A Three-Part Song

The Second Part:

What is the song that the children sing,

When doorway lilacs bloom in Spring

And the schools are loosed, and games are played

That were deadly earnest when Earth was made?

-------Rudyard Kipling, 'A Counting-Out Song"

Near Folberg, 16 September

Two boys ran through the forest on a Friday afternoon, laughing and chasing each other. Lessons were over for the day and their homework was done--at least, done enough that they would not be in too much trouble on Monday. Saturday's class had been cancelled: the Potions mistress had gone away for some supplies. The weather was perfect, and they had the huge forest to explore. True, they should have got a third person to go with them, but this was a mere technicality.

The tall, blond boy with the heavy backpack turned to his companion and said, "Listen, Jonas, if they scold us, we can just say we thought Hans was following us, and we didn't notice he wasn't there till we'd gone for miles." He grinned.

His shorter, dark-haired companion said, "Not Hans, that baby--nobody'd believe we'd ask him to come. Let's say Mika. She at least has some sense in the woods. Or better yet, let's just say we're as good as three, ourselves alone. Jonas and Frode, the world's smallest trio!"

They giggled and collapsed into the moss, startling some small creature that scurried away from their roughhouse play. They crawled after it on hands and knees, pretending to be foxes after a lemming.

The ground rose steeply just to the right of them; they kept to the lower ground and trooped happily through the trees, moving gradually up and away from the school. They did not notice a shadowy figure, an adult, following them at a distance.

**********************

25 November, a letter

Hello Remus,

Well, we made it, after a fashion, through the first task. The champions had to retrieve a golden egg from amongst the mother dragon's own eggs: very impressive work from all the kids involved. Harry was great: He Summoned his broomstick and teased the dragon into chasing him up into the air, then ducked down before she knew where he was and grabbed his egg. He was quicker than anyone else; it was fun to watch.

The only hitch, and apparently it was a real tragedy, was when one kid used a Conjunctivitis Curse on his dragon (please don't tell Andie that I would have suggested that ploy to Harry if I'd had the chance), and she staggered around and stepped on some of her own eggs. You'll hear all about it from Andie, but the gist of it is that these are rare, beautiful, intelligent animals and they feel deeply for their eggs.

Andie was unbelievable: after the task was finished, she confronted Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, and told them off royally for initiating such a stunt: danced on their heads for about fifteen minutes. They didn't know where to put themselves. If I hadn't felt so badly for her, and for the dragon, I'd have enjoyed that show as much as the task itself. Furthermore, she's putting it all in writing and sending copies to all the schools involved, and to the Ministries of Magic in the home countries of each dragon--it's a safe bet that none of the other tasks will involve animals. She says she's had years of experience with the French Bureau of Magic and knows how to make herself heard. You'd have been proud of her; I was!

I'm back at home with Buckbeak; Andie and the others left this morning to get their dragons back home. She should be back to you soon; she says to tell you she misses you. Get ready: she'll need some cheering up. Actually, all the dragon handlers were pretty subdued after the egg accident: it was a definitely un-festive atmosphere at their party afterwards. (Padfoot went with Andie; I didn't want to leave her alone)

What sort of holiday do you get for Yule? Things will be pretty quiet here, and Dumbledore says I shouldn't have much direct contact with Harry, for his safety and for mine. So unless he thinks up some other errands for me, I'll be free to visit some of the time, and I'll certainly be around for the full moon. Has it stopped raining?

Sirius

P.S: Talk to Andie when she gets home, and let me know, and I don't want any of your damn politeness, either. If you two would rather spend Christmas holidays alone together, I expect you to tell me. There are a million things I could be doing, and Dumbledore says he wants to talk to me, which usually involves lots of time and distance anyway. -S.

*******************************

27 November, a Letter:

Hello Sirius,

I have two weeks off for Christmas holidays: the week before and the week after Christmas. And if you don't present yourself for as much as possible of that time, we'll come and find you! "alone together" --Idiot. I have half a mind to show Andie that stupid P.S. on your letter. We want you. We're Pack animals, all three of us. Come up for the full moon, then stay through till at least the Monday after the New Year.

Actually, it would be even better if Andie and I could come home for Christmas, but I think there will be a few students staying over and I'm not sure if I should be gone. Things have been happening here that bear watching.

Remus

P.S: No, it hasn't stopped raining. Locals say it does this a lot, just here. Marine Coastal climate, or something. -R.

*******************************

The Northernmost Tower, 1 December

"You are not fully able to use this power yet; in fact, you may not be entirely aware of its existence, but I believe your transformation to a winged creature was a result of your growing ability to control and focus your emotional energy. You do realise, don't you, that you have always been a highly emotional person?"

