Two to Lead

Chapter 15: Pride

And if your stupidity will attest,

Then let the best be the best.

Make a charitable donation to your pride,

And sell your heart to the wildest ride.

-Vlad Burnt the Toast, "Pride 9000"

*******

Draco knew that the only person who would come looking for him was Thera, and as far as she knew, he acted like this after every lost match. She didn't know that every other year, he'd shown up for Sunday breakfast, casting off the previous day's defeat like an ill-tailored set of robes, with twenty new insults ready and waiting for Potter and his crew.

He didn't feel up to it now. What statement was he making by pretending it didn't matter, anyway? What pride was he defending? What pride did he have left?

He saw further than he ever had before, and he was finally beginning to grasp his purpose in this world. To serve, and this for a Malfoy, who was subservient to nobody.

Or so he'd been told.

Draco couldn't say it was a betrayal, because though his father had promised him prominence and success, he had never promised him unlimited rule. He had hinted at it, presented it to his son and heir as an elusive treasure, but he had never, ever promised it. This might be yours, he had seemed to say, if you have the balls to go out and get it.

That's where the lie began, because any balls he might have had - figuratively speaking, of course - had been removed when he'd been handed over to Voldemort. Draco lived to serve, and he would serve, whether he liked it or not.

So when Thera ripped open his curtains and asked him what the fuck was up with him, he accepted her presence. He accepted it because she had made her peace with what was happening to them, and he wanted more than anything to understand how she had done it, the thought process involved, how he could get to where she was.

"Shut the curtains," he said, because the sudden light hurt his eyes. She did as he ordered, pulling the curtains shut and sitting with her bottom between his thighs, her feet on either side of his hips.

"Sulking, are we?"

"Thera, if there's a girl inside these curtains, I'm generally shagging her. Frankly, I'd prefer that to talking right now, so..."

"Ahh, that's sweet, Draco," she purred, patting him on the chest. "Unfortunately, only ugly chicks put out on command. Do remember the difference between Pansy and I, will you?"

"I only fuck Pansy because I'm related to all of the attractive Slytherins."

"Yes, it is a burden being a Malfoy. Would you like to come to lunch or would you rather sit in here and try to counteract my soon-to-be orders to Crabbe and Goyle to hold you down and demonstrate the art of 'salad tossing'?"

"Fuck you. I'm brooding."

"Brooding's no fun unless it's public, Draco. And you know you're irresistible when brooding."

"Irresistible to who?"

"To Filch and Hagrid," she answered dryly. "Maybe you need to branch out from Slytherin a little. What about that chick who's Head Girl? She's hot."

"She hates me and she has a boyfriend."

"Yes," Thera said impatiently, "but would she fuck you?"

"I don't know," Draco said, suddenly wanting to be alone again. He didn't want to go around chasing girls. He wanted to...well he hadn't quite figured that out yet, but it certainly wasn't panting after Cho Chang. She had gone out with both Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake. Draco didn't think he was Cho's type, and was glad for it.

"Well, what about one of those giggly Gryffindor girls who apply makeup with a shovel? Of course, you'd have to learn to tell them apart first..."

"I'm not having sex with a Gryffindor," Draco said, even as Red's face popped into his mind. All the girls he'd had sex with - of the unpaid and paid variety - had been pliable, easy, ready and willing to do whatever he told them to. But Red was the first girl who'd ever mauled him. Assuming he managed to survive with all his limbs intact, sex with Red would be...

"No!" Draco shouted, upending Thera as he jumped off the bed. Then he simply stood there, frozen, his mind pulling him in a hundred different directions at once. He should wash his mind out with soap. He should sweet-talk Thera into having sex with him and - barring that - get one of his socks out of the drawer and work some things out. He should get on his broom and fly far, far away. He should do absolutely anything but pursue this line of thought.

Red was attractive, sure. She only ever approached beauty in really flattering light, but she had been a raging carnivore in the Trophy Room, and that sort of made up for things in the looks department. And she was too smart and too well-groomed to really be a member of her own family as far as he was concerned, but that didn't change her bloody last name or the fact that she had seventeen brothers or whatever that would all be lining up to murder him if they ever found out he'd laid a stray finger on their overprotected little princess.

And beyond that, he'd probably get expelled for corrupting one of Dumbledore's pets. Not to mention what his father would think. Actually, his father would probably think it was hilarious, right before he dragged him to St. Mungo's to make sure he hadn't contracted any diseases. Which was funny, considering he had more of a chance of catching something from one of the Slytherin girls.

Dear sweet Merlin, was he trying to find excuses for this travesty? Had he truly reached such a low point that he was willing to sleep with this piece of trash?

"Draco? Are you having a seizure or something?"

He turned his head to Thera, suddenly aware of his unwashed hair and body, and muddy Quidditch robes. He wondered wildly if this is how Snape had started. Then he shuddered.

No, Draco swore to himself. No force on this earth could ever bring him low enough to ignore the dictates of hygiene.

"I need to take a shower," he said. "And fix my hair." He touched a strand. It was greasy, the healthy sheen dulled from missing its regular wash.

"So I imagine we won't be seeing you at lunch, then? Or dinner, for that matter?"

"Merlin, no," Draco said, looking at her horrified. Food? What did food matter when it would take him hours to rectify the damage done by his destructive self-pity? Did she really think he would go down to the Great Hall looking like this?

Of course, considering her hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said, 'Jesus Saves' on the front and 'At the First Bank of Leawood' on the back, Thera was probably the last person capable of understanding his predicament.

"Well, at least you're up and moving," she said, turning to the door. "I'll just have Crabbe and Goyle toss each other's salads. The younger kids always find it amusing."

"Thera," Draco said suddenly, feeling the need to push the questions out before he thought about it too much and never asked them. "How do you do it? How do you deal with it? How can you be so calm about it?"

She stopped, but she didn't turn around. She seemed to be thinking.

"Because Reina and a I knew when it ended, it would be bad. Now it has, and it is."

"Oh," he said, disappointed.

"I don't have any wisdom to give you, Draco, if that's what you're looking for. I'm sure they told you from day one that your life was going to be some sort of pleasure cruise, and now it isn't. Reina never told me that, and I never expected it to be. I can't tell you how to deal with it. I can't even imagine how someone like you would deal with it."

Draco nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him. "She prepared you for it, then?"

Thera finally turned. "Not this specifically, but she prepared me to handle anything." Her mouth quirked into a half-smile. "Or so she liked to say."

"Do you miss her?" It seemed like a stupid question, something mushy that somebody who hugged people a lot would ask. Draco wasn't even certain where it came from and knew he was acting strangely, but he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't good at self-doubt.

"I don't think she deserved what she got," Thera said, eyeing him strangely.

