Assembling A Team

The five Slytherins watched Paula stalk away into the castle, barely controlling their anger because of the prefect standing nearby. When the prefect left the area, they still sat on the steps fuming.

"Smarmy, sneering, arrogant little twit!"

"Thinks she knows the answers to the Universe."

"Bet she can't even mix up a porridge, let alone a decent potion."

"We ought to push her face into it once for all."

After a moment, Bronach spoke up quietly. "I'll bet we could."

When the planning was done, and they got up to leave, Bronach said, "Right. Now we'll meet at midnight in the Common Room on Thursday night, got it?" They all grinned, and then left in different directions.


It is usually the case that when the objects of ridicule don't retaliate, the game gets old rather quickly. This was true for Chrys and George, and even to some extent for Paula. With a lot of concentrated effort, and a lot of prayer support from each other, they all regained much of their natural good humor by the end of the week. Even Paula seemed to have relaxed a little, at least where Chrys and George were concerned. Their situation was actually helped by the widespread knowledge of MacDougal's vicious attack on Chrys, and even though nobody except Alf, Paula, and George knew what happened to Chrys, the fact that he survived and recovered from the experience gave him a good bit of character in the eyes of the other students. Also, the fact that MacDougal had been called into the Headmaster's office two days afterwards was not lost on the student body.

It was Friday evening, and Chrys and George were going to the Uncommon Room when they came upon Paula sitting on a bench in the hallway. She looked as though she were trying hard not to cry.

"Sarah, are you busy right now?"

She started defensively, then relaxed a bit when she recognized the two. "What's up?"

"George and I are getting together to talk with Father, you know?" Chrys pointed upward and grinned, "and I thought you might like to join us."

"Where are you going? Won't you get caught? How do you get away with it?" Hope started to blossom in her eyes.

"I asked Professor Flitwick if I could use the Uncommon Room; you know, the room that looks like the Ravenclaw Common Room, but isn't? Nobody ever goes in there, so we use it to get away from everyone. There's a large alcove that's out of sight of the door, and we don't exactly tell anybody what we're doing, so… we just do it. Come on, won't you?"

"I'd love to! I've felt so cut off this past month!" She jumped up and the three of them walked on toward the Ravenclaw tower. Soon they were in the alcove which was actually the better part of the room, and had several floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall, and a tall window on the opposite wall.

"I thought your name was Paula," said George. "Is Sarah your middle name?"

"No, at least, I don't think so. Chrys came up with it."

Chrys shrugged. "It seemed to fit. Let's talk to Dad."

It's remarkable what a change can happen in twenty minutes' time, even when you can't always talk fluently. Sarah was very annoyed with the memory charm at first, but eventually she started to relax. And there's no denying that the idea of getting away with something that was probably forbidden added a distinct relish to the situation for all of them.

After a bit, she glanced up at the bookshelf opposite her chair. Then she looked intently at one of the books. "Look!" she said with surprise, getting up and pulling out a book. "Look! 'Confessions' by St. Augustine!"

Chrys and George scrambled over to the bookshelf, bringing a candle with them. Not all the books had legible titles, but they were delighted at some that they recognized.

"Thomas Aquinas!"

"John Bunyan!"

"Dorothy Sayers!"

After a moment of stunned delight, George said, "Thank you, Father. Thank you for your astounding ability to provide help… anywhere!"

"Sarah, you're brilliant!" said Chrys. "I never even thought to look at the books. I'll wager some of these books quote whole chapters from the Bi-… the Scr-… well, you know."

"It's like streams in the desert, like an oasis. Can we take them with us?"

George shook his head. "I say leave them here. After all, they were here already, and if anybody found us with these books elsewhere in the castle, they'd probably confiscate them."


Chrys was in a courtyard, frowning at his Charms homework. It was a fine November afternoon, probably the last good weather to be expected: cool, but sunny. Upper classmen were at Hogsmeade, and everyone else was somewhere outside on the grounds of the castle– except Paula, who seemed to spend all of her spare time in the Uncommon Room. Zhava was scurrying about within the full extent of the leash-charm and having a wonderful time. Chrys was still frowning. I'm just not getting it, he thought. He heaved a sigh and closed his book. Then he noticed that Garnic Peven, a first-year in Slytherin, was at the other end of the courtyard. It can't hurt to try, Chrys said to himself, and he got up and walked over to Peven.

