Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

The Amulet of Houle - #2 in the Viridian Wand Chronicles

PART III: THE GIRL WITH TWO FACES

Chapter 1

August 31/September 2020

Draco Malfoy met up with the man on his long walk home in the rain from Flourish and Blott’s, his current employer. He’d taken a job there while the lawyers straightened out Lucius Malfoy’s will (which they’d been trying to do ever since he’d passed away the previous year) and procured his house and fortune for him. For the time being, however, he had to earn a living, walking home from his job, as he wasn’t allowed to Apparate yet. He also had to live with Sirius Black, who ran a sort of halfway house for those just released from Azkaban. It had only been three months before, for Draco.

The man, certainly, of all people, must have been aware how much Draco hated his lot in life. All his friends had grown older, while he was still 28, both physically and mentally. His friends had children only a few years younger than him now. They wanted nothing to do with the radical Draco of twelve years before.

Except for the man. He remained the same, always, the cruel and callous man lurking in the shadows, behind the best-laid plans. It was for his schemes that Draco Malfoy had been imprisoned, and the man never forgot a favour.

"So, Draco, have you gone respectable? Staying with Black, I hear?" he said. The man’s tone was light, it always was, but then no one knew better than Draco the kind of malice behind that lightness.

"It’s required. You know that," Draco replied, brushing off the first question. That did not escape the man’s notice. As always, Draco responded to the silence, the unspoken words that lay between them plain in his mind. "I’m not in with Potter, Marcus. I never was. If you didn’t know it then, you know it now. But I can’t go back to the League. Whatever you’re calling it nowadays."

"And I didn’t ask you to," said the man he had called Marcus. "Yet. Of course, dearie, I hardly need you now. You were a fine Dark One in your day, but you were needed to ensure that your father never caught on to the Talisman and used it against us. I know that you won’t – you haven’t even an idea of what it does – but we still want you. You were very good for the League, in your time. But time in the land of faeries does such strange things to one."

"How did you do it? You hadn’t his blood. You had his bone, but you needed the blood. Tell me," said Draco with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had halfway figured it out by now, but he couldn’t believe it. Even Marcus wouldn’t stoop so low – or would he?

"Oh, you know how I did it. Don’t fool yourself, dearie." Marcus smiled wickedly. "I used the little girl’s blood, I did. The girl was a Daughter of Morgan, you know. She’ll have a little scar to remember us by."

"I- I-" Draco stuttered, backing away from Marcus, a tall, intimidating man even at the best of times. "You shouldn’t have done that! You don’t know what they can do!"

"Oh, I agree with you. You’d probably know that better, you were a bit more scholarly than me, weren’t you?" Marcus shrugged. "It matters little to me."

"Listen, Marcus, she’s not like the other Daughter, the one that was searching for her. She’s dangerous. And she’s in power now."

"Ha! A little trifle. When we unite in the Dark Pact, she will be nothing. You know where to reach me, I presume?"

"Through Charlie?"

"If you change your mind, drop me a line," said Marcus, and with a flick of his wand, he was gone.

Draco continued to walk home, his shoes squelching in the muddy puddles, his feet soaked to the ankles. That day had not been an especially pleasant one for Draco Malfoy, possibly the worst since May 28^th, when he had woken up twelve years after he had gone to sleep.

He would have added "paranoia" to the ever-growing list of problems had he sensed the girl following him.

* * * * *

Your task, said the letter, is unfortunately rather impossible, but I suppose you will do what you can. You’re a resourceful girl.

Mica sighed, sat back in her chair at the flat’s kitchen table, and continued to read with a growing sense of dread. Caro was always so upbeat about these things.

Morgan has said that you must do what I cannot; you must rescue Lee, who was the Bearer before me, who was like a mother to me before she died in 1981. No, I don’t know who she was, really, save that she had a son; I don’t know what happened to him. She’s been dead these forty years; I have no idea how you’re supposed to save her. That’s for you to figure out. You discuss it with Morgan if you get a chance- her dream meetings happen irregularly, once or twice a year. For her, it is once or twice a day, I suppose.

I know, you must wonder why Morgan has set you such an impossible task. When Lee was killed, trying to protect her son, that was such a terrible act of Dark magic, and on a Bearer, as well, that it swung the balance of Light and Dark magic sharply to the dark magic side. Aurors sense this: they’ve been extra vigilant since. When Voldemort tried to kill little Harry (your uncle) it only worsened it, especially since he used the Wand.

