The Arithmancer's Apprentice

Chapter Eight

Cleopatra started when she heard Jasper’s voice, and whirled around on her heels in an instant. For a moment, she looked angry and most uncomfortable, but before she had begun to reply Jasper had turned his attention to Tom.

"So you did find my cousin after all. Who exactly are you? And who is he?" He gestured to Hagrid on the sofa.

"They’re visitors from Hogwarts," Cleo replied before Tom could open his mouth.

Jasper looked at Tom in surprise. "I thought you’d all gone back to the village."

"They had," Cleopatra answered quickly. "But they went outdoors to contact the Ministry, and couldn’t get back because of the snow."

"Then why did they come back to the house?" Jasper was puzzled.

"It was the easiest thing to do," she replied, already annoyed with his questions. "At least, Tom Riddle came back to the house – and after a long search managed to find me. Rubeus Hagrid" – she pointed to the Gryffindor lying on the sofa – "and somehow managed to reach the conservatory, where he got tangled in our enchantments."

"I don’t remember that," said Hagrid suddenly. "I don’t remember anythin’."

Jasper frowned. "What did you do to him? You should call Metheglin, quickly."

"I sent Milly to find him just now," Cleopatra said, raising her chin haughtily. "People have been in danger today, while you were playing your little game."

"But how was I to know," asked Jasper. "It’s not as if your father didn’t have it all under control. Anyway, where have you been? Phantomsby’s been looking all over the house for you. He even sent me to look as well: not even the portraits knew where you were."

"Phantomsby?" Cleopatra started. "What does he want me for?"

"I can’t remember, but he said it was urgent; and then I looked across the park and saw the three of you crossing the garden through the snow. What on earth were you doing out there?" Jasper asked with raised eyebrows.

"Rescuing visitors in distress – instead of playing Polyjuice games. But tell me, where is Phantomsby?"

There was a low cough from the door, and all four of them started, and turned to see an elderly wizard standing in the doorway.

He was a small, frail man with greying hair and a pale, thin beard, with a wand in one hand, and a slender box in the other. Tom guessed at once this was Dr. Metheglin. The wizard looked quickly round the room, and observing the giant form of Hagrid half-lying on the wide sofa he turned to the Gryffindor at once, at the same time beckoning Cleopatra. "Do you know what is wrong with him?"

Kneeling beside the old physician, Cleopatra began to speak softly. "You can put him in the Queen Adelaide wing," she said, "unless you think he needs the infirmary; but do let us know when he’s all right." Hagrid was far from steady on his feet when he stood up, dazed and apparently far too tired to even think of asking more questions, as Dr. Metheglin led him away.

"I’ll look at him upstairs, Cleopatra – you were certainly right to bring him to me. He does appear to be very weak. I wonder how long he was out in the cold."

I suppose you could call it cold,

Tom thought, half-amused. Faintly, he heard a clock chime the hour – and he realised, with a shock, that it was already past the time he had left the study. At last, he had made it back to the present. His heart almost shook with relief, but Cleopatra still seemed troubled.

"I wonder what’s happened at the Dancing Warlock," she muttered softly to herself. Jasper, however, heard what she’d said.

"You can’t go there. Phantomsby says you must go to the painted library."

"I’m sorry," she said, pushing past her cousin, "I simply don’t have time for that. Tell him I’ve gone to Papa in the village."

Jasper stepped back in front of her, blocking her way to the door once more. "You’re not going anywhere, Cleo. I could ask Hugo to pass on the message. Phantomsby will have my head if I just let you run off again."

"You don’t have any authority here yet," she replied indignantly. "I have to hear it from Phantomsby before I—"

"What do you have to hear, Cleopatra?" Tom turned his head to see Phantomsby framed in the garden door, his wand of office in his hand.

"I am pleased to have found you at last." Phantomsby's care-lined face was impassive. "I was beginning to be concerned when not even the house-elves could locate you."

"No, we're safe," she replied quickly. "And the other Hogwarts student is safe as well, now."

"So I observe. I was asked to collect both of you, so that you may be ready to meet his lordship in the painted library when he returns. The Minister for Magic is likely to be with him."

"Morton?" Jasper’s voice was in shocked surprise. "He’s invited Heriot Morton?" Recalling what Potter had said about Morton’s heavy taxation, Tom guessed that Jasper had cause to resent him.

Phantomsby frowned at Jasper. "Thank you, Jasper. You are excused."

Jasper hesitated. "Do tell me what’s going on, at least!"

"All will be explained later, but dinner will start in half an hour, and probably you will have to preside."

Cleopatra looked worried, but was careful to say nothing till Jasper had gone. "But we've got to meet Papa at the Dancing Warlock!" she replied as soon as Jasper had left. "It really is important now. He doesn't know we've saved Rubeus Hagrid. We've got him back, and he's all right – only a little tired, of course. I must tell him now. I don't think it can wait—"

"Oh, that other student? You have him back?" Phantomsby's face relaxed in relief. "Where is he now?"