"I say, Peven, I'm just not getting this Charms assignment. Could you give me some help?"

Peven looked at him suspiciously. "Why should I help you?"

"You're the best in our class and always have been. You obviously understand Charms inside and out, so I thought you'd be the best to explain it."

"Is this going to turn into what you people call 'witnessing'?" Peven nearly spat the word out.

"Not likely," said Chrys. "I'm the one who needs the help here. Will you help me?"

Peven paused, still uncertain. Then he said, "Well, what do you want to know?"

"It's this binding charm," said Chrys. "I do fine with the leash-charm on Zhava, and it seems that the binding charm ought to be rather along the same lines, but for the life of me I can't get it to work. What am I missing?"

"Zhava?"

"She's my ferret. Zhava! Come!" he called, then he gestured to shorten the leash-charm. Zhava flowed down the tree she'd been in and scampered over to the two boys. They both knelt down and Chrys gave Zhava a tidbit from his pocket. She started climbing into Peven's lap.

"Zhava, no!" Chrys reached out to retrieve her, but Peven petted her gently. "It's alright," he said. He almost grinned, but caught himself. He tried to affect disinterest, but he finally gave up and grinned, saying, "She's not so bad, I suppose. Here." He handed Zhava to Chrys. "What's the leash-charm you use?"

"Madame Rowan at the Magical Menagerie taught it to me." Chrys demonstrated the hand gesture.

"Well, there's your problem," said Peven loftily, "That's an anima restricti charm. Almost any idiot can work it: you don't even need a wand. But it's only good for small animals, and it only limits the area that the animal can run around in. The binding charm is quite different."

After about twenty minutes, Chrys finally began to get a handle on the binding charm. It was a lot more difficult than the leash-charm, but Peven's explanation cleared up the confusion. When Chrys was finally able to bind the pages of his book so they couldn't be opened, Peven admitted he'd "made a good start."

Chrys was enthusiastic. "This is brilliant. You're as good as Professor Flitwick, and lots easier to understand."

"Of course, now you need to know how to undo the charm."

"Don't you just reverse the movement?"

"Hah! You weren't watching Flitwick closely enough. Watch now and tell me the difference." Peven moved his wand slowly in a pattern, then in a different pattern.

"It's just reversed."

"Don't be an idiot, Gulder," said Peven, not unkindly. "If it were reversed it would look like this." He sketched the movement in the air, and then reversed it. "That's a reverse; this is what I did. Now what is it?" Peven sketched the movement, and then the counter-charm. Chrys looked mystified.

"It's the mirror image, Gulder. There's all the difference in the world between a reverse and a mirror image. You've got to grasp that or you'll never get anywhere with charms."

"Oh, left-handed instead of right-handed. No wonder I've been lost in the woods. Here, see if I've got it." Chrys bound the pages of his book again, then worked the counter-charm.

"Well, you got by because you're working on a simple inanimate object, but your counter-charm needs a lot of work. The mirror image has to be just as exact as the original, and yours is rather wobbly. The more complex the object you've bound, the more exacting your counter-charm has to be. You need practice."

"Rather. I say, could I use my left hand?"

Peven was momentarily stumped. "I've never heard of anyone doing such a thing, but I guess... it might work. Why not give it a try?"

Chrys bound the pages of his book again, then switched his wand to his left hand and carefully sketched the mirror movement. Nothing happened, and the pages of the book stayed firmly bound. "Well, now we know," said Chrys, unbinding the book with his right hand.

"Here," said Peven, "let me have a go at it." He bound the pages moving his wand so quickly that Chrys could hardly follow it. Then he switched his wand to his left hand and held it backwards, with the point aiming back toward his elbow. Carefully, he sketched the mirror movement with the grasp end of the wand. When he was satisfied, he flipped the wand around and did the mirror movement with his left hand. The pages of the book relaxed and stirred in the breeze.

