The Harpsichordist

Chapter 10: Der Tot und das Mädchen

Hermione had clearly had enough.

"Will you shut up about Viktor?!" she yelled at Ron. "He's just a friend, Ron. We write to each other. He's not my boyfriend! I don't like him that way! There's only one person I like that way and it's you!"

Ron stood stock still as Hermione put her hand to her mouth in horror and ran off into the crowd. He heard a snort beside him and turned to Harry. "What?" he said.

"Nothing," Harry said, fighting to keep his face straight.

"Did you -- did you know -- that she -- that she...?" Ron tried to ask.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Spit it out," he said.

Ron couldn't say it. He couldn't believe it. He felt completely embarrassed and happy and annoyed and shocked. Whatever. He cast around for something to say.

"It's just like her to wait until she's completely annoyed with me to tell me," he complained, gesturing towards Hermione, who was looking for Ginny. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Why was he talking about it? He wanted to talk about Quidditch. Yes, Quidditch. "I mean, she could have said it before, couldn't she? She could have told me a long time ago... fourth year, last year..." Damn, he was still talking about her.

Harry didn't say anything, which was probably wise.

Ron then experienced one of those "self" moments, as though he had just fallen into his body. He woke up and looked around at his life and realized: Hermione liked him. She didn't like Viktor Krum, she liked him. Him. Ronald Weasley, sixth-year prefect, Gryffindor Keeper. Not Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and Triwizard Champion for Durmstrang. She liked him!

Blimey.

He'd botched it two years ago. And she'd nearly died last year. The time to stand around and wait was over.

"I should go talk to her," he said, starting to get up.

"No," said Harry, speaking finally.

"Why not? I should tell her... tell her..."

"No, give it a day."

Ron wasn't too sure that Harry's advice was good, considering his history with Cho, but sat back down. Maybe Hermione would be too angry to listen and would just turn him into a slug -- not that he could blame her. The Vicky joke had been getting a little old.

The rest of the ball took far too long, but at least Snape had disappeared for the evening. There were a lot of kissing couples towards the end of the evening, and Ron felt sorry for any who would be discovered in broom cupboards. Wendy and Luke were gone, too... practically married, they were. No guesses to what they'd be up to. Tonks had left, too, but that was a pity, because she was so much fun to talk to. But McGonagall, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and the rest of the teachers were still there, sipping punch and keeping sharp eyes out on the students.

The students were taking advantage of the dim lighting to retreat to the furthest recesses and snog each other senseless. Perhaps Ron wasn't remembering correctly, but he was pretty sure that there hadn't been so many kissing couples at the Yule Ball two years ago. Then he thought of Hermione, and wondered what would happen if he kissed her... if she would like it... if he would be any good...

Lovely thoughts of Hermione kissing him occupied his mind for the rest of the evening. He suspected they'd last him through the night as well.

* * *

Hermione wasn't in the common room when Ron and Harry arrived at Gryffindor Tower after the ball, nor did they see her at breakfast the next morning. Harry thought Ron looked extremely anxious, and couldn't blame him. This was one thing that had been simmering for years, and all he could say was that it was about time.

"Did Hermione tell you where she was going?" he asked Harry after breakfast, when they returned to the common room.

"No," said Harry. "I haven't seen her since last night."

"I need to talk to her," Ron said anxiously. "I just need to."

Harry kindly kept his smirking to a minimum. "I could check the map," he offered.

"Could you?"

"Yeah. Hang on, I'll just go get it."

Harry ran up the stairs to the dormitory and rummaged in his trunk for the Marauder's Map. He tapped his wand to it and muttered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good!", and the familiar map of Hogwarts appeared. Harry walked slowly back down the stairs, scanning the map for Hermione's dot.

As soon as Harry had returned to the fireside, Ron practically pounced. "Where is she?" he asked, leaning over Harry's shoulder.

"Out by the greenhouses," Harry said, pointing to the dot. "But there's something else... look here --"

But Ron left, intent on talking to Hermione, and Harry was alone with his confusion.

He knew the teachers didn't have to stay inside the grounds all the time, but it was rare on a Sunday for them to be out. Yet there it was. Both Nymphadora Tonks and Luke Navarra weren't anywhere -- but Wendy was, and she was... Harry stared at the Map. She was in Snape's room... or was that Wendy's name? He couldn't quite tell, they were so close together. Yuck. He didn't want to think about that.

But Tonks and Luke were gone. How strange. Maybe they'd gone to Hogsmeade together. But why would they leave Wendy behind? And what on earth was she doing with Snape? Actually, if you looked at the map, it was pretty obvious that they were...

"Eww," he whispered, and firmly closed the Map, reaching for his Potions book.

Ron and Hermione reappeared in the common room about an hour later, looking very flushed and shooting happy little glances at each other. "You found her," Harry commented as Ron sat down in an armchair, and Hermione skipped up the girls' staircase.

"Yeah," Ron said, grinning lopsidedly after Hermione's vanishing legs. "Yeah, I found her."

"We'd better do our Transfiguration homework," said Harry, realizing that the last thing Ron would care about at the moment was a few absent teachers.

