1975

Chapter V - The Daily Grind

Frank Longbottom rose at five, and, at the insistence of his dorm mates, went down to the common room to think things through. The ever-threatening battle would happen today - he was sure of that - and he had no intention of losing.

Viridian had made no contribution to the appointment of a Slytherin prefect than to demand that "our idiot Quidditch captain, Edmund Avery" not be selected. He had only chosen Frank as his mortal enemy after the appointment. His reasoning for this was unclear, but it left Frank's life a living Hell. Points Frank awarded, Viridian subtracted, returning points that Frank took. Rules that Frank made, Viridian contradicted. Surprisingly, Slytherin House had not slipped into complete chaos. Viridian's general persecution of his students kept most of them loyal to their prefect.

Frank had it on good authority that Viridian had blocked his appointment as Head Boy. For a properly ambitious Slytherin, this was bad enough. But something bigger was afoot. After the spat over the sacred significance of the common room, Frank had expected Viridian to be in top form when they had met Monday morning. While Viridian had indeed attempted to ban him from the Prefects' bathroom - a low blow- the encounter had been uncharacteristically calm. Only the professor's disconcerting smirk signaled trouble.

Narcissa Crouch had confirmed Frank's forebodings the previous evening. According to Narcissa, Viridian wanted him removed as prefect. One did not ignore Hogwarts' rumour.

The common room that morning was almost empty, except for Severus Snape curled up with a book in an armchair by the fire. Frank noted the cover with approval. Witchcraft at the Stake: The Underpinnings of Muggle Hysteria by John Longbottom, Dicentra Press, 1975.

"Hello, Severus. Reading my Dad's new book?" asked Frank, settling into a chair.

Severus eyed Frank over the book. "Yes," he said slowly. "It's interesting."

Frank grinned. "I suppose so. I proofread too much over the summer."

"But . . . he seems to say it's our fault these Muggles hate the very idea of us," Severus continued, as though Frank had not spoken.

Frank had learnt these arguments in the nursery. "Well, the only contact we have with the Muggle world is through wizards' law-breaking. It stands to reason . . . "

"But if we had more regular contact, you know what they would do to us," Severus interrupted.

"They aren't doing anything to us," said Frank. "Perhaps you should focus more on what we're doing to them."

"I suppose you hope to combine our world with theirs, Longbottom," spat out Severus. His hands were clenched.

"No! If the Muggle world knew about magic, either they'd learn to control us, or we'd end up controlling them. I don't want either to happen!"

"So you do admit the Muggle world is a threat?"

"Life is threatening, Severus. You're not safe until you're dead. But why choose to be dead? There's a larger world out there, and to hide from it in a cave . . . No . . . " He looked as though an idea had just occurred to him. "Severus, hear me out on this. There once were prisoners in a cave, who had never seen the light. Chained there, they saw only a few shadows on the wall, and they thought that these were the world. One prisoner escaped from the cave and went out into the sun. When he saw the world, he was determined to rescue his fellow prisoners. Yet, when he returned, 'men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death'."

A queer shiver seemed to pass over Severus's face, but his voice was strong and steady. "I get the point. The cave is the wizarding world, the sunny outdoors the Muggle world, and I am the reprobate chained to the rocks while you, the enthusiast of sweetness and light, minister to me. I admire your creativity."

"Not mine. The Greek philosopher Plato's," said Frank with a trace of a smile.

"A Muggle."

"Are they a different species, Severus?"

"No! You're trying to trap me into saying things!"

"Why would I do that?" Frank asked.

"How can I fathom how your mind works?" Realizing perhaps how silly that sounded, Severus continued, "You want to believe that everyone who disagrees with you is working hand-in-glove with You-Know-Who."

"Severus!"

"You want to be an Auror so you can rid the world of your so-called evil, don't you?"

Frank flinched, yet he was not surprised that his private ambition had become public knowledge. This was Hogwarts after all.

"Do you believe in evil?" he asked calmly.

"Of course I do," snapped Severus. "The Muggles destroy each other for sport. That's evil. Don't tell me I'm wrong because I don't know a thing about Muggle history. I know enough. I know that they've nearly drowned this century in blood, that they've discovered how to destroy the world at a whim. We're nothing like them. Even Grindelwald was never so near Hell as they are."

