Ch 31 Games People Play

Sam

It was time for dinner, but Sam was trying to avoided any more confrontations for the day. She didn't have much to pack since none of her electronics worked at Hogwarts (the converter couldn't keep up with the MASSIVE local drain). So, it was a bit of a surprise when Leilianna and Portia got back just as Sam was about to leave.

As she exited the little room, the other two girls looked shocked, too. "I'll ... see ya later." Sam was at least grateful that she could use magic to move the (too) heavy/bulky chest.

Leilianna sounded disappointed, "Be grateful Stalvan kept you out of any official trouble." The lead student seemed very by-the-book, maybe she didn't want Sam to get off so easy. Witherspoon shrugged and shook her head. It had been too good to last. No, it had been too good to imagine. Lafayette pleaded, "It could have been worse than losing a room!"

This was exactly why Sam wanted to do this before they got back, to avoid the drama, the blame. She especially wanted to avoid it since Sam was the guilty party.

The chest crept out and Sam reached to close the door behind her. Leilianna caught the door and yanked it back open, "I'll speak to Stalvan in the, well, on Monday I guess, and see if you can come back, I mean, you could wait 'til Sunday night to go ... if you have to."

What? Sam was confused. If what the girl implied was true, but no, Sam didn't want to get any false hopes, "Stalvan didn't say I had to go, I-"

Lila didn't wait, "He didn't? Was it Emmerlinse? Unless it's for Flight or Astronomy, don't listen to him!"

Sam was even less sure about that, "Even detention?"

"Well, no, I guess he can assign detentions, but he can't kick you out of your room! We'd all live on the pitch if he had his way."

"It's your room, and he didn't, I just thought - after the fight, and you're all proper and I'm a spaz ..." Sam trailed off. She didn't want to admit her embarrassing thought process.

Leilianna was taken aback, "I may not be proud of what my mother does, but, I still didn't appreciate Nott badmouthing someone whose family isn't some ideal ... you know, I don't know what Nott expects, Nott Senior works for the ministry. He's a, a, a ..."

"Hypocritical dork?"

"Not what I meant, but sounds bad enough." They laughed. Then, Lila said in a note of concern, "So, you'll stay?"

Maybe it wasn't too much to imagine. Sam nodded and smiled, "Yeah, I'd like that."

Jorval Stalvan

The door was opened by a girl not quite old enough to attend Hogwarts. She had large eyes and long, loosely curled brown hair. "Professor Stalvan," she said cheerfully enough.

The Slytherin househead raised an eyebrow, "Orinsworth." The girl smiled and nodded, then walked off. From beyond a stone archway came Katherine's call, "Elizabeth, who is it?" The school healer came out, her concern turned to warmth, "Jorry!" She held up her mitted hands, wearing an apron with cheese and flour smeared here and there, "I -" she blew several strands of hair out of her face. "This is why I asked Elizabeth to get the door. Gordon, Jorval is here!"

Jorval would have preferred to talk to Gordon in private as he had just finished doing so with Carlin. At the very least, he would prefer to avoid Peter. There was no reason to air his concerns in front of a boy incapable of keeping any confidence. Children were only tolerable once they could behave themselves.

"Have a seat, Jorry, be there in a sec, all right?" Gordon called out from another passage. Though the headmaster quarters were intended to house a family, Stalvan could not think of anyone but Orinsworth who had done so. When they were students, only Dumbledore had held the post (there were two others after him, but they had no family either). He sat at the table, Peter crawled into seat beside him immediately after.

"Are you and Daddy best friends?" the boy asked.

Stalvan took a deliberate breath, "Yes."

"But Mummy says you had a big fight."

"Yes." Jorval sorely missed Elizabeth's practiced demeanor.

As appropriate for a three year old, the boy asked a rather simplistic question, "Who won?"

What should he say? The headmistress and previous Transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonogol; Amanda Tomlinson, in being hired as the new Potions/Alchemy professor; Draco Malfoy, the man who had recruited her and convinced Stalvan to return; Gordon, his old friend and the boy's father? His playful wit wanted him to say "Hogwarts", for having such a brilliant and capable professor as himself, or ... "I did." Peter was disappointed. Of course the youngest Orinsworth did not want to hear, even by implication, that his father had "lost". But the response Stalvan had thought of took that into account, "I won by being invited to return to Hogwarts, and have your father as a friend again." Both smiled at the careful explanation.

Gordon Orinsworth entered. He was flush, with a fresh sheen; it was apparent he had just finished showering. His son rushed over, "'Fessor Stalvan said you're best friends, Daddy."

The headmaster looked curious, "Pro-fess-or Stalvan told you that? That was kind of him." Around the students and staff, Gordon carelessly alternated between the poor diction of his youth, and the educated manner of his school days; with his children, the proud father never broke from his more formal speech.

Jorval thought his suggestion would best be made before anyone settled down to the meal, "Gordon, when we're done here, I think there is an issue that must be discussed privately."

Elizabeth emerged from the kitchen with two meal-laden plates. She set one before her father at the head of the table, then the other before Stalvan, "Gentlemen." She stood still after her acknowledgement, and said nothing more.

The headmaster seemed to tense up, "Elizabeth-," but he was cut off.

Katie, Peter in tow, came out of the bedroom passage, "Gentlmen," it was identical to her daughter, or was it that her daughter said it identically to her mother? Katie approached her husband, the couple kissed, and then she walked down to Elizabeth and gingerly laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "Between Gordon and the elves, I don't get to cook often." She leaned over and gave Jorval a polite hug, "I hope you two enjoy catching up." She ushered the children along.

As the door closed behind his family, Orinsworth spoke gravely, "I think there's an issue with a new student of yours ... that we should discuss privately."

Sam

"Dread Mistress."

Sam didn't want to wake up. It was Saturday, wasn't it? She could sleep in. Not that she had stayed up late, after all, she had that detention with Emmerlinse. ON FRIDAY NIGHT! Sam threw her covers off. She flailed around in the dark. Something thumped on the rug beside her bed.

"Of-course, dread-mistress, I-should-not-wake-you-so-carelessly, dread-mistress!"

Reality settled in on Sam, "Newna? 'Time is it?" She grabbed the jeans from atop her chest (she had meant to be ready).

The house elf (Chief?) knelt on the rug, reconsidered, then backed up onto the stone floor, "Quarter after eleven, dread mistress, forty-five minutes until appointment with Undying Professor Emmerlinse."

Sam took the time to tie her shoes when it registered that she wasn't late, "Undying? Dread? You have a special title for all us monsters?"

Newna backed up a little further and stood, "Not official." She grinned slightly.

Witherspoon paused with a sweatshirt over her arms, "Was that a joke, Dutiful Newna?"

The grin widened as the elf nodded almost imperceptibly.

Sam returned the broad smile, "Awesome! If you tell anyone what I am I will eat you - alive." Sam yanked her top the rest of the way on, checked her choker, and adjusted her hood in the door mirror before she looked at the elf again. Newna pawed and clutched at her uniform, terror in her eyes. "You got me?"

Newna bowed, her words spilled out, "Of-course, dread-mistress. I-would-never-betray- your-secret, dread-mistress."

Sam held the door handle and muttered, "Wish I could say the same."

Leilianna and Portia slept soundly through Sam's bathroom trip and departure. There was a couple in the common room (already distracted by each other), while voices and light came from down the far hall (not the legacy or bunk rooms). As Sam reached the Great Hall, it appeared that only older students were up late. They regarded the small girl suspiciously as she found a seat at the Slytherin table and tapped an order card. Though there were far fewer people, they were spread out and left fewer gaps. Sam snagged the "mutton wrap" (shwarma by any other name) and raced out of the hall.

Sam struggled with the front door and jogged out from the castle. The night air was cool and damp. The Quidditch pitch was lit only by the waning moon, there was no activity. "Huhn?" She rationalized that a vampire could see in the dark, but ... had he said where the detention would be? Without her phone, Sam didn't know exactly what time it was. Instead of threatening the elf, Sam thought she should have thanked Newna for waking her early enough to screw up (and to sate her hunger). Sam didn't want to ask one of the older students for help, she didn't want to look stupid. Instead, she went inside and slowly climbed the broad marble stairs in the entrance hall. Sam sighed, she'd have to ask someone.

"Hold, diminutive bandit! Reveal yourself!"

What in the-? The armored knight, quite small himself, was out of place in the enormous painting of a magical library in ancient Rome (or Greece, whatever, whit-ish guys in white togas or tunics). He wasn't even on the right scale. Mounted on an similarly (small) armored horse, they were still half the height of the man beside them. Sam acted indignant, "Whoa, Sir Pervacil!"

"I'd gladly accept a comparison to brave and noble Percival, but your tone and manner is that of a ruffian, make yourself known!" The little cavalier poked his lance as if he could reach beyond the painting. Even more disturbing was that the canvas actually stretched out.

"Who the hell are you?"

It gave the painted knight pause, "Well ... yes, by the chivalric code I am obliged to identify myself first." He raised his lance upright and pulled his steed's reins to stand tall(er). He raised his visor, "I am Sir Cadogan of Colwyn." Pleasantries aside, knight and horse went back to their original challenging stance, his visor dropped into place, "Now, make yourself known!" The horse whinied threateningly.

Sam pulled back her hood carefully and responded mockingly, "Samantha, of Jersey. I am charged to seek the Warrant Officer Emmerlinse of Fulovitville."

"Ah, the southern Isle of Jersey, no wonder you warm yourself in such strange garb. I warn you against seeking out this debased bloodsucker! I shall guide you to the threshold of his lair, but he has twisted his dark abode against those who dwell beyond your narrow realm." The horse turned once left, then right, as if thinking over the best route.

Narrow realm? Guide me HOW? Then again, seeing as Cadogan didn't look like he belonged in the ancient library ... sure enough, the little, crazy dude drove his mount up and out to some seaside cliffs in the next portrait (disturbing the group of men in trench coats and fedoras on a beach hesitating before a sea monster). It took a moment for Sam to process and give chase.

Cadogan took it for reluctance, "Come now, mayhap a daunting quest is upon you, yet 'tis your sacred duty to challenge the foul blackguard!" Maybe they'd ruffle the Fat Lady on their way.

They'd gone high enough, but up the wrong tower for Gryffindor. By the last staircase both Sam and her escort were huffing and puffing (the rider at least, oddly enough the little horse was fine). Sam was not happy, "If - if - if YOU - if this is a wild ... goose chase -"

"GEESE! You claimed your quest was to dispatch the vile vampire. Geese, my lady, are this way!" And he was off again, banging through an operating room with several wizards gathered around a stitched together corpse.

Bells rang. Midnight! There were three doors to the left, one to the right, and that was relying on this being anywhere even NEAR where the vampire instructor was. On the first gong, Sam pulled at the first door and exposed a toilet and sink. No luck. Two more gongs, but the next door was locked. The third door swung open with the fourth gong.

"Ah, Whimperstool! Come to end it all from the Astronomy deck?" Emmerlinse raised an eyebrow as he regarded the young student.

Sam returned the same expression, but out of confusion instead of amusement, "Uh, no, I, uh, just wandering around. New in town and it's the weekend." If he didn't remember, she wasn't going to clue him in.

The professor took a moment, "Looking for the clinic?" He gestured about his face as if to mirror Sam's injuries. "Or 'ave we got an appointment?"

Sam frowned, "No, no, of course not, I was just -"

"Yes, detention."

Sam panicked and crashed into the wall, nearly losing her balance as she turned back, "How?! When? Sheesh, freaking ninja!"

Skein grimaced. The "proxy" was amused, "Really?"

Emmerlinse chuckled at Sam's skittishness, "Pshaw, Slytherins lie. Better if it weren't to each other, but, she's young." The vampire hadn't been lying before, he really was much less hostile at night. That's right, he was the Flight and Astronomy instructor. His hostility came closer to the surface, maybe because Skein's "advice" after the Witherspoon/Nott fight, "You can go now, madam, I can manage the lil' hellion."

Skein was similarly hostile, "So you say." Upset or not, she did leave.

The professor opened the lone door on the other side of the hall. Sam hesitated to follow, but saw it was just an office. Well, not just an office. The rear wall had a huge British flag, with smaller military flags to each side, and pictures and awards all over the place. The desk was also huge (though plain) and similarly covered in military memorabilia. "For the broom? That what this about?"

Skein wasn't here to correct whatever Sam said, but the thing about not lying to each other stung. She stuck to the truth, "No, I ... Britain needing U.S. help in World War Two."

Emmerlinse sat in a large, leather office chair, "Ah! Yes, King really put us in a pinch, worthless PM. Thank God that all changed." He was still a moment, "And you knew about how you all were stonewalled in 1815. Quite a setback, if not a complete loss."

Sam nodded.

"And I gave ya detention. Doesn't quite seem fair."

Sam shrugged, but no one said anything. Both of them were quiet, way too long for Sam's comfort, "Uh, so, you're, I mean, your accents a lil' different, are you Irish?"

Emmerlinse leaned forward to sit up, "Ah, right, impertinent, ignorant American. Take these and grab three color quills: red, yellow, green." He handed over a thick stack of note cards and pointed to a cup with a mix of old pens, pencils and quills.

"Seriously?" Sam glanced through the cards quickly, a bunch of names followed by letters with tallies, slashes and exes.

The professor tossed aside a parchment on his desk, "Hmmph, red ex on anyone with an ex in any category, three cross outs, or less than three marks in all categories. Green check for anybody with four plus in all categories. Yellow for the rest."

She should have asked what was in the room he'd just come from instead of the accent thing. Ugh, this is gonna be boring! Well, at least leaving the yellows for last made sense.

"Welsh." The professor's random statement made Sam pause. She looked at him then around the room to make the point she had no idea what he was talking about. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, "I'm from Wales, I'm Welsh, ya daft bint."

That last word intrigued Sam, she raised an eyebrow.

"It means girl."

Sam's eyes went wide, "Oh I know what it means, yah ewstathz." She addressed him as "professor" in the same language as "bint" as a test.

It was the professor's turn to raise an eyebrow. Instead of clarifying, he went back to the parchments before him. He did not actually know Arabic.

According to the old-fashioned desk clock, it only took half an hour for Sam to finish the first part of her assignment. The names were obviously the first year Hogwarts students, and the marks were most likely Flight class scores (Sam's card had all exes and slashes). Emmerlinse was still absorbed in whatever he was working on. It gave Sam time to observe all the military mementos. Ten minutes felt like ten hours with nothing to do. It was late, and Sam was tired, she let a curious inquiry slip, "So, why didn't you join the Marines?"