* * *
Wendy awoke slowly, feeling incredibly sated, but slighly headachy. Her body felt stiff and sore from a night of almost endless sex. Oh, it had been good... a tangle of skin and sensations floated through her brain, which was only half awake.

She opened her eyes and experienced a moment of disorientation. The duvet was the wrong color. And the sheets were silk. They didn't own silk bedding.

Wendy sat up, suddenly remembering every detail of last night, and the early morning, and the later morning.

Severus.

The spot beside her in the bed was empty, which, she supposed, simplified things. But where was Severus? What were they going to do?

She'd slept with another man.

Oh.

What would Luke say? Wendy took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her eyebrows rise. Things would work out. They would; they had in the past with other men... sort of. Things had to work out. They just had to.

What was she going to do about Luke? She loved him, she really did, and the sex wasn't bad. But last night, with Severus, had been unbelievable. It had never, ever been like that with Luke. They'd never passionately struggled against each other, trying to reach the top together; they'd never whispered words of encouragement in each other's ears; they'd never been so communicative about what was good and what wasn't.

She should go find Luke. He was probably very worried about her, and hopefully not too angry. Wendy was suddenly very angry with herself. She must have been drunk, or drugged, or charmed last night. What on had she been thinking?

What she would do was this: she would get dressed, find Severus, thank him for the enjoyable night, and go and confess everything to Luke and beg his forgiveness. Girding her loins mentally, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and looked around.

Where were her clothes? Her terror ebbing slightly, the corners of her mouth twitched as she remembered Severus' comment about zippers, and her subsequent difficulty with his hundreds of buttons. There was a long black bathrobe hanging from a hook on the wall; she put it around her and went in search of her dress.

She came around the doorway to the living room and saw Severus sitting on the couch, his head in one hand and a mug covered with the other. He didn't hear her come in. Wendy watched him for a moment as he sat incredibly still, as though paused in thought.

Finally he sighed, as though he'd come to a decision. He took his hand off the mug, drained it, set it down, and unfolded himself from the couch. He turned and saw her.

She caught a flash of intense emotion on his face, but it was so brief she couldn't identify it before it was replaced with a cool mask.

"Wendy," he said tonelessly.

"Severus."

"You should go back," he said. "It's past eleven."

"I suppose I should."

They watched each other for a long, interminable moment.

Finally, Wendy said, tentatively, "I had a really good time."

He nodded jerkily. "Good."

"Good?" she said disbelievingly. "That's all? Good?" He was silent. "Not, 'Oh, yes, so did I?' Not, 'I'm glad?' Nothing? Just 'Good', like that's what you expected?"

"Yes," he said. "That's what I expected."

A sudden rush of anger swept through her. Never in her life had someone treated her like that. It was as though she was supposed to feel honored at the sex, as though she should be pleased that he had deigned to screw her. She abruptly understood what it meant to have your blood boil, and to see red.

Her dress was lying in a heap on the floor by the door, and she went to get it, but Snape moved to stand in her way. She couldn't get around him without childishly dodging past. Damn him.

"Damn you," she said to his expressionless face. "Damn you and your arrogance. What sort of spell did you use on me, eh? What charm did you need to get me into your bed, Snape?" He didn't meet her eyes. "Because you're such an arrogant son-of-a-bitch that I doubt you could have ever gotten me there without one. Pretending to be concerned about me -- bringing me potions -- testing my nerve endings -- all you really wanted was to get into my pants, didn't you? Had lots of wet dreams about me, didn't you? Jacked off thinking about me, didn't you? That's what you said last night. Oh, yes, I remember last night. Every detail, everything you said, everything you did."

Severus finally looked up at her. He didn't blink as he said, "I didn't use a charm."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said angrily, hearing his emphasis on the first word. "Someone else did?"

"Yes," he said. "The students."

"Oh, really?" she said with a humorless snort. "You expect me to believe that? That because I'm a lowly Muggle, I'll believe anything about magic? Why on earth would the students want to bewitch me to go to your bed? Why?"

"I don't know," he snarled, his temper rising. Good, Wendy thought savagely. She could use an argument. "All I know, you ignorant Muggle," he went on, "is that I wouldn't have gone for you like that without an enchantment."

"That's a lie," she said flatly. "'Wendy, I've dreamed about this for nights,'" she quoted at him, and had the distinct pleasure of seeing him flush. "You wanted me, and last night you got me, and it made you happy."

"There was something in the punch," he spat, recovering. "An Amourousness Additive."

"A what?"

"Amourousness Additive," he repeated angrily. "It increases lust and libido."

"You expect be to believe that there was a love potion in the punch?" she guffawed.

"Not a love potion," he corrected her, sneering. "An Amorousness Additive."

"Whatever. Who would put that into the punch, anyway?"

"Why should I know?" he said. "Some Gryffindor, no doubt, hoping to get into a girls' knickers."

They glared at each other.

"You should get back to Luke before he goes to the Headmaster in search of you," Severus said coldly, flinging open the door for her and finally stepping aside.

