1975

Chapter XII - The Greatest Treason

It so happened that when Hogwarts was built someone forgot to arrange for proper heating of the room in which the seventh year Slytherin boys were lodged in the spring of 1976. It didn't matter how the fire blazed; the room retained a stubborn chill throughout the colder season. Against this cold, heat charms and blankets were continuously employed, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. There were times, when even the most dogged attempts to keep warm met only with frosty failure. That night, Frank Longbottom and Edmund Avery had admitted defeat, and were now back to back before the hearth, closely wrapped in blankets.

"When we leave Hogwarts, we need heated rooms," said Edmund, rubbing his hands together vigorously.

"You'd better take to studying house-keeping. I'm not making breakfast."

"We'll eat out all the time," said Edmund. "We'll save on cutlery that way."

"We won't have any trouble procuring cutlery," said Frank darkly. "Trust me. Our only trouble will be moving about at all when my mother's through giving us things. Well, our only trouble apart from You-Know-Who."

Edmund stared into the fire. "I've thought sometimes that I shouldn't be playing Quidditch..."

"What else should you do? Fill out forms all day in some dingy, little office? Damn He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I want to see you lead the Chudley Cannons to victory!"

"If it ever comes to a fight where I could help..."

"We'll stand back to back," said Frank. "There'll be a tale to tell of it."

Edmund smirked. "Are you sure you were sorted into the right House?"

"I am beginning my campaign against Viridian tomorrow. That'll be good fun, whatever's wrong with the world."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The charm of owning second-hand books, as Julian Tierney had found, was the constant dealings with its past owners. Professor Binns had nearly lulled her to sleep, and then she had found on Page Five Hundred and Twenty-Two a little doodling of a younger Binns, sending another generation of students off to sleep.

She'd shown it to Melania, who had passed the book over to Sirius Black. Now the book was quietly touring the class, occasioning small and hastily suppressed giggles.

"Grogan Stump's memo to the American Department of Magic was answered in May of 1830," said Professor Binns obliviously. "The answer was entirely unfavourable, indicating that the Secretary did not consider the previous administration's policy to be binding. A committee was therefore struck up to explore a possible compromise between the British and American positions."

"Bloody hell!" shouted James Potter.

"Mr. Parker, there's no need to be so emotional about the subject."

"There's a kelpie in the lake!"

There was a collective rush to the window.

A white horse was frolicking about in the shallows of the lake. A first year on the shore was watching with interest, but no one else seemed to have noticed it.

Florence's brow furrowed. "Is that girl safe? What if she's lured in?"

"No one would be so idiotic," said Pettigrew.

The first year put her foot into the water.

* * * * * * * * *

Peony Cuttleworth was still stroking the friendly, white horse when she heard the shouts from across the lawn.

"Get out of the lake!" she could hear Sirius Back screaming, but looking into the horse's deep brown eyes, she realized that she didn't want to follow his directions. She wanted to climb up on the horse's back and she was sure that it would let her.

Severus was the first there, and the one to pull her from the lake.

"Stupid, stupid mudblood!" he spat out, trying to catch his breath, throwing Peony to the ground.

"Pardon me, Snape," said Potter, who had been close behind, "But what did you just say?"

"He called me a mudblood," sobbed Peony.

"And I'm calling you a silly little twit," said Alison. "Stop crying, and be grateful you aren't in the belly of a kelpie."

"What Snape said..." began Potter.

"Was said under emotional stress," cut in Alison.

"And that excuses everything, I know," said Potter. "How many times, Howard, until you learn? Do you think they'll ever change?"

"That's not between you and me," said Alison. She turned and began walking up to the castle.

Julian and Kenneth met her halfway there. Both were panting. Neither would have won any foot race. "You're already going in?" asked Ken in a disappointed voice.

"Someone had best notify the teachers there's a kelpie in the lake. But go down and play with it if you like to."

"That's an Irish kelpie," said Julian to Ken, as they approached the lake. "Oh dear, I hope Hagrid hasn't..."

Alison was soon back with Professor McGonagall and several of the seventh year Gryffindors whom she had been teaching. "Good heavens," she said, drawing a deep breath.

"We thought it might be Hagrid's," said Ken helpfully.

"No, no," said McGonagall. "Now, inside all of you. Miss Black, see that they go inside."

"Come on," said Catherine Black. "You heard Professor McGonagall." The students reluctantly turned back towards the school, casting many glances behind them. However, McGonagall stood still, looking out into the lake, an unreadable expression her face.

"Do you know why McGonagall was so short with us?" said Bertha Jorkins to Catherine Black, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"No, why?" replied Catherine. It was clear from the self-satisfied look on Bertha's face that she was about to divulge a treasured piece of information. As she might have wished, most of the other students had stopped talking and pricked up their ears.

