Girl Most Likely

Girl Most Likely
by LizBee

Chapter Seven

The bright morning sunlight streamed through the windows behind Ron, Enid and Harry. It reflected off the golden College Seal that hung behind Tenebreas Lux's desk. The visual effect was stunning: the Director of the College of Aurors, haloed in brilliant light. It was also incredibly uncomfortable for the unlucky guest who stood in the wrong spot - in this case, Ron. The light shone in his eyes, giving him a headache and doing nothing to improve his temper.

Oblivious to Ron's discomfort, Lux steepled his fingers and said thoughtfully, "And you truly believe the girl is in danger."

Harry said, "Yes, sir."

"We are Aurors, Mr Potter. Not bodyguards, or petty law enforcers."

"If I thought this was just a matter for the law, sir, I wouldn't be making this request. And as for being bodyguards … we protect the people from Dark magic. Whether it's one person under threat, or an entire society. I'm convinced that the Dark Order is at work here, even if they are just working against individuals - a family - instead of society as a whole. A similar request was made two years ago. I'm sure you remember the consequences of your refusal." The next words came reluctantly and painfully. "My wife died."

Damn, thought Ron, he's just found the argument that Lux can't beat. He wasn't cynical enough to think that Harry had chosen this course simply to get his way, but it chilled him to hear Harry draw a comparison between Lilith Borgin and Ginny.

Lux evidently realised there was no way he could get around Harry's argument - certainly not in front of the widower himself, and the brother of the … victim. He sighed heavily. "Very well, Mr Potter. I will assign you and your Coterie to this duty."

Enid scowled, moving forward. "With respect, sir, this hardly requires the attention of a full Coterie-"

And it's not Harry's Coterie, anyway, Ron added mentally. Give a bit of credit, would you? Not everything revolves around him. For the first time in his life, he wondered if perhaps Professor Snape hadn't been on the right track, all those years ago.

He'll be back to squash Harry back into place, no doubt.

Lux ignored them.

"I must admit," he continued, "that my decision two years ago has often weighed on my mind…"

"Mine, too," said Harry.

"I would do things differently - I am doing things differently. You should protect this young woman, Mr Potter."

"I intend to."

"Good lad." Lux shuffled some papers. "Minister Leach will object, of course … politics, you know. But you can be sure that the First Coterie will be allowed to protect the Borgin girl, at least until her father returns."

"Sir," said Enid, "request permission to assign three Aurors to search for Professor Snape in France. If he is in danger-"

Lux's lips tightened at the mention of Snape. "We have very little evidence that he is in direct jeopardy. And he is surely capable of taking care of himself."

Enid opened her mouth, then changed her mind and subsided, looking worried.

"Now, Harry," Lux went on, "I appreciate your work in Diagon Alley the other day."

"I didn't do anything, much."

"No, but the media attention was quite positive, in light of the circumstances … and, of course, following the Borgin arrest…"

Ron watched Lux speak to Harry, ignoring the other Aurors. He was accustomed to playing second fiddle to the Boy Who Lived, and as he got older, he cared less and less. But Enid was growing angry, and Ron could understand why. This wasn't a flashy red carpet premiere at the Golden Wand, it was a professional situation, and Enid's seniority and authority had been completely sidestepped. And not for the first time.

Look at me, Ron silently ordered Lux, who was now speaking of his son, a public and embarrassing disappointment to his accomplished father. Acknowledge me. Acknowledge Enid. Had his boss always been so focused on Harry? Of course not; they had spoken before. Ron had always believed that he had a good relationship with Lux.

After they were dismissed, Harry turned to his companions with a satisfied smile. "Well," he said, "that went well."

Enid stared at him, and for a moment, Ron thought she was about to attack Harry. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked off, face like a thundercloud. Harry turned to Ron.

"What did I say?"

***

Hermione was less than pleased when her husband Apparated into her office at lunchtime, or what would have been lunchtime if she had time to eat. Her ire deepened when she discovered the reason for the invasion.

