Chapter 4

Arachne Beadu

KIARA

Despite the fact that I had been waiting for Crighton to come and collect me, I felt distinctly awkward as we set off down the hill from my grandmothers' cottage together. I had never had a proper conversation with my headmistress outside of Dragon Mort before that point; there was usually a desk between us. The memory of our last face-to-face encounter kept intruding, too, and it rather heightened my sense of embarrassment; I had shouted a lot on that occasion, not to mention doing my best to smash several of Crighton's most prized possessions; however, I did not rip any of the pictures her children had sent her over the years from the spot on her office wall where she had pinned them, which would probably account for how calm Crighton was - well, that or Crighton was extremely forgiving.

"Keep your wand at the ready, Kiara," she said brightly.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, ma'am?"

"If there is an attack," said Crighton, "I give you permission to use any counter-jinx or -curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, ma'am?"

"You are with me," said Crighton simply. "This will do, Kiara."

She came to an abrupt halt near the bottom of the hill.

"You have not, of course, passed your Apparition test?" she said.

"No," I said. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do," said Crighton. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind - as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment."

I gripped Crighton's preferred forearm.

"Very good," said Crighton. "Well, here we go."

I felt Crighton's arm twist away from me and I redoubled my grip: the next thing I knew, everything went black; I was being pressed very hard from all directions; I could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around my chest; my eyeballs were being forced back into my head; my eardrums were being pushed deeper into my skull, and then -

I gulped great lungfuls of cold night air and opened my streaming eyes. I felt as though I had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before I realised that my grandmothers' cottage had vanished. Crighton and I were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the centre of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. My comprehension having just caught up with my senses, I realised that I had just Apparated for the very first time in my life.

"Are you all right?" asked Crighton, who was looking down at me solicitously. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," I said, rubbing my ears, which felt as though they had left my grandmothers' cottage rather reluctantly. "But I think I might prefer brooms."

Crighton smiled, drew her travelling cloak a little more tightly around her neck and said, "This way."

She set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"So, tell me, Kiara," said Crighton. "Your scar ... has it been hurting at all?"

I raised a hand unconsciously to my forehead and rubbed the flame-shaped mark.

"No," I said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Zira's getting to powerful again."

I glanced up at Crighton and saw that she was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Crighton. "Lady Zira has finally realised the dangerous access to her thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that she is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," I said, for I missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Zira's mind.

We turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. I looked sideways at Crighton again.

"Professor?"

"Kiara?"

"Er - where exactly are we?"

"This, Kiara, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah, yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Crighton. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one number of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Dragon Mort."

"How can I help with that, ma'am? And shouldn't it be Sian who should help you with this and not me?"

"Sian has quite enough to be getting on with at the moment, Kiara. Besides, I'm sure we'll find a use for you," said Crighton vaguely. "Left here, Kiara."

We proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over my grandmothers' cottage for two weeks persisted here, too. Thinking of Stingers, I cast a look over my shoulder and grasped my wand reassuringly in my pocket.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Crighton. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Dragon Mort, for instance - "

" - you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," I said quickly. "Sian told me."

"And she's quite right. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind us. I wondered why Crighton did not consider it rude to call on her old colleague so late, but now that conversation had been established, I had more pressing questions to ask.

"Ma'am, I saw in the Daily Squabbler that Sweets has been sacked ..."

"Correct," said Crighton, as we turned up a side-street. "She has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rowena Scrimwazz, who used to be Junior Head of the Auror Office."

"Is she ... do you think she's good?" I asked.

"An interesting question," said Crighton. "She is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelia."

"Yes, but I meant - "

"I know what you meant. Rowena is a woman of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of her working life, does not underestimate Lady Zira."

I waited, but Crighton did not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimwazz that the Daily Squabbler had reported, and I did not have the nerve to pursue the subject, so I changed it.

"And ... ma'am ... I saw about Mr Bongos."

"Yes," said Crighton quietly. "A terrible loss. He was a great wizard. Just up here, I think - ouch."

She had pointed with her injured hand.

"Professor, what happened to your - ?"

"I have no time to explain now," said Crighton. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice."

She smiled at me, which I understood to mean that I was not being snubbed, and that I had permission to keep asking questions.

"Ma'am - we got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Love Destroyers ..."

"Yes, my family received one, too," said Crighton, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"

"Grandmother Sarabi did, but I didn't see much in it, to be honest."