"I have it on good authority that Hagrid let loose some sort of monster when he was at Hogwarts. At Hogwarts with McGonagall."

"I doubt it, Bertha," said Catherine breezily.

"So McGonagall is covering up past iniquities," said Sirius Black. "What's next? Viridian is the hero of a tragic love affair?"

"He might be," said Potter. "Perhaps his love waltzed off with an ex-student of his. It would explain a great deal."

"Every time he sees us he can only remember that deceiver, Alexis Rudolphus Valentian DeChauncy, who won the heart of the beautiful Clarissa," sighed Black.

"Clarissa, the only person to have ever called him 'Vinnie'," said Potter.

Pettigrew snorted. "You two are such romantics. More likely a former student made up with his bank vault key. True love isn't that important."

"Is that why you were kissing Florencebehind the greenhouse last Wednesday?" asked Bertha smugly.

"Florence? Florence Jorkins?" spluttered Black, though there was no other Florencein the school. All chatter died away, and no one moved.

"That's a lie," said Pettigrew flatly.

"Florence?" said Rolly uncertainly. She was standing very still, her eyes fixed on Pettigrew.

"I saw you," said Bertha simply.

"Peter, how could you?" said Lily Evans.

Before anyone could further react, Pettigrew had reached for his wand. "Furnunculus!" he shouted, and the look on Bertha's face changed quickly from triumph, to horror, to pain. Sybill screamed as Lupin and Black pulled Pettigrew back.

"Florence?" said Rolly.

"McGonagall's coming," said Alison quickly. "Let's go." She grabbed Florence by the shoulder.

The Slytherins ran all the way too the doors, Alison half-dragging Florence. Inside the castle, they stopped a second.

"Where're Melania and Sybill?" demanded Alison.

"Sybill fainted. Melania's looking after her," said Evan, slamming the doors shut behind them.

"Then, let's go to Myrtle's bathroom."

Their faces as they entered the bathroom were a study in contrasts. Alison's eyes were bright, but her face composed. Evan's cheeks had turned a bright red. Mordred's face was hard and almost blank. Kenneth looked agitated, his eyes flickering from person to person. Julian was full of concern for Florence, whose face, turned towards the floor, was not visible. Severus's eyes glittered and a vein throbbed nastily in his forehead. Confusion held sway in Rolly's face.

"Florence? Is it true?" asked Rolly.

"And why shouldn't it be?" snapped Florence. "Just because you, Roland Wilkes, aren't interested, no one else could possibly be?"

"You turned Alison and me in to Longbottom," said Severus, putting two and two together as only Severus could. "Didn't you?"

"Pettigrew told you?" said Mordred.

"You could have been killed!" protested Florence. "If I hadn't told Longbottom, you would have been."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Severus sarcastically. "I am extremely grateful to you and Pettigrew for intervening,"

"After what Pettigrew and Black did to Kenneth!" exclaimed Evan.

"Florence, how could you?" said Rolly.

"All right," said Alison suddenly. "Where are we going from here?"

"What?" asked Evan.

"Do you want to cast Florenceout into the outer darkness or do you have something else in mind?"

Julian slipped her arm around Florence.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Alison.

"An apology?" ventured Kenneth.

"An apology for what?" cried Florence. "What have I done to you? I stepped in to save your life, Severus!"

"You stepped in against my will," said Severus. "I have the right to..."

"Throw your life away?" said Florence. "No, Severus, you don't. No one does."

"Spoken as a true Communist," said Alison with amusement. "But come now, Florence. Pettigrew? The real problem here is you've been fraternizing with the enemy."

"This stupid house rivalry!" said Florence.

"Exists, Florence, whether you like it or not," said Severus. "You saw how Pettigrew hexed Bertha rather than admit he had been kissing a Slytherin."

"If you think I'll ever look at him again after that disgusting behaviour!"

"Why did you even look at him in the first place?" said Severus cruelly.

"He was probably trying to spy on us through you," said Evan.

"Because no one could actually be interested in me," snapped Florence. "Thank you, Evan."

"Your stand-offish attitude does tend to stop people from being interested," snapped back Mordred. "If anyone tries flirting with you, you bite off his head. Anyone other than the delightful Peter Pettigrew apparently."

"How can you pry into my personal life?"

"I think you've proved you need some direction there. You're obviously desperate!"

"Not everyone can fall in love with one of their best friends," said Florence.

"No, some of us must lust after our worst enemies."

It had gone too far. No one was willing to end the standoff. Florencewas too stubborn to take the route Alison and Julian would have known to take: to start crying. Instead, she stared at Mordred, her cheeks burning with shame and rage.

"Are we going ahead with the Polyjuice?" Julian asked timidly, sure that the conversation was due for a change of topic.

"Certainly," said Severus, turning away from Florence. "That cannot be in question."

