The Lion and the Unicorn

A man is in love / How did I know?

He came walking with me / And he told me so

In a song that he sang / And then I knew-

A man is in love / With you

-A Man is In Love, Waterboys

*

Although Bill seemed perfectly willing to drink himself into a stupor, Charlie had no such plans. The party was for him, and he thought it might seem a bit ungrateful if he didn't remember any of it afterwards. Besides that fact, there were teacher-training courses in the morning.

Charlie took a good sip of the Dragon's blood and felt it burn its way down his throat. The stuff was strong- good, if a bit rough and fiery, but mostly just strong. Bill, although he could hold a lot more alcohol than Charlie, wasn't going to last for long against that bottle. Shaking his head and mentally composing a thank-you note to Percy, Charlie scooped up Leon from Ginny's lap (she looked bothered by him all of a sudden and Charlie had a bad moment where he thought Leon might have done a number in his diaper), and made his way over to Harry and Remus. Remus was leaning down just enough so that he could probably talk to Harry without anyone else overhearing.

"And what are you two plotting?" Charlie asked, taking in their guilty expressions with amusement.

"Nothing," they chorused, exchanging glances. Harry cracked a grin under Charlie's scrutinizing look; Remus did better, managing to hide the guilt Harry made obvious.

"Revenge," Charlie guessed, seeing Sirius a few paces away. "You've waited a whole month, Harry; congratulations."

Harry beamed. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Charlie replied, suppressing a grin. He didn't feel the least bit sorry for Sirius. "Want to let me in on the plan?"

"No," Remus answered. "Rest assured you'll have heard about it before tomorrow."

"Wonderful. Any last words before Sirius arranges your humorous demise?"

"Yeah," Remus replied. "Tell him 'gotcha.'"

Charlie let his smile surface and shifted Leon on his shoulder, who was wriggling in a way that meant he was either extremely uncomfortable or had way too much excess energy. "I'll do that." Leon just giggled even more and Charlie resigned himself to the fact that excess energy was, in fact, the problem and that Leon wasn't likely to quiet down any time soon. He set the pre-toddler on the floor. Activity seemed to give him a natural energy high, at least temporarily. By seven o'clock, he would be out like a light.

Casting a glance across the room, Charlie saw Bill leaning heavily on a wary-looking Anya. It was painfully obvious that Bill was intoxicated (drunk, that was; Charlie had a feeling that Bill had wanted more than a professional relationship with one of his missing colleagues). Deciding that his brother needed a place to sleep off the alcohol, Charlie looked down at Leon. "Maybe we'd better save him from himself, what do you- ack!"

Leon, in his attempt to gain attention, had latched on to Charlie's trousers to pull himself upright. Still babbling 'shashasha' nonsense, Leon turned to where Sirius was standing a few meters away and headed for him as if someone had lit a fire under his behind.

Well, I'll be damned. "Sirius," Charlie called across the room. "Turn around. Slowly."

He did so, looked at Charlie, and shrugged. It was obvious that he had no idea what Charlie was so worked up about. Then he looked down and spotted Leon (who was still wobbling over) and started to laugh. "Where's Anya?"

"I'm here," she said, appearing at his elbow. Sirius jumped, then resumed grinning down at the boy.

With one last wobbly step, Leon latched on to Sirius' leg. Triumphantly, he announced, "Shashasha," and raised his arms in a wordless demand to be pampered by Sirius.

Charlie grinned at Sirius' hopeless response- he had no chance against Leon's baby charms- and went to go rescue Bill from himself and Fred, who was having way too much fun with his eldest brother's drunken state.

*

The rest of the party was uneventful as far as Weasley birthday parties went, and before Charlie knew it, it was time to leave. He said good-bye to his siblings and parents and the Dromore House residents took the Floo home. (Some of them had had far too much alcohol to think about Apparating.) Sirius had carried Leon (he'd refused to be put down after he had displayed his walking prowess); Remus was obviously dead tired; Mundungus had to lean on the wall for support; and Arabella was stumbling to bed much the same way Bill had earlier that evening.

Anya stood, fidgeting, between Charlie and the corridor that led to his bedroom. "Well," she said, not looking directly at him, "have a good time at Hogwarts, Charlie."

"Thanks," Charlie answered, feeling just as awkward. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone, and I'll see you around Halloween"

"Don't forget to write," Anya told him quietly, then smiled weakly and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Charlie whispered, but she was already gone down the hall to her bedroom.

*

The Hogwarts Express was just rolling in to platform nine and three-quarters when Charlie pushed his stuff through the gate. The platform itself was busier with more witches and wizards than Charlie had ever seen it- clearly the population of wizarding England wanted to get its shopping done in Hogsmeade before it was overrun with school-age children. Charlie scanned the crowd as he walked. There were people he had met through his father and a small group of witches he vaguely remembered from his Hogwarts days, a bunch of stiff-looking businessmen he'd never seen before, and a few witches and wizards he recognized as fellow professors. Charlie was just about to join Professors Flitwick and Sinistra in what was no doubt a very interesting conversation-

BAM. Charlie was knocked ass-over-teakettle, flat onto his back. "Ouch." He really should start watching where he was going. "I'm sorry-" he brushed himself off, then immediately began stacking luggage back onto the other cart. "I'm not usually this distracted-" He looked up to smile apologetically at whomever he'd run into and found that she was still on the ground. Charlie reached over and offered her a hand up, which she accepted readily.

"It's all right," she assured him, brushing soot off of her bright green robes. "You're not the only one who wasn't watching where he was going." She raised her head and smiled at him.

The fact that she had to raise her head to smile at him said something. This woman, Charlie realized, was extraordinarily short. She had chaotic orange hair and a more than generous smattering of freckles; emerald eyes stared out at him from under pumpkin-colored eyebrows. Charlie grinned. Maybe teaching would have more perks than he had originally thought.

