His Majesty's Secret Service

Chapter Nine: Aftershock

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, Hermione almost discovered the truth, but someone prevented her from seeing the last piece of evidence she needed. But before she had a chance to investigate further, the members of Operation Tranfusion launched their anticipated Event....

Ginny listened to the sounds around her. She lay on a hard floor, covered by a single blanket. Or was it a cloak? The ground wasn't damp, and more than one person was moving around. It couldn't be a nightmare about Tom, could it?

"See you in a few hours, then," a girl's voice said. No, it wasn't a dream, and it certainly wasn't the Chamber again. Her hands were tied behind her back.

"Are you all right?" another voice asked, this one pleasant and deeper. Ginny opened her eyes and looked around.

The room was pretty dark. Weak light filled it with eerie shadows. There was a makeshift bed on one side of the room, with one or two figures piled on top of it. A brunette sat on the only chair, reading by the light of her wand, the same light that filtered over to Ginny. With a bit of a struggle, she sat up.

"Are you all right?" he repeated. Ginny shifted and saw him.

He was tied up even more tightly than she, sitting against the wall with many cords pinning his arms to his sides. His longish black hair offset dark skin and deep brown eyes. He smiled encouragingly, flashing straight, bright teeth. Ginny smiled back shyly.

"Ginny Weasley, right?"

"Yes. Let me guess, you know my brothers," Ginny said with mild annoyance.

"Well, of course," the young man said, "but I also know you're the only girl. I'm David Rupaj," he said.

The girl sitting on the chair looked up sharply. "Shut it, Mudblood," she said. "I'm reading."

David jerked his head to Ginny, indicating she should move closer. Ginny hesitated. She cleared her throat and asked,

"May I go sit by the wall?"

Their captor looked surprised. "I guess," she said with a shrug. "But no talking."

Ginny nodded, muttered her thanks, and rolled onto her knees. She crawled over to the wall and plopped against it. She smiled at David again, who smiled back apologetically. She tried to stay awake, but eventually dozed again. She woke hours later, stiff and sore, but still against David's side.

As more light began to stream through the cracks in the walls and the boarded windows, the figures on the bed stirred. They heard noise in a different room; steps coming up a flight of stairs. Two people came in and spoke to the girl. Ginny nudged David a bit with her shoulder, but he shook his head. Ginny sighed and leaned back against the wall. She'd have to do this herself.

"Any trouble?"

"No. The young ones are waking up, though. Don't let them get chatty," she said with a thumb jerked toward where Ginny and David sat next to each other.

"Okay," said the new guard, who took up a similar position to watch her charges. She was blonde and pretty, but with a pug nose which made her look impossibly conceited. A large boy muttered that he'd be downstairs if she needed anything, and left with the first girl.

"Pansy?" Ginny asked softly when the sound of footsteps faded. "Pansy Parkinson, right?"

Pansy looked at her a moment before speaking. "Yes," she answered in a clipped tone. She opened a textbook.

"But you're in my brother's class—you know Ron," Ginny insisted, looking for a way to chip the girl's exterior.

"So?" The young woman sneered. Ginny tried a more direct approach.

"What's going on here, Pansy?"

"None of your business, Muggle-lover," Pansy retorted stiffly. "You shouldn't even be here."

Before Ginny could ask what that meant, the "young ones" regained consciousness. Katie Thomas, the Hufflepuff second-year, began asking questions immediately, but Pansy silenced her with a lockjaw hex.

"That wasn't necessary," Ginny said slowly.

"Be quiet," Pansy answered with a little less vehemence than before, "or you'll get the same."

Stephanie Boot began to sniffle, then large tears dripped over her cheeks. Ginny caught Pansy's eye and held it.

"At least let me keep them from crying," she requested reasonably. She didn't flinch or look away as Pansy raised her wand. But instead of cursing the redhead, she uttered a spell which untied the girl's ropes.

"Keep them quiet, and you can stay untied," she said grudgingly. Ginny shook her hands and rubbed them to get the blood moving again. They tingled horribly, but she didn't complain. She patted David's arm once before moving to the bed.

"Where are we?" David asked, clearing his throat. The hours of not speaking left him sounding hoarse.

"Somewhere you won't be found," Pansy answered smugly.

"I'm hungry," announced Jason Prill. Pansy glared at him, but went into the corner and fished out a bag of chocolate frogs. She tossed them on the bed. She sat down again, wand out and ready.

Ginny opened a package and gave the chocolate to Stephanie. "Can you tell us what this is about?" she asked Pansy.

"I hardly think you need to know," Pansy said haughtily.

"I've been kidnapped before, you know," Ginny remarked softly, ignoring Pansy's insulting tone. "Only I didn't realise that's what was happening."

"I've heard all about it," Pansy cut in, "from Draco." She tried to sound bored, but Ginny sensed there was something else there, so she plunged forward, her plan forming.

"Have you?" Ginny asked in the same deadpan tone. "So Draco told you how his father slipped a diary into my books at the start of my first year, and how the diary bewitched me? How it made me kill the roosters? How Tom—" she stopped suddenly, wondering if she might be able to think of a better plan. The young students, who had not been at school when the Chamber of Secrets was opened again, moved forward to listen. They had no idea about the circumstances Ginny related, but listened rapt, as if to some captivating and exciting ghost story.

"Tom?" Pansy said, looking up. "Who's Tom?"

Suppressing a smile, Ginny moved to one edge of the bed, where she could talk to Pansy a little more privately. If it worked, it worked. "Tom Riddle," she explained. "He's—it was his diary, that Mr. Malfoy gave me. Tom's memories from Hogwarts were inside it. I thought it was a regular diary, at first, and I started writing in it. But then, it—Tom—began writing back." She paused for breath, noting that Pansy, too, had edged forward on her seat. "I was so excited at first. I mean, I was only a child—as young as this lot—" she gestured to the wizard and witches on the bed—"and Tom was so sympathetic. He told me he understood my homesickness, and my—my crushes, and things, and that if I kept talking to him, things would work out. It was really wonderful, having a boy I could talk to. Not like an older brother, but like a real friend. Do—" she looked up at Pansy confidentially, like a sister—"Do you and Draco ever just talk, like that? Like you can say anything and he'll listen and really understand?"

Pansy frowned. "No," she admitted after a moment.

"Well, Tom really listened, you know?" Ginny continued, pretending not to notice Pansy's dismay. "At least, at first. But then, things were happening—you know, with the Chamber of Secrets—and I had this horrible thought, like maybe it was me. I was afraid to tell anyone real, so I told Tom. Of course, it was silly to confide in him, but by then, Tom was sort of real to me, too." She paused again, waiting for a sign from Pansy to go on. Pansy chewed her lip a bit, but nodded and motioned encouragingly.

"I didn't know that Tom really was the problem, then. I just thought he was this wonderful person—I wanted him to be real. I wanted to help him. I wanted him to love me. I guess, if I'd thought about it then, I wouldn't have done all those horrible things. But I was so young, and—" she broke off again, aware that all five were hanging on her story at this point. She couldn't see David behind her, but she could hear him shifting forward to listen as intently as all the others.

"Anyway," she went on more strongly, "I tried to get rid of the diary, but it didn't work. When I got it back, Tom was angry, and I didn't know why. He made me write those messages on the walls. The last time I went down there, I don't know quite what happened. I took the diary with me, but I felt so weak. I wanted Tom to be there, to help me figure out what was happening. So, I called him out of the diary. But that's all I remember. I think he wanted me to call him. I think he wanted to leave and take on a real form again.

"I learned—later—that he wanted to kill Harry. I also found out that writing in the diary is what made him stronger. He used me, you see. Used my thoughts and feelings to make himself more real. He siphoned my own life into the spell that controlled his existence. He never really cared about me at all, except as a means to an end."

Ginny came to a stop in her narrative. Pansy remained silent for a long time. Afraid someone else might break Ginny's careful mood, she glanced at Katie and shook her head very slightly. Katie nodded and silently opened another chocolate frog for Jason and one for Stephanie.

"So...all those attacks that year," Pansy said slowly. "They were because you wanted Tom to like you?"

"Sort of," Ginny said, knowing it to be less than true, but hoping Pansy would draw the parallel on her own. "I kept writing to Tom because I wanted him to like me. He used that desire to make me do those awful things. Things I would never have done on my own."

"Hm." Pansy drew in a cleansing breath and stretched. She stood up and circled her chair, but said nothing. Then, she turned back and Ginny could feel the mood shift around her. "Well," Pansy commented in a controlled voice, "that Quidditch match should be over by now." She glanced archly over at David, who blanched.

"This is all about Quidditch?" he asked strangely. "Come on, even in American Football, they'd never stoop to kidnapping the quarterback."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Pansy shot back with rolled eyes. "Of course it's not about Quidditch. But it so happens that getting you out of the way significantly reduces Ravenclaw's chance of winning the match against Slytherin today."

