—CHAPTER SIX—

Alice was in the hospital wing with what Rose assumed was a bad bout of gastro. The school's matron, Hannah Longbottom, had refused to let anyone see her, cautioning others of how highly contagious these sort of illnesses were. It was a messy, humiliating affair, and although Rose was genuinely concerned for her friend, she was glad they weren't sharing a room that evening. The Hogsmeade trip had given her enough to worry about as it was.

She hastily got through her homework after dinner, and for the first time in ages, made an effort to pursue the evening edition of the Prophet. Rose had never followed politics or current affairs—she had a vague gist of things, a basic inclination for the public mood. However, she had never truly read a newspaper for any edifying effect. So, that evening, she sat down and began scanning each article, looking for any hint that had to do with goblins. She didn't have to look for long. On page four—

Crackdown on Illegal Goblin Syndicate as Aurors are Called in to Investigate…

The title was bold but did little to inform the reader—what was the Goblin Syndicate? What sort of illegal activity was being carried out? Rose had never bothered much with this before and she was struggling to immerse herself in what seemed to be assumed knowledge.

After months of unsuccessful negotiation with the Goblin Liaison Office, the Ministry of Magic has called in Aurors to begin investigations and extreme crackdowns in illicit activities carried out by a number of goblin gangs.

Rose wondered if perhaps her own father was involved. She had never cared to raise the goblin issue over dinner.

Statements taken today from the Society of Social Equality expressed sentiments of disparity. Goblin activists criticise the Ministry for using the crackdown measures to terrorise and intimidate goblins—

The article had not outlined what the crackdown measures involved, which made Rose uneasy. It neatly padded around the issue, as if to disguise the gaping hole in the argument. Were these measures something worth hiding? Rose read on rapaciously, and was stunned when a familiar name jumped out at her.

Activist Teddy Lupin stated that, 'Goblins are being specifically singled out for their status as lesser magical beings. The Ministry has failed to note how many wizards and witches carry out illegal activities every single day.'

However, the current Minister for Magic is adamant that the new laws imposing goblins to carry identification cards when dwelling in wizarding territory will be one of several measures used to monitor the amount of illegal activity that has taken place over the last twelve months.

Goblin activists contend that passing changes in wand legislation would rectify any issues of identification.

Rose folded the newspaper. If anything, she was only feeling more confused. She had no means by which she could identify who was in the wrong or right. Nonetheless, the idea of imposing identification cards on goblins did not sit well with her.

She went to bed early that night, not feeling completely well. Ever since overhearing James in the Hog's Head, she felt as if she was carrying a Quaffle around in her stomach. She fell asleep almost instantly.

Rose was shaken so roughly awake she felt like she had been electrocuted. It was now very dark outside, the room filled with a bruised glow, yet she felt as if she had only been asleep for a few minutes. Her face was sticky with sweat. Looking around in the darkness of the room, she realised Meredith Maxwell was standing at the end of her bed.

"Meredith," Rose hissed furiously into the dark. "It's the middle of the night!"

"I need you to come quickly," she replied in an urgent whisper. "Some of the seventh-years—"

"I told you, you're not supposed to tell us if they make you do things. It's against the rules."

"It's not that," Meredith insisted as Rose rolled over. She began to shake her once more. "Everyone's sick, you better come quickly."

Feeling wretched, Rose pulled herself out of bed and followed Meredith to the bathrooms. Before they even entered, she could hear the sound of retching. Several of the stalls were occupied, and some desperate soul had resorted to vomiting in the shower cubicle. Rose's stomach turned over. Bending low, she instructed Meredith to go and get Professor Turpin or Professor Longbottom—"Whoever you find first. Tell them that several students are ill."

Meredith ran off to do her bidding. Bracing herself, Rose walked up and knocked on the first lavatory stall.

"Are you alright?"

"What do you bloody think?" a voice grunted from the other side.

Louisa Edgecombe popped her head around one of the doors. She looked awful. Her face was as white as a sheet and covered in sweat. "Is someone coming?" she croaked.

"Yes, I've sent someone to get teachers—" another girl groaned at this. "—we'll get you up to the hospital wing."

"I don't want a fifth-year seeing me like this, it's disrespectful," the girl who had been vomiting in the shower protested.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Look, you really don't have much of a choice."

But the girls began to protest so furiously that Rose placated them by waiting outside until the teachers arrived. The sick students were given potions to drink and escorted up to the hospital wing. House-elves were being sent down to sanitise the toilets. Feeling as if the issue had been somewhat subverted, the exhausted prefect headed back up to bed.