The woman stumbled a bit, and Charlie reached out to steady her, wondering if she'd hit her head harder than he'd thought. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just fine," she answered, running a hand through her orange tangles. "I just need to get on my train and to that stupid conference." She had an odd lilt to her voice when she spoke, not an Irish or Scottish accent, but something altogether different.

"So where are you headed?" he asked her, hoping he sounded rather more casual than he felt.

She made a face. "Hogwarts. I'm supposed to spend a year there as a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor or I can't claim my multi-million Galleon inheritance."

Charlie blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "Er"

"No," she said, grinning. "My dad's an American Muggle and my mum's a Dutch seamstress, and neither of them has ever heard of Hogwarts before."

Which explains the accent, at least. "So you're the Defense professor," Charlie said with a smile. "Well, good luck to you. The last four teachers in your position have left you quite the legacy of weirdness to live up to."

"So I've heard," she answered, still grinning. "I guess I ought to introduce myself. I'm Chloë Sanderson."

"Nice to meet you," Charlie said, wondering if he would catch fire if he shook her hand. He risked it, and felt no physical pain. Apparently she'd gotten that sunburn from the sun rather than from some inner heat. "I'm Charlie Weasley, the CoMC replacement."

"Oh, you're the one Dumbledore was talking about!" Chloë exclaimed. "Dragon-man. Always thought you'd be taller."

Funny, Charlie thought. Dumbledore didn't say a thing about you. He sighed inwardly. Why did everyone seem to think that dragonkeepers had to be tall? "I wouldn't make short jokes if I were you," he advised, covering his mild annoyance with a smile.

"Point taken," she conceded. "I don't suppose you know when this teacher conference thing is supposed to start?"

Charlie checked his watch. "In about an hour, in the dining car," he answered.

"Great, thanks."

They sat there in near-silence a few moments longer, not looking at each other. At least, Charlie was trying not to look at Chloë. She had a perfect line of freckles straight down her nose that he couldn't stop staring at. The silence lasted about two minutes until Charlie's restraint wore off.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he finally commented, fixing on one frizzy orange curl instead of on those damned freckles.

"Oh?" she asked without interest, staring out the window.

"You do. Dumbledore's told you about me, but I haven't heard a thing about you."

Chloë blinked twice, apparently startled out of some sort of reflection, flushed beneath her sunburn, and raised an eyebrow. "What's there to know?"

"I guess I can't answer that until you tell me."

The other eyebrow went up, too. "I highly doubt that you want to hear all the details of my devastatingly boring, normal, Muggle childhood."

"Well, maybe not," Charlie conceded, not ready to give up making conversation just yet. "But I'd bet you have some fairly good stories involving accidental misuse of magic."

An unreadable expression crossed her face. "Maybe a few, but-" She looked uncomfortable. Interesting.

"Sorry," Charlie said. "You probably want to start with something less personal. Let me guess- an only child?"

Chloë shook her head. "Oldest of two, by about ten years. I was at school while Michael was growing up, so there was no real time for him to pry into my life. I suppose you're blessed with five siblings?"

"Six, actually," Charlie said. "Five brothers and a sister, so I'm used to intrusive questions. But you were close."

She shrugged. "So were you. What's your advice for dealing with the bombardment of questions I'm sure we'll receive from a staff full of veterans who are sure to big-brother us?"

"Lie. Lie to everyone about everything. Practice in the mirror. Learn to lie so well, even your own mother couldn't tell if you were or not."

"Lying to Mum never works," Chloë said somewhat wistfully.

"Well, no," Charlie admitted. "Mum knows all, sees all. But that's beside the point. Frankly, I think that anything any of the staff asks you that doesn't have to do with credentials or state of mind is a waste of your time and none of their business, not to mention irrelevant. In fact, they probably don't care about your state of mind. I bring to your attention the last four Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers"

"Yet here I feel like I'm part of the Inquisition. By your logic, shouldn't you butt out?"

"Logic? What logic? I resent the implication that logic has any bearing whatsoever on anything I say or do. Besides, I'm making it my business."

"Make it your business later, smart aleck. We're missing our conference."

*

"Do you have to look like that?" Sirius asked, unable to concentrate on his music due to the distraction in front of him. Of course, part of the problem was that Remus had been assigned to go as backup for Hagrid's negotiations with the giants, and so was not there to distract him from the distraction. "The world is not going to fall apart because Charlie Weasley isn't here with you. You can survive a few months without him."

Anya sighed, probably about to tell Sirius that he didn't understand, but apparently thought better of it. She knew that he understood, and she knew that he knew that knowing that didn't make it any easier. "I know I can," she answered. "It's just that I haven't had to for almost seven years."

Sirius raised his eyebrows and adjusted Leon on his lap. "That long?"

Anya shook her head. "Not since our somewhat messy breakup, and if you look at it a certain way, even that was easy." She looked at him forlornly. "I suppose you're going to want the whole story now."

Still reeling from the revelation that Anya and Charlie had once had a relationship, Sirius decided that jumping to conclusions was not good for one's mental health. "Well, I must admit that you've got my attention, but I get the impression you're not too thrilled at the prospect of talking about it."

"No, it's okay." She sighed, as if she wasn't terribly convinced of that herself. "It's about time I talked about it, anyway."

"Well, if you're sure," Sirius said, not about to discourage her. He set Leon down in his baby swing and flopped down on the opposite end of the couch from Anya. "Whenever you're ready."

Looking anything but sure, Anya picked up a cushion and hugged it to her chest. "I first met Charlie a little more than eight years ago, in the one-year training camp for dragonkeepers in Scotland. I graduated early, and because I had arrived a few months before Charlie, only barely knew him when I left for Romania. They put me in charge of a small cabin full of training keepers and I loved the job- lots of control over people and very little over circumstances in general- a good combination for a very interesting life."

"And that was eight years ago?" Sirius frowned. He knew that Anya was a few years older than Charlie, and most wizards chose their profession long before they even graduated from Hogwarts. "What did you do before that?"