Morgan says they are forging a Dark Pact. In normal times, this would have been trouble enough, so heightening the power of Dark magic, but people would have forged Light Pacts (the Order of the Phoenix was one) and lessened the problem. Nowadays, even one Dark Pact would tilt the balance enough to eradicate magic entirely from the world. I don’t know who "they" are, but you must find them and stop them. One of them must be Slytherin’s Heir, as has been foretold. You’ve not told me how you knew that May night that the Heir was involved, but I assume you had your reasons.

Sibyl Trelawney once foretold (this is one of only two real predictions, I might add) that the girl who wore a talisman of Morgan’s working would be the only one to halt the fulfillment of Slytherin’s deathbed prophecy. You might want to familiarize yourself with the prophecy- it could come in handy. I’m sure Alex has a copy- from what I’ve seen of him, he’s a regular bookworm. Might make sneaking in/out at unusual hours a bit easier, eh?

Owl me if you need to- I’m home in Delaware (the States, if you’ve forgot), but I’m sure your owl can find me. Skywalker seems a hardy fellow.

Caroline

She folded up the letter and turned toward the open door to the flat’s living room, which now resembled something more like a library. Quietly, she walked over to the open door.

"Alex? Have you got a copy of Slytherin’s deathbed prophecy?" Mica asked her bespectacled flatmate, who was surrounded by a pile of books.

"Somewhere, perhaps my copy of Grumdinkel’s-" Alex said, lifting his head.

"Grumdinkel’s will do."

Alexander Wood-Chang went off in search of Grumdinkel’s Encyclopedia of the Wizarding World, 34^th Edition, shaking his head. Mica, in rare moments of introspection, had always quietly wondered how such people as Oliver Wood and Cho Chang (who in the end ended up coaching the Chudley Cannons and teaching Quidditch at Hogwarts, respectively) had produced such a scholarly son. Surprisingly, the two of them got along well enough, mainly because Mica was out more often then not. Both were in their first year of college at the London University of Sorcery.

"Here it is," said Alex, tossing a heavy book onto the kitchen table.

"Thanks. Help yourself to a muffin."

Mica turned to Prophecies section of Grumdinkel’s, munching her own muffin meditatively. After a few moments of searching, she located what she was looking for.

 

Slytherin, Salazar, 947 AD- 1020 AD.

Deathbed

I am on my deathbed, and send you my last prophecy of the Future. These events shall befall a millennium after my death…

… I have seen the birth of a dark-haired wizard who shall rise up to become as great as I, to bend the forces of evil at his will, though in the distant future. But it has been made clear to me that he shall not be the final Heir. There shall come a brown-haired wizard, born of pure blood, unlike his predecessor, but he will take on mine through an ancient magic. This pureness of wizardry in him will make him greatest of the great Dark Wizards… One thousand years exactly shall pass before he will rise to power. This I, Salazar Slytherin, have foreseen.

 

"Interesting," said Mica.

* * * * *

"Hello, Mr. Potter, sir," said Gus, the elevator operator. "Fifth floor as usual?"

Harry nodded. "Nice weather out today, eh?" He raised an eyebrow at the smoggy streets he had left behind as the elevator door closed.

"Ah, ‘tis only the London gloom." Gus replied optimistically. "You’ll get used to it soon enough."

"I’ve been living in London for thirteen years."

"Oh." The elevator reached the fifth floor. "Well, a good day to you, sir!" The elevator door slid open, and Harry Potter stepped into Unspeakables, Division Five, or as it was more commonly known, Unmentionables. He was in charge of it, so his job consisted mainly of paperwork nowadays, but he still did some fieldwork every now and then.

The first thing he saw was a thatch of red hair, attached to a tailored grey suit.

"George!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully, "You’re back from Majorca?"

"Quite so," replied George Weasley. "I suppose Fred is still up in Wales investigating? He said he might be back to work tomorrow."

"This evening, actually. He and Angelina want to see Robbie off to Hogwarts."

George shook his head. "I still can’t believe my own nephew is a first year! It seems as though I was one just yesterday."

"I know! Mica’s living in her own flat, Lily Elizabeth’s a second year, and Ron and Sirius are already eight."

"Sorry I couldn’t make the party, by the way. I had to tie up a deal with Zonko’s- we’re buying them out."

"Oh? Well, the twins loved the stuff you sent over. What was that, the entire Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes summer catalogue?"

"Only half!" said George, only partly joking.

"Any word from Fred on official business?" Harry asked as they walked to his office. Fred, having been in the Ministry longer than either of them, was the head of Unspeakables in its entirety.

"Actually, yes. You’ve got some new people in your division. I’ve got a new accountant in mine."

"Accountant?"

"No, I don’t understand either."