However, at about three in the morning, a sudden wave of nausea rolled through her body. She was awakened by it, as if she had swallowed the sea and it was undulating inside of her. Dread found her, drenched in cold sweat. Let me just sleep, Rose thought. But her body thought otherwise. She didn't have time to get to the toilets—she vomited right over the side of her bed. It was vile. Her body felt weak and she couldn't stop shaking. She spewed what must have been both her lunch and her dinner, and then sat there gasping in the silence; no one else woke up.

Usually, after vomiting, you feel much better. There's just something about purging yourself of whatever it is that's inside you that restores you to your former health. The very act of expelling whatever it is making you feel unwell seems to cleanse you. That wasn't the case. Rose felt like hell.

Despite dashing to the bathrooms, she only made it in the knick of time. She fumbled to lock herself in the stall, and sat down on the toilet with her head on her knees. The sickness rolled through her body in enormous waves, leaving her shivering and weak after each bout. It seemed to go on forever. She felt as if she had lost her guts ten times over. I'd rather be dead, she thought.

When she finally felt as empty as a husk, Rose flushed the toilet, left the stall to wash her hands and face, and then eased herself onto the cool stone floor. She was feverish, yet couldn't stop herself from trembling. She splayed herself there for a while, for what felt like centuries, quivering like a leaf on the slimy stone floor. Her muscles ached and her stomach continued to roll. If she could somehow float outside of herself and detach herself from the pain, she would be just fine. She felt a cool hand press itself on her forehead. It was wonderfully soft and tender. It withdrew. She wondered to whom the hand belonged. It almost seemed to be a figment of her imagination. She began to wish this was a terrible dream and she would wake up.

"Ah, another one. Thank you for getting me."

Something was pressed to her lips, and she was forced to drink. Rose was terrified that this would inspire the urge to vomit again. However, to her surprise, the watery feeling in her stomach seemed to congeal. It was an unpleasant feeling, but it certainly derailed any renewed sensations of nausea. She was helped to her feet and began to trot along, taking small feeble footsteps and resting heavily on her sponsor.

"It's all right, dear," said the voice of the school matron, Hannah. "It's off to the hospital wing."

The drowsiness was drowning her by the time they had entered the hospital wing—Rose had a fleeting impression of it being full to the last bed. People were moaning and turning over. She heard a Professor address the nurse.

"The Headmaster has been sent to assess the situation."

She was so thick—it was Neville, Neville speaking to his wife Hannah.

"The students need to be taken to St Mungo's. We don't have the room—"

"Just a minute, love," came Neville's gentle voice.

Rose was steered towards a bed. Again, something was pressed to her lips and she was encouraged to drink.

"We should send a note to Hermione and Ginny. That's a child each now—"

"We can't, we have to follow protocol."

Moments later, her eyelids became impossibly heavy. She was eased into sleep.


It was a drizzly sort of day, where yellow raincoats and umbrellas became recurring motifs in the otherwise grey, London landscape. The concrete had a soggy look to it, stained three shades darker by the rain.

The most efficient way to travel around London was the underground. The trains ran almost twenty-four hours. It was a familiar ritual for most Londoners. However, for the average wizard, using the train was a very unsettling experience.

Digby Mullins and Teddy Lupin strolled into the London Underground, holding plastic bags and wet umbrellas and doing their best to appear as casual as the muggles around them. The air was dank with moisture and humid breath, and people pushed past them in their rush for a train. Digby's mother was a muggle, but since the day he learned to Apparate, he had very little to do with muggle means of transportation.

"We need Oyster cards," Digby said thickly.

"What the hell is an Oyster card?" Teddy replied.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of the tickets, then."

After a moment of assessing their surroundings, they bought tickets (taking a little bit too long sorting out the correct change), moved through the turnstile and found the right platform.

They both looked smart, standing on the platform in their best clothes. Teddy's hair was an appropriate brown for the day—he wanted to be taken seriously.

The train rolled in, like a speeding silver bullet. There was a rush to get through the doors.

"How've you and Vic been?" Digby asked as they settled into a seat beside a rather robust, sleeping woman.

Teddy only gave a non-committal jerk that knocked the woman's handbag out of her lap.

"C'mon, mate. If you're having relationship issues you should tell me."

"They're not relationship issues."

"What, then? Did she realise what a massive prat you are? That you're trying to compensate by making your hair blue?"

"Nah, don't be stupid," Teddy replied, gently repositioning the sleeping woman's handbag in her lap, careful not to wake her. "We've been rowing about the goblin stuff."

"Ah," Digby said, grimacing. "Naturally. She's not for it?"

"Not exactly. She thinks goblins should be treated with respect, she just reckons we've gone overboard."

"Well, you have a habit of going overboard. We have to be well behaved today," Digby said bracingly.

"What? Are you expecting us to storm the place?"

"Wouldn't put it past you."

Teddy pawed around in one of his plastic bags. They had bought fish and chips on the way over, knowing their meeting would probably run through lunch. Unfolding the greasy wrappings, they both fell on the food like hungry seagulls. The woman beside them stirred in her sleep.

