The Harpsichordist

Chapter 8: Say My Name, Say My Name

Green eyes taunted him, flirted with him, looked back at him horrified, afraid not of death, but of dying without a chance to fight, to have the last word. Eyes that begged him for mercy opened wide in shock this can't be real oh god this isn't happening eyes that wanted to die to stop the pain to close but couldn't because vision was the only thing keeping the body connected... keeping the body...

A splash of brown hair on a hospital wing pillow, skin so pale that it almost matched the bleached sheets. How would that skin look, healthy, with a slight sheen of sweat? How would those lips, with those barely-too-big front teeth showing behind them, look, curved in a sultry smile, telling him that he was the one she wanted, the one who made her feel so good, the one she needed, not that buffoon with the painted smile barely holding in a panicked confusion? A voice that encouraged him to do things with her body, to hold her here, touch her there, put his lips right there, oh yes, oh yes, oh please, more, more, yes, oh, oh, ooh, yesyesyesyes...

Severus woke, discovering sheets wet with more than just sweat. He swore, but the chosen words weren't very wise ones, as they simply encouraged his overactive imagination to produce more images of that Muggle -- that thoroughly uninteresting and unattractive Muggle -- in the Hospital Wing.

Still swearing under his breath, Severus got up and tore the sodden sheets off the bed, leaving them in a pile on the floor for the House-Elves. The clock told him, in a very quiet voice, that it was six a.m. -- not too early for a shower. A cold shower.

His mirror sniggered as he entered the bathroom. Severus had to resist a strong desire to throw the thing on the ground and smash it to pieces. Instead, he stepped under the nozzle and turned the cold tap on. The shock of cold water distracted him quickly from his physical problems, but not with the mental ones. Those eyes: he couldn't get them out of his head! Pleading, beautiful, scared, brave, sad, so green... so like Lily's...

That was a line of thought he didn't want to continue. He'd had plenty of practice with that particular one, though, so distraction came easily. Lily Evans quickly became Lily Potter, which reminded him of James Potter and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin and that despicable Wormtail, and that gave his mind plenty of horrible things to dwell upon, not the least of which was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...

No.

Voldemort.

Severus could say the name in his head, could even mouth the syllables, but never had he been able to bring himself to actually say the word. "Voldemort," he mouthed to the shower wall. "Voldemort," he mouthed again, with a slight hiss of air on "Vol." A whisper. He could manage that, surely? The whole name, just once, in the protection of his own bathroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts, safest place on earth. He could, he really could. That idiot Potter boy did it; Sirius had done so; what was stopping Severus Snape, the unsung hero of the First War?

"Voldemort." The word echoed icily off the tiles. Severus shuddered. "Warmer," he ordered.

Soap, cloth. Legs, chest, other body parts that had finally relaxed. Scrubbing under his armpits, Severus thought about the Potter boy. He still had to arrange Occlumency lessons with the brat. No doubt the ability to see into the Dark Lord's -- Voldemort's -- thoughts was useful, but the only way to prevent more occurrences like the vision of Black was to completely block all input. Potter couldn't understand that. His desire to feel important and useful was, as always, overbalancing his sense of survival. Perhaps the death of Black would hammer into Potter the need to prevent any Legilimency between the two minds. Or perhaps Potter would find some way to absolve himself of the blame and place it on a convenient scapegoat -- most likely himself, Severus thought cynically.

Severus rinsed the shampoo from of his hair, then stepped out.

"Cold shower do the trick, eh?" sneered his mirror.

"Sod off."

* * *

If Luke's first- and second-year beginning musicianship students were curious about the visitor in his class Wednesday morning, they were too subdued to ask. He led them through the basics of reading music with his mind completely elsewhere, then set them up with a worksheet to go through during the remaining fifteen minutes.

As Luke passed out the sheets of parchment, he thought wistfully of the two dilapidated copiers back in the Berkeley music library. Several days before, he had written out the worksheet in his wire-bound notebook, and the pleasure of completion had been but fleeting; he'd immediately felt a very familiar sinking feeling as he realized that there were no photocopiers or computers at Hogwarts. It would have to be written out by hand, every single sheet.

He'd reluctantly reached for his notebook, mentally tallying how many students would need it, and begun copying. Hours later, Winky had come across him scribbling madly and swearing at the more and more frequent mistakes he made. With a high-pitched lecture about how Master Luke wasn't letting her do her job if he didn't call upon her whenever she was needed, she had snatched the original out of his shaking hands, vanished with a crack! and reappeared seconds later to ask how many he would need.

