CHAPTER ONE
A moon arced slowly upward in the night, illuminating the towering castle turret by turret. From behind a clump of dogwoods [author: dogwoods in Britain? Anyone?] there was a sound of scurrying movement, and a rabbit emerged quivering from the undergrowth. Fur matted and thinned, it sniffed frantically and disappeared once again into the creeping darkness. The silence of the clearing had not been disturbed, and tiny winged insects, just specs of black in the settling air, flittered about again. The air was thick with them.
Suddenly from behind a tree came a groan, fantastically out of place in the largely untouched woodland. A human groan.
"Remind me why we're here, Mulder?"
There was a hint of moonlight on metal from a patch of dark near the ground, and a man rose out of the shadows, clods of soil and moss still clinging to his dark suit and tie. US Special Agent Mulder slid his gun back into its holster at his hip and seemed not to have heard his partner.
"Mulder?"
"Scully, did you see that little white rabbit?"
"We're not out here to track Peter Cottontail." The other FBI agent came from behind her tree to stand at Mulder's elbow, stoic.
"Peter *Rabbit*, Scully, we're in Britain."
Scully scowled.
" . . . did you see that little rabbit's fur? Torn up-- I think he was bleeding . . ."
"Rabbits get eaten, Mulder. There are probably foxes in here."
"Very funny, Scully."
"Or wolves. Badgers. Badgers prey on rabbits, don't they?"
"There are no wolves in Britain any more. Extinct or carried off."
"Owls. Hawks."
"Why didn't it get him, then?"
"They can run pretty fast, wouldn't you think? Come on-- you haven't even told me *why* we're hiding in the woods at night, in the middle of *Scotland*."
"I have a somewhat . . . personal dedication to the X-Files, Scully . . . when something needs to be investigated, I like to see that it's carried through . . ."
"Cut the sarcasm, Mulder. Come *on*. Skinner doesn't even know where we are. This isn't an X-File."
"*Yet*, isn't an X-File *yet*. I really think there's something weird out here."
"Mulder! You brought me all the way up here because you heard things about little animals being *preyed* on? There's natural *wildlife* in these woods! We're tracking an owl in 40 degree temperatures!"
There was no answer, and Mulder simply walked away past her out beyond the fringe of trees that loomed to their left. His mind was roaming elsewhere once again. Emitting one last groan, Scully pulled her trench coat tighter around her and followed after him.
"Scully! Scully!"
"What?"
"C'mere, Scully, look-- c'mon, out of the trees-- take a look at Ithis-- /I"
She emerged from the shadowy woodland edge and stopped next to Mulder, wide- eyed. There was a mutual shocked pause.
"Is this supposed to be here?"
They stood on the crest of a hill, to the north of a large mountain lake. Reaching out past that mist-shrouded stretch were well-kept grounds, grass well clipped in every direction, trees cultivated and pruned. To their left grew a string of willows. Once especially large willow was planted apart from the rest, and if their attention had not been drawn elsewhere, they would have found its violent swaying and thrashing compelling. However--
"My ---, Scully, *look* at it! How old is *that* thing?"
It dominated the horizon's grey swell. Broken and crumbling towers thrust into the sky, rubble everywhere about its base, vines creeping over every visible inch of stone and mortar-- the old ruin of a castle hunched before them, even its smell derelict and misused.
"How could someone abandon this old place?"
Mulder was still talking, his voice straining to reach his own ears in the mist and darkness that filled the whole valley.
"How old do you think that *is*, Scully?" Finally she answered him.
"Dunno, Mulder." Her voice was quieter now, but impatient. She was humoring him. "But look at those signs hanging all over it. It's not stable. Could fall in at any minute."
"Nah . . ." Mulder strode forward, trench coat flapping open, and began to jog across and down their little hill. "'S just what they want us to think-- "
"Mulder! We are not going to spend all of tonight poking around this place! AD Skinner expects us in Wessex by tomorrow afternoon . . ."
"Stonehenge can wait. You know he just wants us there for appearances."
He ran across the far sweep of the grounds and left Scully with no choice but to click on her flashlight with a heavy sigh and follow after.
* * *
Harry set his feet down on the floor softly. The stone was freezing, but eased off his bed and hoped across to his trunk to seize his socks and pull them on. His wand clattered to the floor and emitted yellow sparks-- he had knocked it off his pile of textbooks. The noise did not wake Ron or the rest of his dormitory, however, and he slipped on his robes over his pajamas for warmth. He knew it was unwise to be out of bed at night without waking Ron or Hermione, but on this particular night even the threat of traitorous dementors on the hunt for him seemed remote. Why had he not gone before bed? It had been stupid of him to down that whole tankard of pumpkin juice right before he fell asleep. On his way out he glanced at the lighted dial of his watch. It was just after midnight.
The toilets on the boys' floor were out of order, for some reason, so he was forced to trek several floors downward. Harry heard nothing but his padding footsteps as he turned the corner of the third-floor toilets and entered a stall. But as he turned the faucet and washed his hands, he almost thought he heard voices-- shouts and calls pervading the walls of the castle. Harry frowned. Who was outside this late after curfew? Seventh years on a midnight romp? But that was silly . . . there wasn't exactly anywhere to go outside of Hogwarts . . .
Dropping the towel from his hands and fingering his wand, Harry crept out of the washroom and crossed the corridor of the nearest window. He unclasped it and leant his head out into the freezing spring night.