"Listen," Teddy said, stuffing several chips into his mouth and licking the salt off his fingers. "We've had this meeting set up for months. It's all going to go really well."

They carried this tenacious optimism all the way to the dingy street that masked the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Teddy leaned against a heavily grafittied wall while Digby reviewed a piece of parchment outlining their instructions. "Alright, says here we both need to hop into the telephone box." Stranger requests had been asked of them over the last year; cramming into a telephone box was hardly unusual. They shut the door behind them, punched in the number 62442 and waited to see what would happen.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," said a cool, female voice. Surprisingly, it did not issue from the telephone receiver but emanated from the air itself.

"Digby Mullins and Teddy Lupin," Digby yelled into the receiver of the phone. "Here to meet with the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office to discuss the equal treatment of goblins."

"This is the stupidest bloody way to set up a visitors' entrance…" Teddy muttered furiously, pressed between the glass and Digby's shoulder.

"Thank you," said the cool voice. "Visitor, please take your badge and attach it to your robes." A moment later, two badges had shot out of the chute that usually returned change, each stating their respective owner's name, and inscribed with Goblin Activist.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Well, aren't we privileged we have wands to present for registration," Teddy replied scathingly.

"You realise she can't hear you," Digby replied drily, curbing his friend's angry monologue.

The ground beneath their feet shuddered; the entire interior of the telephone box was sinking down, past the pavement into what seemed to be complete blackness. After a tense minute of rattling down through the earth, a chink of light began to rise up around their feet, then their torsos and soon it blinded them.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the Welcome Witch.

The telephone box's door sprung open and both boys stepped out, squinting to adjust to the sudden light. They were standing at the end of an opulent atrium with polished black floors and high ceilings, between which many wizards and witches in fine robes bustled. Fireplaces lined the walls, and every few minutes a person would come whooshing out of one, dressed in the purple Ministry of Magic apparel. After taking all of this in, Digby and Teddy began to stroll up the hall towards a magnificent fountain in the centre of the room. The water was crystal clear, reflecting the rich blue ceiling above.

Digby let out a low whistle.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren dominated the space. The golden group of statues were larger than life, the tallest of them a wizard with a strong chin and an upheld wand, that was spouting a torrent of water. Surrounding him were a witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking up at the witch and wizard with expressions of awe and adoration. The renderings of the centaur and the goblin sparked a flare of rage in Teddy. Only the house-elf's foolish expression seemed accurate. A small plaque was inlaid beneath:

The Fountain of Magical Brethren was re-erected in 1999, following the fall of Lord Voldemort and his reign of terror. The fountain remains a symbol of the Ministry of Magic's ideal for magical cohesion and cooperation. All proceeds from The Fountain of Magical Brethern will be given to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

He noticed that knuts and sickles lined the bottom of the pool, however, Teddy didn't throw anything in.

"This is rich, isn't it?" Teddy scoffed, nodding towards the statue.

"Yeah, typical," Digby muttered. "C'mon, let's go check in."

There was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties behind the desk. She had a thickset brow that almost hid her dark eyes. Examining both boys suspiciously, she held out one had. "Wands and names please."

They gave their details and then watched as the woman weighed their wands on a large, brass instrument. After a moment, the instrument spat out a slip of parchment, printed with text. The witch read it out in a droll voice. "Eleven and a quarter inches, Cypress, with a core of a single unicorn hair. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's mine," Teddy answered stiffly.

She performed the same exercise for Digby, to ascertain it was also his wand.

"We will hold your wands until you finish with your business. Please come to pick them up and sign out before you leave."

Without saying a word, both young men left the Security Desk and made their way over to the Atrium's elevator. They wasted little time finding the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and stepped out onto level four wearing steely expressions.

"Whatever you do," Digby said warningly. "Don't lose your temper."

Usually, Teddy would scorn this sort of admonishment. All he did this time was nod his head.

They moved through the Being Division before coming across a door marked with Goblin Liaison Office. Digby took a deep breath, checked that they were on time, and knocked.

After a few seconds, GarrettCresswell opened the door. He was a kindly man, with drooping brown eyes and a tired smile. As he reached forward to shake hands with both boys, Teddy felt skin that was as dry as parchment. He stepped aside and welcomed both of his visitors into the room. There was nothing particularly distinct about his office, other than a fine gold cup (no doubt, goblin crafted) and a photograph of his family that adorned his untidy desk.

"Take a seat," he said, conjuring an extra chair. He, himself, leaned against the corner of his desk. "Now, both you boys have been desperate to see me and probably won't take kindly to me beating around the bush. How can I help you?"

They appreciated his brevity. They wanted to get straight to the point.

"We want to speak to you about the current wand legislation," Digby began.

