The Harpsichordist

Chapter 9: Do You Wanna Dance?

Wendy and Luke hurried up to the castle as soon as Wendy had cleaned the butterbeer off her sweater.

"Where's Dumbledore's office?" Wendy asked, staring around the Entrance Hall.

"Um... I'm not sure," Luke confessed. "I've only been there once, and it was back in August; and now it's October, so undoubtedly the stairs will have changed or something."

"That's so annoying," Wendy sighed, sinking down on a large pedestal holding a suit of armor. "Magic is all very well and good, but I like my buildings to stay where they're put."

Luke knew Wendy was just letting off steam, that she was nervous and jittery, but at this moment he had to agree.

He sank down next to her and rubbed her knee. She put her elbows on her knees, rested her chin on her fists, and frowned. "Should we just start searching?" she asked. "Maybe if we think about it hard enough, we'll find it."

Luke was about to say that it looked like that would be their only option, when the front doors opened and an unknown wizard entered the castle.

Luke looked up and had to stifle a snort.

The man was wearing a pin-striped cloak and a lime green bowler hat. He was short, portly, and nervous, and they watched as he peered around the Entrance Hall as if orienting himself. He took off the hat and held it by the brim, rolling it around and around.

He suddenly spotted Luke and Wendy. "Hallo," he called cheerfully. "Visiting parents, I presume?"

Luke wondered why the man wasn't introducing himself. Was this someone he ought to know? "Uh--no," he said, as Wendy shook with silent giggles. He stood up; the two men met in the middle of the hall and shook hands. "Luke Navarra," Luke said. "You are--?"

The man squinted at him thoughtfully. "I," he said, "am Cornelius Fudge."

"Nice to meet you, Cornelius," said Luke.

The man frowned. "Navarra," he muttered. "Navarra... I can tell by the accent that you're from the Colonies--"

The Colonies?

"--but I don't believe I've heard that name. Navarra... Navarra... You're not, by any chance, related to the Navarinis of Italy? Or the Navarens of Holland?"

"Uh.. no."

"I'm sorry," said Cornelius, his smile firmly fixed, "but who are you, then?"

"I'm one of the professors," said Luke, completely confused. "And who are you?" he asked. He heard Wendy splutter and cough. She must be loving this conversation. The British could be so dense, sometimes.

Cornelius jumped backwards. "Good God," he said. "You're the Muggle."

Luke decided that he didn't like this man. "Yes," he said shortly. "I'm a Muggle, and I'm a professor here. And who are you?" he asked again.

"Well, of course you wouldn't know," said Cornelius, a mask of understanding sliding over his shocked face. "I am the Minister for Magic."

"Oh," exclaimed Luke. "Very nice to meet you, Minister," he said.

"And who's that--that woman?" asked the Minister, looking around at Wendy as though she was some kind of dangerous beast that had been let into the house.

"This is Wendy, my girlfriend," said Luke.

Wendy obligingly got up and came over, smiling and holding out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Minister," she said warmly.

The Minister didn't take her hand; he was too busy staring at the two of them.

"Um," he said, rolling his bowler hat in his hands. "I have a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, you know ..."

"We know who he is," said Wendy in a strained voice. She appeared to be biting her tongue.

"... I ought to go." And with one last terrified look, he pushed past them up the marble staircase.

"Come on, stop laughing," said Luke irritably to Wendy. "He's gone to see Albus, right? Let's follow him."

They set off up the marble staircase. If the Minister heard them behind him, he didn't give any indication of it, and they arrived at Albus' office just in time to hear him say, "Canary Cream," to a gargoyle, which sprung to life and jumped aside.

"Cool," said Wendy, as they crouched beside an ugly statue. "That's the coolest use of magic I've seen." She grinned at the spiralling escalator.

"Pretty neat," agreed Luke.

"Should we follow, do you reckon?" asked Wendy.

"You've turned British," said Luke.

"What?"

"Do you reckon? That's so British."

"Whatever. Should we follow?"

"Yeah."

They cautiously approached the gargoyle. It was pretty ugly, Luke thought. "Shall I?" he asked.

"Be my guest," said Wendy, stretching out her hand elegantly. They giggled.

It felt good to be silly with her; to forget why they were here and about the small man in the pinstriped cloak who had shown them such animosity.

"Canary Cream!" he intoned in a deep voice, and Wendy giggled even harder.

The gargoyle jumped aside and they climbed the steps.

At the top of the steps, there was a door with a knocker in the shape of a griffin. Luke was about to knock when Wendy held up a hand, saying, "Shh..."

"...Muggles, Dumbledore! Really!" Cornelius was saying. "Standing in the Entrance Hall!"

"They are teachers, Cornelius," said Dumbledore calmly. "I have given you many reminders of how much influence the Ministry may have over my school; these two people are my choice for the subject of music."

