The Heiress

When I landed, I had to jump back quickly. Maybe I hadn't been concentrating very hard because I ended up balanced right on the edge of the cliff. A wrong step would've had me going head over bum onto the sandy shore below. Wouldn't've been one of my finest moments. Rather like the first time I'd come there - that hadn't been one of my finest moments, either.

I edged away, the roar of the ocean below filling my ears and the salty air stinging my nose. I turned round and saw the house. It was all dark except for what looked to be a candle or a lantern in an upstairs window. I just stared for a moment. Even so remote and lonely in the gloom of the mist and a moonless night, Shell Cottage still was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen.

I'd often wondered why Bill and Fleur had given it up, though I had my suspicions. It had been their first home as a married couple, after all. I reckoned they'd envisioned raising a few sprogs and growing old in the cottage, and when the sprogs didn't happen, the dream sort of soured around the edges.

When they decided to move to France years back, I assumed Harry and Ginny would take it over, but Ginny preferred being in the city and I think for Harry, there'd been more unpleasant than pleasant memories associated with the place.

I'd never told anyone, but I'd thought about Shell Cottage a lot over the years. I could almost see myself and Hermione living there, happy and married, raising one or two sprogs of our own, me teaching them Quidditch and her scolding that we should mind the edge, sending them off to Hogwarts eventually, and the two of us still there, walking along the shore hand in hand, and growing old together doing the same. It would've been ... nice. A boy and a girl, maybe. Both of them with her eyes and her smile, and my hair, I reckon. There probably wouldn't've been any escape from the Weasley hair.

I shook my head. There wasn't any time for daydreaming about the past. I'd come there for a specific purpose and it was time to get to it. I skulked up through the winding paths, through the garden, averting my eyes when I got to the bushes that hid Dobby's grave. Everything around the cottage was dark and still. Even though I had the Invisibility Cloak, and I was expected, I knew I couldn't just stroll up and knock on the front door.

I crept round the outside of the house, searching, and it wasn't until I'd gone to the back that I found what I was looking for - an open window. I swung up, braced myself, and vaulted soundlessly inside, landing in a defensive crouch. When it became clear that I wasn't going to be overtaken by Death Eaters or Aurors, I straightened up and looked around. I'd landed in the kitchen. The place had been redecorated some, but I saw the cauldron in the hearth and pots and pans along the shelves and couldn't help but remember Fleur stuffing all of us with her delicious cooking night after night while Harry and Hermione and I plotted our next move against Voldemort.

Just being back in that kitchen was like having a go with a Time-Turner, and I was 17 all over again. It didn't make sense, in a way, to say things had been so much simpler then, but they were. There'd been Voldemort and his followers to fight, the Horcruxes to destroy, and Harry to fulfill the Prophecy. The whole situation with Hermione didn't offer that sort of clarity. We didn't know what we were up against, how to defeat it or if it could be defeated at all.

The lights came on and I froze. A head poked in and looked curiously around, and a voice that was too deep to go with the head floated into the room.

"Is he in here?"

"I thought I heard a sound, but maybe not. It could have been the Withering Wrackbills tapping on the window. Did you set out the breadcrumbs? You know they get testy when they aren't fed."

Despite it all, I couldn't help a grin. I was in the right place.

"Oi, it's me," I said in a low voice. "Could you turn that off? It's like a bloody lighthouse in here."

The kitchen went back to darkness and then there were two pinpricks of wandlight. Satisfied, I shrugged out of the cloak. Even in the dimness, I could see Luna Lovegood looking me over with an approving nod.

"It's him," she said over her shoulder. "You were right; he did come in through the window."

"That old trick! Some things never change."

Dean Thomas entered the kitchen with a wide smile, and we fell into a manly sort of hug.

"Cor, mate, it's been ages!" He stepped back and gave me a long look. "Blimey, you look like hell. Is it really that bad?"

