Harry Potter and the Crystal Fire

Chapter 09: Let The Games Begin

Still a bit stunned, Harry walked out the castle doors and toward the Quidditch pitch, Ron on one side of him and Ginny on the other. Harry knew they were beaming at him, just as they had been since Professor McGonagall had cornered him in the Entrance Hall after lunch. Part of him wished they'd stop grinning. Harry's plan to ease Katie into accepting the position of Captain of Quidditch had backfired catastrophically. Katie had been sitting in the Common Room, poring over the notes he had written during Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Professor McGonagall, walking through the Common Room in search of a student with a detention coming, had caught sight of the parchment and stopped in her tracks. She had apparently recognised the messy handwriting as Harry's. It was the only explanation Harry could think of for her tracking him down in the Entrance Hall and informing him of her decision.

"I can't believe this," Harry said, an unsettling combination of dread, anticipation, and anxiety making his stomach clench. "She had to go and be nosy, didn't she?"

Ginny laughed. "Well, Harry, you have to admit that it was coming down to the wire for choosing a captain, wasn't it? And Katie really, really didn't want to have anything to do with it." She thought for a moment, frowning. "Though she did destroy my plan altogether, which was to have you and Ron co-captain the team."

Harry felt some of his anxiety fade as Ron's ears turned red while he tried desperately not to look too pleased. "Don't think I didn't suggest it to McGonagall," Harry said. "I mean, after all, who's the best strategist we know?"

Ron, if possible, turned even more red. Ginny and Harry shared a grin behind Ron's back.

"She didn't go for it, then?" Ginny asked lightly.

"Only because she won't allow co-captains. It's all or nothing," Harry explained gloomily. "Don't know how it's going to be, though. She might have given us a little time to work out a plan before coming up with a surprise like this. I mean, it's trials today."

Ron shrugged, though he still looked pleased about having been considered for captain at all. "Well, we'll figure out something. We're a team, aren't we?" he asked. Ginny nodded.

Harry grinned. The day suddenly seemed brighter. Moments before, he'd believed the whole season would turn out to be a disaster. Now, walking out into the grounds with his Firebolt over his shoulder and two of his best friends on either side of him, he thought they just might have a shot at the Quidditch Cup for a second year running.

Of course, he thought later, they'd only have a shot at the Cup again if they could manage to find at least two Beaters and a Chaser. After an hour of trials, the Gryffindor team was no closer to complete than it had been two weeks ago, on the Hogwarts Express. As Harry considered his options, leaning on his Firebolt and watching the hopefuls flying around with varying degrees of skill, he saw six Gryffindor second- and third-years heading toward the pitch. He caught Ron's attention and nodded toward the younger students. Ron turned his head to look, and grinned.

"Oh, look," Ron said, quietly enough so that only Harry could hear him, "it's part of the Harry Potter fan club."

Harry looked closer, and realised that Ron was right. Dennis Creevey, followed by several of his friends, was near the front of the group. Two of them Harry recognised as third-years who had asked him about joining the DA Club. Those two, at least, were already tall and looked strong. It was, Harry supposed, too much to hope that they could fly well and swing a Beater's bat without knocking themselves unconscious. Still, his eyes met Ron's, and he knew Ron was hoping the very same thing.

"Hullo, Harry," Dennis Creevey said, beaming up at Harry. "I might have found you some Beaters, unless you've already found some," he continued cheerfully, as though good Beaters were popping out from under every tree and rock. Harry felt every eye swivel to rest upon him.

"Well, everyone who wants one gets a chance to give it a try, don't they?" Harry managed, and heard more than one sigh of relief. As people turned their gazes back to whatever they'd been looking at before Dennis had asked his question, Harry felt like sighing with relief, too.

Dennis and his friends glanced at each other, and broke out into huge smiles.

"I'm Will Martin," said the tall, blond-haired boy, who Harry had already met in the Common Room last week. Harry grinned at him.

"And I'm Zach Martin," the tall, dark-haired boy said. "We're brothers, not that you'd know it to look at us. We tried for the team last year, but we were too small and we didn't fly well enough," he said candidly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron give a tiny nod of agreement.

"Well, we got bigger over the past year, didn't we?" Will asked matter-of-factly, "And we practised all summer long. Got a lot better than we had been, anyway," he added, and shrugged.

"Right," Zach agreed. "And we're sorry we're late, Harry. We had to stay after Transfiguration, something to do with a little, er, accident in the Great Hall during lunch."

Harry grinned. "Not a problem. We're not in a rush or anything," he added. He and Ron watched as the Martins headed off up the pitch and joined the five or six hopefuls flying around with Katie and Ginny. Harry winced as he saw Ginny swerve to one side to avoid a collision as two of the younger students nearly flew into each other.

It was immediately clear that Zach and Will Martin could fly rings around the other hopefuls. Harry didn't know whether they could hit Bludgers worth anything, but from their flying skills alone he thought that they were likely the new Gryffindor Beaters. Ron, who had been looking rather worried as each new hopeful took his or her turn around the pitch, stared at the Martins as though they might have convinced him to hope for better than last place in the Cup standings.

Harry watched the Martins for a few more moments, then turned back to Dennis who, he suddenly noticed, was carrying his own broom. "Trying for a spot, are you, Dennis?" he asked, trying not to grin when he realised that the broom was taller than Dennis was.

"Oh! I'd love to be a Chaser, wouldn't I?" Dennis asked excitedly. "I know I'm not good enough, not really--at least, not yet," he added with a determined expression that looked oddly out of place on his elfin face, "but you're looking for Reserves, aren't you, Harry? Aren't you?"