"But... Dumbledore... what if the students decide to jinx them... and what about the Statute of Secrecy? I could have you arrested for it--"

"Ah, but Cornelius, you had your chance in August, and it is now October. And they're managing fine."

"You told me there would be one Muggle, just the one, and now there are two--what happened? Where did she come from?"

"Severus brought her; she was rescued from a Death Eater attack."

"Oh, so now we're saving Muggles?"

Dumbledore's voice became cold. "We are always helping those in need, including, and especially, Muggles. Wendy was attacked by Death Eaters as a sign of opposition to Luke's appointment, and brought to the school by Professor Snape. As it is not safe for her to return to the United States--"

"Dumbledore, why couldn't you have found a witch or a wizard--why Muggles? Why? They know nothing about our world, about our ways."

"That is precisely why I hired a Muggle. He has not been indoctrinated with our ways and beliefs. He is new to magic, and will appreciate music's power far more than any witch or wizard possibly could."

"Do the students know?" Cornelius asked snidely.

"Many of them know."

"And what do they think?"

"I have not heard any objections, either from parents or students."

"Really," said Cornelius, in frank disbelief.

"Really."

Luke raised his eyebrows at Wendy. "I knew there was prejudice against Muggles, but their own Minister for Magic!" he said quietly.

Wendy shook her head disbelievingly.

"But--standing in the Entrance Hall, Dumbledore," pleaded Cornelius.

"They have as much right to stand in that hall as I do, Cornelius." Dumbledore said coldly. "Luke is a Hogwarts teacher; Wendy is his assistant professor and is doing just as much as he is. It's a huge job, and they're doing extremely well at it."

"But--but... but, Dumbledore!"

"Cornelius, do you have any other business to discuss with me? I have other things I would like to be doing."

"I--but--you--" Cornelius spluttered.

"Cornelius?"

There was a pause.

When Cornelius spoke again, it was in a voice too low to make out through the door.

Luke put his arms around Wendy and rubbed her stomach comfortingly.

"I can't believe there's such bigotry," said Wendy sadly, turning in his arms to face him.

"Me, neither," said Luke. He kissed her.

A few minutes later they broke apart, because Cornelius' voice was getting louder as he moved to the door.

"Good day to you, Dumbledore," he said, sounding terse and annoyed.

The door opened, and Cornelius Fudge walked straight into Wendy. "Excuse--" he began, but looked up and saw who it was. His face turned purple; his eyes bugged.

"We were just coming to see Albus," said Luke politely from the wall next to the door, behind Cornelius. "How was your meeting?"

"Er--fine, thank you," mumbled Cornelius.

Wendy was standing between him and the stairs. He looked around in a panic; Luke felt a surge of savage triumph at his discomfort.

"We're very glad to be here," Wendy said, and Luke grinned at her. "Hogwarts is a pretty cool place."

"Yeah," agreed Luke. "Really cool."

"That's--that's nice," said Cornelius. He smiled, and it looked painful. "I really ought to--to be going now."

"Oh, well, then I guess we'll see you later," said Wendy. She didn't move.

Luke began to laugh silently.

Cornelius stared at her, at the stairway, and glanced around at Luke, who arranged his features into a polite mask just in time. Finally he said, rather stiffly, "You're in my way, Muggle."

Wendy looked behind herself, then turned back to Cornelius; Luke glowered at the portly man's pin-striped back.

"I'm sorry," said Wendy politely, "were you addressing me?"

"Yes," said Cornelius shortly. He seemed to have abandoned his suave veneer.

"Funny," said Wendy, "I thought my name was Wendy--I believed we introduced ourselves, Cornelius."

"Will you please get out of my way?" Fudge bit out.

Wendy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Professor," he choked.

Wendy stepped aside, and Cornelius stomped down the stairs.

Wendy looked furious. "That ... that ... prejudiced, small-minded, thoughtless, heartless..." She ran out of adjectives.

"Prejudiced about covers it, I think," said Luke. They spent a moment in joint annoyance.

"Let's go in," said Wendy finally.

They knocked and entered.

Albus' office was even cooler than the spiralling escalator, in Luke's opinion. There were all sorts of whirring silver things, paintings of venerable looking people snoozing in their frames, and, of course, Fawkes, looking magnificent on his perch.

"What's that?" Wendy said immediately, pointing at Fawkes.

"Hello, Wendy, Luke," said Albus. He got up from his chair to stroke the magnificent bird. "This," he said, nudging the bird onto his forearm, "is Fawkes, a phoenix."

"What's a phoenix?" she asked.

"Oh, they're so cool," said Luke, laughing. "They burst into fire when they die, and are reborn from the ashes."

"Neat," she said.

"And," he continued, looking at Albus, who nodded encouragingly, "the're very faithful, their tears can heal, and their song--well, you have to hear it to believe it."

