CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

Chapter 9

'Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth, And the truth isn't what you want to see.' - From 'The Phantom of the Opera' by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

The Book

Tuesday February 14th 2023, SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY, 17:32:15, Hospital Wing, Hogwarts

I passed a restless night. After all, after suffering such agonies as I had done during the day, how could I be expected to sleep of all things?

I ran all the way from the quidditch pitch to my dormitory without stopping for a moment. What Nero did I have no idea, and not the least curiosity to know about. I drew the curtains round my four poster, crawled beneath the covers and wrote up the entire evening's adventures in my diary. I heard the others come up to bed, a few hours later. However, I stayed as quiet as a mouse; I think they thought I was asleep.

Even when I had finished writing, I still stayed awake and listened to the noises of the night. Later on, the wind picked up and howled round the castle. Though my bed was warm, I shivered. After midnight it began to rain. I could hear its insistent beating on the window panes. I think I must fallen asleep listening to it.

A little before three I woke up again. The pattering of the rain had increased in strength and the wind whistled down the chimney in cold gusts. A storm was passing over us. My hands felt icy cold, though the rest of me was burning hot. I took a gulp of water and turned my pillow over.

When I next awoke, all was quiet save for the dull sound of a light rain. I pulled open the hangings of my four poster; the dormitory was light. Gingerly I sat up in bed and then lay abruptly down. My head felt like lead. I blew my nose and tried this little manœvre again. This time I managed to check the time on my watch. Half past eight. Classes would start in half an hour. I groaned and slumped back into bed.

The girls had left their stuff lying round the floor as usual while they went to breakfast. I glanced out of the window. The cold, clear and frosty weather of yesterday had merged overnight into the much more familiar overcast, leaden sky with a gloomy, never stopping rainfall.

Eventually Jill and Kim returned to get their books. They were giddy and hysterical from Valentines' breakfast. Jill was clutching a large, red satin heart full of chocolates. Kim had two pieces of buttered toast. She handed them to me. "I thought you might be hungry."

I thanked her, but my stomach turned at the thought of eating. Jill sat down on my bed. "Well, how are you? You looked dreadful last night, when you came rushing in. Look what Jimmy gave me? Wasn't it sweet of him? Are you coming to classes today? Well, the funniest thing happened at breakfast this morning!"

Kim smiled and giggled. I waited. I could do with a laugh. "So what happened?"

Jill explained. "Well, it was over at the Slytherin table. I never thought Slytherins had a sense of humour, but there you go. It all centred round Nero Malfoy and Joan Whatsername- they're been going out since September, you know who I mean. Basically, Joan received a- but are you sure you're all right? You look like you're going to be sick- received a howler from Nero. The first we heard of it was when we heard it. He started by wishing her a Happy Valentine's Day and she giggled and simpered, but then he read out this poem he had written to her which made her run out of the room in floods of tears." Jill paused. "I do feel a little sorry for her. But not much."

Kim laughed and told me that I'd have to wait for Xanthia to hear the poem itself, since she'd supposedly memorised it. All Kim could remember was the bit about what Joan had seen.

"What did Joan see?" I cried, sharper than I had intended.

Jill drew back in surprise. "No need to bite my head off. No-one knows what Joan saw, except that it was behind the quidditch pitch and was something very dreadful indeed. The whole school's talking about it. I imagine it's something like-"

The bell cut her off, and abandoning her previous thread, she lept up and ran to the door. "Skrewts! I'm late for Defence Against the Dark Arts! Coming Kim? I'll get your work, Cassie! See ya!" She rushed out of the dormitory.

Kim rolled her eyes and lagged behind. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked anxiously. "It's not just today, but you've looked a bit off colour for weeks. I was talking about it with Felix earlier and he agrees with me. I wouldn't worry about Jill, if I were you. She's gone a little over the top since Jimmy gave her the chocolates. I'm wondering now if he didn't spike them!"

I grinned at her, then said, "I do have flu, but I should be better soon. Thanks for being considerate," I replied sincerely. "You had better get off to your lesson now, I suppose. I'll see you at lunchtime."

