The Arithmancer's Apprentice

Chapter Five

It was only a few seconds before the feeling of falling through space ended and the colour came back as Tom opened his eyes.

He was in a beautifully upholstered bedroom, whose only window looked out over a cloister. The bed, its oak frame adorned with hangings and covers of green and yellow silk, was raised a little above the floor, and with a footstool beside to reach it by. All was silent, except for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner and the faint howling of the wind in the chimney. Hesitantly, Tom turned around to stare at the painting on the wall behind him. He could just make out the shape of the Black Unicorn – its swinging lantern the only truly distinguishable feature through the clouds of snow that swirled across the canvas.

Looking around him, he suddenly realised that he had seen this room before. It was the same bedroom that he’d glimpsed that morning through the door of Cleopatra’s study. It made sense, he supposed, that the painting would lead here – these had been Gryme’s old quarters, after all, and the professor, along with the mysterious Zeuxes, would doubtless have needed a simple, unobtrusive way of going to the inn for their strange incantations. But while the study beyond was Cleopatra’s schoolroom now, the bedroom was not as Tom had expected it: there was no trace of any personal belongings. A faded rose stood on a table nearby, but clothes or books were absent. Lovely as this chamber was with its rich hangings and soft furnishings, it could not be her bedroom.

So why did she come here to get her Arithmancy book? Tom was puzzled by this. Were there other portals from this room, that led to other parts of the house? It was possible, to be sure, but on reflection it seemed unlikely that a simple librarian’s private chambers could be endowed with so many magical gateways. He wondered if she had Apparated – could she Apparate? – to a different part of the house; her ability to manipulate the enchantments here might make it feasible, he mused. For a moment he actually considered the possibility that Cleopatra had been deliberately placed in the study – in the event that Gryme would attempt something – and had gone into this room to observe what Tom would do in secret… He shook his head at his foolishness. Tom was always alert for deception, but he wasn’t as paranoid as that!

This time the door to the study was closed – to Tom’s considerable relief. For all he knew Cleopatra was poring over her books once more. His incursion from the landing had perhaps been excusable, but interrupting her again from the door to a bedroom (with no other outlet) would require a creative explanation, and he wasn’t yet sure how much he wished to tell her. Yet he had to get into the main body of the house by some way or other, and this was the only one he knew.

Creeping to the door as lightly as possible, he pressed his ear against the oak; he could hear no noise at all from the next room: no sound of movement, or of pages turning, or even the crackling of a fire in the hearth. Steeling his nerve, he opened the door just a crack and peered inside.

The book-lined room was empty now. With a sigh of relief, he stepped inside, avoiding the griffin fleece on the floor. Cleopatra’s books were piled on the desk, a few of them still lying open: a flash of movement caught his eye as he passed from the bright illuminations on their coloured pages. As he crossed the room to the other door, he was startled by a sudden noise behind him, and he whirled in a trice, his hand clutching for his absent wand. Then he let out his breath in relief, unaware he had even been holding it. It was only the sound of the fire, which had lighted itself as he passed by the grate. Maybe I am getting paranoid, he thought.

He found it ironic that only moments ago, he had feared Cleopatra’s presence in this room, and yet now he was determined to seek her out. He had come back to the house, after all, to find someone who could help him, and tell him where to find the Hogwarts party. Apart from the forbidding figure of the earl, Cleopatra was by far his best option, though he wasn’t wholly averse to finding any guest now. It would be far better – and indeed much safer – to have a companion for added protection. Tom had not forgotten the griffin, and there were other beasts more dangerous still.

He left the study and warily went down the staircase for the second time that day, watching nervously for any sudden movement of unknown creatures appearing in the shadows, till he came to the door of the Vaulted Library. Tom’s adventure had come full circle – not, he reflected, that it was over.

He found the library empty and quiet, just as the chambers upstairs had been. Even the terrible howling of the wind outside could not be heard through the thick stone walls, and Tom wondered how many people in the house were truly aware of the danger outside. But when he walked past one of the alcoves, he observed the same ghost in ruffs he had seen that morning, the first time he had passed this way. This time Tom resolved to speak to him.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the ghost turned around. “I’m looking for Cleopatra.”

The ghost arched his transparent eyebrows. “Cleopatra, did you say?”

“And the other guests,” Tom added quickly.

The ghost nodded. “Well, tea was served half an hour ago in the Painted Parlour, so some of the company may still be there.” Seeing Tom’s blank look, he went on. “It’s on the other side of the cloister.” He turned and pointed through the glass, where a row of windows on the far side could still be seen through the falling snow, above the cloister’s flattened arches. “It’s one floor up, at the top of the stairs. You’ll see it if you go around the courtyard – there’s a picture gallery when you turn to the left.”

“Thank you very much,” said Tom. “It’s easy to get lost in a place like this.” He nodded at the ghost and turned to go.

“Don’t you just!” The ghost turned to the window. “Good Lord, isn’t this snow simply glorious? It hasn’t been like this since the 1815, when the frost giants’ army came marching south. Ah, those were the days! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go outside.” He turned and vanished into the shelves.

Belatedly it occurred to Tom that he might have found out more from the ghost. Still, he had no time to lose. Quickly, he walked across the chamber, and opened the gilded doors at the end.

The gold silk chamber at the end of the library was as empty as Tom had found it before; the armchairs and tables were as he remembered. The paintings again looked down at him curiously. Remembering what the ghost had said, he turned to the panelled door on his left, and stepped into the picture gallery.

The gallery, it seemed, was as long as the library, with a vaulted ceiling covered with plaster where it crossed above his head and a smooth wooden floor unencumbered by carpets. There were tables to the side and upholstered chairs, but the middle of the chamber was free of furniture, and so was very like a ballroom. Along each wall was a line of paintings – and these were much more talkative.

“Do you always look as nervous as this? Anyone would think that you shouldn’t be here.”

Tom started at the voice, looking all round him for the speaker. Then his eye crossed a painting of a bald-headed elderly man in gaiters, looking towards him with a curious expression.

“I could always tell when someone looked guilty,” he said, rubbing his clerical collar thoughtfully. “All those confessions I used to hear. Not that I’ve seen you before today. Like to tell us what you’re up to?”

Tom decided not to answer, and hastened quickly across the room.

“Shocking bad manners, hasn’t he Polly?” said a portrait of a middle-aged, portly gentleman. “He won’t even bother to reply to the bishop. Look at what’s society’s coming to! They wouldn’t have let him in the house in my day.” The lady beside him murmured agreement.

“Or in mine,” said a whiskered gentleman.

“And he does seem in rather a hurry, doesn’t he?”

“Remember when we saw him through the door this morning? Downright shifty, I thought to myself! As though he didn’t want to be seen.”

“I wonder what it’s all about,” said a thoughtful young portrait in late Victorian wizarding robes. “Phantomsby came in just now, running as if a pack were behind him…”

“…talking about somewhere being struck by lightning…”

Tom did his best to disregard the speakers carping away in their gilded frames. Ignoring their comments and avoiding their glances, he almost ran to the doors at the end, tripping on the hem of his mended robes. As the ghost in ruffs had instructed him, he left the room by the door on the left.

In front of him was the Painted Staircase, a beautiful creation of the seventeenth century that curled above him to an upstairs gallery. Covering the whole of the walls and ceiling were frescos of all the gods in Olympus, far too absorbed with their own concerns to have any interest in Tom. Best of all they were gloriously silent; their own conversations were too far above to be heard by Tom, except for the faintest hint of music.

When he reached the gallery upstairs he could hear new voices at last: voices of people, not ghosts or portraits. Tom hesitated for a moment, and then went forward. This was the reason he’d come back to the house. He had to take the risk.

Through an open door of a small panelled anteroom he could see at last into the Painted Parlour, a light and airy chamber with delicate plasterwork on the walls and painted panels set in the ceiling. The furniture, chiefly inlaid tables and comfortable chairs, was scattered about the crowded room.

Tom surveyed the parlour quickly before he made up his mind to go in. Judging by the group that had gathered for lunch, more than half of the house party was present there: at least fifty people, he thought. But there didn’t seem to be any sign of the earl, nor of the countess, who had probably chosen the guests herself, and could surely be expected to know an intruder. Scamander, obviously, was not there, but neither was Sir Maximus Drake. Jasper and his Durmstrang friends were absent as well – for which Tom was very grateful indeed.

However, Cleopatra was not present either, and this was unfortunate. He really did need to speak to her. But Tom went into the room nonetheless. Delicate confections were laid out on the tables – mouth-watering pastries and cakes – and Tom eyed them hungrily.  Blending in with the rest of the company as unobtrusively as he could, he took a chair at an empty table and helped himself to tea and scones. He had had no food since the fruit in the garden, and he was glad of the chance to refresh himself now.