Harry nodded, and sent Dennis on his way to the other side of the pitch with the others. Dennis beamed excitedly the entire way. He waved back at his remaining friends, mounted his broom, and kicked off from the ground. After watching Dennis fly for a few moments, Harry thought that Dennis had been right. Though he was a very good flyer, certainly as good as the Martin brothers, he was a bit too small and not quite confident enough to handle the Quaffle as well as some of the others.

"Harry, we wanted to try for Reserves, too, if you think you'll be wanting more of them," said Caitlin Moore, looking half-scared-to-death and half-excited. Harry nodded at her, including her two second-year friends in the invitation, and they all headed off down the pitch.

"Tell you what," Ron said quietly as he and Harry mounted their brooms to join Ginny and Katie in the air at the near end of the pitch. "If those Martin boys can hit Bludgers like they can fly, we might just have a shot at this," he finished.

"Spot on," Harry replied, just as quietly. "At this rate, we'll fill all of our positions and have Reserves for all of them."

"Wouldn't that be terrific," Ron said, an I-must-be-dreaming sort of look on his face. "Right. Watch out then," he added, almost casually, and Harry stepped back. Ron reached out and caught what might have been the most badly-thrown pass in history with the easy skill he'd sweated and suffered to acquire over the summer.

"Sorry, Ron!" called Dennis Creevey cheerfully. Looking at each other, Ron and Harry grinned.

It the trials had gone perfectly, they both would have been very frightened.

*

At the end of the second hour of trials, pleasantly tired and mud-spattered, Harry had thanked everyone for coming out, and had told the hopefuls that he'd be posting the team roster later that night, after the team had had a chance to confer. Chattering cheerfully, the hopefuls--mostly second- and third-years--walked with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Katie back toward the castle. It was too close to dinner to try for the baths, so they all trooped into the Great Hall together and found seats at the Gryffindor table.

It was a noisy dinner, the Great Hall ringing with laughter and excited conversations. The first Hogsmeade visit was the next day, over a whole month early, and none of the third-year-and-above students seemed to be able to speak of anything else. Rumours about the Weasley twins' new joke shop abounded. According to who told the story, Fred and George had either bought out Zonko's, driven the former owners out with a massive display of enchanted fireworks, or thrown the former owners into a Portable Swamp before Vanishing the Swamp to Antarctica. It was, Ron pointed out, quite a tribute to Fred's and George's accomplishments that all three versions of the story were held equally likely.

The last crumbs of their puddings had just disappeared away from the plates, and Ginny and Hermione were deep in conversation about which shop to visit first, when Professor Dumbledore stood. His face was uncharacteristically grave. The Great Hall quieted in moments, all eyes turning to the front of the Hall.

"I have," Dumbledore said calmly, "an announcement concerning the first Hogsmeade visit of term."

All over the Hall, the older students were staring at each other in consternation. Had the visit been canceled? Had there been another attack?

"As you all may know, Lord Voldemort has returned." Around the Great Hall, Harry saw many people wincing at Dumbledore's use of the name. There have been several attacks on Witches and Wizards over the summer, a few of them shortly before term. I have, of course, been in contact with the Ministry, and with the Minister for Magic. Between us, we have determined that while certain precautions have to be taken to ensure your safety, there is no need to cancel Hogsmeade visits at the present time."

"Oh yeah, right," Ron whispered to Harry, rolling his eyes. "I'll just bet Fudge had anything to do with that decision." Harry had to bite his lip against laughter.

"The Ministry has arranged to have Witches and Wizards patrolling Hogsmeade tomorrow while you are there," Dumbledore continued. "I have arranged to have your teachers looking out for you as well. And while I know it will be a disappointment to some of you, the visit to Hogsmeade will end precisely at noon. In order to keep you safe, the Minister and I came to the decision that it would be better to have you visit Hogsmeade twice in the autumn, for shorter periods of time, than to have you roaming about the village all day long."

The rumble of conversation rose as Dumbledore paused, but no one seemed particularly bothered by the change. As far as the students were concerned, two Hogsmeade visits were better than one. Dumbledore, who seemed to recognise this, let the noise die down naturally before continuing.

"Notices have been posted in your Common Rooms detailing the procedures and the times for the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. If you have any questions, please ask your Head of House. And I cannot stress the importance of these policies enough. Any student who does not follow them, to the letter, will be punished, and banned from all future Hogsmeade visits this year. That is all," Dumbledore said, smiling, but no one in the Hall doubted his sincerity. The students filed out of the Great Hall, conversations buzzing like bees all around them.

In the Gryffindor Common Room, most of the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh year students were standing in front of the notice board. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville worked their way to the front of the group and read the notice along with the other students.

HOGSMEADE WEEKEND TRIP, 13 SEPTEMBER

All students whose permission forms for Hogsmeade are turned in to their Head of House before leaving the castle will be allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade this Saturday, 14 September.

Students with permission to visit the village may leave the castle after breakfast on Saturday and must sign out with Mr. Filch upon leaving. Students are required to return by noon. On returning, all students must sign in again with Mr. Filch.

Ministry Wizards and Hogwarts Staff will be patrolling in Hogsmeade to ensure the safety of all students visiting the village. Further to protecting all students, the following areas are strictly out of bounds:

1. The Shrieking Shack

2. Any area outside the main village,

including the hills outside of town

Also, in order that students may be adequately protected, no student is allowed to enter any non-public building in the village for any reason whatsoever.

Any questions should be directed to your Head of House, as students disobeying these rules will be severely punished.