She picked up her bag and opened the door. "Have a good rest," she advised me, before leaving the room.

When she was gone, I heaved a great sigh and settled down into the pillows with a large box of tissues and nibbled a corner of the toast. Jill's tale of what Nero had done at breakfast, filled me with horror. That he should have even hinted at what had happened the previous night was dreadful. Had he no morals? But then, I recollected, he had already shown himself to be moraless. He had bullied me, manipulated me and then exploited me. What was worse, was that I had fallen for it all!

I saw it now for what it was. There was no great magic in the stone. It had all been a plot to get rid of his girlfriend and humiliate me at the same time. A plot constructed with the utmost cunning and cold malice. A shiver ran through me as I thought of what had happened to me. He had had me in his power. He had made up a fantasy world that was so convincing that he believed in it himself. Not only that, he had made me believe in it too. The boy ought to be certified! He is a danger to the public!

As I thought of what I had been caught up in, tears squeezed out of my eyes. But to actually believe in it? What had I been thinking of? Things like what I had been imagining do not happen in real life.

The idea that the green stone might have properties like The One Ring had crossed my mind more than once in the past few weeks. What world had I been living in? That it would bring back Lord Voldemort? Where did I get this rubbish from? We are a peaceful world and have been for years. True, the muggles may have been shooting their little missiles across oceans for the last twenty years on and off, but we have more sense than that.

People like my mother are in their important posistions because they deal with things like this. There are aurors who stop things like what Nero had been thinking of happening as a permanent job. Besides, how could a fifteen year old boy be involved in bringing back Lord Voldemort? Common sense defied it all. And common sense seemed to be just what I lacked.

And yet, there were coincidences. It was odd that Nero should touch on an object that I actually had in my possession. (I found it in rock pool! (The One Ring was found in a river bed.) Now I was just scaring myself.)

It was bizarre that he was willing to do dark magic just to get it. (He's a Slytherin- why should I be surprised?)

His behaviour when I gave him the stone had been definitely strange. (He's in Slytherin- I know what good actors they are.)

The fact that there were historical objects connected to Slytherin which looked somewhat like the stone, was peculiar.

Suddenly I remembered a line from one of the muggle fantasy films Xanthia had shown me at Christmas. My friend, there is a fine line between coincidence and fate.* Yes, but there is a line, that's what's important. Codswallop. There is no such thing as fate, anyway. That's the easy way out for people who do not want to accept responsibility for their actions.

I was sore on yet another point. Nero had kissed me. I had always thought that a first kiss was supposed to involve fireworks and all that stuff you read about. It's supposed to be with someone you really love, surely? Where exactly does Nero fit in here? Fireworks? Almost laughable. Someone I'm deeply in love with? Definitely laughable!

I punched the pillow. It wasn't fair.

The bell rang for morning break. I snuggled under the blankets and hoped I would go unnoticed. After about five minutes, however, there was a knock on the door. I sniffed. "Who's there?"

There was a silence, then a voice called, "It's, um, Jack. Er, Weasley. Is Cassandra in there?"

I dragged myself out of bed and staggered over the great expanse of red pile carpet to the door. I pulled it open. "Do I have so much of a cold that you can't even recognize my voice?"

He looked taken aback. "Well, yeah, actually. I just came to see if you were all right. By the way, why are you wearing pyjamas?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm wearing pyjamas because I'm spending the day in bed nursing a cold. Obviously."

"I'm sorry you're ill. But what will you do about the quidditch match this afternoon? Gryffindor will undoubtably loose the cup if you don't play."

I closed my eyes and leaned against the door frame. "I can't play," I said, flatly. "They'll have to use the substitute."

"But-"

I opened my eyes again. "Jack, I can't."

He hesitated then nodded. "I'll tell Captain Pauline. They can get that really good fifth year to play, I'm sure. You know- the one with mohican."

"I'll get kicked off the team."

"I'm sure you won't! When Pauline knows how ill you are, I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"No, she won't!"