"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favourite flavour of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Crighton, and not an impostor."

"I didn't ..." I began, not entirely sure whether I was being reprimanded or not.

"For future reference, Kiara, it is blackcurrant ... although of course, if I were a Love Destroyer, I would have been sure to research my own jam-preferences before impersonating myself."

"Er ... right," I said. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear. I asked Grandmother Sarabi about them, but I don't think she had heard of them before."

"They are corpses," said Crighton calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Lord Voldemort was powerful ... he killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Kiara, just here ..."

We were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. I was too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, but as we reached the front gate Crighton stopped dead and I walked into her.

"Oh, dear. Oh dear, dear, dear."

I followed her gaze up the carefully tended front path and I felt my heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.

Crighton glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.

"Wand out and follow me, Kiara," she said quietly.

She opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path with me at her heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, her wand raised at the ready.

"Lumos."

Crighton's wand-tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding her illuminated wand aloft, Crighton walked into the sitting room with me right behind her.

A scene of total devastation met our eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at our feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little further away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Crighton raised her wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was splattered over the wallpaper. My small intake of breath made Crighton look round.

"Not pretty, is it," she said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."

Crighton moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinising the wreckage at her feet. I followed, gazing around, half-scared of what I might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.

"Maybe there was a fight and - and they dragged her off, Professor?" I suggested, trying not to imagine how badly wounded a woman would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.

"I don't think so," said Crighton quietly, peering behind an overstuffed cushion, that was in a rather thin-looking armchair, which was on its side.

"You mean she's - ?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes."

And without warning, Crighton swooped, plunging the tip of her wand into the cushion of the thin-looking armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Arachne," said Crighton. straightening up again.

My jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now stood an extremely tall, thin woman, who was massaging her rather large rear and who was looking down at Crighton with an angry glare.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," she said, extending to her full height. "It hurt."

The wand light his her extremely long arms and legs, which seemed to go on for ever, her long, spindly fingers, her pointed head, which was covered in thick black hair that barely reached her shoulders, as well as her prominent eyes and the silver buttons on her green dressing-gown, which covered a green nightgown.

"What gave it away?" she sighed as she surveyed Crighton wearily, still rubbing her rump. She seemed remarkably unabashed for a woman who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Arachne," said Crighton, looking amused, "if the Love Destroyers really had come to call, the Death Trail would have been set over the house."

The witch clapped a thin, bony hand to her forehead.

"The Death Trail," she muttered. "Knew there was something ... ah well. Wouldn't have had time, anyway. I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room.

She heaved a great sigh and shook her hair back.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" asked Crighton politely.

"Please," said the witch.

They stood back to back, the tall thin witch and the slightly taller and thinner witch, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.

The furniture flew back to its original place; ornaments re-formed in mid-air; feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared on to side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks and holes healed everywhere; and the walls wiped themselves clean.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Crighton loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather clock.

"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the witch called Arachne as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.

There was a final plunk from the piano and silence.

"Yes, dragon," repeated the witch conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."

She walked over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.

"Hm. Bit dusty."

She set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that her gaze fell upon me.

"A-ha," she said, her large round eyes flying to my forehead and the flame-shaped scar it bore. "A-ha!"

"This," said Crighton, moving forwards to make the introduction, "is Kiara Pride-Lander. Kiara, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Arachne Beadu."

Beadu turned on Crighton, her expression shrewd.

"So, that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Susan."

She pushed past me, her face turned resolutely away with the air of a woman trying to resist temptation.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Crighton. "For old times' sake?"

Beadu hesitated.

"All right then, one drink," she said ungraciously.

Crighton smiled at me and directed me towards a chair not unlike the one that Beadu had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. I took the seat with the distinct impression that Crighton, for some reason, wanted to keep me as visible as possible. Certainly when Beadu, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, her eyes fell immediately upon me.

"Humph," she said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting her eyes. "Here - " She gave a drink to Crighton, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at me and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa, placed her feet on an ottoman and a disgruntled silence. Her legs were so long that she had to push the ottoman towards the table so that her feet would fit on it properly.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Arachne?" Crighton asked.

"Not so well," said Beadu at once. "Weak chest. Arthritis too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Crighton. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

Beadu said, half-irritably, half-proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," she added sternly, seeming to pull herself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old woman, Susan. A tired old woman who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

She certainly had those, I thought, as I looked around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If I had not known who lived there, I would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.