Cornelius Fudge Professor Albus Dumbledore

Minister for Magic Headmaster

Order of Merlin, 1^st Class Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and

Wizardry

"Not kidding around, are they?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows as he, Ginny and Neville followed Harry and Hermione away from the muttering crowd.

"They can't afford to," Hermione said wisely. "They can't afford to have anything happen to a student, now can they? I'll bet it took a lot of work for Dumbledore to get us permission for Hogsmeade anyway, once the Ministry got involved."

Remembering the chaos the Ministry had created the last time it had interfered at Hogwarts, the others nodded.

"Right, so I suppose we should get down to working out the team," Harry said, and Ron and Ginny nodded enthusiastically. They were becoming uneasy because of the hopeful looks constantly being directed their way by the students who had tried out for the Quidditch team. Harry caught Katie's eye, and Katie gestured them over to the table where she'd spread her books and things. None of them thought it was a coincidence that the table was at the extreme opposite end of the Common Room from where the hopefuls had congregated before the fire.

Sighing and dragging out a roll of parchment, Harry made a list of the hopefuls' names, Ron cast a Silencing Charm over them all, and the four of them got down to business.

*

One by one, shadowy figures appeared on the darkened street. Their hooded cloaks lit only by the barest sliver of moonlight, they seemed more mist than substance as they smoothly made their way along the road and into the tiny side garden of a tall, narrow house set far off the street. Giving a password to the magically hidden doorway at the back of the garden, they slipped inside the house one by one. As each passed the door, a rectangle of light appeared briefly in the tree-shadowed darkness, then disappeared. The weak, wavering light appeared and disappeared nine times, then night returned to the side garden.

Inside the narrow house, nine figures slid the hoods of their cloaks back and glanced around. Nicholas and Gwynne, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George, Malcolm, Alhena, and Remus Lupin all smiled at each other, then Nicholas led the way into Tristan's parlour.

Tristan's parlour, Bill decided, was very nearly as creepy as the one at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been when he and his family had first arrived there. The room was dark and gloomy, and built-in shelves fairly groaned under the weight of an odd collection of mysterious and vaguely threatening objects. None of them looked as though they were things that ought to be touched without dragon hide gloves.

Tristan looked up, his black eyes gleaming like obsidian in the dimly lit room. They stared back, all of them at a loss. All of them, that was, but Alhena. She gave Tristan an arch look and, when he did not respond, she rolled her eyes.

"Really, Tris." Her voice was stern.

Surprising the Weasleys and Remus, Tristan grinned at her. She merely raised an eyebrow. He laughed, waved his wand, and the room brightened considerably.

"Tris has an odd sense of humor," Alhena explained with a shake of her head. "Comes from being around too many vampires, I suppose. And from watching too many Muggle horror movies when he was small. He thinks it's funny to play Dracula," she added, and Tristan snorted with laughter.

"Plus, it keeps people in line. They think I'm dodgy."

"You are dodgy," Nicholas pointed out. Tristan merely raised an eyebrow at his friend. Clearly, Tristan's inclination to humor had disappeared. They all found seats or, in the twins' cases, conjured their own. After all the planning of the last month, the time had come for action.

"Hard to believe Dumbledore's just letting the lot of them into the village, what with the attacks and all." Uncharacteristically, George was the first to speak. It was, Bill thought, quite dramatic proof of how concerned his brother was that George had, in essence, begun a meeting. It was even more telling that George didn't seem to realise that he'd done it.

"Oh, don't believe it for a minute, George," Remus Lupin replied with a reassuring smile. "Professor Dumbledore has taken extreme measures with regard to security for the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow."

"Extreme how?" said Fred, frowning. Clearly, he and George were of the same mind on the issue of the students' safety. Specifically, on the issue of their younger brother and sister's safety.

"Well, he's worked with Fudge, and arranged a patrol of Ministry Wizards." Malcolm, from his seat in the corner beside Alhena, paused in the middle of what appeared to be a rather intense whispered conversation in order to answer Fred. "And you'll be seeing quite a few Order members as well."

Alhena nodded, and had to fight hard to keep her composure as the twins' chairs disappeared from beneath them. They landed on the floor in a jumble of arms, legs, robes, and red hair, looking a bit as though they'd expected this all along.

Fred and George got up off the floor, grinning good-naturedly. "Still working on that, aren't we?" Fred muttered, and Bill had to turn his head to prevent himself laughing at them. Charlie took pity on them and conjured them up two more chairs, but his sympathy didn't extend to making the chairs particularly comfortable. Fred and George appeared to consider protesting this, but evidently decided that having uncomfortable chairs was better than having chairs that disappeared without the slightest provocation.

"So. The Order will be there--in disguise or in the shadows, I'd guess," Gwynne said, and Bill nodded. "And we'll be there--or, rather, we'll be in the village, then at Fred and George's shop, and then we'll be patrolling again. And the Ministry will be there. So the big question is why we're all going to be there. I could understand it if there was just some increased security because of the attacks during the summer. But this is, as you said, extreme," she observed, and Bill nodded again.

"We've got good information that there's a threat, tomorrow afternoon, in the village," Tristan said solemnly.

"Morrigan?" Nicholas asked, his eyes sharp and serious.

Tristan nodded. "I don't know how she found out, but I can guess," he said, his voice taking on an edge. Whatever else he was, he was Morrigan's friend, and he hated the thought of the risks she was taking, and what she was probably suffering, in order to help the Order. "I'd imagine MacInnes and Whiting have been after her ever since they cornered her at the Ministry on your last day," he told Malcolm, who nodded. "So she's playing along with them, to get information. And I doubt it's easy on her, in any sense."