"Ah, I thought that might be it. Listen, boys, we've already taken this as far as we—"

"These are magical beings who possess social agency, and withholding these changes to legislation is silencing their voice and autonomy," Teddy cut in. He was determined to be heard.

"I understand your point of view," said Cresswell in a slow, cautious tone. "But it would only be tokenistic. Goblins don't need wands to perform magic."

There were several beats of silence. Teddy was clenching his fists under the table. He was sick of this line of reasoning. "You don't realise that you're persecuting—"

"Persecuting?" Cresswell asked, raising his eyebrow. "No offence intended, Mr Lupin, because I do value your opinion. But I work with goblins and I can tell you that they are by no means persecuted. We also have not, as you put it, silenced their voice or autonomy. They have been protesting furiously, and we have been doing our best to accommodate in a reasonable fashion."

"Accommodate?" Digby asked. "How?"

"Only yesterday I met with Gladstone to discuss the state the economy is in—see, goblins not only control our bank, but also our mints. Things have been quite precarious of late. We've decided to meet some of the goblins demands if it means finding stability in the economy. Let me tell you—goblins already have a great deal of power in our world. We don't exactly have room to negotiate with them as it is."

Cresswell seemed like an honest man. His basset eyes were slightly bloodshot.

Digby sighed. "Even if allowing goblins to carry wands is purely tokenistic, wouldn't it be a worthwhile gesture if it improved human and goblin relations?"

"Since wands were first fashioned and commercialised, goblins have resented wizards for not selling them to their kind. Likewise, goblins have always concealed the secrets of their own magic very closely. Their weaponry and armour are nearly indestructible, yet they refuse to bestow these skills to wizards and witches. There has been discussion over introducing greater transparency between our two governments. We thought that living in a time where knowledge is shared and even commoditised might improve our relations with goblins."

Both Teddy and Digby stared at him eagerly. This sounded like the very ideal they had been championing.

Cresswell smiled at this, but it was a tired smile. "We have only brought this up a few times with their delegates, and have been met with much hostility. Goblins do not wish for us to see their magical secrets. They guard them most jealously. I respect that, as I respect them. I think wizards should do the same."

"But, perhaps if we made the first move—" Teddy began.

"I was once idealistic, too, Mr Lupin."

He glanced down at the parchment on the top of his desk, resting on the peak of scattered files and broken quills. Then his eyes returned to Teddy, taking him in. "Teddy Remus Lupin," he said. "Was your mother…was your mother the daughter of Ted and AndromedaTonks?"

Teddy stared at him, stunned. He could feel Digby watching him. He had the sudden urge to sit on his hands. "Yeah. Yeah, Andromeda is my grandmother's name."

Cresswell nodded slowly. No one said anything.

"How'd you…? Why did you know that?" Teddy interjected.

"My father, Dirk Cresswell, was a fugitive in the Second Great War. He went on the run with your grandfather, another young muggle boy and a couple of goblins."

Teddy stared. He had never known this. He wasn't sure what to make of this coincidental connection.

Cresswell glanced back down at his files. A great sadness seemed to hang over him. "We found the journal he kept, after they had recovered his body and possessions. He never wrote much about the actual war—nothing that could've given them away if the journal was found—but he wrote an awful lot about Ted Tonks. He sounded like a fair man. You should be proud to be named for him."

Teddy and Digby didn't speak as they made their way back down to the Atrium. There was nothing to be said. The meeting had not gone as they had desired, but there could be no hard feelings against Cresswell. He had agreed to see them and he had spoken to them honestly. They reached the security desk, and returned to the tedious task of collecting their wands. While they waited, Teddy returned his hair to its preferred blue. He was once again thinking of his grandfather. He knew he was named after Ted Tonks, who was muggle-born and had to go on the run during the war. He had never known that he had camped with goblins, or that he knew Dirk Cresswell. There was very little he knew about his grandfather. Andromeda did not enjoy talking about the war, or anything that had happened before it. He turned his wand over in his hands.

"We should probably get going," Digby said.

The meeting had been much shorter then they expected. They may have time to visit The Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks.

Teddy looked up, lost in thought.

Across the atrium, he spotted his godfather rushing past the grand, central fountain with Hermione Granger by his side, speaking hurriedly together in low voices. Their faces were crippled with worry, strained and pale. Seeing them both—outside of their own departments—was a shock to Teddy's system. The very worst leapt to mind; the Head Auror and a senior member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sprinting through the Atrium as if propelled by an imperial urgency?

It must have something to do with goblins.

Forgetting about Digby entirely, Teddy began to sprint across the wide hall, chasing after his godfather. "Harry! Harry!"

As if trying to flick away an irksome fly, Harry jerked his neck back and was dumbfounded to see the familiar blue-haired young man skidding to a halt before him. "Teddy—what're you doing here?"