"That's being paranoid. Come on, Cassie! It's not that bad, is it?"

I suddenly had the inclination to cry again. I turned away from him. He touched my arm gently. "You'll get better soon. Colds don't last forever, you know. Besides, it'll soon be spring, and then you'll feel miles better. I know I always do."

I smiled at him, in thanks. We stood together in silence. Jack seemed searching for a topic of conversation. At last he said, "You didn't miss much in Defence Against the Dark Arts. We were going over the homework on boggarts and Professor Harker set us some more exercises. Jill got you some sheets. Did she tell you what happened at breakfast?"

My heart sank. Was this all the school was talking about? "She touched on it. Something to do with Nero Malfoy writing poetry."

"Oh yeah, that," he replied, dismissively. "That was funny, I guess, if you like public humiliation."

"What do you mean? It was Joan Witherspoon! We don't exactly care for her. I thought you hated all Slytherins."

A shadow of a frown crossed his face. "No, I dislike all Slytherins. I hate Nero Malfoy. And he had the upper hand there." He paused and deliberated. "Do you remember on our first day of First Year, Malfoy insulted you and I challenged him to a duel? You wouldn't let me, and he wouldn't let you. But I swear, Cassie, I swear that one day I'll fight him."

"Well, I hope you do it sooner than later!" I exclaimed with energy.

He stared at me in surprise then coughed and looked at the floor. Finally; "So, um, did you get anything for Valentine's Day?"

"Take a guess. Did you?"

"Um, no." There was a long, constrained silence. Finally Jack stammered, "I wanted to get you something, Cassandra, but I thought you'd get, you know, the wrong idea. I know you hate all the Valentine's Day paraphenalia, but I did want to get you something. As friends."

"So why didn't you?"

"Oh, but I did!" He produced a crumpled brown paper bag and shrugged as if he rather wished he had not done anything at all. "Sugar quills. Nothing special."

I reached out and took the bag, feeling a little perplexed. "No-one's ever got me a Valentine's present before. Thank-you, Jack. I appreciate it."

He scratched his nose and studied his scruffy, brown lace-ups. "Well then. I suppose I'd better go." Before I could reply, he was gone, leaving me shivering on the landing, holding the packet of Sugar Quills.

At lunch time Xanthia called with condolences and dragged me to the hospital wing. She told me that there was absolutely no way I was going to be let off playing quidditch if I was not even in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey looked at me, looked outside at the swirling grey clouds and lashing rain and then said I could stay the afternoon. At the end of the lunch hour, Pauline Knox, Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, swept into the room, marmite sandwhich in one hand, Tornado 4 in the other.

She strode purposefully up to the bed and immediately started her tirade. "Golly, Cassandra, what is all this? Martin Weasley's little brother told me you were out of action. I say, this is a bit much!" Bread crumbs scattered as she waved her sandwich about.

"I'm ill," I replied, turning away from her.

"Pah!" cried Pauline, spraying sesame seeds, "and I'm a niffler! Galloping gargoyles, everyone's ill at times, but no-one's ill just before quidditch!"

Madam Pomfrey bustled up. "I hope you're not disturbing my patient, Miss Knox. If Miss Potter wasn't here before the game, she almost certainly would be afterwards."

"Hey!"

The nurse's eyes were gimlets. "I know what Potters are like in quidditch games."

"Oh, for love and quidditch!" cried Pauline, stamping her foot. "Just get your sorry butt onto the pitch- that's all I ask!"

"Language, Miss Knox! Five points from Gryffindor. And surely you have a substitute? Now, if you'll excuse us, my patient needs rest."

"But- Great Merlin!"

"Out!"

Pauline shoved the remains of her sandwich ungracefully into her mouth, gave me a very dirty look and stomped out.

Madam Pomfrey glared at me. "Now Miss Potter, drink up this Pepper-up Potion. You're welcome to stay here for this afternoon. You have influenza and I wouldn't have anyone with that out in the rain, especially a Potter."

"Why especially a Potter?"