Wendy bent and picked up her dress. Then, acting on a split-second decision, she raised the hand not holding the dress and smacked him as hard as she could across the cheek. He didn't even turn his head or put his hand to his cheek, he simply stood there, unmoving and unmoved. Wendy marched out of the room.

The door shut behind her and she realized that she was standing in the corridors in Severus' bathrobe, carrying her dress from last night. And to get to their rooms, she'd have to cross the entrance hall.

She turned and immediately pounded on the door.

"What?" said Severus' voice.

"I am not going to parade around the corridors in a bathrobe," she said. "This is your fault. So open this door and let me use your fireplace to get back with at least some shred of decency."

To her immense surprise, the door opened. Severus' face, with one cheek still red, was completely immobile, his posture stiff.

He stood aside, gesturing her in. "Be my guest," he said coldly. "I'm surprised you even know how to use the Floo, you Muggle."

Wendy ignored the comment, went past him, found the pot on the mantelpiece, and threw a pinch in. The flames turned green. She'd never actually used it before; Luke had explained it, but Wendy desperately didn't want to lose face in front of Severus. Oh, she was furious at him.

Nervously, she stepped into the flames, aware that Severus was pretending not to watch her while he tidied up the room. The flames tickled a bit, actually; they were warm but not hot.

"Luke and Wendy's rooms!" she called.

She had a glimpse of Severus' face as it was whipped out of sight. He looked a little lost and longing underneath all the anger.

What had she done?

The fireplace spat her out into her and Luke's living room. She got to her feet, looking around nervously. Now she had to face him, and explain everything. She prayed for strength.

But the room was empty. Wendy padded over to the bedroom -- it, too, was empty. In fact, the bed looked as if it hadn't even been slept in. She collapsed onto it and cried.

What a mess.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this, Lucius?"

"My Lord, I -- I had hoped you would be -- be pleased to -- to hear my plans-"

"No, I am not pleased. Crucio!"

There were screams of pain, wild shrieks of agony. After a minute, they stopped. "Now you will tell me why you have brought me a completely random witch and a Muggle? Two people of no consequence?"

Tonks' consciousness was returning far too slowly. She needed her wand -- she couldn't feel its comforting bulk in the usual pocket, and she didn't dare squirm, not with an unknown number of people in the room. And, judging by the high, cold voice, and the liberal use of Unforgiveables, she was in the same room as You-Know-Who. Merlin.

No, okay. Just breathe, Tonks m'girl. This is what Auror training is all about. Something clicked inside her, pushing down her fear. She waited, trying to judge her surroundings.

"My Lord, I beg of you to hear my whole story before pronouncing judgment upon me --"

"You mean you don't want me to curse you while you are speaking. I cannot promise that, Lucius, you know that." The voice was indulgent. "But you may continue."

"My Lord, please understand, I do this for my son. He is sixteen, as you know, and eager to join our ranks."

"Yesss..."

Tonks risked a peek with her eyes. She was facing a blank wall. No, not entirely blank. Kingsley's voice came back to her: What do you see, Tonks? Don't just look at something once. Investigate. Okay.

It was a stone wall, with a crack leading diagonally down one of the blocks near the floor. The joining was crude, the blocks rough and unfinished. There were some stains on the floor, possibly blood, possibly other bodily fluids. It was cold, though at her back she could feel some source of heat -- a fire, perhaps. There were at least two people in the room, Lucius Malfoy and You-Know-Who.

Wait. Lucius Malfoy was supposed to be in Azkaban. Either he had escaped, or... She cut off her line of thought, because it made her far too scared.

There were two people in the room. If there were others, they were standing still enough so that Tonks couldn't even hear the rustling of their cloaks.

"Draco wished to prove to me that he was capable of --"

"Do not lie to me, Lucius. You wished to prove he was capable."

"Indeed, My Lord, I misspoke."

There was a high, cold laugh that made Tonks' neck hair stand on end. "Clever, clever Lucius. You do know what to say, do you not? Continue."

Lucius was speaking in a low, pleading voice. "I wished to prove that he could join our ranks, that sixteen was not too young an age. Together -- and I speak truly, My Lord, as you must see -- we devised a plan to rid Hogwarts of those horrible Muggles that Dumbledore allows there."

"Yes, I recall Severus' report -- a Muggle teaching music. Disgusting. I had thought the Muggles had forgotten the old ways of music."

"This one, apparently, knew some of them. And when we attacked the woman, she was rescued by a local wizard."

"Yes, indeed, I remember that. My memory is not poor. I suspect your memory of that failure is not poor, either, is it, Lucius?"

There was a silence.

"No, My Lord, it is not poor. If I may continue?"

"Yes, go on." You-Know-Who's voice sounded bored. Tonks kept listening, trying to wriggle her hands free of the ropes which constricted her. How mundane! Ropes! They ought to have used a jinx -- then she could have gotten free, even without her wand. She wriggled carefully, but they were tied tight.

