Chapter Six: Mice and Monsters
"But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!"
Robert Burns
"Dear Boris-
Rain today, again. And I'm fairly certain your bat came in with icicles on his wings. Is there an animal abuse ministry? I hope not, I'm in enough trouble already.
Nothing serious really, except the Ministry seems to think I blew up the school train.
It's preposterous, I don't understand how they can mistake nearly being blown up for being the one causing the actual explosion. I should be the one suing them,
The Ravenclaws have theories. In case I do get arrested and you end up talking with one of them the rest of the year, you should be aware that Ravenclaws always have theories. What is more particularly annoying is that they also have flow charts, diagrams, and bar graphs to back them up. It takes hours- all for them to tell me in several different ways that I'm completely and utterly fucked.
(Sorry about that. I'm writing this a few seats down from a Hufflepuff who swears like a longshoreman and is working on a particularly difficult assignment.)
Anyway, it seems there are actual images of me hanging around the back of the train, and they apparently intercepted a package I was going to send that would reveal entrances to Diagon Ally to muggle American Embassy personnel.
None of it makes any sense. How could I be behind the train when I was inside it, buried under a pile of trunks? And while I have an envelope at the embassy, it certainly doesn't contain the entrances to Diagon Ally- you think I would let the eager-young Foreign Service girl who handles these things to get obliviated? She's sweet, and she gives me free soda. And yet nothing seems impossible in this place, at least when it comes to ways in which I am in trouble with the law.
I'm really a very mild mannered person. I've never even had a speeding ticket.
Several theories revolve around Polyjuice Potion and the like, so I should add right now that if someone ever claims to be me, you should ask them what happened to Diego's ten-speed. If it is me, I'll refuse to answer, for reasons that you don't need to know. You may then ask me what is the greatest rock band of all time. If I don't answer Creedance Clearwater Revival- stupefy at once. …"
"Dear Lucy-
Vasily has a long lasting anti-freeze spell, good for another year. The icicles probably formed on descent. He's fine. He seems plump- you aren't feeding him, are you? Please don't, he'll be spoiled.
It's snowing here. Winter set in early, and fast, and the big freeze will be here soon. Constantine is worried- once the sea freezes, our primary means of transport is rendered useless until the thaw. No one has attempted an ice crossing in five years, and the last person to survive one was Barrabas, now our cook, many years ago,shortly before he was expelled for the second time. Unfortunately, only Barrabas could physically consume the massive amount of vodka necessary to keep the blood from freezing and still have the mental competence make the passage.
Being confined makes the boys restless, we have increased Quidditch practice- it is still allowed, but confined to short sessions during lunch hour. The darkness comes early now, and they do not let us out after dark,
The third years have been set an intense assignment in the restricted section. Old texts, much of it on wandless magic, pre-occulmancy methods for manipulating thoughts. It is a difficult task for such young students, with only one seventh year to supervise their work- Constantine believes it is because third years are experienced enough with the library, but not trained enough to use the magic themselves.
It is my turn this week to forget an assignment, which will see me sentenced to Potions lab, where I can try and avert another disaster such as we saw with Katrina. No improvement there, she will never speak again. She communicates by tablet and Anna has been using her time as the senior prefect overseeing the third years to scour the library for books on sign language, or some other way to help her. For now, we will have to be more careful in our resistance. It would never do, for example, for me to go blind. How would I read your letters?
Have your esteemed Ravenclaws considered a metamorphagous? We have reason to believe many were recruited by…."
"They have wizards that can do that- without Polyjuice Potion?"
"Not many, but some. Why did you want to know?"
Lucy sighed, and pretended to busy herself with her telescope. "No special reason. Is that Venus?"
Rasheph shrugged off her change of subject. He knew she tried to avoid telling the BA things that the International Society was up to, and since that confidentiality went both ways, he didn't press. They were alone on the Astronomy Tower, and it was the first opportunity they had had to talk in weeks.
"Lucy- about Lynx."
"I know, his eyebrows are growing back darker, does that mean he's not a natural blonde?"
"This is serious. I caught him a few nights ago, he was alone in the workroom-"
"OK, you can stop right there Prefect Radu. I don't want to know what a teenage boy was doing while alone in a concealed room."
"Did anyone ever tell you you have a dirty mind?"
"You told me I have purple psychoplasm, does that count?"
"He was using his gift."
Lucy leaned back from her telescope. "Is that what they call it nowadays?" Rasheph gave her an exasperated look, and Lucy sighed. "By gift, I take it you don't mean his telekinesis?"
"I'm sorry Lucy, he was working with fire."
Lucy made a sort of screaming sound in her throat. "Describe it to me in as much detail as you can."
After listening to Rasheph's description of Lynx systematically lighting the playing cards she had made him stack and pushing the flaming cards into the fireplace, it was difficult to go back to work.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you."
"No, no you needed to Rasheph. I just don't know what I can do about it."
"You'll figure something out."
"I better," she muttered, looking down at her chart. "When is problem 13 rising?"
"11:09, which means we might have enough time to get down and enjoy the last bit of the party."
Lucy sighed. "I never get to have fun on Halloween."
"Where were you last year?"
"Locked in an office with the rest of the International Society. By the time they stopped questioning us there were no tarts left."
She checked her watch- it was quarter past 10. She had been up at 6 am when Vasily arrive at her window, and had been going ever since. "I'm going to take a little nap. Wake me up at 11?"
Rasheph raised an eyebrow as Lucy folded her arms on the sill of the tower wall and snuggled down. No one could be comfortable that way. And yet, she was asleep in five minutes.
Rasheph leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the stars.
Lucy woke to find herself in a squalid stone cell.
A squalid stone cell that she had seen once before.
But she was not alone. The pile of rags in the corner moved, then stood and approached her.
The man was somewhat familiar, but she was sure she had never met him; a creature, with greasy black hair and a knotted beard, with intelligent black eyes that were also utterly and completely mad.
He lumberd closer, and Lucy tried to bolt but could not move. She looked in the opposite corner and saw a familiar face, pale and fixed in horror, and understood why she was aware yet paralyzed.
This wasn't her nightmare.
It was Rasheph's.
The man stumbled the final two steps, grasped his hands about her throat, and began to squeeze.
She couldn't move her mouth, wanted to scream desperately and couldn't, in the way that only happened in dreams. She shrieked mentally at Rasheph.
"Wake up! You can stop it! You can control it!"
Rasheph stared in horror.
"Rasheph! Please!"
Her world was starting to go gray, but she couldn't pull out, couldn't force herself out of Rasheph's mind without hurting him. On the other hand, if she lost sub-consciousness, she wouldn't be able to return to her own mind.
She tried to clamp down on her fear. Rasheph was already afraid, no need to feed it. If she was in his head, her emotions could influence him. If she had been a better Empath, she could have projected calm, now all she could do was try to be calm and comfort herself. To bury her terror deep down and ignore the image of the man strangling her.
She stared at Rasheph. Her tone calm and nonchalant. "This sucks, want to wake up now?"
She saw his eyes snap, unglazed. In one leap he was across the room, he pulled the man off her with one arm and tossed him away, where he disappeared.
His eyes full of shame he crouched in front of her. "I'm so sorry."
Lucy felt the horror dissipate, she took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. "It's OK, it wasn't real, just wake up."
"Every year," Madam Pomfrey muttered, hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage. No matter how tight the guard, the Halloween punch was inevitably spiked.
The results lay before her: a half a dozen concussions, two broken legs, a wide assortment of jinxes gone terribly wrong, and one successful transfiguration of a first year into a duck.
That didn't include the innumerable "headaches," and other poorly disguised hangovers and alcohol poisonings. A good dose of modified pepper-up potion and the afflicted were out the door as fast as they could stumble.
If there was one thing the students could rely upon, it was, on this night of the year especially, Madam Pomfrey was the soul of discretion.
Her guests Halloween night were predictably the same students year after year, so it was with no little surprise that she regarded Professor McGonagall when Rasheph Radu was hauled in.
"I have two more for you Poppy," the defacto headmistress floated a second stretcher into the ward.
"Yes, of course, put them down over here. Is it the usual?