"There was hardly a single quidditch game in which your father didn't end up here afterwards. After you've regrown bones, broomsticks and whatnot, you get a little wary of hearing 'Potter' and 'quidditch' mentioned in the same breath."

"Oh yeah, my father mentioned the bludger thing once."

"Bludger thing. Honestly," muttered Madam Pomfrey, drawing the curtains round me and leaving me alone.

Now that I was finally in peace, I felt less inclined than ever for soul searching. I did not particularly like what I saw and I tried not to think about it too much. I fidgited and tried to think about my lessons. But even the dates of the Goblin Rebellion (usually so useful in similar situations) did not seem to be lodged in an accessible part of my brain.

A welcome relief came from the unexpected arrival of Xanthia. Madam Pomfrey, sensing my restlessness, decided to let her in which I was grateful for.

"Why aren't you at the match?" was my opening gambit.

"The population's a little less dense here and they don't look as though they'll need their substitute Keeper. I assumed you might be wanting some company. Feel free to chuck me out if I'm wrong." She sat down confidantly on the bed.

I smiled. Xanthia always had the effect of cheering me up.

"Let me see, invalid," she continued, "what's wrong with you. I want a full confession that it was all brought about by mysterious late night assignations with undesirable members of the opposite sex."

"That isn't even funny," said I, feeling the reverse of cheered up.

She stopped laughing and shook her head at me. "Dear me, Cassandra, whatever shall we do with you? Now, I want to know every single sordid detail."

"Why not tell me Nero Malfoy's poem, which you supposedly know off by heart, first?"

"How about we save that as a prize for you when you've given me all the low down?"

"I'd like to hear it now."

There must have been something in the way I said that because she looked at me, surprised, then fumbled in her robes for something. She emerged triumphantly with a scrap of paper. "I had to write it down somewhere- it was too priceless to forget."

She read it out loud, then allowed me to copy it down here:

Though certainly not I you loathe,

To like you a little, I suppose, Would be a feat of the immagination That is a little below my station. This I tell you, (I am no loon), We are through, Joan Witherspoon. If ever, when you are feeling coy, And you want to get back Malfoy, Just remember what you saw last night- Behind the quidditch pitch, out of sight. If you think of this, then, I doubt you'll ever want to see me, again!

There was a long silence. Xanthia was sniggering to herself and I felt myself to be as straight faced as a poker. Eventually- "Is there a bad poetry award? He doesn't even deserve that."

Xanthia was grinning wildly. "It's genius! Everyone was laughing. Even my mother was having hysterics."

"Catherine? I don't believe it."

"You better had," replied Xanthia with a toss of her curls. "She almost spilt her coffee she was laughing so hard. Professor Harker asked her what the matter was, and all she could say was something like Nero Malfoy- bad poetry- I can't believe it!"

"I would have thought my godmother would have more sense than to find such a thing as that amusing," I retorted, disappointed in her.

"Ah, she's only human, and like other members of that dysfunctional race, is often inappropriately entertained."

"That's no excuse."

Xanthia did not reply to this. Instead she said, "So, I read you the poem, are you going to tell me what happened to you?"

There was no getting out of it, and in some ways I was not sorry. "Nero Malfoy kissed me."

Xanthia raised her eyebrows. "Really? I can't imagine why you're sorry about that! He's quite a charmer, isn't he?"

I regarded her stiffly. "Charmer- you say?"

Xanthia shrugged. "He amuses me. He's so full of himself- so pompous. Thinks all he has to do is ask and he'll get. I don't think you should worry, Cassandra. He's just chock full of hormones."

"That doesn't help! I didn't want him to kiss me, but he did all the same."

She did look sorry, but she still refused to commiserate too much. "It happens. Look, kissing gets far too much press, in my opinion. I don't hold much by it. Honestly, who cares who's snogging who? It's so tedious. And to think the basic plot of the soap opera is the whinging roundabout mix-ups of the sexed up population of Dullville! Please don't tell me you're descending to the same plateau that my dorm mates are on. They'd rather spend an afternoon with George or Ben or Mark or someone than doing their OWL revision. I wouldn't say I'm a swot, but I do know what I need to be concentrating on at the moment." She drew breath.

