Two to Lead

Chapter 24: Come Together

Had she not been half-asleep, it was entirely possible that Vivian would have turned past the first ray of hope she'd been able to find since the spell had been translated. However, as luck would have it, her mind was working slowly, and she was turning the pages of the ancient book just as slowly as she lay in bed, dead tired and yet unable to fall asleep. She actually turned the page over before it clicked in her mind.

Turning back, Vivian sat up, suddenly awake and almost afraid to admit that she might have found a weakness in the spell while idly flipping through an out-of-date, intellectually suspect compendium of historical magical artifacts of the Eastern Mediterranean.

Taking out the book in the first place had been a bit of a lark. She was more familiar with those who had debunked the author than the author himself, and having a rather in-depth knowledge of the region's cultural history, Vivian couldn't help but write off his theories regarding their practices as utter bullshit. Until she saw the chalice, that is.

Diskopotiro Amiateleti: the blood ceremony chalice. Straightforward enough. Still holding the book open to the proper page lest she lose her place, Vivian awkwardly crawled over to the stack of parchments on the corner of the bed, going through them, trying to find the picture. It had been there earlier. She'd seen it a few hours ago.

She made it to the bottom of the stack and her stomach dropped. No, no, she must have missed it. Taking a deep breath, Vivian very calmly and meticulously went through the stack again. And then suddenly, there it was, stained with spilled tea and stuck to an article from Dead Languages Quarterly, but still recognizable as the drawing Thera Castelar had given her months ago. A drawing of the exact same chalice.

Vivian dressed hurriedly, her heart pounding at the discovery. If it was true, and if she could figure out the properties of the chalice, then it was possible they could put together some semblance of a counter-spell, at least enough to disrupt the bond, make it less reliable, less powerful. She needed to talk to Dumbledore...

Vivian stopped herself. First she needed to bounce a couple of ideas against the walls of her head, and the walls of the head of a neutral party. Snatching up the book and the drawing, she shrunk a stack of reference books and flooed with them to Number Twelve.

She was sure Remus would be asleep, but he wasn't. His bedroom was empty, the bed undisturbed. She heard her name called from somewhere above her and finally located him feeding Buckbeak a pail of something raw and bloody. He was in a dressing robe, his hair messed up. He was barefoot and Vivian made a face. She loved him. She really did. But that didn't change the fact that he had the ugliest feet she'd ever seen.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking concerned. "Did something happen?"

"I found something," she said, holding the book and the drawing out to him. He wiped his hands on a towel before taking them. Remus studied the two items. Then his eyebrows drew together and he turned the book over to look at the cover.

"Morty Blunderbuss? Please tell me you're kidding."

"Come on, Remus. It's something."

"He's a fraud, Vivian, as you well know. You can't even do a trustworthy Arithmantic matrix on the chalice based upon this information, much less an iterative reaction survey that would give you a decent idea of what would work best to counteract it."

"Yes, I know," Vivian said, "but the fact remains that this is the chalice Voldemort's using for the blood ceremonies. It's a start."

"Vivian, we're better off working with no information at all than with faulty information."

"But read what he says there," she insisted, "about how the gold that was used to form the chalice was created during the first instance of transfiguring lead into gold by the dark wizard Ektyapos Roth Nagras, and that the same gold was used to form a dagger."

"So?"

"So Thera Castelar said the ceremony involved a dagger, too. Chalice and dagger, woman and man, circle of life, procreation, etcetera. Are you with me?"

"Yes, I picked up on the significance the first time around, Vivian."

"That's not all." Vivian crossed her arms, feeling smug. "Why can't you counterfeit galleons?"

Remus sighed, quickly growing tired of humoring her. "Because there's a spell on them that makes it impossible."

"Wrong. There's a spell in them that makes it impossible. Galleons are gold made from transfigured lead. When you alter the material content of a transfigured object, the rearrangement of the molecules allows you to contain magic inside them."

"So the chalice and the dagger actually have magic contained within them," Remus said, shrugging. "Unless we know what that magic is, what does it matter?"

"I think we do know what the magic is," Vivian said. "I think it's the spell itself."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "That's a pretty big logical leap, Vivian."

"Is it? Do you know what Ektyapos Roth Nagras means?"

He shook his head. "I don't speak Greek."

"It's not Greek. It's High Argorathic. It means 'Ektyapos of the Pentacle.' To the late followers of Ratha, the pentacle was the symbol of life's balance, and of immortality."

"Hence the five children and the immortality spell," Remus said slowly. "It's one hell of a coincidence. I'll grant you that."

She'd expected skepticism, but hardly to this degree. "Well, it's something to work with, isn't it?" she asked, exasperated. Talk about raining on her parade. Reaching into her pocket, Vivian got out the shrunken stack of books and grew them back to their normal size. "I figured there might be a possibility Ektyapos created the spell; he might have even managed to perform it, so I thought we could start with these and try to find references to either him or the chalice, and if we don't find anything, then we can..."

"Whoa, whoa," Remus cut her off. "Much as I hate to deny you a good spot of research, why don't we just do the most obvious thing here?"

"What's that?"

"Go ask Morty Blunderbuss where he got his information." Now it was Remus' turn to look smug.

Vivian blinked at him. "Or," she said sheepishly, "we could just look at the endnotes."

The smugness seeped out of him. "Or...you know...we could do that."

Both feeling embarrassed in the way only intellectuals who've let themselves lose sight of common sense can, they remained silent as Vivian checked the reference and flipped to the end of the chapter. She'd expected at least three or four, but Morty - true to academically lazy form - had exactly one source listed for the information presented on the Diskopotiro Amiateleti. Skimming down the page, she read the endnote, then sighed, closing the book.

"Well?" Remus prompted.

"It's an interview with my father from 1977," she said heavily, rubbing her eyes and feeling tired again. "Just when I thought I wouldn't have to wade through any more of his bloody incoherent notes..."

"I'll help, if you want me to," he said, pulling her into a hug. Vivian wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, yawning. Merlin, she'd missed this. "You need to go to bed. It's a school night." Neither of them moved, though.

"I know," Vivian sighed. Still neither of them moved.

After a few minutes, Buckbeak made an annoyed shrieking sound and they broke apart. "Buckbeak needs to go to bed, too," Remus said, giving her a crooked smile.

