AN: So, this is the last chapter I will be posting this year, as I like to take a break over the holidays. I will be posting a new chapter on the 3rd of January, so look out for that. So I hope that you enjoy this chapter, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and I will be back on track with the story then, too!
Chapter 7
The A.I In Pyjamas
KIARA
The shock of losing Crazy-Head hung over the house in the days that followed; I kept expecting to see her stumping in through the main entrance or the kitchen door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. I felt that nothing but action would assuage my feelings of guilt and grief and that I ought to set out on my mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.
"Well, you can't do anything about the - " Chrissie mouthed the word Horcruxes, "'til you're seventeen. You've still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can't we? Or," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "d'you reckon you already know where the you-know-whats are?"
"No," I admitted.
"I think Sian's been doing a bit of research," said Chrissie. "Whenever I've seen her, she said she was saving it for when you got here."
We were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr Dawson and Sam had just left for work, Sian and my father had gone upstairs to wake the others, Mum had gone to the nursery to feed Kion, while Ferdinand had drifted off to take a bath.
"The Trace'll break on the thirtieth," I said. "That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can - "
"Five days," Chrissie corrected me firmly. "We've got to stay for the wedding. She'll kill us if we miss it."
I understood "she" to mean Sam.
"It's only one extra day," said Chrissie, when I looked mutinous.
"Don't they realise how important - ?"
"'Course they don't," said Chrissie. "They haven't got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that."
Chrissie glanced towards the door to check that Sian and my father - my father in particular - were not returning yet, then leaned in closer to me.
"Simba's been trying to get it out of Sian, Chris and me. What we're off to do. He'll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Meers've both asked as well, but when we said Ma told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not your father, though. He's determined."
Chrissie's prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, my father detached me from the others by telling me that he and Mum wanted a word with me. Once I had followed them into the drawing room, closed the door and sat down opposite my mother, did my father, who was standing in front of the fireplace, start.
"Chris, Sian and Chrissie seem to think that the four of you are dropping out of Dragon Mort," he began in a light, casual tone.
"Oh," I said. "Well, yeah. We are."
My father scrutinised me carefully, as my mother looked at him, my little brother perched on her knee, as still and silent as Mum, sucking his thumb gently, as though he too could sense something important was happening.
"May I ask why you are abandoning your education?" said my father.
"Well, Daddy, Crighton left me ... stuff to do," I mumbled. "Chris, Sian and Chrissie know about it, and they want to come too."
"What sort of 'stuff'?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy, I can't - "
"Well, frankly, I think your mother and I have a right to know, and I'm sure Matt would agree!" said my father. I had been afraid of the "concerned parent" attack. I forced myself to look directly into my father's eyes, the exact same shade of brown as Kion's. This did not help.
"Crighton didn't want anyone else to know, Daddy. I'm sorry. Chris, Sian and Chrissie don't have to come, it's their choice - "
"But why do you have to go, Kiara?" he snapped, dropping all pretence now. "You're barely of age, any of you! It's utter nonsense, if Crighton needed work doing, she had the whole Order at her command! Kiara, you must have misunderstood her. Probably she was telling you something she wanted done, and you took it to mean that she wanted you - "
"I didn't misunderstand," I said flatly. "It's got to be me." My father huffed in disbelief, so I said, "Listen, Daddy, I know that you're scared. Who isn't? But you're forgetting that I'm not a little girl any more. Yes, I know that you are my father and my protector, but even you cannot protect me forever." My father looked astounded and angry, and I went on before he could interrupt me, "You know that Zira marked me, Daddy, and I think that, deep down, you know this is going to end as much as I do, don't you? Question is, are you going to be brave enough to let me go?"
I looked at my father imploringly, willing him to see that I was being honest and that I was doing the right thing. My father stared at me for a moment, his face blank, before he turned to my mother and said, "Nala, what do you think?"