"He wasn't acting normally," Ron said earnestly. "I mean, usually he avoids Lux all together, and leaves the official stuff to Enid. And, you know, he's a bit clueless sometimes, but he's not stupid."

"None of this suggests mind control, Ron. And Imperius doesn't work on Harry anyway. Even if it did, I don't see the point in attaching Harry to Lilith Borgin."

"It could be a distraction."

"Distraction from what? You're not doing anything until Borgin has had his trial, and Second Coterie is doing most of the work in guarding him."

"Maybe someone's planning something. Set enough Coerceo Curses in public places, and we won't have Aurors to spare for guarding Borgin."

"Then where would Lilith become involved? If someone's planning something, they're making it jolly obvious, getting Harry out of the way like this." Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron, I realise the Snape girl gives you the creeps, but that's no reason to assume that she's involved in anything Darker than listening to rotten music and wearing too much eyeliner. Anyway, an Auror's instincts are completely unreliable, and have been insufficient grounds for conviction since 1983 - and no, I wouldn't try asking Sirius to get that changed.

"As for being the object of yet another teenage infatuation, well, Harry knows how to handle it. I had to lecture him about propriety, not morality."

"Aren't you worried at all?"

"I trust Harry to do the right thing. I can't stop him from making an ass of himself in the process. I'm an Unspeakable, not a miracle worker."

***

The presence of seven Aurors in Lilith's home, and the ensuing increase in wards and protections, made her skin crawl. She still felt unwell from the previous day's attack, and the aura of paranoia pervading her house gave her a headache. She wondered what the neighbours, Muggles all, must think.

"Don't worry about that," Dennis Creevey told her when she asked. "We've put up Obfuscating Charms - anyone who looks will just see a quiet suburban house. And if they spend too much time hanging around, the Confusion Charms will kick in."

Alone of all the Aurors, Dennis was friendly with Lilith. Harry was distracted, and Weasley avoided her. She knew Enid Zabini slightly, for her niece was in Lilith's class, and Enid herself had spent two months at Hogwarts a few years ago, using the school as a base for northern operations. She'd taken no interest in Lilith then, though she was quite friendly with Snape, and she was brisk and uninterested now. The others were merely too busy to pay attention to Lilith. Dennis was the only one who took the time to keep her informed of their activities, and she was sorry when he Apparated over to Aunt Arabella's house, to ensure that it, too, was secure.

Uncomfortable with the presence of strangers, Lilith retreated to her room, put on the angriest, loudest music that she could find, and brooded.

Potter. She shouldn't have been surprised at his retreat. It was typical of adults, in her experience, to spend time with her and move on. The only exceptions were her father and Aunt Arabella, and it wasn't as though they had any choice about staying with her. On the contrary, they'd never even left her alone like this before, always worrying that she'd get in trouble somehow. This summer marked the first time she'd been left unsupervised for an extended period of time, and look how it had worked out: she had been linked to a known Dark wizard and placed under virtual house arrest, with a Coterie of Aurors to guard her.

When her father found out about this, she'd never be allowed to leave the house again.

Lilith leaned back, fanning herself with the Daily Prophet. Words and phrases leapt out at her: "shocking attack … victims included noted Auror Arabella Figg and Lilith Snape, daughter of the Hogwarts Headmaster and notorious Dark witch …Harry Potter was immediately on the scene…"

Lilith threw the newspaper across the room, biting her lip. Sweat was running down her face and back, and her head was pounding. She was assailed by a memory: an illness she'd suffered when she was four.

It had been her father's practice to Apparate down from Hogsmeade on some weekends, when he was able, or willing, to leave the school. Sometimes he would spend the whole two days with her, but it was usually just a few hours, or less. Sometimes, he would simply regard her over the dining room table, asking simple questions about her days. She was never brave enough to ask questions of him in return, but she listened to his conversations with Arabella, memorising phrases and repeating them to herself after he was gone. She had never been able to shake the suspicion that she displeased him in some way.

One weekend, though, she had been too sick to sit up, let alone spend time with her father. For several days, she had been near-delirious with odd dreams: she was assailed by whispering snakes and cold, scaly hands.