"Oh, this and that," Anya said evasively, keeping clear of both his gaze and his question. She plucked at the fabric on the pillow. "Anyway, when Charlie showed up a few months later, the powers that be stuck him in my cabin."

"And you just happened to go from cabin-mates to bedmates because it seemed like a good idea at the time?" he asked, deciding to let her more mysterious past lie dormant a bit longer.

Anya laughed, but didn't sound amused. "Hardly. Between the six-year age difference- which seems like a lot more when one of you is nineteen- and the fact that at the time, I was practically Charlie's direct superior, sleeping together seemed like a very bad idea." She paused a moment, considering. "And then there's the fact that I was particularly volatile at that stage of my life"

Sirius coughed a bit, trying to hide his laughter. "Volatile? You? As in, Anya Dickinson volatile? And Charlie's still alive?!"

"Hey, do you want to hear the story or don't you?"

Sirius decided to shut up about the 'volatile' business for a while. "Sorry. What did Charlie do?"

"Well, Charlie ended up spending as much time wooing me as he did convincing one of the younger dragons that he was not snack food, and eventually both paid off."

"Uh huh. And then what happened?"

Anya shrugged, looking still less comfortable than she had a few minutes ago. "I wasn't in love with him."

Ouch. Talk about direct. "So then you decided to split up?"

She nodded. "He took all of his remaining vacation, and then I took mine. Simple."

"I guess." Sirius paused, feeling like he was forgetting something. "And you've never talked to Charlie about this?"

She had the nerve to look guilty. "Actually, I sort of forbade him from talking about it to anyone at all, especially me. I didn't want him to say things that would ruin our friendship."

"That sounds reasonable, if a little extreme. No wonder the poor guy has issues."

"Charlie's issues are not my fault. They are a direct result of what happened afterwards."

"Oh really?"

"But you'll have to ask Charlie about his passionate rebound-affair with Erica Yudelman."

"Aww." Sirius pouted. "Can't you give me the tiniest clue?"

"Well," Anya said, leaning in closer, "it was certainly passionate."

"Mm-hmm." A wordless request for more information.

"I think I caught the two of them going at it in just about every part of the compound."

"How long were they together?"

"Roughly speaking? About two weeks."

Sirius chuckled. "So what happened there?"

"Like I said, you'll have to ask Charlie. Now, though, I think it's my turn to ask you prying questions about your torrid love affairs."

"Fair enough," Sirius conceded. "I'll warn you that there's not much to tell. Being in prison kind of puts a crimp in your sex life."

"That's not what I heard."

"Funny. Are you going to give me the third degree about my ever-so-intriguing past, or aren't you?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Great," Sirius said, now apprehensive. "Fire away."

Anya gave him her most innocent look. "How long has it been since you got some?"

Her question caught him so completely off-guard that, had he been eating anything, he might have choked to death while she laughed at the expression of utter incredulity on his face. "What?!"

"You heard me- how long since you last, you know, did the horizontal monkeydance?"

"Horizontal monkeydance?"

"You're avoiding my question, Mr. Black."

"So would you, if you'd been in prison or a fugitive for the past fourteen years."

"So? How long?"

"Tell you later," Sirius said, and took off out of the room about as fast as his legs would carry him.

*

With Sirius gone, it was fairly safe for Anya to get out the sheets she needed for the Pettigrew case. Essentially, it was her job to decide how much the public- and the rest of the Ministry- should know about the Potters' Secret-Keeper and his past activities.

Of course, essentials aside, studying Peter Pettigrew's file meant that she also had the complete files for Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin.

Potter and Lupin had no criminal record to speak of, in fact the only reason Remus had any file at all was because he was a werewolf. Lily and James had both been Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, not to mention the parents of the Boy Who Lived; there was plenty of material on them, although most of it was fairly dry.

The most fascinating and useful file, however, belonged to Sirius Black. Records of prison activity, transcripts of visits with the Minister of Magic as well as his first few nights in Azkaban, everything. Anya learned it all by heart, from the make, model and license plate of his motorbike to the exact classification of the personality disorders the Azkaban psychiatrists had diagnosed him with.

This left Anya with something of a problem. A case against Pettigrew could not be launched if he weren't present. The case against Sirius Black, however, could be reopened, he could be retried, a new verdict could be found, and a warrant issued for Pettigrew's arrest. But to achieve that, Anya would not only have to break Sirius' trust in her, but she would have to expose her past. Which was not a great idea, considering. But

She sighed and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the no-heat flames in the fireplace. "Minister Dobson? I'd like a word."

A few moments later, the Minister of Magical Law's head was in her living room. Anya had already locked the doors so that Sirius couldn't get in. "Hello, Anya," Dave said amiably, grinning tiredly. "What can I do for you?"

"Sir, it's about the Pettigrew business-"

"Is that your jurisdiction now?" Dobson asked. "I suppose with Kent out on maternity leave"

"Yes, sir," Anya replied. Pathetic. Ten years ago, he was the one who was answerable to her and subject to her wrath, and now she had to suck up to him. "Well, obviously we can't try Pettigrew for anything- first of all, we can't find him anymore, and secondly, there's no evidence against him."

"Which leads you to what conclusion, Anya?"

"Sir, I was reviewing the files that came with Pettigrew's, and I noticed some discrepancies from what is believed to be the truth"

"And?" Dobson prompted.

Anya took a deep breath, fully aware of what she was getting in to. "Sir, I think we made a mistake when we convicted Sirius Black."

"Really?" Dave didn't seem surprised. "What evidence is there of that?"

"Things just don't match up, sir. I've read the transcript of Black's ravings his first night in Azkaban, and it clearly indicates Black's innocence. He also mentioned more than once that it was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters and blew up that Muggle street fourteen years ago."

"Where did the transcript come from?"

"It was in the attached file, sir."

"No," Dave amended, "I mean, how was it recorded? Standard Azkaban Quick Quotes Quill?"