Frank stared. Severus Snape was entirely unlike any other person he had ever met. Cooly detached one moment, intensely passionate the next. "You're not wrong," he told him. "The world does reek of blood, Severus. And we are part of the world. Do you really think You-Know-Who is any more reluctant to destroy than Muggle dictators like Hitler and Stalin? He only lacks the means. Are we less guilty because we are less powerful? To pretend that we are something else, something superior . . . "

"We're nothing like them, Longbottom. We can't be." Severus sounded strangely as though he were about to cry.

Frank was about to speak when a noise from across the room interrupted them. He turned around and saw a third-year girl standing there.

"I . . . may I speak to you . . . sir?" asked the girl.

"Certainly," said Frank, amused.

"Professor Viridian said that I have to serve detention on Friday even though my parents are visiting then," she said tearfully. "Do I have to?"

"Of course not," said Frank. "I'll settle things with Viridian. Don't mention it to him, though. Do you need a handkerchief?" The tears had begun to fall thick and fast.

As the girl gratefully went back to her room, sobbing into Frank's handkerchief, Severus fancied that the handkerchief was likely to be kissed and kept under a pillow. And he grasped at that fancy as another reason to hate Frank: the always popular, handsome, charming, reasonable Frank Longbottom, the perfect prefect about to embark on a career of fame and glory as an Auror.

"Well, it was good talking to you, Severus," said Frank, "But I must go and get washed up now." And he exited the common room.

* * * * * * * * * *

Severus nursed his resentment against Frank until Potions, when the impossibilities of concocting a memory potion distracted him from his grudge.

"You add three spoonfuls of ground digitalis," Severus instructed his partner, Julian.

"Yes, but how big is a spoonful?" moaned Julian. "It doesn't say."

"A tablespoon, I would think. JULIAN!"

Julian had knocked over the jar. Digitalis covered the floor in all directions.

Professor Meander sighed. "Miss Tierney, must you spill everything you get your hands on?"

The Gryffindors laughed. They had been in an ugly mood since the Quidditch defeat the week before and found any Slytherin mishap uproariously funny.

Fifth year Potions was Gryffindor-biased. Meander had sickened of the Slytherins after four years of coaxing them along. Deadly one-liners had filled her year-end reports.

Frost, Melania - Inclined to let her mind wander.
Lestrange, Rodolphus - Utterly incompetent.
Tierney, Julian - Amazingly prone to accidents.

Trelawney, Sibyll - Can't follow instructions to save her life.
Snape, Severus - No interest in working.

The only Slytherin fifth year Meander tolerated was Florence Jorkins. Most of the teachers liked Florence. Perhaps it compensated for her unpopularity with the boys.

"Your essays have been marked," announced Meander. "For your information, Mr. Snape, monkshood and aconite are one and the same."

"Really, Professor. I never would have guessed," said Severus, helping Julian with the scattered digitalis.

"No, it was only covered in your second year." The Gryffindors found this humorous. "In contrast to your interesting performance, Mr. Black has written a perfect explanation of the limitations of Veritaserum."

"Has he now?" muttered Severus, sweeping up the last of the digitalis. "And doesn't that inspire us all?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" asked Julian.

"Never mind."

Evan was the only real witness of the events five minutes later. Sybill was showing her horoscope to a skeptical Alison; Severus was reading a weighty tome under his desk, and Melania a romance; Rolly was sleeping with his eyes open (a useful trick). The others were inexplicably taking notes.

Lily Evans, who was sharing a desk with Remus Lupin, had been fiddling about with her potion ingredients. Meander overlooked this, judging it showed some interest on her part. Severus Snape had never lifted a finger to play with ingredients, and where had that got him in the noble art of potion-making? Lupin must have knocked Lily's arm a little, because she suddenly spilt a phial of Essence of Wolfsbane on his hand.

"I'm sorry," said Lily immediately. She reached for a rag to wipe the mess up.

Evan later said that he had never in his life seen anyone turn as white as Lupin did. "Water," he gasped. "I need water."

Pettigrew jumped from his seat to Lupin's side. "Here you are, Remus." Pettigrew's voice was quivering. "Professor, Remus feels faint. May I take him up to the infirmary?"

"Yes, of course," said Meander and proceeded to lecture Lily about carelessness. Essence of Wolfsbane smelt extremely unpleasant, and the other students envied Lupin's faintness.

"I don't think he was fainting," Severus declared as they left the classroom. "I think it was trick to get out of class."