"He's with Dr. Metheglin now – in the infirmary, I think. But he’s recovering... never mind how."

Phantomsby drew in a deep breath. "I did not anticipate this at all. Neither did your father, I’m sure."

"That's just my point," Cleopatra replied. "He's got to know. Persuading the parents and Hogwarts students while they’re still there at the Dancing Warlock is probably even more important than what the Daily Prophet says: they’ve all got friends and relations they can talk to. If I turn up with a rescued Tom Riddle, it would be far more convincing, you see, especially if we can tell them too that Hagrid’s recovering back at the house."

"I cannot escort you there myself," Phantomsby replied sternly. "I have to remain here in his lordship’s absence to keep an eye on the house’s enchantments – until it is certain they all are secure."

"We came all the way from the village safely, with all that wind and snow as well – we can surely go back now it’s almost gone," Cleopatra said as she moved to the door, and motioning Tom to come with her. "Papa has let me guide others around the grounds before, and the snow has stopped – it's melting now."

Phantomsby hesitated, apparently weighing the choices in his mind, and nodded quickly. Cleopatra took her chance. "Thank you," she said gratefully, and opened the door again. With a last nod at Phantomsby, Tom followed her out of the house.

Well, at least it’s not snowing

, he thought, as he climbed the steps back up to the garden. The heavens had darkened once again with the second but true dusk of that evening, but the clouds had all but vanished too, and the stars were creeping up the sky as the shadows lengthened on the plain of melting snow. Far from being cold, now it was strangely warm outside, and the night flowers by the walls of the house filled the air with a fragrant scent. Tom, however, paid scant attention to the beautiful scenery round him. He was practical by nature, and they were in a hurry. "Do you mean to walk?" he asked.

"There isn’t any other way," Cleopatra replied, looking around as if to check that none of Jasper’s friends were in sight. "We have our own sort of Floo network within the house, but Papa will have closed it this afternoon, so we might as well walk directly. After all, it will take us almost as long to get to the cellar where that fresco is – the one that goes to the Dancing Warlock."

"I suppose the quickest way would be by broomstick."

"You forget, I don’t know how to fly one, and I don’t suppose you’ve ridden winged horses." She laughed mischievously as she added, "Of course, I could summon a griffin instead…"

"I think we’ll walk," said Tom abruptly.

"But at least the weather’s as it should be – it isn’t dangerous to be out any more."

"Thank goodness," Tom agreed fervently, turning his head to look about him. They were walking south along the west front of Mountwarlock Park, a jumble of older grey stone buildings, with buttresses and pointed arches, and windows in the upper walls. Behind him, the nearest glass dome of the Great Conservatory glinted in the fading dusk. To the right, the snow-covered lawns of the park curled up into the frozen hills.

Only the ghosts will be disappointed,

he thought to himself. To judge by the one I met in the library, I think they rather liked the change.

He thought about what it would mean for himself. His attempt to take the ring for Gryme had almost ended in disaster, and for hours he had thought of little else but escaping free and unexpelled. Now it looked as though his troubles were over. Hagrid was restored to life, and his own attempted theft of the ring appeared to be forgiven and forgotten. In fact, the only real result of this escapade was a new acquaintance (albeit, an odd one) with the Mountwarlock family– and possibly with Heriot Morton as well. Could this be of use to him?

After a minute, he observed thoughtfully, "I’m very grateful your father decided to keep so much of this concealed. If he’d told the whole truth it could have been very bad for me – and especially bad for Professor Gryme."

Cleopatra glanced at him, with a half-smile. "Yes, that had occurred to me, too. Mind you, I don’t think Papa believes that truth and the Ministry of Magic mix very well. Casting truth before the Ministry’s a saying of his, and the less anyone knows about that ring the better. The last thing we want is for Ministry people to start to think of us as a threat."

"But your protective enchantments aren’t at all dangerous normally, are they? Only when everything was thrown into chaos because of the ring – and that wasn’t normal at all."

Cleopatra nodded.

"Then Scamander really doesn’t have a chance, does he? If this sort of thing hardly ever happens at all?"

"But we can’t explain about the ring – and so the Ministry of Magic will go on believing that this sort of thing does happen here for some unknown reason, every decade or so, perhaps."

"But does it matter what they think? This whole neighbourhood’s immune from their control."

Cleopatra turned towards him, as if trying to work out what to say. "You know how immunities like ours began? How we managed before there was a Warlocks’ Council and a Ministry of Magic?"

Tom tried to think back to the lectures of Professor Binns. "People didn’t bother so much about hiding what we do from Muggles."

"Well – they did take a fair bit of trouble, but there wasn’t a Ministry to do it for them, so they had to do it all themselves. Families like ours quietly ran their own affairs, and gave protection to the less important wizards who settled in villages nearby. Wizarding England was all immunities – we were merely one of hundreds."

"But yours is the only one to survive."

"Yes, we’re the only one left in England. Eventually, wizarding Britain had to get more organised, to stop rogue wizards and goblin rebellions, and to keep ourselves secret from Muggles as well. So a lot of old and powerful families combined to create the Warlock’s Council."