Mum looked at us both closely for a few seconds, before she spoke, choosing her words carefully, "I think ... that we must trust in our daughter, Simba. We all know that she is the only one who can finish Zira. The best we can do is to hope and pray for a better future in which we can be together as a family."
My father nodded at her slowly, taking in everything my mother said, then turned to me. He walked slowly towards me and stopped right in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders and looked steadily into my eyes. "Just answer me one question, Kiara," he said. "Does what you have to do involve how to destroy Zira? You don't have to fill me in on all the details, just tell me."
"Yes," I answered.
My father nodded, then wrapped me in his arms, and I knew that he was giving me his blessing.
"Good luck, Kiara," he murmured into my hair.
"Thanks, Daddy," I said. He then kissed my forehead, let me go, smiled slightly and left the room. I then turned to my mother, who was watching me gently, Kion still sucking his thumb.
"You're not angry with me, are you, Mum?"
My mother shook her head and got to her feet. "No," she said, as she strode towards me, hoisting my little brother in her arms as she walked. "I am frightened, but not angry. How could I be, when you are trying to do something good for the world." Her smile then faded. "Just promise me something."
"Promise what, Mum?" I asked her.
"That you will let your father and I - and this little man," she added, holding up my brother, " - say goodbye to you before you leave? I don't think any of us could stand it if we didn't bid you farewell, for who knows when we're going to see each other again?"
I smiled at her and nodded. "Of course I will, Mum."
Mum smiled and kissed my forehead. Kion then started moaning; looking at him, I saw that he was flailing his arms trying to reach me. Mum and I laughed.
"I think someone wants his big sister," Mum said, handing him over to me. I kissed his head and held him. Kion smiled a toothless smile at me and put his arms on my shoulders, before I turned back to Mum who was watching us both fondly.
"You'll help out with the wedding preparations with the others for Sam and Ferdinand, won't you?" said Mum suddenly. "There's still so much to do."
"No - I - of course not," I said, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject.
"Sweet of you," she replied, smiling at me, and together we left the drawing room.
From that moment on, my father kept Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I so busy with preparations for the wedding that we hardly had time to think. The kindest explanation of this behaviour would have been that my father wanted to distract us all from thoughts of Crazy-Head, and the terrors of our recent journey. After two days of non-stop cutlery cleaning, of colour-matching favours, ribbons and flowers, to mopping the floors and helping my mother cook batches of canapés, however, I started to suspect him of a different motive. All the jobs he handed out seemed to keep Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I away from one another; I had not had a chance to speak to the three of them, alone, since the first night, when I had told them about Zira torturing Wandwick.
"I think Simba thinks if he can stop the four of us getting together and planning, he'll be able to delay us leaving," Chris told me in an undertone, as we laid the dining room table for dinner on the third night of my stay.
"And then what does he think's going to happen?" I muttered. "Someone else might kill off Zira while he's holding us here making vol-au-vents?"
Chris gave a hollow chuckle. "Yeah," he said.
Chris and I stared at each other then, and I suddenly became aware that this was the first time I had been alone with him since those stolen hours in secluded corners of the Dragon Mort grounds. I was sure he was remembering them too. Both of us jumped as the door opened, and Mr Dawson, Kara and Sam walked in.
We were often joined by the other Order members for dinner now, because Dawson Manor had replaced Warts' House as Headquarters. Mr Dawson had explained that after the death of Crighton, their Secret Keeper, each of the people to whom Crighton had confided Warts' House location had become a Secret Keeper in turn.
"And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Love Destroyers to get the secret out of somebody. We can't expect it to hold much longer."
"But surely Triphorm will have told the Love Destroyers the address by now?" I asked.
"Well, Crazy-Head set up a couple of curses against Triphorm in case she turns up there again. We hope they'll be strong enough both to keep her out and to bind her tongue if she tries to talk about the place, but we can't be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as Headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky."