Some guests, as far as Tom could hear, were talking about the unusual weather, but none of them appeared to be troubled. He heard a lady in furs say airily, “I fear it won’t last very long, will it, Timothy? It’ll all be over before dark, more’s the pity. It’s rather fun to be snowed in for once.” Tom sincerely hoped she was right.

“Oh, hello again,” a familiar voice spoke from a table behind him, and Tom turned around to see who had addressed him. It was Nicholas from the golden library, Lucius beside him with a teacup in his hand. “I suppose your book must have been very engrossing to have kept you away from Anatole’s lunch.”

Tom shifted uneasily, and avoided the older wizard’s gaze. “Yes, it really was absorbing. I completely lost track of the time.”

Nicholas looked amused. “Had enough of the Polyjuice game already, have you?”

“The Polyjuice game, sir?” Belatedly he recalled what Cleopatra had said about the games of Jasper and his “Bright Young Things.”

Lucius laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re all aware that when Jasper starts a game of Polyjuice Poker, no one is quite sure who any of you young people are – except for Mountwarlock himself, of course: he generally seems to have an idea.”

Tom wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but decided not to question him further.

“Yes, Jasper was glad lunch broke up when it did, wasn’t he?” said Nicholas. “Not in the least concerned at all about this peculiar weather we’ve got.”

“No indeed. Though I shouldn’t worry much either, Nicholas – I’m certain Gerontius would have informed us if something seriously was amiss.”

It seemed that neither of the two wizards was the least bit bothered about Tom’s appearance, and he guessed that no one had been asked to search for a Hogwarts student that bore his description. It dawned on Tom that Gryme must have managed to keep his disappearance a complete secret, though he was by no means sure that Hagrid’s absence could have been hidden. But the last thing Tom wanted at this stage was to draw their attention to the Hogwarts party, so he didn’t dare ask them about it directly.

“I remember playing Polyjuice Poker on certain occasions when I was at school,” Lucius was saying now, wistfully. “Of course, at Durmstrang, half the fun was fooling our teachers… though it was not pleasant if we were caught!

“I imagine that hasn’t changed much, has it?”

Tom shrugged. “No, it hasn’t,” he said, not sure whether he should elaborate.

“Yes, Professor von Alten especially hated it – he is still teaching there, the last I heard.” He looked at Tom expectantly.

Tom hazarded a guess. “Yes, he does, unfortunately.”

“Ah, I thought so. You’d be – what? – in your fourth year? Though I suppose you might be older, depending on who you decided to play in the Polyjuice game.” He chuckled indulgently.

“Third year. I’m younger than most of the others.”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, but still you’ll know more than enough of Freidrich von Alten’s history classes.”

Oh, it’s History of Magic. He thought of Professor Binns, who was without a doubt the most tedious professor at Hogwarts. “I can’t say I enjoy them much. I’ve always found them rather dull.”

“Professor von Alten always did have a gift for making even the most exciting moments in our history appear as dull as a Muggle bestiary. Some things never seem to change.”

Nicholas, who had been speaking with one of the servants – wizarding servants, not house-elves – now turned back to Tom and Lucius. “They say the creatures and pets are uneasy, but of course they’re still completely tame, and the weather’s expected to lighten eventually.”

Tom stared at the wizard doubtfully. “All the creatures are tame? They can’t be.”

Nicholas glanced at him curiously. “Well, yes, they are. What did you expect? Gerontius has always taken very great care with his enchantments to keep them docile – and to make sure the animals aren’t ever in a position to become too… agitated. There are some highly dangerous beasts here, you know.”

Oh, I know that very well, Tom thought. Lucius studied him.

“What makes you so sure they’re not all well?” he asked thoughtfully.

Tom cursed himself mentally for speaking so soon. “Well, it’s just that the horses seemed more than restless, when I saw them an hour ago, down in the stables,” he said quickly.

“Hm. I see,” Nicholas replied. Tom fidgeted in his chair nervously.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter. Everything seems to be in order now, except for the storm, which is still going on.” Lucius spoke lightly, and began to talk of other matters: council votes and the house-elf problem, turning back to his own table. Tom, however, was much more worried. But every creature I met was horribly angry, he thought to himself. He didn’t see how it was possible that the park’s many beasts could have suddenly become so dangerously upset, and then peaceful again, before it was noticed.

Unless they were only angry with me.

Tom shuddered at the thought. Why would the creatures turn only against him? What had he done in Mountwarlock Park…?

With a cold feeling of dread, he looked down at his hands. The ring, he thought. Had it incited the animals to become so agitated when he was around? Or, even more disturbing, had taking it from its place in the painting somehow caused any of the other problems in the house and estate? It was horribly plausible, but he couldn’t see how.

He shook his head, but the thought would not leave him. Tom needed more than ever to find Cleopatra, or Dr. Gryme, or anyone who could explain to him just what was going on. People were beginning to leave the room now in ones and twos, so Tom took his chance and went out as well.

He was barely a few steps out of the parlour before he heard shouts from a door to the left. A middle-aged couple, who had only gone out a few moments before, looked up but laughed and shook their heads. Tom was amazed at their lack of concern. Wondering what on earth could be wrong, and now plagued with the fear that he might have unwittingly have caused it, he followed the voices through a smoking room, until he came to an open door.

The room beyond was wider than the last one, and it was as filled with gaming tables as the Painted Parlour had been with tablecloths. A group of about a dozen boys, all of them older than himself, were lounging on cushions by the window, with vials of potions on the floor, and a steaming cauldron nearby on a table. Beside it, on a velvet cloth, were what appeared to be locks of hair.

In the middle of the group a wide and dark blue velvet cloth hovered a few inches above the ground, heaped with galleons and costly magical objects. The gold glittered in the cold winter light. The whole company had playing cards in their hands, flashing now and then as they changed colour. All of them were speaking loudly, but some had peculiar facial expressions. It occurred to Tom that it might be hard to convincingly act as someone else.

“Double and challenge” said a boy by the window, taking a sandwich from a floating tray. Polyjuice Potion left a bad taste in the mouth, it was said, which doubtless accounted for all the refreshments. A boy in crimson robes smiled and drank a sip from a nearby goblet. In a few seconds his features had changed, his hair abruptly long and dark – and the boy with the sandwich smiled and swept a large heap of gold into his hands from the floating cloth. The defeated player did not seem distressed. With a flick of his wand he transfigured his clothes.

“Almost too easy,” said the first boy. “I suppose we know each other too well.”

“Phantomsby!” exclaimed the newly dark-haired boy. “That’s the fellow we ought to try! I wonder if we could get some of his hair, without him being any the wiser?”

“That’s cheating, Percy, you troll-headed nincompoop,” said a silk-robed boy, tall with blond hair. “You can’t become a servant or guest or a villager. We’ve told you that more times than you’ve had to sit O.W.L.s.”

There was a bit of good-humoured laughter at this, before the tall blond boy chipped in with a smile. He was sitting to the side with one or two others, as if he too was out of the game.

“And I know your O.W.L.s were a good deal worse than what I’d expect from a not-too-agile-minded Flobberworm, but if we interfere with Phantomsby my uncle will feed us all to Persephone.”

He looked up suddenly and grinned at Tom. “Somebody else has come to join us? You’re late, but I suppose we can start again. Pavel Voronsky here’s planning to go – not that we’re sure who is Pavel by now – he’s learnt to stop dropping his definite articles.”

Tom wasn’t quite sure what to answer, when another boy spoke up. “Not that I remember you, but surely you’ve played our game by now?”

Tom shook his head. “Actually, no, I haven’t.”

All their faces broke into grins.

“A first-time drinker! That will be fun! It’s a while since we had an… initiation.”

Tom thought quickly. He didn’t have the time to waste on games, and what was more, he would give himself away, extremely quickly, if he stayed in the room much longer. He couldn’t pretend he was from Durmstrang to them, when he didn’t know the name of a single fellow schoolboy, or even, now he thought of it, of any professor – except for von Alten, if his guess had been right, and if the teacher had not yet retired.

On top of that, he hadn’t the money. Judging by the piles of gold on the table (not even one coin was a silver Sickle) the stakes for this game were unthinkably high.

“I’m looking for Cleopatra,” he said. “Will you still be here if I come back later?”

The level of noise in the room dropped dramatically.

“You’re looking for Cleopatra, here?” There was puzzlement in the first boy’s voice.

“And why would you want to talk to her?” exclaimed another boy, in Chinese robes.

“I thought I’d told everyone about my cousin. She reads, you know; and she’s very stand-offish,” said the blond boy whom Tom supposed must be Jasper. “Family pride and all that rot. And she doesn’t quite approve of our games. She doesn’t know how to have fun, does she, Darcy?”

“How to have fun?” said the boy in Chinese robes. “She’s downright creepy, if you ask me. She only has to walk into a room and all the chatting simply stops. Imagine if your uncle had sent her to Durmstrang. What would have become of Walpurga’s?”