Dumbledore slowly paced to and fro in his office with a detached, professorial air, benignly addressing Sirius, a class of one. "When you were a child, you were impetuous, intense, full of boundless energy. The joyous, fun-loving aspect of this nature gave you and your friends a flair for daring and mischief on a level seldom seen in these halls. At this date, it is probably safe to tell you that you were a source of great entertainment to the staff as well as to yourselves." He smiled gently at his audience, strolled to the window, and continued, silhouetted against the pale winter light.

"There was a negative side as well, however: your mother, at least, was most distressed by your 'wild' temperament, and spoke to me about it several times. You seldom stopped to consider the consequences of your actions. To be fair, you accepted whatever punishment was handed to you, but there was not much forethought in your makeup. Once, as I'm sure you recall, a moment of rage nearly proved your undoing. I know you remember the time you sent Severus to have a look at the werewolf. Did you know that your salvation on that occasion was James? He insisted on coming to the disciplinary conference. He told us that he had been rendered unconscious by Severus; that it was your anxiety for his safety that caused you to act as you did. It was still a grave offence, but the fact that it was not a simply a mischievous prank saved you from expulsion.

"I think that very early, you came to rely on James and Remus to give you a sense of balance: they provided you with the caution and detachment you needed, the ability to predict outcomes before embarking on a course of action. They had--have--their own gifts, and soon it was difficult to tell whose was in the fore. The three of you helped each other in many ways; you would all have been far less fortunate if you had not met and made friends."

Sirius had been idly watching the unhurried rotation of a beautiful, transparent crystal globe on Dumbledore's desk as he listened. He now looked up and nodded in agreement. "I know they saved me from making a fool of myself lots of times. Life was easier, having them at my elbow, smacking me when I was too far over the top. I hope you're right that I gave them something in return; I never felt that I did. All I could do, I felt, was to be there when they needed me, and as you know, I failed both of them there."

The headmaster shook his head, looked down at Sirius with compassion, and resumed his slow circuit of the room. "You did not fail them, but that is something we can address at another time. What they got from you, what they both needed, was your emotional energy. None of you had a particularly easy childhood, but you, Sirius, were able to find happiness and enthusiasm in sufficient force within you to keep all your spirits up.

"Their own natures, unaided, could easily have led them to depression, remoteness, and in Remus's case almost certainly into Dark magic--but they had you, blazing off in all directions, upsetting them, inspiring them, causing them trouble. Making them happy. James probably would not have bothered to excel at his classwork if he hadn't had you to challenge him; Remus never would have thought it possible to be carefree or have fun, if not for you. You were all very bright, so of course they learned quickly: became at least as troublesome to their instructors as you were--but they needed you to set them off.

"That emotional energy is what interests me at present. It seems that you are now sometimes able to convert your emotions to magical power, in a more direct way than is customary. Nobody has ever even considered befriending the Wolf inside a werewolf before. Not even the most accomplished wizards take to the sky just because they are lonely. And no other wizard has ever escaped from Azkaban Prison--certainly not just because he wanted very much to be somewhere else."

Sirius stared at his old headmaster, considering. "When you put it like that, it sounds impressive. And I can learn to control this?"

"I think you have been controlling it, perhaps unawares, for some time. You were deliberately using the feeling of loneliness, were you not, when you became a falcon? The emotion was there, you said, and you tried, in your words, to explore it. When you were in prison, you must have developed a method of controlling your emotions; the dementors would have driven you mad otherwise. Your escape, your Wolfsbane Potion, and your falcon, are all a result, I think, of conscious intent on your part."

The headmaster stopped directly in front of Sirius, and gazed at him intently for a few moments, as if wondering whether to go on. At last he sighed, and asked quietly, "You mentioned James earlier: how is it that you feel you failed him?"

Sirius's head jerked up: he stared at Dumbledore with surprise, his expression tense, his voice impatient. "You know how it was. You knew what happened--you sent Hagrid. I was stupid; I misjudged. I trusted the wrong friend. James died because I was wrong about Peter." For a moment he sat stiffly, awkwardly silent, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, the flood of unspoken words in his head paralysing him. Finally, he shrugged in defeat and sank back, his troubled gaze once again fixed upon the revolving globe. "I don't usually think about it."

"I would like for you to think about it, for a few moments. I know this will be painful, but it will be worth it, won't it, if you can turn those emotions into some sort of power?"

This was not the turn Sirius had expected the conversation to take: he blinked, sat motionless for a moment, then took a deep breath and nodded assent. "Now I understand. I don't object, but I'm reluctant to see what will happen in this case. I don't think anything useful can come of these particular feelings." He smiled with grim amusement. "And I don't know if we want to find out in your office."