"No it can't," agreed Kenneth.

Florence somehow managed a nod.

"Julian has written the note?" asked Alison.

"Yes," said Julian, blushing. She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out a very crumpled piece of parchment. "Here you are."

Severus took the parchment from her and read, "Dear Frank, I expect to see you in Gryffindor's crypt at midnight. Yours, Julian."

"That's a little tame," said Evan. "Couldn't you have made it spicier?"

"No," said Julian. "It's quite enough to bring Viridian down there."

"Except it looks fake," complained Evan. "Not like a real love note."

"Oh, how does Cynthia Rookwood write?" asked Julian.

"E.R. - Lib. At 5. Remember?" said Kenneth with a grin.

Severus heaved a heavy sigh.

"I think that wraps things up," said Alison quickly, kneeling down beside the cauldron. "Out, all of you, and go to class! Severus, Mordred, and I have work to do."

The others reluctantly filed out. As soon as they had left, Alison began to laugh.

"As usual, sexual instinct takes over," she said. "Poor Florence. It's just not fair to be up against several millennia of the evolution of the reproductive impulse."

"If I knew what you were talking about," said Mordred darkly, "I'd answer. But there are limits. Peter Pettigrew is outside them."

"I think Florence will keep firmly within limits now," said Alison. "Don't you think so?"

"Mr. Pettigrew has certainly learnt his lesson," said Severus.

"Not nearly as well as we could teach it to him," said Mordred.

Alison smiled into the Polyjuice she was stirring. They had obviously redirected their anger from Florenceto Pettigrew. All would be well. Except for Pettigrew.

"First we teach Viridian his lesson," said Alison. "By the way, Mordred, I owe you an apology for not taking you at your word."

"You owe it, but will you give it to me?"

"I apologize with my whole heart and mind and soul, and I will strive to make amends," said Alison, grinning.

Severus held out his hand to Mordred. "I was unjust towards you. I beg your pardon."

"You have it," said Mordred, shaking Severus's hand with self-conscious formality. Alison laughed.

"And don't laugh!" said Mordred, turning towards her, a playful look in his eyes. "That's not proper behaviour for a witch in this situation."

"No, it isn't, Alison," said Severus. There was a self-confident smile on his lips, the sort the less observant always called a smirk. "Reconciliation between friends is a serious matter. But why do we even try? You aren't a proper young witch and you'll never be one."

"She'll have to pretend to be one, though," said Mordred. "For all our sakes."

"Teach me, then," said Alison, still laughing.

"First of all, don't second any more duels," said Mordred. "It's not ladylike."

"So you want me to submit to the patriarchy?" asked Alison, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Mordred hesitated. "Alison," he said gently. "You do need to make up for your blood."

"To you?"

"No! To Malfoy. And Crouch."

"Fair enough," was Alison's reply. Mordred wondered how she had received his remark. Had it hurt? But then, how could it not hurt? He could only believe that it would help as well.

His thoughts were disturbed by Alison nudging him in the ribs.

"Care to revisit our world?" she asked lightly. "We're testing the potion. Do you want to be Severus, or does Severus get to be you?" She was holding a cup of the unappealing brew.

"I think Severus should get used to the feeling," said Mordred.

"Unfortunately, that's entirely logical," said Severus, taking the cup from Alison. "A hair, Mordred?"

Mordred pulled out a dark hair, and dropped it in the cup. Severus hesitated a second, then swiftly lifted it to his lips.

* * * * * * * * *

Persephone Fletcher was looking at herself in the looking glass. The looking glass in this case was the wall of her office, transfigured to reflect. Crouch was out meeting with the Minister of Magic and the door was locked. No one was expected for another half hour. And then, Robert McKinnon might be in to deliver a report, if all went well.

She looked well enough, she thought. Despite the damp of the morning, her reinforcement charm had preserved the little ringlets around her forehead she had so painstakingly arranged before going to work. She had resisted the urge to employ a few more cosmetic charms than usual, dreading the idea that McKinnon might notice what she was up to, but there was a suitable amount of colour in her face. Her eyes were as blue as ever, matching her robes perfectly.

"Stop being a silly girl!" she said to herself.

"Oh why not?" she answered herself back. "It's better than being Crouch's personal assistant."

"You'll never get out of here lusting after an Auror," she was self-rebuked.

That was true. She had been making desperate plans to leave Magical Law Enforcement and get back to the Spirit Division since she had arrived in the Department. Of course, her plans so far had not been very well thought-out. Faking an allergy to the paint would likely not be successful. And compromising her reliability, although tempting, would probably warrant her one of those brutal interrogations, not a department transfer.

Meanwhile, there was Robert McKinnon, whom she had every reason to think was interested in her. If they were ever to... No, she wouldn't say it. That wasn't lucky. Anyway, if things were to continue with McKinnon along the path they were taking, she'd be binding herself permanently to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Crouch.