Harry almost shouted himself. Yards below him on the grassy turf stood two cloaked figures, faces upturned and white in the moonlight. Fear flooded his insides-- dementors? Or just two marauding schoolboys creeping around the school at night? He knew they could see him, and he yanked himself back inside.
As his breath began to regulate again, however, he felt his mind prick with curiosity. They hadn't exactly *looked* like dementors, now that he thought of it. He had been able to see their faces. They certainly hadn't seemed to react to the sight of him, either. Warily he put his hand back on the window, squeaked it open inch by inch, and looked out again.
They were still there! . . . But did not react to him, again. Curiously Harry studied what he could see of their attire in the thick blackness. Lucky there was a full moon, really. The castle shadowed the two figures somewhat, but he could see them well enough. And then-- they began to talk again.
"Scully, look. Another shard of stained glass window." It was a man's voice, and it took a second for Harry to register it as American. It didn't sound very-- New Yorky? Nor much like the Southern hick drawl of ill fame.
"How many pieces is that, then? Two hundred?" Harry was surprised-- the other figure, though wearing much the same thing as the man-- was a woman. Red hair glinted to him vaguely through the grey light.
"Try a few dozen. This isn't as crazy as you think, Scully, all these pieces seem of a very strange quality to be in a trashed old castle out here . . ."
"I'm sure, Mulder. All right. But we have a plane to catch at 8:30 and it's past midnight. I'd like some sleep."
"Scully . . . "
"Don't even try. I know you're staying out here until you summon up another theory."
"You can go back . . . ?"
She sighed, and a feeling of practiced resignation rose up three stories to Harry. He almost felt like laughing.
"Just a little while longer," the man wheedled.
"Whatever happened to tracking your creature of the night?"
"Now come on, Scully, you know that's just some renegade fox after his dinner." Somehow though Harry could not see their faces he heard them both smiling.
"*Harry?*"
Harry wheeled around in surprise, suddenly remembering an instinctive guilt- - he was supposed to be in bed. And yet he knew that voice--
"Harry?"
"Hermione?"
"What are you doing out of bed?" She stood in her bathrobe and slippers, hair characteristically bushy but combed.
"I had to go to the bathroom. But come here--"
"What? Why d'you have the window open, it's freezing . . ." She reached the window and he opened it for her wider, pushing her out with a hand on her elbow.
She gasped, eyes wide.
"How long have they been here?"
"Dunno-- I've been watching them for ten minutes maybe . . ." Harry watched her curiously. She leaned out the window farther " . . . careful, they'll see you."
"No they won't. Heavens, Harry, you thought they were wizards?"
"Yeah . . . well, for a minute, yeah."
"They're wearing trench coats, and they have flashlights, not wands. They look pretty professional, though. . . . Scotland Yard?" She leaned even father out the window, seemingly balanced precariously on her stomach and hands, and Harry tightened his grip on her elbow.
"Lemme see . . ." He pushed the window open as wide as it allowed and slipped in beside. The Muggles and their flashlight beams were now beginning to disappear around the corner.
"Let's follow them," said Harry impulsively, and started down the corridor for the stairway nearest them.
"Wait-- we should tell Dumbledore, first." Hermione was still standing by the window, framed in darkness.
"We have to bring them *in* first, though. They seem to think Hogwarts in a ruin of some kind."
Hermione sighed, but not unkindly. "I've told you this before, I know I have. To the Muggle eye, this is just a moldering old ruin. With all kinds of signs telling them it's closed off and dangerous."
"That didn't seem to stop these," Harry grinned. "Maybe they just love old castles. They act like they've never seen one before."
Hermione smiled back, with a hint of deprecation. "Americans!"
* * *
Mulder was on his stomach again, wedged in a crack that ran the length of the small base of the smallest tower. His arms were both inside, feeling the sharp jagged edge of the weathered stone.
"There's a draft, Scully. There has to be a way in."
"There's always the door, Mulder," Scully said, obviously weary, but she too was absorbed, tracing a pattern that was roughly carved into a set of southern stonework. She ran her flashlight beam quickly across the grounds again. The beam disappeared into the night but showed hundreds of yards off against the trunk of a willow tree. She scanned the area around Mulder. "There've gotta be rats."
"Since when are you afraid of rats?"
"I'm not. I just know they infest tight dark spaces, and any minute now you're going to run your hands over a small shivering pile of them, ready to bite and scamper all over your head--"
Mulder was out of the hole, grimacing at her. "Thanks."
"Any time."
Then they were engulfed in a circle of light, blinding to their night- adjusted eyes.
"Mulder!"
"Damn it! What is this?" He stumbled over to her and attempted to shield his eyes. "Scully?"
But the light was fading in its brilliancy. Mulder squinted and could almost make out two small outlines of darkness.
"Sorry about that," said a voice. "I hit that pretty hard."
It was a girl's voice, young and accented.
"Who are you?" demanded Scully.
"Who are *you?*" said a different voice, young and not extremely low- pitched, but unmistakably a boy's. They were both British.
"Agents Mulder and Scully, F.B.I." Mulder fumbled for his badge as Scully drew out hers and flipped it open for the teenagers to see. The light was now dim enough that they could see, and at last their apprehenders stepped into the globe of light. Grinning. The boy was bespectacled, with dark hair, and the girl wrapped in a bathrobe.
"F.B.I.? Wow." They were both still smiling, almost laughing, and Mulder felt he had best adopt his intimidating air.
"Listen, kids, I think you know something about this place you'd best let us in on. We're here on official investigation. Where are your homes? Agent Scully here is going to take down your names."
