His Majesty's Secret Service

Chapter Eight: The Event

Our Story So Far: Jorian Peleranel, called Ryan Pelerand, has transferred to Hogwarts under false pretences. As a Slytherin, he befriended Draco Malfoy to help Albus Dumbledore gather information about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Last time, Ryan rebuffed Snape's misguided attempts to save him from the Death Eaters, and Lucius Malfoy offered power and immortality to a new generation of supporters. Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts....

"Think, Ron!"

"I don't know."

"Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Sorry. It was four months ago. I don't remember, Hermione."

The trio were in the library. Now that the holidays gave them a lot of free time, Hermione returned to her latest obsession: exposing Ryan Pelerand for a fraud. She spread a fresh roll of parchment before her and rearranged her notes onto it. Currently, she was quizzing the boys for anything they could remember about their single conversation with Ryan, on the first evening of school, up in the owlery.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "remember how he looked when you asked him about the Sorting, Ron?"

"Yeah. He went sort of queer-looking, didn't he?"

Harry nodded. "And he called himself a dark wizard, didn't he?"

"He said he was a slimy, ambitious, self-serving dark wizard, actually," Hermione said. "I've already got that. But he was talking about Slytherin's good points, too."

"Yeah," said Ron dubiously, recalling that Ryan also implied Fred and George had Slytherin qualities as well. "We might have got more out of him about that, if you hadn't asked about the house-elves."

Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair. But she stopped mid-stretch and repeated strangely, "The house-elves." She sat up. "That's it. The house-elves! Come on," she said, standing and grabbing up her books.

"Come on where?" Harry asked.

"The kitchens. I'm going to ask Dobby what he knows."

 

 

 

After his speech, Lucius Malfoy produced a parchment and quill. As the students rushed forward to pledge their service, he calmly held out the quill. There was no ink bottle. The quill was itself a dark item, enchanted to write only with the sincere commitment of the signatory. The quill filled up with the students' enthusiasm and spilled name after name onto the parchment.

Draco stepped forward at once. Ryan held back, as did Goyle.

"What are you waiting for?" Draco said to Goyle, who shrugged and shuffled over. "Well?" he asked Ryan.

Ryan crossed his arms. "In a bit," he said. He was thinking how to get around the quill.

"Second thoughts?" hissed a voice in his ear.

"No, professor," Ryan said softly. "Wondering what the catch is."

"Actually, I thought Lucius put it rather well," said Snape with a jeering look. "The Dark Lord does not bargain, Pelerand. He has no time for weakness. He rewards when and where he sees fit, and he is merciless with those who defy him." He suppressed a shudder.

"So, what's in it for us, then?" Ryan said slowly. Lucius looked up at that moment and his eyes narrowed at what he saw.

"Everything Lucius said," Snape whispered in a bitter tone. "Power. Glory. Immortality. Go on and sign it, since that's what you want." In a burst of movement, Snape placed one long-fingered hand between Ryan's shoulder blades and pushed him into the centre of the room. He said loudly, "This one thinks he'll bargain for more if he plays hard to get."

The older men in the circle laughed. For some, it was forced, almost nervous. Most of them meant it, and the sound was harsh. Claudius Avery stepped out and sized up the young man with a disapproving scowl. "That true, Pelerand? Think you're special?"

Ryan had no time to debate whether to be humble or vicious. He returned Avery's glare with his haughtiest expression and said, "Of course. Don't you?"

Only half the room laughed this time, the nervous ones again. The older Avery grew red in the face and looked as if he might become violent, but neither he nor Ryan reached for their wands. Lucius's mouth twitched, as if holding back a smile, but he let the tension increase.

As if responding to some unseen signal, both men whipped out their wands simultaneously. Ryan was slightly slower on the draw, however, and Avery managed to shout, "Conflagrio!" moments before Ryan's intended spell. Ryan's robes burst into flame. He tapped himself quickly and muttered a counterspell. But before he could fire a return volley, Vitreus Crabbe and Grissom Goyle stepped in and separated them.

"Careful, lad," Grissom Goyle cautioned Ryan as he blocked the other's view of his opponent. "Claudius has an awful temper."

"I thought we were all on the same side," Ryan said with a sidelong glare at Snape, who looked straight through him.

"And we are," Lucius said, intervening finally. "Which is why, Ryan, we aren't in the business of bargaining with—or duelling—each other." He beckoned to Goyle, who guided Ryan over to the parchment. "I'm sure Severus misunderstood your reluctance," he continued in his supercilious tone. "We all know it's a big decision. But I think you already know what you're going to do. Don't you?" He never moved, but he willed Ryan to look him in the eye. The spy met his gaze and nodded slowly. He flicked his eyes away and down in an imitation of Draco's own motions. Lucius nodded as well. "Good," he said, the way a master encourages a dog. "So, as a gesture of good faith, and to show you hold no animosity toward Avery, let's have that signature now, shall we?" He held out the quill.

Ryan focused his will on his intention. He channelled nothing but the sincere desire to join the Death Eaters, omitting his secondary purpose for doing so. The quill filled with essential ink. When he looked down at the parchment, he could see the names of the young people Lucius hoodwinked into signing. Each of their signatures was a slightly different colour, corresponding to their inner character. The quill, like the Sorting Hat, could see into the soul.

Ryan put that thought out of his mind and concentrated on signing his English name. As he handed back the quill, his own purplish letters drying on the parchment, he noted absently that Draco's signature was brighter than he imagined, though decidedly green. Filing the information away, he fell back among his "peers."

"Draco," Lucius called. Beaming, Draco uttered the spell that opened the hidden door. The bar folded back along the wall, revealing a steep staircase to the secret chamber below. The Death Eaters descended.