"Except of course," said Tom, "for the Mountwarlocks."

"Yes. We retained our local authority, but in return we don’t have the power within the Ministry of some other families still do: the Crouches, the Weatherills and the De Veres – the Mortons… and even the Malfoys too, I suppose: they seem to have tentacles everywhere..." Her voice drifted off for a moment, before she continued.

"When the Warlock’s Council became the Ministry it bullied those who remained outside, or bought them off, and closed their immunities, one by one.

"They left ours alone as it’s magically different, full of enchantments they don’t understand. And of course, it’s also by far the most populous. The reason the Ministry’s held off so long is not because we have influence with them, but because they’re afraid if they tried to take over the end result could come back to haunt them. And we do have allies – there are some old families that would support us. And if we do need more vigorous help, usually we can simply buy it – not that Papa says that’s quite reliable."

"And what about the Minister of Magic?" Tom asked curiously. He’d spoken to the Minister himself not much more than hour ago – and he’d seemed to be well disposed to Tom. "How does he look upon your family?"

To his surprise, her gaze darkened. "Papa has never much cared for Morton. Of course, we have to be civil, you know – he is the Minister of Magic." She waved her hand absently. "You’ll know more than I do about him, perhaps, and his campaign against Dark Wizards. He forced us into the war against Grindelwald, when I’m sure we could have avoided it – certainly before we were ready – and when Grindelwald started to take revenge Morton put the blame on his enemies. He’s actually very popular now."

Tom nodded in agreement. He was only too aware of the Minister’s determination to destroy Dark Wizards everywhere, whatever the cost and chance of success, and what Cleopatra had said was perfectly plausible. On the other hand, she was not unbiased. "And they’ve given the Ministry all sorts of new powers," he added, voicing a common thought in Slytherin, "not that anyone really minds. Most people want them to have more control, now that Grindelwald’s fighting back. It means more safety and protection."

"Yes, things are changing very fast. There’s even talk of censoring the Prophet. You know, I’ve heard people say at dinner that the Ministry wanted this all along from the start – that Grindelwald was just an excuse. Although … perhaps they’re being unfair. Grindelwald has done some dreadful things. It isn’t all lies in the Prophet, you know."

Tom was not quite sure about that, from things Professor Gryme had let slip – and besides, what Grindelwald had done to Muggles was almost nothing compared to what the Muggles were doing now to themselves. He forced himself back to the subject. "If the Ministry wants control everywhere, then Steeple Warlock is all that’s left."

"It isn’t just control he wants. Morton wants revenue too for the war, which means the beasts on our estate, and Papa thinks what he’d really like is certain rare items in our treasury – but I expect it’s taken him by surprise, and… well, I don’t think he likes surprises."

This time Tom did not reply, but followed Cleopatra as she quickened her pace. They passed the long south front of the house – the terraces there were already clear of snow – and they crossed the stream by a narrow bridge that led them into a kitchen garden. It was enormous, with high walls all round it to keep out the wind, but when Cleopatra opened the door they both gasped at the devastation. Whole fruit trees lay on their sides, stripped of their leaves, shrubs and plants in jumbled heaps of uprooted vegetation. The melting snow had formed a swamp, whose wide puddles shone pale and ghostly in the light of their wands and the fading dusk. Tom followed Cleopatra in silence, as they threaded their way by the ravaged paths through a door in the wall and down some steps, until they reached the cobbled courtyard and the yellow lights of the Dancing Warlock.

Here in the village the snow still lay thick, although it was no longer falling. The pale stars shone in the darkening sky. As they approached the steps to the great front door, they could see a whole crowd of people inside through the huge south window of the banqueting hall. Children were sitting round the fire, some looking nervous; several were accompanied by their parents. The Dancing Warlock’s local clients watched in fascinated silence, and right by the window Tom could see the tall figure of Lord Mountwarlock himself, deceptively calm among the group of stern and dark-robed Ministry officials.

Tom was about to climb the steps but Cleopatra stopped him with a gesture.

"Don’t you have any sense of theatre?"

"Theatre?" he whispered back. "Theatre, at a time like this?"

"I mean we can’t go in just like that, without a clue about what they’ve been saying. Our entrance must be choreographed, perfectly timed for just the right moment."

"Oh. Of course."

I should have thought of that myself.

He followed her up the well-worn steps and through the narrow kitchen door, by which he had left the inn just two hours before.

The smell of roasted meats from the kitchen made him hungry again, but he ignored it. To his right were the steps to the children’s attics. A warm draught of air from the great fire in the banqueting hall wafted down the passage to meet them. They stopped at the low arched beam behind the opening into the hall, and peered out at the assembled company. Hidden as they were in the shadows, no one glimpsed their presence.

