The Chalice of Morgridar

Chapter 3

The Chalice of Morgridar

Harry stood and looked at the candle on his bedside table for a moment, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He finally waved his wand over the light. An old charm snuffed the other six candles into darkness also. He lay in bed for a moment and then felt Ginny run her hand down his shoulder. He reached out with his own hand and brushed the side of her hair. She turned and nuzzled her face into his side and he snaked his arm around her.

But still for the moment they said nothing. Then Ginny finally spoke:

"Sorry I'm making you feel so anxious."

"I thought I was making you feel anxious."

There was another very long moment of silence, before Harry said tentatively:

"I - it will be all right, you know."

Ginny suddenly and very unexpectedly burst into giggles.

"What's funny?" Harry demanded, turning around so that he faced her even though he couldn't see her face in the pitch dark.

"It's just - " Ginny started and then laughed a little again. "It's just that you always say that."

"What?"

"That everything will be okay."

"Well," said Harry, smiling a smile that Ginny wasn't able to see, "that's because it usually is."

"Maybe it will be. I just worry about what it will take to get us there."

"Yeah, so do I."

There was another long moment of silence, then Ginny said:

"Do you know how comfortable I feel just lying like this beside you?"

"No," Harry whispered into her ear. "Why don't you tell me?"

He felt Ginny smile.

"I just feel - I suppose, comfortable - I don't know, like my heart is in some still, centered place or - or something."

Another pause.

"So do I. I feel - "

Harry paused.

Ginny leaned up then, obviously interested in what Harry was going to say next.

" - I don't know," he finished seriously. "Calm. Ginny, tell me what's bothering you, everything that's bothering you."

Ginny sighed. Harry felt the anxious feeling return.

"I'm worried about Siosia first. I think you know that."

"I thought she enjoyed herself at Fortescue's."

Ginny sighed loudly. "Much as a prisoner due for execution might enjoy her last meal."

"I'm glad you didn't say that to her."

"Of course I wouldn't say it, Harry, but that's how I felt, and that's what you asked me about."

"Yeah." Harry paused. "I just wish she would tell us what was going on."

"She didn't seem to want to say anything," Ginny agreed.

"I don't know why," said Harry, sounding very frustrated. "I thought we brought her up that she could tell us anything."

"You didn't always used to tell everyone what was on your mind, Harry." Ginny ran a finger gently down his arm.

"I do now."

Harry heard Ginny smile.

"But you didn't always do that, Harry," she said.

"I think I can remember a little girl who was too proud to tell her parents how frightened she was to be going back to Hogwarts after what had happened her first year."

"Harry! I didn't know you noticed."

"I always noticed you; I didn't always know what it meant, though."

There was another pause. Ginny took hold of Harry's shoulder and nestled her head against it.

"I suppose it could be worse," she finally said. "We could be like Ron and Hermione."

Harry and Ginny sighed in unison.

"From what Hermione told me, it seems like this has been going on for years."

"Harry, what about Caroline?"

"I don't know." Harry snaked his arm around Ginny's midsection and held her more closely to him.

"What's she like in class?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine. Brilliant, obviously. She usually has one of the top three marks in the class and she isn't satisfied when it isn't number one."

"But how is she? I mean, do you have any sense - "

Ginny broke off as Harry shook his head.

"If she's bothered by anything, she isn't showing it, not to me in any case."

"Maybe you should talk to Professor Wainwright. He's her head of house."

"And say what?"

"Well, tell him - " Ginny broke off. "Just ask how she is. She's your niece."

Harry let out an ironic chuckle.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering what Ron and Hermione would feel about that."

"Harry, Ron and Hermione aren't handling this very well."

"I know that, Ginny, but is it my place to get involved? Would you like it if Ron and Hermione got involved with Siosia? And how do you think - "

"Well, at least we're not making life incredibly more difficult for Siosia than it already is."

"Well, okay, but that's your judgment."

"It's the truth!"

Harry smiled again. "Well, maybe it is; okay, I think it is, but what do Ron and Hermione think? And to say nothing of Caroline: she's very independent."

There was something else, too. It wasn't just that she was independent but, at that moment, Harry found it difficult to get his own mind around what he was thinking, let alone tell Ginny. Without particularly understanding why, perhaps because his thoughts about Ron, Hermione, and their daughter had reached a sudden impasse, his mind started to drift inevitably back to his impossible mission. How on earth was he ever going to find Dumbledore's successor? Try as he might, he couldn't think of anyone he knew who could fulfill the role. For a start, Harry didn't know very many wizards Dumbledore's age. Well, he thought, with a slight smile to himself, there weren't any wizards Dumbledore's age. But even anyone close in age, and magical experience - hadn't Dumbledore said that? And who would want to spend the rest of their years just living on a small island in the middle of a hidden lake, frightened, as Dumbledore had been, of going even so far as the shore? Well, it would have to be someone single for one thing - widowed, Harry supposed, but then who -

"Harry!"

Harry swung his head around instinctively.

"It's me talking, your wife? The witch you've wrapped your arm around?"

"I - I'm sorry," Harry started, feeling a little groggy. "I was - "

"Lost in thought. And you wonder where Siosia gets in from? Honestly, sometimes I think she's only five percent Weasley."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Harry managed a secret smile.

"Bimbleweiss, Harry," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "Just tell me what you were thinking; the ring's not telepathic, you know, and it's hard for me to distinguish between all the things that might be causing you a horrible foreboding worry."

"I was thinking about the mission - I mean, finding Dumbledore's successor. I just - "

"Don't know how to begin?" Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm afraid that might make two of us."

"I don't know why he couldn't speak clearly just this once!" Harry raised his voice in frustration. "It was the very last thing he was going to say. Why couldn't he have made it make sense?"

"It wouldn't be him then, would it?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose not."

"Maybe he didn't want to give you too many clues, Harry," said Ginny after a moment's pause. "I mean - maybe he didn't want to put too many ideas into your head."

"I don't know why! I don't have any of my own."