"Of course it is, Dean, or he wouldn't have Flooed us at 12:30 in the morning." Luna kind of glided into the room in that way of hers and studied me as if she'd just discovered I was part-Lethifold.

"You do look rather peaky, Ronald. Let's go into the living room. We have coffee ready, and tea, if you like."

I nodded and we all headed there. "Sorry to call so late. It really is an emergency ..."

"Oh, we were up anyway," said Luna, clearing away rattles and rag dolls from the couch so that I could sit down. "Cedric and Colin have had a time of it dropping off to sleep. They love the warbling of the Sussanin Two-lips, but when there's no moon, they nest further out to sea, you know. So it's been rather a rough night."

I glanced at Dean and saw the same sort of apologetic smile I reckoned he'd perfected ever since he and Luna had married.

"They've been driving us spare, but we've finally gotten them sorted, I think," said Dean. "How'd your mum ever manage twins, Ron?"

"She'd already had three boys by that time, so it was just more of the same, I guess - though she did say that the day Fred and George were born, she got about a thousand more wrinkles. How's your girl doing at Hogwarts? Ravenclaw, isn't she?"

"Oh, Charity is doing wonderfully," said Luna. "Likely she'll be made a prefect next year and she's on Ravenclaw's Quidditch team. She plays rather well, considering that I never learned and Dean wasn't very good at it."

"Steady on, there! I got a goal that year I was a reserve Chaser!" He gave me a pleading look. "Tell her, Ron. I wasn't rubbish at Quidditch, was I?"

"Mmm, this coffee's tasty." I gazed intently into my cup. "Is there chocolate in it? Tastes like it."

"Wanker," Dean muttered. Luna beamed at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and suddenly he didn't look so grumpy.

Despite everything going on, I had to smile. It was always brilliant to see Dean. Despite the little hiccup that happened while he was dating Ginny back when we were in Hogwarts, we'd always been good mates, and it had been such a relief when he'd gotten away from the Snatchers during Voldemort's final rise to power. He'd fought bravely with the D.A. and all the rest in the final battle. Got a nasty scratch on his arm, but that had healed in time. For a bit after the war, he'd worked at the Ministry as an architect in the Department of Magical Buildings and Edifices, but he'd left that post after a couple of years and had gone into business for himself, traveling around to different places in the world and designing buildings that for wizards and witches would be nice vacation homes and for Muggles would be what they called "amusement parks."

Luna Lovegood was ... Luna Lovegood. Still.

No, that wasn't fair. She wore motherhood well. She'd lost that 'always-startled' look she'd had back at Hogwarts and her face had filled out into an attractive roundness. Her hair was shorter and not as scraggly, and there wasn't a Butterbeer cork or dirigible plum in sight. She still had that dreamy cast to her eyes, though, and obviously had that love of unconfirmed - and bloody odd - magical creatures. She and Ginny kept in touch regularly and so I knew she'd lately been working on the illustrations for an update of the Monster Book of Monsters before she'd gotten pregnant with her twins.

It was strange to think that these two people would end up this way - together and happily married in a house I'd always wanted raising the family I'd always wanted. Luna and Dean had stayed on in Shell Cottage after me and Harry and Hermione had gone on, and from what I'd heard later from Bill, they'd gotten pretty cosy up until they'd gotten the summons from the D.A. So when Bill had mentioned he'd sold the cottage to them, it made a bit of sense - they had married right on the beach below Shell Cottage, after all. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but smoothed it over. It was good that they were happy. Merlin knew that if anyone deserved that, they did.

"So, Ronald, what is the emergency? You sounded rather frantic over the Floo," said Luna in that calm, but uncomfortably direct way of hers. "I thought that either you'd gotten into a bad batch of Plimpy soup or this has to do with Hermione Granger somehow."

