Unplottable

18 - Aisha

From a distance, the castle, surrounded by the snowy grounds and gently falling snowflakes, looked like a scene from a Disney movie. It did not look like a place where real people with real lives and real problems would live, Aisha mused. Rather, it seemed like a cliché come true, like an American idea of a 'romantic' European castle, almost like a parody of the biggest of Christian holidays. It had been bad here in summer, she decided; now, on Christmas, amidst falling snow on the outside and with all its glittering (and singing!) decorations on the inside, it was almost unbearable.

British witches and wizards were different, she decided. In the States, things could become pretty weird around wizard bars or magical parties, or maybe surreal would be the appropriate word. However, maybe due to a certain disregard for tradition, around American witches and wizards, things did not look so tacky, so very Oz-like.

She was, of course, not supposed to be out in the grounds on her own. Roary and Varlerta had insisted that she was to stay inside unless she was accompanied by a grown witch or wizard. However, Aisha was not a student, and neither she was a toddler: She was used to her freedom, and she certainly would defend it. Consenting not to explore the Forest, which was supposed to hold bizarre dangers, was a compromise, but, magic or no magic, she would not be locked inside like a kid. Inside, everything was amazing, and fascinating, and quite often pretty, but it was also a bit stifling. She needed fresh air, needed to be out in the snow, needed to be on her own every once in a while the way other people might need a cigarette.

It wasn't only the singing suits of armour and the fluttering fairies that got to her. In Varlerta's building there was none of that nonsense, and yet Aisha found it worse than the castle. In Aisha's eyes, her friend Varlerta had always been tough and invincible. Well, not always invincible, and certainly not on the pinball machine - but neither did she know Varlerta as a woman who moaned and fretted. Since the rest of the Magic Mushrooms had come to the castle, Varlerta had not been well, though. Listening to a message on his answer machine too late, Roary had failed to meet Sirius and Remus at JFK Airport. Since then, Varlerta's sweetheart and his strange wizard friend had not been sighted. Although Varlerta had given them addresses of people they could trust, the two British wizards had not turned up at any of them. They had not written or called; only the passports they had borrowed had been shipped back by snail mail, addressed in typed letters. Something had gone wrong, and not even Roary had been able to find out what exactly, which was really saying something. Varlerta was beside herself with worry.

To make matters worse, Varlerta's old (though estranged) friend from school had disappeared from the school, too. Nobody had bothered with telling Aisha what the deal was, but she could tell it was bad. Since the Potion Master's disappearance, Aisha felt that nothing could comfort her old friend Varlerta. True, she functioned as a teacher, but was too far remote to receive any form of comfort from someone as powerless as her Muggle drummer. Aisha tried, but felt utterly helpless. She would try again to be a good friend to Varlerta later, but every once in a while, she needed time by herself, time where she could just be what she was, a simple Muggle musician.

So far, she had managed to sneak away twice in the wake of some teacher, and would sneak back into the castle, or maybe into Varlerta's building, with someone who knew how to open the doors. Nobody had questioned her comings and goings so far, which made her wonder whether Roary and Varlerta hadn't maybe exaggerated in their insistence that she should not be out on her own. Here she was, enjoying a nice and very quiet walk in the snow for the second time, and where were all the dangers?

Maybe she shouldn't have tempted fate she thought, when someone called out to her, someone coming from the Forest. From afar, she did not recognise the wizard, maybe because his face was hidden by a large, woollen scarf - she supposed it was a 'he' because his build and walk seemed to suggest so. Glimpsing over her shoulder to check out the distance to the castle, she wondered for a moment whether she should run for it before she found out whether the person approaching would be hostile or friendly - before it was too late. Then the wizard waved and beckoned to her; as the scarf slipped off his face, she not only recognise him, but saw that he was smiling. Aisha waved and smiled back, prompted by the sight of a face that had spontaneously appealed to her when she had first seen it. She started to walk towards him, then halted in her steps. When she had last seen this face, the meeting had been far from pleasant to her. Although the incident had remained inexplicable, she certainly had not forgotten it. Neither had she failed to hear some of the stories about this particular wizard which put a sudden fear into her heart. Last but not least, she knew that he should not be in these grounds at all; he should be far away. Still unsure whether to run away or go and meet him, Aisha finally opted for the latter. Mysteries were piling up, and she was eager to solve them. Varlerta would never forgive her if she ran away now and they never found out afterwards what had been going on.