"That's not what I asked." Draco persisted, wanting to know what it was like, what Reina was like, what she had given to Thera that allowed her to get through things like this.

Something in Thera made a decision, but it didn't seem to be a decision she felt comfortable with. "Yes, I suppose. For most of my life, it was the two of us against the world, and now it's only me. So yes, I suppose you could say I miss her."

There was something in her voice he hadn't noticed before. Not bitterness, but something hard and impenetrable, and Draco realized that she wasn't telling him the whole truth. Of course, he couldn't really expect her to. What happened to her mother had nothing to do with him, and probably wouldn't mean anything to him even if she told him.

Draco remembered the brief weeks when his father had been in Azkaban. The heady sense of freedom, like standing on the edge of a precipice because the person who had dictated his thoughts and feelings and behavior up until now was suddenly gone and he had to make decisions on his own. It had been, frankly, terrifying. Maybe that's what it was like for Thera, only unlike her, he had known that his situation was only temporary.

And it was too much. He suddenly wanted her gone, not just her presence, but her ideas. She'd started telling him recently that he needed to start thinking for himself, as if there were a switch he could flip that would make him capable of independent thought. Which ideas in his head were his own, and which ones were his father's, and where was the line between them?

Draco shrugged. He simply wasn't capable of philosophizing on free will while his hair was greasy. "I'm going to go get cleaned up," he said shortly. "I'll talk to you later."

After a moment, Thera nodded and left, leaving Draco's only source of wisdom the hot spray of the shower and his own tangled thoughts.

*******

Thera had long become an expert at knowing what was going on around her without appearing the slightest bit interested. So she knew instantly at breakfast on Tuesday that someone was watching her from across the Great Hall, and was able to discern within seconds exactly who was doing the watching, all without looking directly at him or even breaking the rhythm of her eating. But the cold, prickly feeling she usually got when someone breached her highly prized invisibility didn't wash over her this time. She was too surprised.

Why was Harry Potter watching her?

Thera mulled it over and could come up with no legitimate reason for the scrawny and over-hyped Boy-Who-Lived to have any interest in her whatsoever. He probably knew who she was and what happened to Reina - common knowledge, after all - but why should he be interested in some Death Eater who came to a bad end? And it's not as if they ran in the same social circles.

No, there was no good reason for Harry Potter to be watching her, which is why it intrigued her so much. Thera wanted nothing less than to become a topic of conversation in Gryffindor tower, but she also wanted to know where this was coming from. Noting his attention, she left the Great Hall. His eyes followed her, and Thera chuckled to herself.

She was walking alone, making herself bait. Follow me, little Gryffindor. Let's see what a hero you are.

She'd made it about halfway to her Transfiguration class when a group of Ravenclaw boys caught up with her. Whereas normally Thera would have shuffled aside, this time she stayed as she was, muttering 'assholes' as they passed, just loud enough for them to hear. A tall boy with sandy brown hair stopped a few stairs above her and turned around. Gotcha.

"Got a problem, Death Eater?" he sneered.

Thera just smiled at him. "No problem. I was just musing on what a pack of assholes you are."

His eyes flared and he stepped forward. "You know, my uncle was one of the Aurors that took down your dad. Said he cried like a baby and wet himself before they finally got disgusted enough to do away with him."

If he was trying to get a rise out of her, he was certainly going about it the wrong way. The Aurors could have given her father to a pack of horny giants or stomped on his nether regions with stilettos for all she cared. The boy moved another step closer, towering over her.

"Is that how you're going to go out, Death Eater?" He put his face very close to hers, but Thera refused to back up. Any second he'll be here. Let's see what he's made of. "Covered in your own piss, begging for mercy?"

"No," she replied evenly. "But you might."

He reached out his hand for her. Whether it was to push her down the stairs or grab her by the front of her robes or cop a cheap feel, Thera never found out. Just as she was about to decide that Potter wasn't coming and she should probably do something here, the boy's hand was intercepted.

By, unsurprisingly enough, Harry Potter. Thera wanted to shake her head. Who walked around breaking up fights between people he didn't even know? The kid must have a complex or something.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growled at the Ravenclaw boy, who looked about as shocked as she was amused.

"Harry, what's with you?" the boy stammered.

"I don't like bullies."

The boy laughed a little. "No, Harry, it's not like that. This chick's the daughter of that Death Eater..."

"I know who she is," Potter interrupted. "And I suggest you leave her alone."

Despite the hackneyed, macho, who-can-piss-farther banter, Thera was slightly impressed with Potter. Without raising his voice, he managed to work a very clear threat into his words. Well, well, well. Somebody's been watching his Clint Eastwood movies. Potter let go of the boy's hand, and the Ravenclaw gathered his friends and left. It was one of the more bizarre moments in Thera's life, and she'd almost had sex with Crabbe.

Harry watched the boys leave, then looked down at her.

"You shouldn't go standing up for Death Eaters, Potter," she told him. "It'll ruin your reputation."

He ignored her comment. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Thanks to the resident hero," she replied with a cheery smile, gathering up her bag with a nearly Hufflepuff attitude and starting up the stairs, only to feel Harry's hand on her arm. What a pushover. If she pouted just right, he'd probably carry her books.

"No, seriously, are you alright?"

There was something odd about how he said it, about his stare, and for a brief second, Thera had the strangest feeling that he wasn't talking about the incident with the Ravenclaw. But that was stupid; nobody knew about anything else. If Harry bleeding Potter was aware of her and Snape jetting off to Death Eater meetings, then they were the two crappiest spies in history.

"I'm perfectly fine. Thank you." She yanked her arm back and kept going.

"I know you're not really a Death Eater," he called after her. Thera froze. She had wanted to find out why he was watching her, but this was a bit too much. The words he used gave her that feeling again, like he knew more than he should. Well, he obviously doesn't know everything, or he certainly wouldn't have bothered to stop that kid from shoving me down the stairs. Hell, he probably would have offered to do it himself.

Turning slowly, Thera crossed her arms and eyed him levelly. No, he didn't know the whole story, but he knew something. She couldn't tell yet how he was planning on using this knowledge, though. She'd need to test him a bit.

"Of course I'm not a Death Eater, Potter. They're the ones who murdered my mother, or didn't you read the story in the paper?" Thera knew her words had hit home when she saw that look on his face, that half-horrified, half-pitying look that only people with functioning consciences get when they inadvertently reference something awful in civilized conversation. The people she dealt with generally had a gleam of excitement behind it all, a curiosity for the nasty little details.

Seeing that look, Thera felt a wave of relief. Potter was categorizeable now. She knew him, or enough people like him. They bought her dinner and gave her cab fare home and took pictures of their kids in front of tourist attractions while she relieved them of their wallets.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Thankfully, he was looking down and didn't see her roll her eyes. What a cheesy thing to say. Sorry for what? That someone he'd never met was dead and that his sorrow might somehow be meaningful to someone he'd just met two minutes ago?