"Well..." Ginny paused thoughtfully again. "Maybe he wanted you to trust your own instincts, your own intuition. He trusted you; he knew you were special. I don't think he would have picked you to be his Secret-Keeper otherwise."

"Maybe he was mistaken."

"I don't think so."

"Then why don't I have any idea how to go about doing this?"

"Perhaps you should begin by asking for help. Remember what Dumbledore always told you: keep your friends close. I don't think he expected you to do this all on your own."

"Since when did you become such a big fan of Dumbledore?"

"I'm not really, but then he hasn't left us with many other choices. Though, I suppose, in a way, Harry," she added before he could interject, "perhaps he's only done what we asked him to do all along: leave us to make our own decisions."

"Well, he picked a fine time to do it."

There was another pause. Harry felt himself sinking into a morass of confusion and hopelessness. How would he -

"Harry!" Ginny tugged at his shoulder. "Don't get all depressed again. What about my idea?"

"What idea?"

Ginny sighed despairingly. "Get help!"

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"No, not from me, from someone who might know something about all this. Look, how about asking Remus?"

"I can't ask him to guard an island. There's Tonks and - "

"No, Harry, you're not listening! Not to guard the island himself, but I think he would know better someone who might be able - and willing - to do it."

Harry didn't respond which, in this case, Ginny took as an encouraging sign.

"He knew a lot of wizards who used to be in the Order," she pressed on. "And a lot of them knew Dumbledore. They understood what was going on. Perhaps one of them might be able to help."

"Well... well, I suppose it could be a start," said Harry after a moment's pause and Ginny felt a flicker of hope running to her through the ring, "but do you suppose it's all right for me to tell him?"

"Well, you can't very well keep it all to yourself, can you? Then you'll never find anyone."

"I don't want to put him in danger."

Ginny paused for a moment. "I'm not sure you have a choice, Harry," she finally said, almost absently. "Either way, if Dumbledore was right, we're all in danger."

Harry didn't say anything. He rested his head down onto the pillow. A few anxious minutes passed and then first Ginny then he fell into the beginnings of a restless sleep.

***

"A Galleon?" asked Caroline suspiciously.

"A very special sort of Galleon," replied the stranger, his voice as dry as dust. "Look." He held out his hand to Caroline.

Caroline hesitated.

"He's not going to hurt you," insisted Robert, sounding impatient again.

"How should you know?" demanded Caroline, swinging around. But not to seem intimidated, she stepped closer to the stranger and quickly snatched the coin from his hand.

"Look at it closely," cooed the stranger.

Caroline did as she was told. At first, she frowned skeptically, but then she noticed something odd: the serial numbers on the front of the Galleon were moving. As she watched, they settled on what looked like a date: squinting, she noticed that the date on the coin was today's date. She looked up at the stranger and caught his eye. For the briefest of moments, she could see that he had found her cynicism quickly replaced with wonder. Caroline immediately looked down again; she didn't think it was good to seem too impressed. Yet she sensed the stranger had already noticed her change in attitude.

"Tell the others what you saw," he said, sounding confident.

Caroline looked up again, forcing her expression into a mask of defiance.

"The numbers on the front - they moved - clever magic but not any cleverer than Apparating into a castle with dozens of magical wards."

"I think you know something more than that, Miss Weasley, don't you? Or did your parents really keep it all from you?"

"Of course not!" Caroline retorted, feeling her face go red.

"Then perhaps you could share it with the others?"

Caroline wanted to ask why the stranger didn't tell them himself since he obviously knew, but she restrained herself.

"The coin - the coin was used by members of the D.A.," she explained. "It was their secret method of communicating with each other. When it was time for a meeting, the numbers on the front of the coin would change to show the date and time."

"Very good." The stranger gave Caroline a lopsided smile. "In time, you will each share similar coins. I have brought this one here as a sign of my sincerity."

"Anyone could conjure up a lot of coins with moving figures!" insisted Caroline. "It means nothing!"

"Perhaps," the stranger conceded, "but how many would have known?"

Caroline was about to reply but she found that her words had caught in her throat.

We kept it a secret. We still do.

Her father's words.

But why? A nine-year-old Caroline had asked. The war's over now, isn't it?

Her father's eyes had gone strangely dark then. You never know, was all he had said. Caroline hadn't understood what he'd meant at the time; she still didn't understand it, but she hadn't forgotten the words. You never know, she thought to herself again. What if the information fell into the wrong hands? And had it?

"Nobody knew," Caroline was forced to concede. "No one except those who were in the D.A."

The stranger smiled again, but it was a sharp intake of impressed breath from Felicia that rattled Caroline.

"So what? Are you telling us you were in the D.A. then? That's not possible; you're too young!"

"You should not judge all you see from its outward appearance. But as it is, I was not. I have a close associate, one whose interests I have come to represent. She was in the D.A. The coin belongs to her. She was - " The stranger paused as though choosing his words carefully, " - a friend of your parents and your uncle during the war." He looked at Caroline. "She lent me this coin in the hope that I could restart something that never should have been allowed to end."

"So where is she now? What's she up to?" asked Caroline.

"Will we have a chance to meet her?" asked Robert, and Caroline felt modestly pleased that, for once, she wasn't the only one asking the questions.

"Perhaps in time," the stranger replied, "for now she has reason to remain anonymous. But I did not come here tonight to speak about her. I came here tonight - at great personal risk, I might add - to impress upon you the importance of starting a new chapter of the D.A. Consider," he went on, raising a finger in the air before any of them could interject, "the wizarding world finds itself at peace now, but what is peace but the time before war? You, all of you, are too young to have known the bitterness of death, pain, and loss that your parents once kept as the most uncomfortable of bedfellows. Doubtless they have tried to shield you from the horrible intensity of that pain, yet I daresay that not one among them, much less the highest echelons of the Ministry, could look back without regret as to what could have been done during times of peace to prevent the horrors that followed. Serious words mistaken for jest; school time rivalries that led to darker conflicts; naïve tolerance of those things that should never have been tolerated. But you, my friends, have the chance; you have the opportunity that escaped your parents: you can be a watchtower against evil; you can crush it before it begins to take root and grow."