"Yes, sir," Anya answered, cringing. "But with all due respect, Azkaban QQQs are attuned to Dementors. They can't be tampered with one way or another."

"I know that, but I'm not the one you have to convince," Dobson reminded her. "Besides, everyone's first night in Azkaban brings him close to insanity. You can't prove that what Black said was true."

"Sir, I'm sure you remember as well as I do that it is impossible to lie in the presence of a Dementor. And that Sirius Black is about the only one who didn't go insane-"

"All right," Dave conceded finally. "I guess you've made your point. But it's still not me you have to convince."

"I know, sir, but thank you. I appreciate that you've taken the time to listen to me."

Dave shook his head wearily. "What the hell are you doing in public relations, Dickinson? We could use you over here in the legal department- you know the rules better than I ever did."

"I like it here," Anya replied honestly. "But thank you for the compliment, sir. I'll let you go write up that report."

Dobson gave a nod of acknowledgement and, with a pop, was gone.

*

Flash. Click. Blink. "Ow." Sirius waved at the spots before his eyes. "You could have warned me."

Anya, tucking the camera back into the camera bag, grinned insolently. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, the two of you looked so cute together."

"Three," Sirius corrected absently, setting Leon down on the floor.

"Whatever." Anya didn't understand his insistence that the piano had a mind of its own. Then again, he spent twelve times the amount of time playing it as she did. "Isn't Leon a bit young to be learning piano?"

Sirius looked scandalized. "I was his age when I started!"

"I bet your parents just loved that."

"I did not have the world's most normal parents. They adored it when I made noise."

"Liar."

"Guilty," Sirius admitted, laughing. "Why can't I lie to you? Remus is the only other one that picks up on it like that."

"Leon is giving you his look," Anya explained. "He only does that when someone is doing something dishonest."

Sirius glanced down at Leon, his expression hurt. "You gave it away! I thought that we were buddies."

"Besides," Anya said, "you've obviously never been a parent if you think a lie like that could pass inspection. Anyway, I've got work to do. Can you handle the kid, or is it naptime for the both of you?"

"I can handle him, don't worry about it. You can have him back later. Intact, even."

"So kind of you. I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I'll call you if Leon blows up the piano."

"Shut up."

*

Harry stayed at Ron's house for the last two days of summer vacation, hiding from Sirius, who wasn't terribly thrilled that he would look exactly like Severus Snape for two days. On September first he traveled with the Weasleys in their blue Ford Anglia to King's Cross Station.

At first glance, Hogwarts looked exactly as he had left it. The lake was clear, the sky was blue, the air was crisp, and the castle hadn't changed. Harry doubted that castles changed much in general, since Hogwarts was almost exactly as it had appeared on the cover of The Very First History of Hogwarts, which Hermione had insisted on yammering in his ear about. Apparently it was a fascinating leaflet on how Hogwarts had been built and by whom and the cost of such a venture. Of course, Hermione was the only one who called it a leaflet. It had three hundred seventy-five pages. Harry had no idea about most of it; he hadn't been listening since Hermione had mentioned 'history.'

About the only thing that was different about the grounds was the perimeter, which was now being patrolled by a group of Junior Aurors. At their head was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, which reminded Harry once again that even Hogwarts wasn't completely safe.

Inside the Great Hall, when Hermione was, mercifully, silent, she, Harry, and Ron took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table and waited for the Sorting to begin.

"Oh, look," Hermione said, pointing to the Head Table. "There's your brother, Ron. And beside him- that must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I wonder what she's like."

She? They'd never had a female DADA professor before. Harry looked up at the teachers' table, waved at Charlie, and searched for a new face. He found her to Charlie's left- a woman with very green eyes, very orange hair, and a very bad sunburn. Had her hair been a less vibrant shade and her skin been whiter, she might have reminded Harry of his mother.

"Yeah," Ron said, noting her presence with the kind of cursory glance that meant he was more interested in what food would soon appear on his plate. "Hope she's better than the last teacher we had," he added under his breath to Harry.

Harry nodded in response. None of the other students knew that the previous year, a Death Eater named Barty Crouch, Jr., had infiltrated Hogwarts disguised as the man who was supposed to be their teacher.

Across the table, Ginny Weasley eyed her brother with a curious sort of expression, then turned her attention to Professor McGonagall, who was calling the new first years up to be Sorted.

"Anderson, Nicholas."

"Ravenclaw!" That table burst into applause. Harry tried not to look at them; his onetime crush, the girl who had been Cedric Diggory's girlfriend, was in Ravenclaw.

"Breault, Rachel!"

"Hufflepuff!" Harry watched as that team applauded and waited for the next student to be called.

"Do you notice something about the first years?" Hermione asked suddenly, pulling Harry's attention away from Chang, Yulan, who became a Gryffindor.

"They're really short," Ron said, and shrugged. "They're first years. So?"

"They're all wearing bracelets," Hermione said, skipping the scathing look she was undoubtedly about to give Ron and instead cheering for DiMenna, Elisabeth Ann, who had just taken the seat across from Yulan. "See? The ones still in the line have white bracelets, but once they're Sorted-"

Now that Hermione had mentioned it, Harry began to notice it for himself. On the left wrist of every first year was a thin white band. Maverick, Alison's, under the Sorting Hat, was rapidly flicking between blue and gold. Finally it settled on blue and the Hat shouted, "Ravenclaw!"

"I get it," said Harry. "Some sort of identification band?"

"But why only the first years?" Ron asked. "And- wait a minute, I take that back. I am not wearing a bracelet for the rest of the year. Even if it's red."

"Not that you'd have much of a choice," Harry pointed out. "It seems like-"

But Harry never got a chance to say what it seemed like, because Dumbledore stood, calling for silence. Compared with his manner when Harry first met the man, he now seemed impossibly sober and ancient. With what Harry suspected was injected cheer, he began his traditional opening speech. "Greetings and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft ad Wizardry. For those of you who don't yet know, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster here at Hogwarts."