Scully glanced up at him but reached for the pad in her coat pocket.
"Sorry," said the boy. "I'm Harry Potter. This is Hermione Granger. But we can't go anywhere with you."
"You know who the F.B.I. is, don't you?"
"Yeah. You're Americans, eh? But we *are* home."
"You live in this abandoned old castle." Scully said. It was not a question.
"Yes," answered the girl, but sensibly. "I know you won't understand at first, but we have to take you inside, alright?"
"You have to take us inside."
"We'd best. Our headmaster will probably know what to do with you."
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look, and Mulder slowly ran his tongue along his bottom gums. But he resumed the conversation with a proficient air, voice steady.
"We need something *done* with us, Mr. Potter?"
The girl answered him. "Unfortunately, yes. You're here now, at any rate. And we *could* have let you slip off except these grounds are dangerous for the time being. There are . . . things . . . you wouldn't want to come across, exactly."
Mulder shot Scully a highly significant look.
"Don't look so triumphant--" she muttered. Then, to the teenagers, "What dangerous things?"
"My own personal assassins--" began the boy, and he would have seemed light- hearted if there had not been an edge of bitterness in his voice.
"Harry! Much worse than that, we're afraid. But come on, please. For you to see it we have to invite you in-- you can't just get in by poking about."
"Uh-huh. If you'll just excuse us for a moment, please--" Scully seized Mulder and turned him to her so that nothing could be seen of their faces. "Mulder--"
"Scully, don't even say it. These kids have got to be . . . some sort of cult, some circle of fanatics. Look at the way the boy is dressed. From the look of it, and the markings on the castle-- some brand of Celtic mystics-- "
"And they could be calling up this monster of yours? Not a chance, Mulder-- you're really letting your imagination go this time. She is wearing *bunny slippers*. No way are we going with them."
"How come all of our conferences always go the same way?"
"Because we meet the same people everywhere we go--"
"Scully, we're already *out here*--"
"And it's 12:30 in *the morning*, Mulder."
"I'll let you sleep on my shoulder on the plane ride down, Scully." He smiled at her exasperation and turned back at last toward the absurdly dressed teenagers, Scully's eyes boring holes in his back.
"Where to, kiddos?"
* * *
Harry led the way, Hermione at his shoulder. Sweeping through the remaining stretch of courtyard, they carried on a lowered conversation.
"Can you believe they're actually coming?" Hermione said quietly.
"No-- why are F.B.I. out here, anyway? Could anyone know about Hogwarts?"
"Nonsense, no one knows about us. You saw the looks on their faces. They think we're freaks, completely mad."
Harry gave a sideways grin. "I suppose . . . you could argue that we *are*, on some terms."
"What *I* want to know is how on earth they got past the dementors. They're supposed to be *every*where, and Dumbledore can only just keep them away from the lake and grounds . . ."
"Did you notice they seemed to be expecting them? The man looked quite pleased."
Hermione smiled. "I think that might've been related to something a bit different . . ."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know-- they just seemed to have a private joke about something."
"Anyway. We're here. Keep them quiet."
Hermione turned toward the agents and smiled politely. "Now-- this is going to be impossible to believe."
The woman glanced dryly at her partner. "You'd be surprised."
"Bust just . . . just . . . suspend your reasoning for a while so you don't go berserk or shoot anyone." She looked shrewdly at the man's gun and holster, visible past his trench coat and suit jacket.
The woman looked wary and rested her hand on her own weapon.
"Slowly, kids," the man said quietly.
"Alright," said Harry, "now just walk past this archway and don't slip all over the floor when we get in. Peeves has been carting in mud all night, so it seems."
Hermione followed Harry in, and from inside the Entrance Hall doorway they scrutinized their quarry. "The woman is never going to take this in, Harry-- she's that type of Muggle."
"Reminds me of you," said Harry slyly, and Hermione snorted.
"You and Ron can drink up that Luna Lovegood garbage, but she's crazy, Harry."
"Okay."
At that moment the Muggle Americans passed into the doorway and were swallowed up by the majesty that was the Hogwarts entrance hall. The man stood silently, lips slightly apart, but his partner froze and immediately began talking in a hurried undertone to him. Harry felt it was not his place to interfere, but looked at the two sympathetically. The only words he could pick up came from the man, at last. "The truth, Scully."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"This way then," resumed Harry, feeling much less sure of himself than he sounded. What if he really had done the wrong thing? What if Dumbledore took one look at Harry and Hermione, Muggle F.B.I. agents in tow, and expelled him for bringing them in? Then again, he couldn't have left them to be preyed on by the prowling dementors! And Lupin was even out tonight-- the full moon!
The agents were trailing them by several yards now, and Harry motioned for them to hurry up as they crested the main staircase. "We have quite a lot of flights to go," offered Hermione. The agents were not out of breath, but considerably awkward. They were talking under their breath to each other nonstop.
The trek went on, and Harry had never found the journey to Dumbledore's office longer. At last, passing a strange circular statue that seemed to especially capture the attention of the man, the four of them stood in front of Dumbledore's gargoyle.
"Harry?"
"Fizzing Whizbees?" tried Harry. Nothing. "Lemon drops. Pepper Imps."
From his side, Hermione said, "Toothflossing Stringmints."
"Jelly Slugs."
"Cockroach Clusters."
Harry couldn't bring himself to watch how the Muggle pair were taking this.
"Acid Pops."
"Ice Mice."
At this there was a rumbling, and the gargoyle grated away until a circular staircase rotated to them, dark and cold. Hermione gave Harry a half- hearted smile. "You or me?"
