The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter Thirteen: Faith in Hogwarts Part One

That evening, Ron made his way up to McGonagall's office from the Great Hall for his detention.

"I still don't think it's fair!" he huffed, "Malfoy started it!"

"I'll wait up for you," Harry said, which went some way to mollifying Ron.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione announced. Harry was not in the least bit surprised.

"I shan't ask what for," he joked. Hermione looked at him.

"Actually," she smiled slyly, "I'm planning to check the records from St. Mungo's. Madame Pince has access to them, and I might be able to sweet-talk her into letting me look at them. I'm in there so much, she's come to know me by my first name," she replied.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed into the bridge of his nose.

"What for?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, but with a smile.

"Honestly, Harry, have you forgotten already? Viktor's letter?" she prompted, then on seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face, gave up.

"He told me about Beauchamp and her mysterious amnesia," she reminded him, "I reckon I might be able to find references to small girls waking up from comas in the St. Mungo's records."

Harry grinned.

"Well, good luck. I'll see you in the common-room," he shouted after her, as she veered away from their walking route to head off in the direction of the library.

Harry, reminded by Hermione's rambling about letters that he himself was waiting for a reply from Lupin, entered the common-room alone, to find Ginny fast asleep on the rug in front of the fire, her small frame stretched elegantly across the entire length of the fireplace, preventing the heat from radiating out to the rest of the room. Dean and Neville were playing chess nearby.

"Haven't the heart to wake her," Dean said to Harry, as he moved his castle into position against Neville's knight. Harry, on seeing that Hedwig had not returned, pulled up a chair near them and watched them play, occasionally looking over at Ginny to see if she stirred.

"Where's Ron?" Neville asked, sometime into their next game.

"Detention," Harry replied. Dean laughed.

"From McGonagall?" he asked. Harry nodded, which caused Dean to laugh louder and nudge Neville.

"Here," Dean asked Harry, "what happened in Transfiguration anyway? One minute Ron and Hermione were practising replication charms and Malfoy was looking at them, the next he and Ron were trying to tear each other's throats out!"

"Oh, I didn't see it myself, but Ron said that Malfoy said something really nasty to Hermione, and he got pretty angry at him."

Neville stifled a snigger. Dean looked at Harry with interest.

"What did he say?" Dean asked. Harry shrugged.

"They wouldn't say. Whatever it was, it really offended Hermione," he replied.

Dean was about to say something, but both he and Harry were distracted by the quivering mass of sleeping girl that was Ginny, who evidently was no longer sleeping. She pulled herself smoothly up into a sitting position, stretched her arms out above her head, and yawned.

"Why has my brother got himself into trouble this time?" she asked, sleepily. Harry smiled.

"Malfoy was being horrible to Hermione, so he tried to defend her. That's Ron for you," he said. Neville looked up.

"Especially when Hermione's concerned," he added. Ginny giggled into her sleeve.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused by Neville's response.

"Well, he is really protective of her," he explained. Harry nodded, as he could hardly deny this.

"It's really quite sweet," Ginny added.

At that moment, Ron entered the room, looking thoroughly miffed.

"Do you know what I have spent the past two hours doing?" he asked, though clearly expecting no reply, as he launched into his answer almost immediately. "McGonagall only had me and Malfoy cleaning out the cages of all the mice she uses for her classes! After those replication spells, you can't imagine the mess! I don't know which was worse, the job, or spending so much time with that little git! Oh, and Beauchamp was there, no doubt she'll royally take the mickey out of us next lesson!"

He slumped into an armchair, exhaling wearily as he did so, and Ginny proceeded to sit on the armrest.

"Oh well, I'm sure it was worth it," she soothed, with a wide grin on her face. Ron looked askance at her.

"What are you on about?"

"Protecting Hermione's honour, of course," she replied, breezily. Ron nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Well, she's my friend! What else would you have me do?" he exclaimed. Ginny merely continued to grin, which resulted in Ron messing up her hair and calling her a busybody.

"Where is Hermione, anyway?" Ginny asked, looking around as though she expected the girl in question to come bounding through the door at any moment.

"Where do you think?" Ron replied, dryly.

"Oh, library," Ginny replied, focussing her attention away from Ron and towards Dean, the scene of which Ron averted his eyes from in mild disgust. Harry tried not to laugh.

"That girl's mad," Neville commented, lifting his head from a copy of the Daily Prophet for a moment. "It's ten to eleven, and she's still in the library? What does she do in there all evening?"

"Reads stuff. Lots of stuff," Ron replied, lethargically.

"Or gets a date to the Yule Ball," Ginny quipped.

It was about half past eleven, Harry noted, before Hermione returned to the common room. By this time, Dean and Neville had long gone to bed, and Ginny had just gone up to the girls' dormitories.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry called, "find out anything interesting?"

Hermione's face went an odd shade of pink and her eyes widened.

"Nope, nothing at all," she replied, tersely, before passing them both and heading for the stairs to the girls' dormitories without a word.

"Oi, Hermione? What about Beauchamp?" Ron shouted, staring after her.

"I didn't find anything, there are only seven records of any Beauchamps that have been admitted to St. Mungo's for the last three hundred years, and of those, none had the initial P or were in comas," she replied, from a distance.

"Oh well," Harry replied, "Better luck tomorrow. Does Madame Pince have a European reference list? Perhaps she was admitted somewhere in the Eastern Block, or maybe France?"

"I'm never going in that library ever again," was Hermione's indignant reply, before the door slammed and Harry heard footsteps run up the stone stairs.

Harry exchanged glances with an equally bewildered Ron.

"What's eating her?" he asked, looking puzzled. Harry shrugged, but his facial features registered deep concern.

"I don't know, but if she's never going to the library again, it's got to be serious."

There was a buzz of excitement in Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts class the next day. Professor Beauchamp had promised to give them an interesting lesson on vampires, and Hermione, for one, was very eager to find out what that entailed.

"It's not that I don't trust her," she explained, straining in her seat to see if Beauchamp had reached the class yet. "It's just that she is rather gung-ho about some things, and I think her reference to letting us meet some Dark Creatures under controlled conditions may well stretch to vampires."

Ron smirked.

"No chance, even Hagrid wouldn't be that nuts, never mind Beauchamp!"

Harry wasn't so sure. If Beauchamp was happy to let their class see her and an ex-Death Eater teacher nearly kill each other in a Wizard's Duel, she would probably be just as happy to bring in a vampire for the class to gawp at.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco enter the classroom, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with Pansy next to them. Expecting some sort of confrontation, he was stunned to see Draco just walk straight past without so much as a glare in their direction. Hermione was palpably relieved.