Dumbledore sat down opposite him at the little table. "I believe you will be in control of whatever happens. And I will be here."

"Right, then." Sirius closed his eyes, recalling the last few times he'd been with James--with James and Lily. Learning to hold, wash, feed, play with his little godson, laughing at how exceedingly wiggly babies were. Making Lily laugh at his clumsiness, and accenting it to keep her laughing. He felt useful being with them, laughing in spite of the danger, trying to cheer everyone up. James, willing to place the safety of his little family in Sirius's care: 'At least we know we'll be safe if you're our Secret-Keeper.' The last weeks; the last days. His own plan to be a decoy, a red herring, while assigning Peter the real Secret-Keeper's role. James reluctantly agreeing.

And what a shambles. The night he'd arrived to see the Dark Mark in the sky above their cottage. Hagrid had come; had taken the baby. They must have talked; he didn't remember. He must have told Hagrid to take his bike. Then, finding James dead inside the door. He'd run through the house, found Lily, dead. He'd stumbled slowly back through the wreckage, felt as if he were walking in glue. He'd made it as far as the door and dropped to his knees on the floor beside James, unable to move further. He'd gone on sitting there, staring down at James, gently touching his face, trying to imprint those features forever in his memory. The end of so many things. They'd had such hope: the hope that all young couples have--the universal hope for a good life, and safety for their baby. Shattered, because of his misjudgement. In wreckage. Broken.

A thunderous crash caused him to open his eyes. Cold wind on his cheek made him turn, to see that Dumbledore's window had broken. Good. He looked up appraisingly at the few jagged points of glass still in the window frame, gave the glittering pile of shards on the floor a glance, then turned his eyes to the huge glass doors of the bookcase beside the window. Crash. They cracked and fell to the floor in thousands of splinters: Yes, that sound was the only one he wanted to hear just now. He looked down at his teacup: it sailed into the wall and crashed into tiny bits. At his glance, the teapot followed it. Devastating. Satisfying.

"Try not to damage the globe; I'm rather fond of it." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, reassuring. Sirius stared at him, shattered, pale, breathing hard. He looked down, and clasped his hands together in his lap to stop them trembling. Fawkes flew down from his perch onto Sirius's shoulder.

******************************

Folberg, 16 December:

"...so he repaired the window, and the bookcase doors, and told me he was delighted! I couldn't stop shaking. He made more tea, gave me that, and wrapped a blanket around me." Sirius grinned and stretched his legs toward the fire.

"Horrible." Andie shuddered, and held him tighter. It was late afternoon; the Pack sat by the fire on the little sofa, their arms around each other. They had spent the morning seeing nearly all the children off for their holidays in three brightly painted, Viking-style school ships, which would sail down the fjord and off to several different towns up and down the coast. Sirius had arrived in the midst of the ship-loading and seeing-off confusion, adding to it by boisterously greeting all the children he'd met on his first visit to the school, teasing them, promising to be there on their return. In the evening the Pack would go, with the rest of the staff and their families, to the big dining hall for dinner.

"The really difficult part was the questioning afterwards: he wanted to know exactly when I'd realised what I was doing, and when I took control. I felt like a seventh-year being quizzed for N.E.W.T.s. Then he told me how, when he was very young, and newly married, his Muggle wife was killed by some enemies of his, and left for him to find. He didn't say who'd done it, or what the circumstances were. When he discovered her, he said, he blasted their whole cottage apart. He sat all night in the wreckage, and the next morning he became an eagle. He spent the whole next year in that form. Didn't have a clue, he said, what was happening, or what he was doing. He says that's how he twigged to what was going on with me. Did you know any of that?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I've never heard anything about his personal life. I've wondered." He looked up from the fire and regarded his friend with affection. "Well, if this is how Dumbledore got to the level he's on, we can expect great things from you in about a hundred years. In the meantime, we'll just hide the good china till you go back to the Hut."

******************************

Folberg's dining hall was brightly lit, and smelled of delicious food, combined with the lovely scent of new wood. People wandered in, exchanging friendly, quiet greetings. Sirius had met a few of the instructors on his first visit; others were new to him. Remus, at his elbow, made a few introductions or reminded him of names heard once. Andie had wandered off with an old woman in Sami dress. "You remember Minne; she's teaching Andie how to knit. There are certain spells that people here have always added to clothing in the form of geometric designs: mainly Protection from trolls, cold, and wild animals. But a skilled knitter, like Minne, can put almost any spell you like into a jumper or a pair of socks."

