Ben Granger And The Legacy Of Icarus

Chapter V - Christmas On Ravenclaw Estate

Previously, in Ben Granger and the Legacy of Icarus...

A magical letter, written by a witch called Amy Swallow. Which, unless he was much mistaken...

He hurried back to his table, and rifled through the paper. Soon he found what he was looking for. A marriage certificate.

Certifying the marriage of Mr Bertram Dyson to Miss Amy Swallow.

*

For a moment, Ben couldn't hear anything. The shock of his discovery had made the room seem silent. Then, suddenly, the sound flooded back.

He heard Ron, in the corner, saying, "But Ginny, if we write it out like that, then there won't be enough room to fit everybody's children on! And surely we should put William, instead of Bill. And Charles, instead of Charlie. Oh, and Frederic. And Virginia."

"And Ronald," Ginny reminded him.

He made a face. "OK, you win, nicknames it is."

On the other side of the room, Padma Patil was saying to her twin, "But why haven't I heard of Aunt Sunita? If she's Mother's sister, surely we should know she exists!"

"But Mother says in her letter that Sunita lives on her own in Hogsmeade, and never has any visitors or anything. Apparently she's almost completely withdrawn from society - she was involved in some sort of scandal when she was young and has been depressed ever since. She's supposed to be the black sheep of the family, or something."

Ben was lost for a few moments in the trivial conversations of others, but then he remembered what had shocked him. He stopped eavesdropping, and went back over to the table which Amy's letter lay on.

"Could I borrow this for a second?" he asked the Slytherin boy working there, who presumably owned the letter. "Thanks," he said, not giving the boy time to respond, in case he said no. He rushed back to his own seat, and thrust the letter, with the marriage certificate across the table to Hermione.

"Hermione, look at this!"

She looked. "Oh my..." she said. "But, this is a witch's letter, it's on parchment..."

"Exactly!" said Ben triumphantly.

"So...our great grandmother was a witch? So we do have some magical blood after all?"

Ben nodded, and grinned. "Do you want to tell Malfoy, or shall I?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't think we should tell anyone just yet, not until we know more about it. Where did you find this letter?"

Ben pointed to the boy sitting near Beatrice.

Hermione looked horrified. "You mean...we might be related to Goyle?"

"What d'you mean related?" demanded Ben. He hadn't thought of this.

"Well, if he had the letter, it was for researching his family tree...so maybe Amy was one of his relatives, which leaves us related to him!"

Ben realised she could be right.

"C'mon," he said, and he bounded over to Goyle's table, clutching the letter.

"Is this your letter?" he asked fiercely when Goyle looked up at him.

"Yes," said Goyle. "Why?"

Ben looked around quickly. His confidence faltered a little when he realised that Hermione hadn't followed him as he'd expected, but he carried on bravely, "This person, Amy Swallow, is she a relative of yours?"

Goyle looked down at his family tree, and then at the letter. He pointed to the top of it.

"Her."

"What?" Ben was confused.

"Her. At the top of the letter. She was my great-great-aunt."

Ben looked down at the letter. "Dear Millicent," it began "Thank you very much for inviting Jonathon and me to tea last week. It was very kind of you. Your owl is looking very well..."

"So...this woman, Millicent, she was your great-great-aunt?" Ben asked slowly.

"Yeah," said Goyle, turning back to his family tree.

"And Amy Swallow - she was no relation to you?"

"Nah," Goyle looked amused. "She was one of the Oxfordshire Swallows, a really classy wizarding family from down south. She was Aunt Millicent's friend, but no relation."

Ben smiled. "Thanks," he said, and hurried back to Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief. He told her everything Goyle had said, and together they began to research their mysterious magical relation.

*

Over the next few weeks and on into November, Hermione and Ben found Amy's name in several old records. It seemed that she'd been disowned by her parents when she chose to marry a Muggle. There was even an article about it in the "society page" of an ancient Daily Prophet, magically preserved, from 1918.

Today, Amy Swallow, daughter of the old and respected wizarding family from Oxfordshire, has married a Muggle by the name of Bertram Dyson. Her family are very displeased, as they had wanted to marry Amy to the handsome and extremely rich Samuel Davis. Amy's family say that she will regret this marriage, and she won't be able to live without magic. "She'll be crawling back to us in no time. But it'll be too late - she'll be married by then."

Cruel but necessary words, one might think, but Amy argues "I love Bertram. And he understands me, even is he doesn't know I'm a witch. The magic of our love is all I need." This reporter thinks that maybe Amy would do well to remember that in the Muggle world, magic is only an illusion.

"Poor girl," said Hermione with feeling.

"Yeah," Ben agreed. "Listen, it says here she had a brother and two sisters - what if their descendants are still living? What if they're still living? We could have magical relatives anywhere and not know about it! D'you think we should look for them?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "I'm not sure I want to," she said. "They sound really prejudiced against Muggles. They're probably just like the Malfoys. I don't want relations that would look down on us."

"But they wouldn't look down on us - we're magical."

"They'd look down on Mum and Dad. And what if they influenced us? What if we listened to their ridiculous ideas about purity of blood and started being ashamed of our parents and our friends? No, if we have old fashioned elitist relatives, I'm not sure I want to know."

Ben said nothing. He was still curious, but he supposed Hermione was right.

*

It was nearing the end of November when Dumbledore made an announcement which most of the school was very excited about.

"Due to the success of last year's Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament," the elderly headmaster said one evening, "We will be holding another one this year. It will be the same arrangement as last year - no one younger than the fourth year, unless you are invited by an older student. The ball will be held at eight o'clock in this Hall on Christmas day. I hope you will all enjoy yourselves." He sat down, his eyes twinkling, as noise flooded the hall. It was utter chaos. And Dumbledore loved chaos.

"A ball?" said Ben. He had heard about Hermione's fiasco last year through the wall when she had told Emily about it.

"It's a shame we don't get to go," said Beatrice. "They think we're too young to stay up that late or something, I guess. It's so annoying."

"Well, I don't really want to go," said Ben. "I mean, I like dancing at parties, but Hermione said you have to dress up in posh robes and stuff, and that sounds like too much effort to me."