"What do you mean?" asked Wendy.

"Can you get him to sing?" Luke asked Albus.

"I do nothing," said Albus. "Ask him yourself. He understands humans."

"Fawkes?" asked Luke, feeling a little stupid. "Fawkes, will you sing for Wendy?"

Fawkes left Albus' shoulder and flew over to land on Wendy's. He put his beak very close to her face, which looked startled and amazed.

Luke had once owned a cat with an unnerving habit of coming up behind him when he was sitting in a chair, pushing her face over his shoulder, and loudly demanding attention. It had always been startling to feel fur on his cheek and see those huge animal eyes so close they were out of focus.

This was probably more imposing.

"Oh, you're gorgeous," said Wendy, tentatively reaching a hand up to stroke Fawkes' feathers.

The bird regarded her imperiously for a moment, cocking its head to one side, its eyes beady. Then it opened its beak and sang.

Luke smiled at the expression on Wendy's face. She looked serene and untroubled, as though she could take anything the world chose to throw at her with an even pulse.

Luke himself felt encouraged and heartened. Whatever evil might be ahead of them, they could face it. They were together, and that was what counted.

Fawkes stopped singing.

"Wow," Wendy breathed. "That's just amazing. I felt--I felt so--so brave. So encouraged. So good--not like feeling good, I mean, but I felt so good of heart."

The two men smiled at her.

"Anyways," said Luke, turning to Albus. "We came up here because of something we overheard in the Three Broomsticks--actually, because of something that Harry and his friends overheard."

He quickly told Albus what had happened in the bar.

Albus' face stayed calm throughout the story, though his eyes slowly darkened.

"So what do we do, Albus?" said Wendy finally.

Albus sighed. "Unfortunately, there is only one thing to do."

"Go back to the U.S?" said Luke. He looked over at Wendy. Her face seemed to be caught between hope and despair.

"No," said Albus, and Wendy's face settled into a glum expression. Did she really want to go--he hesitated to say "home"--back that much?

"No," Albus continued. "You must stay. The students are only beginning to learn what they must know."

"But why?" Wendy burst out. "You've got us here, we're teaching harmony and counterpoint and composition and history, working our asses off--sorry, our butts off--and all you say is that it's necessary. For what?"

"I know it's frustrating," said Albus. "But I can't tell you the details now."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Part of the magic of your teaching here," Albus explained patiently, "is that you do not know what you are doing. You cannot possibly understand the effects you are having on certain students. As Muggles, you lack wizarding blood." He paused. "I'm sorry, but this can get terribly complicated. Shall I continue?"

"Yes," they both said earnestly.

"Very well." Albus steepled his fingers, put his forehead on his thumbs for a moment, then looked. "As Muggles, you have non-magical blood. Your cells are ordinary. Wizards have certain--I suppose you might call them chemicals, or nucleic acids--certain components in their DNA that make them magical."

The words "nucleic acids" and "DNA" sounded extremely unusual coming from a hundred-year-old wizard wearing long purple robes and a bright blue hat with big gold stars on it.

"Because you lack these chemicals in your blood and your cells, you do not attract the magic of Hogwarts the way the students do. This school could not have been built anywhere else. Perhaps Stonehenge," he said thoughtfully. "No," he said immediately, "no, that's a different kind of magic than we teach here. The school is here because this plot of land is saturated with magic. The students learn much faster here than they would anywhere else."

"And what does that have to do with us?" asked Wendy.

"If you were magical, you would attract the magic of this place with your teaching. Luke, you recall what happened at Hermione Granger's placement exam."

Luke nodded.

"That would happen all the time with two talented wizarding musicians. The students would never learn the basics, and that is what they must learn. Each student will discover how the magic works for themselves; you cannot teach that to them."

"It sort of makes sense," said Wendy. "But why bring us here? Why not make a new school for music somewhere else?"

"We're in the middle of a war, Wendy," said Albus slowly and sadly. "Hogwarts is the only safe place for children, especially children who are learning to fight."

"To fight?" exclaimed Luke.

"Yes, to fight," said Albus. "It saddens me to say that many of them will not survive to graduate."

"Why not?" asked Wendy, almost crying. "That's not right--they're children--they shouldn't have to--"

"Of course they shouldn't have to," agreed Albus. "But the war will come to them."

"So we have to teach them music because they're going to fight with it?" asked Wendy. "I'm sorry, but that sounds... absurd!"

"Not exactly," said Albus, hedging. "What you are actually teaching them is the fundamentals of music. Through that, each student will find his or her particular talent."

"That makes sense," said Luke, turning from Albus to Wendy. "I've started giving Harry Potter harpsichord lessons, because he's just so musical. Ginny Weasley is an amazing singer, and Neville Longbottom has a real grasp of counterpoint. His three-part inventions are real masterpieces."

