Smiles That Shine Through Tears

Chapter 3

Fighting what you can't see

"You went where? You be really careful Jane, there's so many dangerous men about. What do you want to go to a place like that for anyway?"

"Mum! Hermione's really sensible."

"There's no need for you to be hanging around night clubs. They're evil places."

"Mum, I just like the lights and the music. That's not evil."

"Just be careful. Don't give out your phone number and don't go off with any strange boys."

"As if I would!"

"What was that?"

"I won't. How are things at work?"

"Just as bad as ever, I'm still looking for something else. My supervisor is out of control, snapping at everyone and expecting perfection, I don't know how I'm going to complete all the paper work. It's just a silly system; there was none of this hassle when I was up North. I mean, last week..."

An hour later I put the phone down, thinking wryly - she hasn't told me about anyone else in the family. I didn't get a chance to mention the garden, the nursery kids, anything, perhaps she doesn't know what's happening in their lives either. I decided to write a couple of letters while I had time - one to my oldest brother on the farm, the others addressed and stamped in their separate envelopes and sent care of Mum. She's given up passing on addresses and phone numbers, because every-one moves so often, but hopefully she does know where to forward the mail. As always, I write my own address on the back of the envelope - I might get a Christmas card next Christmas from that little gesture, I think I only got two from immediate family last year.

They just haven't realised that as adults, they have to write their own cards and letters. Probably they think Mum still signs all their names at the bottom of every card she sends. I couldn't remember getting anything from her last year, though I supposed I must have done.

It was early afternoon - Hermione had been gone twelve hours already. I wondered when she'd be back. A little pile of envelopes lay sealed, ready for posting in the morning. I was reaching for my coloured threads when I saw a shadow pass the window. A moment later Severus Snape was at the door. He didn't wait for me to open it.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? The Order is being attacked from every side and you don't know! When did she leave?"

"Last night. She went off with this woman, an elderly lady with a Scottish accent. She didn't say where she was going and I haven't seen her since."

"McGonagall?" He was starting to calm down, I'd been worried a moment before that he would start throwing things.

"I think that was her name. She said something about the shadow in Armenia."

"Describe this woman."

I did so, as best as I could. He left the door and sat down, pulling Crookshanks onto his knee when the cat tried to leave. Finally he nodded, his face expressionless.

"That's her. We'll have to presume that Hermione is safe. You're not though, you'll have to come to the headquarters until we know more. Go and pack a bag - and find the other cat, if you want it."

"Me? Go? Why?" He looked furious again.

"Don't be so bloody monosyllabic. Just do it. Don't you recognise danger when it's threatening to kill you?"

Well - no actually. I rather think the most dangerous thing in the room at the moment is you. I went through to the bedroom, wondering whatever some-one would take in an emergency evacuation. If the house was on fire, what would I grab? I put two complete changes of clothes, some toiletries and towels in my rucksack, my journal, a reading book. The rucksack was still only half-full and I couldn't think of anything else till I saw some balls of coloured string and wool. I grabbed four or five of them and Cleo's cat carrier and biscuits, and returned to the living room for my workbasket.

From the kitchen I took some chocolate and a box of biscuits, hearing the cat flap swing as I did so. Poor Cleo. She saw the carrier and turned to run out again, but I caught her and bundled her in.

"Are you ready? I want to have a look in Hermione's office before we go."

"Her office? That's - it's always kept locked."

"If she were here, I'd ask her. As she isn't, I'll have to look for myself."

"I don't have a key."

He ignored that last comment and stood in the hallway looking at the door and muttering under his breath. He looked astounded at the fact that he was still staring at a locked door.

"How does she normally open it?"

"With a key. It's probably with her, she never leaves it lying about."

"She never uses her, ah, wand?"

"Her what? Hang on a moment." I went into the bathroom and took out the first aid kit - I should have packed it, but you can't think of everything. Near the top of the box was a swiss army knife that I kept in there - partly because the scissors part of it made an admirable pair of tweezers and partly on the off-chance that I might be lost in a wilderness some time with my first aid kit and need the saw blade to get through flesh and bone - if I got my arm or a foot trapped under a rock, I mean, and there was no alternative. Of course, the knife blades come in useful too.

