The Good Serpents

Of all the infernal inventions of humanity, the clock is easily the worst. It takes the unity of time, the uneven ebb and flow of existence that defines reality and identity, and rends it cruelly into artificially homogeneous units of duration. The clock is the slave driver of the soul, and the father of tyranny. Growing up in his grandmother's house - a large, well-ordered architectural travesty in the village of Sternford, near Canterbury - Neville Longbottom had grown to appreciate the constant war between the clocks that sat in every room and cranny and the constant tides of time that seemed to move in and out of the dusty walls, carrying with them the memories of ancestors that he had never known except as judgmental pictures on the staircase, and of deeds he had learned as stories recited be relatives like priests intoning sacred writ. The clocks had the advantage, for his grandmother was a creature of measurement and law, duty and precision. In his dim childhood he had accepted this as the way of nature. In his early Hogwarts years he had started to resent it. And now, come home fresh from a confrontation with the Dark Lord and a new appreciation of his own potential, thanks to Harry Potter and the Defense Association, he felt a tight knot of rebellion growing in his stomach.

But on this early summer afternoon he seemed to have no energy for defiance. It was as if he had stepped from one world into another the moment his foot had left the Hogwarts Express. In one world he was one of the brave souls who had revealed the Dark Lord. In the other he was the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, his existence defined by tradition and rules embodied in his grandmother and her regimen. He knew that Harry Potter dreaded returning to his relatives each year - although he did not know precisely why. Now he had come to understand what that must feel like.

And so he sat now in the shadows of his garden, perspiring in his dress robes and forgotten in the midst of his grandmother's garden concert, held to benefit St. Mungo's. The theme this year was one of patriotism and defiance - defiance of the Dark Lord, defiance of the Ministry, defiance of all who had been so foolish as to hold themselves against the noble causes with which the Longbottom family was so long associated. His grandmother had introduced him regally at the start of the proceedings and he had dutifully stood in the reception line to receive the congratulations of the assembled guests. Only a year ago he would have been overwhelmed by all the attention. Now he just found it all fatuous.

Old bat, he thought bitterly, glaring at his grandmother's back as she imperiously thanked the musicians for their mediocre performance and directed the guests inside for refreshment. He felt a thrill of shock at the thought, as well as shame. He loved his grandmother - well, he thought he did. And he was sure his grandmother loved him. She was even proud of him. Hadn't she told him so? Hadn't she taken him from the Hogwarts Express straight to Ollivander's to buy a new wand to replace his father's, broken honorably in combat with the Dark Lord? Why was it that every time he looked at her, every time he thought of her, hot resentment boiled up in his throat? Why was it that everything, everything, about this house suddenly seemed so irritating - from the dark interior to the heavy furnishings to the pompous portraits to the obsequious house elves?

You did your duty well, Neville.

That is what she had said. It was all duty with her. Duty and honor and law and tradition. She loved him, he knew. But sometimes of late he wondered if that was a duty, too. Did she really love Neville, the boy who failed potions and ate too much and forgot the password to Gryffindor Tower and somehow found the courage to battle the Dark Lord? Or did she just carry out her duty to her son's son?

He drank his tea - excellent as always, his family's kitchens were well-known for their skill - and grimaced. The guests, as usual, had completely ignored the gardens over which he had expended so much love and labor. The gardens were his escape, especially this summer. He had hoped that the brisk correspondence that had sprung up among the adventurers at the ministry might have helped. But Harry seemed determined to answer every query with taciturn and borderline rude replies while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stewed with worry for him. Only Luna proved to be a flexible and voluble correspondent, and the subjects on which she chose to expound were often - eccentric. Still, he was grateful that someone was willing to talk about more than Harry and his troubles (not that he wasn't concerned for Harry, he was in fact worried nearly sick), and he spent hours crafting replies to Luna's observations about rare creatures and her questions about the mythology of plants and herbs (a subject about which he knew even more than Hermione, not that she seemed inclined to enter into a discussion with Luna). But for the rest of the long days he worked in his garden, carefully building borders to trap his Rainbow Creepers in their colorful patterns; training the Vector Vines to climb trellises and polls in tight, humming spirals; and weeding his Starflower beds so that the constellations shown clearly.

"Mr. Longbottom? Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

Neville looked up in surprise. During his reverie most of the guests had filed dutifully into the house to be plied with refreshments and relieved of their funds. The man standing near his bench was not at all familiar. The stranger was very tall, although his height was probably accentuated by his thin frame and the peculiar cut of his robes - short and tight-fitting so as to suggest formal attire of the Muggle variety. He had dark hair slicked straight back from a high forehead and sharp, angular features. His eyes were dark, as dark as Severus Snape's, but his expression seemed cheerful and benign, quite unlike the potion master's usual sneer.

"I'm sorry, you're Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes!" Neville exclaimed, realizing too late that he had winced at the man's outrageous accent. He scrambled to his feet and extended his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you!"

"And I you. My name is Justin Rutskoy! I have been admiring your garden, and your grandmother informed me that the horticulture is your doing."

"Why yes," Neville felt himself blushing with pleasure, "I did design the garden. I work in it during the summer, but it is the house elves who are really to be congratulated. They care for it most of the time."

"Wonderful. May we sit?" Rutskoy waved to the bench.

"Of course." One again Neville could not repress a slight grimace at the extremely nasal inflection of Rutskoy's speech. The man flopped down like an exhausted scarecrow and grinned. Neville had the distinct impression that he had seen the grimace.

