The Tangled Web

Chapter Two: An unwelcome interview and an unexpected letter

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Make sure you eat lots of it, especially if you are thinking of slaying anything evil, as it is important to have plenty of energy. (Steer clear of porridge though, it's foul).

The definitive hero's handbook, Godric Gryffindor

There were many places where any of his students would not have been surprised to see Severus Snape. A poisoners' anonymous meeting, for example, or anywhere dark and gloomy. But one venue which would definitely not have featured on the list would have been the Brighton pier at ten o clock one sunny August morning.

However this, as you may have guessed, was exactly where he was.

Snape had spent some of his rather complicated childhood in Brighton, so he knew the place as well as he knew the ingredients to a polyjuice potion. He knew which doughnut sellers to buy from, and which to avoid like the plague. He knew were the cheapest fish and chips were sold, and how to prevent someone from stealing your deckchair. He was also a past master in the art of playing on fruit machines. There was no one in Britain (Snape would often reflect) who had the winning of money on ridiculous muggle contraptions down to such a fine art as himself.

He kept it quiet, naturally. That sort of thing was rather beneath his dignity. Amongst wizards, Snape would deride such frivolous pastimes as beneath the attention of any but the stupidest of wizards. But, had you been present on Brighton pier on that particular morning in August, you would have seen the remarkable sight of a slight man, dressed entirely in black, playing on a single fruit machine, surrounded by a small, admiring group of tourists and wearing a half-absorbed, half-mocking expression. By his feet were twelve plastic buckets of coins, to which he seemed almost oblivious. Snape, like most teachers, was simply not in it for the money.

So engrossed was he (and his crowd of astonished observers) that he did not observe the sudden (an imaginative muggle might have described it as magical) appearance of a sixteen year old boy carrying a baby. He was dressed in a once-expensive charcoal grey suit the same colour of his eyes, and as he moved purposefully across the room towards Snape, more than one woman looked after him with interest.

"P-Professor Snape?" he called softly, elbowing his way through the crowd in a far from gentle fashion. A close observer might have noticed that his voice was curiously high-pitched, and rather feminine in tone. Snape gave an expressive sigh, and turned to glare at the teenager. Ostensibly a boy, he noticed, but Dumbledore had warned him that Eris Bagman would be travelling in disguise.

"Yes," he said regretfully. He knelt, and began to pour all the coins he had won into a sturdy plastic bag he had brought for the purpose. The surrounding group watched him greedily, but when he left, accompanied by the Bagman sisters, it was clear that not a single coin had been left behind. The tourists sighed, and returned to their own machines.

Black hair. Black eyes. Probably scowling. The description Eris had been given by Madam Maxine was brief but accurate, Eris thought, as she followed Snape obediently down the pier to a more secluded spot. When at last he paused by a couple of deserted deck chairs and turned to gaze at her, Eris felt herself shrink instinctively away. Be nice, polite, not particularly intelligent, she had told herself. Don't let them see too much. The task seemed suddenly much harder.

"Well, Miss Bagman, I suggest you explain to me why exactly you wish to come to Hogwarts." His tone was abrupt and unwelcoming. It was clear that he took as little pleasure in the interview as she did. Eris took a deep breath and began:

"W-Well, Professor, with my father out of the country and bankrupt, my sister and I are left without any money or a home. And if we d-don't find somewhere soon, we will become wards of the ministry and split up. This is our last chance."

"Any port in a storm," Snape said with a rather unpleasant smile. Eris, not being able to think of a response to this, stared moodily down at the floor until Snape spoke again: "F-Flattering as it is to be your last resort, Miss Bagman," - here Eris gave Snape a sharp look - was he mocking her? - "I do not really see why the Headmaster should choose to take on two new students (one of whom is clearly not even old enough to attend school) at this particularly inconvenient and busy time. Your previous record at Beauxbatons is also far from encouraging."

"I think D-Dumbledore would say that everyone d-deserves a second chance."

Touché, Eris thought gleefully to herself. Lucius' information was proving useful already. She saw Snape glance sharply at her, before deciding that her words had been accidental rather than deliberate.

"Your mother, I presume, is unable to take custody of you?" he asked, ignoring her remark.

"She's on holiday," Eris replied. Which was the response the Bagman family always gave when asked about the whereabouts of the infamous Helen Bagman. Snape, on hearing the reply, shrugged dismissively. Eris could see him deciding that she was too unintelligent to pose any kind of threat, and inside she grinned to herself. There was a pause. Snape seemed to be wondering what else he should ask. He turned to stare enviously out to sea, where gulls were circling with graceful power through the wind. Eris followed his gaze, wondering what it was like, to forget all care and responsibility, to be free, alone in the sky.