A bored-sounding voice behind them interrupted. "Yes, and have them ready for you in only three or four days. Anyone with a decent education could cast the same spell with a proper wand in a matter of minutes, but here we respect the Old Ways, however primitive." Sirius turned to see a tall, heavily built, middle-aged man in dress robes and a tasselled, medieval-looking hat. He was accompanied by a similarly dressed, plain-faced woman of an age somewhere between forty and sixty, with straight, wispy hair so fair that it was difficult to say whether she had gone grey or was merely very blonde.

Remus turned and smiled politely at the couple. "Sirius, I'd like you to meet Ola, who teaches History of Magic, and his wife Carina. Ola, this is Andromeda's brother, who has come up from Scotland for the holidays. He was at Hogwarts with me; earned top marks in all his classes. So he may agree with you about the superiority of wandwork over traditional methods." Remus's demeanour was quite correct, but Sirius saw mischief in his friend's eyes as he turned towards him.

The Marauder instinct was strong: this was a challenge Sirius couldn't resist. The languid, offhand accent affected by old Pureblood English families surfaced in his speech, and he tilted his head back slightly as he addressed Ola. "Well, wandwork is certainly more efficient than older forms of magic, and useful for everyday chores, but boring after a while, I find. Any fool with a first-year's grasp of Latin can make his way in the world, pointing his wand and watching things move about." He raised one eyebrow, managing to look slightly remote and superior.

"I think it splendid that my sister wishes to explore an historic magical form. In my last year at school, I acquired a Muggle machine, a motorcycle, and enchanted it to fly, using only spells that could be added with the tools traditionally used on such machines. It was slow, to be sure, and in many ways inferior to more normal modes of travel, but I needed a proper challenge. Wandwork can be rather mindless, don't you agree? From the historian's point of view, I should think you would find some of these old activities intriguing."

Ola's face deepened in colour, and he was about to reply, but suddenly Andreas appeared in the doorway, huge and jovial. "Welcome, everyone! Please be seated!" He noticed Sirius, and switched to English. "Sirius, how good it is that you could come back for a visit; I know Andie and Remus are pleased." He gave similar greetings to one or two other visitors, and ushered them all to the tables.

There were eleven staff members, counting Andreas, and five or six guests. The Pack found themselves seated across the table from Aslak and Minne, the old Sami couple who taught Shamanistic practices and Divination. An ancient-looking, tiny woman with them was introduced as Mari, Aslak's mother. Andie and Minne, with the old lady commenting in Sami now and then, carried on a conversation chiefly about the use of various snowflake patterns as Protection from cold.

Remus turned to Sirius and muttered, "You know, you did use your wand on the Shadow. Quite a lot. I was there." They grinned happily at each other. Conversation ceased for a few moments as food appeared on the tables: huge platters of sliced meat and cheese, baskets of bread, bowls of steaming potato soup that smelled of dill, numerous other dishes. All present suddenly realised that they were very hungry.

Aslak, across the table, smiled at the two of them. "I notice that Remus has introduced you to our friend Ola. A man of great knowledge in his field, but with very little interest in other matters. Most of us here in the North, unfortunately, tend to isolate ourselves from each other--indeed, from many things. Do not think badly of him because he displays contempt for things outside his field. I myself find it impossible to become interested in Ola's Goblin Uprisings of seven hundred years ago. Goblins are Southern creatures."

A broad-shouldered young man to Sirius's left joined the conversation, in the distinctive slow, careful, Scandinavian approach to English: "I do agree with you that the Goblin Uprisings are useless bits of knowledge, but don't you think that some exchange is a good thing? Things do change; we are made aware of other ways whether we like it or not. I never considered myself a teacher until Andreas came to our village and asked Kjersti and me to join his staff. We all knew about Folberg, of course, but it wasn't a place for us; we are only simple village folk. Kjersti and I were not sure we would fit in with the scholarly staff here, but we have stayed for four years, and it has been most enjoyable. I find it exciting to work in such a place of learning. This year, I have even purchased a wand, and Remus is teaching me its uses." He smiled broadly upon the company, such an engaging smile that all returned it.

Remus explained. "Folberg was down to about thirty students when Andreas took over. The curriculum was pretty nearly that of Hogwarts: excellent, rigorous, on a par with any of the best schools of magic in Europe. But it was not very interesting to most of the wizarding families in Norway. Aslak said it best: people here are quite isolated, on farms or in little seacoast villages, or nomadic in his family's case. They use magic in ways handed down to them by their ancestors, for the same purposes as their ancestors. Transfiguration, History of Magic, Arithmancy--all may be amusing to them, but serve very little practical purpose in the lives they choose to lead.