The dining room table on the second floor of Dawson Manor was long with plenty of space, so there was plenty of room to manoeuvre knives and forks. I found myself sitting next to Chris that night; the unsaid things that had just passed between us made me wish that we had been separated by a few more people. Every so often I would brush Chris' arm or he would brush mine, making things even more awkward between us.
"No news about Crazy-Head?" I asked Sam.
"Nothing," replied Sam.
We had not been able to hold a funeral for Grumpy, because Sam and Meers had failed to recover her body. It had been difficult to know where she might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle.
"The Daily Squabbler hasn't said a word about her dying, or about finding the body," Sam went on. "But that doesn't mean much. It's keeping a lot quiet these days."
"And they still haven't called a hearing about all the under-age magic I used escaping the Love Destroyers?" I called across the table to Mr Dawson, who shook his head. "Because they knew I had no choice or because they don't want me to tell the world Zira attacked me?"
"The latter, I think. Scrimwazz doesn't want to admit that She-You-Know is as powerful as she is, nor that Azkaban's seen a mass breakout."
"Yeah, why tell the public the truth?" I said, clenching my knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of my right hand stood out, white against my skin: I must not tell lies.
"Isn't anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to her?" asked Chrissie angrily.
"Of course, Chrissie, but people are terrified," Mr Dawson replied, "terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumours going round; I, for one, don't believe the Muggle Studies professor at Dragon Mort resigned. He hasn't been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile, Scrimwazz remains shut up in her office all day. I just hope she's working on a plan."
There was a pause in which Sian magicked the empty plates on to a smaller table, and served apple crumble.
"We must decide 'ow you will be disguised, Kiara," said Ferdinand, once everyone had pudding. "For ze wedding," he added, when I looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests are Love Destroyers, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."
From this, I gathered that he still suspected Mina.
"Yes, good point," said my father, who was sat at the right of Mr Dawson at the head of the table, scanning an immense list of jobs that he had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. "In fact, I think Nala and I will need some Polyjuice Potion too, just to be safe. Now then, Chrissie, Sian tells me you haven't cleaned out your room yet. Have you done it?"
Chrissie turned to glare at Sian, who was sat opposite her father at the other end of the table, which is where she's meant to sit, seeing as she was now mistress of the house, but she didn't look comfortable sitting there; she looked sad and her posture reminded me of someone who didn't look like they belonged there but had to stay where they were and endure it. Anyhoo, seeing as Chrissie got nothing from Sian, she rounded on my father instead.
"Why?" she exclaimed, slamming her spoon down and glaring at him. "Why does my room have to be cleaned out? I'm fine with it the way it is!"
"We are holding your cousin's wedding here in a few days' time, young lady - "
"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Chrissie furiously. "No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left - "
"Chrissie, don't be so rude," said Sian firmly, "and do as you're told!"
Chrissie scowled at her sister, then picked up her spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of her apple crumble.
"I can help Chrissie, I don't mind," I said, but my father cut across me.
"No, Kiara, I'd much rather you help Matt prune the rosebushes, and Sian, I'd be ever so grateful if you and Chris could change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Desjardin, you know they're arriving at eleven tomorrow morning."
But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the rosebushes.
"There's no need to, er, mention it to Simba," Mr Dawson told me, blocking my entrance to the gardens, "but, er, Tim Todd sent me most of what was left of Simba's bike and, er, I'm hiding - that's to say, keeping - it in the shed down there. Fantastic stuff: there's an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it's called, the most magnificent battery, and it'll be a great opportunity to find out how the brakes work. I'm going to wait until after the wedding to ask your father if he would be willing to help me fix it."
Looking around the main part of the house, I saw that my father was nowhere in sight, so I slipped upstairs to the smaller attic, for I had an inkling that Chris, Sian and Chrissie might be up there.