"So do you," she told him, shrinking the books again as he blew out the candles.

"I will," he said, escorting her back down to the kitchen. "Right after I squeeze one off."

"Need help?" Vivian asked, sending him a smoldering look over her shoulder.

"Weren't you the one who made the 'no sex during the week' rule?"

"Yes, I did," she said judiciously. "That means I can amend it."

"To what? 'No sex during the week unless we're really really horny?'"

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"Hell, no. But aren't we going the wrong way?"

Vivian turned around, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into a hard kiss. "I'm going to be naked on the kitchen table in about fifteen seconds, if you're interested," she whispered as she drew back. Remus looked decidedly interested. Grinning, Vivian turned and sprinted the rest of the way downstairs, Remus hot on her heels.

Finally reaching the kitchen, they helped each other undress clumsily and hurriedly. A giddy sort of thrill went through her. It was like being teenagers again.

Remus threw his dressing robe onto the table. Vivian raised an eyebrow.

"People eat here," he explained. Well, not exactly like being teenagers again.

He helped lift her up, coming inside hard and fast. Vivian wrapped her legs around his waist, sinking her fingers into his hair.

"Remember the last time we did this?" she asked, feeling breathless and lightheaded and so completely fucking alive.

He laughed hoarsely. "James...and Lily's...engagement...party," he gasped, speaking in the rhythm of his thrusting. He leaned down to kiss her, his hands grabbing her ass to pull her in closer.

Remus rested his forehead on her shoulder. "We were so afraid somebody would come in and catch us, and when we came back, everybody knew what we'd been doing," she said into his ear, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, his stubble scratching her chin.

"We...didn't...even...get...undressed..."

"And we were trying to keep quiet," she added, breathing in deeply as she felt the switches fall into place, the beginnings of a climax. "We don't have to keep quiet now." Vivian decided it was better now that they weren't teenagers, and not just because there was nobody around to catch them. Her seventeen-year-old self hadn't had any clue what this felt like. She hadn't had any understanding of her own sexuality and how it worked.

Getting older had its perks. Well, it had one, and that was the vaginal orgasm.

"No...we don't." Remus' movements grew more urgent and more switches fell into place.

He wrapped her hair around his hand, drawing her head back and giving her one of those mid-sex kisses that involve the mashing together of teeth, and their breath mingled as dual orgasms melted over them, warm and wet.

They clung to the moment, sated and relaxed and properly marveling at the miracle of coming simultaneously. Remus slumped down to rest his forehead against hers.

"I don't remember it being that good the first time," he said.

"Well, we didn't know how long it would take James and Lily to open the presents."

There was a movement of air across her face, a half-laugh. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Vivian opened her eyes to see him staring at her breasts with a sort of hunger. They'd been a bit too spontaneous for foreplay and he'd always had this thing about her breasts.

"Go on," she sighed. "Spend some quality time together."

Practically cackling with glee, he pounced, fitting in as much action as he could before she pushed him away. Post-coital breast attention got really old really fast.

He helped her get dressed, largely for the purpose of sneaking in a bit more fondling.

"You need to go," he said softly when he was finished, combing a hand through her hair.

In Remus-like fashion, he wore his love for her on his sleeve. But he was also pained about it, guilty even. With a hopeless sort of desperation, Vivian wondered if she could ever really rid him of that. And then she took a step back and analyzed that desire.

It was harder to love him as an adult, not because their lives were more complicated now, but because if she were to be honest, a healthy portion of her love for him as a child had been missionary. She had thought at the time that if she just loved him enough, made the right arguments, made him see reason, that she could make him see that he was worthy of love, that it wasn't a sacrifice, or that if it was a sacrifice, it was well worth it.

They had said before that they were older and wiser in every other aspect of their lives, save their relationship with each other. Vivian didn't think that was true. Looking at the situation objectively, Vivian understood that she had to love all of him, his guilt and pain included. Anything else was unfair to him. It was loving an idealized version of him. It was implying that the actual version wasn't up to snuff.

The same bright lightning flash went through her brain that she generally felt when sets of random facts coalesced into a theory, and it humbled her, because she realized that he'd loved her that way since the beginning. He hadn't just loved her in spite of her faults or loved what she might become someday, he'd loved her in total. And she hadn't given back what she'd received. She hadn't even understood it until right now.

For the second time that night, Vivian felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

"Vivian?" His hands came to rest on her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

She hadn't realized her head had drooped until she raised it to look at him. "I love you," she said, trying to infuse the words with this newfound information.

He smiled. "I love you, too."

The newfound information apparently did not get infused properly. Vivian pushed him gently towards the nearest chair. Puzzled, Remus backed up. Because he was still naked, he pulled his robe from the table and put it on the chair before sitting down.

Straddling him, Vivian ran her hands down his bare upper arms, trying to figure out how to put it all into words.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I was just trying to make it sound different."

"Trying to make what sound different?"

Vivian looked down. "I haven't been very fair to you," she began in a voice that was barely a whisper. "I spent fifteen years thinking you dumped me because of your own personal guilt trip. But it wasn't like that, was it?"

She felt his hand brush down her hair. "Some of it was a guilt trip. A lot of it, in fact."

"But that wasn't all of it," she concluded.

There was a pause before he answered. "No, it wasn't."

Vivian sucked in a breath, feeling an awful, aching pain in her chest. "I'm sorry."

He stroked a hand down her cheek. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I'm sorry for not seeing it all before," she practically choked out, feeling tears threatening to remove the thin shreds of dignity she could still cling to.

Love, Vivian reflected, is a lot harder than it's made out to be.

"All of what?" He sounded genuinely confused.

Vivian shook her head, incapable of giving him a coherent response. Settling for the next closest option, she kissed him, squeezing her eyes closed until the tears abated. Drawing back, she squeezed his arm and looked him straight in the eye.

"I love you," she tried again. "I don't think I even realized how much until just now."

He stared at her for a long moment, and she saw it when her words registered. An uncertain sort of awe went through him. He opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled her down into another kiss, and it was a pretty goddamned mind-blowing kiss.

Remus eventually ended it, pushing her away from him gently. "If you don't leave right now, I'm going to keep you here all night and well into tomorrow," he said shakily.

"Fucking magical contracts," Vivian said fervently.

"I'll be okay," he said bravely as she stood up to floo back to Hogwarts.