"He looked horrible, Severus," said Evan.

"He always looks horrible," said Kenneth. "Like he's been a fight with a hippogriff."

"But he's quite handsome," put in Rodolphus, "so that doesn't matter, now, does it?"

Sybill reddened. "Julian, we'll be late for divination." She dragged Julian down the hall towards Professor Forsyte's classroom. Ken looked after them wistfully.

"I wish I was taking Divination."

* * * * * * * * * *

Divination began with the usual spectacle of Professor Forsyte trying to teach Melania to reach out into the infinite.

"Miss Frost. Rest your mind and see."

"I can't see anything," said Melania, as usual.

Despite Forsyte's earnest efforts , Melania could or would not see through crystal. With the exception of Sybill, the others weren't terribly good at it either but they managed a few "visions" - enough to content Forsyte. Julian would have dismissed the entire art as fraud, had it not been that several times she had seen something: a dark and bare room, with a bed upon which a young woman lay. Professor Forsyte claimed to know what it meant. Through extensive use of symbols, she interpreted Julian's vision in vague but positive terms, continually referring to the sleeping subconscious. It didn't feel good, though. It had convinced Julian that something bad was going to happen to her, and, with the typical fatalism of the wizarding world, she really did not want to know more about it.

On the other hand, Sybill predicted only happiness for herself, though she foresaw gloom and doom for others. This afternoon, Professor Forsyte, a full-fledged romantic, had set them to reaching out into the infinite for their soulmates. Evan had forcefully declined. "I'm not marrying."

Melania laughed. "How do you know that, Evan?"

"I had a vision. I'll be dead by the time I'm twenty-one."

"What was the vision like?" asked Forsyte, completely taken aback.

"Oh, the usual. Vultures, gravestones, dark clouds," said Evan flippantly. Evan had grown to hate Divination and lost no chance to show it.

In contrast, Sybill as enthusiastically describing her crystal-gazing. "I see . . . it's very foggy, but I seem to see a flower. A blue flow-"

Melania smiled. "Is it Lupine by any chance?"

"It might be," said Sybill innocently. "I wonder what it means."

Evan began to cough violently.

Melania walked over to Julian, who was feigning interest in her globe. "Found your future husband yet?"

"No," said Julian. "Wouldn't it be spooky if one did?"

"Well, have you found a partner for the Ball yet?"

"No, I haven't. There's plenty of time still, Mel. You don't have to match-make for me."

"Would you make do with Rolly Wilkes?" Melania persisted.

"He hasn't asked me."

"If he did?"

Julian considered this a second. There was very little chance of securing the partner of her dreams, and Rolly wasn't too bad. "I would, if he asked me himself."

"I can arrange that," said Melania with a smug smile. "I have to confess, though, I'm at a loss what to do with Sybill."

"Remus Lupin?" asked Julian.

"God, no!" said Melania. "Poor boy avoids Sybill like the plague. I can't blame him, of course. But Sybill is one of us, and I'm not seeing her without a partner."

"What about Kenneth?" asked Julian.

"That's what I thought. But that Crouch girl already has her claws into him. She wouldn't be going to the ball if she couldn't find an older partner, so she was very quick off the mark."

"There's no one like you, Mel, to de-romanticize a ball," shrugged Julian.

"I am not a romantic, Julian, you know. I never was. Love, I suppose, is a pleasant emotion, but happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. I would be glad enough for any of us if we could find a husband who was stable enough to support a family and refrained from criminal activities."

Julian smiled when she remembered how Melania had failed Sirius Black in both categories. "You make me laugh, Mel, but it is not sound. I mean to be in love when I marry, and I have no intention of marrying for a while."

Their conversation was broken up by Evan, who came over to complain about Sibyll. "She's making herself the laughing stock of the school with this Lupin fixation.

"Maybe she's in love," put in Julian.

Evan frowned. "He doesn't care. One of you should talk to her."

"You think we don't?" asked Melania.

"Well, I'm just saying . . . And since when did Slytherins fall for Gryffindors?" It was an Evan sort of remark that set both Julian and Melania giggling.

"Since the beginning of Hogwarts, Evan," said Julian. "Don't worry. It's not that common. We shan't be sporting red and gold anytime soon."

"Not till after Hogwarts at any rate," qualified Melania.