Just as I thought, when I arrived there, Chris, Sian and Chrissie jumped up, alert, but as soon as they saw it was me, the three of them relaxed and sat back down again: Chrissie on the floor, and Sian and Chris on a two-seater sofa, with Lucifer perched on Chris' lap, as Sian was busy sorting books, some of which I recognised as my own, into two enormous piles.
"Chrissie, I thought you were supposed to be cleaning your room?" I said, as I closed the door.
"I'll get to it," Chrissie moaned; Sian shook her head in disapproval but said nothing, and I knew, as she did, that Chrissie was never going to get round to it.
"And how did you two manage to get away?" I asked Chris and Sian, as I sat down next to Chrissie.
"Oh, Simba forgot that he asked Chris and I to change the sheets yesterday," said Sian. She threw Numerology and Grammatica on to one pile and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts on to the other.
"We were just talking about Crazy-Head," Chrissie told me. "I reckon she might have survived."
"But Sam saw her hit by the Killing Curse," I said.
"Yeah, but Sam was under attack too," said Chrissie. "How can she be sure what she saw?"
"Even if the Killing Curse missed, Crazy-Head still fell about a thousand feet," said Sian, now weighing Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.
"She could have used a Shield Charm - "
"Ferdinand said her wand was blasted out of her hand," said Chris.
"Well, all right, if you want her to be dead," said Chrissie grumpily, glowering at the wall.
"Of course we don't want her to be dead!" said Sian, looking shocked. "It's dreadful that she's dead! But we're being realistic!"
For the first time, I imagined Crazy-Head's body, broken as Crighton's had been, yet with those four eyes still whizzing on her forehead. I felt a stab of revulsion mixed with a bizarre desire to laugh.
"The Love Destroyers probably tidied up after themselves, that's why no one's found her," said Chrissie wisely.
"Yeah," I said. "Like Bea Clutch, turned into a bone and buried in Mina's front garden. They probably transfigured Grumpy and stuffed her - "
"Don't!" squealed Sian. Startled, I looked over just in time to see a tear fall on to her copy of Spellman's Syllabry.
"Oh, no," I said, struggling to get up from the floor. "Sian, I wasn't trying to upset - "
But Chris, who was closest to Sian, got there first. One arm around his sister, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, "Tergeo."
The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself, Chris handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Sian.
"Oh ... thanks, Chris ... I'm sorry ..." She mopped her eyes, blew her nose and hiccoughed. "It's just so awf-ful, isn't it? R-Right after Ma ... I j-just n-never imagined Crazy-Head dying, somehow, she seemed so tough!"
"Yeah, I know," said Chris, giving her a squeeze. "But you know what she'd say to us if she was here?"
"C-Constant vigilance," said Sian, mopping her eyes again.
"That's right," said Chrissie, nodding. "She'd tell us to learn from what happened to her. And what I've learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit Mona."
Chris chuckled, and Sian gave a shaky little laugh and leaned forwards to pick up two more books. A second later, Chris had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped The Monster Book of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Chris' ankle.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sian cried, as I wrenched the book from Chris' leg and retied it shut.
"What are you doing with all those books, anyway?" Chrissie asked.
"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Sian. "When we're looking for Horcruxes."
"Oh, of course," said Chrissie, clapping a hand to her forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Zira in a mobile library."
"Ha ha," said Sian, looking down at Spellman's Syllabary. "I wonder ... will we need to translate runes? It's possible ... I think we'd better take it, to be safe."
She dropped the syllabary on to the larger of the two piles and picked up Dragon Mort: A History.
"Listen," I said.
I sat up straight. Chris, Sian and Chrissie looked at me with similar expressions of resignation and defiance.
"I know you said, after Crighton's funeral, that you wanted to come with me," I began.
"Here we go," Chris said to Sian and Chrissie, rolling his eyes.
"Yet again," sighed Chrissie.
"As we knew she would," Sian sighed, turning back to the books. "You know, I think I will take Dragon Mort: A History. Even if we're not going back there, I don't think I'd feel right if I didn't take it with - "
"Listen!" I said again.