 

 

 

"Harry Potter is visiting us!" Dobby bounced on his socks. He was wearing seven: two on each foot, one as a necktie, and two tied together as a belt around his maroon sweater. "Dobby is just saying to Winky, sir, that it has been too long since he saw Harry Potter, and he was thinking of paying Harry Potter a visit. But now, Harry Potter has come to Dobby, sir!"

"Er, well, actually, Dobby," Harry said, going red, "Hermione wanted to ask you something."

Dobby looked momentarily crestfallen. "But surely there is something Dobby can get for Harry Potter?" he asked, full of hope.

"Well..." Harry looked at Ron. They were nearly always hungry these days, but Ron especially. According to his mother, Ron was growing like a weed. "I guess we could use a sandwich."

Dobby smiled wide enough to show all his teeth. "So noble, Harry Potter. Yes, yes, sandwiches!" He scampered over to a large cupboard and moments later returned with a tray heaped with quartered sandwiches. He set it on one of the tables and ran away again, to return instantly with three large tankards of pumpkin juice.

"Thanks," Harry said, picking up a ham sandwich. He elbowed Ron, who already was halfway through one with turkey.

"Yeah, thanks Dobby," Ron said, ignoring the house-elf's distracted clamouring.

"Dobby," Hermione insisted, interrupting his elation. "Please, I've got to ask you something."

"You are friends of Harry Potter," Dobby said, nodding his head vigorously. "Anything for Harry Potter's friends."

"Good, Dobby, I'm glad to hear that. Because I need to know anything you know about that Slytherin transfer student, Pelerand." She picked up one of the tankards and took a sip.

Dobby's saucer-like green eyes widened even further. "P-pelerand?" he squeaked even higher than usual. "Harry Potter, is you wanting to know about the Pelerand, too?"

"The Pelerand?" Harry said through chicken salad. "What do you mean, the Pelerand?"

"Oh, Dobby is not sure about this," Dobby said sadly, hanging his head.

"Dobby, it's really important," Hermione coaxed.

"To choose between Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore..."

"Professor Dumbledore?" All three said at once.

"What's he got to do with Pelerand, Dobby?" Harry demanded.

"Dobby is not wanting to betray Professor Dumbledore, Harry Potter," the house-elf pleaded.

"Dobby, we don't want you to tell us anything you're forbidden to tell." Hermione pressed on. "But we have to know because—we think Harry may be in danger from Pelerand."

. "Harry Potter is not in danger!" the house-elf squealed. But at this, he began to jump up and down, beat his head, and pull his ears. "Bad Dobby!" he repeated over and over. "Bad Dobby! Giving away Professor Dumbledore's secrets!"

"Dobby," Harry said, resisting the temptation to grab the little creature by his flapping ears. "You don't have to betray Dumbledore. Really. He said we're all on the same side. So if we're all on the same side, how can knowing what he knows betray him?"

This calmed the house-elf a tiny bit. He glanced furtively from Harry to Hermione. "If Dobby tells you what he knows, you promise it will not harm Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione assured him. "What do you know?"

Dobby looked around the kitchen before he spoke again. "Dobby cannot say everything," he warned them. "But he can tell you, the Pelerand was here before."

"Before?" Harry repeated. "Before what?"

"Before!" Dobby said, throwing his arms wide. Then, when they said nothing, he continued. "Before the start of school," he elaborated.

"He was here over the summer?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Yes," Dobby said with relief, nodding his head hard. "And Dobby can tell you, that Professor Dumbledore met with the Pelerand most of the night, but the Pelerand left early the next morning."

"Up all night? That doesn't sound right," Ron observed. "Anything else?" he asked, getting interested despite his resolve not to let Hermione's hair-brained theories affect him.

"Dobby...Dobby is not certain he should say."

"Go on, Dobby, I'm sure it's all right," Hermione placated him.

"Dobby knows that twice this year, Professor Dumbledore has ordered more..." He hit his head on the table with a bang, causing the tray of sandwiches to jump. A sandwich quarter rolled off onto the floor. Some of the other house-elves looked up, but quickly returned to their work. "Bad Dobby!" he moaned.

"Never mind, Dobby," Harry said swiftly to quell the house-elf's outburst. "Why do you call him the Pelerand?"

"Dobby hears things...Dobby is told by the other house-elves, that the Pelerand's ancestors came to Hogwarts." He paused as if waiting for them to understand him.

"Yes, we knew that," Hermione said gently after a moment. "But why is he the Pelerand? Surely there are others?"

"Others, yes, but they're gone, miss," Dobby said sadly. "Gone, all gone, and not even the house-elves knows where. We is thinking, miss, maybe, if the Pelerand returns to Hogwarts, the others will, too."

"Other what?" Harry asked, completely confused.

"Others like the Pelerand," Dobby said, but his eyes brimmed with tears. "Oh! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Professor Dumbledore asked him not to tell!" He fished out an extra sock and blew his nose loudly in it.

"Dobby," Hermione soothed him patiently. "Dobby, I have just a few more questions, if you can answer them."

"Yes, miss?" He sniffed pitifully.

"When did the Pelerands attend Hogwarts?"

"The last one left here about 1860, miss."

Hermione frowned. "And are there any house-elves still here from then?" she asked, though she feared the answer.

Dobby chuckled. "Oh, no, bless you, miss. House-elves don't live near so long as that. Only Professor Dumbledore—" He caught himself wide-eyed and beat himself again.

"Okay, Dobby, okay," Hermione pleaded. "One more question. And it's not about Professor Dumbledore."

Dobby bit his lip. "Dobby will try, miss."

"Thank you. When the last Pelerand was here, what house was he in?"

Dobby beamed with a relieved grin. "That's easy, miss. Gryffindor. All the Pelerands was Gryffindors."

Hermione smiled back at him and gave him an impulsive hug. "Thanks, Dobby," she said brightly, finishing her pumpkin juice. "Back to the library," she announced.

"Hermione, how do you know it was a he?"

She shrugged. "Oh, Ron. If the last Pelerand was a she, this Pelerand wouldn't be a Pelerand."