Taking the powder in her hand, Vivian turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was getting dressed as if he were getting ready for a bloody funeral.

"Go squeeze one off," she said saucily. "I've heard that helps." He straightened up to glare at her as she threw down the floo powder.

*******

Draco stood outside the Slytherin Common Room, trying to appear as if he stood there all the time for no particular reason, sneering at the entering and exiting students. Finally, he felt someone poke his arm. He was about to do the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done.

"I'm here," Red whispered.

"It's about time," he said snappishly, proceeding down the hallway to Thera's door, Vendetta tucked under his arm. Red had allowed him to take the kitty last night, and Draco thought it might spice things up a bit to bring him along. If his predictions were correct, Vendetta's protection should extend to him by rite of his - albeit rather ill-conceived - life vow to Red. It was at least a theory worth testing out. Draco knocked, and a moment later, Thera opened the door and thankfully strode back over to the bed, strewn with that day's paper, so he could admit the invisible Red.

"Working hard?" he asked, dropping his bag at her desk. It was always like this now: him at the desk and her on the bed. It just made more sense. He did homework. She read Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet. Red was going to be bored to tears.

"Interest rates are down," Thera announced. "Get a new cat?"

"It's a loaner. I'd give a million galleons to know what you have on Zabini that he does all of your homework," Draco said.

"I don't have anything on him," Thera answered, flipping a page. "I simply implied that doing my homework might earn him an invitation to do other things."

"Will it?"

"Anything's possible," she said, turning to the crossword.

"Did you just do it because he's with Pansy now?" Draco asked slyly. It had taken him several weeks to figure out that Pansy's date at the Valentine's Day dance was his roommate. He'd thought the kid looked familiar.

"No, I did it because I wanted someone besides me to do my homework."

"Well, you see, Thera," Draco replied slowly, as if talking to a small child, "the whole point of doing the homework is to help you pass the exams at the end of the year that determine whether or not you pass your courses. This is what real school is like."

"Yes, Merlin forbid I fail my courses. What are they going to do? Make me repeat first year again? I won't be here long enough to do it, anyway."

"Just do your fucking crossword and shut up," Draco said repressively, turning to his Potions reading. He knew where the conversation was going, and he didn't want Red to hear it. The Dark Lord was a topic he generally avoided around her anyway, especially in regards to the spell. Especially, especially his role or her role, or - for that matter - Thera's role in the spell. Being programmed to travel the path of greatest annoyance, however, Thera took the discussion immediately where he didn't want it to go.

"Well, how about you stop lecturing me on not doing homework when you know I'm going to be working full time for the fucking Dark Lord at the end of term."

Draco gritted his teeth. "You don't know that for sure."

"Actually, I do, if you'll recall, the Dark Lord's exact words at Goyle's initiation being: 'I see no need for you to return to Hogwarts next year.' Having told you this, I can only assume that your assertion that I don't know that for sure is because your head has been getting acquainted with the finer workings of your lower digestive tract."

Draco had to cough to cover up the muffled laughter of his invisible female companion.

"I forgot," he said stupidly, glaring at the corner where he thought Red was located.

"How nice for you, that you can just forget things like that," Thera said casually. "I wish I had such a selective memory, but then I'm not quite as deluded as you are." Vendetta tensed and he heard Thera gasp. "Sodding paper cuts," she muttered.

Draco grinned. Theory proven. "So can I do my homework now?" he asked.

Generally, having pushed him this far, Thera would descend to carrying on a running commentary under her breath. Unfortunately, she was in a confrontational mood tonight.

"Do your fucking homework, then," she said, her attention ostensibly focused on the crossword. "You have to be Head Boy next year, after all. We can't have the Dark Lord's right hand schmuck achieving any less, can we?" Vendetta's tail flicked and she gasped again. "Merlin, another one! I'm going to bleed to death over here."

Fisting his hands, Draco finally turned around to face her. "You're obviously worked up about something, and you're obviously not going to let me have any peace until you get it off your chest, so what is it?"

"It's this," she said, shaking her paper at him.

"The crossword?" Draco guessed.

"No, it's being stuck here for no purpose. There's no point in doing homework or trying to learn anything, because even if the Dark Lord got taken down tomorrow, I still wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of actually graduating from this place. And even if I did work my fantastically tight little tail off and manage it, what the hell would I do? Go get a desk job at the Ministry? Waitress? Groom kneazles?"

"Do you have a point?" Draco sighed.

"Why send me to Hogwarts?" Thera asked, quietly furious, standing up to pace around the bed. "What's in it for him? Contrary to what you think, nobody's asked me a single question about you or anybody else here, so he obviously didn't send me here to spy. There wasn't much hope in the first place of me actually bettering myself. So why?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Draco asked the ceiling. He knew better than to interrupt her. Getting between Thera and a good rant carried the same risk for injury as getting between Crabbe and Goyle and an all-you-can-eat buffet.

"Because this is what he wanted," Thera said, waving an arm to indicate - apparently - everything. "He wanted me to want to return to him just to fucking have something to do. Just in case I still harbored a bit of a grudge about him killing off my remaining parent, he wanted to remind me that nobody had anything to offer me except for him."

"Are you finished whining now?" Draco asked in his most long-suffering tone.

"Fuck you," she said fervently. "I've listened to you whine enough times to warrant a few more minutes. 'Oh, Thera, what should I do about the little Weasley girl? Do you think if I curse her a few times she'll catch on to the I'm-only-teasing-you-because-I-secretly-like-you dynamic of it all?'"

"Shut the hell up!" Draco yelled. Then he quickly had to cough again to cover up Red's laughter. He had a sneaking suspicion that even Vendetta was laughing.

"Do you need a throat lozenge, Malfoy?"

Draco put his head in his hands and silently cursed the entire female gender for making everything much more fucking complicated than it needed to be.

"No, I need to do my Potions homework," he said testily.

Had he been looking up, he would have been able to save the situation from coming to a head. Unfortunately, he was looking down, so he didn't see the book Thera tried to throw at him. He didn't see it miss him by several feet. He just heard a sharp cry and a thud, then another cry and another thud. Then it occurred to him that the first cry and the second one hadn't come from the same place.

His head snapped up. Thera was sitting on the floor as if she'd just been knocked over.

"What the hell just happened?" she asked, stunned.

"What do you mean?"