Chrys applauded. "Brilliant! Are you ambidextrous? Your left hand moved as smoothly as your right."

"Well, not exactly," said Peven, blushing slightly. "Oh, alright, I'll out with it. Last summer I did something pretty stupid, and ended up getting my right arm broken. Mum and Dad were so annoyed that they wouldn't heal me with magic. 'Garnic Peven, if you're going to be as stupid as a Muggle...' (Sorry Gulder, but that's what they said)... 'then you can jolly well get healed like a Muggle, and we hope you learn a lesson from it.' So they set the bone and then wrapped it in a cast by magic, and there I was for the rest of the summer. I got to where I was pretty good doing things with my left hand, but I honestly never thought to try using my wand. It was grim: an entire summer with no magic!"

"It must have been harder for you having grown up with magic all along. Did you do much before you got to Hogwarts?"

"Just the usual things about the house. Mum and Dad didn't want me learning bad habits, but they were rather good teachers themselves, so I guess I'm a little further along than some. How about you? When did you find out you have magic?"

"When I was six, but I never mentioned it to anybody. Magic wasn't considered a particularly good thing in… my family… I guess."

"Do you… sorry if I'm bothering you… but do you remember what happened?"

"Oh, it's no bother: they let me remember that sort of thing. I was in a tree and the branch I was on broke, but instead of falling I found myself safe and sound in a tree some twenty feet away. That was when I really knew it was magic."

"Wow, that was like Apparating," said Peven, impressed. "Apparating is very advanced."

"What's it called?"

"It's Apparating. The opposite, of course, is Disapparating, and it means disappearing in one place and appearing in another."

"Oh, like teleporting, right?"

"Like what? What in the world is 'teleporting'?"

"It's what you just said: disappearing from one place and appearing in another. It happens in science fiction stories all the time, only usually it's done by a machine."

"Done by a machine? Weird! I think I'm beginning to see what it must be like for you here at Hogwarts. Bit of a culture shock, eh?"

"Culture shock? It's like I've been dropped from another planet. But I think I'm getting some bearings at last. And part of it's been great fun, like the elephant trunk."

Peven was startled. "The elephant trunk?"

"Yes, didn't you hear about it? Oh, that was the best!" crowed Chrys. "I've never had such fun in my life! I do hope we learn how to do that sort of thing in Transfiguration."

"But… but that was a hex!"

"Well, yes," said Chrys, calming down, "And I'm sorry about that part of it. That seemed a little…" unsure of how Peven would react, Chrys decided not to finish the sentence. "But if I'm going to be hexed, I might as well enjoy what I can of it, right?"

"Oi, Chrys!"

They turned and saw George running toward them. "Come quick! The giant squid's at the surface, and I think it's feeding!"

Chrys and Peven grabbed their bags and immediately ran after George. They ran down the hill toward the lake, stopping a respectful distance from the shore. The huge body of the squid lay just under the surface of the water, one idiotically huge eye pointing in their direction. But even the body of the squid was dwarfed by the massive tentacles. They reached almost from shore to shore, and were slowly and methodically scooping seaweed toward the mouth. Once in a while, almost as if the squid were stretching after a nap, a tentacle would arch up into the sky and then relax and fall thunderously into the water to the cheers of the older students and screams of the younger ones watching all around the lake.

"Astounding!" said Chrys. Zhava climbed up onto his shoulder for a better (and safer) view.

"Look at the size of that thing!" said Peven. "I wouldn't want to be around when it finishes the salad and starts fancying some meat."

George looked around. "Oh, hullo, Peven," he said. "Sorry I didn't notice you before. I was so excited about the squid."

"Peven was helping me with Charms. He's brilliant!" said Chrys.

"You should see him in Transfigurations," said George. "Top of the class."

Peven actually smiled at the combined praise. He reached out his hand to shake and said, "Call me Garnic."


"Are you going to just look at that thing for the whole class time?" Alf seemed a bit annoyed.