"Oh. Right." Ron picked up another sandwich on their way out.

 

 

 

Ryan was grateful he had some idea what to expect. The reality of the Death Eaters' ceremonies was both more terrible and more comical than he envisioned. The cavern underneath the drawing room was paved in symbols and runes. Arcane patterns swept around the floor in dark paint that might have been something else. Several cauldrons stood around the room, bubbling softly. A few pedestals held closed boxes, also out of the way of the centre. Ryan reflected that it looked more like a scene out of Crowley, Buckland, or even Lovecraft, than a real dark arts chamber.

As if by tacit agreement, the newly chosen recruits drifted to the edges of the room and observed as the experienced Death Eaters took up places along the circles. They didn't bother with masks inside, Ryan noted absently. A white-haired man, one Ryan hadn't met, led the opening incantation. Knife in hand, he sealed the room from intrusion and invoked the names of old, forgotten gods.

Ryan paid close attention to the ceremonies. There was no doubt as to their authenticity; likewise, there could be no denying their power. He tasted the promises of the dark and understood its appeal. He tried to follow the other children's reactions to what they witnessed, but the ritual itself was more compelling than registering their fear, fascination, avarice, or revulsion. Dimly he realised that they were all drifting into an odd, trance-like state. For what seemed like hours, he stood between Draco and Crabbe, until the spells lifted and they all resurfaced, figuratively and literally, from the effects of the chamber. They went to bed immediately.

Many guests left the next day, including the Hogwarts professor, and more the following day. Soon enough, Ryan packed up his things into his little suitcase and descended the stairs, meeting Draco at the landing. They walked together to the foyer, said goodbye to Lucius and Narcissa (who was suspiciously circumspect), and began the journey back to Hogwart's. In the short ride to King's Cross, both Ryan and Draco were subdued, though Ryan suspected for different reasons.

It seemed to him, watching Draco that week, that he had largely been shielded from his father's activities up until recently. He was certainly proud of being able to throw a curse, or manipulate his friends, and he had the same mean streak which treated Ryan to a hangover. But he hadn't actually seen the Death Eaters in action, Ryan was certain. Joining Voldemort's forces came as a knee-jerk reaction for the boy. Would he reconsider his choice over time?

And what about the others? There was something going on with Goyle, Ryan thought, but he couldn't tell what. And it wasn't like he could suddenly become a father confessor for him, without raising even Goyle's suspicions. He suppressed a sigh. One way or another, it would sort itself.

When they met Goyle and Crabbe on the train, Draco perked up considerably. Though they had parted only days before, he made a show of recounting everything as if they had shared a grand adventure. Macabre as the thought was, Ryan reflected, he supposed they had done.

 

 

 

Hermione was beside herself. She recalled that there were some old annuals in the back of the library near the copies of Hogwarts, A History. But she couldn't find the 1860 edition, or indeed, anything from that period.

"There must be something," she said to Ron, who against his better judgement had agreed to search with her. "They started using silver nitrate for photos in the 1850's, so they might have taken a few here by 1860...."

"Look!" Ron said, flipping through an annual. He showed her an ancient tintype of Gryffindor House in an annual marked 1862. It didn't even move, it was so old. Near the back was a familiar looking face.

"A. Dumbledore," Ron read from the list of names in the caption.

"But that's two years after the last Pelerand graduated," Hermione protested. "We need one before 1860."

"Why?" Ron protested.

"Because I want to see whether those Pelerands look anything like this one."

"Hermione, are you sure this is just for Harry's good?"

"What do you mean, Ron?" Hermione said, sounding scandalized.

"It's just...I think Harry can take care of himself. You seem awfully interested in Pelerand. Are you sure it's not just because, maybe, you like him?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Ron! Didn't we go over this last year, with Viktor?"

Ron shrugged. "Ryan's a lot better looking than Viktor, and you went to the ball with him," he muttered.

"I'm not having this conversation," Hermione said decisively. "We just fight whenever we talk about things like that." She fell silent, and Ron let it go. She pulled down a copy of Hogwarts, A History and flipped through it, checking something. "It's so strange, though," she observed again after a minute more of scanning the shelves.. "They started including pictures in the annuals in 1855, according to the book. There should be several years showing Pelerands in Gryffindor. But they're not here."

"Wait—Hermione. There's something fallen behind the case." Ron dropped to the floor and cleared off a section of the books on the bottom shelf. Amid the thick dust, there was a thin volume, bound in red leather, bearing the Hogwarts seal. It said, "1859."

"Good show, Ron," Hermione said admiringly. They flipped open the book carefully. There was a carefully labelled bookplate announcing that school annuals were reference only and not to be checked out. Its pages were dusty and dry, and despite Hermione's care, the corners ripped as they turned over. In the centre, each house photograph took up an entire opening. They flipped the pages to Gryffindor House's photo, and scanned it.

"There!" Ron said, pointing. "Wow. It looks just like him," he said slowly.

"Yes, except—there's something about the face...Thinner? That's not it."

"His ears are bigger," observed Ron, who was conscious of things like large ears, hands, and feet.

"Yes, and they—Ron? Have you got a magnifying glass?"

"Er—no, I left it in my detective kit, Hermione."

"Hm. I've got one up in the tower. Come on," she said, placing the book on the nearest table and rushing back up to Gryffindor's portrait hole.

Harry was in the common room, working on the last of his essay for Trelawney. The spring term started the next day and he and Ron had Divination that afternoon.

"Find anything?" he asked distractedly as they came in.

"Yeah, we found an old picture that looks just like Ryan Pelerand," Ron said, flopping into a chair by the fire to catch his breath. Hermione kept going into the girls' dormitory.

"Can I see it?" Harry asked, looking up.

"It's down in the library," Ron said. "Hermione wanted to get a magnifying glass. Why she didn't bring one in the first place...."

