see him in his office."

Professor Sprout squinted through the rivulets of water running down from her forehead. "Oh, yes!" she said. "Yes, of course. We were just finishing up here." She wrung out her apron onto a baby Bubotuber plant and waved a sturdy arm at Harry. "Go on, dear. Run along."

Harry straightened his robes and grabbed his satchel.

Hermione paused in picking dried seaweed from Ron´s head. "Harry, we´ll catch you at the Society meeting?"

The dance lessons? Harry wrinkled his nose, thinking gloomily of his sub-stellar dancing debut at the previous year´s Yule Ball. He´d have preferred a couple of gruelling hours of Oliver Wood´s Suicides to an hour of dodging toes in the Great Hall, but he knew the rest of the Gryffindor team were planning to attend as well.

Ron cast a quick glance at Hermione and pleaded with Harry with nervous eyes. "Hey, I´m only going if you are."

"I´ll be there." Harry´s smile widened at the relief flooding frankly across Ron´s freckled face. "If I can manage it." He chuckled at Ron´s stricken look and ducked as a clump of dried seaweed missed his ear.

**********

The blinding sun hung high over the lawns, but Harry drew up his collar against the brisk autumn wind that rustled through the trees as he joined Professor Lupin on the doorstep. As the students´ banter and Merobab mumblings in the greenhouse faded behind them, Harry´s eyes darkened and turned to Lupin as they trod their way up the winding dirt path to the school.

"Is Sirius all right?" His brows furrowed fretfully. "Are you all right?" Harry added, taking in Lupin´s worn expression. The dark circles under his former professor´s eyes spoke of more strain than his monthly transformation at the full moon typically involved, which, in any event, Harry knew wasn´t due for another week.

"We´re both... fine," said Professor Lupin, giving him a weak smile.

Harry´s face broke into a relieved grin. "Good. I was worried," he said. "The last we´d heard from Sirius, he hinted that some big operation might take place. Then we didn´t heard from you in a while, and well..." He shrugged.

"Harry," Lupin began, "there´s a lot your godfather and I are doing on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix. There is so much we wish we could tell you, but--"

"But you can´t," finished Harry resignedly. He nodded. "I know. It´s okay, I wasn´t trying to make you feel guilty or anything." Harry smiled at his father´s old friend, the Dark Arts guru in the threadbare robes. "It´s just good to know that you´re safe, and not... not..." Not a morbid Daily Prophet headline, he wanted to say.

"I know what you mean," sighed Professor Lupin, nodding solemnly. A few stray locks of greying hair fell over his forehead. His brown eyes took on a peculiar melancholy and Harry was suddenly sure that Lupin really did know. All too well.

"So," said Harry, clearing his throat. "Dumbledore wanted to see me?" Small groups of students crossed their path as they approached the front doors of the castle. A few of the younger Gryffindors, as well as a couple of Ravenclaws in Quidditch jerseys, turned to wave at Harry.

"Yes," said Lupin. He hesitated and pressed his lips together as they strode into the Great Hall and mounted the stairs. "Though it may be best for Professor Dumbledore to explain in person," Lupin said evenly. He turned his head cautiously as one or two suits of armour twisted to watch them round a corner.

Harry followed Lupin´s gaze. Perhaps it was nothing, but Harry could have sworn that a group of four uniformed riders was trailing their progress through the paintings in the corridors. They galloped through a few fields, three streams and a couple of startled lawn tennis parties before he and Lupin reached the gargoyle at the foot of Dumbledore´s hidden stairwell, where the collection of country scenes ended. As soon as Lupin pronounced the password ("Glazed Goblin Gobstoppers"), the gargoyle slid aside and they ascended the spiral staircase.

"We´ll just slip in quietly," continued Professor Lupin. "They were in the middle of a Floo conference a moment ago when I left them."

Harry hitched up his rucksack and glanced at Lupin. "They?"

Before Lupin could reply, they were greeted by the muffled sound of angry voices filtering through the Headmaster´s door. The moving staircase ground to a halt and Dumbledore´s oak door opened onto a verbal battlefield in which Sirius seemed to be the only man standing. He stood with his hands on his hips, conducting a heated discussion with two heads in the hearth. Harry immediately recognised the wrinkled balding head of Ron´s father, Arthur Weasley, and Arabella Figg, gazing sternly behind rectangular spectacles that glinted as silver as her hair. A weary-looking Dumbledore beckoned Harry and Remus in from his armchair and motioned to a pair of chairs by the fire.