Harry took a seat behind his desk, sipping the latte he had picked up at the Starbucks two buildings down. "So, who has Fred saddled with me now?"

"Colin Creevey. He’s your new assistant."

Harry choked.

"What?"

"Well…" George twiddled his thumbs nervously, "Finch-Fletchley never really recovered from Cannes. Boyfriend decided he should retire, after the nervous breakdown and all."

"Is there any possible way he could be transferred to someone else’s division… or to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, where they can use him as a Quaffle?"

"Everyone else rejected him. Have a heart."

With a sigh, Harry shook his head. "I’m not going to argue with Fred about this… but the moment Creevey bungles up a case, he’s gone."

"Can do. The other new one is an Unutterable. Hand picked. Code name Diana."

"Replacing Arnold?"

"Seemingly. You might want to see Sirius about the new Unutterable; she apparently has an inside track on the League case. Something that confirms your suspicions."

"Hmm. Well, I’ll head over to his office. If you hear from Fred, tell him that we need to have a meeting re the League. Get all the investigators, including the new one, together."

"Will do." Both men exited the office, George to his other job, the presidency of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and Harry to the office of Sirius Black, head of Division Five’s Section One, more commonly called Unspeakables Unmentionables Unutterables.

* * * * *

Atop Flourish and Blott’s, a slender figure sat quietly. Her long, long yellow-gold hair whipped around her, carried by the sharp gusts of the wind that rushed across the rooftops of London. She sat like a tiger, poised to spring.

The eddies of wind that gushed around her like airy river rapids would have knocked any other person from her perch, but she was like a stone gargoyle, immovable by the windy tides. A bird perched on her shoulder, warily; a second later it flew off as if shot from a cannon. The pigeons on the edge of the roof scooted away from her.

The quarry she sought emerged from the building and she was off, a flurry of long limbs and golden hair flying across the rooftops, as comfortable on all fours as on legs. She swung from building to building elegantly, effortlessly, and above all silently. He never knew she was watching.

She ran like a whirling dervish until he entered the gloomy high rise. Resuming her gargoyle pose, she let the wind beat against her without hindrance. He must lead her to him; of that much she is sure.

* * * * *

"Hell, no," Draco muttered as he opened the post. Sirius Black, on the opposite side of the room, looked up from his coffee to the black piece of parchment Draco held in his hand. The apartment the two men shared was in a state of not-so-genteel disrepair, and replete with the general chaos of a bachelor’s pad. Only Draco’s small room was kept in any semblance of order.

"I’ve already checked through your mail. That one was unremittingly blank, despite several spells I tried on it. What does it say?" the older man inquired. Seeing Draco’s scowl, he continued, "I do know several people who could read that letter for me, and the fact that I have not taken it to them – yet – should be a sure sign that I think you will tell me."

"It’s from an old associate. I knew him when I was involved with some Dark groups. He’s rather persistent." Draco frowned at the envelope. "Don’t bother about Marcus-"

Sirius dropped the cup he was holding, and it shattered on the hardwood floor. That there were no dirty clothes below to cushion the fall was a surprise indeed. "Marcus?" he asked.

"An old acquaintance, nothing more," replied the younger man, and he tore the letter to pieces and tossed it in the fire.

A small, smoky black circle with a twenty-six-point star hung suspended in the fire for a moment, and then vanished. But neither Sirius Black nor Draco Malfoy noticed it.

* * * * *

Across the city, in a classroom in the London University of Sorcery, Mica tapped her quill irritably against her desk. Professor Philbert was one of the most annoying and dull professors she had, and she paid no more attention in class than was strictly necessary. There were about fifty students seated in the large lecture hall, peacefully dozing through Level I of Magical Objects and Their Uses.

With a concluding sentence, Professor Philbert ended class, and the students released a collective yawn. As she made her way toward the door, she halted in front of the grey-haired Professor, who had the look of a goat– sort of sloe-eyed and skinny.

"I’m Mica Weasley," she said.

"Are you Hermione Granger’s daughter?" he asked, not sounding at all dreary anymore.

"Yes," Mica replied, silently wondering how so many people who knew her mother had popped up of late.

"I knew her some. She was one of the most brilliant students I’ve ever had."

"I’ve- I’ve heard." She glanced furtively at the door and wondered how long it would be until she could escape the stuffy classroom. He was obviously not Nine.

"No. You don’t understand." The Professor shook his head. "You are brilliant as well. But you do not belong here."

"It’s a required class."

"But your credentials- you should be-"

Mica narrowed her eyes. Perhaps… "McGonagall supervised my training, Professor, as did two other well-trained teachers. I am here for a purpose. Trust in that."