Putting on a serious face, she thanked him.

And then he did something worrisome. He laughed. "Sorry. I hate it when people do that."

Thera blinked at him. "When people do what?"

"Say something meaningless that's supposed to be sympathetic, only it's not. It's just some person who probably doesn't even really care all that much telling you they're sorry in order to make themselves feel better."

The sentiment behind his words rang true with her, almost as if he'd sensed - if not necessarily seen - the eye-rolling. Of course, he probably got crap like that all the time about his parents. And yet this was still not proceeding as planned.

"Yes, well anyway," she said briskly, completely disregarding his previous statement and growing increasingly disinterested in his motives, "I'm not a Death Eater, etcetera, etcetera, thanks for the chat, I need to get to Transfiguration."

She started up the stairs again, but he caught up to her again. Thera could imagine that Gryffindors were pretty much immune to subtlety, but that brush-off couldn't have been more blatant if she'd waved her arms and yelled 'Shoo!'

"I just wanted to talk to you. Can we meet later?"

"I'm busy."

He slowed down to match her speed. "You saw me in the hallway by the Slytherin dormitories," he whispered. Thera could hear other students coming up the lower stairwells on their way to morning classes, but she paid it no mind, largely because after looking down and taking in an uncomfortably familiar set of trainers, her mind was now running a mile a minute.

She told herself that he couldn't have seen anything important. So what, if she was wandering around the school in the middle of the night? Everybody did it.

But he wouldn't be stalking her if he didn't know something. Nobody was that hard pressed for entertainment. He was fishing around for information, and she certainly wasn't going to give it to him. If one of them was going to show their hand, it was going to be him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." If you know so much, then say so, Potter. I know you're dying to.

And predictably, he did exactly that. "I'm talking about Crabbe and Cruciatus and Death Eater meetings and vomiting in the girl's bathroom."

It took a lot not to betray any reaction to that statement. He'd seen it all, then. Probably followed her and Snape down to the dungeons. Thera tried to recall what they'd said to each other in the hallway. Just firewhisky and Crabbe, she thought. Anything vital had been said behind closed doors.

Thera just kept walking, not replying to his accusation. In all honesty, she couldn't. She was trying very, very hard to come up with a plan.

The smart move right now would be to admit only to what he'd expressly stated, and stroke his ego a bit. Then she would need to hint broadly that there were a great many other things he didn't know about, and that those he did know about weren't very important. He'd tell her what he knew, and then she'd Obliviate him.

Because she really, really didn't want to take this to Snape.

"Listen," he said before she had a chance to finalize her strategy. "Will you just meet me tomorrow after we get back from Hogsmeade?"

"I have things to do," she said distractedly.

"You have your own room, right? I'll meet you there and we'll talk."

She stopped and looked at him. "Or you'll do what?" The bluntness was uncharacteristic of her, but in the end, it didn't matter. The other students had caught up to them, and he couldn't tell her what he wanted.

"Just meet me," he whispered. "Please," he added, as he climbed up ahead of her and took the turn towards the Charms classroom.

So he wanted to come to her room, did he? Thera smiled to herself. She knew exactly how to handle Harry Potter. He just wanted answers, and by the time she was finished with him, he'd have no idea that he hadn't gotten any.

Answers, that is.

*******

The night before the first Hogsmeade visit, Harry woke abruptly at the sound of the door opening. It took him a moment to realize this was odd, and it was because he could hear the breathing and snores of all of his other roommates, which meant that the intruder was not one of them.

In the dark and without his glasses, Harry turned his eyes toward his wand, lying inches away on his bedside table. But he would have to open the curtains to find it, making the movement noticeable to whoever had just come in. Harry heard tiptoeing footsteps, eventually slowing as they approached his bed. As quietly as he could, his heart pounding, Harry moved to a corner of the bed, searching around for something to defend himself with as the curtains opened.

"Harry?" a girl's voice whispered. Harry went utterly slack with both relief and surprise. The intruder wasn't a knife-wielding murderer, it was Hermione.

"Harry?" she whispered again.

"Hermione?" he whispered back. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be awake."

"Does this mean you're finished not speaking to me?" Harry whispered tentatively.

Hermione sat down on the edge of his bed. "Do you want to talk?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed once or twice, trying to process this odd situation. "Umm...why don't I meet you in common room?"

"Okay." Hermione backed away and he heard her footsteps going down the stairs. Harry shuffled forward and put on his glasses and a dressing robe, his sleepy mind still not quite grasping the many wiggly tentacles of meaning involved in Hermione's appearance. He hadn't even really figured out why she'd stopped talking to him in the first place, which meant he certainly wasn't up to figuring out why she wanted to talk to him now.

It must have been very early in the morning, because the sky outside was only beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn. Harry yawned and sat next to Hermione on the couch in front of the fire. Something in him caught painfully as the firelight played upon her face. What was she doing awake at this hour? Why had she been acting so strangely all year?

"Hi, Harry," she said.

"Hermione, what is this about?"

She smiled slightly and drew her hands up to rub her eyes. "Honestly, I'm not even sure. I just...I wanted to talk to somebody and you were the only person I could think of who might be awake. I know you haven't been sleeping either."

"What did you want to talk about?"

She sat still for a moment before answering. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Harry. Every time we've fought, it's been awful, and especially this time..." her hands were clenched in her lap and she looked down at them. "I guess I just always assumed that we could tell each other everything, and maybe that was wrong."

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice gaining in strength as he believed there might be a resolution to whatever rift had sprung up between them, "you can tell me anything. You know that."

"I wonder sometimes," was Hermione's only answer.

"What does that mean?"

"I mean - I guess - that you love Ron the same way you love me, but that I don't love you and Ron the same way, and I don't think Ron loves you and I the same way."

"Okay," Harry said carefully. "But that's only because there's something between you and Ron. How did I get mixed up in it?"

"Because...let me put it this way," Hermione said, sitting forward. "The whole thing between Ron and I - and I'm not even going to try to define it right now - it's always been there, hasn't it? At least for the people who know us? You and Ginny. Even Cho talks about it."

"Of course," Harry answered, bewildered. "So what's the problem?"

"Harry," Hermione said patiently. "Ron and I aren't going out."

"Yes. I know. But still..."

"Well, it's easy as anything, isn't it? Everybody else has already put us together. Sure, Ron's never gotten up the nerve to ask me out, but there's always been an expectation?"

"Not always, no..."

"But what does it mean, Harry?" she asked urgently, leaning forward, her brown eyes alight with a fire the old Hermione used to get when she'd found some useful piece of information that answered all their questions. "Ron and I aren't friends with each other the way we are with you. Sometimes I wonder if you're the only thing we have in common. I mean, what if we're building an entire romance around the fact that we're friends with you?"