"Er, the second one." I was a little surprised at how casually she mentioned that particular soup. Maybe she'd never heard the entire story from her dad about what he'd done - or tried to do - after she'd been kidnapped by the gits at the Ministry. "I don't know if you two have heard -"

"- About Hermione having been attacked by a Death Eater? Sure, it's on the Wireless nonstop," said Dean with a grimace. "They add a bit more to it each day, but it's nothing new, they're just saying the same thing in a different way. They can't find her, they say. Do you know where she is?"

I stared into my cup again. "Real good coffee, this is."

Glancing up, I saw Luna give Dean a discreet nudge and a look. Understanding smoothed across his face.

"Er, I hope she's okay, wherever she is," he said, then coughed.

"Yeah, wherever she is, I'm sure she's okay," I said carefully. "But actually, when I ... saw her last, she wasn't as okay as she should've been. She'd been poisoned."

"Poisoned? Bloody hell." Dean shook his head. "This Death Eater filth poisoned her? That's not been in any of the reports."

"Yeah, and I don't think the Ministry wants it to be. That's why I'm here." I looked at Luna. "I heard that your father wrote a story a while back about a potion he said the Ministry was developing. A dangerous one."

"Oh yes, there were quite a few," she said, looking wistful. "A tooth-numbing potion to throw people off the scent of the Rotfang Conspiracy, an anti-anti-werewolf serum, pastilles to mask the scent of blood on Minister Scrimgeour's breath ..."

"This one was different," I interrupted. "It was Imperio in a bottle, I've heard."

The change in her was immediate. All the softness went out of her face and it was like coming up against an iron wall.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was icy.

I glanced at Dean. He looked suddenly uncomfortable and was squirming while he placed a hand on her knee. I looked at Luna again. It was a funny thing - there were lots of words I could use to describe Luna Lovegood, but scary never came to mind. She looked scary now. My palms started sweating and I put my cup down.

"Imperio. A potion form of it. I talked to someone tonight who said she read about it in The Quibbler right before the Death Eater amnesty programme was rubbished." I eyed Luna carefully. Her expression was unchanged. "I think that's what Hermione - and a few others - have been poisoned with, and I need to see what your father wrote about it."

"Impossible," she said in a voice that matched her expression. "That potion never existed. You see, my father, recanted his story."

"He did what?"

"He recanted," she repeated. She was staring right at me, but I don't think she was actually seeing anything there. "He said he made it all up. It was in the Daily Prophet. "Quibbler Editor Admits Lying." I'm sure you saw it. It was quite a large story. He went on the Wireless to apologise for making up such a damaging story and begged forgiveness. He never discussed it thereafter. The scandal closed The Quibbler, of course. It broke Dad. He was never the same. He got disgusting owls every day calling him a liar and worse and calling into question every article that ever appeared in the magazine."

She smiled faintly. "And then he went to photograph the Swivel-hipped Spotygus in its natural habitat. Dad knew that during mating season, the Spotygus is very dangerous; they must be in order to protect their eggs. One scratch from them is deadly, and during their mating season, everyone and everything is a threat. He knew this, he always warned me. But he went anyway to photograph them the Muggle way, knowing that a Muggle camera flash would startle them and draw attention to his being there. And when they brought his body back home, he had the most content smile on his face. I like to think that ... maybe when it happened, he'd been thinking of Mummy and how much he'd missed her and how he was going to see her very soon and be with her always. And so he smiled, you see."

Dean had his arm tight around her now, but she still stared straight ahead. A huge lump rose in my throat. I'd thought Luna's dad was a coward once. I'd wanted to strangle Xeno Lovegood when he'd tried to turn Harry over to the Death Eaters who were running the Ministry back then, but later, I understood. He'd been a parent protecting his best treasure - his child. The way Harry's parents had done. The way mine had done.

"I'm sorry. Your father was a good man."

"Thank you. Your mother sent a beautiful condolence owl, and Ginny and Harry stopped in for the memorial service, of course. It wasn't very well attended." She gave a flittish smile. "But I'm sorry, Ron. Because I can't help you. Hermione was not poisoned by the potion you mentioned. It never existed. My father said he made it up, and since he's not here any longer, I can only go by his word."