"On the other hand, they'll know something's wrong," David countered. "I would never just miss a match. They'll know we're all missing."

"Well, they won't find you until we want them to do," Pansy shrugged. "This place is charmed within an inch of its life."

"Pansy," Ginny said softly. "Why are you doing this?"

"The same reason the Chamber was opened. To get rid of the Mudbloods."

"That's why Draco's doing this. It is Draco's idea, isn't it? But why are you doing this?"

Pansy's smug look fell. She turned away for a brief moment, but in that second, her resolve seemed to strengthen. She came around her chair again and sat. "No more talking," she announced, and just to be sure, she cast another lockjaw hex—as promised, on Ginny.

 

 

 

"I don't understand. Where is he?" Cho Chang asked her teammates as she changed into her Quidditch robes. "He didn't say anything about missing the match. And Slytherin! They're all that's standing between us and Gryffindor."

"Maybe he's sick," suggested Sally-Anne Perks, a chaser.

"He's not in the infirmary," replied Matthew Meakes, one of their beaters.

"It's not like him at all," Cho fretted. "Well, we're not forfeiting. I'll play keeper for David; just make sure that quaffle never gets near our goals," she instructed with a sheepish smile. They trooped onto the pitch.

It was a rout. Draco couldn't have been happier as their score climbed higher, pushing Slytherin closer and closer to the cup. Even the occasional Ravenclaw goal couldn't help them. When Draco saw the snitch finally, Slytherin was already up by sixty points. He feinted to the far side of the pitch, ignoring the snitch, but drawing the Ravenclaw seeker away from it as well.

"Kathy!" Cho called from her spot, hovering near the goalposts. "He's toying with you. Ignore him; just watch for the snitch!"

Draco snarled but didn't bother to worry about it. Without Rupaj to keep the goals cleared, Trent, Montague, and Warrington had little trouble racking up the points. And the longer the school's attention was focused on the match, the longer it would take for them to notice the other missing students.

Down in the stands, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville watched the match. "Where's Ginny?" Neville asked, looking around.

Hermione shrugged. "I haven't seen her since dinner. I expect she stayed up late doing homework and is still asleep."

They speculated also about where David Rupaj might be. Ron elbowed Harry annoyingly every time Cho took possession of the ball, until Harry had to insist that he wasn't interested in her anymore. That earned him an appraising look from Hermione, but she said nothing. Absently, she glanced at the crowd and noticed Ryan sitting across the way.

"Ron," she patted the redhead's arm and jerked her eyebrows across the stands to avoid pointing. "Look at Pelerand. He's in the crowd—if you look closely, you can imagine it's the same pose as the picture in the annual."

"Uh...Yeah," Ron agreed after looking for a moment. "Boy, he really looks like his ancestor, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but Ron," Hermione said, a slow look of triumph crossing her face. Just then, Goyle must have said something on Ryan's right, because he turned his head to answer. "That's it!" she yelled, too excited to stay in her seat. "I think I've got it! Ron, Harry, I think I've got it!"

"Hermione," Ron said, pulling her to the bench again. "Let's just make it completely obvious, shall we?"

"Come on," she insisted, standing again and gesturing for them to leave.

"What and miss the rest of the match?" Ron responded, incredulous. "Can't you wait until it's over?"

"No—I want to go to the library and check something. Ron, we've been so close to this for ages, and now, I think I know the missing piece. I think I know what he really is!"

"What are you talking about?" Neville asked bluntly. "Hermione?"

Hermione blushed a little and took her seat again. "That transfer student, Neville, the one in Slytherin—what do you think of him?"

"He's a ruddy good potions student, I can tell you. And he's not a bit afraid of Snape," Neville said without hesitating.

"He doesn't have to be," Ron cut in, but Hermione ignored him.

"But Neville, what if he's not really a student? Did you ever think maybe he's so good at his subjects because he's already passed them?"

Neville's face clouded. He considered Hermione's theory for a full minute before saying, "Well, I honestly never thought about it before. But if you say he's not a student, I'd believe you."

"Thanks, Neville. But it's not a question of believing me or not—it's getting the proof. Now Ron, Harry, aren't you going to come with me? If I'm right, we'll have him."

"Have him for what?" Harry asked slowly.

"I—" Hermione paused. "What do you mean?"

"You're so certain he's here to hurt me. Everyone's always sure that things are coming to get me. What if I'm not the target this time? If I were, why not be in Gryffindor?"

"Well, you can't fool the Sorting Hat, can you?" Hermione said after a moment. Harry frowned and lapsed into silence. "But we can't be sure unless I look something up."

"Right," Ron said, getting to his feet. "Naturally, that's the proper way to go about anything—look it up." He stretched and sighed. "Well, Harry? Look, it's all over here, mate. Ravenclaw can't hope to catch up. It's just a question of how soon Malfoy finds—"

Madame Hooch blew her whistle so shrilly, most of the students had to shake their heads to clear them. They could see Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore standing on the pitch below her.

"This match is to be concluded immediately," Professor McGonagall announced. "All students return to their common rooms at once. The heads of your houses will explain when you are assembled."

As they filed out, Hermione grumbling that she'd not be able to check her references now, everyone in three houses wondered what the problem could be.

 

 

 

On their side of the pitch, Ryan and Goyle used the noise to hold a surprisingly private conversation.

"So...you like to read everything from Mallory to Atwood to Sagan, but you still follow Draco around like a mastiff?" Ryan asked with a quizzical expression aimed at the boy.

Goyle shrugged his broad shoulders. "Look at me," he rejoined the other. "Do you really think anyone has much use for a literary critic who can crush rocks with his teeth?" He shook his head with an odd smile. "I'm trapped," he said without bitterness. "Between my father, Draco, and my size, what alternatives do I have?"

Ryan bit back his impulsive response, that a good mind could find application any number of ways. Before he could think of something less paternal to say, Goyle continued.

"Besides, I'm practically a Squib."

For that, Ryan had no comfort. But at that moment, Madame Hooch ended the match and ordered them all back to their common rooms. He would have to find a way to talk to Goyle more later—they hadn't even begun to talk about kidnapping Ginny Weasley yet.

"They've caught wind of it, somehow," Ryan said to Goyle as they made their way back to the castle.

Sure enough, that was exactly the situation, though Ryan knew exactly how it had happened. His carefully planted information—with the exception of Ginny, whom he did not know about in time—had given the teachers all they needed to know. But in an effort to end the matter without direct intervention, the staff chose to ask first if anyone knew the whereabouts of David Rupaj, Katie Thomas, Stephanie Boot, or Jason Prill.

Ryan almost felt sorry for Snape. He was required to ask the Slytherin students to volunteer information if they had it, but equally obliged to ignore the missing students (Parkinson and Warrington) and his certainty that Draco was behind the whole thing, somehow. The man did a good job, however, of behaving as if he were only asking so he could tell Dumbledore later that he had done. His speech to them was full of double-edged comments, some of which almost made Ryan smile. "I feel it my duty to remind you all that if the students are found to have been held against their will, we will be forced to mete appropriate punishment," Snape informed them.

He went on, striking a balance between dutiful professor and dedicated evildoer. He made it clear to the young Death Eaters that he had no interest in the incident beyond that required of him by the rest of the staff, while at the same time gave the Slytherins who weren't involved the impression that he obviously wished to find the missing students quickly and painlessly for everyone.

A collective sigh passed through the common room when he left, announcing that he would be in his office "if anyone wished to tell him something privately." The innocent Slytherins, casting doubtful looks at their housemates, left rather quickly.

Avery found his voice first. "It's past time to relieve the others. We'd better use the cloak from here. Who's on next?"

 

 

 

The moment Professor McGonagall left the Gryffindor tower, Hermione was off like a shot.

"Harry, Ron, come on! We've got to get to the library." She didn't even wait to see if they were coming, but crawled through the portrait hole and hurried down the hallway.

Rolling their eyes, they followed. But the library was closed. Mrs. Pince was nowhere to be seen. Confused—the library was never closed on a Saturday—the trio wandered back to the common room.

"And I so wanted to see if my theory was correct," Hermione complained.

"I guess it's because all the staff are looking for the missing students," Ron surmised as they crawled back through the portrait hole. They glanced around the common room, took an empty couch just to one side of the fire, and settled in comfortably.

"Just what was it you thought you discovered?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"I realised it when he turned his head," Hermione explained quickly. "Looking at him across the pitch, it was about the same as the photograph in the annual." She could barely contain her excitement. "What was wrong about his ears, Ron?"

"They looked—big," the boy said with a shrug.

"Did they stick out all funny, like Ernie MacMillan's?" Harry asked with a giggle.