"You are incognito?" The professor raised an eyebrow. They both looked around, but saw no one.

So she replied, "Of course. You should have said code earlier, you know, I shouldn’t have been quite so lost. You are Nine, I suppose?"

Professor Philbert nodded. "Those up in Division Five haven’t used me for years. Think I’m an inept old fool. But there was no one else to do the job. I, in turn, assume you are…"

"Thirty-seven."

"Good. Just checking. Might I ask why they’ve sent an Unutterable to do an Unmentionable’s job?"

"Because it may not be an Unmentionable’s job. Believe me. I know the people involved."

"How would you know the people involved? They said this is your first field assignment."

Mica sighed. "It is. Technically, I shouldn’t be on the case, you know. All they have to go on is suspicion and my word. I knew them when I was a child. When I-"

"I heard. What do you think of the League of Warlocks?" asked the Professor.

"They are not who we are looking for."

"Of course they are! It’s why Division Five has their eye on them."

She shook her head. "Those we seek are not all warlocks, for one thing. They are using ancient magic, for another."

"What?" the professor scoffed. "No one can use the magic of the ancients, not nowadays. All knowledge has been lost. You are referring to the magic of Egypt, of the Celts?"

"Of course. And I of all people should know that all knowledge has not been lost."

"You are talking in riddles, young lady."

"Fine then," said Mica, "I shall not talk." She eyed a book sitting on the other side of the room.

With an intense sound rather like the crack of a whip, the book flung itself into the opposite wall, where its flight was stopped abruptly, with a curt smack. It fell to the floor.

"You’re a Maiden? But- you were thought mythical! You shouldn’t exist!" Philbert exclaimed.

"Oh, but I do, Professor, I do. I am also the current leader of the Cassadaga Coven."

The professor laughed, however. "That is too absurd for me to believe, even now. You are so young."

At this, Mica frowned at him. "Caro is dying. Or else I would not be taking the helm. For after all, I am not so young. I have heard things that would take the hearing from your ears, seen things that would strike the sight from your eyes. I can prove it to you."

"How?"

"What is most common legend of the Coven?"

"That the blood of its leaders runs gold, but surely that is the most blatant falsehood upon the earth-"

She gave the professor a severe look. "After what I have shown you, you would doubt? They are right, you are a fool." Swiftly she drew a sharp, bejeweled knife from its place at her hip. Mica placed the tip of her right forefinger to the blade, and a bit of molten gold snaked its way down.

"I am sorry. I should have believed you," said Philbert after a moment.

"I do not lie. No matter what I may do, I do not lie."

"Why? You needn’t scowl at me, young lady. It can come in handy sometimes."

Mica shook her head. "Playing a part, that is different. But lying is something I cannot abide by. Once… I lived in a web of lies. My mission now is to tear them down."

"So, if they hadn’t given you the A-OK at headquarters, you’d have gone off on a vigilante mission?"

"No. The Coven has to administer justice, anyway."

"If you weren’t in charge there?"

"Of course." Mica laughed. "Do you doubt me? There is man behind this, a man who stole my innocence, who would have killed me if he could. Before I let any other person fall dead by his hands, I will get to Marcus Flint."

"Death is too good for the man, eh?" said Professor Philbert.

* * * * *

On the afternoon of September second, six humans and one elf convened in Division Five’s Green Room.

"Attention!" declared Fred Weasley. There was silence around the round table. The table in question happened to be made of oak, and Fred sat at the head of it- er, rather where the big chair was. Around the circle, going clockwise, were Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Diana (the new Unutterable), Colin Creevey, George Weasley, and one Eilas the Elf.

The elf in question was a bit short- barely five feet tall- but none the less intelligent for her lack of height. Eilas also happened to be head of America’s Ministry of Magic. She scanned the table with a scintillating eye. No one breathed.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that American Ministry of Magic had thoroughly ceased to be considered "rustic" since she had taken command.

Eilas cleared her throat.

Fred continued, "In light of new evidence confirming suspicion about the League of Warlocks, we will be officially investigating it. However, we will be doing so covertly. All of you, save the American Minister of Magic-"

"Eilas," corrected the American Minister of Magic. Fred flinched.

"Save Eilas, all of you will be suspending any pending investigations of your own. Harry, before you ask, the Diablos matter is entirely separate and of course you are free to pursue it." Harry nodded. "Sirius, could you summarize what we know so far?"

"Certainly. The League of Warlocks was started as- er-" Sirius Black coughed.

"A private gentlemen’s club," supplied George hastily.