"Hard to say, as neither was actually at the party. They were found when Mr. Filch went to lock down the Astronomy Tower at 11:30."
Poppy raised her eyebrows, "Oh, I see."
Minerva chuckled. "Believe it or not, they were both up there with permission from Professor Sinastra. They had the poor choice to pick projects that had important alignments this evening."
"They had a flask of the punch then?"
"If there was, we didn't find one. Possibly someone brought them something. It appears that someone raided greehouse 9 again and made a batch of contaminated baked goods. They may have ingested something without knowing it. The notes we found on their star charts are too accurate to have been made under the influence."
Poppy examined the girl on the second stretcher. "Miss Montero has a history of head injuries, I'll keep a close watch. Their vitals are fine."
Not long after Professor McGonagall left, Rasheph and Lucy awoke with a start.
"Awake are we?" Madame Pomfrey hurried over. "What was it then?"
"Huh?" Lucy looked around. "Why are we here?"
"Mr. Filch found you passed out on the Astronomy Tower. How many fingers do you see?"
After a brief exam and some pepper-up, they were both deemed in pretty good shape. Seeing as it was after curfew, they would spend the night in the hospital wing and return to their houses in the morning.
It was after 2, and neither could fall asleep.
"Have I mentioned how sorry I am?" Rasheph whispered from the bed next to Lucy's.
"Only a couple hundred times. If you don't stop I'm going to have to kill you."
"Better you kill me than me you." Came the bitter reply.
The moon had risen, bright, and it illuminated Lucy's face as her impatient expression softened.
"Why didn't you mention it in the first place?"
Rasheph shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. "Death Eater relatives were never a happy topic, even less so now. When you didn't ask after the first time, the day we met, it was easier to let it go."
"But the dream didn't go, did it?"
"For awhile it did, as I started getting better control. Then when they lost Azkaban…"
"It came back. I get it. Who exactly is he? The man in the cell?"
"My mother's brother. Her baby brother, Rasheph."
He heard her gasp. "You're named after him?" The moonlight clearly showed her shock.
"I was born before he went to prison, before it was revealed, before anyone even knew who- what he was."
"What did he do?"
Rasheph sighed. "What didn't he do would be a better question. Murder, bombings, torture- he was especially good at torture. He was apparently very precise, methodical, and thorough, Very much the consummate Ravenclaw," he added bitterly.
"Just because you share a name, doesn't mean you share anything else."
"I nearly killed you, didn't I? Something from my head ripped you out of yours and nearly smothered you to brain death."
"No." The force and tone of her voice made him finally turn and face her.
"You can't fool me Lucy. I saw how pale you looked when we woke up. You looked like a corpse, I was hurting you."
"You couldn't have."
Rasheph stared at her. "I don't understand."
Lucy didn't either, not completely. But she knew no one with Rashephs level of training could do what he was describing. And it was vital for him that he understand that. "You pulled me into a dream, that's true. You've done it before, with no harm done. Something else had to have occurred for the dream to change the way that it did."
She thought for a moment. "I pretty much fell asleep instantly. What were you doing when you fell asleep?"
Rasheph was silent.
"Rasheph?"
"Listening."
Lucy paused, "Listening to what?"
Rasheph turned his gaze toward the window, where Orion's belt could be seen glittering over the lake.
Even as Lucy watched, the drums began in her head, she ruthlessly shut them out.
"You were listening to the stars, again?"
"I'm sorry. I know how you warned me. But they were so loud-"
Lucy hushed his whispers with a wave of her hand.
"I do block them out, entirely, but I can't totally when studying Astronomy, so we were both exposed. The alignment."
Rasheph gazed out the window- "Gone now."
"But it was in a powerful position, one that could have easily manipulated two susceptible individuals, especially since we have been in each other's heads before."
"You're telling me the stars manipulated my dream?"
"More like seized upon an opportunity, pushed it a little further. I told you they were trouble."
"But why?"
"I told you, they like to meddle. Something big must be brewing and they wanted to put us on our guard. It's hardly helpful to us, a lot of stuff involving Death Eaters is going on. But stars are not really detail oriented."
Rasheph sighed. "How do I keep this from happening again?"
"You have to stop listening to them, for awhile. We'll work on strengthening your ability to distinguish self from delusion, but the important thing is that you eventually did. You pulled yourself out of it and you took control."
"Why couldn't you stop it? You knew what was going on before I did."
"I could have, but you wouldn't have like the result."
"Why not?"
Lucy shrugged, "You'd be dead, or worse."
"Dear Boris
They hadn't considered you suggestion, actually. I think they will pursue the idea, but skeptically and with great reluctance. I'm afraid they are prejudiced against you, but you shouldn't take it personally, Ravenclaws can't abide anyone being cleverer than themselves. Oh, they talk a good game about only being concerned with truth and knowledge, but deep down they are just as proud of their smarts as the Slytherins are of their bloodlines. They are currently trying to access records on metamorphagous regulation- although it seems most likely that this individual isn't registered.
They described what a metamorphagous is, by the way. Ick.
Grounds use was banned today- for our own protection. Apparently something is happening in the forest. It's impossible to get out of the castle to find out for ourselves. They have every entrance, legitimate or not, under guard. Anything beyond the outer wall is out, although they still allow groups to be escorted to the greenhouses for Herbology. What joy is mine.
It seems like madness to keep on pretending like nothing is wrong. The headmaster gone, McGonagall not seen for weeks, Harry Potter doing whatever it is he does God-knows-where- and it still seems to be of vital importance that I learn how to turn a teacup into a topiary. I can't, by the way, it looked more like a shrubbery.
The obituaries are attached. It looks like mostly innocent bystanders, although several civil servants are on the list, including the witch involved in coordinating the Diagon Ally sewar system, the wizard in charge of booking at the London Bureau of Magical Corrections, and the overseer of Magical Meats, a local butcher that specialized in the raising and slaughter of magical livestock.
As usual, no stories of vital import in the paper. Has their been any word on your end on the former Azkaban inmates? The young ones? If you could look up…."
Lucy tossed Vasily a kipper and chewed on the end of her quill thoughtfully. She knew Rasheph would not approve, but she needed to know everything. And she couldn't ask the Ravenclaws for this….
"Marguerite, could you repeat that please?"
"They are going to use the orchestra to make contact."
Silence was a rare thing at a BA meeting. To be fair, the crowd was somewhat smaller, the frequency of the meetings- and the lack of any response from veelas or Viktor Krum-had resulted in most meetings being deemed optional for underclassmen.
It was a rather nasty surprise when Lucy was reminded this meant she was not exempt.
The Ravenclaws rejoiced, and she supposed it was probably fair. The little suckers had managed to put together a gruesome pop-up-book for this week on the progress in the bombing investigation, so it wasn't like they weren't putting in the hours. The Hufflepuffs were happy to leave it to Gisella and Lukas, and while most of the younger students had opted out, the Lane brothers always came and the Kornakovitches took it in turns.
The entire Slytherin contingent continued to show up, right down to tiny, terrifying, Sasha Yudin.
And still, none of the remaining students crammed into the Ravenclaw private library seemed capable of forming an intelligent response to Marguerite's statement.
"Are they going on tour?" William ran his hands through his hair.
Marguerite shook her head. "They can't leave their school."
"Marguerite, if there is one redundant piece of information being passed back and forth, it is that NONE of us can leave our schools. Either because of Durmstrang's draconian faculty, our mysterious forest plagues, or…come to think of it, why can't the Beuxbatons leave?"
Marguerite frowned. "Odette is always a little vague on the reason for that…"
"Of course she is. Then how is the orchestra-"
"She won't tell me that either. I probably wouldn't understand it anyway. It's apparently a very archaic technique, requiring someone with special skills, and the orchestra is the only way to keep them from being caught."
"Caught?"
Marguerite nodded. "That's what I needed to tell you, and why I wanted to meet right away, in here," she gestured to the Ravenclaw private library.
"What you have to say requires… dust?" Dmitri raised an eyebrow?
Sergei rolled his eyes. "You said caught- has the school been infiltrated- like Durmstrang?"