Malcolm nodded. "I saw her last week. She looked completely exhausted. The pull's getting stronger and stronger. There's no other possible explanation for the look in her eyes."

"So I'd imagine that Whiting or MacInnes found out she knows Harry somehow. And she had to give them something to put them off the scent. So she probably told them that she'd met him through one of you--probably you, Remus," Tristan said after a moment's thought. "It's common knowledge that you two are friends, but not-so-common knowledge that she knows the Weasleys."

Remus nodded. "I told her before start of term that if she ever needed a cover, she should take advantage of that fact," he said simply. "People have seen the two of us around--in Diagon Alley, in Hogsmeade. They know her stand on the Ministry's Werewolf laws and they know that we're both interested in Defence. They also know that I was good friends with Harry's father, and with...Sirius. And that I know Harry fairly well," he continued. "So it's not a huge leap to assume that at some time or another I introduced them."

Tristan, nodding agreement, continued. "So if MacInnes or Whiting found out about the fact that she knows Harry, she probably had to come up with the Hogsmeade weekend information. If she hadn't, it would have been clear that she had a much closer connection to Harry, and that she was a lot more than she seemed.

"But as soon as she told them, and as soon as they'd decided how to take advantage of the information, she must have told Dumbledore. It's the only way I can think of that the security could have been arranged so quickly."

"Yeah, and knowing her, she probably made sure that she wasn't the only one they told about their plan, so that when it failed they couldn't come back to her." Fred said, looking slightly cheered by his own suggestion.

"Actually, I doubt that would stop them," Nicholas said after a moment. "I mean, they might not be able to blame the whole thing on her, that's true, but will that stop them making her pay for it anyway?" he asked.

Malcolm's eyes were haunted. "Of course not," he said. "She knew that the day she decided to use the pair of them to the Order's advantage. She said that we couldn't afford to wait until we wanted to be approached by the other side. So she took advantage of the opening they gave her." He sighed. "She can't turn back now."

"Right. Well, if she can't, we're not going to, either," George said, and his brothers nodded. "I mean, none of us wanted to get involved in this. We didn't want any of it to happen. But, well, it did, and we got involved, and we're sticking," he added. From their expressions, Tristan, Gwynne, Nicholas, and Alhena felt the same way.

Malcolm grinned wearily at all of them. "Well, at the very least, we shouldn't have much to worry about tomorrow. Just a simple little meeting, and make sure they get back to the castle on time. That's noon, by the way. Dumbledore won't go easy on any of them if they're late."

Smiling now that they had a plan and something they could do something about, they all leaned forward and began talking about the meeting planned for the next day. When they had agreed on how it should be handled and who would be there, everyone began leaving the way they had come. The Weasleys and Alhena left at the same time, walking quietly through the garden and out to the street before separating.

"Alhena. Do you have a moment?" Bill asked, once his brothers had Disapparated--Fred and George for home, and Charlie back to Wales. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and nodded. They walked down the lane together, and once they'd reached the corner, they turned toward the Three Broomsticks.

They were almost at the door when Gwynne and Nicholas appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey, you two! What are you doing here?" Nicholas asked jovially, catching sight of two disreputable-looking Wizards also moving toward the entrance, eying them all suspiciously.

Bill grinned; there was nothing for it but to play along. "It's a nice night, and I could use a Firewhiskey," he replied, and Nicholas laughed. The four of them entered the Three Broomsticks, and found a table near the window. Bill and Nicholas got Firewhiskey; Gwynne and Alhena opted for gillywater.

The two Wizards they'd passed on the way into the pub, Bill noted, were still watching their table closely. Nicholas began a discussion about Quidditch that had the potential to turn into a serious debate. Nicholas' favorite team and Bill's were the next best thing to arch-rivals, and though Bill hadn't played when he was in school, he was as loyal a fan as Nicholas, who had played at school.

Gwynne and Alhena interposed the occasional comment when the debate got too intense, but otherwise seemed content to talk quietly. Gwynne's face was serious and worried as she spoke to her friend. Alhena's was paler than usual and very, very weary. She looked ready to fall asleep at the table by the time Gwynne called a halt to the Quidditch debate and announced that she wanted to go home to sleep.

Looking around the pub, Bill and Nicholas realised that many of the pub's patrons had left long since, and stood up suddenly, apologetic. Alhena simply grinned wearily, stood up with the others, and walked beside them toward the door. Bill doubted that it was coincidence that Nicholas and Gwynne disappeared almost as soon as they'd all said good-bye; he'd caught the silent apology in Nicholas' eyes as they'd all met in front of the pub.

"So, are you staying with Tristan?" Bill asked. He didn't think that she should be going anywhere alone. In fact, Bill was fairly sure she'd fall asleep on her feet if given half a chance.

She looked up at him, and shook her head with a sigh. "I'm staying at Morrigan's. She's not using the place, really, so it's not putting anyone out."

Bill arched a brow. She shrugged, too tired to worry any longer. He sighed, slid an arm around her, and said, "Well, then, let's go."

A moment later, they were standing inside Morrigan's flat. Alhena sat on the sofa without a word, closing her eyes and seeming to deflate. Bill sat down in the armchair opposite her, and considered how to begin. Over the past month, he'd convinced himself that he'd been imagining her resemblance to Morrigan. Sitting here now, he was sure of it.

He wasn't sure how he'd thought that a single woman could handle all the tutoring, help organise things for the junior Order, arrange tonight's meeting, attend meetings of the Order of the Phoenix in London, and do whatever it was Morrigan was actually doing right now. He felt a bit foolish for having thought it.