"Or unless Gilderoy Lockhart were to look in this direction. Don't blush, Evan. Red heads shouldn't be allowed to blush."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The sound blared across the Slytherin common room, bringing shouts of complaint from everyone. It was afternoon, and Ludo Bagman was in trouble again.

"It's homework!" Ludo protested. "For Muggle Studies."

"It sounds like a cat dying." Rolly Wilkes lunged at the book in Ludo's hands.

"It's Muggle music," said Ludo, jumping up onto the back of one of the sofas.

"Close it!" Edmund Avery barked. Ludo reluctantly did. It would be madness for a fourth year to defy a seventh year.

"God, what idiots Muggles are!" exclaimed Rolly.

"Watch it, Wilkes!" warned Edmund.

"Well, they listen to that."

"Err . . . yes. You shouldn't insult people for their taste in music, nonetheless. Oh, hello, Frank, were you vindicated?" Edmund was relieved to see that Frank seemed cheerful after the meeting with Viridian and Dumbledore.

"We'll talk about that later. Is there a problem here?"

"Am I or am I not allowed to do my homework in the common room?" asked Ludo.

"And the catch, my dear Ludovic?" asked Frank.

"The catch is that he's trying to unleash an infernal caterwaul on us," said Edmund. "You might like it, Frank. It's up your alley."

"What is it?" asked Frank.

Ludo interpreted the question as an invitation to open up to Page 242 of "British Muggle Culture."

"YOU SAY YOU WANT A REVOLUTION! WELL, WELL, YOU KNOW, WE ALL WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD! YOU TELL ME THAT IT'S EVOLUTION"

Hearing the "infernal caterwaul," Frank began to laugh.

"Muggle group," said Ludo helpfully, "Called . . . The Beatles. It's misspellt."

Frank began to choke.

"Do Muggle teenagers really listen to this sort of music?" asked Narcissa.

"They used to. The Beatles broke up a while ago," said Frank. "But it's not all like that."

"Frank's a Beatles fanatic," teased Edmund.

"BUT IF YOU GO CARRYING PICTURES OF CHAIRMAN MAO, YOU AIN'T GOING TO MAKE IT WITH ANYONE ANYHOW!" Edmund slammed the book shut.

"A fanatic?" asked Florence, raising her eyebrows. Without waiting for a reply she went over to Rolly. "Before the meeting, we've something to show you in the girls' toilet on the first floor, near the entrance to the dungeons."

"The what?" asked Rolly.

"You heard me. It's out of order."

She turned and left the common room, Rolly behind her, puzzlement evident in his face.

* * * * * *

"Why are we meeting in here?" complained Evan, once they entered the lavatory.

"Yes, why are you? You're not supposed to be in here," said a ghostly voice. "This is a girls' bathroom."

"Hello, Myrtle!" said Florence loudly, and then whispered to the others, "Moaning Myrtle. She haunts the place."

"She won't tell on us?" asked Rodolphus.

"Not if you flatter her," said Alison.

"What are you whispering about?" asked Myrtle, floating through a stall. The boys gaped at the translucent yet still curiously grubby figure.

Alison introduced them. "Myrtle, this is Severus Snape, Rodolphus Lestrange, Kenneth Avery, Roland Wilkes, and Evander Rosier."

Always the master of the situation, Rodolphus bowed. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Myrtle."

Myrtle's face contorted with hideous delight. "Lestrange? I went to school with a Lestrange. I was a bit taken with him, actually," she giggled. Rodolphus stepped backwards.

"Myrtle," said Alison, "We need to brew a potion. Could we leave it in here? Then you could guard it. You see," she continued in a confidential tone, "We don't quite trust the house-elves not to knock it over in the dormitory."

"Well," said Myrtle, clearly flattered, "I'm not in here all the time. I sometimes go down to the lake." Kenneth barely refrained from gagging.

"That's fine," said Florence, smiling warmly. "Thank you so much, Myrtle."

"Yes, thank you," said Rodolphus.

Myrtle blushed silver and retreated through the stall door. A second later, they heard a splash and flinched.

Outside the lavatory, they began to laugh hysterically. "She seems a bit taken with you, Mr. Lestrange," said Alison.

"Who is she?" asked Kenneth.

"I have no idea," said Florence. "She's poisonous, isn't she?"

"Perfectly vile," pronounced Rolly.