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Xanthia?"

"Why yes, I have."

"Who?"

"Oh, Laurence Macmillan of Hufflepuff. He said he fancied me, we went to the Three Broomsticks together and he kissed me."

"What was it like?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much to write home about. We broke up."

"Why did you go out in the first place?"

"I was fourteen; it was the thing to do. But Larry got on my nerves so I dumped him. We had the chemistry of a pair of overweight slugs. You're much better off without a boyfriend, Cassandra. They're wastes of space, at your age at any rate."

"But I'm not going out with Malfoy!" I cried, desperate for her to understand. "He forced me to kiss him! You know what it said in that poem? What Joan saw? She saw Nero kissing me by the Quidditch pitch!"

Xanthia frowned. "Perhaps he was getting money for doing it. You know what Slytherins are like."

I shook my head. "It was to stop us being seen talking to each other."

She looked astonished. "What on earth were you talking to Malfoy about? I can understand kissing him... but talking to him?!"

"I had something that he lost- by mistake, you understand- and I was giving it him back." Perhaps if I just did not say anything about the stone, it would all disappear and I could forget about it. A whole day had passed since I gave it to Nero and Lord Voldemort had not yet returned. I felt silly.

"Really? That seems a pretty innocent thing to be doing."

"Well, you know what people would say..." I trailed off.

"Of course. Still," continued Xanthia, a wicked gleam in her grey eyes, "maybe he fancies you!"

"Don't be absurd!"

"Well, I noticed him stalking you for the past few weeks and staring at you at breakfast. He needn't have kissed you, you know. He could have found a different way of protecting you from slander."

"Protecting me? What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? If he hadn't kissed you, everyone would know by now that you, Harry Potter's daughter, were trying to make friends with the biggest scum from Slytherin that there is. Or whatever reason Malfoy would have made up to make it look your fault. As it is, the only thing that's known, is that Nero Malfoy was kissing an unknown Gryffindor, and nobody's any the worse off for that."

I had not thought of it that way. Put like that, his behaviour had been odd. I did not know what to make of it. "Well," I said eventually, with a slightly self concious giggle, "if he does fancy me, that's his problem!"

"That's the spirit, girl!" said Xanthia, in approval.

I grinned at her, suddenly almost wanting to laugh. Did he really fancy me? No, surely not. How ridiculous! I supposed he was quite good looking, when I thought about it. I felt quite flattered. Not that there was anything in what Xanthia said. And besides, what sort of compliment was it, if the only person who liked you was completely corrupt and a death eater in making? My smile slipped slowly off my face.

Xanthia misinterpreted my expression. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. He'll get his five galleons for last night's little escapade and that'll be the end of it." She smiled. "You must be tired. Why don't you get some sleep now, and I'll go outside and see who's winning?"

She squeezed my hand and left me along in the hospital wing feeling almost as confused as I had been that morning.

Cassandra E. Potter

~~*~~

John Farrel was a very clever man. Either that, or he was simply very fortunate. For he had fallen in love with and married Ginny Weasley and she gave him three children; Richard and two daughters Bobbie and Alex. As well as that, for those who cared for professional records, he had found himself, at merely twenty years of age, the personal secretary to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, a position he held to this day, with the new Minister, Harry Potter's wife.

This lady had recently been voted the best roll model in Britain, in a survey in Witch Weekly. She was the wealthiest witch in the country, she was married to Heart Throb Harry Potter, held the record for highest ever NEWT results, had a high flying daughter at Hogwarts and a country mansion in Derbyshire. Moreover, she was in charge of the entire wizarding community and had not made a single wrong decision yet. The nation loved their leader.

On Wednesday February the Fifteenth 2023, Lady Potter was sitting in her pleasant and airy office on the top floor of the Ministry of Magic fulfilling her roll as Minister. This involved reading many letters from Heads of Departments, occasionally holding meetings with the Governing Committee, and drinking an absurb amount of coffee.