"Who just got hit by the book I threw at you? And what the hell did I trip over?"

Draco tried to think of some way to cover. "What are you talking about?"

Eyes narrowing, Thera stood and picked up another book. Upending Vendetta, Draco shot up from the desk and shielded the corner with his body, holding his arms out.

"Now, let's just be reasonable," he said soothingly, in the voice his father used to keep his mother from incinerating the manor.

Thera was still holding the book as if to throw it, but she just stared at him. "Why," she asked, bewildered, "are invisible people always trying to sneak into my room?"

Draco blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She shook her head. "Who is it?"

"Well, you see," Draco said, trying to distract her, "that's a difficult question to answer. Who are any of us? And how well can we really know another person? Is it our intentions that make us who we are, or our actions? I believe it was Plato who said..."

Thera's eyes went over his shoulder. "Hello, Ginny," she said, lowering the book.

*******

Ginny's first impression of actually seeing Thera and Draco interact was that they behaved like siblings. They griped at each other, they insulted each other, and underlying all of it was a familiarity, a level of comfort that came from shared experiences.

It made her want to scratch out Thera Castelar's eyes.

On the other hand, she had to admit that aside from Professor Snape, Thera seemed to be the only person on the planet - herself and Lucius Malfoy included - who could really keep Draco in line. She could make him see reason. Her arguments had convinced Draco to try and stop the spell from being completed.

It still made her want to scratch out Thera Castelar's eyes, but it made her feel slightly guilty about it.

Ginny watched them as they argued. Physically, the two were vastly different: light and dark. Draco was tall and slender, softened around the edges as if he had been sculpted out of marble. Thera's appearance and demeanor fit together in a sharper, harsher way, making her seem like a very foul-mouthed porcelain doll. Oddly enough, it made them both seem less real, more like stylized portrayals of something real.

They also shared the same almost preternatural grace; they moved and looked as if they were posing for a portrait. Ginny knew that it was unconscious, and somehow that made it even more intriguing. Both were the way they were because perfection came to them without effort or design. And, she knew, without choice. The spell had forged them.

Most people equate beauty and perfection with goodness, but the relationship is far more complicated. Ginny somehow couldn't imagine Ron's personality residing in a form like Draco or Thera's. The essential goodness of her brother went hand in hand with his imperfections, with the undeniable, fallible humanity that colored everything he did or said. Perfection like theirs would have changed that in some way, put him in some superhuman category that didn't entirely fit inside the boundaries of good and evil.

Things under the invisibility cloak were getting mighty philosophical. Ginny almost welcomed the book when it hit her in the forehead. And it was a heavy book.

She cried out without intending to, because when something flies out of the air and smacks you in the face, you cry out no matter how sneaky you're trying to be.

Ginny put her hand over her mouth, horrified, though she couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph as Thera suddenly tripped over something and fell flat on her ass.

Maybe 'preternatural grace' was taking it a bit too far.

Once it became abundantly clear that the jig was up no matter how many existential tangents Draco explored, she took off the invisibility cloak and stood up. Draco turned around, looking like he was about to be sick. Over his shoulder, she saw that Thera seemed to find the situation much more amusing, and Ginny suddenly felt very silly and very stupid, a Weasley way out of her element.

Thera crossed her arms and regarded Draco as he turned back around to face her.

"So this is what a pussy-whipping looks like," she drawled.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, his eyes blazing, but Ginny cut him off.

"This isn't the time for sarcasm," she said diplomatically, stepping out from behind him. "We're all here now, so we might as well talk about this. You know more about this whole mess with the Dark Lord than we do, obviously."

"First off, it's always the time for sarcasm. Secondly, we're not all here now," Thera answered, her gaze coming to rest on Ginny, who felt rather like an insect on a pin.

"What do you mean?"

Something shifted in the other girl. "Where's Harry right now?"

"Harry?" Ginny asked, puzzled.

"Potter?" Draco spat.

"You're both right," she said, her mouth quirking.

"What does he have to do with this?" Draco asked scathingly.

"We're going to be talking about the Dark Lord, aren't we? Well, he's the resident expert. The fact is that we're all going to be involved together at some point. Hell, bring the Wonder Twins, too. It'll be a party."

Ginny really hated to admit it, but Thera had a point. "They're probably in the common room..." she began, but Draco cut her off.

"You can't do that!" he hissed. "We might as well make an announcement in the Great Hall. If Potter doesn't know anything, why the hell should we tell him?"

"Because he already knows," Ginny and Thera said at the same time.

Ginny looked over at the other girl, who was looking back at her, equally surprised.

"It seems to me," Ginny said slowly, "that we've all been telling different people different parts of the story. Maybe we do need a summit." She looked over at Draco, who was occupied with glaring at Thera. She touched his arm, but he ignored it.

"How do you know anything about Potter and his entourage?" he asked Thera.

"Up until five minutes ago, I thought I was a spy. So I spied on them. For instance, I know that Potter got a pair of boxer shorts from your girlfriend's mum for Christmas. They're red with dancing teddy bears on them."

"Is that true?" Draco asked, turning to Ginny.

She nodded her head numbly. It was true. She didn't know how Thera knew it, though.

Draco turned back to Thera. "Teddy bears? I regularly get beaten to the snitch by a kid in teddy bear pants?" He looked unsteady, as if the floor had suddenly decided to shift a few feet to the left without notifying him first.

Thera scratched her ear thoughtfully. "Draco, shouldn't you be more worried about your girlfriend's intimate knowledge of Harry Potter's underwear?"

He frowned, then shrugged. "The kid's gay. I'm sure it was innocent."

"Draco," Ginny said gently, hoping that was the right approach for him right now. "The three of us aren't in any position to stop the spell. They are. Maybe they can help us."

"And what about your brother?" he asked, turning back to her, on solid ground once more. His voice was drained of all emotion, his face unmoving.

"Maybe it's time to break it to him," she sighed. Over the past few weeks, somewhere in the back of her mind had been a thought, like one of those electric Muggle 'Exit' signs, only it said 'Lying to Ron.' Her fear over his reaction and her guilt at hiding something this huge from him hadn't balanced out as well as she liked to tell herself it had.

"It would certainly give him a really good justification for the ass-kicking he's been trying to give me for the past six years."

"Don't worry," Ginny said honestly. "He's going to be far too busy with Harry."