"Erik, here, teaches Marine Arts: boat building, sailing, sailmaking, singing spells, net charms, fish-calling, magical navigation. The first year he joined the staff, I'm told, enrolment doubled. For hundreds of years, his family has built ships in a little village just up the coast; his father and two brothers still carry on this work. None of their ships has ever been destroyed in a storm, and anyone who falls overboard need only touch the side of the ship to be taken back in. Having the chance to learn from him was a real incentive to many seacoast families to enrol one or more of their children here."

Erik blushed and nodded, pleased. "Thank you, Remus, for the approving words. It is not always the case that educated wizards appreciate our old skills. Aslak and Minne, here, are also unschooled in modern ways, but they too attract new students for Folberg. Their skills interest me as well. Perhaps, after I gain control of this wand, I shall apprentice myself to them, and learn to tell the future like Minne, or leave my body and go wandering, as Aslak can do."

He turned his attention to a dish passed to him from down the table. "There is one thing all at Folberg agree on, whatever our background: the cooking here is wonderful. Do you serve herring in cream sauce in England?"

**************************

Andreas stood at the doorway, seeing everyone out, speaking politely to one and all as they left the dining hall. He thought with amusement of the seven children who had stayed at school for the holidays: they had asked to have their dinner in the fifth-years' house rather than face all the teachers and guests in the dining hall. Adults could be intimidating at times.

Andreas felt a momentary pang of envy for those students as he held the door for Isak and Kaja, the Transfiguration and Charms teachers, a much older couple. Unwilling to admit that a young man like Andreas could do justice to a position of such responsibility as headmaster, they were still unfriendly after five years. Indeed, gossip had it that five years ago, Isak himself had been almost sure that the Headmaster's job would be his. They nodded coldly to him and left silently. Well, they had nothing to reproach him with; the school had grown and prospered under his direction.

He sighed, and turned to receive a much warmer greeting from the Pack. How agreeable it was to have Remus on staff! Here was a man of great knowledge, an asset to the school. A friendly man, approachable and understanding. The children were delighted with their Dark Arts lessons; they learned eagerly from him. And how pleasant he and his family were: the Pack, they called themselves. A good joke; an English joke. How good it must be to have such a family, with whom one need not be on guard, as Andreas always had to be these days. He smiled a bit wistfully as he watched them walking down the path, arms linked. At last, life had been good to his friend Remus.

He recalled how Remus had appeared at their first meeting: in the early dawn of a Romanian winter, stumbling, naked, nearly incoherent, a mob of angry farmers approaching beyond the hill. He had beckoned to the helpless man, opened his backpack without a word and given Remus his spare clothes, thrown his own cloak around him, just in time. As the farmers came into view, he had blustered up to them in his best ignorant-tourist manner, demanding directions to the nearest town, a hotel, a doctor for his "cousin", who had taken ill. Shouting, boorishly pretending not to understand, he had successfully kept their attention from their intended victim.

Andreas hadn't known why he had acted thus; he knew what werewolves were: how terrifying they were to the human population. He had in fact watched Remus transform only a few moments before. It might have been curiosity: he had wanted very much to talk to a real werewolf. But it also had something to do with the selfless way this werewolf had allowed his pack to escape, while drawing the mob's attention to himself by taking an easier path for the farmers to follow. He had watched the whole thing from the top of the hill. It had touched him; had made him identify with the werewolf and want to help. Hunted creatures had always aroused his protective instincts.

Andreas sighed. Now, he thought, it was he who felt like a hunted creature.

***********************************

The Pack started down the path to their cabin, full of delicious food and good spirits. The night was still, moonlit, and chilly, smelling of wet wood and greenery.

"That Erik seems to be a friendly fellow," said Sirius. "Who's the Kjersti he was talking about?"

"Oh, Kjersti's his wife," explained Andie. "A very nice person. She teaches Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures--though here, it's more like Magical Care of All Creatures. Muggle and Wizard farmers here keep goats and cows, mainly. Most of the creatures here that we think of as Magical are dangerous, and not really dealt with much by humans. Kjersti gives students a very good grounding in spells for healing, gentling frightened animals, things like that. She has an excellent rapport with cattle and reindeer. Her Herbology classes are practical courses in gathering and gardening, and utilisation of magical plants. A bit more home-oriented than our classes were.

"She left on the northbound School ship this morning; she wants to go skiing for a while near the Arctic Circle. She's going to have a baby fairly soon, and wanted some time to herself before the baby comes."

Sirius gave her a startled glance, and said, "Skiing, pregnant, alone, in the winter? What does Erik think of that?"