Arthur Weasley´s head hovered unhappily over the grate as he listened to Mrs Figg´s scratchy voice.

"... but the evidence, Arthur. The bodies in the cellar," she was saying. "What did Fudge have to say about them?"

Mr Weasley shook his head. "There was no way to convince the forensic team of Voldemort´s complicity in these actions--no one´s yet ascertained the cause of death, those people bled dry but with no wounds to show for it. No trace evidence. Nothing."

"Then question the prisoners! We stormed in on an entire league of Death Eaters," Arabella was saying. "I am aware that some got away, but what about the ones Fenchurch´s team managed to dispatch to the Ministry for custody? There were at least fifteen or so--"

"Twelve were diplomatic envoys who claimed to have been invited to a costume dinner," said Arthur weakly. "They were unarmed. And they had immunity. Fudge said his hands were tied, that the Ministry couldn´t formally charge, much less incarcerate, them. He said he had no choice but to let them go back to the Balkans." Mr Weasley sighed, the deep grooves in his forehead making him appear even older than his years. "Cornelius isn´t eager to start a war, particularly one that might involve the rest of Europe."

"But it does involve the rest of Europe," chimed in Sirius from across the room. "The maps the raid party found in the mansion clearly depict plans of strategic deployment of Voldemort´s legions--in pockets, from here to the Ukraine and possibly further." Harry´s eyes followed his godfather´s edgy pacing, back and forth across the Headmaster´s faded kilim rug. "The documents were vague on precise numbers. What is clear is that something´s being organised. Something larger than we may have been expecting. If Fudge had any sense, he´d stop hiding behind his office and focus Ministry resources to counter this threat now."

Mr Weasley rubbed his receding hairline as if it pained him. "The official Ministry line is that they need more proof before they can set their military defences in motion."

"More proof!" roared Sirius. His eyes flashed in the firelight and there was fury in every line of his angular face. "The last time the Ministry asked for `more proof´ it came marching into Godric´s Hollow under the Dark Mark!"

"Sirius!" Remus´s voice was sharp.

Startled, Sirius spun round, noticing Harry for the first time. Sirius´s face softened. He gave Harry a wan smile before glancing away contritely.

"Arthur and his team are doing the best they can," placated Dumbledore, "given the covert conditions they are forced to operate under at the Ministry."

Sirius let out a long breath and raked a hand through his dark hair. "I know you are, Arthur. I... I apologise," he said. "It´s just..." Sirius shook his head. "Fudge could have ended it then and there. He could have kept those people for questioning and we might have had enough evidence to zero in on Voldemort and take out his high command."

"Well, there are still three people being detained," offered Mr Weasley.

Remus glanced up from his file notes. "Have they been identified?"

He shook his head. "Not as yet." A sly smile stretched across his face. "Moody´s managed to keep the prisoners in temporary cells at the Department of Mysteries on `confidential´ charges. Even Cornelius can´t touch them for the moment. But that only gives us a day or two of questioning before we´re obliged to release them." Arthur shared a quick nod with Arabella´s head floating in the corner. "Fudge doesn´t want to keep them any longer than necessary."

"He´s being obstructive because he´s afraid," said Mrs Figg. "Afraid of losing the illusion of stability, afraid of losing the trappings of his office." Her scratchy voice carried an unmistakeable echo of bitterness. "He willfully refuses to acknowledge that Voldemort has returned and will not mobilise a Ministry offensive until he has what he regards as sufficient evidence, whatever he thinks that means, to mount an attack--and even then," she said, "only after securing the unanimous approval of the Tribunal and the International Wizarding Council."

From behind the carved oak desk, the Headmaster sighed. "Cornelius Fudge has never made a secret of his pureblood leanings. If Cornelius does in fact believe that Voldemort has risen, his willingness to acquiesce comes to me as no surprise." Dumbledore closed his wrinkly lids, looking instantly wearier than Harry had ever seen him. "I had a feeling it might come to this," he said. "This is precisely what happened fifteen years ago."

Remus and Sirius both glanced quickly at Harry, and they shared a look that he recognised. Harry knew what they were thinking. What they were remembering. The atrocities that he was too young to recall firsthand but which paraded painfully at the fore of his mind with each stab from his scar. In the fireplace, both Mrs Figg and Mr Weasley lowered their eyes to the grate. A mournful silence settled over the conference as Dumbledore stroked his brow and heaved another solemn sigh.

