Darkness and Light 03: If We Survive

Chapter Seven: So Much Refined

Cold, so very cold. She shivered violently, clutching the blankets about her, desperate for a warmth and a comfort that never seemed to come.

She was back on the path to Hogwarts, alone in the wintry dark, staring up at the tiny, twinkling lights that seemed impossibly far away. The gates were locked and would not open, no matter how frantically she beat her hands against them.

"S -- Severus -- have to get to --"

He was holding her wrists, too hard, he was hurting her, and she tried to speak his name but she couldn't breathe --

Too close to the fire now; she could feel the sweat trickling down her face. His hands were pulling at her robes -- no, she mustn't let him -- not yet --

Grief stabbed at her chest, a pain like a double-edged dagger driven between her ribs -- her whole body convulsed with coughing sobs --

It hurt so much --

She was so tired --

Her head felt like it was cracking open --

Twisted shapes, lurid colours, lights flashing, sounds hammering at her ears --

Fiery liquid seared her throat, and she sucked in her breath to scream; then she realised that she could breathe, and the cry died on her lips. The pain in her head was easing at last, the whirling carousel of delirium beginning to slow. A hand stroked her hair, gently smoothing it back from her face.

She slept.

* * *

Maud woke, to find herself lying in her old familiar room on the first floor of her uncle's house. There were two heavy quilts on top of her, several pillows behind her, and on the night-stand by her side, a glass and a pitcher of water. Sitting up, her muscles trembling with the effort, she poured herself a drink and gulped it back, relishing the coolness of the water on her parched throat.

"I think I heard something," said a muffled voice from outside, accompanied by the sound of feet hurrying up the stairs. "Just a minute, I'll have a look in --"

Realising that the night-shift she wore was missing several buttons -- she must have ripped them off in her delirium -- Maud pulled the blankets up around her as the door opened and Imogen came in. Her face lit up at the sight of Maud, and she whirled and called out into the corridor, "She's awake!"

The stairway creaked as Alastor Moody heaved himself up it, breathing stertoriously. He stopped short in the doorway, regarding her with blank astonishment; then he lurched forward, took her face between his hands and gave her a resounding kiss on the forehead. "Maudie," he rumbled as he drew back again. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Three cheers for the Moody constitution," said Imogen. She perched herself on the end of the bed, surveying Maud with a critical eye. "Though I don't mind telling you, I've seen you looking better. You'll have to rest a few days yet, I think."

"What... happened?" said Maud. It was hard to push the words past the tightness in her throat, and her voice sounded rough and foreign to her ears. "All I remember is... falling asleep--" crying yourself to sleep, her conscience chided -- "in the parlour..."

"What do you think? You were already exhausted and suffering from concussion, then you went haring up to Hogwarts and back again in the freezing cold. So naturally you came down with a raging case of pneumonia and gave us all the fright of our lives." Imogen looked at her reproachfully. "If I'd had the faintest inkling of where you were headed when you Apparated out on Saturday, I'd have gone after you and dragged you back by the scruff of your neck."

Maud gave her a weary half-smile. "Why do you think I didn't tell you?"

"You've more than that to answer for, girl," growled Moody. "If I'd known you'd bashed your head on a stadium seat and nearly got yourself kissed by a Dementor that afternoon, I'd never have let you go to Hogwarts either."

On Saturday... That afternoon... Maud frowned. "How long was I ill?"

"Three days," said Imogen.

"Three...?" Maud stared at her. "But it can't have been -- it didn't seem that long --" Even as she spoke, however, her stomach complained loudly, and she could feel hunger gnawing at her insides. She hadn't eaten since noon on Saturday; no wonder she felt weak.

"You rest, Maudie," said her uncle, putting a firm hand on her shoulder and making her lie down again. "I'll go and cook you up some breakfast." He stumped toward the door, then turned around, pointing a gnarled finger at Imogen. "And don't let this one talk your ear off, either."

Imogen gave him a cheeky grin. "Oh, go boil an egg," she said.

