The Labyrinth of Amagor

The Labyrinth of Amagor

Chapter 4: Tactics and Manoeuvres

Logan was the only adult X-Man to have seen the Great Hall at Hogwarts. He had dined here once at the invitation of Severus Snape. Then, the Hall had been full of noisy, chattering kids. The Hall was different, now; the ceiling still reflected the cloudless summer sky outside, but the house benches and tables were gone. Instead, a single, large table dominated the centre of the room, while another along a side wall held a light buffet.

Logan went to get coffee. The X-Men had arrived earlier this morning, their aircraft escorted by two wizards flying on brooms to what he had learned was the Quidditch Pitch. There, a bemused-looking, eight-foot-tall man had promised to take care of the custom-built Stealth plane for them (he had asked them if it needed feeding). They had proceeded to the Hall for quick introductions and being assigned to quarters - the Hufflepuff dormitory, apparently-for a couple hours' sleep before this mid-morning briefing. His teammates were already there, so Logan took the opportunity to observe the wizards as they arrived.

First to come in were four redheaded men who had hardly needed introducing to Wolverine; they all looked, and smelled, too much like Hunter to be anyone other than Weasleys.

Arthur was the dad, of course; Logan had seen hundreds like him, ordinary family men who had decided they must put themselves on the line for the sake of their friends and families and the things they believed in. When the chips are down, I'd sooner have one Arthur Weasley than a dozen Rambos, thought Logan. The twins Fred and George were a wiry, feisty, scrappy pair-give Logan two months in the Danger Room with those kids, and they'd be lethal.

Then there was the eldest son, Bill. Logan could tell at a glance that he'd been where things were down, dirty and dangerous more than once. There was a measuring stare in his eye, and his frame was sparse and hard, stripped down to bone and steel-wire sinew.

After the Weasleys came a group of black-robed figures he had been told were Aurors. Aurors, Wolverine knew, were Wizarding police - not so much beat cops or detectives, more like SWAT teams. The senior guy was a black man called Shacklebolt, experienced and solid, as were the others: Harris, Parker, Knowles and Simmonds. There were only two standouts in the group.

One of them was a grizzled veteran whom they called "Mad-Eye" Moody. That wasn't just a nickname. One of his eyes, clearly artificial, constantly moved, rolling and swivelling in its socket as if searching everywhere at once. Wolverine suspected that the eye was a magical one, and saw things other eyes didn't see. The man's natural eye was dark, fiery and intense. He observed the X-Men with equal degrees of approval and suspicion. A good man, Wolverine thought, but it'll be hard to earn his trust.

The other Auror worthy of remark was a lovely, slender, agile young woman who had introduced herself as "Tonks". She wore the standard black robe, of course, but with a certain casual élan, and her hair was bright scarlet, done in a kind of spiky, punk style that flattered her striking features. That one's a maverick, Logan figured. She'll get the job done, but for her, rules are something that apply to other people. He knew all about that--if Logan had ever had a middle name, it would have been Maverick.

Tonks stepped past him now with a brief but friendly smile, and made a beeline for Bill Weasley, who moved away from his father and brothers to greet her. There was nothing untoward in the way they said hello, or in Bill's insistence on getting coffee for the young Auror--on the surface of it. Surfaces, however, meant little or nothing to Wolverine, and the couple's interaction merely confirmed what his eyes (and nose) had told him earlier that morning; there was serious sparkage going on between those two.

Remus Lupin came in alone. At first glance, he looked haggard and worn, but there was a kind of beaten-down toughness to the man. He'd take a lot of killing, Logan thought. Of course, Lupin had his own special problem; Wolverine knew the scent of werewolf-he'd fought more than one of the creatures in his colourful past. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and, of course, Severus Snape, Logan already knew. It was the last person to enter the Hall that drew his--and everyone else's--attention.

Here comes trouble for somebody, Logan thought. He had thought the same when Dumbledore had introduced the dazzlingly beautiful girl with the silver-white hair to them earlier. "This is Mlle Fleur Delacour, who has kindly volunteered to come along as the mission's Healer. I believe the Muggle term is 'field medic'."

Fleur Delacour had a slim but curvaceous figure, and came down the Hall the way a model sashays down the catwalk. She was wearing distinctly non-Wizard clothing; a skimpy halter top (no bra, Logan figured, from the way things were moving in there), very brief shorts and sandals. Underneath the musky, exotic perfume she wore, Wolverine's animal-keen senses detected a wild bouquet of pheromones. This girl was dynamite.