Emmerlinse snorted, but didn't look up, "And be a blowhard bootneck, sissy, sailor servant? No thank you."

Sam was shocked, no, incensed, "Marines! Sissies?"

The professor faced her and smirked at Sam's reaction ,"Haha. All right, maybe not your Marines, but ours." He went back to his papers.

"And what does that mean?" She genuinely did not know.

He briefly paused in his work again, "Look, maybe you haven't had a chance to witness our glorified gunners in - ha! - action, they wouldn't measure up to the standards I've witnessed of the U-S-M.C."

Sam looked around in exaggerated thought, "Aaannnd what did you witness?"

Emmerlinse resigned himself to not getting his work done, "I guess you got a special interest due to your related nickname."

"Huhn?" Again, she had no idea what he was talking about.

He gave her a condescending stare, "Teufel hunden?"

Sam sank and sighed. She responded humorlessly, "Ha - ha. Devil - dogs. Hilarious." Then it sunk in and Sam's ire rose, "Wait! How do you know?"

The vampire tapped the side of his nose, "The nose knows, even without Nott bloodyin' ya. Haha! Yours and mine got a long history. Seen a lot of muggle stories 'bout this side and that using this monster or the other in the war. Not sure what's worse, when they get it wrong, or when it's so close ya wonder who the wizard was clued 'em in: British werewolves, Jerry's demons, Americans allied with Count Dracul, Frogs makin' knockoff Frankenstein, toss in a Rusky lich or a yeti for good measure."

They laughed at both the amazing mistakes and uncanny truths hit on by people who (supposedly) had no idea of the reality even stranger than their fiction. The humor didn't last long as the previous topic weighed on Sam's mind, "So, you ... smell blood?"

It ruined Emmerlinse's mood, as well, "Oh for God's sake. Every year a few of ya hens realises that and I - don't - care, it's a lot less a temptation than what's in your arteries, I know the damn difference."

Sam hadn't meant that! "No, but, I mean, I - smell different?"

Back at his work, the professor answered offhandedly, "A bit, if you consider the Atlantic 'a bit' of water. Don't worry, you clearly want to keep it under wraps. I haven't said a word, not even ta the headmaster. Figure ... that woman has got your leash well in hand."

She should have known the vampire would know. Her school should have known any vampire would know. Maybe they did, and they just didn't care. Yet, Emmerlinse didn't know everything, not if he thought Orinsworth didn't already know. "Well, thanks for that ... I guess."

He set his stack aside and laid his arms on this desk, "So, 'stead of boring you with those," he reached out and Sam handed him the pile of cards. He seemed impressed that she was already done, "how 'bout I tell what I did see of your devil dogs, human and otherwise."

Sam put her annoyance aside, "You - were you at the Battle of Belleau Wood?"

Emmerlinse then smiled more out of respect than humor, "You thought I got turned in eighteen-fifteen, more like nineteen-fifteen, but I've seen my share."

The stories made the analysis of other people's broom scores go by quickly. Sam didn't even notice the time until the vampire's clock rang at five.

As Sam descended the stairs, she imagined how the only thing that would have improved Emmerlinse's tales of military heroism and tragedy in Europe would have been having Chief Warrant Officer Twin Bears there to include the events of the Asian theater and to deflate the undead windbag's ego now and then. Emmerlinse was full of himself, but he sure could tell an interesting story (he even managed to give credit to other people now and then).

A few students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor rushed down the stairs to the Great Hall. In Sam's opinion it was still very early for so much activity on a Saturday. However, the Flight professor's assignment had solved that mystery before Sam even knew it existed: Quidditch tryouts were today. That interested her very little except for one thing. She checked the Slytherin table. As she'd expected, Albus was devouring breakfast as he spoke and spazzed about with a few other similarly enthused boys (Scorpius was comatose in comparison). Sam took special note of a few details about the "hopefuls", and recalled one of the Flight student files that she had sorted through.

In the luxury suite, Sam sneaked in quietly, but found her efforts defeated.

"Oh, hi, Sam. Professor Emmerlinse kept you all night? Your eye looks terrible." Leilianna spoke quickly as she perched on the edge of the monster bed. She was in her nightshirt, but also wore jeans and boots.

Sam held her hand to her puffy cheek. She decided to go ahead with her plan, "Hey, Quidditch tryouts are about to start, let's grab some grub and go watch. Portia!"

Portia rolled over, "Whaaa?"

Leilianna was fast to answer, "Sam suggested we go to the Quidditch tryouts, do you want to go? It'll make a lot more sense to see it in person, and slower than a real game. I mean, I don't think it's going to be a real practice, but you should see it before the opening match. Maybe the upper league will practice, their tryouts are later today." A mile a minute at five in the morning.

Sam, already dressed, made to help Lila while Portia went to the bathroom.

Lafayette's wardrobe was pretty simple; robes, T-shirts, a pair of slacks and a few blouses. Sam wasn't certain she'd find what she was looking for, except she was totally certain. And find them she did, then stuffed her hoodie pocket.

Hirsch exited the walk-in closet in an elegant blue dress with white lace trim and a matched broad-brimmed hat, pale blue stockings and beige flats. She looked both stunning (fashionable) and stunned (not quite awake). Sam and Leilianna, each dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, looked at their roommate with astonishment. Portia was sullen, "What? Sports on brooms, you said it's like polo, right?"

A quick explanation of morning fog, mud, and the likely state of the stands had Portia in a much more appropriate outfit (a designer track suit and brand-new sneakers).

Time was short, and the girls rushed to grab what food they could carry. Leilianna walked between the other girls. She held her stash but ate nothing on the way to the field. It would have been difficult to eat with as much as she talked, "So, there are seven players per team. One keeper, like a goal tender in football."

Sam chimed in, "Soccer."

Portia sleepily corrected, "Britain, football, a keeper?"

Lila continued, "Right, a keeper, pretty simple except they have three rings to block, but there's only one quaffle. The quaffle is the main ball, red, a trainer has pits so you can grab it, regulation is round with a grip charm. So, not like football, or soccer, that way."

Sam talked through her food, "How many balls does this have? Which one explodes?"

Portia almost choked, "Explode?"

Lila made an exaggerated sigh, "None of them explode, that's Quadpot, about as much like Quidditch as footy, soccer is like American Football. Anyways, there are four balls total. The quaffle, though -" Sam offered a folded waffle to Lila. She shook her head slightly (and ignored the joke) and went on, "three chasers try to score goals with the quaffle, ten points a goal."

Portia swallowed her bite of apple before she asked, "Is that the same for each ring? Or does it matter if you kick or throw and which ring or such?"

Leilianna faced Portia in disbelief, but realized the question was sincere, "No, Portia, that's rugby, all rings, same score. The different score is catching, no, that's later, before that, there's two bludgers, balls that try to knock you off your broom."

It was Sam's turn (not that taking turns had been discussed), "Balls? Or players? Are the balls animate or something?"

Her friends' lack of knowledge clearly disturbed Lafayette, "Yes, they are ... animate, they're charmed to fly, and be aggressive. They can knock you pretty fierce, but only league bludgers, those are straight iron, no leather, only those pose a real threat of broken bones or falling off your broom or anything like that."

Sam interrupted, "Easy enough fix."

Portia was shocked, "Broken bones? Then what about your face?"

Sam replied, "I don't do medical healing unless I need it, but, even if bone powder tastes nasty, it works like," she snapped her fingers.

Lila cut in insistently, "We're almost there, I don't want everyone thinking you two don't know anything. So, two bludgers, with two players called 'beaters', they have bats, like cricket, they use to keep the bludgers off their team and on the other team. Then the seeker and the snitch."

Sam nearly spit out her food in amusement, "Snitches get stitches!"

Portia snickered in confusion, "What?"

Lila rolled her eyes, "No, not like that, the seeker is the player who finds and catches the snitch, the golden snitch is a much smaller, winged ball, well, more like an ornate orb, but, the snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points, and once it's caught the match is over."

Sam reached her arm out across Lila's chest and barely touched Portia. They all stopped. Sam got slightly ahead of them to state her objection, "Wait a second, one hundred and fifty?" Lila nodded and opened her mouth to speak but Sam went on, "Why not just put all seven people to catching that damn thing?"

Portia nodded as Leilianna sulked and countered, "No, anyone but the seeker catching the snitch gets called for snitchnip. Even when it was allowed, that wouldn't have worked. The snitch is difficult to find, it's small, fast, it tries to hide, even worse when it's just been released. The other team could have easily racked up more points without a keeper at the goal."

Sam shrugged and was about to resume her argument when Lila turned her around and pulled the other girls to the underside of the stands. On the other side of the wooden bleachers were a lot of younger students and several teachers. Of course Emmerlinse was already there, he seemed to be the school coach (as if there were a competing school). Professor Thomas was there, too, Healer Bell, and some other adult. Albus, Perry, and Gnasher were there. Sam recognized Al's blond cousin Louie, and Rose (Weed Weasel) with him. Leilianna was insistent on where they sat, "Come on, the towers are too high for today, but usually the higher the better."

They sat down at the back of the bleachers. Sam stood for a moment and announced, "HEY! I'M American, I'm learning about Quidditch!" Portia covered her giggle as Lila sighed. Sam sat down and smiled smuggly, "There, all right, so, keep the keeper and block their goals, that's still six on the jackpot powerball."

Leilianna shook her head, "No, the beaters would have destroyed an unguarded keeper. Someone has to manage the bludgers. I think they were lead back when a snitchnip was legal."

"Lead, eww. Then four on the little gold ball. The risk/return ratio is just too high to give up a hundred-fifty points."

Another sigh by Lafayette, "In theory, but it doesn't matter because now it would be a penalty shot and the other side starts off with possession as the snitch is released on high. There was a bizarre thing called the 'white bear' tactic (who knows why?), but I've only ever read about one match where anyone actually tried it. It had something to do with the snitch being more difficult to catch if too many people were thinking about it."

Sam nodded in satisfaction, "OK, yeah, it's adaptive, the more you look for it, the harder it hides. When only one person is looking for it, it isn't as hard to find?"

Lila corrected, holding up a finger on each hand, "Two people, one on each team, imagine how bad it was with eight, four from each team. That match went on for a month! That's not even close to a record! It's why they made non-seeker grabs a foul. No one wants to sit around for a month for the grab, or worse, go home and miss the grab."

All three laughed, drawing almost as much attention as Sam's previous announcement. Sam offered, "OK, I got a deal for you, Lila." The other girls hushed, "If I know why it was called the 'white bear' tactic and how to do it, you have to do something for me."

Portia and Lila looked at each other slowly then back to Sam, curious half-grins between them. Leilianna hesitated, "I'll agree if you don't make it something awful. Please!"

Sam grinned broadly, "Don't worry. It's a psychological experiment to not think of a white bear. Except, once you're told to not think of the white bear, you can't not think of it. Same thing with the snitch. So, for your team, what they would do is have the keeper and bludgers assigned already."

Lila piped up, "Beaters."

Sam shook it off, "Whatever, those guys are assigned already, then the other four are flexible between being a seeker or whatever."

"Chaser."

"Right (that name makes no sense), anyways, those four played both except -"

Leilianna objected, "That's not realistic I mean, change-up chasers were exceedingly rare back then, but now -"

Sam grimaced and leaned in, "Look, they didn't need to all be good at it, just think they were doing it. So, each of them is pulled aside before the match and told one of the others was the seeker, and that this person, the one they're talking to, needed to work at scoring that match, but if they saw the snitch, then go for it. Then, all four of them were working at being a chaser, thinking someone else was the seeker, and if any of them happened upon the snitch ..."

Leilinna brightened up, "Oh, Chaser's much easier than Seeker, so, you could still outscore the other team and, " she deflated, "... then it would have been easier for the assigned Seeker on the other team to find the snitch."

Sam raised her eyebrows, "I didn't say it was a good tactic, I just said I knew how to execute it." They all laughed. In the field, the four adults called out to gather their students. Bell was apparently a Ravenclaw, and the unknown lady was a Hufflepuff called Brocklehurst. Sam stood on the bench ahead of them and centered herself on Lila. She was distracted just a moment at Scorpius arriving with a load of food in his arms. Sam focused and became very earnest, "OK, your side of the deal. You have to go out for Quidditch."

Leilianna's eyes widened in fright, "I couldn't. It's my first year. I'd never make it."

Sam was unaffected, "Sure right, that's why you were already half-dressed when I got back." Leilianna managed to blush nearly maroon. "You clearly love the game. If I was big enough, and in the States, and not pathetically slow, I would totally be the first woman on the Mets, well, considering the Mets, I still might."

It wasn't enough to convince Leilianna, "No, I couldn't!"

Portia supported Sam, "You seemed really excited about us seeing this."

Sam nodded, "And you didn't want us to embarrass you. I got that out of the way. You're welcome."

"I'd embarrass myself. I wouldn't need help. It doesn't matter. I don't have my - I don't have any equipment." Indeed, all the other kids there to tryout wore thick boots, gloves and an old-fashioned leather helmet.

Just as Sam had seen on Albus at breakfast. She pulled a pair of leather gloves from her sweatshirt pouch, "Like these?"

Leilianna's eyes were wide again, "Where did you -?"

Witherspoon pulled out the helmet and examined it, "'L-A-L', who could that be?"

Lafayette snatched her gear, and bit her lip momentarily, "You really think I should?"

Portia cheered her on, "Go for it!"

Sam tilted her head to the side and smirked, "You sit here and you aren't on the team for sure; you go out there, who knows?"

In a flash, Leilianna jumped up and hugged Sam around the neck. Sam awkwardly pulled away and held Lila away from her with one hand. She spoke in an odd accent, "No, one arm length person space you maintain." Leilianna looked genuinely hurt. Sam laughed, "Just messin'" She pulled Lila back in for a more deliberate hug. Leilianna recovered from the playful jest fast enough. She didn't even notice how carefully Sam held her own head to the side, "Go on." When Lila reached the end of the bleachers, Sam yelled out, "Go Slytherins!" The Gryffindors (including James Potter on the foremost bench) booed while the other Slytherins cheered (even Teddy Nott, who Sam had only just noticed on the field).

Portia, still seated behind Sam, inquired, "Think she'll make it?"

Sam muttered, "It would take a miracle," she turned back and stated clearly, "I have no idea. I don't understand this game."