Moody scowled at her -- not quite convincingly -- and lumbered out.

"I've got to know your uncle quite well these past couple of days," said Imogen when he had gone. "You know, in a twisted and horrible kind of way, he's sweet. I think I rather fancy him."

Maud choked, and Imogen quickly handed her the glass of water. "Please tell me that was a joke," said Maud, when she could speak.

Imogen winked at her. "Don't worry, I've no ambitions of becoming your aunt. Besides, you've already done the Older Man thing, and I'd hate people to think me unoriginal."

"What about George? Is he out of the running?"

"Oh, my. Well, let me tell you." Imogen folded her legs up under her and sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning forward conspiratorially. "On Sunday night I dragged George off your uncle's sofa and made him come with me to Prospero Peachtree's memorial service. You were still raving and thrashing about, and the Healer we'd called in refused to let either one of us near you, so it seemed like the best thing to do. Anyway, while we were there we saw loads of people from the Quidditch match, including Annie --"

"Was Lucinda with her?"

Imogen looked blank. "Lucinda?"

"Tall girl, a bit horsy-looking, same colouring as me?"

"Not that I recall, no. Though Annie did say something about a friend who'd been in hospital. Perhaps that was who she meant." She paused, then cleared her throat and went on:

"In any case, we met a few of Peachtree's relatives after the service. And wouldn't you know, I actually recognised one of them. Jennet Peachtree works for the Department of Child Welfare in Edinburgh; she was the one who notified the Ministry when the orphans turned up --"

Maud was startled. "You mean they've been found?"

"Shh. No one's to know. But yes -- and they're fine. Now can I get on with my story? We'll talk about the orphans later."

"All right," said Maud reluctantly.

"Anyway, Jennet was standing about after the service looking uncomfortable, and nobody was speaking to her. So naturally I came up and said hello and told her how sorry I was about her grandfather and all that, and then I introduced her to George." She took a deep breath. "Well! Wouldn't you know, the two of them took an instant liking to each other and got along famously for the rest of the evening. Which is all very lovely and I don't begrudge it to either one of them, but I can see they're in for trouble if things get any more serious."

"Why?"

"Maud, Maud, Maud." Imogen shook her head. "And you call yourself observant? There were enough clues in that story to tip anyone off. Jennet Peachtree is a Muggle."

Imogen relented. "Well, not a Muggle exactly. But she might as well be. Lives like one, dresses like one -- which certainly made her stand out at that memorial service, I can tell you -- and seems quite content to be considered one. She got a big laugh out of George when she called herself 'the Giant Squib'. It certainly didn't seem to bother him that she can't do magic."

Perhaps some of Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggles had rubbed off on his sons after all, thought Maud. "Well, good for him," she said. Then, a little hesitantly, "You're not disappointed, are you?"

"Me? Heavens, no. He's a lovely boy, and I'm charmed to have made his acquaintance, but I could see in a moment we wouldn't suit." Imogen gave a theatrical sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to go on carrying a torch for your uncle."

"He does have a certain indefinable charisma," agreed Maud gravely.

"Anyway, back to the orphans." Imogen wiggled herself into a more comfortable position and resumed her tale. "Callum Gamble must have known something was afoot, because he'd borrowed a Portkey to get the children to safety if anything happened. And this is where Jennet comes in: she supplied them with the Portkey --"

"Wait. I thought you said she was a Squib. Where did she get an unauthorised Portkey?"

"Oh, it wasn't unauthorised. It was an old one registered to her family, but they hadn't used it for years and most of them had forgotten it even existed. So when Jennet realised Thistledown Lane might well become a Death Eater target, she offered Callum the use of the Portkey and agreed to be in charge of the receiving end.

"When the children arrived, and the word came that the Gambles had been killed, Jennet knew it was imperative to keep the whole thing hushed up so that the Death Eaters didn't come around to finish the job. After all, there was a good chance the children had seen something incriminating. She went to her brother -- Rob Peachtree's an Auror -- and he passed the information on to Phemie, who promptly packed me off to Edinburgh to investigate."