"Yes. However, in recent years it has become more of a militia- but most of the warlocks involved were entirely above suspicion. Except, of course, the League’s founder, Marcus Flint. He’s been suspected of being involved in few terrorist attacks on the Ministry, but nothing was ever proved. Nearly twenty years ago, he was suspected of being a Death Eater, tried, and acquitted. Such a track record, does, obviously, invite suspicion. However, since so many of members could not possibly be involved, we had to resign ourselves to waiting. Several years ago, we discovered that Marcus Flint had an ‘inner circle’ but no one was ever able to determine who belonged. There were so many members…" Sirius broke off. He turned to his new employee. "Diana, could you-?"

She nodded, her hair bouncing like rays of golden light about her face. "You were never able to determine them, because the League of Warlocks is entirely innocent."

"What?" exclaimed Colin Creevey. He shut up quickly when six people, well, five people and an elf glared at him.

"The League of Purebloods was formed in, oh, 2000?" Diana continued. She shrugged. "Sometime a year or two previous to Voldemort’s defeat. They were Dark arts practitioners, it goes without saying. However, Marcus Flint, who headed it, did not want to resurrect Voldemort, as did Abram Malfoy, who split off from the group in 2006. Flint wanted to become Slytherin’s Heir."

"So he wanted to become Voldemort?" asked Eilas, raising an eyebrow.

"No, becoming Slytherin’s Heir is quite a different thing. Slytherin’s prophecy- is anyone here familiar with it?" Diana looked around.

Fred timidly raised a hand. "Um- a thousand years after Slytherin died, his Heir would become the greatest of Dark wizards? But his Heir would be related to him by blood and not bone?"

"Very good, Mr. Weasley." She nodded. "There are several ways to change blood and bone, but only two to change blood."

"Two?" queried Eilas. "I’d never heard of anything at all being blood-related."

"There are two. One," she glanced at Sirius, who had been about to speak, "I cannot speak of. The other is a botched change of blood and bone. His change was the latter."

"So Marcus Flint did succeed in his efforts? How?" asked Harry, his interest apparently piqued.

"Voldemort’s bones had been saved, as you know," said Diana, looking at Harry. "But Marcus had none of his blood. So he used the blood of a descendent of Morgan Le Fay, the grandmother of Slytherin. However, that was only enough to transform blood- enough to make him heir- but not to thoroughly change bone, an altogether more difficult task, though they did have Voldemort’s bones." She paused. "He is also an heir of Morgan, however. And he has commanded the return of the realms of Faerie. They are re-emerging. Draco Malfoy’s encounter with the Forbidden Forest is only one example of what may happen. I have done what I can since learning of this to shut the portals, but Marcus Flint is very strong. Harry Potter, you must help. Ask your wife how, she will know, but you can."

Diana and Harry exchanged a long look.

"Are you a Protector?" asked Fred, to the confusion of Colin and Eilas, but surprisingly not to that of Sirius Black.

"Something of the sort," said the latter enigmatically.

"Might I inquire-?" asked Eilas.

"Later. Ask George."

"Is Marcus Flint involved with the Cassadaga Coven?" inquired George.

"Never," said Diana, shaking her head firmly. "However, we are off topic. Marcus Flint’s League of Purebloods faded into the mist, after he had accomplished his task. A very few remained, and those who did were his closest friends. One who might have remained, had he not been taken off to Azkaban for charges he was innocent of, was Draco Malfoy."

"What are you saying! Everyone knows Draco Malfoy used an illegal curse on Cornelius Fudge, and in broad daylight!" said Colin Creevey. He was met with six glares, once more.

"Marcus Flint used Polyjuice potion. It was a common practice of his. But enough of that. Now, the time until the millennial anniversary of Slytherin’s death is short. He desires to forge a Dark Pact. He will need followers. More specifically, the blood of followers. To join the League of Warlocks, it is required you give a drop of blood and sign a binding magical agreement that says that you will not mistreat the- um-"

"Exotic dancers," George said quickly.

"Eilas," continued Diana, "Is here because at least two hundred American Wizards belong to the League of Warlocks. Percy," she added, referring to Percy Weasley, the British Minster of magic, "Cannot attend, but he trusts we will act in his best interest. I believe he’s in Paris?"

Fred agreed. "Yes, there’s some sort of trade agreement he’s working out. So, the logical course of action would be to have someone put a tail on Draco Malfoy, and wait for him to lead us to Marcus Flint."

"It has been done," said Sirius. "However, I think it may be more effective to have an agent work with him to get Flint. Malfoy must hate the man, after all."