"Um... a hundred?" he'd said.

Thirty seconds later, just long enough for him to sink back onto his couch and doze off, she was back, with a hundred small rolls of parchment, each an identical copy of his original.

The worksheet was long and tedious, no doubt, but the only way to learn how to read music was to practice. Luke wandered up and down the aisles of desks, pointing out errors, answering questions, giving help when asked, and was only mildly surprised to see Wendy doing the same. His questioning eyebrow received a shrug.

"Might as well," she whispered to him when their paths crossed.

In almost no time, the bell had rung, the first- and second-years were back out in the corridor, and a batch of fifth and sixth-years took their place. This was his most diverse class, with students like Parvati Patil, completely tone-deaf; Vincent Crabbe, who could sing beautifully but not read music; and Harry Potter, who could sing back anything he heard once, no matter how long or complicated it was. Well, they'd have to learn how to read music just the same as the first- and second-years. He gave them the same basic information, then handed out the worksheet.

As Luke was bending down to check Parvati's work, he heard the classroom door open, and straightened up.

It was Professor Snape. He carried a steaming goblet in one hand, his wand in the other.

"Miss Maurits forgot to take her potion," he said tonelessly, looking at something over Luke's shoulder. "Madam Pomfrey also wanted me to check on her."

"Oh, thanks, Severus," said Wendy with a grateful smile. She went over to the door to relieve him of the goblet. "What's in it?" she asked, bringing it to her lips.

Luke was absolutely furious! For Snape to just walk into his classroom as though he were actually welcome, and to give a potion to Wendy as though he were responsible for keeping her well!

"Dried nettles, powdered scarab beetle -- " Snape said.

Wendy pulled the goblet away from her lips with a horrified glance, and Snape arched one eyebrow and smirked.

"Various other insects. I just brewed it," Snape continued, "so it will be extremely hot."

Wendy still didn't drink.

"It's the same thing Poppy gave you last night," Snape said, sounding irritated. "Drink."

Wendy sighed and sipped carefully; Snape watched her drink; Luke watched Snape.

And the thirty eagerly listening students ignored their worksheets and watched the trio, instead.

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. "All right, enough entertainment," said Luke with a tense chuckle. "Back to work." Heads bent back over their parchments.

"You brew potions?" Wendy asked Snape quietly.

"Yes; I am the Potions Master here," Snape replied evenly.

"Oh," she said, and continued to sip.

Parvati had her hand up for a question, but Luke was pretending not to see it. Why was Snape watching Wendy so closely? Had he poisoned the goblet? Luke was struck by a sudden urge to knock it out of her hand, but suppressed it. Albus trusted Snape, and Albus did not seem the sort to trust the wrong people. But still... why was he watching her drink so carefully?

"What's this checkup Madam Pomfrey wants?" he asked suddenly.

"When she is done drinking, I will perform it," said Snape curtly.

"I'm curious, too," said Wendy. "What are you checking for?"

Snape lowered his voice so far the Luke could barely hear him. "I will be checking your nerve endings to see that they are recovering properly. You might have lingering effects from ... yesterday. Madam Pomfrey would do this if you were still in the Infirmary, but I am ... well qualified ... to perform this check. I have done it many times."

I'll just bet you have, thought Luke savagely. Parvati waved her hand, shifting in her seat.

Wendy sipped; Snape watched; Luke observed both.

Wendy was such a generous person, Luke realized. Here in front of her was the man who tortured her because he didn't want to lose his position as a spy -- there was an important point there, Luke realized grudgingly, though Snape would never know that he admitted it -- and Wendy was now drinking his potion easily and graciously. If he were in her position, he'd probably have thrown a punch in Snape's face the moment he could. But there she was, sipping and watching the class.

"Parvati is trying to get your attention, Luke," she said. "I should finish this; can you please help her?"

And now she wasn't even telling him how selfish he was being by ignoring Parvati's arm. Luke felt like a possessive clod, and it only made him angrier at Snape. Wordlessly he left her to her potion and went to deal with Parvati.

"Please, Luke, I just don't get it," Parvati said, waggling her eyelashes at him. How hard was it to get? he thought savagely, keeping an eye on Wendy. If Snape had poisoned that goblet...

"What don't you get?" he asked politely. Snape moved slightly closer to Wendy.