"Our Hermione's been acting funny about Pelerand for a while, Ron," Harry said. "If you ask me, she's not thinking straight."

"Yeah, that's what I told her. I'm a little worried."

Harry shrugged. "She's always after one thing or another. You remember, Moody—Crouch, I should say—said she'd make a good Auror. It's 'cause she's always paranoid," he concluded.

They laughed softly. Hermione came back in with the magnifying glass. "Got it. Harry, want to come with us and have a look? I don't think Madam Pince would let us take the book out of the library."

"Okay," Harry said with a shrug, happy to put aside his I-Ching journal for the moment.

The three of them crawled through the portrait hole and went back to the library. On the way, they met several Gryffindors just getting back from the train. It held them up a few minutes, saying hello and catching up on Christmas. When they got to the library, Madam Pince was just leaving.

"Please, only we found something in reference, and we just need five minutes to have a look," Hermione said in her most studious voice.

"All right," Madam Pince said with a sniff. "No more than five minutes." She even conjured a small hourglass and turned it immediately.

The three students rushed to the table where the book had lain. But it was gone. "Oh, no," Hermione said.

"Wait," Ron continued. "She must have shelved all those books. See?" He pointed to the section which he removed to get the annual. The books were all sitting neatly back on the shelves. "Maybe she put the annual back, too."

He looked on the shelf with the other Hogwarts annuals. They skipped from 1850 to, "1861," he said, confusion apparent in his voice.

"It's gone?" Harry said, frowning. "Who could have hidden it?"

"More like why did they hide it?" Hermione corrected darkly.

"Maybe Hermione's not so paranoid as we thought," Ron commented to Harry.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. They left the library, feeling quite out of sorts.

 

 

 

Operation Transfusion held a meeting that very night. Those select few whom Lucius had signed on as bona fide followers of Voldemort lost no time using their status to intimidate and impress the others. Draco particularly behaved as if he owned the world, though this was not terribly different from usual.

"Order!" he demanded in the common room when all the outsiders had been told to study in their dormitories. He began without preamble.

"The Event will occur on Friday, 19^th January, nearly dark of the moon. That's two weeks and Friday, so we'll have plenty of time for a couple dry runs. Now, here's the overall plan:

"One Mudblood student of each house will be kidnapped. We'll be discussing potential targets later. We'll kidnap them right after dinner, before everyone is in their common rooms for the night. With any luck, the teachers won't put things together until class Monday morning. By then, we'll have sent our demands to the Board of Governors. We'll need to take turns over the weekend guarding them. No one under fifth year is to guard.

"We'll keep them at the Shrieking Shack. Pelerand can open a secret tunnel from the grounds to the shack. There's no other way into it, and it's off school grounds, so they won't think to look for it. The hard part is going to be getting shifts in and out of the entrance to the tunnel. But I've got a plan for that, too."

He gestured to Felicia Avery, Stelmaria Nott, and another fifth-year girl named Blaise Zabini. "Ladies, your mission is to get Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. Do whatever you need to get it, but we must have it by this week-end. It's the full moon—we're going to test it to make sure no one can see us even in the moonlight."

The girls nodded solemnly. Stelmaria said, "We've already got a plan."

"Good. Now, we'll take turns using the invisibility cloak to get to the tunnel and back to school. We'll give the Board one week to meet our demands."

"What exactly are our demands?" Ryan asked.

"We want the Board of Governors to send all the Mudblood students packing and exert a promise from Dumbledore that he won't admit any more, or if not, get a new Headmaster who will do as we say."

"And our threat, if they don't do?"

"They'll meet our demands," Draco said icily, "or we turn the students over to the Death Eaters."

"I see," Ryan said with an appreciative nod.

"We'll have to keep them fed, but not with a lot," Draco continued. "If they do kick all the Mudbloods out, which I doubt, we'll have to return them to their parents relatively unscathed. Doesn't mean we can't hex them a few times to keep them in line, but try not to use anything with lasting side effects." The common room filled with polite laughter.

"So, sign up for your shifts, according to your schedules. It's inevitable that some of us will have to skip classes for this, but we'll secure passes through Professor Snape."

"Is he aware of this?" Ryan asked, surprised.

"Of course not, Pelerand," Draco sneered. "But he'll do what Father tells him to do."

"Right, makes sense," Ryan said quickly, covering himself. From the little he'd seen of Snape, grudges or no, he'd never allow kidnapping to occur if he could help it. But if he refused to help Lucius.... Draco had a point. In the double-agent game, Snape's situation was a bit more tightly wedged between "rock" and "hard place" than Ryan's.

They passed around timetables and sign-up sheets. Ryan couldn't guard, because he had to stop the willow from whomping at every shift change. Luckily, they scheduled six hour shifts, so he only had to sneak out four times a day. He wished someone else could shoot. They'd never use Maloriel's bow while he had a say in it, but he could lend the blunted arrows and at least get a full night's sleep that week.

Then again, he thought as they discussed the potential hostages, if he could get a message to Albus about this, it might be over sooner than it started. They already knew the Shrieking Shack was the target destination. Now he knew the rest of the plan. He couldn't risk getting "sent" to the Headmaster again. But McGonagall knew the truth. Perhaps...he could get a message to Dumbledore through her.

 

 

 

Classes started the next day. No attacks from Operation Transfusion could be detected, and the teachers and students widely felt that perhaps their parents had put a stop to things over the holiday. But the three Slytherin ladies, Felicia, Stelmaria, and Blaise, put their plan in motion immediately to capture Harry's cloak.

"Wait, Harry!" Blaise called, crossing boldly across the hall to him after lunch that day.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned on their way to class. Harry pointed on finger at himself and said, "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course," Blaise said breezily. "I wanted to ask you a question."

"If it's something Malfoy asked you to ask me—"

"No—no, nothing like that. It's—well," she glanced from side to side. "It's sort of personal. Do you think we could step aside for a moment?" She batted her eyes.