"How?" asked Felicia.

"By joining me, by becoming my eyes and ears, by reporting to me anything untoward that goes on in this school, anything," the stranger lingered over the last word, "unnatural. I will teach you how to trust your instincts and develop a healthy respect for your suspicions. I will also teach you how you can ensure that others will respect and honor the courage and justice for which your house stands and never forget that dark magic, however seductive, can lead only to evil and suffering."

"And who are you when you're at home?" demanded Caroline.

"Caroline, please!" cried Robert. "Haven't you listened to anything he's just said? He's not the one you have to doubt, you - " He stopped and sighed. "Professor, please forgive - "

"Professor?" repeated Caroline.

"There's no need to remonstrate, Mr. Mince," cooed the stranger with the texture of sandpaper rubbing on wood. "Inquiry must always remain open. Miss Weasley has already acquired the skepticism that I hope to engender in each of you - from your parents, if I'm not mistaken?"

Caroline didn't respond.

"My name is Professor Derius," said the stranger. "The title, I admit, is somewhat honorary. I have never taught formally at Hogwarts or any other wizarding institution. I am, however - or rather was - the teacher of a select group of wizards and witches, a secretive organization that even now must remain unnamed. You are familiar, Miss Weasley, with the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I couldn't say," replied Caroline blankly.

"Of course not." The stranger smiled ironically. "We all have our secrets. But in the event that something might jog your memory, the organization that I once helped to teach was something of the same sort of group, only much older, considerably more secretive and, if I may say so, significantly more powerful. As a matter of fact, the Order and Dumbledore recruited us during the First War. They were in need of several of our special - " the stranger paused and gestured back to the strange chair apparatus behind him, " - talents."

"You fought in the First War?" asked Robert incredulously and Caroline found herself very glad that she wasn't the only one whose credulity had been stretched too far.

"As I said before," replied Professor Derius implacably, "appearances can be deceiving and I do have very many special talents."

After a brief pause, he continued.

"The Order of the Phoenix was an organization created to fight the threat posed by the dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters." Derius spoke the words "Death Eaters" as though they had been rambunctious schoolchildren who had taken a prank too far. "As Voldemort's threat came to an end, so the Order disbanded. But the organization that I represent was around long before the Order and it still remains long after the Order has become a thing of the past. For we have recognized that while evil can change its face, it never truly goes away. And that is why we need you."

"Why not just ask the Order to help you?" asked Caroline, realizing that she now sounded more curious than skeptical; Derius's knowledge of a secret organization like the Order had unnerved but nonetheless impressed her. "The D.A. was just a school organization that helped students to practice defense skills."

"Ah, but the D.A. had for a time, and could have had for longer, a significantly greater role. You see, the association that I represent has great need of such groups. Much like the Order, we thrive on information, the difference being that we prefer to gather our intelligence before the threat becomes a threat. We seek to unmask dark wizards like the Death Eaters even before they have the opportunity to put those masks on, while they are still young and impressionable - while their minds can be swayed. Such information can only come from a group of students. Hogwarts teachers, for a variety of reasons, most of them noble, are hardly willing to provide this information.

"Following Dolores Umbridge's boastful remarks to one of our agents within the Ministry, we became aware of the Defense Association's existence. Once Umbridge left Hogwarts, and Mr. Potter and his group were exonerated, we realized that a powerful opportunity had presented itself." He looked at Caroline directly. "Another representative of our organization contacted your uncle, your mother and father, and other leaders of the D.A., and impressed upon them the potential importance of our group's mission. Not all the D.A. wished to go along, however. Some members felt that the association had never been meant to spy on other students. Others felt that it was only meant to prepare students for the immediate threat of the Death Eaters. But some, your parents and uncle among them, saw the need for such a group. Your uncle in particular had been frustrated for years while the teachers and staff turned a blind eye to the behavior of students like Draco Malfoy and many of the other Slytherins even considering their obvious family ties to the Death Eaters. Those teachers did not wish to judge those students too harshly, but history records show that their lack of insight proved devastating. Those who agreed to continue the D.A. did so in this room with absolute secrecy: those former members who had been against the change, along with all of the other students and staff, were told only that the organization would not be continuing. The new D.A. kept a vigilant eye out for those Slytherins who eventually grew to become Death Eaters. Without their help, many more would have died during the Second War."

"Then why wouldn't my parents have told me!" demanded Caroline, though even as she asked the question, she realized how uncertain she was that they would have done so. Hadn't she realized, even as a small child, how little her parents had told her about the things that had really mattered? About the war? About much of their time at Hogwarts? And the more she realized her parents weren't telling her, the more curious Caroline had become. Finally, her father had fed her spoonfuls of information - about the Order, about the D.A. - but there were always things he was holding back; Caroline could tell. If it had been up to her mother, Caroline was certain she would have learned even less. She remembered once, a little over a year ago, when she was getting ready for her first year at Hogwarts, she had been woken up from an early sleep and had crept into the living room to find her parents arguing about how much her father had told her about the war. Her mother, already fearful of her father's life as a field Auror, had insisted that he had gone on too long and told her too much, that she hadn't been ready for it. Her father had argued that her mother hadn't been thinking of things as Caroline would, as she herself had when she was Caroline's age, full of curiosity and a desire to learn more about her world. Her mother's face had grown very dark then and she had told her father in anger that if she had known then what she knew now, she might not have wanted to discover it. Her father had felt determined to argue back that this was untrue and unfair. As always, neither of them could stand to lose an argument. But Caroline had sensed from the shadows that a nearby lantern had cast on his face that her mother had persuaded her father that there were some things Caroline wasn't ready to be told - not now, and perhaps not ever. Could the continuation of an ultra-secret Defense Association have been one of those things?

Caroline realized too late that she had written her doubts on her face once again. Professor Derius - or whomever he really was - was studying her closely now.

"Your parents really didn't tell you everything, did they, Caroline?" he said in a strangely soft treble. "You know that, don't you?"