"Huh?"

She didn't seem to hear him. "And what part of Ron likes me because he really, truly likes me and what part likes me because everyone expects him to?" Hermione asked flatly.

Harry sat back, trying to take it all in. "I don't...I don't know, actually," he said. "But I don't think Ron likes you just because everyone keeps putting you together in their heads."

Hermione looked away. "He's jealous of Victor."

"Yes," Harry admitted, because everybody knew it.

"But Victor knows me better than Ron does," Hermione said softly. "So do you."

Harry felt a creeping warmth come over him. "Umm...Hermione..."

She waved a hand. "I'm not saying you like me, Harry. You really do need to learn some things about how girls think. I'm saying that Ron likes me, and I like him, but I don't think he likes every aspect of me. Does that make any sense?"

"I guess," Harry said hopelessly. "But then why have you been acting all high-strung and bitter all year?"

"Have I really?" she asked, wincing.

"Well..." Harry hedged.

"I guess I have, haven't I?" Hermione asked, pulling her bushy hair out behind her and draping it across the back of the sofa. The movement revealed a line of flesh between her pajama pants and top, but Harry looked away.

This is Hermione. Hermione. Your best friend. Sex and Hermione do not equate.

"I'm sorry about that. I guess I went a little off the deep edge," Hermione said, staring deeply into the fire.

"Just a little," Harry croaked, sending 'bad, no' messages down to his nether regions. "What happened, anyway? I mean, you've been acting strangely for a while now. Everyone's noticed, not just me and Ron."

"If I tell you," Hermione said in a small voice. "Will you think I'm an idiot?"

"Hermione," Harry said honestly, "you've never in your entire life been an idiot."

"Well, this summer, when I went to Spain with my parents, we weren't alone. We went with some friends of the family that we haven't seen for a while."

"Okay."

"And they have a son my age - that's how they all became friends in the first place, years and years ago - and I haven't seen him since I started going to Hogwarts, actually."

"And?"

"And he's wonderful," Hermione said hopelessly. "He's attractive and smart and funny. We had these discussions, really long discussions. We talked about everything."

"Uh, sure," Harry said uncertainly.

"I mean, I've never been able to just sit and talk to someone my age about the things I talked to him about. Philosophy and history and literature; everything we came across during the trip was a possible topic. It was just...it was amazing."

"And?"

Hermione put her hands over her face, muffling her answer. "And I tried to kiss him."

"What happened?"

"He was very polite about it. He said that I was very nice to talk to and that he'd had a wonderful time, but that he wasn't attracted to me at all, and then he didn't talk to me for the rest of the trip."

"Oh, Hermione," Harry said stupidly, trying to get past his maleness in order to sympathize. "I'm sorry."

"It's silly," she moaned. "I know it's silly to even get upset about it, but I just stepped back and looked at the situation. The whole situation. I mean, I'd rather fail Potions than walk around acting like Lavender and Parvati, but sometimes it seems like I just...serve a purpose."

"Hermione," Harry began, but she cut him off.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, or Ron either, because I don't think either of you mean it that way, and anyway I'm the one who kept it going. You two would need homework help or girl advice or you'd put together some wacky plan and it got to the point where I was half-convinced that neither of you could survive without me."

"We couldn't," Harry said smiling.

"Apparently not," Hermione said, smiling a little in return. "I heard about Ron's nervous breakdown before the Quidditch match."

"He's hopeless about you," Harry said. "You know that, don't you?"

"I guess so," Hermione answered, studying her hands in her lap.

"Then the million-galleon question is: do you feel the same way about him?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, frowning. "Sometimes I think I do, but then...I don't know. I don't want to just go out with him because I know he likes me. Because it would be really easy to do that, but I don't know if us going out is a very good idea anyway."

"You think it would make things uncomfortable."

"Well, wouldn't it? And what if it didn't work out? It would be awful."

"Would it be more awful than the past few weeks?"

"Good point," she said, laughing shortly. There was a long silence. Harry knew he should probably say something to her, something apologetic and comforting, but he didn't really know what to say, so instead he changed the subject.

"What's this project you've been working on?"

"Oh, the project," Hermione said, smiling mysteriously. "I think I'd rather keep it a secret for now and see how it works out. You'll see soon enough."

Harry nodded, his gaze back on the fire, wondering whether or not he'd be wearing another button around school for another of Hermione's causes soon. He took a deep breath. Why was apologizing to Hermione so much harder than apologizing to anyone else?

"Hermione, I just want you to know that I'm sorry if I made you feel like I'm only friends with you because you help me with my homework, because it's not true. I wanted you to know that," he finished lamely.

"I know," she said, looking over at him. "And you and Ron didn't do too badly without me, did you?"

Harry shook his head. "We were pitiful, but it's not even about that. We missed you."

"I missed you, too," she said, laughing to herself. "So what have you been up to, then?"

And so they sat there until dawn, Harry telling her about his training with Fox and the things he'd overheard with Snape and Thera Castelar, and about his meeting with her after the Hogsmeade visit. It seemed to take a physical effort on Hermione's part to not rail at him about nighttime meetings with strangers who may or may not work for Voldemort, but she refrained.

Instead, she helped him form a plan.

*******

The trio were apparently back together again, walking off towards the Shrieking Shack with their heads together. How many times had Ginny seen them that way, watched them sit close, one unit split into three pieces. One part of Ginny was glad for the reunion, largely because it kept Ron from following her and Seamus around Hogsmeade. But another part of her felt the same near-jealousy. She'd never been that close to somebody who hadn't tried to kill her.

Seamus was okay, though. Ginny hadn't necessarily asked him out, though she had asked him to go to Hogsmeade with her. It was barely even a conscious decision; he just seemed to be next on the list of boys she should go out with. Plus Dean and Lavender had finally gotten together - and were staging loud, dramatic rows in the Common Room on a weekly basis - so Seamus was looking for someone to hang out with.

"Where do you want to do?" he asked.

"Oh. Um, I don't really care."

"Neither do I."

"Okay."

They started walking, both of them knowing that if you came to Hogsmeade with a member of the opposite sex, you either snuck off to paw each other behind the Shrieking Shack or went to Madame Puddifoot's, which is where their feet took them almost without thought.

They managed to secure one of the highly prized spots in the corner. Ginny noted with mild amusement that Terry Boot was a few tables away with a fifth year Hufflepuff named Octavia Yellowfinger, who was only noteworthy because she was a distant cousin to both herself and Neville Longbottom.

Ginny wondered if it were possible to be anything but a Hufflepuff with a name like Yellowfinger.

Seamus was a charming guy when he wanted to be. In fact, as Ginny was beginning to learn, his only annoying tendency seemed to be the ability to take any statement and somehow relate it to football.