"I am afraid that we cannot rely upon the support of Minister Fudge," Dumbledore continued, "nor should we expect it. What we do have is ourselves and the Order. In that we can trust." Sirius and Remus nodded, while Arthur´s and Arabella´s heads bobbed affirmatively in the fire.

"Having said that," said Dumbledore, "we can always remember that the Ministry have always been there... when they needed us."

The Headmaster´s beard twitched wryly as the room depressurised with a smattering of chuckles.

"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, standing and resting his hands on the desk. "Before we conclude, Arabella, would you please show us the artefact that Agent Fenchurch salvaged from the fire?"

Mrs Figg´s face shifted to the right in the hearth as she brought forward a painting of a book-lined room. The gilded frame had escaped with merely a slight charring and the canvas had been only partially singed.

"Fenchurch said he found this in one of the corridors where all of the magical portraits had been hastily set alight," she said. "It´s our guess that this was perhaps more than a simple case of vandalism. We think someone might have been trying to burn evidence." Mrs Figg turned her steely grey eyes to Harry. "Now that you´re here, dear, perhaps you can help us make heads or tails of it."

"Me!" Harry´s head snapped up in surprise. What could he possibly tell them?

"Yes, you, poppet." Mrs Figg held out the painting as far forward as she could manage. Sirius and Remus stepped forward to take it from her and propped it against an armchair. "What do you see?"

"Erm..." Harry bit his lip and frowned. Nothing special, as far as he could tell. The painting depicted a corner of a study, perhaps a library, judging by the rows and rows of faded tomes lit by a small circular window. The sunlight splashed over a vase of daffodils and a silver aeroplane and plaque, perhaps an award of some kind. In the foreground, on spindly legs covered with ivory and gold patternwork, was an old-fashioned, fold-down writing desk. Sheafs of loose parchment and a quill pot stood by a small metal box and a crystal ball.

"Do you see... anything you recognise?" asked Mrs Figg tentatively.

Harry had begun to shake his head when a shadow fell over the desk. Two slender hands, holding a small note, entered the frame. Instantly, someone sat down at the desk and picked up a quill, pausing over the message. A pretty young witch with long waves of red hair tied back from her face. Harry felt his stomach hitch. Mum.

"Mum?"

He reached out toward the painting but dropped his hand as the witch tilted her head to return the quill to its pot. Harry released the breath he realised he´d been holding. It´s not her. Harry felt he couldn´t contain the disappointment that had suddenly collected like a sandbag on his chest. It was ridiculous, of course, to assume that just any red-haired witch might be... But at that angle, in that half-light, she could almost have been his mother, the mother Harry had learned to recognise only through the few photographs he safeguarded in his album.

Harry cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Remus and Sirius. The pallor of their faces told him that the same thought had run through their minds. He wondered if, like his, their hearts had stopped when they realised that they might have been seeing Lily Potter. Seeing a ghost.

Mrs Figg´s eyes peered over the side to try and catch a glimpse of what had stilled the room, and Arthur Weasley was craning his neck to inspect the portrait for himself. "She´s writing something on the envelope now," he observed. "Can you see it? It´s rather difficult from this angle."

Harry adjusted his glasses and leaned closer to the painting. Upside down, he could almost make out words... no, names--

"Frank and Jane... Evans." Harry´s brows furrowed. "My grandparents?"

The young woman in the painting set the note beside the engraved silver box and turned to the crystal ball. Harry could see her face more clearly now. Her blue eyes brimmed with silent tears as she watched the movement in the crystal.

"Wait, there´s something moving in that glass," Harry said. He was so close now, his nose nearly pressed up against the canvas. The image was so tiny Harry found himself squinting to compensate.

The fog in the crystal settled into an image of a bench... in front of a squat brick building... and... a train platform in the country. A few passengers milled about with suitcases and saddle bags, apparently having just arrived. Amongst them was a young couple, a tall blond man and a slim, red-haired woman--the same one whose tears fell from her cheeks to the desk as she watched. In the crystal, the couple laughed and waved to someone in the distance. As they picked up their bags, the man fanned himself with his hat and the woman shielded her eyes against the sun. But both turned abruptly with the others on the platform as another train approached along the tracks.