"Oh for the wings..." Eris muttered softly, scarcely knowing what she said.

"What?" Snape demanded, returning swiftly to earth.

"Nothing. I-I was wondering if there was anything else you wanted to ask me."

Eris could feel his suspicion, as tangible as the smell of salt from the sea wind. She thought of wood, and made her face as deliberately expressionless as possible. She had made a mistake, she noted dispassionately, saying something like that. It would not happen again.

Snape held out a small bottle of clear liquid.

"Drink this," he ordered. He seemed to be trying to make up for his previous lapse of concentration by sounding as curt and efficient as possible.

"What?"

"Drink it," he repeated.

"W-What is it?" Eris demanded. "Because if it's veristaserum, I thought you needed me to sign a form first."

"I have permission from Dumbledore to use it. Now either drink it or go back to France, it's all the same to me."

Eris sighed. It was dangerous and might even prove disastrous for her plans, but there was no alternative. Wordlessly she took the bottle and drained it in a single gulp. The effects of the potion were immediate and somewhat alarming. Eris felt a sudden drop in energy, as if all power to resist had gone out of her. She wondered vaguely if this was how it felt to be hypnotised.

Snape, seeing that the potion had taken affect, cut to the chase with laudable promptness:

"Are you working for, or associating with, Voldemort?"

"No, I'm not. Stupid question, really."

Snape noticed absently that Veristaserum made the girl distinctly ruder and removed all trace of a stutter, before producing another bottle full of indigo coloured liquid from his pocket.

"Well, Dumbledore told me to ascertain that you were not insane or bent on wreaking destruction wherever you go," he said at last, "and as I have no evidence against you on either score, I believe we have no choice but to accept you at Hogwarts. Drink this antidote."

Obediently Eris drank, and soon felt restored enough to ask:

"Will you accept Jamilla too?"

Snape sighed.

"I have been unable to prevent it," he replied. "Goodbye."

And he was gone, striding across the pier without another word. Eris felt that it was better to sit where she was for a moment or two, until she felt less dizzy and unsteady. Although whether it was the potion or the meeting with Snape that had affected her she was unable to decide.

Dozens of miles away and several hours later, Ginny Weasly was awakened by a loud banging on her bedroom door. She stirred resentfully. It was the holidays, why couldn't her blasted family let her sleep for once?

"Go away," she murmured sleepily. The door swung open to reveal Ron, dressed in his usual jeans and a ragged jumper, and carrying a mug of tea, which he dumped unceremoniously on her bedside table, spilling about a quarter of its contents in the process.

"Mum says are you going to lie there all day," he said, "because Harry's supposed to be arriving in half an hour."

His only answer was a gentle half-snore. Ginny had fallen asleep again. Ron shook her roughly.

"Wake up!"

No response. Ron seized Ginny's blanket and pulled it off her. Ginny, suddenly deprived of the delicious warmth of her especially charmed duvet, sat bolt upright in bed and kicked Ron determinedly in the shin.

"Get out!" she said irritably. Ron sat down on the bed, rubbing his leg with an expression of pain.

"That really hurt, actually. And I just thought you should know that Harry's coming, that's all. Won't you want to put on your makeup, or whatever it is you girls do when you want to look your best?"

"Give me my duvet back," was Ginny's only response.

"Don't you want to see him?"

"I want you to go away and let me get back to sleep," Ginny said. She and Hermione (who had arrived at The Burrow a couple of days before and who seemed to be making a special effort to be nice to Ginny) had spent the previous evening trying to conjure up a love potion from a recipe they had found in Witch Weekly, and attempting to feed Fred and George the resulting mixture (which turned out to be remarkably similar to warm treacle), and Ginny had only managed to get to bed by one o clock.

"Fine," Ron said. He sounded somewhat disconcerted, but Ginny was too sleepy to care. She snuggled back down, her blanket wrapped tightly around her, and thought back to the days when she would have been up at the crack of dawn to make sure she looked presentable for Harry's arrival. But her experiences in first year - here Ginny turned over uneasily in bed, trying to shake off unwelcome memories - had left her with a greater level of maturity than many of her classmates. She could see when something was a waste of effort.

It had taken her a while, but she finally realised that hoping for anything to happen with Harry was pointless. Ginny had forced herself to face facts: he liked her in a distant, friendly sort of way, as he would probably always like her, but that was as far as it went.

Wasn't it?

Ron stood in the kitchen, watching as his father fried eggs for the family breakfast. The kitchen sink was filled with washing up left over from the breakfasts of Fred and George, whilst Percy was sitting at the kitchen table engrossed in a ministry report, with one elbow resting in a bowl of porridge.