"WHAT ARE YOU HANGING ABOUT THE CORRIDOR FOR?"

"Filch!" hissed Rodolphus. "Run!" But it was too late. Filch was amazingly speedy when need demanded it, and they were off their guards. "Caught red-handed!"

"Red-handed doing what, sir?" asked Florence.

"Plotting mischief, no doubt," came another voice. It was Professor Viridian. "Seven students out on a stroll together?"

"Mr. Filch," said Severus. "I'm sorry if we bothered you. We'll shove off."

Viridian shook his head as if to say, Not so easily, Mr. Snape.

"Well, then move along," said Filch after a long and agonizing moment. Viridian and the students stood rooted in disbelief. "Move along. And don't be making all that noise about the place."

"What's happened to Filch?" asked Evan, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"He seems to like Severus," said Rodolphus slowly. This was amazing. No one liked Severus, themselves excluded.

"How did you manage that?" asked Evan.

"I know!" said Kenneth. "He told me. He saved the git's cat from drowning!"

Rolly groaned. "Saved Mrs. Norris? Severus, how could you?"

Florence motioned toward a classroom on the right. "In here." They trooped into the classroom chatting.

"Take your seats," said Rodolphus impatiently, adjusting his glasses. "I would like to call this meeting to order. Some of us have further plans for the day than hanging about this classrom."

"Hear! Hear!" said Evan. "I'm not even sure why we need to have this meeting. Couldn't you have left it till later?"

"This needs to be resolved now," said Florence.

"What needs to be resolved?" asked Kenneth.

"Kenneth Avery, where have you been recently?" asked Florence. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that this name of Severus's is more than a little suspect?"

"I thought it was a coincidence," said Alison. "I hope it's a coincidence."

"It bloody well was a coincidence," said Rodolphus irritably. "Severus, you explain."

"There's nothing to explain," said Severus in an injured tone. "Yes, we do happen to bear a name adopted recently by a rather disreputable group."

"We found the name Death Eaters in a nineteenth century book on secret societies. It's a good name, but we weren't alone in thinking so, it seems," Rodolphus elaborated. "Florence and Alison want us to change the name."

"I think we should," said Kenneth.

"I don't see how you come to that conclusion, Kenneth," said Severus .

"Don't you?" asked Florence. "I should think it'd be obvious. We don't want to be sent to Azkaban as the Death Eater Youth League."

"Don't get touchy over the name because you picked it, Severus," said Evan kindly. "They're not attacking you."

"Just your name," said Florence. "The moment I heard it, I knew it had to be changed."

Severus's face reddened with anger. "E-excuse me," he stammered. "You wormed your way into this organization so that you could play merry hell with everything I've worked on?"

Kenneth snickered. "Don't be an idiot, Severus."

Severus said nothing, but his eyes smoldered.

"We do need a new name," said Alison, "A name that means something."

"Death Eaters means something," objected Rodolphus. "It's alchemical. It refers to the pursuit of the elixir of life."

"Have you been brewing the elixir of life under your bed, Rodolphus?" Florence asked. "Meander would be amazed. Who votes to change our name?"

"This isn't a democracy," said Severus.

"Well, if you're that uncomfortable with the name..." Rodolphus trailed off.

Alison looked him straight in the eyes. "I am," she said. Something inside him seemed to turn to mush, and he surrendered on the naming issue. Having lost his last ally, Severus accepted defeat as well. Severus and Rodolphus were given the consolation prize of looking for a new name together.

"What's our policy about . . . you know . . . Muggles?" asked Evan, after everything was settled. There was silence for a few seconds. They all looked uneasily at Alison, who had fixed her eyes firmly on the floor.

"I believe, that on the whole," said Florence at last, "no offence to you, Alison, we're better off completely separate from the Muggle world. Most Muggleborns don't understand our way of life. They try to make their world like ours."

"We don't want that," said Rodolphus. "Muggle music," he added with a short laugh.

"Oh, right, Revolution. 'We all want to change the world.' It is catchy," Kenneth admitted. "Catchy but awful."

"You're not going to base your beliefs on a bad Beatles song, are you?" Florence asked, astonished

"Why not?"

"The Avery Doctrine: Listen to Muggle music before deciding on any given issue. Proceed from like or dislike of said music," piped up Rolly.

"Tomorrow you'll discover some band you really like, and you'll be all for Muggle-Magic unification," teased Florence.