"You'll never believe this," he said, chuckling, "but for a while there I thought you and Mor..." His words trailed off as he looked up and saw her sitting upright, her head tilted toward him as though listening, fast asleep.

So much for a chance at conversation, he thought ruefully, covered her with a blanket he conjured after a moment's thought, and Disapparated.

*

"So who's on the team as of this very moment?" Fred asked, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville settled into squashy armchairs in the back room off the joke shop. It wasn't, technically, a nonpublic building, so they were keeping within the rules. They had no choice but to be careful about that, or there would be no junior Order. But Harry was grateful for the opportunity to avoid the more serious matters that were facing all of them. So he jumped on Fred's question like it had been a lifeline.

"Well, Ron's at Keeper; Ginny, Katie, and Caitlyn Moore--she's a second-year--are at Chaser; we've got two new Beaters, Zach and Will Martin--"

Fred snorted. "You're joking. Those spindly little midgets who tried to replace us last year?" he asked, clearly remembering the Martins.

"You wouldn't recognise them, Fred, seriously," Ron told his brother, his eyes intent. "Honestly, they're tall now, and they flew circles around everyone else, and they're--well, they're not as good as you and George were, who could be, but they're loads better than the ones we had last year."

Fred, who had not even bothered to pretend modesty at Ron's compliment, grinned toothily at Ron, Harry, and Ginny. They grinned back. Hogwarts just hadn't seemed as much like Hogwarts without Fred and George there. "So you've managed to find a Chaser and two Beaters. That's good. And Katie's captain?"

Gloomily--but not as gloomily as on the previous day--Harry shook his head. "No. She let McGonagall see the work Ron and I did on the Quidditch plans one day during Defence Against the Dark Arts, and made such a big deal over how helpful we were being that McGonagall--"

"So you and Harry are co-captains!" Fred exclaimed, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

Ron grinned. He was relieved he wasn't captain, but he couldn't help being flattered that everyone had assumed he would be chosen, when Harry had been on the team for the better part of five years. "Absolutely not," he said cheerfully. Having seen what captaining the team had done to Angelina last year, he couldn't believe he'd ever truly wanted to be captain. "McGonagall doesn't believe in co-captains. Harry's got the job."

Fred looked impressed, amused, and sympathetic all at once. Harry felt better immediately. "Ready to start going mad, are you?" Fred asked, sitting down in the armchair between Ron and Harry.

"Oh, I've been there for ages," Harry said easily, and laughed. It was his first genuine laugh since McGonagall had delivered the news to him yesterday afternoon. "I don't think I will go mad, not really. It's already much more of a team effort, being captain is. Katie feels bad because she trapped me into it, and she's helping out loads. And Ron is so good at strategy that he helps out without even realising it, it just comes naturally for him. Ginny's great with the new guys--and girls--because she's closer to their age and, really, she's the nicest one out of all of us. Plus I think they're afraid she might slap them with a Bat-Bogey Hex if they mess up too badly." Harry grinned. Ginny laughed, her ears turning pink with pleasure.

"So it's you at Seeker and Captain, Ron at Keeper, Ginny at Chaser with Katie and this Caitlin person, and those two Martin boys at Beater," Fred summarised. His tone indicated that the new members of the team had some large shoes to fill. Unfortunately, Harry thought, Fred wasn't wrong. "You've got Reserves now?" he went on, eyebrows raised.

Harry nodded. "Don't want to leave Ginny in the lurch when we leave, do we?" he asked. "Really, we should have had them all along. We've got two fourth-years and a fifth-year at Reserve Chaser, and two second-years as Reserve Beaters. Ron's helping out Matt Carrollton at Reserve Keeper, and we've got Dennis Creevey in Reserve as a Seeker, if you can believe that," Harry said with a weak laugh.

Fred's disbelief couldn't have been more evident had he tattooed it on his forehead. "Dennis Creevey," he repeated, and Harry, grinning, nodded. "Even if I saw it I don't know if I'd believe it."

"He's got the right build for it, and he's a good flier. He's hopeless with a Quaffle. He could have hurt someone, the way he was just tossing it around in the middle of everything. He just needs to learn to focus, that's all. We'll work on him."

Fred just grinned, shaking his head. It appeared that the Harry Potter fan club wasn't going away any time soon. Certainly not if one of its most loyal members was now Gryffindor's Reserve Seeker, a position that hadn't been filled since before Charlie had been Seeker.

"Well, well, the gang's all here."

They all turned on hearing Bill's amused voice, and broke out in grins. Bill, Tristan, Nick, and Gwynne had just walked into the room, having Apparated into the upstairs flat and walked down the stairs. It looked as though things were nearly ready to go. When Alhena arrived, looking unusually windswept and very tired, George close on her heels, they all looked at her as though they'd only been waiting for her to get things started.

"Sorry I'm late," she said with a sigh. "It's been a crazy morning. Trials go well?" she asked Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

Ginny nodded. "Better than we had any right to expect, anyway. We'll get everyone whipped into shape by our first match," she said, with what Harry considered extreme overconfidence. Still, it was a nice thought.

They found, now that they were actually having the meeting, that there wasn't a great deal to discuss. Harry and Hermione brought up the idea of asking Katie to join the junior Order. Ron, Ginny, and Neville seconded the idea, with Fred and George's support. Alhena agreed that it was a good idea, and said she'd speak to Professor Dumbledore about it.