"No, Kiara, you listen," said Sian. "We're coming with you. That was decided months ago - years, really."
"But - "
"Shut up," Chrissie advised me.
" - are you sure you've thought this through?" I persisted.
"Let's see," said Sian, slamming Travellings with Trolls on to the discarded pile with a fierce look. "I've been packing for days, so we're ready to leave at a moment's notice, which for your information had included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Crazy-Head's whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under your father's nose.
"I also promised Ma ... before she died ... that I would stay with you until the end. The others will be fine. They'll be at the school and will have most of the teachers there to protect them. So no matter how tough it gets, no matter how much I'll miss my siblings, I'm sticking with you, kid. As are Chris and Chrissie. And there is nothing you can do or say that is going to stop us from coming with you."
Sian's eyes were swimming with tears again. Chris put his arm around her once more, and both he and Chrissie glared at me as though reproaching me for lack of tact. I could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual for Chrissie to be teaching anyone else tact.
"I - Sian, I'm sorry - I didn't - "
"Didn't realise that Chris, Chrissie and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Chrissie, show Kiara what the Tweebs've done."
"All right," said Chrissie. She stood up and motioned for me to follow her.
Chrissie led me back down to our bedroom corridor, stepping outside the third door from the door that led to the upper rooms and the smaller attic. Curious to see what she was going to show me, I remained quiet as Chrissie knocked on the door. The tinkering inside the room stopped immediately, and a few seconds later the door opened to reveal the Tweebs in their lab coats, also wearing safety goggles and gloves. The both looked surprised to see us."
"Hey, guys," said Chrissie. I'm here to show Kiara the Secret Project we've been working on. Can we come in?"
The Tweebs stood back to let us past. As the door closed behind us, I studied the room carefully.
It was a large room with two beds standing opposite each other at the end of the room, with a large window separating them, which was covered in thick black drapes, which I guessed were hardly ever opened. A few lamps were lit on the desks that stood opposite each other near the door, which were littered with tools, screws, drills, hammers, wires and countless other electrical things, and the walls were covered in blueprints and rough drawings of designs, all overlapping each other, which made it impossible to know what the colour paint was there, and on either side of the desks on hooks were two hazmat suits. In the middle of the room was a table, much like an operating table, which was covered by a glass case, and the Tweebs were standing at the top end of it by a control panel. I looked at Chrissie, who nodded at me, and so I walked over to the table and looked down, and I gasped at what I saw inside.
It was Chrissie. She had the same face, same height, same freckles, same hair ... but it was also different to Chrissie: the hair was falling out, the skin was slimy and covered in angry purple blisters, and she was also wearing one of Chrissie's green nightgowns. I looked at Chrissie, who was watching me expectantly.
"What is it?" I asked her.
"She is an A.I., Kiara," Chrissie explained.
"A what?" I said blankly.
"Artificial Intelligence," said one of the Tweebs quietly and softly. I turned to face them and Jack, who had spoken, continued, "She's meant to look like Chrissie, so that after you are gone, we are going to move her into Chrissie's room and tell people that Chrissie is ill with Spattergroit, and is therefore too unwell to return to school."
"Good, eh?" said Chrissie excitedly.
I merely looked my confusion.
"It is!" said Chrissie, clearly frustrated that I had not grasped the brilliancy of the plan. "I'll explain more when we're back in the attic. Thanks, guys. See you later," she added to the Tweebs, who waved us out.
Once we had rejoined Chris, who had taken his arm from around Sian's shoulders again, and Sian, who was still sorting books, Chrissie continued, "Look, when the four of us don't turn up at Dragon Mort again, everyone's going to think Chris, Sian and I must be with you, right? Which means the Love Destroyers will go straight for our families to see if they've got information on where you are."
"And seeing as my real mum is dead, and my dad hasn't been heard of or seen in years, I've not got them to worry about," said Chris, shrugging. "This family, on the other hand - my real family - I am worried for."