It was uncommonly like a theatre, Tom thought. On three sides of the fire in the middle sat the Dancing Warlock’s guests, including all the Hogwarts children, grouped into houses by anxious prefects, who, it seemed, had just finished counting them. In front of them, on a raised dais like a sort of stage, sat the innkeeper, two Hogwarts professors and several officials from the Ministry of Magic. At a smaller table not far from the window the Earl of Mountwarlock silently sat, in full sight of everyone. Across that same table sat Heriot Morton, the Minister of Magic himself. The firelight danced on his scarlet robes.

Tom could hear several voices at once.

"It’s just the two of them missing, Professor," a prefect’s voice spoke to Olga Tempera.

"—And I know what I saw in the conservatory," Scamander’s nasal voice replied angrily. "And on top of that, Kray confirms it."

Tom and Cleopatra crept to the archway into the common room, and lurked there in the doorway. No one observed their arrival at all.

Lord Mountwarlock did not answer Scamander at once, but Heriot Morton did. "I do not think Mr. Scamander here could have been so completely mistaken. Is it possible that one of the students may have wandered off, and rejoined the group afterwards?"

"I suppose it is possible," Gryme conceded, "however…"

"Well, if anyone did then I’ll bet it was Rubeus," interrupted de Courteney, "He did want to see that Hydra again – and he was a bit funny when he got back here." Tempera hushed him with a look.

"There? You see, even the child’s companions say that this would be in character for him—"

"He didn’t have time to do it, Mr. Scamander," Olga Tempera was as angry as Tom had ever seen her. "I spoke to him several times after lunch, and saw him myself go through the painting. Did anyone else see Rubeus Hagrid?"

A sea of hands rose from Gryffindor tables, and a few from the Slytherins’ too.

"I quite agree," said Lord Mountwarlock, "that while he does seem to fit the description, he simply had no time to do it."

"That is my point precisely, Lord Mountwarlock," Professor Gryme added decisively, "It is difficult to see how any of our students could have been in the Lotus House at the time Mr. Scamander claims to have seen them, because they were already on their way through to the inn. I counted them all as they passed through the cellar."

Scamander gave Gryme a suspicious, appraising glance. "I am not convinced about that at all. I am not even entirely persuaded that you are being frank with us in your assertion about those two students going ‘bravely’ off to assure the Ministry of their safety. Certainly not one of them reached us."

"But I did receive that call from that boy – Tom Riddle, yes?" Morton said, and Professor Gryme nodded. "And the other one did have a motive too, as Crabbe here says he spoke to him." He looked a little dubiously at the dim-witted wizard that Tom had spoken to before. "And it was a very Gryffindor thing to do. You say that you gave him detention, Gryme? Well, you’ll have been under a great deal of pressure today, but I fear that may have been unwise. He may have taken it rather badly, and perhaps it resolved him to play the hero. No, I do believe these students are genuinely lost, and we shall have to wait on the search parties to find them. Scamander may well have seen other children – have you counted your guests yet perhaps, Lord Mountwarlock?"

"Most of the house-elves and both of my Aurors are searching the village at this moment – and the menagerie, just in case," the earl replied seriously. "My entire household is on the alert. But Heriot, that theory won’t work either. Not one of my guests fits the description we’ve just heard from Newt Scamander. Besides, they were all present at luncheon, which is when I sent you to the hothouse, Scamander. I very much doubt there would have been time."

"Then it seems that we’re left with some unknown intruders…"

Tom looked up at Cleopatra, who smiled back with a certain excitement. "Timing," he said, "is everything."

They dashed onto the dais above the great hall, and everyone fell silent at once. "Papa," Cleopatra said, lifting her chin proudly, "I’ve found the missing students. This is one of them." She gestured at Tom. "The other’s recovering in the infirmary."

All eyes were on Tom and Cleopatra. Lord Mountwarlock appeared to be both startled, and he raised his eyebrows, as if he were seeking an explanation. Morton looked from Cleopatra to the earl, and said, "This is your daughter, I presume?"

"That is correct," Lord Mountwarlock answered. "Precisely what has happened, Cleopatra?"

Before she could say anything in reply, Heriot Morton spoke to Tom, appreciation in his voice.

"And you must be Tom Riddle," he said.

"Yes, I am, sir," Tom said quietly. "The wind was too high – I got lost when I left the telephone box – so I made my way to the house instead, where I found Lady Cleopatra."

"And what about this other boy? Rubeus Hagrid, did you say?"

"We – I mean, Lady Cleopatra found him."

"I was worried that someone else might be out in the snow, when I heard Tom Riddle’s story, so before I came to find you, Papa, I decided to check the lanes outside – just in case there was anyone else – and then the gardens near the house. I borrowed your eyeglass for that," she added. Morton stared with deep interest as she passed the monocle to her father.

"I’ve met Aurors who’d have given a real eye for a lens like that," he murmured, and then turned to Cleopatra. "So you found him out in the snow?"

