The Purloined Prophetess

XVII: A Bluff

[This section is still Arcanum Charmed against Minerva and Larry. - N. T.]

I was positive Reg would back me up, because my idea was just his style. Remus and Jack would need more convincing. 'I wonder whether it would be possible for us to bring the kidnappers out of hiding with a bluff. I spent most of last week pretending to be Sybill. I can pretend a while longer. If the Death Eaters aren't certain whether they've got the real Professor Trelawney, they're bound to make another move, and we'll learn more about them.'

'Brilliant,' breathed Reg. 'I always had high hopes for you, little cousin, but you've exceeded them all.'

'And very dangerous,' said Remus, with one of his trademark small frowns.

'Danger is my middle name,' I told him. (Actually it's Diaphanta, but I try not to talk about that.)

'Look,' he said uneasily, 'it just might work, and it's not my place to tell you no - but you will take care, won't you?'

'Yes,' I said, 'but not too much care. Remember, the whole point of this is to give them the opportunity to try again.'

'Won't you be missed at work?' Jack asked.

'Now that Dumbledore's taken on Firenze, Sybill only teaches twice a day, one class around noon and one at five o'clock in the afternoon. With long lunch breaks and some fast travelling, I think I could pull it off.' I threw in a concession to the stay-out-of-danger crowd. 'And I'll stop taking late night walks. We want to lure them into the castle so we'll know how it was done.'

'I like it,' said Jack. 'It just might get us some of the answers we need.'

Slowly, and a bit reluctantly, Remus nodded.

[The remainder of this section has been Arcanum Charmed against all Order members except Regulus Black. - N. T.

Four weeks later: Charm lifted.]

I was relieved that they'd accepted my plan so readily. I have to admit that it was slightly disingenuous: I had my own reasons for wanting to spend more time at Hogwarts, and if my own pet theory was correct, I doubted very much that there would be a second kidnap attempt. I'd just had a breathtaking, intuitive realisation that the private investigation I'd been pursuing might lead me to Sybill's abductor as well. So many of the pieces fit.

To all practical purposes, I'd be working two jobs over the coming weeks, so I had an errand to run while I still had some free time in London. Knockturn Alley is not the sort of place where you want to appear to be a young woman on her own, so I assumed the shape of a crone and borrowed some of old Mrs. Black's robes from for good measure.

The apothecary shop was dusty, with a little light streaming in around something that looked like a dried-out tortoise, which hung in front of the single filthy window. I thought it had been dead for centuries until it moved a claw. Other desiccated and stuffed creatures were pinned to the walls here and there, and the shelves were strewn with a strange array of boxes, pots, and bottles containing musty-looking seeds, finely ground powders, old and dusty cakes of dried herbs, and strange-looking liquids. As I waited for the proprietor to appear, I found myself mesmerised by the contents of one bottle in particular, which contained bubbles of some thick blue gel suspended in a lighter, clear substance. The bubbles were constantly floating to the surface and sinking back down, melding together, and changing shape. Just staring at it was hypnotic. I wondered what it did if taken internally.

'What be your business, lass?' An ancient woman, very thin and dressed more like a beggar than a shopkeeper, was slowly dragging herself down the back stairs. It took me a moment to be taken aback by the 'lass.' She'd seen through my disguise.

I approached the counter, stubbing my toe against a bin of greasy-looking fluff labelled 'WOOL OF BAT.'

'First of all, I'd like to ask you something.' I took out the academic journal Larry had given me and the copy of Moste Potente Potions I'd found in the family library at Grimmauld Place. The book was too old to contain any information on the potion that interested me, but it included a helpful table of ingredients and their properties. I went through what I had read and deduced in general terms, without mentioning any names or specific details. She confirmed it all.

'Did you come to buy, or just ask questions?' she asked at last, in a tone that seemed less than friendly.

'I've come to buy,' I said. 'I need some comfrey essence.'

'Will that be all?' she said sharply.

'Yes. Will the effect be the same if it's taken on its own?'

'Aye. But it be dangerous stuff, comfrey essence. Be you a licensed Potions Mistress?'

'I'm willing to pay double.' I am, in fact, a licensed Potions Mistress, but my Ministry identification card would reveal that I was also an Auror, and therefore not welcome in Knockturn Alley. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure whether I'd be in more trouble at work if they knew what I was doing here, or in more trouble here if she knew what my work was. I didn't plan to find out.

She shook her head slowly. 'Double's not enough, lass. Would you be willing to trade that book you've got there?'