The assignment in Transfigurations was to change a pencil into a feather. Most of the class was busily waving their wands and pronouncing the spell. Most had indifferent success. Even Alf had only managed to get his pencil to change from yellow to white. But Chrys hadn't even said anything: he just stared and studied his pencil.

"No," he replied distantly. Then he seemed to make up his mind. He picked up his wand and waved the prescribed pattern a few times. Finally, he looked at his pencil, waved his wand, and pronounced the spell. The pencil turned white and slowly sprouted into a feather. He turned and smiled at Alf.

"How did you do that? I did everything you did."

"Apparently not quite everything, Mr. Tollers." Professor McGonagall came over to their desk. "A very good beginning, Mr. Gulder. Perhaps you overlooked one detail?"

Chrys looked at the feather, then grimaced in embarrassment. At the end of the shaft the lead of the pencil still protruded. The class had stopped practicing and were all looking towards Chrys.

"Even so," continued McGonagall, "you were one of only two students who even came close to achieving the transfiguration. Do you know what you did that was different from what Mr. Tollers did?"

"I think so, Professor McGonagall," said Chrys. "It's something I learned from St. Cyr."

"Ah, the other successful student. And just what did you learn from her?"

"I learned to study the object to be Transfigured. It seems to work better when I have a very clear and complete idea of what it is that I'm changing."

"Very good, Mr. Gulder." She turned to the others. "Perhaps the rest of you will remember that I said something along those lines myself."

That's exactly what she said! wrote Alf on a scrap of parchment where Chrys could see it. Chrys' eyes widened ever-so-slightly in mortification.

"Practicing the wand movement before your initial attempt is also a good idea for beginners. Would you care to add anything to Mr. Gulder's observation, Miss St. Cyr?"

"Yes, Professor. You also said that we must have a very clear and complete idea of what we're trying to Transfigure the object into."

"It is refreshing," said Professor McGonagall to the class in general, "to find at least two students who actually listen to what's being taught. Five points each to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. In addition to the homework assigned at the beginning of class, the rest of you will turn in a 12-inch parchment giving a detailed description of a pencil and of a feather. The parchment is due next session. Are there any questions? Yes, Mr. Gulder?"

"Well, I'm not exactly certain how to ask… I've read the lessons in the book carefully, and they seem to gloss over one point. The book is very clear on how to do Transfigurations, but it never answers the question: Why would anyone want to Transfigure anything?"

From the blank, uncomprehending stares came from almost everyone in the room one would think he had asked "Why would anyone want to breathe?" McGonagall was the first to recover.

"Unfortunately for that particular question, Mr. Gulder, this is not a class in philosophy. The goal of this course is to ensure that whenever and for whatever reason you decide to Transfigure something, you do it correctly without injuring yourself or anyone else. If you want to pursue this question on your own, I'm sure that Madame Pince can direct you to other discussions on that topic. Are there any other questions? Very well, class dismissed."

When they got out into the hall, Chrys went over to the group of Hufflepuffs. "St. Cyr! I hope you don't mind what happened: I didn't really mean to hold you up in front of the entire class like that."

"Well, I guess I don't mind being compared to Professor McGonagall, although I hope I'm never as blunt about it as you were."

Chrys hid his face in his hands in mock embarrassment while everyone laughed. Alf said, "You certainly put your foot in your mouth that time, mate."

"About up to his knee, I should think," chuckled St. Cyr. "But he did Transfigure his pencil into a feather. And I'm still amazed at how you turned the tables on those Slytherins about that first hex. You're a good one, Gulder."

'Solid' was the best word to describe St. Cyr. She wasn't quite fat, but she was very… solid. Her rich brown hair was straight and unimaginative on its own, but she always did it up neatly. Her full face had room for a wide smile and two large, brown eyes which, for all their 'solidity', frequently sparkled in fun. Chrys found her easy to like.

"Call me Chrys," he said to her, "I only hope all hexes are as much fun as that one."

Her smile dropped. "They're not, Chrys," she said stiffly, as if reminded of something very unpleasant. Then she relaxed again. "Call me Selina."

They all started moving down the hallway, and after a few steps, she turned and said, "Chrys, whatever did you mean 'Why would anyone want to Transfigure something'?"