"Some Society of Social Equality stuff," he said quickly. They were both looking more hassled than ever. "What's up? Has something happened?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione said, evidently distressed. "We've just been owled—both Rose and James have been admitted to St Mungos."

"What!" Teddy exclaimed. It was not quite the emergency he had been anticipating.

"Ron is out doing some fieldwork," Harry explained hastily. "We've forwarded a second owl to him. It's not just Rose, see, two dozen students were admitted. We're off to visit now."

"I'll—we'll—" Teddy amended, as a confused Digby caught up, "come with you."

Realising that arguing would only be a waste of time, both adults agreed, and they were soon making a detour to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

They arrived outside of a red brick, out-dated department store named Purge and Dowse, Ltd. It looked so rundown and dated that Teddy guessed it may have been closed for decades. Hermione leaned against the glass, and spoke quickly to the hideous mannequin in the window display. "We're here to visit our children."

The mannequin gave a small wink, and a moment later, the four of them were sinking through the glass.

Teddy had been to St Mungos only twice—the first time, when James Sirius Potter was born and everyone was dragged to the hospital to visit, and the second, when he had swallowed part of a screaming yo-yo, and shrieked loudly each time he opened his mouth. Although he had been very young on both occasions, the hospital was preserved very accurately in his memory. The sharp, strong smell of an antiseptic potion seemed to ooze from every hard surface. Healers in lime green robes darted up and down corridors, which were lined with portraits yelling out medical advice to anyone willing to listen.

They were told the Hogwarts students were on the Third Floor, in a ward reserved for Potions and Plant Poisoning. This in itself seemed ominous. Harry's jaw was set as they made their way over to the staircase.

Three large rooms had been opened up for the newest patients, each housing six beds. Healers darted about like swarms of doxies. Harry and Hermione cornered one that was heading their way, his arm laden with folders.

"Hi, we wanted some information about the students."

"Sorry," the Healer said in a hurried, distracted tone that certainly did not convey any apologetic sentiments. "All information is currently classified."

"We're parents," Hermione protested furiously, looking on the brink of tears.

As the Healer began to object once more, Harry cut across him determinedly. "We're also here on behalf of the Ministry."

The Healer now gave them his full attention. For the first time, his eyes really took in Harry's shock of black hair, his round glasses and the scar peaking out from beneath his fringe. Recognition triggered a look of compunction. "Oh, Mr Potter! I am so sorry. Yes, of course, both of you follow me."

He gave Teddy and Digby a shifty look, and for a moment Teddy was afraid he would be forced to wait outside. Harry cleared his throat and said in a genial tone, "Oh, they're both with me. Interns for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Right," the Healer replied vaguely, and he led them into the first room.

Several of the students were sleeping. One of them was being coaxed to drink a potion. Teddy noticed that there appeared to be students from a variety of ages. He spotted Rose immediately, turned on her side and sleeping heavily, her mane of hair poking out over the pillow. Further down was James, also asleep.

The Healer introduced himself as Ajax Udelhoven. He had pockmarked skin and straw-like hair that gave him the appearance of a scarecrow. In a brittle voice, he began to inform them of whatever knowledge he had gathered since beginning his shift that morning. "We had put the first few kids on the Second Floor, for Magical Bugs and Diseases. However, we realised as more and more of them were flooed in, this was not a mere bout of Gastroenteritis. We began running some tests on their stool and found blood."

"Bloodroot poisoning," Hermione muttered, glancing at Harry.

"That's what we've come to believe," Udelhoven agreed. "For the last twelve hours, we've been giving them periodic dosages of anecdotes. The regurg-o-stop was only treating their symptoms."

Before anything else could be said, the door banged open and Ron Weasley catapulted himself into the ward. He was still clutching a piece of parchment in his left hand, and was wearing a terrified expression. "Where's Rose!" he demanded. "You said she was ill—"

"It's fine, Ron," Hermione said quickly, and they took a moment to fill him in on the details he had not yet been privy to.

Ron's face hardened as he began to think it over. Slowly, he said, "Poisoned? Well, they're all students. It must've been the food at Hogwarts."

"It can't have been the food," Harry said, clearly having considered this possibility already.

"No, just think about it!" Ron said, as he began to elaborate his theory. "Someone slipped some poison into the food before it was being prepared and then—"

"Oh, but Ron, the house-elves have ways to detect food contamination," Hermione replied, shaking her head.

"Who would want to poison school students?" Harry added. "What would be the motive?"

"There could be loads of motives!" Ron replied.

Harry held out a hand to Ajax Udelhoven. "Do you have some sort of spread sheet with all the patients' information?"

"Yes, of course," the Healer replied, and he summoned the clipboard using his wand. Harry spent a few minutes flicking through it. Hermione stood anxiously at his shoulder.