To Harry it seemed that the train was moving at a quick pace, as if it might pass the little station by. But even he could see that it was going too fast, and his eyes widened with alarm as the conductor´s car suddenly jerked up in the air. The train derailed and swerved straight into the crowd, crushing the young couple against the station wreckage. Harry´s scar seared into his forehead. It was one of the most horrific deaths he could ever have imagined. But what stopped his blood cold was not the violence of the tragedy. Nor even the eerie split-second realisation of inevitable death. It was what Harry spied in the front window as the train collided with the platform. The young driver, dark-haired and pale with a cold, knowing smile that sliced across his face like a scythe... a moment before he Disapparated...

***

"HARRY!"

"Has he fainted?"

"Is he all right?"

"Can you hear me, Harry?"

When Harry´s eyes fluttered open, he was looking up at a domed ceiling partially obstructed by three hazy shadows that soon took the shapes of Dumbledore, Remus Lupin and Sirius. Tilting his head groggily to the left, he recognised the vague outlines of Mr Weasley´s and Mrs Figg´s alarmed expressions peering at him from the fireplace. And for a moment he wondered what he was doing staring up at them from Dumbledore´s hearthrug.

Harry adjusted his glasses and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand until the pain slowly faded. Then, all at once, he sat up.

"Tom Riddle," he croaked. "It was Tom Riddle who killed that woman and her husband."

It was as if he´d called him by name, as if he´d said "Voldemort." Around the room, every face turned white. Even some of the headmasters portraits fixed him with pale, bug-eyed stares. All except Dumbledore, whose lips had formed a thin hard line beneath the snowy beard.

"Go on," he said.

Behind the half-moon spectacles, the Headmaster´s eyes darkened as Harry recounted the scene that both he and the woman in the portrait had witnessed. His voice trembled when it came to the details of the crash and the face in the window. When he finished, there were tears running down Arabella´s face and Arthur, looking grave, passed her a handkerchief in the fire.

The Headmaster perched on the end of one of the armchairs and was silent for a long while. At last, he raised his eyes and quietly said, "Thank you, Harry."

Harry glanced back at the portrait where the chubby fingers of two tiny hands reached up to grasp at the woman´s arms. Brushing away her tears with the back of her hand, she bent to pick up a toddler in a powder blue dress. Like her mother, the little girl had soft auburn curls and her green eyes blinked curiously around the desk from beneath long lashes. But as one tiny hand stretched out toward the crystal, the woman stood abruptly, taking the struggling child with her as she swept from the room.

"Sir..." began Harry, "who was she? This woman." He frowned. "And... how would she know my mother´s parents?"

Dumbledore looked at Arabella and paused. At length, he opened his mouth, but what they all heard was heavy-handed pounding from the door that startled even the sleepy-eyed Fawkes.

The Headmaster rose and placed a hand on Sirius´s shoulder. With a nod, Harry´s godfather transformed back into the large black dog.

"On this subject, Harry, I am afraid there are no quick and easy answers," said Dumbledore hastily, "but I promise that we will continue this conversation at another time. If you will excuse us, Arthur and Arabella. I believe a package that I have been awaiting has arrived."

If Mrs Figg and Mr Weasley found the Headmaster´s words vague and ambiguous, they didn´t show it. Both heads nodded in the hearth and each vanished with a little pop!

Remus rose and opened the door where the jaundiced grimace of Argus Filch greeted them from the landing.

"You´ve just received that deliv´ry you´ve been expectin´, Professor," said the caretaker. Filch´s eyes widened at the sight of Harry sitting on the floor beside a bear-sized black dog, but he quickly turned back to the Headmaster. "Er...they wouldn´t let me sign for it, sir. Sea Serpent Surface Delivery requires an official seal and the addressee´s signature only. `Courier´s waitin´ on the front steps."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "I shall come down in a moment, Argus, as soon as we have finished here. Perhaps you might inform the serpent and... take the necessary precautions."

Filch nodded gruffly and vanished down the spiral stairs.

"Precautions, sir?" asked Remus, closing the door.

"Oh, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "Sea serpent sludge can be quite damaging to the finish on the castle doors. But with a good cleaning, they should last a millennium or two." He winked at Harry and crossed the room to the hearth. For a thin, aged wizard, he showed amazing agility as he lifted and stowed the large canvas on the mantelpiece. In the painting, the crystal ball had cleared and the woman and child did not return.