I looked at the space between the door and the edging board, and inserted the blade into the gap right next to the lock. With a bit of fiddling, I got it in the right position and managed to press the lock back. The door swung open. Severus pushed past me as I glanced inside. I'd never seen inside Hermione's office before, and predictably every square inch of floor was covered in stacks of books and paper. I packed up the first aid kit, rolled a couple of crepe bandages round it and stowed it into the top of my rucksack.

When I came back Severus was searching through the stacks of books. I looked around - the computer was there of course, and an open trunk overflowing with clothes, more books and little trinkets such as she might have owned in her teens. Knitting needles and wool were stacked on a shelf below the window, although I'd never seen her knit.

"Are they here yet?" he asked.

"Who? No, there's no-one else here. Would you like something to eat before we go?"

He straightened up, a book in his hand. He'd obviously found what he was looking for. "No, we don't have time. We need to get in touch with Hermione as soon as possible and warn her not to come back here." He closed the door behind him as I fetched the two cats - he'd slipped a loop of string round Crookshanks collar and left him tied to the leg of the chair - and my rucksack. Although I wasn't watching, I could hear him muttering as he waved a firelighter at the door.

"Severus, there's some-one coming." Two men had turned in at the gate and were on their way to the door. One of them was squat, with a squashed nose and a vague expression, the other was tall, keen-eyed and very thin. Severus gripped my arm tightly, so that I pulled away in fear to start with before allowing him to lead me out via the back door.

"I guess you don't want to see them," I'd started to say when there was a loud cracking noise and everything went black. I swayed forward, and would have fallen if Severus hadn't been gripping my arm so firmly. When I opened my eyes I was standing in a drab square, a few parked cars sitting in front of grimy old houses.

"Nice one Severus. It's 'Tom's Midnight Garden' all over again, isn't it?" My sarcasm was lost on him. He looked as grim as the square.

"Professor Dumbledore thought you might end up here. He gave me this." He held out a piece of woven paper, similar to the letter that had come with the magpie. It was blank.

"Can you not read it? Tell me if you can see number twelve. It's between eleven and thirteen." He pulled out a firelighter and used the sparks to burn the piece of paper.

I looked. Number eleven was a tall black house with broken windows on its lower floors. Number thirteen was faced with scaffolding, and was partly a scrubbed beige, partly the sooty black of number eleven. The two houses fitted seamlessly together with no other doors in between. I would have expected number twelve to be on the other side of the street if it had been a normal street, but this was a square.

"Put Crookshanks down, but don't let go of his lead. Just follow him," Severus instructed. I did so, and he led me directly to the downpipe between eleven and thirteen. I gasped as he started to disappear through the wall, the other end of his lead still in my hand. "Don't stop," Severus insisted, "keep following him."

I barely had time to worry about what was happening before I was standing in a dimly lit hallway, being hugged by a woman I recognised as Mrs Weasley.

"Thank heavens you're here Jane! We were so worried. Severus, close the door please."

I looked at her, wondering where I'd ended up. Cleo mewed plaintively from inside her cat carrier and the smell of burning pitch hung heavily in the air - like Ron's house, this one was lit with torches in the entrance and probably bright oil lamps in the rooms. Before I could ask any questions, Mrs Weasley was speaking again.

"You must go and lie down. It's too much for a child to understand at once, no wonder you're looking dazed."

I immediately tried to wipe my face clean of any puzzled expression it might have shown. Child I was not, and retiring without a decent explanation was not my idea of comfort.

"I'm fine, Mrs Weasley. I'd like to ask a few questions of course. And I don't know where Hermione is, and if she's alright. Can you contact her and tell her I'm here?" I felt my shoulders shake uncontrollably as I said this.

"Why, bless the child!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, then looked over my shoulder at Severus. "Come away into the kitchen love, we'll get you something to eat and you can ask what questions you like."

I followed her into the kitchen. It wasn't empty, as I'd expected. Luna sat at the head of the table, nursing her baby, and three men I didn't know conversed across their empty plates. "You'll stay for a bite, won't you," Mrs Weasley asked Severus.

"No thankyou Molly, I need to speak to Dumbledore. Somehow we need to trace Hermione and warn her not to return home."

He turned and walked swiftly out, the outside door shutting behind him with a click.