"She's acting all weird," Ron complained bitterly.

"Who was this again?" his mother demanded from the other side of the kitchen, where she was cutting bread and butter.

"Ginny," Ron replied irritably, "honestly, don't you two listen to anything I tell you?"

"So what's Ginny doing that's so peculiar?" his father asked, wisely not answering his question.

"Well Harry's coming over here today, and she acts like she couldn't care less."

"I do care, actually," said an aggrieved voice behind him. Hermione was standing in the doorway, looking rather hurt and wearing a long red dressing gown. Ron noticed almost unconsciously how ruffled her hair was from sleep. It suited her, he thought, although he knew she would scoff if he told her so.

"I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about Ginny," he clarified.

"Well then you're wrong, she does care about Harry coming here, we all do."

Ron sighed in exasperation. For someone as intelligent as she was, Hermione could certainly be dense at times.

"No, I mean she doesn't seem to care about him any more. You know how she used to be in second year," he said. "All that stuff with the valentine and all."

"Ron, I would appreciate if you didn't talk about Ginny like that," Mrs Weasly commented, setting a plate of bread down on the table with a decisive thump. "Your elbow's in the porridge, dear," she added in affectionate tones to Percy, who was too engrossed to hear her.

"People do change, you know, Ron," Hermione said seriously. "We all change."

"Very profound. You should write sayings like that down so we can all remember them after you're dead," said Ginny from the top of the stairs. She had finally got out of bed, although she was still in pyjamas and had her duvet wrapped protectively around her. As Ginny seated herself at the table, grinning at Ron and Hermione, her mother reflected for a moment how great the difference was in her behaviour when Harry Potter wasn't around. It was as if there were two different people inhabiting one small thirteen-year-old body, Molly thought. But then, that was teenagers for you.

"Morning dear," she said to her youngest child, "do you want some toast?"

Eris and Jamilla stood in the dim and empty Slytherin common room, a shabby suitcase which contained all their worldly goods resting by Eris' feet. Staring around her at her gloomy surroundings, and acutely conscious of her disconcertingly short hair, Eris had never regretted her father's gambling habits as deeply as at that moment.

"You are also forbidden to go into the forest, near the lake, anywhere around the headmaster's study, in the library after midnight or in any of the other houses..."

Filch, wearing a look of intense hatred, had been left to show the new arrivals to their living quarters, and it was clear that he found students returning to Hogwarts a fortnight early extremely dubious. Eris wondered if any provision had been made for looking after Jamilla, and decided that it probably hadn't. Apart from a brief but friendly welcome from Dumbledore, most of the staff she had encountered so far seemed preoccupied and suspicious.

With a start, she realised that Filch was nearing the end of his tirade:

"...and if you even think about disobeying any of these rules, you and your sister will be flayed alive, impaled on red-hot stakes and then left in the forest for the giant spiders to devour," he finished with a nasty look.

"I'll bear that in mind," Eris said politely. "Is it alright if we go upstairs now?"

"Don't make any mess, if you know what's good for you," the caretaker warned. "And there are rumours that the Slytherin dormitories are haunted, and there's no one sleeping within earshot of you. Just so you know."

And with this parting shot he was gone, shutting the door behind him with a vindictive bang. Eris sighed to herself. Jamilla gave her a look which seemed to say well we're here now, we might as well get on with it.

"You're right," she said gloomily. "But if Dad ever comes back to England I swear I'm going to kill him."

Jamilla gave a gurgle of agreement, and, closing her eyes, fell instantly asleep. Her almost unnatural placidity had alarmed her parents at first, but growing up with Ludo and Helen Bagman for parents, let alone Eris Bagman as a sister, Jamilla had had little choice. She was capable of sleeping through arguments, arrests, moonlight flits and the arrival of bailiffs with the greatest of ease.

Eris seized her suitcase in one hand, and was about to climb the stairs in search of the Slytherin dormitories when she was disturbed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from the ceiling directly overhead. Although it would be inaccurate to say that Eris' heart skipped a beat, she certainly froze as she heard the noise, clutching Jamilla protectively.

Should she call Filch and tell him that there was a burglar?

No, she decided. If it was a choice between the caretaker or a vicious criminal, she'd rather spend time with the criminal. Before Eris could do anything else, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later two figures could be glimpsed descending. Both paused as they saw Eris, and seemed to glance at each other in surprise. Eris reached for her wand, and pointed it directly at the two strangers, wondering if she could remember a decent curse (for some reason the only spell she could think of was lumos, and somehow she didn't think that was going to be much help).