"He probably thinks it's a good idea; I haven't heard him say otherwise. People here love the outdoors, they worship self-reliance, and they like their solitude. Nobody even minds if the children disappear into the forest on the weekends. They always seem to get back in time for school on Monday mornings. The first-years have to travel in threes, and the second-years must have a partner, but the older ones can go off alone if they like. Some of them, too, after they've passed Erik's first-year Marine Arts course, can go sailing down the fjord if they want to."

A slight sound on the path behind them made them turn. "Yes, Andie, we Norse do value our solitude. At times, though, a friend is valued even more. May I come home with you for a short while?"

It was Andreas, big and fair in the nearly-full moonlight. He was as tall as Sirius, and much more powerfully built. The hood of his heavy green cloak was thrown back, revealing dark blond hair sticking up untidily. He stood watching them doubtfully, as if expecting a polite rejection.

Remus turned to him and smiled. "My friend, of course you are welcome. Sirius was clever enough to bring along some English beer; perhaps you'd like to try that. And you can help us to acquaint him with our puzzle here: I was planning to talk it over with him."

"Yes, our puzzle. I too was hoping to discuss this. I have found a book that I would like to show you."

***************************

They sat around the kitchen table, candles shining brightly, hovering above them. Andreas appeared tired: in the indoor light they could see that his face was lined and there were dark circles under his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, giving it an even more dishevelled appearance. Andie poured the beer into glasses and silently placed one in front of him. He drank deeply, raised his eyebrows in approval, finished the glass. Andie was ready with a second bottle.

Andreas turned and pointed his wand at his cloak, thrown down on the sofa. A large brown book appeared from the pocket and floated to the table. He passed the book to Remus, who examined it with interest. The book remained closed. He took out his wand and held it over the book, feeling the tension surrounding it. Some sort of Lock, nothing very complicated. He grinned and passed the book to Sirius, who grinned back and took out his own wand.

Andie watched them both with amused resignation, shook her head and turned to Andreas. "Well, you've made them very happy; they will be playing with this book the rest of the evening. Where did it come from?"

"This book was found in the cabin where Remus's predecessor lived. I had directed the housekeeper to clean it in preparation for giving it to Kjersti and Erik. It is a much bigger cabin than the one they have now, and they will be needing more space when their baby arrives." Andreas paused and poured the second bottle of beer into his glass, tilting it with a practised hand.

"Järven was a secretive man, Swedish, with no family: no one came to claim his belongings after he was killed. His clothes were given to his friend Ola; the house furnishings and kitchen things are still of course in the cabin, but this book was not discovered until yesterday, when the housekeeper turned the mattress. It was between the mattress and the bedframe; I'm hopeful that it may be a diary. We had no clues about Järven's death; perhaps this will be one."

A sharp cracking sound, followed by mild profanity and laughter, drew their attention: the book had been opened. Remus had dropped his wand and put his fingers in his mouth, Sirius was laughing. "Apparently I should have waited with that last one until you'd taken your wand off the book; sorry."

Remus examined his smarting fingers, decided that no real damage had been done, and leafed through the book. "This is handwritten; it seems to be a journal. Is it Järven's wrng?" He passed the book over to Andreas.

"Yes, I believe it is, but this is not any language I recognise." He sighed in frustration and handed the book back to Remus, who left it open, but laid it aside.

"If you like, I will study this book tomorrow; perhaps I can read it when I've looked at it more closely. Tonight, though, I would like for Sirius to know about the accident Markus had with the Whomping Willows." Remus glanced at Sirius, who had turned his attention to his beer, but now looked up with interest.

"Ah. Yes. Markus." Andreas frowned and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Markus is our games coach and flying instructor. He comes of a very old wizarding family from near Oslo. He is excellent with the children--he wins Quidditch matches against the best schools. He is a young man, close to our age, in very good training. There was no reason why he should have flown into the grove of Whomping Willows. He was beaten senseless in a matter of seconds, his broomstick destroyed.

"It was near the end of November; he'd been out with a small group of the older children, ostensibly to give them practice at dodging blows. They had planned, the children said, to fly close to the edge of the grove to anger the trees, yet avoid being struck. They said that Markus had pulled out his wand, but before he made any sort of move with it, his broomstick jerked sideways and he flew into the heart of the grove.

"The children rescued him: they Summoned him out to safety by dragging him along the ground with their wands. He was in the Infirmary building for several days. He himself has no explanation for what happened; indeed, he refuses to discuss it at all. Our Healer thinks perhaps his memory was damaged."