"He doesn't look well, does he?" Hermione whispered into the brief pause. Even Ron, who idolized Dumbledore, didn't disagree with her.

"Now, I'm sure most of you know the rules, but I am going to go through them one more time to refresh your memories. If you're new to the school, you may want to take notes. I will tolerate absolutely no rule-breaking this year."

"He says that every year," Ron pointed out. "It's never stopped us before."

"Yeah, but this year he means it," Harry whispered back.

"One: no magic in the corridors. Two: do not linger outside your dormitories. Three: the Forbidden Forest is still one-hundred percent strictly forbidden. Anyone caught there will be expelled on sight. Four: be in the castle by seven p.m., and in your dormitories by eight-thirty. Finally," Dumbledore punctuated this with an upward swish of his wand and brought it sparkling down through the air, "don't take these off. Ever." He sat down, looking defeated. "Bon appetit."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged and became immediately interested with his food.

Hermione gave him a longer glance and raised her left wrist, wondering. On it was a thin red bracelet.

*

September second dawned with unexpected suddenness. All at once the sky lit with the sort of fiery glow that befit a dragon's funeral pyre; the sun blazed on the horizon and light spread across the grounds of the old school.

Charlie observed all of this from his vantage point on the roof of Gryffindor Tower. Supreme anxiety had awoken him early from a food-induced almost-coma and, as he had done before Quidditch matches since his Hogwarts days, he had flown his broom up to the top to clear his head. Now it was nearly time for breakfast, though, and others would certainly be awake.

Summoning his broomstick from where it rested against the eaves, Charlie leapt from the roof and flew down to the ground to prepare for his first day as a teacher.

*

"Good morning, class," Charlie said, managing to sound rather more cheerful than he had intended. First impressions always did go badly. "My name is Charlie Weasley, and I will be your Care of Magical Creatures professor this year. You can call me Professor Weasley if you want to, but seeing as four of my siblings are in my classes, it may just be easier on everyone if you call me Charlie."

The assembled twenty-odd students regarded him silently. Ron, Harry, and Hermione grinned encouragingly at him from the front row on the grass; the rest of the class Charlie didn't know well enough to make assumptions about. Undaunted, he continued. "Because it's my first class and the first class after summer break, I'd like to spend it getting to know you and what you expect from this course. That means less work for me and more enjoyable classes for you," he said. "Please state your name, house, and least favorite food."

"Er," said the girl he was pointing at, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose, "Sarah Mallott, from Hufflepuff. I hate peas."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah," Charlie said amiably. "Next?"

"Jenna Myers, Slytherin. I don't eat cabbage."

"Welcome to my class, Jenna," Charlie responded quickly, not willing to subject himself to old House prejudices.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, both in Gryffindor, giggled when he called on them and eventually announced that Lavender was a vegetarian and Parvati disliked beans. There were two Ravenclaws, a boy and a girl, both with glasses. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan both hated Brussels's Sprouts. Two sexless, lumpish Slytherins (Crabbe and Goyle, Charlie thought, how appropriate) took several moments to decide that they didn't know of any food they hated. Charlie privately thought that neither would notice if you fed it shoe leather instead of pudding. Then there was a problem.

His name, Charlie discovered from Ron's disgusted look, could only be Draco Malfoy, which meant Slytherin, of course. "Well?" he finally had to ask. "Are you going to introduce yourself, or do we have to guess?"

"Draco Malfoy," the boy fairly growled. Charlie wondered which owl had shat in Draco's porridge or, barring that, if it was just difficult to force words out around the perpetual scowl he was wearing.

"House?" Charlie prompted.

"Slytherin, of course," Draco retorted snootily.

"Of course," Charlie echoed. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to enlighten us as to your least favorite food"

Draco folded his arms.

Charlie said, "I could always have you sent to your Head of House for not cooperating in class"

Draco snorted. "Have you met Professor Snape, Weasley?" A few other Slytherins laughed.

"That's Charlie to you. And I could send you to the Headmaster, then. Or I could just dock you enough marks that you fail my class. How'd that be? The Draco Malfoy- any Malfoy, in fact- not acing a class taught by a Weasley-"

Draco mumbled something. Charlie stopped in mid-tirade. "Come again?"

"It's caviar," Draco repeated, red-faced. Charlie smiled to himself. The kid was easier to crack than he'd counted on. As he turned his attention to the last few students, he thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Draco Malfoy almost smiling.

Maybe teaching wouldn't be so bad, after all.

*

Teaching was a bad, bad idea.

This was Ginny's original impression when she'd heard that Charlie would be going to school with her, instructing her in one of her favorite courses.

Extra attention was not generally something Ginny wanted. Although she had developed the habit of talking until people stopped listening and beyond, she generally clamed up around groups of people she didnt know, especially after that incident in first year. When she knew the answers in class, which was often, due to Hermione's influence and the general reading habit Ginny had developed at twelve, she preferred to wait for someone else to be picked on to raising her hand and volunteering the answer. She rarely chatted with any of her lab partners; they were usually shy admirers from other houses, which she well knew but chose not to acknowledge.

But then, she reflected, not all attention was bad. In fact, it was sort of nice when the three other fourth-year Gryffindor girls she didn't know well (the only girl in her dorm that Ginny had regularly spoken to, Jaina, had transferred out of Hogwarts) commandeered her after class and made her a member of their little group. Of course, what they really wanted was a close-up, insider's look at their new Care of Magical Creatures professor. But that was okay. She was sure that, once they knew her, they wouldn't ditch her.

So maybe Charlie teaching wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

*

Teaching, Chloë decided, probably wasn't the ideal profession for someone with a major in being a klutz. The first part of her second day had gone over all right. She had had the first period free, and then a class of fifth-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. They were alright- a little distracted, maybe, but then, they were teenagers, after all. One of the Gryffindors must have been Charlie's youngest brother, because the flaming red hair matched perfectly. The only problem had been the constant daydreaming of Katya Stevenson, a Ravenclaw. At least, the only problem caused by a student.