Harry sighed, but shouldered his way into the staircase, robes billowing in a last updraft.
* * *
It was when the elderly man appeared that Scully at last resigned herself to Mulder's madness. He stood behind his desk, nightcap and gown wrinkled from sleep, half-moon glasses glinting in the moonlight that shone through the many windows into his lavish office, and at last she gave in. Mulder sighed beside her. She read his mood and chose not to say anything.
"Harry, Miss Granger, you may sit," he waved his arm to the seats on the nearest wall and gave the teenagers a kindly look. "And so . . ." the old man had turned to Mulder and Scully, "And so at last we have some uncommon company. Sit-- Harry will draw up seats naturally, so as not to frighten you."
The boy Harry scampered for two chairs by the door, and heaved them over to the old man's desk. They were large for the boy's light frame, but he had no trouble. "Athlete," thought Mulder. He waited for Scully to sit first.
"I know you are probably a little shocked, and confused, and even may think you have gone mad . . ."
Mulder smiled slightly over at Scully's pursed expression.
". . . but you'll have to wait a little longer for explanation. If indeed any is given."
"Mr.--"
"Dumbledore," the old man supplied.
"Mr. Dumbledore, we are Agents Mulder and Scully of the F.B.I. Although we aren't exactly on case studies, we specialize in supernatural phenomena . . . happenings of the abnormal . . . "
"Mr. Mulder, I may assure you that whatever you may see here, it of all things is not best classified as 'abnormal' . . . " The elderly man's eyes twinkled and Mulder felt fabulously, stupendously, condescended to. He also thought he heard someone on the wall whisper "Muggle" at him. And he nearly understood the connotations.
"Sir-- are you going to allow us to leave? We're expected tomorrow afternoon. We are United States special agents."
"Don't worry yourself. We're not about to imprison you! But there are too many dangers involved in just letting you go. You may have to wait a few days until we can arrange for you a suitable escort out."
"Out of what, sir?" asked Scully, finally breaking her silence.
"Out of the Forbidden Forest and all other areas surrounding us, which are at the moment teeming with dementors. Trust me, agents; they're nothing you'd like to run into. I haven't the faintest idea how you even got in. But-- again, until we can get you safely out, you'll have to make yourself at home here." He smiled benignly. "Welcome. You're the first Yankee Muggle government agents we've ever entertained at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The silence was deafening.
* * *
Harry nearly chuckled on their way out again. The agents made no attempt at lowered voices this time, and he and Hermione listened to them with a shared look and scantily concealed smiles.
"Mulder--"
"Scully, they're obviously deranged. We'll just keep on guard-- keep your gun with you. Then again, there's something unquestionably weird going on. That man, Dumbledore, he had-- when we were leaving, he made that thing fly in the air--"
"We've studied this sort of phenomena, Mulder, and this case is extremely common. Teenagers and children caught in a web of mind-control. It has it all, the symbols relating to immortality and Celtic mythology--"
"I *saw* the phoenix-- but more of it is almost *Norse* mythology, Scully. Did you see the poetry on the walls? Not to mention the rampant display of mid-fifteenth-century scientific paraphernalia. Baubles and all-- this is crazy, what a find!"
"We're getting out of here as soon as we can, Mulder, promise me that."
There was a pause.
" . . . I promise . . . "
"You'd better. This is so like you to get sucked in when they're trying to get at us."
"Where are they--" the man came to his senses and called to Harry and Hermione, "Hey! Where are you taking us?"
"To bed," said Hermione. "But where to *put* them, Harry? Did Dumbledore say?"
"Naw . . . " mused Harry. "But he winked at me as we left, and I think he might have meant us to give them the Room of Requirement . . . "
"Oh, dear," Hermione said in a small voice. "I hope it 'requires' the right rooms-- we need two of them . . . "
"Two?"
Hermione gave him the most inexpressible of looks.
"Here we are," said Harry awkwardly, when they arrived. A door had materialized on the right wall on their way down the corridor, and the four of them stood for a full five seconds before it, until at last it glooped and separated into two identical doors, brass plated numbers and peep-holes complete.
"Hotel rooms," said Mulder to the universe.
Harry managed a grin. "We'll see you in the morning. Have a nice sleep."
He and Hermione left then, silently striding down the hall back to the staircase that would climb upwards to their common room. At the twin stairways to either dormitory they halted. Harry for the first time fully appreciated Hermione's attire and looked questioningly at her.
"Why were you out of bed anyway, Hermione?"
"Oh," she said, caught slightly off-guard. "I needed to use the toilets. I drank entirely too much pumpkin juice this evening."
"Ah," said Harry, and they parted ways, but as he swung open the door to his dormitory he smiled slightly.
* * *
Scully's door opened quietly.
"Mulder?"
"Me . . . "
"I tried--"
"I know, they don't seem to be working in here." Mulder tossed his cell phone on Scully's nightstand; in the dark his aim flew wide and the phone skittered across the floor onto the opposite wall. "Definitely *not* going after that thing . . ."
"There's no way I'm going to sleep in this place."
"I know."
He found a place on the floor, back propped up against the side of her bed.
"This is crazy. I mean, these rooms-- to a *T*--"
"I know," Scully let out a breath. "Complimentary shampoos and all."
"I got a bag of 'freshly baked' cookies."
"Mm? Were you going to share?"
He flipped a partially eaten paper bag of large cookies onto the bed. "Ha."
"You have to keep me awake. I'm exhausted."