The strange thing was that not all of her recoiled at the prospect. She'd never been ambitious, but she had to admit that there was a particular pleasure to be taken in the power she had as Crouch's subordinate. And while certain aspects of her work still horrified her, others had become natural to her. There was even a blackly humorous aspect to some of the Department jargon. "Denied right of correspondence," for example, meant that the prisoner was dead in Azkaban.

And if Azkaban and the Unforgivable Curses sickened her, You-Know-Who's supporters sickened her more.

When Crouch returned, she had dispelled the looking glass and was hard at work writing a quick note to Walter Jorkins, to the effect that an Auror would be sent with him to Cornwall, despite his objections - valid, Persephone thought - that Crouch was trying to gag him.

She gave the various notes she had been writing to Crouch to scan over. He looked through them quickly, hardly reading them. But when he came to Walter Jorkins's note, he tore it in two pieces, without looking at its contents.

"Mr. Jorkins has requested that we do not have him accompanied on his trip to Cornwall. I plan to honour that request," he said.

"But he'll be killed!" protested Persephone in surprise.

"If he chooses to be killed, I cannot interfere," said Crouch, going into his office.

Persephone looked after him in amazement. Maybe Walter Jorkins did have right to refuse protection, but it wasn't like Crouch to acknowledge that right.

She sat at her desk, reading a report on Dark Arts activities in Latin America for the next half hour, and thinking all the time of some rationale for Crouch's surprising actions. Having finished the report without registering any of the contents, she abruptly stood up. If she was going to do this job, she had to know what was going on. Crouch wouldn't be too upset if she were blunt about it, would he? He liked her. At least, she thought he liked her.

"Mr. Crouch," she said, "May I ask you a question?"

He surveyed her with interest. "Yes?" he said.

Her nerve failed her. "How is your wife, sir?" she asked.

"Still very ill. They say we shall know by Thursday..."

So, his wife could be dying, and he was still completely absorbed in his work! Unbelievable.

"Thank you for your concern," he finished off.

* * * * * * * * *

"Human sacrifice," said Viridian without warning. The heads of the seventh year Slytherins popped up. "A perversion of wizardry. Are we agreed on this point?"

"Yes, sir," said Megan Diggory brightly. She was, as far as the thing was possible, a favourite of Viridian. He had quite approved of her decision to go to the Ball with Lockhart rather than Frank, and she had since largely taken over Frank's prefect duties. The fact that she mocked Viridian behind his back had not seemed to register with him.

"No, I think human sacrifice should be legalized," Edmund muttered. Frank kicked him in the shin.

"Human sacrifice is as old as the hills," Viridian continued. "It comes in two forms: propitiary and essential. Propitiary sacrifice gives the victim's blood or body in exchange for something else. An essential sacrifice is done in order to take something from the victim. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes," said Megan.

"We will dispense with the gory details, and take a short look at two cases," said Viridian briskly. "You should have read the account of Sigurd and Fafnir for an example of essential sacrifice."

Yes they had. Fafnir had been a wizard, who messing up the Animagus transformation, had ended up permanently as a bloodthirsty dragon, and been killed by the hero Sigurd. Sacrifice had entered the picture when Sigurd had proceeded to eat Fafnir's heart to become the wisest of all men.

"I really don't get this," Edmund had said, after finishing the reading. "When we were little, Sigurd was a great storybook hero. Now he's a horrid cannibal."

The second reading was more sinister. On March 15, 1955, the Aurors had arrested two wizards for the murder of a Muggle child. The Council of Magical Law was to hear that they had killed the child as a sacrifice to the ancient fertility goddess Tanit. A strange and horrible case, but Frank couldn't help but smile at the mention of a certain V. Viridian, employee of Magical Law Enforcement, as having been responsible for the investigative work leading to the arrest.

"Of course, these days, Magical Law Enforcement couldn't find a dark wizard if he worked at the Ministry," said Viridian acidly, once he had summarized the reading.

Frank and Edmund met each other's eyes.

"Are there dark wizards at the Ministry?" asked Edmund innocently.

"Perhaps, Avery, perhaps," said Viridian.

"I would think that Crouch would deal with them easily enough," said Frank.

"I won't bother to disillusion you then, Mr. Longbottom. Naiveté dies soon enough."

"Disillusion me about what, sir?"

"Nothing, Longbottom." And Viridian refused all further attempts to lead him into further comments about Crouch.

"That was some success," said Edmund sarcastically, as they left the classroom.

"Sooner or later, he'll trip," said Frank. "He absolutely detests Crouch." He paused at the sound of Narcissa's voice calling across the corridor. She had been talking with Ludo Bagman, and leaving Ludo with her books, had run over to Frank.

"Any news?" she asked eagerly.