"I wonder who's going to be doing the music?" asked Beatrice wistfully. Her eyes went suddenly dreamy, and Ben guessed she was probably imagining being begged to sing for the Ball.

"Anyway, Ball or no Ball, I can't wait for the holidays," said Ben. He quite liked learning magic - it was better than maths, anyway - but you could have too much of a good thing, and he could definitely do with a break.

"Me neither," said Beatrice. "Are you going home?"

"I don't know," said Ben. "I don't really want to. At Christmas my mum and dad always invite our entire family round and all my aunts and uncles go on and on about how much I've grown, and I have to look after my stupid baby cousin Gill while all the adults get tipsy and fall asleep in front of the TV. If Hermione's going to get out of it again because of this ball, I might see if mum and dad'll let me stay here too."

"Oh," said Beatrice. "Well, our Christmas is always perfect. Mother and Father always decorate the house beautifully, and Susan - that's our cook - always makes the best dinner with a huge roast and plum pudding and all sorts. It's absolutely perfect," Ben couldn't help noticing she looked a little sad. "Though sometimes it gets a bit lonely at home. I mean, our house is almost as big as Hogwarts, but there's only my parents, my sister, the servants and me in it. It gets very empty."

"I wish my house was empty," said Ben. He sighed. Imagine having a house so big you got lonely in it! The Ravenclaws must be seriously rich!

*

"Ben?"

Ben was day dreaming in the corridor near the Ravenclaw common room when he heard his name. He snapped to attention immediately - was it his teacher, come to see why he was late?

It was Harry.

"Hi, uh, Ben," he said. He looked a little awkward. Ben was almost shocked to see the dark circles under Harry's eyes. But then, Ben thought, having an evil wizard out to kill you was bound to be a bit stressful.

"Hello Harry," said Ben, bewildered. He didn't think he'd ever spoken to Harry or Ron without Hermione present. He was beginning to think of them as her sidekicks.

"You're, um, well, I mean, you're quite good friends with, um, Cho, aren't you?"

"Yeah, reasonably," said Ben, trying not to smile. Of course.

"'Cause, you see I was wondering, because, um," he continued.

"Spit it out, Harry."

"I, uh, I mean," Harry seemed to need some help, so Ben took pity on him.

"You like Cho, right?" Harry nodded meekly. "And you want me to ask her out for you, right?"

Harry shook his head violently. "No, no, I'm not quite that pathetic. I wondered if you could find out for me if she's planning to go to the Ball, and if she has a date. 'Cause, well, I would like to go with her," he blushed, "but I realise that she might not want to go with anyone, since, you know, since..."

Since last year her date was Cedric Diggory.

Since her last boyfriend died a horrible violent death.

"Sure, I'll ask," said Ben.

"You will? Thanks!" said Harry, looked relived and embarrassed all at once. "I'd better go, I'm late, but thanks a lot!"

Harry rushed off. Watching him go, Ben shook his head in amusement. I'm twelve years old, he thought, and even I wouldn't be that embarrassed about talking about a girl I like. The poor guy's completely clueless. Ben grinned, and, realising the time, ran all the way to Herbology - completely forgetting, of course, how he lost the power of speech whenever he was within thirty feet of Ginny.

*

"So, Harry likes Cho, huh?" asked Beatrice, her eyes laughing.

"Yeah," said Ben, "Only...don't let anyone know I told you. The poor guy's got it bad - and I don't want another out of control rumour going around."

"OK," said Beatrice. "Any idea who your sister's going with?"

Ben shook his head. Now why did Beatrice want to know that? Beatrice and Hermione were polite to each other for Ben's sake, but everyone could see they didn't really get on, and wouldn't have spoken to each other at all if it wasn't for Ben. He guessed it was probably because they were both used to being the cleverest person around, so meeting someone who could rival their intelligence rubbed them both up the wrong way.

Just the other day, in fact, Hermione had asked Ben why on earth he was friends with Beatrice - she was such a know-it-all. Ben had stifled his laughter at the hypocrisy of Hermione calling anyone a know-it-all, and replied that he'd never exactly meant to be friends with Beatrice - she was just always around. He didn't mention the way she knew more about him than he did. He still wasn't sure what that was about. To begin with, he'd accepted that, but now it was starting to scare him.

"Why d'you want to know?" he asked.

"Because everyone knows she should go with Ronald Weasley."

"Ron?" asked Ben.

Beatrice looked at him as though he were stupid. "Of course - hadn't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

Beatrice sighed, as though losing patience with a small child. "The way they fight. It means they fancy the pants of each other."

Ben frowned. Firstly because he wasn't at all sure it was true, and secondly because he really didn't want to think about Hermione or Ron's pants.

"Why does fighting mean they like each other?" Ben was getting confused.

"It's obvious - people who are embarrassed about liking each other always pretend they hate each other by fighting and stuff. If they were any younger, Ron'd be pulling her hair and pushing her over in the playground."

Ben frowned even more. This was news to him. So if he wanted to let Ginny know he liked her, he should pretend to hate her? That didn't make much sense.

"Well, how do you know that they don't actually hate each other?" he asked.

Beatrice just looked at him pityingly. Ben assumed this meant she didn't know.

"Anyway, Hermione says Ron's just a friend," he continued.

"Well, she would say that, wouldn't she?" Beatrice said.

"Would she?" Ben was now extremely lost.

"Of course!"

Ben decided that girls were very illogical creatures. He was starting to understand why Harry was so flustered.

*

The days were getting colder, as November reached its end. Ben was still desperate to know more about Amy Swallow. Even her name seemed to be shrouded in mystery, holding secrets. The trouble was that there wasn't much he could do to find out about her. He agreed with Hermione that he didn't want to research her magical family, but then there was very little record of her anywhere else. She had died before his mother was born, and so Mrs Granger had no memory of her. Ben knew it was useless even to ask his grandmother - she was a wonderful lady, but she was very old, and he would be lucky if she even recognised him.