"There... Now." The Headmaster stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Official seal... official seal... If I could only remember where Headmaster Dippet used to keep it." He glanced up at Harry´s bemused expression. "It´s been so long since we´ve had to use Sea Serpent Delivery, but with so few owls available at the moment... Where is that seal?... Ah!" He snapped his fingers and disappeared behind another door from which there came the sound of the opening and closing of a great many drawers.

"Sirius!" Harry said suddenly. For the first time that afternoon his eyes focussed on his godfather´s face in the daylight. "What happened? Are you all right?"

His godfather drew up a hand and fingered the fading purple bruise under his left eye. "You mean this?" He winced from the effort of a small smile. "The Auror squad bombed its way into the Death Eater congress. With all that smoke, it was like fighting cats in a burlap sack. Someone, I think, got a fistful of my hair," he said, gingerly fingering the back of his head, "and I stopped a Death Eater´s left hook with my eye, but... I´ll live."

"You got your man, at least?" Harry raised his brows hopefully.

"Er... no, I think that one got away." Sirius coughed sheepishly and the hollows of his cheeks flushed slightly.

Remus smiled. "He may have gotten away," he said, "but I heard the crack when Padfoot´s thick skull broke his wrist, so at least he´s got that to show for it. And Sirius helped the Aurors bring in the others. I´d consider that adequate compensation."

"Almost." Sirius furrowed his dark brows. "It´s a shame no one got their hands on Pettigrew."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Wormtail? He was there?"

Sirius nodded soberly. Although the lines around his mouth deepened, his godfather did not display any outward signs of disappointment. Harry had the feeling once again that Sirius intentionally avoided shouldering him with his own worries. Harry knew that Sirius had been fighting to be free of the yoke of his false conviction for the past fifteen years, but it was just like his godfather to try and shield his own anguish from the godson he had sworn to protect.

Harry rested a hand on his godfather´s arm. "We´ll find him," he said. "Wherever Voldemort is, Pettigrew won´t be far behind."

Sirius´s head snapped up suddenly. "Harry, there´s something else," he said. "A Hogwarts student was among them."

Harry´s brows furrowed and his eyes darkened. "Who?" Even as he asked, Harry had already guessed.

"Draco Malfoy," said Remus. His gaze met Harry´s pointedly. "It´s still unclear what his role is in all this, but we thought you should know."

Harry´s stomach clenched. It was no surprise to him that Malfoy would join the Death Eaters. Everyone had always assumed it was a given: like father, like son. But still... It was one thing to trade insults with Malfoy on the pitch or even the odd hex in Potions, but it was quite another to discover that he had just become a votary of the one Dark wizard whose sole purpose on this earth was to exterminate Harry Potter. He shuddered.

"Voldemort´s made no secret of targeting you, Harry." A muscle twitched in Sirius´s jaw. "You´re going to need to be on your guard. Even here."

Harry nodded absently as Dumbledore reappeared, holding a large mallet embossed with the Hogwarts crest on one side. The next few minutes passed in a blur and Harry was only half aware of his legs mechanically propelling him down the stairs and through the stone corridors with the Headmaster, Remus and Snuffles.

**********

One, two, three. Step. One, two, three. Step. One, two--oh, bugger this!

Bethany closed her copy of Sir I. Gyvupp-Doenschoot´s Dances for Duellers with an irritable snap! Those kids surely wouldn´t be interested in the theoretical implications of duelling advantages based on poise and timing. They probably wanted to learn how to dance. Well, I did, when I was their age. Bethany rolled her eyes and pushed up from her corner in the empty library. Her footsteps echoed hollowly through the stacks. Even Madam Pince had vacated her station some minutes earlier. Of course. She was probably already in the Great Hall with the other spectators.

Bethany dragged her leaden feet down the Western Stairs, through the trophy room and along the combination of moving staircases that led to the Entrance Hall. Bright sunlight streamed in through the open colonnade in the cloisters. She sighed, silently cursing Clarimonde for saddling her with the opening seminar, though she could have guessed that this would happen. Bethany paused and squinted at the cloudless sky. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she remembered one of her father´s favourite hackneyed phrases, the ones he had often repeated all those times she had stopped by his makeshift potions lab to complain about a particularly unpleasant chore or academic task that had been foisted upon her. That which doesn´t kill us, darling, only makes us stronger. And by way of demonstration, the renowned mediwizard Graeme White had never shied from testing samples of known poisons and their antidotes to illustrate his point. Bethany wrinkled her nose and chuckled softly at the memory now.