Is that the name of a house? Tom wondered: a Durmstrang equivalent of Ravenclaw? His thoughts were interrupted by Jasper.

“Not that I have a clue who you are. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at school.”

Tom hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should take the chance of saying that he was from another school. And yet, that might get them thinking of Hogwarts. He knew next to nothing about Beauxbatons – and almost no foreign languages. A far off place like Alqazar was even more unlikely. Tom couldn’t fake speaking Arabic.

No, he simply didn’t have time. He had to find Cleopatra, now.

“Which house are you in? Or shall we guess?”

For a terrified moment, Tom thought the boy had worked out that he was from Hogwarts; then it dawned on him that he must mean the Durmstrang houses. Was Walpurga’s one of them? He was silent, thinking desperately of a question he could ask in return, or of any way he could change the subject.

“Well, if you’re really as dumb as that I suppose you must be in Schwarzenberg’s. Not that Percy here’s seen you before.”

“Or that he’d know it if he had,” put in a boy with bright green robes.

A dark haired boy remarked from the corner, “Oh, let him alone, Jasper old sport. For all we know he’s not from Durmstrang. None of us have seen him before. He must be a friend of Cleopatra’s.”

“I didn’t know that Cleo had any friends,” said Jasper, with a puzzled look on his face. Then it cleared as a new thought suddenly struck him. “Wait…You aren’t one of us, disguised, are you? You didn’t disguise as a lad from the village? Or... no, don’t tell me… as a Hogwarts student! I told you that isn’t allowed, you know.

“But anyway, do you want to play the next game, or not? We’ll turn and drink a new round in a minute.”

“I suppose we’ll have to guess who you are,” said the boy by the window in a slow drawling voice. He finished the last of his sandwich with relish.

Tom gave Jasper a nervous glance, alarmed that they were now thinking of Hogwarts. “I really did want to see Cleopatra....”

“Of course you do,” he said with a grin. “You might just find her in the Vaulted Library – she passes that way to go to her study.”

“We do need another player, though – you can stay if you like,” said another boy who’d not spoken before. “But that Hogwarts idea is really quite bright. The fun we could have had after lunch! Oh, what we’ve missed! They must have left loads of hairs where they picnicked – enough for several Polyjuice Potions. And they are the ones that would get into trouble for anything we decided to do!”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. Hogwarts had its own version of these sort of boys, but endless galleons for self-indulgence put this Durmstrang crowd in a class of their own. It was only too clear why Cleopatra avoided them. He didn’t want to know any more of the game, so he thanked them politely as he backed >from the room – and from Jasper’s parting comment: “I think that’s just what he did do. I wonder if any of them did get in trouble.”

Tom wandered back through the smoking room, but the guests had all left the Painted Parlour. Even the wizard servants had gone. He wondered where he should go next.

He didn’t know his way around the house – but he did know the way to the Vaulted Library. He stood for a while at the top of the stairs, and determined to follow Jasper’s advice and retrace his steps to the book-lined room. Cleopatra, after all, could be anywhere, and after his last experience of wandering through the house alone, he had no desire to attempt a search.

“You go down the stairs and across the gallery,” a voice behind him broke into his thoughts. “Then you bear round to your right at the end. I’ll show the way there if you like.” Tom turned to see one of the Polyjuice Poker players, the dark-haired boy who had been sitting in the corner.

“They were going to play another round, so I thought it was time to make my escape.” He shared a mischievous smile with Tom. “Don’t worry too much about Jasper. He’s a decentish sort on the whole, you know, but he’s always been like that about Cleo. To tell the truth, he’s a bit afraid of her. Anyway, let’s go downstairs.”

“I always found her quite approachable,” replied Tom, looking up at the painted ceiling. The triple peak of Mount Olympus towered above them in the fresco. A haughty and quite unapproachable Hera glanced for a moment or two at the boys.

The other boy shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose she is, in a quiet sort of way. I don’t know how much Cleopatra’s told you, but she resents Jasper because he’s going to inherit everything – and I think Jasper resents her because… secretly he fears that he won’t inherit!” The dark-haired boy turned at the foot of the stair, and waited as Tom followed him down.

“I didn’t think the inheritance was open to question.”

“Oh, I suppose the law is perfectly clear, but since Mountwarlock’s almost above the law – even the laws of nature here, almost…” The dark-haired boy’s voice trailed off for a moment. “But anyway, he might set up some sort of trust, that will take away Jasper’s control of the house. He doesn’t approve of our J, you know – and if he suddenly has a son… well, all Jasper’s hopes will just disappear.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Tom. “Though the really old pureblood families don’t have many children.”

“True – and here they’re about as old as any: pureblood since time immemorial, you know – but come what may, Lord Mountwarlock will likely live for decades yet; and then… The family’s supposed to be in tune to all the special enchantments here, and Jasper simply isn’t. It doesn’t make him feel any better that Cleo can do the whole thing in her sleep, and she’s – what, thirteen?”

They were walking through the picture gallery now, but the paintings now were blessedly silent. Doubtless they’d seen Tom’s companion before, and also, perhaps, they were simply tired.

“I’m Hugo, by the way. What did you say your name was?”

“Tom.”

“And where do you really go to school?”

Tom would have frozen – if not for the pictures. He could almost feel the bishop’s eyes on his back.

“Hogwarts,” he said at last, “but I’m not with the party. And I really have got to see Cleopatra. Do you think she’ll be there in the library?”

Hugo faced him as he opened the door. “I’ll let her know you’re here if I see her. If not I’ll leave a message with the paintings. The library’s over there on the right.” He left by the door Tom had taken that morning. Tom turned to the gilded doors on the right.

Beyond was the beautiful vaulted chamber, with its alcoves of books on each side. To the left the light of the setting sun glimmered through a lull in the falling snow. Once again he could hear the ticking of the clock. It chimed. It was only a quarter past five. Perhaps he hadn’t lost as much time as he’d feared – and yet every second counted.

He wandered slowly down the wide chamber, gazing with distraction at the globes and chronoscopes. It looked different now in the evening light, with oil lamps scenting the room and bathing the tables in gentle light. Tom mentally cursed himself – he had wasted too much time already. There was still no certainty Cleopatra would come – and Scamander must have left the village by now. For the first time he began to see the logic behind Scamander’s walk to the Black Unicorn, instead of coming to the house to warn Mountwarlock. In a way, it was easier to contact the Ministry than the owner (or his daughter) in a house of this size.

In an alcove half way down the room he suddenly saw he was not alone.

“Ah, I thought it was you again: the bright young feller who was readin’ my book. Was hopin’ Scamander would come by again, though – haven’t seen him all afternoon.”

In the alcove behind the floating globe Sir Maximus Drake sat at his desk – working again at his book, Tom supposed, if the quill in his hand was anything to go by. Manuscripts and half-open scrolls were piled in an unstable heap to his right. He waved for Tom to take a chair, and put a paperweight over his parchment.

“Anyway, you were readin’ my book. You never did say how you liked it.”

“I thought it was very practical.” Well, I did – once I’d met the griffin! “Though I didn’t have time to read very far. I’d got to the enchanting of Muggle shotguns so they could take down magical beasts.”

“Had a lot of trouble when I mentioned that – a lot of people think it’s cheatin’. Hit-wizard colonels and Aurors, you know. But if you’re facin’ a chargin’ Erumpent, you’re not goin’ to care if a bullet’s unsportin’. You didn’t just come from tea, did you?”

“Yes, actually, I did. Mr. Scamander wasn’t there.”

“Well, like I said, I was hopin’ to see Scamander – about the beasts. I’ve not seen them like this before. Not that they’re dangerous or anything… You say you didn’t see him at tea?”

Tom considered for a moment. Drake was an uncle of Lord Mountwarlock, and also acquainted with Scamander; if Cleopatra didn’t turn up, perhaps he should notify Drake instead? Quickly, too, so that he could take steps. But confessing to him would be very difficult. He wasn’t sure that the wizard would listen, and could he tell just part of the truth convincingly?

Before he had time to rethink his decision, Tom blurted out, “He isn’t in the house, you know.”

Drake stared at him. “Of course he is – I saw him at lunch! And you saw him here in this room this mornin’.”

“Not any more. He’s back at the village.” Tom took a deep breath. “You were right when you said he’d just been there. He went to the Unicorn to contact the Ministry. There are people who want to take over the park.” Fervently he hoped Drake would not ask him how he knew. Drake, however, was openly scornful.