She had emerged from one such episode to find her father present, speaking to Aunt Arabella and Doctor Fallowmarsh. None noticed that she was awake.

"…Very worrying," the Doctor was saying. "I've only seen dreams like these in the victims of-"

"I know where you've seen them."

"Juvenile flobberpox can sometimes stimulate-"

"She's not dreaming of the future," snapped Aunt Arabella, "she's dreaming of the past." Softly she said, "She's calling for her mother. She hasn't done that since-"

Snape interrupted. "What treatment do you recommend, Doctor?"

"We'll simply have to strengthen the charms we're already using." Fallowmarsh gave Snape a careful look. "There was once a potion which was more effective, but no one on our staff has been able to brew it since Cyanna Jigger was killed during the war with You-Know-Who. She was poisoned, I recall…"

"Show me."

Lilith had drifted off to sleep. The next hallucinations were halted by a potion sliding down her throat, and scaled hands were replaced by those of her father, as he held her up to drink. She couldn't remember if he said anything, or had a kiss or gentle pat for her head, but the memory of her father's hands was indelibly printed on her mind.

Lilith's ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Harry entered.

"Good evening, Potter."

"Lilith. Glad you're here." With a careless wave of his wand, her stereo was muted. "I was starting to think you'd flown the coop."

"Your colleagues didn't seem particularly interested in me. Nor did I care for them."

"I know, I know, anti-social tendencies run in the family. But come downstairs. Most of the others have gone back to the Tower, and we've managed to prise my friend Hermione out of her office."

Lilith was somewhat daunted at the prospect of meeting the formidable Hermione Granger, whose book and articles had formed the basis of her own intellectual inclinations. Not to mention the fact that she was rumoured to be an Unspeakable, and if her quite-boringly-average husband had hated Lilith on sight, how hostile would Granger be?

Her hesitation must have been apparent, for Harry added, "Anyway, you'll be wanting dinner, won't you? We're having Indian."

Lilith smiled slightly. "Surely there are rules about Aurors having Indian delivered? Think of the possibilities for poisoning."

"Of course there are. That's why we sent Dennis out to pick it up. From a restaurant chosen at random. On the other side of the country."

Despite herself, Lilith felt a wave of pleasure at Harry's rare grin. He must have known that he'd won, for he held her door open and bowed her past. Reluctantly, she conceded victory, but contained her laughter, settling for a regal smile. But she almost skipped down the stairs; it felt like an age since she'd wanted to laugh.

Hermione Granger was of average height, nondescript but for her clever brown eyes. Her figure was developing a hint of matronly plumpness, and wisps of brown hair escaped from her bun. Her brown eyes were alight with curiosity as she shook Lilith's hand.

"I've heard an awful lot about you," she murmured. Lilith was turning to Harry to find out what was meant by this, when her gaze was caught by an older man, whose salt-and-pepper beard only partially concealed the lingering gauntness of his cheekbones.

"Sirius Black," he introduced himself.

"Lilith Borgin."

He gave her a speculative look akin to that she had received from Weasley. "You have your mother's eyes."

"I know. My uncle told me."

He bared slightly yellow teeth in a grin. "I doubt your father discusses her much."

"No. He doesn't." She was on the verge of asking if Black had known her mother well, when Weasley Apparated in, bearing drinks.

"Beer for the men, apple juice for the pregnant and underage. Who are, fortunately, not one and the same." He kissed the top of Hermione's head. She smiled up at him, saying, "You went out to Muggle shops wearing those?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, robes were in fashion last year."

"Last winter. Muggles don't have Cooling Charms, you know."

Weasley sat on the floor, leaning back against Granger's legs. Their comfortable bickering continued until Dennis Apparated in with three kinds of curry, rice and naan.

"What I want to know," he said as Sirius belatedly went looking for plates, "is why I'm the food boy. I'm not even the youngest in the Coterie, anymore."

"You're the shortest. I heard that Marion tried to beat you up."