"We could play Charades?"
A moon arced slowly upward in the night, illuminating the towering castle turret by turret. From behind a clump of dogwoods [author: dogwoods in Britain? Anyone?] there was a sound of scurrying movement, and a rabbit emerged quivering from the undergrowth. Fur matted and thinned, it sniffed frantically and disappeared once again into the creeping darkness. The silence of the clearing had not been disturbed, and tiny winged insects, just specs of black in the settling air, flittered about again. The air was thick with them.
Suddenly from behind a tree came a groan, fantastically out of place in the largely untouched woodland. A human groan.
"Remind me why we're here, Mulder?"
There was a hint of moonlight on metal from a patch of dark near the ground, and a man rose out of the shadows, clods of soil and moss still clinging to his dark suit and tie. US Special Agent Mulder slid his gun back into its holster at his hip and seemed not to have heard his partner.
"Mulder?"
"Scully, did you see that little white rabbit?"
"We're not out here to track Peter Cottontail." The other FBI agent came from behind her tree to stand at Mulder's elbow, stoic.
"Peter *Rabbit*, Scully, we're in Britain."
Scully scowled.
" . . . did you see that little rabbit's fur? Torn up-- I think he was bleeding . . ."
"Rabbits get eaten, Mulder. There are probably foxes in here."
"Very funny, Scully."
"Or wolves. Badgers. Badgers prey on rabbits, don't they?"
"There are no wolves in Britain any more. Extinct or carried off."
"Owls. Hawks."
"Why didn't it get him, then?"
"They can run pretty fast, wouldn't you think? Come on-- you haven't even told me *why* we're hiding in the woods at night, in the middle of *Scotland*."
"I have a somewhat . . . personal dedication to the X-Files, Scully . . . when something needs to be investigated, I like to see that it's carried through . . ."
"Cut the sarcasm, Mulder. Come *on*. Skinner doesn't even know where we are. This isn't an X-File."
"*Yet*, isn't an X-File *yet*. I really think there's something weird out here."
"Mulder! You brought me all the way up here because you heard things about little animals being *preyed* on? There's natural *wildlife* in these woods! We're tracking an owl in 40 degree temperatures!"
There was no answer, and Mulder simply walked away past her out beyond the fringe of trees that loomed to their left. His mind was roaming elsewhere once again. Emitting one last groan, Scully pulled her trench coat tighter around her and followed after him.
"Scully! Scully!"
"What?"
"C'mere, Scully, look-- c'mon, out of the trees-- take a look at Ithis-- /I"
She emerged from the shadowy woodland edge and stopped next to Mulder, wide- eyed. There was a mutual shocked pause.
"Is this supposed to be here?"
They stood on the crest of a hill, to the north of a large mountain lake. Reaching out past that mist-shrouded stretch were well-kept grounds, grass well clipped in every direction, trees cultivated and pruned. To their left grew a string of willows. Once especially large willow was planted apart from the rest, and if their attention had not been drawn elsewhere, they would have found its violent swaying and thrashing compelling. However--
"My ---, Scully, *look* at it! How old is *that* thing?"
It dominated the horizon's grey swell. Broken and crumbling towers thrust into the sky, rubble everywhere about its base, vines creeping over every visible inch of stone and mortar-- the old ruin of a castle hunched before them, even its smell derelict and misused.
"How could someone abandon this old place?"
Mulder was still talking, his voice straining to reach his own ears in the mist and darkness that filled the whole valley.
"How old do you think that *is*, Scully?" Finally she answered him.
"Dunno, Mulder." Her voice was quieter now, but impatient. She was humoring him. "But look at those signs hanging all over it. It's not stable. Could fall in at any minute."
"Nah . . ." Mulder strode forward, trench coat flapping open, and began to jog across and down their little hill. "'S just what they want us to think-- "
"Mulder! We are not going to spend all of tonight poking around this place! AD Skinner expects us in Wessex by tomorrow afternoon . . ."
"Stonehenge can wait. You know he just wants us there for appearances."
He ran across the far sweep of the grounds and left Scully with no choice but to click on her flashlight with a heavy sigh and follow after.
* * *
Harry set his feet down on the floor softly. The stone was freezing, but eased off his bed and hoped across to his trunk to seize his socks and pull them on. His wand clattered to the floor and emitted yellow sparks-- he had knocked it off his pile of textbooks. The noise did not wake Ron or the rest of his dormitory, however, and he slipped on his robes over his pajamas for warmth. He knew it was unwise to be out of bed at night without waking Ron or Hermione, but on this particular night even the threat of traitorous dementors on the hunt for him seemed remote. Why had he not gone before bed? It had been stupid of him to down that whole tankard of pumpkin juice right before he fell asleep. On his way out he glanced at the lighted dial of his watch. It was just after midnight.
The toilets on the boys' floor were out of order, for some reason, so he was forced to trek several floors downward. Harry heard nothing but his padding footsteps as he turned the corner of the third-floor toilets and entered a stall. But as he turned the faucet and washed his hands, he almost thought he heard voices-- shouts and calls pervading the walls of the castle. Harry frowned. Who was outside this late after curfew? Seventh years on a midnight romp? But that was silly . . . there wasn't exactly anywhere to go outside of Hogwarts . . .
Dropping the towel from his hands and fingering his wand, Harry crept out of the washroom and crossed the corridor of the nearest window. He unclasped it and leant his head out into the freezing spring night.