Oh, what the hell. She picked up her pace. After this she would be responsible only for the familiar academic ground of combat practice and theory. Today she´d only have to suffer through one seminar. And at least I won´t have to sing.

It was with a renewed spring in her step and vigour in her stride that Bethany swung into the Entrance Hall and knocked against a large black dog as it skid across the shiny limestone floors. Losing her balance, she collided with Remus Lupin.

"Ooomph!"

"Oh, Remus, I´m so sorry," she said, grasping onto his arm for support.

Remus flushed. "No, it´s fine," he said, reaching out an arm to steady her. "I´m always telling Snuffles not to slide across the floors, but he never listens."

She grinned and gave Snuffles a good scratch behind the ears, which he seemed to enjoy. The dog´s eyes closed beatifically and his tail swished happily back and forth.

"Good afternoon, sir," she said to the Headmaster. Bethany smiled at the Potter boy. "Hello, Harry. Are we going the same way?" She tilted her head toward the buzz of excited conversation from the Great Hall.

Harry nodded, smiling as Snuffles trailed after her, his tail set at an amiable wag.

"Allow us to accompany you," offered Dumbledore.

The Great Hall was a sea of chattering students. The tables had been pushed to the sides of the long room, leaving space in between for a long, raised platform. At one end of the dais, on a teetering pedestal, stood a rather tatty-looking gramophone, the old-fashioned Muggle kind that required intermittent cranking of the twisted handle.

Bethany examined the raised dance floor. She had heard talk of a short-lived Duelling Club started a few years earlier by the famous Gilderoy Lockhart who had had the audacity (or the stupidity, she couldn´t decide which) to ask Professor Snape to act as "assistant". She pulled a wry expression. Perhaps this was the same platform, but Bethany was certain she´d rather butcher her way through an aria than ask the Evil Vicar to be her assistant.

At the far end of the Hall, Professor Snape, arms crossed disdainfully over the many buttons of his cloak, waited with the students of Slytherin House. From the searing glare he flashed in her direction, Bethany was assured that nothing short of the Imperius Curse could force the Potions Master to assist in demonstrations of the waltz or the cha-cha.

As Bethany strode to the stage, Seamus Finnigan nudged Dean Thomas as the Gryffindors settled along one side of the dais. "Who d´you think Professor van der Witte might choose to help demonstrate?"

Oh, dear. Stepping up to the platform, Bethany realised that she had a bird´s eye view of an entire sea of young men that she was about to disappoint. Their flushed, expectant faces turned from the dais to the doors to the Entrance Hall, where the only faces to be seen were of the Headmaster, the great black dog, and Remus Lupin. The Hall heaved a small, but distinctly dejected, sigh. She resisted rolling her eyes in an unseemly fashion and cleared her throat.

"Good afternoon."

Bethany was gratified to see a few girls begin to nudge a few of the boys to attention.

"Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus," she began. "As you know, during the year the Society´s goals will be to provide the proper `finishing´ that is expected of every cultivated witch and wizard who has achieved the highest standards of wizarding education. Membership in the Society is open to fourth years and above, and entrance into the Sentinels who govern the Society is by invitation only. I would urge any of you who are interested to review the requirements in the leaflets Professor van der Witte distributed the other week. And should you have any questions--"

A hand rose toward the middle of the throng. It belonged to a round-faced boy with glasses, a fifth-year from Hufflepuff.

"Yes, Ernie?"

"Isn´t Professor van der Witte scheduled to be teaching this seminar, Professor?"

Bethany bit back a sigh. She nodded. "Professor van der Witte will be conducting the remainder of the Latin dancing segment of the curriculum." She fought a wry little tug at the corner of her lips. "However, this afternoon, she is presently... erm, indisposed and unable to attend. Which means you´ll have to settle for me today." She gave them her most winning smile, but the only content faces in the Hall were female.

"Any... other questions before we begin?" she said, glancing around the room. "Yes, Miss Granger."

"Is there some correlation between the study of art and music and the combat portion of the curriculum?" asked the Gryffindor tentatively. "If you´ll forgive me, it just seems like... an odd combination."

Bethany smiled. "It does seem rather odd, doesn´t it?" she said. "I thought so, too, when I first joined as a student. But the study of the arts--music, for example--benefits the wizard at both the cultural and the practical level. Many of the most learned amongst the Greeks observed that those who danced for the gods were often the best in the battlefield, and that holds true today, particularly in some common wand-to-wand combat situations.