"Luna, your dad was right, and you know he was!" I stared into those prominent eyes and watched them widen. "The potion does exist. It's gotten Hermione in an awful state, and others worse than her. The Ministry pressured your dad into saying he made it all up. How, I don't know. Threatened him, maybe. Or threatened you."

"Threatened me?" Her round eyes narrowed. "How do you mean?"

"He loved you. You were the best thing in his life. He was going to sacrifice Harry to keep you safe," I said. "Think about it; you and Dean were starting your lives together and Dean had a nice job at the Ministry. Charity was just a baby. Maybe they told your dad that it could all vanish in an instant, just the way the Death Eaters kidnapped you before the final battle. They knew how much that had terrified him before and they used it against him again, I'm almost sure of it."

"Wouldn't put it past them," said Dean, giving her a squeeze. "Sodding bastards. Why do you think I gave up my post?"

"All I want is to see the story. Right now, that's all I've got to go on. The Death Eater had daughters and we're pretty sure they've all taken the stuff. But instead of Imperio-ing them, it's killing them. One's died already."

Luna's eyes snapped open wide again. "How is that possible? It's not ... it's not supposed to kill anyone."

"Maybe not a witch or a wizard, but his daughters are all Squibs. The potion's like a poison for them and I've got to know where it came from and if there's any way of stopping it. Luna, please ... the girl who died was two years younger than Charity. She never had a chance, and her sisters have less than no chance if you don't help me."

Luna looked up at Dean. He nodded a little and gave an encouraging smile. She stared at him for a long time before heaving a long sigh that seemed out of place for her. When she looked at me again, I could tell that she was really seeing me this time.

"Dad destroyed most of the copies he had of The Quibbler, but I kept all of mine. I wanted to save them for the children to look at when they were older. I didn't want them to form opinions of their grandfather from people who never knew him or liked him. Charity's begun reading some of the older copies and already wants to go on holiday looking for Snorkacks. Come on. They're in my office right off the children's room."

She waved us up and we groped about by wandlight toward the stairs.

"We'll have to go quietly, now. Colin and Cedric will set up a fuss if we wake them and they realise we aren't Sussanin Two-Lips, but just in case, maybe we can imitate them. Ronald, do you know how to whistle and gargle at the same time?"

I didn't, and I hoped it wouldn't come to that. We went quietly up the stairs, past the master bedroom and the small cubby Fleur had called "ze powder room." When we'd all been stuffed in the cottage, I remember that she and Bill spent a lot of time there powdering something.

Luna stopped us in front of an open doorway that was all shadows with a muted light within that I recognised as a Nightlight Charm. I could just make out two bassinets in a room decorated with bits and pieces from Merlin-knew-where along with Muggle things. It looked more than a little odd, but I supposed the twins were too young to mind much. There was a mural on the ceiling just as there'd been at Luna's room in the house she'd shared with her father. This one had a pale blonde witch holding hands with a dark-haired, brown-skinned wizard and a young girl sitting on his shoulders. Two tiny, identical figures were floating a bit over the heads of the three and I could tell by the shinyness of the paint that they'd just been added.

"I just want to check on them," Luna almost-whispered, nodding toward the doorway. Dean and I watched her peep into each bassinet and do a bit of straightening of blankets and such. After a few minutes, she turned to us smiling.

"It's all right. They're quite asleep. You could both come in if you liked. My office is just through the little door there."

We went in softly as Luna murmured an unlocking spell and disappeared through a small door. Dean peered in each bassinet, doing the same straightening Luna had done and making rather a mess of it.

"They were a surprise. We thought we were done after Charity." His face got mushy as he gazed down at his boys. "They're beautiful, yeah?"

"Well they take after Luna, don't they? Lucky sprogs."

Dean chuckled, and I grinned. It wasn't true. It was somewhat dark despite the Nightlight Charm, but I could tell the twins had Dean's colouring and his hair, and from the look of it, they'd likely have his height, too, eventually.