"Harry?" Thera broke in. "Why?"

"Because Harry and I kind of never told Ron about the spell," Ginny said quickly in response. "And he knows about Draco, and he hasn't told Ron either."

"Potter knows?!" Draco practically shouted. "You told Potter?!"

"He found out on his own. It's a long story, and it doesn't matter because I got him to promise not to tell Ron," Ginny assured him.

"This is really complicated," Thera said, sitting back down on the bed.

"Well, it's certainly going to be interesting," Draco answered, running hand through his hair and joining Thera on the bed. Ginny had a feeling that this was her cue to leave.

"I'll just go get them, then," she said unnecessarily.

"Red?" Draco called out as she reached the door.

"Yes?" She turned, hoping for some galvanizing words. She didn't get them.

"You might want to take the cat with you," he said. Vendetta looked disappointed at being left out of what would surely be one hell of a fight, but he came peacefully.

Ginny opened the door and headed up to the Gryffindor common room, trying to think of a good way to get Harry, Hermione and Ron to follow her down to the dungeons and trying not to think of what Ron was going to do when he heard the whole story.

*******

"Padma let me go to second base," Gautham sighed, smiling dreamily.

"Kingsley fucked me into unconsciousness," Amina reminisced, closing her eyes in bliss.

Fox was utterly disgusted with her teammates. Yes, it was a cushy job. Yes, it was a long-term assignment, and it was easy to get distracted on long-term assignments. It was easy to get comfortable and let your guard down.

But as she looked at Amina and Gautham sitting on her couch grinning like fools, Fox had to admit that things were getting out of hand here. The two of them were experts in their field, and employed by one of the most feared men in the magical world. They had orchestrated assassinations, overthrown governments and stolen highly valuable items from some of the most high-security installations ever created.

They were - in a word - criminals. Very good criminals. Two of the best criminals in the world. But still criminals.

Being largely nonjudgmental in terms of mortal legality and morality, Fox wasn't going to say that criminals didn't deserve romance as much as the next person, but certain precautions should be taken. It was probably not a very good idea to have a relationship with a British schoolgirl. It was probably an even worse idea to have one with a member of the law enforcement community. It just screamed 'recipe for disaster.'

Fox hesitated to bring it to The Cardinal's attention, because The Cardinal would just kill them, and then she'd have to break in a whole new pair of teammates.

They needed to be reminded that they were here to do a job, but she wasn't the one to remind them. Her comments on their sexual activities of late were generally met with either eye-rolling or a suggestion for her to go snog one of her swords.

Fox blinked. Snog? She'd been in Britain too bloody long.

Remembering Harry's expression when he'd walked into the training room and found himself face-to-face with her disguised as Voldemort, Fox wondered if the same tactic would work on them. She wasn't sure she could imitate The Cardinal's walk, though.

Or maybe they didn't need to be scared straight. Maybe they just needed something more worthwhile to do with their time, so that they couldn't spend quite so much of it boinking Aurors and trying to talk girls into letting them go under the bra next time.

She was still debating whether or not to take Professor Snape's offer to The Cardinal himself, but if she did, maybe she could politely suggest that he add to Amina and Gautham's duties a bit. It was a pity they were so inept at physical combat, or they could help her with Harry's training again. Or maybe...

Harry had been complaining about the fact that he didn't know what else to do with his defense club. And Fox knew that he was going to need them - especially those closest to him - when the final battle came along. They were his strength, and it only made sense that they should learn more useful tactics than battling people with roughly the same skill level as themselves. Why not teach them a few tricks? Ways to break into places they might need to get into? Ways they could keep in contact with each other past communications wards? Even different ways to look at operations beyond 'so then we all just storm the place and see what happens?'

"What was her name again?" Amina was asking her, slapping her on the shoulder.

"Whose name?"

"That girl Gautham exposed himself to, the one who pressed charges against him and that's why we can't go back to Singapore."

"I don't remember," Fox mumbled.

"I didn't expose myself to her!" Gautham argued. "I didn't know it was the women's toilet! There wasn't a picture or anything, and I really had to go!"

Having never used a public toilet, Fox couldn't relate, so she grunted, drifting back into her thoughts.

She was riding the line here, she realized. Adding to Amina and Gautham's responsibilities beyond casually asking them to take part in her training sessions with Harry went beyond her authorization under The Cardinal. Or under Dumbledore, for that matter. Frankly, she'd even have to consult Harry, since it was his club in the first place.

Wanting in a rather Guardian-like fashion to just wave her hands and not have to deal with anybody, Fox knew she'd have to let the idiot mortals make their mortal choices.

But she could deal with the most reasonable - i.e., the immortal - first.

"The best episode is when Jessie gets hooked on uppers," Gautham was insisting. "The one when the girls start that pseudo-Olivia Newton John 'Let's Get Physical' singing group, and Zack finds her all passed out and she freaks the fuck out and he gives her that whole big 'Remember when we rode our bikes to see E.T. and we were really scared but we had each other' speech. Hands down, that was the best Saved by the Bell ever."

"Not even close," Amina scoffed. "Lisa twisting her ankle right before the big dance competition and then making up that lame-ass 'twisted ankle hop' - or whatever it was - that's the best. She and Screech were absolutely scorching the screen in that one."

"I always liked the one where Screech's parents went out of town when Tori Spelling was his nerdy girlfriend and they had the big party and sang 'Barbara Ann' and somebody broke his mom's favorite Elvis statue," Fox mused.

They stared at her blankly.

"Don't you remember? 'Elvis likes to face the kitchen' and all that?"

Continued blank stares.

"It's an American show. Americans think Elvis is funny."

Gautham pushed his glassed up his nose. Amina scratched her head.

"His mom wore that imitation satin and rhinestone outfit. There were fat Elvis jokes and teenage boys in boxers and button-down shirts and sunglasses. Americans love that shit."

More puzzlement.

"Like Risky Business," Fox clarified.

"Ooh, I liked that movie," Gautham breathed. "Rebecca DeMornay can steal all my furniture anytime she wants to."

"Did Screech wear boxers and a button-down?" Amina asked, wrinkling her nose.

"No, I don't think so."

"Then I'll withhold judgment."

Fox had a sense there was something important she was supposed to be doing. Oh, yes. Dumbledore. Getting up, she gave a lame excuse and left the room.