"You're not yet as old as I am, Arachne," said Crighton.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Beadu bluntly. Her pale gooseberry eyes had found Crighton's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

"You're quite right," said Crighton serenely, shaking back her sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of my neck prickle unpleasantly. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand ..."

She shrugged and spread her hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and I noticed a ring on her uninjured hand that I had never seen Crighton wear before: it was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like silver, and was set with a heavy ruby stone that had cracked down the middle. Beadu's eyes lingered for a moment on the ring, too, and I saw a tiny frown momentarily crease her wide forehead.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Arachne ... are they for the Love Destroyers' benefit, or mine?" asked Crighton.

"What would the Love Destroyers want with a poor broken-down old girl like me?" demanded Beadu.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture and murder," said Crighton. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Beadu eyed Crighton balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house - the owners of this place are on holiday in the Hawaiian Islands. It's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbours don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," said Crighton. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old girl in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Dragon Mort - "

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can think again, Susan! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumours have reached me since Democritus Umber left! If that's how you treat teachers these days - "

"Professor Umber ran afoul of our centaur herd," said Crighton. "I think you, Arachne, would have known better than to stride into the Forest and call a horde of angry centaurs "filthy half-breeds"."

"That's what he did, did he?" said Beadu. "Idiotic man. Never liked him."

I chuckled and both Beadu and Crighton looked round at me.

"Sorry," I said hastily. "I didn't like him, either."

Crighton stood up rather suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Beadu at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I could use your bathroom," said Crighton.

"Oh," said Beadu, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

Crighton crossed the room. Once the door had closed behind her there was silence. After a few moments Beadu got to her feet, but seemed uncertain what to do with herself. She shot a furtive look at me, then strode to the fire and turned her back on it, warming her large behind.

"Don't think I don't know why she's brought you," she said sharply.

I merely looked at Beadu. Beadu's watery eyes slid over my scar, this time taking in the rest of my face.

"You look very like your mother."

"Yeah, I've been told," I said.

"Except for your mouth. You've got - "

"My father's mouth, yeah." I had heard it so often I found it a bit wearing.

"Humph. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favourites as a teacher, of course, but he was one of mine. Your father," Beadu added, in answer to my questioning look. "Simba Pride-Lander. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming boy - much like your mother, who was talented, too, in her own way, but I always preferred your father. I used to tell them both that they ought to have been in my house. Very cheeky answers I used to get back from the pair of them, too."

"Which was your house?"

"I was head of Snake-Eyes," said Beadu. "Oh, now," she went on quickly, seeing the expression on my face and wagging a long thin finger at me, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be in Lion-Heart like them, I supposed? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Pumbaa Warts? You must have done - been in the papers for the last couple of weeks - died a few weeks ago, in fact - "

It was as though an invisible hand had twisted my intestines and held them tight.

"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your mother's at school. Most of the Warts family had been in my house, but Pumbaa ended up in Lion-Heart! Shame - he was a talented boy. I got his brother Okoro when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."

She sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, she gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on her rear.

"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, like your father - "

"One of my best friends is pure-blood," I said, "and she's one of the best in our year, but that isn't to say that Muggle-borns can't be talented, too."

Beadu looked down her long, thin, bony nose at me in surprise.

"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" she said. "No, no, no! Your mother was one of my all-time favourite students - though, as I said before, I always preferred your father. And there was Daphne Cauldwell in the year after them, too - now head of the Faun and Goblin Liaison Office, of course - another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent information on the goings-on at Fauntrotts!"

She bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barbara Cramp, editor of the Daily Squabbler, she's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosia Fume, of the Sugarshack - a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give her an introduction to Cecelia Hawkins, who gave her her first job! And at the back - you'll see him if you just crane your neck - that's Gien Johnson, who of course captains Lancashire ... people are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with Lancashire, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

This thought seemed to cheer her up enormously.

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" I asked, for I could not help understanding why the Love Destroyers had not yet tracked down Beadu if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets and visitors craving her advice and opinions could find her.

The smile slid from Beadu's face as quickly as the blood from her walls.

"Of course not," she said, looking down at me. "I have been out of touch with everyone for a year."

I had the impression that the words shocked Beadu herself; she looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then she shrugged.