"Hey, Re-" When she saw him raise a finger to his lips, Aisha checked herself at the last moment. Maybe she should not call out loudly the name of the wizard who had offed the Minister of Magic.

He beckoned again, waiting for her on the path that led around the forest. Although she felt uncomfortable, Aisha decided it was too late to change her mind now. She walked towards him until they were at speaking distance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. "Shouldn't you be in the States? They are worrying themselves crazy about you. Where's Sirius?"

"Aisha." The wizard smiled his gentle smile again; around his soulful green eyes, many lines creased. "It's good to see you. How is everyone at the castle - having a nice holiday?"

"Don't evade my questions," Aisha chided. "What are you doing here? Varlerta said they might kill you if they found you here in Britain."

"It is kind of you to worry about me," Remus Lupin replied.

"And about Sirius," Aisha reminded him, trying hard not to blush. Suspicious or not, she had found him attractive at first sight, but did not particularly want him to know.

"He's safe," Lupin assured her, his eyes serious. "I left him with friends in the States. It was too dangerous for him to come back - they still believe him a murderer."

"Oh, do they now?" Aisha said, sarcasm in her voice. "They do not happen to believe the same of you, do they? Why aren't you safe with friends in the States, too?"

Lupin smiled gently, but kept his eyes on his feet. "I should be, I suppose. I admit coming back here is quite dangerous. However, there are things more important than danger, things that can't wait."

"Things you can't tell me about, as I am just a Muggle, and therefore not worth to even know about your shoelaces," she added a little bitterly. She hated to be left in the dark about so many things. Roary and Varlerta were her friends, the people with whom she shared her worries. Why would none of the witches and wizards confide in her like she would confide in them? She was not able to hurl things across the room with a wave of her wand - well, big effing deal! She was neither stupid nor a chicken.

"Aisha." Lupin touched her shoulder with a mittened hand. Through many layers of textile and downs, Aisha felt the touch affect her. "Won't you trust me?" he added.

"Why didn't you help me that night at the Basilisk Bar?" she asked. "You pretended you didn't know me, and would have left me to a couple of hired wands. They might have killed me, but you didn't care, did you?" As she spoke, she realised she had meant to ask this all along: 'Why did you desert me when I when I needed you most? Why do all guys I am attracted to care shit about me?' Varlerta had told her that Lupin had denied being present at the Basilisk Bar that night, had even denied ever having been to the States before his current flight. She wanted to know for herself now that she saw him face to face. That's why she had taken the risk, why she had decided to face him instead of running away.

Lupin once more glanced downwards, avoiding her eyes. "I get these ... spells from time to time," he said softly. "I was hit with an Ice Missile, you know, and sometimes I am ... just not quite myself. I even murdered a man, as you pointed out." He suddenly looked up. When his eyes met hers, to Aisha it felt like physical contact. "Look, I really am sorry, and I am glad to see you well, and I am glad that I get a chance to apologise for it in person. Aisha, will you forgive me?"

Guys. They always said things like that, and most of the times they were just uttering words. Aisha tried to remind herself of that, tried to stay angry, but failed. "Will you come up to the castle with me?" she finally asked.

Mutely Lupin shook his head. "I can't - not yet, anyway. There are things I have to do before I can meet everybody." After a pause, he added: "Aisha, will you do me a favour? Could you keep to yourself that you have met me, that I am in Britain? Just for a while, until I sort things out?"

This, Aisha knew straight away, was highly suspicious. Why would he not want his friends to know he was back? Why would he keep them worrying, not only about him, but also about Sirius? "That's kind of stupid," she replied, hoping she could needle him into telling her more. "It's freezing cold out here. Where are you staying if not in the castle? What will you eat?"

He almost grinned. "It's sweet of you to worry about me. I'll manage, though."

"But it's Christmas. Come up and celebrate with us," she objected a bit lamely.

Softly, he laughed. "Christmas at Hogwarts ... that was always enjoyable. You know what? If you can manage, smuggle me a bit of food outside. - I can't explain to you why I can't come up to the castle yet, but I can only hope you will not betray me."

She must have looked doubtful, because he started to hum that Khalid song which had her name in it: "Aicha, Aicha écoutez-moi." That did it for her. She knew she should have questioned his intentions, should generally have a mistrust of someone asking her to conceal things from her friends. But, alas, Aisha had a long history of falling for pretty faces over and over again. "I won't say anything - yet," she promised reluctantly.