"So what's all this about Dumbledore being all tight with Fudge and letting him make up rules about Hogsmeade weekends?" asked Neville. Harry and the others stared at him; Neville's tone had been sarcastic, and for Neville, that was as unusual as things got. Alhena merely smiled, and let Nicholas answer the question.

"You're right, he's not tight with Fudge at all," Nicholas said with a short laugh. "He told Fudge how it was going to be, and Fudge is so afraid of being caught wrong-footed that he went along with it, that's all."

The others looked startled that this information had been given so freely.

Nicholas grinned at them, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It's not something the Order was involved with," he explained. "It's just Professor Dumbledore making sure that Fudge has all of his ducks in a row. It's not that Fudge is stupid, not really. He's just easily misled, which makes it dangerous not to check up on him from time to time."

"So, these attacks," Harry said, looking up to find Tristan's black eyes intent on him. "They stopped once term began, didn't they?" he asked.

Tristan seemed to approve of the question, but made no attempt to answer it. Nicholas fielded that one as well. "They did. We're not sure whether that's a coincidence or not. And we're not--well, Tris and Gwynne and Alhena and I aren't--particularly well-informed about what the Order thinks on that score. We've been mostly centred here, haven't we, and we haven't been to the meetings at Headquarters since start of term. So while we can talk pretty freely about the attacks without worrying about the Fidelius, we also don't have much more than our opinions to go on."

"Well, it's just that we heard about the attack the night after...the night before you four came to Headquarters," Harry said, and saw a flicker in Tristan's dark eyes. "And we...heard that Morrigan's old boss was involved." He didn't have to work as hard as usual to say her name. He thought he saw Tristan's eyes slide over to meet Alhena's, but it happened so quickly that Harry wasn't entirely certain he'd seen anything at all.

Tristan nodded. "They both were."

"Is that why she was sacked?" Harry asked. Ginny and Hermione leaned forward, interested.

"No. She was sacked because her old bosses told Fudge that she and Mal were in tight with Dumbledore. Fudge was apparently in one of his paranoid moods. And, of course, having two of his top Aurors tell him that she and Mal were close to Dumbledore, in such a serious way, would have made him nervous in any case. So Fudge had them sacked." Tristan shrugged, and though his attitude was casual his contempt for Fudge was clear by his expression.

"Is that why everyone was stupid and forced her out of Headquarters?" Ginny asked.

Everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for Harry to protest--either to say that no one had been stupid to suspect Morrigan, or to put an end to the conversation altogether. He'd made a promise to himself as they were walking to Hogsmeade after breakfast, that he would not stand in the way of his friends discussing anything they needed to discuss. It was everyone's life at stake, after all, and he didn't feel he had the right to stop anyone talking about anything they considered important. Sensing the sudden tension in the room, Harry was glad he'd thought about this beforehand. It seemed that, had he wanted to stop them talking about the Carricks, everyone in the room would have gone along with him.

He wasn't entirely comfortable with that kind of power over people. It was the DA, and the Quidditch team, on a much more serious scale. And he'd had enough problems with both of those".

Apparently deciding that Harry wasn't going to object to the turn the conversation had taken, Tristan nodded at Ginny. "Not everyone wanted her out," he reminded them all. "But yes, that's why she ended up being tossed out."

"She wasn't tossed out, she left on her own," Bill pointed out mildly.

Everyone looked at him. Harry caught the twins exchanging a grin before he looked at Bill. Harry studied Ron's older brother along with everyone else. Dressed in jeans and what was obviously a Weasley jumper--handmade and navy blue with an emerald-green stripe across the front-- Bill looked more like a Muggle on a day off from work than a Wizard. Still, his boots were dragon hide, and Harry had no doubt that his wand was close at hand. "But she would have been tossed out," Ginny clarified.

Bill considered that, and nodded. "At least, she would have been made to feel unwelcome," he said, a bit more diplomatically than he really felt. Of course, his own mother had been one of the people making a case for throwing Morrigan out of the house. He was hardly going to come down hard on his own mother, to his younger brothers and sister.

"So, what, do they think she had something to do with the attacks?" Neville asked indignantly.

"'Course not," Harry said, without even thinking about it. "That would be stupid of them, wouldn't it? I mean, she was at Headquarters the whole time. We were there, sitting right next to her." He thought for a moment. "I guess they were just suspicious because she'd been in trouble before, and stuff."

Tristan, Harry noticed, was staring at him curiously. It was very unnerving, having those gleaming black eyes boring holes in his forehead. He frowned a bit.

"Strange attitude for someone who was glad to see her go," Tristan said lightly, one of his eyebrows raised in question.

Harry coloured. "Look, I don't know what your problem is," he said hotly, "but this isn't exactly the least confusing situation I've ever been in. I don't know what to be glad about, or angry about, anymore. But at least I'm trying to figure it out, all right?"

Surprising Harry, Tristan grinned at him. It was by far the nicest expression Harry had ever seen on the man's face. Tristan smiling seemed an entirely different person. Because he couldn't help himself, Harry grinned back. "All right," Tristan said equably.

Ron snorted with laughter. Hermione went next, and before too long, everyone was laughing.

"I didn't want her to go," Harry told Tristan, once the laughter had faded a bit. "Not before we had a chance to talk."

Tristan, back to his old somber self, nodded. "I'm sure you'll get the chance sooner than you expect," he said simply, and returned to his former silence.

"So if no one really thinks she had anything to do with the attacks, why has she disappeared?" Ron asked. "I mean, no one's seen her recently, have they?"