So Ben continued to study in the Family Tree Club, and whilst he was there, he saw changes in people. Subtle changes, not even enough to make a visible difference, but everybody who went to the club was affected. Maybe Malfoy had been right, researching your family did "bring the pride back." A lot of people were walking a little taller, sitting a little straighter, now that they knew exactly where they had come from, exactly how much they had to live up to.

Ben knew all this. And Ben knew it was dangerous. If you'd asked him, he wouldn't have been able to put his fear into words, but this is what his "I dunno" would have meant:

Pride is a dangerous thing. It comes before a fall, they say. Because looking too deeply at what you are reminds you of what other people are not. I say tom-ay-doh you say tom-art-oh; I'm white, you're black; I'm rich, you're poor. And what it all boils down to, of course, is I'm Right, You're Wrong.

It's nice to know where you came from. It's good to love your family and to feel proud of your second cousin Angelica's grade two piano and your uncle Raymond's promotion. Yes, it's great to be proud of your family. But you have to know where to draw the line.

My family is good. You don't belong to my family. Therefore, you're not good. Hey, whoops! Where did that line go? I was teetering on the edge of it just a second ago, and now I can't even see it!

The importance of blood is that it flows through your veins and carries oxygen to your body cells, so they can give you energy. That's all. If because of your blood you look like your mother or your father or your half brother's cousin once removed, it might be nice but it's not Important. Not really.

But it was so hard to remember that in the dark dungeons, where everybody searched out their history, looking desperately for a place to belong. Hermione thought she'd won the battle by taking "mudbloods" into the Family Tree Club, but maybe she just made the rift wider. Not the rift between Muggles and wizards, but the rift between everybody and everybody else. The rift between you and me.

There are very few people who can remember in a conflict that there are two sides to every story, and that both can be right. And those that do remember usually get killed soon anyway, simply because they didn't have the motivation to shoot first. And what are we left with? I'm Right, You're Wrong.

November became December.

No, really, where did that line go? I appear to have lost it...

*

"What are we going to do about our project?" asked Ben, in their last History of Magic lesson of term. "We've only got one more day before the holidays, and we haven't done nearly enough."

"Well, I'm not staying at school to finish it!" said Beatrice.

"Well, I'm not doing it on my own!" countered Ben. He usually let Beatrice do whatever she liked, it was just easier, but he refused to be laden with all the work over his holidays while Beatrice had her perfect storybook Christmas.

"But what else can we do here anyway?" asked Beatrice, obviously not wanting to stay at Hogwarts.

"I don't know - we've looked at all the books in the library, and there isn't anything really. Hang on..." Ben's face split into a grin. "Didn't you say your parents have a huge library with pretty much every book ever?"

"Well, yes, but - but," Beatrice didn't want to do all the work any more than Ben did, but she could see she was cornered.

"So, you'll finish the project, will you?" Ben smiled.

"You could come and stay!" said Beatrice, triumphantly. "You could come and stay at my house, and we could work on it together!"

Ben sighed. Well, it might mean he'd have to do some work, but at least he could escape not only his family, but all the older school kids as well, who'd been extremely annoying since they started worrying about the Ball. And he was a little curious about Beatrice's house, after she'd described the huge manor. What was that phrase his mother used? "See how the other half live." It might be quite interesting.

"OK," said Ben. Beatrice sighed with relief that she wouldn't have to do all the work.

"I'll owl home later, to check it's alright," said Ben.

*

Ben's parents had been slightly surprised that he wanted to spend Christmas with a friend, but they were pleased, nonetheless. Of their three children, Ophelia was the only one who was good at making friends - Hermione was too bookish and Ben was too impulsive and violent. (Or at least, he had been at his old school. It was different here - there was something calming about magic, as though it let out his pent up energy. He still got annoyed, and sometimes even angry at Hogwarts, but so far he'd had no desire to punch people or kick walls.)

Ben was glad they weren't going to make a problem for him - he had been slightly worried they wouldn't let him go because Beatrice was a girl, but evidently they assumed he was too young to have hormones yet. He didn't know why, but Ben felt as though something was drawing him to the Ravenclaw Estate. He would find something there. Something important.

Of course I'll find something there, he thought to himself, ridiculing his stupid mysterious thoughts, I'll find books to help me with the History of Magic project. That's important - it's a big project.

But somehow he couldn't convince himself that even his mysterious Inner Seer thought the History of Magic project was that important. It was only a project, after all. Whatever mark he got, it wouldn't affect his life in any way more profound than perhaps causing him detention. He knew it was just a project.

How wrong he was.

*

It was the first day of the holidays when they had to leave for Beatrice's house. Ben had packed what he needed into his trunk, and had been helped to shrink it by a passing prefect. In an hour he had to get it and himself into the Ravenclaws' car, which would pick them up just outside the gates

He and Beatrice were sitting in the common room, at a loose end. They couldn't do any of the things they would usually do, because all their books, games, and even homework was locked in their trunks which had been shrunk to the size of a hardback book. (The prefect had been a little over-zealous - Ben suspected he might have to get Mr or Mrs Ravenclaw to help him when it was time to unpack.)

Beatrice seemed happy to be going home, she had been singing especially upbeat songs all morning. Ben wondered that she hadn't run out of songs yet - she had been through practically every song from Oklahoma and Annie. However, just when he'd thought her supply must be exhausted, she'd moved onto Grease,

"We go together Like rama-lama-lama Ki ding-i-di-ding-di-dong Remembered forever As shoo-bop-shoo-waddi-waddi Yippity-boom-di-boom."

Ben sighed. Sometimes he felt like he had a walking radio instead of a friend.

"I'm going to find Hermione and say goodbye to her, alright?"

"That's the way it should be-ee Wah-ooooh, Yeah!" Beatrice replied, but she scrambled up from her armchair and followed him to the password wall, so he assumed that meant she was coming too.

"Cerulean!" he muttered. (The password had been changed last week.) The wall swung around, and he paced swiftly to the library, assuming that was where Hermione would be, with Beatrice trailing behind him, quieter now, but still muttering, "Chang-chang, Chang-ity-chang-che-bop!"

They were a floor below the library when Ben caught sight of a flash of red hair and one of black turning the corner to his right. Ben changed his course abruptly and followed - where Harry and Ron were, Hermione would be too.