Fleur was feeling more apprehensive than she hoped she looked as she entered the Hall. She was, quite frankly, feeling out of place here. Fleur had volunteered for this mission in a last-ditch attempt to salvage her foundering relationship with Bill Weasley. She had been immediately attracted to the sophisticated, fashionable, young wizard-about-town. They had flirted, then dated, and finally become lovers.

But there was a side to Bill that Fleur had not known. His work for Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, was merely part of his larger work for the Order of the Phoenix. That meant that there was part of his life he would not share with her. His work also took him away for long periods. All this put a strain on the relationship for both of them.

So when this mission had been mooted, Fleur had volunteered herself as Healer, on the basis that she had some expertise in Potions and Herbs. She had hoped that by participating in this other part of Bill's life, she could revive the relationship. Unfortunately, there had been a fly in the ointment--a fly named Nymphadora Tonks.

Bill and the young Auror had known each other from Hogwarts, of course, but Tonks had been two years below him, so they had never been close. However, when they had encountered each other as adults yesterday, there had been an almost audible click. Fleur could only watch helplessly as the chemistry began to bubble.

She could, she supposed, have gone back to London. But she had volunteered for the mission, and Fleur Delacour was not the kind of woman who went back on her word. Let Monsieur Weasley indulge himself with that tomboyish hoyden if he wished; Fleur would hold her head high and show them all what a real woman could do.

As she approached the group gathered near the buffet table, she could feel their eyes on her. Bon. She had made her entrance; they knew she was here to stay. In turn, she scanned them. The wizards she knew, personally or by reputation, but these newcomers, these Americans, these X-Men, fascinated her. Fleur was in the same position as a number of the wizards here, in that today was the first time she had ever heard the word Mutant. They were not wizards, but not Muggles either, she had been told, and friends of Bill's brother Ron, and his famous friend, Harry Potter.

That decided Fleur. She felt she owed Harry Potter a debt for rescuing her beloved younger sister during the tournament. She might never repay that debt in kind, but she was prepared to be a friend to any friend of Harry's.

Fleur was naturally drawn to the one they had called Storm. Normally, the American's stunning looks would have made them rivals, but Storm's flowing mane of silver-white hair convinced Fleur that this Mutant somehow had Veela blood in her ancestry. That made them kinswomen, after a fashion, so it was Storm she approached as the conversation among the group resumed.

"Mlle Monroe, ees eet not?"

Storm turned with a friendly smile, "Please, call me Ororo. You're Fleur, aren't you?"

The two young women were of an age and easily fell to chatting. Fleur had had little contact with Americans, and was pleased to find that they were less reserved than the English. After a few pleasant exchanges, Fleur felt comfortable enough to ask, "Ororo, could you please introduce me again to your friends? I have shame to be so stupide, but so many names in so short a time. I am nervous zat I shall offend someone by forgetting zair name, or using ze wrong one."

Ororo laughed. "I know what you mean. I hate facing a whole crowd of people at once. Come with me, Fleur, and meet the X-Men."

This time, Fleur made an effort to absorb and remember the names by linking them to faces. Sean Cassidy was warm and avuncular; bizarre-looking but charming Kurt Wagner bowed floridly over her hand and made her smile. Despite his animal appearance, Henry McCoy was polite and cultured. Logan was also courteous, but laconic-Fleur thought him a little scary, that one. Alex Summers was cheerfully friendly and very handsome. Lorna Dane was also friendly but wary, inching protectively closer to Alex, again making Fleur smile. There was no need--Fleur had never poached a man in her life--she'd never wanted one that was taken.

Then came a moment Fleur had not anticipated. Storm led her to a tall, dark young man who was deep in conversation with the Auror Shacklebolt. "Scott, got a second?" Storm asked him. "Fleur needs a refresher course on our names. So, Fleur Delacour, this is Scott Summers."

Scott said only, "Nice to meet you, " giving Fleur a brisk handshake before returning to his conversation with Shacklebolt.

Fleur stood stock-still. She had liked the look of the man from a distance-he was tall, broad-shouldered and moved well. When he had turned to face her, she had been very impressed by his strong features and the generous, expressive mouth. The heavy visor that obscured the upper part of his face intrigued her rather than put her off: What must his eyes be like? His hand had nearly engulfed hers. But all of this was nothing compared to one simple fact: He had barely noticed her. For the first time since she was thirteen years old, a man had looked away from Fleur Delacour without a second glance.