Marguerite shook her head. "I don't think so. I think the danger is more omnipresent. Odette has been trying to tell me in roundabout clues for months, but I wasn't catching on. It wasn't until I re-read every letter from the past eight weeks that I found the phrases she kept repeating, what she wanted me to know. They are being watched."
"Watched?"
"Spied on, monitored. She had to be careful because they can't let anyone know that they know."
"And they can't get rid of the spy?"
"That would tip their hand. They think it might push whoever is watching into action."
Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "And how are they being watched?"
Marguerite raised an eyebrow. " Through the looking glass."
Sergei's lips formed a silent "oh" The rest of the table looked at each other, bewildered.
Marguerite rolled her eyes in typical Ravenclaw exasperation "Honestly, don't you people read?"
Lucy glanced at the blank faces around the table. "Why don't you lead us all down the rabbit hole together, petite."
Marguerite sighed. "It's the mirrors. They are being watched through the mirrors."
"Which mirrors?" Katya's eyes narrowed.
"Witch mirrors!" Lucy groaned in disgust. "Nothing around here is safe!"
"All the mirrors, EVERY mirror. Beauxbatons is an old French palace, but the mirrors are older then that, they were the possessions of kings, emperors, sheiks, gathered by-"
"Clemence the Narcissist," Sergei nodded, "he collected them."
"He re-collected them," Katya corrected. "Those mirrors were all made from a batch of extremely quicksilver, dredged up by barrow dwarves in the mines of Magadan."
"The who?"
"The where?
"Did you say 'hobbits'?"
"Barrow Dwarves- slightly hairier versions of people who can see in the dark and smell metals. They are the only ones who could mine the stuff."
Much of the table stared at each other and blinked. Lucy had put her head down at the word "extremely quicksilver" and was muttering to herself about living in a Grimm's fricking fairy tale while the rest of the students- those who weren't Ravenclaws or hailing from far eastern Russia, shrugged.
"Never heard of them."
Marguerite sighed and handed Lucy a bound notebook before distributing smaller packets to the rest of the students. Lucy looked at her larger copy titled in the French girl's impeccable script. "The Magadan Mirrors~ An Illustrated History."
"I drew pictures just for you," she whispered, as Katya continued.
"She's right, the barrow dwarves lived in the far northeastern corners of Russia," Katya flipped to the map on the second page, pointing somewhere north of Korea, "where they were employed often by the wizarding community there. When Magadan was mined and the wizards refused to pay them their promised wands and sorcery skills, it set off the Seventeen Summers War. The villages and towns of the Barrow Dwarves were burnt to the ground, the remnant ran off into the mountains and interbred with humans."
Lucy looked at the picture of the small hairy people. "Is that where hobbits come from?"
The other students ignored her.
"And the wizards made their mirrors?"
"Never got the chance, the Barrow Dwarves poisoned their water supply. The Dynasty fell, along with several of their domesticated dragon breeds, and the metal remained hidden for centuries," Katya shrugged, tossing Marguerite's summary back on the table. "It is a well known part of Asian Magical History."
"And the mirrors?"
Marguerite flipped to page 7 and began by pointing to another map, indicating a spot somewhere to the east of Lithuania.
"The cache was eventually found, buried far to the west, when the Antonievo-Siysky monastery was built over the site; the metal was discovered when it came time to bury Saint Anthony. It was sold to King Henry of France in 1556, who commissioned mirrors to be made for his palaces. As it so happened, wizards in France at the time had the unhappy misfortune of sometimes being mistaken for Huguenots, so they tried to keep a low profile, and one such wizard found himself at lose ends as a silversmith, and was part of the mirror commission. It was he who recognized the extremely quicksilver for what it was. He knew how it needed to be handled, and his mirrors turned out the best. He gained the rest of the commission."
"And when Beauxbatons took the palace, they got the mirrors back?"
"Page 20 please."
Lucy looked, "Oh, never mind."
"They were never hung in his lifetime. While the King could find no fault or flaw, he always felt there was something off about them, they cast too clear a reflection, and he didn't like what he saw. Eventually they were given away as gifts, sold, presented to foreign dignitaries, and the wizard died, no doubt poisoned by prolonged exposure to raw extremely quicksilver."
"Fascinating, so how did Beauxbatons get them?"
"It had been the silversmith-wizard's original plan to use the mirrors to spy on and manipulate the king, ultimately paying him back for his persecution. But by the time one very determined descendent of the Barrow Dwarves- Constance- found the last mirror, the French Revolution had come and gone and there were no kings to spy on in France. Beauxbatons had set itself up in a newly forgotten palace of the monarchy, and Constance donated the mirrors to the school in defeat. But it had been so long since they had been created, no one knew how to work their powers, or if they had any at all. It was merely the amusing story of a raving old man who had provided the school with an excellent means of light, for its studios and halls, but little more."
Dimitri shook his head, "So…Beauxbatons is actually filled with...magic mirrors?"
Marguerite sighed. "Yes."
"But no one knew they were magic?"
"Not until about a year ago. It is also quite possible that no one outside the school knew about the mirror's potential until then either. But around that time information, information that could not have left the school, was leaked outside somehow. People's whereabouts were known, buildings were blown up, people were hurt… and then they figured it out. The entire school can be monitored constantly through the mirrors. They are not sure how, if it is one person or many, but it is not something they can turn off."
"What do they do?"
Marguerite shrugged, "From what I can guess, they fake it."
Lucy raised an eyebrow, "Fake it?"
Marguerite nodded. "There are very few places that are safe, places out of sight of a mirror, they are in the garden paths, in the halls, in the dorms, the classrooms, the bathrooms-"
"Ick," Saori and Setsuko said at the same time the Tsujimoto twins breathed, "Excellent."
Marguerite hid a giggle under a cough. "Actually, I don't think there are mirrors in the showers themselves, I think that is one of the few places they can talk." She kept right on speaking to ignore the Lane brothers clasping their hands to their hearts and falling out of their chairs. "The other time appears to be in music practice."
"Because no one can hear?"
"Exactly."
"And during orchestra practice, they are going to, what exactly?"
"Contact someone, someone who can help them. Odette couldn't say more, but she wanted us to know they may have a way to help."
"Help with what?"
Marguerite shrugged.
Dimitri rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Marguerite, does your contact tell you anything useful, or just history lessons and lists of the things she can't tell you?"
Marguerite wasn't ruffled. "It wasn't anything that would help us, or give us a better idea of the situation, she'll tell me when I need to know."
"Do you have any suspicions, from what she has said, any speculations?"
Marguerite chewed her bottom lip.
"Don't make me remind you which school you belong to Marguerite."
"Hey-" Sergei began.
"Out. Of. Line-" Lucy gave Dimitri a disappointed look.
"It's ok," Marguerite shrugged, "but you can't get anything out of Odette that she won't tell you, I doubt torture would rip it out of her. And keep in mind she is writing while always being observed. But she never says what it is they don't feel safe from. We feel unsafe from possible attacks, people disappearing, Lucy getting arrested for blowing people up, Death Eaters, Dementors coming back, that sort of thing. That is not what they are afraid of, not immediately anyway; but she won't tell me what the real threat to them is. And I have no idea how they get some of the information she is telling me- about the goings on in the city. She never says, either."
"Aw, you didn't tell her that people think I blew the train up, did you Marguerite?" Lucy gave her a pained look.
"No, she already knew."
"I still think it is violently unfair that I am the one that gets singled out for that, I was barely involved- I wasn't even smoking!"
Sergei patted her on the shoulder, "We will work it out, I promise."
The principle part of the earlier meeting had been about how there was an ongoing Ministry investigation primarily into Lucy and her part in the bombing of the train. Why Lucy was the target no one could understand. But an investigation, according to Warren Lane- their trusty alumnus, now a legal clerk in London, was ongoing, and part of it involved Lucy's alleged violation of the Muggle Saftey and Security Acts, as well as the Magical Secrecy Accord. Lucy didn't understand any of it. But it meant that the rest of the BA was in the clear, while it might be a very good idea for her to stay on school property for the coming Christmas vacation.
"Everything bad happens to me," she whined petulantly.