"Uhmm," the embarrassed youth sat gingerly, thinking desperately of a way to salvage the situation, "I've never met someone from New Jersey before."

"JERSEY!" The grin faded instantly to be replaced by a look of shock. "MANHATTAN, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW! EAST SIDE!"

"Ohhh," Neville said, all of his new-found confidence wobbling, "please forgive me."

"Well, OK," the man said doubtfully, giving the youth a glare of disdain that was a match for Severus Snape at his worst, "Jersey!"

"Do you like gardening?" Neville continued desperately.

That appeared to be exactly the right thing to say, because the grin reappeared like a window swinging open. "You bet! How do you get your Starflower Constellations so clear?"

"No great trick. You just have to weed them constantly."

"I hear that! My wife loves Starflowers! What variety are those?" He produced a small writing pad and a pen from an interior pocket.

"Ecliptics."

"No shit? I would have thought that Northern Skies would do better in this climate."

"Lots of people think that. But really, Ecliptics do just as well. And they make much clearer patterns."

"So I see. My wife tried those, but they didn't work in New York. She uses Northern Skies."

"I see." Neville pondered thoughtfully. "What went wrong?"

"With the Ecliptics? Sons-of-bitches flowered out of sinc. Looked like a dying galaxy."

"What kind of soil additive did she use?"

"Phoenix droppings. Said it was the best."

"Well, there you have it!" Neville slapped his knee in triumph. "Phoenix droppings are too rich for Ecliptics! Tell her to use ordinary bat guano!"

"You gotta be shittin' me - no pun. Bat guano?"

"Best thing for Ecliptics!"

"Christ." Rutskoy scribbled fiercely. "Thanks a lot man."

"Pleasure. Say, I hear that New York has some great Moon Oak groves."

"Sure does. A cousin of mine up in the Catskills has one out back of his property."

"I've got a small grove here," Neville waved toward the distant eastern edge of the estate, "but they keep wasting." He sighed. "I wish I could stop it."

"My cousin had that problem. He solved it with by spraying them monthly with a solution of thistlewine and werewolf urine."

"Werewolf urine?" Neville hunted frantically for a pen and paper. Rutskoy kindly lent him his. "I never thought of that!"

"Neither did he until he got a couple of werewolf neighbors. They save their urine for him during the moon's waxing phase. That's really important," the American held up a warning finger, "it's gotta be in the waxing phase."

WAXING PHASE, Neville scrawled hurriedly.

"And it has to be fresh." Rutskoy continued. "Do you know any werewolves who might donate?"

FRESH. Neville printed.

I wonder if Professor Lupin would be willing? I couldn't ask him right now of course but it would be for a good cause. If he were to ship it by floo I could have the house elves mix it and apply it while I'm at school.

"You're a rare soul Neville! A man that ain't afraid to like flowers!"

Neville looked up and blushed. Rutskoy clapped him on the shoulder.

"You got that thing goin' you know."

"Err, what thing?" Neville asked tentatively, conscious of his blunder over New Jersey.

"That 'I don't give a damn what nobody thinks of me' thing. I respect that Neville. I really do."

"Thanks a lot!" Neville felt his blush deepening.

"Take this Starflower Constellation, for instance! I can see you were probably up late last night weeding it!"

"I was. Really late!"

"Yeah. Just look at how clear Canis Major is!"

"That was hard! I had to use a sickle on the upper edge!"

"Silver or iron?"

"Silver."

"Thought so." Rutskoy looked at the flowers and sighed, his expression suddenly sad. "Harry isn't taking it very well is he? Sirius dying and all?"

"No he isn't. We're really worried. Hermione even said something in her last letter about suicide, but I don't think..." Neville suddenly realized what he was saying and came to a stop with a gasp. After a stunned moment his hand darted for his wand.

Only to be caught firm in the surprisingly strong grip of Rutskoy's thin fingers. "Now Neville," the adult wizard said softly, his voice still friendly but with a hard undertone, "you really don't want to go and do anything foolish."

Neville surged forward, intending to run, but another hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him firmly back. The surprised teenager suddenly realized that the bench on which they were sitting was surrounded by three wizards. Two, both women, had their wands drawn and held at ready, although not pointed at Neville. The third, a large burly man, had his hand on the youth's shoulder. Neville considered screaming for help, but they were alone in the garden and with the doors of the house closed against the heat, it was unlikely he would be heard.

"I believe the question you're about to ask is 'Who are you?'" Rutskoy grinned again, evidently returned to his pleasant self.

"Yes." Neville was absurdly proud that his voice did not shake.

"Well, don't worry son. We ain't associates of Tommy Riddle, if that's what you're thinking - and that's what I'd be thinking about now."

"Then who are you?" Neville glared at the American.

"Good question. I am, as I have told you, Justin Rutskoy from New York. My wife is fond of Starflowers - I'll tell her about the Ecliptics and the bat guano - and my cousin does live in the Catskills and spray his trees with werewolf urine. I'm sure Remus Lupin will see his way clear to peeing in a bottle for you if you ask him nicely." He released Neville's wrist and the burly man removed his hand from the boy's shoulder. The two women holstered their wands.

"My card," Rutskoy carefully retrieved a thin rectangle of cardboard from a pocket and handed it to Neville.

The youth glanced suspiciously at the card. It was emblazoned with a wizarding symbol of a serpent coiled around a wand. The serpent writhed sinuously.