"But only," Rolly continued, "until he listens to his next what-do-they-call-them?"

"Records," said Alison. There was a sudden hush.

"What do you think, Alison?" asked Florence finally.

"I think you're right. I can't help my background." Her voice was toneless and distant, as if coming from the bottom of a well. "But I do know that most Muggle-borns seem to want to drag this world down to the level of ours." She put her hand to her brow to hide her expression. Rodolphus's arm jerked, as though he would have liked to put it around her but was unsure of how it would be received.

"So, I take it we're making an exception for Alison, but we oppose the existence of Muggleborn wizards and witches," said Evan, a nasty smile playing about his lips.

"Why do you say it like that?" and "It needn't sound that way. It isn't that way," said Severus and Florence simultaneously.

"We're not against people," said Florence forcefully. "But we have to halt these corrupting forces."

"Does that translate to 'Kill all the Mudbloods'?"

"Evan, stop it," said Kenneth.

"Well, that's settled," said Florence quickly. Everyone looked relieved.

"What are we brewing in the lavatory?" asked Rolly.

"We haven't decided yet," said Severus. "It depends on what we can get hold of over Christmas. But we found a very interesting book which we plan to smuggle out of the library: Moste Potente Potiones."

"Are you sure that we should try our hands at a potion?" asked Kenneth sensibly. "We aren't particularly stellar in that pursuit."

"It'll work out," said Alison.

"So, can we go now?" asked Evan.

Permission to depart was granted, and the conspirators dispersed.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Off to photos, Avery?"

Edmund looked up from tying his shoes to see Catherine Black, the Gryffindor Chaser, before him. Her black hair was extremely untidy, and her cheeks quite red. He nodded. "Quidditch practice?"

"Just finished," she said.

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the empty corridor for a moment. Having been childhood playmates, they usually got along well, but Edmund found it difficult to be friendly under the circumstances of the last week. He was furious with the Gryffindor team. They had guarded too well against espionage, and he was at the point where he would have killed for a glimpse of the Gryffindor practice. It was in Slytherin's best interest for Ravenclaw to win the game against Gryffindor, and it seemed unfair and most unSlytherin that Slytherin not aid in the cause of a Ravenclaw victory.

"Your collar's in shambles, Avery," said Catherine sternly. For some reason, she had insisted on calling him by his surname since they had come to Hogwarts and been sorted into different Houses. "Here, let me fix it." Without invitation, she began to adjust it.

"For goodness' sake, Cathy! Not here,"he protested. "People . . . "

"Then in here. You can't look like that in the photos."

"And why would this worry a Gryffindor?" Edmund asked he was essentially dragged into a storage room off the hall.

"It's maternal instinct," said Catherine warmly, wrestling with the errant collar. "You look so helpless sometimes." She reached for the back of the collar, putting her arms about his neck. Edmund suddenly reflected that she probably had the Gryffindor plans in her pocket. Without hesitation, he flung his arms around her back and kissed her.

The following moments were some of the most bizarre of his life. Pickpocketing the girl you are embracing is a tricky business, but not, as he discovered, impossible. He ran his hands down her sides until he found the wad of parchment, gently removed it from her pocket, jerked it down his right sleeve, and brought his hands up to run through her hair, all the time kissing her passionately.

"Your collar's still a mess," gasped Catherine at last. She had blushed even more crimson and looked so pretty that Edmund almost regretted his accomplishment. Yet, chivalry was never a quality Salazar Slytherin prized much in his students, and the regret quickly passed.

"Cathy, I'm sorry," he said, as she finally put the collar to rest.

"No, no. You'd best be going for your pictures," she said shakily. She smiled a little, turned, and made a hasty exit.

* * * * * * *

Rolly Wilkes entered the Headmaster's office with dread. He had never had any close contact with Dumbledore before this moment, and he felt it more and more likely as he had walked alone towards the office that he would be laughed or frowned out of the place. His request was an unusual one, but his desperation had kept him walking.

"Mr. Wilkes?" said the Headmaster, motioning to a chair. Rolly nervously sat down and tried not to look too panicky. "What has lured you inside on a lovely day such as this?"

"Sir, I would like to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "That can be arranged. Your Head of House will go around with the sign-up list as usual."

"My parents want me to go home, sir."