"We can't hide our whole family, it'll look too fishy and they can't all leave school," said Sian. "So we're going to put out the story that Chrissie is seriously ill with Spattergroit, which is why she can't go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Dad or Joey can show them the A.I. in Chrissie's bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit's really contagious, so they're not going to want to go near her. It won't matter that she can't say anything, either, because apparently you can't once the fungus has spread to your uvula."
"Who else is in on it along with the four of us and the Tweebs?" I asked.
"Dad, Joey, Joey's friend, the one who drives the other car, Meers, and Tanya and Geri. As Jack said before, he and Joe are going to move her to my room and check on her once every day to see if she's functioning properly; but once they've started school, Joey and his friend are going to take over the Tweebs' job," said Chrissie.
There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds, as Sian continued to throw books on to one pile or the other. Chris and Chrissie both sat watching her, and I looked at each of my friends in turn, unable to say anything. The measures they had taken to protect their family made me realise, more than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with me and that they knew exactly how dangerous that would be. I wanted to tell them what that meant to me, but I simply could not find words important enough.
Then through the silence, many floors below, came the muffled sounds of my father shouting.
"Max's probably left a speck pf dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Chrissie. "I dunno why the Desjardins have to come two days before the wedding."
"Ferdinand's brother's the ring bearer, he needs to be here for the rehearsal and he's too young to come on his own," said Sian, as she threw aside Break with a Banshee.
"Well, guests aren't going to help Simba's stress levels," said Chrissie.
"What we really need to decide," said Sian, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, "is where we're going to go after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to the Pride Lands first, Kiara, and I understand why, but ... well ... shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"
"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," I said, not believing that Sian really understood my desire to return to the Pride Lands. My birthplace was only part of the attraction: I had a strong, though inexplicable, feeling that the place held answers for me. Perhaps it was simply because it was there that I had survived Zira's Killing Curse; now that I was facing the challenge of repeating the feat, I was drawn to the place where it had happened, wanting to understand.
"Don't you think there's a possibility that Zira's keeping a watch on the Pride-Lands?" Sian asked. "She might expect you to go back and visit the place you were born once you're free to go wherever you like?"
This had not occurred to me. While I struggled to find a counter-argument, Chrissie spoke up, evidently following her own train of thought.
"This O.B.W. person," she said. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"
Chris and Sian nodded.
"She said in her note she was going to destroy it, didn't she?"
I had read the note in the fake locket so many times that I didn't have to read it to know what it said any more.
"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can'," I recited.
"Well, what if she did finish it off?" said Chrissie.
"Or he," interposed Chris.
"Whichever," said Chrissie, "it'll be one less for us to do!"
"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Sian. "To find out whether or not it's destroyed."
"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Chrissie.
"Well," said Sian, "I've been researching that."
"How?" I asked. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"
"There weren't," said Sian, whose face was flushed. "Ma removed them all, but she - she didn't destroy them."
Chrissie sat up straight, wide-eyed.
"How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"
"It - it wasn't stealing!" said Sian, looking from myself to Chris to Chrissie with a kind of desperation. "They were still library books, even if Ma had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if she really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure she would have made it much harder to - "
"To the point, if you please, sister!" said Chris.
"Well ... it was easy," said Sian in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know - accio. And - they zoomed out of Ma's study window right into the girls' dormitory."
"But when did you do this?" I asked, regarding Sian with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.
"Just after her - Ma's - funeral," said Sian, in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I got back upstairs to get my trunk after the congregation began to leave it - it just occurred to me that the more we know about them, the better it would be ... and I was alone in there ... so I tried ... and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I - I packed them."
She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Ma would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"
"Can you hear us complaining?" said Chris. "Where are the books, anyway?"
Sian rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded, black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.