'It isn't mine,' I said. 'It's my cousin's property, and he needs it back.'

She was examining the flyleaf of Moste Potente Potions. 'This belonged to Phineas Nigellus,' she said in surprise. 'Be you a daughter of the house of Black?'

'I am,' I said, guessing from her tone that this would be the right answer. I hoped she wouldn't ask who my parents were.

She paused for a moment, then nodded. 'They be a good family, the Blacks. I will sell. Triple the usual price, though. Thirty Galleons.'

I paid without attempting to bargain her down. 'One more question. What would happen if you gave somebody twice the recommended dose?'

She drew a finger across her throat without speaking.

Look, little cousin - call me stodgy and dull and old-fashioned all you like, but I don't like the sound of any of this. Are you going to tell me anything more? - R. B.

A little more. I might not have much free time after I start impersonating Sybill, so I may need your help with something during your week on guard duty. I'll explain later ... - N. T.

XVIII: A North Tower Evening

James and Sirius and Peter used to play a game at my expense. We had not been at school for two weeks when they discovered one of my weaknesses: a tendency toward uncontrollable giggling at inappropriate times. During boring classes, they would compete to see who could soonest reduce me to a state of abject helplessness. Peter was particularly good at it. He had a wicked gift for imitations.

History of Magic, a subject I might have enjoyed very much with another teacher, was usually my downfall. It was impossible to concentrate on the rivalry between Ulrike the Unctuous and Freawaru the Frumpy with Peter droning in my ear, in a perfect imitation of Professor Binns, 'And then in fifteen ... ought ... seven, I decided to live a little dangerously and purchased some new underwear with a subtle argyle pattern ...'

'Quiet there in the back! What is the matter with you, Lorraine?' He seldom got any student's name right, but 'Lorraine' for 'Lupin' was particularly inspired. This was usually the point where I had to be helped up off the floor.

Of course I ended up in detention more times than I could count, but on these occasions, detention with Minerva McGonagall usually meant a quiet corner with books and a biscuit. I've never understood why she wasn't harder on me -

Remus, one doesn't punish an eleven-year-old with a painful and socially stigmatising illness for laughing! - M. McG.

I'm surprised to hear you say that - I didn't think you ever cut me any slack on that account. I've always respected you for it. - R. J. L.

Oh, I didn't - not when you had done anything really wrong. But I think I speak for all of the staff members at the time when I say you surprised us by turning out to be such a happy child. The last thing we would ever have done was penalise you for that. - M. McG.

Perhaps she should have been stricter. I never did learn how to control myself during History of Magic, but that was nothing compared to the difficulty I faced while hiding in the back of the Divination classroom and listening to Tonks do her best impression of Sybill Trelawney.

'Let me see your palm, my dear,' she said in her mistiest voice to a small third-year boy who looked like he might be Colin Creevey's younger brother. 'Ah yes ... your life line is long, but it is twisted and knotted ... I fear it presages a life filled with trouble, danger, and misfortune ...'

'Brilliant,' said the boy. (Yes, I thought, definitely a Creevey.)

'You are destined to be attacked by a hippogriff, and a giant squid - '

'That's already happened,' he said in a rather let-down tone. 'The hippogriff part's going to be cool, though.'

'And I foresee that you will go on an expedition to the North Pole and lose an arm to an Abominable Snowman, and ... you will go on to be Minister of Magic and narrowly escape being stabbed by thirteen assassins on the Ides of March ... and your chief political rival will plot to have you baked in a pie ... and while you are running from him I sense that you will ... almost be buried in a shower of poisoned gold ... and a Beast with Eight Horns will chase you into a volcano ...' This went on until her imagination gave out, at which point she predicted he would die quietly in his bed at the age of two hundred and six. Only this last item seemed to disappoint him.

I stuffed a corner of my robes into my mouth and struggled not to make any noise as she started in on the next student, a mild-looking blonde girl called Paulina who was fated, it seemed, to be shipwrecked and set adrift on a raft, washed up in the land of the goblins and sold into servitude, rescued by pirates who would make her their queen, framed for a murder by the head pirate's jealous wife, and thrown into a dungeon from which she would escape by enchanting the bedsheets and turning them into wings - only to be expelled from Hogwarts for violating the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, as all of this was destined to happen before she reached the age of seventeen.

'How in the world do you come up with this stuff?' I asked after classes had ended for the day.

She flashed me a very un-Sybill-like grin. 'The Inner Eye, my dear, sometimes has quite an imagination of its own.'

