.

Julia was tucked into a shady alcove in the Dog & Ferret, sipping at a half of bitter when Professor Albus Dumbledore arrived for their arranged meeting. She knew what he looked like, of course, but was not quite prepared for the dapper fellow wearing a yellow tweed three-piece suit with purple buttons. He had a crooked nose, piercing blue eyes behind half-moon glasses, and the longest beard she had ever seen.

"You must be Julia." He presented himself to her with a flourish, sweeping his fedora into an elegant bow.

"Professor Dumbledore." Julia stood to greet him. "How do you do?"

"Call me Albus, please. I feel 'Professor' is more suited to my students and ex-students, and of course—rather regrettably perhaps—you are neither."

"Let me get you a drink," said Julia, keen to forestall him going to the bar. His idea of casual Muggle clothing held a hint of eccentricity and she preferred to avoid drawing attention. She waited a little anxiously as he made himself comfortable, relieved to see that he appeared quite at home in Muggle surroundings.

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Albus sipped at his beer with appreciation. "Ah, most welcome." He sucked froth off his moustache and smacked his lips. "So, my dear, tell me about yourself."

"Don't you know about me already?" Julia asked.

He peered at her over the top of his spectacles. "Perhaps," he said, "although no-one knows all about anyone else. I do know that you have been working in the Ministry for several years and Arthur speaks very highly of you."

"That's nice of him," Julia said. "He's been very good to me. You know the Ministry has been keeping me busy recently, researching the family histories of wizards suspected of being Muggle-born? I'm conscious of how ironic it is that the Ministry is employing a Muggle to do such work. I'm fairly certain they haven't realised." She bit her lip. "Prof—Albus. You know how I came to be aware of the wizarding world and able to move between the two worlds as I do?"

Albus nodded. "I remember your brother very well. He was a good student and I had great hopes for him. But why don't you tell me your story for yourself?"

"Yes", said Julia. "He was a good student and he grew to be a good man too. I adored him and I miss him every day." She swallowed. "Sorry. Even after all this time it's difficult to talk about."

The professor patted her hand. "They live on in our memories, Julia."

"You—" she looked into her glass. "The wizarding world, that is—closed your doors to me. All except Arthur. He was the only one of you who kept in touch."

"My dear, it was a perilous time. We could not even manage to keep our own people from harm. You were safer in your own world."

"Perhaps." Julia circled the top of her glass with a finger. "I was lost for a while. I wasn't very close to our other relatives. After school I went to university and studied history. When I graduated, Arthur asked if I would like to come and work for the Department of Muggle Studies for a day or two a week. We found I was quite good at sorting out some of the problems that cropped up from time to time with enchanted Muggle artefacts. I think I have been quite useful to the Ministry over the last ten years or so. And I have some freelance research work of my own as well. In a way that's what I want to talk about." She stopped and sipped at her drink. A blue haze of cigarette smoke drifted lazily in the sunlight.

"Julia, pardon me," said Albus, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer. "Sometimes, as they say, walls have ears, and I think our conversation may be better kept private. The weather is clement; shall we take a walk?" He stood and offered her his arm in a courtly manner. Delighted by his old-fashioned gallantry, Julia looped her own arm into his.

They left the pub and strolled a few hundred yards to a small park with a duck pond where they made themselves comfortable on a bench, enjoying the warm breeze. For a little while, they watched the world go by.

"It is such a delicate thing, is it not?" he said.

"I know what you mean," she agreed, "It all hangs by a thread, and no-one really knows how tenuous it all is until the thread . . . snaps."

"About ten days ago"—she continued her story—"a patch of derelict land at the side of a small block of shops began to collapse. The council made an emergency inspection and observed traces of structures under the ground surface. As a precaution the site was secured and the nearest buildings evacuated until archaeological investigations could be carried out. In this case it is probably a good thing that bureaucracy makes the process so slow. But the excavation is due to start in just under three weeks." She looked at the professor. "And that's why I'm so worried."

"I think you had better tell me more."

"It's normal," said Julia, "to establish what the previous use of these sites was before any excavations begin. In case of potential contamination or bombs and things from the War. So when I was approached to do the research, I thought nothing of it. I began as usual but I hit something of a problem straight away. The place didn't appear on any maps or in any records before the 1950s, by which time the area was already derelict. I had to go back a very long way to find anything. Back to 1666 in fact. And that was when I came across a single mention of the destruction of St Wergrim's Abbey."

"Ah." Albus tugged thoughtfully at his beard.

"You've heard of it?" she asked.

"Oh, yes indeed."

"It rang a bell for me too. At first I couldn't recall where I had heard of it, but a couple of days later it came to me. When I was at university, one of my assignments had been to study the diaries of Samuel Pepys. I had assumed all of them had been transcribed, but when I was looking at the originals, I found a number of unrecorded entries. I transcribed them myself and submitted the work to my tutor. Initially, he was rather excited, but after he went to verify my findings for himself, he seemed to forget all about it, and when I reminded him, he became confused and dismissive. I was a bit hurt, but I didn't press the point. Then when I asked the other students who had been working on the same material, none of them knew what I was talking about. I began to think I had dreamed it so I asked someone else to take a look. But they just—couldn't! Their attention constantly shifted away, and as soon as they stopped looking at it, they forgot about it completely. That was when I realised there must be some sort of charm on it."

"Indeed," said Albus, "it sounds like a Muggle Misdirection Charm."

"Is that what it is? I supposed it didn't really matter. I couldn't see who would have placed a charm on that part of the diary though."

"Ah, Pepys himself, I should think."

Julia gaped at him. "Samuel Pepys was a wizard?"

"Certainly," said Albus. "But sadly notorious for his lack of discretion when it came to his dealings with Muggles. And of course his wife was a Muggle too."