"Still ... the prudent witch keeps her head down at all times. All very well for Crighton to talk, but taking up a post at Dragon Mort just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Centaur! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate - "

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Dragon Mort," I said, not quite able to keep a note of derision out of my voice: it was hard to sympathise with Beadu's cosseted existence when I remembered my parents, crouched in a cave and living on rats. "Most of the teachers aren't in it and none of them have ever been killed - well, unless you count Quarrell, and she got what she deserved seeing as she was working with Zira."

I had been sure Beadu would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Zira's name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Beadu gave a shudder and a squeak of protest, which I ignored.

"I reckon the staff are safer there than most people while Crighton's headmistress; she's supposed to be the only one Zira ever feared, isn't she?" I went on.

Beadu gazed into space for a moment or two: she seemed to be thinking over my words.

"Well, yes, it is true that She Who Must Not Be Named has never sought a fight with Crighton," she muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Love Destroyers, She Who Must Not Be Named can hardly count me a friend ... in which case, I might well be safer for a little closer to Susan ... I cannot pretend that Arnold Bongos' death did not shake me ... if he, with all his Ministry contacts and protection ..."

Crighton re-entered the room and Beadu jumped as though she had forgotten she was in her house.

"Oh, there you are, Susan," she said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Crighton. "I do love sewing and knitting patterns. Well, Kiara, we have trespassed upon Arachne's hospitality long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."

Not at all reluctant to obey, I jumped to my feet. Beadu seemed taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost ..."

Beadu seemed agitated. She twiddled her thin bony thumbs and fidgeted as she watched Crighton fastening her travelling cloak and me zipping up my jacket.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Arachne," said Crighton, raising her uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Dragon Mort would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes ... well ... very gracious ... as I say ..."

"Goodbye, then."

"Bye," I said.

We were at the front door when there was a shout from behind us.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

Crighton turned to see Beadu standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," said Beadu impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Crighton, beaming. "Then, Arachne, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grumbled Beadu.

As we set off down the garden path, Beadu's voice floated after us.

"I want a pay rise, Crighton!"

Crighton chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind us and we set off back down the hill through the dark and swirling mist.

"Well done, Kiara," said Crighton.

"I didn't do anything," I said in surprise.

"Oh yes you did. You showed Arachne exactly how much she stands to gain by returning to Dragon Mort. Did you like her?"

"Er ..."

I wasn't sure whether I liked Beadu or not. I supposed she had been pleasant in her own way, but she had also seemed vain and, whatever she said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.

"Arachne," said Crighton, relieving me of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes her comfort. She also likes the company of the famous, the successful and the powerful. She enjoys the feeling that she influences these people. She has never wanted to occupy the throne herself; she prefers the back seat - more room to spread out, you see. She used to handpick favourites at Dragon Mort, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and she had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Arachne formed a kind of club of her favourites with herself at the centre, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of her favourite crystallised pineapple, or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Faun and Goblin Liaison Office."

The image of Beadu as a giant spider became more vivid, as I imagined her spinning a web around me, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.

"I tell you this," Crighton continued, "not to turn you against Arachne - or, as we must now call her, Professor Beadu - but to put you on your guard. She will undoubtedly try to collect you, Kiara. You would be the jewel of her collection: the Girl Who Lived ... or, as they call you these days, the Chosen One."

At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over me. I was reminded of the words I had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning to me:

Neither can live while the other survives ...

Crighton had stopped walking, level with the church we had passed earlier.

"This will do, Kiara. If you will grasp my arm."

Braced this time, I was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and I found myself able to breathe again, I was standing beside Crighton in front of a pair of wrought iron gates, looking at something murky that lay beyond. Crighton then brushed her fingers against the metal, which melted away. The murkiness faded away to reveal the silhouette of my third favourite building in the world: Dawson Manor. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through me, my spirits could not help but lift at the sight of it. Chris, Sian and Chrissie were in there ... as well as my parents who, even though I had parted from there just mere days ago, I was very much looking forward to seeing again ...

"If you don't mind, Kiara," said Crighton, as we passed over the gate and up the sweeping drive, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. Perhaps in here?"

Crighton pointed towards a run-down stone outhouse where the Dawsons kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, I followed Crighton through the creaking door into a space smaller than the average cupboard. Crighton illuminated the tip of her wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at me.

"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Kiara, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Pumbaa would have been proud of you."

I swallowed; my voice seemed to have deserted me. I did not think I could stand to discuss Pumbaa. It had been painful enough to hear his name thrown out casually by Beadu.