And before she could stop herself, Caroline nodded.

"You shouldn't blame them," said Derius, his voice rising slightly. "The D.A. could be dangerous - it may still yet be, for there are evils out there that none of us may yet understand. Yet your parents embraced that danger when they were even younger than you are now. Is it fair of them to ask you to avoid it also? And for what reason - are they frightened you will follow in your father's footsteps? Is their worry truly a regret about their past or a fear of their future?"

Caroline felt a sudden chill. Knowing about the D.A. was one thing, but now it seemed that Derius knew something about her parents' private argument, the very same argument that Caroline had just been reviewing in her mind. What was it her mother had warned her about? The followers of Voldemort could do it: Legi - leigi - legigman - Caroline couldn't remember the word, but it seemed like Professor Derius was reading her thoughts.

But regardless of how he had come about his knowledge, Caroline couldn't shake the fact that this mysterious stranger had hit on precisely what irked her the most about her parents: why shouldn't she be allowed to do as they had? Why did she have to be cuddled and protected while they had enjoyed the tacit approval of Professor Dumbledore to break whatever school rules they had pleased mostly to satisfy their own curiosity? And what if Professor Derius was right? What if she really had the chance to do something for the wizarding world just like her parents had? Maybe even then, they would -

Caroline forced her racing thoughts to a halt as she looked back up at Derius to see that he was staring at her again, a shrewd twinkle in his old eyes. She wondered if she could block her thoughts from him or whether it was a futile gesture. What had her mother taught her about Occul - Occlu - Caroline drew a blank again. She decided just to concentrate on thinking about nothing but, as soon as she did so, a dozen different thoughts seemed to form in her head of their own accord. Her reverie was only stopped when Robert spoke up. She found she had forgotten he was even there.

"What do you want us to do then, sir?" he asked.

Derius smiled at the tone of respect in the older boy's voice. He paused for a moment as though to allow the question to fully sink in.

"For the moment, very little. Very little in the way of concrete action, that is. I merely want you to observe: be aware of those around you; to develop, as I have said, a healthy dose of suspicion especially toward those of - " he paused, " - questionable backgrounds." Derius smiled again. "There's a reason I chose three Gryffindors to form the core of a new Defense Association," he went on. "For centuries, your house has bred wizards and witches of true honor and bravery, those unafraid to stand up against wickedness and evil. While you all wear new faces, there can be little doubt as to your heart and your character. The Sorting Hat does not lie. It also warns us, but only when we allow it to. For many years, it has marked every dark witch and wizard that has entered this school long before they grew to commit acts that remain to this day unspeakable. And whatever your teachers may believe, I can tell you that a Slytherin never stops being a Slytherin."

"But what sort of things might be suspicious?" asked Felicia, sounding slightly bewildered.

"Anything, my dear." Derius leaned in more closely toward her. "Anything ever so slightly out of the ordinary. Take nothing lightly."

Caroline looked back at Felicia. She looked confused, but nodded her head nonetheless. There was a trust in her eyes - a blind trust Caroline decided, and she felt immediately uneasy.

"So," said Derius, and all three Gryffindors turned back to look at him. "Can I depend on you - the three of you - to be the eyes and ears of justice? To follow in the footsteps of those who have gone before you?"

"Yes," replied Robert without hesitation. "You can depend on us."

"I - I'll join, too," said Felicia as though having only just made up her mind.

"And you, dear?" Derius turned his gaze on Caroline.

Caroline looked back at Derius. She tried to meet his eyes but found they were once again unfathomable. She sensed in Robert a thirst for power, a sense of determination, arrogance, and certainty which made her feel uncomfortable. And Felicia's sycophancy sickened her. But she could not deny an overwhelming feeling of curiosity, the same curiosity that had led her into this strange, forbidden room in the first place. And there was something more, too: a burgeoning feeling of excitement. Caroline realized only then that with all the problems surrounding her life at the moment, she was secretly desperate to have something about which to feel excited.

"I - I'll have a go," said Caroline. She felt her cheeks go red again and lowered her face. "But I still don't trust you," she added, trying to sound more determined.

Derius chuckled but didn't return her gaze. "As I said before, your suspicions are healthy and, under the circumstances, understandable. I only hope that, in time, I will earn your full trust. There is really very little that I ask of you in return. But on one thing I must insist: your participation in the Defense Association and your meeting with me tonight must remain a complete secret. Can you swear to me, on your honor as Gryffindors, that you will tell no one what has transpired here tonight?"

All three students nodded, this time without hesitation.

Derius smiled broadly. "In that case, I have a gift for each of you." He reached into his pocket and produced three Galleons, each identical to the first. For the first time, he rose from his chair, walked over to each of the students, and handed them in turn a Galleon. Robert took his first, bowing slightly. He walked over next to Felicia, who took a slight step backward as he approached. She received the Galleon into her palm but then reacted as though Derius had given her a lead weight. Then Derius moved toward Caroline. He paused for a moment, looking into her eyes once again, and she looked up at him, too, as though trying to ascertain whether he was her enemy or her savior. Derius placed the new coin into her outstretched palm but then quickly walked away again and sat back down.

"Look to your coins," he said. "When the time comes, I will summon you again. Until then, be watchful."

Derius rested his hands against the arms of the chair. There was a slight, almost imperceptible, high-pitched whine. The stretch of material connecting the chair to the ceiling glowed for a moment with an intense blue; a sudden acrid smell filled the air that Caroline couldn't place. Then, as abruptly as he had come, Professor Derius vanished.

The three Gryffindors stood motionless in the room for a long moment. Robert was the first to speak up.

"Put your coins away," he said brusquely, "and make sure no one sees them. And let's get back to the common room quickly. We don't want any awkward questions about where we've been or what we've been up to."

"But you're a Prefect," said Felicia, sounding a bit put out at this sudden sign of a limitation to Robert's authority.

"I shouldn't think there will be too many questions," he replied off-handedly, "but you heard what Professor Derius said. Utmost secrecy."