"No, they were—long, I guess," Ron said, closing his eyes to recall the photograph more clearly.

"What if they were pointed?" Hermione asked, a triumphant flare in her eyes.

Ron and Harry both grinned back at her, wide-eyed with amazement. But it only lasted a moment before Ron burst her bubble.

"So?" he asked simply.

"Well, it's one more clue isn't it?" Hermione said. "We just need to figure out what human-like races have pointed ears, don't we?"

"What about pointed ears?" asked Fred, looking up from his chess game with George.

"What races have pointed ears?" Hermione repeated.

"Races?" George echoed, then looked at the others in the room. "What races have pointed ears?" he asked loudly. Answers began flying.

"Cats."

"Dogs."

"Bears."

"Bears have round ears." Pavarti corrected them impatiently.

"No—races, not species," Hermione interjected with a twisted smile at the twins.

"Oh—Dwarves," said Lee Jordan.

"They do not. House-elves," suggested Alicia Spinnet.

"Real elves," said Ron suddenly.

"Ron?" Hermione asked encouragingly.

"Real elves. I was just thinking about how you asked us what else he talked about, Hermione."

"What who talked about?" George asked with a frown.

"Pelerand," all three said together.

"That git—when did you talk to him?" Fred said hotly. "We told him to stay away from you lot—"

"Will you relax?" Ron said testily. "Back at the beginning of the year. Didn't Mum give you some job applications to fill out, over the holidays?" he went on in an effort to get rid of his brothers.

"Sure. But we threw them off the train as soon as we pulled out of the station," George answered.

"Ronniekins wants us to shove off," Fred pointed out jeeringly. The twins shrugged and went back to their game of chess. Ron made a gesture at their profiles.

"Go on, Ron," Hermione said.

"Well, you asked him about the house-elves, and he compared them to true elves." Ron's tone returned to normal as he focused back on the problem.

"What about true elves?" she asked.

"I dunno. Just that he said they weren't the same, remember?"

"Yes! Of course!" Hermione dug out her notes. "He said that they weren't real elves, more of a variety of fairy. But Ron, if he's an elf, would he be allowed to use a wand? Remember when Winky was accused of using a wand? Mr. Diggory mentioned a regulation against non-human wand use. I looked it up last year. The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures passed laws forbidding non-humans to be licensed for wand use before World War I."

"Well, he doesn't have pointed ears, his ancestor did," Harry pointed out. "Maybe he's part Elf, like Fleur Delacour is part veela." Even a year later, Ron still went pink at the mention of the Beauxbatons student's name.

"You're probably right, Harry," Ron said. "Okay: he's part Elf. Mystery solved."

"Not exactly," Hermione said. "I have a plan, though, to find out if we're right. First, we'll hope they open the library tomorrow. I've got a lot of work to do."

 

 

 

Ginny worked on the guards one by one. She got no further with Pansy, as her lockjaw hex didn't wear off before Pansy's relief turned up, though she thought the girl looked considerably more contemplative when she left. At least they'd been allowed to go to the bathroom at the shift change, their guards taking them by turns to the lower floor of the little abandoned house. Ginny didn't know the new boy, but David did, apparently.

"Bridges," he said softly when the young man took his seat. "Look, can you at least let me have my arms back? They're really going to sleep," he commented dryly.

Bridges grimaced, but nodded curtly. He cast a leg-locker curse on David and then made the bonds around his torso disappear.

For a moment, David looked like he was going to complain about the curse. He rolled his eyes at Ginny, who widened hers in a warning. "Better he thinks he's in control," she thought at David furiously, hoping he would understand somehow. "Better he thinks he's done something smart. It'll be easier to get him to talk that way."

Something in her face must have communicated with David, though, because he said nothing about his legs. "I can't move my arms, still," he said calmly to Bridges. "Would it be all right if one of the others helps me get some blood moving in them again?"

"Yeah, all right," Bridges acknowledged sourly. He assessed the other students. In what must have been their fourteenth or fifteenth hour of captivity, the younger ones were a little the worse for wear. Stephanie's eyes and nose were red from periodic crying, and Jason's stomach rumbled about every two minutes. Katie Thomas was very quiet, as if certain that if she dared open her mouth, their jailers would cast more curses on her. Bridges' gaze rested on Ginny. "You're the one from the family of Muggle-lovers," he observed. "You go help him."

Ginny nodded solemnly and scrambled off the bed, hiding a little flutter of hope. She knelt beside David, still leaned up against the shack's wooden walls, and picked up his right arm. It was still dead-weight, but blood had already begun to flow back into the sallow flesh, colouring it a dark olive.

"It's all right," she said soothingly, unconsciously imitating her mother's ministrations when she or her brothers were sick. "We'll be all right," she promised.

"No talking," Bridges said sharply.

"Sorry," she said quickly, flashing him a sad smile. "Not another lockjaw hex," she thought to herself. Where were the teachers? Why weren't they doing anything?

 

 

 

By dinner that evening, Minerva McGonagall wanted to know just that. "We know they're in the Shrieking Shack, Albus," she told him crisply. "Why don't we just go and get them?"

"Because, Minerva," Albus answered, and he sounded very tired and sad, "we do not want to appear too well-informed. And we also want them to think their plan is going well. I've been in touch with Ryan—he assures me they are not being mistreated."

"Not being mistreated!" Professor McGonagall repeated incredulously. "I suppose he thinks nothing of being abducted, shoved into a dirt tunnel, and held hostage in an old shed? What have they got to eat? Have they enough blankets to stay warm? How many hexes and jinxes are being cast upon them?"

"Minerva, please, calm yourself," Dumbledore said, setting his hands on her shoulders. "They were unconscious when they went through the tunnel, and I'm told the students filled the place with blankets, pillows, and plenty of food. We won't let this last past the week-end. No harm will be done; the students will all return; all the Transfusion students will be punished; their parents will understand that we discovered their whereabouts easily—even Lucius Malfoy must know that will happen. Most importantly, they will not even get a chance to voice their demands, much less turn anyone over to the Death Eaters." He sighed heavily. "I can't single him out right now; it would be too dangerous," he continued, opening his cupboard and fetching a silver mirror out of it. "But we can communicate." He rubbed the glass three times and said "Jorian Jorianele."

The mirror shimmered and swirled, and an image appeared in the frame. Ryan stood outside on the edge of the forest, aiming a bow. He shot an arrow with a large, flat head. When he let his bow down, two figures passed in front of him. He stayed still for a few seconds. Then, as if talking to himself, he said, "If you're listening, that's the fourth shift going in. They'll be there until midnight. In a few seconds, the shift coming off will return, so I need to make this quick. There are lots of spells and charms on the tunnel and the shack, but nothing you can't break if you try. Actually, they've been pretty innovative about that. Nothing dark—I made sure they didn't use anything that might cause permanent harm. Anyway, they'll come out and we'll go back under the cloak—it's Harry's, by the way, you'll need to restore it to him. The rest of the operation will be asleep soon and only the people on shift change will need to come out. That would be a good time—catch them with the stolen cloak, leaving the grounds. I'll be caught as well, of course. Then you can open the tunnel, and get—" He stopped talking abruptly. A few seconds later, two others appeared in the little screen. They held out an invisibility cloak and all three disappeared under it.

Dumbledore wiped the mirror clean. "Midnight," he promised Minerva. "Only a few hours from now."

 

 

 

It was around six in the evening when they noticed Ginny was still nowhere to be found.

"She'll turn up at supper," George assured his brothers on the way downstairs.

"Yeah," Ron agreed too brightly.

But she wasn't anywhere along the Gryffindor tables. "D'you reckon she's gone missing along with the others?" Ron asked Harry quietly.

"If so, why didn't the teachers know about it, and list her along with them?" Harry countered. "Ginny can take care of herself, Ron."

"I agree with Ron," Hermione said, and there was no disguising the worry in her tone. "This isn't like Ginny at all, and with four others missing, I don't think we should assume she's all right."

"Harry, we could look for her on the map," Ron said quickly.

Harry bit his lip, blushing slightly. "I never got it back from Moody—I mean, Crouch."

"Oh, no," Ron whined sympathetically. "Well, what say we pop the cloak on and have a look for her tonight?"

Harry worried his lips even more. He pushed his mashed potatoes round his plate, drawing them into rivulets with his fork. "Hamandbobble," he muttered, looking away.

"What?" Ron asked in confusion.

"I said I—hammeredgobbet," Harry repeated, staring at the Slytherin table.

"Harry, what are you trying to say?" Ron demanded.

"I haven't got it!" Harry admitted hotly. "I—lent it out, all right? I'll get it back soon—I hope," he added, still seeking to spare his embarrassment at what happened.

"Lent it out?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Lent it to who? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Whom," Hermione corrected him absently, but then leaned over to Harry and went on more gently, "Harry, did you give it to Ginny for some reason?"