Albus beamed. "See?" he said. "The students will find their places. You must teach them so that they can see the options and choose."

"And what are we going to do about the people who want to kill us?" asked Wendy.

Luke thought she was being unnecessarily moody lately.

"You'll just have to stay in the school," said Albus simply. "I'll ask the other teachers to keep an eye on you--"

"Great. Guard dogs," muttered Wendy.

"--but keep your eyes open for anything unusual."

"Albus," said Luke slowly, "do we have to worry about the students?"

"The students?"

"Are any of them going to attack us?" asked Wendy bluntly.

"No," said Albus confidently. "They are all too young--even Lord Voldemort will not accept underage wizards into his followers."

"Aren't there some over seventeen?" asked Luke curiously.

"Actually, no," said Albus. "Several of the older students who might be considered potential risk factors did not return to school this fall. The students will not harm you," he said reassuringly. "But keep your eyes open for anything unusual."

* * *

Sunday morning Wendy had to get down to marking essays. Luke couldn't do all of them, and was very apologetic about it, but still, it needed to be done. She was lying on her stomach in front of the fireplace, the rugs pushed aside to provide a firm surface for marking errors. "Oh!" Luke exclaimed suddenly.

"What?" asked Wendy, busily scratching red marks across Pansy Parkinson's history essay: "The Muggel Inflewins on Cherch Music in the Fourteent Senchury."

In addition to spelling horridly, the girl had done no research whatsoever, and her writing was completely ungrammatical. If Wendy saw another incorrectly conjugated verb, she might just give the girl a zero and a "see me."

"Oh," Luke breathed.

Wendy looked up to see him grinning.

"Come with me."

"Now?" she replied, gesturing to the two-foot high stack of parchments sitting beside her. "I'm a little busy."

"No, you're not," he said. "Not too busy for this. Come on."

"What?"

"You'll see." His face looked like it was going to split in half with the smile. "I can't believe I forgot about it. You just wait..."

Reluctantly, Wendy scribbled a "please see me" at the top of Pansy's essay and set it on the stack of graded ones, got to her feet, and followed Luke out the door.

The corridors were cold but sunny, and the sounds of students playing outside filtered in through the windows. Luke led her along the back stairways and through some tapestries--Wendy had long gotten used to this.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying to keep up with him. He was positively skipping.

"You'll see," he sang cheerfully. "You'll see."

They were taking a route she'd never seen, and she had a suspicion that Luke was either lost, which was possible, or trying to make sure she was lost, which had already happened.

"Luke, I've got a lot to do," she whined, following him up a twisty staircase hidden in a wall.

"No, you haven't," he said. "This is more important."

"Won't you just tell me?"

"No, I won't," he insisted happily.

Now they were in a broad corridor lit with torches, but with no windows. The portraits on the wall sniffed disdainfully as they passed. One of them hissed, but she ignored it.

"Please," she said.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No, I won't!" he exclaimed. "It's a surprise." And they were suddenly in the Entrance Hall, Luke scampering across it.

"We're just going to the classroom," she said, disappointed.

"Well, yes," he admitted. "At first," he added, grinning over his shoulder at her.

He fitted the key into the lock and opened the door onto the familiar sight of desks, keyboards, and music stands littered around a large, oblong room. Luke crossed the room, weaving between the desks, and came to the door at the far side. Wendy had paid no attention to it before, assuming that it led to a store room of some sorts.

Luke paused before opening this one. "Now," he said warningly, "it's a little crowded in here, so watch where you step. And be careful if you faint," he added.

He slid the key into the lock and turned the handle.

"Oh, my," she said.

The room was crammed with instruments--keyboard instruments, brass, viols, violins, cellos, drums, all in neat plastic cases--and was easily thirty feet on a side. If they cleared out the instruments, it would make a beautiful small hall.

"Oh, my," she said again.

Luke grinned at her. "I was the first person in this room," he said, "since the last music teacher left in seventeen twenty-five."

"Seventeen twenty-five?" Wendy repeated. "You mean this stuff has been untouched for... what... three hundred years or so?"

"Yep," he said.

"And... and are the instruments any good?" she asked. "Have you played them?"

"Just the keyboards," he said, stepping past her and threading his way through to a large French harpsichord with double manuals. He played a bit of a lilting piece she recognized as an unmeasured prelude by d'Anglebert. The tone was bright and clear, and the action extremely crisp on the trills and other ornaments. "But I doodled on one of the recorders and it seemed nice. The brass are also pretty new. There's been a preservation charm of some sort on the room since it was sealed up."

"And... and the string instruments?" she asked, trying to sound brisk. "Are they any good?"

Luke made a sound that might have been a laugh, a cough, or a choke. "Take a look," he said, gesturing, then sat down at the keyboard. He began improvising over a simple bass line.