"Hooray! He's finally got himself a life!" Ron cheered, within earshot of Draco. "Perhaps now he'll learn how not to squeal like a baby when he gets bitten by a mouse!"

Draco's mouth set in a scowl, and he turned to square off with Ron.

"You just..."

"Now, now, boys," Professor Beauchamp drawled lazily, on shutting the classroom door. "Will I have to give you a detention like Professor McGonagall? I reckon I'd just give you lines, though, 'I must not fight over girls...'," she laughed, miming the action of writing in mid-air with her finger. Both boys stared at her.

"I was not fighting over a girl!" both Ron and Draco managed to say in synchronicity, albeit in different tones- the former being one of indignation, the latter being one of disgust. Hermione sighed and flipped to a chapter in her textbook. Beauchamp merely looked at them.

"Sit down, boys," she said, quietly, and both boys complied.

"Right, class," Beauchamp began. "Today, we are going to be studying vampires. Now, I have a friend of mine who will be attending the lesson in order to show you what a real vampire looks like, but he's been held up, so until he gets here, we'll have a little revision session to see how much you already know. Who can tell me," she queried, "the main descriptive characteristics of a vampire?"

Hermione's hand shot up. Beauchamp nodded at her to answer.

"Well, vampires look similar to humans, except they can be distinguished by attributes such as having a ruddy complexion, a slightly bloated physique, long hair and long fingernails, and a tendency to have blood around their mouths."

The class burst into laughter. Beauchamp smiled.

"Laugh if you want, but Hermione's correct. Unless your suspected vampire is lying in a coffin at the time, it's damn near impossible to tell a vampire from Ozzy Osbourne."

The class looked confused, and a few of them exchanged curious glances.

"A Muggle vocalist," Beauchamp clarified. "I'll see if I can find a photograph- you'll see exactly what I mean. Now, can anybody tell me of other methods by which you might be able to positively identify a vampire?"

Hermione put her hand up again. Beauchamp waited to see if anybody else would raise their hands, then nodded for Hermione to answer.

"They have an aversion to items of religious significance, so if you waved a crucifix at one, they would certainly react."

"Hmm. Close, Hermione, but not quite correct."

Hermione looked astonished.

"But Professor, I read it in the textbook you recommended!" she exclaimed. Beauchamp smiled.

"One of the reasons I recommended such textbooks was to get you all thinking. I have researched many texts claiming to be definitive resources on vampires, and found most of them to be, at best, misleading. May I?" Beauchamp asked, gesturing for Hermione to hand over her textbook. She complied with the request.

Beauchamp moved to sit on her desk at this point, and began to read out some facts from Hermione's textbook.

"Firstly, the religious items fact is a bit of a misnomer, purely because one has to have faith in the religion which the symbol depicts. For example; Hermione, if it's not too personal a question, are you a devout Christian?"

Hermione shook her head.

"My family and I go to Church at Christmas, but that's about it."

"Then that pendant wouldn't do squat in repelling a vampire," Beauchamp replied, pointing at the small cross-shaped pendant Hermione wore around her neck. The class looked at their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in shock, then quickly began to scribble down notes.

"Yet," she continued, "ironically enough, blessed items will kill a vampire. Holy Water- I've got a vial or two of that in my desk here- that works. The most useful item to ward off a vampire with has to be a blessed sword, though. A single blow will destroy even the most ancient of vampires," she added.

"Have you got one here?" Seamus asked, excitedly. Beauchamp laughed.

"I wish! I've been trying to get one for ages. Even went to Sri Lanka in the search for one. Never found it," she sighed, continuing to scan the book still in her hand, until she prodded her finger against a particular page.

"Okay, we're going to play a true or false game. I'll read out a fact from this book, and I want you all to vote on whether it's true or false. Here's the first one, 'Direct sunlight will kill a vampire'. What do we think?"

The class raised their hands as they saw fit to vote for either true or false.

"Actually, it's false! Direct sunlight will certainly weaken a vampire, but it won't kill one... Here's another; 'vampires can only enter a building if invited'- true or false?"

It turned out to be true, although the condition apparently only applied to private chambers, and even then could be overcome by older, stronger vampires. It also turned out that vampires really could scale walls with ease, though nobody seems to know why. Harry's head was swimming a little by the end of it, especially when Beauchamp explained how vampires are obsessive about counting and untangling objects.

"So, unless you're certain of your faith, it might be more prudent to throw a suspected vampire a net-bag of Satsumas rather than a cross," she announced.

Suddenly, Beauchamp stopped still, and tilted her head towards the window of the classroom.

"What's that scuttling noise?" she muttered, though Harry could hear nothing but silence. Beauchamp advanced to the window, when it promptly shattered in front of her. The class screamed as a tall, rangy man with long black hair and an animalistic snarl jumped through the space where the window once stood and sped past the class at lightening speed, hurling Beauchamp into the nearest wall. She slumped to the floor.

"Who was that?" Harry heard an anxious voice shout. On turning round, he was able to identify the voice as belonging to Anthony Goldstein. He heard a small whimper next to him.

"I think it might be more a case of 'what is that'?" Hermione said, quietly, staying very still. Harry wondered why, until he saw the black haired figure slowly advancing towards her.

"Use a spell!" Ron cried.

"No!" Beauchamp commanded. "They're immune to most magic spells! You'll only make things worse!" she continued, picking herself up off the floor. Hermione averted her eyes from the figure in horror, and Harry noticed the stranger's upper canines suddenly shoot out over his lips.

Ron got up swiftly out of his chair, quickly followed by Harry, both desperately looking for some kind of distraction. Harry ran over to Beauchamp's desk, looking for that vial of Holy Water she had said she always kept to hand. Beauchamp was up on her feet and running full-pelt towards the figure bent over Hermione's neck, when unexpectedly, the vampire hissed and backed away from Hermione's shaking frame. Beauchamp looked a little puzzled, but still managed to grab the vampire by his shoulders and pull him to face her, swiftly punching him across the jaw repeatedly. It did precious little good; Harry could see the vampire had to be at least five times stronger than her, and although she managed to hold him off the rest of the class, he picked her up off the floor with ease and slammed her against the wall. The rest of the class winced in sympathy.