"No. He clammed up too quickly. But we'll try again."

"It's a pity I just couldn't pretend he said something incriminating," said Narcissa.

"That's a very immoral thing to suggest," said Frank. "It's not feasible either. We need credible witnesses. Megan Diggory will do."

"I'm not a credible enough witness?" pouted Narcissa.

"I don't think so. I'm sure your brother doesn't either. Now, go back to Ludo, Narcissa. I've no time to flirt with you."

Narcissa pretended to be offended, tossed her golden hair, and went back to Ludo. Edmund made a retching sound.

"Come now. There is absolutely no harm in charming Narcissa Crouch," began Frank as they turned the corner, but stopped. Something of a crowd had gathered in the Charms corridor.

Frank strode through the younger students to see what was the matter. He was not surprised to find Barty Crouch in the thick of things. A heated argument seemed to be underway.

"Crouch, Lovegood," Frank said, noting the most animated speakers. "What's wrong?"

"I suggested we should write a thank you note to Mr. Malfoy for his donation to the library," said Althea Lovegood breathlessly.

"Never mind the fact the man's a criminal," said Barty bitterly.

"Miss Lovegood," said Frank. "I'd advise you to discuss this with your Head of House, Professor Flitwick. Crouch, would you come with me?"

Falling into stride with Frank, Barty waited to be reproached for stirring up trouble. But Frank said nothing.

"It's a horrible idea!" Barty finally ventured, tiring of the silence.

"Oh, most certainly," said Frank. "Miss Lovegood will send off her thank you note over the headmaster's dead body. But, you Barty, will you ever learn to pick your battles?"

Barty didn't answer.

"Since the moment you came to Hogwarts," Frank continued, "you've landed yourself in one mess after another. But you're always on the right side, so you won't listen to a word of correction. You had to curse Stebbins last week. Your mother's honour was at stake. You had to taunt Quimby. Your future within the House was at stake. You have to squabble with Althea Lovegood. She wanted to honour a Death Eater. How can I ever begin to suggest prudence to you? Your mind can't comprehend it." Frank sighed. "Your father might be able to teach it to you."

"You want me to pretend everything's all right? 'Yes, Althea, let's all thank Lucius Malfoy for his generosity?'"

"Your father had to, Barty. As Head of the Board of Governors, he thanked Malfoy."

Barty stared at Frank.

"Did you think your father never compromised?" asked Frank. "Now, keep from fighting for the rest of the day. Hey!" he shouted, catching sight of a certain Ravenclaw second year, "Miss Sinistra, take care of Mr. Crouch, and keep him out of trouble till dinner!"

Maria Celeste gladly agreed. She wanted Barty to explain some point of British history to her, a point she rather guessed had been glossed over in the textbook so as not to hurt the feelings of certain old wizarding families. Her suspicions were correct. Barty immediately launched into a fifteenth century tale of woe that involved dishonourable behaviour by a Malfoy, among other prominent names, though Barty was quick to attest that Valerius Crouch had been blameless in the entire affair of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington's beheading.

Watching the two walk off together, Frank put a check on his mental list of Slytherins that needed his attention. The next on the list was Julian Tierney. He found her after lunch, leaving the Slytherin common room.

"I promised to meet Evan Rosier and Cynthia Rookwood in the Charms classroom," she said innocently, when Frank tried to stop her. "Transfiguration practice."

"Spare me a moment, will you?" said Frank.

"I believe McGonagall only let them practice there on the understanding that I would be chaperoning," said Julian brightly.

"Well, then, I'll have to see you to the Charms classroom," said Frank. She curtly agreed.

"I'll have to keep my eyes fixed on you," said Frank pleasantly. "How on earth do you vanish so quickly whenever I want to speak to you?"

"What do you want to talk about?" asked Julian.

"Many things. Comfortable fireside chats with Severus Snape. The way you start like a hunted rabbit whenever we exchange words."

"I do not!" cried Julian. "Though, I know I'm on edge," she admitted. "I'm worried about Alison. And the others."

"With good reason, Julian. They've been in a good deal of trouble. Are you planning to join them?"

"No! Don't you think they've learn their lesson?"

"I don't know," said Frank. "Do you?"

"Yes," said Julian stubbornly.

They had stopped on the steps to the Entrance Hall. Frank peered into her face, searching for some sign of sincerity.

"Julian," he said, "Will you promise me never to practice the Dark Arts?"

"Of course, I wouldn't!"

"Then, will you promise?

Julian's face moved quickly from shock to fear. "A magically binding contract?" she said. "Frank, I would, but..."

"I won't make it too fearsome," said Frank. "The moment either of us breaks the promise, the other will know. What do you say?"

Julian stood still. She had no intention of ever using Dark Magic, whatever Severus and the others were doing, and she wanted Frank to know that, no matter what else she must lie to him about.