The cellos were all sitting in modern plastic cases lined neatly by the wall. Wendy stepped around a small chamber organ and picked one of the cases up, carried it to an open space, fetched a chair, and set about getting the cello out.

It was a very pretty instrument, Wendy thought, if bit on the yellow side. It looked extremely new. But it wasn't new in the way factory-pressed cellos with their shiny orange varnish and two bright spots of fake aging were, it was new in a way... in a way... she couldn't describe it.

Wendy had never seen a nice, new, cello before, and that was what this one looked like. Her own instrument, now stored somewhere in California, was a lovely old one from the late eighteenth century, by an obscure Italian maker.

She tightened the bow--a real baroque bow, not a copy!--looked for rosin in the accessories pouch of the case, and rosined the bow, aware of its lightness and suppleness in her hands. Then she sat down in the chair and settled the cello between her legs. She'd have to get used to having no endpin to support the instrument.

Luke's variations had become very boring.

"Can you give me an A?" she said, her voice cracking a bit.

The variations were replaced with a single A, and she plucked the A string to check the pitch. It seemed in tune; same when she plucked the D, G, and C strings. The tone was quite full, and promised much.

As Wendy held the bow in her slightly rubbery hands, she felt as though it wasn't just Luke watching her. It was as though ghosts were waiting--not normal ghosts, like Nick or the Fat Friar, but older ghosts, somehow deeper. The air crackled silently with some sort of electricity, and a sensation that Wendy could only describe as a windless wind swept over her.

The first open D was rich and full, incredibly sonorous, and the movement of the bow felt like silk, even though her hands weren't up to practice. Wendy played a scale, first legato, then detached, and smiled uncontrollably at the sensations filling her fingers.

It was better than that time she'd played Paul Katz' Guarneri cello when she'd been twelve, and that had left her flying high for a week.

She tried a bit of Bach, from the Third Prelude, and thought she would cry for joy. The bow and instrument simple skipped along the notes, making string crossings effortless even for her out-of-practice hands. For a good ten minutes she played snippets from four hundred years of cello repertoire--Haydn, Gabrieli, Beethoven, Brahms, Dvorak, Shostakovich, though the bow wasn't the right one--and the cello reacted superbly, with equal resonance in the upper and lower registers.

Wendy stopped, but reluctantly. It felt so good, like being steeped in a hot bath with lots of scented oils.

"Who's the maker?" she asked Luke. He didn't answer, but she was already turning the cello up onto her knees and peering through the f-holes to try and see the label. She nearly dropped the instrument.

Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis Faciebat Anno 1716

"Holy shit," she said shakily. "Is it real?"

"As far as I can tell," said Luke from behind her. He'd evidently left the keyboard to stand at her back. "It would make sense, given the timeline, and Albus told me that the school's financial records show a huge order being placed to Italy for several instruments at this period. I haven't checked the authenticity of the label, but, you know, the practice of producing fake Strads didn't start until the nineteenth century. So I'm pretty sure it's the real thing."

"Are they all...?" Wendy gestured to the piles of cases lining the walls.

"Yeah."

"Wow."

She sat for several minutes, closely inspecting the craftsmanship of the cello. The lines were clean, the wood was solid and resonant, and the joints were extremely close-fitting.

"Do you realize what a find this is?" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "But the sad thing is that we can never show this to anyone."

"Why not?"

"How would you explain it?"

"Explain what?"

"A complete collection of Strads, in brand-new condition, showing absolutely no wear and tear, no aging. Just the violins alone must be worth several million! Even if the temperature had been ideal and the room sealed, there would have been insects, something..."

"Not necessarily," she objected. Something was niggling at the back of her brain, some way they could explain it. It was just too valuable a find to be left in a castle in the middle of nowhere.

"Wendy, it's just too improbable for the rest of the world to accept," he said sadly.

No, there had to be a way, some way they could simply present the collection as is to the world and have it be accepted without question. Of course. "The Dead Sea Scrolls," she said.

"Huh?"

"You know, the Dead Sea Scrolls."

He looked blank.

"Come on, don't you remember? The scrolls, the original biblical text--found in an urn in some cave, right? Something about the ideal circumstances to preserve the scrolls and the writing?"

A tentative grin began on his face. "And everyone accepted it, either because they thought that the Bible would have been preserved by God, so miracles weren't such a big deal, or because they didn't understand exactly how it worked, and the scientists didn't bother to explain."

They beamed at each other. "So it would be possible to let the world know," Wendy concluded.

"But not for a while," said Luke.

"No," she agreed.

They grinned at each other conspiratorially.

Wendy set the cello down. "Why didn't you show me to this before?" she asked, going over to open a viola case.

He looked sheepish. "Well, uh, to tell the truth... I forgot."

"You forgot!" she exclaimed laughingly, taking out a viola. She peered in at the label--yet another Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis Faciebat Anno 1719. A Stradivarius viola, of which there had previously been only one very suspicous model in the world, and now, apparently, five.