"I'm going to have them on brooms before they can walk," said Dean. "Get them used to Quidditch, though I hope they'll be interested in Muggle football, too. But I think they'll make good Beaters the way they thrash around."

"Just make sure they get sorted to the right house," I said. "Ginny's hacked off your daughter's in Ravenclaw. She said she could use her on Gryffindor's team."

"It was close. Charity told us the Sorting Hat couldn't make its mind up between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw but came down on Ravenclaw because her middle name's Rowena."

"Huh. Good thing Salazar Slytherin's middle name wasn't Bilius," I was saying when the door opened a crack. We turned and saw just one round eye blinking at us expectantly.

I looked uneasily at Dean. "Does that mean we should go in?"

"I suppose. Been married 14 years this spring and I still don't understand most of her expressions. But, come on."

We went through the little door, shutting it behind us. The contrast between this room and the one we'd just left was startling. It was almost like a dungeon, this was, with dark, sweating walls, stone floor and a sort of gloominess that made it seem smaller than it was. I didn't remember this room during my stay at Shell Cottage. There were hand-drawn photographs all around of animals I'd never seen before and didn't want to. Luna was seated at a little desk and scattered all around her were dusty boxes.

"This was a linen cupboard before," she said. "I enlarged it some and changed it around a bit. I like to feel as if I'm in the creatures' natural habitat when I'm drawing them."

I looked around again. There didn't seem to be anything natural about this place. Dean didn't look like it was his favourite room in the house, either.

"Its, um, interesting. Are those the magazines?" I nodded at the boxes.

"Yes, here are all of them."

"Then we'd better get started looking for that one," I said, grimly looking down. There had to be a dozen boxes or more. "It was from 10 years ago, so we might have a lot of digging to do."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. I have an Organisation Charm on them. I got the idea when we went for a visit to Dean's family." She smiled at Dean. "The Muggles have the most interesting artifacts. One of Dean's sisters showed me how to use the computer. You've heard of those, Ronald?"

"I think so. My dad pronounces it comporter, though." I said. "Whatever it is, he can't get it to work. He likes to sit in the shed sometimes just pressing the buttons."

"Pity, because it's brilliant. Did you know that Muggles only have to write what they are searching for on the computer and it pops up in seconds on a little screen? Sometimes with pictures. Key-word search they call it, right, love?"

"Yeah. Couldn't pry Luna off the Internet," said Dean with a grin. "She even did a search for Snorkacks and it came up as a candy in Denmark."

"Yes, obviously a Muggle-born deciding to poke fun," Luna said serenely. "At any rate, I've charmed my copies of The Quibbler in a similar fashion. All I have to do is say one or two words associated with an article and the issues in which that word or those words appeared pops out."

Dean laughed and elbowed me in the side. "There's that Ravenclaw cleverness for you, yeah?"

"But what if there's more than one story with the words you use?"

"That happens often. There are quite a few articles on nargle eradication, particularly in the winter issues, but I don't think there will be a problem in this case." She waved her wand, and in a deep voice, intoned: "Imperio, potion, Revelato!"

The boxes glowed bright orange, and then blue, and then purple. Slowly, one box sort of hopped off from the others, trembling and rocking from side to side. There was a rustling sound and slowly, one magazine rose from the box and flapped its pages like some great paper bird. Luna lured it in with her wand and it fell into her lap. She picked it up, studied it, and then held it out to me.

"This is the one. I remember the main article. Dad worked for weeks on it."

I took it eagerly and scanned the cover. It was typical Quibbler fare: a story about the regenerative properties of Umbugular Slashkilter droppings, an expose on the rise of the illegal breeding of Burlyhurl Bison, and that cover story Luna mentioned - Ludo Bagman: Wizard, Werewolf or Wardrobe?

"I don't see anything about a story on potions."