"Well, I am afraid I am in no position to contradict their decision, Mr. Wilkes. I am daily snowed under with complaints from parents without adding a charge of kidnapping to the onslaught." Dumbledore smiled, but there was a look of concern in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I thought somehow you could . . . " Rolly looked desperately about. "They don't want to see me, not really," he added in a pleading tone.

Albus Dumbledore looked sympathetically at the boy whose history he knew well. Most adults would have told Rolly to stop imagining things and that deep down he was very much loved. Dumbledore did none of this. "My dear Roland, I am afraid your stepfather is a very cold and cruel man."

"If you know that, why can't I stay here?"

"I thought I had mentioned the trivial legal aspects of your problem. You know what the Law would say, I trust."

"The Law is . . . "

"An ass. To quote a famous Muggle writer," said Dumbledore. He added abruptly, "I must get you a copy of David Copperfield, Mr. Wilkes. I think you would very much appreciate it."

"Well, thank you," said Rolly tonelessly.

"The darkest hour, Mr. Wilkes, is before dawn. You'll be of age within a year. Remember that."

Though it was good to be reminded that the end was in sight, Dumbledore's words gave Rolly little comfort as he hurried through the halls back to the Slytherin common room. Another miserable Christmas was staring him in the face.

* * * * * * *

In his dormitory, Edmund was preparing to bask in glory while Frank examined the stolen Gryffindor plans.

"How did you find this?" asked Frank at last

"Call me a cad, but I do have the plans," said Edmund, avoiding the question.

"Why should I call you a cad?" asked Frank. "You didn't beat Professor McGonagall over the head with a bat for these, did you?"

"No, I pickpocketed them from one of the players."

"Good show," said Frank absentmindedly, his attention back on the parchment.

"I do feel a little guilty," Edmund pressed on in his attempt to make Frank curious.]"I mean, when someone trusts you, you're not generally supposed to be betray that trust. Frank, are you even listening?"

"Yes. You sound as if you want to confess something to me."

"Well, I do. I feel rather bad about it, Frank, but the truth is I took these from Catherine Black while I was kissing her."

"Good Lord!" said Frank.

"That was in bad taste, wasn't it?"

"And now I suppose the poor girl's seen the last of your affections?" Frank's voice was not all together friendly.

"Absolutely not. It'd put a damper on things, if she found about the theft, I admit . . . "

"How can she not find out?"

"This is where my brilliance comes in," said Edmund proudly. "I've sent a house-elf up to the Gryffindor tower to slip the plans back into her pocket. That's the copy you have there."

"Well, one thing's for certain. You are a cad," said Frank calmly, still engrossed in the parchment.

"I didn't initiate the action. Miss-I-just-need-to-adjust-your-collar-in-this-lonely-storage- room knew exactly what she was doing."

"Don't break her heart, anyway, Edmund."

"You needn't worry. Her parents know where I live. And they are fearsome."

"That's true," said Frank. "'Evil' is the word I might be inclined to use."

Edmund frowned. "I'm not sure it's all their fault. Anymore than it's my parent's fault," he said, adding quickly, "though of course my parents aren't anywhere as bad as the Blacks. They were brought up to think that way, and they really didn't have anyone to present the other side of things to them . . . People like Catherine and I are just lucky in our acquaintances."

"Thank you!"

"Catherine isn't like them, though, of course, she won't talk openly about it. She's got a lot more common sense than Sirius."

"That's hardly difficult. I'm surprised the Blacks haven't quietly drowned Sirius as unsatisfactory."

"They're not that bad!" protested Edmund. "They really do love their children!"

"What about little cousin Bella?"

"That's different, Frank. Not right, but different."

"Hardly."

"You don't understand, said Edmund. "You'll never understand . . . What was up with Viridian?"

"I've been sacked."

Edmund stared a second at his friend, quietly sprawled out on his bed with a book by his side. "Sacked? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were going out then. Yes, I've been sacked. I was summoned to the Headmaster's office. He told me that with much regret he was forced to ask for my resignation as of Christmas, or else Viridian would make life impossible for everyone. Those weren't his exact words, but the meaning came through well enough."

"Don't resign!"

"That's what I would have said this morning. But when Dumbledore looks at you with those twinkling eyes of his, you start wanting to do whatever he wants you to do, because it seems the most reasonable thing in the world. Peace is important, after all, and being a prefect isn't. I'll have more time to study for N.E.W.T.s."