The class had known all their curses surprisingly well, and there was little more she could teach them that fit into their curriculum that year. However, they were almost six months behind learning about Dark creatures, thanks to the disaster caused by the previous teacher. Using her wand, she had conjured holograms of various creatures and given them a briefing, but they would need to confront the real thing to pass the year. She had some supplies to order- or scrounge up, as the case might be.

At any rate, she'd been exhausted by the end of her first class. Casting that many Hologram Charms would do that to you.

Unfortunately, they'd also caused her wand to superheat, and when she set it down on her desk it had burst into flames. Luckily for her, Charlie had been walking by at the time, seen the smoke, and knew a lot of Extinguishing Charms. The wand was all right, too.

Chloë sighed. She was already exhausted and it was only the second day. Maybe teaching hadn't been such a great idea, after all.

*

Charlie smiled to himself. Some things never changed. Anya would always mother him. Which was sort of creepy, when he thought about it in depth, so he didn't. It was easier that way, anyway.

A commotion somewhere in the Great Hall saved him from his self-pity. Strange, since Dumbledore had announced the Halloween Ball two nights previously, the Great Hall had been conspicuously quiet at mealtimes. This excepted, of course, random outbreaks of the giggles among the ranks of the fourth and fifth year girls, and a good deal of snickering and raucous behavior on the part of the less mature males. There had been some debate as to whether or not a Halloween Ball would be too much of a temptation for Voldemort to resist, but in the end it was decided, nearly unanimously, that the students needed the morale boost. Being the youngest two teachers, Charlie and Chloë had been given the unofficial responsibility of morale officers and put in charge of organizing the event.

Peering overtop of Professor Flitwick to see what all the commotion was about, Charlie noticed a group of chattering fifth-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls clustered around one sixth-year Gryffindor he didnt recognize. At least, eighty percent of the girls were boisterous. The other twenty percent, a girl he recognized from one of his classes, seemed to be examining her toes, the tablecloth, or just about anything except the boy. He smiled. Some girls were so transparent.

"It's not polite to stare," Chloë pointed out, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Sorry," he apologized. "People-watching has become a hobby. It's probably unhealthy."

"Probably," Chloë agreed, taking a sip of her milk and sloshing a bit on the table. She sighed and flicked her wand at it to absorb the mess. "Any ridiculous ideas for the ball yet?"

"No," Charlie sighed, casting a thoughtful glance down at the parchment by his plate. "It's on my sister's birthday. I hope it doesn't ruin it for her."

"She seems so quiet, compared to the rest of you. What happened?"

"She grew up the youngest of seven," Charlie answered lamely. There was no reason people outside the family needed to know about the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, being a teacher, Chloë would find out soon enough. "I imagine she got told to shut up a lot at home. Besides, for the record, she talks rather a lot when she's around people she knows well. She could talk the ear off of an elephant." Unconsciously, he shifted his gaze to the Gryffindor table where Ginny was engaged in a lively conversation with one of the girls from his Care of Magical Creatures class. "See what I mean?"

Chloë nodded. "I wish she was more outspoken in class- she's really very bright, but doesn't like to be put on the hot seat."

"Does anyone?" Charlie retorted. "At least she pays attention in class."

"You've been having that problem, too?"

"It's been worse since Dumbledore told them about the ball. Everyone's daydreaming and talking in class all of a sudden." He sighed. "And I feel so old for resenting it." Which wasn't exactly true. He didn't feel very old. He was having bizarre almost-flashbacks to his time as a student, though. "Ten years ago it was me that was goofing off in class."

"I don't doubt it." She smiled. "I guess you never get what you expected."

"Hardly." He peered over Flitwick again and found that the overloud group of gigglers had dispersed, thankfully. Most students were beginning to file out of the Great Hall. Ginny and what Charlie supposed passed for the rest of her 'crowd' were gone, too. "I've got to go- new responsibilities, you know." He made a face, but grinned to show he didn't mean anything by it. "I'll see you around."

*

"Please, Alicia?" George begged, turning up the charm and using his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes to his advantage.

Alicia looked away momentarily, but only momentarily. She stared him directly in the face and enunciated clearly, "I'm sorry, Fred. I don't have time this year for Quidditch. You'll have to find someone else."

"First of all," George said, mildly irritated that she'd mixed him up with his younger twin, "I'm George. Second of all," he got back on his knees, "Please? Please reconsider? Gryffindor needs you!"

"Sorry, George," Alicia corrected herself. "You've still got Angelina and Katie and the rest of the team. But I have to cut back on extracurricular activities if I plan on getting my N.E.W.Ts. That means no more Quidditch. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's got to be."

"Please?"

"Yeah, please?" Fred echoed, appearing behind his twin with Angelina at his side. She nodded in agreement.

"No," Alicia said, and meant it.

"Bollocks," Angelina exclaimed, flopping down in a chair. "Now I'll need to hold Quidditch tryouts for Chaser and Keeper. Will you at least help with that, Alicia? After all, you'd be best qualified to choose your replacement."

"Of course," Alicia conceded. "Have you made a signup sheet? Who did we have on reserve?"

"Jade Coulter," Angelina said with a sigh. "He graduated last year."

"Naturally." There was a moment of pure silence, and then- "Where did Fred and George go?"

Angelina shook her head. "I don't think I want to know."

*

Two days later, Angelina stared at the signup list in disbelief. No less than fifty names were entered in, all in different handwritings and colors. She showed it to Alicia and Katie.

Katie did a double-take. "This can't be right."

"Obviously," Alicia agreed. "Tryouts start tomorrow at seven, and if all of these people show up, we'll be there holding them until the end of next week!" She scanned through the first few names. "Oh, no."

"What?" Katie asked, immediately curious.

"Angelina, you didn't get the twins to help you with this list, did you?"