"Jane, this is my husband, Arthur." I nodded to the grey-haired man. He smiled, as if he was really pleased to see me. The taller man in the patched cloak was Remus Lupin, his mouth twisted into a snarl not unlike Severus' when he took my hand, but his eyes were friendly. The bald, dark man with the gold hoop in his ear introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt, a name I was sure I wouldn't remember however hard I tried.

"You're all the Order I've heard so much about, aren't you?" I asked, sinking into a chair beside Mr Weasley.

"We are members of the Order of the Phoenix," Remus nodded. "What do you know about the Order?"

"Nothing much really, 'cept that you help the government by spying on these fellas that are trying to overthrow civilisation under Lucius Malfoy's instruction, and Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny are all members. I'm sorry, Luna," I said, turning to her. "I hadn't realised you were involved too."

"Luna is very much a part of our group," said Remus. "And you have an admirable grasp on the basis of what we are doing. I want to ask you one question, did you know that Hermione is a witch?"

"What? No." I shook my head. Hermione a witch? And then I remembered - the firelighter, the way she and her friends appeared and disappeared without warning, the indelible messes that vanished when I turned my back. I felt so stupid.

"I'm an idiot aren't I?"

"Not at all," said Mr Weasley, smiling. "It's very unusual for a muggle - non-magical person, that is - to notice magic unless they are specifically told about it."

"Does that mean you're all witches?"

The bald man coughed, and turned away. Remus laughed.

"'Fraid not. Luna's a witch and so is Hermione. We're wizards."

"And proud of it," said - Kingi was it? - turning back.

"Oh, I see," I replied. Mrs Weasley had returned with a plate of sandwiches. Corned beef, I hadn't had them since I was a kid! They smelled as good as I remembered them being when my Mum made them. Suddenly I remembered the little stack of letters sitting on the table at home, and wondered what had become of them.

"So those stick things - they're your wands, aren't they? Do you do magic with them?"

"Mostly." Remus laid his flat on the table so that I could see it. It looked very like Hermione's firelighter, a little longer perhaps, a darker wood, but very similar.

"Can you find Hermione by magic? I don't believe - she and Severus used a tracking spell, right in front of me and I never twigged."

"We'll do our best to find Hermione, and Ginny too with whatever means we have, magical and non-magical. I'm sure Hermione's okay. She can look after herself."

She can. I remembered the hand gesture she'd used, less than half an hour before we reached home, to warn off a kerbcrawler the previous night. It had shocked me, but I recognised it as part of that steely inner core she kept so carefully hidden. Unlike most people, who like to pretend to look brave, Hermione looked vulnerable. She wasn't, as I had had ample opportunity to discover during the past two years.

Crookshanks pawed at my legs, and I reached under the table to undo the piece of string still attached to his collar.

"This is Harry's house, isn't it? Where is he?"

"Harry and Ron are off on a fact-finding mission." Remus continued, in response to a nod from Mr Weasley. "They're at the library in Southwark, trying to locate the person and the exact location of the place the first message was delivered to."

Mr Weasley cleared his throat. "Jane, there's a lot to learn about magic, but I think to start off with I should probably explain about the Order. You are close to several of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and keeping you in the dark about it is not only unfair, it is no longer possible.

"In the 1970's a powerful wizard started gathering followers who were prepared to destroy, maim and kill all he considered to be enemies. Those were dark times, and they didn't end until the day he turned his attention to young Harry Potter. He personally killed Harry's parents and attempted to kill Harry - yes, the Harry you know. You don't have to look so worried, he obviously survived. Something went wrong with the spell and Voldemort lost his powers and went into hiding, biding his time until he was strong enough to return."

"What happened? What did he want to kill Harry for? Has Harry never had parents?"

Remus stirred. "It's a lot to take in at once, I know. Harry was just over a year old, you wouldn't even have been born. And no, Harry hasn't had parents since then, his aunt and uncle brought him up. Let Arthur finish his history lesson, then you can ask all the questions you want."

Mr Weasley continued, "Harry was fourteen when Voldemort returned to full power. It was three years before Harry sought him out - and killed him."

"Breaking every school rule in the process," said Mrs Weasley, setting a mug of thick orange juice in front of me.