Justin L. Rutskoy, Cultural Officer, Aesculapius Foundation.

"Aesculapius Foundation?"

"An international charitable organization specifically devoted to medical research and clinical development."

"And you are healer, I suppose?" Neville tried to sound sarcastic, but to his annoyance the words only sounded shrill.

"No, I'm a spy. I thought that much would be clear." Rutskoy gave him another "Snape" look and for some reason Neville felt vaguely shamed.

"More to the point, we of the Aesculapius Foundation are rather like the famed Order of the Phoenix - although our history is longer and more continuous, if less well known."

"Oh, you fight dark lords?" Neville's attempts at sarcasm were all falling flat today.

"Yes," Rutskoy said evenly, "among other things." He suddenly laughed. "Sorry Neville, but you seem to find that surprising."

"Yes. I didn't know anyone other than the Order opposed Vo-Voldemort." Neville was proud that he got the name out without too much stuttering.

"VOLDEMORT! Oh my! Surely you don't think Tom Riddle is the only Dark Lord in the world?" The other wizards joined in Rutskoy's laughter. Neville felt his blush returning.

"Well, actually..."

Rutskoy clapped him on the shoulder. "Never mind. I don't suppose that's something you worry too much about with Riddle at large."

"Err, no."

"Don't blame you. In answer to your question, we of the Foundation are sort of professional do-gooders. That entails a great many activities, including battling Dark Lords - although up till now we have mostly pursued that particular activity in the Western Hemisphere."

"Then why are you here?"

"Excellent question! First of all, battling Riddle is scarcely the only good deed to be done in Europe."

"True, I guess."

"Secondly, although Voldemort isn't the only Dark Lord at large, he's definitely the most dangerous in two centuries. Although some would argue that Ahuatec runs a close second."

"Ahuatec?"

"Crazy asshole in the Yucatan who's trying to open a trans-dimensional rift and awaken the old Mayan gods."

Neville laughed merrily. His laughs trailed off; however, as he realized that the others were regarding him with utterly serious expressions.

"Why on Earth are you laughing?" Rutskoy sounded extremely annoyed.

"The Mayan gods. I mean, they aren't real are they?"

"Of course they are! What the Hell are you boy, some kind of half-baked atheist?" Rutskoy looked positively scandalized.

"Uh, no. I just..."

"Oh, never mind! Anyway, we have decided to offer you a summer job."

"A summer job?" Neville was now totally confused.

"Yes. We were impressed by your performance at the Ministry. We thought you might like the chance to keep it up. Being a hero, I mean."

Him, a hero? Neville was not at all used to that idea.

"And," Rutskoy continued, "You'll find us much more open than the Order when it comes to you tagging along when we're fighting the Dark Lord."

"Why?" That one came out spontaneously.

"We pride ourselves on our progressive attitudes. Besides," he smiled, "the Order already has Potter, Weasley, and Granger."

"So I'm second best?" Neville asked bitterly.

"Don't pout Neville. We offer opportunities even the Order can't give you."

"Such as?"

"I'm afraid you will have to accept our offer to find out."

"And if I choose to go to Dumbledore?"

"That's your decision. But if you want to fight this summer, I wouldn't recommend it." Rutskoy rose from the bench. "If you want to take us up on our offer, owl me at the address on the card."

"I doubt I will."

"I know where you can get 5-1 on that one, Neville. I'll be seeing you in a couple of days."

Neville had every intention of approaching Dumbledore. He even picked up his quill three times to write the letter. But the problem was he knew that Rutskoy was right. If Dumbledore found out about this, Neville could forget any chance of fighting the people who drove his parents insane.

He considered owling Hermione Granger or Luna Lovegood or Ron Weasley, but in the end decided against that as well. Hermione would insist that he tell Dumbledore, and although Ron would undoubtedly be excited and sympathetic, he would also undoubtedly spill the beans to Hermione. So that left Luna. Did he really know the Ravenclaw well enough to speak to her about something this important? And could he trust the advice of someone who, however brave, believed in things like Crumple Horned Snorkacks?

Finally he did what, in retrospect, seemed inevitable. Taking out a sheet of his personal monogrammed parchment (a gift from an elderly cousin this past Christmas), he wrote:

MR. RUTSKOY. I WOULD BE GLAD TO TAKE YOU UP ON YOUR KIND OFFER.

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM

Commandeering his grandmother's owl - a dignified barn owl with a sour patrician expression - he quickly sent the note before he could have fourth thoughts (he had already fought off the second and third thoughts). He then retreated to the garden where he could lose himself in the problems of his Stoneberry Hedges. Having deduced what was causing the cracking in the bushes' foundations (they did not have roots) he trudged inside, mentally rephrasing (yet again) a request to Professor Lupin concerning his help with the ailing Moon Oaks. It was a delicate task. He had considered seeking help from his grandmother who was, after all, a walking encyclopedia in the areas of etiquette and social propriety. However, he doubted even she knew the correct form for asking one's former professor to save his urine two weeks out of four.

He found his grandmother waiting for him holding a large, official looking envelope. "Neville," she said with the slow formality that characterized all her speech, "I have received a request with regard to you."

"Yes Grandmother?" He paused politely on his way to his shower. Last year he would have felt ill at ease sweating on the clean carpet of the front hallway while she regarded him with vague disapproval and fingered the letter. Now he just felt tired.