"Scurrilous lies. She was asking me out to dinner while we were sparring. Anyway, the estimable Mr Potter is an inch and a half shorter than me."

"Yeah, but you weren't starved as a kid," said Harry.

"Oh no, not the 'I deserve special treatment because I'm a famous orphan who saved the world' routine."

"Yeah," Weasley added, "not in this house. Anyway, when was the last time you saved the world?"

Granger smiled. "What have you done for us lately, Harry?"

"Well, I agreed to be godfather to your fluffy-haired, super-smart babies. Is there any way I can get out of that, by the way?"

"I'd start running now, Harry," said Black. "Godchildren are a trial. Especially the ones who think the little matter of defeating the Dark Lord makes them special. Didn't you learn anything in Snape's classes?"

"Not Potions," said Ron and Hermione together.

"Right, Lilith," said Harry, "here's the plan. You take over the world, I'll stop you moments before your evil plan succeeds, and live off the rewards."

Lilith had been enjoying the show, forgotten in a corner. Reluctantly she said, "What's in it for me?"

"I'll fund your escape route. Name your island, I'll buy it for you. Might even join you, once the hero-worship wears thin."

Hermione, Lilith noted, was no longer laughing. Nor were Weasley or Black. She gave Weasley a challenging look and said, "I may take you up on that, Potter."

Harry seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. "Should be highly amusing."

Lilith returned to obscurity, watching the others in silence for the rest of the night.

Later, she paused in the kitchen doorway to watch Harry and Black clean up. Neither saw her, and she was about to announce her presence when Harry said, "Oh, Sirius? I've contacted Remus and asked him to look for Snape. Figured you'd like to know if Remus comes home. "

"That's not likely to happen. He has a lot more freedom in Europe than here. Is the Snape hunt out of his way?"

"He was in western Europe anyway. And this is what he does - he's good with this sort of thing."

Black smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd want Snape around."

"I don't, but - well, I can hardly let him be. To be honest, though, I'm not sorry to be delegating this to Remus."

They shifted to put away the dishes, and Black said, "What do you mean?"

"I've got a lot on my mind." In the reflection from the kitchen window, Lilith saw Harry remove his glasses and rub his eyes. "I've never co-ordinated an operation this complicated. Not with half my Coterie more interested in Borgin, and my friends and family involving themselves at will…."

"It's all right to ask for help, you know. Assign Second Coterie to Lilith - they seem to be doing the grunt work on the Borgin case, why not this?"

"Not their job. Anyway, they're assisting Third Coterie with the attack on Diagon Alley - that's the biggest case at the moment."

"I thought that Lux wanted you lot to be more flexible."

"He certainly likes to give that impression," said Potter bitterly. "But we're tied up in rules and bureaucracy … the old system might have had problems-"

"To put it lightly," Black murmured.

"-But at least we were free to act against Dark magic when we saw it. Now we have to ask permission to breathe, and most of our time goes into playing public prosecutor. All because the Ministry wanted to modernise."

"They were a little hasty to adopt every 'good' idea the Muggle world has produced in the last three decades. I can't say I'm particularly happy to be opposing Aurors in the courtrooms, either."

The conversation turned to politics. Lilith slipped away unnoticed.

***

Hermione watched Lilith move outside, ending her spell of eavesdropping. She waited a few minutes, and followed.

She found Lilith on a small porch at the back of the house, sitting up on the railings and staring into the dark garden.

"Good evening," Hermione said quietly.

"Ms Granger."

Hermione noted the use of the Muggle title in silence, sitting down on the steps and staring, like Lilith, into the gloom.

"I'm sure your father will be all right," she said eventually.

"I've no doubt of it. And frankly, the longer he's away, the happier I'll be."

"Do you expect to be in trouble when he returns?"

"I went into Knockturn Alley to spend time with a known Dark wizard, was caught in the act by an Auror, became the possible victim of an attack and ended up in the protection of an entire Coterie, and under the special care of the Boy Who Lived himself. Wouldn't you have something to say, if it were your child?"

"Probably. Will it make any difference to your father that the Dark wizard in question was your uncle?"