"He had been out in the snow," she continued, without the slightest hesitation in her voice, and Tom was very impressed at just how convincingly she could lie. "He tried to get to the house as well, but crossed the stream to far to the north. He got as far as the great conservatory. He’d been lost in the storm for over an hour, and badly affected too by the cold, so we let him recover with Dr. Metheglin. Then Phantomsby told us we’d find you here." She paused a moment for dramatic effect. "I think he was a bit delirious – his memory was quite confused, but he certainly tried to tell us something about having to let them know at the Unicorn that all the Hogwarts party were safe."

"But is he safe himself?" asked the earl.

"He is now," Cleopatra said proudly, with just a hint of a grin on her face. "He was a bit confused, as I said, when I handed him over to Dr. Metheglin – I think he was a long time out in the snow – but we were in time to save him, Papa."

Mountwarlock shook his head briefly, and Tom guessed at once that the earl was trying to work out what she’d left unsaid. Not that he could question her now, in the presence of some two hundred people.

Scamander was watching Tom with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to place him, and Tom squirmed with anxiety. Does he recognise me? For a moment he thought Scamander had, but a few seconds later the magizoologist looked away, apparently satisfied he had not seen Tom before. Of course, I’m not covered with blood any more, and my robes aren’t torn to shreds either, as they were when he rescued me in the conservatories...

"That’s very well done indeed, Cleopatra," the earl replied after a moment’s thought. "Especially by thinking to check the village in case there was anyone lost outside. You may have prevented a tragic accident. I must say that you and … Tom Riddle here are about the only people I can think of that came really well out of what happened today." He turned at once to Newt Scamander, and his voice grew suddenly harsher, more angry. "It seems that the rumours you spread in these last few hours, far from saving the lives of the students, instead only served to put them in danger – and if it had not been for my daughter’s foresight, might well have let one to freeze to his death."

Scamander made as if to interrupt, but thought better of it as Lord Mountwarlock continued, in a voice that reached across the fire to the other side of the hall. "But you know, there’s something I don’t understand. If you really believed there were students in desperate danger, a hundred and fifty unsupervised children wandering about among man-eating beasts or dying of cold out in the snow… well, if you believed there was no time to alert me, then why did you waste precious minutes in order to contact your friends at the Ministry? The inn was full of wizards who’d only have been too happy to help – if you’d told them – who were right beside you, not down in London. You arrived at three o’clock or so at the Black Unicorn – I understand you were lost in the storm. Why didn’t you tell the landlord, Mundungus? Why didn’t you tell anyone there at the inn? If there was really no time to lose, why did you only call on those in London, who would take some minutes to Apparate in? Or was the children’s safety in fact less important to you than attempting to remove my ancient privilege? So much so that they could be left in danger while you attempted to contact London..." He paused at the furious look on Scamander’s face. "I’m not accusing you, Scamander – I’m just saying that’s how it looks."

He’s got him

, Tom thought, half in wonderment. More than one of the Ministry wizards were staring with new speculation at Scamander, and one of them started to edge his chair away. Even Morton did not reply, perhaps because if Scamander’s reputation were stained, he would not wish his own to be tarred with it. For a moment, the room was completely silent, except for the crackling of the fire.

It was impressive the way Newt Scamander recovered, aware that every eye was upon him.

"I very nearly did," he began. "I believed I had seen someone leave the conservatory, you have to understand, and when I went outside to search in the snow the storm came on fast, and I was lost. When I learned where I was and came to the inn – I knew I would not make it back to the house – my first intention was to ask there for help."

"Why didn’t you?" asked Lord Mountwarlock.

"To begin with the place was half full of Muggles – and the wizards there were locals – none of them Ministry professionals. If we had to rescue children from monsters, I preferred to come back with wizards who knew what they were about. I was scared that amateurs would get in the way – or even, perhaps, be injured themselves."

"You could at least have asked them, though. Not all the help you called was professional. I only recognise two Aurors here in this company – precisely the number I employ in the Steeple Warlock immunity myself."

"It is understandable that a parent would wish to help, whatever the danger," Newt Scamander replied stiffly, "and, moreover, it is their right. Nor were they unprofessional - all Ministry officials have a certain competence. But as for the local wizards there – I feared they simply would not believe me. At the least, I would be delayed in argument, and at worst, they would hinder me from calling professionals in from the Ministry. The Floo network here was all but down, and any delay, I feared, would have stopped me from calling in time for the help I needed – which might be the children’s only chance." There was an urgency in his voice that made Tom guess he was telling the truth – or, at least, a part of the truth.

"You must believe me about that," he said.

"Well," said Lord Mountwarlock, pondering as he turned his gaze from Scamander. "We’ll say it was an honest mistake. At least, we’ll talk about it later. Since everyone from Hogwarts is now accounted for, perhaps we can leave you now in peace." He raised his voice and addressed the crowd of children. "As for you, my guests from Hogwarts, I deeply regret that your tour was cut short, and all the troubles that you have been put through. If Mr. Harker here judges it safe, we’ll see you at breakfast up at the house, perhaps. But if you, Minister, along with Scamander, Harker, Gryme and" – he glanced at Tom and Cleopatra – "the children in question can accompany me now back to the house, I would certainly like to speak to you, in … somewhat more private surroundings. Professor Tempera – I’d invite you too for supper, but for the moment, of course, you’ll be needed here."