"Oh, Dad would never have put it on the cover. The Ministry would never have let him publish the issue," said Luna. "Check on page 14. Dad always liked to put the real juicy stories opposite the advertisements."

I opened it up to that page and saw a huge color advertisement for Gladrags' Annual Sale with some of the gaudiest robes I'd ever seen floating around the page. I thought I'd go blind just looking at it and forced my eyes to the opposite page. There were more advertisements, but not quite as obnoxious, and then at the bottom, in tiny print that could barely be seen with naked eye, was this:

*

An 'Unforgivable' Act?

Sources tell the The Quibbler that the Ministry's plan for the repatriation and amnesty of those who were in league with the dark wizard Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka You-Know-Who, aka Lord Thingy, includes some disturbing elements.

According to a reliable source, the Ministry is, among other things, developing a strong potion that will have an effect not unlike the Imperius Curse. When taken, a wizard or witch will be able to be controlled by verbal commands.

Formally called the "Mind Your Manners Potion," it has been nicknamed the "Minding Potion" by those familiar with the process. It is expected that the former dark wizards will be administered this potion upon their return from Cardiff. Ministry sources have said that the stated purpose of this potion is not to punish, but to have safeguards in place for the wizarding community.

"These are Death Eaters," the source said. "They're not going to just give up the evil because Rufus Scrimgeour promises they won't get tossed into Azkaban."

This reliable source says, however, that there is a decidedly dark side to this potion prescription.

"It's a slippery slope, now isn't it? The Imperius Curse is an Unforgivable for a reason. This potion's just a soft way around it. What if the secret gets out? Can you imagine - shopkeepers can dose their patrons with this potion and make them buy everything on the shelves. Students down at Hogwarts could slip a bit of it in the Headmistress' tea and make her do a tarantella in the Great Hall. And it wouldn't stop there. It's mad, but Old Scarehair (Minister Scrimgeour) feels it's necessary to the amnesty. He doesn't give a pauper's piss who else might get hurt."

Requests for comment from the Ministry were met with a suggestion to "bugger off."

*

"So, the Ministry did make this potion," I said after reading it over again a few more times. "They were going to give this to the amnesty blokes?"

"Yes. It was to ensure that they could never hurt anyone again," said Luna. "If they'd decided to go back to their evil ways and start attacking Muggle-borns or Half-bloods, they could be stopped without someone having to use their wand. Just a spoken command would do it."

"What about Muggles? Would it have worked that way for them, too, if a wizard attacked them?"

"No, but that wouldn't have been an issue," answered Luna. "These men were going to be heavily monitored, remember, as a part of their parole. They'd not be able to travel to Muggle areas."

"So much for forgive and forget," I muttered, looking at the article again. "The Ministry really wanted to make sure these blokes kept to the amnesty."

"And why not?" Dean's eyes had a hard, bitter light in them. "My biological dad was probably murdered by Death Eaters. That lot in Cardiff was evil through and through, and I always thought the amnesty programme was a bloody stupid idea. But if they were going to bang on with it, I wouldn't've had any objection to this potion. Harry didn't form the D.A. until fifth year. Charity's only a third year, and they barely teach DADA anymore, as if it isn't needed now that You-Know-Who is dead. I wouldn't've fancied the idea of her walking around Hogsmeade unprotected with that scum hanging about. At least with this potion, my girl would've had a fighting chance if they decided to try something."

"Dean, it's horrible to control anyone by any means no matter the situation. It goes against the very idea of magic," said Luna quietly. "This was an awful idea by the Ministry. If they trusted the men so little, they never should have offered amnesty in the first place. Though as it turned out, it didn't matter in the end."

"No, it didn't," I muttered. "But this is the potion that Gregory Whetwistle gave Hermione, all right. I'd be willing to bet a Galleon on it."

"But why would he give it to his own daughters," asked Luna, looking puzzled. "Didn't he know they were Squibs?"