Ororo gently took her arm. "You shouldn't mind Scott; he's all business right now."

"And when ees 'e not 'all business'?"

Storm sighed. "Doesn't happen much these days."

Fleur could tell there was a story there. "'E ees not-'ow you say-gay?"

"Good grief, no. It's just that Scott had a long-term thing going with another member of the team."

"Zey 'ave recently parted?"

Storm shook her head. "No. Jean died, nearly a year ago, now."

"Quelle tristesse! So 'e still mourns?"

"Yes. But for what it's worth, I think it's time he got back in the game."

"Ah. You, Ororo, you do not...?"

"Want him? In that way? No. Perhaps once, a long time ago, I might have. But Jean was too good a friend, and that's what he became." Storm gave Fleur a sudden shrewd glance. "You think he's hot?"

Fleur touched her index finger to her lips. "Per'aps."

Ororo was speaking again. "If you think you can get through to him, I say go for it, girl."

Fleur considered the idea. It was over with Bill; that much was obvious. The Tonks woman was moving in fast, and he was rushing to meet her. There was nothing left but to let go. The young American was handsome, lonely and an interesting challenge. Who knew what lay beneath his armour?

"Excusez-moi," she murmured to Ororo, edging away. It proved easy to catch Bill's eye; it seemed he was looking out for her. The two of them drew a little apart from the others and spoke in low tones.

"Fleur," Bill began, "I feel really awkward about all this. I know you came here to be with me, but it doesn't seem, I mean--"

"You are intrigued by thees Tonks," she finished for him. "I 'ave eyes to see."

Bill had the grace to blush. "It's not as if I were looking for this to happen, Fleur. It's just...."

"Eet ees the fault of no one, mon cher. Eet ees simply the fate. You and I, we 'ad our time, and eet was good. Now, we both move on, n'est-ce-pas?"

He looked at her for a long moment before realisation dawned. "Somebody's caught your eye as well."

She gave him a cryptic little smile, then reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, kissing him firmly on both cheeks. And that was how they parted. Bill went back to Nymphadora's side, while Fleur headed in the direction of the group that included Scott. Very cool, thought Bill. There is no nastier way to get the push.

Tonks looked up as Bill rejoined her. "Problems?"

He shrugged. "I've just been dumped."

"Oh." She looked at him anxiously. "Bit of a shock, that."

"Nah. It's been fizzling out between us for a long time. Better to make it official." He paused a moment. "Did you have any plans for tonight, by the way?"

"Me?" Tonks gave him a sudden, impish grin. "Well, I had thought about taking a bottle of wine up to the Astronomy Tower for old time's sake. I thought I'd sit in the moonlight and listen to someone tell tall tales about curse breaking in Egypt. I've got the wine; I don't suppose you know anyone who could provide the stories?"

"There might be a fellow I know. He's a bit rough around the edges, mind, but he's got a good heart." Bill grinned back at her.

"Ah, well, that's the main thing. Isn't there some Muggle song about a good heart being hard to find?"

They drifted over to join the larger group. Cyclops, aided and abetted by Storm and Nightcrawler, was giving an account of how Harry, Ron, Hermione and Kitty Pryde had fought and defeated two Sentinel robots last spring. Unfortunately, Scott was no raconteur, and was inclined to make the story sound like a field report. Ororo and Kurt were constantly interrupting with lively additions.

As they listened, Bill noticed Fleur slip away from the group to fetch herself a peach from the buffet. She insinuated herself back into the ring of listeners at a point directly opposite Scott. As Cyclops looked around the group, Fleur deliberately made eye contact with him as she bit into the peach. Bill almost laughed out loud; whether it was the steady gaze under half-lowered lashes, or the way she moved her mouth over the fruit, he wasn't sure-but that was the sexiest mouthful of peach he'd ever seen taken!

The effect wasn't lost on Scott, who stammered and lost his thread for a moment, then plunged on. A few moments later, he was unable to resist looking toward Fleur again. She was still gazing at him through her lashes, but this time she parted her red lips slightly, to moisten them delicately with a tiny pink tongue. Scott had to clear his throat - twice--before carrying on.

It was at that point that Dumbledore called the briefing to order. As Scott moved off, Fleur followed him with her eyes. Bien. He was not, then, immune to womanly charms. But to capture such a man, she must do more than pose seductively; she must earn his respect, also. Fleur was not like these English girls who thought that to be equal to men they must behave like them. Fleur Delacour was all woman, but no fool.