The strangers regarded her in silence: they were a boy and a girl, Eris realised, of about her own age. The boy was blonde and looked faintly anaemic, but the expression in his grey eyes was awake and unfriendly. The girl had perfectly styled auburn hair, and a face which an uncharitable person might have described as pug-like. She should not have been beautiful, and yet somehow she was. Her figure was full and symmetrical and her eyes shone with the vivid green lustre of broken glass. Eris stared at her with an instant feeling of jealousy.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded.

"I'm - Meander Strange," Eris said, the alias sounding strange on her tongue. "Who the hell are you?"

Breakfast was an institution in the Weasly household. No member of the family would have considered spending less than an hour over the meal during the holidays, and it was for this reason that when the post arrived the morning after Harry's arrival, the entire family (plus Harry and Hermione) were sitting around in their pyjamas eating muffins. It would have been impossible to find a greater contrast to the Dursleys' Harry thought contentedly, as he watched Ron and Percy squabble over the last of the jam.

"Post!" Hermione exclaimed, as a couple of owls appeared at the window, tapping urgently with their beaks to be let in. Ginny went wordlessly to open it (she had been doing many things wordlessly since Harry arrived, it was the best way to avoid embarrassing herself, she thought). Harry was surprised to discover that he had received not one, but two letters.

The first, his Hogwarts letter, he read through rapidly. Apart from a different list of books for him to buy, it was virtually the same as the others he had received in previous years. After a glance he put it to one side, and turned his attention to the other letter, which had come in a dark blue envelope, and was addressed in slanted silver writing with his name. Turning it over, he noticed a delicate silver seal on the back, in the shape of some kind of bird.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, looking up over the top of her own Hogwarts letter.

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "Do wizards get junk mail?"

"Doesn't look like junk mail to me," Ron said sagely. "It's not glowing or anything."

"If you opened it, all this speculation would become redundant," Percy commented dryly, without glancing up from the newspaper.

Harry ripped open the envelope (wondering as he did so whether Percy was becoming even more irritable, and if so whether this was a result of the compulsory holiday he was taking from the ministry), and scanned the brief letter inside with a puzzled expression.

"Um, does anyone here know anything about "the order of the phoenix"?" he asked slowly. Looking up, he noticed to his surprise that Mr Weasly had spilt his coffee, Mrs Weasly had sunk into a chair looking as if she was about to faint, and everyone else was regarding him with complete horror. Even the twins (who had been experimenting with a newly-developed joke teapot and barely paying attention) were gaping at him aghast.

"It's not a good thing then?" Harry said slowly, taking in the general atmosphere of gloom and dismay that hung over the Weasly kitchen like a heavy black cloud.

At any other time such a blatant statement of the obvious would have been met with derision, but as at this moment no one in the Weasly kitchen felt capable of speaking, no one was able to draw attention to the fact.

Pansy and Draco stared at the boy sitting in the Slytherin common, wondering if they were seeing some kind of extra-substantial ghost.

"Why are you here?" Pansy asked after a pause. She moved down the flight of stairs towards Eris with a determined grace, Draco following uncertainly in her wake. Eris, although alarmed, felt that this audacity could not be allowed.

"You're the b-burglars," she replied, without lowering her wand. "Why don't you explain why you're here?"

"Burglars!" Draco repeated incredulously. He sounded distinctly insulted, Eris thought confusedly. It seemed rather hypocritical to her: if you had decided to embark on a life of crime, the least you could do was be upfront about it. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No. And, given that I don't usually mix with criminals, I'm not sure I want to."

Draco felt slightly disconcerted. He noticed that the stranger had still not lowered his wand, and decided to try a more conciliatory manner. (He also made a mental note not to use the phrase "don't you know who I am?" any more. In retrospect it sounded rather redundant).

"Well, I'm not a burglar. I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Pansy Parkinson."

"I don't care what you're called, you're still b-breaking and entering."

"Listen, you idiot," Pansy began, feeling that the madness had continued long enough, "we're students."

"Well so am I."

There was a distinctly uneasy pause. Both parties seemed to be waiting apprehensively for the other to ask why they were at Hogwarts two weeks before the beginning of term, but nobody said anything. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Eris stared at it, trying to conceal her awkwardness, and noticed that there was an inscription which read carpe noctem.

"Is that your baby?" Pansy asked suddenly.

"My baby sister," Eris explained brusquely, staring down at Jamilla, who was still asleep.

"She's pretty." Pansy spoke dispassionately, stating a fact rather than paying a complement. "I always wanted a baby sister, my parents bought one for me once, but the ministry found out and we had to give her back," Pansy added. She moved across to Jamilla and gave her a penetrating stare.