"Look at their ages," Hermione murmured.

"All above their third year," Harry agreed. He looked back up at Ajax, who was now anxiously wringing his hands. "Has there been any other patients presenting with similar symptoms over the last few months?"

"Well…now that you mention it. We've had several patients come in saying they had gotten food poisoning. But a quick regurg-o-stop potion put them right."

"They had all been poisoned," Harry replied darkly, shooting Ron a look. "But it wasn't poorly cooked food. I'll want those patients' files as well."

While Ajax Udelhoven disappeared to search for the old files, the three parents gathered around Rose's bed. She was still fast asleep, resting on her side with her mouth slightly open.

"We should wake her to question her," Harry said.

"We can't—she's resting."

"Here, I'll do it!"

"Ron! Don't prod her!"

"How would you expect me to wake her? Get a cockatrice to crow at her?"

It was no matter; Rose was beginning to stir. She opened her bloodshot, blue eyes and stared at the trio above her as if she was dreaming. Abruptly, she recognised who the three were, and sat up. "Mum? Dad? What're you—Did the school contact you?"

"Yes, dear," Hermione said kindly, brushing a hand over her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, compared to this morning."

Even though Rose said this, it didn't seem very convincing. Her face was ashen and gaunt and she looked as if she had lost some weight. She stared, gobsmacked, at who stood behind them. "Teddy? Digby?"

She looked mortified to see them both. Her face burned scarlet. Just as Teddy was giving a small wave, Ron began to bombard his daughter with questions.

"What did you eat yesterday? Or drink? Did it taste strange? When did you start feeling sick?"

"I ate everything as normal!" Rose replied, looking alarmed. "This is just a bout of gastro. Everyone's caught it."

"We don't think so," Hermione said.

"Did you go to Hogsmeade?" Harry queried.

"Yes," said Rose, raising her eyebrows. "Why would that—"

"Did you eat anything when you were at Hogsmeade?" Ron added eagerly.

"Actually...yes. Alice and I went down in the early morning to the Three Broomsticks. But—but Alice got sick right away and it took ages until I began to feel strange."

"Well, that is consistent with Bloodroot," Hermione said brusquely. "The way in which it is fermented means the poison can take anywhere between an hour and ten hours to work, depending on the receiver. It's supposed to work slowly."

"Poison?" Rose gasped.

"So, you think the food at the Three Broomsticks has been contaminated?" Teddy asked.

Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was examining the rest of the students' charts again. "Everyone is above their third year, here. We would have to interview them and ask, but it seems so."

"Cracked the case," Ron said, with a pleased expression.

"Hardly," Hermione replied. "We don't know how it happened, or whether this was intentional—"

"Hermione!" her husband cried incredulously. "Of course it's intentional! How would Bloodroot Poison end up in their meals otherwise?"

"I think it was intentional," Harry agreed, speaking softly. "And I also think I know who was behind it."

Hermione and Ron both looked at him in surprise. The younger boys edged closer, too.

"We've had so many complaints about goblin gangs in Hogsmeade lately—I can't help but link this with Romnuk's crime syndicate," he said in a low voice.

Teddy rolled his eyes. "Don't you start on goblins," he snapped.

"Oi," Harry replied, his expression stern. "Keep your voice down."

"You're right," Ron said, understanding dawning on his face. "We interviewed Rosemerta only a few days ago and she said that ever since she evicted those goblins—"

"You can't just go blaming goblins if you don't have proof—"

"Well, we do have proof actually," Ron told Teddy bluntly. He turned back to his daughter, who was sitting up now with an interested expression. "Did you see any goblins around Hogsmeade?"

"N-no," she stammered, looking wide eyed.

"It's a crime for goblins to be walking around Hogsmeade now?" Teddy demanded. Digby placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder.

"Well, it is if they don't have the proper identification on them," Ron said briskly.

"That's bullshit!"

"Out in the hall, now," Harry said, fuming.

Teddy sulked out of the room, feeling particularly resentful. A part of him was finding it very difficult to meet Harry's eyes—he had always held his godfather in great esteem, and being scolded by him had put a sour taste in Teddy's mouth.

"I don't care which side of this uprising you fall on," Harry began, his voice harsh. "But don't you dare criticise the veracity of my information or the measures we've had to put into place to combat what is a real threat."

"But—"

"This isn't even about goblins, Teddy!" Harry snapped. "It's about shady gangs that have been carrying out their business in Hogsmeade. It just so happens that these gang members are goblins."

"You're going off a hunch!" Teddy accused.

"My hunches are never wrong," Harry replied with a steely expression. "I want you and Digby to go."

"But—"

"Sorry, Teddy, but that's final."


Spending a day in St. Mungos had its limitations and its perks, although Alice and James were adamant that the perks outweighed any potential nuisances.