Still a little stung by Cho's rejection back at Halloween, Harry weighed his options briefly. On the one hand, Blaise was a Slytherin. On the other, she was by far the best-looking Slytherin girl in their year, and he thought she was actually prettier than Padma, Pavarti, or Lavender. "Uh, okay," he said dubiously. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "I won't be a minute; you go on ahead." Frowning, the two left him alone with Blaise.

"What's this about then?" he asked brusquely.

"Well, really, it's Felicia."

"Felicia?"

"Avery. She's in fourth year. She tried out for the Slytherin house team, but Malfoy wouldn't put her on because she's a girl." Blaise didn't disguise her genuine disdain for Draco's roster choices. She went on to explain, "Felicia was hoping maybe you could help her flying, so next year he won't have an excuse to keep her off the team. But she's too shy to ask you."

"So she asked you to ask me?" Harry said, squinting in disbelief.

"Not exactly...see, I just thought it would be nice if..."

"Nice?" Harry said louder than he intended. It echoed in the emptying hall. "Since when should I be nice to a Slytherin?"

"Oh, Harry," Blaise said, looking hurt. "Just because we're in Slytherin doesn't mean we're all like Malfoy. You can't even imagine what it's like, to be a decent person in that house. And Felicia's pretty good: all she needs are a few tips. Couldn't you meet her on the pitch for a lesson or two?"

"If I help her, and she makes the team, she'll be playing against me," Harry pointed out.

Blaise responded with a high-pitched snort. "And here I thought Harry Potter was such a good sport about things. You know, in Hufflepuff, they don't blame you for Cedric, because Cedric was always telling them how fair you were during Quidditch, and the Tri-Wizard Tournament," she said with a sidelong look. Mentioning Cedric softened Harry's expression, just as she imagined it would.

"Oh, all right," Harry sighed. "I've got to get to class. Tell her to meet me this evening."

"I will. Thanks, Harry," Blaise favoured him with a million-galleon smile.

 

 

 

It was already growing dark when Harry came out to the pitch. Felicia was waiting with her broom, bundled in a fur-lined cloak.

"We don't have much time before it gets too dark to see," Harry said. "What do you need to work on the most?"

"Oh," Felicia said with a little laugh, "I guess my turns. I have a little trouble hanging on to the broom."

"Okay," Harry said, naïve in the face of her coy demeanour.

They kicked off and stuck close to the ground, using the relative shelter of the stands to shield them from the wind. There wasn't much snow on the ground, but the temperature sank rapidly as the dark closed in. Felicia struck a balance between a good enough flyer to lend credence to Blaise's story, and just clumsy enough to need instruction at closer quarters. Twice she "accidentally" brushed Harry's cloak while banking for a turn. He shook his head and called her back down to earth.

"Look, we've—careful!" he said, reaching out reflexively. Felicia "stumbled" on her robes while dismounting the broom, and fell toward him. He caught her, but reeled a bit at her sudden weight in his arms.

"Oh!" she said, giggling. "Sorry. I guess I'm just not very co-ordinated today. Good thing your reflexes are so quick. And you're so strong," she said provocatively.

"Huh?" Harry said, oblivious. "Look, we're out of light. Have you read any books on Quidditch?"

Felicia shook her head. She let her teeth begin to chatter.

"Come on, let's get in. You must be freezing," Harry offered to carry her broom for her and they walked back up to the castle entrance.

"Anyway, you should probably read Quidditch Through the Ages. I'll loan you my copy."

"Thanks," Felicia said. "You're so nice, Harry."

"Hm," Harry said, not really listening.

"I mean," Felicia went on quickly, "most Gryffindors wouldn't even think about helping a Slytherin, would they? But you don't judge us all by Draco, do you?"

"I guess not," Harry said with a shrug. "I mean—" He broke off, thinking better of what he was about to say.

"What?"

"Oh, just...not even all Gryffindors are perfect. So there must be some Slytherins who are okay, too."

Felicia smiled. "There are. It's just hard, you know, when there's so much pressure to be bad. Taunting the Mu—Muggle-born students, and such. Sometimes I wish I were in Gryffindor."

They reached the giant double doors and went inside, sighing at the change in temperature. "Well, thanks again for the lesson—even though it was short." Felicia said, taking off her cloak's hood. "I'd really like to read that book of yours. Could I come and get it?"

"Um...I'll bring it to breakfast tomorrow," Harry offered, not wanting to climb up there now, when it was almost time for dinner.

"How about tonight?" Felicia asked quickly, then smiled. "It's just that I don't have any homework yet, since the break. And by the end of class tomorrow, who knows what we'll be doing?"

"Well...Okay," Harry shrugged. "After dinner, then. I'll meet you—"

"I could go up to your common room entrance with you," Felicia offered innocently. "Not to go in, of course, but I could wait outside for it."

"Er..." Harry hesitated. If she came with him, she would hear the password. "How about the library?" he offered instead.

Felicia blushed. "Oh—you must think I'm awful," she said petulantly. "After all, I can't be trusted to know where your common room entrance is, can I? I might tell all the others and who knows what they'd do with it? Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, that was a stupid suggestion." She berated herself a little more until two big tears escaped her eyes and she sniffed dejectedly.

"No," Harry consoled her awkwardly. "It's not that. It's...." He tried to think of another reason. "It's just I've got some research to do. So the library's better for me."

Felicia sniffed again, but smiled. "Of course," she said. "How silly of me to worry. One minute I'm saying you're trusting and—wonderful, and the next, I'm accusing you of being just like the rest of my house."

"W-wonderful?" Harry repeated, a quizzical look on his face.

"Mm-hmm," Felicia said, biting her lip shyly. "Very wonderful, indeed." She blushed and smiled. "May I have my broom back?" she asked.