"How am I supposed to tell what a note is when it's above the... um... staff?" she asked. Wendy had paused with the goblet at her lips but wasn't drinking, while Snape talked.

"Ledger lines follow the same lettering pattern as the regular staff lines," Luke explained. "You just keep going."

Wendy now took a slow sip.

"So the first space is an F again, then?" asked Parvati.

Wendy took the goblet away and said something in return, gesturing negligently with her left hand.

"No, it's a G. You just continue the letters once you've reached the top or bottom line," said Luke.

Snape said something back to Wendy, head bent close, face urgent.

"See? This one here is an F, so the next one up is a G."

"And on the way down," said Parvati, as though a ligh bulb had just switched on -- perhaps she actually had been confused -- "the bottom line is an E, so the next one down is a... a D?"

Wendy smiled gently at Snape, then shook her head.

"Exactly," said Luke. "You've got it. The same principle applies to all the other clefs."

Snape seemed less tense now, Luke thought. Wendy drained her goblet quickly and made a face. She passed it back to him with a "Thank you" that Luke could read on her lips.

Snape pulled out his wand, and Luke jerked suddenly. In a classroom full of students! The potion was bad enough, but this! He all but ran across the room, brushing the papers off Hermione's desk where they sat piled neatly. "What are you doing?" he hissed at Snape. "There are students here!"

Snape turned cold eyes on him. "I'm going to run a simple scan to make sure she's healing," he said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "You needn't worry," he said with a sneer, "I won't transfigure her or jinx her."

Indeed, all Snape did was point the wand at Wendy and mutter something, and an orange glow surged out of his wand tip to flutter around her head. It dipped and danced briefly there before moving six inches down to her neck; after a few more seconds, it moved further down.

"Oh! That tickles!" said Wendy, gasping.

"Good," said Snape.

Luke glared at him. So did Wendy.

"Your nerve endings work," Snape said coldly.

"Oh."

Luke continued to glare at him. He wasn't sure why he was taking such a dislike to the man, but the way he acted towards Wendy -- as though every interaction was painful -- didn't exactly warm him to the heart. Did the man hate Muggles so much? If so, why hadn't he just killed her and been done with it? Something prickled behind Luke's eyes. It wasn't tears. No, it was just the dust in here. It needed cleaning for sure.

The orange flutter had reached Wendy's feet. It did one last dance around them, then disappeared. "What's the verdict?" Wendy asked casually.

Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

She simply looked at him. "You're fine," he finally said. "Good day to you both," he added, then left.

The bell that rang then could not have been more welcome to Luke. "Finish these sheets before next class," he called over the din.

* * *

Harry thought Hermione was irritated that Luke had knocked her pile of papers over, but when he went over to help her, she merely looked perplexed.

"What's up?" he asked.

She was silent for a moment as she sorted her papers in some uniquely Hermione-esque system. Just as he was about to ask her again, she spoke. "I'm wondering why Snape bothered to come find Wendy."

"You'd think he would hate Muggles," Harry said as they left the classroom.

"No, it's not that," she said. "He's not a Death Eater anymore, remember?"

"But he was once," said Harry, "so he must have had their opinions at some point. How can we know that he's let go of them?"

"All I'm saying," she persisted, "is that you would expect him to want to avoid Luke. You said that it was Snape who used the Cruciatus on her-"

"Right," said Harry.

"-so wouldn't he want to keep his distance from Luke?"

"But Luke's no threat to him, he's a Muggle."

"But so is Wendy."

Harry waited. Hermione looked like she was going to be silent for a while.

"And?" he prompted.

"Oh, I don't know, Harry. It just seems strange that Snape would brew a potion for her and come up to Luke's classroom to find her, that's all. And I wonder what that spell was?" she mused. "I don't think I've ever seen an orange Medi-spell before, have you?"

"Nope."

Ron joined them in the crowds thronging to lunch.

"How was Music?" he asked them cheerfully.

They told him what had happened between Luke, Wendy, and Snape. He looked confused when they'd finished. "But Snape hates Muggles," he said.

"We don't know that, Ron," said Hermione.

"But he was a Death Eater!" The three of them took seats at the end farthest from the High Table, where the object of their conversation was drinking from a goblet.

"Yes, he was," Hermione argued. "Past tense."

"That's what I said," Harry retorted. "How are we to know he doesn't still think that Muggles are trash?"

"But," whispered Hermione as they sat down, "he saved her life. He could have just left her to die."