"It was cruel," said Crighton swiftly, "that you and Pumbaa had not spent that much time together. If he had lived, I am certain that you would have formed a close friendship with him."

I nodded, my eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Crighton's hat. I could tell that Crighton understood, that she might even suspect that through the happiness I had spent with my parents, not once had I mentioned Pumbaa's name; whenever one of my grandmothers had started to mention him, I quickly changed the subject, or else I left the room to lie on my bed, staring at the misted window that was full of the chilly emptiness that I had come to associate with Stingers.

"I'm just ... sorry I didn't get to know him as well as my parents did," I said finally, in a low voice.

My eyes burned suddenly and I blinked. I felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that I had someone who knew my parents well, who went to school with them, who stayed close to them for most of their adult lives, and who cared for me in a way ... and now, it seemed that my family had an empty space in it, a space that could never be filled by anyone but Pumbaa Warts ...

"Pumbaa was a good friend to your parents, and given the time I'm sure he would have been a good friend to you, too," said Crighton. "Naturally, it is hard to accept that such an important figure in your family is gone ..."

"But while my parents were with me at my grandmothers," I interrupted, my voice growing stronger, "I realised I can't shut myself away or - or crack up. Pumbaa wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short ... look at Mr Bongos, look at Emmett Vaughn ... it could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," I said fiercely, looking straight into Crighton's green eyes, gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Love Destroyers with me as I can, and Zira too if I can manage it."

"Spoken like Simba and Nala's daughter!" said Crighton, bowing her head humbly. "I take my hat off to you - or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders.

"And now, Kiara, on a closely related subject ... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Squabbler over the last two weeks?"

"Yes," I said, and my heart beat a little faster.

"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much as leaks, as floods, concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Yes," I said again. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one - "

"No, they do not," interrupted Crighton. "There are only three people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lady Zira: two of them are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed, and the other is in the house. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Zira sent her Love Destroyers to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.

"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"

"No," I said.

"A wise decision, on the whole," said Crighton. "Although, I think you and Sian ought to relax it in favour of Chris and Chrissie. Yes," she continued, when I looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want - "

" - to worry or frighten them?" said Crighton, surveying me with her extraordinary green eyes. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Kiara. As you so rightly said, Pumbaa would not have wanted you to shut yourself away."

I said nothing, but Crighton did not seem to require an answer. She continued, "On a different, though related subject, it is my wish that you and Sian take private lessons with me this year."

"Private - with Sian - and you?" I said, surprised out of my preoccupied silence.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in yours and Sian's education."

"What will you be teaching us, ma'am?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Crighton airily.

I waited hopefully, but Crighton did not elaborate, so I asked something else that had been bothering me slightly.

"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Triphorm, will I?"

"Professor Triphorm, Kiara - and no, you will not."

"Good," I said in relief, "because they were a - "

I stopped, careful not to say what I really thought.

"I think the word "fiasco" would be a good one here," said Crighton, nodding.

I laughed.

"Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Triphorm from now on," I said, "because she won't let me carry on Potions unless I get "Outstanding" in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."

"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," said Crighton gravely. "Which, now I think of it, ought to be sometime later today. I have not even told Sian this."

I was taken aback by this news, for I would have thought that Crighton would have shared this piece of news with Sian more than any other.

"Why not, ma'am?"

Crighton's eyes had a teasing twinkle to them. "Well," she said, "it's more fun to see how she reacts. True, Sian and I share a lot of things, but sometimes I like to keep something from her, to see how she responds. And I get some rather interesting reactions, I might add."

She chuckled. I rolled my eyes, a playful smile forming on my lips. When Crighton spoke again, her tone was suddenly serious.

"Now, two more things, Kiara, before we part.

"Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onwards. Even within Dragon Mort itself. Just in case, you understand me?"

I nodded.

"And lastly, while you stay here, Dawson Manor has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. these measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Matthew and myself - all our post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry, before being sent on. We do not mind in the slightest, for our only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while you stay with Matt and my children. And bear in mind, Kiara, if you try to leave, for my source inside the house will let me know immediately."

Not doubting for a second who she meant by her "source inside the house", I quickly said, "I understand."

"Very well, then," said Crighton, pushing open the broom-shed door and stepping out into the garden. Looking towards the house, Crighton smiled and said, "Good, Sian's left a light on like I told her to, which means she's still up. Come, let us not deprive my eldest child the chance of seeing you much longer, and to also see how hungry you are."