"Luna, love, the git was a bloody maniac. He probably didn't give a toss and felt he could control them anyway. Might've even given it to his wife, if he'd had one. Merlin!" Dean looked disgusted. "On the Wireless reports, they say they're not sure who killed this Whetwistle bloke, but whoever it was, I'd like to shake his hand."

I nodded absently, still looking at the story. Several things didn't smell right to me. Such as, how Whetwistle would've gotten the potion formula in the first place, if it had begun as a Ministry programme? He'd lived as a Squib up until the bitter end, but he almost certainly had to have had some contacts in the Ministry itself.

He'd gotten the potion to dose Hermione from somewhere. Maybe it was being sold, and maybe that's how it fell into the hands of whoever had poisoned his daughters. I doubted it was the other way around.

"Luna, is there any way to find out who this source was who talked to your dad?" I asked. "I know it was a long time ago, but did he mention anyone specifically or did you have any visits by anyone who looked like they might've been in the Ministry that might've been the person in this article?"

"No, there was nothing like that. I could find out for you who it was." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Dad wouldn't approve. He said it was very important to protect one's sources, especially since he didn't have very many reliable ones. He mentioned that some Muggle journalists would go to jail rather than give up their sources."

"Your dad would approve of this," I said. "It's the only chance we have. The person who talked to your dad knew a lot about the potion. Whoever that is might know how to stop it or if there's an antidote."

"He's right, Luna," said Dean quietly. "There's a young girl already dead, and Hermione Granger's a Gryffindor and my friend. If you know how to find out who this is, we owe it to both of them to tell Ron."

Luna seemed to waver a moment. She looked at me. "Ronald, you're certain you'll be able to find who hurt these poor girls? And Hermione Granger?"

"If it takes my last breath."

She nodded sharply. "Good. Then it will also be proven the potion did exist, and Dad's name will be cleared at last. I'll be right back."

Luna was swallowed up by a darkness so complete that I wondered if she was even still in the house, let alone the room. There were sounds of rummaging and an exclamation of delight. When Luna emerged into the light, Dean and I reared back. Her face was covered by the largest pair of Spectrespecs I'd ever seen. They looked to be encrusted with snail shells and the lenses were bright yellow and spinning crazily in different directions.

"Luna, this isn't any time to mess about," Dean said sharply. "This information -"

"- Is right in front of us and I can see them with these," she said, tapping the things. "The Ministry often tried to get Dad to give up his sources, so he decided to beat them at their own game. He charmed the text to contain the name of his confidential sources, but they can only be seen with these Spectrespecs. That way he was able to truthfully tell the authorities that the information they wanted was right on the page."

Dean and I glanced at each other. "Merlin, I love this woman," he said with a lopsided grin.

She smiled brilliantly at him and held her hand out for the magazine.

"Hmmm ... now let's see what we have here." Luna bent her head over the pages and her hair fell forward, covering her up like a curtain. There was dead silence for about a moment too long.

I could barely keep myself still. "Well?"

She looked up, her mouth twisted to the side in something that wasn't a smile or a frown. "This is very odd. Very odd indeed."

"What? It's a name you don't recognise? Maybe it's a foreign bloke." Dean took the monstrous glasses from her, plunked them on and had a look for himself. I saw him sound out what was there on the page and his whole face seemed to crumple.

"This isn't even a name ... it's like some sort of code."

"Let me see," I said. Dean shrugged and handed me the things. They were heavier than they looked and smelled faintly of onions. When I put them on, everything looked oily and yellow as if someone had submerged everything in a tin of melted butter. My head started to ache, but I took the magazine back and gazed determinedly at the page. The rest of the writing was faint and indistinct, but in bold, dark letters every time the article mentioned the Ministry "source," there was a string of symbols and numbers.

"You see what I mean?" Dean asked as I stared down. "I can't make any sense of that."

Maybe Dean couldn't, but I could. I looked up and plucked off the Spectrespecs.

"It's not a name. It's an identification number. A prisoner identification number," I said grimly. "Whoever this 'source' was, he'd been in Azkaban."