"Maybe he didn't want a stink with Luke," said Ron through a mouthful of potato.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "You know, that could be right," she said.

"I love it when she says that," said Ron triumphantly, and took an indecently large mouthful of pork chop.

"What's this?" said Ginny, swinging a leg over the bench. "Ron's in love with Hermione? Has he finally admitted it?" Ginny's leg seemed to take a long time to get from one side to the other; or maybe Harry's sense of time simply slowed when he noticed a flash of freckled skin.

Ron and Hermione both blushed furiously and avoided each other's eyes. "No," Ron protested angrily through his pork. "I said I love it when Hermione says that I could be right."

"Right about what?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

They told her. "Of course Snape would want to make sure she was all right!" she exclaimed. "It's his fault, after all."

"You mean you think he's got a conscience in that greasy head?" asked Ron.

"Of course he has a conscience," she said.

Ron and Harry stared at her. "That's what I think, too," said Hermione. "After all, he would have stayed with ... well, his previous group," she said delicately, "if he'd not had one."

"How do we know that?" insisted Ron.

"All right, we don't know it for certain," Hermione said, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice, "but it seems awfully cruel to say that Snape -- " She broke off as the object of their conversation entered the Great Hall, followed by the two Muggles.

"Ooh, Luke doesn't look happy," said Ginny.

She was right -- Harry realized that Luke's smile didn't reach his eyes, though he was giving all the outward signs of being eager to get to dinner.

"I bet he's angry at Snape," said Ron sagely. "What did you say happened, Harry? Cruciatus for five minutes?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

Ron let out a low whistle. "Wow."

* * *

Harry shuffled his feet as he made his way along the corridors to Snape's dungeon. He really, really didn't want to study Occlumency, especially after Sirius... No. He wasn't going to think about it.

"Enter," said Snape's cold voice when Harry knocked.

The dungeon office still held the horrible slimy things in jars, still had the big desk dominating the room. It was still slightly too dark for comfort, and slightly too cold. The Pensieve was nowhere to be seen, though. Maybe Snape didn't feel the need for it, now that Harry had seen what had been in it.

Harry made as much of closing the door behind him as he could, trying to delay the moment when he would have to turn and face that sallow face, the eyes glittering, as always, with various degrees of repressed malice.

"You are five minutes late, Potter," said Snape.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "Sir," he added.

"Did you practice over the summer?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry said, truthfully for once. He had indeed practiced while at the Dursleys'. With nothing to do in the evenings, it had been a short step from lying on his bed in extreme boredom to actively emptying his mind of all thoughts. Maybe it had worked, maybe it hadn't. He had still dreamed of Voldemort, still woken in the night with his scar prickling. And, of course, he had seen, through Voldemort's eyes, Lucius Malfoy being sent to America to kill the Muggle.

"Look at me when you speak to me, Potter," Snape growled.

Harry looked at him. "Yes, I practiced," he repeated angrily. He waited a beat. "Sir."

Snape's eyes bored into him. "We shall see," he eventually said. "We shall see. Get your wand out, Potter." They faced each other over the desk. "Close your eyes. Clear your mind of all emotions."

Harry furiously pushed down the thought that clearing his mind with Snape standing in front of him with a wand was extremely difficult. Blank, he thought. Blankness, nothingness...

"Ready?" said Snape too soon. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "One, two, three -- Legilimens!"

Harry was nine, shouting at his uncle through the door of his cupboard, rubbing his head where Uncle Vernon had hit him. He was ten, surrounded by a gang of Dudley's friends, who were . He was eleven, watching Hagrid open Diagon Alley for the first time. He was twelve, seeing Riddle's outline over Ginny's cold body. Then he was thirteen, and Hermione was pulling a time-turner out from her robes... He doesn't know about that, Harry thought furiously. No, I won't let him find out! As the memory drew near to the place Harry had identified as the front of his mind, for lack of a better identification, he tried to alter it, tried to blur the image of the time-turner, but it was like trying to grab at a bar of soap in the shower; it kept slipping and altering, snapping in and out of focus as the two of them fought for control.

Harry lost, and Hermione finished pulling the time-turner out of her robes. In quick succession, Harry saw memories from that night; watching himself beign thrashed by the willow; watching Lupin transform and run towards them; casting a Patronus at the Dementors crowded around himself and Sirius; flying on Buckbeak up to the window of the tower and rescuing Sirius; watching Sirius and Buckbeak disappear into the night.