The outer office belonged to John Farrel. He was sitting at his desk, with his feet up, reading The Daily Prophet and picking his teeth.

And such was the situation when there was a knock at John's door. John pressed a button on his desk. The door appeared to melt away allowing him a perfect view of the visitor. He gazed at the person outside and whistled. It was an exceptionally handsome lady. He released the button and the door faded back into place.

"Come in!"

He quickly removed his legs from the desk, and swept the toothpick and some sweet wrappers from the desk into the bin beside it.

The door clicked open and shut. She stood still in John's office, her deep blue eyes looking very swiftly round it. She was tall and slim and carried herself with a dancer's poise. Her neck was long and her pale cheekbones high. Her sleek, dark hair was almost black and was twisted up on the back of her neck.

"Can I help you at all, Madam?" inquired John cheerfully, seeing as his visitor did not seem inclined to speak.

She turned her head gracefully towards him. "Are you the secretary?"

"I am."

"I would like to see the Minister."

"I'm afraid Lady Potter's rather busy at the moment. If you could give me your name and business...?"

She had looked away while he spoke, but now she turned towards him again. "My name would not mean anything to you and my business is my own affair."

Farrel leaned forwards across the desk towards her. He grinned. "I'm afraid we don't operate like that here." He surreptiously pushed another button on the floor with his foot. This would allow the Minister next door to hear their conversation. "Now, Madam, your name?"

She raised her eyebrows a little. "You won't have heard it before. However, I do not object to telling you, if it matters so much. My name is Anastacia Austen."

She was right; John had not heard it before. "Russian?" he hazarded.

He was rewarded by a fleeting smile. "My grandfather."

"Ah, really? What part of Russia do you come from?"

"Moscow."

John Farrel nodded affably. "Do sit down. Do you know, Miss Austen- I am assuming you're a Miss, aren't you?- I went to Moscow myself last year. Lovely place, isn't it?"

She inclined her head and said politely, "Yes, indeed."

"We went to the ballet there, and saw Swan Lake. Never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I don't suppose you were dancing in it, were you?" It was a guess, but worth it to see the look of surprise cross her face.

She recovered instantly. "You are mistaken. I have never danced with the Russian ballet. If you wish me to tell you my profession, then I am perfectly willing. I run a dancing school in Manchester for muggle children. You were quite close."

"What a worthy thing to do! I suppose it's about that that you've come to see the Minister about? Really, won't you sit down?"

"I will tell the Minister herself what I want to say. My business is of a somewhat private nature."

At that moment, the door to the inner office opened and Lady Potter herself stood on the threshold. She smiled at her visitor and, ushering her in, said, "I shall hear your business now. And John- turn the intercom off. Now won't you come it?"

"Said the spider to the fly!" finished Miss Austen, closing the door behind her. "Your Ladyship need have no apprehensions. I am not afraid of you."

"I'm very glad to hear it!" replied the Minister, sitting down behind her desk, and conjuring a chair for her guest. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Miss Austen sat down. For a minute she did not reply, but merely stared at Lady Potter in silence. If her intention was to unnerve that lady, she failed; for Lady Potter only stared right back, a look of mild interest on her face. Finally, she sighed and said, "I am afraid that I have work of pressing importance. I'm sorry I've not been able to help you."

Miss Austen said quietly, "I have come from the Department of Mysteries."

The Minister had half risen. Now, she sat back again and frowned at her visitor. "This is most irregular," she said.

Anastacia nodded. "I quite agree with you. However, you see, this is a rather irregular visit."

Lady Potter rested her chin on one hand and asked, "How did you get in? You had no appointment, and we do have some sort of security system here, whatever you may think."

Anastacia smiled benignly. "I'm a spy, Minister!"

The Minister chose not to reply to this statement, but instead commented, "I was not aware that members of the Department of Mysteries were allowed to reveal themselves to members of the public."

Miss Austen smiled thinly. "I have no intention of doing that. I would hardly say that you are a member of the public, Domina Eowyn."