"He would never have got close to him otherwise," said Mr Weasley. "The Ministry - the Ministry of Magic, that is - seemed determined to prevent Harry leaving Hogwarts. Harry has a determination they didn't allow for though - and he knew of the prophecy." He turned to Mrs Weasley.

She continued the story, "there was a prophecy made before Harry was born, that he had the power to finally vanquish the Dark Lord. That... wizard... created a terror you couldn't have imagined. Harry was told about the prophecy after Voldemort came back, so that he would be prepared." I sipped at the juice as Mr Weasley started speaking again, finding that it wasn't carrot as I thought, but something rich and sweet with little flecks in it. Squash or pumpkin maybe?

"The Order of the Phoenix was originally formed to meet the threat of Voldemort's first rise to power. Several of the members lost their lives in the struggle, even though the Dark Lord himself never realised what he was against. We were luckier second time round. Those of us who were left restored the group and sought out wizards who were sympathetic to our cause to help us forestall and defy Voldemort. After his death we expected to dissolve the Order and quietly return to our peaceful lifestyles. It hasn't quite worked out like that. We are still seeing repercussions from some of the ideals Voldemort instilled into his followers."

"Harry and his close friends joined the Order as soon as they were old enough," continued Remus, when Mr Weasley finished. "Have you heard of Dumbledore's Army?"

I shook my head.

"I understand that there have been a few impromptu meetings of the Order around your kitchen table." His eyes twinkled. "It's not surprising that they haven't mentioned it though. While they were at school Harry started a little club - I believe it was really Hermione's idea. Because of the situation - this was the year after Voldemort returned to power, when the ministry were still in denial and trying to exert their influence on Hogwarts - the club had to meet in secret. They called themselves Dumbledore's Army, and Harry taught them several techniques which he had discovered - through experience unfortunately - were essential for any wizard who wanted to survive an encounter with the Dark Arts."

The Dark Arts?" I asked. My head was spinning, but things I'd noticed were making sense. Instead of lots of random events and hints, I was now involved in a complex story that had plot, beginning and ending.

"For every charm to wash the dishes or cheer your neighbour, there's going to be one to injure, to intimidate, to compel. Use of magic to harm other people or animals is the Dark Arts - it's not in the spell itself so much as the intent with which it is cast.

"Most of the younger members of the Order of the Phoenix were part of Dumbledore's Army that year. Luna here, Ginny - Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course. There are others you won't have met. Neville Longbottom has been a significant help, although he is not actually a member."

"You do need to rest, you couldn't have had much sleep last night," said Mrs Weasley. "Do you have any more questions before I show you to your room?"

I had lots of questions, of course, but found it wasn't necessary to ask them. All the clues and hints, the things I'd stupidly explained away or ignored because they didn't make any sense, was now coming together in my head to fill the gaps in what they'd told me.

"Is Hogwarts the name of the school? The one in Scotland?"

"Yes." Mr Weasley and Remus both nodded. I allowed myself to be led away.

* * * *

Mrs Weasley showed me to a third floor room. It was brightly lit and very plainly furnished. A single picture hung on the wall above the bed, and I took a closer look when I noticed something move behind the frame. It showed a group of seven people holding broomsticks, their red and white robes flowing in the wind.

"The English quidditch team," said Mrs Weasley. "Harry believes they've actually got a chance of winning a match this year." She turned to leave, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Quidditch? I obviously do have a lot to learn.

* * * *

I woke to the sound of a raised voice, echoing shrilly upstairs. It didn't sound like either Mrs Weasley or Luna. I stood up quickly, surprised that I'd dropped off to sleep so easily and opened the door. When I looked down into the hall I saw Harry there, and ran down to meet him.

Remus stepped out of the kitchen before I reached him, "Harry, you don't want to talk to Mrs Black. Close the curtains before she wakes Rene-Armata."

The voice started screaming even louder, if that were possible. "Werewolves - in the house of my father's, begone foul creatures. How... what's this!!" My appearance appeared to have stunned the portrait into silence - for it was the portrait that had been talking. Only for an instant, for the old woman whose portrait it was pointed and screamed. "A muggle, disgracing the floors of the noble house of Black, the son of my old age, consorting with muggles, werewolves..."

"Sorry, Mum," said Harry, pulling the curtains shut across the picture. The silence was broken suddenly by Rene's wails from the floor above.