Having no real respect for football and beyond that, knowing absolutely nothing about the sport, Ginny didn't have much to say. Which meant they were forced to gossip.

Not that they didn't enjoy it.

"So what's Parvati been doing with Lavender and Dean all wrapped up in their own personal three-act drama?" Ginny asked.

"Well, she hung out with her sister for a while, but I guess that got boring, because she went and stole Ernie MacMillan away from Hannah Abbott." Seamus said, raising his eyebrows.

"You're kidding me. They've been going out for ages. So Parvati's a Hufflepuff homewrecker." Ginny shook her head in dismay.

"You think that's bad?" Seamus asked, lowering his voice and glancing around. "She and Lavender have been kind of bitchy to each other lately anyway, because apparently Parvati tried to get in Dean's trousers earlier this year."

"Wow," Ginny breathed, half in awe and half in grudging respect for the heretofore unknown Slytherin side of Parvati Patil.

Seamus nodded. "Dean said he only barely escaped with his virtue intact. Apparently Parvati's a bit...demanding."

"I imagine she would be," Ginny agreed.

"I'd watch yourself if I were you, Finnegan," another voice broke in. Terry Boot. Ginny sighed.

"What did you say?" Seamus asked, in a voice Ginny had never heard him use with anyone else before. It suddenly occurred to her that Terry's words could be misconstrued, and not in a good way.

"She's crazy," Terry said, nodding at her. "I'm just telling you to help you out."

"And what makes you think I need your help?" Seamus asked, standing so quickly that it nearly knocked his chair over.

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Ginny muttered, putting her head in her hands. "Seamus, sit down. Terry, go away."

They seemed inclined to do neither. "I'd say you need more help than I can give you, if you're willing to go out with that psychopath," Terry said. Why, why had she ever tried to instill him with a backbone?

"Psychopath?" Seamus asked, laughing. "And you think what you're doing right now is calm and rational?"

Ginny was about to put a stop to things when Terry held his hands up and backed away slightly. "I'm not trying to start anything with you, Finnegan. I'm just trying to warn you off."

"Get out," Seamus bit out, his hands clenching into fists. Ginny stared at him. She started to intervene, then held herself back, tamping down the urge to giggle. He was trying to be heroic. Who was she to disrupt him?

"I was just leaving anyway," Terry said mildly. He had just turned to take Octavia's arm and escort her out when Seamus punched him. Octavia screamed and Ginny gasped.

Perhaps she'd underestimated Seamus' heroic tendencies a bit. And his temper, for that matter. The time for intervening had come.

"Let's go, Seamus," she said firmly, pulling him off of Terry. "Let's just go." Seamus seemed to be enjoying the fight, but he backed off, reaching into his pocket to throw some money on their table.

"Sorry for the disturbance everyone," he said to the establishment as a whole. Most of them, Ginny noticed, were staring at them with their mouths open. "But sometimes you've just gotta beat a prick like a prick should be beaten." He grinned, his eyes shining with an almost manic light. Taking her hand, he led her out of the café, only barely making it out the door before bursting into laughter.

"Did you see the look on his face?" They hadn't made it very far before Seamus had to lean against the robe shop and just let go.

"Why did you do that?" Ginny asked in her inadvertent Molly Weasley voice. "He was leaving anyway."

"I've...wanted...to beat the shit...out of Terry Boot..." he gasped, "...for ages. Superior piece of shite..."

"Are you telling me," Ginny asked dangerously, "that I'm an excuse?"

He just shook his head, incapable of speech any longer. "No...no..." he finally got out. "But I still enjoyed it."

Ginny watched him catch his breath. "You're insane," she observed.

"Apparently, so are you," he said, fighting off another round of laughter. His eyes were bluer than blue, almost unnaturally bright and clear. Ginny felt suddenly giddy, not just with the events of the afternoon, but also with the normalcy within the insanity. He was a boy who liked her and she was a girl who liked him.

Why did it need to be any more complex than that?

He was calming down from his laughter now, watching her watch him. "You look serious," he said finally.

"I like you," she said simply.

He stared at her, wholesome boy, decent guy. Silly boyish pranks and uncomplicated desires, nothing dark in him at all. Why shouldn't she have this, like any other teenage girl? Why not?

"I always thought you were pretty," he said, smiling a little sheepishly. Both of them stepped forward to kiss each other at the same time, and Ginny ran through the scenes in her head. Isn't this where her parents had started? Sheepish boy standing up for his girl's honor and proud girl bending a little to open her heart to him?

Ummm...if I'm really into him, shouldn't I be more involved in this kiss here?

Shit.

*******

McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid started walking off towards The Three Broomsticks, but Vivian held back. "I think I'll just pop into Honeydukes for a moment and grab some chocolate. I'll be along." Eager to get out of the cold, none of the others questioned this decision. Vivian still waited until the pub door closed behind them before setting off at a leisurely pace down the main thoroughfare.

A tall individual in a black cloak was following her, and she was going to find out who, and why.

Strolling into Honeydukes, Vivian positioned herself behind some students so that she had a clear view of the street through the window. The cloaked person stopped at the robe shop across the street, window-shopping. Well, if they truly were, they would either step inside or move along down the road.

Suspiciously, the person did neither. Instead, they stood in the same position for a ridiculously long time. At this point, it finally occurred to Vivian that she was no longer an Auror, but a perfectly boring Hogwarts professor in the middle of Hogsmeade. In other words, she had no reason to hide, especially from a person so inept at blending in.

The person had a clear view of her coming out of the candy store in the window of the robe shop, but even as she came dangerously close, whoever it was didn't flee, or move at all, for that matter. Vivian doubted herself for a moment before discarding it. After all, she hadn't survived this long by ignoring her instincts.

It was a man. She could see that now. Vivian walked to stand directly beside him, as if enthralled by the window offerings of the little robe shop. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face turn towards her and she knew she had him.

"Looking for me?" she asked nonchalantly, looking up at him.

And then instinctively, she took a step back. The face was too disturbingly familiar.

"David?"

"Hello, darling," David said mildly.

"We're divorced, you idiot," Vivian growled automatically. "Don't call me darling."

"Oh, you'll always be my darling," he countered, smiling a bit fiercely.

His eyes were entrancing, almost hypnotic. Immediately, she broke their connection, turning her gaze back to the robe shop window.

Vivian knew that it took a great many years and a great deal of power for a vampire to gain the ability to mesmerize prey by simply maintaining eye contact. And yet she could feel this power in him already. Even during that one brief moment, she could feel him drawing her in.

But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

"So I take it you read the announcement of my new position in The Daily Prophet?" she asked briskly.

"Yes, I did. Not a good picture of you."