Lady Potter was silent. Anastacia continued, "I am somewhat higher up in the ranks of the Department than you are. I should tell you that the Boss holds you in great esteem. Far greater esteem that perhaps you deserve. She has wanted to promote you above all others on many occasions."

"If you have come with the soul purpose of insulting me, then I am afraid that I must ask you to leave."

"Oh no, not at all. I have come to discuss your necklace."

"My necklace?" exclaimed Lady Potter, sounding astonished. Her hand automatically went to the necklace at her throat. "What is so interesting about it?"

Miss Austen sounded almost apologetic. "It interests me, I must say. Isn't a Conjuncta Charm used?"

"Yes, it is. How did you know?"

She shrugged. "You are always wearing it. Besides, it makes sense. The Potters of Gryffindor are almost as old as Hogwarts itself. It would be unsurprising to find that they possessed such an ancient heirloom. Sir Harry, I presume, got it from his dear Aunt Lily- or is she his mother? It hardly matters- and then gave it to you."

"May I ask-"

Miss Austen held up her hand and continued, "The Conjuncta Charm has always fascinated me. How it shows the very deepest personalities of two different people on one object- it is certainly very intriguing, isn't it? For the Conjuncta Charm hides nothing. Imagine the mischief that could be made if a Conjuncta Charmed object of someone with a secret got into the wrong hands! Now what intrigues me about your necklace, my dear Lady Potter, is that it seems to have made a mistake."

There was an odd tenseness in her Ladyship's face, that had not been there at the beginning of the conversation. "A mistake? I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, odd, isn't it? It's your personalities that clash, you see. Ever since I first heard of the famous Harry Potter- and I was only two years behind him at school, you know!- I've been intrigued by how much of a Gryffindor he is. The year I came to Hogwarts, the only thing people were talking about (before the Sirius Black Incident, of course!) was how young Harry Potter pulled Godric Gryffindor's ruby encrusted sword out of a hat and rescued little Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets. How fabulously brave he was! What a wonderful house Gryffindor was!"

"I take it you were not in Gryffindor, then?" interrupted Lady Potter, a slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice.

"Ravenclaw, but that's not the point. The point is that I presume the sword on your necklace represents Gryffindor's sword, pulled with so much heroism by Harry Potter, out of the ragged old Sorting Hat!"

"What if it does?" inquired Lady Potter.

"Well then, why are you represented by a green snake? Excuse me if I am wrong, but I thought that you too were in Gryffindor and that you too were involved in the final defeat of the Dark Lord. You will understand my confusion."

"Not especially," replied Lady Potter, mildly. "You have jumped to a lot of conclusions, for which you have no proof. How do you know that the snake doesn't represent my husband? For your information, he does speak Parseltongue! And may I add, that it is none of your business whatsoever!"

"Isn't it?" asked Miss Austen, just as calmly. "I think you're wrong there. Let me tell you about my job in the Department of Mysteries."

"I was under the impression that that information was confidential."

Anastacia smiled broadly across the desk. "Oh, I am quite sure I can rely on your Ladyship's discretion. I am a Dea. That does not mean anything to you, I suppose. No? Excellent. You have been well trained not to be curious. I am in the top rank of the Department of Mysteries. There are only four of us. Deus Selene and I are in charge of the search for the Death Eaters and the attempt to stop the Dark from taking over again. You," her lip curled a little, "are not in this half of the Department. You lot deal with everything else! Anyway, I digress. As I said, I and one other are in charge of the rise and fall of the Dark and I know a great deal about the life and death of Lord Voldemort.

"It would possibly interest you to learn something of his life history; although, you being the wife of Harry Potter, I cannot imagine that there is much you do not know. Still, perhaps I may be able to surprise you yet."

"I assure you," said Lady Potter firmly, "that you have entirely mistaken the level of my interest. Should I wish to know anything at all about Voldemort- and you have yourself kindly reminded me that it is not my job to know anything about him- then I would read a book on the subject. I promise you there are plenty."