"Hear, hear," said a wizard who came with Scamander. "I came when they told me my daughter’s life was in very great danger. Now that it seems it was all a mistake, most of us will want to go home – or back to the Ministry. And yes, there’s no point in you debating everything in front of half the school – and every other guest in this room."

"I should think not," sniffed Newt Scamander. "And I want to see the missing student for myself – and identify him."

A sudden realisation dawned on Tom of just how clever Lord Mountwarlock had been. By effectively accusing him of using the children’s safety as a cover for his own political aims, he had made it very difficult for Scamander to renew his attack, in public at least, without reopening that very question in the minds of his thirty Ministry colleagues. Although in Tom’s own private opinion, Scamander had been brave enough already, to threaten the earl as he had, within the bounds of his own immunity.

"Of course," Lord Mountwarlock answered politely, not a trace of the anger he must surely be feeling apparent in his expression or voice. Morton and Harker exchanged glances, and together with Gryme they murmured agreement.

The earl made a movement to get up from the table, and Scamander asked in surprise. "Surely you don’t expect us to walk out in that storm—" He looked out the window with sudden astonishment. "The snow has stopped."

"Of course it has; it will melt by tomorrow morning. The enchantments are righting themselves already. As I explained, Mr. Scamander, this was only a temporary problem." He paused. "However, I did anticipate that several of us would return to the house after this meeting, and arranged a Portkey to take us back."

Morton nodded with approval. "In that case, we should go at once."

Lord Mountwarlock rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, Cleopatra, place your hands on this table…" A moment later he tapped it with his wand. For a moment Tom felt the strange distortion of the local enchantments he had sensed in Mountwarlock’s study, and quite suddenly there was blackness …

They were standing in a library, warm and comfortable, with white and gold panels above the bookshelves, in what Tom guessed was the family wing. The ceiling of plaster and painted panels was lower than the one in the golden library; the room was not as long, and was far more intimate. At a gesture from the earl they made themselves comfortable on a group of sofas near the fire. A few seconds later Phantomsby joined them.

Scamander, still standing, was the first to speak. "I really must see the boy at once." Away once more from his Ministry colleagues, he seemed to have recovered his confidence. "I think that should be your first concern."

"I assure you, it is," Lord Mountwarlock said, rather tightly. "Please instruct Metheglin, Phantomsby, to come here at once and show us the boy Cleopatra rescued."

Phantomsby rose and left the room. Then Cleopatra spoke up suddenly: "You know, even if they do recognize him, Papa, I’m afraid it’s not a guarantee it was Rubeus Hagrid that Mr. Scamander and Mr. Kray saw earlier. Certain… young people from Durmstrang Institute played Polyjuice Poker straight after lunch, and they are quite capable of impersonating students – the Hogwarts crowd probably left bits of hair all over the conservatories where they had lunch. There should be laws about access to Polyjuice Potion: that game ought to be banned, you know."

Scamander stared at her, speculation in his eyes. "I see," he said, somewhat blandly; he looked as though he wanted to reprimand her for speaking out of turn, but he couldn’t, of course, in Lord Mountwarlock’s presence. The earl bore a faintly amused expression. Harker and Morton both looked thoughtful.

Phantomsby returned with his usual swiftness. Dr. Metheglin followed, a worried look on his face. "I understand you wish to see Rubeus Hagrid?" he asked the company.

"We do indeed. It’s only to identify him, but it is a matter of some importance," the earl replied. After a moment Metheglin nodded.

"He’s sleeping at the moment, my lord – he was dazed when your daughter brought him to me – but with a good night’s rest – and no stress at all – I’m certain he’ll recover quickly."

Hagrid’s chamber was not far away, and Tom wondered if this was deliberate – unless Lord Mountwarlock had some means of magically twisting the doors in his house so that they sometimes led somewhere else, as could happen at times in Hogwarts. The physician led them to Hagrid’s bedroom, with a gesture to indicate they should be quiet; Tom and Cleopatra hung back near the door, but they could see that he certainly seemed a great deal better, in a doubtless magically induced sleep.

"This is indeed the student I saw," Scamander admitted – somewhat grudgingly, Tom thought.

"And he is certainly Rubeus Hagrid," Professor Gryme added mildly.

"I must say, it is a little odd that the very student who later gets lost is the one whose hair is chosen for Polyjuice Potion," mused the Minister. "But they did say at the inn he was always hanging back behind the rest – so I suppose it might have been easier for someone following to take a hair from him than from one of the others."

"But at least he is safe, and his alibi holds," Lancelot Harker pointed out. "All of the students are accounted for. You’ve seen that for yourself now, Newt."

"Yes," Scamander admitted, as they backtracked into the previous room. "So all the children are safe at last. Well, I’m glad of that. That doesn’t eliminate the fact that only a few hours ago they were in great danger – albeit not as great as I thought...