Sir, she greeted him upon reaching his office, I have an idea.

What is it? He seemed distracted.

Is something going on?

Yes. I didn't think they had that kind of foresight. Perhaps I should wait and see how it turns out.

See how what turns out?

His eyes focused in on her, like lasers. I know the idea of inter-house cooperation in this school seems silly to you, but it might interest you to know that certain unwilling members of Voldemort's spell are preparing right now to meet with Harry and his friends. Depending upon its outcome, it could be an important step forward.

Fox analyzed the idea, and didn't like it. The more intelligent participants of the spell might be more intelligent, but they didn't have any more control over their impulses than the two stupid ones. Harry was - on the most basic level possible - their enemy, and they would draw him in any way they could, without even realizing it.

I know he's been close to it. I doubt he can even keep himself away from it at this point, but do you really think this is a good idea? Coalescing all that power in one place?

Dumbledore turned sharp eyes to her, cutting off her protest, making her wonder if she was overstepping her bounds, treading upon his territory not as a Headmaster - hell, she did that all the time - but as a Guardian.

The power was created by him. He controls it, but he is still mortal, and we both know that mortals do not own power any more than they own their own lives. While it exists outside of his direct control, there is still hope...

But even more risk, Fox reminded him.

Risk is part of the equation, he said smiling grimly. More than I would like, but not more than I would expect.

Harry is cunning only when it directly relates to his survival, Fox attempted. I know he's been seeing the dark-haired girl, the one already under Voldemort's control. He's susceptible, and it's something we have to face. But put all of them in a room together, and I shudder to think about the consequences.

Does your role breed pessimism, or is it learned?

Fox stared at him. I don't like dealing with unknown quantities.

Neither do I. But we know what Harry's capable of. Perhaps the best thing we can do to keep him safe is allow those most closely related to Voldemort to be exposed to him, to his power. Who knows what sort of effect it will have?

Fox sighed, running her gaze around the room, at his gadgets and gizmos. You shouldn't tell him his power is about love. Not when his job is to kill Voldemort.

But it is about love, Fox.

Yes, you and I know that, but he's sixteen, and he's mortal, she said flatly. He has no idea what love is, and he certainly won't have any positive associations with the word if you keep relating it to his power. He feels guilty enough about what's happened already. If this guilt keeps up, his power will be useless to him. Those around him won't do what he needs them to do.

You assume he can control it, Dumbledore said, looking away. I think they will do it, whether he acknowledges that he wants them to or not. And I think he deserves to have at least some sense of the true nature of his power.

So you approve of Amina and Gautham's new jobs? she asked wryly, realizing that he had seen the question coming a mile away.

He nodded sagely. Knowledge should never be denied to those who truly seek it, as these children do. And yet my question returns to its original subject. His eyes bore into hers, and Fox - who had stared down some of the most evil fucking beings to walk the planet - felt her eyes unwittingly fall to the floor.

So we return to what I suppose is my main point: is your protection of Harry Potter strictly out of duty, Fox? Or do you finally understand my perspective on the matter?

An answer unbefitting his position rolled around her brain, but Fox reigned it in. The faint smile on his face, however, told her that he had at least picked up the gist of it.

Never would she say, admit, or even believe that the mortals in this world deserved the sort of silly sentimental treatment Dumbledore seemed to bestow on them. Never. But she had trained Harry Potter. She had strolled around in his psyche and pushed him to his limits and seen him respond and defend himself and fight through the most hopeless situations, and she could not bring herself to lump him in with the other mortals.

I understand your perspective, she said grudgingly. And as much as I hate to give him that much credit, I think eventually he'll understand why you did what you did.

Eventually. In any case, I'm completely in favor of your teammates teaching Harry's friends. I'm even more in favor of them having less free time on their hands, he added, looking at her pointedly.

Thank you, sir. Fox left with the same vague sort of embarrassment she generally felt when Gautham got them all kicked out of a bar.

*******

Harry was not doing his homework, as he should be. He was instead listening to Ron and Hermione argue. Again. This time it was about Hermione's summer apprenticeship. Considering the hours of tense and stubborn silence that had preceded it, he almost welcomed Ron and Hermione fighting out loud. Almost.

There was a pattern, he realized. They'd all three be talking and Ron would say something, to which Hermione would take offense. She would scold him. Ron would throw up his hands and act innocent. Then Hermione would launch into a lecture about the finer aspects of how what he had just said was rude, insensitive, or irrelevant. Ron would either disregard the lecture or say something insulting in response, at which point Hermione would give the same lecture, only in greater detail and with different examples.

It was a vicious circle, and a blindingly boring one at that.

Harry wondered how things would go if they ever got around to having sex. They must enjoy the arguments, after all. They continued to spend time in one another's company. Sex between Ron and Hermione could only be satisfying for both parties if somebody in the course of events could find a reason to be offended by something.

His musings were interrupted by Ginny striding into the common room with her kitten, looking very determined. Harry had had reservations about lending her his invisibility cloak earlier. He did not approve of her relationship with Malfoy, but he also knew it was hardly his place to approve or disapprove. He'd gotten trapped into making a promise to her, but he still felt guilty for not telling Ron about something of this magnitude. On the other hand, Ron was entirely irrational where Ginny was concerned, and maybe he should trust Ginny to be a big girl and look out for herself.

Harry was becoming rather fed up with Weasley family politics.

Ron and Hermione greeted Ginny briefly before returning to their argument.

Ginny continued to stand in front of them. Harry looked up at her, curious.

"Can I ask you guys to do something for me?" she said finally.

Ron and Hermione grudgingly broke off.

"What?" Ron asked. His nose was still slightly puffy, his voice more nasal than usual.

"I need you to come with me somewhere."

"Where?" Harry tried.

"Just...somewhere. You'll understand when we get there."

"Is everything all right?" Hermione inquired worriedly. Harry could understand her worry. Ginny looked tense, on edge.

"Everything's fine," she said. "I just need you three to come, okay? It's important," she added. Setting down the cat, she turned and walked back to the portrait hole.

They exchanged puzzled glances before getting up to follow her. It occurred to Harry that nobody but the three of them would have moved from the couch under the circumstances, but there you have it.

Out in the hallway, Ginny was in the process of enlarging Harry's invisibility cloak. Harry wasn't sure this was going to work. Coordinating the efforts of three small children under an invisibility cloak was bad enough. But four teenagers?