"When the woman came to Hogwarts, it appeared a perfect opportunity to get rid of both at the same time. When Dumbledore announced the Halloween Ball, Draco commented to me that the Muggles would probably be disgustingly affectionate with each other during the dancing -- they're Americans, as you know, My Lord," Lucius spoke the last few words quickly, as though to make no doubt in You-Know-Who's mind that he knew his master's intelligence. There was a small chuckle. "Continue."

"When Draco commented this to me, I thought how convenient it would be if we could kidnap both of them, in the throes of distracted passion-"

"You have a lovely way with words, Lucius."

"Thank you, My Lord -- if we could kidnap them at the same time. We simply had to make sure that they were distracted enough. Draco brewed an Amorousness Additive -- he has a talent with Potions -- and slipped it into the punch."

"Spiking the punch, Lucius? How childish!"

There was a sharp intake of breath, then Lucius kept speaking. "Unfortunately, it would appear that the Muggles were not as faithful to each other as we expected ..."

A boot toe nudged Tonks. She heard a grumble from Luke as he was supposedly kicked.

"Pansy Parkinson, Draco's friend, learned the password from the female Muggle. The two of them waited inside the Muggles' rooms shortly after...er...'spiking' the punch, and Stunned the two people who arrived."

"And your son was not intelligent enough to check who he'd stunned before using the Portkey?"

"Draco -- Draco was distraught, naturally, to learn that he'd made an error, My Lord, and begged me to help. He suggested that perhaps we could kill the Muggle anyways --" No! Tonks thought. "-- and torture the witch for information."

"We could do that," said You-Know-Who slowly. "It has been a while since I obtained information that way."

"Of course, Master."

"But I have all the information I need, Lucius. Our spies in the Ministry, our spies at Hogwarts, and a peek into Harry Potter's mind every so often. What more could I need?"

All the spies he needed? That arrogant bastard.

"You think so, Professor? Perhaps you would like to stand up?"

Oh, Merlin, he was addressing her. You-Know-Who was talking to her. She'd thought too loudly, and he was a skilled Legilimens. He's just the meanest Death Eater, she told herself firmly. Nothing else.

Hands seized her, turned her over, and put her on her feet. She swayed slightly. Then she saw You-Know-Who and took a step backwards.

His face was white as chalk, bloodless, with red slits for pupils. He was tall, thin, with pale hands that were twitchy and moved like insect legs. He was currently sitting in a chair as though it were a throne, with a sinister smile curving his thin lips.

"The Dark Lord welcomes you to Azkaban Fortress, Professor. Do introduce yourself."

Rule number one: Don't speak.

Lucius Malfoy slapped her hard across the face. "What's your name?"

Of course, he wouldn't recognize her: her hair had been short and purple the last time he was in the Ministry, snooping around the Auror cubicles, and now it was long and black. She'd also subtly changed her face for the ball, to make it a little older, to give her authority over snogging couples. Score for her. Tonks: 1, Bad Guys: 0.

"Speak!" Malfoy demanded.

Rule number two: Don't speak.

"Lucius, Lucius, it does not matter what her name is. She is a teacher at Dumbledore's school, that is all we need to know. Let's see if we can deduce her subject? McGonagall, the old prune, is still teaching Tranfiguration-"

"Flitwick has Charms, Sprout has Herbology," supplied Malfoy eagerly.

"Trelawney has Divination, of course."

"Hooch for Flying, Sinistra for Astronomy," continued Malfoy, as though he were reciting a list from memory, "that revolting old fool Humperdinck for Muggle Studies."

"Professor Vector still teaches Arithmancy, and Typicus has Ancient Runes."

"Hagrid teaches Care of Magical Creatures, despite my attempts --"

"Yes, yes, of course, Lucius," the Dark Lord said impatiently. "The only vacancy left is then Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Tonks: 1, Bad Guys: 1.

The Dark Lord crowed with laughter. "Professor Defense," he said, bowing to her, "perhaps you would like to test me?"

Rule number three: Don't speak.

"Give her her wand, Lucius." Lucius roughly thrust the piece of wood back into her hands. Nothing had ever felt so good.

"Expelliarmus!" cried the Dark Lord.

She ducked instinctively. "Stupefy!" she shouted, only she aimed it at Malfoy, who, not expecting an attack, crumpled to a heap.

Tonks: 2, Bad Guys: 1.

The stone room rang with You-Know-Who's high, cold laughter. "Oh, you play well, Professor. Evening out the odds, I see."

Tonks looked around quickly. The room was small, with one door leading out to -- somewhere. Probably guarded. No windows. No furniture, apart from the chair, and that was on the wrong side of the room. If she could get to it, she'd have some cover.

Luke was still lying in a heap on the floor, bound. He looked unconscious. As far as Tonks knew, Stunning Muggles was extremely bad for them. It took them several hours to wake up on their own; if Enervated, they stayed groggy for quite some time.

What was she going to do to get them both out of here? Her only hope was to try and keep them alive long enough to get out of the room. She couldn't hope to take down the Dark Lord single-handedly. She knew the Unforgivables -- all Aurors did these days -- but so did the creature facing her. And he was much more skilled than she at using them. In addition to that, You-Know-Who had said that they were in Azkaban, which meant a very difficult journey back, even if she did escape.