"No." Harry's face felt hot and he was losing his appetite. He suddenly thought he knew why the Slytherin girls needed the cloak. "Look, I don't want to talk about it here, okay?" he entreated his friends, resigned that he would have to enlist their aid. "You finished, Ron?"

Ron pushed away his plate. "Yeah, all right. I want to hear this," he said, sounding strangely accusatory. The last time he'd acted this way was over Hermione and Viktor Krum.

The trio left the hall ahead of the other students. Harry took careful note of the Slytherin table as they passed it (to Malfoy's habitual jeering), and noted that there were several empty places. An uncomfortable theory forming in his brain, he led his friends to the nearest quiet alcove.

"Okay," he said, collecting his thoughts. "I was embarrassed to tell you this, but—here goes. You know Blaise Zabini, right?"

"Yeah, she's in our Potions class," Ron said.

"She's very quiet, though, not like most of the Slytherins," Hermione confirmed.

"Right. Well, she asked if I'd mind meeting a girlfriend of hers to practice Quidditch."

"You didn't go, did you?" Ron said quickly. "I mean, this friend was Slytherin, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, it was dumb, okay, Ron?" Harry said impatiently. "I thought I was doing something nice, that's all, and if Blaise was telling me the truth, it would really get Malfoy's goat." He waited to see if Ron would see his point.

"Okay," Ron conceded. "I'll give you that—Malfoy deserves to be taken down a peg or two."

"So..." Harry paused, thinking about how much he wanted to tell them. "Well, she wormed her way into getting me to show her the cloak. But when I turned up with it—"

"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "Wormed her way how?"

"Ron," Hermione warned. "Go on, Harry. When you showed up, there were a bunch of them?"

"Yeah," he nodded, grateful to the girl for understanding and helping him save face a little. Never mind that his assailants were all girls—Ron didn't need to know that. "Well, they ambushed me and took the cloak. But they said they'd give it back. I've been thinking of a way to make sure they do. But I think they stole it to hide under—"

"When they kidnapped the others!" Hermione crowed. "Harry, that's very good deductive work—your logic's getting much better."

"Who cares about his logic, Hermione?" Ron said impatiently. "So where do you think they all are?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "But they can't be too far."

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate," Hermione muttered to herself. "Do you think they know about any of the tunnels?"

"Yeah," Ron said quickly. "What if Wormtail told them?"

"Bet he did," Harry agreed. "So they could be anywhere," he said despondently.

"Not anywhere," Ron mused. "They won't be at Honeyduke's, because the shop-owners would find them. They won't be in the blocked tunnel. And Filch knows to search the others."

"That leaves—"

"The Shrieking Shack!" all three said at once. They shushed each other just as quickly, however, as they heard the rest of the student body leaving the Great Hall.

"Okay," Harry said after the lines of students had passed, coming to his senses first. "What do we do about it?"

"We could tell Professor McGonagall," Hermione suggested at once. "She said we should bring them anything we know."

"Yeah, but we don't have proof, do we?" Ron asked. "We could—no, we don't have the cloak...."

"Maybe we should just tell a teacher," Harry suggested. "Just because it's never worked before...."

"Well, Lockhart was no help, that's for sure," Ron agreed. "I dunno; it seems wrong somehow...." They all thought about it for a moment, contemplating their other options. Finally Ron said, with great resignation, "All right, then, we'll tell McGonagall."

Nodding to one another, they went on their way to the Deputy Headmistress's office.

 

 

 

Ginny had had enough. She was tired and hungry and cross. The children weren't doing any better than she, but at least they had fallen asleep from exhaustion not long ago. She couldn't believe no one from the school had found them by now. Sitting by David in the now dark and gloomy shack, getting colder by the minute, she decided she had to do something.

The new shift of guards made her worry for a minute, but then gave her increased hope. When Bridges' relief arrived, Ginny thought they were replacing him with two students, which would make things difficult. But then Malcolm Avery said, "Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?" And the other boy—the one who cursed her in the first place—Goyle, that was his name—told him not to worry, that it would be fine.

Avery left the room and Goyle settled into the chair with a sheepish smile at Ginny.

"Sorry about this," he said gruffly, "but it has to be done, you know?"

"Oh, has it?" David asked irritably.

Goyle scowled at the sixth-year. Ginny couldn't see his face well in the dwindling light, but it looked like he squared his jaw doggedly before pointing his wand and chanting, "Petrificus Totalus!" David's arms snapped to his sides. His torso straightened rigidly and he fell back against the wall, sliding down it.

"Hey!" Ginny reprimanded him despite herself. "That wasn't very nice at all. It was hardly nece—ooh..." She stood up, but stumbled from the sudden rush of blood that the change in pressure brought.

Goyle crossed the room in two quick strides and caught her before she fell. Strong as he was, he might have crushed her arms by grabbing them, but Ginny noticed his touch on her shoulders was light and gentle. "Sorry, Ginny," he said again, helping her to the bed.

"Why on earth are you doing this?" she asked plaintively. "You were the one who stupefied me, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Goyle nodded sadly.

"One of the others said something about how I wasn't supposed to be here—is that true?"

Goyle's throat suddenly went very dry. He couldn't form words, so he just nodded.

"Why would you do that?" Ginny asked, her eyes brimming despite her resolve to stay strong for the children. They were asleep, anyhow.

Goyle struggled with his answer. He seemed torn between saying it was necessary, as he had told David, and confessing that he didn't know why, or (as she suspected) that Draco made him do it. Before Ginny could help him make up his mind, however, he leaned over impulsively and took her head in one hand, lifted her face to his, and kissed her on the mouth.

Ginny's eyes widened at the sudden contact. Goyle's kiss wasn't unpleasant—in fact, it was sort of the way she thought a first kiss should be: soft and open, not too deep, and not demanding, certainly—but the circumstances were so extraordinary, she could barely fathom them. And she was far too cross with him to put up with any more nonsense. She reached up without thinking and pushed him away more fiercely than she really needed to do. Goyle broke apart so quickly he almost lost his balance, but he kept his back to her as he spoke.

"Yeah. Sorry," he said simply, and later, when Ginny thought back on it, she realised his voice was shaking just a little bit. "Look, I—don't know why—well, that's not true—I had a couple reasons, but—" Goyle kept talking, not looking at her, babbling his apologies and rationales.

Ginny, horrified at his advance still, paid no notice to what he was saying. She closed the distance between them, her focus on Goyle's wand hand. She reached out rapidly and snatched his wand away. Goyle was so embarrassed and absorbed in his stammering explanations still that it took a moment for him to realise what she had done. He turned and she glared at him, aiming the wand, but saying nothing.

Goyle shrugged. "What are you going to do?" he asked sullenly.

"What's your name, again?" Ginny asked with narrowed eyes.

"Goy—Gregory," Goyle said earnestly.

"Well, Gregory, I think you should be very ashamed of yourself," Ginny scolded. "After all, there's a word for boys like you—and—and..." she trailed off, noting the abashed look on his face. "Look," she went on more sympathetically. "You just can't curse a girl like that, carry her off to heaven knows where, hold her against her will, and then expect her to feel grateful about it."

"I know," Goyle muttered in utter remorse. It was almost endearing. Ginny sputtered for a moment herself, put out that he had the nerve to look all big and cute when she was mad.

"So—it's not a question of what I'm going to do," Ginny concluded awkwardly, remembering she had a point. "It's what you're going to do."

"What do you mean?" Goyle asked. He supposed, in some dim corner of his thoughts, that he could attack her physically, but rejected the option as soon as it crossed his mind. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Ginny," he said, knowing how foolish he sounded.

"Well, I think you need to take a look around, Gregory," Ginny answered, feeling distinctly strange to be on the delivering end of one of her mother's lectures. "Because I don't see how you can think this isn't hurting us."

Goyle hung his head and said nothing.

"Now, if I give you back your wand, will you end the spell on David?" Ginny asked, when he didn't say anything.

Goyle grimaced across the room at the sixth-year Ravenclaw. Here was the tragic hero for Ginny, he thought bitterly. Quidditch captain, handsome, older, and decidedly more magical: almost—almost—worthy. Phoebus to his Quasimodo. He hoped it didn't work out like the book. At least from the look on David's face, he seemed more than ready to protect her honour. "Yeah," he said through dry lips and an aching throat. He held out his hand slowly, and Ginny placed the wand in it.

"Finite Incantatem," Goyle intoned, and David could move again. Before he could rise, though, Ginny held out a hand to stop him. She turned again to regard Goyle with a look that might have been content, or even pride.

"You've done the right thing, Gregory," she told him sweetly. She even took a step toward him, and he did not flinch as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. But when she pulled away, she found the wand in her hand again. She barely felt him pass it to her.