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The Mushrooms weren't going to play at Varlerta's Christmas party; Varlerta said she didn't want to impose on anybody with her music, but Aisha suspected the real reason was that her friend wasn't feeling well. Instead, Ginny's (so far nameless) band was scheduled for a brief gig. Aisha had been invited to supervise a few practise sessions and help the young musicians improve their playing. She rather enjoyed that, since she found them reasonably skilled and willing to work on their music. Ginny had recently improved a lot; the bass player, Rhonda, had only started a few months ago, but wasn't doing badly either. Ginny had told Aisha that since the girl had been de-wanded and suspended from the Quidditch team due to the effect of a magic-impeding potion, music had gained much importance for her. Jules, the guitar player, had been at his instrument the longest; his uncle, a rock musician himself, had taught him a lot. Apart from Ginny, he was the main driving force in the band; he wrote his own songs and knew how to pick up guitar parts from a CD. Neville was doing alright too, although Aisha had advised him to try and sing more aggressively. His response had been a look of bewilderment. Sing aggressively? It seemed his talent was much rather to sing with feeling, to put himself into the music - and as he didn't get angry a lot, it seemed difficult for him to convey such emotions with his voice. Aisha also noticed that he kept dropping hints about playing his flute in the band, so she asked him openly and in front of the others why he didn't include a flute solo somewhere. She had found his response rather touching:

"We are a rock band," he had murmured, his head drooping just a little bit.

"So rock bands don't have flute solos?" Aisha needled on.

"I suppose not," had been Neville's quiet response.

Aisha had made a show of sighing. "I always thought that among other things, rock was about open-mindedness - about expressing yourself, your thoughts, your emotions and your body, about a kind of musical freedom of speech. Of course, you always get these guys in the band who think rock is all about strict obedience to genre rules. You know, someone comes up with this really cool guitar riff, and you find this groove which fits it but also changes and adds something really unique to it - an unusual groove, which makes you want to move other parts of your body apart from just banging your head. And then there's someone in the band - preferably a longhaired guy with a perm and spandex pants - who says: 'We can't play that because it isn't real heavy metal.' And you think: 'Heck, no, but it's a cool groove, and I want to play it anyway.' In my opinion, you should, you know. If it sounds good, if you all like it, do it, and never mind the rules somebody else has set for a genre."

The kids had all stared at her for a moment, maybe because Aisha wasn't normally one for making speeches. Then Neville had asked: "You think I should play a flute solo, then? Maybe in Scaffold?" Aisha had nodded vigorously. Scaffold was a song written by Jules which discussed a strange device obstructing the students' path in the castle. Its lyrics, of course, were to be taken slightly metaphorically, comparing life to an incomprehensible obstacle course. In the middle of the song, there was a slow, slightly mournful instrumental part where the guitar played arpeggios; it was predestined for a solo. Neville had announced he would prepare to play one at the next practise session, the last one before the band's gig on Christmas.

Last but not really least, there was that younger girl, Kay. There was something strange about her presence at the band practices: Nobody paid a lot of attention to her, and most of the time, she kept to herself behind her keyboard, its volume tuned down so low that Aisha found it difficult to hear what she was playing. When Aisha asked the girl to turn herself up, Kay said she did not dare, because she did not always know what to play. The absence of sheet music appeared to intimidate her. Aisha tried to help. Unfortunately, she wasn't much of an expert on keyboard playing. She knew which key had which name, and that you often used every other key to make a chord, but that was about it. After trying in vain to make sense of Kay's 'Pop Piano' book, Aisha had even gotten Varlerta to help. Apathetic as the witch teacher was, you could usually get her interested in a musical problem. Therefore, now, on the day before the gig, Kay played a couple of soft, high-pitched chords in Creep which really did not belong there, but did not sound totally out of place either; for Scaffold, the girl herself had found a nice tune to play in the verse. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Aisha walked along the empty hallways of the big castle, wondering whether she should break the promise she had given Lupin, whether she should tell on him. Something was definitely fishy about him. Surely there was no reason for her friends not to know of his presence, provided there was no foul play involved. If Lupin had a hidden agenda, though, it was really wrong to keep his secret. However, a promise was a promise, Aisha thought, the Khalid song in her head. She'd always thought that a man would sing it to her as a means of courtship; unfortunately, none had ever bothered.

Having arrived at Roary's and Pat's door, Aisha knocked. She would not be fooled by a pretty face again. She would tell on the guy. Roary would know how to handle things. True, Varlerta was the one who was an official teacher at this castle, while Roary was only a substitute, but on the other hand, everyone always ran to Roary if things went wrong. Besides, even though she hated to think that thought, 'Lupin returned on his own' might mean 'Sirius is dead.' Surely Varlerta would think the same as soon as Aisha told her. She would very much prefer to find out more about this matter before she dumped the news on her friend.