Hirsch shook her head, "It makes no sense. What are we gonna do?"

Witherspoon shrugged, "Cheerlead?"

It cheered up Portia at least, "Like dance and boast about our team?"

"I was just gonna insult the others, but ... whatever."

Scorpius

An array of food covered the towel: a muffin with bangers and mash, bread and fried potatoes, an apple, orange and banana, his mother would have never allowed the first items. He also had a jam muffin (more bread) with bacon shoved in it. He wasn't sure what would be worse: eating all this or throwing it out under the Quidditch stands. He should have fed it to something at the zoo (which his mother might have been even more upset over). He'd managed to drop off the envelope for Professor Hagrid, but it had been made difficult by the food Albus insisted Scorpius hold onto (at least the towel kept the book beneath clean). He blinked in an exaggerated manner as if it would help him wake up. Albus had been the exhausted one in the morning all week, but apparently waking early for Quidditch was a special occasion.

Samantha, her face bruised and puffy, glanced at him then went back to talking to Leilianna and another girl. How had Scorpius not thought of that? He should have woke Lila to join Al, Perry, and himself. Leilianna assembled with the other tryouts, leaving Samantha and ... (Hirsch?) at the rear corner of the benches. The two of them started dancing. Scorpius turned away, anxious they might fall while he watched, even more afraid that it would amuse him. Pleasure at the misfortune of others was surely a Slytherin virtue. Stop that! Scorpius scolded himself. The verdict had been made (the decision!) He was in Slytherin and he needed to stop thinking about it. (How could he stop?)

Emmerlinse spoke with the other staff. He showed them a stack of note cards. He shuffled through and pointed at a few students and called them out to go back to the stands. They hadn't even tried yet! Had Emmerlinse always been so cruel or was it part of being a vampire? Thankfully Leilianna and Albus weren't preemptively sacked. The first trial was to fly laps around four cornerposts. It took awhile for them to all set up inline. So many people (nearly fifty) hovered on their brooms in one place; it was a recipe for disaster. Albus disappeared in the mass, while Leilianna kept above it (literally) and continued to slowly rise by herself. She had to be nervous, so much more than Scorpius. She had little experience with large groups of people. The whistle blew and, predictably, the packed knot jammed and scattered, leaving ten or so people (including Rose Weasley) to scramble back atop their brooms. Emmerlinse shouted for the scattered students to stop polluting his field. There was no objection from the other professors. Rose dejectedly dragged a broom across the pitch. She saw Scorpius look, smiled briefly and gave a short wave with her free hand. Scorpius should have smiled back, waved back, something polite. Instead, he nervously glanced about. James Potter grimaced and regarded Scorpius with suspicion. No one else was going to forget who or what Malfoy was.

Scorpius tried to find Albus in the thick clot of thirty or so. Several dragged behind the pack, a few more were slightly ahead with Leilianna in the lead. She grabbed each post and swung swiftly around it. She was not nearly as high as she had started and seemed to be angled downward. Emmerlinse's whistle screeched and the fliers drifted around their course. Except Lila, who rose sharply.

Rose? She had sat on the bottom bench in front of Scorpius rather than beside her cousin. It might draw suspicion to pay attention to anything but the tryouts. Scorpius ate the bacon/jam muffin. It actually tasted good (most things that were awful for you did).

The next trial was to score with the quaffle. First unguarded (which eliminated a few who couldn't do that), then with one of the older students as keeper. The guarded shot seemed a matter of how close they came, no one actually scored. Pass and score attempts were next; neither Lila nor Al did well at the shooting, both were more than capable at passing.

The remaining twenty or so students were told to line up in front of the bleachers. A sudden flurry of black balls shot out from beneath the stands. A few students dropped their brooms and held their arms over their heads as they crouched, several more (Lila included) shot up in the air. Nott, Potter, Louis Weasley, and a couple others held their brooms out as shields. Emmerlinse cackled, "AH HAHAHAHA! Yah sure as spit got 'em, Stansfield, ah hahaha!" While the vampire doubled over, Georgia Stansfield came out from beside the stands. She smirked, but was not nearly as amused as the flight professor, "Outstanding ... haha, oh not you four, you're done, off my pitch. Whew, dunno what I'm gonna do wit'out ya, Georgia." The students that panicked at the volley of illusory bludgers were the ones dismissed. Conversely, the people that instinctively blocked were next tested on batting off real bludgers (Albus did not do well). Meanwhile, Leilianna and two others were flying laps on their own, but this time they maneuvered to tap baubles that hung from numerous rods. From his vantage, Scorpius could not see that the light signalled their success at tapping only the ornaments that actually matched the game ending "snitch".

With only sixteen left, there was nearly a disjointed match going on: six people batted bludgers back and forth with Emmerlinse; three chased a golden orb trailing behind an older student flying, apparently attached to her broom with some line; the rest attempted to score on goals guarded by other tryout students. This last group drew the most attention as Albus was able to block every shot by the other young students. Even Healer Bell was blocked on her attempt. The cheers and cries distracted Emmerlinse from his beater work, "Aw c'mon, Katie! I know Gordon wrangled ya out here for the Eagles, but show off summa that Gryffinsore pride, cantcha even score on a wee fanger?"

The healer rolled her eyes and hovered high above the ground, "I haven't played seriously in decades, Carlin." Without a sidewards glance she caught the quaffle thrown back by Albus.

Emmerlinse called out, "Potter!"

Albus answered, but kept his eyes on the ball-bearing healer, "What?"

The vampire sighed, "Not you, Lames Potter!" James snorted his acknowledgment, but was not happy about it. "You gonna pass up a chance to show who's the better?"

At that taunt, James was up and grabbed the broom from Rose Weasley. Once he was astride and aloft, Healer Bell quickly tossed the quaffle to the elder Potter boy. He called off, "Louis, gimme a bloody noser, and help me cork this ... ma'am." The quaffle was tossed back and forth from Bell to James as they closed on the goal. The gathering fell silent. Al, in front of the center goal, tilted back from the advance until something stirred in his expression. He veered down into a bludger that shot up from below. James took the opening to fire his shot at a side goal. The confident grin on his face dissolved as the same bludger bounced the quaffle off path. Unfortunately, Bell was in swiftly, slapping the quaffle with the back of her broom and through the opposite goal. Al sneered as he cradled his left arm to his chest.

The crowd exploded in cheers; one high pitched voice came out above the others, Samantha clapped and posed as she pseudo-sang, "He'll block your goals and make his pass, Albus gonna kick your -" She bumped her hips into the girl beside her.

The other girl finished with, "- bum." She was clearly embarrassed, but most everyone laughed and applauded.

Emmerlinse cut through the noise briefly, "Nice Bell, but mine won't be facing you on the pitch. Thanks for showing who the real Potter is, Lame Weasel. I got my new keeper." James Potter took it even worse than expected. To a chorus of laughs and jeers, he landed roughly and threw the broom at Louis before stalking off the pitch. Everyone else was quick to move on as Emmerlinse continued his call outs, "And, Theodore Nott Junior, beater, Peryton Peringold, chaser, just like your great-grandfather. Bell?"

Bell, on Ravenclaw's behalf, picked a seeker and beater. Thomas made the choices for Gryffindor, and Brocklehurst for Hufflepuff. Half the tryouts gathered to their new teammates as the other half wandered off the field, dejected (though none made a scene on par with James Potter's departure). It was disappointing to see Leilianna not make the cut. Scorpius was also disappointed about her seeking comfort with her new roommates instead of himself, but how much of a friend had he been since arriving at Hogwarts? Guilt turned him away. Stansfield nudged Emmerlinse, pointing first at his notes then the stands.

The Slytherin professor bellowed, "Get your ears checked, Lafayette!" He had their attention (and that of several others). "I called ya as new seeker during the James Pouter's tantrum." It took a moment for the shock to pass and the girls to register what the professor meant. The girls' comforting hug tightened as they squealed and hopped about (and once again threatened to fall off the stands).

Even more uncomfortable than before, Scorpius made his way down the bleachers. Albus ran up and was caught by Rose, "Congratulations, Albie! I knew you'd make it." She paused in concern, "Is your arm going to be all right? You're not supposed to catch bludgers."

Albus had mixed emotions, "Err, it worked, kind of, blocked James at least. Bell said it's prob'ly just a sprain, but she'll patch me up. We gotta talk ta Emmerlinse 'bout practice 'n' stuff. I'll catch up with ya after, I didn't forget ..." he shrugged and winced, "this time."

Rose smiled, "'It worked', indeed!" Al ran off. Weasley continued to beam with pride. "Oh, Scorpius. Were you here to try out, too?"

Scorpius' eyes widened, "No, not me, I ... I was only out to, err, support, err, those who can ... play."

She smiled and twisted in place, "Wish I'd done that, then I wouldn't have looked so daft."

Scorpius guessed she meant her gloves and helmet, but she looked more appropriate for the pitch than Malfoy did with his food-piled book in hand. "You could try again, Albus said first years rarely make it." The reassurance caused Rose to blush as her gaze darted about.

"Hey, Rose!" Sean Finnegan called out. He'd made it to the end, but hadn't made it to Gryffindor's team either, "Tough luck on that scrum." As he reached them, he glared at Scorpius, offended at Malfoy's very existence. "We got tha pitch in a hour, Thomas said we can practice with tha team, give us a leg up fer next year."

Rose was uncertain, she twisted and tugged at her ponytail and placed her other hand on Sean's shoulder, "I - Albus and I are going to Hagrid's. It's really important, Sean."

Finnegan relented with a nod, but hesitated to leave. A thought struck Scorpius, "You're going to Professor Hagrid's? I - I already - he has the drawing, but you could ask him ... if you still wanted to see it, the illustration I mean."

"Yeah." She raised her eyebrows, "Sorry that I-"

Scorpius shook his head and cut in, "No, no, it's fine."

Several others called for Sean and Rose to join them on the field. "Thank you," Rose smiled, lips tight over her teeth. She gathered her things and dashed off. Finnegan left without a word.

Scorpius wished he had trusted Rose to deliver his drawing. After all, she was the daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley. And who was he? The child of a Death-Eater, not one but two Slytherins. But now Harry and Ginivere Potter's son was a Slytherin, too. Scorpius held his eyes tight as he sighed. He had to stop dwelling like this. He looked at the Taxonomy book. He had phoenix eggs to research, magic-based metallurgy to find, and a letter to write ... to that Death-Eater, Slytherin father.

Ch 32 Ghosts of the Past

Someone else

NdM-P: The inquiries by the young man were well anticipated. Your preparation was invaluable. In regards to the interjected tale: Lady Windegarde was not likely in need of saving from a dragon (closest match Wilma Windegarde. Known alias of a reputed con artist/metamagus Ursula Negron - NOT nobility- convicted of illegal dragon rearing). Thank him for reporting the event, praise his quick thinking, and remind him of his oath in this matter (in THAT order!) Do not mention the facts of "Lady Windegarde" unless he becomes insistent on our somehow pressuring for his inclusion in HH.

FF: Your diligence is appreciated, but, for the hundredth time, there is no further need to report there is nothing significant to report on this subject. File any notable activity as you would any strays from the HH.

MEW: There is nothing to be done about her predilections. Barricading her from certain facilities will likewise barricade us from certain avenues of information. She is technically a minor if that is any consolation.

HR: "Granted a favor" to a student? Her previous favoring of a student resulted in many lives lost! Evasive or not, you must discover the nature of this favor and identity of the student ("one of mine own"? - the elves of her house usually cooperate, but may not if she is known to be involved - proceed accordingly).

CCB: The American's abilities and nature will continue to have an effect. The saving grace is the students' perception of his unreliability, while his actual unreliability is an unpredictable threat to our mission. Subject 1 may be useful in resolving this problem.

BB: Your assessment is nearly accurate: the guardian knows, the girl likewise knows (vice "suspects"). THIS is why your requests regarding P have been denied. For what minor chaos he causes, he serves as a distraction to BB. Let up on your restricting measures, then engage BB and plead his aid in restraining P. He will be distracted by the chase, then by allowing P to operate and remind us (you) that he is important. Manipulate him into thinking he manipulates you! Keep him distracted!

P: see above.

Albus

He made the team. That should take the broom out from under James. If that didn't, the bludger block sure did. A sprained wrist was worth it (especially as a single wanding from Bell fixed it up). Rose might not have made it onto her team, but she didn't seem upset at all.

Rose moaned, "Oh no ... James."

Al's brother leaned against the moss-etched hut, "Real proud of yerself, ain'tcha, Albie?"

There was no avoiding him. Al didn't recall Hagrid having a backdoor (there was one, but Al didn't remember it). He snapped back instead, "Looks like Gryffindor needs better chasers. Maybe you can get Healer Bell outta retirement!"

The boys insulted each other as Rose pounded on the thick door, "Hagrid, it's us!" She struggled to tug the door open without waiting for a response.

"Rosie! Al! And James, great to see yeh!" Hagrid's enthusiasm cut off any fighting between Al and James (for the moment). "How'd tryouts go? Woulda gone meself, but Emmer- Professor Emmerlinse had summat for Georgia, 'n' someone had ta see ta the Saturday feedin'"

Mention of Stansfield distracted Al, "Yeah! She made all these fake bludgers shoot at us! I got to tryout for beater 'cause I used my broom ta stop 'em, but I couldn't aim the bludger so they made me keeper instead."

Hagrid nodded and smiled as he took some cakes off the fire, "Keeper, that's great! Your dad and his before him were seekers."

Rose added in, "That's not why they made you keeper. You steered a bludger just fine with your hands, you even blocked a shot with it."

Al was surprised Rose sided with him so quickly, but why not? Because he was in Slytherin? While it reassured Al that Rose still liked him, it just made James madder (that, or the reminder of Al's recent success). James spat out, "Maybe you'd like ta join Slytherin, too, Rosie."

Hagrid set down the plate and warned softly, "James."

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed a cake and looked at it oddly. His anger forgotten for a moment, he took a cautious bite. After chewing, he stated with disbelief, "Hagrid, these are ... all right."

The half-giant sighed, "Yeah, yeah. Hannah, err, Missus Longbottom -"

Rose giggled, "Hagrid, Hannah's not a professor." Al had to smile along. As did James, until they both saw the other had reacted the same way.