"Go on, then," Goyle told her, his eyes looking very bright in the darkness of the shack.

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "Stupefy!"

Goyle dropped to his knees before her with a dull thud. Then he fell forward and his face slapped against the floor.

David jumped to his feet and grabbed Ginny about the waist, hugging her fiercely. "That was brilliant!" he said, but quickly shushed himself as they heard footsteps approaching up the stairs.

"Give me the wand," he insisted, and Ginny surrendered it without argument.

Avery barrelled through the door, demanding to know what all the racket was, but before he made it two feet inside, David bound him and took his wand away. He handed the second wand to Ginny, who moved swiftly to the bedside to wake the younger ones.

"We should have a while before they change shifts," she said, slipping into immense practicality without pausing to think about it. "But I don't know if there are any other guards."

"I doubt it," David said. "They can't all go missing from school without someone noticing. The question is, where are we, and how far is it to get back?"

"My guess is, we're in the Shrieking Shack," Ginny said shortly. "Come on, Jason, wake up; there's a good boy, come along, now, we're leaving." She pulled the children out of the bed and had them gather up blankets for cloaks. Then she shooed them out of the room, down the rickety stairwell.

"Wait," David called with an incredulous, nervous laugh, "how do you figure it's the Shack?"

"Oh," Ginny said, glad he couldn't see her blush. "My brothers think I don't ever listen to anything they say or do. But between Fred, George, and Ron, and no little bit of conversation with Hermione—believe me, one learns enough secrets to last a lifetime." She glanced back at him as they descended the stairs, to see the white flash of his grin.

"Ginny, do any of your brothers tell you how remarkable you are?" he asked.

"No. Why, should they?" she shot back, aware of the little flutter in her chest. Was she flirting?

"Definitely, they should." He had to bend double to go through the tunnel, then, and they both fell silent from concentrating on the uneven ground.

 

 

 

The odd little group emerged from the Willow under a dark sky and heavy clouds. The ground by the roots was sheltered enough, but snow was falling steadily and silently, already an inch deep on the ground. They trooped up to the main entrance of the castle, found the doors unlocked, and carefully slipped inside. Katie wanted to go to her dorm at once to write her parents, but Ginny insisted that they had to get to a teacher before any Slytherins saw they were back. She naturally thought of Professor McGonagall, but wasn't sure exactly where her office was.

"I know," David said with a rueful expression. "I've been in it once or twice. It's this way."

They had talked a little more on the short walk from the edge of the Forbidden Forest to the castle doors, and Ginny felt all over a sort of lightness, as if she might break into silly giggling at any moment. She convinced herself it was a natural reaction to their escape, and had nothing to do with David.

"So—I think I understand why you were all kidnapped," she announced once they were above ground again.

"Sure," David said. "We're all Muggle-born, aren't we?" The three younger students nodded solemnly. "Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Well—you play Quidditch, though," Ginny countered. "I wasn't sure if—"

"Nope. I'm just a sports addict," he said with a grin. "First thing I do when I get home after the term: turn on ESPN and binge on Muggle sports, catch up on everything I've missed. My Mum even tapes the really important games for me. My older brother says soon we'll have websites where we can look things up on the computer, so maybe I'll be able to replay all the matches I couldn't see because I was here."

"Um, I don't understand a word you just said," Ginny said, and they laughed. "But I bet my Dad would love to hear about it."

"What does he do?"

"My Dad's in the Ministry," Ginny told him proudly. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He loves anything to do with Muggles. Collects plugs."

"Plugs?" David asked, and the other three giggled.

"Yes, and batteries. He's quite mad," Ginny agreed. They all laughed, and for the first time since escaping the little shack, their moods lightened considerably.

As they climbed the staircases to the Deputy Headmistress's office, Ginny smiled at David again.

"What?"

"Just thinking. You could explain to my Dad why keeping old batteries is pointless."

"Sure," David agreed, and took her hand.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were just leaving Professor McGonagall's office when the little band arrived.

"What do you suppose she meant, the teachers already knew where they were?" Ron asked.

"I guess they've got ways to tell," Harry shrugged. "Come on, let's—"

"Ginny!" they all shouted and began talking at once. Professor McGonagall came out to see what the noise was, and saw the five of them: wet, shivering, muddy, and tired.

"Good gracious!" she cried, swept all eight students into her office, and checked the five abductees carefully for hex marks or any signs of mistreatment. It was difficult, with all of them talking at once.

"Quiet!" the Professor bellowed finally. "Thank you," she continued in her usual prim way. "Well, you all look none the worse for wear," she admitted gratefully. "Ah, Harry; Hermione. Would you be so kind please as to get Madam Pomfrey, just to be sure?"

"All right, Professor," Harry said. He glanced at Hermione, who stood up hastily with a book in her hands, but who came over to him, an odd expression on her face. Professor McGonagall was pouring tea for the children and asking to be told what happened. Harry stared at Hermione, who put a finger to her mouth, and showed him the leather-bound cover. It read in gold lettering, "Hogwarts: 1859." Harry's eyes widened. With a final smile at Ginny, he took Hermione's hand and led her from the office.

 

 

 

Snape burst in upon the Slytherin common room, angrier than Ryan had yet seen the man. He called for attention so abruptly that several students, including Draco, dropped their quills or books and didn't dare pick them up until he'd finished.

"No one is to leave the common room or tower without express permission until further notice," he announced without preamble. "Other than Mr. Prill, Mr. Goyle, and Mr. Avery, is anyone unaccounted for?"

They dared to glance around the room. Since the library was closed, and it was after eight o'clock, they were all there. The Prefects muttered something to confirm a full head count. "I expect you to make sure my instructions are followed," Snape growled at the Prefects. "Pelerand, you're first. Dumbledore's orders. Come with me," he snapped his fingers once and strode toward the door. It slid open at his approach. He paused in the threshold as Ryan got to his feet and made his way across the room.

Snape sealed the common room door with an immobility charm, made stronger by the force of his irritation. His anger didn't dissipate as they climbed the many levels of the castle to Dumbledore's office. Ryan felt the heat of the potions master's frustration as if it were a boiling cauldron. The description was apt, for no sooner had he thought of it than Snape's cauldron spilled over and out in a tumble of vilification.

"You stupid boys and your games! Do you think for one moment I shall stand for you to remain after this? Whose idea was it—Avery's? Draco's? I knew something was brewing at Christmas, but this?—Insanity! I told you, Pelerand, these things are not for children. You should have stayed away from it all."

Ryan considered telling Snape the truth. They were alone. He could enlist him as another ally—after all, Minnie—that is, Professor McGonagall, had proved trustworthy and valuable. He decided to chance it. He dropped his obnoxious adolescent attitude, stood straighter, even allowed his voice to deepen toward normal, and addressed the potions master. "Relax," he said calmly. "We're on the same side, Snape."

"Professor Snape, Pelerand!" Snape rejoined him roughly. "Don't presume familiarity with me, boy."

Ryan sighed. But Snape wasn't finished.

"And I'll have none of your insubordinate cheek! I don't care what privileges you think you've gained from the Malfoys, or signing Lucius's precious parchment, but you are still a student at this school, and I am still the head of your house, you impertinent idiot!"

Judging that Snape was in no mood to listen, Ryan bit his tongue and let the man rant. His mind wandered ahead to his report to Albus, and whether his information had helped, and not least of all, a nice, relaxing glass of Albus's always excellent brandy.

 

 

 

No one was as surprised or relieved as Ryan to find out that the students had escaped on their own. But Snape had threatened—practically promised—punishments for the guilty, and that was exactly what happened. Throughout the rest of the week-end, Dumbledore and McGonagall met with each of the hostages, then with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and most of Slytherin house. Letters flew by owl that morning to many homes, and all the students who had stood guard—including Ryan, for his "involvement"—were set two or three detentions apiece, and suspended for a week depending on whether they had cursed any of the hostages or not. Dumbledore met with Snape and calmed him down, as well, but he was far from happy with his own house's performance, and on his own grudging recommendation, Slytherin was disqualified from the house championship that year.

Malfoy blamed Avery and Goyle almost exclusively, which wasn't hard to do since Avery was being suspended for the rest of the year, and Goyle, though he had managed somehow to avoid the same fate, was on detention every week-end until Easter. Rumours had it that he had named Transfusion members to escape suspension, but Ryan doubted this was true. Goyle was too loyal to turn informer, and besides, few other students were facing a similar doom. In any case, Draco maintained that if Goyle hadn't slipped up in some way, the plan would have worked, and none of them would have been identified. While Ryan felt sorry for Goyle, and determined to have a word with Dumbledore when he could about the boy's perceptive qualities, it at least took any possible suspicion off his shoulders. That evening, the Slytherins in the common room were sombre, but in an odd way, relieved that Operation Transfusion had come to an end.