Remus, amused, gave a small shake of his head. "More likely, he doesn't want to admit to that level of stupidity: there's no telling what damn fool thing he was trying to do. Quidditch practice with Whomping Willows, can you imagine! He's really rather dim; think Bagman and you've got a fair picture of Markus. He's another of these Racial Purity pinheads, too. His refusal to talk is actually an improvement: his conversation is tedious. He used to play Quidditch for Norway; I suspect he took a few too many Bludgers to the head."

Andreas laughed, and clapped Remus on the shoulder. "I should have invited you to Folberg years ago, my friend. I had forgotten your English habit of making jokes from your adversities." He sighed, and the lines of worry returned. "Truly, I feel the need for humorousness. There seems to be a wall in the minds of these witches and wizards, shutting out anything unfamiliar. It seems so simple: to survive as a school, we must teach what students need to learn--what their families want them to learn. Why is this so difficult for half my staff to comprehend?"

Sirius nodded sympathetically. "I can't answer that, but I know the problem is everywhere, in some form or other. Concerning Folberg, though: I haven't heard anyone address the suspicion that Dark magic was involved in Järven's death. What made you think that?

"Our Healer says that he was almost certainly killed with the Avada Kedavra curse. Then there was the incident involving Carina: she's been known to have an interest in Dark practices, but in fact, she was also a victim. Shortly after Järven's death, she became afflicted with a curse. She found the touch of cloth unbearable to her skin. I am told she began screaming and tore off all her clothing, and ran out into the freezing rain.

"The children who saw her are certainly to be commended: it was a group of fifth-year girls on their way to class; she'd just given them a terrible scolding about wearing their native dress instead of the school robes. We don't require anyone to wear them, but she felt it her duty to scold these girls. When she began ripping off her clothes, they realised something was ong and forced her to come inside. Then one of them ran for the Healer. He took her to the Infirmary, but it was many days before the curse could be lifted. It seemed that the slightest touch of fabric of any kind caused terrible burning, and horrid red burn marks to appear on her skin."

Andreas paused, and a slow smile appeared. "One might say that the curse was a fitting one, for a person as careful of her own respectability as Carina is. But the fact is, none of those girls was carrying a wand: they were on their way to Marine Arts. It is doubtful whether any of those particular girls could have performed such a curse, anyway."

Andie set down her glass, a disturbingly Sirius-like grin of mischief on her face. "That curse is legendary among the children. Carina was still in the Infirmary when we arrived here, but you can believe we heard all about it, and her, as we began making friends with the students. Of course it a very serious matter...." Andie tried, and failed, to look solemn. "The general consensus among staff and students is that she was attempting to remove the disapproved-of clothes from the girls with her wand, and got her spell confused."

Andreas nodded, smiling reluctantly. "Yes, I've heard these conjectures, and I might agree, but for the fact that hers is not the only mishap. I believe we must take all these unfortunate happenings as a series. Indeed, I think we should also consider a prior incident, when the two first-year students were trapped in the cave. You know Jonas and Frode, those two scamps--this was back in September. They had gone out into the forest Friday evening, and did not reappear for classes Monday morning. We went looking for them, and with the help of your friend the fox, we found them fairly soon. The odd thing was, they'd camped in a small cave that Friday night, and the next morning they found the entrance blocked against them.

"They were unharmed, but if it had not been for the fox, running to the cave entrance, we would never have found them. They could not be seen from our side, and they could not see us. It was only when we attempted to enter the cave that we discovered the spell sealing the doorway and holding them in. Järven attempted, and failed, to remove the spell; I eventually managed to take it ff myself. The boys were quite hungry, and scared--but it hasn't slowed them down much."

He shook his head, smiling, and stood up, filling the room. "Remus, if you can manage to read that book, I would be glad to know what it says. These events are all related, I am sure; someone is trying to make trouble for me, or for the school, and I have no idea what to do about it. Good night, my friends. Thank you for allowing me to share your evening. I envy you the closeness of your family." Suddenly shy, he picked up his cloak, moved to the door and quickly disappeared.

*****************************

*****************************

The morning was still, clear and cold. Though it was fairly late, the sun was not yet above the horizon; only a faint glow in the southeast could be seen. Andie and Sirius closed the cabin door, leaving Remus at the table, oblivious to their chatter, poring over the brown book. They had just started up the path when they heard sounds of song and activity a short way away. Sirius looked enquiringly at his sister, who shrugged. Following the sounds to the pier, they found Erik, busily directing preparations for a voyage.

The seven children who had stayed on for the holidays were scrambling up and down the gangplank, singing as they loaded a beautiful, brightly painted sailing vessel with two tall masts. Or rather, six children were loading and singing. The seventh child, a small, wiry dark-haired boy, was holding a flat, oval drum, beating heartily and leading the singing. He stood on the deck of the ship, roaring out the first half of a line, to be answered just as enthusiastically by his classmates.