“Balderdash! I don’t believe it,” Drake all but spluttered with indignation. “Always felt that Scamander didn’t like the place much. Simply hates waste and self-indulgence – even natural things like huntin’ – but he isn’t such a bad sort, at heart. He was different once, you know, not so much of a Ministry man, back in the days when he was fendin’ off creatures with his old kettle on campin’ trips – as he says in his book. He’s certainly changed as he rose in the Ministry – but he’s stayin’ in this house as a guest! I’m sure he’d try to change the law if he had the chance, but he’d go through the proper channels. He’d never do somethin’ as … underhanded as you say.”

Except with a hundred and fifty children supposedly in terrible danger – but Tom could not tell the man that.

Sir Maximus Drake paused thoughtfully. “But… if any of what you say is true, then everythin’ is worse than I thought.” He stared out the window. “Bad business, this,” he said, indicating the snow with his hand. The flakes were falling thicker again. “Not that I should worry, young feller. Gerontius would know at once if a wizard came into the grounds.”

Except if they come through a painting, Tom thought. Or is it just me – or just the ring?

“How long did it last in 1915? The animals weren’t affected, were they?”

“Ah, they told you about that, did they?” Drake gave him a curious glance.

“They said it was Zeuxes’ quest for Atlantis… I didn’t understand it though.”

“Did they now? Now there’s a story. If he hadn’t been so fixed on findin’ Atlantis…” Drake stopped, as if wondering what he should say, but to Tom’s relief, he carried on.

“I suppose if they’ve already told you, it can’t hurt to say a bit more,” he said. “It began when I came back from my hunt in the Andes, back in the 1880s, you know. There were far too many dragons about, and they brought me in to hunt ‘em down – vicious beast, you know, the Vipertooth. Well, when I was out there I found this map, and some years later I thought I’d give it to Zeuxes for Christmas, so in that sense you could say it’s my fault. Not that I knew what it was at the time, and I certainly wouldn’t have given it to him if I’d known what it would lead to. Zeuxes just wouldn’t let the search go – a bit like me when I’m on a hunt! Only this one was the proverbial snark.

“He stuck at it for sixteen years, till in the end it got him killed.”

Tom wasn’t quite sure what Drake had meant, but he was already starting to guess.

“He wanted to go back into the past. Not just an hour or two with a time-turner, but thousands of years – back to Atlantis! Crazy idea, for a lad so brilliant. If you can twist the past it won’t let you through, and it’s bound to kill you if you try. But no one’s ever had that much power – to go back so far – so he tried to use the house’s enchantments to give him the power. They never really told me what happened – but of course, it killed him straight away.”

At last, it began to fit together – but Tom was still not completely sure. By Martha’s second-hand account, Zeuxes had reached the ancient past – not just tried, he’d actually reached it – and it wasn’t the magic that finished him off, but the final crashing ocean wave. Little was known even by wizards about the island of Atlantis, except for the legend of its fall, and perhaps it was not altogether surprising that when Zeuxes fixed on a point in its history, it should be that moment of destruction…

But this explanation was hard to believe, and there still might be a alternative one that could explain what Mundungus had seen, like the picture where Gryme had hidden the ring, which seemed to contain solid trees of its own – or like the mosaics in one of the stables, behind which some beasts were believed to be kept. Which explanation was true?

Yes, what on earth was that mysterious painting? And how does all this connect with the ring?

“Scamander was here quite a bit in those days – courtin’ his wife at Warlock’s Preston. Her family didn’t like him, you know. Family pride and all that rot.”

“Didn’t the librarian have something to do with it? Dr. Gryme, that’s now with the Hogwarts party?”

Again, Drake watched Tom with renewed interest. “I never knew that Dr. Gryme very well. Quiet feller, he seemed to be, and not very much for huntin’ either. But it wasn’t Zeuxes the librarian was close to. That was Gerontius, you know. His personal tutor back at Durmstrang. He’s taught there as well as at Hogwarts, you know.”

Dr. Gryme taught at Durmstrang once? He certainly never told me that.

“I never did hold with this old family nonsense of sendin’ people away to Durmstrang. Hogwarts was good enough for me! And, well, Durmstrang turns half you people peculiar. Look at what it did to Zeuxes! And I don’t think Gerontius liked it much either. Best thing he did – keeping Cleo back here.” The old hunter rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. “Still, he had the sense not to join a brotherhood – I suppose we can thank the old tutor for that.”

“A brotherhood?” said Tom, wondering – and he accidentally said it aloud.

“Yes, there was a lot of that in those days. Hard to survive outside one then. I heard stories… Long before your time, of course – though I would think they still survive…”

Tom barely had time to ponder this information, or frame a question, when suddenly Drake rounded on him. “So, what’s it like at Durmstrang now? Who’s your favourite that’s teachin’ there these days? Don’t think I know any of ‘em now, since Maximoff retired from magical creatures – he’d been there for fifty years!”

Tom scanned his memory fast. “Master von Alten is always instructive.”

The baronet fairly spluttered. “Von Alten sent his class to sleep almost sixty years ago –Savigny told me stories about him. You can’t expect me to think he’s changed, now that he’s ninety-nine if a day. Who’ve they got for magical creatures now that Maximoff’s raisin’ horses?”

“I don’t know who they’ll get to replace him. They were hoping to lure someone called Gladritch from Hogwarts,” Tom invented rapidly. Well, he supposed it might be true.

“Hmph! They must be desperate. He’s never even hunted a mouse!”

“That’s what I heard from the others upstairs. They’ve just finished playing Polyjuice Poker.” Tom was desperate now himself, to turn the subject to neutral matters.

“Tired of that confounded game, eh? We didn’t play any of that at Hogwarts! Don’t know why Gerontius allows it. He likes to see his heir now and then, I suppose. That boy inherited far too young – even if Elsa didn’t spoil him.”

Elsa, Tom supposed, was Jasper’s mother. “I don’t suppose he would come here much, if Lord Mountwarlock didn’t allow the games.”

“It’s not as if Gerontius provides much entertainment for his guests. Haven’t had a single hunt since I came. But he’s hopin’ the boy will see sense one day. Eh? Not in a hundred years, I tell him. I took the lad out once on an Augurey hunt, one year when his mother brought him to Scelpings – and the little blighter tried to pot me! With the catapult I’d given ‘im too!” The game hunter’s whiskers fairly twirled with indignation.

“I don’t much care for the Polyjuice Poker game either. And they play for very high stakes in this house.”

“No, you don’t look like one of that bunch. You wouldn’t see any of ‘em readin’ in here! What did you say your name was, boy?”

“Tom.” There was no point in lying.

“No one mentioned you before. What house are you in at Durmstrang?”

He quickly tried to remember the houses Jasper and his friends had mentioned. Which do I choose? Walpurga’s or Schwartzenburg’s? “I’m in Walpurga’s,” he said finally.

“Do you take me for an idiot, boy? They’d sooner take Muggles than boys in Walpurga’s!”

Tom felt himself flush with embarrassment. I didn’t know Durmstrang had girls-only houses!

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t resist it,” he said quickly, as if it were a joke. “I’m really in Schwarzenburg’s.”

“Schwarzenburg’s! You are at least bright enough to count, aren’t you?” Drake said with some impatience. “Now, jokin’ aside, tell me again which house you’re in.”

Tom was silent, waiting for the suspicion to grow in the man’s eyes, scanning his mind for a plausible lie.

He was saved by a voice that broke in behind him. “There you are, Tom. I was looking for you.”

He turned around quickly. It was Cleopatra.

“I think he’s in Gruchkoff’s, Uncle Maximus,” she said casually. A sudden understanding dawned in Drake’s eyes, as Cleopatra turned to Tom. “Hugo said you were waiting here – he left a message with the bishop. You should have left a message with the paintings yourself, you know. That’s the quickest way to find me.”

Tom did his best to hide his relief, and turned to take his leave of Drake.

“No, no, it was a pleasure to meet you,” Drake replied in his fruity voice, brushing aside Tom’s apologies. “It’s a change to meet a young feller from Durmstrang that can think without an Animus spell!” He turned and picked up a bell on the windowsill to summon a house-elf for coffee. Tom followed Cleopatra to a small, hidden door.

“Cleopatra – thank goodness I’ve found you—”

“Shh – not here,” she breathed, pointing to the alcove where they had left Maximus Drake with his books. Tom closed his mouth abruptly and followed Cleopatra through the doorway. She led him quickly down a steep curving stair, to a dark and vaulted chamber below. It was filled with books like the room they had left, along with globes and tables and sofas. Candles began to flame on tables as they passed, and on silver sconces set in the wall. High narrow windows looked down from the wall behind, but all of them were now heaped up with snow. Through the arches on either side further chambers revealed themselves, and Tom remembered the librarian’s words, in the guided tour six hours before; the upper rooms were the tip of the iceberg. Just how far down does this library go?

Cleopatra guided him to a sofa by a small dusty table, and then pulled up a straight-backed chair. Suddenly she burst into laughter. “You really said you were in Walpurga’s! Honestly, I nearly died.”