Hagrid nodded, "Right, right, anyways, she, err, gave me some tips." Al winced when he remembered his "backup food" was with Scorpius. Uncle Ron had warned Albus against eating anything Hagrid offered. There wasn't much choice now, but while the nut cakes weren't as good as the ones from the Great Hall, they sure weren't the "baked stones" Rose's dad had described. Hagrid poured tea into several mismatched cups, "So, Slytherin, how's that, Albie?"

Ugh! Al hated being called Albie, but almost everyone who did it meant well. It made it hard to say anything to stop it. He focused on the question instead, "Great, Hagrid. Scorpius had his own room, but he got me in there, too, so I don't haveta sleep inna bunk room."

Hagrid smiled, but it was James who spoke, "Ya mean Scorpius Malfoy dontcha?"

In the face of James' hostility, Al thought of Vicky, but felt her reactions would be too nice, and went with imitating Samantha instead, "Yeah, and this is Rose Weasley, I'm Albus Potter, and what's your last name Professor?"

Hagrid's whiskered face scrunched up, "Hagrid. Rubeus is meh first name." Al's ploy worked at irritating James, but it accidentally distracted Al, Hagrid's first name isn't Hagrid?

"Ha - ha," James mocked amusement and then attacked, "Don't act like ya don't know who his father is, Albie! Don't act like that guy didn't try ta kill Dad!"

Hagrid calmly protested, "It weren't like that, James." He held up his mug as if doing so would make everyone take a drink and stop arguing.

It didn't get James' attention at all, "Malfoy let the Death-Eaters in, he got Dumbledore killed! Albus Dumbledore, or you still haven't figured out who that was?"

It was a lot easier to say something to someone who didn't mean well, "Stop calling me 'Albie', Jimmy!"

Rose pleaded weakly, "Please, Albus, James."

James continued to rant, "No! Don't act like you don't call him 'Albie', too, Rose, he's a traitor, he's turned on the whole family!"

Hagrid wiped tea from his beard, "James, the sortin' hat had its say, don't blame Albi-, don't blame Albus."

In his anger, Al missed Hagrid's self-correction, "Blame? What's there to blame for bein' in Slytherin. Dad said it was fine! Why can't everyone else be fine with it?"

A light hand laid on Al's arm, "I'm fine with it." Rose smiled unconvincingly.

Hagrid tried to keep the peace, "Albus, it ain't that, we're just worried 'bout ya is all."

James didn't agree, "I'm not worried. Mum is worried. Bloody hell, she's trying ta get the headmaster to put ya back in Gryffindor!"

Al stood and snapped back, "She better not! It's none of her business!"

Rose's grip tightened on Al's arm. Hagrid sighed, "Al, she's yer mum." He picked up the kettle and refilled his mug.

James threw up his arms, "Nah, he'd rather have Scorpy's cold-blooded bitch of a mother take 'im in. Well, she can have ya!"

Mostly, Hagrid "spoke". His English wasn't the best, but who's was? (Hermione, Rose, Hugo, Scorpius, Percey ...). A lot of times, Hagrid "bellowed", which was really the same as his speaking, just louder. This once though, it wasn't just loud, it was louder than anything Al had ever heard. "JAMES!" Hagrid shot to his feet, nearly filling the cabin. He roared, "GET OUT!" His enormous hand pointed at the door menacingly.

It suddenly occurred to Al that half-giant was still quite giant to all the NON-giants. Giants liked to eat humans (something about their bones), and were highly resistant to both magic and physical attacks (he had recently had a class on this). They stood two to three stories tall, their hands the size of a car, which they could throw like people threw quaffles. Hagrid was "only" a half-giant. He was still three meters tall and about two meters wide, and his hands, including the one holding a crushed tea kettle, were large enough to grab Al around his entire body (and Al was not made of metal). Hagrid, formerly large and tolerable, was now immense and terrifying. Al was not alone in this feeling, as he, James, and Rose were all out the door in a heartbeat. They ran until they had passed the greenhouses.

James was shaken. Being just a bit older, though, he recovered (sort of) and turned his panic into rage, "It's all your fault, Albie! None o' this woulda happened 'cept for you!"

"My names not Albie!" Then what? "It's Severus!"

Al's brother shook his head and waved dismissively as he stomped back to the castle.

"Al ..." Rose struggled to catch her breath, still scared, or was she? "We ... we should go back."

BACK?! "What are ya talkin' 'bout, Rose, I mean, c'mon, you heard well as I did. Told us to get out. It'd be rude to-"

She half gasped, half sighed, "No! He told James to get out, we just, well, I'm not - I don't think we were too rude, but ... we should go back. Make sure Hagrid's all right."

"Hagrid?! He's bloody well fine, I'd say, who's gonna mess with a raging half-giant?"

Rose didn't look scared at all anymore. Her cheeks were still flushed from their hasty escape, but she looked determined, "Severus, please." And she was quick to call him a name no one ever had ever really used before, not even Albus Severus.

He relented, "All right ... but if he says he's hungry, if his tummy even rumbles, we're outta there." The awful joke earned a snigger from his cousin.

Severus

Severus was surprised how far they had gotten. The other day, running from James, they hadn't really tried all that hard. That hadn't really been fear though, more like "bothered". But now Rose had him marching right back into the giant's den. She knocked.

There was a wet slurping (was Hagrid eating another student the way Mum would eat ice cream after a bad day?). "Go 'way."

"You heard the giant, man, professor, whatever, said 'go way'."

Rose rolled her eyes, "Alb- Severus, don't chicken out, I thought Slytherins were tougher than that."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "That's Gryffindor you're thinking of. We're sneaky, not stupid."

It annoyed her, "Fine then!" She pulled, the door wasn't quite closed (Severus vaguely recalled he'd pushed it to slow any pursuit). Hagrid sat at the table. Sitting made him only huge instead of monstrous. His head was cradled in his arm, and as they got closer (Rose pulled on Severus to stay with her) they could see he had a large envelope open on the table, a sheet of paper partially pulled from inside. The drawing was black and white, not perfect, but as good as any of Severus' comic books. It was of a girl sitting, her long white hair covered most of her face, and a black dragon curled around her, its wings, neck and head laid out on the grey stone floor. Across the girl's chest was a much smaller, slick and grey whelp. She held it close as it clung to her robes. Somehow, all the shades of black and grey were still realistic. Before Al could figure it out, Rose asked, "Is that her? Scorpius' mother?"

Hagrid removed his arm to reveal his reddened face, his beard and cheeks sprinkled with tears. He snorted, loud and wet, and blinked his dark black eyes. He nodded, "'Storia, Astoria Greengrass, err, Malfoy."

Astoria, Astoria, Astoria, Severus repeated the name in his head. He knew he was awful at remembering things, but for Scorpius' sake, he didn't want to forget this one. Rose figured out the person, Severus guessed at the dragon, "And that's Gretchen?"

Hagrid barely grinned. He was less and less scary, "Yah, she was just a wee thing then, guess they both were! Heh." The laugh wasn't quite real.

Severus was still confused, "Wait, which one's Gretchen?"

Rose lightly backhanded his shoulder, "The whelp, you dolt!" She sounded affectionate despite her words, then she gulped, "Can't you see her mother's ..." And a tear rolled down Rose's cheek.

What was it with the crying?

Hagrid reached out and patted Rose on the shoulders. Those hands that only just recently seemed ideally suited for crushing bodies were now perfect for a caring hug (from across the table no less), "Yah. 'Storia found 'em in tha sewers. Her mutha was sick, it was ... too late, but 'Storia saved Gretchen. Brought 'er to me when ... when everythin' was over." He smoothed the drawing with his other hand, as if petting the dragon and girl as one. And, as one, the dragon's back and girl's hair smudged into a dull streak. Hagrid's eyes bulged, and he sounded like his normal (nice but slightly nervous) self, "Shouldn'ta done that. Oh no, oh no." He held the edges to the table as if it would fix on its own. When that didn't work, Hagrid patted his body and tucked into several pockets. Upon finding his wand, he spun his wrist and tapped the picture, "Illustro Reparo!" The half-giant heaved a satisfied sigh as the smudge reformed into its original distinct shapes. "Whew!" Hagrid snorted and cleared his throat, "He's a right good artist, inn't 'ee?" He blew his nose into a rag.

That was for certain. As Severus examined it closer, he saw that the mother dragon's head was turned on its side, mouth open, eyes closed; he'd thought it was sleeping. In the girl's lap were fragments of a rounded shell. Had Scorpius found out the metal egg was a spitewyrm's? It was Scorpius' mother that knew the egg and chicken thing. Was this how she had figured it out? It took Severus a moment to think that through: it made no sense. The egg in the drawing was probably grey because it was done with a pencil, or just because spitewyrm eggs happened to be grey, too (not that Severus knew). Hagrid still seemed worried. Severus didn't want to see that turn back into rage, "He wouldn't mind. Prob'ly impressed you fixed it. He's real nice. Not, like, Weasley nice, but, I don't know, like, polite and ... he thinks about stuff."

Rose grimaced and playfully smacked Severus, "That sounds just like Molly! Our cousin, Molly Weasley!"

Hagrid and Rose chuckled. Severus clarified, "Yeah, 'cept, Scorpius, I mean, Mol tries ta see the best in everybody, Scorpius is more ..." He struggled for the word, then thought of one of their conversations, "He's more particular."

Rose scoffed, "So, like her father, Uncle Percy ... Weasley."

Severus shrugged, "Yeah, but Scorpius is ..."

His cousin summed it up, "He's your friend."

Severus nodded, "Yeah, I think that's it."

All three of them chuckled.

Scorpius

Just as quickly as the door had shut behind him it opened and closed again. Scorpius did not turn around, he assumed Albus had skipped out on his appointment with Professor Hagrid.

It wasn't Potter, though, "What happened?"

Scorpius startled at the unexpected voice, "Lila?!"

Leilianna shot back with facetious shock, "Hypie!" Curly strands caught briefly as she removed her leather helm. Scorpius thought to say something, anything, but Lila spoke first, "It's too bad you didn't bring Aitch-Pe. So, you're in Slytherin. What happened to your plan? I'd've been by sooner, but - I thought it was a secret, and with Potter around ..."

The plan! It hadn't worked, he hadn't even tried to make it happen when he had the chance. Scorpius sighed before he replied, "It ... I don't know, it didn't - it was silly." He wasn't prepared to say why he'd done what he had.

Leilianna decided to not force it, "Sharp move getting him- getting Potter in your room. Was that for his sake or Mister Potter's? Either way, he's better off far from Nott, or anyone else with a grudge."

"A grudge?" That had been part of his motive, but Lila made the entire situation sound more sinister. Or did Scorpius think that of her only because she was a Slytherin?

She sat in the chair by the front door, removed her gloves and nestled them into the helmet, "Yes, a grudge. Ted's jealous, his father's only an Obliviator. The authority to erase muggles' memories is up there, but it's not even close to Chief Auror."

"But that's their fathers, not them!" Scorpius' protest, though sincere, sounded hollow to him.

Lila looked about the room and pulled over the chair from the desk, "Auror takes five NEWTs, not just three." She patted the cushioned seat for Scorpius to join her and became enthused, "Oh, that reminds me, I'm going to change out History for Divination, Binns is duller than dead grass, and Firenze made it look much better than we'd thought. So besides Defence, that makes it Transfiguration, Alchemy, Herbology, and Divination. Plus Muggle Studies as a fallback."

Scorpius didn't sit, but he tried to be supportive as his doubts nagged at him, "The textbook makes it seem more appropriate, too. But you have to score an outstanding in Defence to apply for Auror training."

Lila sat straight, "And? I'm not worried about Defence." She slouched, "I'm having more trouble behaving like the Countess expects." She stood, straight again, holding her protective gear stiffly, "Proper before polite, professional over personal." Lila sank into the second chair and let her things fall to the stone floor, "I don't know how you do it. I can't keep being all posh, and in charge, and we're not even making marks yet. It's only been a week!"

She looked tired and worn, and maybe not just from the early hour. Scorpius stepped forward and put his arm around her. "I just try to do what my parents do."

Lila squeezed him tight then relaxed, but continued to lean into him as she ever-so-slightly whined, "We can't all have perfect parents, Hypie."

The "complaint" made him flinch. Scorpius knew how much Lila disapproved of her own mother, but his father was - no. He refused to even think of terms of whose parent was worse, this was not a competition.

He should have known that she could (figuratively) read him. She pulled slightly away and stood, still close. Lila took hold of his hands and shook them twice, "Oh Hypie, that's your father, not you." And that's why his earlier protest rung false. He should have known Lila would understand, but then she said something he never would have guessed, "Anyway, if it wasn't for him, right now I'd be in France, ugh!"

Scorpius looked up in shock, "Katarina was going to send you to Beauxbatons?"

Lila rolled her eyes and smirked, "No, silly! It just would have happened. Your father's who brought her- brought our family back to Britain, to Hogwarts, the grand scheme to keep Slytherin from disappearing entirely."

He snapped back, "As if that would have been such an awful thing!" Maybe there were people within the house he cared for, but the house as a whole deserved nothing but contempt in his mind. The anger felt quite justified until he looked up and saw the hurt in his best friend's eyes.

Lafayette closed her mouth and swallowed. Before Malfoy could apologise, she mustered her confidence and declared, "Poor thing like Portia doesn't even know what she's gotten into, right?" Her face downcast, she yanked and twisted her Quidditch gloves, "Wish Flight was a NEWT course, I could do that instead."

Scorpius panicked, he couldn't let himself make this any worse, hurt Lila any more, "Congratulations ... on making the Quidditch team." It sounded pathetic aloud.

She faced him, the offense obvious in her expression and tone, "The Syltherin Quidditch team? Ha! I wouldn't have dared try if Sam hadn't - but then she's just another one of 'us', isn't she?"

"It's not like -"

The door swung open, "Hey Scorp, I think I'm gonna go by Sever-" Potter looked back and forth from Leilianna to Scorpius, "Uh, sorry, mate, just," he pointed to himself, "Severus from now on, were you two -"

Leilianna turned to the door. She softly punched Severus' shoulder as she passed, "Good to hear someone's embracing their sorting, Potter, see you at practice."

Scorpius dropped back to sit on the plush bench at the end of his bed "Severus?" He asked. Potter nodded and plopped into the recently vacated chair. Before, Malfoy had thought about how it could not get much worse. "Great." He wondered how much of that was his fault, how much had he brought on himself, and how, as much as he wanted to, there was no one else to blame.