However, when he turned the corner, he found that Hermione wasn't there, and the red hair wasn't Ron's. Harry and Ginny were talking softly on the deserted staircase.

"Ginny? I was wondering if you wanted to go the Yule Ball with me?" Harry seemed a lot more confident than Ben would have suspected, but maybe he was just so sure she would say yes. He had been a little disappointed when Ben had reported to him a week ago that Cho had no plans to go anywhere near the ball, and was going home for Christmas, but it seemed he'd got over it.

Ginny looked at Harry closely. Ben held his breath. Of course she would say yes. It was silly, really, to want her to refuse Harry. It wasn't like she would ever go with him, Ben.

"You don't want to go with me," she said softly, a little wistfully. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I do!" protested Harry, "That's why I asked you!" The tone in his voice showed that he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

"You want to go with someone," she said, "but you don't especially want to go with me. I know you don't. And Harry," she hesitated, shy but determined, "I deserve better than that. I like you, you know I do, and I used to think that was enough, but not anymore. I'm a good person, and I don't need to be anyone's second best." Without another word, she turned and walked quietly away.

"Go Ginny!" said Ben under his breath, "Somebody's been watching Rikki Lake!"

"Rick who?" whispered Beatrice. Ben put a finger to his lips. Harry looked slightly disappointed, but more surprised than anything, and Ben knew he hadn't seen them watching him so he tugged Beatrice's sleeve and they slipped away before Harry could look up.

*

As they entered the gloomy silence of the library, Ben shivered. He had never liked libraries, they seemed to forbid laughter and movement, two of the things which he valued most.

He scanned the room with his eyes, knowing full well that Madam Pince was carefully watching his every move. Sure enough, Hermione was sitting at a table in the corner, with Ron next to her, looking half asleep.

"Hey Herms," said Ben cheerfully, as he sat down at the table.

"Don't call me Herms!" said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Well, sor-ry!" he said, pretending to be mortally hurt at her annoyance. "I just came to say goodbye, seeing as I won't see you for two weeks."

She looked up, and her face softened slightly. Only a little though - Ben guessed she was already stressed about the OWLs she was facing in six months time.

"Yeah. Goodbye then. Have a good time," Hermione hugged him. "I'll owl you your Christmas present, OK?"

Oops, thought Ben. Yes, Christmas presents. I really ought to buy some of those.

"Uh, sure..." he said, trying not to make it obvious he would be frantically wracking his brains for the next week for something Hermione might want. He was awful at buying presents.

"I imagine you'll have a better Christmas than us, anyway," said Ron, waking up suddenly. "What with that stupid Ball and everything. More trouble than it's worth." Hermione looked slightly sad for a second - or was that just Ben's imagination? It was all Beatrice's fault for putting silly ideas in his head!

"So, d'you have a date yet?" asked Beatrice, grinning at both Ron and Hermione. Ben looked at her suspiciously. Beatrice had her look-at-me-I'm-being-naughty expression, which always meant she was about to stir up trouble.

Both Hermione and Ron shook their heads, Ron flushing and looking at the table, and Hermione glaring at Beatrice for even asking.

"Neither of you?" asked Beatrice, in false surprise. "Well, there's one obvious solution to that, then, isn't there...?"

Hermione's eyes were full of fire. She seemed to be daring Beatrice to suggest it.

"Why don't you go together?" she asked sweetly. Neither of them responded. She walked round until she was behind them, put an arm around Hermione's shoulders, and began to sing softly to her,

"I know Something about love. You've gotta want it bad. If that guy's got into your blood, Go out and get him,"

Ron was blushing so much that heat was actually radiating from his face, and Hermione looked ready to kill.

"If you want him to be The very part of you That makes you want to breathe, Here's the thing to do:"

Beatrice looked pointedly at Hermione

"Tell him that you're never gonna leave him, Tell him that you're always gonna love him, Tell him, Tell him, Tell him, Tell him right nowwww..."

Madame Pince was storming over to the table to see what all the noise was about, so Beatrice grabbed Ben's arm, and pulled him out of the library as quickly as their legs would go, then they collapsed into giggles in the corridor outside.

*

Ben woke with a start, surprised to find that he'd been asleep at all. The large blue chauffer driven car was sailing across a narrow country lane, at a speed Ben was quite sure couldn't be legal. However, he got the feeling that there was no danger of a crash, partly because of the way the car had slipped in and out of the traffic on the motorway, getting through the queues quicker than should have been possible, without causing any accidents, or even arousing suspicion. It was quite clear that this was no ordinary car.

Ben looked over at Beatrice. She was asleep too, but her lips were moving. She was murmuring something about building up a buttercup. Ben thought she was probably dreaming.

Suddenly, the car gave a great lurch. Ben wondered if the driver had lost control - it felt as though they were plummeting into a ditch, but a ditch that went upwards - how else could the strange weightless feeling in his stomach be explained? Besides, they were going far too fast. He looked out of the window, not sure what was going on, but expecting to see a confused rush of hedge and road and sky. One out of three isn't bad. All he saw was sky.

The car was falling. At least, that was what it felt like. But it was falling upwards. Obeying a different gravity. Ben was plummeting into blueness, the sunlight was getting far too bright. Then all he saw was white.

We must be flying through a cloud, he thought. Then the white was beneath them, and they were into the pure pale blue, the utter light that comes above the clouds. And there, on the snow-like "ground" was a small house. Tiny, in fact. It couldn't have been more than one room across, and it certainly only had one floor. It was neat, but simple and a little dingy with a royal blue door.

The chauffeur parked the car in front of it, and Ben didn't even bother to worry about why it didn't fall through the clouds. There was only one answer to any questions in his mind. It's magic.

Beatrice woke gently, and hopped out of the car.

"Home sweet home!" she said, in a sleep-muffled voice, trying to tidy her hair up with her fingers.

"But I thought you said your house is as big as Hogwarts," said Ben, confused. Beatrice looked at him like he was extremely stupid, and Ben knew without her having to say the words - It's magic. Ravenclaw Estate was bigger on the inside than the outside. Just like a Ravenclaw.