In the moment that she had all these thoughts, she rolled sideways, constantly moving, never a standing target for his continued curses.

"Crucio! Imperio! Expelliarmus!" he shouted in a string.

Jets of red light shot at her, missing her by inches.

It doesn't matter that it misses you by inches, said Kingsley's slow voice in her head. What matters is that it misses you. She'd never before appreciated it so much.

Could she make a Portkey out of something and get them both out of there? But if there were wards, the time would be wasted, and they'd be vulnerable. Not worth it.

Still trying to move chaotically, Tonks blindly shot her own variant of the Jelly-Legs Jinx, and was surprised to hear a cry of surprise. She'd scored a hit! Unless he was faking it. Continuing to roll, she tried to see what was happening with him -- sure enough, he was wobbling around, his entire body turned to jelly.

"Accio Luke!" she cried. Luke's body flew through the air and landed in her arms. Merlin, he was heavy. She had only a few seconds while You-Know-Who figured out the countercurse.

"Alohomora!" she said.

The door flew open.

"Mobilicorpus!"

Luke's body rose a few inches into the air, as though it were on strings.

There was no one outside the door, a small blessing. Tonks ran for it, ran as fast as she could down stone corridors and stairways, wincing every time Luke's body thumped into something. She didn't have time to wake him up; she had to get out of here. Maybe they could swim. That's what Sirius had done.

The thought of Sirius gave her hope. He'd managed to escape from here. Granted, he'd been an Animagus, but she was a trained Auror. If she couldn't get out of here, then she wasn't worth her title. She shivered. It was bloody cold! In fact, it was getting colder and harder to breathe. The lights were getting dimmer.

She turned a corner and stopped in her tracks. Facing her was a towering, hooded dementor, breathing in its rattling breath.

Tonks summoned with all her might the thought of getting Luke out of here and back to Hogwarts, then cried, "Expecto Patronum!"

An enormous silver eagle shot out of her wand at the same time that Luke fell to the ground. Obviously she couldn't keep up both spells at once.

He woke up and moaned. "What's going on?" So Muggles could come out of the Stunning Spell under extreme physical duress.

Her Patronus stood guard over her, blocking the dementor, but it took a lot of focus. "We've been kidnapped by You-Know-Who," Tonks said quickly, panting slightly, "and I just got us out of his throne room, and now there's a dementor trying to suck out our souls."

"A what?" he said. "Why is it so cold? Why can't I see? What's doing this? What's a...a... dementor?"

"Muggles can't see dementors," she explained raggedly, as a second one appeared behind the first. "They suck all the happy thoughts out of you."

"I feel... so horrible," he groaned.

"Don't worry," she gasped. Her Patronus was flapping its wings hard, as though trying to blow the two -- no, three -- dementors away. "We'll get out of here." I hope, she added silently.

The corridor now echoed with the sound of running feet. Death Eaters.

Tonks' Patronus died as her spirits plummeted. The dementors moved closer, bending down. The nearest one reached up to lower its hood, the sleeve of the robe falling down to reveal a scabbed, rotting hand.

Tonks stared up at it, stiff with fear. The dementor only lowers its hood to administer the fatal Kiss... recited a voice in her head.

"It's the Muggle and that professor!" shouted a voice from some distance. "Clear off!" he shouted at the dementor. "Clear off, I say!"

The dementor paused, its skeletal hands on his hood.

"You heard me! Move along!"

A wisp of silver vapor appeared from behind, making the dementors back off. They turned and left, their cloaks trailing on the ground. Luke stirred fretfully on the ground, wimpering.

Tonks stared at him and tried to think fast. He had no defenses. Logically, he was a liability, and Moody would have yelled at her to leave him behind, but he couldn't -- they'd kill him.

She hesitated just a little too long.

"We've got them, Master!" cried one of the Death Eaters.

"Good. Get rid of the Muggle," said the Dark Lord.

Tonks had just enough time to understand what it meant and scream, "NO!"

But too late. "Avada Kedavra!" cried the Death Eater.

Luke looked up just as a beam of green light caught him squarely in the chest. There was a rushing sound, as of a large amount of air moving along the corridor, and then he fell, still and stiff, his eyes open and empty.

* * *

"Albus, have you seen Luke today?" asked Wendy nervously at dinner.

She'd wandered around the school all day, hoping and dreading running into him, wondering if she should stay in the rooms and wait, or go search him out in case he was sulking. The students themselves were keeping to their common rooms and to the library, doing homework that they hadn't done yesterday. A few had ventured outside, but the wind was so strong and cold that they came back in quickly.

So, no Luke. Not in the library, not in the classroom or the instrument room, not in their rooms. She had asked a few of the older students, all of whom simply shrugged and asked her if she'd looked in the library, or the classroom, or someplace else that she'd already searched.

So at dinnertime, during which Luke was still conspicuous in his absence, she'd swallowed her pride and asked Albus.

"I'm sorry, I haven't," he said seriously.