Edmund looked horrified. "You're turning defeatist."

"No, I'm choosing my battles. This one isn't worth it. It'll be better for everyone if there's a new prefect. Maybe Viridian won't take such an irrational dislike to my replacement. Edmund, if you want to make this even more difficult for me, continue criticizing me over this decision."

It seemed to Edmund that tears were welling up in his friend's eyes. But he kindly pretended not to see them. "You're a good man, Frank."

"Let's go downstairs," said Frank.

Downstairs the common room was crowded with people doing homework, or people who had intended to do homework. Among the latter was Narcissa, doodling with a brilliant peacock quill on her History of Magic textbook.

"I wish I had a peacock quill," said Lydia Stebbins enviously. "My parents say it's a waste of money."

"You can have my extra one," said Narcissa.

Lydia looked torn between the prospect of the quill and seeming, as usual, completely dependent on Narcissa. Narcissa gave her no chance to reject the offer, pressing the quill upon her best friend without hesitation.

"It's a nuisance that the teachers won't allow gold ink on essays, though. I need to get some nice new quills to use with black ink." said Narcissa. "My brother just sent me six galleons," she added carelessly.

It never ceased to amaze Lydia how quickly Narcissa could spend money, or how regularly that money was replenished. Lydia's parents were very careful with money. They needed to be. John and Margaret Stebbins had not picked the most lucrative career in researching flobberworms, though the couple claimed that it was a fascinating field of research that one day would produce amazing cures. Narcissa had mentioned the money, but she did not discuss the rest of her brother's letter, which read as follows:

Dear Narcissa,

Thank you for your letter and a description of a very interesting Quidditch game. It seems sometimes that one misses out on life working at the Ministry, or so your sister-in-law says. Christmas is coming, though, and then I shall have my well-deserved chance to relax, to read, and to listen to you and young Barty fight. That chance may, however, evaporate if you do not take a little more care in your studies. I know your ambition is to live a live of ease, never having to lift your little finger for a thing. I must admit that having happened to be born into this family, you will have every opportunity to do so. First, however, you will have to pay a little attention to passing your fourth year. If you are having problems with your work, ask for help. You do not need tutoring from the best looking boy in your class unless he is also the one who best understands the concepts. In this regard, Mr. Bagman is probably not a good choice, Narcissa.

If you don't work now, you'll have to work through Christmas under Winky's rigid supervision, and I shall have to teach you the material. Are all our Christmases to be like this? Do both of us a favour and study now.

Your loving but justifiably strict older brother,

Barty

P.S. I have enclosed six Galleons, which should keep you well in cosmetics, hair ornaments, and fashion accessories until Christmas.

Evening was closing in and the fires had been lit. It was a tradition, carried on from the days when people considered perfectly normal to sing at table or on any happy occasion by the hearth in the evenings. The tradition had waned, but Slytherin clung to it, proud to preserve the old ways against the invasion of the Muggle world, in which singing had become a matter for professionals or people who don't think they're being watched.

"Sing a Beatles song," said Edmund impishly to Frank.

Frank shook his head emphatically, but the idea caught the fancy of a good many of the students. Soon Frank was forced under threat of death and dismemberment to sing.

Who knows how long I've loved you?
You know I love you still.
Must I wait a lonely lifetime.
If you want me to I will.

It was a much pleasanter song than Revolution for ears unaccustomed to rock music, and Frank sang well.

And if I ever met you,
I never heard your name.
But it doesn't really matter,
I will love you all the same.

The song seemed more beautiful than ever to Alison. Yet she could see from the look on Rodolphus's face that she would have to give this up also to keep her friendships and love. There was a stack of Beatles' albums in her room at home that she must discard. It was a bitter price to pay, but she was sure it was worth it.

And when at last I find you,
Your song will fill the air.
Sing it loud so I can hear you.
Make it easy to be near you.
For the things you do endear you to me,
Oh you know I will.

There was great applause. "Encore!" cried some of Frank's most devoted admirers. Rodolphus exchanged looks with Severus and within a split second they launched into a thirteenth-century Latin song. Others joined in, and soon the present had been forgotten in the splendid tradition of the past.

Fortune rota volvitur:
descendo minoratus;
alter in altum tollitur;
nimis exaltatus
rex sedet in vertice -
caveat ruinam!
nam sub axe legimus
Hecubam reginam.