[Act II]

Ch 33 The Rest of the Month After the Longest Week of Their Lives

Scorpius

Scorpius wished he could say his situation improved as time went by, but for every step forward there was another step (or two) back. Professor Brocklehurst was introduced as an addition to Binns' erratic classes. She was more sensible and engaging, yet it seemed even she knew it wasn't enough. However, the Grey Lady was more elusive, unavailable for any hints as to the origin of the platinum egg.

Mr Malfoy's letter provided the chemical properties of platinum, but nothing about its magical properties. Likely due to that being the only information that had been requested. Scorpius worried that somehow the distance between them made him doubt even his own father's discretion (such as meeting strange women in parking lots). No, it couldn't be that, it had to be distrust of the owl network (even if, or perhaps because, it was the Chief Auror's son's personal owl).

His father held off on any advice about the sorting, or being in Slytherin, until "Family Day", the last weekend of their first month. This was its own issue, another contradiction in Scorpius' feelings. He longed to see his parents, but not with so many others about, especially the Chief Auror. Except, he wanted to see Chief Auror Harry Potter; Hermione Weasley, proprietor of the ill-named Magical Myth-tery Tours; and even Ronald Weasley, CEO of Wizarding Wheezes; just, not if Scorpius' parents were going to be there (Professor Longbottom was always there and no longer caused nearly the panic Scorpius had experienced when he first met him). There was no way to reconcile his embarrassment over his potential embarrassment.

Saturday, 30 September 2017

Sam

Samantha was not going to duel anyone in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin (Hufflepuff was spared from Defense with Slytherin, wussies). Instead, she served as an assistant to Headmaster Orinsworth (during practice, not instruction). She looked forward to it every Friday.

Others anticipated "Family Day" a great deal more (especially more than Sam did). Though, to be precise, anyone who wasn't Sam at least appreciated it was a Saturday. That their loved ones would be there was just a bonus. Wait, "loved ones"? Not precisely. Leilianna prayed (literally!) that her mother would restrain herself for at least a day. Severus (because "Al" had been pointed out as being too normal?) was annoyed his "mum" wouldn't be there, but was looking forward to seeing his dad, but did not anticipate seeing him alongside his brother (little girl Potter would be with some uncle). Portia was enraptured with the idea of her parents seeing the castle. She spent nearly an hour figuring out what to wear (she has three wardrobe chests just for clothes!), but Leilianna convinced her that the school robes and pointed hat would make more of an impression on muggle parents. In the spirit of unity (and laziness), Sam stuck to her own uniform.

Breakfast was incredibly crowded, somehow worse than even that first night at Hogwarts. The schedule had the families arriving after breakfast. Tours would be conducted per house. Slytherin had a caveat: only Slytherin alumni would be permitted to tour Slytherin living areas. Non-Slytherins, muggles included, would have an "extended reception" in the headmaster's quarters (Stalvan's were too small). That was quite a disappointment to Portia. She and Sam toyed with various means of getting around this rule until Leilianna caught wind of it. She warned against any such attempt and reassured Portia that even Lila's father (also a muggle) would be excluded.

Conversely, Leilianna had worried that her father being born in Ghana or his work as an electrician might offend the Hirschs. Portia couldn't answer directly to fears of racism (they had never discussed the issue). On elitism, Mr. Hirsch had a thing against people who went to Harrow or Cambridge (some prep school and a university so major even Sam had heard of it). Lila wasn't entirely reassured until Portia quoted her father in Herbology: "Money's filthy, dirt's filthy, but at least you can grow food in dirt." (Longbottom liked it enough to give Hirsch five points).

The big event for the day was the Quidditch exhibition at eleven. Leilianna assured Sam that the game would make more sense with players and an announcer explaining in real time. It was an underwhelming concept to Sam, except for two of her friends going on field with the Slytherin team (only upper year players were introduced by name, but the lower years would be flying around the stands). That was still two and half hours off, and a huge amount of having to watch others with their proud (and occasionally confused) families. Sam decided to make scarce rather than subject herself to that.

"Shiny, happy people laughing," she sang dully out the high window.

"You could join them, instead of hiding," Skein, as usual, was unsympathetic.

Sam responded in a deeper voice, "And where are your parents, little girl?"

"You say 'they couldn't be here'. You're obviously American, they'll understand." It almost sounded helpful.

But Sam was not in the mood to take advice. She continued in a higher pitch, but tried an English accent, "Oh dear! And what does your mother do? Is she a good witch or a bad witch?"

Skein went back to being terse, "You assume they'll ask about your mother."

Witherspoon shot back in an awful Cockney imitation, "Wot's 'er father up to? 'Ah 'eard of 'im?"

The chaperone rolled her eyes, "And we come back to 'he couldn't be here'."

Sam answered in her own forlorn voice, "I don't know that. I suspect it ... but I don't know."

"Well, look on the bright side."

Sam's eyes widened, "Yeah, no one's in restraints!" She gave an exaggerated smile as she tugged at her neck.

Skein acted as if she took the sarcasm sincerely, "There you go, no shackles, no muzzles, no leashes."

Sam continued to be facetious, "Just a collar. It's like they treat everyone as if they're human!"

Sara's response was solemn, "Even if they aren't."

It brought the girl's mood down as well, "Firenze is a centaur, Emmerlinse isn't technically human, Hagrid's a half-giant, and that dude," she pointed at a distant figure, clearly smaller than even the students near him, "gotta be a goblin, and house elves hiding all over, merpeeps in the lake. Is it really someone's fault if they weren't born human?"

"Doesn't change the reality."

Sam stepped down and sat on the chair she'd been standing on. Chin in her hands, she sighed, "Maybe they could. Maybe there's some mumbo jumbo cure."

Skein turned sarcastic, "The operation was a success! Pity the patient died."

Sam looked askance at her handler, "Yeah."

Severus

It wasn't a matter of "if", but "when" and "how" James would make a scene. It had been four weeks already, each marked by another attempted attack by his brother. Severus would have at least liked to have Lily as backup today. However, part of keeping Mr Potter's celebrity status all hush-hush was keeping her away from any big social events (professional Quidditch matches apparently didn't count because of their V.I.P. seats). That was too bad for her. It was really rather reassuring to Severus that everyone looked up to his father as much as he did. How come Mum had never been as concerned about how her celebrity affected them? Then again, she was off reporting on a match today (Consolidated Carribean vs the Stormers, from somewhere or other in Canada).

Severus saw his father at the edge of the greenhouses, only a couple of people with him. Though they were afforded quite a bit of space, Severus caught many eyes directed at the small group. As he got closer, his father saw him and waved. When he was very close, Severus recognised his Uncle Ron talking to Professor Longbottom and realised who the black-haired, dark-skinned woman talking to his father was.

"Well, of course you may not be familiar of, no, with Slytherin traditions, Mister Potter, but let me assure you, it is not, howdoyousay, unusual for exceptional members to have a private room." Her accent was Spanish, but the way she stood and gestured was like Aunt Fleur, a way that made other women hold just a little closer to their husbands. Even as Ron bent to hug Severus close, Hermione didn't release Ron's hand.

The woman's presence made Severus suddenly wary of any affectionate displays, "Ron!" He pulled away. If he was old enough to not hold a parent's hand, he didn't have to suffer public hugs either.

Mr Potter beamed at his son's protest, "Speak of the devil!" Dad took Severus in both arms.

The younger Potter gave up. He feebly tried to distract from his embarrassing state (even as he was released from it), "Err, you're Lady Lafayette, right?"

Her already narrow eyes nearly closed as she smiled, "Ha! Don't believe everything you've heard, Albus Potter."

Another student ran up to them. Rose's cheeks were flushed red from the effort, but she had enough breath to correct, "Severus! 'Albus' is a Gryffindor name." She snickered and Severus smiled.

Uncle Ron turned from his conversation with Neville, "What did my brilliant girl say? They make your cousin change his name?"

"Ah Mister Weasley, are you to admit a loss of hearing? Oh, but you are not an Auror now. If only it were you against me in court." Lady Lafayette grinned.

"Oh, Katarina, are you going back to court again already? It seems no matter where I work I end up booking you to somewhere." Hermione teased with a hint of sincerity, "Will you and Kobby be rescheduling your holiday then?"

Rose grabbed her mum, "Mother! You made it!" Hugo wasn't with her, maybe he'd gone with Lily to Charlie's.

Ron complained, "I'm chopped nibbler?" Neville patted Ron's shoulder before leaving for the nearby group hanging about one of the greenhouses.

It was time for all the tours to start (Slytherin families were doing the indoor classes first, Gryffindors the outdoor ones). Dad would get to meet Samantha, Scorpius, and Mr Malfoy soon. Except, as they headed to the castle, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

They joined the rest of the Slytherin first years and their parents inside the entrance hall. Professor Stalvan addressed the gathered adults, "The importance of control cannot be overstated. Slytherin is a house steeped in a tradition of ambitious self-empowerment, but without discipline, such power is more likely to hamper, than to help, the wielder. Miss Lafayette, Mister Peringold, assemble the class."

This rubbish? Severus thought to himself. It wasn't even a class day, but sure enough they had to line out as if it was.

"Witherspoon is absent, sir." Leilianna announced.

Stalvan seemed to ignore the comment, "Lead our visitors to the Astronomy deck." Perry and Lila's heads turned to each other, but neither started forward. The Slytherin househead smirked, "Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, I believe each of you know the way. Front and center."

Severus snorted a laugh, but Scorpius swallowed nervously. The onlooking parents chuckled as the two of them rushed to the front of the formation.

From behind him, Leilianna ordered in a low tone, "Step off with your left, Potter. Forward ..."

Severus thought, March and did so in time with Scorpius beside him. Several of the adults clapped.

Emmerlinse was nowhere to be seen. No one said whether he'd refused to get out of his coffin, or if he wasn't allowed. Severus thought about the rumors he'd heard concerning the Flight professor. It was rather well-known that some type of Unbreakable Vow had been pressed upon the vampire. The details of said vow, however, were a subject of debate. James, a notorious liar, had said Emmerlinse was restricted from eating students while they were in class or their rooms. Ron, often the jokester, claimed Emmerlinse could only take blood from students in Slytherin (which had yet to happen). Mr Potter, neither liar nor much of a joker, said to not worry about it. And while Severus found it rather easy to trust his father's word in regards to himself, and even his fellow students, what about parents like the Hirschs? They weren't even wizards. An obliviate memory wipe or two and ... Portia'd be an orphan. Then again, that had turned out fine for Severus' father (and Teddy Lupin).

Thinking of fathers, Severus took what chances he could (unnoticed) to check out how Scorpius and Mr Malfoy got along. The elder Malfoy didn't seem very interested in being there. He only spoke in response to Mr Lafayette (something nagged at Severus that Lila's father had a different last name). Mr Malfoy did look at his son now and then, but his expression changed little except for an occasional twitch of his mouth. Hogwarts was probably boring for an adult wizard.

Severus broke from his thoughts on fathers and friends to march to Transfiguration. His mind had been elsewhere, yet he had fallen right back into place (at the rear again) as the tour progressed.

Sam

Over the past weeks Sam had gotten into a routine of sneaking out to the zoo. At first, it was to gloat over Nott fulfilling his side of the bet. Then, she started to actually enjoy the place. There, everything just seemed ... easier, less tense? If Sam couldn't sleep (stuck thinking about what she'd done wrong, or how someone had wronged her), she slipped out to the zoo.

Today was a bit more of an event. She was supposed to go through the castle classrooms with the rest of the Slytherins, but who was she showing around? No one. If not for her bad mood she would have thought to at least meet Lila's, Portia's, and/or Severus' parents. At the moment, though, she was too wrapped up in her own self-pity. She concentrated that into calm resignation, and shifted herself into water that flowed forth from her hand and out the window. She barely heard Skein's screech.

Sam splashed to the ground, gathered, and streamed to the showgrounds. Professor Hagrid and some students attended to several caged and leashed creatures (couldn't be Wamble or Stansfiled again, they had some role in the tours). Even distorted, the display was pretty impressive: a terrestrial cerberus (ie: a not demonic three-headed dog), a hippogryff and several clabberts (Foreheads glowing, of course!) were distinct enough. There was more, but Sam did not want to take the time to make out the shapes and have someone notice her unnatural flow. The underground displays were quiet. Sam was careful to not soak her uniform as she resumed her usual form.

No one in sight, collar in place, handler ditched, check, check AND check. Never mind what that first Creatures paper said, or what Sam would have admitted, she came to see the spitewyrm because it fed on her anger and left her calm. And, unlike her medicine, it left her in control (Chew on that, Doctor Sun). The Ravenclaws should have moved on by now, so who was this lone woman? She was tall, blond hair up in an ornate twist, and wore a better than usual fitting black robe. Do British magic-users seriously go everywhere dressed like it's Halloween? Gretchen stared over the woman's shoulder and gave Sam away.

"I thought the tours were instructed to stay with your guides." The woman paused to examine Sam, "Does one of your siblings attend Hogwarts?"

Sam literally could not work up to being offended. Gretchen's stabilizing influence gave Witherspoon the moment she needed to consider that her uniform was obvious and out of place, "Uh, no, only child. I'm from the States." Sam hadn't expected to get nervous. Why should she? Well, the woman was exquisite, like lead vocals hot. It wasn't that, though. It was "Family Day". This was someone's mother. Even more keenly Sam was aware her own mom would not be welcome here.

Koverchenko's mother was in attendance. Severus' cousin had told him that the Egyptian kid's parents were coming. And Lafayette, via Malfoy, heard that the DuBois girl had family visiting. Even Huang had an embassy envoy there (in addition to her escort). Sam added abruptly, "I can do magic."

The lady smiled thinly, "I meant no offense."

Was it that obvious? Sam backpedaled, "No, it wasn't - I didn't wanna watch the broomball spectacular. I just wanted to come to the zoo and ..." Skein's suggestions on what to say came to mind, but none of them came out.

The woman turned back to Gretchen, her features softened, "She's quite soothing, isn't she?" She was impossibly pretty. Sam fooled herself into thinking she'd seen this mother on some magazine cover or a movie or ... it eluded her.

"Too bad she's stuck in a cage, right?"

The lady raised an eyebrow, "She has an escape," she (still lady-like) sniffed a laugh, "if she wants, but neither of us are much interested in Quidditch either. Where are your parents?"

Which version? Which lie to tell ... none of them! "Not sure on Dad, and Mom ... I don't think her arrangements would improve if I said she'd planned an appearance." It was like she'd yanked the bandage from a wound. Sam left herself sore, open and vulnerable. Either way, she was relieved.