This seemed to mollify Felicia who nodded. Robert quickly flicked his wand and the room fell into darkness once again. A dim light coming from the passageway beyond guided them out of the room. Robert led the way; once outside he waited for the two girls before tapping his wand once above the entranceway behind the statue. The open doorway to the room disappeared again, replaced by what appeared to be a solid block of stone. In a final act of camouflage, Robert flicked his wand causing a string of cobwebs to fall between the statue and the entrance making it appear as though no one had passed beyond it in quite some time.

A lie on top of a night of lies? Caroline found herself wondering. She turned to walk briskly back up the forbidden corridor but found herself stopped when Robert abruptly grabbed her arm.

"Hey! Let me go!" she demanded.

"Not until I've gotten one thing clear from you," he replied sharply. "You were very rude to Professor Derius tonight."

"I can be rude to whomever I want! Besides, I don't know that he is a professor."

Even in the darkness, Caroline could see the anger that flickered across Robert's eyes.

"You know, I'm surprised that Professor Derius chose to put his trust in you. You're obviously too young - "

"And you're not?" snapped Caroline. "If age and experience count for so much, then perhaps I should find Professor McGonagall and tell her what we've seen tonight!"

Felicia gasped.

Robert didn't respond for a moment. Caroline couldn't see well enough to tell but she could imagine his face going very pale. He suddenly squeezed her arm even more tightly.

"Let me go!" Caroline was shouting now. She reached into her pocket and drew out her wand with her free hand. "If you don't let me go right now, I swear I'll hex you, Prefect or not, and I know just where to make it - "

"Listen to me!" Robert hissed angrily. "You can think what you like about Professor Derius. I happen to think he's trying to do something good, something that needed to be done here for a very long time! But whatever you think, you can't deny he has power, power beyond what any teacher in this school could understand!"

Robert let go of Caroline's arm.

"I'm not telling anyone," she said simply, yanking her arm back. And then after the briefest of pauses, she added: "For now."

"Weasley!"

Robert made another swipe at Caroline's arm but she ducked out of the way and walked purposefully down the corridor. After several meters had passed between her and Robert, she turned around to face him again.

"Professor Derius said he would earn my trust," she said. "If he does, then he has nothing to worry about. But whatever happens, I'm not taking orders from you!"

Caroline turned around again and continued to walk down the corridor. After a moment, the others followed quickly behind her. None of them turned around to see an oddly-shaped shadow emerge from just beneath the statue of Bartemis the Weird and all were well out of earshot when it emitted a very girlish laugh.

***

"Harry."

A familiar freckled face found its way into Harry's line of sight. Ron wore a pensive, slightly guilty expression that didn't seem to have changed in almost twenty years.

"Look, mate," he said, lowering his voice. "I wondered if I could have a word."

Ron paused briefly as his father cut abruptly between them brandishing an ancient-looking Muggle camera which he had charmed to make its subjects move.

"Sorry, gents," he said, making a quick beeline to Fred and Bill Weasley who were toasting a Wizard B-52 complete with a miniature erupting volcano.

Ron made a furtive gesture toward the back door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"You know - alone," he said.

Harry shot a glance toward the far corner of the closed shop to see Remus Lupin enjoying a good-natured discussion with Charlie Weasley over what looked like two flasks of dragon ale. Even years after the end of the war, it still seemed strange to see his former mentor enjoying himself so much. Not far from him sat Tonks who was playing with their second daughter, the six-year-old Amiosia. Harry watched as first Tonks then Amiosia changed her hair from light brown to bright yellow. Another Metamorphmagus. Taking in the happy scene, Harry felt loathe to interrupt with his dire news. His stomach twisted into a knot just thinking about it. He wasn't used to feeling this way anymore and he didn't like it at all. He shot a quick look around to see that Ginny was sitting on top of a shelf of joke wands deep in conversation with Caroline. He turned back to see that Ron was still looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry," he said. "Of course."

It had been two weeks since Ron and Hermione's quarrel at the Three Broomsticks had put an untimely end to their customary Sunday lunch. Harry had owled his friends the previous week to explain that he and Ginny were taking Siosia to the Wimbourne Witches Parade. He had explained to Ron that they wanted to be alone with their daughter given the difficult transition she was going through. In truth, of course, Harry hadn't been in the mood for another lunch with Ron and Hermione and the prospect of another altercation between the two of them. Given the furtive manner in which Ron, who had long delighted in avoiding confrontation, was now leading him to a private conversation at the rear of Fred and George's shop, Harry guessed that he was worrying about the same thing. Truth be told, Harry wasn't sure what he had planned to do in future weeks. They had all committed long ago, however, to their present Sunday afternoon gathering to celebrate the fifteenth anniversary of the official opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. In spite of some recent misfortunes to their business, the Weasley twins had been determined to celebrate in style and had closed the shop this Sunday afternoon to invite a few dozen of their closest family and friends to join in the celebration. They had even hired a specialist in dimensional magic to add a small sitting area which was to double as a dance floor later on in the evening. This meant, of course, that Harry and Ginny, along with Ron and Hermione and both of their children were present. Harry and Ginny had been at the party for about an hour now and, so far, hadn't spoken to either Ron or Hermione. Harry could tell from the expression on Ron's face that he felt they'd been avoiding each other. In truth, however, Harry had been mostly preoccupied with how he could get Remus on his own to confront him with his dire request for help.

They came to a stop in a small alleyway just behind the store and Ron turned to face his best friend.

"I - I don't know what happened in the Three Broomsticks. It's like she - "

Harry found his distracted thoughts about Remus reaching an abrupt halt long before Ron had reached the end of his sentence.

"It's not just about her, Ron. I talked to her afterwards. She said you - "

"I know, Harry. She told me that you'd talked." Ron sighed and looked down at the tops of his shoes.

"You've got to make this work, the pair of you; it's not just about her!"

"I've tried, Harry, but sometimes it's like she's another - "

Harry held up his hand to stop his friend from talking. "Look, Ron," he said, as gently as he could. "I'm not getting into it with you and Hermione about what you said or she said. I've been doing this for twenty years now and I'm tired of it."