Harry nodded and swung the broomsticks off his shoulder. Felicia stepped closer to take her broom, pretended to slip, and knocked into him again. Once again, Harry's lightning reflexes took charge and he reached out to steady her. She looked up at him with glowing eyes, and kissed him. Smiling, without another word, she picked up her broom from the floor and walked into the great hall, leaving Harry in a daze.

Harry's distraction was apparent during dinner, but Ron couldn't get him to talk about it there. Afterwards, he tried to get his friend to come down to the common room and work on their Dark Arts homework, but Harry mumbled that he was meeting someone.

"Meeting who?" Ron asked Harry's back. But Harry grabbed his Quidditch book and hurried out to meet Felicia.

He was still thinking about her kiss. It was really the first time he had kissed anyone. Earlier that summer, in the aftermath of Cedric's memorial, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all sat in the field behind the Weasley's garden and had a serious talk about things. The tension between Ron and Hermione was palpable to Harry, and he wondered if they'd ever admit it. But they all agreed that it would be "too weird" to date anyone in their little trio. And since Cho was still understandably upset over Cedric, Harry had never really kissed anyone else. Felicia Avery was all right, he supposed. She was the same age as Ginny. She sort of blushed and giggled a bit like Ginny used to do up until the end of last year. He always found it a little annoying in Ginny, but then he never had quite forgiven her for that awful Valentine's song the dwarf sang to him in the hallway. It didn't help that he'd been pinned under the dwarf and what felt like a quarter of the school witnessed it, including Draco Malfoy. But Ginny wasn't paying that much attention to him anymore. He supposed, bitterly, that the novelty had warn off. Felicia acted more like those girls hanging around Krum all the time last year. He couldn't quite work out whether he liked it or not.

He wandered into the library with his head still full of these strange thoughts. Girls, hero-worship, kissing—it was really a new world for him. He wished Sirius were around to talk to, or even Professor Lupin. Someone who would make one feel at ease. But there was Felicia, waiting at one of the large tables, waving.

"Here's the book," Harry said. To avoid having to talk to her further, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Felicia whispered urgently. "Didn't you say you had research to do?"

"Oh—yeah," Harry said sadly. He reversed himself and went further into the stacks. Felicia jumped up and followed him.

"What are you working on?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Um...a Divination essay," Harry said, picking the subject that came first to his mind.

"Really? I'm taking Divination. Maybe I could get a head start by working with you."

"I don't think so," Harry protested. He ducked into an aisle between two stacks. It was a mistake. The stack was a dead end, and now he was trapped.

"Harry, did I do something wrong?" Felicia asked, closing in on him.

"Uh, no, not really..." Harry stammered.

"Then why are you running away?" she asked simply.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged.

"Do you really have an essay to study for?" she asked with a concerned smile.

"Well...no," Harry shook his head apologetically. "I just..."

"Don't want to be seen with a Slytherin?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I mean, no, I mean—"

"I understand," Felicia said dejectedly. "I wish there were a way we could sit together, without anyone seeing us," she said in a leading way.

"Well, we could go to a disused classroom, I suppose," Harry suggested.

"They're all closed up, this time of night," Felicia countered. "Do you know any disguise spells?" she asked, as if brainstorming.

"Just polyjuice potion, and that takes a whole month to prepare," Harry said dubiously, unsure where they would end up with this train of thought.

"Oh." Felicia worried her lip a bit with her teeth. It was an attractive habit, and she knew it, but she did it artlessly. "Say!" she said, immediately dropping her voice again. "I heard Draco say something in the common room once, about how one day two years ago, your head appeared by itself in Hogsmeade."

"Uh, what about it?" said Harry with a swallow.

"Did you project yourself there or something? I mean, do you know any spells so we could 'be' somewhere we're not?"

"No," replied Harry, feeling stupid. "He only saw my head because my hood fell down. I was wearing an invisibility cloak." Even as he heard himself saying it, Harry thought, "You dunce! Why did you tell her that? No one was supposed to know you were there. And why on earth did you tell her about the cloak?"

"An invisibility cloak!" Felicia gasped. "Really? A real invisibility cloak? Oh, Harry, those are really rare, did you know that?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, feeling sick. "Now she'll want to see it," he told himself.

"Could I—I mean, do you think I could see it?" she asked, wide-eyed with excitement.

"Well, it's up in my dormitory..." Harry hedged. He didn't want to show it to her at all, much less drag back up to the seventh floor portrait hole, up the tower, and back down to the library.

"Of course," Felicia said. "Maybe tomorrow? Could you bring it here after dinner again? I won't tell anyone, I promise," she added quickly. "Not a soul."

"I dunno," Harry said again, feeling rotten for refusing, but not sure why. "I've got a lot to do tomorrow..."

"Well, one night this week, you must have a little time. Please?" Felicia took another step closer and batted her eyes.

"You're not going to kiss me again, are you?" Harry said before he thought, flinching involuntarily.

"Do you want me to do?" Felicia asked in her best imitation of a coquette.

"No," Harry said too firmly. He swallowed again. "All right," he agreed, feeling flustered and hot and uncomfortable and unsure why. "I'll meet you here on Thursday night. I can think up an excuse by then. And you can see it. But it's not that interesting," he lied. He thought the cloak was fascinating, and loved watching its ripples catch the light when it wasn't being worn. It was practically the only legacy he had from his father, besides an impersonal, though dead useful, pile of galleons at Gringott's.

"Thursday. Brilliant. I can't wait, Harry," Felicia said with admiration. "I'm sorry if you didn't like it when I kissed you," she went on.

"Er...it's okay," Harry said, at a loss. "I was just startled, that's all. But let's just not go there again, all right?"

"Whatever you say, Harry," Felicia agreed with a secret smile.