"Harry!" she yelled, as Harry was the closest to her desk, and managed to give the instruction, "A stake would be nice! Second drawer down!" just before she was punched in the stomach.

Harry fumbled with the catch and managed to find, nestled between a rack of impressive looking knives and some knuckle-dusters, a row of finely carved wooden stakes. He grabbed them and was about to throw one to Beauchamp, when he heard a sickening crack, and the class scream once again.

Beauchamp's left arm was hanging limply by her side, and the figure was bent over her neck. Ron, Hermione, and Neville had leapt out of their seats and were trying to drag the vampire away from Beauchamp, but it was no use. He had already plunged his teeth into her neck, and she let out a sharp cry of pain.

Almost as soon as Hell broke loose inside the classroom, with students cowering under their tables or trying to run for the door, the Vampire pulled away from Beauchamp, throwing her to the floor, and began spitting out her blood with a look of painful disgust on his face.

"What the hell are you!" he rasped, staring straight at Beauchamp. She laughed harshly, and lifted herself back onto her feet with her one good arm. Harry caught her looking at him, and threw her a stake. She caught it with ease, held it between her teeth, and in a blur, dragged the vampire onto her desk. She straddled him and thrust the stake straight into his heart, hammering it in with the heel of her foot. The class once again winced as his piercing screams echoed across the walls. Beauchamp quickly opened a drawer in her desk, and pulled out a menacing looking curved sword.

"Another myth- staking a vampire will kill it. Staking merely paralyses the vampire, preventing it from escaping this," she said, as calmly as though she was reciting from a textbook, before lifting her good arm high up into the air and bringing the sword down with a swift movement. It sliced through the vampire's neck and his body rapidly decomposed, the head rolling under Pavarti's desk. She shrieked in horror.

Beauchamp had already taken some garlic off a nearby shelf and begun to stuff it into the now decomposed neck of the ex-vampire, which caused some of the class to blanch, when Harry heard a voice smoothly say, "I think he's dead, Percy."

He looked across at the direction of the voice and saw a short, thin man with elegantly coiffured blonde hair and bloodshot eyes look calmly at Professor Beauchamp, who stared back at him in mild rebuke.

"You took your time; where have you been?" she snorted, though the effort of speaking showed in her breathing. The man laughed.

"Sorry, Percy. Faith prevented my hasty departure," he replied, cryptically. Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Typical. Have a seat, Gus," she panted, gesturing towards her chair. Gus merely smiled, and took her good hand in his manicured right hand, and led her to the seat.

"I think you ought to take a seat," he stated, and Beauchamp did as she was told, and also began to conjure a splint and sling for her left arm.

"Anyone else hurt?" Beauchamp asked the class, between ragged breaths. They collectively shook their heads.

"Plenty of you shocked, I'd imagine," Gus added, with a friendly smile. The class just stared at him as he knelt towards the severed head under Pavarti's desk and gingerly picked it up, examining it curiously.

"Anyone you knew?" Beauchamp asked, her breathing now more relaxed. The man shook his head, and placed the head on top of the chest of the decomposed body. He brushed down his powder-blue overcoat and plus fours, and adjusted the lace of his cuffs.

"I'd guess it was a gift from Voldemort; one of many to come, I'd presume," he replied, gruffly.

Most of the class winced at the man's casual mentioning of the name, and then continued to stare. Beauchamp suddenly came to her senses.

"Oh, I'm sorry, class, in the attempted blood-shed, I forgot to introduce you! This is my good friend Augustine Dougherty," she announced, and the class collectively managed a weak smile. Augustine was dressed as though he had walked out of a period drama- he actually wore white stockings that pulled up and under the cuffs of his plus-fours, and wore, Harry noticed, immaculately polished black shoes and a starched shirt.

On noticing Harry staring at him, Augustine lifted his head and smiled warmly at him,

"Harry Potter, I presume?" he more stated that asked, glancing at the scar on his forehead. Harry managed to nod.

"Yes, sir," he replied, hoarsely. The man smiled again, then was suddenly distracted by Hermione.

"My dear, you're a clever one," he guessed, astonishingly. "I imagine he singled you out. Are you alright, Miss?" he asked, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. Hermione acknowledged she was fine, when he suddenly recoiled his hand as though he had received an electric shock.

"Are you a devout Christian?" he asked. Hermione's eyes narrowed suddenly.

"You're a vampire!" she exclaimed.

"Since 1574," he replied, breezily. The class stared at him, then at Beauchamp, with a mixture of incredulity and horror.

"I told you I was going to introduce you to a vampire," Beauchamp replied, by way of an explanation. "Believe me, the first guy wasn't my idea," she added. She must have seen the looks of utter horror on the faces of her class, plus the sudden scraping back of chairs, for she quickly added.

"It's alright. I've known Augustine since I was sixteen. He's a good bloke, goes to butcher's shops to get his daily blood, like many of his kind."

This appeared to do little to quell the fear of most of the class, but Harry, Ron and Hermione at least trusted her words. Augustine seemed too interested in Hermione's pendant to notice the hostile reactions.

"Hmm, very interesting," he muttered.

"Oh yeah, I was wondering about that," Beauchamp commented, lazily. "The other bloke lost his appetite for my best year six student on touching that pendant. Any ideas?"

Hermione took off the pendant and held it close to Augustine, allowing him to look at it without getting close. He smiled appreciatively.

"My, my, you are a lady," he said, graciously, before kissing the back of her hand. Hermione did not flinch.

"When did you get it?" Beauchamp asked, from her seat.

"My parents bought it for me. It was a present for doing well in my O.W.L.s," Hermione replied. Augustine suddenly laughed heartily.

"Given in faith! Tell me, my dear," he asked, "do you believe you are good at spells and magic here?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, my marks have been good, and..." She glanced at Harry and Ron as she trailed off, who smiled, knowing full well many of her talents in spells and potions making had yet to be assessed in standardised conditions. Augustine smiled.

"Well, there you have it. A symbol that was given in faith of your intelligence; a faith you have since had in yourself. That counts as a symbol of faith, which is enough to drive off a vampire," he explained.

Suddenly, the door of the classroom burst open, and McGonagall and Snape rushed into the room,

"We heard the screams, what in Merlin's name happened?"

"Vampire attack. We're fine," Beauchamp replied, gesturing towards the desk. McGonagall recoiled from the corpse, but Snape bent over to inspect it.

"How did he get into the grounds?" he asked.

"That's what I've been wondering," she replied. She looked at Snape, and no doubt noticed the suspicious glare he was directing at her.