"You have some nerve showing up here," she informed him. "Do you know how many people there are in the immediate vicinity who would be more than happy to kill you?"

"I don't care about them, darling. I only care about you, and I know you won't kill me."

"I wouldn't be too certain of that," she muttered.

Even when he met her gaze in the robe shop window, she could feel the power behind it. Contrary to Muggle and magical folklore, vampires have reflections. They are solid and take up space and reflect light and have reflections. At this moment, however, Vivian almost wished he didn't. If she couldn't see his reflection, it would make him more alien, and less like the David she used to know. Plus he wouldn't be able to capture her gaze in the window.

"Stop that," she hissed.

"Stop what?" he asked innocently.

"How are you even capable of mesmerism? You've been a vampire for less than a year."

"Oh, I've learned a few tricks, that's all. If it makes you feel any better, the effect only works on you."

"David, that's not possible," Vivian said flatly and started off down the street. He was a complication she didn't need right now. First Remus, then Balder, now David? What sort of pheromones was she emitting, anyway?

He caught up with her, his long legs easily keeping pace. "It's dangerous to think that you know everything," he sneered. "I didn't seek this power to trick the fools who happen across my path, darling. I sought it entirely for you. Now tell me you aren't touched by that?"

"What part of you is so detached from reality that you thought I would be touched, David?" Her voice was derisive, but her mind was reeling. Something queasy roiled in her stomach.

Back when they'd still been in their knock-down, drag-out fight phase, there had always been a sort of boundary of respect upheld. Though boils had sprung up on faces and slugs had been barfed up, neither had ever really fought with the intention of harming the other.

Except for one isolated incident.

Vivian didn't remember what they had been fighting about, but it had been a bad one. The argument had proceeded quickly from shouting to a wands-out brawl. In these situations, Vivian invariably had the upper hand. After all, she hadn't won those dueling championships with luck.

She had had her wand out and had been forcing him towards the door, probably screaming for him to get out and never come back or whatever her line was in those days. When he'd thrown the curse, she'd instinctively jumped out of the way. And then she saw the hole in the wall behind her and realized that he'd thrown a Reductor curse at her. Vivian had seen something in David's eyes at that moment that she had never seen before or since: a true and soul-deep desire to hurt her.

Almost immediately, he'd thrown another curse. In her shock, Vivian had been slow to react and only partially dodged it. It glanced off of her left side, and though the majority of the curse went into the sofa, she knew without looking down at her side that there was a big hole there, and that she was down for the count. David had been beside himself with remorse.

"Vivian, I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry. I'll never, ever...darling, I'm so sorry..." At the time she had forgiven him, sweeping the incident under the rug of her memory, not wanting to dwell on what it might mean. But now it had escaped and was jumping around at the forefront of her mind, screaming 'Look at me! I'm relevant!' Considering the changes in him, Vivian had to admit to herself that she didn't know what he was capable of right now.

"I thought you would be touched that I went to such lengths for you, Viv," David continued conversationally as she took her trip down memory lane. "It was a difficult skill to achieve and I had to pay quite dearly for it."

"Well, you got taken, then," she replied. "Go back to California, David. Go skiing in the Alps. Go to hell for all I care. Just leave me alone." They'd reached The Three Broomsticks, and Vivian headed for the door.

"You should join him, you know. He knows how useful you could be. He'll come for you anyway, eventually. And you more than anyone should know that there are no alternatives when he wants you on his side."

Vivian halted so quickly at his softly spoken words that she nearly fell over. It took everything in her not to turn around and grab him by the throat.

"What did you say?" she asked him. She couldn't have heard him right. David was a fool and had a bit of a dark side - hey, who didn't? - and he'd developed a rather unhealthy fixation on her in the past few months, but joining up with Voldemort?

Well, if it was true, it downgraded becoming a vampire to the second stupidest decision he'd ever made.

"All of the dark creatures are joining him, Viv. Didn't you know? We're sick of hiding in the shadows. We want our piece of the pie."

His first sentence disturbed her the most. "What do you mean, 'all of the dark creatures are joining him?'" she demanded.

"I mean giants, vampires, banshees, veela, even...werewolves." He spat out the term like a curse. It sent a shiver down her spine. How did he know? How had he found out about Remus? How deep in was he with Voldemort? Had he met Peter? Had Peter told him about Remus? Vivian wanted desperately to sag against the doorjamb and give way to all of the questions in her head, but she didn't dare show any reaction in front of David. Instead she swallowed and gathered her forces.

"And do the dark creatures really think Voldemort can get them what they want?"

He laughed shortly. "At least he's bothering to try."

"Oh, honestly, David. What could you all possibly want out of life? Acres of cages full of humans for the eating? A representative in the Wizengamot? A float in the St. Patrick's Day parade?"

"We want power, darling. Pure and simple."

"Stop calling me darling!"

"I've always called you darling."

"Well, David always called me darling. I haven't a clue who you are."

"I'm New and Improved David. David Prime. David to the Nth Degree."

"I think you're more like Creepy Stalker David. Or maybe A Few Sandwiches Short of a Picnic David. Hasn't it dawned on you yet that radically changing your personality isn't winning you any popularity contest with me? I mean, if the point of this little escapade is to convince me to pledge my love and go riding off into the moonlight with you, you're doing a lousy job of it."

"This has very little to do with love, darling. Listen, I need to take off, if you don't mind. Your werewolf approaches, and our species don't really get on too well. I'd hate to make a scene in front of the kiddies. See you again soon."

Vivian felt a whoosh of air and knew he'd gone. Very slowly, she reached out and placed her hands on the wooden outer wall next to the entrance to The Three Broomsticks. Then she began methodically banging her forehead into it.

*******

Remus had only informed McGonagall that he would likely show up at The Three Broomsticks. He had imagined the look of pleasant shock on Vivian's face when he arrived and joined their table. From there, he had figured on friendly repartee, and whatever else happened would happened.

He could not have predicted that his arrival would coincide with Vivian apparently bashing her head against the wall. She seemed rather intent upon the task at hand, so he approached carefully.

"Ahem, Vivian?" he interrupted politely.

She abruptly stopped with the head-banging and turned around to greet him with a rather forced smile. There was a round pink spot on her forehead from her efforts. "Remus, what are you doing here?"

"I intended on having a spot of butterbeer," he answered slowly. "Do you have something against that particular wall?"

Vivian blinked at him before turning back to study the wall in question. "The wall?"

He couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Well, you seem to wish it harm, so I thought it might have insulted your robes or something."

Remus could recall a time in his life in which he would run into Vivian in the hallway at school, and her mind would be all wrapped up in some problem or another. At those times, he had been charmed by her ability to show concentration, confusion, frustration, anger, and four or five other emotions in a blindingly fast cyclical progression. Her face was going through that particular combination at the moment, and he found himself once again charmed.