"Of course. It will make him angrier."

"I could speak to him for you."

"I really don't believe that will help." Hermione watched the girl lean back, and wished she could read minds.

"What do you want to do?" she asked suddenly.

"Do?"

"After school. You must have ideas."

"Did you?"

"I - yes. I was going to be an Auror, or a mediwitch, or a teacher. Or I was going to work in the Ministry. Or possibly become a dentist." Lilith smiled thinly. Hermione sighed. "Mostly, I just wanted to survive school."

"I'd like to survive my summer holidays."

Hermione laughed out loud. "That sounds like something Professor Figg would say."

"I suppose it is. She practically raised me." Lilith twirled a strand of lank hair around her finger. "Would it be possible for me to visit her? I hate to think of her, alone in the hospital…"

"I'll talk to Harry."

"Thank you." Lilith leaned forward, toying with the lace on her sleeves. "I'd like to write," she said suddenly. "I don't know what. But I see things, and I write. I don't know … maybe I could write novels, not that I'd ever be published." She sneered. "Everyone's so bound up in the Daily Prophet, and Witch Weekly. We don't need fiction in the wizarding world, we already have the media."

"I can't argue with that. But I think you should write fiction, if that's what you want. People will read it, if it's worthy."

"You can't make a living that way."

"Why not? I make a living from writing about anything I see." Lilith gave her a frankly sceptical look. Hermione ploughed on, "our numbers are too small to maintain a rich cultural life, but we can surely do better than what we have … no one thinks, no one analyses … sociological concepts that were out of date among Muggles fifty years ago are revolutionary, here."

"You write. You think."

"Not fiction."

"So?"

"Anyway, I hardly have a monopoly … look at Morag MacDougal, and Pandora. Look at those Americans from the Rambaldi Institute. I could introduce you to Morag, if you like. She'd publish fiction, if it were good."

Lilith retreated behind her hair. "It's not good. It's not … I'd prefer not to embarrass myself. I'm no good … I always burn everything. Even my diaries, most of them. It's never good enough. I forget so much … I can never write it properly."

"Not now. But perhaps with practice…" Hermione got to her feet. "Think about it. My offer stands."

***

Granger obviously had a word in Potter's ear, for the next day he, Ron Weasley and Michael Truelake accompanied her to St Mungo's. Aunt Arabella was still unconscious, but Lilith was certain her eyelids flickered at the touch of her hand.

Weasley joined her at Aunt Arabella's bedside, while Harry and Truelake spoke to the guard outside.

"She'll be fine," he said. "She'll be fine…"

"Of course she will. She could live through anything."

Her godmother looked old, though, and worn. It was difficult to distinguish between her white, translucent hair, and the pillows beneath her head. Lilith touched her hand again, and was rewarded with another subtle flicker of the eyelid.

"She'll live."

Weasley exhaled. "She was great, you know, as a teacher." He spoke softly, as if he didn't want Harry to hear them. "She taught me heaps … Lupin was good, but he never really got involved. Professor Figg split us up - put Hermione at the back of the classroom, and me and Harry on either side. We had to work in her class. She made me learn … the things she taught me have saved my life a dozen times."

"What about Potter? What did he learn?"

Weasley snorted. "The lesson your father couldn't teach him. That not liking Harry Potter isn't the same as being evil. Oh, and that it's dangerous to have someone who knew you as an infant sharing meals with Snape."

Lilith smiled slightly.

"I wish I could have known her when she was young."

"Me, too," said Weasley wistfully. He dropped a kiss on Arabella's forehead and muttered, "Get well, Professor."

She allowed Weasley to lead her out of the room. Potter was leaning against the wall outside. "How is she?" he asked. His nonchalance was forced, but the mere attempt irritated Lilith.

"She'll recover. Thank you for asking," she spat, and stalked ahead of him through the corridors. Weasley gave her a wry half-grin as she passed him.

***

"Well. This is all very interesting."