The group gathered round the large table. Dumbledore cast a spell, and a three-dimensional image formed on the tabletop. It was a large, grim-looking structure, like a medieval castle, that stood atop a low but steep hill. The hill in turn stood in a clearing in a forest.

Dumbledore began to speak. "As old records indicate, Salazar's Keep stands some twenty miles east of Hogwarts. You will note that, unlike Muggle structures of the same type, it has no outer walls or palisade. There are, however, magical defences that extend as far out as the tree line. Beyond that, I do not know."

"They'll have patrols out," Cyclops assumed. "That's a safe bet. You'll need to know frequency and strength-routes, as well. Were you planning to go in today?"

Shacklebolt looked uncertain. "We had thoughts about it, but we're Aurors, Mr Summers. We're used to responding to emergencies, not going out launching assaults. Normally, we have a good idea of what's happening before we arrive.

"But now," Shacklebolt conceded, "now we're actually planning an attack, and it's not something we've done before. If there's anything you can tell us that can help, I'm listening."

"OK, then," Scott nodded. "Professor X told me that we could advise and help, up to a point, so let's roll up our sleeves."

"D'you think, Kingsley," growled Moody, "that we should be bringing non-wizards into this? All due respect to you X-Men, or whatever you call yourselves, but we don't know you."

"Professor Dumbledore vouches for them, Moody, and that's enough for me," replied Shacklebolt firmly.

Scott held up a hand. "Look, we're here either to bring Dr. Banner home or to help you deal with his alter ego. We don't intend to get involved in any wizard scuffles. But I see no reason why we can't share our expertise with you--unless you'd rather go it alone."

"I think," said Dumbledore, "that there can be no harm, and perhaps great benefit, in listening to what Mr Summers and his colleagues have to offer in the way of advice. Go ahead, please, Cyclops."

Scott exhaled "Thanks, Professor. Now, how many people does Voldemort (several of the wizards flinched as Scott spoke the name so casually) have in there?"

"A dozen--possibly as many as twenty," replied Simmonds. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't seem to be there."

"Fer cryin' out loud," snarled Logan. "Use the dude's name, will ya? Magneto's given us X-Men as much crap as Voldemort's given you guys, and he's just as dangerous, but we don't call him He-Who-Wears-the-Dorky-Helmet!"

Simmonds looked shocked. Snape nodded approvingly across the table at his Canadian friend. Dumbledore said, "I would not express myself quite so...ah...forcibly, as Logan has, but I do concur with his sentiments. By using Voldemort's name, we remind ourselves that he is as human and mortal as the rest of us. Nonetheless we should concentrate on the matter in hand. Scott, you were about to offer a suggestion."

Cyclops looked around the table. "Every Muggle strategist, from Sun Tzu, onwards, has stressed the importance of advance information. Reconnaissance is the most important aspect of any plan, because it's what allows you to make the plan.

"Now, I know you can observe from a distance, by magic, and I'm sure you've had people over-flying the Keep on brooms. But there's no substitute for on-the-ground recon. If you can manage it, you should have some people spy out the area round the Keep. Find out about any patrols or pickets they have out.

"My advice is to spend the rest of today doing that. After you know what's what, you can attack the Keep early tomorrow."

Shacklebolt leaned on his fist. After a moment, he said, "Your ideas make sense. Unfortunately, since this isn't an official case, I could only bring volunteers who are on leave. We don't have an Animagus with us, which would make effecting your plan easy. We do have Tonks, who's a shape-shifter, but she can't cover the whole area thoroughly in the time we have and still be good for tomorrow."

"I can try," Tonks offered.

"Cyke," said Wolverine, "just how far did Charlie say we could go?"

"He didn't lay down any hard and fast rules, Logan, if that's what you're asking. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Wolverine's strong white teeth flashed in his feral grin. "Well, the 'Crawler, Hank and I are three of the sneakiest people I know. There can't be any harm in the three of us goin' out there with Tonks here, and takin' a look-see, can there?"

"Hmm," Scott considered, "if the Hulk breaks out and we have to contain him, it would be handy to know the lay of the land." He came to a characteristically quick decision. "OK, you three go with Miss Tonks. Discreet recon only, no contact. That means you, Wolverine. Is that OK with you, Mr. Shacklebolt? Professor?"

Both wizards nodded, rather relieved, it seemed.

After that, things moved quickly. Tonks, with Logan behind her, set off for the Keep by broom followed by the Weasley twins carrying Beast and Nightcrawler.