"I didn't let him in, if that's what you're thinking," she snapped back. "He broke through the window."

"It's a place of learning. All are welcome, even us," Augustine replied. There was a moment of excruciating silence as Snape and McGonagall stared at him in disbelief.

"Augustine..." he began to introduce himself, but was cut off by McGonagall.

"You brought a vampire into this school!" she spluttered.

"He's a friend of mine!" Beauchamp retorted. Snape stared at her.

"He's a vampire! You don't befriend vampires, you kill them!"

"Excuse me, boy?" Augustine spoke up, politely, "I'm standing right here!"

"They're a menace to society!" Snape almost roared. McGonagall stared at Snape, clearly a little horrified by his words.

"Well, it is a little unorthodox, I'll admit," she reasoned. Augustine squared up to them both.

"How dare you! I've been living in the country for over four hundred years! I've paid my taxes, even when I became one of the undead! Ungrateful whippersnappers! You should show some respect to your elders!" he stormed, clearly offended.

"Please, Augustine, they didn't mean it! They're just a little shocked, like we all were," Hermione pleaded. Snape rolled his eyes.

"You can always rely on Miss Granger," he muttered, despite the reproachful glare he received from McGonagall. Augustine turned a cold glare on Snape.

"Well, this young lady has manners, which is more than I can say for you two!" he continued to rage.

"Augustine, it's okay," Beauchamp soothed. Augustine was not comforted by her words.

"Menace to society," he grumbled, still staring at Snape. "If anyone's a menace to society, it's..."

"Dougherty! That's enough!" Beauchamp barked, and Augustine instantly fell silent.

There was a sudden clatter, and Ron looked up bashfully as an array of quills fell off his desk onto the floor. Augustine appeared transfixed by them, and began pointing at them, mumbling under his breath. Harry noticed, with some amusement, that he was mumbling the words "one, two, three." He was counting them!

"Erm, Mr. Dougherty," Snape's voice had become oddly civil. "What are you doing?"

"Counting," Augustine replied, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. After a few seconds, he stopped, clearly satisfied as to the number of quills on the floor. A few members of the class began to giggle, which broke up the tension a little.

Augustine cast a concerned look at Beauchamp, and turned to Snape.

"Do you have any leeches?" he asked. Snape looked at him.

"Yes... My God, woman!" he suddenly bellowed. "You've been bitten! Why didn't you say you'd been bitten?"

"It's alright, Severus," she replied, "he didn't care much for the Beauchamp vintage."

Augustine laughed.

"It's hardly a surprise!" he said, which caused both McGonagall and Snape to stare at him suspiciously.

"Why is that?" McGonagall asked.

"Well," he replied, "old Percy here died a few years back. Not for long, though, drowned by..."

Beauchamp coughed loudly. Augustine glanced at her.

"Drowned," he reiterated.

"I was only gone a minute or so!" she whined. Augustine raised his eyebrows at her.

"Long enough to carry the stench of death with you, which is, ironically, one thing a vampire cannot stand. Also, it's one thing that allows you to touch the hand of a ghost. You're linked to their existence by your death."

Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Which you never fail to remind me of," she retorted. Augustine's face broke into a smile.

"Well, it's funny. Especially when you're fluent in Latin on top of it all. You even speak the language of the dead," he laughed. She swatted his arm with her good hand.

"I rather think you ought to be taken to see Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall remonstrated, looking at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with a mixture of worry and admiration. "You've clearly broken your arm, and that bite should at least be cleaned out..."

"I'll fetch those leeches," Snape replied, and swept out of the classroom instantly, muttering under his breath about infection times and Anchusa officinalis. McGonagall and Augustine stared at each other for a moment.

"Would you like a hand?" Augustine asked. McGonagall nodded in reply, and they both helped Beauchamp to her feet.

"Okay class, before I go to get patched back up," Beauchamp announced, "I'd like you to write me an essay on what you have learned about vampires today, to be handed in by this lesson next week. Class dismissed."

The entire class watched in stunned silence as Beauchamp was escorted up to the hospital wing. Ron shook his head.

"I dunno," he sighed, "she tackled a vampire single-handedly, breaks her arm, gets bitten, and still manages to set us homework!"

Chapter Fourteen: The Girl in the Memory

"Do you think we can go and see her?" Hermione asked at dinner, on noticing that Beauchamp was not present at the staff table. "I mean, she did fling herself on that vampire to try and stop him attacking me."

Ginny stared at Hermione, Ron and Harry with shining eyes.

"Wow, an actual vampire attack! I wish I'd been there!"

The entire Gryffindor year six Defence class looked askance at her.

"No, you don't," they replied simultaneously.

"It was well scary," Dean retorted.

"Yeah, and it looks like the vampires are definitely siding with Voldemort," Harry added, pushing his roast potatoes around his plate and ignoring the hisses around him. "If Augustine's words were true."

Ron snorted.

"Like that's a surprise," he replied, darkly. Hermione glared at him.

"What about Augustine?" she retorted. Ron shrugged.

"Well, he's got to be an exception. Vampires are evil; they suck blood and prey on people. If he's drinking pigs blood, then he's being remarkably well restrained," he explained. Hermione simply leant back a little in her seat and continued to eat, clearly disapproving of Ron's reply.

"Well, they are!" Ron protested.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, as far as the ones who have sided with Voldemort go," Hermione replied, "but they can't all be evil and ostracised from society- Honeydukes has blood-flavoured confectionary, for starters."

Ron seemed to accept Hermione's logic.

"I suppose," he conceded, "but they just give me the creeps!"

Hermione looked at him, then back at her food.

"Anyway," she explained, "I just happen to think Augustine is nice."

Ron made a face.

"Eurgh! Hermione, that makes you a necrophiliac, you know that, right?"

"I don't like him like that! Honestly, Ron, what do you take me for?"

Harry saw Ron open his mouth to reply, but suddenly seemed to think better of the idea, and promptly shut it again. He sighed, and carried on eating his roast potatoes, trying not to wonder when Ron and Hermione would ever stop bickering. It didn't take long, for Hedwig soon dropped a letter in his lap, before swiftly flying off. The rest of the school momentarily peered excitedly over to where Harry was sitting, for an owl to drop off a letter outside of breakfast was unusual, to say the least. Harry pushed aside his plate and opened the envelope.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter find you well. As it happens, I was about to write to you anyway. If it wasn't for Dumbledore telling me about you, I'd be concerned at how little you correspond with me, even if Sirius did only appoint me as your trustee.