"So what had the children seen?" asked Maud, taking another sip of water.

"Hardly anything really. Callum was the one who saw the Death Eaters coming: he sent off a signal to Jennet, roused the orphans and shooed them all off to the Portkey. Apparently he tried to make Bridget go too, but she wouldn't."

"Why didn't he just Apparate away with her, then? Once he knew the orphans were safe --"

"Yes, but by then the house was under an Anti-Apparation Jinx and it was too late. Can I finish my story now?" Maud nodded a little sheepishly, and Imogen continued: "In any case, several of the children mentioned that 'Uncle Callum' had been looking worried and upset for a couple of days, and one of them said they'd heard him arguing with someone in his office the night before." She shrugged. "Not that it matters at this point. I took their statements, did Memory Charms all around, and now they're settling into a new home."

Inwardly Maud winced at the reference to Memory Charms, but knew better than to mention it: she and Imogen had argued about the issue before. "And do you think they'll be safe there?"

"I don't see why not... oh, look, here's your breakfast." The door had swung open as Imogen was speaking, and a heavily laden tray came floating in. Apparently Maud's uncle had thought better of carrying it up the stairs while balancing on a wooden leg.

Imogen caught the tray in mid-air and carried it over to the bedside. There was a rack of lightly buttered toast, two soft-boiled eggs, a small jar of honey, and a steaming, fragrant pot of tea. Bless you, Uncle Alastor, thought Maud.

"Now," said Imogen, "where should I put this so you can reach it? You're not going to want it on your lap."

"Why not?"

"Because you've still got that nasty burn on your leg. It might not hurt right now, but I wouldn't go putting any weight on it if I were you."

"Burn?" Maud was surprised. "From what?"

"You tell me. One of those little bottles you were carrying smashed when we were trying to wrestle you off the floor and get you upstairs --"

"It what?"

"Smashed," repeated Imogen patiently. "As in, fell onto the floor, and broke. And then you rolled on it."

Maud's mouth went dry. "And... nothing happened?" she said hoarsely.

"Well, aside from your burn and a rather ugly stain on your uncle's parlour rug, no." Imogen frowned. "Why?"

With trembling hands Maud folded the bedcovers back, and looked down at the thick pad of white gauze taped to her thigh. The Healer must have put a Numbing Charm on it, because she really couldn't feel a thing. But if that bottle of Exploding Extract had done what it ought to, she wouldn't even have a leg right now.

"Maud?"

She looked up into Imogen's puzzled eyes. "It's all right," she said. "I... I suppose I must have grabbed the wrong potion by mistake."

But deep down, she knew she hadn't.

* * *

"Woman, are you insane?"

Maud turned, startled, to see George Weasley bearing down upon her, his eyes afire with indignation. It wasn't really a surprise that they would run into each other here in Diagon Alley; it was, after all, the height of the Christmas shopping season. But she'd thought he would be pleased to see her, and he certainly did not look happy right now...

"Five days ago you were thrashing about on death's welcome mat," he said fiercely. "You ought to be in bed."

Maud picked a jar of porcupine quills off the shelf and put it in her shopping basket. "If you only knew," she said, "how much you sound like your mother..."

A stifled snicker came from behind George, and he flushed. "All right, all right," he said. "But can you blame me? I mean, it's not as though you've been showing a lot of common sense lately, and somebody's got to look out for you..."

"Thank you," replied Maud gravely. "I appreciate your concern. However, Healer Hammond said that as long as I took my potion, dressed warmly and got plenty of rest afterward, I could go out today. And I feel much better, really." She leaned to one side, attempting to see past George's broad shoulders to the smaller figure standing just behind him. "Is that who I think it is?"

The diversion was successful: George's reproachful expression vanished, and his mouth curved up in a slight, dreamy smile. "Yeah," he said. He looped an arm behind him and pulled up a young woman, slim and petite, with a heart-shaped face and dark hair falling in a shining curve to her shoulders. She looked tiny beside him, almost childlike, but the brown eyes that met Maud's were alive with intelligence, and there was nothing shy or fragile in the way she stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Hullo," she said. "I'm Jennet Peachtree."