"A Mr. Rutskoy from the Aesculapius Foundation has written requesting your help with the foundation's headquarters in London." She pursed her lips and tapped the letter against her well-manicured fingernails. "He seems to have been impressed by a conversation he had with you yesterday. Something about Starflower beds."

"Yes grandmother. I advised him about the Ecliptic variety."

"So he says. In any case, it seems they are putting in gardens in the Foundation headquarters and he asks if you would be willing to come to London this summer at Foundation expense to advise."

"Is that so?" For some reason the knot of rebellion rose in Neville's stomach as she spoke. Even though he had instigated this series of events, he felt hot resentment that Rutskoy had replied to his grandmother rather than him.

"Yes." She tapped the letter again. Neville felt the irrational urge to snatch the thing away from her, if only to stop the tapping. "The Foundation made quite a handsome contribution to St. Mungo's."

"Did they?" Would the old bat never get to the point?

"Are you still determined to become a herbologist?" she twisted her lips in disgust as she asked.

"It is one of the things I am considering, yes." He had spoken at length with Professor Sprout about that ambition. He had also talked to Professor McGonagall about the possibility of following his parents as Aurors. He did not know why. At the time he felt had simply asked on impulse, vaguely thinking to discomfit Dolores Umbridge, who had been sitting in one corner scratching away with a squeaky quill. He had certainly succeeded. She had made some sort of comment about "the whole House has delusions of grandeur" while McGonagall had favored him with something that looked suspiciously like a smile. Not that he had any chance of realizing that ambition. He would need an O on his potions OWL, and the odds of that were somewhat longer than Voldemort deciding to resign as reigning Dark Lord to take up a career in musical theater.

"This would be excellent experience then." She put the letter aside and reached briskly for the Muggle Times (she had not forgiven the Daily Prophet its treatment of Harry Potter, one thing at least on which she and Neville were in firm agreement). "He says you are to be ready at one tomorrow afternoon. Someone will come round for you."

Neville nodded and stomped upstairs, not trusting himself to speak. The arrogance of the Foundation in addressing itself to his grandmother filled him with sick anger. And the casual decision of his grandmother about how he was to spend his summer brought him close to exploding. Did it mean nothing to any of these people that he had managed to face off Deatheaters at the Ministry (and drop the prophecy, but anyone can make mistakes)?

He stormed into his room and stopped dead. There was a large owl sitting on his bed, regarding him with a patient expression. Moving inside he approached the bird carefully. It was midnight black, an odd coloration for an owl, and had great golden eyes that regarded him with somber intelligence. He unfastened the note from the owl's leg and opened it slowly. He saw that the envelope was plain, with no address.

NEVILLE,

SORRY ABOUT OWLING YOUR GRANDMOTHER, BUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD GREASE THE SKIDS. I KNOW YOU PROBABLY FEEL LIKE BITING ME IN TWO AND I DON'T BLAME YOU. I USED TO HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE WOULD TALK TO MY PARENTS ABOUT ME LIKE I WAS AN INANIMATE OBJECT. JUST BE PATIENT. SOMETIMES YOU GET THE BEST RESULTS APPROACHING PEOPLE ON THEIR OWN TERMS.

I'M REAL GLAD YOU'RE GOING TO BE JOINING US THIS SUMMER! WE'LL COME BY TOMORROW AND PICK YOU UP. JUST HAVE YOUR SCHOOL TRUNK READY TO GO. DRESS IN YOUR SATURDAY CLOTHES (THAT'S WHAT WE AMERICAN WIZARDS CALL YE OLDE COAT AND TIE). ALSO BE SURE TO BRING PLENTY OF CASUAL CLOTHES. YOU'LL FIND THAT ROBES AREN'T THE NORM WHERE YOU'LL BE GOING. IF YOU NEED MORE MUGGLE CLOTHING DON'T WORRY. YOU CAN CHARGE IT TO YOUR EXPENSE ACCOUNT ONCE YOU GET TO LONDON. DO PACK YOUR FORMAL ROBES THOUGH. YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THEY MIGHT COME IN HANDY.

AS YOU HAVE AGREED TO WORK WITH US, WE HAVE TO INSIST THAT ANYTHING YOU FIND OUT WILL BE KEPT SECRET. BUT I'M SURE THAT WAS UNDERSTOOD.

YOUR FRIEND,

JUSTIN

P.S. I REALLY WANT TO HEAR ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AT THE MINISTRY (AS MUCH AS YOU FEEL IT IS HONORABLE TO REVEAL). THAT MUST HAVE BEEN QUITE A SPECTACULAR ADVENTURE! IF YOU WANT TO BE A SPY, YOU ALREADY HAVE A LEG UP. I WOULD HAVE BEEN A BASKET CASE IF I CAME FACE TO FACE WITH A DARK LORD WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN!

P.P.S. THIS LETTER WILL DISAPPEAR IN A PRETTY CLOUD OF SPARKS IN A FEW SECONDS. THINK HOWLER WITHOUT THE HOWLING.

P.P.P.S. DON'T WORRY ABOUT FEEDING NOX. HE'S A LONG-DISTANCE STEALTH OWL.

The letter began to smoke and gleam at the edges. As Justin had said, it vanished in a large, and attractive, cloud of multi-colored sparks. Neville turned to the owl, only to find it already gone, leaving not even an impression on the sheets.