Blaise, Felicia, and Stelmaria made short work of getting the cloak on Thursday night. Harry was too embarrassed to tell anyone he'd been triple-hexed by a bunch of girls, much less that he had agreed to meet because of a pretty smile. It was too confusing to think about, so he just didn't mention the theft of the cloak to anyone, even Ron. Felicia, in a rare mood of generosity, promised she'd bring it back to him as soon as they were done with it. He hoped she meant it, but he'd worry about getting it back later. He was sure he would get it back, one way or another. It was the only thing he had that belonged to his father. He had to get it back. He just had to do it without telling anyone he'd lost it.

 

 

 

Thursday evening's Transfusion meeting opened with their report on the cloak.

"It's big enough for at least two people to walk under it," Blaise explained while Felicia and Stelmaria demonstrated. "So the new shift can put it on, sneak out, and take it to the old shift, who goes back to the castle wearing it."

"Close. The new shift and Ryan wear it out, Ryan stays in it while the shift changes, and he and the old shift come back wearing it," Malcolm corrected them. "Good. We'll do a dry run Saturday, when it's a little easier to get away at night. Now, nominations for abduction."

"David Rupaj," Draco said immediately.

"He's a sixth year, Draco," Avery said. "I thought we weren't going to—"

"He's Ravenclaw's captain," Draco cut back in. "The match is scheduled for the day after we take everyone. If he's not at the match—"

"Two ravens with one stone," Antonius Flint said with a wicked smile. "Nice thinking, Malfoy."

"All right," Avery decided. He made a note. "David Rupaj, Ravenclaw. How about Hufflepuff?"

Stelmaria said, "Katie Thomas. She's a second year. Her mother's a Muggle stylist somewhere."

"Any other nominations?"

"What about their Quidditch team?" Montague suggested.

"No good; first of all, they've too many alternates. Second, we don't want this to look like we're targeting Quidditch players; only Mudbloods," Draco drawled impatiently.

"How about Vicki Lang?" asked Pansy.

"Ooh, brilliant," Emma said. "I can't stand her."

"What's her background?" Avery asked.

"Well, her father's a Muggle journalist."

"No good; they'll have it all over the papers she's been kidnapped."

They wrangled a while longer over the names, but finally reached decisions for all four houses, including their own. Ryan took careful note of the names, committing them to memory until he could write them down unnoticed.

The meeting broke up, but Draco didn't come up to the dormitories straight away. Ryan thought he saw the boy and Pansy Parkinson slip through the common room entrance as everyone else was leaving. With a paternal shake of his head, he went up to bed, hoping the two had nothing too serious planned.

Goyle, Crabbe, and Nott prepared for bed as well. Nott chattered lightly about the direction Transfusion was taking, and how it would be pleasant to have Hogwarts all to themselves in a month or so. Ryan couldn't share his confidence, but nodded in all the right places. Just as the others all settled, Ryan saw Goyle fish out his book from beneath his pillow. But then the boy closed his curtains with a furtive glance and only the light of his wand glowed from behind them.

 

 

 

Ryan wondered what would await him in Potions class. It was his first real encounter with Snape since the altercation in Lucius's drawing room. Would Snape still treat him with kid gloves, or would the indignity begin to fester? Apparently, it wasn't clear to Snape, either, just how he meant to act around Ryan. But Ryan didn't have much time to worry about it. He was too busy worrying about Hermione—again.

The clever witch seemed to watch him all through the lab. She paid attention to her cauldron, of course, but every time Ryan looked up, he could feel Hermione's eyes on his. It had been the same in their Arithmancy class on Tuesday.

He caught up with the small knot of Gryffindors after class. "At the risk of a Weasley beating, Miss Granger, could I have a word?" he asked.

"Only one?" Ron asked hotly.

"It's all right, Ron," Hermione cautioned. "As long as it's not a hex."

"No," Ryan said sincerely.

"All right then," she said, but made no move. "Better hurry; I'll not be late for Charms."

"Unchaperoned?" Ryan asked. A look of doubt crossed both Harry's and Ron's faces. "I'll even leave my wand with you two, all right?" he offered, holding it backward to them.

"Oh, all right," Hermione conceded. Ron accepted the wand. Ryan and the young witch took a few steps further down the corridor.

"I just wanted to ask, have I grown a second nose or something?" Ryan said in his most disarming way.

"What?" Hermione said with a start.

"Well, you seem to have been studying me a lot lately. More than our subjects, in point of fact. I just wanted to make sure everything's all right."

Unaccustomed to this brand of confrontation, Hermione blushed. "Why, yes," she said, but then quickly and firmly added, "No. No it's not. What do you know about your family who went here in the 1800's?"

Ryan paused, fighting the urge to laugh. She was getting nearer, no mistake. He shrugged. "Not much. They were in Gryffindor, weren't they?"

"I don't believe you," Hermione said shrewdly. "Do you have any idea why the Hogwarts annuals years 1851 to 1860 are missing from the reference section of the library?"

"Are they?" Ryan said, truly surprised. "I'd no idea," he mused.

"So you are aware that there were members of the Pelerand family here at that time?"

"Yes, I'm aware of it," Ryan said. "Why should the annuals—oh, the photos!" he answered himself.

Hermione's colour rose. "Yes, the photos. Did you steal those annuals?"

"No, I didn't. Sorry." He felt a swift end to the interrogation in order. "You'd better go. You'll be late for charms," he said.

Hermione fumed at the dismissal, but she couldn't deny that they would be late without a move on. She glared back at the young men and said, "Come on, we're leaving," and walked off crossly.

Ryan held out his hand for his wand as Ron passed him. Ron gave it back, but turned round as he went by and wouldn't take his eyes off the Elf until they were on the stairwell. Ryan smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "Albus, you sneaky old bugger," he chuckled, and went off, late himself, to his next class.

 

 

 

"It just occurs to me: he knew about the photos," Hermione announced in the common room that night.

"Maybe he's read, Hogwarts, a History," Ron suggested.

"But why would he figure out that the annuals were missing because of the photos?" Hermione said to herself.