"Maud Moody," said Maud, completing the handshake. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to come to your grandfather's memorial --"

"Well, as I understand it, you didn't make it to Professor Dumbledore's either," said Jennet in her soft, slightly husky voice. "And you must have felt even sorrier about that. So I'm certainly not going to blame you." She smiled, but her eyes had darkened at the mention of her grandfather, and Maud could see that she was still finding it difficult to accept that he was gone.

"I'd like to hear more about your grandfather some time," said Maud gently. "He must have been a remarkable man."

Jennet nodded, and then her eyes filled up with tears and she began fishing hastily about in her pockets. George, with the resigned air of a man who had been through this several times before, produced a handkerchief with a snap of his fingers and handed it to her; she gave a little, shaky laugh, and took it.

"Sorry," she said, behind the handkerchief. "Not your fault. And yes, I'd like very much to talk about him -- you'll just have to give me a few more days to get my bearings." She blew her nose, then looked up at George with a shaky grin.

"Maybe by then I'll have learned to carry my own handkerchiefs, too."

"Nah, don't do that," said George. "It makes me feel useful. Strong and manly."

He spoke jauntily, as though it were a joke; but Maud, who still had a black handkerchief in her collection from the first time she had cried in front of Snape, could tell there was a good deal more to it than that. The way he looked down at Jennet, fond and protective and tender -- oh, yes, George Weasley was definitely serious about this girl.

"Well," said Maud, "I wish I could chat longer, but I'm going to see Lucinda in a few minutes --"

"Lucinda?" George was surprised. "I thought she was in hospital."

"Not any more. Apparently she's still quite weak, though, and afraid to leave her flat. So I'm going to make her up some restorative potion and have a talk with her." Maud looked down at her basket. "Who knows... maybe I can help. Annie seems to think so, anyway."

"Well, best of luck, then," said George. "We'll see you later."

He squeezed Jennet's shoulders; she leaned against him and smiled. "Yes," she said to Maud, "we'll have to talk more some other time. Glad to have met you--" and they left the shop together.

They made a striking couple, Maud thought, watching them through the window as they headed down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. George with his muscular build and fiery hair, very wizardly in navy-blue robes; and beside him this slight brunette woman wearing Muggle jeans and a jumper the colour of holly berries. She could see people pausing to look at them: some surprised, some perplexed, some even frowning. But neither George nor Jennet paid them any heed, and in another moment they had vanished among the crowd.

Feeling a little wistful, but not quite knowing why, Maud brought her basket up to the counter, paid for her purchases, and Disapparated.

* * *

"Lucinda, it's Maud. May I come in?"

The door opened a crack and a single eye, watery and red-rimmed, looked out at her. "Annie sent you," said a voice flatly. "Didn't she."

"Yes," admitted Maud. "But she didn't have to try very hard. I wanted to come, ever since I heard you were... unwell. I've just been ill myself, so..."

"I'm not ill. I just -- I've had a very bad experience and I want to be left alone. I don't know why Annie can't get that into her head."

"I'm sure she can," said Maud mildly. "She just doesn't think it's a good idea. And I agree with her. Look, I've got some ingredients here for a potion that might help you feel better; I know it always works well for me --"

Lucinda made a disgusted noise. "Potions. I've had potions poured down my throat for weeks. I never want to see another potion again."

"Fine," said Maud, who was beginning to feel tired, and whose patience was ebbing along with her strength. "No potion. But can we at least talk?"

There was an awkward pause. Then Lucinda sighed, and opened the door.

Lucinda's flat was a bedsit, a cramped and cheerless space with only one small window to let in the milky winter light. It did not appear to have been lived in for long: the walls were bare, the furnishings scanty, and several boxes were stacked in one corner. Lucinda made a brief ungracious gesture toward the sofa, then folded herself up into the single armchair with her feet pulled up and her arms around her knees. "So," she said. "I suppose you want to know what happened to me. Or did Annie already tell you?"