"Don't sulk love, no one's parents are going to risk letting them come home anyway." William patted her hand.
Wesley elbowed his brother, "I thought we were going to visit Himself over holidays? He promised firewhiskey, and loose women, and cards."
Gisella gasped.
William rolled his eyes. "He did not," he assured her, "Warren doesn't even play cards." He turned to his brother, "And mum and dad have never been that partial to us."
Everything looked normal in the rehearsal hall that afternoon. The cellists had been shifted to the east, and the violinists were perfectly in tune, and the violas has been angled 20 degrees. Michel checked the notes scribbled in the margins of his score. It was perfect.
He hoped. He watched Souleyman Gueye eyeing Aissata Robert's reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror as she bent down to pick up the bow for her double bass. Aissata was not facing the mirror, her comely face was not what Souleyman was appreciating, and Michel hit him on the head with a mallet.
"Hey!"
"Will you focus, please," Michel tapped the score.
Souleman's white teeth flashed bright against his ebony skin as he grinned. "Relax, mon frere, it's going to be perfect."
Michel ran a hand through his mousey brown hair, a nervous habit that kept it unkempt and contributed to his slightly eccentric reputation. "It has to be perfect," he lowered his voice until the oboes started to practice. "If that final tuning note isn't just right-"
Souleyman patted Michel in the knee. "The signal will get through. You just don't have any faith in the musicians because you are not gifted yourself," he nodded towards the instrument that gave Michel an excuse to be in rehearsal.
"You realize that if one note is off-"
"Yes, yes, disaster, death," Souleyman grinned from behind his gong. "You'd just find another way. It's what you do. In the meantime," he glanced back at the mirror and thanked Merlin that Aissata had once again dropped her bow, "it is important to feel alive my friend."
"Didn't she already blow you off?"
Souleyman didn't remove his gaze from the mirror. "Twice."
"Asking her again is only going to make her angry."
"It will make her furious."
"Then why-"
"She's beautiful when she's angry."
Michel merely raised an eyebrow.
Souleyman scoffed in disgust. "You call yourself a Frenchman? Your family has lived here for generations and yet you do not know love. The beauty, the sacrifice, the exquisite pain. Me, I am first in my family to be born here and I am more French than you."
Michel said nothing- the maestro had entered the room. He stepped to the podium, giving Michel an imperceptible nod, waited for silence, raised his baton, and gave the downbeat.
What followed was, to the outside observer, a completely average rehearsal of the 4th movement of Holst's "The Planets", devoted to Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity. There were a few odd phrases, the time signature was not obeyed strictly, instruments seemed to drop into the background without warning, a few notes were wrong, and there was a bit with a triangle that clearly wasn't in the original score, but all in all, nothing unusual.
Which was, of course, exactly the point.
When it was over, Michel sighed, and placed his triangle back in the felt-covered table.
Souleyman watched Aissata set her double bass in the rack and saunter out of the room before he put his mallet on the table and he and Michel gathered their scores.
"It worked?"
Michel shrugged, "We'll find out soon enough."
As they moved into the busy, noisy hall that lead from the Conservatory back to the Academy, Souleyman grabbed Michel's score and stared at the notes in the margins, the areas where he had altered the piece, notes on which instruments should change, pitch irregularities, volume changes, it was nearly impossible to see the notes. This wasn't such a bad thing as it made it impossible to notice that there was not actually a triangle part for the 4th movement that merited its own musician. Michel had written it himself at the bottom of system 39.
"Don't know how you read this."
"Keep that out of sight," Michel grumbled, shoving the score under his Art History book.
"No one else would be able to read it either."
"That's not true. My father could- and my grandfather,and El- it's just better if we don't wave it around, all right? You have no idea how long it took me to transcribe the notes into the individual scores."
"How did you get away with altering the scores of the entire orchestra?"
"It's part of the maestro's assistant's duties. I was checking them to erase notes from the previous use before they were distributed."
"Clever fellow. Lucky for you that we have been short a triangle player for a few seasons now. Come to think of it, who was the percussionist before?"
"Eloise," Michel replied grimly.
"Oh," Souleyman shifted uncomfortably. "Any news there?"
Michel's deep blue eyes, normally quietly intense pools, suddenly darkened and hardened. "If by 'any news' you mean has she contacted me since she dropped off the face of the earth 18 months ago, then no. No news there."
Souleyman swallowed. Ellie was a touchy subject, one he would be wise not to bring up. But, as a passionate lover, wisdom was not something Souleyman made any attempt to cultivate.
"You act like it was her fault. She got expelled- magic outside of school or something."
"If she had been expelled, they would have taken her wand. It would have been publicly destroyed." Michel spat out in angry bursts. "And THAT would have been something. But there was nothing. She was there one day and gone the next. She just quit. Quit everything."
Souleyman let the subject drop. When Eloise Robert and a few other students had not returned for their sixth year the previous autumn, it took most of the school by surprise. There was some idle speculation that they were living in an attic in Montemarte, chasing the wild hare of being starving artists, and would be dragged back to school within weeks. But they had not. What was more, Eloise's boyfriend, Michel, had not seen her all summer, not since the end of the previous term. She had gone straight from school to her family, muggles living in a small village in the Pyrenees, and he had not received so much as an owl in the year and a half ever since.
Michel had always been quiet. He kept to himself in a mysterious manner, always tinkering with pieces of muggle gadgetry, and was, for a Beauxbatons student, not very talented artistically. Eloise, a fair musician with a passion for Muggle art, was the only one who seemed interested in his putterings and theories, and they would discuss mad things all day and half the night. Michel was convinced for the first few months after she disappeared that something terrible had happened. He had worried, he had grieved, he had mourned. There were rumors that the Dark Lord was arisen and Souleyman had received owls from Michel out of his mind with concern that Eloise had been harmed. Although why anyone would go to such lengths to murder the daughter of sheep farmers was beyond Souleyman's understanding.
And then, suddenly, something happened. Michel had never spoken about it, but sometime between Bastille Day and when they met again at school, something happened to turn Michel's near-paralyzing fear into pure anger. Where he once had been single-mindedly bent on getting word of her, he suddenly shrugged off other students' concerns about Eloise's whereabouts. He never said her name. If he had to refer to her, he called her Mademoiselle Robert.
Souleyman had his theories, and he tried to tease it out of Michel, badgering him about his lack of love life, his inability to appreciate the most popular French pastime. But if he was being honest, Souleyman would acknowledge that Michel was as good a Frenchman as any; and that being the case, it would have been far easier for him to handle avenging Eloise than to face the fact that she may, in fact, be living in a garret in Paris, happy, without him.
They had reached the Galleries, a maze-like set of hallways in the North Wing entirely covered in paintings. Their Art History class was currently working their way through the Late Renaissance Masters at the far end of the hall. The paintings had kindly rearranged themselves, the tags had been removed, and they needed to identify title, painter, and date for the 20 on the list before the end of class.
They were late, already a small crowd had gathered around Anne Lefebvre, who was flipping quickly through their textbook.
She glanced up, her eyes burning with excitement as Michel and Souleyman approached. She dropped the book and threw her arms around Michel's neck. "It worked! It worked!"
Michel blinked, "Already? They responded already?"
Anne nodded.
"Ninon- how?"
Anne beamed. "It was genius. Really. Like they had been waiting for this all along. It's all set."
Michel looked bemused. "What is?"
Anne grinned. "Our exile."
Anna Nikitin pointedly ignored the foot tapping hers beneath the desk, and continued to follow Professor Fedorov with what appeared to anyone else as rapt attention.
Professor Fedorov had turned up approximately three weeks earlier to replace Olga Yudin, a tenured professor with over 35 years of service to the school. Published in nearly every notable Arithmancy journal on the continent, multiple times, Professor Yudin had been the only faculty member remaining from the previous school year. She had disappeared abruptly, leaving not a trace, and been replaced without ceremony by the smarmy Fedorov, a man with little enthusiasm, and only veiled contempt for his current position, who had set them the seemingly impossible task of solving the Zarkozy Theorem.