Ron asked Ginny again what it was about, but she just said, "You'll see." Harry was beginning to get a nasty, squirming sensation in his stomach. Ginny wasn't one to ask for help, especially from Ron. He almost hoped she had a secret he didn't know about yet.

"Do you know what this is about?" Ron asked from behind him once they got under the cloak. They were walking single-file with Ginny in the lead.

"No," Harry answered, perhaps too quickly. "Why would I?"

"I just thought that after the dance and all, Ginny's probably more likely to talk to you than to me. I thought maybe you might know what's going on." Harry groaned inwardly. Ron just wouldn't give up.

"I don't know what's going on, Ron." The squirming sensation in his stomach increased. He really hoped he didn't know what was going on.

Finally deciding to find out, he leaned forward to ask the source.

"What's going on?" he whispered in Ginny's ear.

"We're meeting with Thera and Draco," she muttered, her eyes focused forward.

"We're what?!" Harry stopped abruptly, causing a pileup.

"Oof! What are you doing up there?" Hermione complained from the rear.

"Sorry. Can you give us a second?" Harry grabbed Ginny's arm and dragged her out from underneath the cloak, into a side corridor. Thankfully, Ron and Hermione seemed to have picked up their argument where they'd left off. So much for being quiet.

"Harry, don't. I know what you're going to say, and just don't, okay?"

"You're going to put Ron and Malfoy in the same room together? If they both leave alive, it'll be a miracle," he informed her. "And what are you doing talking to Thera?"

She looked distinctly shifty. "We're all involved in the spell together. We were just sort of talking about it, but then we thought you should all be involved..."

"Ginny," Harry said warningly.

"Draco hangs out in her room a lot, and he snuck me in so that I could see there wasn't anything going on between them," she said exasperatedly. "Happy?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Okay." He couldn't stop the next question. "Is there anything going on between them?"

She studied him. "Why do you care? And how does Thera Castelar know what kind of boxer shorts you wear?"

Now it was Harry's turn for shiftiness. "Well, you see..." He broke off suddenly, feeling his face heat up. "Why were you all talking about my boxer shorts?" Merlin, was nothing sacred?

Ginny shook her head slowly. "Boys really are shameless. So you were in the dungeons just walking around last night, were you? I've never heard it called that before."

Harry hung his head briefly. "Fine. Okay. Thera and I know each other."

"Apparently."

Harry sighed. "Listen, this isn't about the Slytherins we've both been secretly...talking to and stuff," he said diplomatically, not really wanting to know exactly how much Ginny had done with Draco Malfoy, though from the smirk on her face he had a good idea. At least now he knew where she'd picked up the smirk. "This is about the fact that nobody's going to be talking after Ron finds out about you and Malfoy. He's going to go insane."

"I know that, but this is important, Harry."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No, nothing happened. It's just long past time we stopped lying to each other and started trying to actually do something about everything that's been going on."

"Are you going to tell Ron about the spell?"

"I guess I am," she said wearily. She looked fragile for a moment, like she'd just sustained a blow and had yet to get her bearings back. It made him feel like an ass. Ginny knew how well Ron and Malfoy got along. If she was intending to put them in a room together, it had to be for some highly justifiable reason.

"Ginny, he'll be able to handle it. Eventually, at least. Both of you need to stop falling all over yourselves to protect each other, because it's not doing either of you any good."

"I know," she said, looking down. "Believe me, I know."

"Don't worry about Ron. Let Hermione and I do that. We've had more practice physically restraining him than you have."

"Thanks." She sent him a half-hearted smile. They joined the other two and continued on their way. It was a way Harry knew very well, because it led to Thera's room.

Suddenly and belatedly it occurred to Harry that this was not going to go very well for him. In fact, based upon his calculations, it was entirely possible that nobody in this meeting would be on speaking terms with him when it was over.

"What are we doing here? Where are we?" Ron asked, sounding a bit put out.

Ginny ignored him, taking off the cloak and knocking on the door. A moment later, Thera opened it, holding a glass of what appeared to be wine. She sent Harry an impenetrable look as the four of them filed into the room.

*******

Knowing that they were about to be inundated with Gryffindors who - for various reasons - they were going to have to treat in a relatively civil manner, Thera and Draco felt a pressing need to formulate a plan. And to drink.

"Just don't say anything to Weasley. It's not going to help," Thera ordered him as she poured them both some dragon wine. She resumed pacing as Draco lounged on the bed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, because my life is spent in the pursuit of finding reasons to have a conversation with Ron Weasley."

Thera glared at him. "I mean it. Don't provoke him; there's no glory in it. One would think you'd be above it by now."

"What about my personality would give you the impression that I'm above any sort of behavior?" he asked curiously.

Thera held her hands up. "Fine then. Go right ahead, but you know that your little girlfriend will rip your balls off if you do it."

Draco laughed shortly. "Red hasn't told her brother about me, or about the spell. As far as this 'summit' goes, all I have to do is lie here, smirk, and look pretty."

"Well, that's what you do best." Thera took a drink. "You know, I've been fucking Harry Potter since Christmas," she said conversationally.

"That's okay. I'm only passing Potions because I let Snape watch me in the shower."

Thera stopped pacing and looked at him. "I'm serious."

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed. "I mean, really." Thera kept staring at him and Draco started to look uncomfortable, then a bit disgusted. He sat up. "I'm begging you to tell me you're joking right now. And you know very well that begging gives me hives."

"I'm not joking. If I were joking, I'd say, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?'"

Draco looked lost. "Why?"

"How the hell should I know? Go ask the bloody chicken if you're so bloody interested."

"Is the lameness of your joke intended to detract from the idea of you screwing Potter?"

Thera grimaced, resenting the fact that she seemed to be accountable to Draco. Why on earth was she justifying her actions to him, of all people? "Maybe."

"I see. Well, it didn't."

"Well, I never was much of a comedian. I believe at heart, I'm really femme fatale material. I think I could have held my own in a Hitchcock movie, considering."

"I think you're a fucking idiot."

Thera waved a casual hand. "Only blondes play idiots."

"Potter," Draco ground out. "We're talking about Potter."

"Oh, him," she said with Reina-inspired dismissiveness. "I just thought you should know before they all get here." Dismissiveness felt better than accountability.