Anyway, I don't recall Sirius ever mentioning a Persephone Beauchamp to me when we were at school, nor when we were reunited. However, I am not certain he has told me absolutely everything pertaining to his time on the run, so I can't rule out anything, I'm afraid. Dumbledore has mentioned the professor you have asked about to me, and he seems very sure of her intentions- I am sure you have nothing to worry about.

Things here are fine, if a little bit hectic, but 'Neil' doesn't really seem to be doing all he is capable of. I'm sure given time, he'll be able to catch up with us and sort things out.

Take care of yourself, and I'll see you at Christmas. If you want to ask me anything else, or just want someone to write to, I'm here, and don't hesitate to contact me (though you may want to be wary of what you say in a letter- can't be too careful, and all that).

Remus

It took Harry a few moments to figure put exactly what Lupin had written to him. The part about Professor Beauchamp made sense, all right, but who was 'Neil'? Then it clicked- Corneilius Fudge, of course! Lupin had just told him about his work in the Order! Harry felt his heart swell a little with pride- Lupin's candid admission meant more to him than his offers of a friendly ear (or eye, if you consider the technicalities of a correspondence via letter). He felt that at least someone trusted him not to crumble under the weight of that blasted prophesy.

He put the letter into his pocket, just as Hermione got up out of her seat in order to pick up a bread roll from the other side of the table. Just within earshot, Harry was able to make out the voices of Draco and Pansy walking towards the Slytherin table.

"...Just like I said, what kind of teacher brings a vampire to class!"

"She's a lunatic! She could have got us all killed!"

Harry couldn't help it; he jumped to his feet.

"Actually, she pretty much stopped us getting killed, or were you too busy hiding under your desk to notice?" he replied, smoothly. Draco sneered at him.

"Typical of you, Potter," he drawled, "Sticking up for the weirdoes. Like knows like, I see."

Pansy sniggered. Harry just looked at them disdainfully,

" Maybe next time she won't bother when one of Voldemort's minions," Harry suppressed a giggle at the way both Draco and Pansy flinched at the name- "smashes into our school. I think that would be a pity, whether you feel the same, I couldn't possibly comment."

Draco went paler than Harry thought one person could possibly go. He stared at Harry, and then walked away, Pansy following, after she gave Harry one last furious glare.

"Do you know something?" Ginny commented, having watched the whole encounter. "I think you offended them."

Harry laughed.

"First time for everything," he replied, and looked up in the direction of the Slytherin table. Draco had yet to get very far past the Gryffindor table and had walked straight into Hermione, who spun round and glared at him. Draco's response staggered Harry. He simply looked back at her, and turned away quickly. Pansy seemed equally baffled by Draco's behaviour, and instead chose to scowl at Hermione with twice her usual severity to make up for it before she also walked back over to the Slytherin table.

"What was that all about?" Harry wondered out loud. Ginny, who was sat nearest to him, said nothing. Ron put down his fork and shrugged.

"No idea. Malfoy's a nutter... Are you alright, Hermione?" he called across to Hermione, who had sat down with an expression of consternation on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, absently buttering her bread roll.

Neville walked along the hall, holding a large bunch of flowers, and stood next to Harry.

"Hi," he said, "are you coming to see Beauchamp?"

Ron jerked his head towards the flowers.

"Didn't know you cared so much, Neville," he joked. Neville looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"They're not for you, you prat," he replied. "They're for Beauchamp. Professor Sprout helped me pick them. I figured you'd all like to sign the card."

He handed Harry a small 'get well' card and a quill. It took Harry quite a long time to sign it, as every time he opened it up, a small fairy-like creature span round his head, singing a ditty:

'Sorry you're now ill in bed,

Because a vampire took a bite,

But we're glad you chopped off his head,

For he gave us quite a fright.

So if you miss some lessons,

We won't make too much fuss,

For we just hope you get well soon

And please don't die on us!'

What it lacked in poetic aptitude it made up for in blithe admiration, Harry thought.

"Nice touch," he said to Neville, who beamed. He passed the card to Ron, and after five minutes of hearing the pixie continually repeat the get-well song, decided the little ditty did lack longevity value. Ron passed the card and quill to Hermione, who picked up the quill and signed the back of the card. She passed it to Ginny, who did the same. Harry glanced at Ron, and could tell he felt a little stupid as well, especially when they noticed that the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors in that fateful lesson had followed Hermione's example.

They reached the hospital wing just as Augustine Dougherty was leaving it.

"Ah, hello," he said warmly, "Have you come to see Percy?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, after a short burst of thinking reminded him that 'Percy' was Augustine's chosen nickname for their Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"Is she asleep?" Neville whispered. Augustine laughed.

"Percy? You must be joking. She is currently complaining to your delightful Madam Pomfrey at being confined to bed for tonight. Don't you worry," he continued, "she's a tough woman. Not many people come back from death, you know."

The group of Gryffindors looked at him, and he suddenly began to laugh.

"Well, few come back relatively unaffected," he corrected himself, pointing to his pronounced canines.

"You're a vampire?" Ginny exclaimed. Augustine shrank back a little from her stare.

"Yes, but I'm not about to suck your..."

"Cool!" Ginny replied, before Augustine was able to complete his sentence. He coughed in embarrassment as Ginny began scrutinising him as though he were a particularly interesting painting.

Harry saw Nearly Headless Nick float along the corridor.

"Hello there, Harry," he greeted, doffing his ghostly plumed hat.

"Good evening, Sir Nick," he replied. This caught Augustine's attention, and he turned sharply towards the Gryffindor ghost.

"Well, I'll be eternally damned! Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington!" he exclaimed, in recognition.

"Augustine Dougherty?" Nick began to laugh, before floating closer to the Vampire.

"How the Devil are you, old man?" he asked. Augustine looked down at his own body.

"Dead," he replied. "Yourself?"

"Much the same," Nick replied, and they both burst into raucous laughter. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances, and left the two living-impaired men to their reminiscing as they opened the door to the hospital wing.

"Oh, gents, ladies?" Augustine called after them.

"Yes, Augustine?" Hermione asked.

"Could you tell Percy that Faith suggests using Rowan bark in conjunction with the Jobberknoll feathers? She'll know what I mean."

They nodded their consent, though not without exchanging curious glances with each other, and entered the hospital wing.