The rest of the troops stayed in the Great Hall, moving on to another subject of discussion. Moody wanted to know why Xavier had felt it necessary to send the X-Men to Scotland, if they were not to involve themselves in the action.

Scott tried to explain. "It all comes down to how Voldemort, or whoever's in charge at the Keep, is controlling or restraining Banner. I've been told there's something called an Imperious Curse? Now, if Dr. Banner is aware of what's happening to him, he's going to be getting pretty mad. If you take out the guy casting the curse, or break it in some other way, one of two things is gonna happen: Best case, Banner keels over, out cold, or somebody gets lucky enough to put him to sleep before he changes. That way, we can bring him back here, feed him full of potions or something till he calms down, and take him home.

"Worst case, he changes to the Hulk as soon as the curse goes. Then we have to play it by ear."

"Surely," said Parker, "all we need to do is stun this Hulk? Enough of us should be able to render it unconscious."

Snape dismissed this idea. "I doubt that, Mr Parker. During the incident here in the Spring, I saw young Mr Rasputin, in his Colossus form, attacked by a number of wizards. Spells and charms of all descriptions simply bounced off him. I suspect that this Hulk is even more formidable. Am I right, Mr Summers?"

Scott nodded grimly. "Colossus is the strongest X-Man, physically at least, but the Hulk could snap him in two with one hand. There is no known upper limit to the Hulk's power. Our best hope is to lead him into an uninhabited area, then find a way to calm him down. Once his rage subsides, he'll turn back into Banner, and the doctor will at least be cooperative.

"I won't lie to you. There's a chance that we won't be able to restrain the Hulk. But if we do, it'll be because we all work together, wizards and X-Men. We're counting on you as much as we depend on each other."

Moody looked at Scott with approval. "Well said, young fellow. I like a man who knows his limitations and when to ask for help."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Fred and George Weasley in a state of high excitement. The twins were carrying between them a scruffy-looking, unshaven Muggle in a state of near collapse. "We were dropping the scouting party off, a ways from the Keep, when that Wolverine bloke suddenly...sniffed, then told us all to keep down," George explained. "He sort of faded off into the woods-I've never seen anybody move like that-and came back a couple of minutes later carrying this Muggle. This bloke's in and out, but he kept muttering about a castle and 'radiation', so Wolverine told us to bring him back here."

Fleur had gone straight over to the Muggle, and was examining him, "Oh, le pauvre!" she exclaimed. "Bring 'im to ze Infirmary at once."

"We need to talk to him," Shacklebolt protested.

"Bien sûr, but unless I am treating 'im first, you weel get nothing from 'im."

Shacklebolt reluctantly agreed. "I'll come along. Moody, you take over here. We need to start making plans to assault the Keep."

"I'll come, too," said Scott. "Banshee, can you work with Mr. Moody?"

"Sure, it'll be a pleasure. Be nice to work with another grown man for once, so it will." Sean Cassidy winked at Moody, who responded with a bark of comradely laughter.

Scott had gone to the Infirmary to question the Muggle, but once there, he found himself studying the French woman as she worked over her patient. She had deftly twisted her long hair into a knot at the back of her neck and went about her tasks with equally smooth professionalism. She definitely knew her stuff, he decided, appreciating the easy grace of her movements and the soothing reassurance she gave the injured man. With a sudden stab to his heart, Scott realized Fleur reminded him of Jean.

Fleur could feel the American's eyes on her and knew he was admiring more than her healing technique. She smiled as the Muggle finally settled. He needed to sleep, but he would be able to speak coherently for a short time. She went over to Shacklebolt and Summers, saying, "'E 'as been subjected to the Imperious and Cruciatus curses, and ees starved and weary. You may, for a leetle while, speak with 'im--but only for a leetle time, you understand?"

Shacklebolt went over to the patient. Scott held back. Fleur noticed that he had removed the heavy visor, replacing it with a pair of red-lensed sunglasses that revealed more of his decidedly handsome but sad features. There was a slight hesitation in his voice as he commended her, "Nice job, Miss Delacour."

She favoured him with a full and dazzling smile. "Merci, Monsieur Summers."

"Call me Scott--only my students call me Mr. Summers."

Fleur chose that moment to shake out her hair, though she gave Scott another slow smile. "Comme vous voulez, Scott. But you must call me Fleur."

"Er, OK, Fleur. I'd better...." He gestured towards the patient.

"A short talk only," she reminded him.