"In fact, I would have not found any of my actions necessary had it not been for the sudden chaos that befell the magic here. It was a threat to everyone, myself included, but especially for the children! And had it not been for this disarray, those two boys would never have even seen the need to wander off in the storm themselves, to alert everyone of their safety."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Scamander," Morton said. "This entire immunity became quite hazardous – we can’t have this sort of thing happening again."

"You must remember, gentlemen, this is not a normal occurrence at all. Far from it. And furthermore, everything has righted itself, within hours, in fact – and if you look back, we’ve been remarkably free of magical catastrophes," the earl argued logically. "The menagerie here has never harmed anyone – unlike the Ministry’s zoo in London."

There was an awkward pause.

"But the reasons behind the unexpected breakdown are still a mystery, aren’t they?" observed Harker.

Lord Mountwarlock hesitated. "It is… extremely unusual, yes."

"Well, whatever the reason, if you cannot control this, and if it is at all likely to happen again, then your must ask for the Ministry’s help," Scamander said stubbornly. "Wouldn’t you agree, Minister?"

"It is a consideration," Morton said gravely. "At one point I greatly feared there’d be a permanent storm in the middle of England, which could make the Confederation of Warlocks view us as an even worse threat than Grindelwald. We couldn’t have kept it hid from the Muggles, you see." He paused to give emphasis to his words. "I even wondered if I should try to give a hint to the Muggle Prime Minister! Perhaps it was just as well that I didn’t; he was drunk at the time."

"Well, the peculiar thing is," Lord Mountwarlock replied calmly, "that this sort of breakdown in the enchantments is exactly like a protective reaction. Until now it has only occurred when Mountwarlock Park has been under very severe attack. What worries me, even more than the supposed danger that my immunity has posed, is that the cause of all this was (I suspect) an attack from the outside – from Grindelwald or one in his camp."

There was a long silence. Tom wondered if putting the blame on Grindelwald was all that the earl was trying to do. He had in fact just told the Ministry that if they ever did attempt to seize his immunity, they could expect a continuous hurricane in the east midlands – one they could never keep hid from the Muggles. This would undoubtedly bring intervention from the Confederation of Warlocks. Harker shifted nervously and shot Morton a puzzled glance. "Surely you don’t think Grindelwald would attack here? What kind of strategy—?"

"It has been known to happen before," the earl continued. "Dark Wizards have often attempted intrusion because a number of our possessions are extremely tempting – and would be perilous in the wrong hands. But did it occur to you, gentlemen, that this could even be a diversion? Grindelwald is cunning – is it possible that he might have used this incident as a ploy, to lure your wizards here, and the Minister too, while he himself planned another assault?"

"That’s ridiculous," Scamander said at once, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If there were another attack, we would have heard of it by now, and furthermore, how would Grindelwald know that the enchantments would cause such a stir?"

"Yes, how?" answered Lord Mountwarlock. "Unless nothing was left to chance, even the children in danger – if he’d planned the attack to occur the very day the children were here. One chance in three hundred and sixty five – I can’t believe that’s a simple coincidence."

"But why hasn’t he attacked then?" Morton asked, but now with a certain doubt in his voice.

"I wonder about that myself," replied the earl. "I can only presume that the plan was called off, thanks to the initiative of this young gentleman. Thirty wizards were just a start. If Tom here hadn’t got through with his call, you might have sent in Aurors yourself – regardless of the legality, am I correct?"

"Yes. It was a nightmare, Lord Mountwarlock. My officials were in a state of panic: thirty colleagues had disappeared, their families alarmed and distraught; a hundred and fifty wizarding children were lost without trace and perhaps in danger. No way of contacting you at all to confirm or deny anything..." He trailed off, and was suddenly thoughtful. "I see your meaning. The pressure to send help had become overwhelming, and if I had been compelled to give way, before you had brought the magic back under control…"

"…London itself would have been in danger, with your Aurors trapped here until it was too late: trapped, and very possibly killed, if they had attempted to storm the house. The magic responds violently to intruders. You may have been only saved from disaster by the initiative of young Tom Riddle. He may well deserve an Order of Merlin."

Tom blinked in surprise – and silent amusement.

"We don’t know that there was even a plan of attack," interrupted Scamander, "much less a diversion."

"Oh, but I believe there was – though not only a short-term diversion such as you mean. Did it occur to you that had you followed through with your planned interventions, that you could very well have been killed? That maybe you were meant to be killed? I think you were a dupe, Scamander," Lord Mountwarlock said softly.

Newt Scamander had paled considerably. "I don’t exactly follow," he said stiffly.

"If any Ministry wizards had been killed attempting to rescue their children from here by my enchantments, there would have been a chorus demanding my blood – and you, Heriot, would have been compelled to attack me here. Our people would have been deeply divided – and we’d bid goodbye to any war on Grindelwald."

By the shock and dawning realisation that appeared on Morton’s face it was clear that he was very disturbed by the thought. "And if you had decided not to resist?" he asked.