Pat opened and kindly told her to come in. Aisha felt as if a load had been taken off her shoulders. She liked all of her band members, basically considered them her family. In this big, incomprehensible magic castle, however, it sometimes felt if Pat was the only kindred spirit she knew; after all, he was the only Muggle besides her. Unlike the others, he still jumped when walls budged and stairs twisted; he too had a hard time coping with house-elves and singing suits of armour. People who did not know Pat very well often thought him a talented bass player and song-writer, but otherwise quite boring. Aisha knew differently. Pat was quiet like many who played his instrument, but those who took the trouble of getting to know him better soon found out that he was not only sharp as a needle, but also an exceptionable kind person.

Huddled on the sofa, in her hand a cup of Pat's famous cappuccino, a platter of British biscuits in front of her, Aisha told him of her encounter. Pat shook his head in a thoughtful way.

"I can't begin to fathom why he would come back here if his life is in danger," he replied. "Even fishier is that he won't tell you. Whatever is going on, something's wrong here. I think you should tell Roary and Varlerta."

"I promised," Aisha mumbled, her mouth half-hidden by the biscuit she was nibbling. She felt ashamed of her naivety; ashamed; of her unwillingness to betray the wizard she had met outside.

"The least you can expect is that he tells you what's going on. If he won't trust you, there's no reason why you should trust him," Pat replied, as always someone whose 'common sense' actually did make sense to Aisha.

"So I go back and make him tell me," she replied, nodding.

Pat looked doubtful. "Under normal circumstances, I'd certainly say so. However, if there really is something wrong with this Lupin chap, I wonder whether it's dangerous to insist - I mean, with him being a wizard and a werewolf and everything, and you being neither."

"He didn't harm me when we met today," Aisha objected. "If he has something evil on his mind, it might have been smarter to kill me straight away because I saw and recognised him."

Pat shrugged. "True, but what about that time at the Basilisk Bar? He certainly didn't behave very friendly then."

"He explained that to me and apologised - he says he gets these strange spells sometimes and doesn't know what he's doing," Aisha found herself defending Lupin.

"Hope he doesn't go into any kind of 'spell' when you next meet him," Pat replied sceptically, his brows tilted upwards. "You think there is any way you can enhance his trust, you know, assure him that you are on his side?"

"He asked for food," Aisha replied with a sigh. "If I could get my hands on some in this place...." Suddenly, she tearfully broke out: "But I don't even know where the damn kitchen is! I wish I was home in my own place, with my own kitchen, and my own decisions to make. Oh, if we only could go home! I'm scared of this castle, and scared of all this magic, and these strange politics, and I hate being locked in and being treated like a child!"

Pat put a hand on her shoulder and provided an original American Kleenex with the other. He seemed just about to reply to her when there was a rattling noise at the door. Aisha and Pat exchanged glances. Without him actually saying so, Aisha knew that Pat would keep their conversation confidential even to his lover until they had reached a decision about what to do next.

"How do you know there's a singer outside the door?" Pat drawled at Roary. The singer of the Magic Mushrooms gave them a crooked smile: "Am I interrupting something?" he asked. "And besides, it's because of you Muggles that I have to bother with these things in the first place instead of using a nice and easy password for the door." Of course, Roary knew the correct reply to the old joke question: 'He doesn't know when to come in and can't find the right key.'

"Well, we Muggles are having a little session of group therapy, because there's only so much magic we can take at a time," Pat replied, pretending to be offended. Roary snorted, but Aisha felt his sympathetic glance. She knew they were only making a show of snapping at each other because they knew she hated it when others caught her crying. Knowing the couple well, she could also read in their movements, in their looks, that Roary knew that there was something they weren't telling him, but that he for now he was refraining from pressing them in any way.

"Lyons, how can we get food in this castle?" Pat asked a little cheekily. Aisha felt tempted to ask him not to push matters.

"Food?" Roary looked aghast. "Don't tell me they are not feeding you right! The house-elves are cooking their cute little bums off! You know that there's a big feast coming up tomorrow night, don't you?"

Pat made a face. "Yeah, but it's all that British stuff. It tastes bland - you said so yourself. There's not a touch of garlic, hardly any coriander, no curry, no cumin, not to mention asafoetida, and not a chilli pepper in sight!"