The woman nodded. After a silent moment, she extended a hand to Sam and drew the girl forward as she knelt before Gretchen's enclosure, "We don't get a choice of parents, and their choices aren't ours. We just hope they love us, and that we can love them in return."

Sam nearly cried. It had been too much to expect anyone to understand, much less a stranger. Sam, as often as she'd been analyzed, had never been so forthcoming before. Her relief and gratitude broadcast beyond her control. The two hugged as Gretchen pressed against the glass to join them.

The lady pulled back, her smile warm and gracious, "How rude of me, introductions should come first." They both giggled at the suggestion of impropriety, "Now, you must be the visiting American."

"Yeah, Sam."

The woman bowed her head curtly in recognition, "And I am Astoria-"

It hit Sam who this was, "Holy Hell! You're Astoria Greengrass!"

The lady raised an eyebrow and turned half back, "I - I am. Did my son tell you-"

"You were on the videos!" She was increasingly excited at the realization and implications.

Astoria was amused. Her reaction was cut short, "Yes, I-"

Sam held her hands out as if to weigh the gravity of her declaration. "You've been on normals' shows researching and debunking their suspicions AND," she thrust her hands to the side to emphasize the difference, "You've been on mage-only shows talking about how close the normals have gotten to figuring stuff out!"

Astoria chuckled, "And how far astray they've gone. But you must have been an infant when I was on 'How Close'."

Sam already had a burgeoning affection for Astoria, but the excitement outweighed any respect she might pay, "Yeah, but, they're all on crystal, I mean, they're school copies, so it's quartz, grainy as all get out, but, wow! I loved when you played off the B.C. giganpi-gigant-O-pithicus tribe."

The woman grinned, "I'm not so certain the Canadian Wizards' tourism board was as pleased, but what do muggles know anyway?"

"Exactly! And you fake debunked the chupacabra-"

Astoria interrupted Sam, "It was a fluke I was interviewed, and the Mexican government needed to keep people away from the vampire clan wars. Coyote-dog hybrids were a decent cover-up, or at least a convenient," she paused, Sam quiet for a moment, "scapegoat."

Sam groaned and laughed, "Scapegoat! That's awful!" Despite her protest, they were both amused.

The laughter subsided, "So, you're in Slytherin." Astoria said. Sam wasn't sure what to say. The hesitation allowed Astoria a question of sorts, "You know your mother wanted to be here today."

The subject was still so sore even a spitewyrm's hate-drain couldn't suppress Sam's anger fully, "I don't wanna talk about it." She turned away to the smaller cages in a futile attempt to hide her mood.

Gretchen burped. Astoria took note. The woman stood, and said a bit cooler, "How are you- how are your classes coming along?"

Sam obstinately stuck to the negative, "I suck at Charms." She walked further down the hall and leaned into the glass and traced about as the batdrake sniffed and snapped at her.

"A wand might help that."

At first, Sam turned back, ready to challenge as to how Mrs. Greengrass would know that. Then, she thought of Newna, and Emmerlinse, and all the other "ands" that knew more about Sam than she wanted. She nodded and halfheartedly stared at the similarly disappointed drake.

"Would you care to remedy that?"

The tinge of sympathy from Astoria made Sam consider her anew. Even if they hadn't already hugged, the lady was crouched again, her hands loosely cupped on her knees. Sam thought about her mother's lessons on stance, behavior, on human psychology (vice the predator behavior that came natural to them). Astoria was on her level, removing the advantage, the threat of age and size. She had stayed in place, a display of confidence, but she also left the decision to approach or flee to Sam. If she could just read whether the offer was genuine or not.

"Eh-eh." Skein warned with a false clearing of her throat.

Astoria straightened up, and was crisply polite, "That is, if she were permitted."

Sam's guardian opened her mouth, but it was Sam who blurted out, "You'd help me get a wand?"

Mrs. Greengrass did not take her eyes off Skein, "If no one objected."

Sara took advantage of the attention on her and waited. "Won't your own child wonder what's become of you?"

As usual, Miss Skein knew just how to get under anyone's skin. Astoria tensed slightly, "Some time with with his father would do the both of them some good." It was only at that moment that Sam had considered she didn't know a Greengrass (she knew all the first year Slytherins, but not all the other years, and what if her son was in another house?). "We Syltherins should do for each other what we can to conceal, and compensate, for the weaknesses of our brethren."

Her kid must be in another year.

Chapter 34 Customer Relations

Sam

It turned out Mrs. Greengrass had done a "side-along apparate" to Hogwarts (co-teleport by any other name). However, such a thing was not allowed with someone else's kid. Skein didn't like the idea either way (teleporting was a different issue in the States, minors or not). Astoria tapped and twisted a message stone, then suggested they go to Hogsmeade (the town next to the school) and "flew" to London.

"You mean 'fly'?" Sam inquired. Broomsticks, tally ho!

Astoria chuckled and smiled, "No, no, the 'floo' network, like a chimney flue. You can move from fireplace to fireplace."

The idea was quite familiar to Sam, but it left out a few essential details, "Sooo, a gate network? I hate those security screenings." Especially how they might reveal Sam for what she really was.

Mrs. Greengrass shook her head, "Well ... yes, it is like your gate network, but there aren't any screenings as in America. They likely monitor the network remotely, but they don't have security at each station. And you have to supply your own powder."

Hogsmeade was a quiet village plucked out of time. It had cobblestone streets and anachronistic storefronts. A few signs and window advertisements were magically animated, but only a single coffee place was open so early on a Saturday. The town center was circular, a fountain in the middle. The largest building on the circle's border was likely the town hall (also closed), with a broad, short staircase surrounding a large, open hearth. The public fireplace burned low (it wasn't particularly cold or dark out). Astoria produced a few tiny paper bags from her unseen pockets, handing one to Sam and Skein each.

Sam cracked, "Spray, say, 'n' pray?."

Astoria chuckled and bit her lip, "That's it, more or less. We're going to Rare Reagents, London." She tossed the contents of her bag in, stepped in, and announced the destination stiffly. "Rare Reagents, London." Astoria swirled away in a green swoosh of flame.

Sam looked to Skein and rolled her eyes. The stout woman shook her head. Sam pocketed the bag, "How much this stuff worth?"

"Two sickles a scoop." Skein answered without hesitation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, Sickles? And how much is a "scoop"? She splayed her fingers as a fan. "Rare Reagents, London." The eldritch fire erupted out and surrounded her. On the other side was a darkened shop. The counters resembled a jewelry store, but within the teired glass shelves were bottles and jars, small herb pots, and animal parts in shallow bowls.

A scruffy man behind the counter was wanding at some cuts on his arms, "Well, I don't know what he wants. Damn owl!"

"Don't concern yourself if it's for him." Miss Skein arrived in a subdued flash. "Ah, good." Astoria considered both woman and child, "No ash on you." She said it like a rote proverb.

"Uh, yeah," Sam figured all good lies had a measure of truth to them, "I'm good with fire," she thumbed over her shoulder, "and she likes being mysterious."

Skein snorted, "It's a simple observation when taking the floo, an insult in all other regards meaning that at the very least you don't fall on your face in fireplaces." She sneered at Sam, "Our escort seems to mean it less mean, and instead plays it more playfully," Skein smiled and bowed her head to Astoria.

Mrs. Greengrass's cheeks were flush, likely from rubbing her face. She murmured, "No offense, of course."

Sam shrugged. She wasn't gong to concede she hadn't caught on to the joke.

Astoria then stated clearly, "And this is the family business. Located at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn alleys."

Sam scoffed, "Is there another one named Vertick? Natcher?" She could make a joke, too.

The guy snorted. Astoria smiled awkwardly. He got it, she did not, "There's Horizont, but I don't believe I've heard of those others. Now, don't try the floo network here outside normal hours, my key let us in today." She patted another (or the same) invisible pocket on her waist. Astoria arched her neck to the side and listened to shuffling footsteps on the floor above them.

Scruffy blurted, "Anyway, I'm on delivery. Luscious has the counter today." A waft of cigarette stench blew out as the man disappeared with a faint pop.

"And thank you, Malcolm. The store doesn't open too soon, but we should be on our way." She produced a chain from her robe and used a heavy, wrought iron key to unlock the stained-glass windowed door.

The cobblestone here (somewhere in London, right?) was darker, both naturally and from the accumulation of age and use. Unlike Hogsmeade, the buildings here were tightly packed and threatened to cut off the weak sunlight. Though it was warmer, Astoria drew her robe tight about her neck. Sam couldn't help but clutch herself, too, both of them staving off a cold that was, yet somehow wasn't. "Come, everything is opening later today, not that Ollivander has ever kept set hours."

From the outside, the shop looked like one of those upscale boutiques that you weren't sure if it actually sold anything, or just displayed stuff to taunt poor people. The modest placard above the door said, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382B.C.

Their entry was announced by the clichè ring of a bell. Sam was not shocked to see that the bell hammered into the doorframe was on one of those classic, coiled-metal strip type chimes. The rest of the frame did concern her, though. Her secret(s) would not be kept here, either. It was too late to do anything about it.

"Welcome, come in, just a moment ... a moment." The creaking voice of an elderly man came from among rows of box-lined shelves behind the counter. The man (presumably Ollivander) emerged shortly. The trembling voice was the youngest thing about him. His hair was gray and thinning, his skin was etched with wrinkles and his bones were all but apparent. He placed a slim, white box on the counter, then held his hands out in welcome, but as they trembled he clutched them together in a poor attempt to maintain the warm gesture, and cover the shaking. "Nine inches, osage orange, heartstring of a silver shimmerer, subtle."

Astoria half-smiled, half-grimaced, "Had my parents not balked at a second investment of seven galleons. They decided pine and centaur hair would serve well enough."

Mr. Ollivander returned a polite, yet pained expression, "I fear there are few, if any, wands left before me. I've had to curtail my repair services in Hogsmeade."

Mrs. Greengrass made a small gasp of amusement, "No, not a repair, and not for me, but a new wand, for this one." She put her hand on Sam's shoulder. "She is young and has no wand at all. If you were to still possess that other though." Astoria's smile tightened slightly.

Ollivander's lips tightened in kind, "It was matched to the young master Lupin."

Astoria nodded, "Our newest Auror-in-training. Well then, attend to the young lady here."

Sam raised her eyebrows and grinned artificially, "Jersian, muscle, bone, and viscera, fifty-two inches, confused."

The man's smile was much more genuine this time, "Then let us determine your true measure." He withdrew a tailor's tape. He came around the counter and circled behind Sam. He drew the tape around her neck. She looked back at him as he held the strip aloft to read it. "Nothing I have will do." He extended it along her sleeve and checked it again. "Hmm." He then tapped on the inside of her arms for her to raise them.

Sam was obvious in her suspicion, "Uh, I got a uniform, thanks, buddy. You do know that wands are held, not worn, right?" She started to turn her head, but a withered hand gently discouraged her as the tape ran down her back. Skein's raised brow and warning stare reinforced the suggestion. Then the tape was wrapped about her chest. It was too much for her, "Hey! Watch it pedo-"

Skein growled, "Witherspoon!"

Sam stepped forward, "What? His hands are all shaky and he's worried and torqued up over -" she turned about to confront the aged wizard. Only ... he was several feet away at the counter, reading from an aged tome, older than himself. Sam looked down in confusion as the tape, of its own accord, wrapped about her waist.

Ollivander broke from his reading, "Hmm? Ah, so obvious." It seemed he only needed the book for a reminder. Sam was too occupied with the animate measuring tape though. It ran down her leg, paused, then splayed out across the floor. It bunched up like a worm to get to its owner, then "stood" before him. It wound up as he grasped it. He extended the tape and held it high. Sam caught that instead of the numbers and tick marks she'd just seen, there were words. The wizard read off, "Headstrong, rash, brilliant."

Skein scoffed, "Two out of three."

While Sam scowled at her chaperone, the old man stated wistfully, "'His father's bone and a rooted hair his own.' Though, in this case, we shall need your mother's ... bone that is."

Sam's mouth hung slightly open. Astoria said with concern, "Not the usual fitting process. And why not wood? That's more than unusual, and I'm not quite certain even possible. Her mother is - she might not be in a position to help."

He turned to Skein, "Is that so? I would hesitate to compel the cooperation of one such as yourself."

Astoria looked suspiciously at the other woman, then to Sam. At the girl's desperate expression, Astoria admitted flatly, "We all keep secrets, don't we?"

Sam blurted, "No! It's not like that- I mean, it is, but she's - it's a geas, like, a contract-"

"An Unbreakable Vow." Skein added casually.

Sam continued to plead, "Yeah, she can't even hint who she is. I'm not supposed to say, but I'm too young for the vow thing, and - I have, like, issues, magic ones, and she can - she's the only one who can make me stop, fast. I'm - they didn't want me around, but they didn't want an incident, or maybe just not an obvious one, or that's my theory anyways. I ..." She didn't know what more to say, what more she could say.

Astoria's offense softened, "Then this isn't a choice?"

Skein disagreed, "Every act is a choice."

Silence came over the shop momentarily. The shopkeeper himself spoke up first, "And your cooperation, young miss?"

Sam sputtered in her confusion, "Huhn? What, I - what are you on about, old man?"

Ollivander gestured to his head, "A rooted hair."

She complained, "Seriously?" Then sighed, "All right." Sam winced in anticipation of the pain as she held a few hairs behind her ear. "Ow!" Sam had not pulled.

"Here." Skein was undisturbed as she handed over a single hair.

Ollivander smiled wanly. He held the strand aloft. His grasp shook. "Thank you, madam." He stepped to the counter, opened the box, set aside a wand and placed the hair within. He whispered, "Will place ... as your end." He swallowed and turned back, "Now, madam, if you would allow?"

Sara raised one eyebrow, "This will necessitate privacy."

Sam quickly offered, "We can go," then she looked to Astoria, "I mean, if - I'm sorry. Now that you know, I think I can explain."

Astoria was uncertain. She addressed her concern to Sara, "If I agreed, would I be allowed to escort her?"

"No." Skein answered abruptly.

Mrs. Greengrass barely nodded, "Well, I'll go then."

"Wait!" Sam was desperate. She pulled the small bottle of pills from inside her suit jacket, "I can take my meds."

Her mother wasn't convinced. She teased, "So eager to escape? You don't want to see how a master wandsmith extracts his components?"