"I haven't seen him all day," she said worriedly. "He didn't mention anything to you, did he?"

"No," Albus replied. "I haven't seen him since last night." He looked intently at her. "Did he not return to your rooms last night?"

She looked anyplace but at him. "Actually," she mutterred, "I never made it back to my rooms last night."

"I see," said Albus, quite as if he had. "The Amourousness Additive had an effect on you, as well, then."

Her head shot up. "So it was really there?" she said.

"Indeed," he replied. "How did you hear about it?"

"Just -- around," she lied.

Albus' blue eyes caught hers, and she felt like she was being x-rayed. "So you haven't seen Luke since last night, either?" he asked.

"No."

"Hm," he said. "Pass the salt, please."

She handed it over, and the rest of the meal passed in contemplative silence. The High Table had rather spotty attendance that night. Not only was Luke gone, but Severus hadn't shown up, no doubt sulking in his dungeons, and Tonks was out, presumably with Madame Hooch and Professor Sprout, who had earlier asked Wendy if she wanted to go out to Hogsmeade for dinner with them.

Maybe he'd gone for a walk in the morning and gotten lost in the hills. Maybe he'd been injured. Maybe he was lying in a ditch somewhere with a broken ankle. Maybe...

"Will you be in your rooms tonight?" Albus asked her as the dessert course appeared.

"Uh... yeah," she said absently, sighing heavily and taking a ritual bite of the chcolate cake. It tasted like cardboard and blood, and she put the fork aside, reached for her napkin, and covertly removed the bite from her mouth, squashing it in the linen.

Albus put a withered hand on her arm, and she looked up at him.

"Don't worry, my dear," he said gently. "We'll find him."

Wendy blinked furiously and bit her lip so hard she thought it might bleed, but the tears came nonetheless. She mutterred a goodnight to Albus and fled as sedately as she could from the Hall.

If something horrible had happened to Luke while she had been... had been... with Severus, then she didn't know how she could forgive herself. If he had stormed off away from the school in anger, and gotten hurt... The guilt threatened to consume her, and how could she not let it?

"Gabrieli," she said to the wall, which opened. She stumbled inside and collapsed on the couch, her face screwed up, trying to breathe calmly. She couldn't face it. What if... what if... Her mind kept turning over all sorts of horrible situations, because she couldn't imagine that he would avoid her so skillfully during the entire day.

She sat with her head in her hands for a very long time. The clock on the wall ticked endlessly, and the fire crackled, but its warmth didn't go past her skin. She wriggled her feet in the thick carpet and noticed idly that her toenails needed cutting. She froze at every footstep that passed outside, but none of them paused, none of them were accompanied by a knock on the door. It was absolutely unbearable.

At one point she reached behind her to the crocheted afghan Minerva had kindly provided them and clutched it to her, trying to cry, but she wasn't to make the tears come.

If this were an American city, she would have called a hospital by now to check if he'd been brought in; but this was the wilds of Scotland and there wasn't an ambulance for several miles, just hills and hills and more hills.

She waited, and waited, and waited. After a while she lay down on the couch, pulling the afghan across her knees and shoving a cushion behind her head. If -- no, when Luke came in, she would hear him and be able to greet him. How, she didn't know. But she would be waiting here.

* * *

"Miss, please wake. Please, please wake up, Miss," a squeaky voice said in her ear while something tugged at her sleeve.

It was as though someone had pulled a switch. Wendy woke up completely and suddenly, her breath coming fast. "Luke?" she asked wildly, staring around.

"No, Miss, it is Winky." The house-elf tugged again at her sleeve. "It is half-past eight, Miss, and you must teach classes. It is Monday. The students must learn."

"Luke -- Luke's not back?"

"No, Miss," said Winky sadly. Wendy's breathing slowed, and she felt very cold. "Professor Dumbledore is searching, though, Miss, so you is not to worry. He is sending Winky to tell you to teach this morning. He is telling Winky that the students must learn."

Classes... Luke's classes. Wendy sat up very unsteadily and ran her hands through her hair. She had to take Luke's classes. "Please, Miss," said Winky. "You is teaching today, yes?"

"Yes, Winky. You can tell Albus that I'll teach today." Something inside her solidified and went numb. It was like performing, like auditions -- no matter what happened, there were expectations to meet. "Could you bring me something to eat, something I can eat quickly?"

Winky disappeared with a pop, and Wendy set about changing her clothes and making herself presentable. She rummaged in Luke's desk, feeling strangely unreal at the sight of his handwriting everywhere, found his lesson plan, and gathered up the books and notes she'd need. Did she have all the worksheets for the classes? All except for the afternoon classes.

Winky popped back in, carrying a tray with, bless her, a buttered crumpet and a cup of tea that was just the right temperature.

"Winky, you're the best," said Wendy.

Winky looked extremely pleased.

"Can you get me copies of these -- a hundred each -- for the afternoon?" Wendy handed over a sheaf of papers, which Winky took, disappearing with another pop!