"Yeah, I'd love to cook just once," Aisha sighed, joining in on the game. "It would take my mind off things, you know, make me feel almost normal for half an hour. Just a couple of spices, maybe a bit of couscous, just anything but Yorkshire pudding."

Pat made a face and nodded. "Don't tell Var that we said that," he requested. "She might take offence, with her being British by birth, you know. But it would be lovely to eat something decent every now and then, you know. That's why we've been wondering where we can find the kitchen."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Roary's doubtful look was clearly directed at Pat, not at Aisha. Pat shrugged nonchalantly. Roary laughed. "Okay, you pigs, I will show you where you can find the realm of the house-elves. They will certainly give you enough food to stuff yourselves three times over, and maybe you can teach them a few things about international cuisine."

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Left to their own devices, Pat and Aisha shamelessly exploited the goodwill of the creepy little creatures who ruled Hogwarts' kitchen. While Pat was teaching the house-elves a lesson on spicy samosas, Aisha went out to meet Lupin, a basket of goodies in her hand. This time, she did not need to worry about opening the door: The house-elves had never seen a Muggle before and were very sympathetic; one agreed to let Aisha out into the grounds, and to let her in again upon a common whistle.

After strolling around the darkening grounds on her own for a while, wondering if she should go in again, somebody touched her shoulder from behind. Whirling around, she found herself face to face with Lupin. In spite of herself, she found her heart skip a beat in joy. I can't trust him, she reminded herself.

"I brought you something to eat," she said, holding the basket towards him.

The wizard smiled a luminous smile. "Aisha, you are a true treasure," he told her.

Trying to repress the pleasure she felt upon hearing this, she said in the strictest voice she could muster: "You can trust me, you know. I didn't betray your secret - not yet, anyway. But I don't understand why it has to be kept, and why you returned to Scotland at all. I have the impression that you have a reason not to trust me, and that reason sounds like foul play to me. If you can't prove me wrong, or at least convince me that you do not have something evil in mind, I will tell my friends about it, be sure of that."

Lupin sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said. "It does sound fishy. The reason I'm here, and the reason I don't want anybody to know yet..." Quite unexpectedly, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Unsure whether she should be pleased or slam her knee between his legs, Aisha stiffened until she realised that his intention was to whisper in her ear.

"I suspect that he is here, you know," he breathed, his lips almost touching her earlobe. "Peter Pettigrew, I mean. Do you know who I am talking about?"

Mutely, Aisha shook her head.

"He is a traitor and a spy," Lupin whispered. "He is responsible for the death of James and Lily, and it is his fault that Sirius was in prison. I want to catch him and make sure that at last he is punished for his deeds."

Aisha didn't know who James and Lily were, but she did know that Sirius had spent a frightening amount of time in a truly horrible wizard prison; Varlerta had told her about it. If this Pedigree guy was to blame for that, she was all for catching him. Lupin had been Sirius' friend for all his life; no wonder he seemed to be taking things so personally. However, she objected:

"But it was dangerous to come here! If they catch you, they will kill you, Varlerta says. Are you sure hunting down that traitor is worth it?"

Lupin moved away from her ear and put a finger to his lips. "Quiet - he may very well be close by."

Aisha looked around. She did not see anybody close by. Moreover, she realised that again, Lupin had approached her in a spot that could not be overlooked from the castle's windows, as a couple of trees were in the way.

"You wouldn't see him," Lupin whispered in her ear again. "He may have an Invisibility Cloak, and besides, he can turn himself into a rat. He is very cunning and dangerous, and I fear that he has the Enemy's full support. Catching him would be worth every kind of danger I can fathom."

Aisha nodded. She strained to reach up to his ear. Noticing her effort, Lupin bent down a little so she could whisper into it. "Come up to the castle with me," she pleaded. "The investigators are gone. I'm sure it's safer than running around here at night."

Lupin suddenly shuddered. "The moon will rise soon, Aisha," he whispered. "Let me escort you back to the castle to make sure you are safe." With these words, he took a shimmering bundle of textile from his cloak's pocket. Shaking it out, Aisha saw it was a Cloak which looked as magical as anything she had ever seen. Lupin threw the material over both of them and pulled her close once more so that both were covered.

"This will make us invisible. I don't want to be seen yet - I'll come with you in a couple of days. Just keep my secret for now."

And with these words, he led her up to the castle's door, where he released her from the Cloak. Turning around, she realised that indeed she could not see him.

"Hurry in," he urged softly.