Each class began with a 20 minute lecture on the necessity of their work, of the need to solve the theorem to create the great Purifying Force, to purge magic of its impurities and stabilize the cosmos.
The indoctrination was not going well, as far as Anna could see. She had mastered the permutation they had been assigned for homework, but knew full well that it violated at least 3 of the assumptions of the theorem. She at least pretended to pay attention, most of the students' eyes were glazed over, but fixed in the appropriate direction. Any open behavior that hinted of rebellion or indifference would earn Potions dentention, and possible lifelong disfigurement. The students knew by now how to do as little as possible without appearing to do as little as possible.
Anna, being herself a muggle born and therefore part of the impurities to be purged, had no trouble letting the rhetoric flow in one ear and out the other. In her head she was composing a letter to Odette at Beauxbatons. The tone of Odette's last letter was much more optimistic, although twice as cryptic. She hadn't thought it possible, but it appeared that the French academy was even more paranoid than Durmstrangs. But the French students seemed hopeful, they had an out, which was more than could be said for Anna, or any of her fellow students.
The hard freeze was approaching. They couldn't afford to wait any longer.
She ignored the second, not quite so gentle kick at her shins. Honestly, Golernyshevs had about as much subtlety as a sack full of bludgers.
Ten minutes later, when Fedorov had finished his speech outlining the need to eradicate impurity, and set the students to solving another component of the Theorem while he sipped vodka from an ill-concealed flask, Anna carefully floated a piece of parchment under Boris's quill. Just because she knew it would irritate Constantine to no end.
Boris made no visible reaction other than an arch of his eyebrows, and passed the parchment on to Stiva, before it passed to Kostya.
The message was simple. We need help, now. Contact Hogwarts tonight.
Even as November wore on and the days grew cold and damp, Sparks didn't set a feather inside the castle. Lucy left her window open, but after narrowly escaping beheading at 5AM by a fanged Frisbee halfway through "Here Comes the Sun", he learned to keep a safe distance. And Lucy made a mental note not to wake Lavender, ever. Exactly how Sparks spent his days was a mystery, although he would occasionally stalk Lucy from window to window down the hall, resulting in dozens of students all believing they had the same song stuck in their head. This was most disconcerting for the purebloods, as Sparks seemed to play to Lucy's preferences and had been spouting muggle music ever since her return.
Lucy didn't mind the music, but was a little unnerved at how easily the bird seemed to read her moods. She'd tried to hear Spark's thoughts, but the thought patterns of a phoenix were either too simple or far too complex for her to make out- never a strong communicator with animals, her ability to communicate basic concepts to other species was mostly limited to primates. Sparks, on the other hand, she was certain, could read her moods, if not her thoughts. His song choices were far too accurate to be coincidentally appropriate.
It was also difficult to tell when Sparks was singing for his own pleasure and when he was responding to the moods of his "mother." For a few days Lucy made it a point of trying to sneak up on where he was resting and listen in- but Sparks was hard to sneak up on. "Private" mode had lately been Frank Sinatra music, but when he wasn't actively singing to her the sound was always softer, so it was much harder to tell if she was really hearing the bird or if she really did have an old song in her head. She could always tell the moment Sparks sensed her, however, as his "happy to see Lucy" song had consistently been "My Girl" by the Temptations- his head would turn her way and the chorus would start whenever she got too close. She supposed it could have been worse, his song for Snape was "The Devil in Disguise." Fortunately for Lucy, the dungeons were windowless, or else she was liable to start laughing in the middle of class. It was hard to imagine someone who looked less "like an angel."
"What's his song for me?" Lynx asked eagerly, anxious to avoid the predictably boring task Lucy had assigned him to work on his control one windy November afternoon.
Lucy shrugged, "You would know, do you hear any particular song when he's around?"
Lynx shook his head. "I wouldn't know any of their names, they're all muggle cra-" he caught himself, "errr, muggle music."
Lucy paused, "Well, hum it."
As Lynx frowned in concentration while painstakingly humming what he was hearing, Lucy began to snort.
"What? What is it?"
"It's called 'Ring of Fire', it's a good song actually, and startlingly appropriate, as usual." She smiled.
"It's kind of creepy."
"No, what's creepy is when the music isn't in response to my mood, and it isn't Sparks singing for himself, it's definitely an expression of his opinion on what I'm thinking. I don't know how much I like him being that close to my thoughts."
"Like how?"
"Well, like yesterday, we were meeting about what Marguerite and I had learned from our penpals right? And the Ravenclaws, as always, feel the need to vote on every detail, however trivial. And they found out that I had been exchanging multiple letters per week with my penpal- and Gisella said something like we all needed to discuss this. And what I was imagining was transfiguring her into a duck. You know what song came into my head?"
"Lucy, you couldn't transfigure a mallard into a loon, let alone a Hufflepuff into-."
"Do you want to hear this or do you want to start sorting those matchsticks again?"
"Fine! I give up, what did he say?" Lynx grumbled, "not that I'd have any idea what the song sounded like anyway, primitive Muggle-"
Lucy chose not to hear the rest of Lynx's diatribe, and went on.
"The title is called "Fools Rush In."
Lynx snorted- "Ok, that's pretty good."
"But it gets better- she keeps going on, how if I am going to be sending multiple letters we all need to be discussing things more frequently- we meet all the time as it is! And she just wasn't listening, to me or Marguerite, and then the song changed."
"To what?"
"One called "Hard Headed Woman"".
"He's good."
"They are also all by the same artist, so maybe he thinks in themes, I'm not sure."
"You're writing this penpal multiple times per week?"
Lucy looked up, from the letter she was writing to Boris at that moment- "That tower isn't' balanced, you need to focus."
"If I can focus and carry on a conversation at the same time, I'll be better- don't avoid the question."
"I'm not, but if you don't focus at all there won't be anything to build upon. Check your centering, focus on that. And yes, I'm writing Boris two or three times a week."
"Is there really that much to report?"
"Maybe not here, but I think he needs someone to talk to- things are a lot more tense where he is than here."
"Where is he exactly, you never did say?"
"Neither does he. Somewhere cold, judging by how many first years got pneumonia taking the annual swim test."
"Swim test? Why on earth would you have to take a swim test?"
"I assume it is to avoid certain death during remedial swim lessons. You are technically supposed to take it before you get to school, but there was a scheduling problem or something. Anyway, that's nothing compared to how many have frostbite on a regular basis."
"From what?"
"Cross country."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Physical education is still VERY big in the old world schools. There's an obstacle course and everything."
"Sounds like military school."
"I don't think you're far off."
"So, what's Beauxbatons like?"
Lucy shrugged, "I've never been. Don't let your grounding slip, I'll be able to shove that shield aside and topple the whole thing."
"You wouldn't be so cruel."
"If it meant keeping your half-grown eyebrows in place a little longer, of course I would."
"I'm not that bad Lucy, you're over reacting."
"Better safe than sorry."
"Fine, fine, look now, better, right?"
Lucy unfocused her eyes and examined the connection with the Sight- Lynx was grounded, the energy from the shield glowing a pale blue that connected to Lynx and pooled down into the earth beneath the castle.
"Perfect."
"So tell me about the Frenchies- you do write to them, don't you?"
Lucy had a thought, and raised her eyebrows. "Tell me you aren't spreading this around?"
"What do I look like, an idiot?"
Lucy's eyebrows remained raised.
"Don't answer that. No, I didn't tell anyone, Mother. It seems logical, that's all."
"Well I don't write to them, someone else does. The place sounds very different."
"Because it is entirely populated by lovely blond half-Veela witches who walk around in tight skirts and play Quidditch naked?"
"What!"
"If it isn't, don't spoil my fantasy."
"It is co-ed, they are fully clothed, and while there is a Quidditch team the whole school seems pretty focused on the Arts."
"Damn it Lucy, do you enjoy crushing people's dreams?"
"I relish it, where did you get that idea from anyway?"
"The delegation they sent for the tournament- they were gorgeous."
"They were all girls, I take it?"
"Yeah, come to think of it, why weren't there any lads?"
"I imagine they were trying to play with your heads."
"Well, God bless them for it."
Lucy rolled her eyes. Boys, honestly.