Beauchamp looked pleased to see them, as she gave them a cheery wave with her good hand. She looked perfectly healthy, or as healthy as the normally pallid Beauchamp ever could, and was sitting up in her bed.

"Hello there!" she beamed. "Your damnable Healer insists on keeping me locked up in here- I keep telling her I'm fine." Here, she winked at Madam Pomfrey, who looked at her with mock irritation and wagged her finger.

"Well, if you will go blindly tackling vampires and getting yourself bitten, you have to expect to be kept in overnight under observation," she remonstrated.

Beauchamp rolled her eyes with a smile, then noticed the flowers.

"Are those for me?" she enquired, sweetly. Neville nodded, and handed her the bouquet. She accepted them appreciatively and sniffed them, and expression of confusion suddenly etching her face.

"Hmm... I recognise that smell from somewhere... What's in it?" she asked, eventually.

Neville reeled off the list like a professional horticulturalist.

"Some roses, snowdrops, asphodel..."

"Ahh, the food of the dead. That'll be it," she replied, in an oddly wistful voice. Ron handed her the card signed by the Gryffindors, at which she howled with laughter once she opened it.

"Aww, that's so sweet! Thank you," she giggled, as the fairy-like creature finished its song. She placed it carefully on the small table next to her bed, on which rested a clear goblet of reddish coloured liquid, a few bunches of flowers and some other cards. Harry was surprised to see one that appeared to be signed by some of the sixth year Slytherins in the Defence Against the Dark Arts class that Beauchamp was attacked in. There was another signed by the staff; Harry recognised McGonagall's neat script, Snape's spindly hand and Dumbledore's wild looped writing. There was another card containing a number of signatures, but Harry couldn't read any of them, and assumed it must have come from Augustine.

"How's your arm?" Harry asked. Beauchamp smiled and waved her left arm in response.

"Good as new," she replied, "Madame Pomfrey patched it up in seconds. I must say, she's very good!"

She looked at the Gryffindors surrounding her thoughtfully.

"I trust you are all okay after the event?" she asked. They nodded. Ginny grumbled.

"Wish I'd got to see it, Professor."

Beauchamp laughed again.

"Oh Ginny, you are a card!" she replied, and reached for the goblet of reddish liquid and took a sip, grimacing slightly. Ron eyed it with suspicion.

"Erm, Professor, you aren't drinking blood are you?" he asked. Beauchamp looked confused for a moment, then glanced down at the glass goblet and shook her head.

"Oh, no- this is a brew Severus brought up for me. It contains the taproot of Anchusa officinalis, that's what gives it its red colour."

"Of course, Anchusa officinalis has blood cleansing properties!" Neville exclaimed. Beauchamp pointed and clicked her finger at him.

"Precisely, Neville. It's supposed to help remove any communicable diseases that vampire might have transmitted to me."

Ron and Harry exchanged sceptical glances.

"I don't think I'd drink anything Snape brought up to me," Ron mumbled. Unfortunately, Beauchamp heard him.

"Ron! Have some faith!" she exclaimed. "What in Merlin's name would you think he'd do?"

Ron shrugged, then upon seeing Beauchamp was not angry, replied.

"I just don't trust him."

"Yeah, he's horrible to us!" Neville moaned. Beauchamp gave a little half-smile, then sipped her brew.

"Well, you realise in the big, bad world, you're likely to meet many horrible people. Best you get used to it," she replied, breezily. Neville sighed.

"We've got our whole lives to know fear and loathing- why do we have to start now?"

Harry inwardly flinched at Neville's words, as he could tell from the tone of his voice that the words were more regretful of the past than fearful of the future. He knew both fear and loathing already- fear at the mercy of Snape's Potions lessons, loathing at the lack of mercy of the Lestranges.

"Because we're at war," a small voice suddenly piped up. It was Hermione. Beauchamp flashed them all a sympathetic smile.

"I know," she sighed, "I knew as soon as Albus first came out and said it last year."

"It's a pity the Ministry didn't," Harry spat. Beauchamp looked at him with clear green eyes.

"Yes, it is," she replied, and Harry thought he could detect a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

At that point, Madam Pomfrey started to stand around the group of students, telling them that Professor Beauchamp needed her rest.

"Whether she seems to think so or not!" she added, looking at Beauchamp's petulant expression.

"We'll come and see you tomorrow," Ginny promised. Beauchamp smiled.

"Don't you worry, Ginny, I'll be taking my lessons again tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Humph- only if you rest up today!" Madam Pomfrey remonstrated. Beauchamp looked suitably chastised by her words.

"Okay, okay, I'm resting!" she conceded, lying down on the bed and pulling the covers up to her chest.

The group said their goodbyes and trooped out of the hospital wing into the corridor, just as Dumbledore entered. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville all greeted him with courtesy as they left, and he benignly responded.

"Ah, young Harry," he smiled, "I was hoping to find you here."

Harry was about to wonder what trouble he had managed to get himself into this time, when he saw Dumbledore absently looking at the cards Beauchamp had received.

"Well, your class seem to hold you in high regard after the incident, Persephone," he chuckled, holding the two cards from her year six class. Beauchamp smiled grimly, pulling herself up into a semi-sitting position.

"I'm glad they're alive to do so, Albus," she replied, "Any idea how, or why, he got in?"

"A couple, both of which I think you and Mr. Dougherty already concluded," he said, before turning to Harry.

"I trust you get on well with Professor Beauchamp, Harry?" he asked. Harry felt a little embarrassed. Beauchamp stared at him, then at Dumbledore.

"Oh, Albus, that's hardly fair! I'm lying right here!" she laughed. Dumbledore smiled serenely.

"Now, Harry, be honest. I'm sure Professor Beauchamp can take constructive criticism."

"Yeah, I like her, she's a good teacher," Harry replied, truthfully. Dumbledore beamed.

"Ah, excellent. Perhaps you will do better at mastering Occlumency with Professor Beauchamp as a teacher, rather than Professor Snape," he replied, simply. Harry was stunned.

"I thought you said earlier this year that you weren't going to make me to learn Occlumency?" he asked. Dumbledore smiled.

"All I said was I would not make you learn Occlumency with Professor Snape as your teacher. Professor Beauchamp is also greatly skilled in both Occlumency and Legilmency, I think you should do fine with her."

Beauchamp conjured herself a quill and parchment.

"Well, Harry," she said warmly, "when are you free in the week?"

Harry listed all the evenings he knew he didn't have Quidditch practice or too much homework. The list amounted to one day.