"That was your Mum?"

"My godfather's Mum, actually. We get on alright most of the time, she just doesn't like company."

"Are you really friends with a werewolf?"

"Yeah." Harry gestured towards the man beside him. "You've met Remus, haven't you?"

I stopped, staring even though I knew it was rude. "You're a werewolf? You don't look like a wolf."

"Yeah, well, it's not the full moon, is it?" said Harry. "Come and join us, Ron's back."

* * * *

"What's this for?" Ron waved the little book at us. "Mum left it for us." I recognized it as the book Severus had taken from Hermione's office, 'History and Environs of the Marshalsea Debtors' Prison'.

"Isn't that where you've just been?" I asked. Ron's parents and Kingi were gone; I suspected they had left the house after I dropped off to sleep.

"Dunno whether that was a useful exercise or not, we didn't find much." Harry took the book and leafed through it. "Yuk, this would keep Filch happy. Look at those chains."

"Are there any maps?" asked Remus. Harry flipped to the back of the book.

"Yup. The prison as it used to be, and... this is Hermione's book, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

"Will you look at that? Inn, Sherrif's prison, House of Correction, there's about six handrawn maps here. Trust Hermione to spend time on something as obscure is this."

"How many levels does it show?"

"Underground, two, above ground, between one and four. How does that compare?"

"Above ground doesn't really count, it's been totally rebuilt. Underground was only one."

"How could a magpie deliver below ground though?"

"Ventilation? There's got to be some way. Let me look at those maps."

"There must be lots of birds down there though," I said. "Remember the message said 'let the birds go'."

"If it was birds he meant, and not some obscure code... What's the news Ron?"

"Pigeons!"

"Pigeons, why not owls? Oh..." Harry turned to Remus. "When we were looking at that old plaque - the one marking the original prison wall, about twenty pigeons landed in the square beyond us. They came from somewhere behind the library, and spent the next ten minutes pecking for crumbs and fighting - neither of us paid much attention to them."

"You've got a few hours before dark," Remus said, looking at his watch.

"Right-o." Both boys vanished with a loud popping noise. I picked up the book, still blinking. They might have been doing that trick around me for the past year, but I couldn't say I was used to it.

"Don't think, either of them," Remus commented placidly as I flicked through the pages. "Taking the book with them would have helped."

"They've got a map," I said, looking at the back. The older ones were still there, but the one detailing the prison in the early 1800's was gone, in Harry's hand, I seemed to remember. I started reading, finding it surprisingly interesting. Hermione had written notes in the margins, cross-referencing other books.

* * * *

Luna lit the oil lamps for me as it started to get dark. A thick stew bubbled in an old cauldron - cooking over fire was a bit different to what I was used to, but Luna was happy to light the fires and explain how witches usually went about things. Now we had time to talk, and wait.

"It's never quiet around here," explained Luna. "The boys will be back soon, and you can never tell who else will arrive."

"How long are you and Ron staying for?"

"Not long." Luna leaned over to look at the baby sleeping in my arms. Rene's skin had lost the transparent look and her face had filled out since the last time I'd seen her. "Ron's busy in London now, but as soon as he's finished we're going to the Burrow - Ron's parents' house. It's unplottable. The in-laws would rather we didn't risk going home right now."

"Er... unplottable?"

"Doesn't show on maps." She adjusted the stuffed bird sitting on her shoulder and turned to stir the stew with her wand.

"Luna?"

'That's me."

"Why are you wearing that thing?"

She lifted the stuffed bird off - it was a budgie, I was sure, and handed it to me. It flapped its wings weakly and whistled a tune, until I turned it upside down. Grasped in one claw was a little blue stone. Armata.

"Aren't you worried you'll lose it? Hermione keeps hers in a locket."

"Armata doesn't leave and can't be stolen. Freddie's happy carrying it, it stops him feeling neglected."

I handed Freddie back, and she put the budgie back on her shoulder where it swayed and cheeped. "Has he got a sticking charm on his feet?"

"Kind of."

"You know, this is the most amazing place I've ever been. I can't believe I didn't figure it all out months ago." Suddenly I remembered how I had first met Luna, and Ron and Hermione arguing in the kitchen below.