The images faded, and Harry found himself kneeling on the floor, his wand several feet away. "Stand up," he snarled.

Harry slowly got to his feet and picked up his wand. They faced each other for a long moment over the desk. Snape's expression was calculating.

"It is always interesting," he finally said, "to see in your memories explanations of events past. That last one, for instance." A small smile curved his thin lips. "I now remember Minerva McGonagall mentioning, rather smugly, that Miss Granger had needed a time turner to get to all her classes. You were indeed in two places at once." He seemed sinisterly triumphant. "No doubt Dumbledore must have been exceptionally pleased at such a convenient solution to save his favorite Gryffindor."

Harry stood, listlessly, wondering suddenly what the point was. Why bother teaching him how to block his thoughts if he was so obviously inept?

"We go again," said Snape. "Try harder, Potter."

Harry raised his wand mechanically, despair welling up inside him. He wouldn't cry. He would not cry in front of Snape. He pushed it down.

"Close your eyes. Empty your mind. One, two three -- Legilimens!"

Harry's mind was already blank with despair, so he didn't even bother. If only Snape didn't see the embarrassing memories as well as the normal ones.

...A giant snake was circling a tombstone where Harry sat, tied... Wormtail was cradling his bleeding stump of an arm while jewel-bright lights sparkled across a cauldron big enough for a man to sit in...

Harry sagged, mentally, knowing he would be forced to relive the whole thing no matter how hard he tried to block it. He relaxed his grip on the memories, resigned to reliving them.

...hooded figures were emerging from dark trees, forming a circle around him, Wormtail, and the newly reborn Voldemort....

And, suddenly, Harry was standing in a circle, watching a figure writhing on the ground in pain while Voldemort laughed... he was kneeling at the foot of a throne, feeling disgust as he bent to kiss his master's hem... he was casting the Cruciatus curse at a girl lying in a Full Body-Bind on asphalt in the afternoon sun...

"Enough!" shouted Snape.

Harry, feeling as though he'd been pushed hard in the chest, stumbled backward, cracked his head on a shelf, and fell. Snape watched from behind his desk as Harry got heavily to his feet, his mind reeling as much as his balance.

"What happened, Potter?" he said when Harry was upright again. He sounded furious.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry said honestly. "It just..."

"Describe to me what you did!" Snape shouted, and Harry realized that Snape's anger wasn't at the fact that Harry had been inside his memories, but at the entire teaching situation. "What was different?"

Harry thought. "I relaxed," he said. "I stopped fighting."

"Indeed," said Snape, almost looking thoughtful. "We go again. Clear your mind. One, two, three... Legilimens!"

The office stayed in view, because Harry hadn't cleared his mind of his last thoughts, which were of the strange, relaxed feeling he'd just experienced. Someone was pushing at his chest from the inside, and there was a funny prickling in the back of his mind, but there were no memories flooding to the surface. Snape's eyes were focused on Harry's, and as a flash of dislike crossed Harry's mind, he was suddenly watching Bellatrix and Sirius duel in front of a stone archway...No! he thought in anguish. He'd seen it often enough in his nightmares. But the moment was drawing nearer, and Harry tensed, waiting for the moment when he saw his godfather fall through the veil.

"No!" shouted Snape from somewhere distant. "Relax!"

And Harry remembered the feeling of detachment, and tried to sink into it, tried to relive that moment of looseness. But it was extremely hard to relax on command, and Harry's emotions were running high with the memory of Sirius'... of Sirius'... The office flickered in and out, and the memory was flicking back and forth, like a videotape paused.

Snape lowered his wand. The memory cleared, and Harry was still standing. His face felt wet.

"Well," Snape finally said, in a voice that begrudged every word, "I suppose that was quite good."

* * *

The days passed peacefully enough for Wendy. She helped Luke in his classes, marking papers, handing out worksheets faithfully copied by Winky, the house-elf, answering questions when the students were working on their own, and in general being the ideal teacher's aide.

Peaceful, but boring. She wanted to explore the castle, the grounds, and swim in the lake. Albus, who was such a sweet old man, had told her that the giant squid was perfectly harmless, and that it was perfectly safe as long as she stayed near the surface. He'd vaguely mentioned Grindylows, whatever they were; but anything that was described as a "demon" was something she wanted to steer completely clear of.