"Bit of a problem?" he questioned.

She leaned against the wall to get her bearings. "I have no idea...[expression change] there seems to be...[expression change] oh, dear, Remus, I don't even know how to tell you...[expression change] I think I need to talk to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore? What's wrong?"

Her focus returned in an instant. "Have you heard anything about hordes of dark creatures joining forces with Voldemort?"

Remus had to take a step back at the change in topic. "No, not really. Not hordes, at least. Dark creatures tend to be loners."

She raised an eyebrow. "Loners?"

He felt a bit exasperated with her. Did she teach Defense Against the Dark Arts or not? "Dark creatures are predators. They compete for food. Hence, loners."

"Well, I know that, but have a great many of them joined with him?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I've fallen behind on all my issues of Dark Creatures Weekly."

She was not in a joking mood. "But it's possible, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. Dark creatures earned the title at some point."

She looked over his shoulder as if mulling something over. Remus could tell the exact moment when she made her decision to tell him what she'd been thinking about.

"David was here," she said flatly.

All of Remus' instincts were suddenly on alert. "Here?" he asked her tersely. "When?"

"Don't worry. He's gone now."

There was an uncharacteristic sort of defeatism in her voice that gave him pause. "What did he say?" he probed carefully.

"He said that the dark creatures are joining up with Voldemort," she replied, not looking at him.

"Is he speaking from experience?" Remus asked a bit snappishly. Every once in a while, jealousy reared its ugly head, and its head was a great deal more difficult to control when the object of said jealousy was a foppish vampire who came prancing into Hogsmeade and turned Vivian inside out.

"I don't know, actually. He didn't go into specifics."

Vivian looked as if she'd been through the ringer, but there was something else that worried him. She looked tense, on-edge. She kept looking up and down the street as if expected Voldemort to suddenly appear and take out the whole town.

A very ugly suspicion came over him. "Did he threaten you?" he finally allowed himself to ask in a low voice. He sounded surprisingly calm considering the rather graphic images of tearing David Lynes limb from limb currently showing in his mind's eye.

She seemed to think that over. "No, not really. I think he was threatening you, actually."

The wolfish, hyper-masculine part of his brain automatically thought, Bring it on, you fucking poufter, but the rational side was thrown off. "Why would he threaten me?"

"He said...he knows...oh, damn it all..." Vivian grabbed his arm and steered him down the street. "We need to talk, and it really shouldn't be here." She dragged him down to the lovely and welcoming Hog's Head Inn. He winced as his werewolf senses caught far more smells than the average witch or wizard would have to endure.

They sat down at a table in the corner on slightly sticky wooden chairs. Vivian immediately jumped back up. "I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?"

"No," he answered firmly, eyeing a suspicious stain on the table.

She walked up to the bar and returned quickly with two shots of firewhisky.

"I told you I didn't want anything."

"They're both for me," she answered breathlessly, downing the first shot. She came up coughing. "Sorry," she gasped. "Haven't had that in a while."

"So Mr. Lynes threatened my well-being, did he?" Remus asked conversationally.

"He knows about you. He knows you're a werewolf."

"Erm, Vivian? It's not exactly a secret anymore. Hell, Snape told the whole school at the end of my ignoble foray into teaching."

Vivian sat back, shocked. "That slimy git," she muttered fiercely. "As if the stories I know about him wouldn't burn people's ears off."

Gratified as he was by her anger on his behalf, Remus had a feeling she was diverting the discussion. "It doesn't matter, Vivian. We're on the same side, now, remember?"

She snorted derisively and picked up the other shot. She made as if to down it in one gulp, seemed to change her mind, stared at it for a moment, and finally took a tentative sip.

"Vivian, is that really all you were worried about? Is that why we're sitting here in The Hog's Head?"

"No, of course not." Her gaze remained directed at her drink, which she was now slowly rotating between her hands on the table. "Do you remember when we talked about whether or not David was dangrous?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I think he is."

Remus fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, I was hoping you would come around eventually." And then she looked up from her glass, and he immediately shut up. Vivian looked scared.

And if the queen of underestimating the threat was scared, then as far as Remus could tell, the rest of the world ought to be running around screaming in the streets, possibly looting.

"He can mesmerize, Remus. I think Voldemort somehow gave the power to him in exchange for joining up. But he told me - and I don't even see how this is possible - he told me that it only works on me."

Remus' mind was working. David wanted Vivian, and Voldemort probably wouldn't mind having her as another member of his legion of dark creatures, assuming he had a legion of dark creatures.

Vivian went on. "He's not very good at it yet, which is to say that he can't hide what he's doing, but it's powerful, Remus."

And David had come here specifically to talk to her, because he wanted her to know that he had this power, and he wanted her to know (whether or not it was actually true) that the power only worked on her. He'd also wanted to let it slip that he knew she'd been hanging around with a werewolf. David had a plan, and he was already setting the groundwork for it. The thought made Remus uneasy.

"He's obsessed with you. He wants you to become like him," he said thoughtfully.

"No," she answered repressively. "He wants to kill me, and I think he'd like to take out a few other people along the way, including you."

Remus shook his head. "He doesn't want to kill you, he wants you to be like him."

Vivian shook her head right back. "You didn't see him today, Remus. He knows I'm a lost cause for him, and he wants to kill me. He hates me."

Remus chuckled. "No, he loves you, or he thinks he does."

"Remus," Vivian argued softly, reaching for her drink once more, "I've seen him like this before. He wants to kill me."

He studied her. "When have you seen him like this before?" Sure, she and David had fought. People fought. It didn't mean anything.

"He hit me with a Reductor curse once."

"He threw a Reductor curse at you?" Remus managed to get past his strangled throat.

"Well, in all fairness, I dodged the first one, but I was so surprised he'd actually done it that I didn't entirely manage to dodge the second."

There was rage and there was guilt, and Remus wasn't in the mood to sort them out. The facts were that some bloodsucking piece of shit had thrown a bloody Reductor curse at Vivian, at his own wife and Remus very much wanted to rip his throat out for that.

"He could have killed you," Remus said hoarsely, rubbing his temples.

"I think he was trying to. I'd never seen him like that before, but today, he was like that the whole conversation."

"I'm so sorry, Vivian," he said, because unlike staking her ex-husband, apologizing was something he could do right now.

"Huh? Sorry about what?"

"I'm just sorry," Remus grumbled, unable to even flesh out the details and the years and the dumping people and them getting married and all of it.

"Well, I have no idea what you're going on about, but I think I might have to kill him," Vivian sighed. "I'm the reason he did this in the first place, Remus. It's my job to stop him before he kills somebody."

"Wait a second," Remus said, looking at her. "He's fixated on you in some sort of freaky stalker-killer way, and you think it's your responsibility to stop him?"