Shaking off her discomfort, Aisha whistled for the house-elf and was admitted to the castle. She thanked the eerie little creature and walked up the stairs to her room. Halfway up, she stopped at an arched window to watch the rise of the full moon. Her body still tingled, remembering the warmth of his body as she had felt it in the confinement of the Cloak. When she realised she had not even asked him why Sirius had not returned with him to look for the Pedigree guy, she chided herself for being selfish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aisha wasn't much of a Christmas person. All her friends knew that she neither made nor wanted any gifts and kept their bustle of wrapping and unwrapping to themselves. Knowing that Varlerta wouldn't feel much Christmas spirit this year either, Aisha suggested an early morning jam session to her friend. She knew that the witch had to cope with a very quiet place these days, that Sirius (and maybe someone else) had left a void, an emptiness which was almost as palpable as a person. Varlerta, hollow-eyed and pale, still in her nightgown as Aisha had woken her up, agreed at once. Aisha noticed her touching the pendant that hung around her neck, something the witch often did when she was not feeling well. However, the thing hanging from her neck was not her battered old ocarina, but a flat splinter of wood with a shiny finish and a fraction of a mother-of-pearl and bone inlay - a rose design, Aisha guessed. She did not want to disturb her friend with undue curiosity, but could not help thinking that this change of pendant had more significance than a mere matter of fashion. Therefore, she just sat down behind the drum set and waited for Varlerta to throw on some clothes.

After a therapeutically noisy hour, Pat and Roary showed up at Varlerta's building. Without a word, Pat took his bass guitar from the stand and turned up the amplifier. Roary fiddled with the P.A. and adjusted the microphone. The two of them joined in Aisha's and Varlerta's noisy and somewhat aimless music. After a short break of silence, Varlerta played a new guitar riff which Pat picked up immediately. Roary started to sing something at intervals and jotted down some lyrics on a piece of paper. Then the bass player added a part of his own; Varlerta noticed the change of chords and waited a bit until she had figured out what to play. Soon, they had wordlessly developed a structure of verse and chorus which they played in turns, the length of the parts largely determined by rock conventions. After about half an hour they stopped. The sudden silence fell on them like a shock. Aisha noticed Varlerta smiling. It felt as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders. For the first time since they had come to Britain this winter, she felt that the Magic Mushrooms were a band, not a bunch of people who had almost accidentally ended up in the same castle.

They worked a bit more on the new song, added a bridge and discussed its structure a bit; while composing together without words was a fine thing, verbal communication was usually needed to make things more complex. Then the band played many of their songs, even some of the very old ones; it was well past noon when they stopped. Aisha started feeling quite hungry; Varlerta, who hadn't had any breakfast, announced that she would probably faint if they did not feed her soon. Aisha was glad to hear that, not because she particularly wanted her witch friend to faint, but because she saw that Varlerta had regained her appetite. Up till now, it seemed the witch guitarist had functioned like a robot, teaching her classes, but otherwise sitting around without much purpose in life, eating very little - in other words, she had been moping. Now she looked alive again. Of course, that didn't mean that the witch would immediately stop torturing herself with worries and pointless self-reproaches, but at least she had taken an interest in the vital things of life again, things like food and music.

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Christmas dinner was an opulent affair, even though Aisha, who loved her food heavily spiced, did think that many dishes tasted a bit bland. She certainly enjoyed the samosas which had obviously been produced after Pat's famous recipe. Almost as much, she enjoyed the look on the faces of many of the British, who seemed to be used to bland elf cuisine only: They tried the samosas with extreme caution, if they did so at all. Dumbledore however, the ancient Headmaster of the school, praised them loudly; the old wizard was clearly not well, but nevertheless in good spirits. The same was true for the superannuated witch sitting on his left: She ate quite a few samosas, listing all the Indian spices to her equally fossilised husband Nicholas, who refrained from trying them.

Later there was Varlerta's after-dinner-party, attended by almost all the teachers and about two dozen students, among them, of course, the band. While the hostess was clearly not in a party mood, she had provided the space, the drinks, and the music by asking Ginny's band to play, and had done what she could to put on a friendly face. "After last year, everybody asked me if I was having another party, and it's a good opportunity for the band to have their first gig in a relatively small setting, not in front of the whole school," Varlerta told Aisha. "That's why I didn't want to back out, even though I feel much more like crawling into a hole rather than celebrating something."