"And you've been doing this since Christmas?"

"Yes."

"And at no point in the relationship did either of you pull your head out of the other one's crotch long enough to wonder whether or not this was an intelligent thing to do?"

Thera stuck a finger in her ear as if to clean it out. "I'm sorry. What were you saying, Mr. 'I'm in Mushy Pussy-Whipped Love With Ginny Weasley'?"

Draco looked ready to explode. "I'm not in love with Ginny Weasley, and aren't you the one who gave me a big - apparently hypocritical - speech about how stopping the spell was the most important thing, and that we shouldn't do anything to fuck it up?"

"Yes, the spell," she said ponderously. "I must have misread it, because I don't remember anything about Harry Potter in there."

"But the point is the same," he said sharply. "He's not in the spell, but he's number one on the Dark Lord's hit list, and in all reality has the best chance of anyone we know to defeat him, and you're practically handing him over."

She actually had to laugh at that. "No, I'm not. If the Dark Lord found out, I'd look like the best fucking spy in history. Then I'd feed them a bunch of bullshit information and we'd all have one less thing to worry about."

"No," he said seriously, "they'd lock you in the Malfoy dungeons, torture you for kicks, send him a body part or two and then wait for him to come after you."

"They've tried the 'come after the obvious bait' tactic before," she argued. "I'm sure they'll try it again. But look at it from their perspective. Do you really think it's a solid plan to send Harry a note with a dismembered finger and expect him to just take off to save his fuck-buddy, especially when he already knows they can't kill me?"

"He does it all the time! If the Dark Lord said he was slicing up some kid who once brushed up against him in the hallway, he'd go off and try to save him. And not just because he's gay." Draco paused, reevaluating. "Huh. So I guess he isn't gay, then. I mean you're good, but you're not that good."

"Disappointed that he's not going to be fondling the Malfoy pride anytime soon?"

He made a face. "Please. Dinner wasn't that long ago. Although it just occurred to me that you're the only girl in the world who's done it with both of us. Do tell."

"Neither of you is very talented, but at least he's willing to learn," she said viciously.

"Really? That small, is it?"

Thera closed her eyes. "Will it validate your existence if I tell you that Harry Potter has a smaller penis than you?"

"Of course it will."

"Then he does. Can we address the larger issue now?"

"The issue of you giving the Dark Lord the perfect opportunity to get at Potter and screw us all, you mean?" he asked innocently.

"The issue," Thera said impatiently, "of the four people who'll be arriving any minute."

He sighed. "Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?"

"Well, it's hardly ideal, but it's what we have to work with." Thera slipped back into problem-solving mode. "We have one priority here, and it's keeping Ginny Weasley far the hell away from the Dark Lord. Who do you think is in a position to do that?"

"I know, I know. But why do we have to be in on it?"

"You're already in on it," she snapped. "I'm just providing the venue."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "Why did you tell me about Potter?"

They looked at each other for a moment in silent understanding. They were both up the same creek, both without a paddle. "Because as inept as he is at everything else, the Dark Lord is very good at using people's secrets against them. Keeping this up is just playing into his hands, giving him more control over us," Thera said, taking another drink.

"As if he needs any more," Draco said bitterly.

She smiled ruefully. "If he didn't always need more, we wouldn't be here right now."

"True enough," Draco said, closing his eyes. "I'll file that under Life Lessons Learned."

Thera glanced at him before looking down to mull over her dragon wine. Her conversation with Harry the night before had messed her up somehow. She hadn't been able to shut her brain off long enough to get any sleep, which was definitely a bad sign. When the situation called for it, Thera had the ability to fall asleep anywhere, under any noise, temperature and comfort conditions. But when her thoughts started branching out, meeting other thoughts, getting together and making baby thoughts, she was done for.

Something entirely new and decidedly not good had been born the minute Harry's unspoken addendum to his confession of never being outside of Britain had really hit. He might never go anywhere else. Thera wasn't sure why it stuck in her head so stubbornly, aside from the very real possibility that she might not, either.

Maybe it was just the call of the road, a soul-deep desire for a change of fucking scenery. But that didn't seem to fulfill all of the requirements. There was something more. Thera had told fun travel stories to plenty of people. Everybody liked hearing about exotic places. It made for good casual conversation. That's when she made the connection.

What she'd told Harry hadn't been told in the spirit of casual conversation. It hadn't been the requisite getting-to-know-each-other-well-enough-to-have-sex banter. It had been giving Harry something he didn't have the balls to ask for himself.

Well, okay, that wasn't true. You could say a lot of things about Harry Potter, but you could never say he didn't have balls. He hadn't just been vaguely flirtatious with the Dark Lord, like her. He'd fought the motherfucker. And lived. It was more like she'd given him something he couldn't bring himself to ask for. Harry had desires and wants and aspirations like everybody else, but unlike everybody else, he shoved them into a box, only to be opened upon his defeat of the Dark Lord, assuming he lived through it.

Much like herself - Thera hesitated to admit it, but she supposed it was only fair - everything he wanted to do came with contingencies. There was a level to their relationship that she hadn't noticed before, and it felt a lot like two soldiers sharing a trench.

Thera wondered if Draco and Ginny Weasley were a product of the same circumstances, the doomed 'I'm here, you're here, we're both young and relatively attractive, so let's have a little fun before the world ends' sort of bond. She imagined they did, but unlike she and Harry, they were stupid enough to mistake it for something more.

"Did you do it for the same reasons I did?" Draco asked suddenly. Thera looked up, but his eyes were still closed. He looked disturbingly angelic without the trademark smirk.

"With Harry, you mean?" The question was intended to be an exit, a way for both of them to avoid having this conversation. Draco ignored it.

"Yeah."

Thera sighed. "I guess that depends on your reasons."

He laughed shortly. "Retrospectively, my reasons change by the minute. I don't even remember the original ones anymore."

The statement hit close to home. How was it possible that getting mixed up with a pair of simplistic, black-and-white, good-and-evil bloody Gryffindors could manage to draw them both farther into the sticky web of in-between gray?

"Neither do I," she said, uncomfortable with the honesty. "But I know it had something to do with the novelty of doing it with the Boy Who Lived. What's your excuse?"

"I've always had a weakness for redheads," he said mildly.

Thera's retort was cut off by a knock at the door. Let the summit begin.