Tom wondered just how much she’d heard – and if she’d delayed her interruption just for the amusement of watching him squirm. On the other hand, Drake had certainly been satisfied by her explanation.

“What exactly is Gruchkoff’s?” he asked.

“It’s the house for students without sixteen quarterings – the ones who can’t prove that all their great-great-grandparents were witches and wizards – the standard test for common purebloods. You’d have been in there, you know!” She softened at the look of annoyance that crossed Tom’s face. “Well, it explained to Uncle Max why you’d had trouble answering. There always are students embarrassed to be there. But you do look like you’ve been through something terrible. What on earth have you done these last six hours? The rest of your party left ages ago.”

Left? Tom thought in puzzlement, forgetting at once all thought of his injured wizarding pride. They can’t have left. Not with the magic as bad as this!

“I was too late when I got downstairs – and then I got lost, trying to find them… but, where did they go?” he asked. “They haven’t left completely, have they?”

Cleopatra shook her head. “In this weather? It isn’t even safe to go outside. My father sent them back to the Dancing Warlock through a painting as soon as the snow began. Papa is quite upset about this weather – the house is enchanted against this sort of thing, you know. He even told me to avoid certain kinds of magic. Just as a precaution, I think – but he’s never said anything like that to me before.”

She looked intently at him for a moment, as if a new thought had suddenly struck her. “Wait… the Hogwarts party was sent back, but no one was ever reported missing. So unless your absence went completely unnoticed, which I’m sure it can’t have been, someone must be covering it up.”

Tom shifted in his seat, and avoided her eyes, but the girl seemed immensely pleased with her deduction. “I am right, aren’t I? I’ll wager I know who it is, too – it has to be your Professor Gryme.” She eyed him curiously. “He was here the last time this all happened, you know. No wonder he doesn’t want anyone to know that one of his students is missing – especially if you’re his personal student or something like that.”

She smiled for a moment at Tom’s discomfort. “Not that my father’s going to be pleased. You should have got back to the others when you had the chance.”

He frowned at her. “If you hadn’t kept me so long over tea, I might not have lost them in the first place,” he replied crossly.

“You didn’t have to stay,” she said with a shrug; “but you’ll be glad to know that it could be worse. I’ll explain it’s partly my fault. Though he’ll want to know why you came to Gryme’s study – was there something you wanted there?” She looked searchingly at Tom.

“Do you know where your father is?” he asked suddenly.

She shook her head. “No – I haven’t seen him since luncheon. When the storm began, he sent off Scamander and Uncle Max to check on the animals, and asked Phantomsby to take the Hogwarts party to the Dancing Warlock. Then he retired – to his study, I think – and told the rest of the guests to finish the lunch. Not that anyone did, of course; they were much too excited that the weather was going wrong for a change. Anatole was most put out.” She smiled for a moment at the memory. “Papa came to tea for just a few minutes, when Phantomsby popped in with the news that lightning had hit the Black Unicorn – so he’s probably gone to check that they’re all right.”

Tom suddenly recalled the flash like lightning at the very instant he had passed through the painting. It couldn’t be a coincidence. But if the earl had gone to the Unicorn… Then it’s very likely he’ll know about me. Mundungus and Lunchington are there. Scamander is probably gone by now… He became aware that Cleopatra was still speaking.

“You know, you’ve probably been trapped in this house partly because of all these enchantments going wrong.” Her face sobered. “It’s… not right, not right at all.”

“I know that,” Tom said. “You don’t understand...”

Cleopatra tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t understand? I think I understand perfectly. I’ve lived here for my entire life, and you’ve been here for barely a day. You simply don’t know the half of it.”

“But I think the enchantments might not be right because of me,” he blurted out.

Cleopatra’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Cleopatra, I needed to see you, because I think you’re the only person who can help. Except perhaps your father, of course, but, well, I decided I’d rather come to you first.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave a small smile. “That I do understand. Go on,” she added curiously.

Tom did not quite know where to begin. To be truthful he ought to start with the ring, but he shrank from betraying Dr. Gryme’s confidence, and he was still unsure of Cleopatra’s reaction. There was every chance that she might be so furious at the implied betrayal of her hospitality that she might not hear out the rest of his story. He skipped to his adventures in the library, and she smiled at his account of Scamander and Drake.

“After I left the library, I went looking for the rest of the Hogwarts party. I thought if I made my way to the south, I could bear to the right till I reached the conservatory. I took the stair from the South Wing library – the one with all the Muggle books…” Cleopatra was openly amused when he spoke of his near discovery there, “…and by great good luck I found out how to open the secret stair, and—”

“A Moorish Playwright, by Sheik Spear? You know, if you hadn’t found that stair, one of us would have found you, when we gathered for lunch.”

“I know, I was waiting up in the gallery – but, when I tried to go back down…” Tom hesitated. “Well, I was trapped on that stair by a griffin.”

Cleopatra glanced at him dubiously. “But that’s impossible. I told you we lock them up whenever we have the Hogwarts parties. They go into an enchanted sleep – but anyway, they’re perfectly tame.”

“Well, this one definitely wasn’t locked up, and it certainly wasn’t in an enchanted sleep. As for tame – well, in the end it chased me onto the roof. And the worst thing was, when I shut the door, it clawed its way through and came right after me, then I tried to fight it on the roof, but its hide was much too thick for my spells. I reached the dome of the Great Conservatory, and the glass splintered as soon as I jumped. Then I fell through the dome, into all the trees, and the pool below the waterfall.”

She gasped. “You fell through the dome of the Great Conservatory? The magic really is falling apart, then – and I’m sorry we’ve put you in such danger.” In another moment she added quietly. “Everything about the conservatories is enchanted, with Unbreakable Charms and that sort of thing.” She looked impressed and concerned when she glanced up at him. “How on earth did you survive?”

“One of my friends from Hogwarts was there. He’d left the party as well, you see. Wanted to see more magical beasts.” Tom was struck by another thought. “No one’s looking for him, either, are they?”

“Your professor must have covered up his absence as well.”

“I don’t know how. He’s huge for his age, you can’t miss him. Well, when I came to, Rubeus Hagrid was there, and he helped me. I doubt I’d have lived without him, you know. I healed myself as best as I could, took out the splinters of glass… We tried to get out of the conservatories, but we ended up in the Lotus House – with your Laernian Hydra.”

“Oh, Persephone?” Cleopatra waved her hand dismissively. “She doesn’t really do anything, so long as no one messes with her pond… Though you shouldn’t have been able to get into the Lotus House without Mr. Kray, or my father, or Phantomsby – or me, perhaps. Even the house-elves can’t go there.” She looked astounded at the thought that Tom had managed it. “It takes quite a bit of manoeuvring for even me to get into the Lotus House – especially without my father knowing it.”

Tom shook his head at the thought. “Well, we got in, and the Hydra attacked us.” He hesitated, then plunged on with his story. “I cursed one of her heads, you see, to try to stop her from attacking—”

“That was a mistake,” Cleopatra said pointedly.

“—and then Kray and Scamander came in, and tried to control her, and we wandered out into the snow, which suddenly came on thick and fast, and we were freezing with the cold and couldn’t see where we were going… and then we came to a beautiful garden, where the spells were all intact. We ate some of the fruit there – and then I saw there were no birds, no insects…”

Tom looked up at Cleopatra. Her face had suddenly all but frozen, as dawning realisation grew on her.

“But that garden was much worse. It had a gorgon—”

“The gorgon?” She looked horrified. “Oh, no… no, no, this isn’t good at all…”

“Especially for my friend,” Tom said guiltily. “He was turned to stone, and I barely escaped.”

Cleopatra’s hands flew to her mouth. “He’s… turned to stone?” Her already pale face went suddenly white. “Tom, I’m not sure it can be reversed – not easily, certainly – or not without sacrifice. And you shouldn’t have even been able to see that garden – it’s completely hidden from view, most of the time – and to get inside, you’d have to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world!”

She stared at Tom thoughtfully. “Or a long-lost cousin, perhaps…” Abruptly, she shook her head, seemingly dismissing that thought. “Your friend, does he have a family?”

“Only a father; but he’s very ill.”

“Then this news could probably kill him… No, there must be a way to get back your friend.”

She furrowed her brows in worry. “And the Ministry will never forgive my father for this! They don’t even know of… the gorgon’s existence. Our reputation will be utterly stained.” She threw him a distressed, even angry glance. “You can’t even begin to guess what this will do to us.”

I think I can, actually. “It’s worse than that,” he admitted reluctantly. “I lost my wand when I fled >from the garden – and ran across the ice through the snow. I was saved by a Muggle, of all things, and he brought me to the village – to the Black Unicorn, in fact. They helped me recover, and there I saw Scamander arrive. You see, he saw us in the Lotus House, and now he thinks all the Hogwarts students are running around loose, with the magic going haywire and monsters attacking them, and he’d called in the Ministry before I left – Lancelot Harker, that’s for sure, and a lot of parents of Hogwarts third years; they’ve already Apparated into the village.” Tom paused, watching her reaction. “Scamander’s not doing this on his own. I think he has backers high in the Ministry that want to take over the whole immunity.”