Aisha nodded sympathetically. She noticed the new pendant again, because Varlerta was twisting it between her fingers. Strange as it looked, it might have been a farewell token from Sirius; then again, when the rest of the Magic Mushrooms had arrived in Britain, Varlerta had still been wearing the little ocarina bulging beneath her robes, if Aisha wasn't mistaken. Curiosity drove away her wish to avoid painful topics; she asked: "What's that you're wearing on that leather cord?"

Varlerta laughed mirthlessly. "Actually it's a token from my youth. When I was a kid, I used to have this humongous Renaissance lute - an ancient family heirloom, actually. It was a beautiful instrument and full of magic." Her fingers traced the mother-of-pearl inlay. "Then some jerk of a relative broke the lute while taking me out of this school - broke it on purpose, too. I was completely heartbroken." Her eyes stared into the distance; just when Aisha thought she would never hear the rest of the story, Varlerta resumed with a slightly choked voice: "Someone saved this splinter for all these years and gave it to me quite recently. I have no idea why he did so, but I just kind of liked to see a fraction of my beloved instrument again, so...." She was twisting the splinter between her fingers again.

"That someone was Snape - your old friend from school." Aisha was taking an educated guess.

"I suppose I should help the kids with the P.A.," Varlerta said and got up, avoiding Aisha's eyes.

While Varlerta was talking to Neville and Ginny, Aisha sauntered over to Roary. He was sharing one of Varlerta's squashy sofas with Dumbledore, talking politics again:

"I agree with you - regarding all the 'accidents' that have recently happened at your school, I am surprised that there are so few that call for it to be closed down," he said. "Malfoy in particular - I would have expected to include this demand in his Ministerial campaign. As he is totally avoiding any reference to Hogwarts in his public speeches, I should suppose he is planning something - maybe something more destructive than just demanding the school to be closed."

Dumbledore gravely shook his head. "We cannot know what he is planning, but I fear it is something evil. It may be possible that becoming Minister of Magic is only a first step in Malfoy's attempted ascent to power."

"We have to find someone else to run against him, someone more - suitable," sighed a tall wizard Aisha did not know, but whose face and remaining red hair somehow reminded her of Ginny and her brothers. "I wish you could run for the office, Albus."

"I can't, and you know it, Arthur," Dumbledore replied. "If it becomes known that I am no longer at this school, I fear that Voldemort will attack immediately. The rest of the teachers might prove victorious in a battle, but with Snape gone, I fear for the worst if it should come to that." His careworn face lit up in a smile; he patted the red-haired wizard's hand. "Don't worry about being unsuitable, Arthur - you will do quite nicely."

The wizard addressed as Arthur started to reply something, but when he spotted Aisha, he checked himself and beamed at her. "A Muggle, a Muggle at Hogwarts. You must be one of the friends who came with Professor Varlerta and Professor Lyons. Welcome to the heart of the realm of magic."

Aisha felt herself blush. She wasn't used to being welcomed so warmly, much less used to being stared at. Most people just overlooked her.

"Thank you," she replied. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Aisha Riq."

"Weasley, Arthur Weasley."

"So - you are running for the office of the Minister of Magic?" she asked casually.

Arthur's eyes rounded, while Dumbledore and Roary looked at each other and chuckled.

"My Muggles have good ears, Arthur," Roary replied. "So much for keeping our plans secret."

"Well, they are not exactly secret, or they won't be for much longer," Dumbledore objected. "We will start campaigning for you in January, after all."

Arthur Weasley looked slightly uncomfortable. Aisha would have liked to hear him talk himself out of it, but was called away from the conversation by Ginny.

"Varlerta said we could start playing whenever we wanted. We've got the P.A. set up, and the amplifiers, and the drum set." And the keyboard, Aisha added in her thoughts as she saw Kay pressing a couple of keys on the muted instrument.

Rhonda and Neville came to join them. "I'm so upset, I think I'm going to be sick," the bass player said with a dramatic quiver in her voice. "I can't believe I agreed to this gig. This will be so embarrassing. I'm such rubbish at my instrument."

Inwardly, Aisha rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, while Neville patted the stage-frightened girl's arm. Teenagers! Conveniently forgetting that she had not been much different at fifteen, she briskly told Rhonda that everything would be fine and offered her help with her amplifier. Meanwhile, Ginny went over to talk to Julian; the pair of them definitely looked the part of the cool musicians, something into which they probably put a good deal of effort.

"Joolz and Gin are so cool, so calm," Rhonda sighed. "They look like they have a gig every day."

Joolz and Gin - that sounded sophisticated, that sounded well matched. Jules and Jim, Aisha thought, but didn't voice her association aloud, almost sure that the witch girl would not get the joke.