"This is the one that give explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art - it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Ma removed it from the library ... if she didn't do it until she was Headmistress, I bet Zira got all the instruction she needed from here."
"Why did she have to ask Beadu how to make a Horcrux, then, if she'd already read that?" asked Chrissie.
"She only approached Beadu to find out what would happen if you spilt your soul into seven," I said. "Crighton was sure Maliay already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time she asked Beadu about them. I think you're right, Sian, that could easily have been where she got the information."
"And the more I've read about them," said Sian, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe she actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"
I remembered what Crighton had said, about Zira moving beyond "usual evil".
"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Chris asked.
"Yes," said Sian, with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."
"Why? How do you do it?" I asked.
"Remorse," said Sian. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Zira attempting it, somehow, can you?"
"No," said Chrissie, before Chris or I could answer. "So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?"
"Yes," said Sian, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotten entrails, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what I did to Maliay's diary was one of the few really fool proof ways of destroying a Horcrux."
"What, stabbing it with a Lizsnabadra fang?" I asked.
"Oh, well, lucky we've got such a large supply of Lizsnabadra fangs, then," said Chrissie. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."
"It doesn't have to be a Lizsnabadra fang," said Sian pointedly. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Lizsnabadra venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare - "
" - phoenix tears," I said, nodding.
"Exactly," said Sian. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as Lizsnabadra venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."
"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Chrissie, "why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"
"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being."
Seeing that Chris, Chrissie and I looked thoroughly confused, Sian hurried on, "Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Chrissie, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."
"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Chrissie.
Chris and I laughed.
"It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched," said Sian. "But it's the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can't exist without it."
"That diary sort of died when you stabbed it, Sian," I said, remembering ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Zira's soul as it vanished.
"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Kestrel tried to get rid of the diary before we did, Kiara, flushing it away, but, obviously, it came back good as new."
"Hang on," said Chrissie, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Kestrel, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"
"While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don't mean holding it for too long, it's nothing to do with touching it," she added, before Chrissie could speak. "I mean close emotionally. Kestrel poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You're in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux."
"I wonder how Crighton destroyed the ring?" I said. "Why didn't I ask her? I never really ..."
My voice tailed away: I was thinking of all the things I should have asked Crighton, and of how, since the Headmistress had died, it seemed to me that I had wasted so many opportunities, when Crighton had been alive, to find out more ... to find out everything ...
The silence was shattered as the attic door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Sian shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Lucifer jumped out of Chris' arms and streaked under the sofa, hissing indignantly, and Chrissie and I banged our heads together. Rubbing my head, wincing, I looked round and saw my father standing in the doorway, scowling.
"I'm sorry to break up this cosy little gathering," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I'm sure you all need your rest ... but there are wedding presents stacked in the drawing room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."
"Oh, yes," said Sian, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, "we will ... we're sorry ..."
With an anguished look at Chris, Chrissie and I, Sian hurried out of the room after my father.
"It's like being a house-elf," complained Chrissie in an undertone, still massaging her head as she, Chris and I followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier I'll be."
"Yeah," I said, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes ... it'll be like a holiday, won't it?"
Chris and Chrissie both started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for us in the drawing room, they stopped quite abruptly.
The Desjardins arrived the following morning at eleven o'clock. Chris, Sian, Chrissie, the rest of the Dawsons and I were feeling quite resentful towards Ferdinand's family by this time, and it was with an ill grace that Chrissie stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks (told by Sian, not my father). Once we had all been deemed smart enough, we trooped out into the sunny garden to await the visitors.
The clean house looked, if possible, even cleaner. The windows gleamed in the sunlight and the sun reflected off the polished white marble walls, meaning we all had to look away from the blinding white walls. The gardens had been pruned, plucked and generally spruced up, and every inch of the inside of the house was just as clean as the outside, and two new Flutterby bushes stood on either side of the kitchen door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect.