The castle might as well have been her prison. She never went anywhere alone, always escorted by Luke or Albus, or Madam Pomfrey. Even when she had to pee during a class, Luke hovered by the doorway until she was back, or begged her to wait until break time, when he could take her. Who was going to attack her inside a school? Did they think the students would harm her? Apparently they did, because it was Albus' order, couched as a gentle request, that made Luke watch her like a hawk.

Still, the days were gorgeous and clear, with just a nip in the air that hinted of cold winter. It was mid-October, and she was supposed to be a young twenty-something studying at the University of California, Berkeley. Instead, she was stuck in a castle in Scotland. True, a magical castle that served as a wizards' school, and it was a beautiful castle, with beautiful scenery -- the hills! The hills that whispered climb me, climb me whenever she saw them out a window.

She was gazing out the window of their rooms now, and absently began to hum something from The Sound of Music.

"You've really got it bad, haven't you?" said Luke sympathetically.

"Got what?" she asked.

He began to sing in a falsetto, "The hiiills are a-live.. with the souund of muuuusic..." he crooned. "You want to get out, don't you?"

"Of course I want to get out!" she exploded. Suddenly she couldn't control herself, and rattled on in an exasperated sort of plea. "I'm cooped up inside this castle all day like a pet bird, with those hills out there and my school six thousand miles away! I'm not comfortable, okay! Scotland is all well and good, and it's great to see you, but I have a degree that I want to finish! I don't care that Davitt told them whatever about me, that they're not expecting me anytime soon, that I was called away for a family emergency or whatnot. I want my books and some peace and quiet in the library! I want my cello! I haven't practiced in more than a month, my calluses are all but gone, my fingers feel like rubber!"

"Wendy," began Luke helplessly.

"I know, I know, you're happy that I'm here; I'm so much help with the classes, you don't know how you'd manage without me, blah, blah, blah."

"No, that's not -" he interrupted, but she steamrollered on.

"I'm glad to be with you, really, I am, I love it," she said anxiously, "so don't think I don't like that. I just don't have a life here, and it's not right! I don't want to teach musicianship to twelve-year-olds, I want to teach history to adults, to do my own research. I want my computer, I need to work on my papers. I just can't do this whole quill thing all the time, either, it's so slow-"

"Wendy!" Luke shouted.

"What?" she shouted back. "Sorry," she said, "but I'm just going crazy, never alone-"

"Stop," he said gently.

She burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she wailed, as he took her in his arms. "I'm just feeling so displaced and homeless -- the only thing tying me to this castle is you and Severus."

"Severus?" he asked, his arms tensing. "What's he got to do with it?"

"He's the only person I sort of know, apart from you and Albus," she explained to Luke's shoulder. And he's fascinating, she didn't add. Nor did she say, I often wonder why he didn't just kill me, and I'm waiting for a chance to ask.

"Look," said Luke, "why don't I take you into Hogsmeade this weekend?"

That did sound good.

"It's a weekend for the students, too..."

Wendy frowned.

"...but they'll be too busy with their own stuff to even take a second look at us. Come on, it'll be fun. It's an entirely wizarding settlement, apparently. Just give it a try."

"All right," she said grudgingly, but kissed him.

* * *

Saturday morning it rained, which put a damper on some of the joy of a Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione even considered staying in to do some studying, but she needed some more green ink for her Transfiguration notes, and a quill with a bold nib wouldn't be a bad idea, either. So she let Ron convince her to come along with him, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, without too much objection.

They splashed down the muddy road to the village, and Hermione let their voices wash over her, thinking vaguely about one thing after another.

"...I swear, Ron, Parvati was making eyes at you at breakfast this morning! Didn't you see..."

"... the new Nimbus Two Thousand and Two came out last week, three hundred Galleons just for the handle!..."

"...of course, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack only eats four-leaf clovers..."

"...and then, if you'll believe it, Tonks suddenly..."

"...twelve-and-a-quarter inches, dragon heartstring and ebony. Gran was furious, but..."

"Hey, look, you guys, isn't that Luke and his girlfriend?" Ginny's voice quieted the group. She pointed up the track where a couple huddled together under an umbrella outside the bookshop. One of them seemed to be pointing out buildings to the other. Hermione couldn't see either face from where she was, but as they drew closer, saw an intense expression of thoughtfulness on Wendy's face.

"Is she really a Muggle?" asked Neville softly.

"Yes," said Harry. "From California."

"I reckon the weather doesn't make her too happy," said Ron.

"Actually, San Francisco can be quite rainy and cold," said Hermione absently.

"Wonder why they're here?" asked Ginny thoughtfully as they passed on the opposite side of the street from the two.