They picked up their trunks (each as big as a large book), and Beatrice placed her hand on the door.

"Beatrice and selected guest," she said. "Open!" The door swung back. Ben wasn't sure he wanted to be a "selected guest," - it seemed so formal - but he supposed he'd have to put up with it. He stepped in the door, expecting an amazing transformation of the tiny house into a magnificent castle. He assumed that because he was expecting the change, it wouldn't surprise him.

He was wrong.

The door was the same, but the moment he stepped over the threshold, a staircase swept up ahead of him, extending and growing. The walls grew, becoming a beautiful white with strange carved trimmings at the top and corners. The floor spread out, in pure polished marble. A pale blue-lilac carpet rolled its way down the stairs, and in the opposite wall, away from the staircase, doors sprung up, hundreds of ornate heavy wooden doors leading to who knows where. At the top of the staircase, it swept into the wide landing of the second floor, where Ben could see even more doors, and the edge of yet another staircase.

It was a castle. Ben had stepped into a fairy tale.

As if on cue, the king and queen appeared, walking slowly down the stairs, followed by the small princess, tripping and skipping down to meet them.

Mr Ravenclaw looked healthy rather than fit, but his sandy blonde hair was neat, and his moustache was well groomed. His robes fitted him perfectly, and looked expensive, but practical rather than ornamental. He stepped off the final stair, and walked over to Ben, cordially extending a hand in greeting.

Then Mrs Ravenclaw stepped forwards. She too wore robes that even Ben, with his limited knowledge of magical fashion, could tell were expensive. She was a little more extravagant, with fancy trimmings to her robes and an amount of jewellery that was only just on the good side of taste. She had long hair that was very dark and shone as though it had been polished. It was caught up in an intricately fashioned style at the back of her head, and Ben was reminded for a second of Princess Leia. She too shook his hand - Ben got the feeling this wasn't a hugging sort of household.

Finally the "princess," who Ben assumed was Beatrice's sister, appeared, peeking round her mother shyly. She had blonde hair that wasn't sandy like her father's, but was actually golden. Ben could tell just from looking at it that it was soft and silky. It hung loose over her shoulders in sunshine waves. Her big amber-brown eyes and long sooty lashes provided sharp contrast to her hair, like pools of dark honey. She looked quiet and refined and graceful - everything a princess should be.

"You must be Ben," said Mrs Ravenclaw smiling. "I'm Arianrhod, this is my husband, Oliver, and our daughter Branwen. We're very glad to have you in our house. Beatrice told me you have some sort of a project to work on?"

Ben nodded. He wasn't sure he could speak. He was having a very hard time believing this was real - surely nothing was this perfect?

"Good," she said. "Jack - that's our butler - will take your bag up to your room. Why don't we all go through to the parlour and have tea?"

Still Ben said nothing.

"Mother! Why do we have to have tea?" Beatrice whined. Ben guessed she was still a little sleepy.

"It's polite, Beatrice. You know we should always be polite to guests."

"But it's only Ben," Beatrice said grumpily.

"That will do, Beatrice," said her father, sternly.

Ben looked at Beatrice sympathetically as they followed the Royal Family into their regal parlour. He knew she hadn't meant an insult. He was "only Ben." He didn't want special treatment. He didn't want to be a guest - that was awkward and official and polite. He wanted to be simply a friend. In Ben's own house, his mother's motto was "There are no guests in this house, only new members of the family."

They drank tea from delicate china cups. Ben felt very clumsy and uncouth in comparison to Princess Branwen who was sitting next to him. He could see that everything in this house was perfect, but he was beginning to pity Beatrice for having to live here. At school, she was the perfect one. She was confident, and fun. And she was talented, there was no doubt about that - not at magic, perhaps, but everyone who heard her knew she was born to sing.

She wasn't perfect here. Here they valued wisdom and philosophy and magical aptitude. They didn't value singing.

Ben often thought that he didn't really like Beatrice, that she was only his friend because she was always around, but it wasn't true. He liked her because she was so alive, because whatever she was feeling, you could look at her eyes and know that her spirit was vibrant and dancing and alive.

Looking at her now, her spirit was ill. She didn't belong here. Ben hadn't thought there could be anywhere in the world that would make Beatrice look pale and dull, but he had found it. In the middle of her perfect, beautiful, family, Beatrice was shown up to be the flawed, plain creature she really was.

It made Ben feel sorry for her. He tried not to, because he knew Beatrice didn't want his pity, but he couldn't help it as her parents found hole after hole in her life. It started with,

"Beatrice, look at you hair! I swear you haven't brushed it for days!" Evidently deep, philosophical Ravenclaws were not above trivial things such as outward appearance. It was true that Beatrice's dark brown hair wasn't perfectly coiffed and shiny like her mother's. It was true that her robes were smudged with ink, and a little torn in the corner. But Ben could see it was because she had more important things to think about than how she looked - why couldn't her parents?

Ben thought of his own family - they sometimes made him feel stupid or plain, but he always knew that underneath it all they loved him in spite of - or perhaps because of - his faults. He was sure that Beatrice's parents loved her too, they gave her everything a child could need, but even Ben, with his limited knowledge of the way of the world, could see that it wasn't enough. What sort of mother doesn't hug her daughter when they haven't seen each other for twelve weeks? What sort of father scolds his child before even saying hello?

"I have been writing to your teachers to find out about your progress, Beatrice. I don't think you're trying," said her father. "They all say that if you'd just apply yourself, you could be brilliant. But as it is, you're just mediocre, and well below that in some subjects. You're doing badly in Astronomy and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and your Herbology marks are well below satisfactory." Ben almost laughed at this. He knew perfectly well that Beatrice loved Herbology because it was so messy and dirty. However, she always insisted that she knew better than Professor Sprout, and she "experimented." She'd caused the death of several previously healthy plants over the past few weeks because of her refusal to listen.

Ben was starting to wonder if Beatrice was a changeling, if she had been swapped at birth, because it was obvious that her parents didn't understand her in the least. They didn't see that of course she didn't apply herself - because magic meant nothing to her. All she wanted was to be able to live day to day with it, and to sing. She knew she would be a singer, and what use would OWLs be to her then?