"Yes, there are," agreed Miss Austen, leaning forwards a little. "But-"

"And I would certainly not ask a stranger to reveal professional secrets," insisted Lady Potter.

"But does it mention in any book about our belief that Lord Voldemort had a paramour?" continued Anastacia, ignoring the interruption. She laughed a little. "You look surprised. But would you be even more surprised to hear that we believe that a little something- or should I say someone- came of this relationship?"

"I would be surprised, yes," replied Lady Potter gravely.

Miss Austen stood up and walked to a window. There, she turned around and faced the Minister again. She smiled artlessly and spread her hands wide. "We don't know who this person is," she said simply.

"I'm sorry, Miss Austen, but I cannot help you," said Lady Potter edgily. The knuckles of her hands, folded on top of the desk, were almost white.

Miss Austen ignored her. She was now looking out of the window. "You see, he or she could be anyone. They certainly do not go by the name of Voldemort, as you may imagine! They could be me- or you. They might not even know- and think how terrible it would be to their reputation if the public found out. One minute, say, you're Joe Bloggs- the next, you're the only remaining descendant of the most evil wizard ever! Not a change for the better, in my opinion." She turned round again.

Lady Potter stood up and moved away from her desk. Her vioce was soft. "What you intend to achieve by telling me this, I cannot imagine. If you want something, then you had better tell me. Otherwise, I suggest you leave. At the moment, I am currently resisting the temptation to hex you into oblivion." She revealed her wand, lying flat on the palm of her right hand.

Anastacia took a step backwards but remained uninpressed by the threat. "As a matter of fact," she said, "there was something that I wanted. I want a sponsor."

"A what?" exclaimed Lady Potter, surprised in spite of herself.

"I shall explain myself. Perhaps you did not overhear, when I was talking with your admirable secretary, but I run a dancing school for muggle children. It is not, I must say, a profitable business financially. I am forced to rent a church hall for lessons. The ceiling leaks, there is no central heating. It is indeed dismal! And yet, you are a very rich woman, Lady Potter. You earn, what, one hundred thousand galleons a year at the Department of Mysteries and possibly ten thousand as Minister for Magic. Not to mention Sir Harry Potter's seemingly inexaustible fortune. It would give me great pleasure, Lady Potter, if you could sponser my dancing school."

Lady Potter took a deep breath and said quietly, "What is wrong with your own fortune from the Department of Mysteries, may I ask?"

Miss Austen shrugged. "Perhaps I am extravagant. Or perhaps I merely fancy using your money, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. I'm afraid you will have to explain further. Sometimes I am a little stupid," said Lady Potter in a dangerously quiet voice.

The visitor laughed. "Oh, you are a little stupid, are you? Well, I cannot really explain myself any better than I already have done without saying something I might regret. Perhaps you might understand a maths problem better. How about- your green snake plus my research equals... well, that's up to you, isn't it?"

"You are despicable!" cried Lady Potter, trembling and pointing her wand.

Miss Austen raised her eyebrows. "I would think twice before you jinx me, Lady Potter. Think what your secretary would say when he found a poor dancing teacher from Manchester lying cursed on the floor. Now that would be quite awkward for you, wouldn't it?"

Slowly and regretfully, she lowered her wand, her eyes blazing with fury. "Miss Austen, I will not sponser your school!"

"Oh? How uncharitable of you! I assure you, I am very sorry, although I expect you will be even more sorry in the long term. Now, do excuse me, I have a pressing appointment with the Daily Prophet."

She moved towards the door, but she found it blocked. "What do you want?" spat the Minister.

"Ah, you're seeing sense. I rather thought you would." She appeared to consider for a second, then said, "How about one thousand galleons a month to start with? I am sure you can afford that! My vault number is 969. Good day to you."

Lady Potter opened the door for her and said, her voice unsteady, "John- please show Miss Austen out."

John Farrel leapt up from his desk and grinned broadly at Anastacia. "This way, dear Madam!"

At the door to the outer office, Miss Austen paused, and turned back to smile at the Minister. "I shall make sure my fortunate pupils remember your generosity!" She left the room with a gay laugh.