Everyone was particularly pleased by the amount of attention and mail they were receiving. The school was abuzz with the news that twenty students had been taken to St. Mungos overnight and would not be expected back for several days. Suddenly, everyone wanted to say that they knew someone who was in hospital. People were giving wild recounts as firsthand witnesses for what they believed had caused the sweeping illness. Alice was grinning over the fact that Tim Buckingham had sent her a get-well card. She and Rose were sharing a box of chocolate cauldrons that had been sent by Rose's Uncle George, along with a hamper of entertaining merchandise from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They had already played three games of Reusable Hangman since they had opened up the package.

The haul of gifts and letters were from a variety of classmates. Rose had gotten a singing poem from Meredith Maxwell, which exploded out of its envelope before she had even lifted the fold. She had likewise received letters from Hugo and Lily, Isabella, Lysander and even Caleb Macmillan—all wishing her a speedy recovery.

"It's funny—Albus didn't send me anything."

"Well, he certainly wasted no time sending Lucy a get-well card," James said, plucking out a chocolate cauldron from her box.

"Lucy Bird is here?" Rose asked, surprised.

"Yeah. She came into the Hospital Wing right after me actually," Alice replied.

"No wonder she ditched Albus on their date!" Rose said, her eyes widening.

James snorted. "Sure, that's the reason."

All of the students were now taking an antidote every two hours. Yet, despite this, they were not allowed to leave St. Mungos. They were being held a while longer for further studies and questioning, to determine the exact ingredients of the poison. No one was fussed—missing a day or two of classes seemed a good compromise.

Of course, this was what Rose considered the greatest nuisance of being away from Hogwarts.

"Think of all the homework we're missing," she groaned, looking miserable. "We're going to fall so far behind."

"Don't worry about it, it's only two school days. I'm sure the professors would prefer us to be healthy," Alice replied flippantly, as she re-read Tim Buckingham's note.

"Who cares about our health? We can't afford to fall behind!" Rose cried.

"You need a Calming Draught. I should go get one of the matrons," James bit back unkindly.

She glared at him. "You said you only ate a few biscuits—how is it you're even here?"

"Alright, I played up the diarrhea a little to get out of class. I was feeling squeamish though," James shrugged. "What's it to you?"

Rose gave Alice a quick glance, ascertaining she was still reading over her note, before she motioned to move a little further away from her bed. James shuffled behind her, but not before casting a Muffliato Charm over his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his brown eyes probing her face.

"Look…Your dad reckons the people involved in all this are goblins," Rose confided.

"Goblins? Really?" James said quickly, tucking his hands behind his back. "Erm, what gives him that impression?"

"Something to do with a goblin named Romnuk. Sound familiar?" she replied pointedly.

"Look, Rose, I have no idea what you're barking on about—"

"I overheard you at the Hog's Head!" Rose burst out quickly. "And at Hagrid's. I know that you've been gambling with goblins."

James' face drained of colour. He looked stricken.

"You…you were spying on me?" he asked, his expression incredulous.

"James, you're going to get into trouble! You're not even of age yet!"

"You little sneak!" he hissed, looking shocked. "You've been spying on me?"

"How have you been doing it?" Rose demanded.

In spite of himself, James seemed eager to tell her. Clearly he was proud of his ingenuity in having gotten away with this for so long. "The first few times, I would just send in my forms through owl-mail. But once you start betting with the bigger guys, you need to do it all in person. I've been checking the Marauder's Map—Teddy passed it down to me after he finished school—and I've been using one of the secret passages to get into Hogsmeade."

"How long has this been going on for?" Rose asked.

"Since the start of this year. Mostly I've been betting on Quidditch matches, but I've started—"

"Don't you realise how much trouble you'll be in when your dad finds out?"

"He isn't going to find out," James snapped. "This stays between us."

"But—"

"I know what I'm doing! Stay out of it."

"Oi!" A Healer yelled as she bustled into the room. "Back into your beds!"

Looking indignant, they both separated and returned to their individual beds.

By that evening, all of the students were permitted to return to Hogwarts. They were called alphabetically, and taken to a separate chamber where several fireplaces lined the wall. Only for a brief time, each student's respective head of house had opened their fireplace to the floo network. Being a Weasley, Rose was right down the end of the list. When Lim was called, Rose said goodbye to Alice and resigned herself to sitting alone by her bed. A Slytherin seventh-year was sitting a few beds down and was glaring at her morosely. Rose was certain she had been the girl spewing in the shower.

When Rose was called, she accompanied the Healer into the small chamber and took the floo powder as instructed. Stepping carefully into the fireplace, she threw the powder down. The green flames rose around her, tickling her face. In a clear voice, she recited "Hogwarts, Turpin's office." A moment later she was spinning in a dizzying fashion, until she found herself stumbling onto the stone floor of Professor Turpin's office.