 

 

 

Next day, in Care of Magical Creatures, which was indoors on account of the snow, Hermione raised her hand to ask Hagrid something in the middle of a lecture on manticores.

"Hagrid? How come we never study other magical beings?"

"Like whot, Hermione?" the oversized gamekeeper asked.

"Like house-elves, and centaurs, and true Elves, and Goblins and things?" She asked blithely. Ryan's face drained of colour, which fortunately wasn't too noticeable. He was sitting in the back.

Hagrid began to answer her several different times, each with a fresh perspective, but each time he started, he only managed a few words before he rearranged his thoughts. Finally he said, "Well, centaurs keep to themselves, pretty much, asked to be beasts instead of beings, and house-elves are a common sight in well-to-do wizard homes. Goblins is everywhere, don't hardly need to study 'em, leastways not outside History of Magic. And as fer Elves—" Ryan tensed slightly—"they don't mix with wizards anymore, so there's no need ter learn about 'em."

"Why don't they mix anymore, Hagrid?" Ron asked, now interested too. Ryan stifled a strangled sound, forcing himself not to answer.

"Well, about the turn of the century, so's I've heard it, the Elves was none too 'appy about the way things was going with Muggles. Didn't like ther motorcars, nor ther planes and all them Muggles were getting up to. They began 'anging back from even the wizarding folk. Then, when Grindlewald and his followers first cropped up, helping them Muggles in Europe to take over everywhere, he went about, asking fer the help of any magical creature he could find. The Ministry 'ere got worried that Elves and some of the others might join 'im. So they passed a bunch of laws, preventin' the use of wands by non-humans. See, up until then, any intelligent creature with hands could potentially use a wand. They had to have a permit fer one, of course. But the Ministry decided to ban even that. And that, as I hear it, were the final straw for the Elves. Not the house-elves, of course—they never liked using wands anyway. But even though there weren't many Elves left, even then, the Ministry felt it would be better to be safe. So no goblin, dwarf, elf, nor giant, nor anythin' else, was permitted ter perform magic usin' a wand. And from then on, the Elves packed up and left."

"Left for where?" Emma Naigle asked. Ryan studied the manticore in his Monster Book of Monsters very carefully.

"Dunno," Hagrid said with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "Reckon hardly anyone knows how to reach their enclaves. They live deep in the forests, see, but I couldn't say where exactly, nor how to get from our forests into theirs."

"So there's really an Elfland?" Seamus Finnegan asked. "I mean, we always heard stories about Herla, Thomas the Rhymer and so on, but d'you mean there really is a way to cross into the Fey realms?"

"Well..." Hagrid said. "I don't think they're precisely the same thing, Finnegan. Elves—least as I understand it—they're not the same as fairies, nor doxies, nor piskies, nor what you call the Sidhe. They're not the little folk, and they're far from leprechauns as you can get. They're older. I've heard tell that they come from another world, or maybe it's just that they have ways of getting the forests around them to be bigger than they look to Muggles."

"Like Hogwarts," Hermione said. "They must be unplottable, and be charmed so they're bigger inside than out, like the tents we used at the World Cup."

"Yeah," Ron and Harry both said, aware that they were actually agreeing with Hermione about Hogwarts, A History.

"But what if they weren't as gone as we think?" Hermione asked, and she turned in her seat to look straight at Ryan. "What if they have descendants who are part-Elf?" Her look of challenge burned as they locked eyes.

Hagrid chuckled, breaking the awkward moment. "No, Hermione," he said quickly. "They don't like to mix, I tell yer. Now, back to Manticores, right?"

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. Granger was far too close to the truth, now. He would have to tell her soon, or she'd be sure to say just the wrong thing in front of Malfoy. It would upset the careful balance they had at the moment. Only that morning, Draco had sent a lengthy roll of parchment home to Malfoy Manor. Ryan was sure it contained a full report of the Event and everyone's reactions, including Snape's. He could not afford to appear in any way less committed to the Death Eaters now.

He watched Hermione leave the Great Hall for their afternoon classes ten minutes before the bell. She obviously wanted him to follow, since she paused to glare at Draco where the two of them sat on her way out.

"Pretty feeble attempt, Malfoy. Was that your best plan?" she called out, uncharacteristically provoking him.

"Go ahead and laugh, Granger," Draco retorted menacingly. "It's only a matter of time." He smiled at Ryan as if to gloat.

Ryan took the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Thanking Hermione for the chance, he stood.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked. With Goyle, Pansy, Avery, and the core of Transfusion on suspension that week, he had few of his regular cohorts.

"I'm going to have a word with that know-it-all Granger," Ryan said, picking up his bag.

"I'll come with you," Draco said, but Ryan clapped a hand on his shoulder to push him back into his chair.

"No—I'll do it. It's better you don't get into any more trouble right now, right?" Ryan told him with the air of doing him a favour.

"Well...just be sure you don't get caught, either," Draco conceded.

Ryan winked. "Don't worry," he assured him, and made his way out the door.

She was waiting near the stairs. "Who—" she began, but he immediately shushed her.

"Not here, Hermione, for the gods' sake," he hissed. He drew her across the entrance hall and into the little anteroom where the first-years received their welcoming speech each year. She protested quietly, drawing her wand. "Damn it, Hermione, I'm not going to hex you!" He applied more force to her arm and shut the door behind them. "Now, did you want to ask me something?"

"You're an Elf," she said breathlessly, rubbing her arm where he'd squeezed it.

"That's not a question." Ryan smirked, nodding. "I'm surprised it took you this long. You've been suspecting me for a while, now. How did you figure it out?"

"I didn't—not until this morning. At first I thought you may be part Elf, but then I found this in the library." She dug into her bag and held out an old book with a cracked spine. Ryan read the title: The Disappearing Glade, by Galatea Gimlet. Hermione continued: "I looked up your name a long time ago in Who's Who. The entry mentioned the Seven Houses, but of course I didn't know what that was. But there were so many little hints—the falcon, the way you talked about Slytherin and Gryffindor—that way you caught the fish, even—I knew something just wasn't right."

"And what convinced you? I know Albus's answer to your friend's questions didn't even stop you."

Hermione blushed. "You knew about Snuf—"

"Albus told me. He told you the truth, too, Hermione."

"Yes. I know that now."

"Why?"

"Because...you were in Gryffindor, weren't you?"

"Yes," Ryan said with a reflexive half-bow. "I thought you'd cottoned on to that when you asked about the annuals."

"Well, I saw that there were Pelerands in the House—actually, the house-elf, Dobby, he told me that—"

"No stone unturned!" Ryan laughed gently.

"—But someone had taken all the annuals out of the library."

"Yes, I remember, you asked me about it."

"Well, they missed one—1859."

"The year I graduated," Ryan observed. "Yes. I realised too late after talking to you that I shouldn't have mentioned the photos. I assume Albus took them?"

"No," Hermione said. "I found it again, yesterday," she explained, pulling it out of her bag as well. "It was in Professor McGonagall's office. You see, I never noticed, when we were in the library over Christmas, that Professor McGonagall was there as well. We left the book for a few minutes, and when we came back, it was gone. I asked her about you when I talked with her yesterday, about the kidnappings. She didn't want to tell me, but I could sense something more than she would say. I insisted that you were a Death Eater, but I told her my theory—that you were part Elf. But that still didn't explain everything, because you knew too much. You weren't an ordinary student, sorry." She smiled apologetically.

"That's all right; you seem to be the only one not fooled. I'd say that's what's extraordinary here."

She flushed pink again. "Anyway," she stammered, continuing with her cold recitation of facts, "once I had that, I knew what to look for in the library. You see, I was looking for wizarding families named Pelerand."

"And we're not classified as wizards."

"Right. But between the book and the annual, I knew—you're a friend of Professor Dumbledore's." She favoured him with a triumphant look. "But what I don't understand is, why didn't you stop the Slytherins?"

"Because that's why I'm here, Hermione. To find out about them. I can't do that unless I'm one of them."

"Do you mean—" her eyes grew wide and she covered her gasp with her hand. "You don't have a Dark Mark, do you?"

"No," Ryan assured her. "And I may not need one, but—well, there are larger things at stake than you know, Hermione. Please, just keep it to yourself, all right?"

"What about Harry and Ron?"

"I'd prefer you didn't say, but I suppose you've kept enough secrets between the three of you...." He shrugged, sighing artfully in defeat. "Tell them if you must. It's just imperative that no one in Slytherin finds out—who knows what their parents might do? Now, mind if I ask you a question?"

Hermione shrugged. "Go ahead." He ran his eyes up and down her robes before he locked them onto her own. Hermione could feel the colour rising in her throat and cheeks. For a moment, she feared he would kneel and propose, so intense was his scrutiny. But then he spoke, and it was as penetrating as any question her professors had ever posed.