“In the middle of a war with Grindelwald?” Cleopatra’s face hardened with anger. “Well, they’ll be ages coming into this house – you can’t Apparate inside, and as for trudging through that snow… And if you try to resist the magic, you can find yourself in a kind of maze. One Dark Wizard tried it once, and he wandered around for weeks.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I suppose they would offer a reprimand, and our reputation will suffer drastically, but Mr. Scamander could never lead the Ministry to actually take over our place here. Unless he wants a nasty fight, which he wouldn’t win.”

Tom was not so sure. “If you say so,” he said quietly.

“But if they destroy our reputation – well, there would be chaos in Steeple Warlock – and other farms and villages, too. Muggles and wizards don’t usually mix together, of course. Muggles just don’t live in Hogsmeade – and wizards in Muggle towns – well, they keep to themselves.”

“Except, you mean, in Steeple Warlock?” In a way, it seemed a nice balance to Tom. The Muggles lived in a wizard community – but they all obeyed a wizard-lord.

“Well, it’s because of us that it works. The Muggles here don’t obey the wizards, they obey my father – and the wizards do the same. It saves their pride, perhaps. Not that there’s very much of orders – the village more or less runs itself. It isn’t the anachronism they say – the immunity actually works, you know.”

Pinch had wondered about that, too.

“Anyway, they’ll be a while arriving. Or will they?” Cleopatra looked sharply at Tom. “If you were at the Unicorn, how did you get back to the house in this snowstorm?”

“There was a painting in my room there that went directly to Gryme’s old bedroom. I used it to get back to the house. I spent the next hour looking for you, and trying to think up convincing stories.”

“Like being enrolled in Walpurga’s House. I wish I could have watched,” she said, almost smiling for a second. “The painting’s made with yolk of Diricawl – and since those birds can Apparate, some of property stays with the picture. If you use each yolk in painting two pictures, you can bind them so that they act like a door. Mrs. Lefay knows a lot about that.”

Then the girl frowned thoughtfully, running her hand through her long dark hair. “But I’m shocked that you were able get through. The paintings are very temperamental, that’s why we don’t use them unless it’s absolutely necessary, or tell anyone where they’re located. We’ve put enchantments around each one – like the ones by the Lotus House. No one can use them without our allowing it. Even I’m not sure where all of them are. And...” She hesitated, and then went on. “Well, for some reason, my father has always been a little nervous about using the paintings as doorways. Not that he pretends it’s rational. And he did send the rest of your party by that way to the Dancing Warlock.”

Tom guessed he knew the reason for the earl’s reluctance, thinking back to Martha’s tale of the elder brother Zeuxes – trapped forever on the wrong side of an enchanted painting. If Gerontius had Apparated in, and seen his brother swept away, it must have been an alarming sight. Though surely the danger was only with pictures that made a gate through time.

“But,” she continued, folding her hands in front of her, “you know… at first, I thought it was just the disruption of the magic here that was letting you get through everything. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” she said, uneasiness in her voice.

She’s just as nervous as I am, thought Tom.

“Even with the magic the way it is, most of the spells should not be affected. The wards and protections inside the house are still all right, that’s obvious, and the intricate ones out in the grounds ought to be even more secure.” She shook her head. “Especially the ones in our gorgon’s garden. They’ve been in place for a very long time, and they’ve never once been affected like that. And the animals – they’ve been uneasy, but not aggressive – except towards you!”

“Then what do you think it is?” he asked.

She looked him suddenly full in the eyes. “There has to be something else at work – that’s what you wanted to tell me, wasn’t it? Something you’re afraid to confess. And it must have something to do with you. Or with your professor as well, maybe… because you knew how to open the door to my staircase – and that can only mean he told you.” She shook her head, not taking her eyes off Tom. “He was here both times it happened before, and I won’t believe that’s chance.”

Tom nodded quietly, hearing his own logic echoed in her deductions. Absently he fingered the ring. He couldn’t avoid the subject now, not if he wanted to know the truth. He hoped Cleopatra would not be angry – at least, not so angry that she wouldn’t listen. That he was confessing it all to her would put her more at ease – he hoped.

I’m sorry, Professor, he said to himself.

“Yes, there is something I’ve got to tell you – and it is to do with Professor Gryme – though I don’t quite understand that part yet.”

She listened intently. “What do you mean?” she asked, suspicion evident in her tone of voice.

Tom swallowed. “Well, to tell the truth… Professor Gryme sent me upstairs for a reason this morning. He wanted me to retrieve something that he’d left in his quarters.”

She bristled. “Steal something, you mean. We wouldn’t keep his old things lying around; we sent on anything he left behind.”

Tom didn’t defend his professor, as he wasn’t completely sure the ring hadn’t been stolen. “But this wasn’t something he’d just left lying around. He’d hidden it, in the painting in your study. He said it was an object he’d enchanted – and I was sure he was telling the truth – though I admit, I was sure it must be an artefact he didn’t want anyone to know he had.”

She glared at him. “Really? So you thought it was probably Dark? What was it that you took from our house?”

He removed the ring sombrely and gave it to her. “This,” he said. “At first… well, I wondered what it was; it didn’t feel magical at all.”

Her anger had almost melted away entirely, and was replaced with an intense curiosity as she picked up the ring. “Oh, it feels magical to me,” she whispered. “So you took this, for your professor. And… you actually wore it?”

He nodded. “I thought it was the easiest way to keep track of it, and make sure it didn’t get lost or anything.”

Cleopatra stared at him. “Don’t they at least teach you at Hogwarts not to use strange magical things?”

“I didn’t really think it was enchanted!”

“It obviously has a very strong Concealment Charm on it, that’s true,” she conceded. “It’s very hard for me to be sure, but I think there are layers of charms in its making. Perhaps the last was your professor’s. Still, it’s got to be the answer – this must be what has been allowing you to slip through all the enchantments – even if you didn’t think you were using it. It must have even broken through the charm on the roof, when you wanted to get away from the griffin.”

“That’s what I’d wondered,” Tom said, after an awkward pause. “It has broken through all the enchantments I faced – albeit in ways that nearly killed me. And… I thought – well, is it causing the snow, and the other problems?”

Cleopatra’s brow creased in thought. “I don’t know…it has to influence the magic here, but could it affect it so much?”

“It must foil the magic somehow.”

“Or diverts it – and not just ours. Weren’t you telling me a minute ago that you’d been able to hear through Mr. Scamander’s Privacy Ward?”

Tom rubbed his fingers on the table, clutching the stem of dust-covered lamp, and thought about everything that had gone wrong that day: the blizzard outside, the inability of anyone to Disapparate, the communication problems, the restless beasts that had seemed to hunt him – and only him. “I wonder…” he said pensively, and Cleopatra looked at him expectantly. “It’s as if something doesn’t want me to leave – or not alive, with the ring, at least.

“The ring seems to let me through certain spells, but it causes other things to go horribly wrong. It as if…” He paused thoughtfully. “It’s as if the rest of the magic is trying to stop me.”

Cleopatra’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course. The magic here does respond to intruders – and it’s responding even more to you because of this.” She fingered the ring absently. “The last magic ring I wore had a djinn in it. Father put me on bread and water for a week after that incident. I wonder if it would have allowed you to get through the Anti-Apparition Barriers – if you knew how to Apparate, that is.”

Tom considered her question. “If the house’s magic is really reacting to it like this,” he said slowly, “I’d think doing that would probably kill me.” A chill ran down his spine; this guess was probably true. Gryme had chosen to hide the ring, not to Disapparate with it. And hadn’t he warned Tom carefully to be sure he never used a spell? More than ever, the question of how Gryme had got this ring – and what he had done to be dismissed so abruptly – plagued him. Why hadn’t the professor used such a powerful object?

Or had he used it?

His mind flicked back to what Martha’s words at the Black Unicorn. “Cleopatra – I think this ring’s been used before – I think my professor has used it too, once in fifteen when your uncle died, and again in twenty-four, the night before he was sent away.”

Cleopatra stood up and paced the room, fingering the ring in her hand. Then she turned, her hand on the chair. “How do you—? Even I don’t know much of what happened then.” She shook her head. “He can’t have done anything wrong in fifteen. If he’d had anything to do with what happened to my uncle… Grandfather would have sent him straight to the gorgon, instead of dismissing him ten years later.”

Tom shivered at this casual mention of the gorgon. “Perhaps only the second time was his fault. The first time he might not have seen the danger. But he was involved in some enchantment that alarmed the magic in 1915 – and I know he was there when your uncle died – though they must have decided it wasn’t his fault. And I’m quite certain he didn’t mean any of this to happen now!”