"Some of you may have practiced duelling," she continued, "and you may already be aware of the advantages that a sense of rhythm affords in anticipating an opponent´s moves in an exchange of deadly combat hexes." Bethany frowned at a couple of sniggering Slytherins who started nudging Bole, their gangly, sour-faced Quidditch captain. His face twisted into a proud grimace and he held up a bandaged arm like it was some kind of private joke.

"... but this afternoon, we´ll simply begin with an appreciation of that rhythm," she said finally. "Now... gentlemen. Could I have a volunteer to help me demonstrate the Rumba?" There was a brief pause as Bethany cast her eyes hopefully at the cringing crowd of male students assembled at the foot of the dais. Seamus and Dean, who had been so eager a moment ago to assist Professor van der Witte, seemed to have rediscovered their timidity. To her amusement, even Professor Snape appeared to have formed a keen interest in deciphering the runic carvings on the serving bowl on the side table. Bethany disguised an impromptu chuckle with a cough.

But after a long awkward moment, she sighed in exasperation. "Oh, come on. No volunteers?" she coaxed, resting her hands on her hips. "Look, I know I´m not who you were expecting, and I´m sorry to disappoint you. I´m no Professor van der Witte, but... I don´t bite, I promise." She grinned optimistically at the assembly and shrugged. "Fine. If no one volunteers, I´ll just have to pick someone myself."

The Hall plunged into an even uneasier silence, punctuated only by the shy shuffling of students who had suddenly fallen under the mesmerising spell of their own footwear. The only other sound was the busy pitter-pattering of paws on stone as the great black dog wedged his shaggy muzzle between Remus´s and Dumbledore´s robes to survey the dance lesson for himself.

Bethany´s smile widened across her cheeks. "How about you, then?" she said. "Yes, you, that´s right." She stepped down from the platform. A wall of blushing boys backed away from her anxiously, and then turned in surprise as she walked straight past them and up to a stunned Remus Lupin. Bethany extended her hand in invitation.

From the Gryffindor section, she heard a whistle which she suspected must have come from one of the Weasley twins, and grinned. Suddenly the crowd broke into curious murmurs, amused titters and an odd, guttural chortling that seemed to be coming from Snuffles, whose tail wagged merrily. He seemed to find the entire scene as entertaining as she did. Bethany winked at the bear-sized dog, glad to have at least one comrade in her amusement.

"But--but surely," sputtered Remus, blushing, "it would be preferable for one of the students--"

"Nonsense," said Bethany, giving her hand a careless wave. "You told me yourself that you´d taken a few lessons last year, visiting that friend of yours in... where was it? Cuba? Anyway, this won´t take but a few minutes. You´d be doing us a great favour and--" She turned abruptly to the Headmaster. "Oh! I do apologise, sir. Do you mind? I didn´t mean to deprive you of your guest if you were on your way to--"

"Well, actually," Remus began, "Professor Dumbledore and I--"

"--most fortuitously concluded our business in time to look in on the Society´s inaugural gathering." The creases around Dumbledore´s blue eyes deepened in amusement and the corners of his snow-white beard twitched as he arched a silvery brow. "How very generous of you to volunteer, Remus." The Headmaster twinkled at Lupin and gestured encouragingly at the stage.

"Please," cajoled Bethany.

From the level of Dumbledore´s knees, Snuffles issued an amused wheezing that might otherwise have been mistaken for a chuckle. Whatever it was, it caused Remus to narrow his eyes briefly at the dog. Bethany watched bemused as Remus threw the animal an arch glance as he gallantly extended her his arm.

A good-natured cheer rose from the audience as they took to the stage.

Bethany picked up Clarimonde´s lesson cards and a wrinkle formed between her brows.

"What is it?" asked Remus, reading over her shoulder.

"The students. They´ll need to see the actual steps for the purpose of this demonstration," she explained, "so I´m afraid our robes will be no help in that respect."

Remus bit his lip and frowned seriously. "I can help with that," he said, nodding. "They didn´t use our traditional robes in Cuba, either. If I may have just... a minute..."

Bethany watched him scratch his head thoughtfully. His eyes travelled blankly across the room and finally rested on Dumbledore and the large dog at his feet. The corners of Remus´s lips twitched.