"I expect she needs to have her Simvilloo trimmed," said Luna dreamily.

"What's a Simvilloo?" asked Neville before Hermione could stop him.

"All Muggles have them. It's a special sort of..." Hermione tuned out.

The Three Broomsticks was especially crowded and steamy, and the six of them found a table in a corner to sit with their Butterbeers and, for Luna, gillywater. Ron and Harry got into an argument about the Nimbus Two Thousand and Two; Luna rhapsodized dreamily to a vacant-eyed Neville about the Gibbering Monwerdeck syndrome that was decimating the world's population of Blibbering Humdingers; and Ginny chatted cheerfully to Hermione about the singing lessons she had just started with a local witch who came up to the castle once a week.

Then Hermione saw Draco Malfoy and his group of Slytherins take a nearby table and draw their heads together, expressions closed.

"You're not listening to me, Hermione," said Ginny matter-of-factly.

"No, I'm not," she admitted. "Look." She nodded in Malfoy's direction.

"Oh," said Ginny. She nudged Harry, who was enumerating reason number four why the Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Two's twig binding wasn't as good as the Two-Thousand-and-One's. She had to poke him several times.

"What?" he snapped.

She looked meaningfully over his shoulder. He turned his head to look casually behind him.

"Oh," he said, in the same tone as Ginny. Ron glanced over, too.

Luna and Neville were still in conversation... well, Luna was still talking at Neville. But it wasn't loud enough to mask all of the Slytherins' conversation. The words "Muggle," and "Luke," and "Wendy," and "my father," were easy enough to lipread.

"I'm going to use the toilet," Hermione announced in an exceptionally bright tone, and got up from her chair. "Ginny, come with me?"

"All right," said Ginny cheerfully.

Their path, just by chance, took them right next to the Slytherins' table. Crabbe actually had to squeeze his chair in to let Hermione pass. She supposed it was a minor miracle that he actually had done so much for her, a Mudblood. Draco Malfoy didn't so much as glance at the two girls, which was fortunate for them.

"...told Father that she's here, and Father says that by Halloween things should be ready..." said Malfoy. Pansy giggled maliciously.

Hermione actually did use the toilet, while Ginny stood in front of the mirror, messing with her hair.

"I wonder what's ready by Halloween?" Ginny asked as soon as the door was closed behind them, and they'd made sure they were alone.

"Knowing Malfoy, something foul," Hermione said. "Do you think we should tell Professor Dumbledore what we heard?"

"I dunno," Ginny said. Hermione heard the sound of running water. Ginny's voice was moving around, as though she were turning her head this way and that. "I wonder what Dumbledore can do."

"Surely You-Know-Who wouldn't try to attack the school," Hermione said nervously. "Oh, dear," she added. "There's no paper in here."

Ginny obligingly got her some from the other stall. "Maybe Malfoy's father will be sending him something... horrible. You know, to attack them."

There was a silence. Hermione flushed the toilet and emerged from the stall. She ran the water in the sink, waiting for it to heat up. "Do you ever wonder if Malfoy knows the Unforgivables?"

"No," said Ginny flatly. "I don't wonder."

Hermione looked at her sharply.

Ginny let her hair fall from the ponytail she was holding it up in. Her fists clenched at her sides. "He does."

"How do you know?" gasped Hermione, lingering over the soap. She had never seen Ginny looking so angry.

"I saw him using Cruciatus once," said Ginny in a low voice. "On someone's cat."

"That's horrible!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I know."

There was a silence again while Hermione dried her hands.

The mirror took that chance to say, "You know, dear, it looks very nice up in the ponytail. I know a nice charm for that..."

The pub seemed unreal after the conversation in the toilet. Hermione and Ginny took a path by the Slytherins' table again, but the conversation had turned to general Dumbledore-bashing, and nothing interesting was gained. Crabbe did grunt something that sounded like, "'Lo, Granger" though, as he sucked his stomach in to make room for them.

"Learn anything?" whispered Harry.

Ginny and Hermione told him what they'd heard, and everyone started talking at once. Ron wanted to simply go over and beat Malfoy up until he told everything; Harry thought they should set a guard around Luke and Wendy; Neville suggested going to Dumbledore, or at least McGonnagall; and Luna insisted that Wendy's Simvilloo would protect her from the Killing Curse.

Hermione had had enough. "There's no such thing as a Simvilloo," she hissed at Luna. "And there's no protection against the Killing Curse."