“He’s probably stuck in the Dancing Warlock, terrified of what’s happened to you, and totally unable to do anything about it.” A dangerous smile crossed her face, and almost instantly vanished. “I don’t know much about my uncle’s death,” she explained. “It happened long before I was born. He tried to go back into the past, didn’t he? Thousands and thousands of years, I’ve heard.”

“He didn’t just try, he succeeded, Cleopatra. I don’t know how he managed it, but he didn’t merely see the fall of Atlantis: it looks as though he died in it. He took a room at the Black Unicorn that night – and Gryme was there helping with the enchantment. Didn’t anyone tell you this?”

She shook her head, staring at him intensely with wide eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, Tom recounted the story Martha had told him: the terrible wave like a mountain of water, crashing over the temples and palaces, while the mountain smoked behind. Cleopatra listened attentively, and her head snapped up when Tom mentioned the painting. She looked lost in thought while he finished his story.

“But it’s only what the landlord’s daughter overheard her father say – and he was very young at the time, and only had a glimpse at that—”

“But it does seem to fit with what you were telling me.” Cleopatra paused in thought. “I suppose we should go to my father now, but… there’s another way we could find out for certain,” she added after a long moment. “We could look in a chronoscope.”

Tom threw her an incredulous glance. “Oh, I know they’re unreliable,” she said, “especially with so much other magic around, but if we could… If, somehow, we could see what happened when my uncle died, and what what happened just before your professor hid the ring, and what was said when he was dismissed, presumably we’ll know for sure.”

“You really think it would work?”

Cleopatra hesitated. “Of course, they’re easily blocked out, and with all the magic around the house, the crystal would probably just go blank – but with that ring, if it really does allow you to get through certain of our spells, and divert them – well, it might just let us see what we want when we look through the chronoscope as well!”

Tom let out his breath slowly. “One of the ones in the library upstairs?”

“They would be too small, I think. We want to look more back more than twenty-five years. But there really is one that might just work – and after that, we go to my father.”

Tom stood up. His shoulders drooped, and he felt exhausted. Cleopatra opened a door that seemed to lead to further stairs. “So where’s this chronoscope?” he said as she led him through the arch.

“It’s in my father’s study, of course.”

The next few minutes went by almost in a haze for Tom. Cleopatra took him through a series of vaulted subterranean chambers, vast and intricate indeed, and as filled with disused paraphernalia as the attics where he’d been chased by the griffin. Even in Tom’s own orphanage the attics and cellars, cleaned out as they were every few years, still rapidly filled with disused books and papers and damaged toys, and chairs too broken to be used. But the Mountwarlocks had lived in this house for centuries – and they did not seem to have thrown away anything.

But Tom was too tired to do more than glance, and choke as their feet stirred up the thick dust, and wonder what had become of Scamander. He was worried too about Dr. Gryme, about the disaster that had happened to Hagrid, and most of all of facing Lord Mountwarlock – though he seemed to have an ally now in his daughter. She really did appear to have forgiven him for what she’d called an attempt at theft from her house. At least, he hoped she had. All her fear of her father had gone. Her curiosity, it seemed, came first.

Or perhaps her passion for the house. She really loved the house and estate. The realisation that it all was threatened perhaps had brought out this determination.

They passed through a grotto under a fountain that played in a courtyard over their heads, or would have done in warmer weather. The skylight was now encrusted with ice. It was already dark outside and very little light came through, but candelabra set in the walls sputtered into flame as they passed, spilling out yellow circles of light, then fading against the grey stone walls. The vaults of masonry above them like the cracks in the shadows were utterly black. Tom’s mind wandered, as he tried to fit together all he had learned, about Gryme, and Zeuxes, and Lord Mountwarlock. His mind flicked back to something Drake had said, and he wondered if it was in any way significant…

“You don’t know anything about the Durmstrang brotherhoods, do you?”

They approached another small flight of stairs. Cleopatra didn’t break her pace as she answered.

“No, I don’t know very much myself – I’ve only read about it, and heard some stories >from my father. Do you think in some way it’s related to this?”

“Sir Maximus mentioned them just now when he talked to me about your father – how he’d had the sense not to join one.”

Cleopatra looked down at him from a low step, her tall figure framed in the candlelight against the pitch blackness behind.

“I don’t suppose you know what it’s like at Durmstrang. You’ve probably never read The Durmstrang Institute: Past and Present, have you? Well…” She paused as if wondering where to begin. “The school didn’t use to have prefects, you know.”

Tom was surprised. “I didn’t know.”

“But you know what Hogwarts was like in the old days. What were things like thirty years ago?”

“Well, the prefects had a lot more power. They’d go in the common rooms and shout things like Here! – and the last person to touch them would have to do what they asked. They still do that, at times, you know.”

“But they used to do it all the time, didn’t they? And they were able to ask whatever they liked, from what I’ve heard,” Cleopatra said. “The younger students just had to obey. Well, I think it was worse in my great-uncle’s day. Uncle Max said the Headmaster didn’t even appoint the prefects in those days. Back then, you know, they appointed themselves – like they do nowadays at Durmstrang – although I think the professors there do have some influence over the choice.”

Tom wondered at how much Cleopatra knew. She’d never been to a school herself, but she certainly seemed to have read all about them, and heard many stories from her relatives. His search for Slytherin’s legacy had left him with a very great deal of knowledge about Hogwarts. Durmstrang, however, was a closed book to him.

“Anyway, the Durmstrang Institute’s prefects are rather like an exclusive club. I’m not quite sure how it all came about. The school mostly takes people from powerful families, so the professors might have been scared to be harsh with them – once there was even a school rebellion… And who is a boy or a girl more afraid of? A professor he sees perhaps once a week, or a gang of his own age he sees all the time? It’s in all the old novels, you know, as well as in stories my father would tell me.”

They had passed into a vaulted wine-cellar, Cleopatra pausing to divert some spell to let them pass through the masonry. The arched passages loomed into the blackness as far as Tom was able to see: ahead, behind, and to either side were casks and barrels and bottles galore. Jennings should have seen this, he thought, but he quickly turned back to what Cleopatra was telling him.

“And what does this have to do with the brotherhoods?” he asked.

“Everything, I think,” Cleopatra replied. “In those days, before there were prefects, Durmstrang didn’t have any rules. Or none the professors could enforce. You see, the Durmstrang professors were Olympians, supposed to be above the life of the crowd, except for teaching. The young ladies and gentlemen of the school were supposed to just look after themselves…”

Tom’s mind whirled at the possibilities. Hogwarts had a huge book with hundreds of obscure rules that the prefects could enforce, when they chose to; he tried to imagine what a school would be like without them.

“Supposedly, at first it wasn’t as bad as it sounds,” Cleopatra continued, seeing the stunned look on his face. “The boys really did try, I think, to live up to their family traditions – and when the school was small and informal, the whole thing must have been quite different. But there were a string of bad headmasters – and everything became chaotic. It was pretty bad by my grandfather’s day… I don’t know why he sent Papa there. Of course, they gloss over that in most of the history books. It’s quite different anyway now.”

“And so the brotherhoods…” Tom said, prompting her.

“Were a kind of self-protection, I gather. In a school with almost no rules, except for the customs that the bands of brothers themselves enforced, a first year, alone, would be almost helpless…”

“But you’d have your companions, who would stick together?”

Cleopatra nodded. “Yes, attached to a brotherhood. Some were casual, to start with, but they acquired histories, traditions, rituals – and once inside, you couldn’t get out, you know. The persecution would be intense.”

“But surely you could draw away from them when you’d left the school.” Tom mused.

“Well…” Cleopatra hesitated. “There were rumours of… deeper kinds of bonds. Some of the novels I’ve read or seen have stories of real blood-brotherhoods, forged in blood, ‘till death do us part,’ and Dark rituals in blood as well – but I don’t know how much of all that was true. Most of it may have been just invention.”

“But how was your father allowed to stay out?”

Cleopatra raised her eyebrows. “Your uncle, Sir Maximus, mentioned it,” Tom explained quickly.

“Yes, my father managed it,” Cleopatra said at last. “He was a Mountwarlock, of course” – she allowed herself to smile with pride – “but he was only a younger son, and even he would have found it hard without the help of your professor. Dr. Gryme was his Arithmancy tutor, and he protected him at the time. That’s why when all the troubles came in fourteen, he was invited here.”

It took Tom a moment to understand. The Muggle war, and Durmstrang’s troubles, back in 1914. Gryme left teaching at Durmstrang just then. His thoughts went back to what Cleopatra had said, about those who stayed out of the Durmstrang brotherhoods, and another question struck him.