"But - "

"I mean it, Ron! I spend enough of my week playing referee to fighting children. I'm not going to spend my weekends doing it, too."

Rot bit his lip. "I wasn't asking you to, Harry, I just - " He paused. "Look, I can take care of things with Hermione. I just want to make sure that everything's all right between us."

"Of course," Harry found himself saying. "I never said it wasn't."

Ron looked a little doubtful. "Can we go on with the Sunday lunches?"

"So long as you can promise us you and Hermione will keep your problems to yourselves."

Ron nodded vigorously.

"We will, I swear. Bloody hell, Harry, I'm really sorry. And I really look forward to the lunches; it's - it's just really good to get away for a few hours."

Away from what, Harry wondered. Away from Hermione? Probably not since she was there.

"I know, I - I think we enjoy them, too. And it's not about me and Ginny. I just don't want Siosia to have to go through that."

Ron paused for a moment. "I bet you must be worried about her. In Slytherin and all that. How's she doing, really?"

"Better, I think," said Harry, frowning. "I think she's made a friend or two. I just don't know if she's telling us everything."

"And you don't want to interfere too much."

"Yeah."

Ron and Harry smiled at each other in spite of themselves. Then Ron grew serious again.

"I know how you feel. Is Caroline still doing all right in class?"

"In class. But I don't know whether she's really all right. Do you want me to ask Professor Wainwright?" said Harry, recalling his earlier conversation with Ginny.

Ron shook his head. "She wouldn't like that."

Harry shrugged. "Well, then, there's not much - "

"But if you notice anything strange, you'll let us know, right?"

"Of course."

"I just hope she's... well, I'm not sure we're having a good effect on her at the moment."

Harry didn't respond at first. He just looked at Ron steadily as if to remind him that their daughter's well-being depended very much on her parents mending whatever was ailing their relationship.

"Look," he said finally, relaxing his expression. "Let's try to get together some time, just the two of us. We can go watch Quidditch or something. Then we can talk about Hermione or whatever you want to."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I don't know when - I mean, it's not always easy to get away all the - I'll do the best I can."

"Do that, mate." Harry put a cautious hand on Ron's shoulder. "You look as if you need a break."

And it was true. Ron had a haggard, sleepy look. His eyes were red and ringed underneath with dark circles.

Ron nodded, then motioned back toward the party.

"I don't know if anyone will miss us but - "

"Yeah, we'd better be getting back," Harry agreed.

The two friends looked at each other for another moment. Harry couldn't escape the feeling that there was something more Ron wasn't telling him. Then, as if realizing that there was nothing more to say (for the time being at least) they both turned around and walked back inside.

***

The party continued through dinner and late into the evening. Those with small children had left including (much to Harry's secret relief) Remus and Tonks. Caroline and Siosia had returned to Hogwarts, however, leaving their parents free to continue the revelries. Harry could feel how reluctant Ginny had been to part with their daughter again but she had been just as determined not to show it. Fred and George had asked a local band to play for the occasion. They had kept the band's name secret all day. When Harry finally found out who they were, he found himself glad that both Siosia and Mrs. Weasley had now departed from the scene.

The band, which called itself Lucifer and Son, was composed of a Lucius and Draco Malfoy look-a-like pair complete with a hair-whitening charm, long black cloaks, and two canes crowned with silver snake's heads. Lately, Death Eater kitsch was the rage in Diagon Alley complete with T-shirts that read I KNOW WHO, Voldemort watches with Nagini second-hands, and temporary arm tattoos featuring a lovable-looking purple snake who periodically shook its tail and winked at the wearer. Lucius Malfoy himself, who was purportedly still serving a lifetime sentence in Azkaban (though many believed him dead), had become something of a cult icon and a number of biographies had recently emerged on the mysterious life of the ex-Death Eater. Harry sometimes found the whole business a bit disturbing, though recalling a period after the war when spells to cast temporary forehead scars had been the rage, he felt glad that attention was now being directed away from him. Ginny had appeared to laugh the whole thing off, once making a choice comment about the transparent symbolism of a line of women's underwear featuring a gyrating Dark Mark. There had been times, though, when Harry had sensed her discomfort about the whole thing. Others took a far dimmer view: Professor McGonagall had banned all Death Eater-themed merchandise from Hogwarts and Hermione had tried (unsuccessfully) to draft legislation banning the display of Death Eater paraphernalia in public places. The defenders of the merchandise had suggested that it was meant to parody the Death Eaters rather than glorify them, to poke fun at the very symbols that Voldemort and his followers had once used to instill fear. Some popular wizarding historians had noted how a similar Grindelwald craze had followed a decade or two after the dark wizard's demise; a range of books speculating that Dumbledore's one-time arch-foe might be still be alive still found a niche in the corner of Flourish and Blotts. Harry could somehow imagine Dumbledore approving the Death Eater merchandise for the same reason, though he couldn't help but notice that it was mostly popular among children or teenaged wizards and witches and wondered how much they truly understood of the terrors that had once haunted their parents and grandparents.

Fred and George, who had not shied away from poking fun at the Dark Lord even during the height of the war, seemed to revel in the whole thing and were singing away with many of the band's numbers. Lee Jordan, whose tarantula-breeding business had recently fallen on hard times, was over in one corner trying, with limited success, to sell the group's song spells.

"What do you say, Harry?" asked George, clapping him on the back as he peered cautiously at the song spells.

"Well, actually...." Harry abruptly winced as the "Draco" band member unsuccessfully drew out a very low note. He smiled apologetically at George. "Galleons are a bit low at the moment." Harry's eyes widened as he caught a song entitled I Poisoned Seven Mudbloods Last Night on one of the song spell sheets. He dearly hoped that Fred and George had the tact to make sure the band didn't play it in front of Hermione, parody or not.

"...you're just trying to figure which one Ginny will like best, right, mate?" said George, finishing his sentence for him. He dropped his voice slightly. "You know when they get in their thirties, they like a bit of - you know - extra presents and all that. They worry you don't notice them anymore. Look, she'll fancy this one - Blood Traitors and Bat-Bogeys - it's all about her! Or how about - ow!"