"No" Angelina answered, a bit confused and very wary. "Why?"

Alicia pointed to the third name down on the list. "I doubt very much that there's a sixth year floating around named 'C. Nary Crème.'" She smiled. "The problem will be figuring out how many of these are made up."

Katie sighed. "I guess we'd better get to work."

*

Harry flew over the Quidditch pitch, trying not to shiver too much. It was unusually chilly for September, and that morning there had been a heavy frost on the ground. Now the grass was slippery, not ideal for smooth takeoffs, but it didn't matter. He needed the practice to clear his head; Sirius hadn't been forthcoming with details in his letters but Harry wasn't blind or stupid; he knew when his godfather was keeping things from him. It was all he could do not to ask too many questions. He was almost too distracted to wave to Hermione, who was watching from the stands, her winter cloak wrapped tightly around her.

Down below him, he heard Angelina holler, and swooped back down to land on the ground. This year he was to have an active part in the tryouts; he was no longer a junior member of the team and although Angelina was the Captain and had final say, she would take everyone's opinions into account when she decided on the new team members.

Harry cast a fleeting glance at the hopefuls, trying not to let his mind wander. Those trying out for Chaser were grouped at one end of the pitch, Keeper at the other. He saw Ron standing at the far end and waved. Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and the twins were clustered in the middle, waiting for him. He jogged up beside Fred and slung his Firebolt over his shoulder. "Where do we start?" he asked, eager to help.

"There are six of us and two groups of them," Angelina said. "Three to each group. Boys take the Keepers, and we'll take the Chasers."

"No," said Fred, shaking his head. "That won't work."

"Why not?"

"Well," he answered, "first of all, it's the Keeper's job to stop the Quaffle."

"Right," Angelina said. "So we'll take the Keepers-"

"No," George cut in.

"No?" Angelina asked. "Okay, what this time?"

"The first mistake was separating the two groups." George took a step back from the group and yelled, "Oi! Everybody over here!"

"The second mistake," Fred continued for his brother, "was thinking you had to do all the work. We've got Keepers and Chasers, and there are already two Beaters on the team. That's enough for a tryout- you girls can sit back and watch. We'll try them against each other."

"That makes sense, I suppose. We've four Keepers and twelve Chasers, so that works out fairly enough. Alright, everyone," Angelina said, more sure of herself now that the twins had restructured her plan. "Here's what we're going to do." She turned to the four Keepers. "Pick a number between one and ten."

"Eight." That was Colin Creevey, a boy a year younger than Harry with a severe hero-worship problem.

"Five." That had to be Janet Ashton, a second-year. Harry hadn't met her before, but he knew the rest of the hopefuls present.

"Seven," Ron said.

"Three." The last one was Harley Jones, a sixth-year girl with close-cropped brown hair.

"It was seven," Angelina said, smiling at Ron. "You get to choose first- you'll each get three Chasers."

Ron cast an appraising glance over the twelve candidates, and as he did so, Harry felt himself do the same. There was Dennis Creevey, Colin's brother, and two more third-year boys. Sarah Hartnett, a fourth-year, and her constant companion Laney Braxton. Beside them-

Harry shook himself mentally. There was Ginny Weasley, looking very unsure of herself, and holding what looked to Harry to be only a marginally safe broom. She noticed him looking at her and gave a smile and a slight wave, both of which he found himself returning without thinking about it. Ron chose Alex Fiddle for his first Chaser.

Colin was next; he looked a bit nervous, but picked Ginny over his brother. Harry refrained from making a mental comment about that; Ron, he noticed with some degree of alarm, didn't seem to be as good about disguising his opinion.

The first teams to play against each other were Harley's and Janet's. They played (rather poorly, in Harry's opinion, save for a few spectacular saves by Harley) for twenty minutes before Angelina sent Fred and George up to stir things up. After that point, no one seemed able to score. Discouraged, Angelina called them all down again and sent up the other teams.

This, Harry realized, was a game worth watching, especially as it pitted brother against sister. Colin was a little unsteady on his broom, but Ron seemed quite confident flying without hands. Harry knew that this was an illusion; Ron had been too nervous to eat breakfast or lunch and had not slept well the previous night. Alex Fiddle was a cut above the rest of the Chasers on his team; he had possession and was sweeping in towards Colin with the Quaffle-

When a flash of bright red passed directly underneath him, snatching the ball from his outstretched hand. Ginny passed to Dennis, who fumbled for a moment before throwing it as hard as he could at Ron, but it never got that far. Fiddle was already recovering from the shock Ginny had given him and had intercepted it before it got to Ron. Holding the Quaffle much closer than he had before, he sped towards the other end of the pitch.

And had to swerve almost immediately to avoid a Bludger aimed at his midsection. Fred or George- Harry couldn't tell from the distance he was at, probably George by the flying style- saluted him with his bat as he flew by. Alex continued towards Colin, but soon realized that this was pointless; he no longer had possession of the Quaffle. Laney Braxton, the fourth member of Ginny's team, had caught it when George had caused Alex to swerve and drop it. She, however, was fumbling it rather badly, and passed it off to Ginny. Alex turned her own trick back on her, but apparently Ginny was just warming up and Alex was already at peak performance, because she flew up overtop of him and snatched the Quaffle right out of his hands a second time.

Dennis and Laney, who had been ready to intercept Alex far nearer to their own goal posts, were not in any position to have the Quaffle passed back to them. Ginny headed straight for her brother, cocked back her arm, and let the Quaffle sail towards the far right hoop. Ron sped towards it, arms outstretched, he wasn't going to make it-

At the last second, Ron put on a burst of speed and caught the Quaffle just before it would have gone through the net. Angelina blew the whistle. Ginny, Harry noticed curiously, deflated. The ten of them flew to the ground

*

"Isn't there some rule against having four members of the same family on one team?" Angelina said with a rueful grin. "It kind of creates an unhealthy balance. Especially when they're Weasleys."