"I'm sorry!" he said earnestly. "You know, what with... the accident... and classwork, and everything. It just--slipped my mind. I haven't had a chance to set up chamber groups, I barely was able to remember about practice rooms, and so I haven't really thought of the instruments."

"Practice rooms?" Wendy asked.

"The school bought several dozen clavichords and harpsichords, and set up a bunch of rooms as practice--well, closets, they must be. Just a row of doors along one corridor."

"Is there anything else you forgot to tell me?" she said drily.

He turned red.

"What?" she asked. "Is there also some collection of incredible manuscripts?"

To her great surprise, he nodded, laughing sheepishly. "Yeah. First editions of Couperin, Palestrina, Gabrieli, Galileo... if there was a treatise written by someone, Hogwarts has it..."

She thwacked him on the head with the viola bow, though gently. "You... you... you idiot! How could you forget to tell me something like that?!" He looked so embarrassed that she had to laugh. "How?"

"Y'know, just... busy..."

She shook her head disbelievingly. "At least it'll keep us occupied," she said. "What with having to stay in the castle."

"Yeah," said Luke. "I hate it, too."

"I hope they catch those idiots soon," Wendy said angrily.

"Yeah," agreed Luke. He sat back down at the harpsichord. "Want to learn how to improvise?" he asked.

Wendy's eyes lit up. "Yes," she said eagerly. "You're always doing it, and I've never been able to understand how you do it."

"All right," said Luke, smiling. "First, you have to know the bass line. I'll play it, and then you play it back to me until you know it..."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" A sullen-faced girl came up to her after history class, holding a piece of parchment marked with red ink.

"Um... yes. Pansy." Wendy remembered now. The grammar-less girl. "Shall we sit?"

Wendy wasn't sure how to start, so she took Pansy's essay and reread it. "Right," she finally said. Pansy looked at her inquiringly. Wendy took a deep breath. "How much grammar have you learned?" she asked.

"Grammar?" asked Pansy blankly.

Oh, dear, thought Wendy. "About how to use words, about sentences and paragraphs and using language?" she asked, trying to keep disbelief out of her voice.

"Um...I don't think I've ever studied that," Pansy said, sounding genuinely thoughtful.

"It's very useful to know," Wendy said kindly. "Knowing the rules of grammar makes it easy to write things that others can understand. I couldn't follow a lot of the ideas in your essay," she explained. "I think that I have a book you could borrow, but it's in my rooms. Do you have a minute? I could go fetch it."

"I'll come with you," said Pansy, who didn't seem at all upset, which was a relief.

They walked the short ways to Luke and Wendy's rooms, Wendy gave the password, and they walked in. "Wow, this is nice," said Pansy, looking admiringly around. She peered into the bedroom. "May I?" she asked.

"Go ahead," said Wendy, bemused. The rooms were, indeed, luxurious, and the four-poster bed with its hangings wasn't the only piece of spectacular furniture in the room. Pansy disappeared into the doorway.

Wendy rummaged in the bookshelves for her copy of Warriner's English Grammar--Luke had left it on the fiction shelf, so it took her a minute. Pansy returned just as Wendy straightened up with the thick volume in her hand.

"Here you go," she said. "I'm sure if you look through this, and do some of the exercises, it'll help you. If you have any questions at all, you can come to me, all right?" She smiled at Pansy, who smiled back.

"All right," she said, clutching the book to her chest.

"I'll see you next week," said Wendy, ushering her out.

As the door closed, she thought she heard a giggle. Children.

* * *

Severus usually disliked holidays, and Halloween was no exception. This year was made worse, as well, by the fact that it was to be a Ball. The students all came into his classroom chattering about dates and clothing, and every note that he intercepted, much to the terror of their authors, involved the same subjects. One note in particular had been a joy to read.

"'Do you think Ron and Hermione will finally snog?'" Severus read slowly to his sixth-year class. He had intercepted the note as it flew between Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, its misshapen wings flapping noisily.

Hermione Granger went brick red and buried her face in her hands; the Slytherins in the class sniggered, and Potter glared at Snape.

"Undoubtedly fascinating, especially considering their history," Severus drawled. "Thirty points from Gryffindor, Finnegan and Thomas, for passing notes and being pathetic at Transfiguration."

But the couple in question was now on opposite sides of the Great Hall, apparently cooling off from another big row. Severus watched them from the High Table. Potter was talking to Weasley at one of the small tables set out around the edges, and Granger was seeking someone out in the crowd... ah, yes, the Weasley girl, Ginevra.

Granger was now talking animatedly, with furious gestures at Ron Weasley, who was gesturing equally furiously at her while, apparently, complaining to Potter. Potter, for his part, looked like he was suppressing a smile. Severus suspected that, in the coming two years, at least one teacher would catch Granger and Weasley in a broom cupboard. While he hated the images that came to his mind, he thought he'd enjoy docking a hundred points from them. Each. Just to see Weasley turn purple.