Wendy never knew how she got through the morning. The absence of Draco Malfoy and a few of his friends made the history lecture much simpler -- idly she wondered what had happened to them, then decided she didn't care. Whenever anyone asked her where Luke was, she simply lied to them that he had to go and visit a sick relative back in California. For all she knew, that was where he had gone. She'd never considered that possibility, she thought, almost brightly. Maybe he had gotten an owl from Davitt suddenly, and forgot to leave a note...Locking away the part of her brain that told her it was too unlike Luke, she tried to think of that possiblity more than the other, extremely unpleasant ones.

Lunch was almost bearable. Albus must have told the other teachers that Luke had disappeared, for all of them gave her sympathetic looks -- except, of course, for Severus, who didn't look at her at all, and ate his shepherd's pie efficiently and emotionlessly. Even Professor Sinistra, who'd been incredibly disdainful of Luke for many days, and had ignored Wendy for at least a week after her arrival, came up to her as she left the table and whispered, "I'm sure it will be all right, child."

Wendy looked around at the High Table, remembering. Tonks had been with Luke when she'd left them at the ball Saturday night. Perhaps Wendy could ask her... but she wasn't there. Had she left early? Come to think of it, Wendy hadn't seen Tonks at all since the ball.

A wild thought escaped her brain before she could squash it: Maybe they eloped. This was so ludicrous that she snorted into her pumpkin juice. Where was she, though?

She turned to Quivisianthe Sprout, who was sitting beside her. "Qui," she said, and the woman turned. "Have you seen Tonks today?"

"No," said Qui through a mouthful of potato. She swallowed. "She doesn't have any classes today. Why?"

"Just... just wondering."

Wendy went back to her own potato, no longer hungry.

* * *

The strangest note appeared in Hermione's bag at dinner on Monday. "Meet me in liberry at sevven. Pleeze be aloan. Wont hurt yu."

Apart from the horrific spelling, the handwriting also puzzled Hermione. She didn't know anyone whose e's had that particular slant. And why would they ask her to be alone? Most people who knew her knew perfectly well that she preferred to be alone in the library, as Harry and Ron only distracted her.

Well, she was planning to be in the library that night, anyways, so if whoever sent the note wanted to talk to her, she'd be there. But she'd keep her wand close, nonetheless.

After dinner she told Harry and Ron that she was off to study. They grunted and continued blathering about Quidditch. Ron remembered just in time that he was her boyfriend now, and pecked her on the cheek before she left. "I'll come see you later," he promised. She shouldered her bag and left the Great Hall.

It was about half past five when she reached the library, so her favorite study cubicle was free. She wondered if it would be possible to get Madam Pince to reserve it for her, as some of her research was starting to get rather heavy, and a few of the books were too large to fit into her school bag.

Hermione carefully emptied the contents of her bag onto the table, neatly stacking her assignments in the order she wanted to tackle them, and laying her quill, inkpots, and blotter around the edge of the work area. There was the History of Magic essay that she had to finish first, because it was due Wednesday, then the Arithmancy equations to work out for Thursday, a Potions recipe to write, also for Thursday, some Charms to practice, although she had to wait until she was back in the common room to do those, because it would disturb the quiet of the library, and an essay for Music to do, as well as those annoying worksheets.

Hermione's general work ethic was to get the hardest things done first, unless something was urgent, or unless she had something annoying to do, in which case that went before everything else. So, sniffing slightly, she pulled the worksheets for music theory out from the pile and laid them before her.

"Write out the following scales, using key signatures: A melodic minor, C# harmonic minor, D natural minor, and F harmonic minor."

Tedious, tedious scribbling of the quill.

"Write out the following triads, without key signatures: E diminished, F augmented, C# major..."

Scribble, scribble.

"Analyze the following chordal passage." She analyzed it.

Scribble, scribble.

It was dreadfully dull work, but as her quill tapped the notes, arranging them into triads and labeling them, she knew that it was important, somehow, in the cosmic scale of things. It was the same feeling she had when working on Arithmancy. It annoyed her immensely: she desperately wanted this subject to be useless, yet it persisted in being so laden with magic that an incorrectly spelled chord leapt off the page at her, announcing itself as wrong.

The worksheet was finished. Hermione looked at her watch. Ten minutes to six. A little over an hour until her anonymous correspondent appeared. Should she do the History of Magic essay or the History of Music essay? The ethic said to do the History of Music essay because that would be the most annoying, but as she wanted to be in her usual spot when seven o'clock rolled around, and she knew the History of Magic section extremely well and would not spend too much time hunting for books, she chose that one.

Explain, using at least six feet of parchment, why the Wizengamot decided in 1848 to avoid involvement in the numerous civil wars on the continent at that time. Well, that was easy. She made a quick list of the books she would need. Humphreys, Bagshot, of course, Mulligan, perhaps Foxworthy, the English translation of Bleiswijk if no one else had it -- who was she kidding? No one else ever checked it out -- maybe there would be some information in the sixth chapter of Beaumond...

She gathered the books and returned to her cubicle. For a long time, the only sound was the scratching of her quill, the riffling of pages, and the tearing of parchment as she worked out paragraphs in sections.