"Ask Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Are you daft?" Ron asked, but Hermione shushed him.

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"Didn't you say you found one from 1862, with a picture of Dumbledore? Then wouldn't he have been a student while that Pelerand was here? He'd have known him."

"You're right!" Ron said.

"Maybe he took the annuals."

"But why?"

"I dunno," Harry said with a yawn. "That's why you should ask him."

"We can't just go up there and ask, can we?" Hermione mused incredulously. "I mean, seriously, can we?"

"Well, he's never objected when I've gone there," Harry shrugged. "Course, we don't know his password, do we?" He stood, stretched, and announced, "I'm for bed."

Ron echoed his friend's intention. As they said goodnight, Hermione pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and drafted a note to the Headmaster. She'd work out how to deliver it when it was done.

 

 

 

The trial run went smoothly and Transfusion operatives spent the weekend compiling lists of supplies and learning the spells they'd need to cast on the Shrieking Shack, including an obfuscation ward and a silence charm so the hostages couldn't scream for help. Ryan looked forward to Monday's Transfiguration class, when he could pass his note to McGonagall.

He handed her a rolled parchment at the beginning of class. "Professor, here's that extra homework you asked for," he said in a helpful, even sycophantic tone.

"What?" Professor McGonagall peered over her glasses at him. "Oh, yes. That essay," she said suddenly, as if she'd forgotten she assigned it. "Thank you, Pelerand. You may take your seat." As he hoped, she put the roll in a desk drawer for later.

"You didn't tell us you were doing extra credit," Draco muttered at him as they left class.

"It's not; it's an old detention assignment. She got a glimpse of my sword. Took it away and made me write that. Spiteful witch," Ryan explained with a dark expression.

"Well, they'll sit up and notice soon, won't they?" Draco offered as reassurance.

Indeed, they did sit up and notice, but not exactly the way Transfusion hoped. Between classes, Professor McGonagall scanned his cryptic note to Dumbledore. To anyone else, it looked like an essay on Transfiguring complex machinery. But toward the bottom of the roll, a paragraph appeared in Greek. Ostensibly a quotation, it read instead:

"Children to be held hostage, one per house. Don't stop it—would lead to questions. They won't be harmed. Tell A they will be in Hogsmeade, in the fright at the end of the tunnel."

So, on Friday, when a few students disappeared, the teachers didn't react immediately.

It happened between dinner and the end of the evening. With the exception of David Rupaj, who was in his sixth year, all the hostages were young and easy to catch. They lured Katie Thomas of Hufflepuff into an empty classroom with a mirage spell, then stupefied her. Crabbe suggested that they drug Jason Prill, a Slytherin first-year, with a cake containing a sleeping draught, though he wouldn't acknowledge to anyone where he came up with the idea. Montague, Warrington, and Bole ganged up on Rupaj and bound him with tight cords from their wands. And another first-year in Gryffindor, Stephanie Boot, was fooled by a forged note to meet her "secret admirer" by greenhouse number 2. Once they were all caught, Operation Transfusion hid their wands in the common room.

Under cover of the dark sky, six or seven wizards and witches herded their charges to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They all hovered just along the tree line while Ryan strung his bow efficiently and aimed a blunted arrow at the knot. Just as he loosed his first shot, another large figure came running toward them, carrying someone over his shoulder. A hand hit his shoulder and the shot went wide, landing in the forest with the crisp rustle of branches.

"Goyle!" Malfoy hissed. "What in hell are you doing? Only one student from each house!"

Goyle looked perplexed. "You said you wanted to get Weasley back," he said in a pitiful voice.

"What about it?"

"Well, I thought we'd—"

"You thought! There's a laugh!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Ryan said calmly. "A little quiet, if you don't mind." He aimed again. The shaft hit the knot on the willow with enough force to push it in, and the tree's massive limbs froze. A section of the trunk opened.

"Hurry up," Avery said, moving forward quietly with his hostage floating behind him.

"Come on. We'll sort this out when we get there," Draco said disgustedly. They made their way into the tunnel, squeezing through the muddy opening and walking doubled over. Avery cast mobilicorpus on the unconscious form which Goyle brought with him, covered in a dark cloak.

They reached the shack and levitated their hostages inside. Over the last few weeks, they had supplied the little room with blankets, pillows, and food to keep their charges from starving and freezing to death.

"Let's see what you've done now, Goyle," Malfoy demanded. Goyle hesitated a second, but removed the sleeping girl's cloak. Long red hair cascaded out of the hood.

"Ginny Weasley?" Malfoy asked somewhere between a groan and a gasp.

"She's Ron's sister," Goyle explained unnecessarily.

"I know that, you idiot, but she's a pure-blood!" Malfoy shouted at him. "Though admittedly a poor excuse for one. Why in the name of Slytherin did you take her?"

Goyle shrugged. "Revenge on Weasley," He said dejectedly.

"Oh...All right," Malfoy said. "It's done now. Leave her." He made himself comfortable for the first watch, while the others checked the bonds and filed down the creaking stairs.

Ryan couldn't silence his question. Once they got into the tunnel, he put a hand on Goyle's arm and held him back a pace or two from the others. "Was that really why you took her?" he asked.

Goyle shrugged. "I think she has pretty hair," he said sadly.

"There are better ways to tell a girl you like her," Ryan told him gently.

Goyle shrugged again. "May as well be Quasimodo to her Esmeralda, for all the good it'll do me. Don't tell Draco, okay?" He pulled away, which was awkward in the tight space of the tunnel, and followed the others up to the surface.

Ryan couldn't decide which was more surprising: Goyle professing admiration of a Weasley sibling, or the fact that he used a literary analogy to do it. Perhaps there was much more to Goyle than he let on. Unfortunately, now was by far not the time to investigate that any further. With a shuddering, ancient-feeling sigh, he moved along, wondering how best to sabotage Transfusion's big event.