His anger was suddenly gone. The friendly spy's warm regards left him feeling ... good.

Don't be an idiot, Neville. His self-scolding thought (he was very good at scolding himself) echoed through his head. He's just trying to influence you..

He was succeeding. Neville had known a dearth of attention in his life, and what he had gotten was mostly negative. He had learned the hard way to cringe particularly when other males looked his way - a tendency that his experiences with Severus Snape had reinforced nearly into pathology. The only thing that had gotten him through the hard times were Professor Sprout's sympathy so generously given to a frightened boy not even a member of her own House and a few secret conversations in Headmaster Dumbledore's office. Justin Rutskoy wasn't exactly the dashing spy out of fiction but the idea that an undercover operative might actually be interested in him, and even admiring of his accomplishments, was like some strange fantasy come true for Neville.

He showered quickly and spent the rest of the afternoon carefully packing and repacking his trunk. That night he dreamt of himself in a tuxedo, acting out scenes from the Muggle spy dramas he occasionally saw in the town's cinema.

Rutskoy was as good as his word. At precisely one the following afternoon, a Muggle limousine drew up in front of the house and the dark-haired spy, dressed in a blue Muggle suit, sprang out, waving energetically to Neville who was standing just within the front door.

"Hello there Neville! Good to see you! Let me help with your trunk."

The limo turned out to be enchanted to allow any amount of luggage to fit into the storage areas provided. They hoisted Neville's trunk into place with no problem.

"Hello, who's this guy?" Justin pointed to the green head peering out of Neville's shirt pocket.

"This is, hum, Trevor," he said softly, suddenly ashamed of the childish impulse to bring the frog. "I can leave him, if you think it's best."

"Not at all! Pleased to meet you Trevor!" To Neville's astonishment Justin reached out and formally shook one of Trevor's webbed feet.

"RIBBIT," Trevor responded.

"So glad you can join us!" Justin continued. "Now with our other recruit, we're in very good shape!"

"Who's that?" Neville asked as he stepped into the limousine.

"Hello Neville." The familiar voice caught him off guard as he settled into the leather seat of the car, whose interior was much too large to be accounted for by ordinary physics. The rear of the limo contained two long leather benches facing one another. Directly across from him, glancing up from an issue of the Quibbler, was none other than Luna Lovegood.

"Luna!" He felt his jaw sag open and quickly brought it shut again. "You are going to be working for the Foundation as well?"

"Yes. I was going to Sweden with hunt Snorkack's with Daddy, but when I met Mr. Rand I decided this was too big of an opportunity to pass up. After all, the Snorkack's aren't going anywhere."

Justin slid into the limo and closed the door. The car began to move smoothly.

"I suppose not," Neville allowed in a polite tone. "Err, who is Mr. Rand."

"That would be me." The voice coming from the other side of the car was soft and tinged in the drawling tones of the American South. Neville peered about owlishly. The windows of the limo were deeply tinted, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior.

He gradually made out two more people sitting against the opposite door of the car. The first, the speaker, was blond and solidly built, dressed in a dark Muggle suit that to Neville's inexperienced eyes looked extremely expensive. He had a gold ring of some kind on his right hand, and as he leaned forward Neville saw that his eyes were icy blue.

"Mr. Neville Longbottom," Justin said softly, "may I present Mr. Matthew Rand, Director of the Special Projects Office for the European Division."

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Longbottom." The man's voice was polite and even warm, but his smile did not totally negate the cool regard of his gaze. "This," he indicated the last occupant of the car, "is Mr. Cat Newcastle."

"Hi," Newcastle snarled, "pleased to meet you." His voice was definitely British. He appeared to be approximately seventeen, and wore a tight sleeveless tee shirt with a leather vest. He had bushy dark hair and dark stubble covering the lower part of his face, which sported a variety of piercings in his ears, nose, and eyebrows.

"CAT!" Rand's shot the youth an annoyed look.

The teenager shifted sullenly and leaned forward to shake Neville's proffered hand. Neville nearly recoiled when the Newcastle smiled to reveal filed teeth and a studded tongue. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos, among which spirals and serpents seemed to predominate.

"Hi," Neville managed.

"Where did you find this one, Rutskoy?" Newcastle smiled his fanged grin at Justin. "You pick up your pets in the oddest places!"

"That will be quite enough, Cat!" Rand grimaced as the teenager leaned back and sank once again into his sulk. "I'm sorry Mr. Longbottom. I sometimes think Cat needs remedial upbringing."

"Thank you Dad," Newcastle remarked sarcastically.

"Shut it." Rand spoke softly but with the unmistakable tone of someone at the end of their leash. Newcastle made a snorting noise but lapsed into silence.

"Mr. Rutskoy was just telling us about coming back from Area 51." Luna spoke languidly, but she looked at Justin with a smile.

"You work at Area 51?" Neville asked.

"From time to time." Rutskoy smiled. "It is necessary for the Foundation to have offices there."

Neville nodded. That made perfect sense. Area 51, located somewhere in the American Desert Southwest, was the capital complex of the American Wizarding State.

"Would you like a drink Mr. Longbottom?" Rand asked softly. "I can offer you butterbeer, pumpkin juice, or other beverages."

"Butterbeer would be nice."

Rand turned to what evidently was a fully stocked bar and pulled out the butterbeer. "Miss Lovegood?"

"Firewhiskey, please."

"I have already explained to you my dear, that although the Foundation is willing to break many laws, contributing to the delinquency of minors is not within the pale."