"What did you say your name was again?" Draco asked, feeling somewhat left out of the conversation, and wondering what a boy his own age was doing looking after his baby sister.

"M-Meander Strange."

"Strange name," Draco pointed out.

"Glass houses, Draco," Pansy muttered. She and Draco grinned at each other, and Eris felt a pang of loneliness. She had never been as close to anyone as these two seemed to be to each other. At Beauxbatons she had always been the outsider. People had laughed at her accent, her appearance, and the slight stammer she could usually suppress unless she was very nervous. Eris Bagman had many talents, the professors would remark to each other, but making friends was not one of them. Besides, Eris thought reflectively, she had always been happiest alone.

"Are you going to tell us why you're here?" Pansy asked.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" Eris countered, snapping out of her reverie without regret.

"Well at least take that charm off yourself, so we can see what you really look like," Draco said calmly. Eris was too controlled to gasp, but the surprise showed plainly in her face.

"Obscurement charms," Draco explained to Pansy. "You can spot them by blurriness around the person's face, tiny sparks if they move very quickly, and the opaque look in their eyes," he recited smugly. "Father gave me some extra tuition last summer," he added, seeing Pansy's questioning expression.

"No wonder you hate him," she replied dryly. The word took Draco by surprise. Did he hate his Father? Certainly Lucius was severe, and being a stubborn git by refusing to allow him to join the death eaters, but surely he didn't hate him? Hadn't he spent all his childhood longing to be more like him?

And yet, Draco realised, perhaps he did hate him. Why, however, he was not entirely sure. Perhaps because despite his admiration for his father, Lucius had never taken him seriously. Draco, whose early education had brought him into contact with all kinds of cruelty, thought that contempt was the most painful of all. He could forgive his Father for hating him, but not for dismissing him.

Bloody Pansy knew him better than he knew himself, he thought with a bitter smile. He forced his attention back to his surroundings.

"Who are you really?" Pansy was saying to Eris, who shrugged with a smile.

"See for yourself," she replied, pointing her wand at herself. "Finite incantatum!" And standing before them was a girl, whose features were suddenly more feminine and whose eyes were as grey as glass. She had heavy black eyebrows, Pansy noted, and her small mouth was twisted into a crooked smile. It was not a particularly nice smile, either.

"You looked better before," was Draco's verdict, after an interested stare.

"Yes, you were really handsome before," Pansy agreed regretfully.

"Charming," Eris said, looking rather offended. Draco looked faintly nettled by Pansy's comment.

"You're obsessed with boys, you are, I swear that's the only thing you ever think about." Pansy seemed unaffected by this comment; she merely looked rather bored, as if she had heard the complaint many times before. Eris wondered if they were boyfriend and girlfriend, but decided she didn't dare ask. There was a closeness about them, a kind of confidence with which they spoke and touched one another that suggested it, and yet they could just be close friends.

"So are you going to tell us why you decided to travel to Hogwarts as a boy?" Pansy said curiously.

"No. And please, you can't tell anyone that I came here like that. You have to pretend I was a girl from the start. I'm meant to be under cover."

"You're not a spy, are you?" Draco asked. Any of his schoolmates outside of Slytherin would have been surprised to see the enthusiasm of his expression. There was a gleam in his eyes like a candle shining through a deep pool of water, and for a moment, Eris noted with surprise, he looked almost handsome. Pansy rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I wish you'd get over that stupid espionage craze, it's pathetic. Not everyone who acts suspiciously is a spy, you know, sometimes people have other motives for going under cover. And don't tell us if you don't want to Meander - is your name really Meander, by the way?"

Eris shrugged.

"Not really," she admitted.

"Well, whatever you're called, you don't have to tell us anything if we don't have to tell you anything."

"Bargain," Eris replied. She was relieved, but at the same time disappointed. She had been wondering what had brought Lucius Malfoy's son to Hogwarts during the summer holidays. Still, she was bound to find out sooner or later.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood on a desolate hilltop overlooking Hogwarts, staring down at the distant towers of the school. They were both dressed in white, their robes stained and their long hair blown back by the keen wind.

"He has refused us," the man said softly.

"It was hardly unexpected," his companion replied.

"He knows of us?"

"Undoubtedly. He has heard the stories. He is afraid, doubtless. He wants to stick to the straight and narrow."

The man gave a harsh laugh.

"Good luck to him," he replied.

"You will not convert him willingly. You will have to break him first." The woman spoke with the imperiousness of a seer, and the authority of definite knowledge.

"We'll manage that."

"I know."

"He'll be ours. Now, at our time of need, he will be brought to us."

"I know."