Julia shook her head in resignation and carried on. "Pepys had written about a friend of his; a man called Malfais. The entries were short but intriguing. He believed that Malfais was responsible for deliberately causing the Great Fire of London."

"Ah." Albus gave a long sigh. "So that's what happened. Fiendfyre I presume? I had suspected something of the sort."

"Yes. He wanted to destroy his family home—Black Court—and the nearby St Wergrim's Abbey. Malfais had written an account of his family history which he—Pepys, that is—had hidden, because he thought it was dangerous. But I couldn't find any record of Malfais ever having existed, even though it happened before the Statute of Secrecy was established. Nor were there any records of the Black family. It seems all trace of them and of Black Court and St Wergrim's were obliterated by the fire." Julia stopped. The professor watched her, waiting.

"The work the Ministry has been giving me lately," she said, "has meant I've been spending a lot of time in the archives. Mainly I'm digging out old legal documents and family records. Births, marriages and so on. But about a week ago, quite by accident, I found Malfais' account tucked away with a bunch of old house-elf indentures and household management books. If this business hadn't been fresh in my mind, I probably wouldn't have looked twice at it but, well . . . When I had read Malfais' book, I was shocked. It looked like the ramblings of a madman and I hoped it was but it reminded me of something I'd read in one of Ben's books years ago. I needed to be sure. That was when I began to research more deeply. I took advantage of the opportunity to look further into the Ministry archives. What I found seemed to verify his story."

Albus interrupted. "Julia, is it possible for me to see some of this material?"

Julia felt herself colouring. "It is, yes," she said. "In fact I have, er, borrowed Malfais' book. If anyone finds out, I'll probably never work again. It's at my flat. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

"That is most kind of you," Albus beamed. "I would be delighted." He stood and offered his arm again. "Shall we proceed?"

.

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Julia unlocked the door of her flat and ushered Albus inside. After making a pot of tea and leaving it to brew, she cleared a space on her small table and laid out the fragile volume, her notes, and a shabby book with a drab leather cover. "This was Ben's," she said. "The one that I remembered when I looked at Malfais' account."

Albus picked up the slim leather-bound book and nodded. "A much underused resource these days," he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"You'll need some time," said Julia "I'll go and make something for us to eat. I hope you find I'm wrong."

Albus sighed. "I'm afraid you are probably right. But yes, a little time to concentrate would be much appreciated."

Julia poured the tea and then left him examining the papers. As unobtrusively as she could, she boiled some new potatoes, picked a few sprigs of mint from one of the pots on her balcony, mixed a little French dressing up in a wine glass, then made a bowl of salad and an omelette.

They ate the simple meal in silence, then Albus leaned back in his chair and polished his spectacles on a handkerchief. "I am afraid that your conclusions are perfectly correct. You have provided me with compelling evidence to prove a theory I have held myself for many years. The question now, is what can we do about it? I rather think that doing nothing is not a reasonable course of action."

"Um . . . we?" She faltered. "With respect, Albus, I don't think I can be much more help to you. I rather thought I had done my bit."

"Unfortunately, Julia, your part in this business has barely begun. Had you considered the consequences if this knowledge got out to—certain parties?"

Julia blanched. "You mean . . . You-Know-Who?"

Albus looked sombre. "Yes I do. What do you think he would make of this?"

She closed her eyes in distress. "It would win his war for him practically overnight. He wouldn't need to do a thing."

"Quite so. You are, I feel, the best placed person to undertake this task. In addition to a useful degree of anonymity, you have the great advantage that no one currently wishes to send you to Azkaban. Are you able to take a leave of absence? We only have a couple of weeks in which to act."

"I'm afraid that might be rather difficult," she said, knowing she sounded feeble.

"I am sure Arthur can spare you from the Ministry," said Albus gently. "Are you in the middle of an important project in your Muggle work?"

Reluctantly, Julia shook her head.

"Do you have a husband? Children? Dependent relatives?"

She shook her head again.

"Well then," said the professor, beaming. "That is settled! I know where you must begin your search. I believe you will find help there, although I must warn you, it may not be offered readily. I am going to send you to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. You have heard of the Order?"

Julia felt sick. She opened her mouth to speak but managed only a faint croak. She swallowed a couple of times and tried again. "You know I have. It doesn't exist anymore."

Albus was solemn. "In times of need the Phoenix will be reborn from the ashes of those who have gone before."

"The ashes?" Julia did not try to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Is that what they are?"

"My sincere apologies, Julia" said Albus. "I did not mean to appear insensitive. I wonder if you have a piece of paper?"

"Yes, of course." She tore a blank page from her notebook and passed it to him.

He drew an old fashioned quill from inside his yellow waistcoat, and apparently without need of ink, wrote something on the paper then folded it in half and gave it back to her. "Present yourself at that address tomorrow evening at dusk and read the whole of what it says. When you have been admitted to the house you should destroy this note, preferably by burning it. I'm sure I need not tell you that discretion is essential. You may find your initial welcome less than warm, but persevere, Julia, it will repay you in the end. What you need is there, though I have no doubt it will require significant effort on your part, and may not take a form you expect. You will of course be at liberty to come and go as you please. I think it unlikely that you will attract any attention from the Ministry because . . . ah—"

"Because I'm a Muggle, and not worthy of notice?"

"Quite so. I assure you, Julia, that not all wizards are so arrogant or foolish." He tucked his quill into his robes and stood up. "I must be on my way. I will offer a word of advice, however. Do not trust the house elf. He is more cunning than he seems; treat him with extreme circumspection. The other inhabitants of the house, you may entrust with your life if necessary. Good luck." He shook her hand. "I feel sure we will meet again soon."

A house elf? she thought in amazement. I didn't think anyone had those anymore! What sort of place is he sending me to?

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