"Butterbeer, then." Another butterbeer was immediately forthcoming.

"I will have a firewhiskey," Justin said.

"Fair enough, you are delinquent already."

Newcastle cleared his throat.

"Yes Cat, you too."

The stronger drinks were distributed. Rand retrieved a bottle of Muggle bourbon and poured himself a drink. "I have to admit," he said, "that pumpkin juice turns my stomach and I've never acquired a taste for wizard alcohol."

"Some people just have no taste." Justin's voice was filled with amusement.

Neville looked at Rand with astonishment.

"Oh, he's a Muggle," Luna said off-handedly, sipping her butterbeer.

Rand laughed at Neville's shocked expression. "Have no fear, Mr. Longbottom. The International Statute of Secrecy is quite intact. I was married to a witch for several years and have several wizardlings of my own."

"Oh." Neville sipped his butterbeer to hide his discomfort.

"Really, Mr. Longbottom, I am quite fond of your... well, how does one say it? 'Kind' doesn't quite get it. Subspecies? No that's too harsh."

"Definitely!" Rutskoy observed.

"Oh well, let's just say I'm fond of wizards and leave it at that. But we were talking about Area 51, I believe." Rand smiled and winked broadly in Luna's direction.

"Yes," she said, showing signs of animation. "Is it true that the 51 is an in-joke about the fifty-first state?" Neville could see the wheels turning in her head, writing up an article for the Quibbler.

"No," Justin said, "that is just a coincidence."

"Oh." Clearly disappointed Luna persisted. "What about the belief among Muggles that it has to do with beings from other planets?"

"You've got to be kidding!" Neville burst out.

"No, it's quite true." Rand said, exchanging a mysterious grin with Justin.

"They believe that?" Luna asked excitedly.

"They believe it," Rand allowed, "and they are quite right."

"WHAT?" Luna was almost bouncing. Neville had never seen her so excited.

"The Wizarding State maintains relations with three extra-terrestrial civilizations," Rand said calmly, "although they don't like the fact to be widely known."

"Told you you'd find out things the order couldn't tell you!" Justin said, nudging Neville.

"Three?" Luna asked, clearly still working on her article.

"Oh yes. Let's see. There's Tau Ceti, Epsilon Eridani, and Sigma Draconis."

"Little green men?" Neville asked unbelievingly.

"Well, that would most closely describe the Eridanians. They are little and green, but not men. They kind of look like broccoli, to tell you the truth. The Sigmans are rodents, rather like skunks."

"Smell like them too!" Justin interjected with a disgusted face.

"And the Cetans - how would you describe the Cetans, Justin?"

"I wouldn't, not before dinner."

"Good point. Never look at an adult Cetan unless you have a fetish for projectile vomiting. The little ones aren't too bad though, in a YECCH kind of way."

"I don't suppose..." Luna started.

"No Miss Lovegood. Remember our agreement." Rand waved one finger in her direction languidly.

"Oh. All right." Luna shrugged and went back to sipping her butterbeer.

"How long will it take us to get where we are going?" Neville asked.

"Oh, we should be arriving right about...now." The car slid to a smooth halt. Before Neville knew what was happening, they had all exited to find themselves in a large plaza in front of a modern office building with silver-tinted windows.

"The car didn't fly," Luna observed quietly to him as they mounted the steps, "we didn't have time anyway. The whole car must be a portkey."

"But it didn't feel like a portkey," Neville observed. "I bet it's something else entirely."

"You're right there, Neville!" Justin exclaimed, appearing at the young man's elbow. "We call it an Autonomous Apparation Device - AAD for short. Clever of you to notice."

Neville swelled at the praise, even though he felt compelled to protest. "It was Luna who noticed."

"You mean the whole car apparates?" Luna asked, her journalist instincts kicking in again.

"In a sense. I'm told it's more like the car stands still and the universe moves around it. That's why it doesn't feel like a portkey. But you have to be a genius in Arithmancy to understand the equations involved. Anyway, welcome to European Division Headquarters."

The inside of the building consisted of a rather spectacular lobby divided into quadrants by a set of watery channels flowing from artificial waterfalls. The oddly assorted group tromped across a small but ornate footbridge and took a sharp right into an arched doorway flanked on either side by the symbol of the foundation (which Neville had determined from one of his History of Magic books was the Staff of Aesculapius, an ancient predecessor of the Caduceus used as a symbol of Muggle medicine). Neville noted that all of the decorations in the lobby were of the Muggle, i.e. non-moving, variety.

Ascending a short flight of steps beyond a bank of elevators they passed a set of security desks where efficient looking receptionists waved them on with respectful greetings. Reaching another set of elevators, Rutskoy drew his wand and tapped the control panel, breathing something under his breath Neville could not quite catch. The doors slid open and the group entered.

Only to find themselves not in an elevator but in another carpeted corridor. As they proceeded along they passed a large plate-glass window that revealed they were now several stories in the air.

"A fixed apparation portal!" Luna exclaimed. "I thought those were terribly difficult to keep stable!"

"They are," Rutskoy answered briefly, "but they are also wonderful for security. This particular floor can only be reached by portal, even if you know where it is."

"Even if you know where it is?" Neville frowned.

"That's right," Rutskoy grinned, "welcome to the 13^th floor. It operates on the same principle as Platform 9 ¾, but with rather tighter entry procedures. It's also unplottable."