*

When Ben woke up, he found that the bed he was in was huge and unbelievably soft. It could have held at least four people comfortably, and the linen sheets were crisp and clean smelling. The room was beautifully decorated, as the rest of the house seemed to be, in pale pastel colours. He hopped out of bed and looked at his sundial - it was ten o'clock.

I love the holidays... he thought, as he opened a door to the left of the room, which last night the butler had told him was his bathroom. Like everything else here, it was perfect. It was gleaming white and green, with a large white bath on legs and shining silver taps. There were several large, fluffy, apple-green towels on the towel-rack, and the whole room had a sense of being overwhelmingly clean.

He washed himself and - after locating his unlocked, enlarged trunk - dressed carefully, trying to be as neat and tidy as possible. He wanted to please the Ravenclaws. He brushed his hair thoroughly, making it as tidy as possible (which, to be perfectly frank, wasn't very), and trying to brush it out of his eyes. It had grown quite a lot since the beginning of term - it almost covered his ears now.

He was ready to go out and find someone, when he realised he didn't know where to go. He reached out and pulled the bell-pull that linked him to the servants, which he had been instructed to pull if he needed anything.

"Yes?" Jack was at his door in less than a minute.

"Sorry to bother you, it's just that I don't really know where anything is or where I'm meant to go..." Ben felt awkward even asking. Jack was not the most hospitable of people.

"You must use the window next to the bathroom," said Jack lazily, as thought bored. "It is connected to the inner-transportation floo network. You jump out of it, picturing in your mind where you want to be, and you'll come out there."

"I want to find Beatrice, but I don't know where she is," said Ben, nervously.

"Miss Ravenclaw is in her bedroom. If you are wondering what to picture, simply picture the loudest, most tastelessly decorated room you can, and you will 'most certainly reach her room." Jack turned and left the room. Ben wondered if that had been his idea of a joke.

He looked at the window nervously. He climbed onto the wide sill, opened it wide, and posted his legs out. I really hope this works, he thought desperately, as he let go of the frame, and plummeted, picturing Beatrice as hard as he could and hoping that would get him to the right place.

He came out in an extremely bright room. After the paleness of the rest of the house, Ben jumped to see the loud colours. The room was hexagonal, with each wall painted a different colour of the rainbow, from red to indigo. The ceiling and carpet were a rich purple. Beatrice was sitting on her silver bedcovers, reading a book.

"Oh, hi Ben," she said. "I was just going to come and see if you were awake."

Ben said nothing, he simply gazed around the room.

Beatrice giggled softly. "Bright, isn't it? But I like it. It's a long-running joke in the family though - they all think good tastes means bland taste. They're very boring really."

She seemed to have come back to life since her quietness yesterday in the parlour. Ben wondered if her family always made her that quiet, or if it was because they hadn't seen her for so long and so had built up a store of things wrong with her to mention all at once.

Still looking around the room, a framed piece of paper caught Ben's eye. There were mottos hanging on the walls of nearly every room of this house, but this one was the first one Ben had liked. It said, in Beatrice's scrawling handwriting,

"Work like you don't need the money, Love like you've never been hurt, And dance like no one is watching."

"D'you want some breakfast?" asked Beatrice.

"OK," said Ben, and he followed her downstairs, thinking about the motto. There should be another verse, he thought. I know there should be - but I can't think what it is..

*

Ben spent a very relaxing week in Beatrice's house. It turned out that behind the house there was a huge green garden, with ponds and statues and everything that ought to be in a castle's grounds. It was undercover, though. It looked like the whole house was covered by large brick wall and tiles up above. It looked like it was enclosed by a small, dingy, one-story high house with a neat blue door.

On Christmas day, everything was as perfect as Beatrice had said it would be. The meal was wonderful. Mr and Mrs Ravenclaw had given him a beautiful albatross feather quill and a box of toffees, which he would have felt embarrassed about, except that he knew perfectly well they could afford to buy him a hundred more without noticing the expense. He hadn't bought them anything, but they hadn't seemed to expect anything. Ben hadn't been sure whether or not to get anything for Beatrice - it seemed polite, but he had no idea what she might like. In the end, he'd bought her the same as he'd bought Hermione - a bar of chocolate. He knew it wasn't a very good present, but it was all he could think of.

As it turned out, Beatrice was overjoyed with the present Hermione had sent to Ben, and he was quite happy to let her share it.

Hermione sent a school owl, which contained both a present from her, and a larger one from their parents. She had sent Ben a small box, what appear to be a white cube with holes on each side. He wasn't sure what it was, but when he opened the present from his parents, he understood. They had sent him a CD player (as well as most of his CD collection, which he had left at home). It was just a normal Muggle CD player, which he knew wouldn't work here, or at Hogwarts, as there was too much magic in the air. However, this was where Hermione's present came in.

He set up the CD player with the cable which would normally connect it to the mains socket. However, there was no outlet here, so instead Ben pushed the plug at the end of the cable into one of the sides of the white cube. Instantly, a crackle of blue light sped along the wires, and the CD player was surrounded by an aura of magic. Ben picked up his wand, and put it into the hole on the opposite side of the cube to the plug, which gave the CD player the power it needed to switch on. Ben grinned - the Magi-lectric Adaptor was working.

"What's that?" asked Beatrice, who was watching him with interest. "It looks a bit like my singing teacher's music box, but Muggle things like that don't work here." She had shown Ben the other day how wizards play music - with a Wizarding Wireless. It has radio channels, and you can also enchant it to play what you want - provided it's a song written by a wizard. But wizards have no way of listening to Muggle music.

Ben said nothing. He put in a CD, pressed play, and held the earphones up to Beatrice's head. Her eyes opened very wide, and a slow smile spread across her face.

Then, of course, she joined in with the song, at the top of her voice,

"Oh, we're half way there... Wo-ah, living on a prayer..."

"Beatrice! Please! If you're going to make that noise, do it elsewhere!" But Beatrice couldn't hear her mother, and she continued to sing,

"Take my hand, and we'll make it I swe-ar..."