"No," said Maud. "For once, she didn't say anything. So I knew it had to be serious."

"It was in the Daily Prophet, if you knew where to look. Half a column on page twelve, right between a werewolf sighting in Shropshire and a three-broom collision in Glasgow." Lucinda sounded bitter. "I always hoped I'd see my name in the newspaper one day, but not -- like this."

For a moment Maud wondered what she meant; then she remembered that Lucinda had said once, very timidly, that she thought she might make a good reporter. Muriel had laughed scornfully at her, Annie had giggled, and the subject was never raised again. "I'm sorry," said Maud, not knowing what else to say. "I didn't see it."

Lucinda looked down at her feet. Then she said, "So. You've been ill, you said. What happened to you?"

Well, thought Maud, it couldn't hurt to tell her: if she put a little confidence in Lucinda, perhaps she might get some back in return. Drawing a deep breath, she told her former dorm-mate as much as she dared about the events of the previous Saturday, including Muriel's attempt to kill her. "And then I kept pushing myself for the rest of the day, instead of getting the rest I should have," she said. "Plus I spent far too much time outside in the cold, and, well... I suppose I just overdid it."

Lucinda's eyes were huge. "Annie told me Muriel had tried something on you. But -- a Dementor? That's -- horrible --" She swallowed convulsively. "You might have been killed. Worse than killed."

Maud nodded.

"But -- weren't you terrified?" Lucinda persisted. All pretence of indifference had gone now, and there was a strange, desperate light in her eyes. "Didn't you think, this is it, I'm going to die, and I haven't even lived yet?"

"Was that how you felt?" asked Maud softly.

Lucinda bit her lip. Then she said in a small voice, "I thought he loved me," and burst into tears.

Instinctively Maud rose and went to her, sitting down on the arm of the chair and putting a comforting hand on the other girl's shoulder as she wept. It was a long time before Lucinda's sobs subsided, but nearly as soon as she could speak, the story came tumbling out.

His name was Thierry, and he lived in Belgium. Lucinda had met him through the Personals section of Witch Weekly when she was sixteen, and they had begun a tentative correspondence that soon became eager and intense. He praised her beauty in the photographs she sent, and owled her back the most wonderful sketches of himself; when she shyly allowed him to see an article she had written for her local newspaper, he shared with her some deeply sentimental poems he claimed to have shown to no one else. Within a few months Lucinda was convinced that she was in love.

Thierry urged her to visit him at his home in Liege, but to Lucinda's frustration her parents refused to let her go: she was too young, it was too far for her to go alone, and they had no intention of taking her there. By the following summer she had qualified for her Apparation licence, and found someone who could show her how to get to Brussels at least; but again her parents opposed the journey, telling her she didn't know Thierry well enough, it wasn't safe, and if he wanted to meet her so much, why wouldn't he come to see her instead?

They had a point, but Lucinda was too deeply involved with Thierry -- in her own mind, at least -- to listen. After her graduation from Hogwarts, her arguments with her parents turned from tearful protestations to angry demands. They simply had to let her go, she told them. Not while you live in this house, they said. The conflict had raged on for weeks, tearing apart their once-happy family, until finally Lucinda could bear it no more and moved out.

That had been a mere six weeks ago. She regretted the change almost at once, not least because she had only been able to find part-time work and could barely afford the rent; but she told herself that being able to meet Thierry face to face at last would make up for it. She wrote to him to share the news that she was finally free; he responded with alacrity, and they arranged a romantic evening rendezvous at a café in downtown Liege. In an ecstasy of anticipation Lucinda bought herself a new robe she could scarcely afford, and went to meet the man of her dreams.

"I should have known something was wrong," she said in a husky, tear-choked whisper. "I recognised him at once -- his sketch hadn't lied -- but he looked so pale, I thought he must be ill. And he didn't eat or drink at all. When I asked him, he just laughed and said that he was dining on love -- and I believed him. Stupid, I know, but, I was just so excited -- I could hardly eat anything either.