Lilith looked up from her book to find Isobel Zabini looking down at her, a small half-smile on her mouth.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mum lost patience with me and sent me to stay with Aunt Enid, and when I heard who she was guarding, I talked her into letting me join you for a day." She gracefully threw herself into a chair, her robes arranging themselves to show off her best assets. "Aren't you glad to see me? You must be utterly bored with all of these Aurors around."

"I'm glad," Lilith said. "I wasn't expecting company today. Not of my own age."

She had hoped that Potter would be there, preferably feeling suitably apologetic for his behaviour yesterday, but Michael Truelake had told her with a smirk that he would be dealing with her uncle today. She had resigned herself to spending another day behind a book, and Isobel was the last person in her circle that she'd have chosen for company. Isobel had the dark good looks that all the Zabinis shared, but she was voluptuous and self-consciously beautiful, rather than athletic and brilliant like her aunt. Unfortunately, she was also vicious enough that Lilith was hesitant to offend her.

"It's your lucky day, then." Isobel leaned forward, giving Lilith an unwanted view of her figure. Surely she wasn't using enhancing charms again, Lilith thought, not in summer, when there were no boys around to be distracted.

The mystery was solved when Isobel said, "So, is Harry Potter around? I heard that he was your personal guard."

"Along with six other Aurors, yes."

"But he's, you know, special. Right?"

"He's in charge of this operation. But he's not here today. He has business to attend to."

Isobel pouted, but spoilt the effect by giggling. "I'll bet he does. Look at this." From her bag, she drew Wizard!. Apollo Chase, lead singer for Love Potion, was on the cover, managing to look brooding, rebellious and utterly unthreatening all at once. The tabloid's lead article was more speculation about his relationship with his soundwizard, and it took Lilith a moment to see the smaller text beneath the flashing green headline.

Dark Obsessions: the Boy Who Lived and his twisted relationship with his mentor's daughter.

"What the hell is this?" Lilith demanded, reading the article. "'Disturbed, obsessed … the man who taught him the Black Arts' … Love Potions? Are they mad?"

"I thought you should see it," said Isobel sweetly. "I knew you didn't read it usually, so I made sure you'd get a copy."

"They have no right to say this about my father!"

"What are you talking about - there's nothing there that hasn't been said a million times before."

"Not like this." Lilith stared blindly at the tabloid, a slow rage burning inside her. "They have no right to say this … they have no right to involve me."

"What are you going to do?" asked Isobel. "They say that Harry Potter hates reporters, you know."

"I can see why."

"So what's he like?"

"Isobel, this is hardly the time to feed your fantasy life. He's boring and middle-aged, and sometimes funny, in a sad, brittle sort of way. And for a man who never followed a rule in his life, he's awfully strict. I think he might be going bald, too," she lied for good measure. "Now, I need to think … Merlin, my father might see this."

"Does he read Wizard! often, then?"

"Very funny."

Lilith read the article again. Isobel wandered around the room, picking up books and putting them down again, sighing pointedly every few minutes. She was beginning to wonder when she could reasonably ask Isobel to leave, possibly citing one of her famous migraines (it might not even be a lie; there was already a pounding sensation behind her eyes), when Enid and Michael entered.

"And bring me the paperwork on Borgin's Thai dealings," Zabini said as they examined the wards on the windows, "the Magical Administration of Siam have agreed to release their own reports, and I want to examine their evidence."

"I aim to please," said Truelake.

"Really? Since when?"

"Well, since Potter has stolen my role as official Coterie arsehole-" Truelake turned and found himself face to face with Isobel, who simpered. "Oh. You must be Enid's niece."

"I'm Isobel. She must have told you about me."

To Lilith's intense amusement, Truelake gave her a quelling look and said, "Well, she mentioned a fifteen-year-old who dresses like a Knockturn Alley tart, and since you seem to have the Zabini family good looks under all that makeup, I'm going to take a wild guess."

Isobel deflated, slouching and crossing her arms, looking very much like the scared little girl who had nearly tripped over the stool in her excitement to reach the Sorting Hat. She turned to her aunt, who shook her head and said nothing.

The Aurors left the room, and Isobel muttered, "I, uh, I should go."