After another twenty minutes, Lynx pleaded a cramped psyche and Lucy released him to the relative ease and comfort of sitting astride a broom for hours gleefully bashing his fellow students in the head with a heavy ball.
She was sweeping the chard playing cards into the hearth when Rasheph entered the workroom.
He chuckled and headed for the bookshelves. "Lynx lose concentration again?"
Lucy sighed. "At least he didn't combust himself. It was a small spark. Apparently someone swapped my playing cards for exploding snap. It only took a touch to set the whole thing off in spectacular fashion."
Rasheph sighed. "We ought to think about fire-proofing this place. Old furniture like this, whole room could go up like a Roman candle."
"I think if the floorboards were flammable Sparks would have set them off long ago."
"Thank Merlin for small favors. I'm off for the Astronomy Tower after dinner, you coming?"
"Can't."
"It's perfectly safe- I've had two cups of coffee and a bottle of "All Awake." I'm jittery as hell, but I won't fall asleep." He gave her a sheepish grin.
Luc chuckled, glad that Rasheph felt comfortable enough to laugh about Halloween. "I wasn't worried. I reserved a spot in the faculty tower. My formation should rise low in the west, it has a better view."
"And here I was counting on you to keep me entertained."
"I think the nasty gale blowing outside will do that for you. Tie yourself off to something."
"It doesn't sound that bad. Enough to make Quidditch practice for Lynx a bit interesting."
"Fortunately he has no problem focusing when the aim is to maim his classmates."
"Maybe you can work that motivation into his training."
"Not unless you're volunteering."
"Well, there's Bet."
Bet sailed in the door on cue. "There's me for what?"
Rasheph blushed. "Nevermind."
Bet found her star charts on the table. "You headed up to the Astronomy Tower after dinner?"
Lucy sighed, "I miss all the fun. You two enjoy the late night party, I'll be up in the faculty tower."
Bet patted her on the shoulder. "Tie yourself off to something. And keep an eye out for Hubert Gorniak- his telescope tends to wander."
"Wander where?"
"Towards the Ravenclaw girl's dormitory windows. Although from the faculty tower he might have a better view of Gryffindor Tower."
"Great. I'm spending the night with a pervert."
Bet rolled her eyes toward Rasheph. "Could be worse."
"Hey, I heard that."
It was freezing. Cold winds that hinted of December slashed through Lucy's sweater and heavy cloak. She dutifully noted the movements of relevant formations and the time to complete each, in anticipation of the rise of her constellation.
She spared a glance to her left, observed Hubert's telescope was NOT focused on the Less Antillian Ring system, and corrected it for him. Hubert jerked his head away from the eyepiece.
"You're welcome." Lucy turned back to her notes. She had made the same observations every week for months, so the procedure became routine. What wasn't routine was the shadow repeatedly crossing her field of vision. The fact that it was nighttime made the shadow all the more curious.
She refocused the telescope. Was it an owl?
It was moving too fast to be an owl, and it was too small.
"Gotcha," she breathed as she finally struck upon the proper magnification.
Shit.
"Go away, not now," she muttered under her breath.
But it was too late. Vasily was already descending, not in his normal lazy loops, but in a direct beeline. A flight path that took him dangerously close to Hubert's head.
Lucy learned three things in that moment. Mongolian bats can turn on a dime, the Ravenclaw girls needed to be more careful about drawing their curtains, and Hubert Gorniak screamed like a seven year old girl.
"It's in my hair, it's in my hair!" He cried, knocking his telescope to the ground and frantically tearing his hands through his dirty blond curls.
"It's gone, Gorniak," Lucy lied, as Vasily was snuggled safely in the hood of her sweatshirt.
"I can feel it!" He stumbled to his feet and tore down the stairs. From the sound of it, he tripped three times on the way.
Lucy sighed, placed his telescope, with its broken mirror, on the third step from the top of the stairs, and locked the door. Then she removed Vasily.
"Well, what have we here?" She examined a small package, no longer than her thumb, that had been elaborately tied to strings hanging from each foot. Once free, Vasily did not take off for a snack, as he often did, but remained, hanging upside down from her telescope stand, swaying in the wind, and staring at her.
"That's a little unnerving."
The bat appeared to shrug, although it could have been the wind. Lucy wasn't sure if her piddling amount of animal mind magic extended to bats- magical beasts were an entirely different class of organisms, and she sure as hell had no luck with flobberworms,
Unwrapping the package, she found a lighter, and the customary tiny scroll. But instead of the musical key, there was simply scrawled, "Use immediately."
She examined the lighter, which looked ordinary enough, it was a little beat up, silver, Zippo style, with a pair of initials engraved on one side, "B.K."
"Boris sent me a lighter? Doesn't he know I don't smoke?"
She flicked the lid open, and gave the lighter a quick flick.
The flame that appeared was not the little burst she was expecting, it was six inches high and nearly took her eyebrows off.
And it was green.
Lucy ground her teeth. "Nothing, absolutely nothing in this entire place is normal."
She looked at Vasily, who was still staring at her. "Well, I used it? Was this some sort of practical joke? Have they finally gone round the bend out there and decided to amuse themselves by setting their pen pals on fire?"
Vasily continued to stare at her, and Lucy got the distinct impression he was annoyed with her.
"Fine, you win, I'll try it again."
Leaning back a bit this time, she gave the lighter another try, holding it down a bit longer this time.
Which was when she heard the voice.
"Is this thing on?"
"What!"
Her thumb nearly released the button when a different voice, slightly deeper, and slightly amused, calmly said, "Combustus perpetuas."
The flame seemed to leap a little higher.
The same voice came again. "You can let go of the button Lucy."
He needn't have said anything. At the sound of her own name, Lucy yelped and dropped the lighter.
She heard a sigh. "Have a care with it, it's the only lighter I have."
"See, this is why I didn't want to let you use mine." Came a smug, self-satisfied voice.
"We are using yours."
"I mean why we weren't sending mine to her. You're lucky she didn't drop it off the roof."
"How did you know I'm on the roof?" Lucy cautiously bent down, keeping a safe distance away.
"I'm paying attention. Although now all I seem to be paying attention to are your sneakers, do you mind picking it up?"
"It's on fire."
"What kind of a witch are you?" Came the second voice.
"Stiva, you promised you'd be nice," the deeper voice chided.
"I'm very nice, people like me."
"Well, I don't think your humor translates well without a visual. Lucy," the patient voice came again, "it's a communication fire, it's actually cold to the touch. If you hold the lighter up you should be able to see us through the flame."
Lucy picked up the lighter. The flames reflected well against the chrome exterior, which seemed to magnify the flickering image of a pair of eyes, one covered by a mop of curly hair, the other unobstructed, underneath dark eyebrows and a close crop of darker hair. Absolute color was impossible to make out, as everything was in shades of green
The pair of eyes on the left crinkled, "See, I'm nice!" The pair to the right rolled a bit, then focused on Lucy and warmed. "It's good to meet you face to face at last."
Something in his eyes made Lucy relax and feel safe. "Boris? Is that you?"
"You were expecting someone else? How many other men are you corresponding with?" The pair of eyes next to Boris glinted mischievously.
Boris sighed, "I apologize for that. You understand now why Stiva was not chosen as a correspondent. Stiva, meet Lucy Montero. Lucy, this is Stephen Oblonsky, our Sergeant at Arms."
"Charmed," Lucy said.
"There is a limited amount of enchanted fluid in that thing, so we need to keep this short. Lucy, the Rear Guard needs to ask a very, very big favor…"
"Absolutely not."
"But-"
"It's suicide."
"Maybe not."
"I've seen you in PE."
"They said there would be a seatbelt."
Dimitri chuckled. A seat belt was the wizarding equivalent of training wheels and a car seat combined.
Gisella sighed, "Can anyone think of a better idea?"
"Nothing?"
"We can't do nothing."
"But why Lucy?"
"Because this is one of the few things that I can do."
"This is like that hocus pocus you did two years ago?"
"A bit, yes."
"How do they know about that?" Wesley threw his hands in the air. "How do they know about you? We didn't even know about this!"