"After dinner he invited me to take a walk with him, so he could show me more of the city -- he took my arm and led me through the streets, pointing out this and that -- his voice was so thrilling and the way he looked at me made me feel so -- special --"

She broke off, her shoulders shaking, and it was some minutes before she could speak again. The rest of the story emerged in broken, barely audible fragments: a sudden turn into a darkened alley; Lucinda's realisation that they were completely alone; his arms wrapping around her with a terrifying, exhilarating strength; and then the fierce pain in her neck, as what she had thought would be her first kiss from a handsome young wizard turned into a savage attack by an inhuman predator...

"I screamed," she said hoarsely. "And he -- laughed at me -- and I knew then that I was going to die --"

Fortunately for Lucinda, a Muggle workman making his way home from the local tavern heard her scream and rushed to her aid. Thierry broke off his attack and fled, leaving Lucinda unconscious and barely alive. She spent the next four weeks in hospital, subjected first to the vagaries of Muggle medicine and then (once her parents located her and negotiated a transfer to St. Mungo's) to a parade of blood-cleansing and regenerative potions. In the end the treatment was declared a success, but Lucinda's health, her nerve and her dreams had been shattered, and she knew she would never be the same person again.

The worst pain of all had been the discovery that she was only one of scores of naïve young witches with whom "Thierry" had corresponded, some of whom he had already lured to their deaths. "I should have known," she murmured, her voice dull with weariness and despair. "The signs were all there -- the sketch in place of the photograph, the way he looked when we met at the café -- but I never paid much attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I never imagined I could be stupid enough to be taken in by a -- a -- vampire --" And with that she began weeping again, her shoulders hunched and her face pressed against her knees.

Maud stroked her old dorm-mate's hair in wordless sympathy, swallowing back the lump in her throat. No wonder Lucinda had not wanted to see anyone, or to talk about her experience; the humiliation and the shame of what she had experienced were an agony in themselves. At last she said, "What did your parents say about it?"

"They -- they want me back home," said Lucinda thickly, scrubbing at her wet eyes with the back of her hand. "And I know they mean it, but --"

"Do you really think they'll be happier knowing you're here, alone?" Maud put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Punishing yourself isn't going to make it easier for them any more than it is for you."

"I know. But I -- there's more than that." Lucinda drew a shuddering breath. "The Muggle who saved my life -- he was good to me. Kind. He came and visited me in the hospital every day until I was transferred -- he even brought flowers. His English wasn't very good, and my French was worse, but we did manage to talk, and -- he was a friend to me. And the Muggle doctors and nurses -- they were good to me, too."

"I'm not... sure I understand," said Maud.

Lucinda closed her eyes. "My parents are both from very old pure-blood families," she said in a hollow voice. "And they think... please don't tell anyone I said this, but... they think You-Know-Who is right."

Now it all made sense. "But now you know Muggles aren't the enemy after all... and what it really means for --" Maud almost said Voldemort, but caught herself just in time; Lucinda would probably have hysterics if she did -- "You-Know-Who to have vampires in his army..."

"I hate him," said Lucinda with sudden passion. "If he's working with their kind then I don't care what anybody says, he's evil and he's wrong and I don't want anything to do with him. And I can't go home and listen to my parents talk about Muggles any more. I just know I couldn't stand it."

Maud was silent a moment, thinking. Then she said at last, very slowly, "There... might be another option."

Lucinda blinked up at her. "Option?"

Don't do this, the cautious side of Maud's mind warned. You can't afford to lose your privacy... you don't know you can really trust her... what if she finds out...

"What about Annie?" Maud heard herself say. "Would she be willing to share a flat with you?"

The other witch's shoulders slumped. "She can't. She's leaving for America in three weeks -- going to stay with her aunt for a year and go to a wizarding college. Or that's what she says, anyway, but I think really she's just frightened of Muriel. She's convinced she's going to get out of gaol somehow and come after her."