"Then the International Confederation of Warlocks would have intervened, hit-wizards and all, as the magic slid out of control in my absence. Muggles finding out about us is the one thing that ever seems to get them to do anything – they couldn’t even bring themselves to expel Grindelwald himself from their number till things came to a head the year before last." There was open contempt in his voice as he said this, and Tom saw by the expression on Morton’s face this argument really had struck home.

"But how on earth would Grindelwald know I’d invite thirty Ministry wizards here; and how was he to know that those spoiled brats from Durmstrang Institute would play around with Polyjuice Potion!" Scamander said heatedly.

"And struggle with a Laernian Hydra? To be honest, I rather doubt they did!"

The whole company stared at Lord Mountwarlock. Tom was as startled as any of them.

But that’s our alibi!

If they don’t think it’s Jasper they’ll guess it was us!

There was a low cough from the doorway. Tom turned his head to see Phantomsby. "My lord," he said, "Mr. Harvey Lunchington has arrived – of the Daily Prophet; he insists upon seeing you as soon as is practical."

"Well," the earl said, a wry smile creeping across his mouth, "you might as well show him in, eh? I’m sure he’s bound to be seeking out interviews with the rest of you gentlemen soon, anyway. Wait a moment, though, Phantomsby."

Scamander frowned. "I believe I’ve spoken quite enough with Harvey Lunchington for one day."

If Scamander was reluctant, Tom was horrified. Lunchington will remember me – he knows I was in the Black Unicorn! Any sense of relief Tom had felt was buried under a new rush of anxiety. What would the Prophet’s journalist say, when he saw Tom and Scamander in the same room, and learned after all that Tom was from Hogwarts? He most certainly would have a great many questions – and Scamander and Morton would have even more. He supposed he could produce a theory that he’d missed the phone when he first went out and had made his way to the Black Unicorn (and stayed for a while out of curiosity) but Lunchington would ask in return why he had pretended that he was from Durmstrang. Would unwillingness to be caught bending rules be reason enough for such a deception? Tom knew he was good at extemporising plausible explanations – but for this he would need more time to think.

Lord Mountwarlock’s voice interrupted his thoughts. "And, I think it is time that you two children were excused. You both have been extremely helpful. Phantomsby, if you would please escort them upstairs and arrange for Mr. Riddle’s belongings to be brought to the house from the Dancing Warlock. Have a house-elf take him to one of the guestrooms. Then you may show Lunchington in."

"Very good, my lord," Phantomsby answered, and beckoned the two children to follow. Tom was divided in his mind between relief that he would not face Harvey Lunchington, and deep unease that he would not know what else they were going to say – until, of course, it was far too late.

He voiced his concerns to Cleopatra in an undertone as they followed Phantomsby. She shook her head. "I shouldn’t worry – Papa won’t let Lunchington ruin our story. He wouldn’t have invited him in if he was at all worried by that."

Cleopatra’s reasoning made sense, but did not quite dispel his doubts. Why on earth had the earl abruptly decided to withdraw the blame from his Durmstrang guests? He did not get the chance to say more, because Phantomsby stopped to ring a bell, and a house-elf, robed in a liveried tea towel emblazoned with the Mountwarlock arms, suddenly appeared before them.

"Cleopatra, please go on to your chamber," Phantomsby said. Cleopatra nodded. "Good night," she said quietly. "And don’t worry at all – everything will be all right." She sounded confident enough, in appearance, but Tom was not entirely convinced. He looked away from her retreating figure as Phantomsby turned to face him at last.

"Arta will take you up to your room," he said, and then he paused for a moment. "Your luggage from the Warlock will shortly be there. Ring the bell for all that you need. And you needn’t be anxious about Harvey Lunchington." He actually smiled at Tom’s surprise. "I think I know what his lordship will say." With a gesture to point him towards the house-elf he turned and disappeared from the room.

The house-elf was surprisingly quiet, as he led Tom through a series of chambers, and finally up some narrow stairs, and into a pleasant tapestried bedroom whose windows looked south over the garden towards the lake. "Lumos," he said as he turned from the window, and the candelabra burst into flame, bathing the furnishings in a soft golden light. He sat on the bed to calm his nerves; comfortable as this chamber was, he thought, he did not believe he’d be able to sleep. He’d had a strenuous twenty-hour day, but the recovery potions had filled him with energy, and there was far too much to think about.

The house-elf returned a moment later with a steaming potion in a goblet, which he handed to Tom with a bow and a flourish. "My lord is wanting you to drink this," the house-elf explained with another bow, and Tom took the glass from him with murmured thanks. Another recovery potion, I’ll bet, Tom supposed, although it tasted a great deal better.

He realised, as soon as he had finished, and his eyes began to blink, that it wasn’t a recovery potion at all. It was a Sleeping Draught instead. In a matter of seconds, it had taken effect, and all his concerns disappeared from his mind as he fell back on the canopied bed and drifted into a dreamless slumber.

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 Nine is Saturday, July 6.