"Yes, there is," insisted Luna calmly. "Harry's mother protected him."

"All right, that was an exception. But Muggles have nothing-"

"The Simvilloo forms an eclectric barrier around Muggles, and bounces the spells back to the attacker," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Have you ever seen a Muggle killed by magic?"

"Well, not in person," Hermione admitted. "But the newspapers-"

"The newspapers print rubbish sometimes," Luna said happily.

Hermione gave up.

* * *

Wendy had to admit that Butterbeer was good stuff, especially on a rainy day like this one. The pub was cheerful and well-lit, with no lingering smell of rancid alcohol that often permeated such places. Students were gathered in groups or couples, chatting with their arms waving expansively, conspiring with heads together, kissing furtively, comparing purchases with much laughter. And none of them were bothering to notice the teacher and his girlfriend standing at the bar with two mugs of Butterbeer.

"Do you want to sit down?" Luke asked her.

"All right."

They scanned the tables. They all seemed to be full of students or, rarely, adults. Even the group of teachers sitting around a small table had no room. There didn't seem to be any empty chairs at all.

"What about that booth?" said Luke, pointing to a corner. "There's a spare three inches on the end, there. Perhaps if we asked Hermione to sit on someone's lap, you could sit on mine." Wendy laughed, but it was the only empty seat in the entire pub, and mingling with the students might not be so bad. She followed Luke through the tables, annoyed when some students crowded around a table didn't pull their chairs in to let them pass. Wendy retaliated by not picking up the green and silver scarf she accidentally knocked to the floor as she squeezed through.

"Hi, you guys," said Luke jovially. "Is it alright if we join you?"

The six students -- Wendy was pleased to recognize them as Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, though she didn't know their last names as well -- exchanged startled glances with each other. They all then looked at Harry.

"All right, then," he said finally. The six kept glancing at each other uncomfortably.

The silence seemed to make a vacuum around their table that the noise of the room couldn't impinge upon. There seemed to be a lot of ankle kicking going on, because people kept breathing in sharply, twitching, and wincing suddenly. Luke's smile was plastered uncomfortably on his face. Wendy could practically hear his heart thumping. He hated this kind of situation.

Wendy was about to say something stupid and inconsequential to break the ice, but Harry suddenly blurted, "We've got something important to tell you."

Judging by the small movements Hermione and Ron made, and Harry's sudden wince, those two had just kicked him.

Harry, however, plowed on, lowering his voice. "We just overheard... oh, all right, Hermione and Ginny here... just overheard Malfoy and his gang talking about having something ready by Halloween." He looked meaningfully at them, as though expecting them to react.

"So?" said Luke blankly. "An assignment, a project?"

"Malfoy was also talking about you two," said Ron. "And when Malfoy talks about someone, it's not good news."

"Especially if his father is involved," said Ginny.

"How did you decide that?" said Luke disbelievingly.

The six of them exchanged exasperated looks. "Malfoy's father is evil," Harry said, as though that explained it all.

Luke and Wendy both raised their eyebrows promptingly.

Ginny spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. "In my first year, Malfoy's father tried to use me to bring You-Know-Who back. He put Tom Riddle's diary in one of my spellbooks-"

"Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort," Harry added quietly. Neville hastily had to grab a napkin and wipe up his spilled butterbeer.

"and the diary turned out to have some kind of shadow of Riddle in it. When I wrote in it, Riddle fed on my emotions, and almost came back to life. If Harry here hadn't killed the basilisk and destroyed the diary..." She trailed off. "Has someone told you about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes, I heard," said Luke, while Wendy nodded.

"The point is," said Hermione, "that it was Malfoy's father who started all of it."

Luke was drumming his fingers on the tablecloth, scratching his ear, and licking his lips, while the six students waited for one of them to say something. Moments passed.

"All right," said Wendy heavily at last, and all eyes snapped to her, "supposing Malfoy's father really does mean trouble. What do you expect us to do? Barricade ourselves inside the castle?"

"We just wanted to warn you," said Harry. "Put you on your guard, that's all. Lucius Malfoy is slippery ... do you know how many times he's gotten off when he should have been put in Azkaban?"

It took a few seconds for Wendy to register what Harry had said, because she was draining the last of her butterbeer and focusing on licking the foam off the cup. But it did eventually connect.

She suddenly choked. "Tell me," she said, once she could breathe again, trying to sound casual, "is Lucius a common name in -- around here?"