"Alright there, Miss Weasley?" he leered.

"Yes, sir," she said, coughing a little on the ash she had inhaled.

"Then you can go."

Rose hastily left his office, but did not walk in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons, as she had been told to. Instead, between furtive glances, she took a secret passageway behind a tapestry that led her up to the ground floor. It was here she found Albus, waiting anxiously near a suit of armour.

She crept up quietly beside him. "Not off reuniting with Lucy, then?"

Albus jumped, knocking the elbow of the suit of armour with a loud clang. "Blimey! You scared me to death!"

"Hardly," Rose replied, rolling her eyes.

"What was so urgent that you couldn't wait until breakfast?" Albus asked. Rose had sent him a letter earlier that day, once she had discovered her imminent return.

"Look, we can't talk here. Let's go somewhere private."

They made their way up to the trophy room, where they crept between the grand displays of engraved shields and past House cups, until they found a secluded corner that smelt strongly of silver polish. Before they had even settled down, Rose had begun a quick recount of everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours. Albus was astonished that she had been poisoned, no less by goblins. However, this could not even compete with the reaction Rose got when she informed him of James' gambling activities.

"I can't believe this!" Albus cried, outraged. "How has he been getting away with this!"

"Shhh," Rose shushed, casting an anxious look around her. It was well past curfew.

"I can't believe he got the map! Dad gave that to Teddy because—you know—his dad helped make it. I can't believe Teddy passed it along to him."

Albus looked quite indignant.

"Look," Rose said, trying to be patient. "Your parents have no idea that James has been gambling with goblins. Someone needs to tell them."

At this, Abus became very gruff. He muttered some things about there being no real harm done and that no good would come of it.

"You're scared, aren't you?" Rose asked, her tone incredulous. "You're scared of pissing off James. I can't believe how gutless you are!"

"Oi!" Albus said, his green eyes flashing. "That's easy for you to say, Hugo is bloody delightful for a brother. Try having James. He would make my life hell."

It was a poor excuse. "I'm giving you to the end of the term. If you don't write to your parents, I will."

As Albus opened his mouth to argue, there was a loud clang and both of them jumped. Peeves was hanging above them, holding two silver plates over his head and smashing them together like cymbals.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves roared, crashing the plates all the while.

The cousins jumped to their feet and ran from the room, the sound of Peeves' maniacal laughter mingled with the colliding of silver. They both called a quick goodnight over their shoulders and bolted for their respective common rooms. Thankfully, Rose made it to the Slytherin Dungeons without being discovered by any of the staff. Gasping and feeling dizzy, she tapped her wand against the stone wall, said "Devil's Snare," and pushed her way through the now revealed entrance.

"Good evening, Rose."

She almost jumped out of her skin.

"Malfoy," she said breathlessly.

He was leaning against one of the high-back chairs, a stack of parchment tucked under his arm. The common room was empty. The fire flickered feebly from the grate, lighting his face in dramatic contrast and making his silver-blond hair gleam white.

Feeling anxious, Rose took a few steps forward. She was now close enough to read his expression, which she could see was slightly disheartened.

"You know," he said stiffly. "If you wish to call me Scorpius, then, that's fine."

"Oh," she said. She almost wanted to say that she'd stick with his last name, but she realised this would test the perimeters of his sense of humour. Instead, she said, "Is everything alright?"

"I was going to ask you that," he said. His tone was still a little forced, as if this was pre-rehearsed. "You weren't in class, and then you never showed up for our Prefect patrol. I went to see if you were in the Hospital Wing, but they said they had taken you to St. Mungos."

She was surprised, and even impressed, by his concern. "It wasn't just me—there was a whole bunch of us," she replied lamely.

"I know," he said dismissively. "I mean, Isabella told me when I got back to the common room. What happened?"

Rose felt uneasy. She was sure that she wasn't supposed to tell anyone that the Ministry had suspected goblin activity and potential poisoning. Instead, she said, "Oh, something was off about the food at the Three Broomsticks. Lucky you didn't eat anything when we were there, eh?"

Scorpius nodded, but he didn't look satisfied with her answer. He held up the collection of parchment he had tucked beneath his arm. "I took the liberty to copy out yesterday and today's notes from class, so you wouldn't fall behind." He held them out to her.

Rose was stunned. Slowly, she approached him and took the notes. They were covered in his neat, cursive writing and labelled by subject. She gazed at him, at a loss for words.

"I'll see you tomorrow at Quidditch practice," he said, and he went to bed.

"Okay," Rose said weakly. The lurching in her stomach had nothing to do with food poisoning, yet it still made Rose uneasy.


A/N: this chapter was a bit heavy, sorry. I promise the next one is a little lighter. I'm looking forward to writing Christmas.