She wasn't the only one, thought Maud resignedly. "Well, then," she said, "there's only one solution. You'll just have to come and live with me."

Lucinda's head jerked up. "You -- do you mean it? I -- you can't really -- I was never much of a friend to you when we were at Hogwarts and --"

You'll regret this, Maud's mind sang out, but she ignored it. "Yes," she said firmly, "I really mean it. There's plenty of room in my flat; it's in a wizarding boarding house in Oxford. We could share the rent, and I'm sure it would be less than what you're paying here. You don't have to decide right away, of course --"

"Oh, no," breathed Lucinda. "I mean, I know I don't, but I have. I'd like to." Her face lifted, pale and pathetically eager. "Please."

Maud took a deep breath. "Well, then," she said, glancing at the pile of boxes in the corner. "Let's get Apparating."

* * *

"What do you mean, didn't work?"

Up to this moment Tony, preoccupied with making notes on the lab's latest round of antidote tests, had listened to Maud's story with only half an ear; now, however, she had his full attention. "You mean nothing happened at all?" he asked incredulously. "Not even a pop, a tiny spurt of flame? Nothing?"

"So I'm told," said Maud. "And since I and my friends and relatives still seem to have all our limbs attached, I'm inclined to believe it. I thought you would want to know."

Tony frowned, his eyes narrowing. "And you took the samples from the previous week's batch?"

"Yes."

"You're quite sure you didn't grab the wrong jars?"

"Yes."

"Because this is serious stuff we're talking about, love. That Exploding Extract has to work -- has to, you hear me? It could be life or death to an Auror in trouble, and with You-Know-Who and his jolly little band on the loose, we just can't afford mistakes."

Maud nodded. "I know. That was why I made absolutely sure. I even tested the remaining jar of extract before I came to you. The ingredients seemed correct, but it was inert: something in the brewing process, maybe." She couldn't be sure, because the Exploding Extract was Tony's own special recipe, and only he and Sarah knew exactly how it should be made. But the theory made sense, at least. "Unless one or more of the ingredients was no good to start with."

"Peg," muttered Tony fiercely. "That idiotic hag. Some days I could swear she's a Death Eater, but not even You-Know-Who would want someone that stupid."

Maud was silent, waiting him out. Tony could be volatile; it was best not to interrupt his thoughts at a time like this. He was, after all, personally responsible for everything that passed through the lab, whether he'd brewed it himself or not; and Maud's discovery, however inadvertent, was sure to be a blow to his professional pride.

"Right," he said at last, with forced briskness. "I appreciate you telling me about this. Obviously it's my mistake: I should have tested the batch more carefully before we bottled it. I'll have that order recalled, and from now on we're going to run quality tests on everything we do before it leaves the lab."

Maud winced.

"I know, I know," said Tony, holding up a hand to forestall her objections. "More work for everyone. But it's the only way to be sure. Right, then, love, away you go. Thanks for the report, good to have you back with us again, and, er... would you mind telling Sarah I'd like a word, when you see her? There's a girl."

As Maud left her supervisor's office she wondered, not for the first time, how either Peg McGillicuddy or Sarah Proctor managed to keep their jobs. As far as she understood it, Peg's personal loathing for Tony meant that she never missed an opportunity to send him sub-standard ingredients for his potions; a habit not merely petty and vindictive but, in their case, actually dangerous. Of course, Peg didn't know that the lab at St. Mungo's was an adjunct of the Ministry, and not merely attached to the hospital. But even so, surely any sensible human being would know that sending the lab low-quality supplies would affect more people than Tony?

And as for Sarah... there she was, setting up her cauldron and ingredients in the corner, looking as wan and dishevelled as ever. "Tony wants to see you," said Maud. The other witch's head came up, her vague eyes startled; then she gave a jerk of a nod, and walked into the office Maud had just left.