"Yeah," said Alf, "That's about the dumbest question I've ever heard."

Chrys shrugged. "Just what I said. If I've got a perfectly good pencil, why would I want to change it into a feather?" He noticed that Paula was listening, but, for a mercy, did not join the conversation.

"But suppose you needed a feather," said Alf.

"If I need a feather, why don't I get a feather?" Chrys fished a pencil out of his bag and held it up. "Maybe there's a reason for this to be a pencil. If I change it into something else, just what am I messing around with?"

"Sounds a bit cosmic, don't you think?" asked Selina. "It's only a pencil, you know."

Alf and the others snickered, and even Chrys smiled. "You're right, Selina," he said, "It's only a pencil. I guess I'm not too bothered about Transfiguring things. But next week we start working on small animals. That bothers me."

"So we change a mouse into a teacup. What's the big deal?"

"And how is that different from just killing it?"

Selina stopped suddenly. "But… you don't… I mean, it doesn't kill it…"

"So the mouse is still alive, even though it's a teacup? Do you suppose it's comfortable being a teacup? Can it still see? Can it breathe? And what if someone pours boiling water into it? Do you suppose the mouse enjoys that?"

Even Alf looked doubtful at that.

"Now don't get me wrong," said Chrys, "I'm not one of those loonies who think we should never kill any animal and we should all eat dirt and bean curd… bleahhh!" The general atmosphere lightened significantly. "But I do think it's a good idea to discuss once in a while just when it would be right to Transfigure something, and especially when it would not. That's what I was trying to get at with Professor McGonagall."

Selina looked very thoughtful as they continued down the hallway. Bother! thought Chrys. Have I messed up again? And Dad, please, PLEASE don't let Sarah bludgeon her way into this conversation. When they got to an intersection the Hufflepuffs turned toward their dormitory. Before she left with them, Selina turned to Chrys. "I can almost see what you're getting at, Chrys, but it's more than I can think about just now. Don't stop asking questions." She grinned at him and added, "Perhaps I've got some spade work to do, and it's always interesting to dig into a different pile of compost."


Another week passed, and routine settled comfortably around Hogwarts. Chrys hardly ever got lost any more, and was able to think of other things while walking from here to there.

Come to think of it, he hadn't been in the Uncommon Room for awhile. Well, I guess that means I'm settling in, he thought smugly. No sense hanging about the infirmary if you're not sick. Chrys turned a corner and noticed a silvery shimmer at the other end of the hallway. Two of the ghosts were talking together. One of them noticed Chrys, turned abruptly away, but then turned back to him. As he approached, Chrys recognized the Bloody Baron.

"Well, good evening, young sir," said the Baron tightly, but with a smirk on his face. "Nice to see you're blending in so well here at Hogwarts." Then he and the other ghost walked quickly through a wall leaving Chrys alone in the hallway.

Now why did that seem odd? Was something missing? Of course, this was the first time one of the ghosts had actually spoken to him since… well, ever. For some reason the castle ghosts seemed to avoid him. He almost stopped, but then Chrys remembered a report for Transformations and quickly went on to the Library.

An hour later Madame Pince closed the Library, and Chrys returned to his Common Room. He finished his report, then played gobstones with Alf and Priscilla. He was pleased that he was getting along with Priscilla rather well. It was so nice not to be in the middle of an argument every time he met someone.

"I hear you're coming along with Charms, Gulder," she said.

"Yes," he grinned, "I'm beginning to catch on a bit. But I'm still practically worthless at Potions."

Priscilla shrugged. "You're probably better than you think. Snape never lets anybody think they're doing it right unless they're in Slytherin. Looks like we'll make a decent wizard out of you yet. Well, see you tomorrow."

As she left, Chrys felt unsettled about her comment, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Alf picked up the gobstones and said, "I'm going up to bed; it's been a hard day."

"I've got to read another chapter in History. Be up in a bit." He settled into a chair and tried to focus on reading but his mind seemed to be completely full of fog, agitation and apathy sloshing around together. Finally he closed the book and looked at the clock. It was a good forty-five minutes before curfew, so he left to roam the halls a bit. That sometimes settled his mind, but not this time. Soon he found himself back in the Ravenclaw tower.