"Wait a minute, you made one floor of a building unplottable? I thought that was impossible!" In fact Neville distinctly remembered Professor Flitwick saying it was impossible. The fidelius charm simply didn't work with that kind of precision.

"Never say the 'im' word, Neville. It just ends up causing embarrassment. Ah, here we go." Rutskoy beckoned them forward up a sweeping flight of wide steps to a kind of hanging balcony. On the far side of the wide area were multiple sets of double doors. They passed through the middle set to find themselves in a large room one side of which consisted of an enormous picture window. A large table occupied the center of the room with several expensive-looking chairs around it. Most were already filled, but the occupants rose as they entered and called greetings in the direction of Mr. Rand.

Rand and Newcastle peeled off to the left, where Rand claimed the head of the table. The teenager sat in a waiting chair behind him and to his left. Throwing one leg over the chair's arm, Cat stretched and proceeded to look indolent. Justin moved to the right, taking a chair at the opposite end of the table from Rand. He motioned for Neville and Luna to take the seats to either side of him. "Welcome to the Action Group. I'm afraid we have a lot to go over this afternoon so we'll have to save introductions for later."

Neville nodded his understanding. The people gathered around the table were speaking in low tones as Muggle style file folders made their way around. Most of the accents he heard were distinctly British, although there did seem to be quite a mix. All were dressed in Muggle clothing, although he saw that most of them seemed to be carrying or openly wearing wands. He glanced up at the head of the table and froze, swallowing hard.

The entire back of the room behind Rand was taken up by a colorful Muggle style mural. It depicted several children being attacked by snakes.

Neville reached for his wand, glancing around frantically for exits other than the doors back onto the balcony. He could see none. It was just his luck to end up trapped in a nest of Slytherins! He wagered things like this never happened to Harry.

Luna was also staring at the mural. She seemed rather bemused. Neville, however, had learned in his brief acquaintance with the Ravenclaw that her reactions were not exactly those of most people. Still he looked at the mural again.

As he stared closer at the painting, he realized that his first impressions had been wrong. The children were not being attacked by the serpents, they appeared to be, well, playing with them. One child on the right side of the mural was laughingly petting some kind of viper, while a little boy in the middle was engaged in a vigorous game of fetch with a cobra. A small girl in the rear of the scene appeared to be playing tea party with a family of basilisks. Off to the left several adults, probably the children's parents, were watching with fond regard, as if observing so many toddlers frolicking with friendly puppies.

A file folder emblazoned with his name was plopped down in front of him. He looked up in surprise and automatically smiled his thanks at the dour-faced man who had passed it along. Unfortunately the contents of the file proved to be pure gibberish. He saw that Luna was perusing her own folder avidly. He supposed that growing up around the Quibbler would give one the ability to decode this type of thing with some ease.

Neville had begun to wonder how and when the meeting would actually start when Rand suddenly closed his folder and leaned back in his chair. Silence swept that room almost instantly. Neville followed suit by closing his own folder, although he had to kick Luna none too gently under the table to get her attention away from the thickly written jargon.

"Thank you everyone," Justin said softly, "we will try to move along this afternoon."

Neville was surprised. He had been expecting Rand to conduct the meeting. But the blond man seemed content to sit silently while Justin took charge.

"First of all, I believe you all know our new volunteers, Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Lovegood, by reputation. Please take time to welcome them personally as you have the chance." A murmur of greetings ran around the table. Neville nodded vaguely while Luna waved a kind of lazy gesture of greeting.

"Now, I believe you have an announcement, Mr. Arkwright?"

"Yes sir. First of all, hi Neville, good to see you again!" The young man waved from halfway down the table. Neville looked at him in surprise. The name was certainly familiar, although the face was hard to place. Then he realized that Arkwright had been at Hogwarts his first year. A seventh year Hufflepuff, as he recalled. He brightened and waved back. "I just wanted to remind everyone that if you're playing the PVS the grace period for scratches ends this afternoon."

"Remind me to bet the Red Line again this week, Neville," Rutskoy growled softly.

Not having the slightest idea what the man was talking about, Neville still took out his pad and dutifully put down the note. Years of having Snape as a teacher had accustomed him to skillfully copying things he did not understand.

"Thank you, Mr. Arkwright." Rutskoy folded his hands and looked around the table. "Very well, we will have standard reports. Privet Drive - anything new Ms. Melodion?"

Neville and Luna both sat up expectantly at hearing Harry's address.

"Nothing at all," a middle-aged witch with long red fingernails answered. "Things are to very quiet in Surrey. The little stunt the Order pulled on the platform at King's Cross seems to have impressed the Dursleys."

Neville and Luna exchanged blank looks. What stunt?

"Mr. Potter himself is extremely morose, but it's to be expected. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks have taken main responsibility for guard detail, but the others rotate through regularly."

Rutskoy nodded. "Mr. Czolgon, anything from Research yet? It would be very helpful to know exactly what charm Bumblebee used."

Neville and Luna both giggled at the disrespectful name for their headmaster. Neville couldn't be sure, but he had the distinct impression that Rutskoy had winked at him.

"No," a short man with a Central European accent gestured widely, "but we have narrowed it down as to spell family."

"Which doesn't do a thing for us, now does it, Mr. Czolgon? Please try to do better, would you?"

The man looked like he was about to splutter a protest, but thought the better of it.

"Ottery St. Catchpole?"