Harry almost shouted himself. Yards below him on the grassy turf stood two cloaked figures, faces upturned and white in the moonlight. Fear flooded his insides-- dementors? Or just two marauding schoolboys creeping around the school at night? He knew they could see him, and he yanked himself back inside.
As his breath began to regulate again, however, he felt his mind prick with curiosity. They hadn't exactly *looked* like dementors, now that he thought of it. He had been able to see their faces. They certainly hadn't seemed to react to the sight of him, either. Warily he put his hand back on the window, squeaked it open inch by inch, and looked out again.
They were still there! . . . But did not react to him, again. Curiously Harry studied what he could see of their attire in the thick blackness. Lucky there was a full moon, really. The castle shadowed the two figures somewhat, but he could see them well enough. And then-- they began to talk again.
"Scully, look. Another shard of stained glass window." It was a man's voice, and it took a second for Harry to register it as American. It didn't sound very-- New Yorky? Nor much like the Southern hick drawl of ill fame.
"How many pieces is that, then? Two hundred?" Harry was surprised-- the other figure, though wearing much the same thing as the man-- was a woman. Red hair glinted to him vaguely through the grey light.
"Try a few dozen. This isn't as crazy as you think, Scully, all these pieces seem of a very strange quality to be in a trashed old castle out here . . ."
"I'm sure, Mulder. All right. But we have a plane to catch at 8:30 and it's past midnight. I'd like some sleep."
"Scully . . . "
"Don't even try. I know you're staying out here until you summon up another theory."
"You can go back . . . ?"
She sighed, and a feeling of practiced resignation rose up three stories to Harry. He almost felt like laughing.
"Just a little while longer," the man wheedled.
"Whatever happened to tracking your creature of the night?"
"Now come on, Scully, you know that's just some renegade fox after his dinner." Somehow though Harry could not see their faces he heard them both smiling.
"*Harry?*"
Harry wheeled around in surprise, suddenly remembering an instinctive guilt- - he was supposed to be in bed. And yet he knew that voice--
"Harry?"
"Hermione?"
"What are you doing out of bed?" She stood in her bathrobe and slippers, hair characteristically bushy but combed.
"I had to go to the bathroom. But come here--"
"What? Why d'you have the window open, it's freezing . . ." She reached the window and he opened it for her wider, pushing her out with a hand on her elbow.
She gasped, eyes wide.
"How long have they been here?"
"Dunno-- I've been watching them for ten minutes maybe . . ." Harry watched her curiously. She leaned out the window farther " . . . careful, they'll see you."
"No they won't. Heavens, Harry, you thought they were wizards?"
"Yeah . . . well, for a minute, yeah."
"They're wearing trench coats, and they have flashlights, not wands. They look pretty professional, though. . . . Scotland Yard?" She leaned even father out the window, seemingly balanced precariously on her stomach and hands, and Harry tightened his grip on her elbow.
"Lemme see . . ." He pushed the window open as wide as it allowed and slipped in beside. The Muggles and their flashlight beams were now beginning to disappear around the corner.
"Let's follow them," said Harry impulsively, and started down the corridor for the stairway nearest them.
"Wait-- we should tell Dumbledore, first." Hermione was still standing by the window, framed in darkness.
"We have to bring them *in* first, though. They seem to think Hogwarts in a ruin of some kind."
Hermione sighed, but not unkindly. "I've told you this before, I know I have. To the Muggle eye, this is just a moldering old ruin. With all kinds of signs telling them it's closed off and dangerous."
"That didn't seem to stop these," Harry grinned. "Maybe they just love old castles. They act like they've never seen one before."
Hermione smiled back, with a hint of deprecation. "Americans!"
* * *
Mulder was on his stomach again, wedged in a crack that ran the length of the small base of the smallest tower. His arms were both inside, feeling the sharp jagged edge of the weathered stone.
"There's a draft, Scully. There has to be a way in."
"There's always the door, Mulder," Scully said, obviously weary, but she too was absorbed, tracing a pattern that was roughly carved into a set of southern stonework. She ran her flashlight beam quickly across the grounds again. The beam disappeared into the night but showed hundreds of yards off against the trunk of a willow tree. She scanned the area around Mulder. "There've gotta be rats."
"Since when are you afraid of rats?"
"I'm not. I just know they infest tight dark spaces, and any minute now you're going to run your hands over a small shivering pile of them, ready to bite and scamper all over your head--"
Mulder was out of the hole, grimacing at her. "Thanks."
"Any time."
Then they were engulfed in a circle of light, blinding to their night- adjusted eyes.
"Mulder!"
"Damn it! What is this?" He stumbled over to her and attempted to shield his eyes. "Scully?"
But the light was fading in its brilliancy. Mulder squinted and could almost make out two small outlines of darkness.
"Sorry about that," said a voice. "I hit that pretty hard."
It was a girl's voice, young and accented.
"Who are you?" demanded Scully.
"Who are *you?*" said a different voice, young and not extremely low- pitched, but unmistakably a boy's. They were both British.
"Agents Mulder and Scully, F.B.I." Mulder fumbled for his badge as Scully drew out hers and flipped it open for the teenagers to see. The light was now dim enough that they could see, and at last their apprehenders stepped into the globe of light. Grinning. The boy was bespectacled, with dark hair, and the girl wrapped in a bathrobe.
"F.B.I.? Wow." They were both still smiling, almost laughing, and Mulder felt he had best adopt his intimidating air.
"Listen, kids, I think you know something about this place you'd best let us in on. We're here on official investigation. Where are your homes? Agent Scully here is going to take down your names."
Scully glanced up at him but reached for the pad in her coat pocket.