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," remarked Harry. "He’s rotten. Malfoy will turn on us in the end."

"You don’t live with him," replied Sirius grimly. "And I think the agent in question should be Diana. She knew him. Also, he hates me enough as it is. God only knows what he would do if he knew I was an Unutterable. Slowly poisoning me is probably high on his to-do list already."

"You knew him?" Harry asked, looking at Diana. She shrugged. "Who are you?"

"Harry-" Sirius protested, but she cut him off.

"My aunt was a poor woman," Diana said quietly. "A Muggle, but many of her family were wizards. She had little money, and me to take care of – my mother had died some years previous – so she took in boarders. Malfoy and Flint boarded with her for a year. My aunt was not often home, and she usually roped Malfoy into watching me. If not, I wandered Diagon Alley at all hours. I saw much."

"Oh."

"Harry, you’ll be in charge of gathering background information on Flint. If you find anything or anyone significant, let me know. George, you’re going to work with Eilas and see if you can find out anything about the American branch of the League. Sirius, you… do what you do best. And Diana, you’re going to be- following him? Approaching him?" Fred said.

"I will see how it goes," said Diana, leaving it at that.

* * * * *

Silently she sat, home, in her room, combing her long hair. It went past her knees, and always got so tangled on the nights out. She loved her hair like this; it was like combing thick spun gold. When she finished, she braided it and pinned it to her head in a tight coil. No tangles tonight.

"I’m going out!" she called before she stepped out of her window and onto the fire escape. A few more seconds and she was on the roof. Yes, she was going out tonight. Dropping in on a friend.

Well, she reminded herself, he was, once.

And after all, he had only brought this on himself, hadn’t he?

* * * * *

Draco was peacefully reclining on the beat-up couch in the living room, perusing the latest edition of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Watching the Grass Grow, when he heard the window at the end of the couch slide open. He was on his feet, with his wand pointing at the intruder, before he realized that she was smiling broadly and clearly unarmed.

"Hullo," said the intruder, who was rather tall and blonde, and was also carrying a bottle of mead, which he noted was of a good vintage. "Is Sirius in?"

"Mr. Black is out at the moment. Do you have his permission to be here?" he demanded, who was feeling rather foolish and attempting to cover it up.

"Of course I do," replied the woman indignantly. "He asked me to bring the ’74 over. You must be driving him to drink, cleaning up his apartment. I’m surprised he let you. Are you…?"

"Am I what?" Suddenly Draco understood. "No- no- you misunderstand- we’re not- I’m just out of Azkaban and required-"

The woman laughed. "I see." She set the bottle of mead down on a side table, knocking a book about evading Muggles onto the floor. "I’m Diana, by the way."

"Diana-?"

"Just Diana, thanks. Mind if I wait for Sirius?" asked Diana.

"No- that’s okay."

"Great." She kicked off her sneakers and hopped onto an aging recliner, which squealed in protest.

Draco winced. "You might want to be a little more careful with the chair." Despite her slenderness, she was tall, and probably rather heavy. The mass of blond hair pinned up on her head was likely part of it.

"It’ll hold." She glanced at the chair worriedly, however, belying her confidence. "Usually I sit on the couch. You know, I’ve heard about you. I’d like to borrow you."

"For what?" Draco asked suspiciously.

She just smiled at him. "Stuff. Marcus. I want to kill him."

"What?" he sputtered. "No way! Do you think I want to go back to Azkaban? No way, no deal, absolutelynot."

"Hey, hey," Diana held up her hands. "I never said I wanted you to kill him! I’m going to do that myself." Her face, suddenly, seemed to slip from its implacable smile. "He’s been a bad, bad boy."

* * * * *

"Alex!" Mica exclaimed softly, kicking the door closed behind her. Even so, the young man rummaging around under the desk in the flat’s living room, looking for a lost paper, probably, still started and hit his head on the bottom of the desk.

"What?" he yelped. She sighed.

"Alex," she repeated. "My brothers are spending the night in here, remember? Their parents are in Hogsmeade for the weekend. How the hell are they supposed to sleep on the couch?"

Both of them looked at the couch, which was actually a rather battered futon. It was also piled high with the musty books Alex had apparently been consulting recently.

Alex smiled guiltily. "I can move them."

"Do. You have until five; if you’re not done by then, I’ll Banish them to Hogwarts." He snorted. Mica frowned at him. "I’m serious. Do you want to me to prove it to you?"

Alex just laughed. "No one could Banish a book all the way to Hogwarts."