A graying man with a heavy moustache reported nothing of interest. "I think they will all be moving into Order Headquarters soon in any case."

"That would make sense," Rutskoy allowed.

Neville suddenly had a sudden suspicion. Had he been watched? Had Luna? Had the last meeting included a query about "Sternford?" and some laconic reply about Neville and his gardening schedule. His suspicions quickened when a young woman with bright blond hair reported little activity at the Granger residence.

"News from the summit going on at Beauxbatons, Monsieur Montval?"

A tall French wizard stood up and smiled. "I actually do have some news." His accent, although noticeably, was slight. "Most of the schools and governments in Europe are there, including Durmstrang. As we expected, Dumbledore is making an outreach to the vampire covens in an attempt to counterbalance the enemy's advantage with regard to the Dementors. So far, Dumbledore's arguments seem to be carrying the day."

There was a burst of soft whispering at this.

"Dumbledore arranged for an emergency summit of schools and governments to discuss cooperation," Justin explained softly to Luna and Neville. "It's going on now at Beauxbatons."

"Oh," Neville said, unsure of how else to comment.

"Do you think Dumbledore will get what he wants, Paul?" Rand's voice suddenly cut through the room and instantly silence reigned again.

"I don't know, General. I really don't. I would bet on his side, however."

Rand pursed his lips and tapped his chin thoughtfully with his steepled fingers. Luna shot Neville a meaningful looking, obviously wanting to make sure he had caught the title.

"Thank you Paul," Rand said evenly but with a tone that still carried easily through the room. "Why don't you tell us about happenings in the Wizarding State, Justin?"

"Gladly. The Legislature is still deeply divided on the question of becoming involved. Some of them think that Ahuatec has to be dealt with first - along with those wendigos around Seattle. Others of them would as soon see the whole European wizarding world in flames as not."

"So the opposition is widespread, but not necessarily unified?" Rand unfolded his hands and placed them on the table.

"Exactly. Governor Torracco is under a lot of pressure on both sides. Justice Begay is campaigning hard behind the scenes."

"I thought Supreme Court judges in the Wizarding State were supposed to be apolitical?" That from Arkwright.

"Tell that to Jeff Begay. Anyway, I think the Legislature will let Torracco send a special emissary. That's the good news."

"Why do I have a feeling there's some bad news to follow?" Rand gave a sour smile.

"Because there is. The Legislature is insisting that the emissary be the new chair of the Foreign Affairs committee."

"Who is, God help us?"

"Senator Ash."

From the cumulative groan that went up from around the table Neville deduced that that was a bad thing.

"It could be worse," Rand observed. "At least Ash has never been known to have pro-Voldemort sentiments."

"Can you doubt it, considering his relatives?" Justin shook his head sadly.

"Relatives by marriage. And let's not forget that Ash has some skeletons in his own closet. Still, you're right. I could have gone all day without hearing that. Make it all week." Rand rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Any other disasters?"

"I have one," a balding man seated near Luna said, "and it's a big one too. Guess who's the Ministry representative at Beauxbatons."

"I'm too old for guessing games, Mr. Perriwing."

"Percy Weasley."

The groan that went up this time was louder than the last. "Shit!" Justin exclaimed, "What is Fudge thinking?"

"You mean is Fudge thinking," someone called from down the table.

"I don't know," the man referred to as Mr. Perriwing said, "he just went into St. Mungo's today."

The table suddenly fell silent and Justin let out a low whistle. "What timing."

"Exactly," Perriwing said dryly. "And guess who he appointed to be Senior Secretary to replace Dolores Umbridge this past week."

"Weasley." The room answered in near unison.

"That's right."

Rand held up his hand and silence immediately fell across the table. "Justin," he asked slowly, "what is the latest from our observations of Mr. Weasley?"

"He continues to deteriorate," Rutskoy said flatly, crossing his arms and looking both sad and disgusted. "He is visiting the Burrow regularly."

"But that's his home!" Neville exclaimed. Judging from the titters that greeted his words, however, he immediately guessed he had said something wrong.

"So it is, but we mean a different Burrow." Rutskoy smiled but without mirth. "This Burrow is a club on one of those seedy streets that run a couple of kilometers south of the Ministry. It has a rather good disco night, I'm told."

"Among other things," Perriwing interjected heavily.

"That's true. It has a second rate brothel upstairs and does a booming business in various illegal narcotics."

"So he's still got his nose in the powder baggie, does he?" Rand shook his head and sighed.

"Getting worse, as far as we can tell."

"Won't his magic ... uhm... shield him?" Neville asked, his shock overriding his sensitivity and shyness.

"I'm afraid not." Rand himself answered. "All jokes about a subspecies aside, Wizards and Muggles share essentially the same physiology and body chemistry. Wizards do sometimes have a more sensitive neuroendocrine system, but I'm afraid that will only make him deteriorate faster."

"So what will our course of action be?" Justin folded his hands on the table and glanced about at the gathered wizards.

Rand, however, gave them no chance to answer. "We really haven't much of a choice. We can't meddle in Surrey without knowing what charm Dumbledore invoked when he settled Harry Potter there. We will have to focus on our secondary goal. I believe Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Lovegood will prove quite valuable in this."

The assembled wizards nodded sagely.

"Uhm, what does that mean?" Neville asked cautiously.

"It means, Neville, that you and Ms. Lovegood have your first assignment. You are going to save Percy Weasley."