'Do mine,' I said, offering her my hand.

She took it in both of hers but didn't speak for a long moment. I felt my cheeks growing hot for some unaccountable reason. 'I'm sorry, Remus - I can't. Not now.'

'What's the matter? Life line looking short?' I said carelessly. 'It's all right if it is - I've never been too fussed about the whole dying thing.'

'No. Not that.' But I had the impression she was distinctly unnerved by the question.

'There's something you haven't been telling me, isn't there? Whatever it is, if it concerns me, I'd rather know.'

She shook her head. 'I can't tell you. At least not yet.'

Harry and Neville burst into the classroom without knocking. 'Oh ... er ... sorry, Remus.'

I blushed more deeply, realising that to all outward appearances, I'd been caught holding hands with Sybill Trelawney. 'It's all right, come in. You'd better go back to your usual appearance,' I added to Tonks, withdrawing my hand. 'Neville, you haven't met Miss Tonks, have you? She was just ... demonstrating palmistry.'

Harry gave me what I can only describe as a 'Yeah, right,' look, but I took comfort in the fact that my behaviour, if not precisely what was expected of a legal guardian in front of his ward, was now at least comprehensible. In fact I thought Neville looked distinctly envious, although I may have been flattering myself.

We filled them in on as much of the latest news as we could safely let on, and then I remembered I was supposed to be somewhat responsible and parental. 'I hope you're not skiving off classes to visit me.' (I would, of course, have been delighted if they were.) 'Don't you have History of Magic this evening?'

They looked at each other and snickered. 'Class cancelled. Professor Binns is ... indisposed.'

'How can a ghost be indisposed?' asked Tonks.

More snickering. Neville explained, 'Well, a few days ago one of the Slytherins happened to shoot a spitball at his feet, and of course it went straight through them. He'd never really noticed he was dead before, so it gave him a nasty shock. Professor Dumbledore thought he should take some time off and recuperate.'

I wondered where ghosts went to recuperate. 'And they've just cancelled your class until further notice?'

'Well, it's not much of a class, is it?' said Harry. 'It's just us, and two Hufflepuff girls, and Crabbe and Goyle and Nott.'

'Vincent, Gregory, and Theo.' I corrected him gently. He looked confused. 'I've never liked this business of calling students by their surnames. It gives the impression they are no different from their fathers.'

'Sometimes they aren't,' said Harry darkly.

'Do you really think so?' I asked. For the second time in a matter of months, I contemplated telling him what had happened when I tried to teach the third-year Slytherins how to tackle a boggart. I went in feeling a little overconfident because the lesson had gone so well with the other three groups. (Neville dressing Severus Snape in drag had been a particular highlight.) With the fourth class it had been a disaster. Far too many of them saw the boggart take the form of their own mothers or fathers. Few had been able to summon up enough laughter to defy it.

Telling Harry and Neville this would have been a breach of confidence, however, and I thought it was better to change the subject. 'How's Defence Against the Dark Arts?' I asked. I spent the next half hour listening to a flood of complaints about my successor, who was not, I gathered, very satisfactory.

If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues, I would say that was the understatement of the year. - M. McG.

Although we were all concerned about Sybill, I have to admit it was very pleasant having the North Tower to ourselves. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mark all turned up after a while, and we made some popcorn and hot chocolate and sprawled around the fire talking about anything and everything. It was the sort of cozy scene I missed most from my own school days.

It was a school night, which meant they all had to be back in Gryffindor Tower by eleven. After they left, I noticed several Drooble's bubble gum wrappers on the carpet where Neville had been lying and wondered idly why his pockets always seemed to be full of them, since I'd never seen him chewing any.

'Well, I guess I'd better be going back to London,' said Tonks. 'You must be tired.'

'Not at all,' I said - meaning, of course, not more tired than usual. I was about to ask again what she'd been keeping back from me, but then she caught sight of the gum wrappers and gave me a mischievous smile.

'You never did teach me how to shoot gum up a poltergeist's nose,' she said.

I couldn't resist. We spent a hilarious and completely undignified hour practising the Waddiwasi spell with stray pieces of popcorn. By the time she had mastered it and I had stopped sneezing, I had completely forgotten what I'd meant to ask her. 'I really do need to go home,' she said at last, yawning. 'Work tomorrow and everything. 'Night ... Lorraine.'

'Good night, Diaphanta.'

As I settled into my favourite armchair in front of the fire, it occurred to me that this might be a very enjoyable week indeed.