"I asked them that myself."
"And?"
"They said they couldn't reveal their source."
"Oh for the love of Merlin-"
"It could be a trap." Nicholas pointed out.
Svetlana rolled her eyes. "Right, because a group of nearly powerless students, cut off from the rest of the world, risking unspeakable horrors if their plans are discovered are willing to risk all that to lure someone who is possibly the least competent- no offense Lucy-"
"None taken"
"-witch in the seventh year to their stronghold in order to – what exactly?"
"Well, who knows?" Nicholas glared at his sister. "Who knows why they are framing Lucy for bombing the express, which, by the way, it is pretty clear someone was trying to do."
"Now you think the Durmstrang students were behind the bombing of the Hogwarts Express?"
Nicholas sputtered a bit. "No- but- well, don't you think that on a mission of this sensitivity, sending the one student who seems to have catastrophe tattooed across her forehead is an unwise strategy?"
Wesley, who had been content to let his housemate rant, nodded his head. "He has a point. Evil plot or no, Lucy, you aren't exactly the luckiest person in the world."
Katya raised an eyebrow, "You're saying that she shouldn't go because she's jinxed?"
"Hey, I'm not jinxed!"
"School burned down." Mikhail shrugged.
"Arrested," Chandrika added.
"Fire in London while at hearing after being arrested," Saori put in, with an apologetic shrug.
"Train car bombed," Marguerite, who to Lucy's horrer, seemed to be making a list, hastily scribbled down Lorenzo's obervation.
"Other than Espiritu being burned- and I wasn't there for that I might add, I wasn't alone at any of the other things either!"
"I'm just saying that isn't this tempting fate?"
"No one is asking you to go, Lane."
"Someone should," Katya said pointedly.
"But I don't speak Russian," Wesley, looking alarmed, shrunk down in his chair.
"No- I mean someone should go with Lucy. If she's willing to do her part, someone should go with her."
"I'll go," Sergei shrugged. "I've used that equipment before. I'll make sure her seat belt is nice and tight."
Dimitri shook his head. "Be that as it may- there is a larger question before us. The primary request. What makes you think we can do this?"
MIkhail coughed discretely.
Dimitri raised his eyebrows- "Well, speak up."
"Well, first of all, the rest of our house members are in agreement about helping, it was unanimous. But, er, some of the younger students had a suggestion on altering the plan."
"If this is about apparating you can forget-" Lucy was cut off by a discrete elbow from Marguerite.
"No, not that part of the plan. Sergei will get you there in one piece- we meant the greater plan, the ultimate solution for Durmstrang."
"It's none of our business."
"Well maybe it should be." Marguerite snapped.
Lucy looked at her in surprise. "Since you clearly have strong feelings about it why don't you explain there Slugger."
"We can help them."
"We are, that's what the whole discussion about the seat belt was dealing with, keep up Ducasse"
"No, WE can help them. With more than just transportation. With extended, long term…help."
She looked at Mikhail for help.
Mikhail sighed. "We took the liberty of drawing up some rough plans and estimates." He turned to Marguerite. "Ducasse, slide 13 if you please."
The students studied the wall.
"Where is-"
"How did you-"
"When-"
"Where-"
"Is that a-"
There were several seconds of stunned silence.
"I'm not saying we won't have our work cut out for us. But it's very possible."
"And it's the right thing to do."
Dimitri looked at Gisella, who looked at Sergei, who looked at Lucy. They nodded.
"Ok.," Dimitri ran his hand through his hair. "Chyort, OK. In, and I can't stress this enough, in as vague of terms as you can manage, communicate this option to the rest of the Society members in your house. If everyone is in- and they all have to be in- Lucy you and Sergei will discuss it with Boris and his people."
He then turned to Mikhail- "Seriously though- how-"
"House secret. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Katya huffed, "That's supposed to be our line."
Lucy, meanwhile, was ignoring the slide and pestering Sergei- "Describe the seat belt again."
Their departure coincided with a meteor shower in the upper atmosphere. The sky was so filled with streaks of fire and light, no one noticed the two flaming streaks that plummeted towards the earth, only to stop several feet above the roof of the faculty Astronomy tower, their tips homed in on the lighter Lucy clutched in her white knuckled grip.
"They are on fire."
"Just the ends, they're supposed to be that way."
"And they're huge. I'm not an idiot, I've seen Quidditch, those are not like the Quidditch team's."
Sergei rolled his eyes as he pulled a watch cap over Lucy's hair before securing her helmet.
"Oh yeah, right, like when I plummet to my death, this is going to be of much use,"
"Lucy, these are Sonic Streakers. There are only a few dozen in the world." He was not bothering to hide his excitement and continued, despite the fact that Lucy could care less about the broom history. "Mostly because only really crazy people decide to travel long distances by broomstick anymore- but they are very safe. And look-"
He pointed to a contraption flapping off the side of the broom that reminded Lucy of the waist belt on her hiking backpack. "You have a seat belt."
Dimitri snickered,
"Shut it," Sergei sighed, "We've been over this Montero, the broom is preprogrammed, all you have to do is stay on."
"Right, because if I don't, I die."
"You won't-"
"We are flying high enough that you and Vladimir were discussing some sort of oxygen spell. I hear things, you know. I don't want it. That way, maybe I'll black out before I go splat."
Sergei shrugged. "Complain all you like- we don't have time to do it your way."
"My way has us gating almost the whole way."
"Yes, and then flying against the prevailing wind, over the ocean, without a landmark. No thank you. The gyres are going to push us most of the way, it will be over before you know it. Now into the harness."
Lucy stepped into a standard climbing harness, then watched with obvious suspicion as Sergei clipped her into three different leads on the broom, and then onto a long rope attached to his own belt.
"Mount up," Dimitri glanced at his watch and swiftly and unceremoniously boosted Lucy onto her broom.
She got her feat in the stirrups and then, oddly, leaned forward until she was stretched out along the broom, a leather saddle supporting her torso more comfortably than just a wooden rod ever could. Katya bent her elbow and strapped her hand to the broom near her shoulder, and placed her left hand forward before releasing a wide strap from the saddle and strapping her tightly to the broom at the waist.
"You can release this on your left side, here, you feel?"
Lucy nodded, "But why would I want to?"
Katya snickered and placed a pair of flight goggles on her head. "I want these back. They're charmed against snow and rain, but keep your head down if it hails, they are new."
Lucy's eyes as she turned her head toward Sergei were terrified and furious.
"Kick off on three, and the brooms will take over. One, two-"
"If the nav goes out," Dimitri added "don't forget to turn left when you feel gyre shift or you won't hit land until Svalbard."
"What!" Lucy shrieked.
"Three!' shouted Sergei.
Lucy kicked with all her might, then squeezed her eyes shut as the brooms shot into the sky to be lost amongst the meteors.
The next seven hours were a dark period in Lucy's life which she hoped fervently never to think of again and even more fervently never to repeat. Flying a broomstick at 15000 feet required oxygen enrichment spells, which Sergei dutifully employed, to the point of slightly over-increasing Lucy's oxygen content to make her a little more relaxed.
Of course, not all the heat spells in the world could keep the cold at bay. Clouds were damp and the wind cutting, while the heat from the continuously burning end of the broom and Sergei's charms kept them from actually freezing, Lucy was still cold and miserable. Although, since Sergei was being all Russian and stoic, she had no choice but to suffer in silence.
She remained immobile, her left arm fully extended, grasping the handle, her right arm at her shoulder, strapped to the broom at the wrist, her head in the face cradle, partially frozen and partially asleep for much of the trip.
Sergei was cold, but quite enjoying himself. Besides satisfying his hard-wired male need for speed, he was fascinated with the stars at this altitude, and, in typical Ravenclaw fashion, was making mental notes about interesting systems and clusters. He flew in parallel with Lucy, usually no more than 2 meters ahead or above her, moving in closer occasionally to check on her, delighted with the responsiveness of the brooms. He had learned not to wake Lucy. The one time he had reached out to tap her shoulder, she had come awake with a start, death grip on the broom, screaming frantically for him to 'keep both hands on the wheel for God's sake, didn't he know how far away the ground was!'