"I'll promise," she said.

His worried face lit up with a smile.

"Good, give me something small of yours. That hair ribbon?" She pulled the blue ribbon from her hair and gave it to him. "And here's my handkerchief. Touch them together. Now." Frank paused a second, then began into the spell.

"Sometime this world was so steadfast and stable
That man's word was his obligation;
And now it is so false and deceivable
That word and deed, as in conclusion,
Are nothing like, for turned up-side-down
Is all this world for wealth and wilfulness,
That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

All lost but this: That neither Frank Longbottom nor Julian Tierney shall take part in unseemly magic, binding themselves again to steadfastness."

"There, if I ever break my promise, my handkerchief will burn."

"And if my ribbon ever burns?" asked Julian.

"I'll come and rescue you," said Frank.

Her face fell. "If I'm in the wrong, why should I be rescued? Aren't I culpable for my own choices?"

"You're a strange girl, Julian Tierney. Anyone else would thank me profusely for the things I've done for you. You hate me for them."

"I don't hate you," protested Julian. "But what exactly have you done for me? Other than thoughtlessly setting Viridian about my ears? I'm not sure I like the idea of having an Auror prying into my future life. You plan to pry, don't you?"

Frank lifted his eyebrows. "Quite finished?" he asked.

"I like my friends," said Julian in an exasperated tone.

"And they don't like me? A pretty position to be in."

"What have you done that they should be liking you? You're always putting other people down. You're only interested in other people as far as you can dispose them."

"You're entirely mistaken, Julian," said Frank quietly. "I felt sorry for you the moment the Hat called out your name. And since then, the first thing I've wanted for you is that you'd be happy. But I can't give it to you, can I?"

"I don't want to be pitied."

"And yet you pity everyone else. Why can't you be pitied? Life didn't exactly start you off well." He was speaking calmly, but his eyes were blazing, and his usually subdued Lancashire accent was stronger than Julian had ever heard it before. "You don't think you'd have been so fairly received here if I hadn't intervened? Children are cruel little moralists. They like the idea of visiting the sins of the father on the child. Aren't you at least a little glad I spared you that?"

Julian looked defeated. "Yes I am," she said.

They were interrupted by a sudden cough behind them. They turned to see Viridian. For once, he said nothing, as Frank let go of Julian's hand.

It occurred to Julian that perhaps Viridian was tired of dealing with Frank. Julian felt a sudden warmth towards Viridian.

But she smiled all the same at Frank, as he turned away from her. She had longed to have Frank Longbottom's attention for four and a half years, and she now had it. Whether she actually wanted it was definitely a question that needed consideration, but there was no point in closing any doors yet.

She studied the handkerchief in her hand. Silk, of course, and monogrammed with an F.L. Melania would never let her hear the end of this if she was to see it. And please, let Frank keep that ribbon out of sight...

Cynthia and Evan were already in the Charms classroom, sitting on desks, when Julian entered. Transfiguration did not seem to be the order of the day, Cynthia talking with Evan listening.

"James just thinks it's funny," Cynthia was saying. "Hello, Julian."

"Hello," said Julian. There was a short pause. The two girls did not really know each other and Cynthia had always rather envied Julian as one of those Slytherins who stuck so close together, and had always been afraid to do anything but watch in their presence.

"Go ahead," Evan directed her.

"James Potter thinks it's funny," Cynthia said. "Something to tease Peter Pettigrew about. I told him to be a little more serious, but James... He's so easy tempered himself, he can't understand people who aren't. He doesn't see how seriously everyone is taking this."

"Well, of course we're taking this seriously!" said Julian indignantly. "Potter may find it amusing, but Pettigrew's hurt Florence."

"I don't even think James realizes that yet," said Cynthia. "He was upset at Peter for cursing Bertha."

"Oh, who cares about Bertha? She's got exactly what she deserves," said Evan.

"Bertha never could keep her mouth shut," said Cynthia.

Julian had to suppress a laugh. Neither Evan nor Cynthia had ever been models of discretion.

"James likes Florence," began Cynthia hesitatingly. "We were all in the same house for three weeks last summer: me, James, Florence, and Bertha, while Mr. and Mrs. Jorkins were in South America, and we got along well enough. Though James spent his entire time plotting to get away from us girls and stay with Sirius... I think I could make him understand, get Peter to apologize."

"I don't really want to see Pettigrew apologizing," said Evan. "It'd just make the situation more pathetic than it is already. To tell the truth, I'd like nothing better than never having to see Messrs. Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew again in my life."

"They're not the worst people!" protested Cynthia. "If it weren't for this house rivalry..."

"I'd have to put up with them. No, thank you. I don't want to hear about their alleged good points."

"You don't need to," said Julian, who was standing in view of the doorway. "You can experience them in person."