He turned his eye away from the Gryffindor drama to watch the Slytherins. They'd been unusally well-behaved at the ball so far, staying in their year-groups and dancing demurely. He'd broken up a confrontation between some fifth-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, but apart from that, they were very quiet.

Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were dancing on the open floor. Draco had inherited his father's elegance, if not his father's intelligence. Pansy wasn't very pretty, but she did wear expensive robes, and they made a classy couple.

Some of the teachers were dancing, too--that Muggle couple, looking out-of-place in Muggle evening dress, were dancing so close together that Severus actually had to look away. Tonks was wearing dress robes that looked thoroughly uncomfortable for her, and more than once tripped as she waltzed with Albus.

The band finished playing, and there was a polite applause from the dancers. One of the band took up a microphone and announced in a thick Yorkshire accent that they'd be taking a quick break. Everyone milled towards the drinks tables.

Draco and Pansy left the floor and joined their classmates. Draco looked up at Severus, his expression inquiring. Severus nodded approvingly, and walked down from the High Table to get himself a drink.

"Evening, Severus," said a polite voice behind him. The accent told him at once it was Wendy, but he turned politely nonetheless.

"Evening," he growled. He nodded at her, and then at Luke, who was beside her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Wendy asked.

"No," he said honestly. "I hate the holidays."

"That's a pity," she said.

They reached the drinks table, where the current Head Boy, a Ravenclaw, and the Head Girl, a Slytherin, thank goodness, were handing out goblets. The punch was too sweet, and Severus grimaced. But he was thirsty, so he drank.

The Muggles took their drinks and sat down at a free table. The slit in Wendy's dress fell open to reveal a very well-shaped thigh. Severus stared at it, then looked away.

Tonks joined Luke and Wendy, and the three young people, for that was what they were, began to talk animatedly. Severus, feeling claustrophobic, left the Great Hall in search of snogging students. Perhaps he could find enough Gryffindors to take a round fifty points.

* * *

Wendy watched Severus leave. She felt slightly uncomfortable with Luke. He and Tonks were talking eagerly about nothing at all, leaving Wendy feeling a bit excluded. She knew she was out-of-place here, in her chic black dress with the slit going up forever and the slinky straps; all the students were wearing voluminous robes. They had varying cuts and colors, but they were unmistakably still wizard robes. Not to mention that she wasn't really a teacher, more an accidental helping hand.

"Luke," she said, once the band had started playing again, "I'm feeling tired. I think I want to go to bed."

"Sorry, what?" he said, turning from Tonks.

"I said, I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"Oh... do you want me to come with you?" he asked.

"No, it's okay," she said, wondering why she was saying it. "I'll see you later."

"All right."

Wendy wasn't exactly tired, but she felt a little giddy, as though someone had spiked the punch. Perhaps they had. She felt hot, lightheaded.

The cool air that hit her as she left the crowded Great Hall felt very good. It played over her skin, ruffling the slit in the skirt and caressing her shoulders. The front doors were open, allowing the brisk fall air in. She stood in the doorway for a minute, letting the breeze play with her hair, remembering evenings when she was younger. The night sky and night breezes had always been friends of hers, something comforting even when cold and impersonal. This wind was the most magical she'd ever felt.

She was thirteen again, having just taken the trash cans out to the curb--her parents didn't understand her, of course, they couldn't know what went on in her mind--she wanted to be a part of something big, something grand--the sky was huge and dark and glittery and the moon just beginning to wax--the wind felt special, private, hers alone as she called it--

"Miss Maurits?" said a voice. She turned.

"Severus."

They looked at each other.

"You shouldn't be alone," said Severus finally. "It's not safe."

Wendy nodded. Severus was staring at her intensely. She let him. His eyes roved over her body, but she didn't mind. Why didn't she mind? She liked it... she wanted him to look at her.

"Is that a typical Muggle dress?" he asked. She'd always liked his voice, silky and sensual.

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

"I like it," he said gruffly.

And then he was kissing her, leaning her against the thick doorjamb of the great oak front doors to the castle, his right hand seeking out that slit in his skirt, his left hand tangled in the curls Winky had so painstakingly pinned to the back of her head. He tasted thick and malty, his face was smooth against hers. Lord, he was a good kisser. The technical bit of her brain that was still aware noticed how well he modulated the tension of his lips, sucking and pulling and pressing, but then his tongue was in her mouth and she stopped thinking.

"Will you come with me?" His words vibrated against her lips.

"Yes." She took his hand, which had callused palms, and followed him. Her eyes were glazed, and she couldn't see where she was going. What was happening? Why was she doing this? What about Luke? Luke loved her, cherished her, wanted to marry her... but Severus was Severus; he was so elegant, so tall, so powerful, so... Severus...