"Chrys, can I talk to you about something?"

Chrys was just about to give the password to the Lion when he saw Sarah standing in the Uncommon Room. She seemed to notice his hesitation, and said, "I promise not to get angry or judgmental… Please…?"

As he went into the Uncommon Room and sat in a wingback chair by the fire, Chrys resigned himself to another lecture about how terrible everything was at Hogwarts. He could tell she was a little agitated, but he didn't particularly want to make it easier for her.

Finally she took a deep breath. "Chrys… no, first I want to say that you're an absolute brick. I rather envy you that you get along with everybody."

Suddenly Sarah started crying. Chrys stared at her, having no clue as to what was happening. This was not anything he anticipated. Then the most unexpected thought imaginable jumped into his head. She's going to tell me she's in love with me! What am I going to do??

Sarah wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and said in frustration, "No, no! It isn't supposed to be about me! This is all wrong…" She looked up at Chrys. "I'm sorry, Chrys. I don't know what's happening. Just… just forget about that. Let me start again." She took another breath, and Chrys mentally held onto his hat wondering what would happen next.

"Chrys, you know how I feel about Hogwarts and about magic. I'm not going to preach at you again, but I want to… ask you about something I've noticed. And I'm trying very hard to be fair about this." She paused again. "Do you remember when we first got here? The castle, the ghosts, magic everywhere… it was enough to frighten anybody, especially a Chr-… a Nonconformist. And by the way, thanks for teaching me that label." They both grinned, and Chrys relaxed a bit. Then Sarah continued. "The first few days at each class, I remember you seemed to walk around on eggshells. We all did. Was it really like that, or was I just imagining it?"

"No, you're right. I was awfully nervous the first week or so. But I guess I've gotten used to it now."

"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you about. Do you… do you ever think about, or remember about, what we're learning here? No, don't answer yet. In fact, you don't ever have to tell me about it. Just think about it. Whether magic itself is good or bad or neutral, we're still in a fallen world, and eventually we're going to answer to Father about what we do here. I just want to remind you to stay in touch with him." She seemed to have more to say, but instead she sighed, then said, "Was I gentle enough?"

Chrys balanced on the edge of a decision. Out of habit he had already marshaled up any number of declarations and assurances. Of course he "remembered" about his classes: he talked with Father every day…

With me, or at me?

He slumped back into the chair, scowling to himself. Oh, c'mon! It's not that bad. At least… well… Excuses tripped over one another in their haste to just explain… to rationalize… to justify… to –

He mentally took a breath. OK, I'm covering up. You're right and I'm wrong. (Extra scowl for punctuation. After all, you can't really say 'Darn it!' to Father, can you?) He was embarrassed by his reluctance, but honesty made him admit that Sarah was right: he had become a lot more comfortable at Hogwarts. He had almost stopped thinking about magic, stopped asking why anyone should want to change a pencil into a feather, or levitate items. Was that what the Bloody Baron meant, that he was blending in so much that the ghosts didn't shine anymore when they got near him? Was Priscilla correct: were they making a wizard out of him? And, in the really long run, just what was he going to do with this training? Would it help him become more like Father? Come to think of it, when was the last time he spoke with Father and actually waited for a reply?

Someone quietly said "Veritas". Chrys glanced up to see Sarah vanishing in the open doorway. OK, Father, he said to himself, I've got some work to do here. He settled comfortably into the wingback chair, gazed at the fire in the fireplace, and started to remember Who he was talking to. O Lord Father; creator of earth, air, fire, and water, and author of the Periodic Table; You created the heavens above and every star in the sky, You manage the wind and direct the storms, You built the storehouses of hail; You created the earth, You made the rocks hard and the soil fertile, You engineered the mountains and…

Something in his lower abdomen bubbled noisily. Chrys broke into laughter. "And bubbles! You invented bubbles! How could I forget how much fun You are?"