Mica gave him a look that could have killed. The fact it didn’t was a strong testament to the quality of her flatmate’s spectacles. However, a glass could be heard shattering in the distance.

"Shit," she said, making her way to the kitchen. Mica grabbed a dustpan, found the broom, and cleaned up the sharps of glass winking in the sunlight streaming across the kitchen floor.

Alex followed her, fascinated. "How did you do that?" he asked, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered at her in wonderment. "An non-wandular manifestation of magic in reaction to high stress? At least, that’s what I think it was."

"Please-!" Mica cried. "I’ve had a very, very bad day. Just get the books off the couch, OK?" Her voice threatened to squeak at the last word, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back tears. For her, they were a sign of absolute, catastrophic distress.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"No," she said, "I’m not."

The letter was still balled up in her hand, where it had been for the last half-hour, since the owl had dropped it off in the midst of Muggle Chemistry I.

Mica-

I’ve taken a slight turn for the worse. My doctor says travel may not be advisable in the near future, so I’ve come to England to stay with Remus’s daughter, Dr. Ananda Lupin. You should drop in at the earliest convenience; Ananda isn’t sure how long I’ll hold on. She has the Wand, so you will have access to it even in the case of my death.

Please come soon. I have some matters I need to settle, and I am not sure I want to entrust them even to Ananda.

Caroline

* * * * *

"So," Harry Potter said to Sirius Black, "Who is she? Really?" The two men sat at a table in the rear of the Three Broomsticks. Ginny and Lily Elizabeth was still shopping in Gladrags; they’d picked up their daughter from Hogwarts for the day, since they were in town.

"Who?" asked Sirius innocently.

"Diana, of course. You know who I’m talking about."

"Well- she’s Diana."

Harry frowned. "Yes, but she’s something else besides that. Why should it matter to you?"

The other man sighed. "Harry, not even you have jurisdiction in this case, I’m afraid. There are only three people besides me who know Diana’s identity- Minister Weasley, Eilas, and Diana herself."

Sirius’s godson raised an eyebrow. "It’s that high up?"

His godfather nodded. "Yes. I would tell you… but…"

"Is it Caroline?"

"Caroline Newman? No, it’s not. She’s dying, you know."

"Is she?" Harry said, surprised. He sipped his butterbeer. "I suppose that Mica will have to step in at some point?"

Sirius shrugged.

Just then, Ginny and Lily Elizabeth burst in, loaded down with bags from her shopping expedition.

"Sorry," the former said, slightly breathless. "I picked up some extra things for the boys in Gladrags." Harry’s wife hefted the bags onto the sole extra chair, and took a seat in the one she had dropped her purse on. "Hullo, Sirius."

Everyone greeted each other and the expected order for food was duly placed.

Conversation gradually turned to the Potter twins, Ron and young Sirius. The two had a talent for causing trouble, unequaled by even their uncles Fred and George in their wanton youth. However, it was not long before Lily yawned loudly.

"How’s school been, Lily of the Valley?" asked Sirius after a while. To everyone’s surprise, the girl shuddered at the familiar old nickname.

"Don’t!" Lily Elizabeth exclaimed sharply, but then she winced and said softly, "Could you just call me Lily Elizabeth?"

In the awkward silence that followed, Harry and Ginny both muttered something about how their daughter was going through those terrible teenage years. But all their clever little comments couldn’t hide the unease that had swept over the table.

Or Sirius’s odd frown, as if he were remembering something.

Or the look of absolute terror in Lily Elizabeth’s green eyes.

* * * * *

The stars were bright out that night. The boys were in bed, asleep. No one would notice her absence. It was odd, how she anticipated this. The first time, it was with a quiet dread; now the thought of losing herself, if just for the night, sent adrenaline rushing through her veins. Was it the absence that she desired, she wondered idly, or the gaining of something new? Not the power. That in itself was nothing, not to her.

She quietly stepped through the window. This time he did not start in fright.

* * * * *

"Greetings," said Diana, dressed that night in black instead of the previous white. "Have you considered my offer?" She was perched on the windowsill, merrily swinging her legs. Her long golden hair hung loose, blowing about her softly in the cool evening breeze that reached even flats such as these.

Draco sighed. "If it weren’t for the sheer illegality of the thing, I would have."

Oddly, she chuckled. "But it’s not illegal!" Diana crowed. "I work for the Ministry. They’ve given the A-OK." She clapped her hands together, like an old crone or a small child do when they are pleased. But, he noted, she did not appear childish, rather a caricature of youth. A caricature, even, of venerable old age. It frightened him, somehow, almost in the same way Marcus did. As he realized later, both Diana and Marcus exuded that same manic, whimsical energy that almost seemed to radiate from their pores.