I had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon Dawson Manor by both the Order and the Ministry; all I knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel directly by magic directly into the place. Mr Dawson had therefore gone to meet the Desjardins on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr Dawson, who appeared through the trees instead of coming through the main gate, laden with luggage and leading a handsome, black haired man, dressed in leaf-green robes, who could only be Ferdinand's father.
"Papa!" cried Ferdinand, striding forwards to embrace him. "Mama!"
Madame Desjardin was nowhere near as attractive as her husband; she was quite short and very plump, her rich brown hair tied back in a ponytail. However, she looked friendly and good-natured. Bouncing towards Sian on high-heeled boots that really did nothing to help with her height, she kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving Sian flustered at this display of affection.
"You 'ave been too much trouble," she said in a light, soft voice. "Ferdinand tells us you 'ave been working very 'ard."
"Oh, it's been nothing, nothing!" said Sian breathlessly. "No trouble at all!"
Chrissie relieved her feelings by aiming a kick at a tuft of grass at her feet.
"Dear lady!" said Madame Desjardin, still cupping Sian's cheeks in her plump hands and beaming. "We are most honoured at the approaching union of our two families! Let me introduce my 'usband, Phillippe!"
Monsieur Desjardin strode gracefully forwards and, as soon as Madame Desjardin let Sian go so that she could straighten up, he stooped to kiss Sian too.
"Enchantee," he said. "Your fazzer 'as been telling us such amusing stories!"
Mr Dawson gave a maniacal laugh; Sian threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.
"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle son, Simon!" said Madame Desjardin.
Simon was Ferdinand in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length black hair, he gave Sian a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw me a glowing look. Chris glowered at him.
"Well, come in, do!" said Sian brightly, and she ushered the Desjardins into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "After you!"s and "Not at all!"s.
The Desjardins, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Desjardin pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids' shoes "charmant!" Madame Desjardin was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Simon followed his elder brother around, trying to assist in any way he could and jabbering away in rapid French.
As there were now so many of us staying at Dawson Manor, and the house was built to accommodate more than the number of people currently staying there, my father found it hard to keep track on all of us. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I used this to our advantage, either going up to the smaller attic to plan, or else the balcony garden, where no one wandering the grounds looking up would be able to see us, which is where we were one afternoon, as a means of escaping the house which, large as it was, was beginning to feel overcrowded.
"But he still won't leave us alone!" snarled Chrissie as she, Chris, Sian and I looked down at the garden below, where my father and mother were walking together, talking quietly with baby Kion in his arms, and although he was focused on my mother's voice, his eyes were constantly scouring the grounds for us.
"He's probably looking to tell us that we'll have to stay inside tomorrow when the men come," said Sian.
"Men?" I asked.
"Millamant's Magical Marquees," Sian explained. "They're putting up the tent for the wedding. Dad told me," she added. "They're very good, apparently ... Sam's escorting them." She sighed, then said, "I must sat it does complicate organising a wedding, having all these security spells around the place."
"I'm sorry," I said humbly, as below my father scowled kept looking left and right for any trace of us.
"Oh, don't be so silly, Kiara!" said Sian at once. "I didn't mean - well, your safety's much more important! Oh, and I've just remembered - I was speaking to your father only this morning, Kiara, and he wanted me to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday. Seventeen, after all, it's an important day ..."
"I don't want a fuss," I said quickly, envisaging the additional weight this would put on us all. "Really, Sian, just a normal dinner would be fine ... it's the day before the wedding ..."
"Oh, well, if you're sure, we'll invite Meers and Todd, shall we? And how about Mina?"
"That'd be great," I said. "But please don't go to loads of trouble."
"Not at all, not at all ... it's no trouble ..." There was a short pause, then Sian said, "Well ... I'd best go and let your father know ..."
Casting me a small smile, Sian straightened up and turned away, walking to the door that led back into the house. As I watched her go, a sudden great wave of remorse came over me for the inconvenience I was giving her family and mine.