Yes, Mountwarlock was able to stay out. But what about Professor Gryme? Did Gryme have any old associates, from the time he had taught at Durmstrang? No, from the time that he had studied there?

“But the brotherhoods aren’t still at Durmstrang,” Cleopatra continued. “Well, they may be underground perhaps, but they don’t have a shadow of their old power. My father says that’s the one good thing that came from all the troubles there – when they closed the school down for a whole term, they closed the brotherhoods as well and let the professors choose the prefects. The first time a headmaster had tried to abolish them, well, the brotherhoods rebelled. I even think a teacher was killed. Seven of the students as well – but that was hundreds of years ago. It didn’t do the school any harm – people got killed in Quidditch back then…”

“Weren’t there any sisterhoods?”

“Walpurga’s was always different, Tom. It’s an all-girls house, you know, and Elsa says they’ve always been like an exclusive club in themselves.” Cleopatra turned left abruptly into what seemed to be a stone wall, waving her hand to open a barrier. Tom followed her into another grotto. The walls and ceiling were covered with shells, and a bubbling stream flowed gently east, over the many-coloured rocks. A faint light came through an archway, that seemed to look into the moonlit night of a tropical forest, an effect that reminded Tom very much of the painting from which he’d removed the ring.

“What of your uncle, Zeuxes?” he asked suddenly. “I can’t help thinking he’s the key to all this. He was with Professor Gryme when they cast the spells in 1915, that threw everything into chaos for the very first time. Did he go to Durmstrang too? And did he join a brotherhood?”

“I don’t know much about my uncle Zeuxes. He did go to Durmstrang, though he came late, and he left a year early too – to go to learn Arithmancy in Alqazar – and continue his search for ancient records about Atlantis. Mind you, from my father told me he was very nearly expelled.”

“Expelled >from Durmstrang, with all his connexions?” Tom replied incredulously. “What on earth did he do?”

“He made a workable time-turner. Except that it got out of control, and very nearly killed the headmaster.” For the first time since he’d explained his nightmare adventure, Cleopatra giggled. “Not a wise thing to do at Durmstrang – even if you are a Mountwarlock. But I don’t understand why you’re asking all this. What do you think the brotherhoods have to do with what’s happening now?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Tom murmured in answer, and they fell into silence as they went up another stair. This one was carpeted and dimly lit, with windows that looked out over the garden. But Tom’s thoughts were all elsewhere, as he tried to reconstruct the past.

Zeuxes by all accounts must have been brilliant, perhaps one of the finest and most imaginative minds in the whole of his magical generation. Given the power of this magical ring, it was far more likely that Zeuxes had been the wizard to enchant it, rather than Professor Gryme.

And yet Tom was not entirely convinced. Gryme had told him he’d enchanted the ring, and he did not think the professor had lied.

They stopped when they reached a furnished landing. Cleopatra waved her wand and opened an enchanted barrier, and they entered a series of panelled rooms, smaller than those in the rest of the house, as suited what must be a family wing. The furniture was not as showy, but certainly no less beautiful. Flowers were scattered about in vases and music came from a room upstairs. Cleopatra rang a bell by a door of carved mahogany. There was no answer from within.

“He isn’t here,” she said quietly, stopping to think for a moment. “And I don’t know where Mama is either…. We’ll have to do it by ourselves.” She hesitated for a moment. “Remember, when you come into this room, you’re not to touch anything unless I ask you. There are objects here that are likely to kill you as soon as you lay a hand on them.”

Tom was not in the least surprised. Concealing the deep unease he felt at invading Lord Mountwarlock’s innermost sanctum, he waited silently as Cleopatra paused to undo another (and more difficult) protective barrier, and opened the door to a furnished room.

It was comfortable, and not unlike Professor Gryme’s old book-lined study. There were a couple of desks, lots of chairs, deep sofas with plenty of cushions, rosewood tables, and soft-glowing lamps. Windows on both sides of the room overlooked a courtyard and the darkened garden, and a brightly-lit conservatory. Panelled bookshelves filled the walls round the corners, and on the far side of the room was a fireplace, the flickering light of its yellow flames casting faint shadows across the chamber.

But it was also a very untidy room. Tom guessed that even the house-elves seldom came here. Parchments and books were piled high on floors and tables, all in a jumble. Cushions were scattered about on the floor. A table to the right held lamps and rings, and a pair of tongs to hold them with. Tom’s eyes all but popped from his head as he saw the labelled ingredients on the sunken shelves beneath the books. Caskets of Basilisk eyes and dragonstones, a diamond flask of Phoenix tears, and an apparently old and rusty helmet. An amphora was labelled gorgon’s blood, and a glass decanter Elixir of 97.

A sudden thrill went down his spine as he glanced at the chests and the curled-up rugs, the wands in a basket, a quiver of arrows, strange masks, the piles of parchment and painted canvas. The real treasures of Mountwarlock House were all here in this very room. The very air so pricked with magic that Tom was almost scared to breathe.

In the middle of the chamber a couple of wide sofas surrounded a large globe of the earth, wreathed in clouds and lightning. And just to the left, on a witchwood table, lay the ivory tube of the chronoscope. Cleopatra seemed to hesitate.

“There would be a larger picture if we went to Professor Gryme’s old study,” she said, “but I don’t think we’ve got the time.”

Despite his fear, Tom had to agree. The sky blue cloth that normally covered the chronoscope was rolled in a careless heap on the floor. “I think your father’s already used it,” Tom observed.

“He didn’t have the ring,” she replied.

He watched her kneel before the ivory tube, turning the knobs and handles to the side that served the chronometer attached, looking through the eye-piece now and again. She twirled the ring around on her finger, and then fixed her eye to the glass for some minutes. Abruptly she stood up and beckoned him over. With scarcely a moment’s hesitation, Tom took her place at the chronoscope.

“Oculamus,” she said quietly, spreading the image onto the wall.

As if he were kneeling at a Muggle telescope, he found himself looking through a short black tunnel to the very study where he’d met Cleopatra, with the books, and the fire that burned in the hearth – but the figure behind the desk was Dr. Gryme.

The professor – librarian, Tom corrected himself – was peering over the smooth flat surface of the desk, staring at the ring through a crystal eye-glass, speaking his spells. There were his hour-glass and Arithmometer, exactly as when he enchanted an object in his tower at Hogwarts castle. The ring seemed to float in the air, a little above a pool of water. Now and then the surface would ripple, and the librarian would stop, and start again.

The ring began to glow red, and then white, almost too bright for Tom to look at. Then, as his ears became attuned to the silence he began to hear the incantation, his eyes on Dr. Gryme’s moving lips, tense and strained with concentration, and he saw wrinkles appear in his professor’s face, as if the spell added years to his age.

Tom watched, enraptured, as Dr. Gryme finished his incantation, an eager, hungry light in his eyes that Tom had never seen before, waiting with his accustomed patience as the ring cooled from red to gold, flinching as he took it in his hands, and then slipped it onto his finger.

“Accio virgam,” he breathed softly, and his wand rose up and drifted towards him…

There was a deafening bang, and a flash of lightning. The window burst with a splitting and grating of glass so loud even through the chronoscope that Tom had to lift his hands to his ears as every pane splintered in a blinding flash. The librarian’s hands were streaked with blood as he hurled them up to protect his face. A rush of wind hurtled about the room. In an instant the future professor was almost covered with snow.

Books were flapping about the room as the librarian rose to his feet, shaking, but surprisingly quickly, crying above the gale in an unsteady voice: “Saeculum occulto! De omnibus occulto…!”

And the image winked out, quite suddenly. Without the slightest warning there was utter blackness. Cleopatra’s voice soft voice broke the silence.

“So that’s what happened,” she breathed softly.

“The ring, Cleopatra,” he found himself saying. “Cleopatra, you have to use the ring.”

Again without warning, the vision came back. He could see Dr. Gryme gaze about the room, one hand in the air still shielding his face, a look of horror in his eyes, as he suddenly staggered across to the fireplace, lifting his other hand as he brought came to the painting, a glint of gold on his finger.

“Saeculum occulto,” he said, very quietly, as he touched the painted surface, and at once the ring was gone. At that very same instant the wind died down. Letting his empty hand drop to his side Dr. Gryme turned to face the opening door, and the three tall figures that stood beyond.

Immediately there was another flash like lightning – but this time not within the chronoscope, but in the very room where they stood. Abruptly all the lamps went out. The fire in Lord Mountwarlock’s study blazed brilliantly with a sudden flame, and the enchanted image vanished at once, as Cleopatra released the spell with a word.

Tom sensed a presence beside him, and he turned around slowly to see a tall silhouette, standing more than seven feet high.

It was the earl.

To be continued...

* * *

Authors’ note: Please feel free to send any questions, thoughts or comments to [email protected] and [email protected]. Feedback is very much appreciated.

ETA on Chapter Six is Friday, June 21.