George drew back as a small fist connected with the side of his stomach.

"I think what Harry means is that they're awful, but he's much too polite to say it."

Harry's cheeks burned slightly as Ginny drew up alongside him and put her arm around his waist.

"Trust me," she added, holding up her hand to show George her wizard ring. "I can feel his pain."

Ginny was right, of course. The politics of Death Eater fandom aside, the band were, for lack of a better word, awful. They were loud and simply couldn't sing. Harry looked around and noticed that the party had thinned out considerably.

His attention was drawn back quickly as Ginny seemed to slip and fall back onto his chest.

"Steady on," said George.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry.

Ginny beamed up at him, her face flushed.

"Marvelous!" she said.

"Better than marvelous, I'd say," remarked George winking.

Harry noticed only then that Ginny was holding a goblet in her other hand. The pungent scent of fire wine rose up into Harry's nostrils as she lifted it up to take another sip. Another hand clasped over the goblet, however, and restrained it.

"Hey!" said Ginny.

"You've had a bit too much of this, don't you think?" asked Hermione, wandering into view next to Ron. "Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"That's tomorrow," declared Ginny dismissively, leaning back further into Harry and causing him to stumble backwards. "And I've already prepared my presentation for the Cenatur-ses."

"All the same."

Hermione held out her hand for Ginny to give her the goblet and smiled sweetly. Ginny smiled back, quickly swallowed the remaining contents, and then handed the empty goblet to Hermione.

"Thanks," she said smiling.

Hermione looked down at the goblet in disapproval and then turned her attention to George as though having failed with his sister, she was moving on to the next target.

"This is all a bit tasteless, don't you think?" she said crossly, gesturing to the band.

"Naturally," replied George, winking back at Hermione. "That's why we like it."

Harry noticed that George had moved slightly backward, however, obscuring the song spells from Hermione's line of sight.

"Mimicking Death Eaters!" Hermione went on, advancing toward George. "It's a good thing Caroline isn't still here."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," said Ron, trying to take her arm. "They're awful singers, but you've got to admit that younger bloke does an awfully good Draco. Did you hear that song - Practicing my Sneer - hilarious! It's as if they knew them."

Hermione rounded on Ron.

"Well, they didn't! They're too young and they don't understand, and you should know better!" She poked a finger at Ron's chest. "People start to think they're funny. Then they get curious. Before long, they start to imitate them again and then - "

Hermione's lecture was cut short as "Lucius" launched into an excruciating solo. Harry even caught George wincing. Ginny, however, pulled Harry out toward the makeshift dance floor. "Ooh!" she exclaimed, her eyes glistening with childish excitement. "You know which one this is?"

"Er, no, strange as it may seem - "

"My Sticky End in Azkaban! Lucius's swan song. Come on!"

Ginny continued to lead Harry out onto the dance floor and put her arm on his waist. She began to lead him in aggressive circles away from the others.

"Ginny," said Harry, wincing. "I'm not really sure we should be moving toward the band."

"Anything to get away from another row," replied Ginny sounding very much more sober. "Oh, I'm not really drunk, Harry. Not all that drunk, at any rate," she added, losing her balance slightly. "I just wanted to help Hermione loosen up a bit."

"Did it work?"

"No," said Ginny flatly.

"Well, I expect the band isn't helping."

"Did you talk to Remus?"

"Well..."

"Harry, you can't keep putting this off!" Ginny swung him around in another circle.

"I just can't - " Harry began, but he broke off as he saw that Ginny's attention had been drawn away by something else. She started to slow her feet.

"That's not something you see every day," she muttered, coming to a near halt.

Harry followed her gaze past the extended lounge and dance floor area into the shop proper. There, standing over the Skiving Snackboxes, whose popularity had yet to wane in fifteen years, and illuminated by the dim lights that still shone on the bursting displays of merchandise, was a solitary figure. He was holding a flagon in one hand from which he took an occasional sip. He seemed to have in his other hand a cup of another sort, which he was studying closely. From the scraggly mop of red hair that fell over his features and his unmistakable magenta shop robes, it didn't Harry long to make out the figure as Fred Weasley.

Harry looked over to see that George was still deep in conversation with Hermione, a wicked smile on his face as the latter continued to look irate. Ron stood nearby and seemed to be trying to suppress a smirk. No one else was looking at Fred. It was strange enough, Harry thought, to see the two twins standing separately, but it was stranger still to see the oddly serious look that appeared, even from this distance, to be written on Fred's face. Harry could only recall several occasions in which he had seen either of the twins look particularly serious and it usually meant that things were very dire indeed. He felt the same feeling of curiosity tinged with apprehension coming to him through the ring from Ginny. He looked at her and she nodded. They walked off the dance floor and made their way past George, Ron, and Hermione to the other end of the shop just as "Lucius" broke into another raucous lament.

Fred didn't seem to notice as they approached. Harry wondered whether Ginny would tease her brother about standing as far away as possible from the music, or what had driven him to separate himself from his twin, but in fact she said nothing at all. She just reached up and touched him on the shoulder. Fred looked back at her also saying nothing. For the briefest of instants, Harry sensed the closeness between them. Though still tethered to Ginny's hand, he found himself hanging back just a little bit, as though he was intruding. Harry realized that although the Weasleys had always done everything in their power to make him feel like family, he had never had brothers and sisters of his own. The feeling vanished almost as suddenly as it had arrived, however, as Ginny tightened her grip on his hand and closed the small space that had opened up between them.

Her eyes never left Fred, however. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah," Fred quickly replied, flashing her quick but wary smile like a clown that had been caught without its makeup. "I was just, you know, thinking - rubbish, really." Fred took another sip of whatever was in his flagon.