"So, Monday evening it is," she announced. "Well, if you just pop along to my office at eight o'clock, we'll make a start next week. Oh, and tell your classmates that you've got training for Auror entry exams with me if they ask. I'm not about to open up these lessons to everyone- I'd have no time to sleep!"

Harry nodded, and made a hasty exit from the hospital ward. He couldn't believe he had to learn Occlumency again, especially after last year's fiasco. He could hear Hermione lecturing him already: "You must make sure you actually practice the techniques this time!"

Still, perhaps Beauchamp might give him some more useful guidelines than Snape's "clear your mind," and, "on the count of three."

Before he left the hospital wing, however, Harry couldn't help but notice that Beauchamp had a Sneak-o-scope sat next to her glass of taproot brew.

So, on the next Monday, Harry found himself walking towards Professor Beauchamp's office, on the pretence that he was doing some work with her to push his marks up in order to do well in the Auror entry exams once he left Hogwarts.

Hermione had reacted exactly as he imagined she would, warning him to take the practice seriously. Ron, on the other hand, merely looked curious and pointed out that Dumbledore must be either very trusting of Beauchamp, or very desperate to have someone other than himself teach Harry how to defend his mind from Voldemort. Hermione still kept up her lecturing, no matter how interested she was in Ron's hypothesis, every night in the Gryffindor common room.

That was the other very odd thing about the last week. Hermione in the common room. She was doing her homework, yes, but she hadn't once entered the library. Ginny had even been checking out the books she wanted for her, and staving off Madam Pince, who seemed very concerned that Hermione hadn't been in to borrow a book for a whole week. Both Harry and Ron had collectively and separately tried to find out from Hermione what was going on, but to no avail. They tried to interrogate Ginny too, who also wouldn't crack, and instead snapped at them to leave Hermione alone, and that she'd tell them if she wanted to.

Harry stood in front of the heavy oak door of Professor Beauchamp's office, which was slightly ajar. He rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"Come in!" Professor Beauchamp bellowed from inside. Harry did as he was told, and was amazed by the room. The back wall was literally covered with blades and swords of many shapes and sizes, each with peculiarly ornate handles. There were many bookcases surrounding the windows, and Harry strained to read the titles, soon realising that many of the books were not written in English. Glancing down at the stone floor, Harry saw that a large squishy blue mat was laid down across the middle of the room, with some rune stones littering one corner of the mat. The fireplace was not lit; instead it was surrounded by a few strange wooden discs, each containing a thin stick of what looked like tobacco. One of the sticks was lit, but it didn't smell like tobacco; it smelled of incense, but not the sickly stench that emanated from Trewlaney's classroom. This was more musky and woody in scent. The front wall, bizarrely, was covered with a huge Oriental tapestry, depicting a river scene and a house on bamboo stilts, with symbols around the border. Harry tried to read what they said, but he couldn't make head nor tail of them.

"It's in Cantonese," Beauchamp said, suddenly, raising her head. "'Crows Are Universally Black'. It basically means that bad people are bad no matter where you find them because human nature never changes. Pretty depressing, huh?"

It was at this point that Harry noticed Professor Beauchamp was leant curiously on her heavy oak desk, trying to reach something at an awkward angle. She put one knee up onto the edge of the desk in order to reach further forward.

"Erm, Professor, what are you doing?" Harry asked, watching his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher jam what looked like a screwdriver into an old Wizarding Wireless box, which Harry recognised as once having sat in Professor McGonagall's office, whilst muttering some odd sounding incantations.

"Trying to jerry-rig this thing into picking up some Muggle radio stations," she replied, with a grunt, as something snapped in the Wireless and she smiled.

"Ah, that might work... Yes, Harry, since being exposed to it, I've been rather fond of Muggle music... except the Bangles," she added, with a shudder. Harry looked confused.

"The who?"

"No, the Bangles... sorry, bad joke. You were probably a little too young for them. A friend of mine at Beaubaxtons, Muggle-born witch, was a huge fan, and dragged me to one of their shows," at this point, Professor Beauchamp began to hum, "'...Just another manic Monday... Wish it was Sunday... 'Coz that's my fun day...' I mean, it's hardly Chopin, know what I'm saying?"

Harry didn't really know what to say in response, so he merely smiled and hoped for the best. Beauchamp suddenly stared at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You probably want to get started," she said, lifting a large bowl-like object Harry recognised as a pensieve onto her desk. She tapped her wand against her temple, and began to draw out numerous thick, silvery coils, adding them to the swirling mass inside the pensieve.

"It doesn't look like Dumbledore's," Harry commented, softly. Beauchamp looked up at him.

"That's because it isn't. I have my own," she explained, still adding thick silver strands until she seemed satisfied she had all the memories she required stored up in her black and gold coloured pensieve.

"You have a lot you want to hide from me," Harry probed. Beauchamp looked right at him, and smiled darkly.

"Yes I do. And believe me, if I catch you looking in this baby, I'll do a lot more than throw some dead insects at you," she warned. Harry flushed, realising that she had read from him the memory of looking into the memories Snape stored in Dumbledore's pensieve. He absently wondered if she got to see what those memories were, when Beauchamp instructed him to sit opposite her on the large blue mat laid out on the stone floor.

"So," she said, crossing her legs and sitting so she resembled a severely starved Buddha. "What do you know about Occlumency?"

"It's not mind-reading," Harry replied. Beauchamp grinned.

"Ah yes- the first thing anyone teaches you. That's true. Anything else? How did Professor Snape teach you to go about it?"

"He didn't," Harry spat, suddenly angered. "He just said that it required similar skills as throwing off the Imperius curse, and that I had to empty my mind of emotion and keep focused."

Beauchamp shrugged.

"I'm afraid that's all there is to tell you," she replied, lighting a nearby incense stick. "It's mental magic- controlling your thoughts and emotions... Why do you think I spend time meditating each day?"

Harry made a mental note to mention this to Ginny, if only so she might stop giggling at the end of every Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson she has.

"So, it really works?" he asked. Beauchamp nodded.

"It depends on what helps you, really. Eastern philosophies of meditation work for me, but somehow I can't imagine Professor Snape sitting in his office chanting mantras and practising breathing exercises," she added. Harry nodded in understanding, as Professor Beauchamp adjusted her robes.

"So, let's make a start," she said, holding out her right hand. Harry suddenly came to the realisation that Beauchamp only used a wand in Hogwarts for show. The way she was trained to cast spells was without one.

"Ready?" she asked, and Harry nodded.