It seemed to be quite a mixed group: boys, girls, all ages, Norse and Sami. They waved happily at Sirius and Andie and stopped their work for a proper greeting. "Andie! Sirius! Are you coming with us? I didn't think grownups awoke this early. Where's Remus? We're sailing a long way: perhaps to Shetland! Erik says we can stay out the whole holiday. He's coming, too. Sirius, change into a dog for us!"

Only too happy to do so, Padfoot appeared and galloped happily up the gangplank, sniffing and investigating, surrounded on all sides by children, who had dropped their bundles of supplies. The ship smelled of varnish, paint, canvas, clean wood, food, children. He stood on his hind legs, paws on the rail, barked excitedly to invite Andie aboard. She came, accompanied by Erik, who laughed at the disorder his unexpected guests had caused.

"Observe these unruly children! Two minutes ago, they were a ship's crew! Andie, I fear that your brother is a disruptive influence: creating a mutiny before we have even left port! I was told of his ability to become an animal, but I myself have never seen such a thing. This is most entertaining."

Andie laughed as she watched Padfoot, receiving the affectionate attentions of seven children, jumping up to bestow doggy kisses on all of them. "Sirius has always been a disruptive influence--he's famous for it. But things are never dull when he's around. This is an exquisite ship: may I have a look around?"

"Do, of course, examine our ship; it is a very fine one. My father and brothers made it, and gave it to the school for me to use in teaching. They are proud of me, a professor at Folberg."

The ship was indeed very beautiful: long and slim in proportions, painted dark green with red and gold trim; the deck natural blond wood. The hatch covers, rails and other fittings were darker wood, varnished to a high-gloss brightness. The sails, trimly rolled and covered, appeared to be a golden yellow colour.

"Who is your young chanteyman? He was doing a rousing job of getting the work moving. A nice song; not Norse, I thought."

Erik smiled. "Another who will soon be famous for his disruptiveness: young Jonas. Only a first-year, but already well-known for his lively nature. He and his comrade-in-mischief, Frode--that boy there, tying a scarf to your brother's neck--have already broken more rules this first four months than some children do in seven years.

"The song is Sami: it's a type of song called a joik, which one person makes for another. This one, the children have adopted as a sort of anthem. Old Aslak made it for Jonas and Frode after their first mishap--did anyone tell you how they managed to get trapped in a cave the first month of school? They were found, after three days, and were rather shaken. Aslak thought they needed cheering up, and said learning the song would take their minds off the incident. Jonas and Frode are very well-liked by the other students, and soon all the children in the school were singing it, at every opportunity. They shout it across the grounds to each other, or across the water, in the boats. Most annoying to some of the instructors. I find it pleasant, though: I believe things like that do much to create a sense of unity among the children. Jonas!" Erik beckoned to the youngster.

"Andie is interested in your joik," said Erik, when Jonas, accompanied by Frode, Padfoot, and the rest of the children, came up to them. "Do you think you could sing it for her? Nicely, I mean?"

Jonas grinned with pride. "It's really Frode's and mine," he said, "but we like everyone to sing it. I'm Sami, that's why Aslak made it. It's because somebody tried to trap us in a cave once. He put the words into Norse too, for Frode, but mostly we sing it in Sami; it sounds better. In English it doesn't sound very good, but it says that Frode and I are strong and brave, and that nobody can harm us. All our enemies will have their bad wishes and deeds turned around to chase them. We'll sing it for you." He began the drum beat again, a swinging, striding rhythm, in three. He called out the first line, and everyone, including Erik, joined in. By the third line, even Andie was chiming in on the refrain lines: "Lau lei, loi la..."

****************************

The book was beginning to speak to Remus.

It had taken some time; the writing, obviously in code, had been made by a person whose intent was to conceal. This made the initial work difficult, but Remus knew that here, as in all books, was something that did not relish concealment. If the writer had truly wanted his thoughts to be unknown, they would never have been committed to the page at all. Books were meant to be read. This book had not been used for many weeks; it had been shoved under a mattress. It would speak to him.

Remus did not try to break the code systematically, nor did he wonder what language the author had used. His way with books and language was more direct. He was interested in meanings rather than systems; they would come, if he could guess the correct approach.

He mulled over the sparse bits of information he had regarding Järven: a Dark Arts teacher. A Swede. Secretive. Killed by the Avada Kedavra Curse. Unable to remove a Blocking spell from a cave entrance--a spell later removed by Andreas: a good, competent wizard, but not necessarily trained in such things. Surely an instructor in the Dark Arts should be more experienced at such spells than that.