"Sorry," said the boy. "I'm Harry Potter. This is Hermione Granger. But we can't go anywhere with you."
"You know who the F.B.I. is, don't you?"
"Yeah. You're Americans, eh? But we *are* home."
"You live in this abandoned old castle." Scully said. It was not a question.
"Yes," answered the girl, but sensibly. "I know you won't understand at first, but we have to take you inside, alright?"
"You have to take us inside."
"We'd best. Our headmaster will probably know what to do with you."
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look, and Mulder slowly ran his tongue along his bottom gums. But he resumed the conversation with a proficient air, voice steady.
"We need something *done* with us, Mr. Potter?"
The girl answered him. "Unfortunately, yes. You're here now, at any rate. And we *could* have let you slip off except these grounds are dangerous for the time being. There are . . . things . . . you wouldn't want to come across, exactly."
Mulder shot Scully a highly significant look.
"Don't look so triumphant--" she muttered. Then, to the teenagers, "What dangerous things?"
"My own personal assassins--" began the boy, and he would have seemed light- hearted if there had not been an edge of bitterness in his voice.
"Harry! Much worse than that, we're afraid. But come on, please. For you to see it we have to invite you in-- you can't just get in by poking about."
"Uh-huh. If you'll just excuse us for a moment, please--" Scully seized Mulder and turned him to her so that nothing could be seen of their faces. "Mulder--"
"Scully, don't even say it. These kids have got to be . . . some sort of cult, some circle of fanatics. Look at the way the boy is dressed. From the look of it, and the markings on the castle-- some brand of Celtic mystics-- "
"And they could be calling up this monster of yours? Not a chance, Mulder-- you're really letting your imagination go this time. She is wearing *bunny slippers*. No way are we going with them."
"How come all of our conferences always go the same way?"
"Because we meet the same people everywhere we go--"
"Scully, we're already *out here*--"
"And it's 12:30 in *the morning*, Mulder."
"I'll let you sleep on my shoulder on the plane ride down, Scully." He smiled at her exasperation and turned back at last toward the absurdly dressed teenagers, Scully's eyes boring holes in his back.
"Where to, kiddos?"
* * *
Harry led the way, Hermione at his shoulder. Sweeping through the remaining stretch of courtyard, they carried on a lowered conversation.
"Can you believe they're actually coming?" Hermione said quietly.
"No-- why are F.B.I. out here, anyway? Could anyone know about Hogwarts?"
"Nonsense, no one knows about us. You saw the looks on their faces. They think we're freaks, completely mad."
Harry gave a sideways grin. "I suppose . . . you could argue that we *are*, on some terms."
"What *I* want to know is how on earth they got past the dementors. They're supposed to be *every*where, and Dumbledore can only just keep them away from the lake and grounds . . ."
"Did you notice they seemed to be expecting them? The man looked quite pleased."
Hermione smiled. "I think that might've been related to something a bit different . . ."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know-- they just seemed to have a private joke about something."
"Anyway. We're here. Keep them quiet."
Hermione turned toward the agents and smiled politely. "Now-- this is going to be impossible to believe."
The woman glanced dryly at her partner. "You'd be surprised."
"Bust just . . . just . . . suspend your reasoning for a while so you don't go berserk or shoot anyone." She looked shrewdly at the man's gun and holster, visible past his trench coat and suit jacket.
The woman looked wary and rested her hand on her own weapon.
"Slowly, kids," the man said quietly.
"Alright," said Harry, "now just walk past this archway and don't slip all over the floor when we get in. Peeves has been carting in mud all night, so it seems."
Hermione followed Harry in, and from inside the Entrance Hall doorway they scrutinized their quarry. "The woman is never going to take this in, Harry-- she's that type of Muggle."
"Reminds me of you," said Harry slyly, and Hermione snorted.
"You and Ron can drink up that Luna Lovegood garbage, but she's crazy, Harry."
"Okay."
At that moment the Muggle Americans passed into the doorway and were swallowed up by the majesty that was the Hogwarts entrance hall. The man stood silently, lips slightly apart, but his partner froze and immediately began talking in a hurried undertone to him. Harry felt it was not his place to interfere, but looked at the two sympathetically. The only words he could pick up came from the man, at last. "The truth, Scully."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"This way then," resumed Harry, feeling much less sure of himself than he sounded. What if he really had done the wrong thing? What if Dumbledore took one look at Harry and Hermione, Muggle F.B.I. agents in tow, and expelled him for bringing them in? Then again, he couldn't have left them to be preyed on by the prowling dementors! And Lupin was even out tonight-- the full moon!
The agents were trailing them by several yards now, and Harry motioned for them to hurry up as they crested the main staircase. "We have quite a lot of flights to go," offered Hermione. The agents were not out of breath, but considerably awkward. They were talking under their breath to each other nonstop.
The trek went on, and Harry had never found the journey to Dumbledore's office longer. At last, passing a strange circular statue that seemed to especially capture the attention of the man, the four of them stood in front of Dumbledore's gargoyle.
"Harry?"
"Fizzing Whizbees?" tried Harry. Nothing. "Lemon drops. Pepper Imps."
From his side, Hermione said, "Toothflossing Stringmints."
"Jelly Slugs."
"Cockroach Clusters."
Harry couldn't bring himself to watch how the Muggle pair were taking this.
"Acid Pops."
"Ice Mice."
At this there was a rumbling, and the gargoyle grated away until a circular staircase rotated to them, dark and cold. Hermione gave Harry a half- hearted smile. "You or me?"