"What?" Evan and Cynthia jumped up off their desks, and ran to the door, in time to see Peter Pettigrew drawing his wand on Severus.

"Peter, don't be a fool," Lupin cried, taking Pettigrew by the shoulders and pushing him towards Potter.

Evan and Julian slipped in quickly behind Severus.

"You're not a fool, are you, Lupin?" sneered Severus, "Only a coward."

Black, who had to that moment been trying to calm Pettigrew, lost his temper. "Should we settle this with wands then?"

"Sirius, I'd rather not," said Lupin mildly. Sirius was already going for his wand. "But if you insist, I was the one insulted. I think it's my duel." He put his hand on his wand. "Twenty paces, Snape?"

Severus nodded, his eyes glinting.

"Keep on eye on Pettigrew that he doesn't run down and snitch on you," said Evan to Black.

"This is idiotic," said Cynthia, moving to go.

"No," said Julian quietly, stopping her. "They're going to fight sooner or later. Let's have it over with. Lupin can see that. Can't you?"

Severus and Lupin were now standing facing each other. Lupin looked almost bored, as he carefully examined his wand.

Then Black began to count, "Three... Two... One!"

"Aduro!" "Contego!"

It was in character that Severus began with an attack, and Lupin in shielding himself. Before Severus's spell could even hit the shield, though, Lupin had shouted "Impediamenta!" and in dodging the spell, Severus's "Spiculumiacio!" misdirected and hit Pettigrew on the sidelines. Evan let out a whoop as Pettigrew screamed, and stumbled back into the wall.

Julian had finally decided that it was expedient to cheer Severus on. Even if watching Severus and Lupin swap curses wasn't her idea of a good time, it might be well to have her enthusiasm for the Slytherin side of the quarrel duly noted by Evan and Severus. But as Severus finally struck home with his Aduratus curse, burning Lupin's left shoulder, she heard a gasp behind her, and turned to see a wide-eyed Sybill Trelawney.

"He's really hurt!" Sybill said.

"Probably," said Julian, watching with slight admiration as Lupin, his face screwed up with pain, renewed his shield charm, winning a slight respite from Severus's attack.

"I only foresee tragedy if this continues!" announced Sybill.

"This should be right up your alley then," said Evan, hearing her. "You always did enjoy a spot of tragedy. Watch yourself, Sev!" A hex had grazed Severus's cheek, leaving a nasty welt.

Sybill thrust her hands into her pockets, and pulled out a small crystal ball.

"Going to divine the outcome so they needn't actually finish the fight?" asked Evan.

Sybill paid him no attention but held the orb up in front of her. Her usually otherworldly expression had changed to one of intense calculation. Before them Severus was shielding himself against a none-too-strong hex from Lupin. They were all waiting for Severus to seize the moment and send out the curse a wearied Lupin could not deflect.

But meanwhile, Sybill was waiting for her moment, and as Severus lifted his wand to deliver the final blow, she launched her crystal ball at Severus's head with deft aim.

* * * * * * * * *

"Ruthless is the woman in love," said Rolly afterwards, when Evan told the whole story to him, as they sat in Gryffindor's Crypt waiting for Viridian. He scribbled the phrase down on the parchment he had with him.

"Sybill doesn't need a sonnet dedicated to her," said Evan. "She needs to be resorted."

"You don't think that was sneaky enough?" said Rolly. "Ambitious too, to aspire to Lupin's love."

"You have to admit I was right about not tolerating Sybill. She's trouble."

"She's in trouble," said Rolly lightly. "Unless you think Severus will take kindly to being knocked out by a crystal ball..."

Evan glanced over to Severus, who was sitting with his back to a wall, his eyes closed. Madame Pomfrey had applied the appropriate soothing charms, but an ugly bruise marked where Sybill had hit his temple.

As nights went in the Crypt, it was a good night to ambush a teacher. The Hogwarts ghosts were all down in London, at Anne Boleyn's annual haunting of the Tower of London, an event no self-respecting British ghost would miss. Even the Walking Corpse of Honeydukes had gone, despite every indication from Anne that he was not welcome. (It was considered a tad outré, even by the Walking Corpse's fellow ghostly Gryffindor alumni, to so gruesomely haunt a sweets' shop.)

And so, while dead Gryffindors were in London, live Slytherins had invaded the Crypt. Julian sat quietly on Wulfhelm the Valiant's tomb, unconsciously leaning against Kenneth's shoulder. Florencesmiled a little, seeing the two of them. Her own little romance having been shattered, she had become suddenly protective of other people's little adventures in love.

"I don't think those two would suit each other," said Alison quietly, when Florence mentioned the growing tenderness she was seeing in Kenneth's eyes. "They both turn inwards."

"I think they could be very happy together."