"I´ve got it," he said, snapping his fingers. "Cambiara Vestimenta."

With a swish of his wand, his robes glittered brilliantly and Remus emerged from that flash of light in Muggle trousers and a charcoal turtleneck. He repeated the Transfiguration on Bethany´s floor length robes and she glanced down to find that hers had shrunk into a fitted blue jersey dress. Her legs tingled from the sudden brush of cool air as her flared skirt fluttered against her knees.

Bethany grinned and nodded at the Headmaster who twinkled at them from behind his half-moon spectacles. Snuffles stopped chuckling. Stopped almost all movement, in fact.

She smiled at the faces of some students in the crowd; she could imagine that it was probably somewhat of a surprise to see their professors in anything but their academic robes. Glancing briefly at the Slytherins, she decided that she could never imagine Muggle clothes on Snape. Snape who... who seemed oddly captivated by... what? Bethany looked down and frowned. The dress? The shoes, perhaps? Either way, she was amused to note that the Potions Master´s ears had gone slightly pink.

Bethany waved her wand at the gramophone. At once, the seductive sound of stringsinfused the austere Gothic hall. Remus raised one hand, clasping hers, and rested the other against the small of her back. Their feet moved in perfect time, close, but not quite touching. It was all too easy to follow his lead.

Siempre que te pregunto

Que, cuándo, cómo y dónde

Tú siempre me respondes

Quizás, quizás, quizás...

Remus was very good at this. And she wasn´t the only one to notice. Bethany turned with him along the platform, glancing over his shoulder at the students, and smiled. A few Ravenclaws furrowed their brows in concentration, fixing their eyes on their feet, while a handful of Hufflepuffs hitched up their robes and mimicked the movements. Perhaps this won´t be a complete loss, after all, she thought.

Estás perdiendo el tiempo

Pensando, pensando

Por lo que más tú quieras

¿Hasta cuándo? ¿Hasta cuándo?...

"The Rumba," she said over the music, "is a very simple dance to learn... It´s really just the same three steps... Like this..." She continued her monologue to explain how to listen for the one-two-three beat in the music; how the man initiates a spin with a slight pressure from his hand ("Thank you, Professor Lupin."); and how the hips relax to swing gently with the rhythm. "Once you get the hang of it," she said, "you´ll be able to turn... like this... that´s right... or even--"

...quizás, quizás, quizás.

She gasped as Remus, grinning fiendishly, dipped her on the very last note.

They righted themselves, pink-cheeked and laughing, as the assembly broke into wild applause, peppered with a few catcalls and whistles. Bethany smoothed her dress with her hands and beamed back at her partner. He gave her a lop-sided grin.

"Professor White," he said breathlessly, "perhaps the students would benefit from another demonstration?" It may have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that Remus tossed a cheeky look at Snuffles. The dog let out a short sharp bark. Dumbledore´s eyes twinkled merrily as he slid away into the corridor.

"I was just about to suggest that, Professor Lupin," she said. Bemused, Bethany smiled and pressed back a stray curl from her temple. "Thank you."

The gramophone restarted, and this time, they turned, twirled and swayed to a more enthusiastic pace. Bethany grinned with candid girlish pleasure as Remus spun her out, billowing her skirt like an elegant, windswept sail, to catch her in his arms again. Snuffles barked irritably over the students´ applause. But this only seemed to encourage Remus, who proceeded to dip her again to the thundering cheers and catcalls in the Great Hall.

"Thank you," she said as the music faded.

Amid the applause and whistles, a series of barks sounded in the Hall, causing Remus´s lips to quiver at the corners.

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, kissing her hand with a gracious bow and a triumphant wink at Snuffles.

"Remus." Bethany eyed him curiously. "Is that your dog?"

He blinked, startled. "My... er... I take care of Snuffles. Why?"

She rested her hands on her hips, turning to face him. "Well... he just seems unusually agitated with you taunting him like that--"

"Me? Taunting?" There was something about the twitch on Remus´s lips that instantly impugned his attempt at wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, no, no. He´s... just jealous, that´s all." He coughed demonstrably behind his hand, as if fighting a grin. If not for the slightly greying hair, in that moment Remus might have looked no more than sixteen.

Bethany frowned. She quirked a dark brow, dubiously eyeing him and the barking dog. She shook her head. Turning back to the assembly, Bethany waved a hand at the restless crowd. "All right, everyone. Pair up."