The Muggle, it turned out, was a research student. He had been spending the summer measuring potential changes in background radiation in the area for a Government-backed project. He had stumbled onto the Keep while following up on a slight anomaly in gamma emissions in the area.

Captured by the Death Eaters, he had been taken to Voldemort who had, none too gently, extracted a good deal of information from him, including the name of Dr. Bruce Banner, the Muggle world's greatest expert on gamma rays. Then the unfortunate scientist had been shunted to caves below the Keep and shown something his captors called the Ring of Deadly Light, which proved to be a powerful natural source of gamma radiation.

The patient fell back on his pillow, clearly exhausted. It was at that point that Fleur politely but firmly terminated the interview, giving the Muggle a potion that sent him into a deep, healing sleep.

The Muggle's information had done little more than confirm what they already knew and revealed how Voldemort had heard of Banner. The only important revelation was that the dark wizard himself had been, and might still be, at the Keep.

The rest of the afternoon was spent examining and comparing various plans for storming the Keep, until the scouting party returned in the early evening. Their report was succinct: "Either they're amateurs, or they're relying on the magical stuff, or both," reported Wolverine. "There are no pickets out. They send out a patrol of four, every hour on the hour, that does a 20-minute circuit just inside the tree line. They went past me as close as I am to you, and didn't spot me." Scott felt constrained to point out that that meant very little-Wolverine was, after all, Ninja-trained.

Shacklebolt was more concerned with numbers. Tonks took over the report.

"There are four in the patrol and two more in a hut by the main gate. There are two others inside the main gate, which makes eight. Then they have four on the battlements of the curtain-wall, and another in the top of the tower-that's thirteen. There's a side door which probably has two guards, and, say, another two in the caves to guard this Dr Banner-that comes to seventeen."

"Call it twenty," said Shacklebolt. "There aren't so many Death Eaters that You Know Who, er, Voldemort can raise an army. Most of them keep their allegiance a secret and lead normal lives. If we hit them fast and hard, we should be able to handle twenty. I think the plan we agreed on will still work. I also think I can speak for us all when I say thanks to you, Scott, and Sean here, for your input on this."

***

By now, they were all ready for dinner. Dumbledore urged them to relax and to enjoy the occasion as the best preparation for a trying next day.

Logan and Snape sat together near the end of the long table, exchanging news about what had gone on since they last spoke. Then Snape jerked his head towards the group halfway up the opposite side of the board. "It would appear, Logan, that more than one campaign is underway here."

Wolverine chuckled as he watched. Ororo and the French girl were sitting side-by-side, apparently deep in conversation, but they had somehow managed to arrange matters so that Fleur was seated next to Scott. It seemed that occasionally subjects arose upon which the two girls felt the need to consult Cyclops; furthermore, by some carelessness of the House-Elves, many of Fleur's favourite dishes had been placed on the table in such a position that Scott had to pass them to her. Her invariable method of attracting his attention was to place an elegant hand on his tanned forearm and leave it there rather longer than Logan felt was strictly necessary. Apparently, Fleur also felt it courteous not to speak too loudly to Scott, in order not to disturb other diners, so she tended to lean close to him and speak softly into his ear. Scott, unused to this kind of attention, was clearly more than a little perplexed. Logan caught Ororo's eye, and she gave him a wink that spoke volumes.

After dinner, the company separated into groups. Knowles, Harris, Parker and Simmonds were heading off to the Three Broomsticks in nearby Hogsmeade. Snape and Logan had the same destination in mind. Arthur Weasley had buttonholed Beast and was peppering him with questions about Muggle science and technology, questions that Hank was fielding amiably. Alex and Lorna were setting out for a stroll through the grounds. The Weasley twins had gone off to visit Hagrid in his hut. Bill and Tonks had already disappeared, chatting animatedly as they had throughout dinner.

Scott looked around. At the far corner of the room, the two veterans, Moody and Banshee, had somehow come by a bottle of Jameson's Irish whiskey, and were settling down to swap stories. Nightcrawler and Lupin were gone; Shacklebolt was deep in conversation with Dumbledore. Scott, Ororo and Fleur were among the last still to be seated at the table. Then Ororo suddenly said, "Professor McGonagall wants to talk with me about something. Fleur, can I leave you to look after Scott?"

"Mais certainement, Ororo. Ze grounds 'ere are beautiful. I am sure Scott will not mind joining me for a leetle promenade, no? I must go and freshen myself, and check on my patient. Wait 'ere; I weel not be long."

Scott gave Ororo a slightly sour look. "I was planning to get extra rest for tomorrow," he told her.