Ben pulled the head phones off her, and she stopped singing abruptly.

"Maybe we should go and listen to the music in your room," said Ben, hurriedly. "I think your singing was interrupting your parents' conversation." Beatrice nodded, and they went quickly out of the right window, Ben with his CD player, and Beatrice with the CDs.

"So each of these circles has a different song on it?" asked Beatrice a while later, after Ben had let her listen to almost all of his CD collection.

"Yeah," said Ben. "Some of them have more than one song on, too."

Beatrice frowned. "Well, that's so complicated, you have to find the one you want. Why don't they just keep all the songs in one place?"

Ben thought about this. "It's quite hard to explain..." he said. He wasn't sure he could be bothered to try and explain to Beatrice.

"What are these?" she asked, picking up something he'd missed from the wrapping paper.

He smiled. "Oh. Those are speakers."

"What do they say?" asked Beatrice.

"They don't say anything."

"Why not?"

"Well, I don't know!" said Ben, getting annoyed. Beatrice tended to assume that because he was Muggle-born, he was the fountain of all Muggle knowledge, and it was a bit humiliating to admit he wasn't.

"Look," he said, "You plug them in here, and then you can hear the music without the headphones." He showed her.

"Wow!" she said, smiling. "It's just like the Wireless, only with Muggle music! I think they should be called Singers, though, seeing as they don't speak."

Ben shook his head. There was really no point in arguing. He plugged the speakers in, then he put his favourite CD back in, and pressed play. The bass guitar sounded in the background, then the drums, and he began to sing, as did Beatrice. Soon they were dancing around, not caring what they looked like, just enjoying the music.

Dance like no one is watching...

And they sang together at the tops of their voices,

"Wo-ah, living on a prayer!"

*

A few days after Christmas, Ben received an owl from Hermione. It began by wishing him seasonal greetings (Hermione could never bear to simply write Christmas cards, she had to write epic novel-length letters instead) but after that it was mainly filled with news about the ball.

"Dear Ben," it began.

"I hope you had a good Christmas and you're getting a lot of work done on your project. Thanks very much for your present as well.

I really enjoyed the ball. I went with a sixth year boy called Alex Palmer - you might know him, he's in Ravenclaw." Ben did know him, and liked him because he had a very strong sense of humour. However, a lot of people at school were saying he was gay, and there were even rumours that he'd taken to stalking Draco Malfoy. Ben wasn't sure if that was true or not, but he was willing to bet good money that no one had told Hermione any of this.

"He was nice, and we had a very good time," Hermione continued. "And he had very nice blue dress robes - he looked A LOT better than Ron. Not that I can really remember what Ron wore. I wasn't really paying much attention to him. Harry ended up going with the new American transfer student. She's beautiful and very clever and kind to small furry animals. Her name's Marion Marcia Juliet Susannah, but that's a bit of a mouthful, so most people call her Mary Sue for short. I don't know or care who Ron went with.

I set Ginny up with my friend Simon Branford from Hufflepuff. He looked really nice - he had green robes. And it was dark enough in the Great Hall that nobody could really see his bleached hair. (I gave Ginny a pair of sunglasses just in case.) Anyway, he's in my Arithmancy class, and I was talking to him about Ginny - he says he really likes her and he might ask her to go out again to the..."

Ben stopped reading. If Ginny had a boyfriend, he didn't want to know about it. Anyway, it didn't matter what the rest of the letter said - he knew his sister well enough to know that she'd only written in the hope that Ben would let Beatrice know her prank in the library had failed, because Hermione "didn't care" who Ron went with.

Ben sighed. Sometimes his sister was so transparent.

*

The week after Christmas, Ben and Beatrice finally began to work on their project. There were lots of books in the Ravenclaw's library on Greek Mythology, and soon they had a decent sized project. On New Year's Eve, they decided that they would just look through one more book each, and then they would finish.

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when they got to the library and started work. Ben pulled a book off the shelf called "Murder And Monsters - A Look At The Pleasanter Side Of Greek Mythology." He was just scanning the contents pages, when he heard Beatrice say,

"Look at this!"

He found her around a corner, holding a very large and very dusty leather bound book. The gold writing on it's cover said "Secrets Of Greece - The Truth About The Ancient Myths." It wasn't much of a book to look at, but Ben knew why Beatrice had called him over. It made him jump. Just seeing the book gave him a small shock, like a low-voltage electric fence. As one, he and Beatrice rushed to the nearest table, and sat down with it.

"What does it say?" asked Ben nervously. This book was important. This book would change things.

Beatrice carefully opened the cover.

"Introduction

For many centuries, the Muggles have passed down the myths and legends of the Greeks. Most people see them as interesting stories, but nothing more.

This isn't true. Proof has been found that the Gods of Ancient Greece were wizards and witches who were misunderstood. More importantly, it has been found that almost all of the Myths are true, but have been modified for Muggle audiences to the point that they have become unbelievable.

Unbelievable, yes. But also true. This book will tell you again the myths of Greece, but with the added bits that the Muggles don't know, the bits that are undoubtedly the true story. So read on. This is may well be the least known and most interesting bit of history you will ever read..."

She paused and looked up at Ben. He could see the excitement sparkling in her eyes.

"Go on!" said Ben.

"Contents..." began Beatrice.

"No!" said Ben. He didn't need the contents. He knew perfectly well which myth he wanted to hear, which myth he had to hear. So did Beatrice. Looking at him, and not even checking which page she was opening the book to, she let it fall open.

Then she looked down at the page, at the story which she had known would be there. She took a deep breath, and began to read aloud.

"Icarus and Daedalus (The Legacy of Icarus)

In Athens, there lived a skilled man by the name of Daedalus. He had learnt his craft of creating and inventing from Athene, Goddess of wisdom and ingenuity. He lived with his son, Icarus, whom he loved more than anything in the world; and his nephew, Talos, who was also Daedalus's apprentice.

It was hard to believe that Icarus was the son of a craftsman such as Daedalus, as the boy was clumsy and awkward, breaking things by simply touching them. But what Icarus broke, Talos mended, for Talos had been touched by the gift of creation. He had a mind full of curiosity, and would spend hours by Daedalus's side, watching the marvel of science.