Harry sighed, but shouldered his way into the staircase, robes billowing in a last updraft.
* * *
It was when the elderly man appeared that Scully at last resigned herself to Mulder's madness. He stood behind his desk, nightcap and gown wrinkled from sleep, half-moon glasses glinting in the moonlight that shone through the many windows into his lavish office, and at last she gave in. Mulder sighed beside her. She read his mood and chose not to say anything.
"Harry, Miss Granger, you may sit," he waved his arm to the seats on the nearest wall and gave the teenagers a kindly look. "And so . . ." the old man had turned to Mulder and Scully, "And so at last we have some uncommon company. Sit-- Harry will draw up seats naturally, so as not to frighten you."
The boy Harry scampered for two chairs by the door, and heaved them over to the old man's desk. They were large for the boy's light frame, but he had no trouble. "Athlete," thought Mulder. He waited for Scully to sit first.
"I know you are probably a little shocked, and confused, and even may think you have gone mad . . ."
Mulder smiled slightly over at Scully's pursed expression.
". . . but you'll have to wait a little longer for explanation. If indeed any is given."
"Mr.--"
"Dumbledore," the old man supplied.
"Mr. Dumbledore, we are Agents Mulder and Scully of the F.B.I. Although we aren't exactly on case studies, we specialize in supernatural phenomena . . . happenings of the abnormal . . . "
"Mr. Mulder, I may assure you that whatever you may see here, it of all things is not best classified as 'abnormal' . . . " The elderly man's eyes twinkled and Mulder felt fabulously, stupendously, condescended to. He also thought he heard someone on the wall whisper "Muggle" at him. And he nearly understood the connotations.
"Sir-- are you going to allow us to leave? We're expected tomorrow afternoon. We are United States special agents."
"Don't worry yourself. We're not about to imprison you! But there are too many dangers involved in just letting you go. You may have to wait a few days until we can arrange for you a suitable escort out."
"Out of what, sir?" asked Scully, finally breaking her silence.
"Out of the Forbidden Forest and all other areas surrounding us, which are at the moment teeming with dementors. Trust me, agents; they're nothing you'd like to run into. I haven't the faintest idea how you even got in. But-- again, until we can get you safely out, you'll have to make yourself at home here." He smiled benignly. "Welcome. You're the first Yankee Muggle government agents we've ever entertained at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The silence was deafening.
* * *
Harry nearly chuckled on their way out again. The agents made no attempt at lowered voices this time, and he and Hermione listened to them with a shared look and scantily concealed smiles.
"Mulder--"
"Scully, they're obviously deranged. We'll just keep on guard-- keep your gun with you. Then again, there's something unquestionably weird going on. That man, Dumbledore, he had-- when we were leaving, he made that thing fly in the air--"
"We've studied this sort of phenomena, Mulder, and this case is extremely common. Teenagers and children caught in a web of mind-control. It has it all, the symbols relating to immortality and Celtic mythology--"
"I *saw* the phoenix-- but more of it is almost *Norse* mythology, Scully. Did you see the poetry on the walls? Not to mention the rampant display of mid-fifteenth-century scientific paraphernalia. Baubles and all-- this is crazy, what a find!"
"We're getting out of here as soon as we can, Mulder, promise me that."
There was a pause.
" . . . I promise . . . "
"You'd better. This is so like you to get sucked in when they're trying to get at us."
"Where are they--" the man came to his senses and called to Harry and Hermione, "Hey! Where are you taking us?"
"To bed," said Hermione. "But where to *put* them, Harry? Did Dumbledore say?"
"Naw . . . " mused Harry. "But he winked at me as we left, and I think he might have meant us to give them the Room of Requirement . . . "
"Oh, dear," Hermione said in a small voice. "I hope it 'requires' the right rooms-- we need two of them . . . "
"Two?"
Hermione gave him the most inexpressible of looks.
"Here we are," said Harry awkwardly, when they arrived. A door had materialized on the right wall on their way down the corridor, and the four of them stood for a full five seconds before it, until at last it glooped and separated into two identical doors, brass plated numbers and peep-holes complete.
"Hotel rooms," said Mulder to the universe.
Harry managed a grin. "We'll see you in the morning. Have a nice sleep."
He and Hermione left then, silently striding down the hall back to the staircase that would climb upwards to their common room. At the twin stairways to either dormitory they halted. Harry for the first time fully appreciated Hermione's attire and looked questioningly at her.
"Why were you out of bed anyway, Hermione?"
"Oh," she said, caught slightly off-guard. "I needed to use the toilets. I drank entirely too much pumpkin juice this evening."
"Ah," said Harry, and they parted ways, but as he swung open the door to his dormitory he smiled slightly.
* * *
Scully's door opened quietly.
"Mulder?"
"Me . . . "
"I tried--"
"I know, they don't seem to be working in here." Mulder tossed his cell phone on Scully's nightstand; in the dark his aim flew wide and the phone skittered across the floor onto the opposite wall. "Definitely *not* going after that thing . . ."
"There's no way I'm going to sleep in this place."
"I know."
He found a place on the floor, back propped up against the side of her bed.
"This is crazy. I mean, these rooms-- to a *T*--"
"I know," Scully let out a breath. "Complimentary shampoos and all."
"I got a bag of 'freshly baked' cookies."
"Mm? Were you going to share?"
He flipped a partially eaten paper bag of large cookies onto the bed. "Ha."
"You have to keep me awake. I'm exhausted."
"We could play Charades?"