Ororo eyed him sceptically. "At half-past eight in the evening? I don't think so, Scott. You can sit and brood all you like at home, but right now you've got a chance to walk in some lovely gardens with a pretty girl. Just go with the flow for a change, huh? For me?"

Completely taken aback, Scott remembered to close his mouth before Ororo grinned, then leaned forward to give him a completely unexpected peck on the cheek. "Just enjoy yourself, my friend. Tomorrow could get hairy."

Viewed in that light, Scott thought, it made sense. So when Fleur returned, he rose and offered her his arm, and the two of them headed outside into the warm evening.

Storm was escorted by Professor McGonagall to her private rooms. McGonagall offered her tea, and showed her to one of two armchairs in front of a large window. They sipped for a few minutes in silence, then McGonagall began, "Miss Monroe...."

"Ororo, please, Professor."

"Ah, yes. I am afraid I must be either very old-fashioned or too British. I am not accustomed to the speed with which you Americans like to get on first-name terms," McGonagall admitted. "Ororo is a lovely but rather unusual name."

"It's the one my mother gave me - it means 'Beauty'. The 'Monroe' I adopted in America--I stole it from Marilyn Monroe."

"I see. A Muggle cinema actress, was she not? Famed for her beauty and a tragically early death?" In answer to Storm's look, McGonagall continued, "Not all of us completely ignore the Muggle world, Ororo.

"But to come to my point: When we were arranging the exchange scheme, Charles was good enough to send over files on all his staff. I am therefore aware that you are an orphan, of African origin. What do you know or remember of your family and background?"

"Not much." Storm's voice became low and sad, "My mother was a priestess-a woman of power. I...I was worshipped as a goddess because of my hair. There were legends, you see, about the tribe's ancestors mating with white-haired supernatural beings. When I was five years old, another tribe raided our village. Mother was killed, and I was sold into slavery -yes, it still happens. I was taken to Cairo, where a criminal bought me. He taught me to beg, to pick pockets and locks, and to burgle houses.

"Then, when I was twelve, he sold my virginity to a rich customer. But my Mutant powers were starting to manifest, and when the man tried to touch me--" Ororo paused, hands held out. "The authorities said the lightning bolt was a freak of nature. It destroyed the house, killing everyone inside except me. The street people knew better. I was an outcast; they were scared of me. I begged and stole for a living until Dr. Moira McTaggart, a UN worker, found me. She knew Professor Xavier, and she recognised me for what I am. She sent me to Xavier's, which has been my home ever since. The X-Men are my family, now."

McGonagall waited for a moment before replying, "I am sorry to have dragged up such painful memories, Ororo, but I have my reasons.

"As Deputy Head, it falls to me each year to send out the letters inviting new students to Hogwarts. Some of our students are pure-blooded wizards, so the letters are expected and eagerly awaited by the families and children. The human heart being what it is, of course, some witches and wizards marry Muggles, and most of these half-blooded children are also wizards, but again, the parents know to expect the letter.

"However, there are an increasing number of children being born into Muggle families-families with no prior connection to our world-who are manifesting Wizarding talents."

"Like Charm, you mean?"

"Charm?"

"Hermione. Charm is her X-Man code name."

"I see. Interesting choice, given her rather...assertive personality. But yes, Miss Granger is a Muggle-born, unlike her beau, Mr Weasley, who is a Pureblood.

"Now, such children usually begin to show their talent fairly early, and the Ministry has an agreement whereby Muggle teachers, medical staff and social workers can report such occurrences. It is part of my task to confirm their findings, discreetly of course. I was given this job because I have a knack for spotting youngsters who possess true magical talent.

"Which brings me to my point: Are you aware, Ororo, that you possess magical talent?"

Stunned, Ororo simply stared. McGonagall went on, "I expect and believe that this talent has, as it were, merged with, and possibly enhanced, your Mutant abilities. With study and training, you should be able to use the full range of magical skills as we wizards do."

Storm was completely at a loss. "Professor McGonagall, I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing for now, Ororo. You should reflect on this knowledge at length. If you elect to pursue magical training, it would be a large commitment--one you may not wish to make. Tomorrow will be a full and dangerous day for you, so you must not be preoccupied with other thoughts."

"Dangerous only if the Hulk breaks out," Ororo amended.

McGonagall smiled reassuringly. "In my opinion, Scott Summers is a capable individual. If things go badly for our people tomorrow, I am convinced he will not let harm come to them without intervening, Hulk or no Hulk. But come, Ororo, let us have some more tea, and enjoy this fine evening."