This was such an obvious fishing expedition that Harry was surprised anyone gave it an answer. Gwynne, after a quick and silent exchange with Nicholas and Tristan, answered. "Well, it's not that no one's seen her. It's simply that she doesn't have the Ministry as a cover anymore, so what she *does* do isn't as out-in-the-open anymore. I mean, Malcolm's seen her since start of term, I'm sure," she ended, obviously trying to sound more certain than she felt.

"We've seen her since start of term," Fred said.

George nodded. "Of course we have. She's been in and out of the shop a few times, hasn't she?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny were staring at the twins, wide-eyed. Luna was quietly humming a song that sounded suspiciously like "Weasley is our King" to herself and watching them all with a languid air.

"What?" Fred asked, noticing that everyone in the room was looking at him. "What's so strange about that, I'd like to know? We had to make a few adjustments to George's watch--that's what he uses for getting in touch with all of you. Since she was the one who helped us work it out to begin with, so we got hold of her. And then she came in on her way through the village last weekend, just to ask how things were going with the new shop and did we need any help."

"Right," George agreed. "And she was in yesterday, just for a few minutes, on her way to--where was it, Fred? Somewhere up north of here?" Fred nodded, and George grinned. He looked around and saw everyone staring at his brother and himself as though they had grown another head apiece.

"Don't know why you're making such a big deal over it," George muttered, raising an eyebrow at all of them. "You've got the cards, you six," he said nodding at Harry and the others, "and you've all got your watches or mirrors or whatever you're using to stay in touch. It's hardly like you couldn't get hold of her if you need to."

Bill looked at his own watch and realised that it was past eleven-thirty. "You lot had better head back through the door in pairs," he said, nodding toward the clock on the wall. "We can't afford to have you getting back late--you'll never be allowed in the village again the way things are these days."

They all got up, talking and laughing, and headed out through the hidden door into the shop, blending into the crowd inside and waving good-bye to Lee Jordan behind the counter as they left the store. Lee, busy ringing up orders like a man possessed, waved at them and shouted something about seeing them at the first Quidditch match.

Outside the shop, blinking a bit in the strong noon sunlight, Harry and Ron debated on whether they had time for a quick trip into Honeydukes before they were due back. Hermione and Ginny settled the argument, running toward Honeydukes at a sprint. Harry and Ron followed them, with Neville and Luna at their heels. They caught sight of Alhena and Tristan, walking down the other side of the street, and waved at her before ducking into the shop.

Loaded down with Pepper Imps and Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavoured Beans, Enchanted Caramel Drops and Pumpkin Fudge and Tangle Taffy and Butterberry Barrels, Harry and the others ran back up the main road toward the school. On their way, they saw Alhena, then Bill, then the Nicholas and Gwynne, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout, all looking grave as they looked around for any sign of trouble.

They ran past Professor Snape standing near the Hogwarts gates, and hurried up to the castle to check in with Filch before they ran out of time.

"Made it with three minutes to spare," Ron said with satisfaction, and they grinned at him.

"Maybe," Neville said, still puffing a bit, "we should hit Honeydukes beforehand, the next time."

They all nodded, and since the weather was so fine, they decided to go back outside and sit by the lake. Even Hermione was unwilling to ruin the mood by suggesting a rousing round of homework. As she told Harry later, they would have few enough days ahead where they could sit around and enjoy some quiet time. So they sat outside under the trees by the lake, and talked and laughed until dinner.

As they learned at dinner that day, it was a good thing they had taken the afternoon as a break from work. Another attack, late that afternoon in Hogsmeade, had effectively ended any chance that the students would be allowed to visit it again anytime soon.

The attack, which had ended in two deaths and countless injuries, had also decreased the chances of there being many relaxing afternoons in the near future.

*

Morrigan, remembering her meeting with MacInnes and Whiting a few hours before, couldn't even dredge up the energy to sigh. It had gone badly. She'd known it would. MacInnes had been furious that her information had not panned out, and he'd reacted as predictably as ever when given the opportunity to Curse her. She'd managed to block some of it, but spending so much of her energy to keep her power from exploding out of her had taken too much out of her. Whiting, though, had been worse.

Whiting had not been angry as much as suspicious. He'd spent several hours trying to determine whether she was telling him the truth about the Hogsmeade visit times being changed. He secretly frightened her far worse than MacInnes ever could have. Pain she could deal with, if she had to. But the risk of revealing anything about Harry to Whiting was something so horrible to her that she couldn't even think about it.

In the end, they'd believed her. They had, after all, caused her to lose her job. She had worked closely with them, and they had been spotted among known Death Eaters at the scene of the second attack back in August. They hadn't exactly been arresting anyone, either. And her story, that Dumbledore and his friends had stopped trusting her like they once had because MacInnes and Whiting had been spotted with the Death Eaters, was too plausible for them to entirely discount it. It made sense that she would no longer be in Dumbledore's inner circle, having worked so closely with MacInnes and Whiting. It was logical that she wouldn't have been told about the students' Hogsmeade visit being shortened by a few hours. She wasn't exactly working at the castle, in any event. Who would have thought she would care at all?

They'd believed her. That didn't mean they had let her off easy. It wasn't their way.

After they'd left her, she'd needed a place to hide for a while and lick her wounds. There hadn't been many options open to her.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, for obvious reasons, was out. Even if she'd been able to get inside--and she was no longer certain she could do so--there was no point in fleeing to a house where she would be so obviously unwelcome.

Her father was in Inverness, and she wouldn't go there until it was impossible to avoid it any longer. In any case, Inverness was not a particularly good place for her to escape to. Inverness had been where she had first lost control, and she didn't think those memories would help her at all.