"Okay, let's go, on the count of three- one, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

Harry's head suddenly felt very odd, as though something was worming its way through him. It was altogether different to the surge of pressure he had felt when undergoing these lessons with Snape. The effect was much the same though, as he felt himself being yanked through many different memories... his Astronomy exam that year, where McGonagall ended up in St. Mungo's with multiple Stunners to the chest... Dudley pushing his head down the toilet in Privet Drive when he was seven... Hermione admitting she had told McGonagall about him receiving a mystery Firebolt in his third year... Sirius being hit with a jet of light by Bellatrix and falling through the veil...

"Come on, Harry," he heard Beauchamp encouraging him, "concentrate!"

Harry did as he was told, and found he was able to push the worming mass pulsing through his brain away from his thoughts a little. He tried to focus the push, but failed, and found himself seeing flashes of unrecognisable memories... a gangly dark-haired girl taking a Bludger to the head and falling off a broom, breaking her wrist with a sickening snap, with a tall blonde boy looking horror-stricken... a white haired man with a goatee, whom Harry recognised as Karkaroff, shouting at the same gangly girl, who was trying not to smirk... the same girl once again in a dormitory room, backing cautiously away from a snarling odd-looking wolf, yet was wearing very little clothing...

He felt the pulsing mass thrust inside his brain again, and he thought he might drown in the swell of his own memories, until the pressure suddenly lifted, and he was faced with a smirking Professor Beauchamp, placing her left hand over a painful welt on her wrist.

"Stinging hex?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Coward," Beauchamp laughed. "That's the curse everyone uses when they reach their last resort in Occlumency."

"Erm, Professor?" Harry found himself asking, before he could stop. "That last memory, the wolf..."

"Now, now, Harry," Beauchamp wagged her finger sardonically at him. "Werewolf. Do you not remember your intermediate Dark Creatures? For Merlin's sake, you were taught by one, you ought to be able to recognise the signs."

Momentarily stunned by this revelation that Beauchamp knew about Lupin, Harry replied a little later than one normally would.

"Why were you in a dormitory room with one?" he managed to ask, eventually. Beauchamp smiled.

"Nosey git," she replied. "He was my boyfriend at the time; Ioan Desislav. He got bitten three weeks before, didn't realise he was a werewolf. Well, until that night... I'll leave it to your imagination as to what we had been up to. Let's just say if that full moon had come about twenty minutes earlier... can you say, ouch!"

Harry blanched a little at this excess of information.

"What happened between you?" he asked. Beauchamp shrugged.

"Dumped him."

"Why, because he became a werewolf?" Harry asked, already imagining how Hermione would react to such an admission. Beauchamp shook her head darkly.

"No, because of how he became a werewolf," she replied. Harry must have looked palpably confused, for Beauchamp rolled her eyes at him.

"Violeta Nadejda," she explained, simply. "Girl in the year above. Turned out she was the one that gave him the bite, the little tart. He broke my heart- I cried for hours," she added. Harry couldn't help but smile sympathetically.

"Right- shall we go again?" she asked. Harry nodded, straightening himself up. Beauchamp raised her right hand again.

"On the count of three- one, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

Harry felt the familiar pulsing through his brain again, and concentrated hard on pushing it away. He was having little luck, until he suddenly felt himself push in a different direction, and his thoughts almost collapsed into a dark recess somewhere, and he felt himself relax. He saw a memory float up into his consciousness, but no pressure trying to stop him from visualising it.

The scene was of a tiny, slightly chubby little girl, probably about four years old, with thick, messy black hair tied up in pigtails. She was in a garden of some description, with a huge beech tree in the corner next to a pretty cottage and roses climbing up the trellis of the walls. The grass was thick and lush with dew, and the girl was sitting under the beech tree reading a book with a look of intense concentration on her face.

A voice sighed, and a figure shook his head.

"What are you doing sitting there? You'll get a wet bottom!" the voice teased. The girl didn't look up, and Harry was unable to glean what the figure looked like. The voice was male though, and somehow familiar to Harry, though he couldn't ascertain where he had ever heard it.

"I'm okay," the girl replied, clearly more interested in her book than the man, who conjured a blanket that he then laid on the grass, and picked the girl up with strong hands, placing her on the blanket.

"How's the Latin going?" he asked, at which the girl shrugged.

"Why do I have to learn this? It's a dead language," she complained. Fingers stroked the back of her head.

"Because there are numerous interesting books and scriptures written solely in Latin, plus it'll be useful for spells when you're older," came the soft reply. The girl smiled.

"Fine, fine... It's hard, but I think it's okay."

The man got up, the warm weight he gave to the girl with his closeness suddenly disappearing.

"What would you like for lunch?" he asked. "It's sandwiches, I'm afraid."

"Sandwiches are good!" the girl piped up, though still immersed in her book. "I like ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese!"

"Ergh! That sounds disgusting!" the man joked, "but if ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese is what you want, then ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese is what you shall have, my dear."

Damp lips pressed against the parting of her hair in a kiss, and a hand stroked her own, where a glimpse of a red skull tattoo was visible on the left arm of said hand, before quietening footsteps on squelching grass indicated the figure was moving away...

Harry somehow pulled himself out of the memory that did not belong to him and stared at Beauchamp.

"What was that all about?" he asked. Beauchamp frowned at him.

"What was what all about?" she asked in return.

"That memory? The one of the little girl, I reckon that must have been you, and the man..." Harry trailed off, seeing Beauchamp's look of bewilderment was genuine.

"Harry, I didn't feel you access any memory of mine. I didn't see a thing," she managed to say after a few moments of thought. Judging by her expression of horror, Harry thought it best not to mention the glimpse of the Dark Mark he had also seen on the mysterious man in the memory, nor the nonchalance of the girl.

"Maybe... I was four, you say?" Beauchamp asked, distantly. Harry nodded.

"Something like that. I'm sure it was you; it looked like you," he replied.

Beauchamp stood up quickly.

"I think we ought to leave it for today, Harry," she announced, quickly. "I have some... business to attend to."

She grabbed a small vial containing what looked like bark scrapings, and ushered him out of her office, clearly concerned by what had occurred between them. She shut the door, and walked briskly in the direction of the dungeons. Harry walked along the corridor, confused by what he had seen, and why he had seen it without any resistance at all. Clearly from Beauchamp's behaviour, she was just as confused, if not more so, than Harry. If she couldn't remember parts of her past, why was he able to see them?