Sam shook her head, "You're not the you I love right now." She let the comment sink in, "And I still wouldn't want to see you in pain."

Skein smirked, "Well then," she let her mouth hang open as she tipped her hand to her face, "bottom's up."

The young girl rolled her eyes, "Yeah." She opened the container, shook out a pill and bit hold of it from her hand. Sam tilted her head back and snapped her fingers out to her sides. Water sputtered out of the air and streamed into her mouth. She swallowed, "Pro distill."

"I gotta talk fast," Sam insisted. "The pills stop magical blow-ups, but they also cut out emotional stuff, too, so I gotta say my piece before I go zom-zom." She took a breath, "Where's Wizard Wheezes?"

Astoria was incredulous, "The enormous red building?" She pointed to the distant top of a very red, very prominent structure, "If we're going there, I should deliver some paperwork from the shop."

"Right, it's really cool you have a business." Sam started back to Rare Reagents, "First, thank you for not freaking out, and, I hope, understanding the need for - not lying, but, OK, it was lying."

Astoria laid a hand on Sam's shoulder as they walked, "As I said, we all have our secrets, some more than others."

Sam nodded ,"Yeah, thanks. OK, so, Miss Skein, since that's what I'm suppos'ta call her, is on a magic ankle tracker kinda thing."

The explanation amused Mrs. Greengrass, "I understand what an Unbreakable Vow is."

Sam didn't quite nod nor shake her head, but did a bit of both, "Well, yeah, OK. I'm not so sure though. Anyway, I don't know if your government - Ministry of Magic, yeah?" Astoria nodded and Sam continued, "Well, they probably don't have hate-ons for anyone in particular, but ours does, and me and Mom," she thought our kind anyway, "are near the top of that list. My dad's someone important, but I'm not exactly one of his proudest achievements, so, get rid of me, woot, get rid of both of us, double rainbow woot." The feigned enthusiasm got across both her government's feelings and her opposing reaction. "And, we used to be able to get around, not tote legit, but once we got to see all the landmark stuff through the States, even though we're supposed to keep to one little area."

"As werewolves are limited to the 'Moon-touched' villages." Of course, Astoria had been to America, she would know about those.

It was a little too close to home for Sam's tastes, "Yeah, like the 'moonies in the boonies'." She was just starting to win back Astoria's trust. Sam was not going to go into the precautions she and her mother had to take during full moons. "Then, there was a little 'accident' and I couldn't go to normals' school anymore. This trip was a way for me to get out of Gloom Loon Asylum, but when Mom tried to trick her way along, she got shackled, and, well, here we are. Hey look!" They were at the entrance to Rare Reagents. While "Knocturn Alley" was more of a street, the narrow passage leading behind the shop was truly an alley, dark and unkempt. That was not what caught Sam's attention, however. A stray sunbeam highlighted a patch of green clover. Sam dashed over and crouched to examine the growth. "Give a dream a chance or whatever."

Astoria inquired after the girl's odd behavior, "Is diminished impulse control a side effect of your prescription?"

"At first, if I don't do my exercises," Sam stated distractedly as she scanned, "Jackpot!" She plucked one of the plants. Her eyes narrowed on a black spot atop the prize clover.

"A ladybird?" Mrs. Greengrass observed as she leaned in, now also intrigued by Sam's detour.

Sam tucked her middle finger into her thumb and aimed, "Nah, ladybug. This four-leaf clover is mine, lady."

"Don't-" Astoria tried to warn, but it was too late.

Sam flicked the insect away. She turned to her adult companion, "Huhn, what?"

Astoria sighed and straightened up, "I should have paid more attention to Trelawney. I can't remember if it's instant bad luck followed by four years of good luck if you 'evict' the ladybird, or instant good luck followed by four years of bad luck."

The girl pulled a folded paper from her pocket and carefully tucked the clover into it, "Doesn't matter, it was a bug, not a bird. You mean like 'evict' the bird from the patch?"

Astoria smiled and snorted (a little less lady-like this time), "No, a ladybird or coccinellid is what you would call a ladybug in the States, not that entomology was my favorite subject."

"Thas right, you had to go an learn with tha muddy muggles seeing as what a bad witch ya are. Or is that 'poor witch'. Ain't poor no more, though, are ya?" The man was tall and thick, tattoos here and there, his muscular arms crossed under a bulging chest. He sneered at his cleverness and nodded. "Ministry tried teachin' us grammar and air-uth-mae-ic when we were the'r guests."

A pair of men behind them snickered in approval. Sam only noticed the man before her. He was wrong, sounded stupid and blocked their way. Sam disliked everything about him, "'Uh-rith-muh-tic', dumba-!"

With a steady hand, Astoria cut Sam off and guided her to the side, "Time is vital, I haven't it to spare for the likes of you, Goyle." Her backward glance cued Sam into their being surrounded.

Goyle (was that a first or last name?) didn't pay Astoria any heed. He was more interested in Sam, "Chief Orphan Potter convince ya to take on a' orphan of yer own?" He reached a finger to Sam's chin, but Astoria yanked her away and grasped her close.

Sam looked up to see Astoria's reaction. Her eyes were narrowed; she deliberately switched from Goyle to his accomplices and back. "You wouldn't dare, in broad daylight, they're people-"

"Just us 'round here. The real Mister Malfoy's with an old ... friend. Things gonna get back the way they shoulda been."

The shock on the woman's face was too strong for such a simple comment. Astoria managed to gasp, "No!" Sam didn't know how these two knew each other, but it was obviously not in a good way.

One of the other men lifted a wand from Astoria, Goyle was the one to speak though, "Never really made much use o' that, did ya? Ya sister was always your better, but look how things turned out. I'll check 'er." He patted, squeezed, and stroked about Sam. She'd been shocked at Ollivander's measuring tape, this was a thousand times worse.

What did he look like? What about the others? Brown hair, brown eyes, tall and ugly, but otherwise average of average. Sam couldn't focus, she tried to push his hands off her. It only made him more thorough, and forceful. Goyle shook his head at the absence of a wand, then snorted and jerked his head to an open door along the alley, "Take the old bag, feed yer monster, Markie, me and the young lady'll keep each other comp'ny."

What does he mean? Sam's mind raced as they were shoved into a dark alcove. Her eyes struggled to adjust. One man was smaller, the other ... more averager? They had Astoria by the arms and pulled her into the room beyond. Goyle held Sam with his left hand. Could she have run before? Not now, he was too strong. He pulled her jacket and shirt tight. His hand was hot where it brushed her neck. No! This is not happening! No, Mother! Sam twisted and howled, "Let go!" From the other room came ripping, a sinister chuckle, a tight gasp. No, no!

She couldn't wriggle out of his grasp. He was fast, and far too strong. She couldn't get to Astoria, it was impossible to escape. It was easy for him. He swapped his wand from hand to hand as he kept hold of her despite her struggling. He was so big, Sam was so small. He was an adult, she was just a girl. You only got in trouble if you fought an adult. This can't happen, no! More ripping, high-pitched screaming from the dark room, one of them growled. NO! Sam dug her nails into Goyle's arm. He slammed her against the wall. Even with her eyes closed, sparks seared her vision, static crackled through her head.

Goyle switched his wand to his left and looked at the blood specks on his right, "An' I was gonna be gentle wit' ya." Sam was crumpled against the wall, Goyle crouched in front of her. He still towered over her.

With me? With ME? NO! "NOOO!" Would her mother hear? Likely too far away. No one else to help. Goyle squeezed her mouth shut, his other gripped her blouse. This can't be happening! No, not something like this. Sam's tears spilled down her cheeks and onto his hand. He pulled it away, Was that all it took? No, he grabbed lower. She could only focus on one thing at a time: the bristled hair of the man's hand at her neck, a tear as it wound its watery way down to her chest, the wand flicked past her ear.

The wand. Orinsworth had said ... what? Something about not wanting bad things to happen, but they were, they were about to get worse. They'd taken Astoria's wand. They'd figured Sam was defenseless without one, as if she'd be able to defend against a grown-up with one. Defense! She couldn't look into the man's face, she fixated on his arm, the snake slithering over teeth. This isn't real, it can't be, can it? He reached down with his free hand.

Then, in answer to herself, Yes, it is. He's going to rape me ... if I don't fight back. He might anyways, but if I don't ... His breath was hot on her face, he was so close it felt as if he would burn her. This is not the time to worry about being human, being good or bad. Now is the time to fight back, it's time to ...

Samantha gritted her teeth. What did they say you were supposed to yell? It came out a gasp instead, "Fire!"

Goyle hesitated, "Wha-?"

Chapter 35 Sorting Out the Rubbish

Sam

Sam's nose had been stuffed up, and she hadn't been able to make out one noise from the other before. She could only think of the man on top of her in fragments: the hair on the back of his hand, the skull tattoo, his ugly chin and too small nose. The last thing she heard was his piercing cry before it was replaced by a constant low buzz. She no longer breathed, not human respiration anyways. And what she saw had become a video game thermal scope. The man's shape fell back before her, dropping something to the side. As a living fire, Sam didn't so much stand as burn upward.

Astoria! The thought stoked the angry blaze. They would pay for hurting her, for attacking someone who'd been so good, so kind to Sammy, to a girl she barely knew.

The flame slid past the door. One of the hardest parts of fire-form was figuring out what you saw. The room was too hot, the central form didn't seem human. Sam could not reconcile the chilled points, the movement of the burning, spiked lines. Something draped down, the thing in the middle was snake-like ... with a whipping tail? The walls are wet- no! she knew what was red and warm and liquid in both normal and heat vision: blood! It was splattered and dripped across the walls and floor.

Astoria, NO! The monster turned on her. The fire flopped and tumbled back and shot out to the alley. The monster, it wasn't some crass joke. Astoria, they had killed - No! The terror and sorrow threatened to crush Sam. Fire sputtered and flailed as it hit the wall outside. She wouldn't be able to keep burning.

She's - GO! The desperation, she could turn to mud, Snake head, naga? What can nagas do? Could their bile affect mud? The medication was kicking in despite her form. She had to act before she lost focus. Sam used everything she could and exploded away. Where? It didn't matter in that moment, so long as she got away, far away.

Reality came back, at least, a real view of it. Sam was high above London. Returning to her normal form slowed her ascent. She felt the first tugs of gravity, gentle at first, then stronger, faster. "No, no, no, NO!" She was momentarily disctracted, "The Thames is brown?" Concentrate! She felt like she had nothing left, nothing but fear. Frozen with fear - solid as stone. It might not be pretty, but a splat would look worse than a crash ... What's terminal velocity? Seven hundred- Sam cut her distracted thoughts short as the ground rushed up. She turned to rock and everything went blank.

A Well-Meaning Sanitation Supervisor

What a day; Saturday and he had to work. Not that it wasn't part of the job, not that he didn't used to work every Saturday. He was a supervisor now, though, and if anything went wrong he had to make it right. That meant leaving three kids at home. Junior was seventeen, but hardly a model child. Yarrow couldn't be torn away from his video games long enough to be bothered to be help or trouble. Then there was Veronica, brilliant, sweet Vern. Too bad she was only seven, still worth more than both her brothers combined.

He had to put aside thoughts of his children or he'd go crazy with worry. He had to focus on finding one of his "work children" and fix that problem first. It wasn't very hard to find the bin wagon on the pier: there was little traffic here on a weekend. He pulled up and exitted his sedan, "Whatcha got me out here for, Jay?"

The other man was young, lean, and clearly embarrassed. "Well, suh. The crusher's duffed up."

The supervisor walked to the rear and examined the load. Of course it stunk, every load did. Since he'd been promoted though, he'd been getting more and more used to not living with the smells, not every day anyway. "How many of those mattresses in there?"

"Yeah, from the cruise lines I figure." The young man's avoidance of the question drew a sidelong glance from his superior. Jay admitted sheepishly, "Course, ya know that seein' as ya gave me this job special."

"Yeah. What's that, six high? You know how many there were?"

"Uh ..."

No, of course you don't, the supervisor thought. "Well, prolly got one pokin' up behind the packer, settin' off the sensors. Take it back ta the yard, they'll clear it. Then get back here and finish up." He turned to leave. It seemed silly to point out such an obvious solution, but he'd been warned that was the majority of field calls (he'd been just as dumb himself once).

The subordinate made a series of anxious groans as his boss walked back to the car, "Yeah, sir, I - I was pretty sure that's what I'd have ta- what'd need ta be done, but -" The older man sighed and looked weary as Jay went on, "I really appreciate the chance, and I know I done buggered it up, but reason ya said ya gave me this was 'cause I got kids ta take care of-"

The supervisor held up his hand and looked about as if someone would happen upon them and overhear. This had been covered in the "leaders' workshop". He corrected the misunderstanding, "I gave you this because you said you'd get it done, and because ya got no problem servicin' your day-ta-day route. I said the money sure would help your kids. No one gets special treatment for havin' a fam'ly." He shook his finger in warning and stepped into his work car.

The young driver rushed before the supervisor's window could shut, "And I gotta swap the kids in a hour. If this'd been done on time, I - I know this's mah fault, but ..."

What could the supervisor do but sigh yet again? Everyone knew he had gone through a messy divorce and custody battle (and a make-up and even messier second break-up). "Jay?"

Jay swallowed as he jittered in place, "Sir?"

The supervisor shifted his car (the company's car) back into park. He pulled his mobile from his shirt pocket and keyed it, "Mary!"

A feminine voice came over the speaker, "Yes, sir?"

He ignored her mocking. "I'm gonna take fordy-two ta fleet, then finish the pier job. Jay's got my sedan."

The elder woman sounded as uncomfortable as Dee felt, "You sure 'bout dat?"

What was he going to do? He'd never be late for a custody exchange. He'd never ask anyone else to risk their time with their kids either. "Yeah, Mary."

"Right, Jason Peters, car five. And D-"

He cut the dispatcher off, "And I'm back in a wagon, don't rub it in." He growled as he imagined Mary's smirk at his plight.

The men exchanged keys and Jason drove off (carefully). The supervisor examined the load once more and imagined emptying it without the packer blade to help. And how long the mechanics would take on a weekend, the time to clear the foul, to come back and ... ugh. He went around the side, but before he even reached the cabin door, the hopper exploded. Perhaps "exploded" wasn't accurate, but "crashed" didn't make sense either.