"That might be best."

"That article…"

"It's fine," said Lilith impatiently. "Father knows that ninety percent of Potter's media coverage is fiction."

"I know…"

Lilith lit the fire, and watched Isobel Floo out. She allowed the flames to flicker, slowly returning to orange as the powder dissipated. A quiet cough distracted her.

"I'd put that out, if I were you," said Enid, leaning in the doorway. "Wards on fireplaces are only effective if there's no fire."

"Sorry."

Enid shrugged. "No one's jumped out of the fireplace brandishing a wand, yet. Just put it out." Rather awkwardly, she said, "I'm sorry about my niece."

Lilith shrugged. "She's always like that. Anyway, it was worth it to see Truelake cut her down."

"Yes, every now and then, Michael says the right thing at the right time. Not often, though."

"Have you seen this, then?" Lilith held the magazine out.

"No. I had no idea … I'm very sorry. My sister, her mother, wanted to see what she was like with her friends. We've all been a bit worried about Isobel over the last couple of years, with the way she's been acting … My motives were entirely selfish and unprofessional."

Lilith stood up, her head pounding with every slight movement. "If this were your own operation," she said coldly, "you'd be a little more selfless and professional."

"Hmm." Zabini gave her a cool look. "You'll forgive me, but I think that Potter is overreacting. And babysitting for a teenager is hardly a job for the best and the brightest Aurors in Britain."

"Be sure to tell my father that, if I get killed." She walked away. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."

The impending migraine receded in the semi-darkness, and Lilith ended up pulling out the magazine again. She reread the article, in which she was painted as an innocent pawn in a game played by her father, and then read the whole magazine from cover to cover. For the first time, she thought of the families and friends of the hapless magical celebrities whose private lives were investigated and fictionalised for the edification of idiots like Isobel.

They say that Harry Potter hates reporters, you know.

Under Lilith's bed, concealed in one of the few diaries she hadn't burnt, were three newspaper clippings. One consisted of a large, colour photo and a small caption: two couples on a red carpet outside the Golden Wand, the leading magical theatre. The first were extroverted: Hermione Granger laughed and scolded while Ron Weasley pretended to swagger for the cameras, before he finally doubled over laughing. As they moved out of the frame, they were followed by a more sedate couple. Potter's stride was freer than the red carpet swagger that Weasley had mocked, but he blushed, and his hair fell into his face as the watching public tried to talk to him. Virginia Potter blushed even more than her husband, but she smiled and nodded as people called out to her. As they passed by, Potter caught the photographer's eye and gave him a friendly wave, pulling Virginia close and kissing her cheek.

The others were front page articles, accompanied by business-like black and white pictures. Suicide or Murder? Ministry investigates death of Virginia Potter was followed by Potter Acquitted in Murder Investigation. Lilith had almost memorised the articles.

'The Ministry of Magic has denied that Harry Potter was ever under suspicion in the mysterious death of his wife, whose murder has sparked criticism over the College of Aurors' handling of smaller cases…'

Death, rumour, acquittal (although, Lilith noted, no formal accusation), and a lingering hatred of the media. Potter had drawn his wand on a journalist three months later, only hours after he'd been awarded the Order of Merlin (Phoenix class, and hadn't her father sneered at that, a special award for the Boy Who Lived, because no one had been given the Order of Merlin, first class, twice). Potter had saved the world again, and his wife had died.

And they never caught Virginia Weasley's murderer.

Lilith turned the page, squinting in the semi-darkness. The personal ads were full of lonely witches and wizards, offers of privately brewed potions and lost puffskeins.

…beloved family pet, answers to the name of Evenda…

…grey with purple markings…

…Lost your daddy, little girl? You know better than to talk to strangers, but there are all sorts in France. It's not all you'll lose before this is over…

Lilith stared at the ad, incongruous among the missing pets and pleas for lovers.

Lost your daddy?

Her hands were clenched around the magazine, and she had to force herself to breathe. Then she was moving, throwing her door open and running downstairs to find Zabini.

to be continued