"Granger?"

Hermione, who was refilling her quill, knocked over the ink pot in surprise.

"Sorry," grunted the voice. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She turned around in shock. It was Crabbe. He stood, his hands in the pockets of his robes, hunched over, as though trying to hide his bulk.

"What do you want?" she said, silently praying that he hadn't sent the note.

"Did you get my note?" he rumbled.

Oh, dear. "Yes," she said.

"I thought you'd probably be here, but I wanted to make sure."

Hermione just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Crabbe lowered his voice. "Do you think you can put some sort of spell around us so no one can overhear?"

She looked at him suspiciously.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "Promise. Here, take my wand." He held it out to her.

She took it gingerly. "To be quite honest," she said staring from the wand to him, "it's not your wand I'm worried about."

He smiled. He looked quite friendly when he did it, quite approachable. More like an overgrown brown bear than an overgrown thug.

"I can understand that," he admitted. "Look," he said, his voice so low it was more of a rumble, "it's really, really important, but I don't want anyone to overhear us. I promise I won't hit you, or hurt you, or anything. Wizard's honor."

To her surprise, his wand gave a small crackle in her hand, and shot out a few sparks. Wizard's honor, indeed. He was serious.

"All right," she said grudgingly, and cast a Muffling Charm on the surrounding two feet of space. She cast another charm to divert attention in case of passers-by, and pulled Crabbe closer into the cubicle. It was a very tight fit.

"You noticed that Draco and Pansy are gone, right?" he began.

She nodded.

"They screwed up pretty badly with Mr. Malfoy, so he's not letting them come back to Hogwarts, for when Dumbledore figures it out. Although I think Draco might be back for Quidditch --"

"But what did they do?" she interrupted.

"They put the Additive into the punch," he said.

"The -- oh, I see," she said. "I knew there was something in the punch! Look, why don't you start at the beginning."

"All right," he said slowly, and thought for a long moment. "Draco wants to join his father," Crabbe said finally. "You know he's a Death Eater, right?"

"Yes. -Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "You're one of Malfoy's friends -- won't he be mad at you?"

"He's not my friend," Crabbe growled. "Let me finish the story first, Granger."

"Hermione."

"Hermione. All right." As Crabbe continued to tell of how Malfoy had come up with the idea of kidnapping Luke and Wendy as a show of Dark power, brewed the Amourousness Additive, and slipped it into the punch because the Head Girl was a Slytherin and let them spike it because she thought it was just vodka, Hermione's jaw slowly opened in disbelief at how much sense it made.

"And so they put the Additive into the punch to make everyone a little... well, you know..." he blushed, "and make sure that Luke and Wendy went back to their rooms a little early. Pansy and Draco were waiting in there, Stunned them, and Portkeyed them out."

"Except that Wendy wasn't there," Hermione said breathlessly. "Oh, it all makes sense now."

Crabbe nodded. "They got Tonks and Luke instead."

Hermione nodded slowly, mulling it over. But -- "How did you find all this out?" she asked Crabbe.

"All the dorms have fireplaces down in the dungeons," he explained, "and Draco Firetalked in to ask for his trunk to be sent along. I was the only one there, so I sent it to him. He looked pretty shaken. Said his father wasn't letting him or Pansy leave their place, but that everything was okay."

"You should go to Dumbledore!" Hermione said. "Tell him --"

"No," he said abruptly.

"Whyever not?" she asked. "He could help; if Luke and Tonks have been kidnapped by Malfoy --"

"But it isn't just Malfoy," said Crabbe meaningfully.

Hermione gasped. "He's taken them to You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah," he said, looking uncomfortable.

"But -- but we should do something, tell someone-"

"No."

"But -- they could be found, they could be rescued-"

Crabbe was shaking his head.

"Why not?"

He looked even more uncomfortable. "Look, Granger, being in Slytherin isn't so good these days -- even Dumbledore can't help all of us. My father --"

He broke off. Hermione heard the footsteps too -- someone had rounded the corner of the cubicles. It was Ron. He'd be very suspicious if she suddenly appeared in her cubicle after he'd already checked them. She immediately cancelled the Muffling and Diversion Charms.

"There you are, Hermione!" he said. "What are you doing, Crabbe?" he asked suspiciously.

Crabbe looked at Ron, then back at Hermione, and threateningly cracked his knuckles at her. "I'd watch my step if I were you, Granger," he said.

Hermione's heart sang. He wasn't nearly as stupid as people thought. A miserable speller, perhaps, but not an absolute idiot.

"Clear off," said Ron, reaching for his wand.

Crabbe snatched his wand off the table. "Remember what I said," he growled at her, as he cleared off.

"What did he want?" Ron asked, bending to give her a kiss.

"Just being Crabbe," she said noncommitally. "You know how they are." Hermione wasn't quite sure why, but she didn't want Ron knowing about the conversation. If Crabbe didn't want Dumbledore to know, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out why, then she wasn't going to let Ron know.

She tilted her face to kiss Ron back.

Ron was sufficiently distracted to let the matter drop.