Ginny looked at the cup in his other hand and then took it from him. Harry saw that it was silver, or lined with silver. It was a goblet of some kind, the sort that might be used to serve guests wine at a very formal wizarding function, except that this goblet had clearly lost its luster. The silver was slightly faded and a hairline crack ran down its side. Three gemstones lined its neck: one was red, the other brownish, and the third seemed blue. All were very faded, however, and the blue stone looked slightly cracked as though someone had once tried to smash it in with a knife or a small pebble. Around the edge of the goblet was an inscription in an ancient-looking language that Harry didn't recognize.

He looked up to see that Ginny had a reflective smile on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a bit of rubbish, actually," she replied, "but a lot of memories go with it."

"That," said another, cheeky-sounding voice, "is the secret to our business success."

Harry turned around to see that George was walking toward him. He took the goblet away from Ginny and continued on to stand next to his twin. Ron and Hermione brought up the rear. Harry was pleased to see they were holding hands, though Hermione's face still looked rather flushed.

"The source of our Galleons," added Fred, seeming to brighten up a bit.

"The fountain of our fortunes," finished George.

"And bequeathed to us by none other than our dear sister."

Harry looked at Ginny in surprise.

"I didn't know about this!"

Ginny giggled and winked. "I was afraid you'd give up teaching if I gave the secret to you."

"Wants magicking up a bit, though," said Fred.

Harry looked up at the twins again. Both of them wore identical grins but something seemed not quite right. Harry felt strangely reminded of a game he had learned from another lifetime in a Little Whinging classroom where two pictures that looked identical were placed together and one was supposed to guess the subtle difference between them. In this case, it took Harry a moment to figure out that while George was as jovial as ever, the smile on Fred's face was very forced. Harry had the impression that Fred was not entirely convinced that the goblet was, in his own words, "rubbish."

The twins' recent business misfortunes were well known among their family and friends. It wasn't that Fred and George had lost any of their acumen in sales; they still possessed an uncanny ability to sense exactly what their customers wanted to purchase even before they seemed to know it themselves. This was impressive considering the rapid change in the interests of their young customers and the ever-growing generation gap between them and the shop proprietors. On more than one occasion, Molly Weasley had attributed the twins' continued success in sales to the simple fact that, whatever their age in years, Fred and George had simply never grown up.

Instead, their recent failures had come through a series of quite random and almost uncanny accidents: a large shipment of Acne Allsorts had Apparated in useless pieces all over the front floor of the shop. This had caused not only the loss of valuable merchandise for which the twins had paid but had also forced them to close down their shop for a week during the Back-to-Hogwarts season as their customers kept breaking out. Just when the twins were ready to re-open, a previously undiscovered infestation of doxies had nested in their chimney. The twins were releasing vapors from an experimental age-advancing potion (designed for the early starting wizard or witch tired of being excluded from Hogsmeade outings and Apparition lessons) into the chimney unaware of the blockage. An ominous explosion had been followed by the sounds of screaming from the newly re-opened shop and several dead doxies and a large plume of smoke had emitted from the main fireplace on the shop floor. Rushing onto the main floor, the Weasley twins had been shocked to discover that their regular clientele of school-aged children seemed to have been replaced with a large number of geriatric wizards and witches. It had taken them several weeks and another store closing to find the antidote and then there'd been the difficulty in sorting out the true victims of the accident from those who merely desired to experience the reverse effects of advancing age. By the time Fred and George's shop had re-opened following its second mishap, most of their main customers had returned to Hogwarts and the normally lucrative high season had proved a financial disaster. Those who did return seemed especially wary and usually came in only accompanied by their parents which was very bad for trade. The third mishap had occurred outside the shop: due to a faulty mixture of herbs that both twins swore was inexplicable, several of their new sideline Slimming Swizzlers had worked in the reverse direction: on the night of the Hogwarts mid-autumn ball in late September, several students, mostly fifth and sixth-year girls, had been found floating above the ground in their common rooms. While Madam Pomfrey had found little difficulty in puncturing the unfortunate adolescents, several of their parents had threatened to take Fred and George before the Wizengamot for ruining their expensive dress robes (which had not engorged in pace with their wearers) and in compensation for the discomfort suffered by their offspring in floating engorged above their housemates in a state of undress.

Mrs. Weasley, who had long given up trying to talk her sons into a different career, tried to reassure them by pointing out that disasters usually came in threes and that their spate of misfortune was likely at an end. The twins themselves had faced the adversity with their usual joviality and had been determined to go ahead with their planned celebration for the present afternoon. Seeing Fred now though, Harry wondered how transparent that joviality really was. Perhaps Fred had also come to believe that this goblet, whatever it was, possessed some genuine magical power that needed reviving if the twins were to recoup their business success.

"When did you give it to them, Ginny?" asked Hermione.

Harry looked up and shared the briefest of looks with his friend. Her tone of voice had betrayed only a passing interest but Harry knew from long experience that her curiosity had been aroused.

"At the grand opening of their shop; I think they've had it here ever since." She gestured to the display case above the large collection of Skiving Snackboxes.

"Found in the home of a particularly nasty Death Eater. Full of dark magic, I'm sure." George winked at Hermione again.

"You wish," Ginny retorted. "Dad found it in a raid and left it lying around the shed years before. It had a bit of sentimental value, though," she added, slightly wistfully. "Ron and I used to use it to pretend we were prince and princess of Hogwarts."

"Prince and princess of Hogwarts?" echoed Hermione.

"Never mind," said Ron, his ears going slightly pink.

"But it can't have any real magic," Ginny went on, oblivious to her brother's embarrassment. "Anything caught in a raid is thoroughly examined and treated by nine ministry experts in jinxes and counter-charms. Whatever it used to do, it has about as much magic in it now as one of Argus Filch's teapots." She took hold of Fred's arm. "For Merlin's sake, leave it there and come and join the party. It's safe now, I promise; the band have stopped playing."

Fred allowed himself to be led back away from the shop floor by Ginny, pausing to replace the goblet in its holder. The others followed suit, though Harry turned back to take one last look. The goblet now sat on a makeshift wooden stand behind an open glass case. Above it, on a dusty-looking brass plaque, and in an ancient and faded script, were chiseled the words: THE CHALICE OF MORGRIDAR.