"They have?" Draco asked, interested in spite of himself.

"Why not?" Diana said with a wicked smile. "I’m the best undercover they’ve got. It was my asking price. They give me Marcus, I save the world. Simple as that. He would have gotten a kiss from a Dementor anyway." She laughed, and a strange chill seemed to run through him.

"Tell me this. What’s in it for me, and why are they after him?"

"You will be cleared of the charges that put you in Azkaban. As for why the Ministry wants Marcus Flint dead, they know about the League of Purebloods."

He blanched. "No."

"Yes. But-," and here she flashed another evil grin, "If you work with me, the Ministry will not bring charges against you. If you don’t…" Diana shrugged.

However, Draco Malfoy was not without defense. "I know your secret, you know," he said confidently.

"You do?" For a second, as he had the previous night, he seemed to glimpse a flicker of emotion behind her eerily cheerful façade.

"Yeah. You’re a weretigre. Which one of your parents was?" He raised an eyebrow. "And does the Ministry know?"

"Of course," Diana said smoothly, that chance glimpse within gone, as if it had never existed at all. "Both my parents, actually. It’s not as terrible as being a werewolf, you know. As long as the light of the full moon doesn’t hit me, I’m fine. How did you know?"

He shrugged, deflated. "Your hair, for one thing. Part of it’s got stripes. And," he hesitated, "The way you walk. You’re very balanced."

"Thank you," Diana replied. "You flatter me. Now, let’s get down to business. Have you heard from Marcus lately?"

She extricated a Quick-Quotes Quill from out of thin air, and Draco responded as best he could to the various questions she asked. It wasn’t as if the questions were so very interesting, but that the questioner was. Diana was, to him, not the cheery weretigre whose red mouth curved into a smile so often, but the mysterious woman behind the smile, the one whose manic, brilliant energy seemed almost tangible. What infinite darkness, he pondered, could possibly lie on the other side of such a brightly shining light?

* * * * *

"You confounded idiots!" the girl with long, fiery red hair exclaimed irritably. Her emerald eyes looked daggers at the two mischievous black haired boys, one on either side of her, all of them seated at the Gryffindor table. "To misquote dear Hamlet, there’s something rotten in Hogwarts! And it’s you two!" Her eyes narrowed further, and she looked across the table at two other seventh-years. "Better yet, you four."

" And we know you hate misquoting," said the slim, brown-haired boy opposite her.

"Especially your dear, beloved Shakespeare," added the chubby, mousy boy next to the brown-haired one.

"So we must conclude," said the shorter of the two black-haired boys, "That we do reek!"

"But," the taller boy said, "we would never smell our disgusting scent over your lovely perfume-"

"Lily of the Valley!" the four boys chimed in.

"Don’t!" wailed the redheaded Lily. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Of course," said the taller boy, who Lily occasionally called James when not insulting him in foreign languages. He whispered into her ear, "Of course you do, when any flower would pale in comparison to you."

Lily blushed.

"So, when’s the wedding?" asked the other black-haired boy.

"Sirius…" said Lily with a sigh, but by this time, her anger had faded, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

After a moment, three of the four boys joined in.

"Next year?" James asked quietly into her ear.

"Okay," she agreed, her voice somewhat louder. Remus, Peter, and Sirius all looked at them curiously.

This time, only she and James laughed as the other three looked on.

"Oh, no," said Lily Elizabeth Potter, as she awoke from the fourth visitation of the dream that week. "Not again."

 

COMING SOON

Chapter Two of Part III: The Girl With Two Faces

 

While you wait, be sure to check out the new story in the Viridian Wand story arc!

Ginny Weasley and the Tea Room of Doom takes place in Ginny’s fourth year, and she has to investigate some mysterious disappearances…

 

This all belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros., with the exception of Mica, Caroline, the Cassadaga Coven, etc. J

 

You can email Love at [email protected] or [email protected] ; or you can write a review. Or, if you’re not already a member, check out the SevenOfQuills Yahoo Group, where you can read and discuss the work of Lissanne, Tabitha Jones, karei, Andie, Plumeria, Kellie, and Love Gordon.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/

 

Thanks: My family, who put up with me, and thus deserve a great deal of respect. Laurie, Bob the Amazing Wonder Guitar, and fellow members of the Mod Squad, especially Lissanne, beta-reader extraordinare.

 

Last but not least, a final thank you to Mrs. Flewelling, who no longer teaches Algebra I, but will be remembered by all readers of Harry Potter and the Viridian Wand with fond reverence.