And he had her up against a door again, this time the inside of a room, his hand slipping into the slit in her dress, reaching around behind and finding more to press and caress, undoing her as well as her clothes. Then his left hand found the zipper for her dress.

"I never thought I'd appreciate Muggle clothing," he commented softly.

When she came to undoing the buttons on his robes, she understood what he meant.

* * *

Tonks liked Luke. He was funny, he was just a little bit shy and uncertain, but such a great guy. And the only teacher her age for miles. Privately she thought Wendy was a bit too serious for him.

"...to dance?"

"Sorry, what?" she said.

"I said, do you want to dance?" Luke asked.

"I'm horribly clumsy," she confessed.

"That's okay. I'm not good either. No one will notice."

That was true, Tonks realized. The students were all making eyes at each other, checking each other out, and dancing closely. It was a slow song, so Tonks, feeling a little awkward, put her hands on Luke's shoulders. His hands went around her waist. They were very large hands. She liked large hands.

They swayed rhythmically, sort of turning. A few couples were kissing surreptitiously, and Tonks wondered if she should stop them. But kissing was harmless. The band played another slow song after that one, and Tonks scooched a little closer to Luke, wondering if it would be all right to put her head on his shoulder. Why not? He was a good height, just a little taller than her. And they were pretty good friends. Idly she wished they could be more than friends, and then she tried feebly to squash that thought. Wendy was a nice person; Tonks wasn't going to steal her man.

His hands shifted a little way downwards to her hips. His fingers were resting lightly a little further around to the backside. Rather nice. It had been so long since she'd been with a man. She felt a little giddy. Her hand found the back of his neck, and they moved so that their bodies were touching full length. A shudder went through her. There was a protuberance in his trousers that made her feel incredibly sexy.

"Tonks..." he whispered in her ear.

"Yes..." she whispered back. She'd never believed that whispers could be sexy, the way the romance novels said, but she had to admit they had a point.

"You're not that clumsy."

"Thank you."

The song ended, and they went back to a table to drink some more of their punch.

"I could use some air," said Luke abruptly.

"I'll go with you," Tonks said. They left the hall, ignoring the students who were getting increasingly fresh with each other.

Tonks walked a little behind him, watching the shape of his behind in his Muggle pants. Very, very nice, she thought approvingly. Oh, she'd like to touch it...and other things, too...

In the Entrance Hall Tonks couldn't stand it any longer. "What the hell," she said, and tackled him, dragging him behind a blessedly sleeping suit of armor and kissing him.

"Tonks!" he exclaimed, as though he weren't enjoying it, which couldn't possibly be true. "What are you doing?"

"Don't be stupid," she said. "I'm kissing you."

"Why?" he asked, when she came up for air.

"Because I want to."

Then there wasn't enough breath to speak, because he was kissing her back. And his hands... oh, those musician's hands...

His buttocks felt just the way she thought they would, too.

"I really like you," Tonks blurted out, and found she didn't regret it.

"I like you, too," said Luke in a very strange voice--low and even and extremely focused.

A while later he said, "I wish Wendy wasn't waiting for me."

"Hm."

"I think it's too much to hope that she went to the library."

"I can check," she offered.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice slow and smooth.

Tonks gave a complicated wiggle with her wand, which shot out a flash of purple sparks. "No, she's not in the library."

"Damn," said Luke, pulling away. "I'd better go."

"Wait," said Tonks. "Let me just check and see if she's actually in your rooms."

"Where else would she be?"

"I dunno--just let me check." She wiggled her wand again and got purple sparks. "Nope, not there."

"Oh. Good." They kissed for another long moment. "Where is she, then?" Luke asked, nibbling her ear.

"Doesn't work that way," said Tonks, trying to reach his neck with her tongue. "Can't tell--where--someone really is--"

"I wonder where she is, then?" said Luke.

She could feel the moment slipping away--oh, how she wanted him!

"Maybe Severus kidnapped her," Tonks commented, rather desperately. "He was eyeing her earlier. Hang on--I need my hands--"

She twiddled the wand again, and a blue glow emerged from the tip. "Huh," she said.

"You means she's in Severus' rooms?"

"Yep," said Tonks. She looked up at Luke, expecting some kind of explosion, but nothing came.

"Oh," said Luke. His eyes were slightly glazed over. Tonks was almost certain someone had spiked the punch, but that was fine with her if she got to shag this boy--or at least snog him. "All right." He kissed her.

"Your place or mine?" said Tonks. The mood was back, and Tonks happily welcomed it.

"Mine," said Luke. "It's closer."

They hurried up the marble staircase, and they didn't say much, owing to the fact that their mouths were otherwise occupied much of the time.

"Gabrieli," he managed to say at the door.

And the next thing Tonks heard was, "Stupefy!"