Finally, the young and so far nameless band decided they were ready to play. They opened with The Day I Tried to Live by Soundgarden - a good opener, but slightly ill-chosen because the band was struggling audibly with the rhythm. Aisha had been able to help Ginny a good deal with the change between 4/4 and 3/4 time, but Rhonda, a relative novice on the bass, kept stumbling over the notes of her part. Aisha thought that perhaps the girl would have been slightly less upset before the gig had the band decided to open with another song. Neville did not manage to be entirely convincing with his roars and screams either; somehow it sounded like it was costing him a tremendous effort to sound angry. However, just like most well-meaning audiences, the students and teachers attending the party clapped loudly nevertheless, giving the band a special encouragement after the half-ruined song.

Things improved greatly in the second song, The Weird Sisters' She's like a Demiguise: In spite of their limited skills, the band managed to convey just the right kind of gentle ballad feeling; Neville sighed and moaned the notes just like on the recording Varlerta had loaned Aisha. For the first time, Aisha wondered about Ginny and Neville. As Varlerta's apprentices, they were surely friends, but she had never given it much thought. While Ginny was turning into a young woman, Neville still seemed very much a boy, slightly ill-shaped during the process of growing out of his puppy fat, his movements awkward. However, now that she heard him sing a love song, convey it to an audience with his voice, his body and his heart, Aisha wondered whether maybe she had underestimated Neville. While he sang, she saw a young wizard full of promises of interesting things to come.

Of course, there was Joolz Hengert to consider, too, Aisha thought as the band was playing the song written by him, Scaffold. If Neville with his tuneful little flute solo was a promise of an eligible male, Joolz was its fulfilment already. From the distance provided by the age gap, Aisha could objectively classify the boy as attractive. For the party, he had shed his school uniform: Now his dreadlocks were supplemented by a multitude of silver earrings, dragon-hide boots, leather pants and a tight black t-shirt clinging to a well shaped body. While he was skilfully strumming his guitar, Aisha decided that when she had been a teenager, she would have fallen for Joolz without a shadow of a doubt. Probably many girls felt the same: There were three female students in the audience who were definitely ogling him, and Rhonda seemed to look over at Joolz whenever she could afford to take her eyes from her strings. Ginny seemed busy with her drum set, but had mentioned the guitar player quite frequently in the last few days. Aisha knew that Ginny admired Joolz a good deal for having written the up-tempo rock song Scaffold. "How do drummers write their songs?" the girl had asked her a couple of days earlier. Aisha had shrugged, at a loss for a reply. She did not write any songs herself, only contributed to the others' ideas; all the drummers she knew only wrote their own songs if they played another instrument, for example the guitar. Ginny had been disappointed in the answer; Aisha wished she could teach the girl how to write songs. She'd talk to Varlerta about it, she decided; Varlerta had written plenty of songs, and teaching Ginny would do her good.

The last song, Radiohead's Creep, was clearly the band's best number. Rhonda had only recently learned to play the bass part in time tolerably well, Aisha knew, but now it sounded just right. Its first notes were greeted with cheers by the audience who recognised the song immediately; even Varlerta was smiling. Ginny had told Aisha that the whole school had been whistling the song for a while, 'magically' connected by the same tune that would not leave the students' collective head. The keyboard chords Kay had added demanded an extra eight bars of intro, but this alteration did not sound out of place anymore to Aisha: Somehow it seemed like the chords had always been there, just like the silver-blonde keyboard player. For Neville, it was most certainly the most credible part; when he sang that he was a creep feeling out of place, he was so convincing that Aisha had to suppress the urge of giving him a comforting cuddle.

Suddenly, she felt excessively lonely herself. In spite of the crowded room, in spite of the presence of her band mates and a couple of kids she cared about, it seemed as if she didn't have a friend in the world. Impatient with her own self-pity, she silently listed her friends to herself, insisting that they cared about her. Yes, a voice in her head seemed to say, but Roary and Pat have each other, and Varlerta would have Sirius, or maybe that other guy, if they hadn't been forced to run for it, and that's where her thoughts are. The kids are all very well, but they have their own lives to attend to, and need to get more than they can give. Who cares about me? that voice said; who cares about me like I care about them? And all of a sudden, while the audience around her was bursting into applause, asking the band for an encore, she saw the image of a wolf in her head, a wolf running through the snowy night all by himself.

A lonely wolf. Yeah, right. Stop that, stupid, she told herself, mentally slapping her own hand.

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