"That's a stupid way to look at it."

"Well, that seems to be the way you're looking at it."

"No, it's not. It's more complicated than that, Remus. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh. Fine. I see," he said stiffly.

"Get all offended if you want to, but this isn't about you, Remus." A hard edge entered into her voice. "This is about how I found a decent guy who loved me and then screwed him around until I turned him into whatever it was I had a conversation with this afternoon."

"David isn't your fault, Vivian," Remus answered weakly, taken aback by the bitterness in her voice.

"He's every inch my fault, Remus. I used him because I knew I could. I knew he was too nice to tell me go fuck myself, even though he had every right." Vivian leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "This is between him and me, and I'm not going to let him use you against me, Remus. I'm not going to let you be dragged into this. I'm going to kill him, and then I'm going to find a way to live with it."

There was something in her voice, something unfamiliar in her face that made Remus realize that there were large parts of Vivian that he didn't know anymore. He'd imagined her to be the same studious girl he'd known, and up until now she had lived up to that. But she wasn't the same person, and he felt a sense of loss somehow. These parts of her had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with David.

"I understand," he said finally. It was partially in response to her declaration, but mostly because he finally did understand that he couldn't snap his fingers and make things the way they used to be. Too much had happened. They had both changed. And it was long past time for him to accept it.

So when they returned to McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid at the Three Broomsticks and they teased Vivian about her 'date' with Balder Astragand, Remus dug up a smile from somewhere and wished her good luck, even though she insisted it wasn't a date and some small part of him wanted nothing more than to lock David Lynes and Balder Astragand in a shack together and set the damn thing on fire.

Neither vampires nor rich, well-connected politicians who look like bodybuilders should be allowed to live.

*******

Fox, Amina and Gautham had arrived in Hogsmeade shortly after dawn to begin setting up protections for all of the students. The town itself was quite well guarded, so the job wasn't very taxing. Around mid-morning, they met with The Cardinal in the secret room at the Hog's Head Inn

"So, are we well-defended?" he asked briskly.

"As well as we can be, sir," Gautham said.

"Everything is in place," Amina added.

"Good, good. Very good. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch recently, but I had to deal with a situation in Brazil. Once awakened, the living dead can be entirely unreasonable." The Cardinal sighed. "You know, despite your...proclivities," he commented, glaring at Gautham in a way that made Fox have to literally force the image of him in his boxer shorts in front of The Cardinal out of her head. "You're actually one of my most reliable teams."

"Thank you, sir," they said in unison.

"You've earned the compliment," he said, waving a hand. "Now, I'd simply like you to mark the perimeter and stay on guard. We have no reason to expect anything to happen, but nonetheless I'd like us to be ready for anything." With that, he turned and left the secret room. The three of them followed.

A buxom young woman was tending bar. She glanced over at them as they reappeared, her blue eyes twinkling. Fox literally stopped in her tracks.

Professor Dumbledore? she asked.

Believe it or not, he answered, winking at her as he poured a smoking potion into a goblet for a skeevy-looking customer.

But what are you doing here? Looking like that?

Repaying a favor, he sighed, his bosom heaving. Fox recoiled and heard him chuckling in her head. I figured nobody would recognize me like this.

I certainly hope not.

The Cardinal walked over to give Dumbledore a few whispered orders, to which he nodded, making his bosom jiggle even more. Fox shook her head. Dirty old man.

Dirty, am I? Dumbledore asked, a smirk crossing his young, female features. I'm not the one who scorched the walls of the Quidditch locker rooms.

Even Guardians have their needs, Fox answered, looking at the ceiling.

The Cardinal left. Amina and Gautham decided to split up to patrol the perimeter.

"Can you take the main thoroughfare, Fox?" Amina asked her.

"In a minute," Fox answered. They left, and she went to take a seat at the bar.

You've been wanting to talk to me about something?

Yes, I have, he said seriously in his mind as he smiled coyly at a customer.

And it is? Fox prompted him.

Vivian may have found the spell for the five children, he said shortly. I don't suppose you're fluent in High Argorathic?

I know English, Sioux, and the language of the Guardians, Fox answered.

I can't make head or tails of it, either, which means it's entirely constructed by mortals, Dumbledore said heavily. And your suspicions for the fifth child may very well be correct.

Ginny Weasley?

Yes, I'm afraid.

But she doesn't feel the same as the others, Fox argued.

Vivian thinks she may have been initiated in a different way, possibly not even initiated at all, at least in the manner of the other children.

The Chamber of Secrets.

The voice you heard...

Fox nodded. 'The heir's throne...he made her...he will claim...once before, he infiltrated...again...'

'He made her...' they said at the same time, their eyes meeting over the bar.

Unfortunately, we need the translation of the spell in order to see whether or not it's her, Dumbledore said.

I suppose we'll know soon enough, Fox answered.

We won't know until Vivian translates it, Dumbledore sighed, nearly plunging his overflowing breasts into a pitcher of Troll Beer.

Vivian? Why not just have Castelar or Crabbe look at it?

Dumbledore snapped his head around to her. They read the language at their ceremonies.

Fox nodded urgently. It's worth a shot to see if they understand it even outside of Voldemort's influence.

It certainly is, Dumbledore said thoughtfully just as a loud ringing alarm sounded from Fox's belt. She immediately looked down. It was the Dark Creature alarm. Leaping off the bar stool, she ran down the street.

"Wait!" a panting voice called out from behind her halfway there. It was Amina. Fox halted.

"The werewolf...the one that was at the fake attack...I forgot about it...McGonagall said...he might come..." Amina explained.

"So it's the werewolf? You're sure?" Fox asked hurriedly.

Amina shook her head. "Can't tell...dark sensors aren't that sensitive..."

Gautham finally caught up to them. "Why...alarm go off...talking up...hot Indian chick..."

"Was she...cute?" Amina asked.

"Oh, yeah," Gautham answered, grinning lasciviously.

"Of age?"

Gautham immediately looked shifty. "Sure."

Amina stood up as tall as she could while winded. "You sick...pervert..."

"Emotionally...we're probably...the same age..." he said defensively.

"Yeah..." Amina laughed, coughing slightly. "But not...legally."

Fox finally stepped in impatiently. "Well, gee, don't you think we should go make sure it's the stupid werewolf?"

"Go on," Amina said, waving her off. "We're right behind you."

Fox sent a glare back at both of them before taking off at a sprint down the main drag. At every shot, she sent her powers out to feel what was inside. None of them seemed to be harboring any dark creatures. Finally she reached the Three Broomsticks and came to a halt.

She could see the werewolf in the distance. Reaching down to her belt, Fox turned off the alarm and spun around on her heel, heading back to give her team the all-clear.