"Can we help it if we're good at Quidditch?" Fred asked innocently. "And no, there's no rule against it. We checked."

"Well, let's get down to business. Katie?"

"I think we can pretty much say it's down to Ginny and Alex Fiddle for the Chaser position- he's quick with the Quaffle and his aim and speed are amazing. But Ginny has a unique flying style and a lot of moves that would definitely be an asset to the team. We'd be lucky to have either of them."

Angelina nodded. Katie's analysis was reminiscent of her own. "And for Keeper?"

"Either Weasley or Harley- they both made some pretty good saves, although Harley's team fell apart when we let Fred and George mix it up. Then again, he could have been too comfortable- he was playing against his family, after all. No offense," she added to the twins.

"None taken," George assured her. "Although I doubt he thought any of us were going to take it easy on him, and I'd be hurt if you thought that."

"Right. Fred, George, I'd ask your opinions on this, but they are your family Harry, the same goes for you, I'm afraid."

He nodded, looking uncomfortable. On either side of him, the twins looked distinctly unhappy. George crossed his arms. Neither of them protested, however.

Angelina sighed. "Alicia?"

"Fiddle doesn't have what it takes," she said without hesitation. "He fell apart during the end of their scrimmage, and it only lasted twenty minutes. We need someone with more stamina. Same thing goes for Harley. Put them on reserve for the long games when you need to rotate on and off, but I wouldn't recommend putting them on the first string."

"All right," Angelina said, glad she could include the Weasleys anyway without feeling biased from the twins' influence. "That settles it, then. Weasleys! Fiddle! Jones!"

"Weasleys! Fiddle! Jones!"

Ginny looked up from her conversation with Sarah and shrugged, then jogged over to where her brother's girlfriend was standing. She heard Ron, Alex and Harley come up behind her. A knot formed in her stomach. Had she made it? Or was she being dismissed? She didn't know which was worse- having to play in front of all of Hogwarts, or being humiliated in front of Harry.

No. She didn't like him again. She wouldn't. This was not the time for another schoolgirl crush; Harry was busy, she was busy, and Voldemort was taking over the outside world--

"Congratulations, Weasleys," Angelina said, cutting through the whirlwind that had taken up residence in Ginny's brain. "You've made first string. As for you two," she nodded at Harley and Alex, "there are no more positions on the team except in reserve, but we'd be happy to have you."

Harley agreed quickly and enthusiastically, but Alex scowled and declined. As they walked away, Ginny heard him say to her, "Well, it's not like I expected anything different- they practically have four relatives on the team-"

Ginny felt her ears turning very, very red. How dare he? She had outclassed him on the field, that much was certain; now she knew she outclassed him on the ground, too.

"Alex!" Angelina called. He turned around slowly. "I want you to know," Angelina said, speaking low, dangerous tones, "that neither Harry nor the twins had any input on this because of the possibility that they would be biased. The decision was made entirely by Katie, Alicia, and myself. But if you want to think otherwise, that's your problem. I can have Creevey take your place on the reserve team."

Alex scowled, but didn't say another word as he stalked off. Ginny made a face at his back. Some people needed to learn proper manners.

*

"Sirius!" Anya yelled, dropping her stack of folders on a chair by the fireplace. "Where are you?" She shucked off her coat and Banished it to a coat-hook on the back of the door.

Mundungus looked up with a bemused expression from reading the paper, but Anya pretended not to notice. Sirius came in the front door then, floating Leon upside-down in front of him. "Hello, Anya," he said, hiding a grin. "Happy to see me?"

"Quiet," she growled. "And what were you doing with Leon outside? With no coat on? Sirius, it is freezing cold outside!" And it's September. And I don't like it.

Sirius looked unusually abashed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Guess I wasn't thinking."

Anya cringed mentally. She had forgotten how sensitive Sirius could be when it came to Leon's health- it probably had something to do with missing crucial stages of Harry's development, or else she was reminding him of Lily Potter admonishing James. "Never mind." She sighed and picked up her files again, stacking them on the bookshelf. She frowned at the space that had been empty for some time now. "Sirius, have you seen my book? Legende Gaelige, I mean. It's been missing for a while."

Sirius shook his head. "No, actually I haven't. Did you lend it to someone?"

"It's in Gaelic," she said by way of an answer. "I'm the only person I know who could read it, although my Gaelic is a little rusty."

"Why don't you just Summon it?" Sirius suggested, pulling Leon upright. "Or is that too simple and straightforward for you?"

She smacked him on the back of the head. "Quiet, you. I tried already; it's outside my range." In a place as magically active as Dromore House, there was a limit to the distance spells could travel without being intercepted by other spells. Institutions like Hogwarts and the Ministry had taken steps to prevent the unnecessary ones from clogging up the area so that magic could be better practiced. "Mundungus, you haven't seen my book, have you?"

"Sorry," he said, and she could hear him smile behind his newspaper. Well, if he hadn't seen it, then it was fairly certain that Arabella didn't have it.

"Bollocks."

*

Ginny looked down at the Daily Prophet in disbelief. Incredible things had happened from time to time, of course; miracles, even, but this was getting out of hand. She looked from the paper to the window of the fourth year girls' dorm in confusion. She had to be seeing things.

Or it was just a coincidence. A series of coincidences. After all, she'd heard of global warming. But

It didn't snow in September.

Did it?

She knew that it took a very powerful wizard to manipulate the weather in even a limited area. According to the Daily Prophet, Muggle London was covered in six inches of snow. A geyser in Muggle America that had erupted regularly for hundreds of years had stopped completely. A two-day-long thunderstorm had just blown through various dry parts of Arizona and Colorado. Something - possibly somethings- was or were not right.

Ginny sighed and tucked the paper away. She'd give it back to Hermione later; now, she needed to rest. There was a Quidditch practice bright and early the next morning. She gave the book on her bedside table one last, longing glance before shutting off the light.