He cautiously looked all around for what had happened, no one was anywhere near him, and he was no closer to the warehouses. He looked in the hopper. He thought a moment, that all rubbish was not the same, yet he could scarcely think of a difference between what he saw now and just a moment ago. Except the roof, it certainly was different. It did not previously have a gaping tear in it. He stepped up closer and traced the presumed trajectory to a (perhaps) fresh dent in the pile. The crusher was locked, but he was nervous nonetheless as he climbed in. "This is the big time, right?" he mused aloud. He kicked about for some clue as to what had happened. The mattresses towered in the center of the pile. He slogged about them and saw there was a hole ripped through them. He reached in and felt around. There was something soft, yet firm, warm, and-

He closed his eyes and forced a dry swallow. His first thought was that Jay had more reason than just a custody exchange to ditch. No, it can't be that! The man pushed at several of the mattresses, but they flopped halfway back at him. Legs, small, thin legs. He shoved again, the pile fell away. Hands, a grey skirt and jacket, a girl. He hadn't even seen her head or shoulders and his eyes welled up, "No, no, no, no." She wasn't his little girl, but she was someone's, and now she was - she was ...

BREATHING! OH THANK YOU, GOD! He scrambled to get the last edge of a mattress off her as his mind raced back to first aid class. Then he froze. Her face, it -

He jumped to look out along the dock. Nobody. He knelt beside her. He was breathing hard and sweating. His fingers traced the gold medallion of his necklace as he thought. He snatched out his mobile, scrolled down, dialed, ringing, voice mail. He tried again, voice mail again.

A strained moan came from the girl. Her head rolled to one side as her body clenched and she dug her fingers into the soiled padding beneath her. She went limp. Alive, and she can move. He thought to grab her up and get her out of there, but if anyone saw her ...

Dee jumped out and raced to the cab. With London weather being what it was, everyone kept a foul weather jacket behind their seat. Jay was no exception. The girl hadn't moved. Dee got the coat on her easy enough; he had three children's worth of experience putting clothes on sleeping kids. A torn strip fell from her collar, he tucked it into a pocket on her blazer. She wasn't heavy, but he wasn't as young as he used to be. He set her in the cab and brushed the sweat from his brow. Maybe Jay had some water. He certainly didn't keep any insulin about. Dee didn't want to take the time to test himself (or see the results). He buckled the girl into the passenger seat. What was he going to do? He tried his phone again, straight to voice mail. He clutched at his necklace. Then he pulled out his tester. He told himself, If you can't think straight, better test yourself before you drive. Eighty: normal. Well, he'd have to get off the wharf first. He hadn't come up with a plan by the time he pulled into traffic. He popped open a plastic bottle he'd found. The water was warm, it didn't help him think.

"You turned about?" the radio squawked.

He'd forgotten the dash system in the lorries had GPS. Mary would see him not heading to fleet. He picked up the handset and barked, "Traffic's a mess out here!" The street was clear. He was upset, but not at her. What was he going to do?

"Well, well, big man, don't get cross with me, just trying ta help, there's construction ahead of ya."

DON'T get cross, get back to the station, she's just tryin' to- It hit him: cross, station. King's Cross Station! "Hey, Mary, actually, set me a route ta King's Cross, gonna go chat up a client while I'm out."

"Be quicker if you sailed up Regent's, ha! Careful, been over a year since ya been at tha wheel."

The dashboard map display changed and ... he looked up suddenly. The camera! In his panic he swerved right. An oncoming taxi disapproved with the blare of its horn. Good thing the traffic cam wasn't monitorred remotely.

The girl spoke, "What? Where am- who are? I -" Her voice, not just her accent, was off.

The horns died down as he did a better job of splitting his attention between the road ahead of him and girl beside him.

His erratic maneuver did not go unnoticed, "Ya- ya got some ... thing distractin' ya?"

Oh do shut up, Million Millenia Mary! What would get the old bat off his case? A little girl fell from heaven above and she looks like- From heaven above! "Aw, c'mon, Mary, I couldn't leave Vern alone with 'er brothers. She's got a future."

"HA!" The speaker crackled at the volume, "She might, but the estate's gonna be ashes for sure by now, want me ta put tha wagon's route for home after ya get it set 'n' cleared?" She held the button as she continued to laugh. The possibility only made him more sour at the dispatcher. Veronica was actually at home with her brothers.

There was a flat whisper, "Can she hear?"

Without swerving, he managed to glance at the girl, "Nah, gotta key it. Ahem, you're a nattering cow, Mary!" There was no response from the speaker or the girl. That should have been worth at least a giggle. He asked with concern, "You all right?"

She choked out, "I'm - I -" She whimpered, "I'm fffiine." The girl crumpled into her self and clutched her legs.

He stretched over to comfort her. The second his hand graced her shoulder, she slammed backwards into the door and shrieked, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

He barely swerved, grasping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes on the traffic while he nervously tried to reassure her, "Right, that's your side the cab, take as much as you need. I'll keep ta my side." He glanced at the dashboard. There was no way to tell if or when Mary was paying attention, or if she was out on break. There would be little else on the monitors on a Saturday, if she'd seen that ... What could have the girl so scared? Figuring how she looked, and - he cringed. He didn't want to ask, but he had to, "Err, you - there aren't ... any ... dead-enders about, are there?"

The girl scanned the cab. She held out one hand and examined her sharp, black nails. She clenched her hands and thrust them into the jacket. Then, slowly, she reached up and traced her mouth within the shadows of the hood, "You ... saw me? Claws, fangs and ..."

Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, he answered simply, "Yeah."

She countered quickly, "And what? Where're you taking me? What are you gonna -?"

He considered and tried to answer correctly, "Err, well, King's Cross is the only place I can think of where someone, well, a girl like you would go. I figure that'll help more'n, well, I tried callin' someone, but he's ... he's a busy man, not pickin' up," He chanced a look at her, "He wouldn't do that 'less it were somethin' important." That didn't sound right, "Not that I'm that important to help, he's just the responsible sort, you know?" He barely saw her hooded head nod in agreement.

"Help," she echoed as a statement, not a plea.

A woman's electronic voice announced, "King's Cross Station."

The human speaker came right after, "I'm back. Ah, got there all right, ya did. Dun forget the Peters boy's open ticket, Mister Big Dee Dursley." Her chuckle cut off.

Dudley rolled his eyes and took the handset up as he turned in to park, "Right, Mary, I'm on it." He pulled in at a collection bin, stopped and turned off the engine. He wasn't sure if what he was going to say would be offensive or not, but he hoped not, "My cousin ... he said his best teacher ever was a werewolf. And now," he snorted a laugh in disbelief, "Now he says there's a vampire, and a goblin, and a centaur teachin'. Oh, and there's the ghosts and that half-giant feller. Just, seein' you and all-"

She added, "Professor Hagrid." Still something wrong with how she spoke, more than just her being American, "Naga is a large snake with a human head, can be all snake, or near human or human torso and snake body. Snake ... skull ..."

Sure, she was strange, but it was ... Dee couldn't figure it. "Yeah." He decided to ignore the part about the snakes; All the snake business was over, wasn't it? "Hagrid, that's it." Despite the satisfaction figuring out where she belonged, Dudley's worst fear about the wizarding world came back to him, "And the dead-enders? Look like Death himself, I think, never really seen one in ..." He swallowed down the thought of "in the flesh".

She spoke crisply, "Death, dead-enders?" After a moment she corrected, "Dementors. No, but ... Astoria, she's, she was nice, and now she's-" she cut off.

He snatched out his mobile again and dialed: voice mail. He got out of the cab and went around to the girl. Dudley thought about it out loud, "Not like Harry to not answer." He opened the door and she halfheartedly got down on her own. Dee continued, "Just in case, you can do that silver pet thing?" She shook her head. "Harry's got a deer." He vaguely recalled that magic being a grown-up thing, something Harry was exceptional for learning so young. Dudley changed the subject, slightly, "Could be he's workin', but he's usually off weekends, not always, but usual."

"M-E-D: magic electro disruption. He should've given you a norm-active magic device." She explained glummly. "Can I use your cellphone? Mine's dea- I left it at school."

In contrast to her dead-pan defeat, Dudley was encouraged that the girl had an idea. He handed her his mobile. Of course, he'd heard "cellphone" before, but he wasn't certain what "norm-active" meant. "The message stone?" He asked. He took off the necklace and held it forward. Dudley looked about in case anyone heard, then whispered, "But Ron was wrong, a complete idiot can forget how the blasted thing works." He grinned broadly at his own expense.

She shook her head. It seemed she had no luck on her call either. The girl examined the stone. Suddenly, she shoved the trinket and mobile back to their owner and sunk her hands back into the jacket. There was something in her voice, embarrassment maybe, "I'm not good with enchantments, charms, whatever." She paused a moment, "I shouldn't have my hands out."

Dudley hadn't meant to upset her. He just wanted to do the right thing, and that was helping her, as much as a muggle could. He wished he could remember where the hospital was, or those funny named alleys, or any of the things Harry and Ginny talked about. He barely remembered any of it, though. He couldn't even find their house unless they were with him. "C'mon, there's gotta be someone here that'll know how to get you back to Hogwarts." The girl nodded weakly in agreement.

It was a small matter to get into the station. He had a badge (he had badges for places all over London) and the guard bought that the girl was his daughter (especially when she clutched his leg to hide). The ruse of her wanting to see the trains explained their aimless wandering through the platforms. The real reason was Dudley wasn't sure where they were going, "You've been here, right?"

She'd gotten a bit away from him, "Yeah, but you already got us past security."

Dudley fought to recall what he knew: the entrance was hidden, something about a number (all the platforms had numbers). There was no reason to keep those hints secret, "It's hidden, something 'bout a platform, can't recall the number."

"The pamphlet, it said nine-something." She stated matter-of-fact.

It sounded familiar, but when they got near the end of platform nine, it didn't feel right. Dudley paced to the platform's edge, "Nah, it's - it's gotta be somewhere else. C'mon, we'll-"

She interrupted, "Does it feel weird? Like you should be somewhere else?"

That was exactly how it felt. She'd stopped. He went back to bring her with him. This wasn't where they should be. No one else lingered here.

The girl flinched away as he reached for her. This was the wrong place, but she was stubborn, "No. This is it. You don't even want to look here. No one does, they want to move along and not even see it." She ran her hand over a support column, then the wall.

It wasn't going to help, they should be trying to find someone to help. Or just leave, this had been a terrible idea. Dudley turned to go. He stopped as a small hand grasped his. It came to him, "Nine and three quarters, you gotta run at the wall," he turned and pointed, "James ran right through it. Ginny had to hold our hands to get me and Vern through. It extends tha magic or somethin'." Despite the outburst, a security guard passed them with only a disapproving scowl.

She led Dudley over to the wall in question and traced it, "Kinetic reactive barrier. Advanced stuff." She backed up, "We gotta move or even an aversion enchant this good won't distract security forever." She tugged on Dudley's hand. He grasped hers firmly and they both leaned into a headlong dash.

Dudley wasn't sure if she closed her eyes, he knew he had. And on opening them he was both encouraged and disappointed. He remembered this, it was different from the rest of the station, clean and old-fashioned, but there was no one here. There was no train with black-trimmed, red cars, no train at all. He looked about. There wasn't a door right behind them, but the not-at-all-muggle station house to the side had several doors (No Departure!) and fireplaces (Departures Only). That made him think of the man who had burst forth from the fireplace in his parents' living room all those years ago. "You can use tha fireplace ta get somewhere, right?"

She nodded solemnly, "Yeah." She turned back to him, "Thank you."

Despite her odd appearance, he couldn't help but think she had her own parents somewhere, worried sick what might have become of her. She reached out, and he knelt down. After a brief hug, she tossed a bag of dust, then entered the now green fire. It flared up as she said, "Ministry of Magic."

Dudley couldn't wait to tell Harry about his short adventure into the Wizarding World. "Oh my." Someone must have followed them through the wall. The man wore a strange hat, and his suit looked like it was made of something rich, like velvet. "Oh dear me."

"I'm not sure yer supposed ta be here, sir."

"Oh no, Mister Dursley, neither of us are, but you need not trouble yourself of such matters. Imperius! Now, do tell me, how much did you learn about our visitor, and what led you two here, young man?"

A Wayward Witch

She needed money. Not this. He wasn't alone yet. It had been a ... while. If she hadn't sold her watch, she might have known how long. If she could just get the money. If he was alone, she could. She needed the money.

Her lover wouldn't help her, not anymore. He offered to take the child, their child, as if it was too much for her. Property to maintain, a commodity to trade, that's how he treated their child. Maybe ... if she had money, he'd see she didn't need him, and then he would come back. Not just to taunt and tease her, but to stay with her, with their child, too. He said things might change soon, go back to the way they should be. Did he mean them, together? He didn't want her if she needed him. She needed to get the money on her own.

Finally, he left. She waited ... long enough? She rushed inside, held her wand at the ready. She didn't intend to hurt anyone, but he wouldn't know that, he was just an old man.

Old? No, dead, dead is what he was. Blood glistened on the floor. It didn't matter, she needed the money. The last time she'd gotten any money, he had gloated! Not this old man, not her lover, the other one. He'd held it over her, told her she was lucky. Lucky that he'd just gotten the money himself, from here, from the old man. She wouldn't have gone to him, but she needed the money, and she knew where he would be that day, and she couldn't look needy to her lover. It had been a month ... or more? She needed more, and he refused to see her. It was not the first time she'd been cast aside, everyone had cast her aside.

Her head hurt, her hands shook. There was no register. The box was empty. It had the metal stink of coins, but it was empty. Was the money on him? The blood, she didn't want to touch him, but she needed the money.

Nothing on him. Was this some kind of game? She needed the money, but he had already taken it, killed the man and left her with nothing! A thousand, hundred wands, seven galleons each, all of them worthless to her. She needed money.

As she left, something flit across her hand. A black ladybird? She was about to sweep it off when a thought cut through, from Hogwarts, some lesson? She'd learned her lesson there, so long ago. When he'd first rejected her: she learned money meant power, and she was powerless on her own. Even in her revenge she had needed help. Not on him, no, he still might have changed his mind back then. Not now, of course. She had thought she'd gotten away with it. But now, the little brat, she had everything ... and this, they might think she killed the old man. The ladybird took flight of its own whim. Her lover had warned her of all their tricks: priori incantum, apparate tracking, even some business about the traces of fingertips. She went back, wiping everything with the cuffs of her frayed sleeves. She locked the door. She couldn't waste more time. She still needed the money.