"You're a child of your culture, aren't you?" Alison said lightly. "Yes, Julian could marry Kenneth, and he could slog all day at the Ministry, while she minds the children. But I think Julian and Kenneth Avery would be less interesting people than Kenneth Avery and Julian Tierney. They don't bring out the best in each other."

"And you and Mordred bring out the best in each other?"

"Some good," she said simply.

Florence had reprehensibly transfigured blankets from the grave markers, and they were lying on their stomachs over a copy of Witch's Weekly Alison had borrowed from Melania. Florence's unfortunate experience with Pettigrew had seemed to move their friendship to another level. Before, they had from time to time giggled about boys. Now, they talked about love.

Not just romantic love.

"The Greeks believed philos was the highest of the human loves," Alison said.

"Do you think?"

"I don't know. I only know that I love you all. I'm not just friends with Severus. I'm in love with him. The fact that his absurd nose and sallow skin don't harbour a tinge of erotic allure for me doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with him."

Florence nodded.

"I never was in love before Hogwarts," Alison continued. "I liked my family and friends well enough, but I never had the feeling that I'd rather do anything in the world but lose the ones I love, until I met you."

"That makes it a good deal easier," said Florence. "I love my family. Even Bertha. I don't know if I could ever play the times as well as you. You-Know-Who wants to kill my father, you know."

"I could love your parents, Flo," said Alison with a smile. "But not Bertha. Nor Pettigrew," she teased.

"When did I become such a romantic?" asked Florenceruefully. "I thought romance was supposed to be a bourgeois custom."

"Who's more romantic than your father? Taking ruthless dictators for heroes," said Alison.

"I thought Pettigrew was a decent human being. He intervened to save Kenneth from Black, you know. And he was always so cheerful and polite. He's not dumb either."

"And he's a romantic?"

"I thought he was. I really should get out of this romance business. I have such bad judgement when it comes to men. I used to have a thing for Josef Stalin."

"That is wrong ,Flo!" said Alison. "That moustache! Mordred, what time it is?"

Across the room, Mordred drew out his pocket watch. "Quarter to nine."

An hour passed in relative quiet, only broken by Rolly's snores until Kenneth suddenly but timidly all the same made the forbidden suggestion, "Perhaps, we shouldn't do this."

"Kenneth?" said Mordred questioningly.

"Like you, Ken, to back out at the last minute," said Evan.

"We're messing with a man's life!" said Kenneth. He was clearly beginning to panic.

"That's what people do, Kenneth," said Florencepatronizingly. "If you don't want to mess with people's lives, you'd best become a hermit."

"Aren't you afraid?" asked Kenneth.

"Have you ever climbed a rock face?" asked Alison. "You're safe until you look down."

"I'm not," muttered Julian.

"We could end up in Azkaban!" protested Kenneth, his voice a little higher. .

"Leave," said Severus. "Leave now, and go to bed."

"But I..."

"You will leave now! You're no great loss, and I will not spend the next several hours listening to you whinging."

There was no reasoning with Severus. When Severus pronounced an order, one either defied or obeyed him. Kenneth slowly obeyed.

Kenneth managed to keep his calm until after he had got out of the crypt. And then, he broke down and started crying.

It was a profoundly embarrassing thing to be blubbering in the dungeons because Severus had told him off, but he couldn't stop it. He was sick at heart over the whole thing. It seemed to him that everything had gone wrong since the moment he first boarded the Hogwarts express four and half years before.

It's all Sirius's fault!

It was best to blame it on Black. He had to focus on his hatred for Black, and forget everything else. Or else, he'd become a complete nervous wreck.

But, as luck would have it, Kenneth was not alone in the dungeons. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Sirius Black demanded.

"Nothing," said Kenneth firmly.

"You're crying," he said.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are," he said taking Kenneth by the shoulders.

"Let go of me, Black."

"Kenneth, they're hurting you, aren't they?"

"Let me go."

"Why are you letting them do this to you?"

"Nothing is wrong," hissed Kenneth. For a moment, Sirius loosened his grip. Then, looking at Kenneth's white, tear-stained face, he came to a decision.

"We need to talk," he said.

He had to half-drag Kenneth, though Kenneth put up no resistance, to one of Filch's broom closets, and there he pulled the door shut after them, seating Kenneth on a crate beside him.

He had still not let go of Kenneth, and now that he reached for his wand, he was surprised to find that Kenneth was clinging all the more tightly to him.

"Lumos!" said Sirius. "What are you doing down here? I'm breaking into Meander's secret stache of potion materials, looking for a jobberknoll feather to feed James, but what are you doing?"

"I'm going to bed," said Kenneth, regaining some composure.

"Kenneth, I don't know what's happening to you, but I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry."

Kenneth said nothing.

"Things can change. We don't have to go on fighting. Kenneth, will you forgive me?"

"No."