The light outside had turned amber. They heard Scott and Fleur pass beneath the window, talking quietly. There was a ripple of laughter from the girl, followed quickly by Scott's quiet chuckle-a sound Ororo had not heard in far too long. Across the grounds, Ororo saw that the lights of the plane turn on, and guessed that Arthur had prevailed upon Hank to show him their state-of-the-art aircraft.

***

High on a west-facing battlement of the castle, Kurt Wagner watched the sinking sun. He had come up here to pray, not knowing whether the school had a chapel, but doubting it. Now, at peace with himself and the world, Nightcrawler crouched on the very edge of the wall, gripping the ancient stonework with his prehensile toes. A figure came out of the shadows to stand nearby.

"Good evening, Herr Lupin," Wagner greeted him, waving toward the landscape. "A most beautiful view."

"It is. Call me Remus, please. You're Kurt, aren't you?"

"Ja."

Remus studied the figure beside him. The X-Man looked as if he belonged here, with his gargoyle features and the long, thin tail that swayed gently back and forth. The air of serenity surrounding the younger man despite his demonic appearance struck Remus. He could not resist asking, "How do you do it, Kurt? How do you stay so calm, so happy? I mean, no offence, but you look like...like...."

"Like something created to scare naughty children?" Kurt laughed softly. "I was raised in a circus, Remus. People used to the Bearded Lady or the Boneless Man had no problems with how I looked."

"They put you in the Freak Show?" Remus was horrified.

Kurt shook his head, "Nein, they are not so wasteful of talent. I was a trapeze artist, one of the finest. The audience thought my face to be make-up-a mere gimmick. It was only when I was taken from the circus that people feared me. For them, I feel pity; their narrow little lives blind them to the wonders the world holds.

"Also," he added, lifting his crucifix, "I have my faith. I am as the Lord made me, and I trust in His mercy and love." Nightcrawler cocked his head, eying Lupin. "Yet, I think it is not so simple for you. Your...monster...is inside."

"You know?" Remus breathed, astonished.

Kurt nodded. "Wolverine told us. His senses are keen as yours, perhaps more so, and he recognised the scent. But it is no problem. You are a good man, or you would not be here. Hold to that, if to nothing else, and be true to yourself. It is the most any of us can do."

***

Nymphadora and Bill talked until the distance between them faded away with the sun.

Bill began with stories of his exacting, often dangerous, work in Egypt. Tonks listened to his words of praise for the rose-coloured beauty of the desert at sunset, the glory of sunrise over the Great Pyramid, the simple dignity and warm hospitality of the Bedouin tribesmen he had known.

In her turn, Nymphadora described her decision to become an Auror, a choice based on her fierce commitment to the protection of their world. In the end, she admitted, "It makes it hard with men. Most of them feel challenged by me--even other Aurors."

Bill laughed. "Surely there are some men out there who aren't complete wimps?"

"Names--I need names," she quipped. "Anyway, I'm not a very girly girl, you know."

"Really? Well, I'd go so far as to say you're far more woman than girl, Nymphadora."

She made light of the compliment, reaching for the wine bottle to cover the sharp pleasure she felt in the tone of his voice as he spoke her name. A careless hand knocked the bottle over. Bill leaned across deftly to catch it before the wine spilled; that movement brought him closer to Tonks. He looked up to find her face barely an inch from his.

"Well?" she murmured softly. He smiled, and leaned in. After that, there was very little reason to talk.

***

Much later, after a final check-in at the Infirmary, Fleur brought Scott to the door of the Hufflepuff dormitory. She was staying with the other wizards in the Ravenclaw area. Scott had remarked wryly,

"I'm supposed to walk you to your door, but this castle is so confusing!"

Fleur laughed; Scott liked the sound of it. She said, "When I stayed 'ere for ze tournament, eet took me weeks to find my way 'ere and zair. Now, we must sleep, mon ami. Tomorrow, we weel be very busy."

To Scott's utter astonishment, she stretched to kiss him lightly on the cheek, saying, "Bonne nuit, Scott, et merci. Thees was the marvellous evening. Per'aps tomorrow, we may do eet, again." She stroked his face with one delicate finger, then went on her way, smiling a private little smile as she felt his eyes on her until she turned the corner. He would not ignore her now, this man.

As he prepared for bed, Scott tried to think about the next day, but the feel of Fleur's lips on his cheek, like her perfume around him, lingered.