"Hermione," Ryan said, holding her gaze with his eyes intently, "why aren't you a prefect?"

The girl turned even redder still, and seemed, for once, completely at a loss for words. "Oh, well..." she stammered. "You know, it's so much extra work, and—"

"Not buying, Hermione," Ryan said quietly. "What's the real reason?"

"Well," she said, sighing, "Harry has to break so many rules sometimes—if I were a prefect—"

"As I understand it, Harry's own father was Head Boy, and it didn't stop him from breaking all kinds of rules. Why aren't you a prefect? A girl like you should have jumped at the accomplishment."

The young woman sighed again, long and deep. "Promise not to laugh?" She asked. Ryan nodded solemnly, feeling his age. "I—I am a prefect. I just don't wear my badge. I worried that Ron wouldn't like me if I took it, so I don't let on."

"What about your meetings? Your other duties?"

"He thinks I go to a study group with Ravenclaw," Hermione answered. "So does Harry."

It was Ryan's turn to sigh. After months of maintaining his teenage persona, he had suddenly become father confessor to two students in just three days. "Well, if you'll permit me to say it, Hermione—and I know, you probably won't listen—but if he balks at a little thing like you being a prefect, what good is he?"

The girl said nothing, studying her shoes. Ryan told himself to butt out, but out of concerned, morbid interest, he pressed instead. "Hermione? Are you and Ron...."

"No," Hermione said quickly. "We all agreed—it's just too strange to think about dating either him or Harry," she said. "But Ron's so sensitive. I just didn't want to put yet another wedge between us as friends."

"It's your life," Ryan said with a shrug. "Personally, I'd have a talk with him. But that's the voice of experience, which you are more than free to scorn." He smiled, making no effort to hide either his humour or his considerable charm. The bell rang outside. "That's class," he said quickly. "Do me a favour and act like I've done something awful on your way out, will you? In case anyone sees?"

"Okay," Hermione said amiably, letting him leave first.

 

 

 

With so many Slytherins suspended or on multiple detentions, classes were smaller than normal for a while, and the common room seemed almost empty by comparison. Ryan and Draco, who had managed to avoid all but one detention, sat at one of the tables working on essays for Transfiguration (Ryan's was full of information for Albus) when Pansy and Goyle returned from their cleaning detail. They were laughing, and Pansy—well, Pansy glowed.

"What are you two so happy about?" Draco asked, sounding irritated. They wiped the smiles off their faces in exchange for slight looks of embarrassment.

"Gregory was just telling me about wizards in the High Gothic era," Pansy said.

"Oh?" Draco said slowly. "Is that true, Gregory?" On the boy's name, he raised his pitch and adopted a girlish, mocking tone, batting his eyes in a crass imitation of Pansy.

"Yeah," Goyle said, with a wink at Ryan. "Courtly love, chivalry and a lady's honour, all that. Valentine's Day, you know."

"Whoever are you going to give a Valentine, Goyle?" Draco asked dismissively. Goyle blushed hard and stammered a bit.

"Don't pay any notice, Gregory," Pansy said archly. "Just because some of us think we're better than others. I think your poem's a fine idea." She threw daggers at Draco with her eyes and raised her chin even higher. "In fact, I think more people round here could find better ways to show how they feel." She flounced out to the girls' tower, her none-too-subtle hint hanging in the air between them all.

"Well!" Draco scoffed after she left. "What does she think I'm supposed to do about that?" he asked, scratching his quill along his parchment to write.

"Go after her," both Ryan and Goyle said at once.

"Are you mad?" Draco retorted with disgust. "If she thinks I'll be at her beck and call, she's dead wrong, right? Anyway, I've got real work to do."

Goyle shrugged at Ryan, and Ryan shrugged at Goyle. With a noncommittal mutter, Goyle trudged up the tower stairs to their dorm.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Draco asked Ryan in a sullen complaint.

"Hey, she's your girlfriend," Ryan said quickly. "I'm just watching your back, mate."

Draco growled incoherently, focusing on his essay. "We need to start practising for the O.W.L.'s," he announced a minute later. Ryan nodded and let him redirect the subject of conversation.

Valentine's Day took the school rather like a fever. It seemed the students wanted nothing more than to forget the tension of Operation Transfusion with a happy, lovesick profusion of goodwill. Dumbledore, fearing that Snape might crack under this additional strain, made certain that no "arrangements" were made even closely resembling Lockhart's disastrous attempts during his only year as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The hall looked no different from normal. But that did not stop the students from exchanging cards and gifts all day, starting at breakfast.

Goyle screwed up his courage and walked across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor tables. Ignoring the jeers and mocks as he sidled up to where Ginny sat with some friends, he cleared his throat politely.

"Leave off, you!" Ron called from a table away. He rose and came down to stand across from the brutish boy. Fred and George also stood to see the trouble. "You leave my sister alone—"

"Ron, it's okay," Ginny said gently, putting a staying hand on his arm. "Hullo, Gregory," she said with a pleasant smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy...you too. Uh...Ginny, could I—oh, here," he said, feeling flustered, the carefully prepared speech dying as he looked into her eyes. Deep brown eyes, and red hair. His stomach sank. He thrust a piece of parchment into her hands and forced his way through the narrow gap between the tables as quickly as he could. He didn't stop when he reached the end, but rushed out of the room.

Over at the Slytherin table, Emma and Pansy sat beside Draco and Ryan.

"Aren't you going to give us anything?" Emma asked Ryan.

"No, Emma," Ryan answered callously.

"What in blazes—oh, no!" Draco cried in dismay. "That moron! Crabbe," he backhanded Crabbe's arm to point out Goyle's destination. "Did you know Goyle was a Muggle sympathiser?"

"Ummm... No," Crabbe said firmly, and went back to his sausages.

"Well, don't look now, but I'd say he's declaring his loyalty."

"He's talking to the Weasley girl," Ryan pointed out. "Isn't she a pureblood?"

"A pureblood from a family of dirt-poor Muggle-lovers," Draco sneered. "It's hardly a proud pedigree, is it?"

Crabbe stood abruptly. "Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"I'll handle this," Crabbe said confidently, and he stalked his former comrade on the way out of the hall.

"Want to go watch?" Draco suggested to Ryan.

Ryan pretended to consider. "Nah. Why bother? They'll just get detention for fighting, and then we'll get detention for watching. Besides, when do you want to start revising?"

But then Ginny herself stood up and followed Goyle, and that was too interesting for Draco.

They spotted the two in the middle of the dungeons. Goyle slumped against the wall, holding his stomach, and had a marvellous black eye starting. Ginny stood over him with concern. Crabbe was nowhere in sight. Draco signalled to Ryan and hid behind a brazier. Ryan took up a position by the column on the other side of the corridor. The echoing conversation drifted over to them.

"I told him I didn't want to fight," Goyle said with a little cough. "Vincent always wants to solve things with his fists."

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked him. She helped him to stand.

"Oh, I'm fine. When you're as big as I am, it takes a lot to knock you down."

"He is rather a lot."

"Yeah." An awkward silence fell. Draco snickered, but Ryan waved him to quiet.

"So—look, I—" Goyle began.

"I wanted to tell you—" Ginny countered. They smiled.

"It's not important, if you don't like it," Goyle said apologetically.

"No—I do, it's really good."

"It's Tennyson," Goyle said. At that moment, Ryan heard movement approaching behind them. He turned to see Pansy and Emma closing in, but he held out a hand and motioned them to stay back. They didn't comply, but crept along the corridor until they stood next to the boys.

"I know. I mean—it's sweet, Gregory, really. But...."

Gregory sighed. "I know," he said in the same defeated tone from the shack.

"I mean—you kidnapped me!"

"I know."

"And I jinxed you with your own wand."

Goyle looked up. With one eye swelling shut, he looked more like the bell-ringer of Notre Dame than Ryan cared to admit. "Well...you were really nice about it, though," he said as if to mitigate her action.

"I really didn't want to...."

"No. It worked out better that way. Believe me."

"Well. Look, I appreciate the thought, Gregory, I really do." She stopped, letting her words hang unspoken.

"But you've started dating that Mud—that Ravenclaw," Goyle surmised.

"Um. Yes," Ginny nodded. "I'm really sorry," she told him, in the same tone she'd used in the shack as well.

"Yeah. No big deal," he told her with a faint smile. Another silence stretched.

"Thanks for the poem, though," Ginny said at last. She retreated into a side corridor to take a short-cut to her first class.

Draco started to laugh, but to his great surprise, Pansy slapped him before his giggles even reached their peak. Draco watched in stunned silence as she walked past him and held out her arms to Goyle.

"Oh, Greg," she said, fluttering to his side. "That was so brave of you!"