There was a pause, after which the door shut very gently, and Maud busied herself at her own workbench while the muffled sounds of Tony and Sarah's voices rose and fell. At last the door opened again and Sarah came out, her mouth quivering and her eyes very red. She walked stiffly back to her workbench and began throwing ingredients into her cauldron seemingly at random, while Tony stood in the doorway of his office and watched her with a look of faint regret. At last, feeling Maud's eyes on him, he turned and gave her a tight smile, as if to say, What can you do? Then he closed his door again.

So it had been Sarah's fault after all, thought Maud, and was not surprised. It was nice of Tony to try and cover for her, but she had to wonder why he kept doing it. After all, she had caught enough hints by now to guess that when the house at Thistledown Lane was attacked, it was Sarah's mistake that had kept Tony working all night at the lab, and prevented him hearing the news about Callum and Bridget until it was far too late. Yet he had never blamed her for that, or brought the incident up again, at least not in Maud's hearing.

Was Tony in love with Sarah, to protect her this way? It seemed unlikely, although from Sarah's behaviour toward Tony, Maud had little doubt that she was in love with him. Perhaps he knew that, and felt sorry for her, and was trying to be kind without encouraging her too much.

Well, in any case, it was none of Maud's business. She set to work in silence, while Sarah blindly stirred her cauldron in one corner and Tony's door remained shut in the other. Perhaps tomorrow things would be better between them, perhaps not. But in any case, there would be no more faulty batches of Exploding Extract going back to the Ministry; so Maud's conscience, at least, was satisfied.

* * *

When Maud got back home, it was six o'clock; her head ached, her feet ached, and she was exhausted. With clumsy hands she unlocked the door-spell and let herself in, to find a delicious savoury smell filling the flat and Lucinda, resplendent in a white apron, setting two places at the table.

"You cook," said Maud, dazed with the wonder of it. "You really cook."

"Why, don't you?" asked Lucinda curiously. She flicked her wand toward the kitchen, and a dish of stew came floating out, followed by a plate of hot biscuits. "You were always so good at potions -- I thought you must be brilliant at it."

Maud shook her head. "Trust me, it's not the same thing. I'm all right when I'm really thinking about it, but on a bad day I can make tinned beans taste undercooked." She took off her cloak, hung it up on the stand. "Have I told you I'm not a bit sorry I invited you here?"

Lucinda smiled. Already she had begun to seem like a different person; the lines of strain around her mouth and the puckered scar on her neck still bore mute witness to her recent ordeal, but her eyes were no longer hopeless, and she spoke with renewed confidence. "Did you see the flowers?" she said.

"Flowers?" Maud turned around, puzzled. "Where?"

"Over there, in the pot on the tea-table. I didn't know they were flowers at first, but when I was trying to decide whether I ought to use candles --"

Lucinda waved her wand, and the flat went dark. For a few seconds nothing happened; then a faint, silvery radiance appeared from the direction of the tea-table, and an array of shining, snowy petals blossomed starlike in the darkness. Maud caught her breath.

"Night-lilies. Who sent them?"

"I don't know. The card was addressed to you, so I didn't open it."

Absently Maud turned the lights back on and crossed to the tea-table. Nestled among the cluster of glossy leaves in the pot was a small white card -- the only whiteness visible now, since the flowers had instantly curled back into hiding. She broke the seal and opened it.

It began, With thanks for your patronage... and continued through several more lines of bland prose before ending with Messrs. Glossop & Soames, Ltd. It was the latter that finally penetrated Maud's weary brain; she shook her head at her own stupidity, tapped her wand lightly against the card and whispered,

"Wormwood."

Swiftly the letters rearranged themselves, and she read:

Maud set the card down, and the letters scrambled back into their dull officious pattern again. She touched the plant lightly, her fingers caressing the leaves, gently baring the petals furled beneath. Until then...

"So?" called Lucinda from the kitchen. "Who was it from?"

"What?" said Maud, still looking at the plant. "Oh. No one you would recognise."

And it was true, she thought to herself. Because no one really knows you, Severus. No one but you... and me.