Her flat in London might have been an escape, but for Malcolm's constant presence one floor below her and the steady stream of visitors, often the Weasley brothers, to his flat. She couldn't face her own brother, let alone Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George. She was afraid of what they would say. She knew that, right now, she couldn't handle the inevitable argument with Malcolm over what she was doing. She was almost as certain that, if the Weasleys began looking at her the way the rest of the Order had last month, she would collapse completely. They were, with Malcolm, among few people in the world whose opinions mattered to her.

She had needed an escape, somewhere she could be alone. Somewhere she could try to regain her control, or fail utterly, away from curious eyes. So she sat in a darkened, unfurnished flat lit only by a single candle. Her head in her hands, her hair falling forward to cover her face, she wondered, almost desperately, what to do. Too many forces were gathered around her. Too many thoughts were circling in her mind. The pull was stronger than she had known it could be. She was losing control, and she knew it. She had to make a stand. She had to find a way to regain her focus. She had to go back to the Old ways, the ways of her grandmother's people.

There were too many people depending on her. Too many people clawing at her from different directions. Tomorrow, another hand would pull her in yet another direction. That hand she could not ignore. It was controlled by a mind as sharp as her own, by a man whose eyes saw everything too clearly. She wouldn't allow him to see what her choices had brought her to. She couldn't bear the disapproval, the utter contempt--and worse, the pity--if he truly saw what she had become.

Her copper hair gleaming in the faint candlelight, she looked up. She avoided the mirror on the far wall; she knew only too well what it would reveal. Bruises, dark and vivid against her pale skin. Circles the color of exhaustion under her haunted green eyes. Her back ached as though she had been whipped. Her arms and legs like lead, she stood and took a deep breath. She raised her arms, and a circle of candles appeared around her. A simple come-along gesture of her fingers had their flames popping into existence, one after the other, until all thirteen were shining brightly against the gloom. She spoke words in an ancient language, and a copper bowl of water appeared in the center of the circle, surrounded by incense that burned with a scent both exotic and calming.

For long moments, she did not move. She didn't do anything but stare at the water, at the candles, and breathe in the pungent air. She could feel it calming her, felt the healing that had begun as soon as she had cast her circle. That simple circle of candles, that nine-feet wide space on a dusty floor in a sketchy part of Muggle London, was the one place in the world at the moment that she was truly safe. The charmed circle, her working space, was free of the energy that pulled at her during every waking moment.

Calm had become so rare to her that it felt alien and strange. She grabbed at it and held to it tightly, until she felt her body begin to relax. She let the tension drain away. As long as it had a hold on her, she couldn't perform the ritual magic she had decided on. She needed to be as calm and undistracted as she could be. So she waited, unaware of time passing, until tension and worry had faded as far away from her conscious mind as they were likely to.

When she was ready, she raised her hands and chanted in a language that had not been heard in the south of England for thousands of years. As she chanted, the water in the copper bowl took on a silvery sheen which deepened and seemed to solidify. Her voice began to sound distant and disconnected from herself, something coming from outside her. She welcomed the feeling; the power flowing through her was focused inward and coursing warmly through her veins. It had been a long time since she had allowed it to move so freely. Since she had been able to. Only inside a circle of power could she allow it free rein without losing control. The energy worked within her, healing the bruises and carrying away the pain.

Had she not been required to be near him tomorrow, she would not have bothered with the ritual. She considered the pain her fair share of payment for the decision she had made, for mistakes which still demanded atonement. But the consequences of weakness, where he was concerned, were disastrous. So she let the energy flow through her, cleansing and renewing her. Nothing physical would be hidden from his eyes. The physical consequences of her decision would simply cease to exist, healed by the power that ran through her like fire. In healing the pain and the marks, she would allow her mind to remain her own. She would not be distracted by the pain. She would not lose control of her mind and permit him to see into it. Never again would she allow him access to her thoughts. The last time he had seen so clearly, his contempt and his displeasure had nearly destroyed her.

As the silver-toned water in the bowl became mirror-like, its surface reflecting the candlelight like quicksilver, she leaned over it. She saw her face staring back at her, bruises gone, dark circles faded. Her eyes, green and sparkling like emeralds with the force of the power inside her, stared back at her. She began the next chant, which would allow her to see.

She needed to choose her steps carefully, and for that she needed an idea of what was to come. She would not see the future, not exactly. No one's magic was strong enough for that. Still, she might see some sign, some hint, of what would come. As she chanted, as she stared into the water, its surface began to ripple in a nonexistent breeze. She watched carefully as an image formed. Her focus was so narrow, so sharp, that she nearly started when the surface of the water abruptly began to whirl.

As she watched, the water in the bowl turned black as night, and went suddenly, absolutely still. She gave a little moan, unable to help herself, and hid her face in her hands. Whatever she had thought might happen, whatever she had hoped for, it had not been this. She had, in fact, chosen her path in order to prevent this. It seemed that her sacrifice, then, would have been in vain.

She knew that water-scrying was imprecise if performed by someone inexperienced. She wished for a fleeting moment that she was inexperienced. It would have been far easier had she not known how to focus the energy correctly, had she not drawn out the sign she had just seen. Even as that wish filled her mind, she dismissed it as selfish and unworthy. The blood of generations of Master Scriers and powerful Elves ran in her veins as surely as did the blood of generations of powerful Witches and Wizards. She was skilled enough in water-scrying to understand what she had seen. And to know, without a doubt, that it was vitally important.

Death, whenever and however it showed its face, was not something to be taken lightly.