They hit Karal Sea, the brooms turned north out of the jet stream, and the flying became suddenly rougher. Lucy was instantly fully awake, and Sergei was checking the instruments mounted to his broom.
"It's OK Lucy."
"Like hell it is."
Sergei chuckled. "Not far now- maybe an hour."
Lucy tried to imagine she was somewhere else until she was interrupted some time later.
"Um Lucy, I should tell you something."
"What?"
"The landing is going to be a little tricky."
"How tricky?"
"Well, it says here a dive."
"A WHAT!"
"A dive."
"From how high?"
"It'll be fine- like riding a roller coaster."
"Sergei, how high?"
"600 meters."
"What!"
"It's to avoid detection. We'll be fine, the brooms will handle it."
"I'm not worried about the brooms. The brooms can't die- or throw up."
"Well-"
"Knock me out. Just knock me out, please."
"You'll fall off."
"I'm wearing the seat belt, remember?"
"You have less likelihood of being injured if you aren't falling limply strapped to the broom."
"Less!"
"I'm sorry Lucy, but you are just going to have to endure it. It won't take long. But…"
"Oh god, what now?"
"You can't scream."
Lucy wasn't sure if her look of pure befuddlement translated through the inky darkness.
"They are trying to bring us in undetected. The brooms will be running silently when we start the drop. But any loud noise could land everyone in a great deal of trouble. So, can you stay quiet, or would you like me to temporarily charm your vocal chords?"
He had said it as politely, and with sincere regret. But it still amounted to the kind of situation no girl with a big brother could walk away from.
She gritted her teeth. "I'll be fine."
Sergei nodded. They flew silently for another 15 minutes before he warned her, "Five minutes. Remember, don't hold your breath, keep exhaling, move your jaw, and swallow. It will help with the pressure change in your ears."
Lucy had her broom in a death grip, and was trying to figure out how she was going to swallow and move her mandible with all her attention focused on keeping her jaws locked together to prevent her death scream from escaping.
Sergei gave her one encouraging look back before the brooms pitched forward ninety degrees, and they fell out of the sky.
"Incoming," Stiva's voice was tense as his telescope latched on to two of the many objects falling out of the sky. It was a brief streak, at 600m the brooms' tails extinguished and all visual contact with their visitors was lost.
"Were they on target?"
"Of course."
"Both of them?"
"Yes…" Stiva raised an eyebrow at Boris, who had turned the heat up inside the observation tent to tropical levels and was rapidly placing scorching heat spells on several cloaks, blankets, and hats.
"She's never flown before. Never stayed in a saddle for more than a few minutes."
"You sound like my mother. We sent her a seat belt, and a helmet- thought what good that would actually do I have no idea- she's fine." Stiva pulled on his cloak and smashed his fur cap on his head, letting the earflaps dance comically around his chin.
"They'll be on the ground in 30 seconds. Let's go."
The boys emerged from the observation tent, which, once the flap was resealed, was virtually unnoticeable from the outside, a fact which made it easier for students not to disturb each other's astronomy observations- and other activities.
They scanned the pitch black, 10 AM sky. The Stealths were designed to move at a speed that made them near impossible to see, the devil to catch, and completely silent. "Like flying on a snitch," his cousin had told him. Few could afford them, and the day after the Romanov-Oblansky clan had gone into hiding, the brooms had arrived outside Stiva's dorm window. The last two his cousin had ever made.
This also meant that the two boys standing on the roof, staring at the sky, had absolutely no idea where their visitors were.
Until…
"Do you hear that?" Boris asked.
"No."
"Madam Butterfly."
"I don't- is that humming?"
Barely audible, and becoming clearer were the faint and quivering notes of the Humming Chorus. As the tune began to emerge, the brooms dropped out of the sky, and came to a halt fifty feet away across the vast, snow covered roof.
As they hurried over, Boris observed a tall figure leap stiffly but competently from the broom and hurry over to the second rider. But even after the straps were released, the second rider would not let go of the broom, and their hands had to be literally pried away. They came loose in a flurry of motion, after which the second rider toppled to the side and landed curled up in the snow.
"Sergei," came a soft plea, "Can I pass out now?"
"Boris Kasmierez."
"Sergei Petrov."
To his credit, Sergei took off his glove and shook Boris's hand with his own, half frozen fingers.
"And this," Stiva had moved behind Sergei to deftly scoop an unconscious Lucy out of the snow, "must be Lucy."
"I can get-" Sergei reached for her.
"Forget it man, you're dead on you feet. I've got her, and we're not going far. Good god, she's short. Boris you didn't tell me the Mexican was a midget."
Boris rolled his eyes. "This is Stephen Oblonsky."
Stiva waved awkwardly with the hand that was hooked under Lucy's legs. "Hullo. Welcome to Durmstrang. Isn't it a lovely morning?"
"What time is it, exactly?" Sergei followed Boris across the roof and watched, impressed, as he charmed open what had appeared to be a patch of clear sky over a small trampled spot of snow.
"In, in, you're letting the heat out."
"And he's been fussing over the temperature for 20 minutes." Stiva ducked his head, laid Lucy down on a blanket, and unceremoniously rolled her up in it.
"Hey-"
"Fastest way to revive her. Oh, by the way, here." He pulled from his back pocket what looked like a pair of thin ugly oven mitts shaped like duck bills.
Sergei raised an eyebrow.
Stiva stared back, confused. "They go on your hands."
Sergei sighed, and placed the mittens on Sergei's numb hands.
The sensation was akin to the biggest static shock he had ever received in his life. He yelped, hit his head on the top of the tent, and shook the mittens to the floor.
Stiva clucked, deftly scooped them up and shook his head. "They are never appreciated."
"Why-
"Wiggle your fingers."
Sergei did as he was bid- and found he had perfect sensation in all of them.
"Trust me, it's way better than an hour of pins and needles."
From deep within the blanket there came a sound of weakly muffled outrage.
Stiva chuckled, "I think that means it's time to turn her over?"
The rolled blanket began to wiggle, and with a quick tug from Boris, a flushed and disheveled Lucy rolled out onto the floor of the tent.
"Welcome to Durmstrang Lucy," Stiva grinned.
"Hi Stiva," Lucy, sweaty from the smothering heat of the carpet, gave Sergei a triumphant smile.
"I didn't scream."
"Nice humming." Sergei handed her a pair of oven mitts. "Use these, don't ask."
Lucy gave him a guilty look as she pulled them on. "Sorry about your shoes….OW Geez!"
Sergei grinned, "Now we're even."
Boris handed the pair of them a set of Durmstrang uniforms. "If you can pull these one, we can get you in out of the cold as soon as possible."
Sergei pulled his coat off, "What cold?" at the same time Lucy stared at her shoes "I can't feel my toes."
Boris leaned over to examine her feet- "That's because your sneakers are coated in ice."
"Well that explains it. Did we bring a chisel?"
Boris chuckled, cradled Lucy's ankle in one hand, and with the other swiftly pulled off her ice-coated sneaker, which fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Sergei groaned, "Converse? You were supposed to wear boots."
"I don't have boots."
"No, what you have is frostbite."
"I think my toe was naturally that pale."
"This is Katya' fault, she was supposed to check you."
"I'm not an infant."
"You're right, an infant would be properly dressed for the cold."
Boris pushed clothes into Sergei's arms. "If you change, you will both be dressed for the cold. Go use Stiva's tent. Stiva?"
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "If you want me to change, maybe you better step out."
"Give me your feet."
"Not much on the pleasantries, are you?"
Boris sighed. "Don't be difficult."
"What makes you think I'd be difficult?"
He didn't look to answer as he assembled several suspicious pots, towels, and a pair of larger, stocking shaped oven mitts."Your letter of October the 6th."
"Which one was that?"
Boris gave her a significant look. "London."
"Oh, right."
Boris sighed. "You flew across the arctic circle in a pair of flimsy fabric sneakers at an altitude of 15000 feet, you'll be lucky to keep any toes at all. But if I fix your feet now, there is a good chance you keep maybe half."
Lucy sighed and pulled off her sock.