Fifteen minutes later Chrys walked out of the Uncommon Room and faced the portrait. He was about to say the password when he paused and looked directly at the Lion. "Excuse me," he said respectfully, "but if Aslan ever visits you here, I'd like to greet him." Amusement flickered briefly behind the Lion's solemn visage and Chrys heard a deep rumbling purr that might have been assent. The Lion made no other comment or gesture, so after a moment Chrys said the password and walked into the Ravenclaw Common Room.

Paula was sitting by herself (as usual) at one of the tables doing some homework. She looked up nervously as Chrys walked over to her.

"Thank you, Paula," he said, "You were right: what's the use of being a Nonconformist if you're indistinguishable from the rest of the world? I've talked it over with Father, and I'm going to be more careful from now on. Please tap me again if you notice anything like that: we all need all the help we can get. And by the way…" Chrys smiled brightly at her. "You were gentle enough. I realize it must have been quite a strain for you, but I do appreciate it."

Relief and indignation did an interesting dance across her face. Finally she broke into a rueful chuckle. "OK, I deserved that. Mea culpa!"

Chrys glanced around quickly. "Careful!" he warned, "You know how Latin works around here. A simple phrase like that might start everyone in the room confessing!"

Paula's smile sharpened and her eyes widened with a tinge of malicious glee. "Let it!"


Dear Aunt & Uncle Al:

The past three days have been miserable. It seems that everything I say annoys whoever I'm speaking with. Professor Snape has surpassed himself in nastiness. I know I'm not good at Potions, but hardly a class goes by that he doesn't belittle me in front of the whole class. I suppose I'm doing a favor to the rest of the class, but it's awfully tiresome always being the lightning rod.

Alright- on to better news. I'm making more friends here at Hogwarts. One of the other students, Garnic Peven of Slytherin, is brilliant at Charms and he's helping me along immensely. Then there's Selina St. Cyr of Hufflepuff. She and I are at the top of our class in Transfigurations. And, of course, Alf and Paula and George are absolute bricks.

Speaking of Transfigurations, an interesting question came up in class last week. The question was "How does one know when or when not to Transfigure something?" Professor McGonagall didn't answer it directly: she said that it was a philosophical question and was outside the goals of the class. But it seems to me that this is a very practical question. What do you think? In particular, what are situations when one should definitely not Transfigure something?

I'm looking forward to the holidays. I can't wait to meet you at the train station.

With much love,
Chrysophylax


"Have you seen 'Pilgrim's Progress' lately? I thought it was on the third shelf, but I can't find it."

"Well, no," said Chrys slowly. "You know, Professor Flitwick said anybody was allowed to come in here. Maybe someone else is reading it."

"Or hiding it!" Sarah snorted. "Rhiannon to do something like that, just to spite us."

"Well, maybe it'll show up again," said Chrys, carefully dodging that topic. "Were you looking for anything in particular?"

"Yes, but I guess I'll have to dig it out of Aquinas myself."

They both settled down to reading again, but Chrys kept wondering if someone were spying on them. They hadn't been excessively secretive in using the Uncommon Room, but they did rather want to keep it to themselves. So far they hadn't seen anyone else in it, but there were many hours of the day and night when neither Chrys nor Sarah nor George were anywhere near the room.


Dear Chrys:

I know just what you mean about rotten days. I remember what seemed like weeks on end at Hogwarts where nothing I did was right. I'll offer you the same advice my father sent to me: Buck up, you'll get through it soon enough. I know that may not seem to help much now, but we have every confidence in you, Chrys. Keep up the good work and just plod through the difficult times.

As to your question about Transfiguration: I must say, you do come up with good questions! Thea and I discussed it for some time, and it was a very enlightening discussion. You will remember that things are rather stable around our house: we don't usually go Transfiguring this into that just for the fun of it. We sort of keep it in store for emergencies, and usually an emergency to help someone else. It seems to us that if you follow that principle, you won't go too far wrong. If you discuss this with other friends or teachers at Hogwarts, we'd be interested in hearing what you come up with.

We look forward to seeing you soon.

Your affectionate
Uncle Al


NOTES:

Garnic – of French extraction, pronounced "GAR-nee"

Mea culpa – Latin: "I am guilty"