The stew smelled perfectly cooked. I sprinkled a little flour in, stirring to thicken it slightly. As if on cue the door opened and Severus Snape walked in. I ran to meet him, stopping abruptly in front of him.

"Hermione?"

"Is in Armenia educating the natives."

"Come, sit down. Dinner's ready." I led him to a seat near the fire and ladled out a bowl of the rich stew. I was grinning, not knowing whether to laugh or cry with the relief that she was safe - or at least, he knew where she was and seemed to think so.

"You and Hermione are quite close, aren't you?" asked Luna. I nodded. Just then the front door crashed and a female voice said sharply, 'Son of my old age, speak quickly. I was just about to play a winning hand against Victor Krum.' I recognized the portrait's voice, but couldn't hear what Harry said back to it.

"Have you really got a photo of Victor Krum? Where is it?" Ron was saying eagerly as they entered the kitchen.

"I wouldn't disturb him now, not if he's just about to lose at cards. Though she was probably only saying that."

"What, exactly do you see in that portrait Potter? Professor Dumbledore himself told you not to talk to it."

Harry grinned. "She's not such a bad sort. Thanks Jane."

"Hermione's in Armenia," I said, returning to the fire to fill a bowl for Ron. Severus raised his eyebrows, so I took his bowl and added another ladle full of stew to it.

'That isn't what I was commenting on," he muttered, almost under his breath, but he took the bowl and started eating anyway.

"Good. She's an expert at keeping out of trouble," said Harry

"Hermione?" Ron looked disbelieving.

"For once I agree with Mr Weasley," said Severus. 'Keeping out of trouble is the last thing she's good at. With such good examples, what would any-one expect?"

"Are you suggesting that I lead my friends into trouble?"

"Harry, sit down, please," I hissed. He sat down.

"Not suggesting, Potter, it is a well-known fact." Severus softened his voice slightly as I looked pleadingly at him. "However, I can report that she is currently re-organising our Eastern European intelligence links with the help of a competent translator. Her assistance has already been invaluable. Do you realise...?" He stood up and walked over to the table, stopping just behind Harry. "One of their trackers - the wizard who was supposed to shadow Milanovic - got himself captured. Unfortunately he knew a great deal more than was wise. We must now work on the presumption that our enemy know everything that he did."

"Is the agent alright?" Harry had gone extremely pale.

"He may be - eventually. I don't believe he has remembered his own identity yet. Now do you understand why information is not freely handed out to under-age wizards?"

"There's no need to bring up the past, Professor Snape," said Harry. I was sitting opposite him, and could see from Harry's expression that this concerned him deeply.

"I am not talking entirely about the past, Potter. I think you know what I'm talking about."

"Look, Snape, we need to keep people informed. If you want to advise Harry on his personal leanings, why don't you say so straight out?" Ron pushed his plate away from him as he said this.

"He's right, Professor," said Luna, softly. "Without the greater knowledge a wizard is but a pawn. Truth is dangerous, ignorance far more so."

Some of the blood had returned to Harry's face as he listened to Ron and Luna. "This is my house, Snape. Surely if I want to talk to portraits and raise dragons in my own house, it should be my business."

"You're not raising dragons?" I asked.

"It was a figure-of -speech," he claimed. I didn't know whether to believe him or not.

* * * *

"It's Pettigrew. You know we never found out what happened to him. He's using his animagus form to access the lower basement - there's no gap big enough for a man to get through."

Severus snorted.

"You've got a bee in your bonnet about Peter Pettigrew, Potter. I know perfectly well that he died more than twenty years ago."

"Pity you're never awake when he calls round, isn't it," said Harry, mildly. "You would certainly recognise him - in his human form that is."

"The major flaw in this yarn you've been spinning about Pettigrew is the claim that he's an animagus. Convenient. I knew Pettigrew, he has never possessed enough brain cells for that sort of transformation. Similar to Neville Longbottom."

"Did you know Neville is a registered animagus? I believe he transforms into a beaver. Tut, Snape, you should really keep up with the times."

"Should I challenge him for that insult to our friend, or will you?" asked Ron, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. Severus raised one eyebrow at me, apparently unconcerned by the threat.

"The zeal of youth. You might as well carry on with your story boys - and I will thank you not to knock me out next time you see our mutual acquaintance."