"Think so?" Goyle said with a sad grin.

"Know so," Pansy said. "I'm sorry we overheard—"

"It's okay," he answered weakly. "I'm just going to fall down now, all right?" he asked, and slid back down the wall to pass out.

 

 

 

The next morning, the falcon reappeared among the owls with a small parcel, which it dropped in front of Ryan. The bird landed next to the parcel and keened once.

"Thanks," Ryan told her, and crumbled his toast for a reward.

Around him, the effects of Valentine's Day could still be plainly seen in the hall. Pansy and Greg sat together, emitting a bright aura of romance. Draco made a few comments about Goyle's dubious worth as a boyfriend, but also said privately to Ryan that it was just as well to get rid of Pansy. Emma watched Draco closely, as did Felicia, Blaise, and several others from what remained of Transfusion. Ryan wondered how long it would take one of them to pounce, and whom it would be.

Ignoring any other continuing fallout from the holiday, he opened the package. There were several feathers inside, from various kinds of birds, and a hood and jesses with bells attached, all of finely dyed leather in a deep shade of purple. A folded and sealed parchment lay among the small treasure, scented lightly in Maloriel's comforting musk. Ryan put the feathers and the falcon's accessories in his bag before opening the note. Maloriel's neat, fine handwriting filled the sheaf of parchment in their native language: long rows of graceful runes more ancient than any studied at Hogwarts anymore. He read:

Beloved—

Received your last letter with great amusement. I do feel sorry for Narcissa, from your description, though I doubt it was your intention that my sympathy lie with her in your stead. Uncomfortable though you must have been, I'm certain that you were tactful as always. Rest assured I should understand that whatever you did or did not do, you felt necessary to your mission. I should have been quite intrigued to see it, however.

Here at home, there have been the usual speculations as to your absence from Court. Your esteemed grandfather deflects all questions by merely saying you attend to family affairs Outside. By this, most of the Court understands you are abroad, though not the nature of the business, which is cause for endless gossip. They presume that I know your whereabouts, of course, and ask casual questions. Perhaps, they wish to know, you are at the Pelerand estates in Gävle? I smile and look mysterious, saying only that when you left, you may have mentioned stopping there. After all, they need something to talk about, do they not?

Before I forget, my love, I have a message for you from Zorle. He wishes me to tell you—let me make sure I get this right—that "on the second night that shines as day, the Hunter shall run with the Hounds." He also said something about the Pleiades being on the rise, but I couldn't pin him down further than that. You know centaurs. Anyway, I hope it makes more sense to you than it did to me.

Just in case, Reina will stay with you so you can send your signal if necessary. She was most distressed by how long it seemed to take the school owl to arrive with your letter, and insists that she can reach us more swiftly than any owl. Her jesses and hood are enclosed accordingly. Keep them with you so you can summon her should you have need.

Ryan looked up at the peregrine, who was still sitting on the table pecking daintily at a kipper. Draco was reading a letter of his own, his owl gone already. "So you are to stay with me, little one?" He murmured soothingly. The falcon paused in her breakfast and looked up. She keened shrilly and bobbed her head once in a dignified affirmative. "All right," he told her. "Go and make yourself comfortable in the owlery." The falcon cocked her head at Ryan and spread her wings in majesty. Then in a gesture of defiance, she scooped up the kipper in her beak before taking to flight and swooping out of the Great Hall. Chuckling, Ryan returned to the letter.

I am also enclosing some feathers for new quills, and a few good ones for fletching, if you have time. How do you like the new bow? It's a little springy for my taste, but I was quite happy with the way the curve came out. Has the wrapping held on the grip? I only had a bit of the leather you like, so I couldn't make as good a shelf as I wished, but I wanted to get it to you in case you needed it.

Listen to me. There you are in "Merry Olde England," and I ask you to play Robin Hood to report on my handiwork. Well, did you expect any different? I don't like to think of you alone with all those Humans, with only your dagger most of the time—or do you eschew even that, now that your friend keeps your sword for you?

Reina is anxious to be underway. I shall indulge her and content myself that you know how I miss you, and how I worry for you. Of course, I know you are careful and avoid unnecessary risks, but one never knows what to expect Outside.

Be well, be safe, and come home when you can to

Your waiting

Maloriel

He smiled and pocketed the letter, returning to his breakfast. He had only eaten a few more morsels when the bell rang and students all around him rushed to their classes.

As they filed through the entrance hall, Draco caught his attention.

"Father's given me some names, here. Children of families he thinks are sympathetic, even if they're not in Slytherin. We're to casually make contact."

"I see," Ryan said. "Where'd he get the names?"

"He doesn't say," Draco said, sounding disappointed. "Anyway, just because we got caught doesn't mean we'll stop meeting. We're just going to have to be more careful," he told him conspiratorially.

"Of course," Ryan answered with a matter-of-fact shrug. "We can't give up after just one attempt," he added.

Draco smiled coldly, looking more like Lucius all the time. "That's what Father says," he responded, voice full of admiration. "He also says we're to come back for the Easter holidays. There's going to be another meeting." They slid into their seats and pulled out their books. Just before the lecture began, Draco leaned over to Ryan and continued, "I think he means to initiate us for real. Wouldn't it be amazing if He were there? If we got to meet Him for real?"

There was no mistaking whom Draco meant. It was only through years of training in duplicity that Ryan managed to echo the aristocratic young man's enthusiasm. "Sounds exciting," he said, grateful that at that moment, Professor DuBois clamoured for their attention.

 

 

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched Ginny and David walk hand in hand up the staircase to their separate classes. David dropped Ginny off after each meal, now, and had done for the last week.

"It's so nice to see Ginny with someone like David," Hermione said, with no attempt to disguise the dreamy tone in her voice. They paused in the entrance hall to talk before separating for their own classes—Ron and Harry to Divination, Hermione to Ancient Runes.

"Hmph," said Ron. Despite Fred and George's provisional approval of the relationship, Ron remained strangely suspicious. "He's too old for Ginny," he insisted with a sidelong glance at Harry.

"He's younger than your brothers," Harry pointed out, though whether he deliberately misinterpreted Ron's look or truly didn't care, Hermione could not tell.

"He's...."

"Ron, so help me, if you say Muggle-born," Hermione warned.

"No, no, not that. He's such a...Quidditch jock," he finished feebly.

"So? You could be called a Quidditch jock yourself, now that you're on the house team," Harry teased.

"Well. I don't know whether Mum will fancy family dinners with vindaloo and curry and all," he protested.

"Your mum won't care about any of that," Harry said firmly, "as long as he makes Ginny happy."

"Yeah," Ron acknowledged grudgingly. "And if he doesn't, he knows there will be six of us coming to find him."

"Oh?" Hermione countered quickly. "If you ask me, if he messes this up, Ginny will take care of him herself long before any of you get there." She snorted. "You know, sometimes none of you give her enough credit. She's had all of you to protect her all her life, Ron, but she can look after herself perfectly well. Your trouble is, you never notice, even when it's right in front of you." She blushed suddenly, hotly, and cut herself off.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked.

Hermione set down her bag to begin rummaging through it. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to tell you..." she began to explain as she fished around for her badge. But just then the entrance hall door opened, and a familiar figure in a faded and shabby cloak entered. He was thin, of average height, and had sandy hair that was going grey. The robes underneath the cloak were grey and patched here and there. He carried a battered suitcase tied neatly together with string.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry and Ron exclaimed, to be joined by Hermione a second later.

"Hullo!" Professor Lupin greeted them warmly. "I'm not a professor anymore, though. And I don't want to draw a lot of attention," he cautioned them as they came forward to shake his hand. "But it is very good to see you lot. How have you all been?"

As they assured the former professor that they were well and enjoying their year, though they were crammed with work, Hermione screwed up her courage. She held out her badge to him and looking straight at Ron, said, "I've been made a prefect, Mr. Lupin."

Ron's jaw dropped. A second later, he was grinning from ear to ear. "Hermione! Why didn't you tell us? We could've been using the prefect's bathroom all year."

"It's not that spectacular," Harry told him with a playful punch in the arm.

"That's wonderful, Hermione! But now, hadn't you all better be in class?" Lupin asked them, with the air of the teacher about him as if he'd never left.

"Oh—yeah." Harry said. Divination couldn't have been further from his mind.

Hermione excused herself quickly and took a different staircase to her class. The others climbed the main staircase to the second floor.

"Are you staying, Pro—Mr. Lupin?" Harry asked eagerly.

"For a few days, possibly. I'll be keeping a rather low profile, though. Wouldn't want the students to write their parents," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "I'll find you to catch up, never fear," he promised, resuming his usual shy but reassuring manner. He shooed the boys on their way upstairs before going down the corridor that would take him to Albus Dumbledore's office.