In the evenings, before the stars came out, Daedalus and the two boys would go up to the roof top and watch the birds. Daedalus would gaze in wonder, for it was his greatest wish to fly.

One night, when the sun was setting and the sky glowed blood-red, Icarus became bored of watching the birds, and went down from the roof. Still watching the sky, Talos expressed to Daedalus a desire to fly. This lit a fire in Daedalus's heart that burnt as brightly as Helios's Chariot of the Sun. Why should this boy, a creator, be born to his sister? Why should Daedalus's own son not delight in the heavens in this way? Maybe the gods were playing with Daedalus, letting this genius be so close to him, and yet not his son.

In that moment, Daedalus hated Talos with a vengeance, though he could not have told you exactly why. He picked Talos up, and swung him round, asking if he felt like he was flying. He swung around and around, his frustration making him rough and careless. He swung Talos to close to the edge of the roof, and Talos fell. He plummeted so slowly that it looked almost like he was flying.

But he wasn't flying. Talos hit the ground with a sickening crack, to wake no more. The Goddess Athene saw all this, and she transformed Talos's soul into a Partridge, so that he should fly for eternity, as he had wished. She cursed Daedalus, for killing someone so gifted. As his nephew fell, so should his son.

Daedalus looked down at his nephew, and saw what he had done. A great fear swept over him, and he rushed to Icarus. The two packed up their possessions and fled Greece to the island of Crete, Icarus asking all the while why they had to leave.

Eventually, they were thrown before Minos, king of Crete, who had heard of Daedalus's skill. He commanded Daedalus to build him a prison for the Minatoar, a beast half human half bull.

So, Daedalus built the labyrinth, a giant maze of tunnels and illusions, where thousands of Athenians met their deaths at the hands of Minos. One day, Daedalus himself crossed Minos, and was thrown into the labyrinth, along with his son. However, he knew the labyrinth well, and he managed to escape.

When it was discovered that they had escaped, Icarus and Daedalus were marooned on an island near Crete. Minos controlled the land and the sea, so they couldn't escape.

But Minos did not control the air, and Daedalus was an inventor. One night, a bird landed on the sand near where Daedalus was sitting. It seemed to speak to him, reminding him of his guilt for the death of Talos. In a fit of fury, Daedalus snapped the bird's neck.

He looked down at the limp body in his hands, and an idea came to him. The nest day, he trapped more birds and killed them, plucking the feathers from their corpses. He found a bees' nest, and stole their wax, which he melted over a fire. He cut thin, supple branches from the trees, to make the frames of two giant pairs of wings. He attached the feathers with the wax, using the first bird's wing as a model.

Feather by feather he worked, and at last, the wings were complete. He attached one pair to Icarus, and the other to himself. Daedalus warned Icarus that he must not fly too high, as the sun would melt the bees' wax, and the wings would disintegrate. He warned Icarus that he must not fly too low, as the sea spray would make the feathers heavier, dragging them down.

Then, with fear and anticipation in their hearts, Icarus and Daedalus ran to the edge of the cliff, and they flew. Out over the land and sea they swooped, towards Greece, towards freedom. But the exhilaration of flying got to Icarus's head, and he soared higher and higher. Helios, the Sun God, looked down upon the foolish Icarus, and remembered Athene's curse.

Bead by golden bead, the wax in Icarus's wings melted and trickled down the feathers. Slowly the wings began to fall apart.

Daedalus couldn't see his son. He called and called his name, but could hear nothing over the roar of the wind in his ears. Then suddenly he saw that feathers were falling from the sky above. He screamed Icarus's name, but the boy fell after the feathers, into the sea below, and there was nothing Daedalus could do.

Daedalus fished the body of his son out of the sea that bears his name, and buried it in the sand. Then he picked up his wings and flew to Sicily, to live in mourning for his son. There the great inventor created children's toys - making day after day the same clay statue of a winged boy.

*

The Bit The Muggles Don't Know....

When Icarus fell to the sea, Talos awaited him. Talos begged Athene's mercy on the cousin he had long since forgiven for his father's crime. So, before he reached the water, Athene turned Icarus's soul into a swallow, as she had made Talos's a partridge. Daedalus believed his son to be dead, but he lived on outside his body as a bird.

Icarus followed his father to Sicily, where the old man eventually died. Then Icarus went to his aunt, Talos's mother, who was now Icarus's only living relative. She was pregnant with a child, and as Icarus looked upon her, and idea came to him. Icarus was a clumsy boy, but a very powerful wizard. (His aunt shared his powers, but Talos and Daedalus were Muggles.) He knew that the curse of Athene was finished - as Talos had fallen, so had Icarus - but he cast a complex spell, which meant that this child of his aunt, and the ones who would come after it, would have the ability to leave their bodies behind and become birds at will, to remind all of the fate of Daedalus, who had become a murderer because of his rage and jealousy.

The Legacy of Icarus may be alive to this day in the descendants of his aunt, but no one knows for sure, as nobody has successfully traced their roots this far back. It is believed that somewhere along the line, the family must have stopped teaching their children how to become birds, so it is unknown if the power still lives. All is known is the rumour that the descendants of Icarus have names that betray their secret, if they would look at them closely enough to see."

Ben barely noticed that Beatrice had stopped reading. This was it. This was what he'd known. This was how he would fly. He knew, instinctively, that somewhere, who knew how far back, he was related to this story. It was a part of his blood.

The Legacy of Icarus.

Names that betray their secret....Amy Swallow...

Which meant that he could leave his body and his freed soul would take the shape of a bird, whenever he willed it to happen.

Names that betray their secret....Beatrice Ravenclaw...

So much made sense now. Why he'd been drawn to Beatrice. Why she understood him. She too had the gift, the legacy.

He looked up, to tell her, to share his joy and wonder with her, to celebrate their discovery.

"Bea..." he began. But the words died on his lips.

Where Beatrice had been sitting reading, her body was slumped over the book.

And on her shoulder, sat a small, brown bird, with eyes that were vibrant and dancing and alive.