"There's not much more to tell. We obviously couldn't access the lower basement, although we did find an entrance large enough for a rat or a bird, in a broken piece of ventilation. Several birds flew in and out while we were there, but as far as we could tell they weren't messengers, just ordinary pigeons that roost there."

"What makes you think it's Pettigrew? Did you let him see you?"

"He didn't see us - but that was more luck than anything else. We were looking at the plaque and studying the map - pretending to be tourists - when we saw a large barn owl swoop down towards the entrance. It had a rat on its back, and of course Ron recognized it immediately. Pettigrew lived with the Weasley's for twelve years in his animagus form, and since his encounter with Voldemort, part of a front leg is missing. The rat jumped off and scuttled down the hole and the owl took off again."

Snape's face twisted into a smirk. "I can just imagine Peter Pettigrew as a rat. Most - fitting."

I gathered up the dishes, but before I could start washing them Luna flicked her wand so that they washed themselves.

* * * *

Ron and Luna were curled up on the sofa with Rene in the drawing room. Harry and I sat in armchairs on either side. A large fire burned in the grate, and to every-one's surprise Severus was still there, joining in the conversation from time to time. Hermione had told me he disliked Harry, and he certainly didn't miss many opportunities to insult him. Harry didn't seem to mind much, though Ron clearly did.

Crookshanks and Cleo had been chasing mice ever since they'd been set free. And other stuff too. "What are those beetles?" I asked, pointing to something that looked like a four-inch long red and purple stag beetle.

"It's a lost flame-filcher," said Ron. "Harry, your housekeeping's hopeless."

Harry picked it up. "Watch," he said, placing it in the fire. Instead of burning, it wandered around sucking up the flames so that the room became noticeably colder - though it was so warm to start with that it hardly mattered.

"Gets a bit cold if there's too many of them in the house," said Ron. "They're easy enough to control, Harry probably prefers their company."

"My Dad would love this place," said Luna. "Do you know; there's a nest of wartle froads under the kitchen sink?"

"Is there really?" asked Severus. "They're very rare, most of my students probably think they're just a myth."

"No, you can't have them," said Harry, immediately.

"I have no intention of removing them, Potter. Although you might like to know that at breeding time they exude a poison from the skin so powerful that one drop of it in a cauldron of potion would be sufficient to kill every pupil and teacher currently attending Hogwarts. Not the sort of creature I would choose to keep under my kitchen sink."

"You're just saying that," said Ron.

"He's not," said Luna.

"Don't let them go crawling over your dishes, Potter. It would be sad indeed if you were to die so young."

"Don't worry Snape, I've no intention of obliging you just yet." He flicked his wand at the fire, restoring it to its former size. The flame filcher still wandered around in it, apparently too full to eat any more.

"Are you staying here, Harry? Luna and I are going back to The Burrow tomorrow."

"I'm meeting Tonks and Hestia tomorrow, but I think I'm tracking for the next few days, so I can't count on being here."

"Jane can't stay here on her own," said Luna.

"Why not? Hermione will be back soon."

"Harry, your house is full of dangerous objects. You haven't even tried to get rid of them."

"Jane can't defend herself against them, she's never even seen a doxy or a flame filcher before," added Luna. "I'd invite you to The Burrow with us, but Arthur's got all these enchanted muggle objects. It'd be just as bad there."

"I'll take her to Hogwarts in the morning," said Severus.

"Hogwarts?" said Harry. They all looked stunned.

"Yeah, the school you know," I said.

"It's not that, it's just - I don't know if there's ever been a muggle inside the school grounds before. It's not like being here, where we know you and can explain things," Harry said.

"She'll be safer there than here. Filch has lived all his adult life in the school."

"Filch? He's a squib."

"Exactly."

"I guess the only difference between a squib and a muggle is that a squib is brought up in a wizarding family," said Ron, thoughtfully.

"Very astute, Weasley. It's good to know you two have got a brain cell between you."

Harry yawned. "We'd better go to bed now, there's plenty to do in the morning. I'll show you to your room, Jane."

Snape glared at him. "I'll be here at ten." He turned and swept out. Ron and Luna looked as though they would be quite happy to stay on the couch all night when Harry and I left the room.